WHEN THE SOLE of my shoe scuffed the pavement, I froze. In my ears, the sound might as well have been an avalanche.
“Zora?” I whispered.
Frozen, I heard nothing. I inched further out of the scant cover provided by the outhouse. I felt exposed, like I stood under a burning spotlight. But the sun had set, and thick gloom hung over the asphalt. Through the panic I felt, I somehow found the wherewithal to keep filming.
“Zora?”
I rounded the corner of the building and saw her. She lay in a crumpled heap against the cinder block wall. I panned the shot, slowly, framing her perfectly.
“Zora!”
The shot bounced as I scurried to her side, I dropped to a knee, the pistol falling to the ground beside me. Zora’s head turned at an odd angle and her dreadlocked hair shrouded her face. My free hand shook as I gently lifted her limp wrist. It felt frighteningly cold.
“You’re okay.”
My fingers fumbled, slipping under the sleeve, trying to find a pulse. My head swiveled left and right, as if someone might suddenly arrive to help. Or the opposite. As I looked east, toward the ocean, I saw a shadow slip away among the high yellow reeds.
Zora’s hand fell from mine. It flopped to the pavement, lifeless. He’d killed her. I was sure of it. Then, nearly stopping my heart, she moaned.
“Stop him,” she pleaded, her voice thin and labored.
“I need to get you help. I—”
“Stop him,” she whispered. “It’s the only way to save her.”
“Who? Miracle? You brought her here? You put her in—”
“Just protect her!”
Without another thought, I scooped the pistol off the ground. A strange courage, something I had never truly felt before, filled me with an unstoppable strength. I sprinted up the sand to where I had seen him disappear. Gun in one hand, camera phone in the other.
Sucking in air, I crested the rise. The ocean appeared below me, cast in deep purple and inky black. The rumble of the surface hung in the air, thickening it somehow, as if the water might rise up and take us all.
I stood, bent slightly at the waist, the pistol by my side. From that vantage point, I could see for miles. I should have spotted him immediately. Then I could give chase. I would catch him; I was sure of it. I had to protect Miracle. Make up for what I’d let Jasper do to me. The risk I had already put her in.
My eyes slipped down and took in the revolver in my hand. The weight of it begged me to let go, let it tumble down and bury into the soft sand. I had no intention of using it. I could not dream of shooting anyone. Particularly … Jasper.
That thought turned my stomach, but there was no doubting its veracity. I didn’t want to hurt him. Nor did I want him hurt. Instead, I felt drawn to the Halo Killer, like an addict to his drug of choice. I wanted to be near him. Talk to him. Learn from him. I wanted to mine his story. Craft it. And release it to the world. At some point the desire had become a deep and dire need. A hunger.
“Jasper!” I called out, shattering the stillness.
As if in response, a feral scream tore into the night, coming from the parking lot behind me.