Gravel crunched like old bones beneath my feet. My hands were tucked deep inside my pockets; in my right hand, I held the knife. It had a rubber handle with grooves for my fingers. It felt good in my hand, as though it had always belonged there.
I’d parked the truck a quarter mile from Chris Jared’s cabin and I approached his house on foot.
I’d expected something gloomy. Rustic. But the small log cabin that Chris Jared called home looked rather new; it was small and homey, orange and yellow flowers planted in neat little rows along a stone pathway that led up to the entranceway.
It didn’t look like the place where a stalker/kidnapper/possible killer might live. The closest thing to horror was a plastic skeleton dangling from the rafters on his front porch. The Halloween prop swung in the breeze, ominously.
I’d followed the directions perfectly, hadn’t I?
Was it possible Chris Jared was here, holding Valerie captive? Or might he have taken her somewhere else?
I peered out from between two trees, eyes scanning every visible surface of the cabin and surrounding area. The Range Rover was parked on the side. No cute red Miatas, like the manager at The Rest EZ and the young girl staying there had told me.
The porch light was on, but inside the cabin was dark. Does he have Valerie in there with him? And most importantly, is she still alive?
But he could be watching me from the window right now, waiting for me to strike …
I forced myself to move. Emerging from the trees, I snuck stealthily around the right side of the cabin. My limbs relaxed except for the hand on the knife deep inside my pocket.
Slowly, I circled around the side, praying my footsteps were quiet enough not to disturb him or any nearby animals.
The backside of the cabin was less neat. There were no decorations or flower beds. No outdoor lighting to speak of. Gently I gripped the doorknob and twisted, a tiny shock of pleasure running through me as it turned easily in my hand.
This is easy … maybe too easy. Am I walking into a trap?
I released the knob, changing my mind, and raised my hand to knock instead. I’d barely brushed my knuckles over the surface, when the door swung open. I leapt back in surprise.
Chris Jared was wearing flannel sleepy pants. No shirt.
It took me several seconds to find my voice.
“Can I help you?” he asked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Even though it was dark outside and inside, I was able to get a good look at him in the cold moonlight. If he recognized me from earlier, he didn’t let on.
He looks nothing at all like Chris, I realized. Maybe the resemblance was all in my head.
“I know it’s late, and I’m so sorry to bother you … but you see, my truck broke down up the road and my cell phone’s dead. I was hoping I could come inside and use your phone? I’m not a psycho, I promise,” I said, praying he couldn’t smell the vodka on my breath.
“Yeah, of course. Come in.” Once again, I thought: Too easy.
Chris opened the door and wandered inside the cabin, carelessly exposing his shirtless backside to me. I’d barely closed the door behind me before I’d taken out the knife.
There was no point in beating around the bush—I had to act and act fast.
The shiny new blade gleamed in the dark living room, making me feel powerful.
“Who are you, really?” I pointed the knife toward his back, holding it far enough away so I wouldn’t accidentally cut myself.
Chris turned around slowly, holding up his hands in a defensive posture. “Chris Jared. Who the fuck are you?”
“Where are you keeping Valerie Hutchens? And why did you kill her aunt?”
Chris’s eyes sparkled like two shiny pennies in the dark.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, pronouncing each word slowly. But there was something about his eyes—they were smiling …
“Oh, but you do. You followed her to a concert in Ohio, and then another trip to the beach … and you followed her to Paducah and now you’re keeping her against her will in Tennessee …”
“I live here. This is my home. And I was sleeping … I don’t have anyone here. I need you to turn around and leave right now. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go …”
I moved in closer with the knife, my hand shaking wildly. “I’m not going anywhere, Chris.”
He’s never going to tell the truth, I realized. I guess I’ll have to force it out of him.
“If you don’t tell me where she is, I’m going to kill you. Do you understand?” I took three steps forward with the knife. He scooted back, bumping his backside against a tall, oak hutch.
“You must be a big fan of Valerie’s,” he said. His lips twitched.
“Not a fan. A friend. And I need you to tell me where she is right now.”
Suddenly, his demeanor changed completely. The corners of his lips curled into a smile that matched his eyes. He took a step closer, ignoring the knife that wobbled in my right hand.
“Do you see that?” he asked, pointing at something on the wall behind him.
I glanced over my shoulder. “See what?”
“That,” he said.
He was pointing at something round and dark on the wall. It looked like an everyday clock.
“The cameras,” came a whisper behind me.
The voice was small but shrill, almost like a ding.
Or like a bell.
I’d know that voice anywhere; I’d heard it in my dreams so many times … heard it only yesterday …
Slowly, I turned around and came face-to-face with Valerie Hutchens. Her face was flawless, bruise-free, in the shadowy living room.
She grinned. And like Ms. Sauer that first day of middle school, I couldn’t help myself—I smiled back.
Then Valerie slammed something big and heavy down over my head. The room grew smaller and smaller, melting into complete darkness.