Blake stepped
onto the front porch. Warm light shone through the gaps around the opaque blinds. Christa and Gwyn were still awake.
The purr of the Impala’s engine increased in pitch. Blake turned toward the street and watched as Hopkins drove by. He was the last of them.
As the taillights faded, they left behind a magical calm. As if a reset button had been pushed and the tiny section of the world returned to the way it had been before.
But it hadn’t. And it probably never would.
Blake cracked the door, trying to be as discreet as possible. If they had fallen asleep, he would wriggle into his room and try to do the same.
As difficult as it would be, he would need at least a couple of hours of shuteye if he were to operate at full capacity.
Over the years, Blake had become an expert at catching a few Z’s whenever and wherever the opportunity presented itself. Even standing up on one occasion. Hidden in a three-by-three blind, essentially a broom closet, in Amran, Yemin, there wasn’t much room to sprawl out. No matter the circumstances, sleep is a toll that eventually has to be paid.
Blake peeked his head into the living room. Christa was there, sitting on the edge of the couch cushion and staring into
space. Gwyn wasn’t with her.
“You okay?” Blake moved into the room and sat beside her.
“She’s dead.” Christa pushed her forehead into Blake’s shoulder. Tears dropped, leaving dark dots on Blake’s pants and the tan cushions.
Blake reached over and rubbed her back.
At this point, it was a safe assumption. They now knew that the monster was physically overpowering these girls, binding them with rope and carting them off to God knows where. He was getting more brazen. More prolific.
It was unlikely he was keeping them all alive. He had already killed once, so they knew he had no aversion to murder. The logistics of containing multiple abductees, feeding them, keeping them subdued, it didn’t seem likely. And it didn’t fit the profile.
From what he had seen and what Hopkins had told him about the murder and rape of the one victim they’d found, they were dealing with a serial killer. People like that didn’t usually keep multiple prisoners. The selection of a new victim typically marked the death of the previous one.
It was pure luck that the one girl—Misty, he believed Hopkins said her name was—washed up in a place where she could be discovered. But it would not likely be the case for the others. There was a good chance that Lucy was lost at sea forever.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Blake said.
Christa pulled away and wiped her cheeks.
“We think we’ve identified one of the suspects,” Blake said.
“There’s more than one?”
“Maybe,” Blake said. “But as of right now, we have reason to believe that Chief may be involved.”
“What?” Christa scoffed. “No way. No freakin’ way.”
“I know, it’s hard to wrap your head around, but—.”
“How? Why? He stops by almost every day. We talk for
hours sometimes. Even Lucy would.” Christa raised her voice. “You’re telling me we let a murderer onto our porch? Into our house? Into our lives, for Christ’s sake?”
Blake understood the rage. He had felt it too, even if he had only had a few interactions with the man. It was a betrayal. And it made it all the worse.
“We haven’t found him yet, but we will. There will be justice, Christa, I promise you.” It was the most he could offer.
Christa stood up and slammed the meaty side of her fist into the wall. “I don’t want justice! I want my baby back!”
A flurry of footsteps came rolling down the stairs. Gwyn appeared, wearing a silk robe and fuzzy pink socks.
“What happened?” Gwyn said. Everything about her face was wide open. Her eyes, her mouth. Even her nostrils flared. “No. No. Don’t tell me.”
“It’s Chief,” Christa said.
“Chief died?”
“No! Chief killed Lucy.”
“What?” Gwyn stood stunned.
“Christa, stop,” Blake stood up and faced Gwyn. “We don’t know that Lucy’s dead. We don’t know what Chief did or didn’t do. We only know that he was involved.”
“How do you know that?” Gwyn said.
“You know how I told you I chased a man, and he fled on a boat? The boat belongs to Chief. Hopkins and I searched his house, there’s no one there.”
Gwyn’s mouth closed. Her eyes squinted. “You were chasing Chief? John? From down the street? We’re talking about the same person, right?”
“It wasn’t him I was chasing. It was someone else. But we think they’re working together. I saw some weird shit in Newport, Gwyn. Chief was there. I was so close to catching him.”
“How did you know he was going to try to take Mikayla?”
Christa asked.
“I didn’t. I was out looking for Lucas and I just happened to be in the right place.”
“Mikayla is lucky you were,” Gwyn said. “She’s a sweet girl. She was always good to Lucy.”
“And now her parents have her. Alive and well.” Christa said. “Why does she get to be saved and Lucy doesn’t? It’s not fair. It should have been Mikayla. Not Lucy.”
“Come on, Christa,” Gwyn said. “You don’t mean that. We don’t want anyone to go through what we’re going through.”
“What do you care?” Christa said. “You’re too busy with that damn restaurant to give a crap about the rest of us.”
Gwyn moved toward Christa. “Don’t give me that. I’m not the one who smothered her. With all your rules, it’s no wonder she spent most of her time out of this house. She wouldn’t have been out there if she wasn’t trying to get away from you.”
Christa yelled. Not words, but a guttural noise that made the hair on Blake’s arms stand up on end.
Blake wedged himself between them. “Both of you, sit!”
It took a moment of deep breathing, but they eventually gave in to Blake’s well-intentioned, albeit forceful, suggestion.
“Listen,” Blake said. “There is no blame to go around. Both of you have loved and cared for that little girl. You took her in. Rescued her from a desperate situation. You are amazing, loving people. Don’t turn your anger and your pain on each other. Trust me, it’s easy to let it tear you apart.”
Blake pulled the ottoman away from the couch and sat, facing Christa and Gwyn.
“Look at each other,” he said. “Go on, look in each other’s eyes.”
Bloodshot eyeballs shifted and locked on to one another.
“The woman in front of you is your strength. She is the one and only thing that will hold you up. Remind you to let go of the anger, the need for revenge. Because revenge doesn’t
work. Believe me. Be good to yourselves by being good to each other.”
Blake surprised himself. He didn’t know where all of this squishy psychobabble was coming from, but in the interest of keeping the peace, he ran with it.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t telling the truth, or that he didn’t mean what he said. In his own life, it had been Fezz and Khat that he leaned on during the worst of times. Now, it would be Haeli. But no matter who it was, it was next to impossible to do it alone.
Christa reached out and stroked Gwyn’s face. Gwyn squeezed her hand.
“Do you remember when we first brought Lucy home?” Christa asked. “We had bought cute little furniture and decorated her room. The first night, when we put her to bed, she freaked out. She was afraid of the dark. Afraid someone was going to come into her room and do bad things to her.”
“She slept in our bed for an entire year,” Gwyn said.
“Right between us. It was where she felt safe.”
Gwyn took Christa’s other hand and held both in front of her. “Don’t think I don’t cherish every moment I get to spend with her. With you.”
“I know,” Christa said. “I’m sorry. I’m just exhausted. I love you. And we will get through this.”
“It’s late,” Gwyn said. “Come up to bed with me. Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll take the day off. I’ll stay here with you.”
Gwyn stood up, leaned over, kissed Blake on the top of his head, and headed up the stairs. Christa walked to the stairway, then looked back at Blake.
“Thank you,” she said.
Blake sat on the ottoman for a moment. He heard Christa reach the top of the stairs and close the door.
He kicked his shoes off, flopped on the couch and stared at
the ceiling.
It was only a few hours until morning, but Blake had a feeling it was going to be a long night.