CHAPTER 45
Chicago, November 5, 2019
IT WAS SIX IN THE MORNING WHEN RORY PULLED TO THE CURB OUTSIDE her house. She hurried barefoot up the steps and fumbled with the lock. Inside, she went straight to the front room, gathered newspapers from the bin next to the hearth, and placed them under the logs in the fireplace. She lit a match and touched the flame to the paper, then carefully kindled the fire until it was blazing. More logs went on top, stacked in a precise teepee to allow maximum heat.
Then she undressed and threw her clothes into the fire. First her jeans and T-shirt; next her coat and beanie hat. She waited a moment for the flames to take the fabric. The fire grew strong as it absorbed the clothing. When they were gone, floating up the chimney in small remnants of ash, Rory grabbed her Madden Girl Eloisee combat boots. They were covered in the red clay from her trek through the forest and to the Starved Rock cabin. She placed them in the fire.
Standing in her underwear, she watched the boots begin to melt before she walked upstairs and climbed into bed.
* * *
Lane Phillips keyed the front door and walked into Rory’s house. It was just before noon and she hadn’t answered her phone. He’d called several times. He noticed the glowing logs of a dying fire in the front room.
“Rory?” he called.
No answer.
He checked the study. Empty. The den next. Also empty—besides the dolls that lined the shelves. He walked upstairs and found her asleep. Rory Moore would never be considered a morning person, but sleeping until noon was not common, either. Lane walked over to the bed to check on her. The covers rose and fell with her rhythmic breathing, and Lane couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Rory sleep so soundly.
He noticed the corner of papers poking from under the blanket. He pulled the comforter to the side to find a tattered copy of his thesis. The corners were turned up from frequent readings, the pages crumpled. Lane flipped through the document and saw Rory’s notes in the margin of many pages. Toward the end, he found a dog-eared page in the section analyzing why killers kill, and the psychological mechanisms that bring an individual to the precipice of deciding to take another’s life. In the middle of the page, a passage was highlighted. He read the yellow glowing sentence: Some choose darkness, others are chosen by it.
The page was damp, with circular stains, as if someone had dribbled water onto the paper. Water, Lane thought, or tears? The doorbell rang and Lane looked up from his thesis. Rory didn’t stir. The bell rang again. He placed the document on the nightstand and headed down the stairs. He opened the front door to find Ron Davidson standing on the front porch.