dane
We sat in relative silence as we waited for Bobby to come and rescue us. I kept turning in my seat to see if I could see any headlights coming down the forest road, but every movement made the truck rock. It had already creaked and slid a little more down the slope.
“Dane, would you stop that? We’re gonna end up at the bottom of the ravine!” complained Ashton.
“Sorry. I’m watching for headlights.”
“Well, my truck’s lights are on, so they should be able to see us. Hopefully.” He drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel and played with a locket on a chain around his neck. One I hadn’t seen before.
“Hey, is that new?” I asked, nodded at the necklace.
“Oh, this? Yeah, Stace and the kids got it made for my birthday and our anniversary. It’s the bullet that almost killed Stacey and AJ. You know that night we rescued you guys from that bunker near here?”
“Oh, yeah. How could I forget? I still have the scar on the back of my head,” I said, rubbing the spot where I’d been hit on the back of the head and stuffed into the trunk of a car.
“The locket is filled with their photos: AJ, Stace, and Lily Rose. It’s to remind me that life is too short. It’s also a reminder that you remember what or who you live for, no matter what happens. When I was on the road, it kept me going when they weren’t with me. It was so hard being away from them.”
“I love that. That’s beautiful, man. You’ve grown into a big, soft, sentimental man, you know?” I chuckled.
“Shut up, dude,” he laughed, punching me in the shoulder.
That was when we heard the roar of an engine, and then headlights illuminated the entire car, almost blinding us.
“Oh, good. They’re here!” I opened the door and got out of the car. Ashton’s door was jammed against the tree and bent so he couldn’t open it. So, he climbed after me, up and out of the passenger side.
A lone figure exited the car and stood before the headlights, so their body was framed and silhouetted. We couldn’t see the figure’s face. Tristan must still be in the car. It was raining still.
“Bobby! Thanks for coming to rescue us,” I yelled over the rain and the hum of his engine.
But the figure didn’t answer us. He didn’t move.
“Dane, that’s not the sheriff’s car,” said Ashton, a hint of fear laced his voice. He slipped over, trying to find his footing on the slope.
Just as Ashton said the words, the figure raised his arm and held out a gun. He fired.
I knew for sure then that it wasn’t Bobby.
It was him. The killer. Declan.