Now.
With it comes the sense that it’s time to act. I’ve waited long enough.
“Now?” I whisper. But what am I supposed to do now? I have no idea. I pull the Jeep into the garage and park. By the time I’ve walked into the house, an idea has begun to form.
I take my time. I pour myself a glass of iced tea. I make a salad and pick at it. I sit on the deck. Finally, I take a long, cool shower.
When I emerge from the shower, I wrap a towel around myself and go stand in front of the bathroom mirror. I turn my head so I can see the image inked there.
I am reminded of the power of God’s Word.
Of the Spirit who resides within me.
I trail my fingers over the ridged scar.
If Mathison didn’t hit me… I stare at my reflection in the mirror as Jay’s comment comes back to me. “I also wouldn’t put it past Ryan to use Mathison’s fixation with you to suit his own needs.”
Is that what happened?
Is it possible?
I think back to that night… Earlier in the evening, I’d left Gabe and Jay’s, and gone to my car, parked in front of their house. Ryan followed behind me. He’d wanted to follow me home. As we stood there, he reached out and cupped my face with his hand, and I… pulled away. I rebuffed him. Again.
Was he angry?
Is it possible he did, unbeknownst to me, follow me home after all?
Could he have come into the garage while Mathison had ahold of me and used the opportunity to… Was Mathison’s statement true? Had there been someone else in the garage? Was it Ryan?
I can’t fathom it.
Or… can I?
The bat I was hit with belonged to my father. My blood was found on the barrel of the bat, but there were no prints or DNA evidence on the grip. Nothing. Either it had been wiped clean or whoever hit me had worn gloves.
Mathison didn’t have time to put on gloves. But he could have wiped the grip, couldn’t he? Though my memory of exactly what happened in those moments has always been fuzzy, it never seemed like Bradley Mathison would have had time to find and pick up that bat.
Whereas Ryan knew just where it was. He’d been in my mother’s garage and even picked up and swung that bat a time or two.
Could he have had it in his hand when I ran, and hit me, then left without Mathison ever seeing him? It was dark, and Mathison wasn’t expecting anyone else to be there. Could the lights from the neighbors’ porches across the street have given Ryan enough light to hit his target? Hadn’t Mathison said he saw a man’s shadow? Impossible in the dark. A silhouette? Possibly.
Did the wrong man serve time for a crime he didn’t commit?
I look away from the mirror.
What about the charm? That third charm… Only four people knew about the bracelet and the charms I’d received. Gabe, Jaylan, Keith, and… Ryan. Ryan also knew Keith was in Seattle that weekend. How often did I say that only those closest to me knew about the bracelet, assuring whomever I was speaking to that none of them would have done anything to hurt me?
Ryan had both the means and the time to make a quick trip. Is it possible he flew to Seattle to purchase and send the charm from the very city where he knew Keith was working? But how would he have known the exact store, the exact charm?
Had he followed Mathison? Kept tabs on him? Did he know where he’d purchased the bracelet and charms?
Again, it doesn’t make sense to me, but the thoughts and actions of a psychopath rarely fall within the parameters of sense.
I look down at the sink, turn on the faucet, and watch as water swirls then slips down the drain. I must let my swirling thoughts do the same—slip away. I take a deep breath. There are questions I may never have answers for. Answers aren’t what I need, are they? Won’t God reveal what’s necessary?
Has my faith grown enough in recent weeks to trust God even when I don’t have answers?
I have no answers for what’s to come tonight, or in the days ahead. I arrived here with a skeletal plan, certain God would reveal the steps as necessary. I prepared in the way I thought best, strengthening my body and my resolve—relinquishing doubt as it arose.
Tonight, more than any other time, without a clear plan, I must turn away from doubt.
I must believe.
I must choose to trust and follow Him, even in the dark. Especially in the dark.
It is not my strength nor my own plans that will get me through this. It is His power through me that will prevail.
Whatever is to come.
The only step I’m sure of is that under a full moon, I’m to put myself in harm’s way to ensure this ends once and for all for myself and for those I love.
It seems a tenuous step at best.
Therefore, it’s a step I don’t dare attempt alone.
I walk away from the mirror and go to the closet, where I pull out a pair of slim-cut jeans and a cream-colored sleeveless blouse. When I’ve dressed, I go back to the mirror. My olive-toned skin is darker now, despite the sunscreen I’ve used faithfully. My shoulders are broad, the muscles in my arms defined. I’m slimmer and firmer, and look younger than I have in a long time. The fresh air, sunshine, and hard physical work have served me well.
My light green eyes flash in the mirror as I brush on a little blush then dab some gloss on my lips. I finish with a coat of mascara to enhance my eyes and then put on small gold stud earrings. I step back from the mirror, satisfied with my appearance.
I go back to the closet, where I slip into flat sandals—they are both stylish and something I can walk in or run in, should that become necessary.
Before I leave, I make one phone call. I let Phil know what I’m doing, where I’m going. He’s been on alert all day, as have local law enforcement.
Then I tuck the phone into my purse, go out to the garage, and get into the Jeep.
It’s almost nine thirty by the time I pull into a parking spot in front of The Gateway—a spot I had to wait for another car to vacate. Even from outside, I can hear the music from the bar. Friday night in Three Rivers—The Gateway is the place to be. The only place open this late, for the most part.
I sit in the dark car for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel. Slowly, I loosen my grip, take a deep breath, and then let go. “Your will, Your way,” I whisper. I choose trust. Just as I did the day I jumped from that plane. “I trust You.”
Then I get out of the Jeep and head for the bar, knowing full well this may be the last night of my life.
When I walk into the crowded bar, I stand still a moment, giving my eyes time to adjust to the dim lighting. Then I sweep the place with my gaze, looking for Ryan, who I assume is here.
He sits at the bar alone, one open seat next to him, which is a small miracle in itself on a Friday night. It’s also the assurance I need. God is leading.
I cross the bar, walk up behind him, take a deep breath, and then pull out the barstool next to him. He turns and looks at me, and confusion clouds his features. When he recognizes me, he recoils. Leaning away from me, a look of disgust mars his face. “So it was you I saw at Mick’s.” He looks from my face to my bare scalp and the image inked there. “What are you trying to prove, Deni?”
I always knew there was one more reason I’d taken Adelia’s name when I arrived here—a reason I didn’t fully understand until this moment. If Ryan thought there was any chance Adelia was alive, if he’d come here hoping to find her, he might just possibly mistake me for her, especially in the dim light of the bar, so similar were our looks. Even without hair I could pass for Adelia now. Especially with the tattoo on my scalp and her penchant for ink.
But Ryan, more than anyone, knows Adelia is dead.
It wasn’t Adelia who lured him back to Three Rivers.
He came for me.
I know that now with a certainty I didn’t possess when I walked in the door just moments ago.
“I don’t have anything to prove,” I say casually.
He stares at me, t
hen seems to relax. He leans closer. “I knew you’d come to me, eventually. You’ve always needed me.”
“What?”
“I just had to make you see it.”
“I don’t understand.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not as smart as people think you are. Famous author, head of the department, Dr. Denilyn Rossi. You’re weak, Deni. You’ve always been weak. You needed me. I was there every time you fell apart. Every single time.”
I stare at him as understanding comes, then I lean close. “And you made sure I fell apart, didn’t you? You made me doubt myself. You broke me so you could pick up the pieces. Is that what you did to Adelia too?”
“You don’t know anything about my relationship with Adelia.”
“Don’t I?”
His eyes narrow, then, in a flash, he reaches for me and grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. “Get up!”
When I don’t move, he leans over and puts his mouth to my ear. “I said get up!” He hisses, his breath hot. Then he stands and yanks me to my feet.
And I know, as I already knew, that tonight is the night. As the moon rises high over the Kaweah, he will try to kill me, just as he killed Adelia. I swallow, mouth dry, as he pulls me across the bar. As we near the dance floor, someone shoves him. “Go easy on her, dude.”
I shake my arm from Ryan’s grasp, then look at the guy whom I’m afraid may intervene. “I can handle him, but thanks.” Then I turn back to Ryan, reach for his hand, and head for the door. I can’t afford to have someone interrupt, intervene. As much as I want to avoid whatever Ryan intends, I must let this play out. This is what I’ve come here for.
As soon as we’re outside, he grabs me from behind and pulls me against him. “How about a ride down the river? For old time’s sake?”
There’s no need to respond, he isn’t asking my permission.
He pulls me tighter against him and holds me there, his breath hot on my neck. “This could have taken a different turn, you know. This all could have gone so differently. But no, you ignored me, rebuffed my advances. There was always someone else. First Keith. I thought you’d have learned your lesson with him. Then Mathison.”
Mathison? He can’t possibly think…
“Now there’s Jon.” He laughs, but there is no humor in the sound. “You and Adelia were just alike. One and the same. I should have known. But instead, I waited all these years. I kept waiting for you. But no more. He lets go of me and quickly grabs my hand, his grip crushing. He pulls me across the street to the head of a narrow, steep trail, one I know well. It’s on private property, and years ago, a lifetime ago now, we had permission from the owners to put in a raft here, just beneath the bridge. But it’s a dangerous entry, the water still tumbling, racing out of Gateway Rapid.
My heart pounds against my rib cage and my breaths are shallow. Is Phil here somewhere? The sheriff’s department? Is anyone here? I don’t dare turn to look for them. When we’re just under the bridge, Ryan stops and looks down at my feet. “Take off your shoes—you’ll slip.”
When I hesitate, he yells. “Take them off!” He has no concern others will hear him. His voice is drowned by the roar, the constant thunder of the rapids.
I bend and slip the sandals off my feet. When I loop them over one hand, he grabs them and tosses them down the trail, where they likely cartwheel into the river. Then he pushes me ahead of him and, still gripping my hand, nudges me down the embankment. As I traverse the narrow trail, sidestepping my way down, the loose dirt and rocks pressing into my bare feet, my phone shifts in the back pocket of my jeans, its presence reassuring, though it will do me little good now. As a sharp rock cuts into one of my feet, I wince, but I won’t let Ryan see the pain it induces. I keep going.
There’s nowhere else to go.
Nothing else to do.
When we reach the river’s edge, a small raft bobs violently in the tumult, highlighted by the moon that’s just barely crested the steep hills that loom over this canyon. The raft, it appears, is tied to a branch of a tree that’s fallen into the water.
Did Ryan know I was coming? Or has he been waiting for me every night?
Not even Ryan would venture down this river without the light of a full moon, would he? It will be several hours before its light shines bright overhead. What is he thinking? I stand at the edge of the water and look into the raft. Even in the dark, I can see the neon bright PFD in the raft, buckled to one of the holds. The one PFD in the raft.
It’s too soon to get into the raft and onto the river, and I’m definitely not getting in without a life vest. I need to engage Ryan, stall him. Without the light of the full moon overhead, I’ll have no chance.
He starts to push me toward the raft, but I turn, then root myself. “Is this what you did to her? To Adelia? Is this how you killed her?” I shout.
He pushes me toward the raft, but I stand my ground. I’m stronger than he thinks.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think I do.”
“Get in the raft!”
I don’t move.
He pushes me again, and this time I lose my balance but catch myself.
“Get in!” he roars.
When I don’t move, he pulls something from his belt, something hidden under the loose shirt he wears. Then he grabs me and presses something against my neck. “I said get in,” he seethes.
I lift my hand to my throat, to the cool, sharp blade pressed there. He bats my hand away then wraps his arms around me, holding my arms down. I struggle against him, using the strength I’ve built. In a burst, I raise my arms, pushing against his, but as I do, I lose my footing again and stumble forward as he falls back.
I fall to my knees and grasp for anything to stop myself from tumbling into the water. My hand lands in a bush, and I claw at a branch, not knowing if it will hold me or not. I wrap my fingers tightly around the branch and stop my fall. But before I can right myself, Ryan’s back up and on me again, wielding the knife.
As I scream, Ryan claps his hand over my mouth, making breathing nearly impossible.
Where is Phil? Where are the officers he promised he’d alert? I have no chance once we’re on the river. Either Ryan or the Kaweah will toss me out. I will drown. I will die tonight—I am sure of it.
Ryan presses the blade into my neck again, this time cutting the flesh. I gasp as a warm trickle of blood slides down my neck.
Finally, I still. I stop struggling lest he slit my throat. “You killed her, Ryan. You killed Adelia.” I work to distract him.
“She fell,” he yells.
“No!”
In one swift move, he pulls the knife away from my neck, releases me, and shoves me toward the raft. I tumble, my feet going out from under me, and then roll, missing the raft and landing in the turbulent river. The icy water is a shock on my bare arms and head. I reach out, grasping for anything, but come up empty. Somewhere above, bright lights shine, but then I’m yanked under and swept away.
I tumble, legs and arms akimbo, nothing to reach for, nothing to save me. I’m thrown then slammed against a boulder, water filling my nose and mouth, eyes and ears.
Water roars, my pulse throbs in my ears, darkness prevails.
I struggle against the pull of the river, but I am powerless in its grasp. Rather than the swirl of the hydraulic that pulled me in that night, now I’m at the mercy of a swiftly moving current that tosses me at will. I work to assume a defensive position, to roll to my back, but the water’s force is too much.
I gasp, but as I do, I’m pulled under again, and instead of air, I inhale water, then the current spits me out and I cough, choke, gasp. My head spins, my lungs burn. Then I’m slammed again, thrown against something, and I land hard, on my back, pain splintering my body, and the last of my air is stolen from me.
My very last breath.
Somewhere above me voices murmur. I can’t make out what they say. I can’t decipher the words. Pain racks me.
“Ooohhh…” I whimper. My body trembles. I try to wrap my arms around myself, but I can’t. I can’t…
“Denilyn!”
I turn my head toward the voice, the movement dizzying and painful.
“Stay with me!”
Every breath I take sears my lungs.
My head lolls the other way. Everything is dark. Black. My body shudders again. Shivers. I’m cold. So cold.
“Denilyn!”
I work to open my eyes, my lids heavy, but I try. I try. “I’m… here.” My voice does not sound like my own. “I’m…” Finally, I’m able to lift my lids, open my eyes. “Where…”
“You’re okay. We’re going to get you out of here.” His voice is distant, but his face is close. A bright light. Bright. I close my eyes against the light. But I can’t cover my ears, can’t block the sound. The river? The rapids? Yes, but there’s something more.
“We’re going to lift you.”
Hands grip me, and I’m hefted from wherever I am, every inch of my body throbbing, then gently lain on something, or in something. I open my eyes again, and the bright light overhead illuminates the area, as though someone flipped a switch. Unfamiliar faces surround me. I start to lift my arm to shield my eyes from the light, but the effort proves too much. Instead, I turn away from the light, and just as I’m closing my eyes again, my mind registers another light. Less bright, a round orb. I squint and work to focus.
The moon.
It’s the moon.
Under a full moon…
Yes.
The full moon.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Denilyn
July 21, 2017
“Okay, just ten more. Nine more. You can do it, Mom, you can do it.”
My arm is draped around Nicky’s shoulders as he helps me down the stairs, but I bear my own weight.
He takes each slow step with me. “Eight more, seven, six…” When we reach the bottom step, the river is just a stone’s throw away. Nicky, arms raised above his head, does a dance like a boxer who’s won a championship. “You did it! You did it!”
Convergence Page 27