The Fog

by Amanda McKinney

  “You do a headcount?”

  “Yes, every hour.”

  “Do another now. I need to know who’s missing. Bring the drunks in from the bar and do not let a single person leave this area, do you understand?”

  Nodding, James clumsily pushed to a stance, his eyes wide with concern.

  “I’ll be back down in a minute.”

  As he jogged to the stairwell, he did a headcount of his own—James O’Connor and Cortez Vega playing chess; Lydia hyperventilating with Sam in the corner; Amelia Vega passed out on the staircase; the receptionist, Melanie, quietly reading a book behind the counter; the old man motionless and asleep—or dead, for all he knew—in an armchair by the window. His wife, knitting beside him. And Kaylee, dead as a doornail upstairs.

  More than a few were missing. Who?

  His mind raced.

  The hunters. Bruce Jepsen and his mystery buddy, the guy in the pickup earlier.

  Was that all that was missing?

  Becks. Becks, the bartender, was also nowhere to be seen.

  He jogged across the lobby and pushed into the stairwell. He checked his phone as he raced up the steps—one new message from Gwen saying she was in her room.

  Alone.

  He burst onto the fourth floor and immediately noticed both flashlights were gone. An ice-cold chill ran up his back. He raised his gun and scanned as far as he could see through the darkness.

  He listened as he crept… nothing. Not a single sound.

  He jogged to room 428 and tried the knob—unlocked.

  “Gwen?” His voice boomed against the silence as he pushed open the door.

  One more time, “Gwen?”

  His heart skipped a beat when he saw the flashlight that had once been at the end of the hall on the balcony floor shining on a toppled-over chair.

  “Gwen!” He yelled as he ran outside, frantically searching for any sign of her. There had been a struggle, and she was nowhere in sight. He spun on his heel and sprinted out of the room, noting her purse and phone on the bed. He took the stairwell and pulled out his phone.

  Four rings passed. Finally, “Walker.” The detective's voice was clipped, irritated.

  “Dean, it’s Wesley. Get your ass out of bed and get all available units to Half Moon. Send a fucking chopper if you have to. I’ve got a dead body, and Gwen is missing.”

  “Who? When?”

  “Kaylee Rhodes is dead. I found her body less than an hour ago. But, Gwen is missing. He has her.”

  “Who has her?”

  “Mikhail Lutrova. He broke out of prison, and he has her.”

  “That’s impossible, Wesley.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m staring down at Lutrova’s dead body right now.”

  “What?”

  “Shot. Jessica estimates he’s been dead maybe two days.”

  Two days.

  “Right after he murdered Leena.”

  “Yeah. If he did it.”

  Panic squeezed Wesley’s chest. “Well, someone else is murdering people here at the Half Moon. I was lured here, Dean, by a bracelet on Leena’s arm. It’s got to be related. I don’t have time to explain, just get everyone here.”

  “I will, as soon as I can. The bridge is out, but we’ll find a way. I’ll call the Sheriff now, get all available resources. Are you okay? Are you safe?”

  “I am, but Gwen’s not. Just get everyone here.”

  “I will. Hey, Jessica just told me that she got the DNA scan back on the blood around Leena’s throat and Gwen’s theory was right—there were two sets of DNA, human and animal. The eggs definitely came from a rotting animal carcass.”

  “What kind of animal?”

  “She’ll let us know ASAP.”

  Animal blood.

  Wesley jumped onto the lobby floor landing and froze, hearing muffled voices from the basement level.

  “I gotta go. Just get someone here, now.” He slid his phone into his pocket, gripped his gun and jogged down the stairs. He peered out the stairwell door. The hallway was dark except for a candle flickering in Half Moon Jewelry. He raised his gun and descended down the hall. As he stepped inside the shop, he heard a shuffle behind him, and spun around.

  “No! Don’t shoot!” The candlelight reflected off Sally’s thickly rimmed glasses, her eyes bugged with fear. Beside her, stood Sofia with a pair of rosary beads in her hands.

  “Wesley,” Sofia said quietly, with a hint of panic in her voice.

  He lowered the gun. “Are you both okay?”

  Sofia nodded. “Yes, yes. We’ve been down here together since the lights when out.”

  “Why aren’t you in the lobby with everyone else?”

  “Sofia wanted to stay with her store,” Sally said. “So I stayed with her.”

  He looked them over. Their fear was palpable. “Have you seen anyone else down here?”

  Sally nodded, her eyes filling with tears as Sofia twisted the beads in her hands. “Becks came down a little while ago.”

  Becks.

  “And…” she lowered her voice to a whisper. “We just saw a girl being dragged down the hall.”

  His heart skipped. “Who?”

  “Didn’t get a good look at either of them.” Sally sniffled. “But… the girl let out a squeak, and I swear… I swear it was Gwen.”

  “Who was dragging her?” Panic sent his pulse racing.

  “We couldn’t tell. It was so dark. We were just on our way up to the lobby to tell everyone and ask for help.”

  “When was this?” He asked quickly.

  “Not even ten minutes ago.”

  “Where did they go?”

  She pointed. “Down the hall, that way. Through the kitchen. We heard the back door open and close. I think she was taken outside.”

  “Go up to the lobby. Stay there.”

  “Okay… I’m sorry, Wesley. I’m sorry we didn’t stop them.”

  “It’s okay. Go.”

  “Here, take this flashlight.”

  A second later, he burst into the kitchen. The air was cold and smelled of the freshly cooked dinners that were served before the electricity went out. He looked around, nerves pumping through him. A large carving knife next to a chef’s coat on the counter caught his eye. His gaze shifted to the unlatched door of the walk-in freezer. He raised his gun, silently jogged across the tiles, and paused. Silence.

  As he opened the heavy steel door, a trail of blood snaked beside his shoes—a trail that led to the crumpled body of Becks on the freezer floor, his head almost decapitated by the slice in his throat.

  Jesus Christ.

  Gwen.

  He sprinted out the back door. The putrid scent of rotting garbage assaulted him. An eerie, blue glow of dawn had dissolved the plague of darkness, but a dense fog was just beginning to form above the ground. He stood on a concrete slab lined with trash cans and dumpsters. A few chairs sat haphazardly next to the tree line, for smokers, he assumed. Flies buzzed overhead.

  Flies.

  He watched the insects for a moment, noting their erratic pattern as they zipped in and out of the woods. He focused on a swarm, a black cloud, hovering just above a metal trash can nestled between two trees in the distance—the only can set aside. As he made his way over, the sour smell intensified. He swatted the flies, held his breath and peered into the can.

  Thousands—millions—of maggots slithered in and out of skinned, rotting animal carcasses. He covered his nose with the back of his hand and looked closer. A brown and gray ringed tail, saturated with ooze and blood stuck out from the skinned carcasses.

  A raccoon. The can was filled with skinned raccoons.

  His eyes rounded.

  Coon teeth… the necklace.

  The cook.

  CHAPTER 22

  The back door creaked open behind him.

  Wesley whipped around, gun raised.

  “No! Wesley, it’s Sofia.” Hands raised, the jewelry store owner cautiously stepped outside.


  Wesley lowered his gun but kept his finger on the trigger. “I told you to go upstairs.”

  Sofia slowly stepped across the concrete slab, her gaze drifting from the gun in his hand to his eyes, and at that moment, Wesley knew she hadn’t come outside to get some fresh air.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  Her brow furrowed as she chewed on her lower lip. Her fingers twisted the rosary beads in her hand. “Wesley… I’m sorry…”

  “Tell me.”

  She took a deep breath, took a step closer. “I didn’t tell you then… because, well, he’s one of our own, you know… and we’d become friends, he and I. And you wouldn’t tell me why you were asking about that pendant. You seemed so mad. I didn’t want him to get in trouble.”

  “Tell me about Lawrence, the cook.”

  “He’s the one who bought the cross pendant a few days ago. But I swear… that wasn’t the person dragging Gwen down the hall.”

  “I thought you said you couldn’t see the face.”

  “The shape of the body, the height, weight. I swear it wasn’t Lawrence.” She paused. “Where’s Becks?”

  “He’s dead.”

  She gasped. Tears filled her eyes. “He must’ve seen whoever was dragging Gwen and confronted them… Oh, God, Wesley.”

  “Where's Lawrence now?”

  “I don’t know, I promise.”

  Just then—snick.

  Wesley turned, aimed his gun into the woods. Over his shoulder, he whispered, “Go inside, Sofia. Now. Go upstairs and stay put until I get back or help arrives.”

  As the door clicked shut behind him, he moved toward the tree line. The fog was thickening, raising from the earth like a blanket of ghosts, weaving in and out of the trees. He felt the moisture on his skin as he descended into the woods. He moved quickly, fluidly, through the thick underbrush, hyper-alert to any sound or movement around him.

  His neck snapped toward a twig snapping just behind him. He squatted behind a rotted tree stump and froze. A rush of wind swept by, the rustling leaves playing tricks on him. He waited a few beats, then edged around the stump just as something moved away from a tree about fifteen feet ahead of him. He could just make out the dark silhouette of a body through the fog, and he guessed it was a man. He set his jaw, narrowed his eyes and slipped through the thick underbrush like an animal tracking its prey.

  The man stopped. Sensing him?

  He slid his finger over the trigger and moved faster. The figure came into view, along with the gun in its hand.

  “Drop your gun,” Wesley snarled, his gun raised directly at the back of the man’s head.

  The man slowly raised his hands and surrendered his gun.

  “Kick it and turn around.”

  As the man turned, he said, “Wesley Cross, I’m Thomas Grimes, FBI.”

  FBI?

  “Show me your badge. Slowly.”

  Keeping one hand in the air, the man pulled out his wallet and kicked it to him. Wesley flipped it open and confirmed that the man was indeed, Thomas Grimes, with the Federal Bureau of Investigations.

  “We’re hunting the same man.” Grimes said.

  Wesley lowered his gun and stepped closer. “Lawrence Bennett.”

  Grimes nodded. “Since last night, or, early this morning, I should say. I’ve been in contact with Detective Dean Walker with BSPD, your buddy, apparently. I’ve been briefed on Leena Ross, your basement, and I also understand from Officer Willard you were asking about Mikhail Lutrova. I know everything.”

  “I know Mikhail’s dead.”

  Thomas snorted. “Small town.”

  “Who killed him?”

  “Don’t know that, yet. Found shot dead in a barn on his grandmother’s land… ten feet from a six-inch serrated knife with traces of dried blood.”

  Wesley’s heart skipped a beat. “Leena’s?”

  “That’s the assumption. Will know soon.”

  “What the hell does Lawrence have to do with all this?”

  “Lawrence Bennett went to school in Missouri with Mikhail decades ago. They were buddies. His name is on the prison log several times over the last few years. Has a rap sheet, B&E, assault and several drug charges. Lutrova has also been sending encrypted emails to someone named Country Cutie. We traced the email to an IP address from a community computer out of the Berry Springs library. We’re hunting Lawrence on the assumption he helped Lutrova break out of jail, and has helped him evade us for three damn days.”

  “Well, Grimes, I’m hoping you’ve got the track on him now because over the last twelve hours he’s killed two people and kidnapped a third.”

  “Two?”

  “Beckham, the bartender here, and Kaylee Rhodes.”

  Thomas’s eyebrows tipped up. “Kaylee?” He shook his head. “I just visited her yesterday. Lawrence and Kaylee have been each other’s booty calls for a few weeks. Guess he made his last call. Who’s he have now?”

  “Gwyneth Reece.” A lump caught Wesley's throat as he said her name. Thomas noticed.

  “A friend of yours, then.”

  “Yes. Enough chit-chat. Do you know where he is?”

  “No, but there’s a vehicle parked on the other side of the river.”

  “SUV?”

  “Yep. Bullet holes in the back window. Sound familiar?”

  Wesley’s eyebrows tipped up.

  “We’re assuming he parked there when he came to work so no one would ask questions. Then the bridge collapsed, so he’s trapped.”

  “Let’s go.” They fell into step together. “You ran the plates?”

  “Not yet, Bruce only just spotted it from a distance. He had to use one of the Half Moon fishing boats to cross the river to get to it. Should be there now, or close to.”

  “Bruce? Your partner?”

  “Yes, Bruce Jepsen—

  “You say Jepsen?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Cowboy hat, hung out solo in the ballroom last night? Chronic scowl on his face?”

  “Yep. That's him.” Thomas’s breathing became labored as they hiked.

  “Were you the guy in the red truck? Watching me last night?”

  “Not watching only you.”

  Wesley hopped over a fallen tree and shook his head. “Something’s not right. Doesn’t add up. Mikhail killed Leena to send me a message. To lure me here, with the intention of killing me. It’s revenge for getting him locked up. It’s personal, Grimes. Why would Lawrence step in?”

  “Because Lutrova died before the job was finished.”

  “No. It’s Lutrova’s fight, Lutrova’s revenge. Doesn’t add up.”

  “People have weird loyalties. I’ve been following him for three days now, and Lawrence was definitely spooked about something. Spooked about getting caught with Lutrova.”

  “Or, he made your tail. Knew he was being followed.”

  “Possible, I guess. Stop.”

  Wesley froze and followed Thomas’s gaze. Just ahead of them, a shadowy figure moved silently from tree to tree. He recognized the height, the weight—it was Lawrence. Alone.

  He glanced at Thomas who gave a quick nod—it’s him. Wesley nodded toward to the left and Thomas to his right. With guns raised, they split off to their respective sides and crept through the woods. The fog was rising, getting thicker by the minute.

  Suddenly, Lawrence stopped, and Wesley zeroed in on the gun in his hand. He froze.

  Lawrence raised the gun and slowly turned in the direction Thomas was supposed to be sneaking up on him.

  Shit.

  “Put your hands up!” Wesley shouted as he stepped out of the shadows.

  Lawrence’s body went rigid. He dropped the gun and raised his hands in the air. Thomas ran up from the side, pulling handcuffs from his belt.

  Wesley lowered his gun and faced Lawrence as Thomas frisked him from the back, introducing himself as FBI.

  Lawrence’s long hair was frizzed from the humidity, loose strands falling over his pale face. Wesley glanced dow
n at the raccoon necklace, then back at the snarling expression on his face.

  “Where’s Gwen?” Wesley demanded, keeping his gun on Lawrence while Thomas secured the cuffs.

  “Who the fuck is Gwen?”

  Wesley’s eyes scanned from left to right behind the cook, his instincts screaming at him. This wasn’t right.

  “You’re in a shitload of trouble, Lawrence.” Thomas said. “Leena, Kaylee and Becks. The more you cooperate right now, the easier things will be for you. Trust me. Where’s Gwyneth Reece?”

  Lawrence’s bloodshot eyes rounded, and the slightest look of fear crossed his face. “Wait a second… you’ve got something wrong, man. I don’t know a Gwen, and I don’t know a Leena and I sure as hell didn’t kill Becks. You’ve got the wrong person. And what about Kaylee?”

  Thomas cut a glance at Wesley before saying, “Kaylee's dead.”

  “What?” Lawrence's face fell with shock.

  Thomas paused, obviously sensing something wasn't right, just like Wesley was. Either Lawrence was one hell of a liar, or he wasn't the person they were looking for. And they were wasting time. “What brought you to Berry Springs two weeks ago, then?”

  “My...” he stammered, his eyes wide now. “My old lady threw me out. Got a job here. Look, it ain’t me.”

  Impatience shot like lightning through Wesley. Jaw clenched, he raised his gun directly between the cook’s eyes. “Who has Gwen, Lawrence? I swear to God, I’ll drop you right here.”

  Lawrence took a step back. “Okay. Alright. She does. I think, she does.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “Elise. Elise Barringer. The hotel maid.”

  “What the fuck?” Thomas said.

  “I promise… I didn’t know. We’re friends, but she didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t know what?” Thomas asked.

  “I didn’t know what she was planning to do. To kill those people.”

  Wesley’s head was spinning. “Talk faster.”

  Lawrence continued, “She’d started acting really strange a few days ago. Asked me to buy her this ugly-ass pendant necklace from the jewelry store in the basement. And tonight, she was crazy. Really weird, man. Melanie even said she was trying to get keys to people's rooms. So, I began following her. I saw her dragging a brown-haired girl down the hall. So, I grabbed this gun from my truck and followed her.”