Down the Darkest Road

by Kylie Brant

  It took Cady a moment to interpret. “A fugue state?”

  Tina jutted her chin. “What I said, ain’t it? For years after, he had bad headaches. Now those are better, but I’m still worried about my kid, and not just when it comes to getting his head blowed off. This life he’s living ain’t exactly normal, and he’s a regular teenager. I don’t know how much more of this he can take. He’s jittery as a cat on its ninth life. He knows what’s gonna happen if Forrester finds us. First, he’ll take out the only witness to Trevor Boster’s murder, right? And I’m not so sure he’ll stop there. From what I know about him, he might just wipe out the whole family while he’s at it.”

  Chapter 15

  Dylan hunched behind his school laptop in American history class and did the same search he did every Monday. First, he googled Forrester’s name. Then Trev’s. Then his own. It was stupid. If there was anything new, he’d probably hear about it before the media would. But he couldn’t help himself. The agents never gave them in-depth info about the case. They mostly did what that marshal had. Asked questions. Told them what to do.

  He closed out of one search window and opened another. Maddix hadn’t been bossy, though. She’d listened. Probably the only one who had since they’d moved here. He cast a gaze around to peg how close Mr. Lawson was. They were supposed to be working on their paper for the class. “How America’s Founding Principles Manifest Themselves in Current Times.” Typical school bullshit. It sucked how the only hours he got out of the house were when he was at school, which he hated anyway. Bouncing from one district to another meant walking into buildings every day where he didn’t know anyone. And after what had happened to Ethan and Chad Bahlman, it was best to keep it that way.

  But for all the time he spent alone at home, somehow it was lonelier at school with a bunch of strangers around. And that was seriously messed up.

  Lawson was bent over a student several seats up, so Dylan went back to his search. He was always careful to delete the history afterward. IT gathered the computers sometimes to upload new firewalls or just for random checks that students weren’t violating the code-of-use policy.

  He scrolled quickly, noting nothing new in the articles that popped up. There never was and that was a good thing, he guessed. His name hadn’t been mentioned, even in the first ones back when Trevor was killed. His throat went tight, the way it always did when he thought of his friend. If Dylan hadn’t insisted, they’d never have gone to the creek that night. Maybe he and Trev would still be friends. Maybe even living in those same houses.

  One thing was sure; Trev would still be alive.

  My fault. My fault. My fault. The words pounded in his brain, a familiar mantra. Didn’t matter what anyone said. The only reason Trevor had been at the creek that night was because of Dylan. A familiar throb started in his temple. It happened every time he remembered what happened back then. He used to think if he concentrated hard enough, thought long enough, he’d be able to come up with the exact detail the cops needed to find Forrester. The pain shifted then and took up residence behind one eye. Blinking rapidly, he forced his mind elsewhere before it turned into a full-blown migraine. He didn’t have medicine for the headaches anymore. He’d run out, but Dylan hadn’t told his mom. He knew what a hassle it always was to find a new doctor, and they didn’t have the money, anyway.

  The doctor he’d seen those first few days taught him about positive association. So whenever the memories started the pain, he’d fix on that rope swing they’d seen in the clearing before Forrester chased them. Dylan imagined what would have happened if it’d just been him and Trev in that clearing, taking turns and swinging through the trees out over the creek, not a care in the world.

  He caught a blur of movement from the corner of his eye and deftly closed the window, leaving the one visible with the search results for the Bill of Rights Institute.

  “How are you coming on your sources, Dylan?”

  The blank notebook next to him was a dead giveaway, so he shrugged. “Not good. I mean, I know where to get information on the Bill of Rights and the Constitution. I don’t really get the rest of the assignment, though.”

  “Apparently, you’re not alone there.” Lawson grinned. He wasn’t bad, for a teacher. He was sorta young, with a beard and framed glasses. This was the lamest assignment he’d ever given.

  “All right.” Turning toward the class, he announced, “Odd-numbered rows, move your desk to the left. Other left, Brian.” Some kids laughed. There was a lot of scraping of chairs. Dylan counted over. His was an even row. Which meant . . . He eyed the girl who shifted her desk toward his.

  “Hey. I’m Grace.” She smiled at him. “You’re kind of new, right? I mean, you didn’t start the year here?”

  He shook his head. He wasn’t good with girls. He never knew what to say, and it wasn’t like they tripped over themselves to talk to him, either. “I’m Dylan.”

  “I know. This assignment is the worst. Maybe having a partner will help.”

  “Share the pain.”

  She laughed. “Right?” She pushed her long hair back over her shoulder, revealing triple piercings in her ear. Dylan never understood why girls did that. Why wasn’t one enough? She also had a stud on the side of her nose that was so small, he’d almost missed it. Which raised more questions.

  “Okay, folks, listen up. You’re partnered for the rest of the assignment. You have the next two days to work on finding sources.”

  There was a chorus of cheers from the students. Dylan slid a glance at Grace. “So how d’you want to do this? You look up founding principles and I look for the rest?”

  “I think that’s why I got stuck earlier. We need a better way. I wrote down a list of the basic principles.” She handed her notebook to him to scan. “I think we also need to be careful of partisan bias when we look for sources.”

  “You still speaking English?” She had a dimple on one side that showed when she smiled. Dylan found himself fascinated with it. She wasn’t pretty, exactly, but her personality made up for that. Bubbly.

  She shoved lightly at his shoulder. “You know. Make sure they aren’t political. Too far right or too left.”

  What he knew about politics he could fit on the head of a pin. But he was willing to take her word for it. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Here. Copy this URL and start there, and I’m going to head in another direction.”

  While he obeyed, she said, “Were you at Merrick’s party last weekend?”

  Dylan’s weekend had definitely not included a party. Party of one, maybe. “No idea who Merrick is.”

  “I’m pretty sure half the people there didn’t know him. It was packed. I thought maybe you were there and I missed you.” She had no trouble keeping up a running conversation and working at the same time. She was typing, scrolling, scanning articles, closing out of them, and going on to the next. Dylan was still on the first one that had popped up on the page.

  “It got totally out of control. People were puking all over, and someone broke a window. That’s when I left. I knew it was going to get raided, and my parents would strap a shock collar on me if they found out I was there.”

  He stopped pretending to work. “Did it? Get raided?”

  Her dimple flashed again. “That’s what I was going to ask you. But yeah, I think so. I saw police cars going in that direction while I was walking to a friend’s house before calling for a ride.”

  He could just imagine what the local cops would have to say if they found him at a kegger. Davis and Rebedeau would lose their shit. His mom’s reaction would be far worse. A familiar dark cloud of depression settled over him. Hanging out with friends, dating, parties . . . that was normal high school. Nothing about his life was normal. Sometimes he thought it never would be.

  “When’s your study hall?” Grace asked.

  He told her, and she shook her head. “I’m in chorus then. Maybe we could work on this after school.”

  “I’m a busser.” Bu
t the thought of being alone with Grace, talking while they worked, was a hell of a lot more appealing than going home to an empty house. Almost anything would be. He mentally calculated how far it would be to walk home. Too damn far.

  “Shit, you poor thing. I would be, too, if my mom worked.” She rolled her eyes. “She thinks the bus is too dangerous, because she watches too much talk TV. Anyway, she could drop you at your place after. Or better yet, you could come over and we’d work at my house. And snack. I’m absolutely starved after school.”

  Temptation nearly swamped him. It was like Grace was offering everything missing in his life in one neat package. Mutiny rose inside him. What harm would it do? He could direct her mom to another house, a road over from his. Then, when they left, he’d cut across the field to his place. Everyone else in his family had a life. Walked around free as birds.

  It was like there was an angel on one shoulder and a horned beast on the other, each whispering in his ear. And he knew which one he should listen to. As hard as it was to admit, he really had no choice. He opened his mouth to answer. But what came out was, “Sounds good.”

  Chapter 16

  Cady went through the security check to get into the parking lot at the federal courthouse and made the call to the doctor, leaving a message. Then she headed inside. Dylan had ID’d Charles Weber and Stephen Tillis as being in the woods five years ago. Setting up conversations with them felt more pressing at the moment than did tracking down the seventy-plus inmates who had been in the Madison County jail at the same time as Forrester. Almost anything would.

  She mentally chastised herself for not hitting a drive-through on the way to work. Once inside, Cady did a detour by the coffee machine and found it nearly empty. Her mood notched darker. All in all, it’d been an inauspicious start to her day. Going without caffeine was merely the clincher.

  She spent an hour at her desk following up on Simmons’s story about Gordy the Ghost. Cady sat back in her chair, troubled. She’d gotten Gordon Melbourne’s name from the prison officials, but her attempt to track down the man had been fruitless. Melbourne had gotten out a year after Bruce Forrester, but the last sighting of him had been three months after his release. His family had filed a missing persons report on him around that time. It didn’t prove Simmons was right about Forrester’s revenge plot against the man, but it was concerning.

  Cady went to Allen’s office, where she stuck her head inside the door. “I’m heading over to Wilson to interview one of the bandit’s old drug associates.”

  He waved her inside without lifting his gaze from his paperwork. After a few moments, he looked up. “Wilson. That’s four hours away. You wouldn’t get there until midafternoon.”

  “Four and a half, but yeah. I know where he’s working, and I’ve verified he’s there now.”

  “Sit down. Catch me up.”

  Cady dropped into a chair in front of his desk and gave the supervisor a rundown of how she’d spent her weekend. “I’m starting to get a picture of Forrester,” she concluded. “But I’m not quite sure how all the pieces fit together. Byrd’s statement is sort of an outlier. I want to check it out with people who knew Forrester. I’m trying to get a better idea of what motivates him.”

  “Sounds sensible. You won’t get back until well after hours. Why don’t you wait until tomorrow?”

  “Cassie Zook has already been missing six weeks,” she reminded him. “And then there’s the boy. Dylan Castle. The last five years of his life have been put on hold. Both of them deserve some urgency in this case.”

  “All right. Take Rodriguez with you.”

  “Okay.” She rose and went to find Miguel. He’d be thrilled to learn he wasn’t going to make it home much before eight tonight.

  Shit. Neither was she. Cady pulled out her cell and texted a familiar message to Ryder. Having him step in for dog duty was getting to be a habit. She’d done the same for him but much less frequently. When she finished, she slipped the cell in her pocket and stopped in front of Miguel’s desk.

  “I talked to Gant. You’re with me. Road trip.”

  He looked up from his computer and clasped his hands prayerfully. “Mom. Are we finally going to Disney?”

  She stifled a grin while she grabbed her coat and packed up her laptop. Unlocked the drawer of her desk and took out her purse. “Not quite. But if you’re good, I promise to get you some Mickey Mouse ears.”

  When they were heading across the parking lot, she dug in her pocket and withdrew the keys. She threw them to him after unlocking the Jeep. “You can drive. I control the temperature and the radio.”

  “I know the rules.” He did. But it paid to remind him. “Want to give me a summary of the warrant?”

  “I will on the way.” She’d also make a stab at tracking down the dozens of arrestees from the time Forrester was in jail in Marshall. Four and a half hours there and back. She heaved a mental sigh. But it was better than wasting office time on the chore. “Let’s find a drive-through first. I’m going to need a gallon of coffee.”

  Chapter 17

  Cady eyed Charles aka Charlie Weber as he gulped from a can of soda he’d grabbed on the way out of the building. “So you’ve been out for . . . how long?” He was about five eight, with a face like a road map, despite being only in his midforties. Prison aged people, she supposed. He looked like he’d spent his time inside bulking up.

  “Got out couple of years ago. Thereabouts.”

  Eighteen months, according to the file. Although Weber had initially lied on his statements to the Cumberland County sheriff’s office, he’d eventually become more forthcoming about the details of Forrester’s drug operation. His cooperation had earned him a deal from law enforcement. Five years, of which he’d served 60 percent.

  “We’re here to ask you about Bruce Forrester,” she began. “Have you heard from him since your arrest in Hope Mills?”

  Weber squinted, as if the question required a major source of brainpower. “No. Why the hell would I?”

  “Did he ever mention places he’s lived? Places he’d like to visit?”

  “No.” He’d come out without a jacket and seemed perfectly comfortable, despite the wind that whipped around the corner of the building. “Not to me anyway.”

  “Did he have fetishes? A sexual interest in kids?”

  Weber stopped midway in the act of lifting the soda to his lips, his mouth agape as he stared at her. “Him? Guy like that would get killed inside. I don’t care what he done, shitting on a guy’s reputation like that sucks.”

  He has a unique concept of right and wrong, Cady mused. “So that’s a no. Did he ever mention pornography to you?”

  He drained the can and then crushed it in his fist. “What guy don’t talk about porn?”

  Cady resisted the urge to slant a gaze at Miguel, who stood silently next to her. “You tell me. What’d he talk about?”

  Weber shrugged, a quick bounce of his shoulder. “He liked the rougher stuff. Tying chicks up and shit. Wasn’t that big a surprise, tell ya the truth. He was the type of dude you don’t mess with. You do him wrong, he’ll do you twice as bad.”

  Simmons had said much the same thing. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just that he had a rep. I seen his temper a time or two. Wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.”

  “Ever know anyone who did?”

  Weber snorted. “Plenty. Most regretted it after. Heard of one fellow. Jumped him outside a bar with a knife. Cops broke it up, but couple of weeks later, the guy who started it was out on bail and poof.” He made a gesture with his fingers.

  “He disappeared?”

  Lowering his voice, Weber said, “Way I heard it, Forrester caught up to him. Used a chain saw on him, then got rid of the pieces.”

  The skin on the back of her nape prickled. The story was much too similar to that of Gordon Melbourne. Violence and revenge were recurring themes with Forrester. Dylan had mentioned witnessing Forrester and another man engaged in a knife f
ight in Hope Mills. She’d track down the other party’s name and try to substantiate the rumor.

  Cady thought for a moment. Byrd had mentioned the man’s interest in the deep web. If Forrester didn’t share Byrd’s pedophilia, she was no closer to discovering the reason for his curiosity. “Was he good with computers?”

  “How the hell would I know any of that? I wasn’t his guidance counselor.”

  “He was running a fair-size drug ring in the area,” Miguel put in. Cady had filled him in on the highlights of the case on the long trip over. It had given her a break between running down the Madison County inmates. “That takes some organization.”

  “I don’t know. Loomer seemed more into the geek than Forrester.”

  Here, at last, was new information. “What makes you say that?” According to the statements she’d read, Weber had denied knowing Loomer well.

  “I played video games with him a few times. He said he’d made one once. That he’d done the programming and tried to sell it, but some company stole his idea.” He turned and threw the crushed can toward a dumpster. It fell well short of it. “Figured he was full of shit, but he did know a lot about how the games were made. How it worked to get them online, y’know, where you can play with people who aren’t there with you.”

  There was a thrum of excitement in Cady’s chest. “So he was good with computers?”

  “Never saw him with one. But he’d have to be to do programming, right?”

  “And you haven’t seen him since you got out of prison?”

  “He was one of the lucky ones. Cops never did catch up to him.”

  “Where’d you play video games together?”

  “My place.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. A busy man, apparently. “Or sometimes his. He didn’t really own the cabin, I guess. Belonged to an uncle or something.”