by Sarah Sutton
Chapter Twenty
He lay on his stomach, concealed by the trees surrounding him, and held his crossbow carefully in his hands directed toward the campsite in front of him. He’d been lying there for hours and his body trembled with anticipation.
He watched them—the two girls—as they sat outside their tent, around the campfire. Their laughter filled the forest with sound and he smiled to himself. He could smell the blood already, hear the screams, and the thought of it flooded his body with life. It was a high like no other—a necessity to him now—and he itched for the next kill.
His four-wheeler sat back in the woods. This time, he wanted to take a different approach. He wanted to make it interesting.
He knew they were coming—the two girls. He saw them on the trail earlier that day, when his four-wheeler crept up behind them and they turned around at the sound. They were exactly where he wanted them—south of his last kill and just outside of where the trail was closed. Their surprised expressions gave him a small taste of the drug he needed and he knew they were the ones. He stopped and spoke with them a moment and their faces relaxed from the interaction. They asked if he knew a good spot to set up camp, which he did, and led them to where they were now. He told them to be careful—they were young after all—and said his goodbyes. Little did they know they would meet him again.
Now he waited, watching them carefully. They were sisters. He could tell by the way they teased each other. By the way one always seemed to take charge. She must be the older one, he thought. He would get the younger one first. Protective instincts were always fun to toy with.
The youngest couldn’t be much older than sixteen or seventeen. She was telling her sister about high school, about teachers her sister used to have, and about some boy she liked.
They seem so happy, he thought. But that was always his favorite part—how fleeting happiness could be. And how he himself could turn it into the darkest moment they’ll ever have.
Just then, the youngest stood up from around the fire. She insisted to her sister they needed more brush to keep it burning, and she made her way to the surrounding woods. She was walking in his direction and he carefully made sure he was fully concealed behind the bush in front of him.
This is perfect, he thought as he aimed his crossbow.
She walked closer. He had a good shot and he carefully placed his finger on the trigger. He stared into the scope and just when he had a good shot of her leg, his finger pressed down hard.
It was just one shot, but it was all he needed. Her screams echoed in the forest. She held her leg in agony—in confusion—as her sister whipped her head toward the sound. When she saw her little sister on the ground, she ran toward her, screaming frantically, as her sister’s blood poured out onto the forest floor.
She wrapped an article of clothing around her leg. She was so distracted with her sister’s wound that she didn’t even see the movement in the woods, him pulling back the bowstring and placing another bolt in the barrel groove.
She reached for her phone in her pocket, disoriented by confusion as she scanned the forest around her. But then he stepped forward, crossbow in hand, and a cloud of terror flooded through her eyes.
It sent a thrill through his body and he waited for a second, letting the moment flow through him like a drug, and just when he craved one more taste, he took aim.
Chapter Twenty One
Tara lay in bed in her hotel room, trying to keep her eyes closed. It was late and it had been a long night, but her mind was wide awake. Another day had come and gone and she couldn’t help but hear a clock ticking in her head, reminding her that they were running out of time.
When sleep didn’t come, she finally sat up, reaching for the lamp on her nightstand. Light filled the room and she turned the TV on, hoping that watching something would make her grow tired and distract her mind from the case. She flipped through the limited number of channels the hotel provided, but suddenly, something caught her eye and she stopped on the local news.
On the bottom of the screen were the words SUSPECT CAUGHT IN TRAIL KILLER CASE. The reporter stood in front of an entrance to the trail, detailing that someone had been caught, but the trail remained closed as the investigation was still ongoing.
Tara turned it off. This is crazy, she thought to herself. Her blood boiled, as she thought of people assuming the trail might be safe now, even though there was a killer still out there.
She reached for her phone and checked the time. It was late, but she decided to text John. If anyone could calm her down and coax her to sleep, it was him. He had a track record of doing so and would always talk her back to sleep when she had a nightmare.
Are you up? she texted.
Seconds later her phone rang. She quickly picked up.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said.
“It’s all right. I’m just happy to hear from you,” he replied as he yawned into the phone. “I was pretty much up anyway.”
Tara knew that he had trouble sleeping too when he was worried about her.
“Why are you up so late?” he finally asked.
Tara sighed. “We had a long night. I just got back about a half hour ago.”
“Wow, that is a long night,” he agreed. There was a brief pause and then he spoke again. “How are you doing?”
Tara had been with John for three years now and he had learned her habits of internalizing everything. Most people would never pick up on her being upset about something, but he could sniff it out like a trained bloodhound.
“I’m okay. This case is just a lot harder than I thought it would be,” Tara said as she stared at the blank screen on the TV.
“Well, I’ve been watching the news. It’s sounds like you caught someone, right?”
“Yeah, we caught someone, but we’re not convinced that it’s him,” she confirmed. “This whole case is just crazy…I honestly didn’t think my first case would be this hard.”
She let the words roll off her tongue and when she was finished, she felt a sudden surge of relief. It was the first time she admitted how helpless she felt to someone other than herself and it felt good to confide in him, even if he might not fully understand.
“I hear you.” John let out another yawn. “But remember, they wouldn’t have put you on this case if they thought you couldn’t handle it. And, if they thought differently after all you’ve shown so far, they would’ve pulled you by now, right?”
Tara was silent as she mulled over his words in her head. He always knew the right thing to say—to remind her of things she easily and quickly forgot.
“I guess you’re right,” Tara finally replied.
“And your partner, how many years has he been doing this?”
“A very long time.” Tara could already see where he was going with it.
“Exactly,” John added, and she could almost hear his smile forming through the phone. “So, this isn’t tough because you’re new and don’t know what you’re doing. Even the most skilled FBI agent is struggling to solve it.”
Tara felt the confidence flood back into her. He was right.
“I’m no agent,” he chuckled. “But in accounting, there’s always an answer.” He paused for a moment, thinking of how to word what he was about to say. “I’m assuming if a crime occurred, there’s got to be answers too. I mean, it happened, so there has to be answers, right? It’s just about finding them.”
Tara chuckled too. “It’s not always that easy,” she replied, but in a way he was right. There had to be answers, she just had to find them, even if it was harder than she expected.
He continued to try and instill confidence in her—that she could do this, that she had it in her, and needn’t let doubt seep into her mind. And after their conversation on the subject ended, John felt the need to bring up something else—something Tara dreaded to speak about.
“Have you had any nightmares?” he asked.
She knew he was bound to bring it up, and upon its menti
on, she realized that she had gone all day without interference from her own demons. Talking to Warren must’ve really helped, she thought. And, while John was helpful, again, the last thing she needed was for him to worry unnecessarily, so she chose her words carefully.
“I was having them a bit in the beginning. I guess certain things about a murder investigation just stir up some emotions.” She laughed a little, trying to make light of it all, but when he didn’t react the same she lost the playfulness from her voice. “I’m okay though, I think I have a good handle on it now.”
There was a silence from the other end of the phone and then John chose his next words carefully.
“I know you said you didn’t want to do therapy again but—”
“John, I’m okay,” she said sharply, relieved now that she didn’t tell him the full truth.
“Tara, it’s going to happen again,” he pleaded, his frustration boiling through the phone.
“I’ll think about it.”
She quickly changed the subject to something lighter and he finally let it go. They spoke for a while longer until Tara grew tired and soon they agreed to go to bed.
After hanging up the phone, Tara wondered if maybe she should consider going back to therapy, but as the thought entered her mind, her eyes grew heavy and she quickly drifted off into sleep.
***
Tara’s eyes fixated on the ceiling in the darkness. She had woken moments ago, yet again. Each time she fell asleep, her thoughts would pull her awake and she now felt so tired of fighting it.
It was something John said. If a crime occurred, then there has to be answers. It was such an obvious statement, yet it stirred something within her. The compass, the sun etched into the tree, and of course the words—they never leave. It meant something, it had to.
She suddenly sat upright, and once again, reached for her nightstand and turned the light on. The etched sun. It was the one thing she didn’t fully think out what it could mean. The killer had been striking at night it seemed, so maybe it was a clue to the time of day he would strike next. But that almost seemed too easy, and Tara wondered if there was a deeper or double meaning to the image.
She reached for her laptop, went to Google, and held her fingers over the keyboard. Setting sun, Hanover. She didn’t quite know what she was searching for, but thought of any way to make a connection and let her fingers type in response.
She scrolled through the results. Mostly images of setting suns and places to watch the sunset. She decided to search a larger area. Setting sun, New Hampshire. Setting sun, Vermont. She searched over and over, narrowing down by town and then expanding. She dug up pictures and looked for anything suspicious. She dug up places—anything she could find related to the area.
But each search result was insignificant, and her eyes eventually fell heavy and she decided to lay her head down for just a moment. But sleep quickly washed over. She couldn’t fight it anymore and her mind drifted off.
***
Darkness surrounded her except for the sliver of light above. She looked up at the moon, illuminating with such intensity. Tall pine trees scraped the sky, scattered every way she looked. Everything looked black—like shadows—in the darkness. For a moment she felt protected by them. As if their tall trunks and sharp needles shielded her from all that was negative in the world.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the strong aroma of pine needles. The smell was so strong, it was unnatural, but it caused her to relax.
But then she heard something. It was a sound she’d heard before and her heart picked up speed as she realized what it was. A scream. It was faint at first, but then grew louder. It was her mother’s voice and Tara frantically looked in all directions, trying to determine where it was coming from. But she couldn’t see too well in the darkness and the sound echoed off of the trees.
She then realized where she was as she looked down and saw that her feet stood on a trail laid out in front of her. She walked down it and the screams grew louder.
She picked up speed, running faster and faster. She was so close, she could feel it, and then suddenly the screaming stopped. She slowed down and stood quietly as she looked around her.
“Where are you?” she screamed, but the forest returned no sound and she stood motionless on the path.
And all of a sudden, the forest did not feel safe. The trees’ tall trunks felt like barriers and she wished she could tear them all down just to have a clear view of what was behind them.
But then she heard it again—the shrilling screams as they vibrated through her body. It was just off the trail, she was so close, and as she pushed back the brush between her and the sound, a clearing opened up. But she wasn’t in the woods anymore, she was in the hallway of her childhood home, staring into the living room, yet again. Her mother’s lifeless body on the ground. Her father standing over her. But this time he didn’t even notice Tara at all.
His eyes were fixated on the corner of the room. He was whispering something.
“Stay there,” he whispered as he held his finger to his lips, and then his head turned to Tara.
Tara jumped upright in bed, her body soaked in sweat. It was just a nightmare, she told herself as she realized that she was in her hotel room. She steadied her breathing. She had had many nightmares before, replaying the event in her childhood, but that one was different. Her father had never spoken to the corner of the room, he had never raised his finger to his lips, yet it gave Tara a strange feeling of déjà vu.
Tara shook off the thought. That would mean—no. That isn’t true, she told herself, and she continued to tell herself that over and over again as she coaxed herself back to sleep.
Chapter Twenty Two
Tara opened her eyes to her phone almost vibrating off the nightstand. She reached for it and turned off her alarm. It was seven AM—less than four hours of sleep last night and she could feel it.
She sat upright knowing that she couldn’t trust herself lying down for a second longer. The morning sun filtered through the closed curtains and Tara squinted her heavy eyes as she surveyed the room around her. Her laptop still sat open on the bed. It reminded her that she fell asleep while searching last night, and then she remembered the nightmare.
It was probably the most vivid—and strangest—nightmare she had yet, and she had no idea what it could mean. It couldn’t have been a memory. She would’ve remembered something like that, so she tucked the nightmare away in her mind as a warped distortion of her subconscious.
Tara’s phone rang and she reached for it and read the caller ID—Warren. She picked up.
“Good morning,” he echoed with little enthusiasm. Tara could already hear it in his voice that he, too, had a sleepless night. “So, I’m thinking we should grab some breakfast now and decide what our next steps should be. Can you meet me in fifteen?”
Tara agreed and they hung up, her mind now pulled back onto the case. She knew their next steps would be crucial, and the case needed all her attention right now.
***
Fifteen minutes later Tara walked into the cafeteria. She scanned the room. Round tables were placed throughout, with booths lining the walls. The room was almost empty except for three tables and she spotted Warren almost immediately. He sat at a table in the far back corner, his eyes fixated on the cup of coffee in front of him as if studying something within it.
Tara walked over and just when she was close enough for him to notice her presence, he lifted his head up, breaking out of his coffee mug trance.
“Good morning,” she said as she took a seat across the table from him. “Have you heard anything new?”
He shook his head. “How did you sleep?” he asked.
His voice sounded raspy and after he spoke, he looked up at her, revealing his swollen, bloodshot eyes and that he didn’t sleep well either.
“Not good,” she admitted. “I’m assuming you didn’t sleep well either?”
Again, he shook his head. “I don’t know, Mills. I d
on’t know where to even go from here.”
He picked up a straw on the table and stirred his coffee, something he’d probably done numerous times already. Tara couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. This wasn’t the intimidating veteran agent she knew. He looked broken. The case was clearly affecting his confidence and it showed in every movement he made.
She could feel his lack of confidence begin to seep into her, as if he were diseased, spreading it in everything he touched, in everything he said. She felt it inching across the table.
“Coffee, miss?”
She looked up to see the waiter standing over her. It took both of them by surprise and they each snapped back to the present moment.
Tara nodded and the waiter bent down, pouring coffee into her mug.
Warren sat upright, realizing for the first time that his coffee had grown cold.
“Can I actually get another cup?” he asked as he pushed his current full mug to the waiter.
The waiter looked down at it, concerned that he was unhappy with it for whatever reason. “It’s cold,” Warren added before he apologized and the waiter nodded, picked up the mug, and walked away, going to retrieve another.
Now, with nothing to bury his face in, Warren looked at Tara directly.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked.
Tara remained silent for a moment, trying to determine what she should say. She didn’t quite know where to go next, and neither did he, and it caused a panic to swirl within her. But there was one detail about the case that constantly resurfaced in her mind. She took a sip of her coffee and placed it back down on the table. It was the message on the tree. They had already explored the compasses, but the message had to mean something.