One Last Step

by Sarah Sutton

  “Does a setting or rising sun ring a bell to you?”

  The girl was quiet and Tara was about to check if she was still on the phone, when she suddenly spoke.

  “There’s the Sunset Bed & Breakfast,” she confirmed. “It’s right off of the Smarts Mountain Trail, which is connected to the Appalachian Trail. I used to recommend it to a lot of hikers that wanted a place to spend the night and get a hot shower. It closed down though, but supposedly they still live there.”

  “Who’s they?” Tara asked.

  “Just some guy and his mom. It’s been a family business for years and it used to do very well, but the father died a couple years ago, and then everything kind of fell apart. The mom’s memory started going, they were swamped with doctor’s bills, they couldn’t keep up the place, and then the son kinda lost his mind.”

  Tara loosened her hand on the phone. She hadn’t even realized how hard her grip had become.

  “How so?” she asked.

  “He would kind of scout out hikers on the trail and try to convince them to stay, and when they refused he would get all pissed. A couple people complained. He even called me once and yelled at me, said it’s my duty to recommend his crumbling bed and breakfast.”

  “How long ago was this?” Tara asked.

  The girl thought for a moment. “Right before it went under, a little over a year ago.”

  Tara wondered if the closure was enough to take him over the edge. She thanked her, and was soon off the phone.

  Tara thought about the words on the tree—they never leave—as she grabbed hold of her laptop and searched Sunset Bed and Breakfast into her search bar. Could this man have had a mental break? Could his warped perception somehow have grown to blame these hikers for his failed business and now he wanted to make them pay?

  An article heading popped up in her search results: SUNSET BED & BREAKFAST CLOSES DOWN.

  She clicked on it and read.

  Located in Lyme, NH and only a hike away from the Appalachian Trail, just off the Smarts Mountain Trail, the Sunrise Bed and Breakfast is claimed to be closing, citing business facilities rundown as a challenge to keep the place running. After operating for nearly 30 years, the Sunrise B&B used to be a prime stop for hikers hiking the Appalachian Trail.

  “We are incredibly sad to close it down. This has been a part of our family for years,” Maura, the owner of the B&B that she runs with her son, said through tears.

  Yet, while the B&B will be closing, both the owner and her son have plans to still live there in hopes of one day being able to reopen.

  Tara stopped reading and looked at the date of the article. It was written just last year and below the article included an address. She still could be wrong, but the location, the name of the place, and all she learned on the phone made her certain that it was a lead she had to follow through with. She reached for her phone again, picking it up in her sweaty palm.

  She had something to back up her feeling. Her heart pumped out of her chest as she went through her recent calls and let her finger hit Warren’s name. The phone rang for a few moments until she heard Warren’s groggy voice on the other end, reminding her what time it was.

  “Warren, I think I have something,” she said, the words pouring out of her mouth like vomit. “There’s this bed and breakfast in Lyme. I think it’s connected to the murders. I—”

  “Mills, slow down,” Warren interjected. “What are you saying?” His voice clearly showed his tiredness and agitation at her call.

  “There’s this place, the Sunset Bed & Breakfast. It’s just north of where the third victim was found. Apparently the son of the owner had harassed hikers about a year ago. It makes perfect sense! The setting sun etched into the tree and that’s why the killer probably wrote ‘they never leave.’ He probably keeps the victims there. And—”

  “Mills, what the hell are you talking about? I don’t even want to know how you found all that out.”

  Tara’s heart sank at his response.

  He continued: “You think a harassment over a year ago is connected to a death now? Have you lost your mind? Do you want to get yourself in trouble? You just solved your first case! You’re going to throw all that away? I told you to trust me on this!”

  It was clear that Warren wasn’t going to hear her out. He was too blinded by rage at the fact that Tara was still digging when all he wanted her to do was follow his lead.

  “Mills, I appreciate your dedication,” he added. “But we have already found the person responsible.”

  “But—”

  “And do you know how early it is? I was finally hoping to get some decent sleep!”

  “I wouldn’t call you unless it was important. I really think this means something. If you just let me finish explaining—”

  “Mills, there is nothing more to say. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you. This case is over. It’s done. We’re going home.”

  She knew he wasn’t going to listen to her. To him, the case really was over. He quickly hurried her off the phone, leaving Tara alone once again with her thoughts. He was wrong. She could feel it and she wasn’t going to let it go. She was going to the bed and breakfast, even if she had to do it alone.

  Chapter Thirty

  Tara reached above the steering wheel for the sun visor and pulled the flap downward to shield her eyes. The sun had just fully peeked up over the horizon, sending the sky into a haze of orange. She’d been driving for quite some time now, and the closer she got, the more she felt her heart race knowing that she was getting further and further away from the thought of turning back.

  Her phone rang, sending her mind once again into a state of panic. Her phone sat on the passenger’s seat. She reached for it with her sweaty palm and read the name on the caller ID—it was Warren.

  She looked at it for a moment as it continued to ring, and then she placed it back down as she had done the three previous times he called. She knew she would have to face him eventually, but she couldn’t yet. There was nothing she could tell him right now that would justify her actions in his eyes. Only finding the killer would save her at this point. She had already gone too far.

  She let the phone finish ringing and moments later it beeped to tell her she had a voicemail. She hesitated before deciding to listen to it. Maybe he’ll surprise me. Maybe he had a change of heart. Maybe he believes me, she thought to herself. She pressed the play button and put the phone on speaker.

  “Mills! Where the hell are you!” His words cracked through the phone, making Tara instinctively jump in her seat. “Our flight leaves in an hour! I’m going to wait ten minutes and I’m calling Reinhardt. Don’t do this, Mills. You’re going to ruin your career.”

  She placed the phone back down next to her as she felt her heart sink. She wished she hadn’t listened to it. How could she have possibly had a moment of hope that he wouldn’t be that mad—that he changed his mind? She went against him. She went against everyone.

  “Shit,” she said under her breath.

  She had ten minutes and he was calling Reinhardt, yet she knew she already had gone too far. Even if she turned back now, even if she never approached the bed & breakfast she was driving to, she still took evidence, she still went against Warren, and she still went off with an intention to find the killer on her own. She would lose her job.

  She took a look at her GPS. She wasn’t far. She reached for her phone again and switched it to silent. If she was going to do this, she knew she needed no distractions. No second thoughts. She placed her phone back down and clenched the steering wheel with both hands and focused on the road ahead of her. It was still early and there were no cars on the road. She rolled down her window, letting a breeze flow through, sending goosebumps up her neck that was slicked with sweat.

  But she couldn’t control her eyes as they continuously glanced at the clock on her dashboard, as they watched each minute pass by, as they then glanced down toward her phone, to a black screen. She thought of turning it off
, but somehow she couldn’t bear to do it. In some odd way it felt too defiant, too final, even though in the back of her mind she knew that the actions she’d already taken spoke louder.

  The clock continued to pass the time. Five minutes passed by, then six, then seven, then eight, then nine, and then ten…

  She stared for a moment at the phone, expecting it to jump from its seat, but as each minute passed by after, she wondered if Reinhardt was even going to call at all, but then suddenly, it lit up.

  Reinhardt, it read, and Tara’s heart immediately raced. Should I pick up? she asked herself. It was one thing to ignore Warren, but to ignore her boss was different. Maybe he’ll listen to me. Maybe I can explain myself.

  Her hand shook as she reached for her phone and picked up.

  Tara didn’t even get a chance to speak before Reinhardt’s voice shook through the phone, sending chills through her body.

  “Mills! Where the fuck are you?!” he screamed.

  Tara’s heart pounded in her chest. She’d never seen Reinhardt angry, and this was beyond angry.

  “If you could just listen,” she started. “I don’t think James Hayden is the killer. I found something. I—”

  “And you thought you could just take it upon yourself to go off alone? Who the hell do you think you are?!”

  “I—”

  “You have fifteen minutes Mills! Fifteen minutes! If I don’t get word from Warren that you’re back at your hotel, you’re fired! You hear me?!”

  Tara was about to respond when she heard the click on the other end. She looked at her GPS. She was almost there. She gripped the steering wheel once again, feeling more determined than ever to find answers.

  ***

  Tara pulled off the main road onto a side street that was quiet and heavily wooded. Fractured sunlight shined through the forest green trees, and at times it hit Tara in the eyes, causing her to squint to see in front of her.

  A sign peeked out onto the road ahead of her. She squinted to read it, but she could already tell from a distance that it was weathered with faded lettering. As she got closer, the wooden sign became unmistakably visible and she could see that it marked the entrance to a dirt road. She turned onto it, before letting her car roll to a stop by the sign.

  Tara stared at it for a moment. Caked with dirt and age, the words SUNSET BED AND BREAKFAST were barely visible. It was the right place, and Tara could feel a surge of adrenaline at the realization. But just as Tara’s eyes moved above the carefully carved lettering, she recognized something else—almost completely weathered away was the engraving of a setting sun, the same sun carved into the trees at the crime scenes.

  This was it. She knew it now for sure. And for the first time, she felt how dangerous this situation could be. She was walking into this alone, with little experience, with not even Warren knowing where she was. She felt a sudden urge to call him and wait for his arrival. But if she was right, if the killer could be taking his victims back alive, she knew she didn’t have that time to waste.

  She grabbed her phone and texted Warren the address. It would’ve been stupid of her not to let anyone know where she is. She just hoped he would come before it was too late. She switched her phone to silent and her foot hit the gas pedal. The car bounced up and down on the rock-lined dirt road as it neared the B&B.

  She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves as the road opened up into a clearing. As she saw the sight in front of her, her eyes opened wide. The road opened up into acres of fields with perfectly green grass and a beautifully manicured garden. Behind the garden sat the looks of an old mansion, weathered and decayed, just like the sign. But just behind the garden, Tara spotted movement. It was a woman, whose eyes looked up as Tara neared the end of the driveway. It was the owner, Tara assumed.

  The woman stood in a long floral dress that just swept the ground, watering a rose bush. When done, she turned around to face Tara’s car, which had already rounded the driveway and was now parked right before the building. The woman smiled at her—an odd, hollow smile—that suddenly gave Tara a strange feeling. There was an eeriness about her. Maybe it was the smile, or her long stark white hair that fell to the middle of her back, or how she tended to the lawn of a rundown bed and breakfast, or the way she looked at Tara—an odd, blank stare, as if she were looking through her.

  Tara stepped out of the car. She could feel her gun tucked under her shirt and she cautiously kept her hand near it as she walked across the lawn.

  When close enough, the woman’s smile grew wider.

  “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Her voice shook with age as she spoke. “Perfect for my garden,” she added as she turned back to her flowers and watered them once again.

  “Yes, it is,” Tara replied. “Are you the owner of this bed and breakfast?”

  The woman suddenly stopped watering and turned back around toward Tara.

  “Yes,” she replied with question in her tone.

  “I was just admiring your sign out by the entrance,” Tara began. The woman’s head tilted to one side, her eyes locked on Tara, studying her. “That setting sun, did you carve that yourself?”

  The woman’s smile suddenly vanished. “No,” she said as she shook her head. “My son made that sign, many years ago.” Her voice trailed off as if the mention caused her to remember a happier time.

  Tara thought for a split second. “I’m a photographer and I was just driving past. I was hoping I could take some pictures of your beautiful property.”

  She let the lie roll out and she smiled to herself. It was the exact lie that she needed.

  “Oh! Why yes! That would be lovely,” the woman said as she placed the watering can down and brushed the dirt from her hands onto her dress.

  Her eyes moved toward a barn behind the bed and breakfast that Tara hadn’t noticed before.

  “You will need to speak to my son though. He doesn’t usually like strangers walking around our property.” She paused for a moment as she stared blankly in the distance. “But who knows. He might surprise us both,” she added, and then she turned back to her flowers. “Oh, it would be wonderful to have pictures of my garden.”

  “Where can I find your son?”

  The woman looked up again, her eyes moving in the direction of the barn once again. “He should be just over there,” she replied as she pointed her long bony finger.

  She then turned back to her flowers, until she seemingly became lost in them completely, and Tara turned to the barn.

  Chapter Thirty One

  Just like the bed and breakfast, the barn showed the test of time. It was faded yellow, beaten raw from the sun year after year, with a roof that was missing shingles. It stood behind the main building and as Tara approached, she could feel eyes on her—it was the old woman, standing off in the distance behind her—and it sent a shiver down Tara’s spine. She was watching her intently. Tara was sure of it. And as she turned her head ever so slightly, checking in the corner of her eye, she could see her there, still standing by the garden, still watering, but her gaze was in front of her—on Tara—with that odd, hollow smile on her face again.

  Tara quickly looked back ahead of her. She didn’t quite know why the woman was watching her, if it was because she didn’t trust her—because she somehow knew that Tara had told her a lie—or if it were for simply no reason at all but to make sure she found her way. But Tara knew it wasn’t just that. She could feel it in each step she took, in every breath of air—each time a bad feeling would flutter in her chest.

  Her body tried to tell her in every way to turn around, to not go further, but she knew she couldn’t listen to her instincts. Because, if she was right, if some victims could possibly still be alive, if this property housed the true killer, then she couldn’t let any feeling turn herself away. And so, she continued to creep across the lawn until she stood in front of the barn and her feet stopped.

  The incessant burn of the woman’s glare had vanished and Tara turned her head again
. She could see her moving away from the garden, toward the bed and breakfast, until she was completely out of view, and it gave Tara a strange feeling. She was relieved to have her gone, but something about her leaving seemed more unsettling than everything else about her. As if her job was done, as if all she needed to do was get Tara to walk to where she was, like holding a carrot above a rabbit trap, but now that Tara was here, she didn’t need to witness what happened next.

  Tara crept forward. The door was slightly ajar, but it seemed too intrusive to just walk in, so she knocked and waited, but there was no reply.

  “Hello?” she said.

  She could hear movement. Someone was in there, but no words were spoken. They had to have heard her, she was sure of it.

  “Hello?” she said again, this time louder.

  But again, only the sound of movement was heard in response. Whoever it was, wasn’t trying hard not to be heard. In fact, it was as if they wanted her to hear it all because each time she spoke, the sound echoed in return. It was as if someone were moving across the floor, dragging their feet.

  She waited a moment and then knocked again, but the sound suddenly stopped only to be replaced by another. It was as if someone were banging against the wall—no, throwing themselves—but underneath it all she could hear a faint, muffled cry and Tara immediately knew something was wrong. She reached for her gun and flung the door open.

  Tara’s eyes opened wide as the light of day flooded into the barn and she could finally see the source of the sound. Against the wall, across from her, the light flickered in a girl’s wet eyes. Her mouth was stuffed with something and layered with tape. Her hands were tied behind her back. She was seated, throwing her back against the wall, but at Tara’s presence she stopped, starring at her with a look of fear and hope swirled into one.

  Next to her lay another girl. Her hands were tied as well. She was unconscious, but Tara could see the slight rise and fall of her chest. She was alive. They were both alive. Tara immediately knew who they were because she had seen their pictures before. They were the two most recent victims—the sisters.