If he was going to commit these acts, it wasn’t going to be under a guise. The hellacious beast inside him was going to be on display, just as he displayed his victims. He was going to have to face his true self.
Streaks of dried blood stained the exposed parts of Abram’s face, and he emitted a low growl as I slammed my foot against the wall and pushed myself toward him. He staggered as my full weight of my body shoved him back, and he tripped over the fallen tripod, sending both of us to the ground.
We landed against the casket, knocking candles off their holders and onto the floor. The candles continued to burn as they lay on their side. Pages of the script caught fire. One candle had fallen into the casket. Flames rose as the silk sheet caught fire.
Disoriented from the fall, Abram looked around the room. His face contorted with confusion, as if he didn’t understand how he’d lost control. I brought my knee back and struck the side of his face with my foot. The rubber sole of my boot collided against his cheek. His body shot six feet back as he flew across the floor.
Before I could stand up, Abram scrambled to his feet. The wood-paneled walls were alive in a blaze of golden fury as flames engulfed the living room. Abram, now standing, choked on the thick smoke that blackened the room. His chest rose and fell as he took a few deep breaths, inhaling more smoke than air.
His eyes finally found me, and he hurled himself toward me. As his body soared into the air, I grabbed the tallest iron candleholder and raised it between us. The iron spear pierced Abram’s chest, cracking his rib cage as the spike of the candleholder tore through him.
I held the iron steady as Abram’s slumped body inched down the spear. Blood gurgled in his throat as he reached his arms forward and wrapped his hands around my neck again. He squeezed as he continued his slide down the iron spike, but his limbs were rapidly losing strength. Blood gushed from his fatal wound, and I fought to keep the candleholder upright as Abram’s lifeless body lowered onto mine.
I took a deep breath as I heaved the candleholder, along with his body, toward the floor. His hands were still clasped around my neck, and I turned to my side and faced him as I pried his fingers from my throat.
Abram was dead.
As I stared at this vile creature, my skin began to burn. I looked around the living room. It was completely in flames. The newspaper articles on the walls had burned into the wood paneling. Rachel’s corpse blazed a fiery glow as it, too, burned.
The room cracked and hissed as the fire took over. I sat up to get away from the flames. And I saw Cait. She was still unconscious, tied to the chair. With my last ounce of energy, I hobbled toward her and grabbed the back of the chair. I dragged her through the kitchen and toward the backdoor. It felt like I was pulling a cruise ship across desert sand, but I wasn’t going to give up. She wasn’t going to be Abram’s last victim.
Each step sent an excruciating stab through my ankle. Inch by inch, I slid the chair through the kitchen until I reached the backdoor and pulled it open. Fresh air blew into the house and ignited the flames even higher. The fire had traveled into the kitchen, scorching the decrepit cabinets. I pulled Cait outside and dragged her fifty feet through muddy grass and collapsed to the ground.
With my face pressed to the dirt, I sucked in clean air until my lungs felt like they were going to burst. If I could sleep for a millennia, it wouldn’t be long enough. The slight chill in the air succumbed to the heat that escaped the burning house, and I closed my eyes. Someone would see the fire and call for help. All I had to do was wait.
I was safe. Cait was safe.
And the Casting Call Killer was finally burning in hell.
EPILOGUE
A STEADY STREAM OF mourners trailed through the cemetery and made their way toward Novak’s closed casket. His portrait, was displayed on top of the casket, was surrounded by dozens of single red roses that his friends and coworkers placed around the picture frame. Flu and I were in the front row, and I could see the sorrow on Flu’s face as it reflected off the black coffin that was barely five feet in front of us.
It had been three weeks since we’d discovered Novak’s body, but that didn’t make laying him to rest any easier. To avoid a trial that surely would’ve ended in the death penalty, James Coffer had made a plea deal with the prosecuting attorney. In exchange for telling West JPD where Novak and Kristen Valeri were buried, he would be sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. I wasn’t happy with the plea, but for the sake of Kristen Valeri’s family, I agreed to the sentencing.
Kristen Valeri and Ryan Novak had both been buried deep within Mirror Woods. If James Coffer hadn’t escorted West JPD to the exact location, their graves never would have been found. Even the cadaver dogs had a hard time picking up a scent. After both bodies had been discovered, James Coffer was put in the back of the cruiser and driven to the station—where he was promptly transferred to a maximum-security prison.
I stared at the coffin, and the sound of weeping officers echoed through the crowd as we listened to stories about Novak. It was hard not to laugh through the tears, as every story was filled with love and humor. Novak had been a great detective, and an even better man. The circumstances of his death could never take away how cherished he was within our department. Knowing that brought some comfort to this day—though not a lot.
The remaining leaves on the trees were boldly colored in orange, red, and yellow hues. The dry leaves on the ground scattered about the cemetery. They collected around our feet and fell into the six-foot-deep hole that would soon be Novak’s final resting place.
I slipped my hand between Flu’s arm and waist and leaned against him. He provided great shade from the afternoon sun, but he was also a shield from my own emotions. There was no doubt that some people here thought I should be the one in that coffin. I could felt the other officers’ glares pierce into my back. They would have easily traded my life for Novak’s. He had become collateral damage in a war that had nothing to do with him. He shouldn’t have paid the price for my life, but he did. And that was something I was going to live with for rest of my life.
“Captain?” An officer gestured to Flu.
Flu took a deep breath, and I let my hand slip from his elbow. He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, then stood up and took two steps forward. He turned to face the crowd. His eyes were red and filled with tears, and his sorrow-stricken face looked as if it weighed two hundred pounds. He glanced down at the ground, kicked at a loose pebble by his shoe, and shoved his hands into his pockets. For once, he wasn’t a captain about to deliver a speech to his unit; he was a man grieving for his best friend.
“Ryan Novak was….” Flu paused as he looked at the crowd with a blank gaze. He took a deep breath and let it out as he turned his head toward Novak’s picture. “Ryan Novak was the kind of man who would have given his life for any one of us,” Flu said as he turned back to face the crowd. “In all my years as an officer, I have yet to meet someone who has a purer heart than Novak. Not a day goes by that I don’t think, ‘How could I have prevented this?’ I was his captain, and I let him down. But the truth is that there’s only one person who could have prevented this, and he chose not to. Novak spent the majority of his life doing what he loved. He helped people. He saved people. No one can take his good name away from him, and no one can destroy how he will be remembered.” Flu bowed his head as if he was saying a silent prayer, then walked back to his spot next to me without saying another word.
Flu’s brief but powerful eulogy lingered over the crowd as we all sat in silence. The weight of Flu’s words sank deep into my heart. It seemed Flu also felt responsible for Novak’s death. But he was right—the only person responsible for Novak’s death was Abram. It was going to take some time before my guilt came to terms with that fact, but hearing Fluellen acknowledge who was truly to blame provided a jumpstart on letting that guilt go.
As the funeral ended, I caught a glimpse of Cait in my peripheral. She was in the far corner of the bac
k row of attendees. She was dressed in a black pantsuit, and she smiled at the few detectives from West JPD that she had met while investigating the Casting Call Killer.
This was the first time I’d seen her in three weeks, and that was mostly due to my own actions. Cait had called and texted me several times, and I ignored every single one. The remorse of putting her life in jeopardy made it impossible to speak to her. I wanted to hear her voice, and I wanted to see her face, but I didn’t want to deal with the shame I felt for risking her life.
It was fortunate for me that she had gone back to Lyons shortly after her quick stint in the hospital. From what Flu had told me about that night, the park ranger saw the smoke and drove toward the flames to investigate. He then called the fire department as soon as he saw the house engulfed in flames. During a quick perimeter check, the ranger found Cait and me unconscious in the backyard.
My stay at the hospital had been longer than Cait’s. Doctors had released her after only two nights of observation, but I had been there for almost a week. Due to the sensitivity of the case, two security officers had been stationed outside my door to ward off any nosey reporters. The only person authorized to visit, aside from the nurses and doctors, was Flu. Even if Cait had wanted to see me—and I’m not sure whether she even tried—she wouldn’t have gotten past security.
Upon my release from the hospital, I had been granted twelve weeks of medical leave. During that time, I was expected to heal—not just physically, but also mentally—from what had happened with Abram. I could have been given an eternity, and that still wouldn’t have been enough time.
I was consumed not only with the guilt from practically driving Cait to her death sentence but also with complete uncertainty. I had fought two beasts, and I had barely won both times. But I was no more of a hero than I was before. I wasn’t a detective because I enjoyed the glamour of a job well done; I was a detective because I wanted to make West Joseph a safer place to live.
But I didn’t see myself staying in West Joseph much longer. I couldn’t. It had become a swamp filled with toxic memories. The more I trudged through the murky waters, the more I realized I was never going to be happy here. I would never be free of Lathan or Abram’s torment. I had become a prisoner of West Joseph. And although I was the warden of my own jail cell, I couldn’t find the strength to turn the key and let myself out.
Without West Joseph, though, I had nothing. I was no one. My entire identity was dependent on the success of my career and the notoriety that came with it. If I wasn’t Detective Sergeant Lena Evans, who was I?
I wasn’t ready to retire, but it felt like West JPD was ready to retire from me. I brought too much peril to the department and to the officers within it. Novak was a testament to that statement. And so was Cait.
I stood up and moved off to the side when the memorial service ended. I watched Cait maneuver through a herd of mourners as they made their way to their cars. If Cait had seen me standing here, then she would have come over—unless she took my obvious hints that I didn’t want to speak to her. I knew she had something she wanted to say to me, probably something along the lines of how could I have been so careless with her life? But whatever she wanted to say, maybe she knew Novak’s funeral wasn’t the place to say it.
I turned my back to Cait and the rest of the officers and walked further into the cemetery. Off in the distance, less than fifty yards away, was a frail woman in front of a tombstone. Fresh dirt was beneath her feet. She hugged herself in a loose embrace as she stared at the marble stone, as if hypnotized by its presence. As I studied the woman, I realized I didn’t need to read the name on the tombstone to know who she was.
“Rachel’s funeral was yesterday,” Flu said from behind me, and I could feel him gesture toward Mrs. Sanzone as she stood in front of her daughter’s grave.
“Did you go?” I kept my back to him.
“I did.” He paused. “I’m a little disappointed I didn’t see you there.”
“Flu.” I turned to face him. “What would I say to her?” I asked, referring to Mrs. Sanzone. Although somewhat rhetorical, I was interested to hear his thoughts. I had gone back and forth on the notion of attending Rachel’s funeral. But knowing I would have to see Mrs. Sanzone—her exhausted and permanently tear-stained face—was what ultimately confirmed I wouldn’t attend. There was nothing on earth I could say to her that would have brought any comfort. There was nothing that I could do that would bring her daughter back. I knew I was the last person Mrs. Sanzone wanted to see. I may not have been able to save her daughter, but I was able to keep my distance, to spare her the agony of seeing me.
“Sometimes just showing up is all you need to do,” Flu replied. “Why do people go to funerals? To show they care about that person. That’s what she needs right now,” he added, “to know that people loved her daughter, and not just because of what Rachel went through, but because Rachel was someone worth loving.” Flu paused, and a peaceful calm wrapped itself around us. “I’m glad you came today,” he said after a few moments of silence.
“I think you’re the only one.”
“Why’s that?” Flu kept his gaze across the cemetery.
“I know the other officers blame me for Novak’s death.”
“Why would they blame you?”
“It was Abram’s obsession with Lathan, and eventually with me, that brought him to West Joseph.”
“Abram made his choice,” Flu said. “You didn’t make it for him.” Flu looked at me. “No one blames you, Evans.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
“When you come back from leave, you’ll see nothing has changed. No one feels differently about you.”
As much as I wanted to confirm that I was coming back, I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Deep down, I already knew I wasn’t coming back. My time there was over, and Flu needed to know it.
“Captain, I’m not coming back,” I looked at Flu.
Flu studied my face and searched my eyes with his. “You still have time to think about it,” he said in a dismissal of my verbal resignation.
“No, Flu… I’m not coming back,” I repeated with more assertion.
He nodded and sulked into a silence quieter than the cemetery. He stared at me as his eyes began to water. He took a deep breath and let it out as he blinked back the tears. “Where will you go?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I couldn’t look at him.
“You’re a good detective, Evans… too good for West Joseph. I’m actually surprised you stayed as long as you did.” He paused as he stared at the horizon. “I’ll let admin know, but you’ll have to put in a formal resignation.”
“I know,” I said. “Thank you.” I looked up at him. I wanted to thank him for more than just his kind words. I wanted to thank him for accepting my resignation with encouragement, and for not pressuring me to stay to fulfill his own selfish reasons. Flu and I had a great working relationship. We respected each other, and we valued each other’s opinions. Whatever my next career move was going to be, I knew it was unlikely that I would find a superior who was also a mentor and friend. “Are you headed home?” I asked.
“Not yet.” Flu shook his head. “I’m going to stay here for a bit longer. It’s nice here. Quiet,” he added. He took a moment to collect himself, then turned to face me “Take care of yourself, Evans.” He reached out his hand.
“I will.” I placed my hand in his. “You too, sir.”
He squeezed my hand before he let it slip from his. In that simple gesture, I knew that if I ever wanted my job back, it would be waiting for me.
As I made my way toward my car, I noticed the cemetery was mostly empty. My car was the only one within view. But leaning against my driver’s side door was Cait. She had her arms crossed over her chest as she kept her focus in my direction. When I reached the curb, I looked down the street for her car. She was parked several car lengths ahead of mine.
Her demeanor read as non-confrontational, though I found th
at hard to believe. She wanted to confront me about something, and I knew it wasn’t going to be a friendly chat. My palms began to sweat as my heartbeat increased, and I started to take smaller steps toward my car in order to delay the inevitable. In the near future, I was going to have to face Cait, and it was very apparent that the near future was now.
“You heal nicely,” Cait said, referring to my broken nose. It had only taken a few days for the swelling to go down, but the bruising had lasted a few weeks. Novak’s funeral was the first time I was able to be in public without the physical signs of my battle with Abram displayed across my face.
“It still hurts like hell when I sneeze,” I replied, and a smile instantly formed. It was impossible not to smile when I saw Cait. She could burn holes into my eyes with her stare, and I would still grin like a schoolgirl in love. But as much as I wanted to believe that she was here for a pleasant conversation, I knew better. “Let’s hear it,” I said, slicing through any niceties she had prepared.
“Hear what?” She stiffened her posture. “That it’s nice to see you? That it’s nice to know you’re doing okay?” she snidely offered. “I’m fine, in case you wondered.”
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