The List (The Carolina Killer Files Book 2)

by Kiersten Modglin

  “Hey, babe, what are you doing?” he asked, trying not to alarm her.

  “Heading back from Carrie’s house. What about you?”

  “Oh, I’m getting ready to eat lunch.”

  “Just now? Babe, it’s almost three!” She laughed.

  “We’ve been so crazy today, neither of us realized how late it had gotten,” he said, “Listen, Er, is everything okay? I mean, have you been…have you been feeling okay?”

  “Yeah, baby. Why would you ask that?” Had he heard her voice waver?

  “Just wondering. I knew you haven’t been too hungry lately…” He trailed off, wondering what to say next.

  “Mike, what’s going on?” she asked. He could hear her car door shut as she arrived at home.

  “Look, I just have to ask you something. Don’t freak out, okay?”

  “I’m gonna freak out if you don’t hurry up and ask me. What is going on?” she said, half teasing.

  “Are you, I mean, are we…are you pregnant?”

  The line was silent. There was a resounding stillness where he’d expected a dismissing laugh. He heard her jingling her keys in the door, entering their house.

  “Er?” he asked again, his voice quivering.

  “How could you know?” she finally asked.

  He sank down into a nearby office chair, his pulse racing.

  “You’re saying it’s true?”

  “Yes. It’s true. I only just found out. I went to the doctor last week because I’d been feeling sick again. I tested negative for the flu this time, but he took some blood to be sure. He just called me back a few hours ago. I literally just found out. How could you know?”

  “It’s not important, okay? I have to go.” He rubbed the growing knot on his forehead.

  “Michael,” she said softly, “I know this wasn’t planned. I mean, I was on the pill. I guess it must’ve been after I was sick. I know we tried to be careful. I’m just sorry.”

  “Sorry?” he asked, trying to put cheer into his voice. “Sweetheart, this is a good thing. Don’t be sorry. I mean, no, it wasn’t in the plan right now, but eventually, I don’t know, I always thought kids would be nice.”

  “You really mean it? You’re sure? I mean, we could talk about our options.”

  “No. Absolutely not. I love you, babe. And I’ll love this baby.”

  She sighed. “I never wanted kids here, Michael. After everything with Kinley and Rebecca and all of the kids. We just lost so many friends when we were growing up. Maybe it’s selfish to bring a baby into Bates.” He could hear the tears in her voice.

  “Hey, don’t think like that, okay? We’re going to be just fine, okay? This baby, our baby, is going to be just fine.” A lump grew in his throat as he spoke of the baby he hadn’t known he wanted.

  “How can you know?” she asked.

  “I’m going to make sure of it,” he told her.

  As they said their goodbyes, he picked up a drill and walked toward the key box, looking for the ring that belonged to the old Ford. He picked up the small key, looking at the blue tag that was attached to it. H. Taylor, the tag read.

  I’m sorry about this, Mr. Taylor, he thought, revving up the drill. I have a family to protect now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jordyn

  Jordyn saw the truck before she heard it, its headlights shinning in the distance as they turned off of a cross street. This was it, she told herself. The moment she’d been waiting for was finally here. She stood confidently in the middle of the road, the cigarette held out for the driver to see. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She looked down, pulling it out to stare at the screen. As her eyes skimmed over the text, her heart fell.

  Drop the cigarette. Let’s see how fast you can run.

  She read the text twice, trying to understand. Without thinking, she dropped the cigarette and began to run back toward her car, the truck growing closer. She tried to study the vehicle as she ran, but it was too dark and her vision blurred as she moved. She stumbled on some loose gravel and sliced her palm. The sting was sharp. She tried to brush the rocks out of her skin as she stood. As she reached her car, she pulled open the door with gusto, just in time for the truck to whiz past.

  She turned the rearview mirror around so that she could see herself as she watched the truck driving off ahead of her. Her heart pounded and her hands burned like mad. Before she had too much time to ponder on her injuries, she noticed a light up ahead: a bright orange glow. She knew what it was before she had time to realize what was happening, what she had done.

  As the truck continued on, a small trail of rapidly growing fire followed it. The road was narrow and the trail spread quickly, lapping as the flames grew, licking and reaching for something to help it spread. It was a few feet in front of her, hardly any chance of endangering her, but it was headed for the end of the street, where the truck would turn, but she worried the flames would not.

  She knew the driver of the truck must be the murderer, and she’d just lit the match that would help him burn down the only house on this street. Realizing what had to be done, she leapt from her car, pressing the alarm and hoping it would draw attention to the situation. She ran, faster than she thought she ever could, toward the farmhouse. She watched in horror as the flames jumped from pavement to grass in an instant.

  Much to her surprise, the truck, which had all but disappeared around a curve, was now turned around and coming back. Her frantic mind began to imagine her death, realizing this must be how it all ended for her. She’d been foolish in setting off the alarm. She had to have known they would hear it. She forced the menacing thoughts from her mind, searching for an opening in the ever-growing belt of flames. Finally, she saw a glimmer of hope. A small metal bridge ran over the ditch that was already consumed in flames. The truck was drawing closer, flashing its lights at her as she ran. There was nowhere to hide, and she’d already been seen. She stepped onto the bridge, feeling the heat immediately on her feet. The flames were everywhere, climbing up the back of the house, burning a tree that stood in the front yard. Smoke burned her eyes as the driver of the truck made their way out of the vehicle and headed toward her.

  “Hey!” she heard him yell. Him. It was a man, she realized.

  She ran toward the front door of the house, feeling it for heat. She pounded her fists loudly, hoping they would hear her. In the driveway, the owner’s car had caught fire. She felt two hands grab hold of her shoulders from behind. She collapsed immediately, coughing and crying all at once. She tried to fight back, to scoot away from the man, squirming out of his grasp. She used all of her strength to pull away. And then the world shook and her head seemed to explode with a loud boom. She sat up, watching pieces of the car being thrown into the air as the car exploded. She rolled over to face her attacker, ready for anything. What she saw, however…was Henry Taylor.

  “Henry?” she screamed over the deafening crunch of the flames as they ate through everything around them.

  “Mrs. Atwood? What are you doing here?” he yelled.

  “It was you?” She scrambled to her feet, moving away from him.

  “What?” he called, stumbling toward her. “What was me? We have got to get out of here. This place is going to collapse. It isn’t safe,” he shouted.

  From behind her, she heard a loud noise as the porch began to sink it, flames engulfing nearly the entire right side of the house and spreading fast. She turned sideways and darted past him, unsure of where to go. The left side of the house had not yet begun to burn. Jordyn threw off her jacket, wrapping her arm in it and punching through a low window on the side of the house. A shard stabbed her, digging its way under the skin on her arm. Henry grabbed her once more.

  “Let me go,” she screamed, waving her arms defensively.

  He held her arm up, shaking glass off of her jacket, and stared at the glass stuck in her. Blood trickled down her arm. The piece sat completely still, piercing her muscles each time she moved.

  “One, two,”
he counted, ripping the glass from her arm before he got to three.

  She howled in pain. It felt worse coming out than it had going in. He wrapped the cloth around her arm. “We have to keep that clean,” he said firmly. “Stop the bleeding. You’re gonna need stitches.”

  Without another word, he hoisted himself up onto the rickety air conditioning unit and climbed into the house through the broken window. Jordyn watched in awe. He was surprisingly limber for a man who must’ve been in his fifties. He disappeared into the smoke. Despite her throbbing pain and confused state, Jordyn followed his lead, pulling herself into the house with all of the strength she could muster.

  A coughing fit took over immediately as the smoke seized her lungs. She knelt down to the ground, crawling through the smoldering kitchen. A small white terrier danced behind a melting pet gate, screaming in fear. Jordyn made her way to him, picking him up and running toward the window, holding her breath. He squirmed in her arms, scratching and trying desperately to free himself. She kept a firm grip, pressing him into her chest. At the window, she tossed him outside gently and watched as he scampered away, barking noisily as he went.

  She turned back toward the kitchen, Henry was nowhere to be found. She noticed a door at the end of a long hallway that remained closed. “Hello?” she cried out, hoping someone would hear her. In her heart she knew it would be a long shot to still find anyone alive here. On the floor once again, she crawled toward the end of the hall quickly, pressing her palm to the wood to feel for heat. It was what she’d always been taught in school, to detect fire before you entered a room. What they didn’t tell you, though, was that when you were surrounded by fire, everything felt hot. Taking a deep breath, she stood, ready to run, and pushed the door open. A thick cloud of smoke rushed into the room before her. She coughed, fanning her face and looking around.

  “Hello?” she bellowed.

  Jordyn heard her before she saw her. A small whimper. A white nightgown laying down in the distance. Then, two small feet. Blonde hair. A little girl, no older than seven, lay crying on her bed.

  “Hey,” Jordyn called to her. “Hey, sweetie, it’s okay. I’m here to help you. Don’t be afraid, okay? Come with me.” She coaxed her, barely able to see through the smoke. Somewhere in the rest of the house, she heard a loud noise as another wall fell down. Her lungs were burning from lack of oxygen, and her eyes stung from the smoke.

  The girl coughed, wrapping her blanket over her face in an attempt to hide. Jordyn heard Henry yelling for her at the end of the hall. The ceiling creaked above them. A large piece of timber fell from the ceiling in the hallway, burning rapidly. She watched in shock as the wall began to collapse, one minute there and the next minute nothing but a pile of soot and ash.

  Without options or time, Jordyn rushed toward the girl, scooping her up blanket and all, and bolting out of the bedroom. She jumped over the smoldering heap, feeling the small flames lick her legs. As she made it into the kitchen, she saw Henry finally, a woman draped over his arms. Smoke billowed out of the window she’d broken, making something almost like a tornado.

  “We have to go now,” he pleaded with her.

  Jordyn felt the girl’s tiny fingers clamp around her neck and she pushed forward, looking for another way out. “There could be others.”

  “There’s no time,” Henry insisted, making his way toward the window.

  As if to emphasize his point, another piece of the ceiling fell, only feet away from her. The girl cried out, squeezing Jordyn’s neck tighter.

  “Shhh. It’s okay,” Jordyn told her, pressing the child’s face into her chest. “Just close your eyes.”

  Smoke overtook the room, bright glowing flames in every direction. Henry was somewhere ahead of her, but she couldn’t see him anymore. Maybe he’d left. Despite her best intentions, Jordyn couldn’t stand any longer. She felt her knees buckle, though her arms kept a tight hold of the girl.

  Henry’s voice pleaded with her to stand, though she could no longer see him. Her body felt like jelly. Nothing worked how it should. Not her voice, not her eyes, not her lungs. She heard another loud crash, but was unable to see the cause. She didn’t know how the girl left her arms, but suddenly she couldn’t feel her anymore. She felt her body melting as the glow grew closer and closer, brighter and brighter. The room collapsed, darkness filling her eyes. She was floating suddenly, floating…maybe falling? It felt a bit like falling. She hit the ground with a thud. Ouch, she thought, definitely falling.

  Chapter Fifteen

  There is a moment when you wake up from a dream, and just for that split second, you truly believe that the dream was real. For just one single moment, you are still in your dream world, be it nightmare or fantasy, and then when the real world comes crashing down, it’s like being doused with ice-cold water.

  For Jordyn, the real world was the nightmare. For a few moments, she forgot about her pain, forgot about her family, and forgot that someone was killing children. For just a few seconds, she forgot it all. And then, she opened her eyes.

  “She’s awake,” Kate exclaimed.

  Her mother’s worried hands found her face immediately.

  “Jordyn?” Connor asked from her other side, his face hanging over hers.

  She felt the tube inside of her nose, making her want to gag. She tried to speak, but her throat felt odd, gravelly and sore. Everything still reeked of the fire. She nodded. I’m here. I’m okay, she wanted to tell them.

  “Oh, thank God,” Connor said, kissing her forehead. Her body ached. She saw her arm, bandaged in gauze and swollen black and blue. Her eyes stung, and her back was sore. She felt blisters on her legs.

  “Ollie?” she managed to croak, realizing he wasn’t in the room.

  “He’s in the waiting room with your dad,” her mother answered.

  Suddenly, the door to her room opened and a doctor walked in, carrying her chart. “I see we’re awake now.” He smiled at her kindly.

  The group stepped back instinctively as the doctor approached her. “How are you feeling?” he asked loudly, as if the accident had affected her hearing.

  She nodded, touching her throat. “Fine,” she whispered.

  “Do you remember what happened? Do you know where you are?”

  Again, she nodded. “The…fire.”

  The doctor nodded, shinning a flashlight into her eyes. He pulled the tube out of her nose with ease, apologizing when she gagged. He placed a stethoscope onto her chest, moving the gown so that the cold metal could touch her skin. She winced.

  “Sorry,” he apologized, “I know it’s cold.” But he didn’t remove it. “Deep breath for me.”

  She did as she was told, feeling a tickle in her lungs that made her cough.

  He pulled the stethoscope away from her until she was done coughing, then turned and pulled something out of his drawer and placed it between her lips. “Blow,” he told her.

  She did.

  He pulled it back and looked over it. “Okay,” he said, his forehead wrinkling in obvious frustration. “Your lungs took some damage tonight. Way too much smoke inhalation, but luckily we were able to get you some oxygen treatments to help you breathe. Your lungs should heal, but it’s going to take a few weeks, maybe even months before you’re back to normal. Until that point, you’ll need to keep away from strenuous activity of all sorts. I’m going to recommend that you do breathing exercises for the next few weeks as well. As for your arm, we put seven stitches in it, but it was a pretty nasty cut. We’re going to put you on some antibiotics to ward off infections, but you’ll have to keep it very clean. You lost way too much blood. We gave you a pint, but you may still feel lightheaded and weak. It’s fairly normal. Overall, you were very lucky. It could have, and probably should have, been much worse.”

  “I can go home?” Jordyn asked.

  The doctor gave her a small smile. “Yes. You can go home. But, before you do the police are here to get your statement.” He stood up, walking toward the doorway. “I’l
l have your release papers at the front desk for you once you’ve met with them.”

  As he shut the door, panic immediately set in for Jordyn. How in the world was she supposed to explain her involvement in the fire? Was she going to be arrested? Before she could give it too much thought, two uniformed officers entered the room.

  “Ms. Atwood.” She recognized the first officer as the one who had taken her statement at the station before. His partner was a younger man with a pointy mustache and long hair.

  “We need to speak to your wife alone,” the partner told Connor, glancing toward the rest of the room.

  Her mother and Kate stood to leave, but Connor remained steady. “She’s just been through a major trauma. She can barely speak. Surely this can wait until she’s better.”

  “We won’t take long, sir. Her doctor has cleared her to speak to us,” the first officer said, his eyes kind.

  The door shut behind the group as Connor looked through the glass window one last time.

  “I’m Officer Sullivan, if you remember. It’s nice to see you again. This is my partner, Avery McDaniel. Now then, Ms. Atwood,” the officer began speaking, holding out a pad and paper, “can you explain to us why you were at the Hutson’s farm last night?”

  Jordyn thought hard. “I couldn’t sleep. So I went for a drive,” she squeaked out, her throat burning with each word, “I saw the fire and tried to help.”

  He nodded. “Did you see how the fire started?”

  She shook her head.

  He wrote something down. “And what about Mr. Taylor? How did he come into play?”

  Again, she shook her head. “He came in after me.”

  “Did you know him? Before this?”

  “He’s my neighbor. I don’t know him well. We bought our house from him,” she said, picking at her bandage.

  “So you didn’t see anyone start the fire?”

  She shook her head, feeling at least slightly honest with this answer.