Over the Falls

by Rebecca Hodge

  I slid the honey his way. He drank his tea so syrupy it could almost hold a spoon upright. “It seems like the best approach.”

  “I hope your sister’s okay. I know you must be worried.”

  I glanced at Josh and chose my words with care. “There’s probably a simple explanation—a damaged cell phone or a broken-down car.” Or she was drunk or stoned or holed up with a new lover. Josh was worried, so I needed to follow up, but this was probably a whole lot of fuss about nothing.

  Landon opened his mouth as if to discuss it further, but he, too, gave Josh a glance and caught himself. “Hopefully, you’ll get some answers soon.” He reached for the platter of scrambled eggs at the same moment I did, and our hands brushed against each other.

  A surge of heat caught me unawares, and I pushed the plate in his direction, unexpectedly flustered. Too many temptations, that was for damn sure. So much for a return to the old low-key friendship. Josh raised his eyebrows and looked back and forth between Landon and me with a knowing smirk.

  I gave him a don’t-even-go-there glare. “We’ll start calling as soon as we’re done here.”

  We ate. Still flustered, I put too much pepper on my eggs, and the inside of my mouth heated up to match my blush.

  As soon as Landon was done, he got to his feet. “Time for me to get back to work.” He carried his plate and silverware to the sink and loaded them into the dishwasher, as at home in my kitchen as he was in his own. “Thanks for breakfast. Nice meeting you, Josh. Hope to see you again while you’re here.”

  Josh grinned. “I’m sure Aunt Bryn would like that.”

  I knew there was some reason I’d never wanted kids.

  “Thanks for bringing back the ice chest.” I, too, could be pointlessly polite.

  Landon lifted a hand in farewell, gave Tellico a pat, and headed out, his truck rumbling its way down the driveway. I watched him leave with mixed emotions, wanting my space but wanting him to stay, wanting the benefits of a relationship but without the heart-wrenching complications. It was easy for me to criticize Del’s life—the way she dumped her son and disappeared without a word—but in moments like this, I had to wonder whether the path I was choosing was equally foolish and doomed to failure.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bryn

  With Landon gone, Josh and I took care of the rest of the dishes and started toward my office to get down to business. But Tellico stopped, looked toward the front of the house, and barked before we got there. I stepped to the window, wondering if perhaps Landon had forgotten something.

  But it wasn’t his truck returning. A black sedan bounced its way along the final stretch of driveway and came to a halt. Maybe this had something to do with Del? I could usually go weeks without visitors, but in the past two days my homestead had turned into a major crossroads.

  The man who climbed out of the car wasn’t familiar. Mid-thirties, salon haircut, clean-shaven. He was dressed for the city in slacks, a carefully tailored dark jacket, and polished dress shoes. He looked wildly out of place on my homestead, but he surveyed his surroundings with a take-charge air of confidence, as if he belonged.

  I opened the front door and stepped onto the porch in my sock-clad feet. “Can I help you?” Tellico stood beside me, a deep rumbling growl sending a clear warning.

  Josh came out and stopped a little behind me. “Oh no.” His whisper whipped me around—this stranger’s visit must indeed have something to with Del—but Josh shook his head and studied the floorboards. The dismay on his face didn’t offer much reassurance.

  The man gave me a piercing inspection, raised one eyebrow at the dog, and then focused his attention on Josh. He gave a small nod, as if checking off an item on an invisible checklist. Tellico snarled when the stranger was about five feet from the porch steps, and the man stopped. The dog usually had good instincts. I was inclined to agree with his distrust.

  The man smiled in a way that was so polite and perfectly executed, it looked as if he had practiced in front of a mirror. “Hello, Bryn. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? I’m looking for Del.” He gave Josh an equally fake-looking grin. “Hi, Josh. Where’s your mother?”

  I looked harder, but I would have sworn I’d never seen this guy before. Josh straightened and faced the man down, but he was careful to stay two steps behind me. “I don’t know where she is. We’re trying to find her.” He spoke slowly, as if reluctant to share even that much, and his voice had a faint tremor.

  The man’s studied expression slipped for an instant, giving me a flashing glimpse of anger that disappeared as soon as I saw it. “I didn’t come all this way to listen to bullshit.”

  My apprehension ramped up fast, but I wasn’t about to let him harass a kid. I put on my tough-girl face. “Who are you? Why do you want Del?”

  The man’s lips tightened, and he shook his head in mock dismay. “You don’t remember me? I would have thought that night would be etched in in your memory.” He pointed his index finger at me with his thumb raised, an imitation gun, and he slouched forward into a stoop-shouldered stance. “Try and call the cops and I’ll shoot.”

  Carl. Carl Griffith. The memory came roaring back, so vivid that a wave of nausea rolled through me. Carl. I could see the resemblance now. The scuttling, perpetually stoned degenerate I remembered was still there, thinly disguised now by the new clothes, the new car, the new attitude. Carl had gone to high school with Del and me. Hanging out with him was one of Del’s worst mistakes. The last time I’d seen him was fifteen years earlier, and it was a real gun in his hand then, a gun he pointed at Sawyer when he spoke those words.

  My attitude toward Carl’s arrival took an abrupt U-turn. This wasn’t some arrogant stranger looking for Del for benevolent reasons; this was a lethal predator looking for prey. The Carl Griffith I’d known couldn’t even spell the word benevolent, much less understand its meaning.

  Much of what I knew about Carl was more rumor than fact. The kid who’d taunted him for his outdated shoes junior year had his car windshield beaten in with a baseball bat. The girl who turned him down for prom never returned to school, and people reported seeing her in town on crutches. Teachers stepped aside to avoid him; burly football players turned tail and hurried away. Whenever something violent happened, Carl was there on the periphery, watching. He was the sort who was rarely accused but always suspected.

  Now, it was me he was staring at.

  I kept my eyes fixed on Carl but reached back to touch Josh, double-checking that he was still safely behind me. “Carl. You’ve changed.” Bullshit. Evil like that never changed.

  He resumed his confident persona and gave a self-satisfied sneer. “I’ve moved up, but I see you haven’t.” He looked around at my farm with the sort of expression I’d direct at a putrid landfill. “Living in a dump. I always knew you’d go nowhere.”

  I resisted the urge to snap back. Messing with Carl was like nudging a boulder onto a slope already poised for avalanche—the effect was far out of proportion to the action. “Why are you looking for Del?”

  His forehead wrinkled as if he was considering possible answers. “She and I have a business arrangement. She took something of mine. I want it back.” He looked at Josh. “You’re her kid. You have to know where she is. Tell me.”

  “I don’t …” Josh started, but I shook my head, and his voice faded to a stop.

  I’d believed Del’s disappearance was only her normal garden-variety irresponsibility, but if it involved Carl, I had to take it more seriously. And I needed to try to keep Josh out of the direct path of Carl’s anger.

  I took a step forward to the very edge of the porch, squared my shoulders, and sharpened my tone, faking a confidence I didn’t feel. “Del’s not here. I haven’t seen her in years, and Josh already told you he doesn’t know anything.” There was no way I was going to ask what Del had taken. I didn’t want to get involved in this mess. But part of me knew it was already too late. “If we hear from her, we can pass on a message.”

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sp; Carl’s fixed smile disappeared, and his eyes narrowed. “Tell her to call me. If I don’t hear from her in the next week …” He gestured around him, a sweeping arm that encompassed my cabin and barn. My homestead. My life. “You’ve got, what, a volunteer fire department out here? How long does it take them to respond? An hour? More? Old wood buildings. Animals. A kid. You should be careful. Very careful.”

  He spoke the words without any bravado, as if they were a statement of simple fact and not a bone-chilling threat.

  And then he just stood there, looking at me, but his calmness made the warning far more intimidating than it would have been if he’d screamed it in rage. From a stranger, the threat would have been concerning. From Carl, it sparked a deep-seated fear. I had no doubt he meant it. No doubt at all.

  He gave another little check-box nod. Message sent. Message received.

  I struggled to find my voice. “You can’t threaten us that way.”

  He laughed. It was another link to the Carl I recalled from years back—a scraping laugh that sounded too much like fingernails on a chalkboard. “Who’s going to stop me? Del jumps when I tell her to. Even your precious Sawyer believed me and did what I wanted when I pushed the right button and pointed out what mattered to him. He thought he was so holier-than-thou, but I showed him.”

  He wasn’t talking about something that happened when Sawyer and I were together—I would have known. This must have happened later. “What the hell are you talking about? You mean you threatened to hurt Del and Josh to get Sawyer to do something?”

  His fake smile came back. “Well, what really brought him in line was my promise to hurt you.”

  What the hell? In the end, Sawyer only viewed me as a piece of insignificant history. He wouldn’t have lifted a finger to protect me.

  Carl looked pleased at my confusion. “One week. Seven days. The only reason I’m giving you that much time to find Del is because we’re such old friends.” He sneered and turned toward his car, but instead of getting in, he circled around the far side of my truck, where I couldn’t see him.

  I couldn’t chase him without shoes. I held the door open for Josh. “Get in.” He did as I asked, but he was moving like a machine, stiff and on autopilot. His bleak face belonged to someone years older. “Watch him out the front window.” I dragged Tellico in with us, closed and locked the door.

  I raced through the kitchen, bolted the back door, grabbed my boots and a six-inch kitchen knife. Landon was always telling me I needed a gun, but until that moment, the suggestion had felt overly dramatic. I was no expert with a knife, but I’d use it if forced to.

  I ran back to Josh. “How do you know Carl?”

  Josh stayed glued to the window. “Mom used to date him. Not anymore, but he still comes around.” His voice was even, but his face was colorless.

  There was a hell of a lot more going on here than an ex-boyfriend, and if Del was still foolish enough to date such a creep, there was no telling what kind of trouble she’d gotten herself into. My hopes that she was just somewhere partying shriveled up and turned to dust.

  “See him yet?”

  “No.” Josh stared at the knife in my hand, the blade glittering in the sunlight that streamed through the front window. “He was heading for the barn, but I can’t see it from here.”

  Thistle and her babies were locked in their pen, unable to run.

  I was stuffing my feet into my boots and tying the laces, my fear making me fumble the simple task.

  “Wait. There he is.” Josh pointed. “He’s getting back in his car.”

  The engine roared to life and tires crunched on gravel. I gripped the knife hard, unlocked the front door, and stepped out. “Stay here. Lock the door behind me. I need to check the goats.” Josh nodded, so tense it was more of a jerk than a nod. I sprinted for the barn. Tellico ran at my side.

  The goat pen was still latched tight, and Thistle munched calmly on her mountain of hay. The twins looked up at my hasty arrival and wandered my way to investigate. No problem here. Carl must have just been looking around, snooping where he didn’t belong, but not out for damage.

  I turned to head back to the house, and my eyes fell on a lump on the ground in front of the open gate to the chicken pen. A lump that shouldn’t be there. A lump with dark red feathers.

  Annabelle. My favorite. The chicken who sat quietly when anyone came up to her, waiting for a friendly back scratch. I walked toward her with reluctant steps, not wanting to know.

  Her neck had been twisted into an impossible angle, and her lifeless body lay in a discarded heap.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Josh

  I thought Bryn was only checking the barn, but I waited and waited, and she didn’t show and she didn’t show. I stayed by the window, picturing that big knife in her hand, hearing Carl’s snarling words and watching for him to come back, my mouth tasting like metal. But nobody came, and the front yard stayed quiet.

  I worried, wondering if I should go look for Bryn, but finally she and Tellico appeared, coming from the direction of the barn. Bryn was walking slowly, and she still had that knife ready. Her hands were dirty, and her eyes were red like she’d been crying.

  I unlocked the door. “Is everything okay? Are the goats alright? What did Carl do?” Something bad enough to make her cry. I hated it when Mom cried, and Bryn’s tears were just as bad.

  “The goats are fine.” She stopped, cleared her throat, and swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, leaving long dark smudges that made her look even sadder.

  “What happened? He’s looking for Mom.” If I’d known Carl was after her, I would have freaked the first day she was late coming home. “You need to tell me.”

  Bryn’s lips tightened, thin and pale, like maybe she was too upset to say anything, but then she gave a big swallow. “He killed Annabelle. I buried her out behind the barn.”

  The red chicken I’d petted that morning. A sick feeling swirled through my insides.

  I’d killed about a zillion people in my games, but I’d never touched an animal that was alive and breathing and then had it die. A chicken with a name, a chicken who liked to sit in the sun and have her back scratched, Dead? It didn’t feel real.

  Bryn locked the front door and headed to the kitchen. I followed. She washed her hands, then stood, twisting a towel, and stared out the window. “Your mom was dating Carl? They used to hang out long ago, but I thought she got her act together and quit seeing him.”

  “They dated maybe a year ago. It lasted about four months, then he broke up with her. He used to try and act like my buddy, clapping me on the back, slipping me five-dollar bills, asking ‘Josh, how you doing?’ in a fake-happy sort of voice. He gave me the creeps.”

  He’d been okay at first, with a better haircut and better car and better clothes than most of the guys Mom knew. A wave of guilt rose into my chest, and I slammed it back down. I’d been happy when they started going out. I’d told Mom he might help us out.

  But once Carl was around more, I could tell I couldn’t trust him. He was always looking for an angle, like the guys at school who would punch you in the back or slam your locker door on your fingers if you didn’t watch out every minute. He hung out with a bunch of scary guys—the sort with scars and tattoos and muscles. The sort with guns tucked into the small of their backs, bulging their T-shirts like oddly shaped tumors. Friends at school told me stories about what happened to people Carl didn’t like—broken fingers, missing teeth, banged-up heads. And fires. Lots of fires.

  “You said your mom kept seeing him after they broke up?”

  “Yeah, he kept coming by.” I wasn’t going to tell Bryn, but he came by most often when Mom was low on pills. Which didn’t make things too hard to figure out. “She acted upset before she disappeared. Do you think Carl was the reason?”

  “The fact he showed up all the way out here makes me wonder. But how did he know where you were? Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

  “No. I j
ust left. I didn’t even …” Oh. Oh no. This time the guilt flooded in fast, swamping me so hard I had to lean against the wall. “I posted pictures.”

  “Pictures of here?”

  “Yeah. And of the trip.”

  Bryn set the towel down. “Come show me.”

  We went into her office, and I pulled up my Instagram account on her computer. Bryn clicked through my posts. I hadn’t marked location on them, but she ran reverse image searches on a few of the photos.

  She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to—I could see how easy I’d made it. The searches identified not only the city but in most cases also the street and the specific address of whatever I’d taken.

  There were pictures I’d posted from Memphis, then Nashville, then Chattanooga. Pictures I snapped from the car or while I waited for my next ride. I’d taken an I-finally-made-it picture of Bryn’s mailbox when I got dropped here, and a snap of Bryn’s kayak that showed her truck and its license plate. It wouldn’t take anyone long to put it all together. Heck, I could have done it myself with a little time.

  “Marcus and I always post stuff. I didn’t think it would matter.” Carl finding Bryn was my fault. What happened to Annabelle was my fault. I was supposed to be helping, but instead I was just screwing up. I picked up a pen from Bryn’s desk, drew a circle on the back of my hand, and colored it in, pushing down hard.

  Bryn’s lips tightened up skinny. “I don’t know much about Instagram, but anyone who’s a follower of your account can see all this, right?”

  “Sure.” They were always hounding us at school about social media privacy, but I never thought about something like this. I set down the pen and pulled up my list of Instagram followers, but it wasn’t much help. Most were friends from school, but some were avatar pictures with made-up names like Superdog or Mega15. They could have been anyone. One of them could have been Carl.

  “No more pictures online, okay? Not until we know what the hell your mom has gotten herself into.”