“Matthew Morgan, the fire chief,” the doughnut eater answered.
Emerson leaned forward too fast. The movement made her dizzy all over again. “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously. A cold breeze blew in through the broken window, caressing her arms.
“Seems his daughter, Sydney, grew concerned when she couldn’t get through to either of your cell phones.” The bald cop disappeared into the kitchen and returned with cups of water. Outside, an ambulance siren cut through the night, the sound drawing closer for the second time that day. “Sydney told her dad her suspicions,” Doughnut Eater continued. “And Matthew came to the house to check it out. But he said that when he got here, nothing was working: the buzzer, the gate, the phones. It was as if it were all frozen. So he put a call in to us. Good thing, too. It looks like this was a real hostage situation.”
“It was more than that.” Emerson thrust Tenley’s cell phone at the cop. Now that her head was clearing, she recognized him as one of the ones from the fire at Matt’s apartment earlier that day. She collapsed back on the couch, suddenly bone tired.
“It’s all on the video,” Tenley finished for her. “Sam Bauer admitted to killing his wife, and pinning Caitlin Thomas’s kidnapping on Jack Hudson.”
“Well, you can relax now, girls,” the cop said. “We have Sam in custody.”
Emerson twisted around to look out the window. As the sound of the ambulance wailed closer, she watched Sam being shoved into the police car. A second siren filled the air, and then the car was gone, speeding off Neddles Island. Emerson squeezed her eyes shut, relief working its way into every cell of her body.
Sam Bauer was gone. The game was over at last.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tuesday, 12:05 PM
“Still no sign of Calum?” Emerson asked. She dropped her phone onto the cafeteria table next to Tenley’s. Their identical gold cases flashed up at Sydney as she shook her head. “He’s definitely not at school,” Sydney said. “And his phone keeps going straight to voice mail.”
It had been two days since Sam Bauer was arrested. Sydney had tried calling Calum a dozen times since, but she still hadn’t reached him. According to the police, Calum was staying with family while a forensics team searched Neddles Island. But that didn’t explain why he wasn’t answering his phone.
“I can only imagine.…” Sydney trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Sam Bauer’s arrest might be the end of their nightmare, but it was the beginning of Calum’s. His dad was the only family he had left, and now it looked as if he’d be spending the rest of his life in jail. There would be a trial, of course, but the evidence was overwhelming, and there would be no bail set before then.
Sunday night, Tenley and Emerson had spent hours at the police station, giving their statements to the police. When they were asked why they’d gone to Sam’s house in the first place, they both realized it was finally time to tell the truth.
Sydney had been called down to the station soon after, and together they explained everything: how they’d been stalked and threatened ever since Labor Day weekend; how Caitlin and Tricia and Delancey had been part of it, too; how they finally found Sam’s shed and figured out he was their stalker. They were too frightened to go to the cops without proof, for fear Sam would kill them as he’d killed the others. So Tenley and Emerson had gone to the Bauers’ mansion, instead, in the hope of obtaining definitive proof.
When the cops asked why Sam had targeted them specifically, Emerson answered carefully. “I think we all remind him of his daughter in one way or another.” The cops moved on easily to why they were at Matthew Morgan’s house when the fire started. This time it was Tenley who answered, explaining that their stalker—Sam—had sent them an anonymous text demanding they sneak into the fire chief’s home. It had been his first attempt to kill them together; the panic room in his house his second. It was the truth, at least as much as they could tell, and getting it out had felt even better than Sydney had expected.
“Has your dad heard anything new from the cops?” Tenley asked now. Her voice was weary, but the tense look that had taken residence on her face lately had started to fade.
“Sam still isn’t admitting to the dares,” Sydney said, shaking her head. “Or the fire. But two witnesses placed his car in the vicinity of the fire. And there’s enough evidence to put him away for life, whether or not he talks anymore. Honestly, maybe it’s better he doesn’t.” She looked down. “It’s not just our secrets Sam holds. It’s my dad’s, too.”
Sydney looked out the window. Snow had started to fall, dusting the world in white. Octo-storm was nearing the coast, expected to hit later that night. Every news channel was blasting warnings in between their Sam Bauer coverage: Stock up and stay safe. There was talk of downed phone lines, no school, widespread power outages. But all Sydney could think of was how white it would all be, untouched and pristine. Big snows always felt like a cleansing.
“It wasn’t your dad’s fault, Sydney.” Emerson touched a hand to Sydney’s shoulder. In skinny jeans and a leather jacket, her hair combed into a glossy ponytail, she looked the most put-together she had in weeks. “Sam might blame your dad for his family unraveling, but we all know that’s crazy. Sam was a ticking time bomb. Something else would have set him off eventually.” Emerson’s voice grew fiercer with each word. “It wasn’t your dad’s fault, and it wasn’t Meryl’s fault, and it wasn’t Caitlin’s fault, and it definitely wasn’t our fault. All of this—every single, horrible moment—is on Sam.”
Sydney looked up. Emerson was watching her steadily, a concerned look in her eyes. Just a few weeks ago Sydney couldn’t have imagined looking at Emerson without feeling resentment, let alone being grateful to her. But Sam had trapped them all in his twisted web, and it didn’t matter how they’d felt before; it didn’t matter who they’d been before. They were tangled together now, their lives threaded through with shared memories and shared fears. “Thanks,” Sydney said softly.
“And hopefully no one but the police and our families will ever know the truth about what happened,” Tenley added. “According to my stepdad’s lawyers, the identity of all of Sam’s victims will remain private, since, other than Emerson, we were all minors.”
Sydney blew out a long, slow breath. The realization was like a release. After months of being caged, they were finally free.
“Em?” Sydney looked up to see Marta standing over their table. “Can I talk to you?”
Emerson looked nervous as she followed Marta to an empty table nearby. Soon Marta was talking fast, her hands flying through the air, punctuating her words. Her voice floated over to their table: “So sorry… I miss you…”
Sydney blinked, embarrassed by the tears suddenly pricking at her eyes. Her whole life she’d convinced herself that she didn’t want close girlfriends, that she didn’t need the drama or petty fights, the endless sleepovers and shopping trips. But as she watched Emerson hug Marta, she wondered if, at some point, things had changed. If, at some point, she had changed.
“I haven’t gotten to really thank you, Syd.” Tenley’s voice drew her back to their table.
Sydney scrunched up her forehead. “For what?”
“For listening to your gut last night. For telling your dad. You know”—Tenley gave her a small smile—“for generally saving our asses.”
Sydney smiled back at her. “Well, I couldn’t let anything happen to the great Tenley Reed, now could I?”
Tenley shook her head. “If someone had told me last year…”
“I know.” A laugh bubbled up in Sydney. “Believe me, I know.”
Later that afternoon, Sydney stepped into Winslow’s parking lot to find her dad’s truck waiting for her. “You really didn’t have to pick me up,” Sydney said as she climbed into the passenger seat. “Or drive me this morning. I drive home early when I have last period free all the time, and I’ve always been just fine.” It came out sharper than she’d intended it to, and her dad frowned.
&nbs
p; “I know I haven’t been much in the dad department, Syd, but I’m trying now. After everything that happened Sunday, you can’t blame me if I want to chauffeur my daughter around a bit.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. The truth was that when she’d needed him on Sunday, he’d come through for her. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”
Her dad nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “It’s a process. For all of us.” He turned into her apartment building’s lot. “Are you going to be okay alone? Your mom’s not going to be home from work until late. If you want, I could hang out for a bit, until my shift starts…?” He left the question hanging in the air between them.
“It’s okay,” she assured him. “Honestly, I’m pretty exhausted. I think I might take a nap.”
“If you’re sure.” Her dad’s voice was cheerful, but his face fell a little.
“I am. But… maybe another time?” The words took effort to say, but the look on her dad’s face made her happy she’d forced them out.
“Another time,” he agreed.
“A process,” Sydney reminded herself as she headed into her apartment a few minutes later. Definitely a process.
She grabbed the landline from the kitchen and flopped down on the couch. She might not be a suspect in the fire at her dad’s place anymore, but her cell phone was still sealed in an evidence bag at the police station. She’d found Calum’s cell phone number, though, and after trying it at least a dozen times the past few days, she knew it by heart. She dialed it now, but once again it went straight to voice mail.
“Hey, Calum, it’s Sydney. Again. I’m sure you’re probably taking refuge somewhere from all the reporters, but just know that I’m here if you need me.” She paused. She had no idea what Calum knew: about her dad’s involvement in this, or hers. “No matter what, you’re my friend. Okay, Calum? Call me.” She left him her home number and hung up.
She’d told her dad the truth: She was exhausted. But as she curled up on the couch, she couldn’t seem to turn off her brain. Even after Sam’s arrest, there were still things about Kyla’s death she didn’t understand. Had Sam really thrown an explosive from up on the cliffs? And if so, how, with that rock ledge in the way? And even more important, what was his motivation for killing Kyla? This wasn’t some one-off kill-and-run. If Sam did it, he’d taken the time to really plan it out. He obviously had the resources to pay off Hackensack, and the intelligence to pull it off, but why go through with it? Emerson told Sydney she’d asked about it when they were locked in the panic room, but Sam had never answered.
Sydney turned over, burying her face in a pillow. There were other holes, too. As she lay there, they crept out from the crevices of her mind, where she’d tried so hard to banish them. Why had Sam decided to stalk them? If he wanted them gone, why not just kill them flat out, as he had Cassandra and Jack Hudson? When she’d brought it up, Tenley had said there was no explaining insanity. And maybe that was true. Maybe there was no why.
Sydney rolled over again. Maybe answers were overrated. With Sam in jail, they were safe. How much more did they need to know than that?
Before long, her thoughts were fading into white noise. She’d just drifted off when a ringing jolted her back awake. Panic was a reflex, clutching instantly at her chest. But as the fog of sleep cleared, she remembered: Sam was in jail. It was over.
She reached for the phone. Calum’s name flashed on the caller ID. Guilt replaced the panic. At least it was over for her. She pressed the phone to her ear. “I’m so glad you called.”
“Hi, Syd.” Sydney started at the sound of Calum’s voice. It was flat and bruised, nothing like his usual tone.
“How are you?” she asked softly. It was a feeble question given the circumstances, and she grasped for something more. “I’ve been so worried, Calum. Where have you been staying?”
“I’ve been at my aunt and uncle’s house. And, thanks to the Calum-sized shadow my uncle’s lab skeleton is casting on the curtains, I still am, as far as any reporters know.”
“Brilliant,” Sydney said. It came as no surprise; Calum had inherited his dad’s off-the-charts IQ. She paused. She couldn’t tell from Calum’s tone whether he knew about her involvement in his dad’s case. She opened her mouth to bring it up, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it over the phone. “So where’s the real live Calum?” she asked instead.
“I’m home.” Calum paused. Sydney thought she heard a sniffle, but she couldn’t be sure. “The police cleared my house, finally, and since I’m eighteen, there’s no reason not to come back. Who wouldn’t want fourteen bedrooms to themselves?” It was clearly supposed to be a joke, but this time Sydney was sure: A sniffle followed.
Her heart tugged. She’d never heard Calum cry. She’d never heard him be anything but joking and nerdy. It made her realize how little she really knew him. He’d been there for her time and again, but she’d never really looked past his computer-game-loving, SAT-acing, valedictorian facade to the depths underneath. “You shouldn’t be alone, Calum.”
“I’m fine.” His voice broke, exposing the lie. “Honestly, it’s better being here alone than having my aunt and uncle tiptoeing around me. They were acting as if I were being held together by chewing gum.”
Sydney closed her eyes. She knew that feeling. After she returned home from rehab, people tiptoed around her for weeks. It had made her recovery even tougher. It’s impossible to piece yourself back together when everyone’s waiting for you to break.
She opened her eyes. Outside, the snow was falling a lot harder, but there should still be some time before the roads got really bad. “I’m coming over,” she declared. “And you might want to put in some earplugs, because I’m a stomper, not a tiptoer.”
“Syd—”
“See you soon.” She hung up before Calum could protest.
Her mom would be at work for another hour, so she left her a quick message, telling her where she was going. “I’ll be home before it gets worse out,” she promised. Then she jogged to her car and pulled into the street, her headlights slicing twin paths of light through the wall of white.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Tuesday, 2:35 PM
“You’re sure you’re feeling okay? You don’t need anything?” Concerned wrinkles marred Tim’s forehead as he rested his hands on Tenley’s shoulders.
Tenley smiled up at him. Tim didn’t know about what happened at Sam’s house, but he did know about the fire—or at least the darer-free details she’d told him—and he kept popping up outside her classes, making sure she was feeling all right. “I’m fine. Really.” It was only half a lie. Bruises and scrapes crisscrossed her body, the burn on her leg still hurt, and there was a steady pressure in her head, a headache that wouldn’t quite go away. But the darer was gone. It was like a salve, rubbing away all her pain. She looked into Tim’s deep blue eyes. “Better than fine, actually, now that school’s over. I have the perfect cure-all evening planned for tonight.”
“Oh yeah?” Tim threaded his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. She pressed her forehead against his chest, listening to the steady thumping under his shirt.
“Mmm-hmm. I plan to wait out the storm in my bed with a movie marathon and a big bowl of popcorn.”
“I love popcorn,” Tim replied. “And movie marathons.”
Tenley lifted her head. A playful smirk tugged at Tim’s lips. “Are you digging for an invite, Timothy Holland?”
“Me? Never.”
Tenley cocked an eyebrow. “Well, you are officially invited to wait out the storm at Casa Reed. Just in case you’re interested.”
“I could probably be convinced.”
Tenley lifted onto her toes and kissed him, not caring anymore who saw or who knew. The pressure of his lips sent a tingle through her whole body. “That do the trick?”
Tim looked thoughtful. “I could use a little more convincing.”
Tenley was midconvincing when an announcement blasted over the loudspeaker.
“Tenley Reed, please report to Principal Howard’s office.”
Tim pulled back. “What’s that about?”
Tenley’s first instinct was darer, but she quickly dismissed it. There was no more darer. “Guess I better go find out.” She squeezed his hand. “Meet at my house in a bit?”
Tim smiled. “I believe I am officially convinced.”
Tenley tried to banish any nerves as she headed to the principal’s office. It was probably something to do with the fire. But then why hadn’t Emerson been called in, too?
“Miss Reed?” Mary, the principal’s secretary, looked up when Tenley entered the office. Tenley nodded. “Principal Howard will be with you in a moment. You can take a seat while you wait.”
“Is she expecting anyone else?” Tenley glanced around, but the office was empty, as was the hallway behind it.
“Just you,” Mary replied. “She said it wouldn’t take long.”
The loudspeaker crackled on as Tenley sat down. “Good afternoon, Winslow.” Mary was speaking briskly into the microphone. The slight delay made her words ring through the office twice. “This is an announcement that school will be closed tomorrow due to the pending storm. I repeat, Winslow Academy will be closed tomorrow.”
Tenley heard the distant roar of cheers from the hallway. She closed her eyes, imagining a whole free day, with no darer to shadow her every move. “Miss Reed?” Mary’s voice cut across the room. Tenley snapped her eyes open. “The principal will see you now.”
Principal Howard had run Winslow for as long as Tenley could remember. She was a thick woman, with a neat bob of blond hair and kind brown eyes that could harden when necessary. “Miss Reed,” she said warmly, gesturing for Tenley to sit. “I’m sorry to call you in at the end of the day, but I came upon something I thought might interest you.” She placed a puffy pink photo album on her desk. It was tattered and dirt-stained. “I thought it would be best if I gave it to you myself.”
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