by Dan Padavona
Thomas stifled a grin.
“I brought Chelsey Byrd inside the house. You’ll see her car off the shoulder if you come down this way. It’s a green Honda Civic.”
“Roger that. I’m a mile east of your place. You might catch me driving past in a few minutes. Gonna check the road and make sure I’m the only person out tonight.”
The radio fell silent. Through the window, Thomas interrogated every shadow, every wisp of fog, ready for whatever devilry the night would bring. He felt Chelsey’s stare, though he made it a point to concentrate on the darkness closing in on the house.
“Maybe this was a mistake,” she said behind him.
He turned his head as she rose. As she reached for the knob, he placed his hand against the door.
“There’s no reason to leave.”
“This is happening too fast. It’s better if I stay in my car. I’m warm now.”
Lowering his arm, his fingers twitched at his sides.
“Don’t go.”
Just two words. He’d held them inside for fourteen years. She turned her head away, and an injury he didn’t believe still existed tore open inside him. He took a shuddering breath. Stepped away from the door and held an open hand toward the chairs.
“Please,” he said.
She gave him a doubtful nod and followed him back to the window.
Chelsey slid into the rolling chair and crossed one leg over the other. She sipped her coffee. He turned his chair backward and faced her.
“When you first saw me outside the grocery store,” he said, setting his forearms on the chair back. “You asked me if I was okay.”
She took another sip without blinking.
“I remember.”
“I’ve wanted to ask you the same question for fourteen years.”
Her lip quivered, and she bit down to redirect the pain.
“You don’t have to ask. I’m better now, Thomas. I have been for a long time.”
“Good, because there’s something else I need to ask.”
“Okay.”
His fingers twined.
“Was it my fault?”
She turned her face toward his. Confusion crinkled her brow.
“Was what your fault?”
“The depression. Because of the pressure you were under dating someone…like me.”
Her eye twitched. Now she swiveled her chair to face him.
“Is that what you thought?” When he didn’t answer, she reached out and touched his arm. “No, it wasn’t you. You were the only person keeping me sane.”
“Why wouldn’t you talk to me?”
She dropped her face into her hands.
“Because I was young and stupid. And scared. And I was too blinded by my own pain to see what I was putting you and everyone through. My family, friends. I wish I could go back in time and tell my eighteen-year-old self that the darkness will pass, that I should let people in.” He handed her a Kleenex, and she dried her eyes and curled her hand over the tissue. “Leaving you ripped my heart out. But you would have gotten hurt if I’d stayed.”
Thomas swallowed.
“I wanted to help.”
She leaned her head on his shoulders and cried. His body went rigid. He didn’t know how to react. Cautiously, he brushed the hair off her face.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Never apologize for crying. For the time we are born, it has always been a sign that we are alive.”
She raised her head and stared.
“What was that?”
He shrugged.
“A proverb. It felt appropriate, given that you were crying.”
She snorted and wiped her eyes on her forearm.
“I love that you’re always so literal.”
Her lips tightened. She regretted her choice of words.
“I understand what you meant.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” she said, lowering her head. “That I hurt us.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Four o’clock. Fog poised over the lake road.
Thomas rubbed his eyes and slapped his cheek when he drifted off. He sat at his post beside the window, a bloody strip on the horizon foretelling the coming day. He wouldn’t let his guard down until the sun rose.
Chelsey fell asleep on the bed. She curled up, childlike with her arms wrapped around a pillow, as though it were a favorite stuffed animal. Careful not to wake her, Thomas left Chelsey alone and paused beside the bedroom where Naomi and Scout rested. Everybody sound asleep except him.
Darren hadn’t radioed during the last hour. Thomas wondered if the ranger had parked on the shoulder, closed his eyes, and fallen asleep. Thomas padded into the bathroom. Checked the window overlooking the backyard and lake. Nothing moved except the fog.
Maybe he should give up. With the sheriff’s department and the Harmon PD searching for Jeremy Hyde, the killer might be in hiding. Detective Edwards believed Hyde fled the county. But the theory didn’t sit right with Thomas. Egotistical madmen didn’t expect the police to catch them.
He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water against his face. Towel-dried his cheeks and brushed his hair back. The man staring back from the mirror appeared ten years older than he’d been twenty-four hours ago, eyes drooping, face lined and pallid.
As he crossed the landing to make one more round through the house, his phone hummed inside his back pocket.
Darren.
Groggy, he fumbled the phone and picked it up after it slapped the hardwood. Still ringing.
“Good morning, Darren. The walkie-talkie run out of battery life?”
“Where are you?”
He took one step down the stairs and froze. Felt the chill of night crawling up the staircase like rising flood waters and sensed something was terribly wrong. Quickening his pace, he crossed the living room and set his back against the wall.
“I found his vehicle, the Chevrolet Trax.”
Thomas’s mouth went dry.
“Where?”
“A half-mile west of your place. It’s behind a grove, about fifty feet off the road. I wouldn’t have seen it except…”
Thomas didn’t hear the rest. The lake breeze was inside the house. He glanced up at the landing. Shadows spread across the hardwood and clawed down the stairs. As he stepped away from the wall, he knew Hyde was already inside the house.
The floor groaned.
Jeremy Hyde stepped out of the shadows. The madman towered over the deputy. He held the hunting knife with the tip angled toward Thomas’s stomach. Thomas discerned the wicked grin curling Hyde’s lips, the lunar glow of his teeth. His hand inched toward his shoulder holster. No chance to retrieve the gun, aim, and fire before the killer closed in on him.
“It’s over, Jeremy. Drop the knife.”
No response.
Over the killer’s shoulder, Thomas spied the deck door open. The curtains fluttered. Somehow, the madman had dislodged the lock without alerting Thomas.
“The police know you’re here. Set the weapon down and step back. I don’t want any trouble.”
Hyde lumbered closer. Six feet away now, close enough for Thomas to smell the rank of the man’s breath. It was then Thomas realized Hyde was the man who knocked him down outside the sheriff’s department. He couldn’t let the psychopath pass. Thomas would die defending the women. As he shifted his feet, determined to beat Hyde to the stairs, the killer read his intentions and blocked him.
“Go away,” Hyde said.
“Why would I do that, Jeremy? This is my home.”
“It’s my home now. Leave, and I’ll let you live. You know what I came for.”
His heart was an auger inside his constricted throat. Thomas inched his hand closer to the gun. Hyde thrust the knife in warning, and Thomas took an involuntary step backward. Darren must have called the police. Why didn’t he hear sirens? He needed to buy himself another five minutes. Keep the killer occupied until Harmon PD and the county sheriff’s department stormed down the l
ake road.
“Why did you upload the videos, Jeremy?”
The killer’s head tilted over. His eyes narrowed.
“Because I wanted the world to see what I’ve become.”
“And what’s that?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Hyde licked his lips.
“Ask Erika Windrow. I am the darkness, Deputy. The nightmare that wakes you in a cold sweat.”
Good. He’d coerced Hyde into talking. Every second was crucial.
“By sharing the videos, you allowed us to find you.”
Hyde cackled.
“That’s not correct, hero. I found you.”
The cold licked at Thomas’s flesh as Hyde closed the space between them. He had no choice but to go for his gun. But Hyde was too fast. The knife sliced at Thomas’s face. He lunged backward and tripped, stumbling until the kitchen counter dug into his back. White-hot pain blinded his eyes. He grabbed the first thing he saw—a kitchen chair—and whipped it at the killer. The chair bounced off Hyde’s chest and crashed against the floor.
If the killer turned, he had a free run at the stairs. But that would give Thomas time to pull the weapon and fire. Hyde sprang forward. Pivoting, Thomas drove his heel into the killer’s belly and knocked him backwards.
Then a silhouetted figure appeared over Hyde’s shoulder. Thomas squinted and recognized Chelsey amid the darkness. Inside, he screamed for her to run before Hyde spotted her.
“Are you looking for me?” she asked.
Hyde whirled with the knife. Arrowed out of the kitchen toward Chelsey with the blade sweeping at her face.
“Get down!” Thomas screamed.
Chelsey dove out of the way as Thomas removed the weapon and fired. The shot burned a hole through the killer’s shoulder and whipped him like a deranged marionette. Thomas rushed forward. Finger pulling the trigger. One shot to the chest as Hyde turned to face him. Gunshot to the neck, clipping the carotid artery and raining blood against the floor, Thomas still advancing and firing like a train off its tracks as Chelsey lay against the couch with her hands clutched against her ears.
Squeezing the trigger, filling the A-frame with black thunder, until…click…click…click…
* * *
Hyde crashed against the hardwood while Naomi stared down from the upper landing.
With the gun trained on the fallen killer, Thomas stepped around Hyde and kicked the knife away. Hyde’s labored breathing filled the downstairs as the swirling reds and blues of the cruisers lit the windows.
Something broke inside Thomas.
When the police and deputies entered the house, Thomas dropped to his knees in the living room, grasping a pile of cleaning rags he didn’t recall obtaining as he soaked up the blood seeping into the hardwood.
“I have to restore it,” he said as Chelsey snatched his arm and failed to pull him away. “To the way things were before. It has to be perfect.”
Then he fell into her arms, and they knelt together, Thomas weeping into Chelsey’s shoulder as the officers milled around them.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Gray was at the hospital when Thomas strode down the antiseptic-white corridor on Sunday afternoon. He didn’t remember the sheriff stopping him from cleaning Hyde’s blood off the floor—it remained a crime scene until the forensics team finished their work—and his head throbbed after two hours of restless sleep.
The sheriff leaned beside the elevators, his hat tilted low and both hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.
“I told you to stay home until your psych evaluation,” Gray said, glowering at Thomas.
“I’m not on the clock. How’s Serena Hopkins today?”
“She had a rough night. But she’s awake and out of intensive care. You heading up to check on her?”
“Yes.”
“You did good, Thomas. Your quick thinking is the only reason that woman is alive, and you were right about LeVar Hopkins and Anthony Fisher.”
“Where are they?”
“We released Fisher this morning. LeVar Hopkins is upstairs with his sister.” Thomas nodded and pressed the button. Gray touched his arm. “We need to discuss what happened this morning.”
“Nothing happened.”
The doors slid open. Thomas stepped inside. Gray shoved his thumb against the hold-door button and blocked the entrance.
“You attempted to soak up Jeremy Hyde’s blood like you spilled soda pop on the floor. I’m worried about you.”
Thomas glared at his shoelaces and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“The situation overwhelmed me for a moment, but I’m okay.”
“First the gang shooting, now this. Don’t tough it out. Everyone will understand if you need time to process what happened. Don’t turn into a recluse and hide inside your house until the evaluator clears you.”
“I don’t intend to be alone.”
Gray gave him a confused stare.
“You have my number.”
Gray released the button and stepped into the hallway. The doors swept together like curtains closing on a tragic play, and the elevator pulsed and thrummed as it lifted him to the fourth floor.
When he entered the corridor, he spied Raven Hopkins outside the waiting room. The woman held a phone in her palm, her thumbs racing to send a text message. She didn’t notice Thomas until he stood before her. The private investigator lowered the phone and folded her arms.
“Deputy Shepherd. I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“I understand your mother is doing better.”
“She’s out of the woods. I sat with her all morning and made sure she ate. She fell asleep five minutes ago.”
“I’d hoped to say hello. Please send along my regards.”
He gave a quick bow of his head and turned.
“Thank you for what you did.” He stopped. Her eyes penetrated Thomas as if seeing him for the first time. “You cleared LeVar’s name, and you saved our mother. And from what I understand, you shot the maniac who murdered Erika Windrow.” He didn’t reply. Just stood like a rudderless boat with a storm sweeping across the ocean. “Anyway, you’ll always have a friend in me.”
“There’s no reason to thank me for defending an innocent man.”
She clasped her hands at her hips and glanced toward the waiting room.
“My brother made his share of mistakes. But he’s a good person, and he’s doing everything he can to get out of gang life and help our mother. LeVar even enrolled in community college classes to get his GED. But there’s so much on his plate. He needs an honest job and a place to stay, somewhere far from the city.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
She shook her head.
“This is our problem to solve. He’s a product of his environment. As long as he remains in Harmon, the temptation will always be there to stay with the Kings.”
“And your mother? Won’t the temptation be there for her, as well?”
“We talked her into rehab. Provided her doctor clears her, she’ll enter the facility before the weekend. I can’t predict how long the process will take. But we’ll do whatever it takes to move her out of Harmon.”
He wanted to ask Raven about Chelsey and if Raven had heard from her since this morning. After the police secured the house, Chelsey took her keys and drove home. She’d almost died. Thomas wondered how she’d handled the traumatic event.
Over Raven’s shoulder, LeVar exited the waiting room and strode toward the bathroom at the end of the hall.
“I should get back to my house,” Thomas said. “You know where my place is on Wolf Lake?”
“Yes. I see your truck parked in the driveway.”
“Send your brother to my house tomorrow morning.”
“LeVar?”
“I can help.”
* * *
An extension ladder leaned against the guest house. Perched atop the roof, Thomas tore shingles off and tossed them i
nto a wheelbarrow. This was the original roof. He remembered Uncle Truman putting the shingles on, could picture the radiant summer day as if had happened yesterday, his bike tossed in the grass with Thomas sitting cross-legged and watching the roof take shape.
When Thomas smiled, it was usually inside. He’d worked on expressing his emotions since he was a child. This time the happiness met his lips. He yanked the last of the shingles off the roof and flung it over the side. As he dabbed the sweat off his face, he saw LeVar crossing the yard. He wore blue jeans with tears across the knees, a red t-shirt that showed off his arms, and a baseball cap backward on his head. He’d tied the dreadlocks. Sunglasses concealed his eyes.
Thomas crawled down the roof and searched for the ladder with his foot. This was the tricky part. You had to find the perch and descend at a slow, even pace, or the ladder would wobble. Grasping the roof for purchase, he set one foot on the rung and glanced over his shoulder. LeVar held the ladder steady, the teenager’s face unreadable.
“I got ya, Deputy Dog.”
Thomas climbed down and removed his gloves.
“Appreciate the help,” Thomas said, grabbing his water bottle and taking a long drink.
He offered it to LeVar. The boy held up a hand and shook his head.
“Why did you call me over here?”
“Please remove your sunglasses.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see who I’m talking to.”
LeVar folded the sunglasses and dangled them off the collar of his t-shirt. He lifted his chin. The Harmon Kings enforcer had four inches on Thomas.
“All right. I’m listening.”
“You’re strong.”
“I need to be.”
“Are you experienced in construction and remodeling?”
“Like houses?”
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t know shit about either. Don’t you remember? I live in a city apartment.”
“How would you like to learn?”
LeVar twisted his face.
“You offering me a job or something?”
“Not a job. A way out.”
“I don’t follow.”