by Gregg Olsen
She threw the bolt on the second one, the one she thought had held Chloe. Light flooded the space, and an old woman looked up from the floor.
“Who are you?” Violet said, blinking at the light.
“Kelly. I’m getting us out of here.” She didn’t ask who the old woman was. Instead, she hurried to lift her to her feet.
Violet cried out in pain.
Kelly’s eyes were filled with terror. “Shhh! They’ll hear you.”
“I’m sorry,” Violet said. “Leave me. I’m not going to be able to walk. My son did this. My son and his girlfriend. Just go. Leave me.”
Kelly went as fast as she could to the last stall, the one next to where she’d been imprisoned. She prayed that she wasn’t too late. Amber had been so quiet. She wasn’t as strong as she was. The two of them together could get that old lady out of there. Her hands were shaking as she undid the bolt and swung open the door.
“Amber!” she cried. Her eyes scanned the scene at a feverish pace, unable to process what she was seeing. Her stall had been dark, devoid of anything.
That wasn’t the case here.
Amber Turner was sitting on a mattress, headphones on, looking at a magazine. She had a lantern for reading. Next to her were a can of Diet Coke and some chips.
She looked up, startled. “How did you get out?”
The room started spinning. Nothing was making sense at all. “I don’t understand,” Kelly said, trying to process Amber’s room. “We have to go. We have to get out of here.”
“Just a second, Kelly,” Amber said, getting to her feet.
“What are you doing? What is happening here?” Kelly took a step backward.
Amber started toward her.
“You didn’t answer me,” Kelly said.
“How did you get out? My dad is going to be so angry at you. You shouldn’t have done it, Kelly. He told me everything would be okay if we just played along.”
Kelly wanted to throw up. “Played along?” she asked as she fought for air. “Blake and Chloe are dead. I’m sure of it. They are goddamn dead, Amber. So is Patty! Is that man your dad? What the hell? What has been happening here?”
Kelly was smart enough not to wait for an answer. She thought back to the ride in the van and how the Mountain Dew had made Patty sick. Amber had brought the Mountain Dew specifically for Patty. She’d never done that before, and Kelly thought it was strange. Nice, but strange.
Not nice. Evil.
When Amber reached for her, Kelly shoved her friend to the ground with all of the strength she had.
“You bitch!” Amber screamed. “You shouldn’t have done that! Why the hell did you push me like that?”
“You’re the bitch, Amber!”
Amber got to her feet and staggered toward Kelly as Violet Wilder somehow found the strength to drag herself with the aid of a pitchfork to where Kelly and Amber were arguing.
In the light of day, the old woman would have easily scared small children with the bruises and blood all over her face and arms. Her hair that she’d always kept beauty salon perfect (“every Saturday, rain or shine”) was a muddy, bloody rat’s nest. The index finger on her right hand swung like a broken gate when she held up her hand.
“Amber? Amber!” she said, looking up from her hunched-over body, “What’s going on? Why are you here?”
Kelly got between Amber and Violet and swung the door shut as quickly as she could. She threw the bolt while Amber screamed at her every ugly name she could think of. And there were many.
“Let’s go,” Kelly said to Violet, extending her hand to help her. “I’m leaving now, and you’re coming with me.”
Without any warning, a gun went off. There was no time to cry out. Kelly felt Violet’s hand go limp as the old woman rolled on the floor. Kelly froze. Everything was happening so fast that it was impossible to process. She looked down at Violet, a bloom of blood on her chest. Kelly filled her sore lungs, and let out the scream of her life.
A woman stood at the entrance to the barn. It was hard to see her face as the light silhouetted her, but Kelly could see the gun, now pointed at her.
Kelly called over to her.
“Why the hell did you do that?” she said, now on the ground trying to help Violet.
“She needed to be put out of her misery,” Brenda Nevins said.
“You’re sick,” Kelly said. “She’s just an old lady.”
Brenda was on her by then, the gun in Kelly’s face. Her eyes were wild, full of excitement. She loved every minute of her drama.
Her drama.
“Why isn’t there a camera on me when I need one?” she asked.
A shovel—same one that had struck Tansy Mulligan—slammed down on Kelly. Everything went black.
* * *
Kendall Stark grabbed her keys and went for the door. As soon as she got into her car, she started dialing. She was so angry at Fenton Becker. He could have put an end to Brenda’s reign of terror before things had spun out of control. First, she phoned SA Casey, but he didn’t answer. He was never any help! She left a voice message, telling the FBI agent where she was headed. She called Birdy next, but she didn’t pick up either.
She thought of the invitations sent out to the four girls. She knew that Amber had made them, but she didn’t know why. A killer had bewitched her father.
In Brenda’s world, no one mattered. Just her.
Sherman Wilder used his own daughter to do his lover’s twisted bidding.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Alone in the dark with the body of a dead grandmother, Kelly’s eyes fluttered and she woke. Her head hurt like hell. She felt the bloody knot that rose up from where the shovel had smacked her. Even in that twilight of emerging consciousness she knew who had hit her.
It had to have been Amber.
Kelly was shaking and woozy, unable to stand. She looked over. Violet’s body had been dumped next to her. It was scary and sad at the same time. She’d never seen a dead body before. She certainly had never been locked up with one. As she pulled herself together, she knew she could add a dozen other firsts to that scenario. She’d never been a witness to murder. She’d never been kidnapped. She’d never seen a woman shot in front of her.
She’d never been so betrayed by someone she thought she could trust.
Kelly felt for the cold metal of the horseshoe. It hadn’t brought her any luck after all. She threw it across the stall with a sob. She had been the badger. She had been strong. Now she had very little if anything left. She would die. She’d been betrayed by Amber.
They all had.
“Help me,” came the faintest voice. It was softer than a murmur. Almost like the noise that comes when someone merely mouths the words behind another’s back. Kelly touched Violet’s arm and her fingers moved.
“You’re alive,” Kelly said, tears coming to her eyes. She didn’t know this old woman and she could barely understand the emotions that flowed through her.
For now, they both were alive. Alive. It was a word that meant more to Kelly than anything. It was more powerful than the evil that had tried to snuff them out.
Kelly took off her shirt, wadded it up, and put it on the wound that oozed blood from Violet’s chest. Violet winced, but didn’t cry out.
She was tough.
Kelly leaned close to Violet and whispered. “Please don’t die on me,” she said as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Hang on. We’re both not going to end this way. We’re not.”
Violet squeezed Kelly’s hand. It was a short pump, but firm enough to get the message across.
Yes, Kelly knew she was right. This old lady was a badger too.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Kendall Stark parked her white SUV and turned off the ignition. She’d been unable to reach anyone. She looked at the blank face of her phone. Nothing.
Birdy had no cell reception and her inability to answer was understood. Forgiven. But SA Casey? Not cool. As she sat there, she knew she’d broken the biggest
rule in the book by going to Wilder Farm alone, but she didn’t think the risk outweighed the possibility that she might be able to stop Brenda Nevins from killing again.
There had been enough killing.
Kendall studied the GPS map for the location of the Wilder farm. She knew there was only one way in by car or foot—the road. A potential escape route was the Elwha River, but the waters were high from the storm, and she highly doubted Brenda would risk such a plan. She had seen, after all, the perils of what a river could do.
She’d drowned her high school friend, Charlotte Barrow. Charlotte had been the first victim—the only victim that hadn’t followed some kind of blueprint. Everything since then had been a killing for a specific purpose, real or imagined. After Charlotte came Addie, Joe, Kara, Juliana, Janie, Chaz, Reeta, Patty, Rob, Blake, and finally, her lover, Sherman.
If there were only a handful more—and Kendall prayed that there hadn’t been—Brenda would have achieved what she’d almost certainly set out to do. She’d set a record of sorts by taking the lives of more people than the most notorious female serial killer of modern times. In Brenda’s twisted mind, such an achievement was a gold medal. An Oscar. A Pulitzer.
She’d always wanted—needed—to be the best at something. And more than anything, she wanted to be recognized for it.
* * *
Birdy and Elan sat mostly in silence as they started the long drive home from Natalie’s. They were tired. Bone tired. The early morning hours had been physically and emotionally exhausting. While Elan kept his focus on Amber, Birdy’s thoughts stayed on her mother. Natalie Waterman’s withered remains had been picked up by a nice young man in a tired, dark suit and were on their way to the crematorium in Port Angeles. A memorial would be held at Ruby Beach in a few weeks. Summer had returned to her on-again, off-again marriage.
“You okay, Aunt Birdy?” Elan asked.
“I’m fine. You?” she answered, though half of what she said was a lie. She wasn’t okay at all. Before Natalie took that final breath, it had gone through Birdy’s mind that her passing would bring some peace. It was a selfish thought, and she hated herself for even allowing it to pass through her brain. Her mother had caused nothing but pain for so many people for such a long time, yet in that last moment, there had been the hint of understanding and reconciliation. Birdy knew whatever she’d hoped would be unfulfilled forever. Natalie Waterman was gone. Birdy hadn’t asked her all that she’d wanted to know. When she had the chance, she didn’t confront her as she thought she would.
* * *
She looked ahead at the rain-slickened road.
“I’m not rewriting my personal history with my mom,” she said, “but the truth is—and I hope you believe me—there were many things I loved about her, Elan. She was like a boiling vat of acid most of the time; but other times not so much.”
The Prius passed the last of the small homes that lined the forest where Birdy had spent so much of her youth.
“Yeah, my mom is the same way,” Elan said.
Birdy glanced at Elan. Her eyes were hopeful. “You seemed to work some things out. Did you, Elan?”
The teenager cracked his window a little. Cool air brushed against his handsome face. “Progress is slow on the reservation. But, yeah, I think we did. I refuse to blame her for things because, well, you know . . .”
“I don’t,” Birdy said. “What?”
“I don’t want her to end up like her mom. I want her to let go of whatever made her do what she did to me and just be done with it. I’m done with it.”
His words soothed her broken heart.
“That’s good,” she said.
“The best way,” he said.
As the car passed through town, Birdy’s phone pinged and she reached over. Finally some cell service. It was a text from Kendall.
On my way to the Wilder farm outside of PA.
Sherman Wilder worked in IT at the prison. I think he’s the guy Brenda carved up on YouTube.
Birdy pulled over and tried to phone Kendall, but the call went to voice mail.
“Kendall, are you all right? Be careful. Not far from PA. Let me know if you need me.”
Elan looked up from his phone. No messages from Amber, of course. There hadn’t been any in days. He Googled the name Wilder and searched for an address near Port Angeles. The Clallam County tax assessor’s website provided a name and address.
“Alec and Violet Wilder own property at 48 Elwha River Road,” he said, looking up at his aunt. He was nearly out of breath, like he’d run a marathon.
She put her hand on his knee. “Calm down,” she said. “You’ll hyperventilate.”
Elan gulped in some air. “Aunt Birdy, we have to go there. We have to go now. Amber’s there.”
What to do? The smart thing or the right thing?
Birdy turned to Elan. “I want you to calm down. I need you to take some of the emotion out of this right now. I need you to do this right now, Elan. Do you understand me?”
“I think so,” he said.
“Put the address in Google Maps and get directions.”
Birdy got out of the car and went to the trunk. She returned with the gleam of the barrel of a gun she’d retrieved from a lockbox that he’d never known existed.
“Holy shit,” he said.
“Don’t swear,” she said, putting her seat belt back on.
Elan thought better of asking to hold it. “I didn’t know you packed,” he said.
“Part of the county’s idiotic cross-training program,” she said, setting the gun on the console and buckling in. “I guess it might not be so stupid now. How far away is the Wilder residence?”
“Seventeen miles,” Elan said. “Seventeen point five to be exact.”
Birdy looked over at him. Exact was good.
“Let’s see how fast this thing goes,” she said, pulling onto the highway and accelerating to seventy-five miles per hour.
“You can do better than that,” Elan said, watching the speedometer.
Birdy cocked her head at him. “Good enough,” she said. “We want to get there alive, don’t we?”
* * *
Kendall Stark parked her SUV about a quarter mile from the turnoff that led to the Wilders’ long driveway. It was muddy, rutted. Exactly like a lot of the driveways out in the rural parts of Kitsap. Except longer. A lot longer.
She crept along the fence line that cordoned off the pasture until the farmhouse and barn were in view. Smoke curled from a trashcan by one of the outbuildings. A black cat skittered across the yard into a meticulously tended dahlia bed adjacent to the house. The scene was calendar art Americana. Kendall made her way behind the barn and her heart sank.
The library van.
Tansy Mulligan had made her last stop there. While there was no video of her demise on the Internet, Kendall was certain that the only thing that kept her on that farm was the fact that she’d been murdered there. Her daughter had told a Port Angeles police officer that her mother “lived for her cats” and “never would have left them alone overnight without a full dish of food and lots of water.”
Looking around for any sign of anyone, Kendall, her gun drawn, moved to the van. She peered inside. It was empty, save for a plastic laundry basket brimming with books on the passenger seat. The back of the van was loaded with two full racks of books and CDs. Doors unlocked. Keys were in the ignition.
No sign of Tansy Mulligan. She was gone.
Kendall shifted her gun to her left hand and reached for her phone, but there was zero cell service.
Perfect, she thought. Just perfect.
An eerie silence lay over the picturesque farm. In a very real way, it was a ghost town. She scanned the yard and worked her way around the outbuildings. Kendall was all but certain that Brenda was long gone. She’d wanted fame, but she didn’t want to be caught. There would be no reason for her to make a stand against law enforcement there. Brenda wasn’t outnumbered, but Kendall knew that wouldn’t be the case f
or long.
Just where is everyone?
* * *
“There’s Kendall’s car!” Elan said as Birdy pumped her brake and slowed to a stop.
A Keep Kitsap Green sticker was affixed to the back window.
“Yes,” Birdy said. “She’s here.” She parked the Prius behind the SUV.
“What are we going to do?” Elan asked.
Birdy didn’t know. “It isn’t we. It’s me. You aren’t going to do anything but sit tight.”
She opened the door, took her gun from the console, and got out. Elan opened his door.
“This is dangerous,” she said. “You aren’t listening very well. I told you that you are staying here.”
“Amber’s my girlfriend,” he said. “She needs me.”
“Look, I know you care about her. And you’re right. She needs you. She needs you to be alive, Elan. Stay put.”
Elan folded his arms. “I won’t stay here,” he said. Birdy didn’t have time for teenage angst. Kendall might be in trouble.
“Elan, my mother died today,” she said. “I’m about the lowest I’ve ever been. I know she was your grandma and in a weird way, your mom, too. But I’ve been through a lot more with her, and I’m not going to put up with any crap from you or anybody. You stay put. Do you understand?”
He looked at her with those dark eyes; eyes that could be sad, defiant, and appreciative all at once. He’d never seen Aunt Birdy act like that way. They’d been through a lot together. The night Natalie died was only one of the trials that had tested them and brought them to the brink. This was another. He didn’t want to fight her.
“I’ll stay here for fifteen minutes,” he said. “That’s it. If you don’t come back in fifteen, then I’m coming.”
Birdy knew Kendall was perfectly capable on her own. She was just there to offer some backup. She’d been a good shot when hunting with her father, though she’d never shot at anyone in her life and hoped that this wasn’t going to be the first time her target was a human.