by Frankie Love
"Where is she?" I bark at him. "Where the fuck is my Hayley?"
"Calm down," he repeats, but my gaze reveals I mean trouble. He scratches the back of his neck and sighs. "Not supposed to be telling you this, but she's at the police station."
"Is she all right?" I ask, my heart beating out of control. "Tell me she's all right!"
"I don't know," he says. "I don't know, fuck, no one told me a thing. But she's there."
I push him away and leave another man shouting something after me as I run back towards my car. I probably shouldn't be driving in my state, but I need to get to her. I need to know Hayley is all right.
The drive to the police station is a blur and I speed through several stop signs and red lights. Thank fuck the town is sleepy, because I don't want to get in more trouble. Every police officer seems to be at the scene of the crime, too, and I'm alone on the road.
I park carelessly on the precinct's parking lot, and I march into the building, needing answers. I don't let myself think about what might've happened with Hayley. I need to believe she's okay, need to know that she is healthy and in one piece. Because if she fucking isn't... I'll fall apart, too.
I verbally attack an officer as soon as I make it into the building, spitting my questions at him. I recognize him vaguely, and he seems to know who I am, too—thank fuck for that. He promises to give me some answers straight from my dad and walks me toward the interrogation room.
"What the fuck?" I hiss at his back. "Why is she being interrogated?"
He doesn't answer me, merely giving me a patronizing look before letting me into the office.
My eyes adjust to the sharp light in the cold room, and the first thing I see is Hayley sitting on the chair at the huge metal desk, looking tiny and vulnerable as hell in that seat. She looks lost, and I launch myself at her with a growl, needing to protect her as fiercely as I possibly can.
When she sees me, she whimpers, and I wrap her in my arms, needing to know that she's all right. My hands go to her hips, feeling her body, making sure she's here, really with me. Finally, I reach her cheeks, and I pull her in for a desperate kiss. She gasps against my mouth and I don't give a fuck about who's watching us. She's fucking mine and I'm so damn happy she's all right.
"Are you done with your show?" a cold voice asks, and I look over Hayley's shoulders into the eyes of my father. He's standing on the other end of the table, his hands crossed in front of his body and his posture rigid. Shawn flanks his side and he looks almost embarrassed to be there.
"Mind explaining to me why you're interrogating my girlfriend?" I ask my father, and I can feel Hayley heating up under my touch. I guess we've never really defined our relationship, but in the heat of the moment, I don't give a fuck. If she doesn't know who she belongs to at this point, I'll make damn sure to let her know she's mine.
"She's a suspect in my case," he informs me coolly.
"Nick's murder?" I spit at him. "She's a five foot two woman. Does she look like she could take on a full-grown fucking man?"
My father merely glares at me as I rub my temples, sighing deeply. I need to calm the fuck down—the main thing was seeing that Hayley is okay. Now, I can focus on getting her home.
Instead of snapping at my father again, I give him a cool look, asking, "Do you mind if we talk in private for a moment, please?"
He returns my look and turns to face Shawn. "Keep an eye on the suspect, please," he tells him before motioning for me to follow him out of the room.
I walk behind him, feeling the eyes of whoever’s left in the precinct on my back, burning into my skin with a thousand unanswered questions. My father doesn't stop until we're in his office, and I follow him in, convincing myself to remain calm.
"Close the door behind you, please," Dad tells me, and I lift my brows at him, but still do as he says. We sit down at his desk and he pours himself a glass of Jameson as I glare at him.
"Ask away," he says, motioning for me to speak. "I know you have questions. I know this doesn't make any fucking sense."
"We need to talk," I say sharply. "In fact, we should've started talking a long time ago, Dad, and I think you know it."
He merely gives me a tired look back and I keep talking, needing to get to the bottom of this.
"Why is Hayley here?" I ask first. "She's got nothing to do with this, except for knowing Nick beforehand. Why is she a damn suspect?"
"Do you know what happened?" he asks angrily. "Do you know what happened to that poor man?"
I glare back at him, because I really don't, and I need him to tell me. Finally, I shake my head. "Enlighten me."
"He was found dead, with his arm severed," my dad says darkly. "There was a message written in the snow, telling Hayley to stay away and stop digging."
"Jesus…" I breathe out. "She's done nothing wrong though, Dad. She's not your prime suspect in this case."
"She's the only damn person who knew this man!" Dad shouts, his fist coming down on his expensive desk. "She's the only one who could offer us some insight, goddammit. I can't just let her go. She might have more answers."
We sit in silence for a while. I have to confess to myself I agree with my father—if anyone could give us some clues about Nick, it's Hayley. But I'm honestly doubting his murder had anything to do with the man himself, and more with me and Hayley digging into the past, trying to find answers. I remember the message we got back at her place.
"We need to find this murderer," I say. "He's the one who killed Julie's killer, and he probably killed Stacy and Nick as well."
"You don't think I know that?" Dad spits at me, and I glare back at him.
"You've never made an effort to find him," I say. "I was rotting in jail because of it."
"Don't put that on me," he snarls. "I tried everything, every-fucking-thing, to get you out of there, son. And you're forgetting I'm the one who finally got your charges dismissed."
I shrink back in my chair, realizing he's right. "I'm sorry," I mutter. "It's just, we're all so wired right now and this is so fucking hard to deal with. I just need to make sure Hayley's okay."
"You can take her home soon, I promise," Dad says. "We're almost done with the questions we have for her.”
"Any leads on the killer?" I ask, desperate. "He must've left something behind..."
"Nothing," Dad says angrily. "Not a fucking thing."
It feels like there's something hanging in the air, maybe something he wants to say but isn't sure he should. But I press him for it, needing to know if there's more to the story.
"Is there anything else?" I ask worriedly. "I feel like you're not telling me something, Dad."
"I... I shouldn't say this," he says, swallowing hard. It only piques my interest more and I implore him to go on with my eyes. "All right. But swear you won't speak of this. Not even to Hayley, not until we have proof."
"I promise," I tell him.
"I always suspected someone," Dad says solemnly. "I always thought it couldn't have been him... but now it seems more and more obvious."
"Who do you mean?" I ask, my heart beating loudly in my chest.
"I... it's your brother, Luke."
I just stare at my father across the desk, and he launches into an explanation.
"You know he was deeply troubled, even as a teen. And after you were sent to prison and Hayley left... Well, you know he suffered a terrible breakdown. You know he had to go to a mental hospital to be taken care of. You know he... he was damaged."
"That doesn't mean he's a fucking killer," I spit at my father, narrowing my eyes. The mere thought that he is accusing my brother of something so vile makes me want to punch him. "And he had an alibi."
"Think about it," Dad tells me. "He had an alibi because of Stacy. And the night of her murder... he didn't have one. And today? I called him, he said he was at home, but there's no one who can corroborate his story."
"I'll—" I start to say, but my father cuts me off.
"You won't. You won't fucking
lie for him," he tells me sternly. "If he really did this, he needs to be held accountable."
"He didn't," I say, my voice strong and unrelenting. "I'm fucking sure Chris would never hurt someone else."
"You are?" he asks doubtfully. "Remember the episode you two had, when he threw you against the fucking wall, Luke? Remember that?"
I do. And I also remember what happened a little after Stacy's murder, when Chris tried to hurt me with a shattered glass bottle. I don't want to admit it, I don't want to fucking believe it.
"There's one more thing," I tell him. "I found... a key."
"What kind of key?" My dad's eyes narrow, like I'm the one losing my mind here. Maybe I am, with all this shit going on.
"It led to a safety deposit box," I continue. "I found a tape in there, marked the day before Julie's... Julie's killer was murdered."
"A tape?" He comes forward, sliding closer to the desk in his chair. "Where did you find the key that led to it?"
"I... Hayley did," I tell him lamely. "I went to the bank and retrieved the tape."
"Have you watched it?" he asks me, almost angrily. I half-expect him to reach out and shake me, demanding more answers.
I sometimes forget Julie was my dad's little girl. She was his only daughter, the apple of his eye. Chris and I always knew he loved her best. He loved me too, but he worried about Chris and his condition. I know losing Julie hurt him more than any of us.
"I haven't," I tell him. "I’ve been trying to remember where our old VHS player is. I'll find it soon."
"You need to bring that tape in," he says. "You can't keep it—it's evidence. We'll watch it here and see what's on there."
"Okay," I say. "I'll bring it in tomorrow, I promise."
"Good," my father replies, looking distracted and tired. "That's good."
"I think I need to pay Chris a visit," I mutter more to myself than anyone else. "Need to find out what's actually going on here."
"Just be careful," Dad tells me. "I need to know you're both safe. That you're both all right. I hate saying this, but... your brother could be dangerous."
I just stare at my hands instead of replying, not knowing who to believe anymore. My father seems convinced this is my brother's doing, but I can't, won't, believe that. I always had a special bond with Chris and I won't let anyone convince me he killed three people—including his fucking girlfriend, for god's sake!—in cold blood.
"Go visit your brother," Dad tells me. "I'll make sure Hayley gets back home after we're done with a few more questions. Shouldn't take more than half an hour."
"Will you drive her home?" I ask. "Walk her inside, make sure she's okay, all right?"
"Yes." My dad nods. "I promise I will. I'll make sure she stays safe."
"Thanks, dad," I say softly, and we get up. He pulls me in for an awkward hug, and for once, I feel like I'm a child again, and I can go to my father for comfort. When we finally spring apart, I give my dad a long look. It feels like there's more he's not telling me. I know he can't give me all the details, what with being the town's sheriff... but I sure as hell wish he'd let me know what exactly is going on.
But I trust his word, and I know he'll get Hayley home all right. With that in mind, I nod goodbye and leave with my hands in my pockets, bracing myself for the winter air outside.
Time to face my brother.
18
Hayley
I should feel safer in Mr. Barton’s police car than anywhere else in Willow Creek, but instead I find myself pulling up the collar of my coat, crossing my arms, and biting the inside of my cheek.
Nick is dead.
Stacy is dead.
Nick’s cold body, lying in the white frosting of snow, arms bent and eyes blank, haunt me. I can’t shake the feeling that things are going to get worse before they get better.
A few months ago Nick and I lived together. I made him pots of coffee late at night while he crammed for finals, he paid for my gym membership every month, even though I never went. We weren’t a match made in heaven obviously, but he was a good guy.
"You sure are quiet, Hayley," Mr. Barton says. "Doing all right?"
I laugh sharply. All right?
"Nick didn’t deserve to die. I just can’t believe he is gone."
"Were you two an item?"
"No." I frown, realizing he doesn’t know Luke and I are getting serious. "We used to be, though."
"It’s a shame."
I twist my lips, not liking Mr. Barton’s word choice. A shame? It’s more than that. It’s devastating. And terrifying.
"I just don’t get it." I shake my head, frustrated at the reality of the situation. There are no leads and people are dying. Something has to happen. "What is the police department going to do? I think it’s time the FBI gets involved," I tell him. "Nick and Stacy deserve justice."
Mr. Barton steps on the gas. I look over and see his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. "Julie deserves justice, too."
"I agree. I mean, that’s where all of this stems from, right?"
"Of course. People can’t just get away with murdering people."
"So what are you going to do, Mr. Barton? Because I can’t just sit idly by and wait for someone else to die. I know I’m not qualified, but—"
"You aren’t, Hayley. You need to drop this. Let the people who carry guns and handcuffs deal with the boogieman."
"Are you making light of this?" I ask, confused with his tone.
"No, I just think you’re running ahead of yourself."
"I know you want me to drop it, but Mr. Barton, this is Stacy and Nick we’re talking about."
His eyes narrow, frustration clearly written across his face. When he pulls into my driveway, I reach into my purse for my phone to use as a flashlight.
"Still haven’t gotten a light for the driveway. It’s really dark out here," I explain, hating how awkward I made this ride. He must think I am saying he isn’t doing his job… and honestly, maybe I am.
More needs to be done.
"Let me walk you to the door," he tells me. "You’re shook up, and rightly so."
I nod, appreciating the gesture. If Luke can’t be here, his dad, the sheriff, is the next best thing.
We walk past the decaying pumpkins I seriously need to get in the trash, the cornstalks wilting under the light dusting of snow from earlier.
At the door, I invite him in, hating the tension I’ve created. "Would you like a cup of tea? Something to eat? You haven’t had dinner."
"You have any of those famous cookies of yours?"
I smile, opening the door wider for him.
"Of course, I baked plenty extra for the holiday sale."
I shut the door behind us, the foyer dark. The air still. Mr. Barton close behind me, a little too close.
I reach for the light switch, holding my breath as I do.
"You can stay right here, Mr. Barton," I tell him as the house lights up. "I can grab you a Tupperware container to go."
Mr. Barton chuckles. "No, I think I’ll take you up on that tea you offered, to go with my cookies."
"Right." I smile tightly, not knowing when things became so uncomfortable between Luke’s dad and me.
He follows me into the kitchen and I reach for the kettle, trying to act as normal as possible. This is normal. I’m just making tea.
At the sink I fill the kettle with water, my back to Mr. Barton, and when I turn, he is a foot away, brandishing a kitchen knife.
"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice shaky, my heart pounding, unable to take a step back. The sink is behind me and there’s nowhere to go.
"Silencing you. You don’t know what’s good for you, little girl. You keep asking questions, looking for answers. But not anymore. Not after tonight."
I scream as he jabs the knife toward my chest, but I whip my arms in front of me, trying to protect my heart. The blade slices my forearm, and blood drips toward the hardwood floor in slow motion.
I duck low, running as fast as my l
egs can carry me. Tears fill my eyes but I know there’s no time for them. Right now I need to run like the wind, run hard and fast and far, far away. I need to save myself.
I can’t die.
Not tonight.
Not like this.
There are too many things I want to do first.
I never wore a white wedding dress. I never bore a child. I never grew old with the man I waited for.
There are too many I nevers.
Gram said, All good things are worth the wait. You can’t rush love, Hayley.
Luke said, Life is fucking precious. A fucking gift.
I just found the life I was looking for, I can’t lose it before I get the chance to live it, fully.
I run as fast as I can, Mr. Barton behind me, and I head to the creek, knowing it will be the darkest, easiest place to hide. There are no houses close enough to offer me help.
At Willow Creek, my eyes scan for a place to hide, knowing time is not on my side.
Darting toward the biggest willow, I crouch low to the ground, holding my breath.
The moon is above me, and I want it to hide, the light revealing too much. I always loved the moon, made wishes to it as I laid my head on a pillow, asking for sweet dreams.
Now, I beg for the moon to hide, to not reveal me. I’ll sacrifice sweet dreams for a nightmare if it means I’m still alive.
"I’m going to get you, little girl," Mr. Barton calls, closing in on me.
A rock smashes against my head.
I fall to the dank earth, my head spinning, my eyes fluttering, but still seeing the moon that hangs swollen in the sky; it isn’t going anywhere. Because magic isn’t real on nights like this.
I never saw the Eiffel tower.
I never wrote a message in a bottle.
I never learned a second language.
I never told Luke I loved him.
Too many I nevers.
My eyes close.
Magic isn’t real after all.
19
Luke
I drive straight to Chris' place, not stopping once on the way. Even though I should be focusing on what my father told me, I can't help but doubt his words. I'm sure Chris isn't at fault for the murders, despite his recent episodes... But it's time to get to the bottom of this.