by Frankie Love
I grip the videotape in my jacket, cursing myself for not watching it sooner. Technically, I could've turned it over to my father a few moments ago, but something prevented me from doing that. I want to watch it before I give it to him—maybe it will give me some clarity.
I pull up on Chris' driveway and get out of the car, knocking on his front door. Once again, there is no answer, and I furrow my brows, wondering why he won't let me in. I fumble in my pockets and pull out the keys to his place that I still have. I let myself in.
The place looks almost exactly the same as it did the last time I was here. It's messy, Stacy's feminine stuff mixed with trash and empty beer bottles. I sigh as I head into the living room, scared shitless I'll see Chris in an even worse state than he was in last time I came around.
"Hey," I call out once I get there. "Are you here?"
"What do you want?" he groans, getting up from the couch. He faces me, and I thank every fucking God I don't believe in when I see his eyes are bloodshot, but he doesn't seem drunk. I guess he drank whatever he had left in the house, but he hasn't ventured outside just yet.
"What are you doing here?" he asks. "I don't need your fucking help."
"I know," I reply. "But I might need yours."
"Why?" he bites out. "They're all gone, anyway. Nothing we can do will bring them back."
I join my brother on the couch, ignoring the trash crunching under my feet. "You heard about Nick?"
"Yeah." He nods. "Got a call from a friend."
I nod and we sit there in silence for a moment, with my heart beating out of control. I need to do what I promised my father—I need to find out if Chris had anything to do with this.
"Which friend?" I ask him.
He gives me a weird look before replying. "Sheldon. The younger officer that started working for Dad."
"Oh," I reply lamely. "I didn't know you two were close."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he asks me, already sounding enraged.
"I don't know." I shrug with the weight of what Dad told me heavy on my heart. "It's weird you know already, that's all."
"What?" Chris says. "Like I don't have any friends?"
I raise my eyes to his. "Where were you when Nick died?" I ask him, biting at the inside of my cheek. God, this is going to be awful, I can already tell.
"What the fuck?" My brother jumps up from his seat and glares at me. "What are you going on about, Luke? Is this some kind of fucking interrogation?"
"No." I try to calm him down and keep my voice level. "I just...wanted to make sure you had an alibi."
"You think I killed him?" he asks, and instead of launching himself at me, like I half expect him to, he just looks at me with such immense sadness in his eyes that it makes me feel like a huge prick.
"I don't, Chris," I tell him honestly. "I never fucking thought that. Not even when I was taken to jail."
"I would never," he mutters. "I'd never hurt someone."
"You tried to hurt me," I point out lamely, and he rubs his eyes wearily.
"I know... I... Sometimes I don't act like myself," he admits. "It's like there's a red mist over my eyes and I can't fucking stop it."
I give him a long look. "Has that happened before, with anyone else? I need to ask you that, Chris, please understand."
"I do.” He nods. "No, it hasn't happened. Not like that. I guess it happens with you because... God, I can't talk about this shit."
"Tell me," I say. "I'm your brother, for fuck's sake. You can tell me everything."
"I'm fucking jealous of you, all right?" he snarls, sighing and running his hands through his hair. "I'm jealous you have everything I've ever wanted. You have Hayley... You have the brains and the looks. You were a way better football player. Fuck, I know that sounds petty, but it’s the truth. I'm nothing compared to you."
"Jesus, you can't really think that," I reply. "I went to prison, man."
"Yeah, and your life is still better than mine," he says. "I'm a fucking failure. I don't have anything. And I'm totally fucked." He points to his head. "In here, everything's messed up. You don't even know how bad it really is."
"So tell me," I say. "Tell me what's really going on."
"I feel like I'm losing it," he confesses. "I feel like I'm letting my demons take over my damn body. And I need to fight them. Everything I do is a fucking struggle. And I'm tired, Luke. So tired."
I get up and pull him in for a rough hug. I've never known how to comfort my brother, but ever since he got his diagnosis, it's been harder for us to really talk. This is the most he's ever opened up to me, and I really appreciate it.
"We'll talk more about this," I promise him. "We'll get you any help you might need. Hayley is worried, too."
He looks away, and I realize the mere mention of her is hurting him. It's awful, and I hate myself for bringing pain into his life.
"For now," Chris tells me. "We need to find out who killed Stacy and Nick."
"And Julie's killer," I say softly. “I may have some evidence."
He looks at me curiously as I pull out the tape from my jacket and explain to him how I came to have it. His eyes widen and he remembers the old VCR as well. After a few minutes of digging in the attic, we retreat downstairs and set up everything on the TV.
We sit down on the couch together, and I feel more connected to my brother than I have in years. Maybe it's finally time to get some answers.
"Are you ready?" Chris asks nervously.
I nod. "Let's get this fucking over with."
He presses play and we sit, glued to the couch, as a man comes into focus on the TV screen. I recognize him right away, and it hurts to see him again after so much time has passed.
Justin Reynolds, the man who killed my sister.
Years ago, when my sister was found raped and murdered, Justin Reynolds was the prime suspect. We all knew he fucking did it. He was a kid from town who'd been in trouble before, and mostly because of Julie. He used to date my sister for a short period of time in high school before she broke up with him. My dad, Chris and I had to convince her to do it—she was in love with him and convinced they'd end up together even though he was a violent fucking prick.
But once he pushed her against a wall during a jealous fit, Julie finally realized he wasn't the one for her, and broke things off. Little did we know, that would only set Justin off more.
He lost it. He started stalking Julie, sending her threatening messages. My dad didn’t take it seriously, thought he was just a lovesick teenager. He let her go to the Halloween party that evening even though Justin had given her a creepy-ass note about what he planned for that. He let her go, and I don't think he's ever fully forgiven himself, because that party is where Justin got to her. Lured her into the woods, and took her innocent young life, but not before having his way with her body.
Later, when Justin was found dead, I was the prime suspect, and with no alibi, I was thrown in jail. Yeah, he had a lot of enemies, but I had the biggest fucking motive. I rotted there for two years for a crime I didn't commit, as much as I fucking wanted to. I'd spent weeks gathering the evidence against Justin. Spent days planning how to kill him, until my father caught me.
He talked some sense into me and promised to go to the higher authorities with the evidence I had. We all knew Justin did it, but the evidence I’d gathered wasn’t good enough, and he'd likely get off easy. I hated the thought.
As my eyes zero in on his features on the screen, I let the hatred for the man flow freely through my body. I fucking regret not killing him.
But as the camera pans out, I notice something is wrong with the picture. Justin is tied to a chair, his eyes bloodshot and desperate as he looks somewhere beyond the camera, breathing deeply with sobs racking his chest.
Chris and I exchange glances, then look back at the TV.
"My name is Justin Reynolds," he says in a shaky voice. "And I am confessing to the murder of Julie Barton."
"Shit," Chris breathes. "H
oly fucking shit."
We stare at the screen in stunned silence as my sister's killer goes on.
"I am in love with her. I needed to have her. I... shit, I can't believe she's gone. It was a mistake, you have to believe me."
Justin sobs on the screen, tears running down his handsome face. God, I hate him. I'll hate him whatever he says on this fucking tape.
"I wanted to have her. Fuck her... She promised me she'd be mine." He stumbles over his words, panicked and looking fearfully at someone behind the camera.
"I made her mine. And I put my hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming," he confesses. "But it was, fuck, I don't know, it was too hard, I guess. I killed her. She stopped breathing. When I stopped, I... I looked at her and her eyes were open, unmoving."
"Jesus," I manage to get out, feeling tears pricking at my eyes. "Jesus fucking Christ."
"She's gone because of me," Justin admits, looking right at the camera. "I know you can't forgive me. I know I'm going away for a long time, but...this is my confession."
He sobs for several long, horrifying moments, and I turn toward my brother.
"Is this real?" he asks, and I nod.
Another voice speaks out on the tape. It's strange, as if the man talking is using some sort of device to change his tone. I guess he doesn't want to be recognized.
"How fucking heartbreaking," the strange voice mocks him. "Yet you wouldn't fucking confess until I got you here."
Justin suddenly looks up, and his face is contorted into a sick, twisted smile. My hands form fists and I want to punch the TV screen. I know the sick fuck is gone, but God, I want one last chance to punch his smug face.
"Of course not," he says calmly. "I don't want to waste my fucking life rotting in jail."
"Good thing you won't," the weird voice tells him calmly. "I have something else in store for you."
Justin looks confused for a second, but then shrieks when a figure emerges from the shadows and stands behind him. He stands behind him, his hands on Justin's shoulders. His face is cut off and all we can see on the screen is a dark figure.
"You can't hurt me," Justin whines. "My dad will kill you."
"Let's see about that," the man says, and in one swift motion, he pulls out a knife from his pocket and slices into Justin's throat.
"Jesus fucking Christ," my brother breathes, leaning over the couch and retching violently on the floor. I can't stop looking, though. I stare at the screen, completely mesmerized by what's going on.
"It's not a big cut," the voice explains to Justin while he chokes on his own blood. Red liquid starts spurting from the gash on his neck. "You'll bleed out nice and slow like the fucking pig you are."
Justin tries to say something, but it's too fucking late for him. If he doesn't get help right now, he'll bleed out. And we all know how his fucking story ends.
I just stare at the screen while the dark figure laughs maniacally.
"Game over, Justin," he tells the bleeding murderer of my sister. "It's fucking game over."
I press pause to collect myself, and help Chris get up. He looks pale as fuck, wiping his mouth after throwing up all over the floor.
"We need to turn this in," he says weakly, and I nod.
"We do," I reply. "We'll go to the police right now. Let's just get you a glass of water and clean you up."
He nods and I run into the kitchen, grabbing a glass for him as well as a damp towel. I come back and help him clean up a little, making sure he's all right.
"Do you think we should keep watching?" I ask him, my fingers shaking as I pick up the remote again.
"I don't want to," he admits. "But I think we have to. We have to see what happens. We have to see if we can catch a glimpse of the killer."
"All right," I manage to get out, pressing play again. "Look away if it gets to be too much."
The man keeps laughing as Justin bleeds out on the screen. While Chris looks at the floor, his face pale as a sheet, I can't look away. This is it. This is the evidence that is needed, the evidence that could prove I didn't kill Justin. All we need is one look at the killer... one small glimpse of the man who hurt Justin.
My mind spins as I think of all the men in this town who would have sought revenge against Justin. I know there's a lot of them who were horribly upset after Julie's murder, and I know everyone wanted justice for my sister. But who would go this far? And why would they kill Stacy and Nick as well?
Justin is bleeding heavily now, and I can see the life slowly leaving his body. His head sags and he breathes low and deep, moving less and less as his soul leaks out with his blood.
The man who hurt him goes behind the camera again and narrates what's going to happen in that bizarre, changed voice.
"About a minute to go before he dies," he says calmly. "Then I am going to dump his body in the woods. They'll never find out who did this. They'll never find out it was me."
Chris and I stare at the screen as his words come true. Justin finally stops moving, his head lolling to the side and his eyes staring at the camera, unmoving and unfocused. Dead. Gone, just like that.
The murderer in the tape chuckles and picks up the camera.
"Goodnight, Justin Reynolds," he says calmly, and for a split second, he turns the camera to himself before turning it off.
It's the moment that changes everything, and Chris and I both gasp as the killer comes into focus.
"Jesus fucking..." Chris says, and I grip the couch so hard I'm sure I've torn some of the fabric.
"Fuck," I breathe. "Fuck. I need to tell Hayley. I need to call her."
Chris' hands shake as he dials her number, handing me his cell. I fumble with it and finally press it to my ear as we both stare at the frozen frame of the killer on the screen.
The phone rings and rings and rings. Nobody picks up. Finally, the line goes dead after it rings too many times.
"We need to go there," I manage to choke out. "We need to go see Hayley right the fuck now."
Chris gets up from the couch, looking stronger than I've seen him in years. His body is shaking, but not with fear. With anger this time.
"I'm going to kill him," he tells me. "I'm going to fucking kill him."
I give him a long look. "Not if I get there first," I mutter.
20
Hayley
When I wake up, the sky is filled with stars. The moon, the one that betrayed me, still hangs in the sky and I’m shaking. Freezing cold. Bound by ropes.
I’m hanging from a willow tree, the creek and its bed of jagged rocks ten feet beneath me. The branches of the tree are my saving grace.
I’m alive.
I’m alive.
I’m alive.
No one is here, it’s completely quiet and my head aches, my arm throbs. Sticky blood coats me. Memories flood me. Mr. Barton wielding a knife. Coming toward my chest. The intent to kill. Chasing me in the dark. Crashing a stone against my head.
I’m alive.
Knowing Mr. Barton wouldn’t just leave me here like this, I need to act fast before he returns from wherever he went. My wrists and feet are tied, though, and I kick at the ropes, but it’s useless.
I squeeze my eyes closed, trying not to panic. I don’t want to scream, because if Mr. Barton hears me, who knows what he’ll do?
When I think about my life, it has never been exceptional. I am an average girl with a penchant for pies. I am not a doctor saving lives or a movie star entertaining people. I am just a girl who left a small town for a big city and then came back home. My life isn’t grand, worthy of a miracle.
But damn, I want one. I want to live and fight for a life that may be small but is mine.
I kick out again, the ropes digging into my ankles, rubbing my skin raw.
I won’t give up without a fight.
A fight for Stacy and for Nick and for Julie.
A fight for me.
And then, a call in the night. A voice I know and would never forget.
Luke is call
ing for me.
In the distance, Luke and Chris call my name. "Hayley," they shout. "We’re here. Hayley!"
My shoulders shake, frozen but relieved. "I’m here!" I call as loud as I can, praying they will get here before their dad.
"We hear you," they shout and tears stream down my face. The boys who were always looking out for me are looking for me now. Saving me.
Their footsteps crash against the brambles as they near the creek, cracking stiff branches as they reach me.
"Baby," Luke says, his voice low and scared ten feet below me. "I’m here."
"I don’t know what he did to get me up here," I say. "But he’s coming back, no way would he leave me like this."
"It was our dad, wasn’t it?" Chris asks, already climbing the willow tree. Luke uses his hands to give his foot a lift, and I twist my body to look at the Barton boys.
"It was, he came at me with a knife. Slashed my arm, and then I ran. He chased me down to the creek and knocked me out with a rock. I passed out and woke up like this. I don’t even know how long it’s been."
Chris is in the tree, climbing towards the branch I’m tied to. He pulls a utility knife from his pocket and Luke uses the flashlight on his phone to give him more light. He cuts the rope that held my feet to the tree, but they are still tied at the ankles. My feet fall, and then I’m only held to the branch by my wrists. I’m swinging in the dark of the night, but Luke’s hands steady my feet.
"If you hadn’t come for me…." I say hoarsely.
"Shh, baby, it’s okay, we’re here now," Luke tells me. He sets his phone on the mossy ground and reaches his arms up as Chris cuts the ropes binding my wrists to the branch. His knife falls, and we hear it sink into the creek.
I whimper, feeling as if I’ll be bound forever.
"It’s okay," Chris promises. "We’ll get you down and then work on the knots on your hands and feet, okay?"
Chris holds the cut rope in his hands and lowers it slowly as I fall into Luke’s arms.