One Last Breath

by Sarah Sutton

  Warren was certainly right. This was the closest they had ever been, and they now had something that linked him directly to the crime scene.

  “We have enough to hold him,” Warren added. “Of course, a murder weapon would help, but it could still be buried in the beach somewhere. We’ll keep the crews still out there a bit longer. It’ll be difficult to find, but we’ll try.”

  He was referring to the police who had been diligently searching the beach for the bodies, until they uncovered them. It was extremely possible that the murder weapon had been buried somewhere along the beach as well, but it was just a string they would be looking for. It was not an easy object to uncover.

  The cars in Ben Ford’s driveway had already been driven to the station as well. Forensics would be searching them overnight. And while Tara believed it was likely that Ben could be the killer, she needed more evidence to be fully convinced.

  Warren looked at the clock hanging by the doorway. “It’s late,” he said. “We’ll check back in in the morning.” At his words, Tara immediately remembered that John’s gig was tonight, and she spun around, looking at the time. It was eight. He was set to go on in an hour. Her heart sank. She knew he would be disappointed, and it had occurred to her that she hadn’t even checked her phone since bringing Ben in. She pulled it from her pocket and checked the screen. Just as she expected, a missed call and a couple of texts from John. Tara sighed. She didn’t even want to look at them. She just wanted to get there.

  “Everything all right?” Warren asked as Tara placed phone down.

  Tara nodded. “John’s first gig is tonight.”

  “Ah,” Warren replied as he stood up. “This job will be an endless pit of cancelled plans.” He shook his head at his words. “But we owe it to our families to always keep trying.” He looked at the clock and then back at Tara slumped in the chair. “If you think you can still make it there, you better put some spring in your step.”

  He was right, Tara realized. She at least had to try to get there, or it would look like she made no effort at all. She couldn’t control her missing it, that her job got in the way. But she could still show up, even if it was at the end of him playing.

  “You’re right,” Tara said as she shot up from her chair. “I might as well try.”

  Warren smiled at her as she made her way to the door. “What’s he playing anyway?” he asked.

  “Some Rush covers.”

  Warren’s smile grew wider. “Sounds like a good time, enjoy.”

  But as Tara opened the door, all she could think about was what he said: an endless pit of cancelled plans. It made her wonder how much disappointment could John take before he had enough.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Tara could already hear the band playing as she hurried to the door of the bar, and hope welled within her. Maybe I didn’t miss it after all, she wished as she swung open a large wooden door, only to be met by a swarm of people scattered throughout a dimly lit room. An industrial-style lighting fixture hung over a long wraparound bar. People sat on barstools with their backs to the bartenders, drinks in hand, as they faced the band playing on the opposite side of the room.

  Tara turned in the direction of the music. She searched among the musicians. She hadn’t met John’s bandmates yet, and at the thought she suddenly felt a strange disconnection she had never felt with him before. Each face was unfamiliar, and she had no way of knowing if they were his bandmates or not. But one thing was certain: she didn’t see John. Her heart sank. It wasn’t his band. He was supposed to go on at nine, and it was now ten thirty. The two-and-a-half-hour drive from Dewey Beach had not helped, and if John wasn’t still on stage now, it was extremely likely that the band on stage was the next set.

  Her eyes scanned the rest of the room. She hoped he hadn’t left yet, but as she looked amongst the sea of faces, sadness dropped into the pit of her stomach. For the first time, she felt truly distant from John, and it wasn’t a feeling she had expected. They had a great relationship, and she had no doubt that he loved her immensely, but Warren’s words had hit her hard. This job is an endless pit of cancelled plans. It echoed in her head. She knew John understood that her job was important. This was just his hobby, but it brought him happiness, and there was a part of her that was sad she had such trouble being a part of it. Is this only the beginning of the rest of our life? she wondered. What will it be like when we have kids? John would be at everything, but would Tara’s job always interfere? Would she always be known to disappoint her family?

  She hadn’t even realized that she had been staring blankly at the band playing when she sensed someone moving toward her, weaving in and out of the people.

  “Tara,” she heard. It was John’s muffled voice, and she spotted his smiling face moving among the crowd. His face was flushed, his hair damp and matted down with sweat, along with his t-shirt. When he was close enough, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in and kissed her. His touch suddenly made Tara’s body relax, and she wondered if maybe she was worrying for no reason. John didn’t seem annoyed or disappointed. In fact, he seemed happy to see her.

  “Did you see that solo?” he yelled enthusiastically. “How awesome was that!”

  Tara’s heart sank. His lack of disappointment suddenly made sense. He had thought she was here all along.

  She waited a moment as the band finished a song and the room erupted into applause. When it subsided, Tara replied. “I must’ve missed it. I just got here.” She searched his face as his smile dropped into a frown. “I couldn’t get out of work. You know I’m in the middle of this case. I…”

  “I know. You’re sorry.” He finished her sentence with a sigh. He was clearly disappointed. After all, he had gotten to perform music from his favorite band, and from his reaction it had clearly gone well. Her absence sat like a pit in her stomach.

  But before Tara could even reply to help ease the tension, a man with glasses and slicked-back hair placed his hand on John’s shoulder.

  “I’m heading out,” the man said as he patted John on the back.

  His eyes fell on Tara, and John forced a smile as he introduced them. His name was Anthony. “He works in my accounting firm,” John informed her as they shook hands. “He happens to play bass too.”

  John beamed at him as they complimented each other on their respective performances. The same excitement he wore when he first spotted her flooded back into his face, but then Anthony headed to the door and John’s face fell once again. It only made Tara’s feeling of detachment from John intensify. She had never met Anthony before. She had heard John mention him once or twice, but she had no idea that he played music with him as well.

  “You want to get out of here?” John finally asked. “You look tired.” She was. The day’s events had been exhausting. But she knew John was just trying to change the subject.

  “I really wish I could’ve been here, John. You know I would’ve if I could.”

  John heaved another sigh. “I know. That’s what you always say.” A silence fell around them as guilt swirled in Tara’s gut. He stared into the distance a moment, as if contemplating what to say. His eyes then turned again to Tara. “I know your job is more important. It’s just frustrating how hard it is to make plans with you sometimes, but I’ll get over it.”

  He forced a smile. Tara was left without words. She didn’t know what more to say. She knew that with her job, she couldn’t promise him anything, and he knew it too. “Let’s go home,” he finally said as he placed his arm around Tara’s waist. She nodded, letting him guide her through the sea of people toward the door. But all Tara could think about was what Warren had said, and her stomach twisted into a knot. She knew it was only a matter of time before she disappointed John on something bigger. As she stepped out into the summer air, she wondered, what was his limit?

  ***

  Tara sat in the living room, flicking through channels. John had already gone to bed. They didn’t speak much more about her missing
his show. They both knew there was nothing more to say. It was a reality they both had to accept—that Tara couldn’t always be there. He had finally detailed how it went, that they had nailed every song, and the tension had eased between them. It made Tara feel better, but she also knew it was only a matter of time before the same issue would resurface. For now, though, she buried the feeling.

  She hadn’t even had a chance to digest the day’s events, and the more she thought about Ben Ford, the more something didn’t sit right within her. She knew he looked guilty, but something about his demeanor made her wonder if he wasn’t the person they’d been looking for. He seemed too nervous. He was rash in his reaction to take the memory card from Tara. He didn’t seem clever. He hadn’t thought out his actions. The broken hard drive, Tara thought. He hadn’t even bothered to hide the pieces. It was a messy attempt to destroy evidence. Yes, he might not have had time, but the killer seemed cleverer than that.

  Tara placed the remote down. She couldn’t watch what was on TV. She was too focused fleshing out every thought. She remembered their original findings: no sign of struggle. Her and Warren had theorized that the victims went willingly, but why would they get into a car with Ben Ford? He wasn’t well known in the community. He wasn’t even charming or handsome. It seemed unlikely that a teenage girl would accept a ride from him.

  The thoughts rolled around in her head until one struck her full-force. What if he really is being framed? It seemed like a far-fetched idea, but if it were true, it was clever, and it was exactly the type of cleverness she’d expect from this killer. Tara’s thoughts ran wild, but as her questioning grew, so did her concern that she was getting ahead of herself. She had already taken a step too far on her last case. She was lucky that she was right and kept her job and her life, but what if this time she was wrong? She couldn’t bear the thought of losing it all. If she went off on her own, Reinhardt would not be as forgiving. And if she were being honest with herself, the thought of putting herself in danger all over again, without backup, terrified her.

  Warren knows what he’s doing, she told herself. She needed to learn to trust the people around her, and at that thought she lay down on the couch. She focused on the TV, but as she pushed each new theory away, her mind swirled into a cloud of exhaustion, and before she even had the thought to head to bed, she drifted off into sleep.

  ***

  Tara stared out into the vast ocean, the waves crashing on her bare feet, pushing sand between her toes. She smiled as the warm sun beat on her back and at the sound of children playing on the beach and in the water.

  “Tara!” she heard behind her, and she spun around, to see John moving toward her, his hair whipping wildly in the wind. The beach was packed, and John weaved around towels and umbrellas, around people enjoying the day, until he stood aside her and reached out a hand. She grabbed hold of it. It felt warm, a warmth more radiant than the sun. He pulled her forward. “Come on!” he said as he playfully pulled her toward the water. She hesitated because she knew it would be cold, but then she heard another voice call her name, this time out in the water.

  “Tara!” she heard, over and over. It was a woman’s voice, and as she gazed out into the sea of people, she could see her mother bobbing amongst them.

  “Mom,” Tara said under her breath. She didn’t understand. She looked toward John. He spotted her too. He was staring at her, waving, smiling, and then gave Tara’s hand another playful tug. “Let’s go,” he said as he led her into the water. She walked forward, letting him guide her as the cold water rose up her legs, the warmth escaping her body. She didn’t like it; she longed for the warmth, but at each step her mother was closer, and she ached to be beside her.

  Deeper and deeper she plunged until the water reached her waist and then her chest. It felt like a bath of ice, and it forced the air from her lungs. But she didn’t care. She could still feel John’s hand in her grip. She could still see her mother’s face as she smiled and waved, now inches away. Tara was now pulling John. She was close to her mother. She could almost touch her. She pulled John harder and harder. But right before she could reach her arm out to hug her, a huge wave formed behind her.

  “Look out!” Tara yelled.

  Her mother ducked. Tara plunged fully in the water, still holding tight to John’s hand. The salt stung her eyes and nose. She could still feel John, but the current pushed and pulled. She could feel their grip growing weaker, and she opened her eyes, but all she was met by was murky darkness. She tightened her grip. The wave had almost passed, and she was about to poke her head up above the water, but suddenly one powerful swell tossed her backward. She tumbled, her hand forced from John’s grip. She clawed around her to find him, to feel for him, but each way she felt, her hands just cut through water.

  The sea calmed, and Tara gasped for air as she broke the surface. She steadied her breathing. It was just a wave, she reminded herself as she opened her salt-stung eyes. She looked around her, but all she could see was water with no end in sight. She spun in every which direction. John was gone. Her mother was gone. All the people in the water were gone. Panic seized Tara’s breathing. There was no land, no beach chairs, no umbrellas to spot. In each direction the water was vast, spanning miles, it seemed, and Tara’s mind swirled into a haze of confusion. How could it be? They were all just there.

  She looked all around. Land had to be close; it was impossible. She swam in one direction, trusting her instincts. It was this way, she told herself as she stretched her arms out and swam harder and harder until she needed to stop to catch her breath. She looked in front of her—still a vast body of water with no end in sight, and she began to panic yet again. “John,” she screamed. “Mom.” But her voice was nothing to the sea. She looked around her again. Desperately, she instinctively paddled in one direction, but then she would stop and try another—each time unsure of her own choices. Eventually, exhausted, she lay on her back, floating, letting the water chose her direction. She stared up at the sky as her tears filled her eyes. She was alone—it was a feeling that ran cold through her body. She knew she wouldn’t be found. She knew she wouldn’t find land. This was her fate.

  The once beautifully sunny sky now darkened. Obscure purples and blues spread through the white clouds like bruises until it was all that could be seen. They blanketed the sky, lightning crashed, thunder rumbled, and Tara closed her eyes as rain fell onto her now ice-cold skin, meeting the warm tears that formed.

  She lay there a few moments until she no longer felt the drops of rain. She no longer heard the rumble of thunder or the crashing of lightning. She opened her eyes.

  She was now not in the water. She was looking down at it, at her body floating, the current pushing it in the direction it chose. But her face looked younger, her body different, and she realized it wasn’t her body at all. It was a teenager—one that she did not recognize. It wasn’t Ashley. It wasn’t Reese or Sofia. But Tara could feel in every fragment of her being that her fate was the same. She wanted to call to her, but as she opened her mouth, she couldn’t find her voice. She wanted to shake her, but she couldn’t reach her.

  Then, suddenly, the girl’s eyes popped open. She stared wide-eyed at Tara, but looking past her, at the sky above. The same terror from Sofia’s picture flooded through the girl’s eyes. Again, Tara tried to call to her. She reached out, but each attempt was useless.

  And then suddenly, as if a whirlpool swelled under the sea, the girl was sucked under, until she was nowhere to be seen, and Tara screamed.

  Tara bolted upright. It was still night. The sky was still pitch-black through the glass doors of the balcony. The moon still shined brightly, causing everything it touched to glow. The TV was still on. Tara was slick with sweat and heaved a sigh of relief that she was still in her living room. It was a strange nightmare, she admitted. It was obscure, but Tara knew it was emotionally driven. Because now her fear that Ben Ford was not the killer made her skin crawl. Her heart raced. Her instincts sat in overdrive. An
d she knew most of all that if she was right and if she ignored them, it would result in the most unfortunate circumstance: another victim.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Justine Wells untied the apron around her waist as she let the door of the restaurant slam shut behind her. She was exhausted. It had been a grueling ten-hour shift, and she was happy to finally be finished. She couldn’t wait to lay her head down on her new bed in her new apartment. She was nineteen, and she had just officially moved out of her parents’ house and into a two-bedroom apartment with her roommate. Her parents were still mostly supporting her, and they would especially once she started Wilmington College in the fall, but it was still a newfound freedom Justine relished.

  She walked briskly to her car. It was late, almost midnight. She didn’t like walking to her car at this hour. It had always given her an uncomfortable feeling, but lately especially. She had heard about the girls that had been found buried on the beach, and now each time she walked to her car at night, it was all she could think about. Her parents had even insisted that she text them each time she got home after a shift. She didn’t blame them, and she understood. But knowing that they were anxious only heightened her own fears.

  She draped the apron over her arm as she dug in her purse for her keys, still not stopping the momentum of her feet propelling her quickly to the parking lot until she could see her all white Jeep glistening under the streetlights. She fumbled in her purse for a moment until she grabbed hold of her keys and pressed the automatic start. The car rumbled, and Justine heaved a sigh of relief. She walked closer, and when she was finally close enough to open the door, she stopped. From the corner of her eye, she could see that her front driver’s side tire was sinking into the ground.