Like, Follow, Kill

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  Lincoln sighed on the other end. I could tell he didn’t want to give me the address, but deep down, I knew he would.

  “He lives in a cabin, I looked it up on Google Maps. The address is 636 Woodlawn Drive. It’s right outside of Gatlinburg.”

  I memorized the address in my head, trying to stay calm. “Thank you, Lincoln. I can’t tell you how much help you’ve been.”

  That familiar sense of guilt returned as I told him goodbye. I could tell that he didn’t want to let me off the phone but felt like he had to.

  Not for the first time in my life, I’d told a lie to someone I cared about.

  The only way I could stop this Chris Jared guy was if I confronted him somehow …

  I did a quick search online for him, pulling up multiple results. There were several men with the same name, but only one Chris Jared from Tennessee was on Facebook. As soon as I pulled up his profile pic, I recognized his dark hair and eyes, that stony gaze I’d seen on the street earlier …

  Chapter 19

  For the next two hours, I tried to find out everything I could online about Chris Jared. I couldn’t find a direct link between him and Valerie, although I already knew that there was one. They had worked together at Rook Pharmaceuticals at some point, according to Lincoln, which meant he definitely wasn’t a stranger.

  Was he an ex-lover or a friend of Valerie’s? Perhaps a disgruntled former employee? Someone who is angry at her for quitting?

  Lincoln was right about one thing—Chris Jared was divorced. But there was no mention of children. Both wife and husband had filed restraining orders, but there were no public details.

  He lived in a cabin. A small subdivision in the Tennessee mountains called Rocky Falls. From what I could tell, his closest neighbor was miles away. It was less than an hour away from me now …

  I sat in my truck, unmoving, unsure what to do. The best thing to do would be to wait until Chris-the-stalker went to the bar, then drive up to the cabin. But he didn’t seem to be coming back, and what if Valerie was running out of time …?

  And that’s when my phone chimed: Valerie messaging me back—finally!

  I gasped as I saw the photo she’d sent me. It was a selfie, her cheeks and eyes swollen and bruised.

  He’s going to kill me. Those five words sent chills down my spine.

  If Valerie has access to a phone—even if it’s only for brief periods of time—why is she wasting her time messaging me instead of calling the cops? Sure, they might think she’s involved in Janet’s death … but fighting to prove her innocence is better than dying, isn’t it?!

  Something about this wasn’t adding up.

  I knew what I needed to do—call the police.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to do that either. Valerie had told me not to; she must have a good reason for that. And what if the cops show up and they realize there’s a warrant for me? What if I’m taken into custody before I can help Valerie? What if there is no one left to save her?

  I parked the truck illegally at the curb and jumped out, ignoring the chorus of horns behind me. I took off running, dodging people left and right on the sidewalk. They glared at my ugly face, my panicked motions … but I no longer care what other people think.

  “Excuse me … please! Let me through!”

  I’d seen a knife outlet next to one of the pancake restaurants. The window had been full of sharp-looking pocket knives and swords.

  If I’m going after Chris Jared, then I need to be prepared. Every hero needs a weapon …

  Chapter 20

  Gravel crunched like old bones beneath my feet. My hands were tucked deep inside my pockets; in my right hand, I held the knife. It had a rubber handle with grooves for my fingers. It felt good in my hand, as though it had always belonged there.

  I’d parked the truck a quarter mile from Chris Jared’s cabin and I approached his house on foot.

  I’d expected something gloomy. Rustic. But the small log cabin that Chris Jared called home looked rather new; it was small and homey, orange and yellow flowers planted in neat little rows along a stone pathway that led up to the entranceway.

  It didn’t look like the place where a stalker/kidnapper/possible killer might live. The closest thing to horror was a plastic skeleton dangling from the rafters on his front porch. The Halloween prop swung in the breeze, ominously.

  I’d followed the directions perfectly, hadn’t I?

  Was it possible Chris Jared was here, holding Valerie captive? Or might he have taken her somewhere else?

  I peered out from between two trees, eyes scanning every visible surface of the cabin and surrounding area. The Range Rover was parked on the side. No cute red Miatas, like the manager at The Rest EZ and the young girl staying there had told me.

  The porch light was on, but inside the cabin was dark. Does he have Valerie in there with him? And most importantly, is she still alive?

  But he could be watching me from the window right now, waiting for me to strike …

  I forced myself to move. Emerging from the trees, I snuck stealthily around the right side of the cabin. My limbs relaxed except for the hand on the knife deep inside my pocket.

  Slowly, I circled around the side, praying my footsteps were quiet enough not to disturb him or any nearby animals.

  The backside of the cabin was less neat. There were no decorations or flower beds. No outdoor lighting to speak of. Gently I gripped the doorknob and twisted, a tiny shock of pleasure running through me as it turned easily in my hand.

  This is easy … maybe too easy. Am I walking into a trap?

  I released the knob, changing my mind, and raised my hand to knock instead. I’d barely brushed my knuckles over the surface, when the door swung open. I leapt back in surprise.

  Chris Jared was wearing flannel sleepy pants. No shirt.

  It took me several seconds to find my voice.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Even though it was dark outside and inside, I was able to get a good look at him in the cold moonlight. If he recognized me from earlier, he didn’t let on.

  He looks nothing at all like Chris, I realized. Maybe the resemblance was all in my head.

  “I know it’s late, and I’m so sorry to bother you … but you see, my truck broke down up the road and my cell phone’s dead. I was hoping I could come inside and use your phone? I’m not a psycho, I promise,” I said, praying he couldn’t smell the vodka on my breath.

  “Yeah, of course. Come in.” Once again, I thought: Too easy.

  Chris opened the door and wandered inside the cabin, carelessly exposing his shirtless backside to me. I’d barely closed the door behind me before I’d taken out the knife.

  There was no point in beating around the bush—I had to act and act fast.

  The shiny new blade gleamed in the dark living room, making me feel powerful.

  “Who are you, really?” I pointed the knife toward his back, holding it far enough away so I wouldn’t accidentally cut myself.

  Chris turned around slowly, holding up his hands in a defensive posture. “Chris Jared. Who the fuck are you?”

  “Where are you keeping Valerie Hutchens? And why did you kill her aunt?”

  Chris’s eyes sparkled like two shiny pennies in the dark.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, pronouncing each word slowly. But there was something about his eyes—they were smiling …

  “Oh, but you do. You followed her to a concert in Ohio, and then another trip to the beach … and you followed her to Paducah and now you’re keeping her against her will in Tennessee …”

  “I live here. This is my home. And I was sleeping … I don’t have anyone here. I need you to turn around and leave right now. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go …”

  I moved in closer with the knife, my hand shaking wildly. “I’m not going anywhere, Chris.”

  He’s never going to tell the truth, I realized. I guess I’ll
have to force it out of him.

  “If you don’t tell me where she is, I’m going to kill you. Do you understand?” I took three steps forward with the knife. He scooted back, bumping his backside against a tall, oak hutch.

  “You must be a big fan of Valerie’s,” he said. His lips twitched.

  “Not a fan. A friend. And I need you to tell me where she is right now.”

  Suddenly, his demeanor changed completely. The corners of his lips curled into a smile that matched his eyes. He took a step closer, ignoring the knife that wobbled in my right hand.

  “Do you see that?” he asked, pointing at something on the wall behind him.

  I glanced over my shoulder. “See what?”

  “That,” he said.

  He was pointing at something round and dark on the wall. It looked like an everyday clock.

  “The cameras,” came a whisper behind me.

  The voice was small but shrill, almost like a ding.

  Or like a bell.

  I’d know that voice anywhere; I’d heard it in my dreams so many times … heard it only yesterday …

  Slowly, I turned around and came face-to-face with Valerie Hutchens. Her face was flawless, bruise-free, in the shadowy living room.

  She grinned. And like Ms. Sauer that first day of middle school, I couldn’t help myself—I smiled back.

  Then Valerie slammed something big and heavy down over my head. The room grew smaller and smaller, melting into complete darkness.

  Chapter 21

  I opened my eyes and swallowed. The roof was spinning as I blinked back tears from the pain—my skull felt like it was being ripped from the inside out, like an angry demon clawing its way into the world.

  And then it all came rushing back to me … I was drinking. The accident … oh my gosh, I crashed the Buick! How could I be so stupid? Chris …

  I glanced over at the passenger’s seat, but Chris was no longer in it. There was something else, a lumpy gray mannequin, a mannequin with no head … I recognized the shirt and pants, the jagged hole of space above his neck … Oh my god.

  Gasping for air, I tried to move, my arms weren’t responding to my brain’s commands.

  I can taste blood in my mouth. Chris’s blood.

  I remember now: I bit him. But why the hell would I do that?

  And then I remembered more: the fighting.

  We were fighting about his cell phone. About that stupid girl who had been messaging him again … about the photo I’d found on his phone a couple weeks ago.

  That photo will haunt me for the rest of my life … but not as much as this moment.

  From the driver’s seat, I’d seen him smiling down at his phone. So many girls … so many indiscretions … and he didn’t even have the decency to hide it anymore.

  For a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of the message he was reading.

  “So, which is it this week, huh? Virgins or whores?”

  Chris’s mouth gaped open, and then he did something I didn’t expect: he tossed his head back and laughed. “What the hell are you talking about now, Camilla? Please enlighten me, since you know so much about me these days.”

  “The porn sites. The casual online hookups … I know. And I know you know that I know …

  “One minute you’re clicking on cherry-popper videos, the next it’s the twenty-guy gang-bang bitch. So, I’m asking you right fucking now … which is it you prefer: virgins or whores? Cause we both know you don’t want me.”

  Chris covered his face, rubbing his hands up and down. I couldn’t see or hear his laughter … but I felt it.

  “Every guy looks at porn, Camilla. And you know that; we had this conversation when we first started dating. And I like women, okay? You knew this when we got married. That was your dumb idea, remember? Being faithful isn’t my thing, although I’ve been damned near close to that for you, so you should be happy …”

  “Yeah, but when we first got together, you weren’t sneaking to the bathroom, looking at porn sites daily. You weren’t messaging girls on dating sites. It’s disturbing, really. But that’s only a small part of it.”

  Chris uncovered his face, holding his hands out in a begging gesture. “Please explain it to me—a small part of what?”

  “Nothing.” I shrugged. Arguing with him is pointless. I’ve known that for a while now.

  The lines in the road were growing blurry. The right tire of the Buick hit the road strips on the side. I waited for the growling of the strips to subside, before I answered: “It’s just my whole life, I’ve been trying to understand … try too hard, be too good … and people say, ‘You need to relax, be freer.’ But cut loose and suddenly, girls become whores and sluts. You freak out if I even look at another guy, but you’re free to do what you want … I can’t walk this tightrope anymore. The game is fucking rigged.” I said the words so quietly, Chris asked me to repeat myself.

  “Look, I saw the picture on your phone. I know about the girl you’ve been seeing.”

  “Don’t start this shit again, Camilla. You know what happened last time.” I remembered the sting of the blow, his hands tightening around my neck … the silent scream that would never come …

  He was smiling back down at his phone, texting away.

  Sharply, I jerked the wheel of the Buick to the left. Now that will get his attention.

  “Hey! Don’t do that!” Chris shouted. His phone fell with a thump between the seats. I smiled as I watched him scramble, desperately trying to find where it had fallen.

  I can remember a time when those hands were desperately searching for me … not someone else, not squeezing my neck … not hurting me, like this.

  “Don’t do what?” I said, jerking the wheel to the right.

  I pressed my foot down hard on the gas, picking up speed.

  “You’re so fucking pathetic, Camilla. My mom was right about you.”

  “Fuck you!” I shouted.

  I gripped the wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. I’d had a couple drinks earlier, but my head was clear. Clear enough to know my marriage is over for good.

  “You fucked her, didn’t you?” I asked, staring blearily at the road in front of me. Tears were filling up; I widened my eyes, trying to stop them from spilling over. “I know you did. I saw the photo on your phone. I know you’ve been seeing her.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Milly. Seriously! But I’m glad you brought all this up.”

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?” I said, flatly, swerving from side to side.

  “Because I’m not in love with you anymore.”

  Now it was my turn to laugh.

  “Look, you need to slow down, okay? You’re scaring me right now. Have you been drinking?”

  “How good of you to notice,” I said, chuckling.

  Chris reached for the wheel, and like a wild animal, I jerked my head over and bit down—hard—on his arm.

  “Ow! What the fuck? You bit me!”

  “I was crazy for loving you. And even more crazy for putting up with your family …” I pressed down harder on the gas, my speed jumping up to 80 miles per hour.

  The tears threatening to tumble loose came gushing out and I eased my foot off the gas.

  It’s over between us. I’ve known it for a while, but now there is no longer any doubt.

  I released my hands from the wheel. I want to float through life, just like Valerie Hutchens. See where this shitty road takes me.

  “Camilla, look out!”

  A truck merged into the left-hand lane. I don’t have enough space to brake!

  The Buick skidded across the pavement.

  ***

  I woke up to the sounds of metal and pavement, pain coursing through my head and back. I stared up at the roof. It was no longer made of metal, but slats of wood … I’m not in the Buick, am I?

  I recognized the log walls of the cabin, and when I turned my head to the right, I had a sideways view of the kitchen. I was laying on the floor in Chris’s
living room. Not my Chris, but the stalker Chris: Chris Jared. And he’d hit me over the head with something … No, wait, it wasn’t him. It was Valerie.

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” I turned my head to the left and came face to face with a pair of untied Reeboks. My eyes followed the shoes up to the long, tan, slender legs that connected them to the girl. Valerie was sitting on the couch, smiling, one leg crossed over the other.

  “Rise and shine,” she said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Her face didn’t have any bruises on it.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I croaked. My voice was throaty, not my own.

  “Welcome to my YouTube channel. As my number-one fan, you are the guest star of episode one. Surprise!”

  “Come again?” I tried to sit, but the room was spinning. Do I have a concussion?

  “I knew you’d come. You took a little longer than I hoped, but still … you’re a true follower, Camilla.”

  “Why did you hit me? I came to help …”

  “Look, I’m sorry about that. I was worried you were going to stab Chris for real. That would have ruined everything. We have so much great footage, and I can’t wait to share our story.” She laughed so loud; it was almost like a shout. I winced, the grating sound of her voice like nails on a chalkboard now.

  “Come on, Camilla, tell the truth. Did you really come all this way to help me? You barely know me, and my guess is that you don’t really like me anyway.”

  “That’s not true … I did. I used to …” I tried to focus on her bright-blue eyes and shiny hair … seeing her in person felt surreal and all too real, at the same time. She didn’t look like she did in her pictures. She had aged dramatically; her face no longer that of a young, carefree girl. Now she was a determined woman, a woman with a dirty plan and an awful laugh. Valerie Hutchens, unfiltered.

  “People don’t watch the news anymore, Camilla. And they don’t read books or newspapers either … no one cares about real information; they believe what they want to see. What they’re told to see. You saw a girl you admired, a girl who was in trouble … and based on that alone, you wanted to come to my rescue. It’s not enough to have followers anymore, you understand that, right? Sure, my followers like my photos and make their stupid comments … but would they really follow me, huh? Would they come to my rescue if I needed them?”