23. Jael
Will You Follow Me Into the Dark? - Klergy and Mindy Jones
I t takes us hours to clean up the mess on the porch. The blood and gore have started to stink up the area, making it reek of rotten meat.
It’s no wonder—McGrath and Dudley have been decaying on the porch for a day and a half now. We’ve been lucky that no one else has come by.
The cabin is tucked away well enough that no one comes down this way unless it’s intentional. I had been planning to flee the scene without all the cleanup work. My preferred method was to burn it all down like I’ve done in the past, but Bront? indicated doing so would attract too much attention.
He uses his unique silent communication style to let me know we have to leave the crime scene spotless and dispose of the two bodies.
It’s what will buy us the most time.
We find shovels and a wheelbarrow in the shed behind the cabin. I stand back as Bront? does the heavy lifting. He dumps both bodies into the wheelbarrow and we start for the woods. He’s taken off the cuffs, allowing me free movement of my arms and hands.
Nerves bounce around the inside of my stomach as the sun sets and I follow him into the woods.
This is the closest I’ve ever been to Bront? with no restraints on one of us. Nothing to hold us back from each other. Nothing to keep us from tearing each other apart.
There’s nothing to keep him from making my greatest fear come true and ending me.
But it seems we’ve come to some kind of understanding. At least for now.
Bront? claims he can show me what’s happened to my sister.
It’s possible he could be lying. This could be a trap he’s laying out for me. I have no way of knowing what’s the truth. What if this has been part of his plan all along?
He could be trapping me, lulling me into a false sense of security. But his eyes—I’d looked into them and seen the sincerity. He’s never struck me as someone duplicitous. Why would he even need to earn my trust and trick me when he had me handcuffed?
He could’ve easily just taken me where he wanted and I couldn’t have stopped him…
All of these thoughts swirl around in my head as we venture deep into the woods. The sun’s long gone and the sky’s darkened to a plum shade by the time we reach a spot Bront? thinks is good enough.
He gestures to the ground and then unceremoniously starts digging. I hang back for a moment and watch him until eventually I join in too.
For a while it’s the only sound in the air—the crunch of dirt and rocks and our breath as we dig huge holes in the ground. I’m a lot slower than Bront?, my arms shaking after only fifteen minutes and an ache starting up in my spine.
I’m not used to this kind of manual labor.
Bront? notices the tremble in my arms as I scoop up another shovelful of dirt and toss it aside. He pauses his own motions and steps toward me. He’s put on his minotaur mask again, wearing it from the moment we left the cabin as if he can’t stand being in any outdoors space without it, even one as desolate as the woods.
In the past, I would’ve screamed and took off running if he came anywhere near me like this. But things have changed. I go still as his large hand grazes mine, slipping the shovel from my grasp and tossing it aside.
“But you need help?—”
“No,” he answers. He points to the trees encircling us. “Stand watch.”
I reluctantly nod and do as I’m told.
He returns to shoveling until the hole’s big enough for one of the officers. Then we move onto a different space and dig up a hole to dispose of the second one.
We’re covered in dirt and sweat once we’re through. We walk the mile or two back toward the cabin in silence. I’ve begun to appreciate the sound of it.
My mind’s buzzing so much at any given moment that it almost helps clear out the noise.
In the cabin, I twist on the faucet for the shower and turn to Bront?.
“It’ll be quicker if we both… I mean… I don’t see any reason why…” I trail off out of awkward uncertainty, rubbing at my neck and barely able to look up at him.
What I meant to say was that it’s not like we haven’t had sex. We’ve already seen most of each other. We’ve entered some strange cross between an alliance and companionship.
Bront? demonstrates he agrees by popping the button of his pants. He drags the zipper down and then lets them fall down his muscled hips and thighs.
I’m struck breathless as my gaze drops with his pants and his dick springs free.
If there was any doubt whether he was a grower or shower, it’s put to rest in this moment.
His huge, girthy dick hangs between his legs, almost longer than my forearm.
I swallow, heat creeping up my neck and fanning out onto my face. “Uh… maybe this wasn’t such a good idea…”
He grabs me by the wrists and wrenches me toward him. I’m experiencing whiplash as he proceeds to undo my jeans like he undid his—a quick pop of the buttons and shove of the denim fabric, and they’re sliding down my hips, pooling at my ankles.
“Wait—” I start, but he’s moved onto my t-shirt. It’s hoisted above my head and discarded on the tiled bathroom floor. My shoulders slump in defeat. “Okay… so this is happening.”
Bront? thrusts the shower curtain the rest of the way aside and then gestures for me to step in. I sigh, shimmying out of my panties and then doing as he’s requested. He steps into the tub behind me, and though the Klum’s shower is larger than most, the space suddenly feels cramped.
It’s an instant reminder that Bront? doesn’t seem to fit where most people normally would.
The hot water pours over us and my pulse races fast in my veins. I’m acutely aware of the fact that we’re sharing a shower like lovers would. His broad, muscular body feels like an iron wall behind me. He eclipses me in every sense of the word.
Something that should strike fear in my heart.
It should terrify me that I’ve allowed myself to be in such a vulnerable situation with the man who has stalked me for years.
As the water rains down on us, washing away the dirt, grime, and blood, I find myself at ease. I’m able to wash off all the gunk I’ve had on me after digging graves and scrubbing the porch spotless, finally turning around to face Bront?.
He’s already watching me, droplets of water sluicing down every muscled ridge of his. Clinging to the many scars decorating his face and body. His earthy brown hair’s slicked down and his eyes are more vivid and green than I’ve ever seen them.
I’ve come to accept he feels more comfortable in his mask. He uses it as a shield to protect himself from the world outside.
But as I peer up into his mangled face, I find myself drawn to the man before me. Each one of his scars seems to communicate a time he was hurt by life. The cruel world we live in wounded him, yet he’s still standing strong and unstoppable.
They’re a roadmap of the suffering he’s not only endured but survived .
I’ve survived too—and though my skin’s unmarked and blemish-free, a sense of solidarity surges through me. I’m just as scarred and damaged as he is.
My mask exists. It’s the face I put on for the rest of the world, and whenever it slips, they call me crazy. They villainize me and try to bring me down.
Have they done the same to Bront??
My intuition already knows the answer.
I reach up to touch his face and he tenses up immediately. His hand snaps shut on my wrist to stop me. I frown, freezing at once to show him I mean no harm. This isn’t about judgment or cruelty. I’m simply being curious.
He understands me as well as I’ve come to understand him. He releases my wrist and drops his arm to his side, allowing me to continue.
I’m gentle and cautious, brushing my fingertips over the raised flesh that is his scars. I go slow, traveling up his wide jaw and skimming across his cheek, where a long, jagged scar makes him clench his eyes shut as if it pains him.
Memories seem to inundate him, like his mind is on the moments it happened.
I caress his cheek, my soft touch lingering until he opens his eyes again.
“I like them,” I say simply. “They’re you.”
The tension corded in his broad, bulging shoulders seeps away. He grabs at my hip to ease me even closer and then he swoops in. His head bows toward mine for a kiss. His lips press into me, warm and slick from the water cascading around us.
I’m caught half off guard, my hand still resting on his cheek.
It’s the first time we’ve kissed without his mask. Just his bare lips against mine.
A sharp shiver jolts its way up my spine and leaves me shuddering in his hold. For a brief moment, the chaotic noise buzzing inside my head quiets down. Everything grinds to a halt and I’m left floating in the pleasant tingle Bront?’s kiss gives me.
We separate only seconds later, studying each other in silence. Steam rolls around us and the scalding water hardly registers.
Finally, we come to our senses and twist off the faucet. I collect clean towels from the bathroom cabinet and pass Bront? his. We dry off in more silence as another idea occurs to me.
“We should wash our clothes before we go,” I suggest. “You only have one pair of pants that fit you. None of Mr. Klum’s do. We’ll be on the road for days.”
He concedes with a nod.
Over the next two hours, I throw a load in the washer, running our clothes through the deep clean cycle, followed by the dryer. I hand Bront? back his pants nice and toasty from the heat of the dryer and turn to gather my own.
We’re lucky to find even one shirt in Mr. Klum’s closet that fits him without shredding.
I stick with the same t-shirt and jeans of Mrs. Klum’s that I’d already been wearing.
Bront? loads up the station wagon (of which he’s replaced the flat with the spare tire), and he gets in the passenger seat for me to drive.
My brows raise in surprise and then I shrug. “Okay, fine. But this doesn’t mean you’re in charge of the radio. I call dibs.”
It’s a joke meant to lighten the air.
Bront? turns his head toward mine, his expression obscured by the return of his minotaur mask. But I see the humor sparking in his eyes. I know he enjoys it when I provide my little silly side commentary.
The wagon starts with its usual whine. “So where are we headed?” I ask, checking my side and rearview mirrors and flicking on the headlights. “I mean, I know you said Easton. But where in Easton? And when are you going to tell me more details? I need to know what I’m getting myself into.”
He stares out the window as if admiring the dark shapes the trees have become in the middle of the night. It’ll be another few hours before sunrise.
“Bront?!” I moan. “An answer would be nice.”
“Soon. Drive.”
I sigh and shift gears from park to drive. The gravel from the pavement crunches beneath our tires as we turn out of the driveway and onto the off-beaten path that leads to the road. We drive by the other cabins in these woods one by one, the lights dark in them all.
If anyone is staying in any of them, they’re sound asleep.
They have no clue what kind of brutal crimes have been committed mere miles away, or that their local sheriff and deputy have been murdered.
We make it to the highway minutes later. I take in a deep breath and then press on the gas, setting off on this journey together.
It’s fourteen hours and hundreds of miles later when we finally decide to stop at a motel. We’ve settled on one from the highway called Eazy Sleep Motel, because it has a diner and gas station adjoined.
Bront? insists on lurking unseen while I head inside the office and book us a room. Though he might be out of sight for most, I’m still cognizant of his presence every moment I’m at the front desk. I fall into step with him as we head up the exterior staircase to the room.
“You know, someday you’re going to have to get used to taking off the mask,” I say, swinging the key attached to a baton as we walk. “You can’t wear that mask everywhere you go.”
His silence tells me he disagrees. He sure as hell can—and has been—wearing his mask every single time he’s outside.
I roll my eyes despite the way my lips almost quirk into a smile.
I don’t bother nagging him anymore. Clearly, he won’t be changing his mind anytime soon.
The motel room is about as fancy as the one at the Mariner’s. The furniture’s creaky and beat up, and the ceiling fan circulates nothing but dust.
But it’s just for the night, and for forty-four bucks, we can’t exactly complain.
I flick on the TV and toss down my duffle bag, making myself at home for the time being. Bront? hovers at the front of the room. As I dive onto the bed and fold my legs crisscross style, I glance over at him and realize I’ve never seen him in a setting like this before.
The cabin doesn’t count—we were both captive at different points during our stay there. Even once he’d uncuffed me, we were in cleanup mode, too busy disposing of McGrath and Dudley to relax much.
I raise my brows at him. “Sit down, Bront?. Get comfortable. This room’s just as much yours as it is mine.”
He waits a second, then lurches forward, stopping at the set of table and chairs by the window. He pulls one out and drops down, the chair legs wobbling.
“Where do you live?” I ask, then I think up some options. “You’re not on some barbarian, man of the wild type nonsense, are you?”
He shakes his head to the side.
I gasp as it occurs to me. “The hospital. But… but you weren’t a patient. Not with how you came and went.”
He gives a nod and then adds, “Basement.”
“That would make sense. Was I the only one you watched… like you did?”
He understands I mean late at night. After hours, once the lights had gone out.
He’d lurked in the shadows of my room and watched me sleep. Sometimes I was so sure he was doing a lot more…
Bront? confirms what I’m asking with another incline of his head. I almost ask if he was at the hospital solely to stalk me, but I bite back that question and save it for another time.
Only local channels play on the TV. News stations, more new stations, and old reruns of various sitcoms.
I skip past a local report about Stanley Vedder and then grow bored and irritated.
“I’m going to head down to the diner to grab some food. I’m guessing you won’t be coming?”
Bront?’s lack of response is a response in and of itself.
He doesn’t do public outings, which means no diner visit. Even if it’s some greasy truck stop diner on the side of the highway.
I grab the room key and my wallet, where I’ve stuffed the cash I borrowed from Stanley, and let him know I’ll be back in a few minutes.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll make sure to bring you back a cheeseburger… or something.”
The door snaps shut and I tuck my hands in my jacket pockets, bracing for the crisp gusts of wind that greet me.
It’s still not lost on me how odd our situation is. I’m on some road trip with my stalker. He’s promised he’ll show me where my missing sister is, and that’s not even addressing the fact that we’re both probably wanted by authorities. If they’re not on our trail yet, they will be eventually.
How long can a sheriff and his deputy go missing before the rest of the department starts a search? And how long before someone other than McGrath and Dudley realize it’s Stanley’s car I’m driving?
Laurent and Wolford must still be looking for me.
I might be making jokes with Bront? and telling him to get nice and comfy, but I’m aware how easily everything can come tumbling down. All it would take is one wrong move and I’d be a goner.
I make it to the ground floor and start toward the truck stop diner. This one advertises its burger and fries special.
The parking lot’s crowded. Semitrucks are parked toward the back like always, but there’re other visitors too—plenty of sedans and pickup trucks of other travelers and even a huge, touristy looking greyhound bus.
I’m crossing the parking lot when I glance down at the asphalt beneath my sneakers.
There’s a ticket for the bus that must’ve fallen out of someone’s pocket or purse. I pause long enough to kneel and pick up the ticket, turning it over between my fingers.
It’s a one-way to Northam, the next city over from Easton.
Rising up to my feet, I glance over my shoulder at the Eazy Sleep Motel, where my room with Bront? is. My gaze falls on the lit-up, curtained window that’s ours. I turn forward and watch the passengers begin to board the bus, conflicted over this new crossroad.
I could sneak on. I could leave with the others and he’d never know. At least not for a while.
But we’ve made a pact we’re headed to Easton together. He said he would show me where my sister’s gone.
The question is, do I trust Bront? enough to believe he’s telling me the truth?