Chapter Twenty Four
A Different Kind of Monster
Jameson Bishop
I follow the trail with David and Rachel, but my mind is nowhere near the ground.
It’s on her. On the way she won’t look at me, keeps a careful, deliberate distance, like I’m something she has to avoid touching.
I deserve it. I know I do. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt less.
I walk behind them, watching Rachel stick close to David’s side. She matches his pace. She answers his questions. She lets him steady her when the terrain gets rough. And every time she leans even slightly toward him, something ugly twists in my chest.
Jealousy.
I shouldn’t feel it. I shouldn’t want her to turn to me. Not after what I did. Not after the way she locked the bathroom door like she needed a barrier between us.
But I do. God, I do.
And it crushes me.
I keep my eyes on the trail, forcing myself to focus.
Beth is missing. The killer is ahead of us. Rachel is in danger. That’s what matters. That’s all that matters.
But every time David reaches out, steadying her elbow, pointing out a footprint, shining the light where she needs it, I feel something inside me tighten.
Something protective and possessive. Something I have no right to feel.
I move closer, not enough to crowd her, but enough to be between her and the deeper woods. Enough to put myself in front of her if anything comes out of the dark.
She doesn’t notice. Or she pretends not to.
We follow the trail until the trees thin and the ground slopes downward. The air becomes colder and still.
David stops. “Bishop… look.”
A cave mouth yawns open in front of us, black and wide, like the earth itself is exhaling something foul. The trail leads straight into it; unmistakable.
The killer didn’t just leave clues. He led us here.
Rachel stiffens beside David, her breath catching. I move instinctively, stepping between her and the cave, blocking her view of the darkness swallowing the entrance.
She finally looks at me.
Not with anger. Not with fear. With something worse.
Distance.
I swallow hard. “Stay behind me.”
She doesn’t answer. She just shifts closer to David again, and the jealousy hits so hard I almost flinch. I want to reach for her. I want to explain. I want to fix what I broke.
But I don’t know how.
I only know one thing:
I will not let anything happen to her.
Even if she never forgives me. Even if she never looks at me the same way again.
I raise my flashlight, weapon drawn, and step toward the cave.
“Stay close,” I say.
But she stays close to David instead.
And it kills me.
The air shifts the moment we step inside.
Colder, heavier, carrying the kind of silence that feels engineered.
David’s flashlight cuts through the dark in thin, trembling slices.
Rachel stays close to him, her shoulder brushing his arm every few steps, and every time it happens something inside me twists tight.
I don’t blame her. I know why she’s keeping her distance from me. I know what I did. I know I hurt her.
But knowing doesn’t stop the jealousy. Or the way it guts me to see her turn to someone else for steadiness.
I may just shove him in the path of the killer accidentally on purpose.
I walk ahead of them, but not far, just enough to put myself between them and whatever waits deeper in the cave. The killer led us here.
And now we’re inside his territory.
The tunnel narrows, forcing us into single file. I slow down, letting David and Rachel stay close behind me. I can hear her breathing and every instinct I have screams at me to turn around, to pull her behind me, to protect her.
But she doesn’t want that from me right now.
She doesn’t want me.
The jealousy hits again when David steadies her as she slips on a patch of wet stone. She murmurs a quiet “thanks,” and he nods, and I feel something ugly flare in my chest.
I should be the one she reaches for. I should be the one she trusts. I should be-
The tunnel widens abruptly.
And everything stops.
David’s flashlight sweeps across the cavern floor… and lands on a shape. Small and still.
Beth.
Her body is crumpled near the far wall, half-hidden behind a fallen slab of rock. Her hair is matted, her clothes torn, her skin pale in the cold cave light. She looks like she fell asleep and never woke up.
Rachel gasps; a sound that tears straight through me.
She rushes forward before I can stop her, dropping to her knees beside Beth, hands trembling as she reaches out but doesn’t quite touch. David kneels beside her, his arm going around her shoulders, pulling her in as she breaks.
And I stand there, useless.
Crushed.
Watching the woman I care about fall apart in someone else’s arms.
I want to go to her. I want to hold her. I want to tell her I’m sorry for everything. For the danger I didn’t warn her about. For the distance she’s putting between us now.
But I don’t move.
I can’t.
Because I don’t know how to fix what I broke. I don’t know how to reach her without making it worse. I don’t know how to be what she needs when she’s choosing someone else to lean on.
Rachel presses her forehead to David’s shoulder, her voice cracking as she whispers Beth’s name.
And I stand there in the dark, feeling the weight of my mistakes settle over me like the cave itself is collapsing.
I failed Beth. I failed Rachel. And now the killer has taken more than a life; he’s taken the space between us and turned it into something jagged.
I force myself to move, to kneel beside Beth, to do my job.
But my eyes keep drifting to Rachel.