CHAPTER FORTY
Brett
Present
“I know you’ve expressed fear that you’ll see him again,” Judy draws her leg up under one knee, “but have you thought about what you would do if you did?”
Sometimes I want to ask Judy what other people tell her, because whenever she’s talking to me, she acts like what I’m saying is completely normal. Then again, maybe I don’t want to know…
One side of my mouth curls and I actually smile, “You mean when I see him again?”
“Do you think you actually will?”
“I already do.”
Judy arches her brow with intrigue, “Really?”
I nod and take a sip from my water bottle, running my fingertip over the collage of stickers from all the places I’ve been since arriving here, a record of my journey to safety—for the time being, anyway, “I see him everywhere. Around every corner and in every reflection behind me.” It feels weird to say it out loud, “He’s part of me now.”
“Have you told your boyfriend this?”
“He already knows,” I say with a nod, “he’s the one who told me that he’ll never let go, that he’ll never stop hunting me because I got away.” I glance around Judy’s office, “It’s why I ended up here, in your office, right now.”
“Alright, then what are you going to do when that day comes?” she tips her chin and peers across the coffee table at me, “What are you going to do when you see him again? ”
I think back to that night, the subsequent nights, the long road—literally and figuratively—that brought me to this moment. Then I think about all the fear and anxiety and panic attacks and my own attempts at exorcising my attacker who embedded himself in my head like a cancer.
I wanted to know what it felt like to be a predator.
Now, I have to become that predator—for real—and this is how I do it.
“That’s part of the reason I’m here,” I raise my head with resolve, “I need to make sure when it happens that I’m not afraid. I need to look past the fear, and I need you to teach me how.”
●●●
“When’s he coming back?” my mom asks.
“In a couple days,” I reply, wandering down the hall to my office.
“How are you feeling? I could’ve come stayed with you—or Jo! Especially since you don’t have a car…”
Apparently, the dealership is fresh out of bumpers for my 4Runner. My car won’t be ready to pick up today, maybe not even tomorrow. But it’s not a crisis, there are two additional vehicles down the hill in the pole building that replaced the old, collapsing shed. Well, maybe one additional vehicle, because one’s a stick and I hate driving stick, almost as much as I hate not having my car.
“Mom, it’s a 10-hour flight and he’s only going to be gone for a few days. It’s not like I’m cut off from everyone.” She knows it sounds ridiculous, but she feels like she has to say it anyway. She worries about me more than she used to; because of the baby, and because of what happened last year…
I also don’t have any plans to go anywhere specific. I just cleaned my office, a bright, pastel coral corner of the house with large windows that face the woods out back and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that are finally full again. There are spider plants and fronds and succulents, and gilded gold frames on the walls splashing color into each corner of the room. And, best of all, there’s an oversized cream chair and ottoman nestled in the corner between the shelves and the window, which is the most perfect reading chair on the planet. It’s also Sodapop’s favorite place to nap when the sun hits it just right in the afternoon.
“I know, I know,” she tries to reassure herself, “his sister is close by, isn’t she? I’m sure she’s keeping an eye on you.” She makes me sound like a ticking time bomb.
“Yes, I talk to her all the time. Besides, we’ve been busy with PR for the book and I just did a podcast episode with some friends, so I’m keeping busy.”
“That’s great!” she finally sounds relieved, “I’m sorry I sound so high-strung. I think you’ve handled everything much better than I ever could have. ”
In a sense…
“It would be better if you and Jo came after the baby’s born anyway.”
I don’t want either of you here yet…
My mom feels better by the end of our conversation, but I wish I could just focus enough to finish reading my current book. I’d love to get lost in one of the thousands of books on my reading list. It’s the best way to get inspired. But I’m on edge, alert, and I have to stay that way, at least for the time being—while he’s gone.
All the same, I don’t like for my routine to be thrown off too much, which is what this fender-bender has caused. But I’ve also gotten a lot better at dealing with unexpected events. I find comfort in my routines, but now I’m learning to reframe and try to find the opportunities in the unexpected.
To adapt and use them to my advantage…
Exhibit A: Valerie. I met her because she slammed into the back of my car. She might just be a random person to anyone else, but now she’s part of my story. This is how I view things now; good or bad, there are no coincidences. Everyone has a part to play.
Of course, that’s what a writer would say…
Speaking of which, I should text Valerie and let her know about my car. She offered to give me a ride back into town while he’s gone on the hunting trip. I’ve been so busy with the book release and running social media PR campaigns, it’s been refreshing to meet someone new—in person.
But before I can, my phone starts ringing. I glance at the caller ID as I stir some cream into my iced coffee and answer it.
“Did you see the texts I sent you?” the familiar, bubbly voice asks immediately.
“Yeah, a bunch of links? But I haven’t had a chance to look at them yet.”
The two guys left the house around lunch time, quads loaded with enough equipment to last them for days. Maybe it’s how prepared they were, or maybe how confident they are in general, especially together, but it quelled my worry by the time they left.
They always carry a satellite phone, too, but it’s for emergencies. We’re not that far from civilization, but depending on the weather and terrain, their cell signals might be spotty at best. Not that it matters, his sister isn’t that far away. I was going to call her to go over my plans for the next couple of days, but she beats me to it.
“Look at them now,” she says with urgency.
I put her on speaker and open my texts, unable to tell whether she’s excited or terrified.
LARA CROFT (10:13AM): Look at these. Right now.
Her name isn’t really Lara Croft. It’s a nickname from high school. She hates it, her husband pretends he hates it just because she does, and her brother refuses to let it die. I secretly love it, too, and when she saw I made it her contact ID, she didn’t speak to me for an hour.
Because an hour is all she could manage.
There are no less than 10 links, most of which are links to news sites and the remaining being a smattering of TikTok videos. As soon as I click on the first article, it immediately gives me pause, “No way ,” I murmur in awe, “are you…are you serious? ”
“Plot twist!” she shrieks in delight, her voice echoing through the kitchen’s vaulted ceiling.
After getting over my initial shock, I begin scanning a ProPublica article titled, “PREDATOR IN THE HEARTLAND by Sydney Van Doren.”
“How…” I trail off, scrolling through the extensive article. There are names, there are places…then my jaw drops as soon as I come to two photos side by side, and then another—of myself—further down, “Oh my god…” There are no words, just shock and awe—definitely Sydney’s style.
“Are you alright?” she asks.
“Yeah…yeah…” I take a deep breath, “this is just… wow. I take it this is what she’s been working so hard on lately.”
“You don’t have to read the whole thing now, but it’s—” there’s a pause while she finds the right words, “mind-blowing. There’s a lot that you didn’t know—that none of us knew, until the right people started asking the right questions.”
“Apparently…” I mutter, still astounded.
“But check it out,” she pivots to the videos, “click on the first TikTok video and please refrain from screaming.”
With a macabre mixture of excitement and foreboding, I scan the other links, which include the same story but from other major news outlets, and click on the first video link. It finally loads in the app and a woman with long, curly black hair, deep purple lips, and cat eyes sits in front of a swanky black bookcase with backlighting. Her name is Hailey Hawks, and she’s talking about my book. In and of itself, it’s not surprising, given its instant success.
But Hailey Hawks is not a Bookfluencer, per se…
She’s a true crime podcaster.
Hailey Hawks is what happens when TikTok meets Dateline. Her personality is off the charts, but she’s also a really good writer and amateur journalist. If you see a woman with long, curly black hair, dramatic makeup, who’s wearing a Slipknot t-shirt and dancing across the screen to Shakira while raising awareness about an unsolved case in North Dakota, it’s probably her.
Hailey’s niche is featuring books based on true crime and bridging the gap between two giant audiences. However, this time is different. This particular video is a teaser for her upcoming episode.
Hailey holds up my book, speaking to the camera .
“Y’all know I only focus on nonfiction, but this morning my inbox was filled with messages about an article that just dropped…a cold case from way back when I started…then readers started contacting me about this book and its author, who are named in said article…and then this restraining order came out, with a name…guys, this is a bombshell to say the least…I don’t think it’s coincidence, there’s something big happening here…”
Now Hailey’s talking in vague terms about police reports and Facebook posts and timelines and patterns and cover-ups…
“Stay tuned for the next show dropping in three days…make sure to turn on your notifications…”
“Brett,” her voice breaks me out of my stupor, “this is it.”
And she’s right. Social media is the wild, wild, West. Web sleuths find things, people talk, and it spreads like wildfire. Nothing is ever truly forgotten. It just depends who’s listening…
I open my mouth to speak, but something catches my eye in the reflection of the microwave. I spin around to look out the dining room window at the line of pine trees. A branch bobs back and forth and a bluejay flies into view, landing on a limb. It gives a shrill squawk and hops to a higher branch.
I saw it. I know I did.
There’s crackling, like she’s chewing something, “Brett, are you still there?” she calls.
“Yeah…yeah, I am…” I linger on the branches a few moments longer and then slowly scan the rest of the landscape, “I thought I saw something outside.”
“You saw him, didn’t you?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah,” I steady my breathing, which takes more effort now that I’m alone on the property, “it’s the first time since your brother left.”
“How do you feel?” she asks, gauging my anxiety.
She knows what’s happening. She’s been here through everything that happened years ago, dealing with the aftermath, the anxiety and the panic attacks, recognizing all the triggers, trying to move on…
“Alright,” I reply, my voice evening out. And it is, talking to her makes it better, because I’m not really alone. “I just have to focus. Keep my head in the game.” I give a laugh, “Saddle up or get left behind, isn’t that what your brother always says?”
“He says a lot of things,” she snickers, “I wish I could come and stay with you while he’s gone.”
“I know, but it’ll be fine,” I reassure her, “it won’t be for that long. And the next time I see you, everything will be different.”
“We’re attached at the phone,” she states gravely, “if you need anything, I’ll be watching. ”
“Thanks,” I smile, her calming influence contagious even over the phone. “Speaking of which, I need to call Valerie and let her know the status of my car.”
I’m actually looking forward to making plans with Valerie. Granted, I shouldn’t be surprised I like her so much. In many ways, she reminds me of who I used to be. Maybe that’s why she’s here. Scratch that—I know that’s why she’s here.
Like I said, no coincidences.
But, in other ways, it’s unfortunate. It only adds insult to injury, because it’s like watching myself live out the nightmare all over again and there’s nothing that I can do to stop it.
She’s here, she’s part of this story, and when the times comes, I’ll have to shatter her world, too.