Chapter 43
Dana stood very still, listening.
Water lapped somewhere beyond the trees. Laughter and music drifted from the Rusty Anchor. The forest had settled back in—crickets, frogs, the soft rustle of leaves. And nothing from the locker.
Good.
She retrieved a cloth from her car and wiped the locker door where her hand had been. Once. Twice. She exhaled, then scanned the ground for the spent shell casing. When she spotted it near the edge of the gravel, she slipped it into her pocket.
Then she turned back toward Roy.
She didn’t rush. There was no reason to.
He lay on his back, one arm bent awkwardly beneath him, eyes open but unfocused, surprise frozen on his face. Blood had soaked into the gravel, darkening it.
She sighed.
“You shouldn’t have tried to save her,” she said softly.
There was no response.
She scanned the lot once more. Still empty.
She searched through his pockets and removed his keys. Then, with a quiet oof, dragged him by the shoulders. His boots scraped against the gravel, the sound harsh in the open space. It was harder than she’d expected. He was heavier than he looked. Deadweight in every sense of the word.
She paused twice to adjust her grip, breathing through the burn in her arms. Had a fleeting thought that she really needed to hit the gym more.
She smiled at that. Gallows humor, she supposed.
The old service path behind the locker was narrow, overgrown, barely visible unless you knew it was there.
She did.
Thanks, Dad, she thought. For the tour of your “smart investments.” He’d called the lockers a just-in-case asset. A way to further get his name out there and an in with the federal government. He’d never imagined how useful they might actually be.
Branches snagged Roy’s clothes. She shoved them aside and kept going until the air changed, damp and sharp. The water was close now. Brackish.
She rolled him the last few feet.
Then sent him over the edge.
There was a splash. Then ripples.
Dana stood there until the surface smoothed and the water looked the same as it always had.
She turned back toward the lot. By the time she reached his truck, she was calm. Focused. Already thinking ahead.
Behind her, the locker thudded once.
She didn’t look back.
Dana climbed into Roy’s truck, started it and drove away from the old lakeside lot. Half a mile down the road, she turned into the woods and stopped. She stepped out and, with the same cloth, wiped the steering wheel, gearshift and door handle.
Mia’s purse lay on the passenger-side floor where it had fallen. Dana didn’t touch it. She left his phone where it was.
Then she locked the truck, walked the half mile back to her car and drove home, already thinking about a hot shower and a clean night’s sleep.
The darkness slammed into Mia.
Cold metal bit into her as she hit the floor, the air knocked from her lungs.
The smell followed next. Rust, old water, something chemical and stale.
Her palms slid on the floor, grit grinding into her skin. Her heartbeat thundered in the small space—too loud, too fast. She pressed her ear to the door.
Nothing. No footsteps. No voices.
Mia stopped banging on the door, the cold settling into her bones. Disbelief hit next. Dana killed Roy and locked her in here. Never in her life had she been exposed to such violence.
She slid down the side of the locker, shaking now, unable to stop. No sense of time. Just the faint hum of music and laughter drifting across the water, as if nothing had changed.
Panic crept in then. Slow and insidious.
She slapped the door once. Hard.
Nothing.
Then she remembered her phone.
She fumbled it from her pocket with trembling fingers. The screen lit the space with a weak, sickly glow. She unlocked it and hit call.
Nothing.
No bars. No spinning wheel. Just an unforgiving No service staring back at her.
“No,” she whispered.
She stood, turning, holding the phone higher, lower, then pressed against the door. Still nothing.
Panic surged through her body. Bile churned in her gut. She swallowed hard. No time for that. She had to think.
She forced herself to stop moving. Her body ached. The air felt heavier now. Damp.
She shut the phone off to save the battery and pressed her forehead to the door. Cool. Solid. Unmoving.
She pounded once. Hard. Then again.
Her chest tightened. She needed to slow down. Conserve energy. Conserve air.
She slid down until she was sitting, knees drawn tight, arms wrapped around herself to stop the shaking. She was breathing too fast.
Caleb would notice she’s missing, she told herself. He’d find her.
He had to.
The air felt wrong. Stale. Like it wasn’t moving anymore. Panic clawed up her throat before she could stop it.
She pressed her forehead to her knees, forcing shallow breaths, counting them. One. Two. Three.
She knew deep in her bones that hope might last longer than the air.
And the darkness pressed closer.