Chapter 32 #2
But the lights are off, and it’s following me. Same as always.
I punch the car up another gear, picking up the pace. I’m sick of this shit.
“Who are you?” I ask the stalker in my mirror. “Are you her?”
The words float through my mind. Never lead danger home. Never lead it to where you’re alone.
The smell of wet soil and forest surround me, reminding me of a grave, and I look ahead, seeing Farrow turn onto Frontress Road.
We speed down the river, toward the bridge, and my heart starts hammering.
My pulse knocks against my throat, then down my arms, and I flit my gaze between the darkened headlights behind me and the bright taillights in front of me.
Farrow cuts a sharp right onto the bridge fifty yards ahead, and I flip on my blinker and curl my fingers around the wheel. I let off the gas to slow down for the turn as Farrow reaches the middle of the bridge. I swerve to follow, a lump lodges in my throat, and then…
I jerk the wheel to the left, laying on the gas.
My tires screech under me, and I race away, speeding off into the night before Farrow can follow. He’ll have to cross the bridge to have space to turn around, and I’ll bet he’s cursing me out right now.
Coasting away, I shift into fifth and keep my eyes peeled and my brights on.
The car follows, gaining on me, and I turn and turn again, trying to make sure Farrow can’t follow like I know he’ll try.
Speeding deep into the woods, I crawl down back roads and dark lanes, leading him—or her—the long way to the summer camp.
It’ll be quiet, but there will be admins and counselors in the cabins, preparing for the arrival of the next session in two days.
Maybe the Dodge will finally introduce itself, but I’m still not stupid enough to be completely alone when they do.
My phone rings, lighting up with Farrow’s name, but I ignore it. Lucas is unavailable for him to alert, and he’s not going to call my family.
I pause. He might call Dylan or Hunter, though…
But it’s too late to worry about that now. Rain starts hitting my windshield like little bullets, and I flip on my wipers as cool drops land on my arms and thighs.
Barreling over a gravel hill, I start to descend, but orange traffic drums sit below as a barrier, warning of danger. Water rushes over the broken road, and I can’t go any farther.
“Shit,” I breathe out.
I have a moment to make a decision with really only one option.
I swerve sharply to the left, racing down a thin path probably only meant for ATVs.
I have no idea where it’s taking me. There are all sorts of remote little properties around the lake.
I don’t even know how to get home from here.
Does this road even lead me back to a cross street? Or does it take me to a dead end?
Never lead it to where you’re alone beats in my head like a drum now. This didn’t work like I thought it would.
I reach over to my phone and try to dial Farrow, but I spot a glow through the streaks of rain in my windshield. I squint as the water streams down my face, and I think I make out a front porch light peeking out of the woods.
Exhaling a little, I race for the house, bouncing over the overgrown lawn, and halt the car in the yard.
Standing up, I peer over the windshield.
The windows are dark, no sign of life other than the security light…
I try to zone in on the front door and a paper sign taped to its surface.
I can’t read it from here, but my stomach sinks all the same.
It could be a seasonal place. They could be out of town for the week and leaving instructions for deliveries. “Fuck,” I mutter, my chin trembling.
I want whoever is in the Dodge to make themselves known, but I don’t want to be completely alone out here. Dammit.
Sitting back down, I shift into first and start to hit the gas, but the Jeep tilts as air hisses out of a rear tire. I whip my head around, seeing a hooded figure move to the passenger side, the tire on mine already flattening.
“No!” I gasp.
He hauls himself up into my empty seat, and I fly out of the car, scrambling for the front door of the house.
Leaping up all of the steps, I bang on the door again and again. “Hello!”
Thunder cracks across the sky, and I jiggle the door handle, but it’s locked. I can’t focus enough to read the sign clearly, only catching the words “deliveries” and “private property.”
Bright lights suddenly illuminate the front of the house, spilling onto the door. I spin around, seeing the headlights of the Dodge nearly blinding me.
But there’s no movement.
“What do you want?” I shout.
This is what I wanted. A confrontation.
They haven’t hurt me. Maybe they won’t.
“Who are you?” I bellow. “Come on!”
And then, my eyes focus enough to see past the light.
It’s not a Dodge.
It’s bigger, like an SUV. There’s no Dodge at all. Who—
But someone swoops in from the side, grabbing me, and I gasp.
“Thank you for ditching Farrow,” he says, pulling back the hood of his jacket. “The boy was always as stupid as he was useless.”
I stop breathing, gaping at Drew Reeves. He has scruff on his cheeks instead of being clean shaven like I remember from when he was a cop, but his eyes are the same. Blue, like Lucas’s.
Lucas…
What have I done?
Reeves turned Lucas in.
His fingers clench around my wrists, holding them behind my back, and I grit my teeth, trying to free myself.
“I tried to talk myself out of hurting you.” His whisper falls over my lips, the stench of his sweat making me nauseous. “You have a lot of cumbersome relatives.”
He laughs and opens his mouth, like he’s going to kiss me.
“But I think I will,” he says. “Hurt you, I mean. Lucas will never be able to forget me then.”
I hold back my tremble.
“Get in the car nicely, Miss Caruthers,” he tells me, “and I won’t slit your throat when I’m done.” A sickly smile curls his mouth. “But you might want me to by then.”
I growl, dropping like dead weight—just like my brothers taught me—and slip through his hold as I fall to the porch.
I scramble, jumping down the steps. My knife is in the car.
But he grabs my hair, yanking me back. I twist around and spit in his face and he shoves me away. “Right here, then,” he taunts, pulling off his jacket.
His threat makes me whimper, my heart in my throat, and I look everywhere for any sign of help. I scream, he comes in to kiss me, and I bite his cheek.
We push away from each other, and I know he’s about to hit me. Send me flying to the ground, half-unconscious, and God help me then. Run, I tell myself.
But I don’t have a chance.
Something fast and dark sweeps in between us, and the next thing I know, blood is spurting from Drew’s neck. His eyes go wild, and he reaches for me as he holds his wound with the other hand, blood spilling over his fingers.
My mouth sits open, short, shallow gasps coming in as I watch the scene in front of me unfold.
Lucas’s enemy—the cause of his pain and separation from everyone he loves—plummets to the wet grass, and I jump back.
What the hell? A pool of red spills out around him.
I can’t move for a second. What…what…
What do I do?
What happened? I—
But the figure still stands to my left, watching Drew fade along with me, and I don’t know if I’m safe.
Wet hair spills out of her sweatshirt hood, the rest of the woman clad in jeans and sneakers.
Her eyes lift to me, but only for a second.
My chest caves. The eyes…
And as fast as an apparition, she’s gone. Running off the porch, past my car and Drew’s, and disappearing into the woods.
Horns honk and new headlights speed up on me from beyond the trees, but still, I watch the forest and the black void where she vanished. “Winslet?”
The nerves under my skin fire like little embers.
Lowering my eyes, I see Drew Reeves’s hand laying lax against his neck, blood staining his fingers and eyes gazing up at nothing with his mouth hanging open.
“Quinn!” someone shouts.
My stomach churns, the walls closing in…
They shake me. “Quinn!”
I snap my head up, meeting Dylan’s eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asks, then drops her gaze, seeing Reeves. “Oh my God.”
I stare down at him again.
She had been so fast. Winslet. No hesitation.
“Quinn?” Dylan shouts. “Are you hurt at all?”
I can’t take my eyes off the body. What would’ve happened if Winslet hadn’t showed up?
Dylan and the boys would’ve come along quickly enough.
Farrow rightly suspected that we tracked each other’s phones and called her.
Reeves might’ve killed me instantly. Or shoved me in the car and drove away to who-knows-where.
He could’ve hurt one of them if Winslet wasn’t here.
I breathe hard. “I didn’t…”
Hunter runs up to us, gaping at the body at our feet. “Holy shit, Quinn.”
I don’t blink. “It wasn’t me.”
It was her.