Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dad stood at the edge of the tarmac when we landed, arms crossed and face grim. He pulled me into a fierce hug the second I was far enough away from the helicopter blades, eyes blazing. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I am.”
And I was. I mean, exhausted, sure, but in the harsh light of day, with the image of Charlie holding his face in his hands haunting me every time I closed my eyes, I wasn’t afraid anymore.
I was angry.
Angry I hadn’t listened to him and caused this mess.
Angry I’d sat in fear for hours instead of confronting the person who’d taken so many lives. Who, if my gut feeling was correct, had taken Charlie’s life.
Angry all of this had been pinned on an innocent man whose laugh was far too bright to belong to a killer or a dead man.
Angry he thought it was better to say goodbye rather than risk my safety.
Most of all, though, I was angry he was dead at all.
“Come on inside,” Leonard hollered over Dad’s shoulder. He and Tate stood just outside the back entrance of the ranger station, waving us over.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Dad asked as we headed their way. “You look upset. I’m sure Officer Morris will understand if you need to rest first.”
The vein in my forehead throbbed. “I was treed like a fucking mountain cat last night. Yes, I’m upset. And no, I don’t want to do this, but what choice is there? Let’s get it over with so I can get to the grocery store to resupply.”
His steps faltered. “You’re going back?”
Dad had never pushed me into a decision.
Becoming a Boy Scout was my choice, even though he was a troop leader.
I’d decided to study Forestry in college because he shared his love for trees and the importance of protecting and managing public land with me; he’d never forced me into a career path of his choosing.
Maybe it was a holdout from trying to counterbalance Mom, but he’d always let me come to decisions on my own.
I could tell it was a struggle for him now, though.
“I am,” I said firmly. We’d made it to where Tate and Leonard waited, so I directed my words at them all. “Please don’t try to talk me out of going back. I won’t let some creepy fuck keep me away. I feel… good at the lookout. It feels right to be there.”
It shocked me to find that, despite my utter exhaustion and simmering anger over the night before, it was entirely true—I felt good. How long had it been since I’d thought about my health, or diagnosis, or fears for the future? Days? Maybe longer?
The lookout was good for me. Charlie was good for me, and I needed to go back as quickly as possible.
Dad studied my face before his forehead smoothed. Could he also sense the truth in my words? “You’ll need to be in contact with someone every day. I can’t go longer than that without knowing you’re safe.”
Leonard gaped at him. “Are you serious? You chewed my ass off for assigning him to that tower, and now you’re fine with it?” He turned toward me, eyes pleading. “Reece, please, it’s not worth it. I’ll find work for you here at the station so you can stay in town.”
“It’s not about finding work,” I said, agitated. “I want to be there. I need to be there. I finally feel—” I cut myself off.
Alive. I finally feel alive again.
Dad must have sensed the words I didn’t say. “They won't return to the lookout with the search parties and police crawling all over.”
Tate raised an eyebrow at him, but remained wordless. Observing.
“You have no other lookouts left on the west side of the park,” I said to Leonard. “Can you really spare me?”
He ran a hand down his face, just as exhausted as the rest of us. “I don’t want you out there if you feel threatened or unsafe. Anytime you need to go, call me, okay?”
“Thanks,” I said. “I just need my supplies flown out tomorrow. I can hike in and meet the helicopter in the afternoon like I normally would.”
He shook his head. “They won’t have multiple lookouts to service, so you can catch a ride with them again. No sense in hiking through the woods alone if you don’t need to.”
“You can’t go back out unless you’re armed,” Tate cut in firmly. He was quiet up until now, and again, I had the sense he was assessing, searching for something. “It’s idiotic. I’m not saying you’ve gotta carry everywhere you go, but you need to be able to protect yourself.”
I nodded. I'd feel better knowing I had something stronger than bear spray to defend myself with if they came back.
“I’ll sort you out in that regard,” Dad said, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
“Glad that’s settled,” Tate said. “Now, we’re set up in a conference room in the back. Are you ready to give your statement?”
Brow furrowed, I asked, “Why not at the police station?” It was only a few minutes away, and I’d assumed Tate would prefer it over the ranger station, which was fairly busy in the summer months.
It served as a main hub for Forest Service workers as well as tourists and backcountry hikers logging their routes through the national park.
Tate’s face did something funny before he quickly schooled his features. “You’ll be busy prepping to fly back out tomorrow, and we’re already here. Might as well.”
“Excellent. Glad I arrived just in time, then,” a deep voice boomed behind me.
I whipped around to find a stranger sauntering our way.
A huge stranger.
He had dark, close-cropped hair and wore heavily tinted sunglasses. His fitted black T-shirt only highlighted just how many muscles coiled around his broad shoulders. A sleeve of tattoos wound up his left arm, and his dark green ripstop pants clung in all the most interesting places.
Goddamn.
Tate scowled at him. “Oh, good. So glad you found the place.”
He did not sound anywhere near glad.
The newcomer gave him a cool smile. “The directions you sent had me nearly out of town before I realized I must have read them wrong.”
“It’s easy to get turned around out here. Sorry about that,” Tate replied.
I almost snorted at the dripping sarcasm.
“Luckily, there’s a GPS in the SUV,” Sunglasses said, before he turned to me. “Now, you must be the guy who got chased out of the woods last night. You had Tate here all worked up about it this morning. I’m Luke Waters, Special Agent.”
I shook his offered hand and raised an eyebrow. “Uh, Special Agent?”
“He means FBI,” Tate grumbled.
“The FBI’s investigating?” Dad asked sharply.
Luke waved a hand. “I’m just here to scope out if we could be helpful first, before there’s any official involvement. Shall we?” He finished, gesturing for us all to file inside.
I had a feeling there was more to it than that. The FBI was a lot of things, but casually involved wasn’t one of them.
Shouldering past Special Agent Waters, who merely smirked at his retreating backside, Tate led the way in. “Let’s go,” he grumbled.
I raised an eyebrow at Dad.
“I wouldn’t get involved in that pissing match if I were paid to be there,” he mumbled.
Jaw clenched, I sighed and followed them in. “Great. This’ll be a blast.”
Thirty minutes into the interview, their subtle digs and passive-aggressive snipes at each other were bordering on unbearable, right about the time my lack of sleep and hours spent crouched on the floor, frozen in fear, hit me like a freight train.
“After you ran back to the tower, how long did they stay outside? Did you confront them? Or get a look at them? A general height or sex, maybe?”
Yawning, I prodded my index and middle fingers into the spot at the base of my skull that throbbed like an ice pick chiseled into the soft tissue, trying to massage away the rapidly blooming migraine.
“I’ve already said, I’m not sure how long it was.
An hour? Maybe more? It was fully dark when they chased me from the woods, and they left before dawn.
But their footsteps sounded heavy, like mine. I’m pretty sure it was a man.”
Tate nodded, jotting down way more than I’d actually said in his notebook. He’d angled his body between me and the exit, and I couldn’t shake the sense my words were being assessed as more than an eyewitness account of the killer.
“Right. He’s told you all he can remember for now. It’s time to go get some rest,” Dad said, cutting off the next question. He eyed where I massaged my neck.
Special Agent Sunglasses narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t been thrilled Dad joined me for the interview—or interrogation—but honestly, I was glad for the support. “Sure. If you can think of anything else, give me a call,” he said, rummaging for a card before passing it to me.
Tate eyed the card. “He already has my number, ya know, since I’m the one on this case.”
Sunglasses merely raised an eyebrow in answer.
The pain in my head shot down my left shoulder blade, pulling my neck tight like a rubber band.
I’d struggled with terrible migraines in the first month or so after my diagnosis.
“Probably onset by stress,” my neurologist had said, but they were less frequent now with the help of preventative medication.
I knew this one would be a bitch, though, with how fast it’d settled in. “I think I need to lie down for a bit.”
Dad stood. “Do you have your meds with you?” he asked quietly.
Shit. I shook my head. “Left them back at the tower.”
“We can see if the pharmacy here will fill the prescription for you. I’ll give them a call on the way home.”
Nodding, I made to stand.
“Just a sec,” Tate said, putting a hand on my shoulder to keep me in place. “Can I ask you something in private?”
Sunglasses stared at Tate’s hand before he sighed. “I’d like a quick word with Mr. West, anyway,” he said, gesturing for Dad to exit the make-shift interview room.
“You good?” Dad asked, glancing between me and Tate.
Not really, but I said, “Yeah, I’ll be right out,” anyway.
Dad followed the Special Agent out of the room, but left the door open behind him.
My head pounded. The overhead light was too fucking bright, and I grew nauseous in the stuffy room. Closing my eyes against the glare, I asked, “What do you want?”
Migraines and pleasantries didn’t mix.
“Would you be willing to volunteer a DNA sample?” Tate asked, peering at me in that searching way again. I was fed up with how those looks made my skin itch.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Facial expressions hurt, so I tried to stay calm.
“I told you the truth about last night. I didn’t have anything to do with Janine’s disappearance, and I haven’t hurt anybody.
Take my fucking DNA if you want it, I don’t care.
But why are you so insistent I’ve lied about something? ”
He leaned away, eyes wide with surprise, as if he were shocked by my tone. “I’m doing my job. It will help us rule people out, more than anything. Do you want the person responsible for this to be caught?”
“Doing your job,” I parroted with a humorless laugh. “If you were doing your job, you’d be out there, finding the real killer—not accusing innocent people. But that’s happened here before, hasn’t it?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, eyebrows knit in confusion.
My head pounded, but once I’d opened the floodgates, I couldn’t stop. The rage that’d simmered since I left the lookout bubbled up and boiled over.
“The police were so goddamn sure Charlie—Charles Randolph, I mean—was the killer, but here we are! It’s all happening again!
And he was nice! Kind! What could he have possibly done to make them think he murdered six fucking people?
Why couldn’t they find him? Did they even look?
Did they just leave him there, cold and alone, a convenient scapegoat?
I know he spoke with a police officer that day—why wasn’t he offered protection? ”
“What the hell is going on in here?” Leonard asked, rushing in. “Maybe you should take this to the police station, instead of—”
“Do your fucking job,” I said, cutting him off and pointing at Tate, “and figure out who the real killer is! Stop blaming me. Or else it’s going to keep happening, all over again!”
I stood to leave. Too quick.
The floor shifted under me, nausea roiling in my gut.
“You’re not thinking clearly. Are you ok?” Tate said, grabbing my arm to steady me. Leonard took hold of the other.
“I’m fine.” I jerked out of their grasp and stumbled away. It felt like the ice pick was lodged through my head and out my left eye. The whole back of my skull throbbed. “I just need to lie down.”
The floor shifted again, and suddenly I was on my ass, legs sprawled out and back braced against the wall. I could smell the warm, spoiled blood from earlier.
“Mike!” Leonard called out. “Something’s wrong!”
His voice was garbled and far away. I couldn’t open my eyes anymore—the overhead light was piercingly bright. “Turn it off, please,” I groaned, shielding my face with both hands.
Dad appeared in the doorway. “What the fuck did you do?” Dad snarled. I felt him kneel next to me. “Reece? Are you alright? What’s going on?”
I heaved in a deep breath so I wouldn’t cry. “I don’t know. I think it’s happening again.”
Ididn’t remember the drive back to Dad’s. Once inside, he handed me a glass of water and some pain relievers before sending me upstairs to sleep in the dark, cool loft.
Lying under the blankets with an ice pack on the worst of my throbbing head and neck, I sent a handful of frantic messages over MyChart to my neurologist and then fell into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning the whole time.
She called me later that day and calmly explained this was more than likely just a migraine attack.
“Pseudo-flare-ups aren’t uncommon, though. Patients with MS are particularly prone to temperature sensitivity, and symptoms lasting less than twenty-four hours after exposure to extreme heat should go away on their own without further intervention.”
“So I could get double vision all over again if I get too hot?”
“Yes, but flare-ups aren’t always the same as you’ve previously experienced. You could experience new symptoms as well.”
Great. “It could be brand-new!” wasn’t exactly comforting.
“But I don’t think that’s what’s happening, now. Hydrate, eat something filling and nutritious, and get some rest. We’ll send your prescription to the pharmacy in Ponderosa. Take care, Reece.”
Turned out she was right—it wasn’t happening again.
The migraine knocked me out for three full days, though.
In my dreams, I’d wake up hot and sweaty in the lookout, eyes scanning for Charlie.
I’d wander through the woods, searching for him behind blood-coated trees and in dense piles of leaves.
Chunks of animal hair clung to my hands as I dug through them, but I never found him.
His chair remained empty, and the blanket he usually had draped around his shoulders was sprawled at the foot of my bed, lifeless and unused.