Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BEAR TRAP
BEAR TRAP
BEAR TRAP
I couldn’t remember how old I was when I first found the bear traps Dad kept hidden in the basement closet.
Charlie’s gone.
They weren’t illegal in Idaho, but there were strict regulations on how, where, and which types could be used. The ones dad had found and brought home, though—big, old, rusted things with giant serrated teeth that looked ready to snap clean through a shin bone—hadn’t been legal in decades.
He’d hung them in the shed once he built the cabin.
Charlie’s gone.
The fact he’d found one out on a public trail was odd enough to begin with, let alone half a dozen over the years.
For one, it was illegal to set them in protected grizzly bear territory, but even folks who still used foothold traps to prevent livestock predation wouldn’t place that where someone might accidentally step on it.
So, who’d set them?
The question had bothered me for as long as I could remember.
Charlie’s gone.
Dad claimed he didn’t know. The whole thing was weird as fuck—I knew that. He’d grow tense and closed off anytime I brought it up. “I keep meaning to turn them in at the ranger station and never get around to it,” he’d say, brushing me off.
I’d let it go and eventually stopped asking, because I never really wanted to think about it, either.
I knew he’d never use them. He respected wildlife too much and was incredibly passionate about protecting natural areas. Besides, he’d removed the pin and spring mechanism in each, essentially making them useless.
Macabre decorations, at worst.
Right?
LEAVE
LEAVE
LEAVE
“Reece?” someone called. It sounded like they were underwater. Or maybe I was?
Charlie’s gone.
Dad had never wanted me in that lookout. He fought Leonard hard on my placement, nearly demanding a closer posting.
“Reece! Are you okay? We may have to call an ambulance…” the voice trailed off again.
I banged up my knee pretty good splitting wood before my shift, left some first aid supplies out on the bathroom sink. No need to worry.
It looked like a fucking crime scene when I walked into his bathroom earlier that evening. Had he really hurt his knee chopping wood? Or had he fallen down a flight of slippery stairs, tripping over himself in the dark while he sprinted away?
“Reece! Can you hear me?”
No, I can’t, because Charlie’s gone.
Blearily, I opened my eyes. Tate leaned over me, hands brushing through my hair.
I winced when his finger caught on something sharp. “Ow, what the fuck are you doing?” I groaned, batting him away.
“Thank God. He’s awake!” he hollered over his shoulder, before turning back to me. “You have glass in your hair. Hold still.”
LEAVE
LEAVE
LEAVE
“Charlie’s gone,” I responded. Had he asked me a question?
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
Time blurred. Tate’s frantic fingers were replaced by smaller, more gentle ones.
“I think he just needs to rest a bit,” their owner said.
Viola.
That’s right, I’m at her house.
“I need to get to the station,” Tate said. He was far away again. “I’ll call his Dad and let him know what’s happened. He can come pick him up.”
No. Wait, I think I need to tell you something.
“Did it change anything? What he remembered?” she asked, dabbing at something on my head that stung.
“No. That probably was the killer who came to see him, but if he can’t remember details, we have nothing to go on. And we already knew about the bear traps. Found six of them covered in dried blood in the lookout after he disappeared.”
His name is Charlie. And he’s gone.
“And you’re sure it’s this Bobby? What about the old murders?”
“It’sssnot Bobby,” I slurred, trying and failing to open my eyes again. It was too fucking bright.
Tate sighed. “I’ll call you later, Grandma.”
Time slipped again. I was lost in a hazy liminal space, searching. Searching.
What was I looking for? Oh, yeah.
Charlie’s gone.
“Okay, great. We’ll see you soon. I think he’s alright, he’s just had quite a shock,” I heard Viola say. Who was she speaking to?
“We’ve called your Dad, sweetheart.” She was closer now. “He said he’ll be able to pick you up in half an hour or so, after they fly back to the base here in town.”
No, that’s not right.
The plastic couch under me creaked when I tried to sit up. “I need to go,” I mumbled.
I lost Charlie in this house. I can’t be here anymore. And I need to tell Tate something.
“He shouldn’t be too long,” she reassured. “Then you can go home and rest.”
LEAVE
LEAVE
LEAVE
I shook my head and winced. “No. No, where’s Tate? I think I need to tell him something. He needs to come and see.”
“He left for the police station a few minutes ago. Just rest. Everything will be fine.”
It won’t be fine, because Charlie is gone.
“It’s not Bobby.”
She shushed me and pushed on my shoulder to lie back down again. “I’m very sorry about your friend. Tate told me you’ve had a rough go of it. I know how much he wanted to do right for you, and for your Charlie.”
“No,” I said with more force, heaving my body into a sitting position. I was so tired. “No. I’m not in denial. It’s not Bobby. Please,” I said. “I need to show Tate something. I can’t—I can’t explain it. I just need to show him.”
She sighed and handed me a glass of water. I gulped it down gratefully, ashamed I’d turned my nose up at her hospitality before.
“That was far more intense than I imagined,” she said. “You need to rest. Your Dad will be here soon to pick you up, and then you can talk to Tate.”
That buzzing, itchy feeling under my skin grew nearly unbearable. “I can’t wait,” I said, nudging her away to stand. My head went fuzzy, and my vision blacked out for a moment. I braced myself against the back of the sofa until the feeling passed.
“Where are you going?” she asked, voice raised. “You can’t drive!”
“I’m sorry,” I said before stumbling out the front door.
Later, I’d be ashamed I’d driven home in my delirious state and endangered myself and others, but I had to get back to the cabin before Dad.
I had to see. I had to know.
Charlie’s gone.
After skidding into the circular drive, I stumbled up the steps and fumbled with the keys before I found the right one.
The cabin looked like a stranger; unwelcoming and cold in a way it’d never been before. As if it sensed I knew the secrets it kept, and would no longer allow me entry.
Behind me, the trees leaned in and whispered to each other, trapping me here.
He knows. He knows. He finally sees.
I was clearly fucking delusional.
Crashing through the front door, I yanked open drawers and threw the contents all over the floor. Pictures, pamphlets, instruction manuals, old notebooks, scribbled recipes, and work schedules fluttered through the air.
What I actually searched for among the clutter, I had no idea.
I paused and sucked in several deep breaths to steady the throbbing in my skull. Looking up, I saw the picture that’d caught Charlie’s attention earlier.
Charlie’s gone.
Taken when they’d brought me home from the hospital after being born, Mom held me in her arms while she and Dad beamed in front of a 1986 blue and white Chevy Silverado.
The very same truck he’d sold to Bobby.
Hey, I remember that truck.
Charlie hadn’t been up in the lookout with me when I spotted Bobby driving down the service road; he’d been searching for dinner scraps in the outbuilding just before Tate arrived.
Charlie remembered that truck from when it was new, not from forty years later.
He knew it from when it belonged to Dad.
What if Bobby hadn’t been driving the truck, after all? What if it’d been someone else—someone who’d merely borrowed it from him, instead?
LEAVE
LEAVE
LEAVE
I ripped the picture off the wall and threw it across the room with a roar. It didn’t make me feel better to see it shatter all over the back of the sofa—Charlie had sat there with me only a few hours ago.
He’d whispered my name and pulled me close, and we’d made love on that piece of furniture. He’d trusted me and cherished me and put me back together in this room, in this cabin, built by the man who’d—
My brain short-circuited.
No.
No.
I was wrong. I had to be. This cabin was built by my Dad, not some faceless monster.
He was a good man. He’d raised me with care and support and unwavering love; he’d been there for me during some of my darkest days, always, always showing up right when I needed him most. He’d never failed to ensure I knew how much he and Mom loved and cared for me.
It was all a coincidence. It had to be.
I blinked and found myself standing at the back door, the handle gripped tightly in my fist. I thought I wasn’t sure what I searched for when I came here, but that was a lie.
It’s not him. It’s not him, I chanted in my head, tears streaming down my face as I stepped out into the pitch-black night air.
The motion-sensor floodlight flared to life, casting long, harsh shadows into the trees beyond. They cradled the small yard, forming an amphitheater around the tragedy about to unfold.
A stoic audience to my worst nightmares.
Despite the artificial light, the hair on my arms rose, just like when I’d first arrived at the start of the season.
A predator is near.
Looming before me, the shed stood dark and foreboding, with the garage door flung wide open.
Beckoning.
It’s not him. It’s not him.
The shadow cast by the floodlight made it impossible to see inside from this distance. I crept across the yard, my heart racing and breath coming shallow and quick as I slowly placed one foot in front of the other.
I wished I could turn around and never look inside, but an overwhelming, impending sense of doom drove me forward. A breeze blew through the trees, rustling the pine needles and ruffling the sweat-drenched shirt stuck to my back.
I heard them before I saw them.
Creeeak. Creeeak.
Squinting, I stopped my approach just outside the door.
If I don’t go inside, it’s not real.
It’s not real.
My dad’s hugs were gentle, but firm. He had a warm laugh and kind eyes, and he couldn’t possibly be the man who’d done this.
Four huge bear traps, coated in a flaky, red-brown substance, hung from the rafters, gently swaying in the wind.
Snap
My stomach dropped. Every muscle in my body tensed.
I whirled around, alarm bells screaming at me to run, run, run!
A man stood a few feet behind me, silhouetted against the harsh motion sensor light, his face hidden in deep shadow.
Voice shaking so much my words were barely discernible, I said, “I know who you are. Get the fuck away from me.”
He chuckled, low and without feeling.
And lunged.
I threw myself backwards to avoid the heavy object he swung right at my head, and tripped on something crinkly and plastic covering the floor of the shed. The air in front of my face whistled with the force of his swing—he’d missed by a hair’s breadth.
Still wielding the blunt object, he lunged again. I took another step back. Desperately, I reached out for something, anything I could use to defend myself.
I’m bigger. If I can disarm him, I’ll be able to—
SNAP!
The shock hit me first, and then an overwhelming pressure, like I’d shoved my entire lower left leg into a vise. I looked down, uncomprehending what I saw.
A bear trap, quintuplet to those hanging from the rafters above, clamped around my left ankle. Giant, serrated teeth ripped through skin and muscle and lodged firmly into what could only be bone.
Then, pain.
I screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
Collapsing onto the plastic-covered floor, I cried out when it jostled my leg. I reached out with shaky hands to where the trap chewed through skin and viscera, as if I could simply pry it off.
My vision grew spotty before I even touched the wound, and I fell backwards, writhing and groaning.
Heavy leather boots stepped over to where I lay on the crinkled tarp. Dazedly, I followed them up. He carried a large MAGLITE flashlight in one gloved hand and wore dark clothes. His face still hid in shadow, but it didn’t matter.
Whoever he was, he wasn’t human anymore.
He was a monster.
His head cocked to the side. Chest rising and falling rapidly, he relished in watching me bleed out on the floor of my father’s shed.
As if it excited him.
“Gotcha.”
And then he swung that heavy flashlight at my face. I didn’t even have time to try to dodge the blow before the world went dark, and there was nothing at all.