Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Where do I want to begin? Lincoln has already heard the gruesome details of that night fourteen years ago. Do I go back and explain the entire reason why I liked visiting my uncle in the summers so much or the details that led to me finding Carley’s body in the woods?
“I have no idea where to start, Lincoln.” I wring my hands together nervously.
“Why don’t you start with Carley?” His voice is so gentle. “Tell me more about her.”
As much as I want to smile, thinking about her, this entire conversation feels too heavy for that. I pull in a deep breath then exhale, releasing more built-up tension. “We were friends, but I’d just met her on that camping trip. Her family was visiting from out of town. We connected the very first day and became inseparable for the whole week. My uncle loved it—he could drink in peace with his friends while his friends’ kids and I played.”
I smile at the memory. It had all felt so joyous then. “Every night after campfire stories, we’d go out to the trail to watch the fireflies during their mating ritual. It was so beautiful, Linc. And that night was special. There are different species of fireflies. One draws streaks through the sky with their blueish-white lights. We call those the blue ghosts. And the others are?—”
“Synchronous fireflies.”
I blink back at him. “You know about them?”
Lincoln frowns. “They made us study the Firefly Man killings in my criminology class, remember? We researched where the original campfire tale came from, the different fireflies. Anything that could help us piece together a profile of the killer.”
I can’t believe I’ve never asked him what he learned in that class. “Where did the original story come from?”
“It dates back to 1861, to the Confederate soldiers who fought in the Civil War. Some even say those glowing-blue fireflies are ghosts of the soldiers. Haunting, isn’t it?”
I nod. Who would guess Lincoln knew more about fireflies than me? “What else did you learn about the killer?”
“Well,” he says gently, like he’s unsure how much he should tell me, “there’s definitely a pattern in the killings. Each one seems to become more intricate as the killer gains confidence, which is usually the case in serial murders. Each one happened at or near a public campground, deep in the woods. And there seems to be a fascination with sneaking up on victims from behind and bludgeoning them to death.”
I swallow. “What about the timing of all the kills? Is there a pattern to that? Or are there more possible victims, missing people whose bodies still haven’t been found?”
Lincoln shakes his head. “Unfortunately, the likelihood of there being more undiscovered victims is likely, and there definitely isn’t a pattern to the timing of each kill. There are uneven stretches between victims as far as evidence shows, often years.”
“But what about the sex of the victims? All of them were male except for one.”
Lincoln’s jaw clenches, and he adjusts his seat in his chair. I’m not sure why the conversation seems to be making him uncomfortable. “There are some stark differences between Carley’s murder and the others. As far as I know, the reason why hasn’t been uncovered.”
I nod. “Maybe it’s not the same murderer.”
“There are still too many similarities between kills, namely the dead firefly pressed onto their bodies.”
I gasp. “Wait. What? That’s never been mentioned. How did I not know?”
Lincoln rubs his eyes with one hand. “Our class was privy to additional information to help them try to solve the case. But I probably shouldn’t tell you any more.”
Normally my curiosity would get the better of me and I would demand all the details he knows, but I’m not sure I want to hear anything else. It’s been fourteen years, and I still get the same queasy stomach every time I think about seeing Carley lying there.
“We got off track. I’m sorry, Evie.” He sighs. “Why don’t we go back to your story? You were just getting to the part where you entered the woods to see the fireflies.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, forcing myself back there. “Carley and her brother brought mason jars that night to trap the fireflies.” Guilt radiates in my chest. “Foster handed me his jar, and I just… caved.”
The memory stings just as much as it always has. I’ve never stopped wondering what happened to Carley’s wrongly accused brother. Other than that one damn poem I know he had to have written, I can’t even find proof that he ever existed.
My cheeks flush as I hesitate to tell him about my silly childhood crush on Foster. For some reason, it feels invasive for him to know now. I was young and so damn naive to let one hot guy convince me to make a boatload of terrible decisions in one night. I will forever pay for those choices.
I wish it had been otherwise. Disobeying Patrick’s orders wouldn’t have changed Carley’s fate. But at least I wouldn’t have spent the rest of my life feeling responsible for everything that happened that night and after.
I continue with all the details that I can recall, from my uncle’s warning to stay on the trail to the peer pressure that led me into the woods anyway. Then I get to our search for Carley, her scream, then…
I shudder and look back at Lincoln, more remorse compounding in my chest. “I’m sorry.”
His forehead creases, and he leans forward. “Why? Why are you sorry, Evie?”
I blow out a breath, wracking my brain for an answer I’m not even sure is there. “I… I don’t know. The details are disturbing, I know.”
“But it’s what you experienced.” He gives me a sympathetic look. “You have nothing to be sorry about, you hear me?”
Something about his tone and his conviction makes me suck in a breath. “Yes.”
My eyes dart between his, and in that split second, I get it. I get why Lincoln Reed does what he does. How he can help people put the ghosts of their pasts to rest. Because that’s what it feels like I’ve been trying to do my entire life—put my ghost to rest. And while I always assumed that ghost was Carley, I’m wondering now if it has really been someone else. Someone who isn’t a ghost at all, as far as I know.
Foster’s disappearance has haunted me almost as much as Carley’s death—for the sake of not having any type of closure, at the very least. I never got to talk to him about losing Carley. I never got to make sure he was okay after he was locked up for months while the authorities sorted out the details of the case. The fact that the justice system would even allow that is inexplicably heinous, in my eyes.
My only solace has been that he must be out there somewhere, if he can write poetry as beautiful as the one piece I found.
He must have changed his name. I’ve never thought of that before, but it’s possible considering there’s no other trace of his existence. Maybe he was worried the person who killed Carley would hunt him down. Maybe he saw something that night… after I left…
As this new realization dawns on me, I open my eyes with a gasp.
“Evie?” Lincoln is walking toward me, my blurred vision robbing me of the clarity of his perfect form. “Evie, are you okay?”
A heaviness presses down on me, forcing me to sink back into my memories from that night. It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to thoroughly rifle through these images from years ago, ones that used to fill me with dread. Now I feel nothing but safe as I make my way through the dark woods with fireflies dancing around me. In fact, with this whole new sense of clarity, I’m almost eager to go there.
I take in everything now, including the heavy, humid air and other compounding elements that add to my sensory experience. What may have been overload at the time is only a beautiful symphony. I stomp into the woods, unafraid, determined, the fear of losing my way or disappointing my uncle completely absent from my mind.
“Evie girl.”
I hear the nickname given to me by my uncle, but I turn to find Foster there, his dreamy eyes filled with concern.
“We need to find her,” he tells me, his voice sounding like he’s underwater.
Everything goes into slow motion as Foster turns to dart back through the woods. I begin to run, and that’s slow motion too. I can’t keep up, my limbs struggling to move like I’m drunk off Tennessee Fire.
A streak of bluish-white light streaks past me, one of those damn ghost fireflies teasing me with its chase to find a mate. But this time, my eye follows the movement and widens at what it sees. The streak of light goes up, down, and back around, crossing over itself then curling in, before bouncing out and down into another shape.
It reminds me of the last Fourth of July, when my parents dropped me off at Uncle Patrick’s on their way to a weekend-long party, and he and I played with sparklers all night long. We made up a game almost like charades, drawing words with the sparkling lights then making others guess them.
Only this time, there was no confusion over the words drawn in the air. One by one, the streaks of light spelled out a familiar phrase, a rhyme that I’d heard my friends recite whenever they went into the woods.
Run run as fast as you can, you can’t catch me, I’m the Firefly Man.
A wheeze tears from my chest, lurching me forward. My eyes open wide with panic, and all I see is Lincoln’s beautiful green gaze.
“Evie, say something. Please.” There’s fear in his tone and in his grip on my body as he pulls me into his arms. “I’m so sorry.” He rocks me, acting like he’s just hurt me in some way.
“I’m okay,” I tell him before taking another deep breath. “Wow, that was…” I shake my head, trying to find the right word. “Hypnotic?” Then I look back at Lincoln, confused. “Did you just hypnotize me?”
He shakes his head violently, a genuine reaction convincing me it’s the truth. “No, but it’s not unheard of for someone with a traumatic past to attach deeply to their emotions in a session like this. It’s what we want.” He searches my eyes, still trying to assess if I’m okay. “This kind of thing can happen when bringing your suppressed memories to light, but you were in there too deep, Evie. It scared me.”
His sweet, sympathetic care makes me fall even more deeply in love with him. “It felt like I was drugged… but happy. I wasn’t scared at all.”
He nods. “That’s because you were locked in a cognitive trance. The type of emotions you feel about your past have the strength to lock you to them, in effect hypnotizing you.”
“So it worked.” After a moment, I blink at him. “What you were trying to do by bringing my memories back—it worked. Maybe if I had just stayed in it?—”
“No,” he declares with a growl. “We can find another way to get you answers, Evie. I won’t let you go back there again. That was…” He swallows hard instead of finishing, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
There’s something new written on Lincoln’s features now, more than sympathy or concern. It’s almost like he was right there with me, experiencing my every step, my every feeling—and he doesn’t want me to get any closer to the truth.
I squeeze his hands and look deeply into his eyes. “I was fine. I knew I was safe the whole time.”
He snorts in disbelief as his eyes close briefly. “You were shaking and crying. I had no idea what you were seeing or if you were coming back to me.” He grips the back of my neck and brushes my cheek with a thumb. “I was so scared I was losing you.”
His words don’t make sense, but the emotions behind them do. I lean in, hugging his neck and never wanting to let go. “I’m okay, Linc.” I pull away enough to kiss him softly, reassuring him that I’m here with him and I’m all right.
He frowns. “Let’s stop.”
I shake my head, desperate to continue. “No, please. I don’t know what just happened, but I’m fine.” I grip his thigh. “Let’s keep going. Where did I leave off?”
He hesitates a few seconds longer before ultimately giving in and backing up a few inches, but he doesn’t leave the couch. “You were telling me about Foster.”
Oh shit.I nibble on my bottom lip, debating whether to tell him this next fun fact. “I kind of had a crush on him.”
Lincoln’s lips quirk up at one corner. “You had a crush on Foster? Your friend’s brother?”
I can feel the intensity as my cheeks heat, and I know they’re an obvious shade of pink. “He was cute.” I shrug. “And mysterious.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and I swear he’s just tucked that nugget away for future use as he leans back and nods. “Good to know.”
I throw a glare his way. “Don’t get any ideas.”
He chuckles then nudges me gently. “Keep going.”
Sighing, I search my brain. It’s been such a long time since I’ve explained all the events of that night in one long retelling. “I followed him into the woods to where he thought he had found her earlier, a small beachfront at the lake, but she wasn’t there. That was when we heard it.” I swallow. “A scream. I knew it was Carley’s scream, and it didn’t sound normal. It sounded like she was in trouble. Scared.”
I shiver and immediately feel a strong, warm arm wrap around my body. This time I lean into it, allowing Lincoln’s comfort to get me through the rest. “We found her at the water’s edge. Her jar of fireflies was on the ground, cracked, and the fireflies were escaping, their lights still blinking brightly. But Carley was already…”
Lincoln squeezes me. “Dead.”
I nod, and he shudders, clearly affected by the visual I’ve painted for him.
“There was blood everywhere,” I say quietly, slowly, in case he wants to stop me. “But her eyes were wide open. Foster went to her without even thinking. He tried to find her heartbeat, but his fingers were slipping too much because of the blood.” Tears well up in my eyes. “He sat and lifted her into his arms while screaming for me to go get the police. Then he just cried and cried. Somehow, I was able to make my way back to camp.” I sigh and look at Lincoln. “This is the part I’ve blacked out.”
He nods, eyes soft. “That’s okay, Evie. What do you remember next?”
Taking a deep breath, I sort through my memory and go to the last place I remember from that night. “I went straight to the first campsite and told them to call the police.” I swipe the tears from my cheeks. “I don’t think I was looking for anyone in particular. Not even my uncle. I just… wanted to save Carley even though I knew she was gone.”
“What about Patrick? He must have been terrified when he saw you and heard your story.”
I nod, feeling so much relief just thinking about how amazing Uncle Patrick was that night. “I don’t know what I would have done without him. He helped me talk to the Pruitts and the cops. He knows the woods like the back of his hand, so he was able to help me retrace my steps just by my description of where she was.”
At what comes next, a cloud overshadows my love for Patrick. “When we got back to the spot, the cops saw Foster covered in her blood.” I blink at Lincoln, wondering what he thinks of this whole story, wondering if he thinks Foster could be guilty just like the cops thought back then.
“And they assumed he did it.” Lincoln nods. He’s finally realizing the guilt and worry I’ve carried for all these years.
“Yes. And he was arrested right there.” I swipe at another tear. “After losing his sister. After trying to save her. He was still covered in her blood.” I choke on the words, but I refuse to stop, my anger over Foster’s jail time too much to bear. “And then he was interrogated for days. He didn’t even ask for a lawyer because he knew he was innocent. He just wanted to help. But it was like they wanted to pin it all on him, as if he would murder his own sister.”
I shake my head, disgusted all over again. “They had enough evidence to hold him, so they did for as long as they possibly could, but he was eventually let go. His prints weren’t on the rock that bludgeoned Carley, and that alone was his saving grace.”
“Sounds like it.” His arm slips away, and he clasps his hands in his lap.
I let out a deep breath, finally able to relax after reliving it all. Well, all but the one part of the night I still can’t seem to remember. “I’m so sorry to put all that on you.”
Lincoln frowns, looking almost angry. “What did I tell you about your apologies? I don’t want to hear them, Evie.”
“It’s just so dark. My past, my present.” I start to tremble, my concern now settled in the fear that he might see me differently. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to walk away from this right now.” I gesture at myself. “From me.”
His brows crease again, but this time, what shadows his features isn’t anger but sadness. “When are you going to understand? You are not the darkness. It’s your light I would find in the pitch-black night. Out of the millions and millions of fireflies racing through the sky, you’re the only one I see.”
“Really?” I say, my heart beating fast. “Maybe you just haven’t looked hard enough.”
He smiles and leans toward me until his forehead touches mine. “Oh, Evie. I’ve been searching for you my whole damn life. I just needed some time to get to you.”
Warmth blossoms in my chest. “Now here you are.”
His lips brush mine, and he nods. “Here I am.”