Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Someone forgotto close the blinds.
Squeezing my lids tighter, I groan and roll over, expecting to bump into the petite bed hog who kept me up all night with her constant movements, every single one triggering me to tighten my hold on her. So when I realize there’s nothing to hold onto, my heavy eyelids fly open. My heart rate instantly triples as I look around the small apartment in one full sweep but don’t find her.
I rip the comforter away, ready to leap off the bed, when I hear the flush of a toilet and the squeal of the faucet followed by the sound of shower water hitting the porcelain tub. Chill, dude.
Everything seems to have me on high alert these days, between the recent murders, the break-in at the bar, then last night’s fight. I just need to know Evie is safe. Knowing Francine and Lucy have been far away from this place is one thing I haven’t had to stress about.
I consider joining Evie in her shower, but every muscle in my body is screaming with pain. Why the hell am I so sore?
I quickly think back to the events of last night—the fight with Billy, dinner on the bar, body shots, carrying Evie up the spiral staircase, and then a marathon of sex. With every give, there was a take followed by another give. Everything about being with Evie feels so new, like we’re randy teenagers. I’d never tried so many different positions in one night, but we couldn’t get enough of each other. I certainly couldn’t get enough of her. I never will.
Stretching, I glance around the room, smiling at just how perfectly the entire vibe of the room matches Evie. The simplicity. The coziness. The mismatched color palette that makes no sense but somehow works well. And the rows upon rows of colorful book spines.
When I finally get the strength to slide from bed, I head to the kitchen and start the coffee pot. I’m going to need several cups to make it through the day. Lucy and Francine will be home in a few hours, and then it’s daddy-daughter day—a time when I commit to doing anything and everything Lucy asks me to do to show her how much I missed her this weekend.
While waiting on the coffee, I peruse Evie’s bookshelf the way she’d explored mine in both of my offices. She’s such a book lover that it’s interesting to see what she has in her personal collection. I had assumed I would find classic literature, like the book she was reading at the Deep Creek picnic area, but no. Evie’s collection consists of a mixture of genres and subgenres.
I do a double take when I get to an empty spot on the shelf. At first, I assume it’s just missing a section of books until I look deeper and find a framed piece of paper pushed to the very back. I’m not wearing my reading glasses, so I can’t make out the words.
I reach for the frame and pull it toward me, confirming what I’ve already suspected. A familiar poem in familiar font. But how did Evie find it? Swallowing my surprise, I read the words I already know by heart.
A Flicker of Light
By Foster Pruitt
What happens when a light burns out?
Does it spark back to life or die?
That night, I heard a terrified shout
When a flicker lit up her cries
She died under a pale-blue moon
Bioluminescence bled her path
With blood-soaked hair and lake-shone shoes
Weapon placed in a moonlit bath
A final breath squeezed between bones
Her small body, so limp, now serene
A moment too late, her light flown
Yet somehow, I knew she was free
I didn’t even notice the shower had stopped until the door to the bathroom creaks open. Evie walks out wearing one of her favorite yellow graphic tees paired with white cotton shorts. Her hair is still damp, and she’s wearing her glasses. Completely transfixed by her, I almost forget what I’m holding until her gaze drops to my hands.
“You found my dirty little secret.” She stands beside me and takes the frame delicately from my hands. “Foster wrote this.” Her eyes find mine. “Carley’s brother. I found it one day while scouring the internet for information on him. This was all I found, and I guess it brought me peace to know he was still alive out there somewhere.”
My heart beats hard in my chest. “Your dirty little secret, huh?”
She smiles and sets the poem back on the shelf. “Isn’t it a little weird that I obsessed over finding him then framed the only proof of his existence?”
I take her hand in mine, loving the way her cheeks go a shade darker. “After what you went through, I think it’s perfectly acceptable, Evie. I’d think it would be weird if you didn’t try to track him down.”
She tilts her head, offering me a grateful smile. “You’re not the least bit jealous that I’m keeping something from my first-ever crush?”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “After last night? No.” I wink, and she blushes even more. “I’m sure the opposite is true too. I’m sure Foster looked you up.”
She frowns, a glimmer of anger flashing in her eyes. “He’s had fourteen years to find me. Trust me—that never happened.” Then she shrugs. “It’s not like I even really knew the guy. It was a little-girl crush for reasons I can’t even remember. I just want to know that he’s okay.”
Wrapping her in a hug, I try to ignore the wild stampede in my chest. If there’s one thing worse than going through tragedy, it’s coming out of it alone. Evie has been so strong for so damn long, and I want her to know she doesn’t have to carry the weight of that night alone anymore. I’ll be here for her however she needs me to be.
“I better get going. I’ll call you tonight after Lucy goes to bed. Maybe we can stop by Firefly tomorrow night for dinner?”
She slides her arms around my back. “I would love that.”
I leave her with a slow kiss and a smile. “Me, too, Evie girl.”
As I turn away, my eyes catch on the poem one last time before I walk out her apartment door, down the spiral staircase, and through the front door of the bar. All the while, the words from the poem spin round and round in my head like a record.
I was nineteen when I wrote that poem. It just came to life one day when I was sitting in the library, studying the biological makeup of fireflies. There was something about my studies when paired with the inspiration of Dr. Rohls’s Waterfall Effect story and my yearning to stay connected to Carley, somehow, some way.
During my education, my thirst for knowledge grew, and putting pen to paper to let my thoughts pour out became increasingly therapeutic. Fast-forward to the Doctor of Psychology program at Duke where I spent three years writing a dissertation on human life in comparison to that of a firefly, and my obsession only became magnified, not dispelled.
I wanted to do more with my work, but I could never figure out what. I was sure moving to this town with all its history for me and my family would inspire words to come faster. While it has, distractions from a certain someone consume my mind.
The first dose of that inspiration came when I was seventeen years old. It was one week of camping, five nights of campfires, and several trips into the woods where we were all mesmerized by the synchronous fireflies. My family had driven in from a few towns over, so we’d seen the occasional flashes of light in the woods, but nothing like the magical show that lit the woods each night at Deep Creek Campground. It was a true phenomenon, one that lit up my little sister like nothing I’d seen before.
Until her light was put out by a monster.
And the worst part—that monster got away with it.
He’s still out there, lurking in the Appalachian woods.
Stealing lives, one light at a time.
A predator now known as the Firefly Man.
I knew he would come back to this town.
The trail he’s taken to claim his victims has led him straight back to his very first kill. And this time… I’m going to catch him.