CHAPTER FORTY THREE
Ella traced the lines of text in Maxwell’s printouts from the passenger seat, meanwhile Ripley floored the gas pedal en route to Helmsley Bridge.
She’d brief her partner on everything – the manuscript, the woman from her therapy class with a fear of heights, the need to reach Helmsley Bridge before the night was out.
‘You know this woman’s name?’ Ripley shouted over the gushing wind. The midnight hour made their journey towards the towering bridge as simple as it could be. This part of town – the deepest recess of rural Cedarburg – wasn’t afflicted by constant footfall.
‘Lily. She talked about acrophobia at our first session, but I don’t know her surname, or if Lily was even her real name.’
‘Ugh,’ Ripley said.
‘It has to be her. It fits too perfectly with Maxwell's pattern.’
‘But what if he’s not here? What if he’s already gone?’
‘He’ll be here. I’m sure of it.’
‘How?’
‘He watches all of his victims die. He observes them and documents everything. To do that, he has to be present.’
Ripley veered onto the first incline of the hill that led to Helmsley Bridge. Their car began the rapid ascent upwards to the pinnacle, nary a barrier on the edge to keep them safe.
‘Then why wasn’t he at yours?’
‘Because he knew I might have survived, and maybe he’s not dumb enough to kill a police officer. That’s why he had recorded it, so he could extract all the details without being there.’
The car's headlights brightened the winding road that snaked its way up the hill.
No houses or signs of civilization up here, just the untamed wilderness and the occasional flash of eyes from a deer or moose or raccoon.
Helmsley Bridge awaited at the summit, and the thought of Lily, isolated and petrified, push Ella to the edge of her seat.
‘Nearly there,’ Ripley said. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘Save Lily. Stop Maxwell. In that order.’
‘If I see him running, I’m shooting. Dead or alive, he’s coming with us.’
Ella squeezed the papers of Maxwell’s manuscript. ‘We’ve got all the evidence right here. If we have to take him out, so be it.’
The end of the road came into sight, and Helmsley Bridge loomed in the distance.
It was far from an engineering marvel, certainly not one of the reliable structures that spanned the more traveled parts of Cedarburg.
It was a relic that time, and Cedarburg seemed to have left behind.
The bridge itself was rickety, made of wood that creaked and moaned with every gust of wind.
The ropes on either side, intended as handholds, were frayed and worn, offering little comfort or safety to those who dared traverse it.
According to Ella's quick online search, this place was something of a suicide hotspot.
The icy lake below had allegedly claimed over twenty lives since the 1990s.
Ripley slammed the brakes on at the base of Helmsley Bridge. Ella squinted through the windshield.
There it was.
Unmistakable.
A lone silhouette dwarfed by the vastness of the structure and dark void below.
‘There! She’s in the middle of the bridge!
’ Ella flung open the car door and put her boots to the gravel.
Ripley thundered beside her, and as they moved closer, the figure became unquestionably clear – it was Lily from the therapy group.
Her body was rigid, and Ella could see she was handcuffed to the frayed rope that served as the bridge’s handhold.
'FBI, you're safe,' Ripley shouted. The old structure groaned under her weight.
Ella's heart thrashed wildly because Lily's handcuffs, mercilessly tight, allowed her little movement, thus forcing her to lie face down on the bridge's rickety planks.
Yet, even in such dire straits, Lily's survival instinct was present.
A twitch of her fingers, the rise and fall of her back with each shallow breath she managed to draw.
Lily was alive.
Ella inhaled a gust of cool night air, but the relief was short-lived.
She turned in every direction. Lily was here, but there was no sign of the aggressor who’d made this nightmare a reality. She swept the expanse of Helmsley Bridge for any sign of Maxwell Tanner.
Deserted.
Up ahead, Ripley wrapped herself around Lily. Ella watched her dig into her pocket, pull out her penknife, and clip away at Lily's restraints.
She was alive and safe, but that was only half the battle.
The icy grip of realization clenched Ella's heart. Maxwell had to be watching this scene unfold from somewhere, some vantage point. And if Maxwell saw both Ella and Ripley together on the bridge, he would seize the chance to disappear into the night.
Time was slipping through her fingers; every second they remained in sight could be the second Maxwell chose to vanish.
But she knew him now – not just the deeds he had committed, but the very essence of his fascination with fear. She’d read every last detail in his manuscript on the way here, and as she surveyed the rocky terrain around Helmsley Bridge, a moment of comprehension ignited in the back of her mind.
She glanced over the railing and saw the flat sheet of water below.
With a subtle gesture, Ella signaled for Ripley to stay put with Lily. She nodded.
And with that, Ella peeled away from the bridge and disappeared into the shadows.
Because she knew exactly where Maxwell Tanner was hiding.