Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cain
The sirens are getting closer.
Three minutes, maybe four, before they arrive.
I stand outside the Sterling house, calculating options.
Jake's blood is still under my fingernails despite my quick cleanup.
Celeste is inside, playing her part perfectly—the traumatized victim who barely survived.
And I'm about to become either her savior or Sterling's prime suspect.
Leaving would be smarter.
I could disappear into the woods, let her handle this alone.
She's strong enough now, transformed enough.
But leaving would raise questions.
Why was I here?
Why did I run?
And more importantly—it would leave her vulnerable to her father's questions, questions she's not ready to answer alone.
The blood on my shirt is a problem.
Jake's blood, sprayed in an arterial pattern that any competent forensic analyst will recognize.
I strip it off, turn it inside out, and put it back on. Not perfect, but better. The darkness will hide the rest.
So I stay, knowing what's coming.
Sterling already suspects me.
Finding me here, with his deputy dead and mutilated, will confirm every instinct he has.
But he won't be able to prove it.
I've made sure of that.
The first cruiser slides to a stop, lights painting the house in alternating red and blue.
Two deputies I don't recognize emerge, hands on weapons.
They see me and immediately tense.
"Hands where we can see them!"
I comply, keeping my movements slow, non-threatening. "My girlfriend is inside. She was attacked. The attacker is dead."
They exchange glances.
One approaches while the other covers him.
Professional, but not exceptional. Not like what's coming when Sterling arrives.
"Your name?"
"Cain Lockwood."
Recognition flashes across his face.
Everyone knows who I am—the hermit, the weirdo, the one who Sterling has been watching. The one who finds bodies, who appears at crime scenes, who makes people uncomfortable with his very existence.
"The sheriff's daughter—is she—"
"Alive. Injured but alive. Jake Bauer broke in. Tried to rape her."
The deputy's eyes widen. "Deputy Bauer?"
"Former deputy, from what I understand. He was suspended three days ago."
More sirens.
An ambulance, another cruiser, and then—Sterling's SUV taking the turn onto his street at dangerous speed.
The tires scream against asphalt, and I can actually see the vehicle lift slightly on two wheels before slamming back down.
He's going to be a problem.
The SUV hasn't even fully stopped before Sterling is out, running toward his house.
He sees me and his expression transforms from fear to rage in an instant.
Pure, murderous rage that I recognize because I've felt it myself.
"You son of a bitch!"
He doesn't slow down, just charges directly at me.
The impact takes us both to the ground, his hands going for my throat.
For a man in his fifties, he's strong, driven by paternal fury and years of repressed suspicion.
"Sheriff!" The deputies try to pull him off, but Sterling throws an elbow that catches one in the face, breaking his nose in a spray of blood.
"I told you to stay away from her!" His fist connects with my jaw, snapping my head back.
I taste blood but don't fight back.
Let him exhaust himself.
Let everyone see him lose control.
Let them see the good sheriff attacking the man who saved his daughter.
Another punch, this one to my ribs.
I absorb it, file away the pain.
Sterling is sobbing now, his punches becoming wilder, less focused.
"She was supposed to be safe! I was protecting her!"
"Dad, stop!"
Celeste's voice cuts through everything.
She's standing in the doorway, looking exactly as she should—shirt torn, face bruised, blood on her clothes.
The perfect victim, if you don't look too close at her eyes.
If you don't see the satisfaction hiding behind the performed trauma.
Sterling releases me, scrambling toward his daughter. "Celeste, baby, are you—"
"Cain saved me." She collapses into her father's arms, a masterful performance of delayed shock. "Jake broke in. He was drunk, angry about being suspended. He tried to—" She breaks off in a sob that sounds completely genuine.
Sterling holds her, but his eyes find mine over her shoulder.
The rage is still there, mixed with something else.
Suspicion. Knowledge he can't prove.
"Take her to the ambulance," he tells one of the deputies. "Have them check her out."
"I want to stay—"
"Now, Celeste."
She goes, playing the obedient daughter, but catches my eye as she passes.
A quick look that says be careful, don't let him break you.
Sterling waits until she's out of earshot, then advances on me again.
This time the deputies are ready, positioning themselves between us.
"How?" Sterling's voice is deadly quiet. "How were you here?"
"I was hiking. The trails behind your property connect to mine."
"At night?"
"I often hike at night. The woods are peaceful. You know this—you've had deputies follow me enough times to know my patterns."
"Bullshit." He shoves past the deputies, gets in my face. His breath smells like coffee and exhaustion. "You were watching my house. Stalking my daughter."
"I heard screams. I responded. Would you prefer I had kept walking?"
His hand goes to his gun. Not drawing it, but the threat is clear. "Jake's dead?"
"Yes."
"You killed him."
"I stopped him from raping your daughter. The force required was... significant."
"Show me your hands."
I hold them out.
Some bruising on the knuckles, Jake's blood still faintly visible under the nails despite my quick wash.
Sterling sees it all, cataloging evidence with eyes that have been doing this for thirty years.
"Sheriff," one of the deputies says quietly. "You need to see this."
We follow him inside, up to Celeste's bedroom.
The smell hits first—blood, bodily fluids, death.
Then the visual.
Jake's mutilated corpse, the grotesque unicorn horn of his own anatomy, the artistic precision of the violence.
"Jesus Christ," one of the deputies says, then runs for the bathroom to vomit.
Sterling stares at the scene, his face cycling through emotions.
Horror. Recognition. Understanding.
He's seen my work before, even if he couldn't prove it was mine.
This has my signature all over it.
The theatrical positioning, the symbolic mutilation, the way the blood has been allowed to pool in specific patterns.
"You," he says quietly. "This was you. Not just Jake—all of them."
"I don't know what you mean."
He spins, grabs me by the shirt, slams me against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. "The deer skulls. The mutilation. Roy Dunham. The women. This is your work."
"Your deputy broke into your home. Attempted to rape your daughter. I stopped him."
"You butchered him. This isn't self-defense, it's—"
"It's what he deserved." I meet his eyes calmly. "How many women filed complaints against Jake that you dismissed? How many victims did you ignore because he was your deputy, your friend?"
Sterling's grip loosens slightly. "You don't know—"
"Sarah, seventeen years old. You convinced her to drop charges. Melanie Hughes, a dispatcher in your department. Transferred rather than investigated. Rebecca Martinez, domestic violence victim. Jake propositioned her and you buried her complaint."
Each name hits him like a slap to the face.
His hands fall away from my shirt.
"You protected him," I continue quietly. "For years, you protected a predator. And tonight, he came for your daughter. If I hadn't been here—"
"Shut up."
"If I hadn't stopped him, Celeste would be another victim of the man you enabled."
Sterling's fist comes up again but stops inches from my face.
He's shaking, not with rage but something worse.
Guilt.
The kind that eats you alive from the inside, that makes you see every mistake in sharp relief.
"Sheriff?" A new voice. State police have arrived, two detectives in suits that probably cost more than most cops make in a month. "We need to secure the scene."
Sterling steps back, straightens his uniform. "Detectives. This is Cain Lockwood. He... interrupted the assault."
Morrison looks between us, noting Sterling's defensive posture, my calm demeanor, the blood on both of us. "Mr. Lockwood, we'll need a statement."
"Of course."
"Sheriff, given your relationship to the victim, we'll be taking over the scene."
Sterling wants to protest but knows he can't.
He's too involved, too emotional.
And now, looking at Jake's corpse again, too guilty.
The interview is conducted in the living room.
I tell my story simply—heard screams while hiking, responded, found Jake assaulting Celeste, used necessary force to stop him.
The detective takes notes, asks for details.
"The level of mutilation seems excessive for defense."
"He was trying to rape her. I was... upset."
"Upset enough to remove his genitals and sew them to his face?"
"I wanted to mark him for what he was. A predator. A rapist. The last thing he deserved was dignity."
The detective exchanges glances with his partner.
They've seen violence, but this level of ritualistic destruction is new.
"How long have you been involved with Ms. Sterling?"
"A few weeks." Not entirely a lie. I've been involved with her since I first read her writing, first recognized a kindred spirit.
"And Sheriff Sterling was aware of this relationship?"
"He was aware I existed. He wasn't pleased about it."
"Why's that?"
"You'll have to ask him."
The younger detective speaks up. "Mr. Lockwood, we're aware of your... history. The complaints from townspeople. The suspicions about your involvement in other deaths."
"Suspicions without evidence aren't worth much, Detective."
"No, they're not. But patterns are interesting. You seem to be around a lot of death."
"I live in the woods. Death is natural there. Animals die, seasons die, everything dies eventually. It's only in civilization that people pretend otherwise."
The older detective closes his notebook. "We'll need you to come to the station for a formal statement."
"Am I under arrest?"
"Not at this time. But that could change."
Through the window, I can see Celeste with the paramedics. She's refusing transport to the hospital, insisting she's fine.
Sterling hovers nearby, torn between comforting his daughter and watching me.
The distance between them is telling—she doesn't want his comfort, not anymore.
She's beyond his reach now, in a place he can't follow.
"We need to search Deputy Bauer's residence," the younger detective says. "Sheriff, can you provide access?"
Sterling nods numbly.
He knows what they'll find—I've made sure of it.
Trophies from victims, photographs of Celeste, evidence linking Jake to every murder.
It's all there, waiting to be discovered, crafted perfectly to fit the narrative that Jake was the killer all along.
My phone buzzes.
Juliette calling. I decline it, but she immediately calls back.
"I need to take this," I tell the detective. "My sister."
He nods, and I step onto the porch.
"Cain, what the hell is happening? I just got a call that Celeste was attacked?"
"She's safe."
"Safe? Someone tried to—" She stops. "It's all over the news already. Deputy Jake Bauer. They're saying he might be the serial killer."
"That's what it looks like."
"Cain." Her voice drops. "Tell me you didn't—"
"Didn't what? Save your friend from being raped?"
She’s quiet for a moment, then asks the question she really wants the answer to. "How bad was it? How bad is she?"
"She's strong. She'll survive."
"I'm driving up tonight."
"That's not necessary."
"My best friend and author was nearly killed and my brother was conveniently there to save her? I'm coming."
"Juliette—"
"No, Cain. I know you. I know what you're capable of. I've always known, ever since Mom and Dad died in that very convenient accident. I'm coming, and we're going to talk about this."
She hangs up.
This is a complication I didn't anticipate.
Juliette knows me too well, remembers too much from our childhood.
She'll see through the performance, recognize the patterns.
Sterling approaches, stopping just out of arm's reach. "We need to talk. Alone."
I follow him to the tree line, away from the deputies and detectives.
In the darkness between the trees, his civilized mask drops.
"I know what you are," he says quietly. "I can't prove it, but I know.
You're a killer. Maybe you started with your parents—yes, I looked into that too.
Carbon monoxide poisoning, how convenient.
Then you came here and started cleaning house.
Drug dealers, rapists, predators. Always people who deserved it, in your twisted logic. "
I don't respond, just wait.
"But here's what I also know—you saved my daughter tonight. Jake would have... done things to her. Horrible things. And you stopped him."
"Yes."
"So, I'm going to make you a deal." He steps closer, and I can see the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of his choices. "They're going to find evidence at Jake's place. Evidence that he was the killer. Case closed, town safe, everyone moves on. You and Celeste are heroes who stopped a monster."
"And?"
"And you disappear. Leave town, leave Celeste, leave everything. Tonight was your last act here. You saved her, now you go."
"No."
His hand goes to his gun again. "That wasn't a request."
"I know. But my answer is still no." I meet his eyes steadily.
"I love your daughter, Sheriff. And more importantly, she loves me.
We're connected now in ways you can't understand.
I've shown her who she really is, and she's shown me I don't have to be alone.
You can threaten me, you can try to arrest me, you can even kill me. But I'm not leaving her."
"You're a killer—"
"Yes. And I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt her. Including you, if necessary."
The threat hangs between us like ice. Sterling's jaw works, processing the reality that the monster he's been hunting is also the only reason his daughter is alive.
"She doesn't know what you are—"
"She knows exactly what I am. She watched me work on Jake.
She held the knife. She made the final cut.
" I let that sink in. "Your little girl isn't so little anymore, Sheriff.
She's not innocent. She's not a victim. She's my equal, my partner, my complement.
And if you try to separate us, you'll lose her forever. "
"You've corrupted her—"
"I've freed her. From the cage of expectations you built.
From the safe, boring life you planned. From the fear of her own darkness.
" I turn to leave, then pause. "Check Jake's house, Sheriff.
Check his computer, his closet, his basement.
See what you've been protecting all these years.
Then ask yourself who the real monster is—the one who kills predators, or the one who enables them? "