CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The first step of the old fire tower groaned beneath Riley’s weight, a protest of rusted metal. She paused, one foot suspended above the next tread, her hand gripping the weathered railing.
The abandoned tower loomed above her and Ann Marie, its skeletal frame a jagged silhouette against the darkening sky.
Metal stairs wound upward inside the tower’s four spindly legs, and many more of those steps separated them from whatever view—and whatever insights—awaited them in the lookout shed at the top.
“This doesn’t seem particularly stable,” Ann Marie said, her voice hushed as though the tower might collapse if she spoke too loudly.
Riley tested the second step, applying gradual pressure. “The metal frame is solid enough.” She glanced back at her young partner. “Stay close to the railing and test each step before you put your full weight on it.”
Riley continued her ascent, feeling the subtle sway of the structure with each step.
The tower had been abandoned for years—decades, perhaps—but the main support beams showed no signs of critical failure. Still, she moved with caution, holding her flashlight on the stairs, her eyes scanning for weak points.
“Careful here,” Riley warned, pointing to a section where a connection had broken. “Step over this part.”
“OK,” Ann Marie replied.
As they climbed higher, the slight breeze strengthened, whistling through the tower’s metal framework. Riley felt the structure sway slightly—just enough to remind her of their precarious position.
Halfway up, a small landing offered a moment of respite. Riley paused, letting Ann Marie catch up to her. Together, they surveyed their progress.
“You OK?” Riley asked.
“Fine. Just hoping we’re going to find something helpful at the top.”
They resumed their climb. An owl hooted from somewhere lower. They were above most of the trees now.
Riley glanced outward through the tower’s metal frame. She could make out rolling hills, patches of forest, the distant silver ribbon of a stream. Even from this incomplete vantage point, she could understand why someone would make this climb repeatedly.
The final flight of stairs curved more steeply.
Riley grasped the railing with both hands at points, the metal cool against her palms. The wind had picked up, and she could feel it tugging at her jacket, hear it singing through the tower’s framework.
The entire structure seemed to sway ever so slightly, a gentle rocking that was more unsettling than dangerous.
“Almost there,” she called back to Ann Marie.
The last few steps brought her to a small trapdoor in the floor of the observation shed. Riley pushed it open, the hinges protesting with a rusty groan. She hoisted herself up and through the opening, then turned to offer Ann Marie a hand.
The shed was approximately fifteen feet square.
Although it had a roof, wide openings in the sides gave an unobstructed view in all directions.
Riley’s flashlight revealed a few abandoned items—a blanket, a ragged jacket—that looked like they’d been here for years.
The floor seemed relatively solid, but Riley still stepped carefully as she moved toward the center.
“Wow,” Ann Marie breathed as she joined Riley at one of the platforms. “This view is incredible. Must be amazing by daylight.”
Riley slowly turned in a full circle to take in the panorama.
In the distance, hills seemed to ripple like waves, and she could make out a patchwork of small farms and woodlots.
One side offered a glimpse of what might be Westminster in the far distance, just a smudge of human presence against the natural world.
“It’s like standing above the world,” Riley said softly.
“Why do you think this spot was so important to the Bartlett twins?” Ann Marie asked. “Must have been something more than the view.”
Riley considered the question. “Places like this can become anchors in a transient childhood. The boys moved around constantly with their father’s job. But this tower might have seemed like a constant in their changing world. Perhaps a symbol of power.”
As she stood there, Riley felt a familiar sensation beginning to build—that intuitive connection she’d been hoping for. She closed her eyes, letting the feeling deepen.
The Bartlett twins, young and inseparable.
Climbing these same stairs, their footsteps quicker and lighter than hers had been.
The excitement of reaching the top, of claiming this abandoned perch as their own private kingdom.
The hours they must have spent here, watching the world below, planning their adventures, sharing their secrets.
Riley could almost see them—Tony and Jay, identical in appearance but already developing the subtle differences that would eventually define them. They would have brought things up here—books, perhaps, or games to pass the time.
“Chess,” she murmured, the image suddenly clear in her mind.
“What?” Ann Marie asked.
Riley opened her eyes. “They played chess up here. Tony and Jay. I can almost see them, sitting cross-legged on this floor, the board between them.” She moved toward the center of the shed.
“Here,” she said, kneeling down. “This was their spot.”
Ann Marie crouched beside her. “How can you tell?”
Riley shined her flashlight on barely discernible markings scratched into the wood.
“Look closer. Someone carved a crude chess board directly into the floor.” The grid was faint but unmistakable once you knew what to look for—eight squares by eight squares, with some of those squares still showing traces of darker coloration where they’d been filled in.
“They might have used stones or other found objects as pieces,” Riley continued, her mind reconstructing the scene. “Can you imagine? Two boys, completely identical, playing game after game up here. The ultimate mental competition.”
She stood slowly, moving to the railing again.
The wind ruffled her hair as she gazed out at the landscape, trying to see it through the Bartlett twins’ eyes.
What had they talked about during those games?
What secrets had they shared, what plans had they made, what private language had they developed in this isolated perch above the world?
“Tony loved it here,” Riley said, the certainty growing stronger as she spoke. “This wasn’t just a hangout spot—it was sanctuary. A place where he and Jay could truly be themselves, away from their father’s depression, away from the chaos of constant moving.”
Ann Marie had joined her at the railing, her expression thoughtful. “That makes sense. Two brilliant kids with an unstable home life would cherish a place like this.”
The wind picked up, whistling through the tower’s metal framework, and Riley could sense Tony’s presence here—not physically, but emotionally. His attachment to this place was profound, almost reverential.
“This is where he and Jay were happiest. Where they made their deepest connections.” She paused, another piece falling into place.
“He wanted to bury Corey McLaughlin down below because it’s sacred ground to him.
And now he’ll be furious that we’ve taken that from him.
We’ve disrupted his plan in the most personal way possible. ”
A gust of wind shook the tower, the metal framework groaning slightly under the pressure. Riley gripped the railing, steadying herself as the platform swayed. The movement seemed to break the spell of her connection with Tony’s mindset, bringing her fully back to the present moment.
“We’ve seen enough,” she said. “Let’s head down before this wind gets any stronger.” She took a photo of the chess board carved into the floor.
Ann Marie took a few shots of the little room, then moved toward the trapdoor and began the descent.
As she followed Ann Marie down the stairs, Riley was processing the implications of what she’d sensed.
Tony Bartlett wasn’t just a methodical killer seeking revenge for his brother’s death.
He was a man desperately trying to maintain his connection to the only person who had ever truly understood him.
And now that they had interfered with that connection, there was no telling how he might react.
As they made their way back to the SUV, Riley couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched—not by any physical presence, but by the ghosts of two young boys who had once claimed this place as their own. One was dead, the other twisted by grief into something monstrous.
The SUV’s headlights cut twin paths through the darkness as they began their descent from Quayle Hill, the access road even more treacherous in the dark.
Riley knew that Tony Bartlett would soon strike again.
He needed to complete what he’d started here.
The only question was when—and who his next target would be.