Chapter Sixteen—Chris
TWO MORE DAYS PASS after the deer scare without another sign of Fenton.
The state police keep a unit on the county road, and the sheriff’s department continues rotating deputies closer to the property.
Stone calls morning and evening with variations of the same update.
Fenton’s abandoned car is still their best physical lead.
His known accounts are dead, his phone hasn’t reappeared, and reported sightings haven’t produced anything useful.
Inside the lodge, life develops a cautious routine.
Lorna works during the day. I handle Aldren Capital from my own phone and laptop, answer calls directly, and walk the perimeter according to Willa’s schedule.
We eat together more often than separately now, though conversation remains mostly practical.
On Thursday afternoon, Lorna puts a container of soup in front of me while I’m reading an email at the dining table. “You missed lunch.”
I look at the container, then at her. “Thank you.”
“You’ve been on calls since eleven.” She returns to the refrigerator. “Heat it up before you go outside tonight.”
I don’t point out that she noticed my schedule. I heat the soup.
By ten, the temperature has dropped into the thirties. I zip my jacket, take the flashlight from beside the back door, and check in with Willa before leaving.
She’s working at the dining table with one earbud in. “Deputy is on the east side until eleven. State unit is still below the access road.”
“I have both numbers.”
“I know.” She pulls out the earbud and looks at me. “Same route. Same rules.”
“I remember.”
Lorna is on the couch with her laptop. She glances up when I open the door, then returns to the screen.
I step outside.
The first half of the circuit is quiet. I pass the guesthouse, follow the stone wall, and check the eastern boundary without leaving the route. The deputy’s flashlight appears through the trees farther down the slope.
I continue toward the access road. A cruiser is visible near the bottom through breaks in the trees. Nothing moves on the gravel between us.
The western side is darker because the lodge blocks most of the exterior lighting. My flashlight passes over the fence, fallen leaves, and the low brush along the edge of the woods.
Something is wrong near the old woodpile.
One of the trail markers Willa placed two days ago is lying on its side. It’s only a strip of reflective tape attached to a short stake, meant to mark the edge of the route after dark. Wind could knock it over, except the stake isn’t loose. It’s been pulled out.
I take out my phone and call Willa.
She answers immediately. “What?”
“West side near the woodpile. One of your markers is out of the ground.”
“Back away from the trees.”
I move toward the open yard. “I’m backing up.”
“Do you see anyone?”
“No.”
“Stay where I can see your light.” Movement sounds behind her. “I’m calling the deputy.”
I turn slightly toward the lodge. One downstairs curtain shifts, then closes again. Willa has eyes on me.
A branch moves inside the woods, too low for the wind. I take another step back. “Willa.”
“I saw it. Deputy is coming from the east. State unit is moving up the road. Do not go into those trees.”
“I won’t.”
A dark shape appears between two trunks, and Fenton steps out.
He’s twenty yards away, wearing dark clothes and carrying a small backpack over one shoulder. Mud covers the lower legs of his jeans. He looks thinner than he did at the lodge three days ago, but the expression is the same composed one he wore in my office for years. “Chris.”
Hearing my name in his voice makes my skin crawl. I keep the phone in my hand. “Stay there.”
Fenton looks toward the lodge. “Is she inside?”
“Stay where you are.”
Willa speaks through my phone. “Chris, don’t move toward him.”
“I heard you.”
Fenton’s attention drops to the phone. “She’s still giving you instructions.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re listening?” A faint smile appears. “That’s new.”
I don’t respond.
His gaze moves toward the lodge again.
“What’s in the bag?” I ask.
“Things Lorna needs.”
My grip shifts around the phone. “Put it on the ground.”
“No.” He tenses.
“Willa has called the police. They’re already on the property.”
“I know.” He doesn’t seem concerned.
That doesn’t surprise me after what he did three days ago. Fenton takes one step sideways, trying to improve his view of the house, and I move enough to block it without approaching him.
“You came back after she made it clear you scare her, and she doesn’t want you.”
He scowls. “She was upset.”
I stare him down. “She was clear.”
Fenton shakes his head. “You don’t understand what happened.”
My pulse is thrumming with adrenaline, but I struggle to sound calm. “I understand enough.”
“You never understood her.” His voice sharpens. “You didn’t know what she did all day. You didn’t know how much money she made. You didn’t know when she stopped sleeping or why. You handed me every call she made because you had more important things to do.”
Every accusation contains enough truth to hurt, but I’m not defending myself to him.
Fenton notices. “Nothing to say?”
“Not to you.”
He takes another step toward the lodge.
“Stop.”
He does, but his attention stays on the house. “She left you.”
“She left Charleston.”
His face turns red. “Because of you.”
“Partly, but mostly because of you.”
The answer seems to throw him.
I keep his attention on me. “She also left you. You didn’t expect that part.”
His face hardens.
“You had no idea where she went until I gave you the county.”
“She wasn’t supposed to disappear.” He sounds petulant.
“She wasn’t following your plan.”
“She was frightened.”
I nod. “You made her frightened.”
“I was trying to make her understand.”
An engine sounds somewhere beyond the trees. Fenton hears it too. His attention jumps toward the access road, then back to the lodge.
“Put the bag down. It’s over.”
His hand tightens on it. “No.”
“Police are almost here.”
“I didn’t come for them.” He runs toward the lodge.
I intercept him before he reaches the open yard. My shoulder catches him across the ribs, and momentum carries both of us into the grass. His backpack slips free and lands several feet away.
Fenton twists before I can get control of him. His elbow catches the side of my face, snapping my head sideways. He scrambles up before I can grab him again and swings.
I duck the first punch and take the second against my shoulder. Then I hit him.
My fist catches him across the mouth. He staggers backward, and three years of hearing his voice answer my wife’s calls flashes through my head.
I hit him again. This one catches his cheek and drops him to one knee.
Fenton lunges up at me. I catch the front of his jacket, drive him backward, and put a third punch into his stomach. He folds enough for me to take him down again.
“Chris!” Willa shouts from the lodge.
I hear her.
I also see Lorna’s bruised wrists in a hotel room. I see the footage of a disguised man entering our home. I hear Fenton telling me she was bored and dramatic while he built the fear he used against her.
I draw back my fist but I pause. I could keep hitting him all night, but I should let the courts handle it. If I hit him again, I might not be able to stop.
Fenton uses the hesitation to twist beneath me. He drives a knee toward my side, but I shift enough that it glances off my hip. I catch both his arms and force them behind his back.
“Get off me!” He writhes.
I press down harder. “Stop fighting.”
He twists his head to the side. “She doesn’t want you. She left you because you don’t listen and don’t deserve her.”
“You controlled what I heard.” I press him harder into the ground.
“You let me. You could have called her at any time, but it was easier to let me manage her for you.”
I literally see red, and I reach for his neck. The only thing stopping me is admitting he’s right. His words enrage me because they’re true. I take a deep breath. “This isn’t about me.”
“Everything is about you.” He strains against my grip. “You ruined it.”
“No.” I force his wrist higher when he tries to pull free. “She ruined your plan by making her own decision.”
He stops fighting for half a second before struggling again.
Willa reaches us with her weapon drawn. “Don’t release him yet.”
“I won’t.”
She checks his waistband and jacket before holstering the weapon. “Move your weight back slowly.”
I follow her instruction. She takes control of one arm and secures his wrists with restraints from her belt.
Fenton turns his face toward the lodge. Blood darkens his lower lip. “Lorna!” he shouts.
Willa pushes his shoulder down. “Don’t.”
“Lorna, I came back for you! I’m the one who cares and listens.”
The deputy runs across the yard from the eastern side as headlights sweep up the access road.
Fenton keeps looking toward the house. “I brought everything we need.”
My attention goes to the backpack lying in the grass.
Willa sees me look. “Leave it.”
The deputy takes custody of Fenton while another cruiser pulls in. Within minutes, two more officers are on the property. Willa goes inside to check on Lorna while law enforcement searches Fenton and photographs the area before touching the backpack.
I stay where an officer tells me to stand. My cheek aches where Fenton hit me, and my right hand is starting to hurt.
A state investigator opens the backpack wearing gloves. He removes a bundle of black zip ties, duct tape, a prepaid phone, bottled water, protein bars, a compact first-aid kit, and a woman’s sweatshirt still folded with a store tag attached.
The investigator looks at the contents, then at Fenton. “You want to tell me what these were for?”
Fenton says nothing.
I stare at the zip ties. Whatever story he planned to tell himself about coming back to talk to Lorna ends with those.
The front door opens after officers secure Fenton in the cruiser. Lorna stays inside, behind Willa, but I can see her through the glass. Her attention moves from the police to the open evidence bag and finally to me.
Fenton twists in the back seat trying to look toward the house. An officer shuts the cruiser door, and the vehicle pulls away.
Willa remains with Lorna until the state investigator finishes taking my statement. I give him the sequence once, including the removed marker, Fenton coming out of the woods, the backpack, his run toward the lodge, and the fight.
When the interview ends, Willa comes outside and looks at my face, then my hand. “You got a few in.”
“He got a couple too.”
“I noticed.” Her expression makes it clear she noticed more than that. “You were told not to engage.”
“He ran toward the house.”
“Yes, he did.” Willa glances toward the road before looking back at me. “You also stopped when I told you to.”
Barely. I flex my fingers and regret it.
Willa points toward the lodge. “Ice. Now.”
“I’ll get some.”
“Inside, Chris.”
I obey.
Lorna is in the kitchen when I enter. Her gaze goes straight to my swollen cheek, then drops to my scraped knuckles. “You hit him.”
“Yes.”
She smiles slightly. “More than once.”
“Three times.”
Her smile increases. “Good.”
I wasn’t expecting that.
Lorna opens the freezer, takes out an ice pack, and holds it toward me. I cross the kitchen and take it from her.
“Thank you.”
She looks at my hand again. “Put it on your face first. Your hand can wait.”
I do what she tells me.