Heart beating in her ears, she descends the terrain until she reaches the rocky creek. The flashlight confirms an unauthorized pathway along the water. It runs as far as her eyes can travel, ultimately toward Laurie’s house and the falls.
Curiosity makes her want to see how far she can get. Too dangerous. She isn’t sure how rough the climb is, and the tiny swamps girding the creek make her worry about alligators. Darcy backtracks to the parking lot with a frozen image of the creek in her head. She’ll mark the position on the map and check for roads close to the track the killer took.
Or might have taken. She’s grasping at thin strands of hope, her mind honing in on any piece of evidence that might lead her to Jennifer.
Darcy spies the shadowed park equipment on the horizon when her phone rings. She bristles for forgetting to silence the ringer as her finger hovers over the answer icon. Hensel looks more like a shout than the caller’s name when it flashes on the screen.
“Where the hell are you? And don’t tell me you’re out for a walk or grabbing a late dinner. I called Laurie, and she hasn’t heard from you since this afternoon.”
Darcy clutches the phone to her ear and hurries past the playground as though the ghosts of dead girls watch her in the dark.
“It’s not your business where I spend my time, Eric. I’m not under house arrest.”
“Warden Ellsworth called ten minutes ago. There was a near riot at the prison this evening, but I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that.”
Darcy stops beside the car and holds her breath.
“What does that have to do with me?”
Hensel grinds his teeth.
“You damn well know. Dammit, Darcy. Five men cornered Michael Rivers and threw him into a utility room. Six people walked into that room. Only one walked out.”
Fumbling the keys, Darcy steadies her voice.
“What are you saying?”
“The five attackers sustained stab wounds to the chest and stomach. The guards found one with his throat slit, and another gutted like a—“
“Stop! Just stop. I don’t want to hear anymore.”
“Rivers got his hands on a weapon, though the guards can’t seem to find it. For Christ’s sake, Darcy. He murdered five inmates.”
The door unlocks. Darcy slumps over the seat and swallows the sick rushing up her throat. Her head spins, pulse slams until she’s sure she’ll faint.
“I figured it out, Darcy. Lou Vescio. I mulled over the people who could help you get to Rivers, and then I thought of Vescio. He trusted you. I wonder what Vescio thinks about Agent Gellar tonight.”
Darcy straightens in the seat before leaning over to spit the wretch out the door. Her hand shakes as she wipes it across her lips, craving something to take the edge off. Just two pills to help her process five dead inmates and a serial killer bent on revenge. Two pills to block the images of Emily Vogt left for dead in the farmer’s field. Two pills to keep the black night from crashing through the window. Then she’ll quit.
“Darcy, answer me.”
She fumbles the bag and spills its contents over the seat.
“I’m here, Eric.”
“Tell me where you are.”
Before she can answer, a text pops up on the screen. It’s from an anonymous sender, but Darcy knows who the messenger is.
Nice try. I’ll gut you and watch you bleed, you pathetic bitch. Right after my friend rapes your daughter.
Darcy deletes the message and blocks the sender, though Rivers will contact her from a different phone next time.
“I’m coming to pick you up,” Hensel says.
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Why the hell not? Whatever you’ve gotten yourself into, tell me where you are and I’ll take you back to the hotel. Look, I don’t know where you got the money to hire Vescio, but it’s over. Ellsworth and Tipton don’t need to know what you did, but you have to promise me you’ll never pull a stunt like this again.”
Darcy can’t hold the pill bottle. It slips and tumbles into her lap, where she wrestles the cap off and flings it across the car. She pops two pills. Swallows. Then two more.
“Don’t lock me out, Darcy. Give me your location. If you don’t want to see me, I’ll send Fisher or Reinhold to pick you up.”
“I was wrong, Eric. I failed everybody.”
“Wait, don’t—”
She ends the call and sits back in the driver seat. Already she senses the medication trickling through her body. Soothing. Numbing. Hensel calls back, and she presses ignore and stuffs the phone in the bag.
Darcy pulls the Prius out of the parking lot. She shouldn’t feel calm yet, not this fast, but the brain’s power of persuasion is a powerful force. It won’t be long before the pills kick in, robbing her ability to drive. No chance she can drive back to Millport.
But Laurie’s house is a ten-minute drive. The key to Laurie’s front door dangles off the chain. She throws the car into drive. Maintaining speed is a game of chicken. Too fast and she’ll lose control of the car. Too slow and she might black out before she arrives.
Laurie’s house blends with the night before the headlights pull it from the shadows. Dark windows look back at her with soulless eyes. She half-walks, half-stumbles up the steps with the keyring hanging off her fingers. Fitting the key into the lock proves difficult, then the mechanism clicks, and Darcy lurches into the frozen house and flicks the wall switch. She doesn’t understand why the interior feels as cold as the outside until she remembers the wood stove. Sighing, she tosses her bag and keys on the table beside the holstered Glock and rubs her eyes on her way to the living room. The coals have burned down to ash, no residual heat left inside the chamber as she strikes a match and lights the kindling. The flame catches her thumb, and she tosses the match into the stove with a shout. It only takes a minute for the dry kindling to catch, and after she loads two split logs into the stove, she rubs her hands together as the fire grows higher.
Heat rolls off the stove when Darcy closes the door and drags herself into the recliner. Though she regrets leaving the kitchen light on, she doesn’t have the strength or motivation to turn it off. Instead, she closes her eyes against the harsh glare, the light pink and orange against her eyelids as the fire drives back the cold and thaws her bones. A forgotten portion of her brain accosts her for abusing the anti-anxiety medication, screams for her to shake the cobwebs off and find her daughter. The numbing comfort of the pills quiets the internal arguments, and soon she drifts into sleep.
Darcy doesn’t know how long she’s been asleep when her eyes shoot open. The kitchen light seems darker than before as if the night saps its power. Inside the wood stove, a log snaps. Then she remembers what woke her. A sound. Something in the night.
Her eyelids bat under the weight of too many pills. Fingers tingle with pins-and-needles, body struggling out of a murky bog. She lifts her head off the recliner a moment before a shoe swishes through the grass below the window.
The glass implodes. A dark shape plunges through the opening and leaps toward her with a raised knife. Instinctively, she reaches behind her for the bookcase and closes her hand over the hilt.
Darcy jabs the hidden knife into the attacker’s arm. He howls and strikes her face with his fist. Her head snaps back, and she tumbles over the armchair with the man atop her.
Legs kick out as her feet find purchase on the hardwood. His fingers curl around her neck. She bridges hard and bucks him off her hips. When he reaches for his knife, she finds the steak knife on the floor and jams it into his shoulder. The man screams and falls back, the knife stuck in his shoulder as he backs away. Seeing she’s weaponless, he regains his confidence and thunders across the living room. Unable to reach the other hidden weapons, Darcy reaches for the fireplace tools and swings the poker. The iron rod clips him above his eye and draws a bloody gash.