A giggle from the bedroom tells Darcy the kids aren’t taking the homework seriously. She emits a low growl.
“That’s my cue to get out of your way,” Hensel says. “I told Laurie I’d help her stack firewood in the garage.”
“Might as well. She never parks her truck inside.”
After Hensel descends the stairs to help Laurie, Darcy pushes the bedroom door open. The snickers die, then Hunter and Jennifer share a grin and return to their work. They’ve forgotten this morning’s argument. Good.
Darcy picks an empty piece of floor between the dresser and window and slides into a sitting position. Jennifer looks up. One glare from Darcy convinces Jennifer to bury her head in her homework. In the silent room, Darcy is aware of the hiss of the furnace and the dusty heat it pushes off the wall, the jiggle of the windowpane every time the breeze picks up, and the filthy sunshine over the glass. It’s an unnatural light. Secretive and sullied.
Pulling her eyes from the window places her at the mercy of her imagination. Michael Rivers is at the glass, eyes wild with bloodlust as he peers inside. Then he’s in the hallway, tap, tap, tapping against the door with the wicked knife he used to butcher his victims. Every creak and groan inside the house is the Full Moon Killer creeping through the dark, the bloody bodies of Laurie and Hensel left in a heap outside.
With the kids focused on their studies, Darcy slides her laptop out of the case and enters her password. With the screen facing away from Hunter and Jennifer, Darcy loads the serial killer website and reads through the forums. While the site purports to be an academic study of famous serial killers, it’s a fan site. The admins crack down on posters who glorify violence and ban repeat offenders, but she’s discovered fiction which would make a fan of slasher movies blanch. Searching for her name, Darcy glances around the screen when she finds an entry. Neither Jennifer nor Hunter notice Darcy’s hands tremble as she moves the mouse.
It’s another speculative thread devoted to the whereabouts of Darcy and her family. Pulse pounding, she scans the text for Georgia and Scarlet River. One poster remains convinced Darcy never left Genoa Cove, while two others argue she returned to Virginia. Darcy’s determination to keep her kids off social media paid off. The posters lost Darcy’s trail.
Darcy is about to shut the browser down when curiosity tempts her to click on the names of banned forum members. She recognizes FM-Kill-Her, the Michael Rivers fan who fictionalized the gruesome murders of Darcy and Amy Yang in a short story. Then another member catches her eye. He wrote five posts before the admins blocked his access to the site. In his fifth and final post, he announced the Gellar family is in Georgia somewhere near Millport. The mouse jitters in her hand as she scans the message, written seven hours ago. Somebody knows she’s here.
Pounding on the front door brings Darcy to her feet. Jennifer drops her notebook and stares at Darcy. The paralyzing moment lasts until the pounding starts again. The escape plans fly through her mind—out the window and onto the roof if they can’t get out in time, defend the stairs at all costs until then. Nobody gets to her kids.
Where is Hensel? Still outside with Laurie? Hunter climbs off the bed when Darcy moves to the door. She wraps the holster around her hip, struggling with the clip as the pounding starts up again. Angry and insistent.
“Stay here with your sister. Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone.” He protests, and she cuts him off. “No arguments. Do it.”
Pulling her sweatshirt over the gun, she shuts the door and doesn’t budge until Hunter turns the lock. Slashes of shadow and bloody light pour across the landing. Ten minutes ago, the clunk of wood tossed into a wheelbarrow echoed outside as Hensel and Laurie worked. Now it’s quiet, and she realizes too much time has passed since she last heard them.
She looks down the stairs and plays the scenarios through her head. Stay along the wall where the killer can’t see her when he breaks inside. Shoot for the kneecaps. Disable and disarm. And if he reaches for his weapon, put the next bullet between his eyes. Be ready to dive into the kitchen if he gets the jump on her and hems her in with gunfire. But do not let him reach the staircase.
Edging the curtain back from the window, Darcy spots the sheriff cruiser in the driveway. She places her hand over her heart and closes her eyes. Thank goodness.
The deputy is ready to descend the front porch steps when Darcy opens the door. He spins and slides his hand along his holster.
“Ms. Seagers?”
The deputy’s nameplate reads Filmore. A younger version of Tipton, Deputy Filmore towers above Darcy. Stubble covers his cheeks. Beneath the tilted hat, Filmore’s eyes are deep set and acorn colored.
“No, I’m her cousin. Darcy Gellar.”
Darcy gazes down the driveway. Light spills out of the garage, but she can’t find Hensel or Laurie.
“Gellar,” the deputy says, rolling the name around in his head. “You were at the office yesterday.”
“That’s right.”
“Hello?”
Laurie’s voice echoes from the driveway. Hensel pushes the wheelbarrow beside her.
“You Laurie Seagers?”
“Yes.”
“And your name, sir?”
Hensel states his name and fishes the FBI badge from his pocket.
Deputy Filmore introduces himself. Though Darcy had told Laurie Sheriff Tipton planned to send a deputy by the house, she seems surprised and a touch embarrassed.
“This isn’t necessary,” Laurie says. “Nobody comes out this way, and if someone wanted to cause trouble, I’d hear them coming a mile away.”
Arms folded and his forehead beaded with sweat, Hensel joins Darcy on the porch while Filmore and Laurie round the house. Laurie points at the wall where she painted over the face. Filmore aims the flashlight against the wall, then sweeps the beam along the windows. He gestures at the panes and Laurie nods, but Darcy can’t hear them from the porch.
“Put the gun inside,” Hensel says, flashing his eyes toward the holster concealed under Darcy’s sweatshirt.
“Is it that obvious?”
“No, but don’t give this guy an excuse. Some of these small county deputies have nervous streaks, and you look a little suspicious with all that worry pouring off your face.”
Darcy tells Hensel about the website post. His jaw pulses as he considers the implications of someone in town watching them.
“I called you before, but you didn’t answer,” Darcy says, unhooking the holster.
“Neither of us heard the cruiser pull up. Laurie had the radio on while we stacked firewood.” He touches his back and winces. “And I’ve done enough stacking for tonight.”
Hensel follows Darcy inside, both relieved to escape the chill spilling off the ridges. Jennifer stands at the top of the stairs with her brother beside her.
“It’s okay,” Darcy says, calling up the stairs. “Just one of the county sheriff deputies stopping by. He might walk through the house and assess the security.”
Darcy gives Jennifer a meaningful look. It takes a second for Darcy’s suggestion to register, then Jennifer hurries to the bathroom to clear the feminine hygiene products off the sink.
With Laurie in tow, Deputy Filmore moves through the house, questioning Laurie about the stalker as he offers suggestions for beefing up security. Filmore tells her to install an alarm system, a recommendation Laurie balks at. Security systems are expensive and ineffective, she argues, though Darcy expects the cost is Laurie’s only concern. Filmore is adamant Laurie replace the back door. Maybe now she’ll listen to Darcy.