Ames opens his mouth and stops, considering his words.
“But I’m not here about my mother. You told me something at the cove. Last night. This guy is copying the Full Moon Killer.”
“That’s right.”
“And Michael Rivers targeted young girls.”
“Teens through middle-twenties, yes.”
“The girl’s name is Becca Crowley, a junior at the high school and a member of the varsity cheerleaders. Hunter knew Becca.”
He pauses for her reaction, but she doesn’t take the bait.
“You said this wasn’t an investigation. It’s a small school, Detective. Hunter knows a lot of girls.”
A lot of girls who fit the killer’s type, Rivers whispers.
“I have eyewitness accounts of Hunter arguing with Becca Crowley two weeks ago. I find it curious, because someone saw Hunter yelling at Amy Yang moments before her death.”
“Would these eyewitnesses happen to be Aaron Torres and other members of the football team?”
“Does Hunter ever become violent when he’s angry?” Darcy opens her mouth and stops. Ames is steadfast in his insistence Hunter killed Becca and Amy. “Ms. Gellar?”
Ames’ stare pierces a hole through Darcy. Gone is the aw-shucks routine he used to enter her home, and now she sees the wolf beneath the sheepskin. A knock on the front door saves her. His gaze doesn’t falter until the second knock, and Darcy swings her head around. Julian stands at the door and looks pointedly at Ames. The detective excuses himself and strides with a clipped, irritated gait to the door. He steps outside, and Darcy watches them talk in the driveway. Julian says something that makes Ames turn his head and stare into the window. Darcy steps into the shadows of the living room, though Ames must sense her watching.
After Julian returns to the cruiser, Ames straightens his jacket and touches his chin. When he opens the door, Darcy feels the floor drop out from under her. Something horrible happened again—she reads it in his eyes.
When he speaks, she clutches the wall to keep from falling. Hunter is in the hospital.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The waiting area for the emergency room is sparse of people, save for a woman in the corner watching her toddler drive a toy truck over a throw rug. Darcy sits in an uncomfortable plastic chair that is murder on her back. Jennifer sits a few chairs away, one leg crossed over the other and nervously kicking.
Detective Ames is in the lobby with an officer Darcy recognizes from the station. After the two men speak, the officer disappears down the corridor and Ames motions at Darcy.
“Besides the vandalism, what do you know about Aaron Torres?” asks Ames, the bluster gone. Contrite, he’s a beaten man.
“Not much,” Darcy says, shifting her stance so Jennifer can’t read their lips. “Hunter dates his sister, and Aaron doesn’t like it.”
“How do you know?”
“Jennifer found out Aaron wrote the note.”
“The one she found sticking out of Hunter’s locker.”
Darcy nods.
“He drove through our neighborhood and stared at the house like he wanted us to see. He had three friends in the car with him.”
“Did you recognize any of their faces?”
“No, but he also had three boys with him when they sprayed my car, so I have to believe it was the same crew.” Darcy bites her lip to halt the tears. “Four on one, that’s the rumor on social media. And kids are laughing about it. What kind of man are you if you need three friends to attack someone?”
Ames doesn’t answer. There are no words of comfort when an act of hate sends someone’s child to the hospital.
“Oh, and that claim that Hunter argued with Becca Crowley,” Darcy says, rounding on the shrinking detective. “She bullied Jennifer at cheer practice, and Hunter saw and stepped in. That’s what big brothers do. As for Aaron Torres, I don’t care how wealthy his parents are. I want the kid arrested for what he did to Hunter. The same goes for the other three.”
Darcy’s hands clench into fists, nails dig through her jeans.
Ames excuses himself when the double doors push open. A dark-skinned doctor with glasses on the tip of his nose walks toward Darcy.
“Ms. Gellar?”
Jennifer crowds beside her. Darcy’s heart races as the doctor glances down at the clipboard.
“Hunter is groggy but responds to questions. You’ll be able to visit him soon.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“The CT scan confirmed a concussion and a brain bleed. I want to stress the bleed is slight, but a concussion is a traumatic injury to the brain. We need to take it seriously.”
To Darcy, the room feels smaller, the walls closing in.
“Is the damage permanent?”
“With rest and proper treatment, most concussions clear up on their own. His reaction time and reflexes are a little slower on his left side than his right, and his balance is likely to be shaky for a few days.”
“What about the bleed? Can’t a brain bleed cause seizures?”
“It can, and we’re monitoring the bleed. We’ll keep Hunter overnight and make sure the bleed stops. If I were to guess, he’ll be able to go home tomorrow afternoon.”
Thirty minutes later, Darcy and Jennifer visit Hunter. He wears a hospital gown, and a tangle of colored wires like alien appendages stretch from his body to a machine. The medical staff cleaned the blood off his face, and the swelling doesn’t look as bad as it had when the paramedics brought him to the hospital. But this is her son. It rips her in half to see him broken. She steels herself, recalling how bad she looked after the stabbing. She survived, and so will Hunter.
“Hey, baby.”
Hunter gives a thumbs up and winces when he tries to smile. Cupping her arms, Jennifer stands beside the monitors, her jaw working back and forth as a tear tracks down her cheek.
“The doctor says you can go home tomorrow. That’s good news, right? I’ll stay with you tonight.”
“No, don’t,” he says, groaning. “It might be three in the morning before they move me into another room.”
She wants to ask Hunter why Aaron would do this. What would drive a boy to these extremes? She can’t. Bringing up the fight will only upset Hunter, and the next several hours are critical if he is to recover without long-term effects.
“Well, I’m your mother, and I’m not going anywhere until the doctors send you home. How is your head?”
He turns his face away and settles into the pillow.
“I want my music.”
“That’s not a good idea with a concussion. Nothing loud for a few weeks.”
“Then let me sleep.”
“Okay.”
Jennifer leans over the bed and kisses her brother on the cheek. Darcy does the same, holding her hair back and trying not to disrupt the confusing array of wires.
Guilt gnaws at Darcy when she leaves her son. But they’re not alone. Her heart pangs when she sees Bronson in the entryway.
“Everything all right?” Bronson asks, shifting on his feet.
“Nothing is all right.”
“He’s a tough kid. Hunter will heal.”
“Yeah, so another group of bullies can attack him outside school or on the street. I hate this village. I shouldn’t have brought my kids here.”
Bronson doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He brings one forward as though he means to touch her arm, then he shoves them into his pockets.
“We had a misunderstanding earlier,” Bronson says as Jennifer sits away from them, chewing a nail.
“I yelled at you. It was wrong to take my frustrations out on you. We…I appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”
“Can I drive you home? It’s not a good idea for you to drive when you’re upset.”