“You’re doing great, hon. You’re safe, and I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”
The paramedics hand her off to the hospital staff once she’s inside. Darcy waits with Jennifer in a small room with white walls and a curtain instead of a door. The young male doctor assigned to Jennifer is calm and knowledgeable, but it’s the confidence he instills that convinces Darcy her daughter is out of the woods.
“BP is up a little since the ambulance ride,” he says, scribbling on her chart. “It fell too low, but it should continue to rise now. Pulse is stronger. And you’d better get that looked at.” The doctor points his pen at Darcy’s arm.
“Do you need to raise her blood pressure?” Darcy asks.
“Not as long as it continues to trend higher. She looks stronger already.” The doctor sits beside Jennifer on the edge of the cot. “You’re breathing too fast, Jennifer.”
“Ican’t get enough breath,” the girl says, clutching her chest.
“Actually, you’re getting too much. Does your chest hurt? Do you feel light-headed?”
Jennifer nods and swings her eyes toward Darcy.
“Look at me,” the doctor says. “Okay. I’m going to take a deep breath, nice and easy, and I want you to follow along with me.”
Jennifer hitches and makes a whistling noise while inhaling.
“Let’s try again. Watch me,” he says, inhaling through his nose and making a winding motion with his hand. “That’s better. Again.”
The doctor has Jennifer repeat the process until she’s breathing normally. Her color is back, and her eyes are no longer glassy.
Maybe it’s the bright lights and warmth inside the hospital, or the steady stream of nurses and doctors checking on Jennifer that speed her recovery. An hour later, Jennifer feels strong enough to sit up on the cot and talk. She asks if Hunter is okay, and like all teenagers, she wants to know where her phone is. Darcy can’t help but laugh as she cups a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. Jennifer will be okay. They’re all going to be okay.
Darcy gets a month’s worth of exercise traveling between her kids’ hospital rooms. Between trips, she consents to a doctor treating the slash wound. She needs seven stitches.
Bandages wrap around Hunter’s head, and purple mounds rise off his face where Aaron and his friends beat him. But he’s strong, resilient. Like his sister.
“I chased Aaron’s car to the coast road,” Hunter says once the attending nurse exits the room. “Two miles from home, Bronson’s truck came up behind me. I never liked the guy, and I figured he’d done something bad for you to throw him out of the house.”
“But you accepted the ride when he offered,” says Darcy, straightening the blanket draped over his stomach.
Hunter shrugs.
“He told me he recorded Aaron throwing the brick on his phone, and he’d take me to the police station. I figured, why not? I didn’t have to like the guy to accept a ride, and I didn’t want Aaron to get away with smashing our window. You’re not in trouble for shooting Bronson, are you?”
Darcy grabs Hunter’s hand.
“The police will question me, but I’ll be fine. I think we have a few people on our side now.”
Hunter glares into the corner of the room, remembering what happened.
“I knew something was wrong when he headed north. I kept telling him he was going the wrong way. When I saw Torres’ car following us, I figured it was a setup. The scumbag had a gun. Nothing I could do.”
Darcy touches her lips against the back of his hand. The puzzle pieces fit now. Rivers was an electric contractor and taught Chaney to design the power disruptor. In turn, Chaney possessed the skills to mess with the cameras and alarm, and posing as a Gilmore installer allowed him to study the layout of the home and sabotage the power. How Bronson met Rivers, she hasn’t decided, but Ames and Hensel will figure it out soon. Bronson worked for criminals running the Smith Town underbelly, and Rivers had the financial resources to keep Bronson solvent despite his legal issues.
As for Aaron Torres and his friends, they had nothing to do with Chaney and the Full Moon Killer. Bronson used them to hurt Hunter, nothing more, and Bronson tossed the boys aside when he finished with them.
Darcy stands at the vending machine when Ames arrives. He has Julian and Faust with him. A few days ago, Darcy would have taken one look at the trio and decided they were here to arrest Hunter and spin Bronson’s death to implicate Darcy and her family. It’s good to have people on her side for a change.
“Officer Haines told me about your daughter,” Ames says. “How’s she doing?”
“The doctor called it psychological shock. She’s better now, but the doctor wants to keep her overnight.”
“And your boy?”
“Hurting, but he’s a survivor. I worry about the long-term effects of multiple concussions, but he’ll be able to go home with Jennifer.”
Ames no longer recognizes his sleepy village. He brushes the hair across his head and exhales.
“Once you get the kids settled, I need you to stop by the station tomorrow.”
“You have questions.”
He gives a non-committal reply, something between a nod and a shrug.
“I think we’ve reconstructed the events from the park, but I’ll need your statement. You should get your gun back by then.” He turns to leave and stops. “Oh. Agent Hensel turned over Chaney’s phone for evidence. I understand you called one of Chaney’s contacts using his phone.”
“I did.”
“Any idea who answered?”
“None.” He stares at Darcy as if he thinks she’s holding something back. For once, she isn’t. “But I’m positive he’s involved like Bronson was.”
“After you left, someone sent a message to Chaney’s phone. Anonymous, of course. The sender wanted to know, and you’ll excuse my vulgarity, if the bitch and her kids were dead yet. We’re trying to determine who wrote the message.”
“I’ll give you a hint. He lives in federal housing outside Buffalo. Small room. Low rent.”
Darcy expects a chuckle, or even a smirk. Instead, Ames pulls his jacket tight and buries his hands inside his coat pockets.
“Tomorrow then.”
“I’ll be there.”
It’s after midnight, but the trauma-induced energy charging through Darcy seems limitless. Eventually, the adrenaline will flee her body and she’ll collapse, but for now she roams between the rooms of her sleeping children and takes comfort in the bright lights of the busy medical center.
The hospital cafeteria finished serving food hours ago. It’s empty of patrons and a good place to sit for a while and reflect on the night’s events. She takes a window seat and thumbs through news stories on her phone. A slender man in a dark blue janitorial uniform mops the floor while the moon, an old villain she’ll never escape, leers at her through the glass.
When her phone rings, she expects another anonymous caller. A flood of relief follows when Laurie’s name appears on the screen. She’s checking on Hunter and Jennifer, Darcy assumes. But when Darcy’s cousin speaks, the room turns a shade darker.
The police are at Laurie’s house in Georgia. Her stalker escalated.
“Did he hurt you?” Darcy asks, leaning forward and touching her heart.
“He came while I was at work, Darcy.”
“Are you sure it was him? Did he break in or take anything?”
But in the roiling pit of her stomach, Darcy already knows the truth before her cousin continues. There’s a painting on the back of Laurie’s house. A bloody, dripping smiley face.