Sleep quietly pulls her under. It comes one breath at a time, and then she’s afloat on an ocean of memories and fears which pull her into a nightmare.
In her dream, the lights flick off. She’s alone in the dark. Pitch-black around every corner.
A terrible scent reaches her nose. The smell of burned flesh.
A woman splays in the corner. Blood gushes from the stab wounds on her chest and neck. A familiar symbol marks her neck—a smiley face burned into her skin by a branding iron. The FBI will find the symbol on each of the Full Moon Killer’s victims.
Darcy recognizes the woman: Kelly Anne Collings, the serial killer’s first casualty. Darcy and her partner had observed the body inside the Charlotte morgue, the formaldehyde smell a rancid candy that made her ill.
Why is Collings inside her home?
The ranch is silent until footsteps creep down the hall. She’d known he was inside the house before he approached. Michael Rivers.
The scrape of a knife blade against plaster comes closer. Darcy hurries through the shadows to the front door.
Jammed.
In the strange way of dreams, when she wheels around, he is already upon her.
Before she can cry out for help, the knife plunges toward her chest.
Darcy awakens screaming. The pillow lies on the floor. She’s teetering on the edge of the cushions, a hair’s width from falling off the couch. Pulling herself up, she rushes to the window.
Just a dream. She thought she’d left the nightmares in Virginia, but they’ve trailed her to the North Carolina coast and won’t stay quiet.
The hot sun pulsing through the window cleanses her and washes the horror away. For several minutes she stands in the light until her limbs stop trembling and she gains control over her breathing.
Though she checked Rivers’ status last night, she races to the bedroom and throws the curtains open. At the computer, she verifies the Full Moon Killer is locked away and serving a life sentence. She has contacts at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. People who will tell her about an impending release from prison. She swipes through her contacts and finds the numbers. Sitting beside the window, she taps her nail on the screen, debating.
No, she made a fool of herself last year when she called. Her former coworkers must think she’s gone off the deep end.
She checks the clock. Three hours until school lets out. Add another three hours for football and cheerleader practice, and Darcy has enough time to fortify the house from intruders before she cooks dinner.
She grabs her phone and makes the call she’s been putting off for three months. The woman at the security firm takes Darcy’s information and schedules an appointment for a state-of-the-art home security system installation.
Twenty minutes later, she stands at the Home Depot customer service desk. Their team will deliver and install a gas-powered generator next week.
She tells herself the generator will prove useful when the next hurricane spins up the Atlantic seaboard. And it will serve a purpose in the event of a storm. But the generator is a virtual guarantee she’ll never again be stuck in the dark because of a power outage.
When the front door bangs open at six o’clock, the turkey and stuffing is finishing up in the oven, filling the ranch with the mouth-watering scents of Thanksgiving in October. Darcy sprawls on her back beside the sliding glass door, a screwdriver clenched between her teeth as she works the security bar into place. Most people don’t realize the locks on patio doors are futile. A burglar with a little know-how can rattle the locking mechanism until it disengages. She twists the last screw into place and locks the bar with a satisfied nod.
Two phony alarm system signs adorn the front yard bushes. She won’t need them after the installers activate her system and plant the legitimate signs.
Hunter wears a confused look. Jennifer’s grin shows her pearly whites as she tosses her homework on the table.
“I can’t figure out if this is Fort Knox or if I walked onto the set of an HGTV show,” Jennifer says, giving her brother a high-five over the lame joke.
This is classic Jennifer. She’ll hate Darcy with every ounce of her body and suddenly forget the gripe as if no disagreement occurred. It won’t save the girl from a grounding, but Darcy is happy the Jekyll and Hyde routine has temporarily settled on the former.
“What are you doing, anyway?”
“This is a locking bar,” Darcy tells her as she slides the mechanism open and shut. “Makes it harder for someone to break in.”
“Like those signs are going to fool anyone. Wouldn’t it be easier to buy a dog?”
“Take your books off the table and put them in your room,” Darcy says, climbing to her feet on achy knees. Her jaw tightens, a message to Jennifer that all isn’t forgiven. “Dinner is ready.”
Head lowered, Jennifer retreats to her room. Darcy shifts her attention to Hunter, the boy slouched in his usual chair closest to the deck. The folded dress shirt and pants stick out of his bag. After practice he’d donned shorts and a black t-shirt with another metal band she’d never heard of on the front. His hair glistens from showering.
“Now then, how was practice?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Coach Parker have anything to say?”
“Why would he?”
“I don’t know. He’s the head coach, isn’t he?”
“We work with the coach who handles receivers and the offensive coordinator.”
“I trust there weren’t any issues with your teammates.”
Hunter blows air through his lips.
“Can we eat? I’m starving.”
“Set the table,” she says, worrying over Hunter’s evasiveness. Twice she’s witnessed his teammates bullying him. Is she overreacting to a couple bad eggs? Maybe she needs to back off and give Hunter space.
The tallest member of the family, Hunter doesn’t require a chair to reach the top shelf dinner plates in the cupboard. As he walks three plates back to the table, Darcy opens the oven and lifts the turkey with a pair of potholders. She sets the turkey on an oval serving dish with handles on the ends and carries it to the table. On his way to the kitchen for utensils, Hunter dodges her. While Darcy places the stuffing beside the turkey, she eyes the fading orange light at the window, weary of the shorter days as Halloween approaches.
Jennifer returns wearing gray, baggy sweatpants and a half-shirt. Darcy can’t fault her daughter for wanting to be comfortable, but this is her third change of clothes today, if Darcy counts the black sweatpants and t-shirt Jennifer wore at breakfast.
“After dinner, you’re doing the laundry,” Darcy says between bites, pointing her fork at Jennifer.
“Why me?”
“You make the most laundry, so you get to do the honors. Besides, you don’t question me when I assign chores.”
“Owned,” Hunter grins as he sets his hand on Jennifer’s shoulder and gives it a playful shake.
“And you’re in charge of folding tonight,” Darcy says, narrowing her eyes at Hunter.
The chore score even, the kids stop razzing one another and focus on their plates. The turkey melts in Darcy’s mouth, the stuffing seasoned with just the right amount of salt and pepper. Though Darcy appreciates conversation during dinner, the only time of day she sees the kids, the lack of small talk tells her the food must be good. She hadn’t expected the meal to come out so well, distracted as she was by the new locking mechanism for the deck door.
After eating, Darcy washes the dishes. Jennifer dries, and Hunter puts them away. The kids head to their rooms, but Darcy stops Jennifer.
“Have a seat,” Darcy says, motioning toward the table.