Pete holds up the book and points to the inscription, in Julia’s handwriting it says, “To Avery, my number one fan.”
The four of us look at one another, realization dawning clear as the sun over the Atlantic.
“He took her,” Whit says. “That little bastard took her.”
Pete looks around the room. “And left those notes and flowers. I’ve seen him around here. I thought it was weird but I know he has family here…I mean, who doesn’t?”
I nod, knowing this sounds familiar. Or seems to be. I glance at the phone again; the call is still running. The lapping waves sound the same. “We need to get to the waterway,” I announce. “Someone call the police.”
Nick nods and holds the phone to his ear and the four of us leave the tiny camper, racing to the waterway, hoping against hope she’s still down there. In my heart I know it’s a long shot. I haven’t heard her voice in minutes, just the never-ending sound of waves beating on the sand.
31
Summer
Avery grows quiet and it’s unnerving, more than listening to his bizarre justifications earlier. In the eerie light of his lantern I can make out the shapes of the tools he’s organizing on the table. Knives, a small saw, pliers, and a few other sharp objects I don’t want to know exactly what they are—there’s just little doubt he plans to use them. On us.
He mutters to himself and once he seems to have everything arranged he stops to look at us, his face shadowy and ghoulish. His expression is thoughtful, calculating, definitely lucid. After a long beat, he finally says, “Here comes the hard part. Who do I kill first?”
I’m actually surprised by the nerves in his voice, and there’s a tremble in his fingers, because otherwise he’s disturbingly calm. “My plan all along had been to kill you, Summer—to get back at your mother for exploiting our family and becoming rich and famous in the process. Think of the story that will make. Daughter of Gaskins Survivor Killed by Grandson.” His eyes light up for a moment but then shift to Shay, “But to be honest, I’ve never done this before, so practicing on someone else may be a good idea.” He sighs. “It’s just a little less impactful. I mean, you only get to have your first kill once. I’ll be judged for it the rest of my life.”
This commentary is surreal and it makes my skin prickle despite the ever-growing heat. There’s no electricity in the camper, that much is obvious, and the musty, unused smell seems worse as the rising sun warms the metal top. Sweat trickles down my back and is obvious on Shay’s forehead. Avery wipes it off his neck, perspiration showing through his shirt. I don’t know if it’s from the heat or the fact he’s about to dismember us in the camper. My brain swims.
He watches us closely for a moment and then nods to himself. “Yep, I know what I have to do.”
He takes a step forward. Shay sobs next to me. I fight back the rolling wave of emotion that’s trying to take me over. I’ve seen how this ends. The impact on the family—those close to the victim. The police photos. The trial.
The wavering has left his eyes and he yanks me off the floor.
“I choose you, Summer Barnes. You’ll be my first.”
32
Whit
The shoreline along the trailer park and waterway isn’t that long. Maybe the length of a football field. We separate at the end of the boardwalk and search for something—anything. The phone. Foot prints, any clue left behind. Nick called the police but it could take time to get them out here. His words were confusing and strangled on the phone. God knows if they even took him seriously. It may be up to us to find her.
Even with full daylight and a bright morning sun, there’s nothing on the shore. Pete and I run together, but the sand is hardpacked and clean.
“Nothing,” I say. “Not a footprint.”
Not other than our own. We make our way back to the boardwalk and meet a defeated Nick and Justin at the bottom of the stairs. “I don’t see a sign of her,” Justin says. “Fucking hell.”
Pete rests his hands on his hips, eyes skimming the water. We all know Summer isn’t a great swimmer. If she was looking to escape, that wouldn’t be the way she’d go.
“Anyone look under the boardwalk?” I ask. No one speaks, we just move into action, heading up both sides.
Halfway up Justin shouts, “I found it! I found her phone.”
Ducking under the boardwalk, I see him a few feet up, when we get there Nick has his arms spread wide. “Stop! Don’t walk over here. I think these are her footprints.”
“Really?”
“They look fresh and there’s a bunch of upturned sand near where Justin found the phone.” It’s still in the ground.
“I left it so the police could find it.” He shrugs. “I’ve watched enough TV to know not to mess with evidence.”
“Well, I’ve watched enough TV to know the clock is ticking. I’m not waiting for them to get here to do something.” I take a wide berth but follow the footsteps leading away from water. The ground isn’t the same as the ocean side. No dunes, just hard packed gray and brown dirt. It’s soft and sure enough, there are footsteps leading all the way back to the campground. Away from the main path. I look back at Pete. “You said his aunt had a place in here?”