Intense

I followed his gaze and then stopped. It hit me suddenly like a ton of bricks. I’d had this feeling before in the past; it always happened when a big break suddenly happened.

Sloan walked off back toward camp. He had said something, but I hadn’t heard. I was too busy staring at that sign.

“TON,” etched clearly into the wood.

The girl was facing east.

“’EAST-TON.’”

I shook my head. It couldn’t be; it was just so improbable. But nothing about this killer made sense, and nothing about what he did was meaningless. He was breaking all the rules, and now suddenly he was sending me a personal message.

He wanted me to know that he’d been thinking about me when he had killed this girl.

I walked back toward camp almost in a haze. Ahead I saw a small group of techs photographing something on the ground.

“The girl,” I said. They all looked up. “Who is she?”

The one guy looked at the other. He flipped open his clipboard. “I.D. just came back, actually. Luisa Suarez, age sixteen. Local girl.”

I stumbled back toward the body in a haze, not saying anything else. I could barely think, barely breath. I stopped in front of her and knelt down, staring into her face.

Mrs. Suarez from forty years ago stared back at me.

I didn’t know if Luisa was Mrs. Suarez’s granddaughter or daughter, or something else, but it was obvious that they were related.

And she had been murdered because of me and me alone.

That was the obvious meaning of the sign and the direction. Subtle enough that the cops likely wouldn’t connect the two, but obvious enough that I might. Even if I didn’t get the east-facing thing right away, I’d know something was up when the girl got identified.

I stared at her, my head ringing. Ever since the killings had started months ago, I’d known it had something to do with me. Seed was dead, but somebody was killing like him. And with each new dead woman, the killings drew closer and closer to me.

Five dead women—six now that Luisa was gone—each coming closer and closer until finally a woman was killed with a direct connection to me.

Luisa Suarez. I didn’t know her, but she didn’t deserve to get fucking killed.

The piece of shit. The son of a bitch. The mother fucker was going to burn. He was going to fucking pay for this.

I stood up, seething with rage.

The fucking game was changing. I had hoped that the real law enforcement was going to help fix this fucking mess, but they were clearly inept. They couldn’t fix shit unless I got involved.

I couldn’t sit by anymore and let this fucking bastard kill again.

I was going to have to find him and end it myself.

15

Laney

I sat there staring at the gun for longer than I realized.

One second he put the thing in front of me, and the next it was almost an hour and I hadn’t so much as moved.

Shoot to kill kept ringing through my head. I kept imagining picking the thing up, feeling the weight of the metal, and squeezing the trigger.

It looked so easy in movies. You squeezed and it made a little popping sound. But I knew the truth was completely different, that the gun would jump in your hands and the sound was deafening.

And someone would get killed at the other end of your gun.

I stood up and carried my laptop into the back room. I hadn’t spent much time in here, mostly because it was Easton’s private space. I didn’t feel like I was welcome.

But tonight, I didn’t much care.

I sat down on the futon and opened my laptop, scrolling through Facebook. I needed to keep my mind occupied. I could easily spiral into fear and uncertainty, but I needed to avoid doing that.

Easton was clearly worried. He wouldn’t leave a gun with me unless he thought I was in danger. I knew he’d felt that before, but now it was just so clear.

I didn’t know how long I just sat there, staring mindlessly at Facebook. It had to have been at least an hour.

But suddenly I heard the sound.

The sound I had been dreading and imagining all night long. A scratching at the door, and the jiggle of the knob.

I got to my feet, fear spiking through me, and walked into the main office. The handle was moving, and someone was clearly about to come inside.

I grabbed the gun without thinking. It was heavy, substantial. It was exactly what I thought it would be, and way more terrifying.

The door swung open.

“Hey, sis.” Easton looked at me, a small grin on his face.

“Easton.” I slowly lowered the gun.

“You can relax. It’s just me.”

“Okay.” I put the gun back down on the desk, relief washing over me.

He shut the door behind him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Why didn’t you knock?”