Nightfall (Devil's Night 4)

The car halted, people talking and yelling outside the cab. I threw the money over the front seat and jumped out of the car, racing across the street, through the crowd.

I gazed up at it as I climbed the small incline—the wood charred, the roof collapsed, and debris everywhere.

My gazebo.

Why…who…?

I spun in a circle, looking around the village and noticing the wood bolted over what used to be a display case at the front of Fane, the jewelry store.

What the hell happened here last night?

Tears wet my eyes, but I quickly wiped them away and charged back down the hill and across the street, pushing through the crowd of people until I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

I’d built that. Nothing else seemed burned. Why that?

Like they had to erase me from the town.

I started running, taking a right down a quieter street and racing to the police station.

I swung the door open, pushed through all the people inside, and shoved my way through the partition, heading to the offices in the back.

“Emory!” someone barked.

But I ignored him, probably a cop to tell me I couldn’t just barge in.

“Emmy!” another person shouted.

I dug in my heels, slamming my hands into the double doors and charging over to my brother’s desk.

It was empty. I looked at Bryan Baker coming back to his desk with a coffee.

“Where is he?”

“In the john,” he said, taking a sip. “Have a seat.”

I set off, heading down the hall and charging into the men’s room.

Sweat covered my back, and I breathed hard, about to explode. This wasn’t his day. He wasn’t going to win.

Martin stood at a urinal, the rest of the room apparently empty.

I glared at him as he turned his head slowly, looking me up and down.

But he didn’t seem surprised to see me.

A scar stretched across his jaw as he spoke. “You disappoint me,” he said, turning back around and finishing up. “Of all the things to drag your ass back to Thunder Bay for, you came back for this.” He zipped up his pants and fastened his belt. “You didn’t come back for me when they put me in the hospital last summer.”

“Let them go,” I demanded.

He just chuckled, turning around and heading to the sink.

Turning on the faucet, he pumped some soap and lathered his hands.

I stepped up. “The video is a fake,” I stated, remaining calm. “Someone spliced in shots of their faces. Afterall, who would be dumb enough to show themselves committing such a heinous crime?”

He cocked an eyebrow, listening to the story I’d pieced together on the plane ride here.

I folded my arms over my chest. “I mean, why wear masks in the first place? The Graysons, Moris, and Torrances will pay for any expert you need to back up that story, and I’m sure they’ll be very grateful for your willingness to show their families support.”