Murder at Sunrise Lake

Walking along the canal was peaceful, even at the brisk pace Harlow set with her long legs. Stella didn’t mind walking fast, although she was no runner. If she had to jog for her dog’s sake, she would, and she did run under protest to stay in condition, but she wasn’t one of those people who loved it. She would never be a peak bagger— running up a trail and then a mountain to “bag” the peak. She could hike a trail steadily for hours, days, weeks, months, but running, that was a big fat ugh.

The trees swayed gently in the breeze, a few leaves slowly shaking loose and swirling lazily toward the wide trail or the water below. Everywhere was an explosion of color. Reds and oranges with various shades of greens and browns. The fields around them appeared gold. The grasses were so tall they tipped over. Some stalks still held a bluish or greenish tint, but most were brown or that gorgeous shade of gold.

A lone great blue heron walked the canal on tall spindly legs, searching for something to eat. “Are you lost?” she called. “You should have left already. You’d better get moving, my friend, before the weather turns.”

Harlow sent her a little grin. “Do you always talk to the wildlife?”

“Pretty much,” Stella admitted. “They can’t talk back to me.”

Both women laughed as they continued along the canal with their dogs.

NIGHTS THREE AND then four Stella did her best to do as Harlow had said and twist the knob on the lens to widen her view of what she was seeing. Night three was a complete bust. She couldn’t make the knob do anything, and she was so anxious she barely got any new details. She ended up being more frustrated than ever. The lighting was better than the night before so that promised to be better the next night.

Mommy, Daddy’s doing the bad thing again.

The couple appeared to be moving forward on the trail, not staying in the same place. Even in the dim lighting from the woman’s headlamp, Stella felt as if she had hiked that same trail more than once. She even felt the familiar weight of a backpack on her. This time, on day three, she felt eyes on the couple. While she was an outside observer watching them make their way up a steep trail, someone else was watching as well. She could only observe.

A shudder of awareness went through Stella’s body. He was there. Stalking them. Couldn’t they feel him? How could they not feel him? His presence was menacing. His energy powerful. Was he closing in on them? She tried to shout out a warning to them. Icy fingers crept down her spine. Was she going to see him kill them right now? So early? It was too early. He couldn’t do it yet. He had a timetable and this was too soon.

She desperately tried to widen the lens, hoping to trap the killer, to see him. The darkness enfolded him, hiding him. The more she shook, the more the lens shook. She was terrified he would realize she was there watching him. Seeing him. He would know he wasn’t alone. If she could see him, could he see her? The idea was chilling.

Just as abruptly as her nightmare started, it ended, the lens shutting down, snuffing out the scene, leaving the couple alone in the early morning hours with a serial killer stalking them, determined to end their lives and make it look like an accident.

“NO, NO. DON’T stop. Damn you, don’t stop.”

She woke fighting, tears pouring down her face, horrified that she hadn’t gotten anything that could help. Angry with herself for not being able to warn the couple. She sat up fast, trying to take a breath when no air could find a way into her burning lungs. Her heart pounded so hard her chest hurt.

“Stella, you’re here. Open your eyes. Take a deep breath.”

She shook her head. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know what it was like. He could sit across the room in his stupid chair feeling calm and superior with all his training and do whatever it was he did to disassociate but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She was rocking again, arms going around her middle, uncaring that she was having a complete breakdown.

Then Sam was there, lifting her up and onto his lap, his arms around her, holding her tight, pushing her head against his chest while he rocked her. He didn’t ask her any questions, he just let her cry as he held her. That was so Sam, uncaring that she was a hot mess. He cupped the back of her head in his palm and rubbed strands of her hair between his fingers.

Finally, she was able to quiet and give a couple of loud sniffs. He handed her a tissue so she could blow her nose. “I don’t feel anyone watching tonight, do you?” It was the only thing she could think of to ask when her face was red and splotchy and she looked awful. She’d gotten his shirt all wet.