Page 64 of Firefly Effect

“Are you kidding?” I laugh. “Lucy will be ecstatic to have a live-in friend. Besides, I’ll talk to her and tell her it’s only temporary while your place gets cleaned. She won’t find out what’s really going on.”

Doubt still shadows her eyes. “We’ll see. Let’s get this whole repressed memories thing out of the way first. Maybe I’m more nervous about that.”

I slip my hand out of hers to wrap my arm around her shoulders as we round the corner. “There’s nothing to be worried about. It’s just me.”

She looks up at me, her features visibly relaxing. “Exactly.” Her mouth curves a bit. “Maybe you’re the reason I’m nervous. You’re about to learn just how dark my life was at one point in time.”

I hug her shoulders. “I happen to remember telling you some pretty dark details of my own last night. But what we uncover tonight is completely up to you. We’ll go at your pace. We don’t even have to get into anything specific if you don’t want to. We can just talk.”

Evie lets out a deep breath. “Okay.”

It’s one word, but it’s acceptance, trust in something neither of us quite understands. The fact that she’s trusting me at all is pretty fucking fantastic.

I unlock the door to my building and let her in then lock it behind me. Then I usher her into my office. She walks naturally to the couch and nestles into the corner, which seems to be her favorite spot.

Then she squares her shoulders and looks back at me. “Where do we start?”

I take a seat in the oversized chair across from her and lean back, ready to listen. “Wherever you want to begin.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

EVELYN

Where do I want to begin? Lincoln has already heard the gruesome details of that night fourteen years ago. Do I go back and explain the entire reason why I liked visiting my uncle in the summers so much or the details that led to me finding Carley’s body in the woods?

“I have no idea where to start, Lincoln.” I wring my hands together nervously.

“Why don’t you start with Carley?” His voice is so gentle. “Tell me more about her.”

As much as I want to smile, thinking about her, this entire conversation feels too heavy for that. I pull in a deep breath then exhale, releasing more built-up tension. “We were friends, but I’d just met her on that camping trip. Her family was visiting from out of town. We connected the very first day and became inseparable for the whole week. My uncle loved it—he could drink in peace with his friends while his friends’ kids and I played.”

I smile at the memory. It had all felt so joyous then. “Every night after campfire stories, we’d go out to the trail to watch the fireflies during their mating ritual. It was so beautiful, Linc. And that night was special. There are different species of fireflies. One draws streaks through the sky with their blueish-white lights. We call those the blue ghosts. And the others are?—”

“Synchronous fireflies.”

I blink back at him. “You know about them?”

Lincoln frowns. “They made us study the Firefly Man killings in my criminology class, remember? We researched where the original campfire tale came from, the different fireflies. Anything that could help us piece together a profile of the killer.”

I can’t believe I’ve never asked him what he learned in that class. “Where did the original story come from?”

“It dates back to 1861, to the Confederate soldiers who fought in the Civil War. Some even say those glowing-blue fireflies are ghosts of the soldiers. Haunting, isn’t it?”

I nod. Who would guess Lincoln knew more about fireflies than me? “What else did you learn about the killer?”

“Well,” he says gently, like he’s unsure how much he should tell me, “there’s definitely a pattern in the killings. Each one seems to become more intricate as the killer gains confidence, which is usually the case in serial murders. Each one happened at or near a public campground, deep in the woods. And there seems to be a fascination with sneaking up on victims from behind and bludgeoning them to death.”

I swallow. “What about the timing of all the kills? Is there a pattern to that? Or are there more possible victims, missing people whose bodies still haven’t been found?”

Lincoln shakes his head. “Unfortunately, the likelihood of there being more undiscovered victims is likely, and there definitely isn’t a pattern to the timing of each kill. There are uneven stretches between victims as far as evidence shows, often years.”

“But what about the sex of the victims? All of them were male except for one.”

Lincoln’s jaw clenches, and he adjusts his seat in his chair. I’m not sure why the conversation seems to be making him uncomfortable. “There are some stark differences between Carley’s murder and the others. As far as I know, the reason why hasn’t been uncovered.”

I nod. “Maybe it’s not the same murderer.”

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