Page 80 of Firefly Effect

What the fuck? The notebook shakes in my hands.

She believed their light to be something magical in her normally mundane existence. She looked at the fireflies as a symbol of hope—hope that she would one day escape the glass jar that contained her past, present, and future. At least that’s what it felt like, living with parents who cared more about their social status than their daughter’s existence.

The night her jar of fireflies broke in the dark woods of Deep Creek Campground, Evelyn watched how the fireflies escaped one by one into the night—and she knew that’s what it would take for her to escape as well. She too felt trapped.

For a millisecond, I consider closing the notebook. It feels… personal, like a journal of some sort, but it has nothing to do with Lincoln. It’s about me. It’s everything I’ve told him about why I moved here. Like watching a train wreck, I can’t look away.

After that tragic night at the campground, Evelyn became haunted with what she witnessed as well as the mystery that remained. Someone murdered Carley Pruitt in those woods. Experts said the body was still warm when they got to her. Rumors pointed to her brother as the main suspect, but there wasn’t enough evidence to convict, which meant a murderer was still on the loose. Because of this, Evelyn couldn’t seem to get a grip on her anxiety. Panic attacks and paranoia led to her unleashing on a bully in high school.

That was all it took to finally crack the jar.

I’m riveted by the story—my story—told through Lincoln’s perspective. The question is why is he writing it? Maybe it’s habit for him to write every little detail down. Maybe he’s just trying to make sense of the traumatic chaos that brought me here.

My eyes slam shut, and I shake my head, chastising myself for giving Lincoln excuses when I know now he’s hiding so much from me. I keep reading.

Evelyn was expelled from school, alienated from friends, and kicked out of her house. She was sent to live with Uncle Patrick, the only adult who had ever seen any good in her. Under the care of a therapist, Jenkins Wright, she took a job at her uncle’s bar, finished high school online, and found solace in her new life.

I pause to take a breath. It’s like he’s writing a synopsis of my life in all its highlights. Is this why he came to Bryson City in the first place? Because he’s Foster, and he’s trying to find his sister’s killer? He did mention that he became obsessed with the murders in college. Maybe there’s much more to it than that. I focus back on the notebook.

Fourteen years later, Evelyn Vaughn is now a woman driven by routine, casual relationships, and a thirst for knowledge she can never seem to quench. She doesn’t like change, and she’s wary of strangers, yet she dreams of a life she’s been conditioned to believe she will never have.

My knuckles whiten as my grip tightens on the notebook. What am I supposed to make of any of this? He’s been studying me and summarizing my life like I’m the synopsis of his next fucking book.

Firefly Effect.

A gasp escapes at the realization. He had mentioned something about being inspired by his old mentor at Duke, Dr. Rohls, and how he wanted to take his dissertation and expand it to write something similar, based on the Firefly Man serial murders.

Setting the notebook aside with shaky hands, I reach for the rectangular black case. My chest is still heavy, making it hard to pull in a deep breath. That’s all I want—for my lungs to expand so I can release some of this built-up tension. I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse.

And it does.

Sitting in the open case is a stack of newspaper articles paperclipped together. Articles that detail each Firefly Man killing. Beneath that are police reports from every incident, a map pinpointing each location, but it’s the photos of the crime scenes that have me immediately slamming the case closed as tears begin to stream down my face.

What the fuck is going on? This can’t all be from Lincoln’s college research. Why would he have it stored in his desk? There are too many coincidences—too many flashing lights.

And with fireflies, the lights they carry aren’t always used to find a mate.

Sometimes, they’re used to send warning signals… in case of a threat.

CHAPTER

THIRTY

LINCOLN

I’m in a rush leaving Lucy’s school, knowing Evie is waiting for me at my office. She never answered her phone last night, so now my mind is going wild with the reasons she came to see me. I imagine her propped up on my desk with her stretchy maroon skirt and gray tee, her perfectly pink lips plumped and ready for me. A quickie before work. I can get behind that, considering I couldn’t get her out of my mind as I was falling asleep last night.

A bunch of parents volunteered to bring breakfast to the classrooms as a coordinated act of kindness, and I didn’t want to miss it. I’m so appreciative that Lucy has a great place to spend her days while I’m working and while Francine is off doing Francine things, but breakfast has been over for a solid hour.

It seems like every time I start to leave, someone tries to stop me to talk to me about the upcoming field trip to Deep Creek Campground. The school is organizing a nature day there on Friday where they take the kids to picnic, swim, and check out the wildlife, which is bad enough, but they’re also trying to organize a community firefly walk that same night.

“We’re all going to be chaperoning, Lincoln. We’ll all keep an eye on Lucy,” one of the moms says with encouragement. “She can stay and watch the fireflies with us too. She would love it.”

Lucy hears this and clings to me with adorable puppy-dog eyes. “Please, Daddy. I want to see the fireflies.”

I shake my head, hating that I must disappoint my daughter. “We’ll go another time, Lucy.”

“But I want to go with my friends.” She frowns, eyes brimming with disappointment. “All my friends get to go.”

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