Page 48 of The Killer You Know

That ball of fire comes back to mind and I squeeze my eyes shut.

This is all Erin’s fault.

I burn with anger at the thought. If my sister wasn’t selfish enough to run off, then I wouldn’t have joined the FBI, and I certainly wouldn’t be locked in the trunk of a car while a lunatic speeds me off to who knows where.

Our bumpy journey continues for another ten minutes or so before we stop abruptly, sending me rolling toward the front a few feet and landing my face into the felt interior.

The sound of a car door slams and then nothing.

It’s a waiting game now. Waiting for her to open the trunk. Waiting to see if my own gun will be aimed right at me. Waiting to see just how long Vanessa Copeland thinks I should live.

A dull laugh thumps through me. She has no idea who she’s messing with. A part of me died a long time ago along with my father, along with my sister who took it upon herself to turn into a ghost.

A decent spate of time has gone by, so I feel for the emergency release latch and the trunk springs open as if it were innocent of ever holding me hostage.

Unfortunately, not a lot of people know that since 2001 the release latch has been a mandatory staple in the trunk of every car. If the manufacturers would do more to educate the general public, then more tragedies could be averted. Brittney might have had a fighting chance at an escape for all we know.

The cool night air welcomes me and I look past the pines to see the dark tapestry of the night sky, speckled with a plethora of stars.

Wherever we are, we’re nowhere near city life. The stars don’t shine this bright in Pine Ridge Falls either and that’s saying a lot.

I tumble out onto the ground, taking a moment to feel the cool earth as I assess my surroundings.

The woods.

No signs of life.

No signs of anything, save for the silhouette of the cabin before me. Its shape looks ominous in the night, and yet I know deep down that there’s a chance Brittney might be in there someplace.

It’s a two-story wonder of a log cabin. It has a luxurious feel even from this foreboding vantage point. I glance down to the left and a chill runs down my spine as I notice the boarded-up basement windows. And just like that, it confirms my fears.

I place my hands on the ground and try to separate them out as much as possible before stepping onto the plastic binding them together until I hear a satisfying snap as it breaks in two.

My wrists are raw, but I quickly rub the feeling out of them as I try to find the best entry point into that hellhole.

My gun is usually my lifeline in situations like these, but Vanessa decided to throw an obstacle my way.

Challenge accepted.

Adrenaline courses through me as I make my way toward the cabin with every step cautious and measured.

The night is oddly silent, and it’s the kind of silence that has the power to suffocate you, broken up only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of an owl.

My heart hammers against my chest as I slink onto the porch, adhere my body to the wall, and peer in through the window.

The lights are on.

The living room is quaint and cozy, no signs of life, so I try the door and, sure enough, it’s unlocked.

I let myself in and proceed with caution, hoping against hope there’s not a dog around to give away my presence.

Buddy comes to mind. Buddy who was lucky enough to stay home and watch animals running wild on television while I sauntered off to a slaughter with a true beast.

Lucky me.

But then again, the fact I run toward a slaughter is the reason we’re keeping the lights on and his kibble bowl brimming with goodness.

The sound of shouting comes from below and I quickly locate a set of stairs near the kitchen and head on down.

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