Page 295 of Heart So Hollow

Clear.

A steady rumble of thunder vibrates the window sills as I make my way into the living room. It’s getting darker as the clouds roll in over the mountains. I work quickly, scampering up the stairs and making my way into each of the three bedrooms and two bathrooms along the hallway. The corridor is open with a view over the railing down into the living room, which lets me detect any movement below.

Clear.

I return downstairs and head back to the Master bedroom. The bed is made, the white quilted bedspread smooth and undisturbed just like the vase on the dresser with its branches of eucalyptus, not a leaf out of place. My head is on a swivel as I cross the bedroom, stepping into the bathroom and spinning around. The marble shower is empty, the wavy blocks of glass along the wall consumed by the stormy, grey shadow outside. The only movement behind them is the familiar sway of branches from the birch just off the deck.

Clear.

I stop and listen. A deep rumble of thunder groans above and I clench my jaw in annoyance as it breaks my concentration. Ignoring the interruption, I creep toward the closet door at the other end of the bathroom, my gun raised slightly higher. I grab the knob and slowly twist before throwing the door open, prepared to fire into the walk-in closet.

But it’s empty. The drawers are closed and the clothes hang perfectly still. Slowly, I shut the door and return to the bedroom. I walk gingerly across the carpet toward the sliding glass door, peering outside across the lawn. The wind’s picked up, and birds dart in and out of the trees seeking shelter, but the yard is otherwise deserted. The clouds are dark and ominous, but it’s not raining. This happens a lot on the mountain—thunder without rain—but hopefully it’ll stop soon. Now’s not the time for superfluous noise.

The glass door is shut, its lock still engaged just as it should be. I flip the lock up and down a few times, then look up at the ceiling fan, its white blades perfectly still. And that’s when I notice it.

A faint sting of cigarette smoke hits my nostrils.

My gaze detection triggers and, suddenly, the monster is on the wrong side of the glass again.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

Colson

Present

I should go down there right now. One shot. Done.

But then I see Wells Rhinehardt right before he slammed me down onto a desk and Tate Garrison’s stupid fucking face and the look he gave me when I was just a high schooler who pulled my sister’s rotting corpse out of a drain pipe in the forest. My sister, who his grandson murdered. He was promising to make my life hell and destroy my family even further. Then again, Bowen was just a high schooler, too, and look at all the damage he managed to inflict in such a short time.

No, I relax my finger on the trigger, but only slightly. If that sliding glass door opened, then all the training that I got up in the Arctic would instantly pay off. But it doesn’t. The lock holds and Bowen remains on the right side of the glass.

I also keep my promises. And firing off a shot just because I’m impatient isn’t worth it. I’ve waited this long, what’s a day or two longer?

A lot. Because I’ve put up with enough of this bullshit, and now I just want to live in my house, fuck my woman, give her everything she wants, raise my children, and live happily ever after while my sister and one of my best friends live in the next valley over.

But that’s alright, I can wait. Because I’m a patient man, after all.

Through my scope, I suddenly see something light appear on the inside of the glass, then I realize it’s Brett’s palm pressed against the window. A few seconds later, Bowen lifts his hand and presses it against the glass in the same spot.

What the hell is she doing?

Both of them stay like that for only a few seconds, but it seems like an hour. Finally, Bowen lowers his arm and quickly steps away from the window, making his way across the deck and back down to the yard. When I’m confident he’s headed back into the woods, I peer through my scope again at the window, finally able to catch an unobstructed view of Brett.

She’s staring at the window, her hand still pressed against the glass. Every few seconds, her eyes dart away and then return to the window. Then it dawns on me. Even now, she’s not sure she’s really seeing him or seeing his ghost that’s lived in her head for the past year. She still can’t decide whether he’s that brazen.

But he is.

I lower my rifle, still leaning against the trunk of the pine, and shift my gaze to Bowen disappearing into the trees on the south side of the property. I glance down at Pony, still posted up at my heel. His brown dog eyes track Bowen until he’s gone, and then he looks up at me. I give him a scratch on the side of his face and push off the tree.

I was planning on shutting him up in the cow barn further back in the forest, but when it came down to it, I knew I couldn’t do that. Ideally, he’d still be at the house with Brett, but Bowen doesn’t have any qualms about killing someone else’s dog. Especially mine. No, it’s better that he’s out here with me, another pair of eyes and a nose that works better than mine.

The rest of the morning is uneventful. Bowen’s going to give Brett a few hours to doubt herself some more and then I’m sure he’ll make another appearance. It’s what he loves to do. It’s what gets his dick hard. But this time, Brett knows it’s him.

I sink down onto the bed of pine needles, my back against a ponderosa, and pull out my phone to monitor the camera feeds. Bowen’s staying out on the southern edge of the property at the bottom of the slope whereas I’m on the west side where the forest begins climbing the mountain in a series of plateaus.

I’ve watched him from ridgetops no more than 30 yards away at some points. When I’m not within eyeshot, I have cameras throughout the forest, hundreds of them strategically placed by Alex, Sergei, and I.

As I’m watching him slink back off into the brush, I get a call. I’m pleasantly surprised—it’s Agent Tammy Moreau. I’ve spoken to her far more often than any other member of law enforcement, so she’s grown on me. I don’t like law enforcement in general, for obvious reasons. I prefer the more clandestine operations—people who lack bureaucracy and conventional politics in favor of getting shit done. But she seems like someone with integrity and character. She seems invested, whether it’s because she cares or is trying to make a name for herself makes no difference.

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