Page 31 of Autopsy of a Fairytale

Eamon Stone hovered in the distance, his sweat-soaked skin blending in with the trees as he watched her. If Cerberus hadn’t wandered off the trail, Bel would’ve never noticed him. She froze as their eyes met. How long had he been watching her, and why had she not sensed him? She had felt alone in these woods, almost safe with her father’s voice and her dog’s presence, yet there Eamon stood, hungry gaze never blinking as he stalked her.

“Cerberus, come.” Her pitbull obeyed, and she seized his leash, pulling him toward her house. Against her better judgment, she glanced over her shoulder as they fled, but Eamon hadn’t moved. He simply observed her, and Bel couldn’t tell if it was because he was hunting her or guarding her.

Thankfully, he didn’t follow, and she arrived at her cabin without an incident. Cerberus acted like nothing was wrong as she dragged him home. Both times they found Stone in the woods, her dog had behaved as if he was an old acquaintance, his presence barely worth a second glance. The same could not be said for her neighbor, and as they passed Vera’s cabin, Bel spotted her cleaning her kitchen, curly grey hair bobbing in the window. The thought made her feel guilty, but she prayed the woman didn’t notice her. She liked Vera, but she couldn’t face her. Not today. Not when Vera loved that she was finally dating Garrett.

“Let’s run,” she whispered to her dog, and the two of them charged for their front door. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw her neighbor spot them, but she ignored her, not stopping until they were safely locked inside.

The morning sped by after that, as if the countdown to the gallows had begun. Bel showered and fed Cerberus, making a pot of coffee as she dressed. She contemplated forcing herself to eat, but the reality of what awaited her turned her stomach. If she ate now, she might vomit the minute she saw Garrett’s trusting face.

“Please,” she whispered as she hugged her dog and left her house. “Please let it not be him.”

Her prayer repeated over and over as she drove, the normally quick trip suddenly the longest drive she had ever endured. When she finally reached the station, she felt as if she had aged one hundred years.

Judging by the absence of his vehicle, she had beaten the Sheriff to work, and she contemplated waiting in the car for him to arrive. She wasn’t sure she should face Garrett alone. All of her rage from yesterday had evaporated, anguish replacing it. She liked Garrett. Really liked him, and she couldn’t bear the thought of him holding the guilt. He made a good suspect, the first real one they encountered, but could Prince Charming Garrett Cassidy truly be a monster? She tried picturing her partner ripping people’s hearts out and stringing them up, but her imagination found it impossible. It didn’t mean he was innocent, though. Plenty of serial killers had been charmingly handsome men who tricked women into trusting them.

Bel waited another ten minutes, but since there was still no sign of the Sheriff, she decided to venture inside. The overnight deputies were still on duty. She wouldn’t be alone.

Mind made up, she scrambled from her car, locking the door behind her as she walked toward the station. Like every morning since her arrival in Bajka, Bel pulled open the doors, expecting to smell stale coffee and remnants of whatever had been reheated in the microwave, but as she stepped inside this morning, a wrongness washed over her. Gooseflesh pricked her skin, her hair standing up on end. Fear. Unadulterated fear. Something was wrong.

Bel walked further into the station, her hand drifting to the gun at her hip when something tripped her. She stumbled, using a desk to catch her fall as she glanced down. The sight ripped a scream from her throat. She didn’t mean to scream. She couldn’t help it, for there on the floor was one of the overnight deputies, his neck broken.

Bel’s eyes snapped up as she drew her sidearm. She moved quietly, gaze scanning every inch of the room, but her gut already knew what her mind was still trying to process. The station was too still. Too quiet. These rooms were void of life.

Bel cleared each corner, each blind spot, and after forty-five seconds which felt like an hour, she found the second night deputy. His body sprawled across a chair, neck broken and hanging at an uncomfortable angle. Bel’s mouth went dry as the evil in the air coated her skin. Something had come into the police station and overpowered two muscular, professionally trained men. It had snapped their necks like they were rabbits, and as she stared at the corpse, a fresh horror dawned on her.

Blind with terror, Bel bolted across the floor, feet slipping as she tried to gain traction, and her shoulder smashed into a corner as she took it too hard. She was no longer human. She was fear and instinct. She ran, her mind screaming in silence. Begging and pleading and praying, but they did no good. Her prayers would not be answered. It was already done. Already over, and as she burst into the jail cell, the first thing she registered was red.

Drying crimson blood pooled on the floor, and she barely skid to a stop in time to keep her toes from sliding in the slickness.

She did not scream this time when her gaze lifted from the stained tiles, for the sight stole her breath. It stole her everything, leaving her an empty, pain-riddled shell as she stared up at Garrett hanging from the jail cell bars… his heart missing.

The earth stopped spinningon its axis, tilting dangerously beneath her feet… or maybe she was the one tilting. Tilting. Tilting. The crimson pool rushed for her face, and then Bel was moving, lunging forward with reckless abandon.

She barely moved three inches before a powerful arm caught her waist, hauling her backward against a solid chest, and that was when the dam blocking her voice burst. Bel screamed as she thrashed against her captor. She raged and kicked and cursed, her own ears unable to decipher the words of pain pouring from her mouth. She needed to help him, to cut him down and save him.

“Emerson!” A deep voice ripped through her haze of blinding insanity. “Calm down.”

She could not calm down. She would never calm down.

“You’re going to hurt yourself!” Sheriff Griffin jerked her around to face the wall, Garrett’s and the deputies’ bodies hidden from her view, and she choked as he lowered her feet to the ground. “Breathe,” he ordered, his arms still cementing her spine to his chest so that she could feel his lungs inhale and exhale. “Breathe, Emerson.”

She couldn’t. She couldn’t. She couldn’t.

Bel gagged, bile racing up her throat, and with an uncoordinated jerk, she ripped herself from Griffin’s hold. She barely made it to the bathroom before she heaved into the toilet, the retching painful.

“Deep breaths, Isobel.” The Sheriff’s palms found her back, gathering her hair as she sobbed and choked. “Let it out. Get it all out.” She had fled into the women’s restroom, but it seemed Griffin knew not to leave her alone. He was the only person in Bajka who knew the truth about her transfer from New York.

She coughed, dry heaving, and then the floodgates opened, tears rolling down her cheeks as she collapsed against the stall wall. Sheriff Griffin stood and flushed the toilet before returning to her side, rubbing her shoulders. Nausea receding, Bel noticed for the first time just how horrified her boss looked.

“This is my fault,” she whispered, Garrett’s handsome and lifeless face accusing her from her memory.

“Don’t.” Griffin’s voice was tight. “Don’t go there. The evidence you found was serious. Any of us, Garrett included, would have done what you did. This isn’t on you. This station is supposed to be secure. For God’s sake, two officers were on duty here last night, and…” he cursed viciously before continuing. “And someone came into my house and killed three of my men. My house!” He pounded his fist against the stall door, causing Bel to flinch.

“This is not on you.” Griffin stood and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m going to get everyone in here, and I mean everyone. I will find who did this and crucify them.”

“He can’t be dead,” Bel whispered from the floor. “He was my…”Partner? Friend? Boyfriend?They never got the chance to have their first date, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over her.

Griffin stepped out of the stall and pulled out his phone. He made a few calls Bel barely heard, and when he was done, he bent and scooped her off the floor. He guided her to the sink, turning on the faucet so she could wash out her mouth and drink some water before he led her out of the bathroom into his office. He placed her on the soft leather couch beside his desk as a flurry of movement sounded from outside as the first of the officers arrived.

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