Page 73 of Turn That River Red

“He’s agreeing with you.” Charlotte takes a deep breath. It sounds like the phone filling with air. “So, uh, we saw your work at the Church of the Well, by the way.”

I freeze, fingers tightening around the phone.

“Yeah, thought you said you were keeping this one clean,” Jaxon shouts.

“Take me off speaker phone,” I snap. Jaxon cackles.

“I’m not judging,” Charlotte says. “I mean, that place fucked me up, so don’t get me wrong. I almost kind of admire it. Should have gone after Sterling Gunner, though, not some poor woman.”

The dogs have finished eating and are staring up at me, waiting to continue their training. And I debate what to tell Charlotte and her eavesdropping boyfriend.

“The woman’s not dead,” I finally say.

Charlotte goes quiet. Part of me hopes the line disconnected so I don’t have to keep having this conversation.

But then she asks, “Did you pull a Sawyer?”

“Absolutely not. I need to go.”

“He pulled a Sawyer!” Charlotte calls out, away from the phone.

“I fucking knew it!” Jaxon’s voice is tinny and distant. I hate both of them.

“I’ll scan the adoption files and email them to you,” I say. “But you need to be looking for Johnson Baldys, okay?”

“Is she at your house?”

“Goodbye.” I end the call before she can say anything else. Then, after a moment of consideration, I turn the phone off entirely.

Max and Roxi stare up at me expectantly.

“I don’t want to hear it from you two, either.” I take a deep breath. “Now, are you ready for training?”

Roxi barks in excitement, and they both tear off for the back door, their nails skittering against the tile. I pick up my coffee and follow behind them. When I push it open they burst out into the back pasture like two sleek bullets. I step into my yard shoes and amble after them, siping at my cooling coffee, heading toward the barn. It’s locked up tight—protection forwhile I was away. After all, it’s the place where the truly wicked things are kept.

Things I want to hide from Mercy.

Did you pull a Sawyer?Charlotte’s question ricochets around in my head while I spin the dial on the padlock. No, I did not. Sawyer fell in love with a human and got himself shot in the head for his trouble; it took fifteen years for him to revive and the first thing he did was seek her out again.

I just—brought Mercy back to my house because she knows what I am. I’m just keeping her here until I decide what to do.

At least, it feels good to tell myself that, anyway.

I crack open the barn door. The dogs know the sound, and Roxi bays as they come racing out of the pasture and over to where I stand waiting for them.

“Good job,” I tell them, giving them both a vigorous head rub for their trouble. This is good, actually. I need some normalcy back in my routine. I can focus on the dogs and not Mercy.

So I follow the dogs into the barn and drag the door shut. It’s stifling in here, but I kick on the big metal fan, and that stirs the air around. At least it’s still relatively early in the morning, and thus marginally cooler than it will be five hours from now.

I let out a sharp whistle and the dogs come trotting over and sit at my feet. Then I consider my options. I have an array of weapons in here: a wall full of knives and assorted saws and power tools, plus a locked cabinet with some of my more esoteric options—thumb screws, a medieval-style knee splitter, that kind of thing. I keep my rifles inside, out of the heat.

The freezer’s out here, too. That’s where I keep most of the meat, each victim in their specially labeled bags. I bring them into the house freezer piece by piece.

Raul’s out here.

I put the thought aside. I didn’t even know Mercy when Ikilled him, and killing is what Ido.It’s my entire reason for existing. And I didn’t even torture him.

The dogs are waiting for me, tails thumping against the concrete. I force myself to focus.

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