Page 18 of Dying to Meet You

No. No, no, no.

Keep calm, don’t freak the hell out.

“You have the wrong numb-”

“I don’t think so. It’s you.” The chilling amusement in this man’s voice worsens my shaking. “Eve…I’m dying to meet you.”

How does this person know a name I was called briefly at the start of my life? A name synonymous with the doctors playing God at Camp Carroll. With the horrors subjected to a girl that never should’ve been.“You’re an abomination. You were never meant to exist.”My stomach bottoms out.

The call lasted seconds. I sit with the dial tone, the phone frozen in my hand.

I’m reduced to a child, panicked over an inescapable destiny. If it were just me, I wouldn’t feel half as afraid, but it’s not. Hutton, the kids. A frenzied feeling roots in my bones.

They’re playing with me. This person has information about my past, but if they mean to hurt me, they will use me as they take the people I love away. Just like the leader of The Realists planned to do once before.

Gathering up my purse, I’m on autopilot.

A note; a phone call; a strange, dark SUV…Could I be letting it all lead me to a conclusion that’s far-fetched? No. Matt thinks there is a copycat serial killer. We should’ve listened to Hutton by retreating to an isolated, off-the-grid location. He knows better than the rest of us what The Realists are capable of doing.

Chapter Nine

Not playing around

Matt

WhenIpurchasedthisproperty fifteen years ago, I had planned to renovate the farmhouse, maybe flip it afterward. It’s grown into a home, though, and not just because it’s massive with the additions Hutton insisted on paying for. Our kids are entrenched in every part of it; their handprints on the cement pad where we have a basketball hoop, their favorite hiding places in the barn, the treehouse we built them, and the storage under the main staircase where they stow away prized possessions. I spread out the map, showing Steve Harrison, one of the agents enlisted for added security, where the cameras on the property are. We’ve been friends since training together. He was with me on the Camp Carroll case.

He scratches his chin. “You’re wide open back here at the northwest corner of the property where the tree line breaks.”

Until now I never worried about that. Hutton has rigged up cameras all over the place with motion sensors. All the bells and whistles. “I know. My neighbor will never allow you to stage on his property line though. The guy hates us.” More like he is a homophobic zealot.

Harrison raises his eyebrows. “Did you investigate him? He just moved in a couple months ago, right?”

“Hutton did. Turns out he’s just a very bitter, angry and judgmental old dickhead.”

“That sounds like a good time.” Harrison makes notes about schedules. I stress the importance of having one of them with Eden when she’s at Horizon Wellness Center.

“Got it.” He tucks the map, notes, and his phone into his inner jacket pocket. “Tell me again about this copycat case…What did they have in common?”

As we walk back to the house I detail it to him, “They look like suicides, but each scene has ‘Time is Now’ written in blood on the wall, there are connections to the Bradfords or Lassiters with each of the four, and -shit, I can’t belief I even doubted it’s related-there’s a crude symbol for The Realists found drawn on a piece of paper near them.”

Connected to Eden’s and Hutton’s families.

It’s time to go back over those killings six years ago and to anyone ever connected to The Realists. I need to speak to Chris. I should’ve called him before now.

Harrison waves at Eden as she comes to stand on the wraparound porch. “Hey, Doc.”

“Steve, come join us for dinner. There’s plenty. Caleb made barbecue ribs and corn on the cob.” She smiles brightly at him, looking more ravishing than anyone should in an oversized Belmont sweatshirt and leggings, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail. “Don’t be shy. Besides, Wes wants to show you his new karate moves.”

He shrugs. “I can’t say no then.”

Chapter Ten

Shhh, just let it happen

Blaine

We’vebeenhomefromthe dance recital for mere minutes when Waverly stomps away to her room proceeding to slam her bedroom door. She’s nine. I thought we'd have a few more years before teenage behavior took over.

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