Page 6 of Trapper Road

We say our goodbyes, and I sit back with a sigh. Absently, I rub a hand against my hip, easing the ache in the muscles that are still tender from having been torn in the fall. I need to start dinner and get Connor back over here, and I have the feeling that tonight will be one of those tense family nights that I dread. Especially if Lanny and Connor are still harboring resentments from their earlier argument.

Not quite ready to face that yet, I instead switch computers to my anonymized personal laptop, and brace myself for the onslaught of hate mail.

It’s been a few days since I checked in on the Sicko Patrol. You’d think the trolls would get tired of harassing and threatening me and my family—and I suppose some do. But for every one of them who drops out and moves on with their life, another steps in … someone who’s just joined a conspiracy group, these days. There are so many it’s hard to keep the players straight, but the newest wave claims that Melvin Royal is still alive, and I’m somehow concealing and doing dirty work for him.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I shot Melvin Royal. I saw him buried. I know where he lies and where he stays, not that the truth matters to people who build elaborate sandcastles of illogic around the flimsiest of theories. Why I would help my serial-killer-ex is a mystery to me, but not to them. I’m in thrall to him, apparently. Helplessly committed to doing his bidding. Because an adult woman can’t be a person in her own right, reinventing herself and finding a new path.

Sure enough, there are several dozen new messages, most of them death threats and profane accusations. I’m mostly immune to the death threats by now, but it still gets to me when they target my kids. And Sam, who’s got nothing whatsoever to do with it. I set those aside to deal with later, put the rest in my drawer folder labeled SICKO PATROL, and look at what’s left.

About ten messages. One of them is actually a nice note telling me they’re proud of me for having turned my life around; I read that one twice, slowly, letting an unfamiliar feeling of warmth soak in. I save it for later. There’ll be days when I need it.

Nine are junk, but the last one is different. Instead of the usual vitriol and vile directed at me and my family, there’s simply a copy of a press release. My skin starts to crawl, hot and cold, as I begin to read it.

The Truth About Gina Royal To Be Revealed

The Lost Angels, an organization dedicated to preserving the memory of those brutally slain by the sadistic serial killer, Melvin Royal, is set to release the results of a months long investigation into the role of Gina Royal in her husband’s murders.

“We’ve known from the beginning that Gina Royal helped her husband murder those poor innocent women,” said Leonard Varrus, father of Adelaide Varrus, Melvin and Gina Royal’s third known victim.

Mr. Varrus, an early member of the Lost Angels, led the investigation, which was funded by anonymous donations.

Though Mrs. Royal was acquitted of murder charges related to the deaths of a dozen women, as Mr. Varrus correctly noted, “Being acquitted means she was found not guilty. There’s a big difference between being not guilty and innocent. The former means they just weren’t able to prove it.”

Mr. Varrus continued: “Isn’t it convenient that every time evidence comes to light proving her guilty, she somehow finds a way to slither out of being held responsible. Come on, at what point is enough enough? Those two girls murdered at Stillhouse Lake right in front of her house! The video of her helping her husband carry that helpless, unconscious young victim into their murder shed. And let’s not forget the death of Miranda Tidewell and the ridiculous coverup that ensued.”

Mrs. Tidewell, whose daughter Leila was Melvin Royal’s second victim, was co-founder of the Lost Angels, along with Sam Cade, whose sister Callie was Melvin and Gina’s final victim. Mrs. Tidewell was murdered under suspicious circumstances in the presence of the aforementioned Sam Cade and FBI agent Mike Lustig. The FBI has yet to provide a true accounting of her death, but inside sources have shared that she was shot in the head execution style with a gun that had Mr. Cade’s prints on it.”

“Gina Royal was complicit in her husband’s actions. Now we have proof. Irrefutable proof,” Mr. Varrus has announced. “Sign up for our newsletter below to be the first to read the truth for yourself. Melvin’s Little Helper has escaped the consequences of her actions so far. Now it’s time for her to face her punishment.”

The last line sends a shudder through me. Most threats against us are just that: threats. It’s easy to type a bunch of hate filled posts, but it’s much more difficult to follow through on the promises of retribution.

This one, though, sounds like something to take seriously. I have no idea what kind of information they think they have, but I know for sure it’s nothing that will prove my guilt. Because I’m not guilty.

I knew nothing about my husband’s dark hobbies. He made sure of it. The first thing he did after kidnapping his women was slice their vocal cords so they couldn’t scream. That way he could torture them to his heart’s content while his family sat and watched TV just on the other side of the garage door.

A sharp pang of regret squeezes my heart. It’s hard for me sometimes not to feel like Ishouldhave known. That if I hadn’t been so meek and mild and terrified of second-guessing Melvin, I could have figured it out.

If I had, it would have resulted in my own death. Melvin made that perfectly clear when he came after me intending to torture and kill me in a macabre kind of pay-per-view show.

And if I’d died, that would have left him in charge of my kids.

The mere thought makes me nauseous. I run my hands over my arms, suddenly chilled.

With a sigh, I forward the emails that threaten Sam and the kids off to Kezia, with a copy to my contact at the FBI, with a brief forward:more of the same directed toward me, but let me know if you can suggest anything to do with the ones threatening my family.

I know what the response will be from the FBI:We know this is stressful, and we’ll look into it. Meanwhile, take all necessary security precautions to keep yourself and your family safe.Kezia’s will be warmer and kinder and more concerned, but I’m well aware that as a local Norton, Tennessee police detective, there’s a hard limit to what she can do to help. Still, it’s always good to have friends, and Kezia is one of the best. We’ve been through some shit. I owe her my life, the lives of my kids—more than I can really ever repay.

I’m startled by a rap on the open door. It’s Sam, who leans against the doorjamb eying me. He knows immediately something is off. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” That’s a knee-jerk response from far too many years of hiding my feelings.

He raises his eyebrows and waits. He knows I’m not being honest, but he also knows it isn’t malicious. It’s habit. One I’m trying to break.

I blow out a breath. “I got a weird email. Nothing that big.”

“For you to say it’s weird, it’s got to be epic.” He comes into the office, closing the door behind him and taking his seat at the desk across from me. I slide a printout of the press release over to him and watch as he reads it.

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