Page 77 of Trapper Road

It’s a weak signal and a massive file and I begin to grow worried I won’t be able to download it all before the connection cuts. But finally my computer dings, and the file appears on my desktop. I open it immediately.

A list appears. Nothing is named, only numbered, and I scan for some sort of index but can’t find one. It’s going to be a very, very long night. My first instinct is to call Sam, and already my finger hovers over his number. I’m desperate to hear his voice and have him reassure me that everything is going to be okay.

But I know he’s likely still in the car with Lanny, or he’s made it to Stillhouse Lake and is helping Kez with the scene. Either way it won’t be a good time for him to talk. With a sigh, I gather my things and get out of the car, surveying the parking lot once again for anything out of place.

Once I’m satisfied it’s safe, I cross to the room and insert my key card into the door. I don’t expect it to open; I’d been very clear to Vee and Connor that they needed to keep the chain on at all times. I’d even waited until I heard them attach it before I left earlier in the evening.

So I’m completely surprised when the door swings open, no chain pulling it up short. My heart kicks up, and I drop my bag, reaching for my gun in the same movement. Most people wouldn’t give much thought to an unlocked motel room door, but I’m not most people.

I know the most likely scenario is that they just forgot to throw the chain after I left. I know I shouldn’t panic. But I’ve seen too much. I’ve experienced too much. The incident at Stillhouse Lake has me on edge, looking for threats and expecting the worst.

I shift out of the doorway, knowing the light from the parking lot would turn my body into a perfect outline of a target. I use my elbow to flick on the overhead lights, sweeping the room in a fluid motion. I don’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there.

I move along the wall, my steps muffled by the cheap carpet. The other side of the bed is clear, as is the bathroom and closet. I don’t bother looking underneath the beds, the frames are solid — no place to hide. I checked the moment we first arrived.

I shift my focus to the connecting door. My paranoia is in high gear, my brain churning out one horrible scenario after another about what I might find on the other side. I force myself to ignore it. I can’t afford the distraction.

Once I reach the door I try the knob. Unlocked. My pulse kicks up another notch. It’s easy to imagine Vee forgetting to check both doors, but not Connor. Connor knows better.

I turn the knob slowly, easing the door open and slipping inside. Enough light spills through the connecting door for me to see that both beds are occupied. Vee’s hair a riot against the pillowcase, Connor’s sheets thrown off, exposing his back and shoulders. Both are fast asleep.

I still don’t let my guard down. I keep the light off but check the bathroom and closet, then move to the door. At least they have the chain on theirs, though fat lot of good it would have done them if someone had tried to get to them through my room.

I watch them both sleep for a moment, completely oblivious to the world around them. To the fact that a woman is standing in their room with a gun in her hand. Sure, I’m not a threat, but I could have been.

I consider waking them up to explain once again the importance of personal safety. But I’m tired, and I doubt it would do any good.

Besides, once Connor’s awake, we’re going to have to talk about what Mike told me, and I still haven’t wrapped my brain around it enough to confront him about it.

I holster my firearm and retreat into my room. I leave the connecting door unlocked, but set the chain on my door. If something happens, I want to be able to get to my kids quickly and easily.

Satisfied, I grab my bag from the floor and toss it on the bed, then move to put on coffee. I have a feeling it’s going to be a very, very long night.

23

GWEN

I don’t even realize how much time has passed until my alarm goes off early the next morning. The sound startles me, jerking me out of the rabbit hole of research I’d dug myself into. On instinct my eyes immediately find the motel door, note the chain lock still engaged. I scan the room, searching for threats and finding none. Still, I slip from the bed and move silently toward the connecting door. I don’t breathe a sigh of relief until I peek through the crack and find Connor and Vee both still asleep.

I take a moment to lean back against the wall, hand over my chest. I will my heart to slow its panicked gallop. I glance back at the laptop sitting in the middle of my bed. I can’t see the screen from where I am, and for that I’m grateful. I’ve been digging through the files from Connor’s cloud accounts and am neck deep in a particularly gruesome series of detailed reports about the torture Melvin inflicted on his victims.

Just the memory of them makes my stomach roil and skin crawl. Without thinking I reach forward and nudge the laptop closed. I don’t need any more reminders of Melvin’s crimes right now. If anything, I need a shower. If only the scorching water could wash the images from those files from my brain.

How could Connor do that to himself — voluntarily expose himself to so much vile crap? I’ve worked so hard to keep the worst of it from them. I thought I was doing the right thing — shielding them from the horrors of their father. But of course, that only served to push Connor to look for information on his own. Maybe if I’d been more open about Melvin’s crimes, Connor wouldn’t have been so intent on searching out information on the dark web.

It’s not just the files on Melvin’s crimes that bother me; it’s the other evidence Mike sent as well. Screenshots from the Melvin Royal message board recording all of Connor’s posts as Melvin’s Little Helper. There must be hundreds of them. Connor posting theories, answering questions, almost reveling in his depth of knowledge. Unlike several of the other posters, Connor never excuses Melvin’s crimes or admires them, but his fascination with his father is still glaringly obvious.

Blowing out a breath, I scrub my hands down my face. I’ve put off talking to Connor long enough.

I hear a rustle and the sound of running water from next door, which indicates one of the two is awake. When I knock on the connecting door, I find Connor on his phone in bed and Vee wandering sleepily from the bathroom. I intercept her before she reaches her bed.

“Vee, honey, why don’t you go sleep in my room? I need to talk to Connor for a minute.”

She yawns, nods, and shuffles past me into my room. I close the door behind her. Connor peers over at me from his bed, the soft light of his phone causing his face to glow in the darkness. It makes him look unbelievably young and vulnerable but also so much older and unapproachable.

I remember when he was a toddler and he was hurt, it was like my arms were something magical. I could swoop him up and hold him close, and I could make it all go away. I wish I could do that now. I wish I could make the school shooting and the FBI and Kevin and Melvin Royal and everything bad in his life disappear.

But I can’t.

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