Page 113 of A Deeper Darkness
Karen Fisher fired at Culpepper, hitting him in the head.
Before anyone could react, she turned the gun up to her chin and pulled the trigger.
Part IV
In your presence I don’t want what I thought I wanted.
—Rumi
Epilogue
Savage River
Dr. Samantha Owens
Three days later
The file was closed on Donovan’s death. Karen Fisher’s claim that she was the killer had credence, but it was the detailed letter in her car, a suicide note, that allowed them to piece together the rest of the story. She’d gone to Culpepper and asked about the friendly fire, and Culpepper was smart enough to know he needed to keep her close to make sure the whole truth didn’t come out. He’d manipulated her, played her, gotten her turned around in circles until she started to think he was lying to her. The only thing she felt she could do was start asking the men questions. When she’d uncovered the information about Maggie’s little girl, Culpepper saw an opportunity to clean up his mess for good, and Karen, in her furious grief, had complied.
They were going to have to wait for Culpepper to wake up to confirm that truth to that theory. Karen’s shot had gone a little wide, putting Culpepper in a coma, though not killing him. Her last shot, though, did count. She died in the medevac helicopter before it landed at the bottom of the mountain.
Sam had stuck around long enough to look through the pages Donovan had torn from his journal, which detailed Karen Fisher coming to him in the extortion attempt. She’d sworn to tell Susan that Maggie’s daughter was his, and all about the friendly fire incident. Her plan was to destroy him completely if he didn’t pay her off. She knew the Donovans had money. She knew they could afford it. When Donovan said no, threatened to take a DNA test to prove Jen Lyons was not his child, she’d gone to Culpepper. And things unraveled from there. Sam realized Donovan tore out the pages for two reasons—first, for insurance, in case everything exploded, which of course it had. Second, he was ashamed. He was still operating under the illusion that he’d killed Perry Fisher, and he’d briefly considered capitulating to Karen Fisher’s wishes to keep the story quiet.
Sam made sure that part was kept from the Washington media, who, through multiple exposés that would certainly be Pulitzer contenders, detailed the whole story.USA TODAYeven gave Taranto a posthumous byline, printing his notes, his theories, embellishing the story with the help of a colleague. Sam was glad to see him honored—he’d taken more of a risk sharing his story with her than anyone had realized.
And then there was nothing left for her to do, but return to Nashville, and get her own life back on track.
Susan and Eleanor hadn’t wanted her to leave. As much as she enjoyed their company, she needed to. They had a little farewell party for her, just the three of them and a bottle of scotch, toasting the man they all had loved.
The following morning, head aching, heart sore, Sam packed her things and headed to the airport.
Somewhere between Key Bridge and Reagan National, as she’d thought of the dark soulful eyes she’d come to enjoy looking at, her phone rang. A deep voice, not pleading, but filled with need, simply said, “Don’t go.”
She’d listened for a few moments, then hung up and told the cab to turn into the car rental instead of Departures.
She’d called Fletcher as she was driving up to the mountains. Told him what she was doing. He wished her well, though she could hear the note of sadness in his voice.
She called Taylor, and warned her she wouldn’t be back for a little while. Taylor was overjoyed at that news, for all the right reasons.
She called Forensic Medical and told them she was taking a sabbatical. They, too, were happy and understanding.
It was time for Sam to get her life back together. It seemed everyone had known that but her.
When she’d arrived in Savage River for the second time, driving up the rutted road that seemed to be even worse than she remembered, she’d had a moment of panic.What are you doing?She felt the urge to wash and, just as quickly, turned the thought off. She didn’t need that crutch anymore.
At the end of the long, unpaved driveway, Xander and Thor were waiting for her. Xander’s lighthouse smile filled her, and she returned his grin as he helped her from the car.
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Neither did I. I’m honestly not quite sure what I’m doing here.”
“You’re healing,” he said, and pulled her into his arms.
* * *
Sam and Xander had spent the last few days just hanging out, watching Thor gambol around the clearing, getting to know each other. Today was no different. Feeling especially lazy, Sam lay in the hammock, a toe on the ground, idly pushing herself. She enjoyed the motion of the swing. She liked being here, in the mountains. The sun was bright and warm on her shoulders. She’d slept like the dead, eaten all manner of male-oriented food and dispensed with her sunscreen. Freckles paraded across her nose.
Xander was a surprise. Erudite, funny, amazingly kind, he kept her either laughing or in heated debate constantly. He’d seen something in her that she had forgotten was there. A happy person. Someone who wasn’t bound by guilt, by the horror of her past.
