Page 44 of Corpse Roads

Harlow’s face empties of all emotion as she slips back into blank numbness. Leighton knows a little of our work from the first few weeks he bothered to turn up to HQ, before he got bored.

Prison changed him. He isn’t the carefree kid I once knew. He was always troubled, growing up in Hunter’s impressive shadow, but that place stole the last of his youthful innocence.

“Is this something to do with... that case?”

I glower at him in the mirror. “Yes.”

“You mean the serial k—”

“Yes.”

Leighton averts his eyes with a nod. The bright-red tinge that spreads over Harlow’s cheeks is simultaneously adorable and infuriating. I hate that she feels ashamed.

“Could’ve told me,” Leighton says under his breath.

“Could’ve asked.”

“I hate that you guys keep secrets from me.”

“Show any amount of interest in the life Hunter is trying to build for you, and you won’t feel so left out.”

“You’re being unfair.”

I stare at the road ahead. “Life isn’t fair. I think you’ll find there’s more to the world than the bottom of a liquor bottle.”

Leighton sulks until we pull into a quiet shopping centre nearly an hour later. Harlow wakes up from her nap as we park, her eyes lit with excitement at our new surroundings.

Leaving Leighton to retrieve a trolley, I help her down from the car and pull a purple beanie from my pocket. She lets me tug it over her long hair, then I add a spare pair of Hunter’s aviators.

“I look ridiculous,” she murmurs.

“Better to look ridiculous and stay safe.”

“You think the reporters will be here?”

“They’ll be camped outside of HQ. The press are looking for the other missing person. Like I said, we didn’t know about you.”

She seems to cave inwards, her shoulders hunching and chin dipped down. I can’t protect her from the truth forever. She’s in for a grilling when Hunter returns home anyway.

“How long has she been missing for?” Harlow asks.

“About two months.”

“And you think it’s the same people that held me?”

I catalogue her nervous twitching. “It fits the same MO. Our killer follows a pattern. We’re certain he snatched this victim.”

“Does she have a name?”

I decide to take a risk.

“Laura Whitcomb.”

Harlow lurches to the side and promptly vomits across the car park. I spur into action, rubbing her back and shouting for Leighton to return. People are watching us with concern.

“You’re okay,” I whisper, shielding her from sight.

“Stop saying that! I’m n-not... nothing is... no.”

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