Page 31 of The Sleeping Girls

THIRTY

RED CLAY MOUNTAIN

He stood by his car for a moment. The storm was dying down, yet the wind screeched off the mountain like a wolf’s death cry as he stared at the old house. The house where his life had changed forever.

The place had been deserted for years, and he was grateful no one was here now.

Maybe he should just burn the old place to the ground, let the flames eat up the walls and furniture and beds.

He closed his eyes and imagined it. Smoke billowing toward the clouds. Wood popping and crackling in the night. A fiery blaze exploding, drowning out the memories and the sound of Anna Marie’s scream.

But Anna Marie’s skeletal body floated through the smoky haze like a ghost ship rising from the underbelly of the sea. Her eye sockets were gaunt, eyes bulging at him with fear, anger and shock.

“Why did you kill me?” her soft voice cried. “Why?”

Emotions made his chest tighten. “I’m sorry, Anna Marie,” he choked out. “So sorry.”

He had a can of gasoline in his car. All it would take was to douse the dilapidated structure, strike a match and drop it onto the rotting wood.

But… not yet. He had other plans.

He opened the trunk of his car, grabbed his supplies and carried them into the house.

The moment he stepped inside, the scent of musk and death assaulted him, dragging his mind back to the hellhole of secrets he’d carry with him until the day he died. The floor squeaked, wind whined through the windowpanes and a tree branch slapped at the glass as a gust of wind railed outside.

The electricity had been off for years, the house pitch-black. Using his flashlight, he found his way to Anna Marie’s bedroom. He carefully covered the bed in a white sheet, white for purity and innocence, then tucked the corners in military style and placed the pillow at the head of the bed. Satisfied with the way it looked, he walked back outside to the car.

He lifted the girl from the trunk and carried her inside, her limp arms dangling like a ragdoll’s.

In Anna Marie’s bedroom, he laid the girl on the bed and spread her shoulder-length blond hair across the pillow. Then he pulled the top sheet up to tuck her in. Her cheeks glowed alabaster white in the dim light, her pale pink lips soft and slack, her slim fingers cold and stiff as he lifted them and tucked the white teddy bear into her arms.

She looked so innocent, like a sleeping angel waiting to be lifted into heaven.

“Rest in peace,” he murmured.

A dark laugh caught him in its clutches as he imagined the fear her family must be feeling at the moment. The hours that had dragged on today as the search teams looked for her and night came with no answers.

The sorrow they’d feel when they saw her posed in death.

He snapped a photo of her with the burner phone, then sent the picture to her parents.

THIRTY-ONE

CROOKED CREEK

Worry for Kelsey consumed Ellie as she walked out to her Jeep. Deputy Landrum had collected Bianca’s phone and computer, and Derrick was taking them back to his cabin to examine.

The wind tugged at her ponytail as she stepped outside, a rumble of thunder echoing through the air. Leaves fluttered to the ground like red, yellow and orange snowflakes, dry brown ones crunching beneath her feet. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Suddenly a figure ducked into an alley. She frowned and considered checking it out. Had someone been following her?

Instincts alert, she decided not to give chase. It was probably someone taking a shortcut through the alley to beat the rain. As she started walking again, she kept alert. Another gust of wind brought more leaves raining down, and she plucked one from her hair as she unlocked her Jeep and slid inside.

Her phone buzzed as she started to shift gears. The Tillers.

Ellie connected. “Detective Reeves.”

A hysterical cry echoed over the line.

Ellie went bone still. “Jean?”

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