Page 2 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)
GWEN
Three Months Later
Sometimes, I think of the woman I used to be and laugh.
Gina Royal was na?ve, compliant, boring.
She had dinner on the table by six, never talked back, and kept the house clean and in order.
Except for the garage, of course, that was my ex-husband Melvin’s domain and strictly off-limits to me and our two kids.
Gina Royal was also afraid of guns. A fact that I find laughable now—especially given that shooting has become its own form of therapy over the years.
When I’m shooting, it commands my entire focus.
I’m able to forget about everything but the feel of the grip against my palm, the balance of my feet on the floor, the shifting of my weight, the tension of the trigger under my finger, and the coiling explosion that ricochets through my body after the firing pin strikes the primer, igniting the powder and forcing the bullet out of the cartridge and toward the target downrange at a rate of twelve hundred feet per second .
It’s only after the last bullet is fired and the slide locks back that the rest of the world comes flooding in.
I notice the slight draft of air across my skin from the negative pressure pulling gun smoke downrange.
I hear the deep whump of someone shooting a 460 Magnum in another range bay, even through my ear protection.
My thoughts return as well, despite my best efforts to shut them out. The first episode of the Royal Murders dropped today—a new podcast about my serial killer ex-husband, Melvin Royal. I’ve been expecting it—they’ve been advertising it for weeks.
Against my better judgement, I listened to it the first chance I got.
Now, I regret that decision. Snippets keep playing through my head over and over as I secure a new target to the clips and send it downrange before methodically reloading the magazine.
The first episode focused on Melvin’s last victim: Callie Applegate, the woman I’d seen hanging mutilated in my garage.
It was gutting. The co-hosts, Madison Westcott and Rowan Applegate, walked listeners through Callie’s early life, from being separated from her brother after their parents died, leaving them orphans, to Callie being adopted by the Applegate family and growing up with her sister, Rowan.
It’s the interview with Rowan that keeps repeating in my head. Madison had asked Rowan who she blamed for Callie’s murder. There’d been no hesitation before she said, “Melvin and Gina Royal.”
Madison : You blame Melvin’s wife, Gina, as well?
Rowan : Absolutely. There’s no question Gina Royal was involved in my sister’s murder.
Madison : Even though she’s been tried for it and acquitted?
Rowan : Juries can get things wrong. There was evidence the judge excluded. Had the jury been able to see everything, they would have convicted.
Madison : Evidence like what?
Rowan : Conversations she had with a therapist while she was in jail.
Madison : But you understand why those wouldn’t be admissible.
Rowan : I’m just saying, the jury didn’t have the full story.
Madison : You have a family connection to Gina Royal, don’t you?
Rowan : She’s not family. But yes, there’s a connection.
Callie had a biological brother named Sam.
They were separated as kids, but Callie found him as an adult and reached out to him.
They were reestablishing their relationship when she was killed.
Sam Cade is, in everything but name, married to Gina Royal and has adopted Melvin’s children, Brady and Lily.
Though they’ve all changed their names. Gina goes by Gwen Proctor now.
They’re all living in Knoxville like some normal, happy family.
Madison : How do you feel about that?
Rowan : It’s disgusting. It’s horrifically disrespectful to Callie and her memory. I mean, my God, he’s sleeping with the woman who murdered his sister! His own flesh and blood. She was found strung up in Gina’s garage for [bleep] sake. How can you even explain something like that?
With a sharp exhale, I lift the gun, adjust my grip, and line up my shot before pulling the trigger, finally silencing the podcast looping through my thoughts.
There’s a shift in air pressure when the door to the range opens, and I know without looking who it is.
Everything about Sam Cade is as familiar to me as my own body.
I keep pulling the trigger, my focus on the target but my situational awareness paying keen attention as Sam ambles to the shooting lane next to me and stops to wait while I continue.
I make my way through the magazine, barely pausing between trigger pulls.
When the clip empties, I sigh as the world around me floods back in once again. I set the gun down, ejection port facing up and muzzle pointed downrange.
“I take it you listened to the podcast,” Sam says without preamble. He raises his voice to be heard through my ear protection.
“How did you find me?” I ask by way of answering.
“Where else would you be? This is where you go when you’re upset and need to work things out.”
Finally, I turn to face him. He’s still as handsome as the day I met him four years ago, though he’s accumulated more lines around his eyes, and his hair has grayed at the temples. “Am I really that easy?”
He snorts. “I don’t think anyone would describe you as easy .” His expression is gentle and loving, even though he has to be as enraged by the podcast as I am––if not more. After all, it’s his sister’s gruesome death the Lost Angels are exploiting as entertainment.
I want to fall against him and feel his arms around me, and while we’re the only ones in the bay right now, I’m keenly aware of the cameras in the corners giving the range master a clear view of everything we’re doing.
“I take it you’ve heard it?”
A muscle twitches along his jaw, and he nods.
I place a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He looks genuinely surprised. “About what?”
“Rowan.”
At her name, sorrow flashes across his face.
“I had no idea she felt that way. I met her at Callie’s funeral and tried reaching out to her afterward.
We’d both lost a sister, and I figured we had that in common.
I wanted to learn more about Callie, see old pictures, hear stories about her growing up.
Rowan wasn’t interested. I thought maybe she needed time and space to heal, so I backed off.
I stopped reaching out to her and checking in.
Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe if I’d kept trying to forge some sort of relationship, I could have prevented the podcast.”
“If it hadn’t been Rowan, it would have been someone else.” I hear the bitterness in my voice. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the Lost Angels, it’s that they don’t listen to reason. Or reality. You can’t blame yourself.”
He doesn’t agree or disagree with me. We both know I can tell him not to blame himself until I’m blue in the face and it won’t matter. “Have the kids heard it?” he asks instead.
“I don’t see how we’re going to be able to keep it from them.
Not with how fast it’s blowing up.” I press my fingers against my eyes.
The thought of what this will mean for Lanny and Connor overwhelms me.
Threats against us will rise, we’ll have to increase security, become more vigilant.
Lose the hard-earned peace we’ve worked so hard to achieve.
If this podcast grows as popular as some other true crime shows, it will be just like it was in the early days, right after Melvin was convicted and I was acquitted.
Except now there will be a new generation of sickos to deal with.
Given how toxic the online world has become, how willing people are to resort to violence, to act first and ask questions later—or never—things could be even worse this time around.
“This needs to end,” I say. “I’m tired of it. All of it. I’m tired of running scared. Of letting the Lost Angels vilify me and the people I love. I need this to be over. We need to make that happen—we need to end it. End them. For good this time.”
Sam studies my expression and I know what he sees: resolve and fury. “Then let’s make that happen.”
If only it were that easy. “How? We’ve tried to talk reason into them. We’ve sent cease and desist letters. We’ve threatened litigation.” I hear a note of helplessness in my voice, which only fuels my rage. Gina Royal was helpless. Gwen Proctor isn’t.
I refuse to ever feel helpless again. It’s one of the reasons I started learning how to shoot in the first place, and why I keep training. It’s a reminder of my own agency.
Sam lifts a shoulder. “We’ll find a way. It may take getting a little creative and thinking outside the box, but we’ll figure out how to make the Lost Angels listen.”
With a sigh, I turn back to the counter, push the button to recall my target from downrange, and examine it critically as it nears.
It’s riddled with precisely clustered holes, though a few shots went a bit wide to the right.
I must have had too much of my finger on the trigger.
I’ll have to correct for that next time.
“Every time the Lost Angels accuse me of being involved in Melvin’s murders, they’re putting a target on my back.
On the kids’ backs, too. And yours.” I pull the target from the clips and hold it up, poking a finger at the cluster of holes near the center.
“If they even had a taste of the kind of torment they’ve put me through—” I swallow the rest of the statement and shake my head.
The reality is, no matter how much I hate the Lost Angels, I wouldn’t wish that kind of persecution on anyone.
The door at the end of the bay opens again, and an older man nods in a silent hello before making his way to one of the other shooting lanes.
With a glance, Sam and I agree to table our conversation.
He helps me pack up my gear, and after we stop to wash with D-Lead soap, we head toward the parking lot.
Once outside, I draw in a deep breath of fresh air, though the lingering scent of gunpowder still clings to me.
I pull my phone from my pocket and wince.
As I’d expected, the screen is crowded with notifications about the podcast. I ignore them all, focusing instead on a slew of texts from Lanny. My stomach sinks as I read them.
Lanny
Done with class, headed to the barn to grab Connor.
Lanny
Did you hear about that true podcast crime on Melvin? I overheard some kids talking about it at lunch.
Lanny
Mom! I started listening to that podcast. WTF?
Lanny
OMG! The host is talking about me and Connor.
Lanny
Excuse me: Lily and Brady
Lanny
WTAF?!?
Lanny
Like seriously?
Lanny
I’m already getting notifications from kids at school.
Lanny
Does Connor know about this?
Lanny
I just got to the barn. Connor’s listened to it already.
Lanny
Duck, Mom, what are we going to do?
It’s already starting. Again.