Page 24 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)
GWEN
Once the cops drive off with Sam, I don’t spend any more time at the house.
The last thing I want to do is run into Madison.
Thankfully, I have a set of spare keys to Sam’s truck in my purse and I’m able to drive myself to the police station.
Once I’m there, they don’t show much interest in me.
A cop asks me to write down the details of my alibi, which I do.
Then, there’s nothing for me to do but wait.
Wait to find out what the fuck is going on. Wait for our lawyer to get Sam released. Wait to hear from Kez that my kids made it to their house safe and sound.
Through it all, I watch my kids’ icons on the location app moving closer and closer to Stillhouse Lake while I chug Styrofoam cupfuls of terrible coffee, trying to stay awake and keep my thoughts sharp. All it does is make me jittery and on edge.
The station was built sometime in the 1980s, and it doesn’t look like much has been done to it since.
The floors are laminate with well-worn paths between the front doors and the reception desk.
The chairs are molded plastic, arranged against the wall in a repeating pattern of blue, brown, and olive green.
Most are empty, and the few that are occupied are filled with people hunched over their phones or sitting stiffly with their arms crossed.
Except for the one couple arguing under their breaths. None of us makes eye contact.
An old TV hangs in the corner tuned to the local twenty-four-hour cable news station, but it’s muted, the closed captions scrolling lazily across the bottom.
It doesn’t take long for the news cycle to repeat, and I find myself staring at an image of my own house.
A young reporter stands in front, bathed in the light of the camera.
She explains what is known so far, which isn’t much, but she makes sure to hit the most salacious point: a violent murder in the house belonging to the ex-wife of famed serial killer, Melvin Royal.
It’s when she mentions The Royal Murders podcast and flashes to an old photo of me that I close my eyes and sink deeper into my chair.
I can feel the shift in the room, the other occupants making the connection between the image on the TV and the woman sitting in the corner.
Someone clears their throat. The couple that had been arguing moments before drops their voices to a whisper, but I hear enough to know their focus is on me now.
Thankfully, my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen to find a text from Kez.
Kez
Lanny and Connor are here. Both rattled but safe and okay.
An immediate sense of relief washes through me. My kids are safe. That’s what matters most.
Gwen
Thank you, you have no idea how much I appreciate you taking them in on such short notice.
Kez
Lanny told me what happened. Someone was murdered in your house?? WTF?
It’s a good excuse to stretch my legs, so I head outside, keenly aware of the stares following me the entire way.
Despite how late it is, the front of the station and the parking lot beyond are lit up almost as bright as day.
The night is quiet, however, and I find a bench tucked in a nook down the walkway.
Gwen
They think it’s Leo Varrus.
I don’t have to explain more. Kez was the first officer on scene at our house in Stillhouse Lake when renters arrived to find the living room coated with blood—Leo Varrus’s blood, as we soon discovered, thanks to DNA testing.
Three dots appear by Kez’s name, but no response. She seems just as surprised and shocked as I was at the news. I start to type more but then think of Agent Gutierrez and his keen eyes. Everything I do from now on will be scrutinized. Any texts subject to a warrant. I have to be careful.
Gwen
I’ll call in the morning when I know more.
Given that she’s a detective who’s been on the other side of the table in these sorts of cases, she immediately gets the hint that it’s best not to put too much in writing.
Kez
What can I do?
Gwen
Just keep the kids safe.
Kez
You okay?
I want to tell her that I’m scared, but what good will that do? She may be my closest friend, but she’s over a hundred miles away and nearly nine months pregnant. I shouldn’t have even dragged her into this mess in the first place.
Suddenly, I feel wholly and achingly alone. I’m still reeling from the news that Sam had been intending to meet with Leo without telling me. I keep trying to tell myself he must have had a good reason, but that still doesn’t quell the uncertainty running through me.
Not that I have an unblemished record when it comes to sharing everything. I’ve been known to keep things to myself in the past. When Jonathan Watson was targeting me and my family, I set off to go meet him without telling Sam where I was going or why.
But after that, we promised to be open with each other. No more secrets. It sounds good in theory, but it has been much harder than it should be to put into practice.
I run a hand down my face, allowing myself a quiet moment to let the fear flow through me before taking a deep breath and typing a response.
Gwen
I will be.
I don’t add that I don’t have any other choice.
She’ll see through the false bravado—she knows me too well. But she also knows that pressing me on it won’t work.
Kez
We’re here when you need us.
Gwen
Get some rest. I’ll call in the morning once I know more.
She sends a thumbs-up emoji in response, followed by a heart.
I lean my head on the back of the bench and stare up at the night sky.
There’s way too much light pollution to see any stars, and I feel an ache of nostalgia for the nights I used to spend out on my porch at Stillhouse Lake.
Despite everything that happened while I lived there, I still miss it.
Stillhouse Lake was the first place I felt truly safe after discovering Melvin’s crimes. Of course, in the end that sense of safety was an illusion, but it was enough to give me hope for the future. That I could stop running and build something meaningful.
For the last several months I’ve been trying to do more than just hope for the future.
I’ve been actively trying to move past Melvin.
Once I promised Lanny and my family that we’d no longer let fear dictate our lives, I realized just how much of my life was dedicated to that fear.
The amount of time I spent calculating risks and odds and preparing for the worst.
It’s been a hard habit to break. Being vigilant has become such a core part of my identity that I’m struggling to move beyond it. And of course now I’m being dragged back into the thick of it all over again.
I press my fist against my chest, trying to ease the fluttering ache of anxiety I feel in my heart. It’s such a familiar feeling, the constant drip of adrenaline through my system. The sense that at any minute my life will spin out of control. That it maybe already has.
I hear footsteps nearing and lift my head, glancing down the walkway. I realize with a start that I recognize the approaching figure. It’s Madison, her clothes are more casual now—jeans and a fitted T-shirt—but her hair is still pulled tight into that perfect, polished blond ponytail .
I stiffen, my arm shifting in search of the familiar comfort of my shoulder holster. Except it isn’t there. I removed it and my gun when I got to the police station. They tend to frown on visitors carrying firearms.
I stand, shifting into a defensive stance. “What are you doing here?” My voice is sharp, cold.
She startles, spinning to face me. Her eyes are wide with terror, and I realize she had no idea I was sitting here.
I marvel at her lack of situational awareness.
What would it be like to walk through the world without constantly assessing your surroundings?
Especially a young woman walking alone at night.
I imagine if it had been Lanny in Madison’s place, she would have clocked me instantly.
As soon as she realizes it’s me, Madison blows out a breath and presses a trembling hand over her heart. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“You should pay better attention to your surroundings.”
She winces slightly, chagrined. “You’re angry with me.”
I don’t take the bait. How I feel about her doesn’t matter. “Why are you here?”
“I got a call from a detective asking me to verify that I was with you earlier this evening. They wanted me to come down and give a formal statement. I was going to wait until morning, but I couldn’t sleep so…”
I’m not buying it. No one heads to the police station in the middle of the night out of boredom or because they don’t have anything better to do. “Let me guess, you figured I would likely be here as well given Sam’s arrest.”
Her cheeks flush, and she ducks her chin slightly, her expression evidencing her guilt. I wonder if she realizes what a terrible liar she is.
“I’m not the enemy, Gwen,” she says. She’s telling the truth.
Or at least she thinks she is. “Believe it or not, I’m not out to get you.
I’m not here to ambush you, I’m here to help you.
A man was murdered in your house, and you’re a suspect.
I’m your alibi. I’m the reason you’re not going to get in trouble.
If I really wanted to mess up your life, I wouldn’t be here right now.
” There’s an edge of exasperation to her voice.
“It’s a little convenient, though, isn’t it? That you set up a meeting that lured me away from home right when the murder occurred?”
She seems surprised by my accusation. “That’s what you think? That I had something to do with the murder? I don’t even know who was killed.”
“Leo Varrus.”
I watch her carefully to see how she responds. The cops haven’t released Leo’s name to the public yet, which means the only way Madison could know that he was the victim is if she were somehow involved.