Page 35 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

It doesn’t escape my attention that women are often rewarded for their silence. I’m not interested in that any longer.

“Madison suggested we do a podcast. Sort of an answer to The Royal Murders , except this time, we’d be the ones in control of the narrative. I think maybe we should consider accepting her offer.”

“You really think we should reward the woman who spent a considerable amount of time and effort painting us in the worst light possible?”

“Actually, yeah. That’s exactly who we should talk to. If listeners see her changing her mind about us, then it might make them do the same.”

“You trust her?”

I laugh. “No. But,” I add, “Madison was with me when I got the 911 text from Lanny, and she could have easily gone public with her story. She didn’t. So, yeah, maybe I trust her a little more than before. Or at least, I’m willing to give her a chance. That doesn’t mean I’m letting my guard down.”

Sam carries his mug to the sink, dumps the dregs of his coffee, then rinses it and sets it in the drying rack. When he’s done, he turns to face me. “I don’t think this is a good idea. But I’m not going to stop you.”

We’ve had disagreements before, some larger than others. I don’t like it. I’m used to being on the same page. It’s part of what works with Sam and me. We have the same priorities and values.

But we each carry different baggage, and that sometimes causes us to see things through different lenses.

If Sam were truly against the podcast, he would say so. As it stands, he’s leaving it up to me to take the risk. I understand where he’s coming from. His concerns are valid.

“I’ll reach out to Madison and see what she says. Just because we record a podcast doesn’t mean we have to release it. We can always revisit the question down the road.”

He nods and, together, we make a plan of attack for fixing the house.

Sam heads off to the hardware store, and I call Madison to let her know I’m interested in discussing the possibility of moving forward with her podcast idea.

She says yes immediately, and we agree to meet at a coffee shop in Norton the following morning.

This might be a mistake. We might be painting an even larger target on our backs. I hope not.

Early that afternoon, Kez drives Lanny and Connor back to the house on her way to visit her father. I don’t even wait for them to walk in the front door before pulling them both into my arms.

Connor rolls his eyes. “So, we’re doing this then?”

Lanny snickers.

I glance at Sam to see if he understands. He looks as clueless as I feel. “Doing what?”

Connor sighs. “The typical mom post-mortem, where you tell us how scared you were and run through everything we did wrong and what to do differently next time so we can be prepared.”

Lanny nods. “Usually followed by a ‘surprise drill’ that night or the next to make sure we were listening.”

I’m still frowning when Lanny claps a hand on my shoulder. “You do it every time, Mom.”

“Yeah,” Connor adds. “You should really think about varying it up. Routines are dangerous, remember? They make you vulnerable.”

Both kids walk past me toward the kitchen, leaving me with my jaw dropped. I scramble after them. “This isn’t a joke, guys.”

“Did you have that one on your bingo card?” Connor asks Lanny. “I’m pretty sure I did.”

They’re both being entirely too blasé about this situation. “Armed men broke into our house.” I bite out. “Shots were fired. Sam was beaten.”

At that last detail, both kids have the decency to look chastened. They look past me to where Sam leans against the kitchen wall. “You okay?” Lanny asks.

“Never better.”

Lanny and Connor catch each other’s eye again, and I watch them have a silent conversation. Apparently, it’s decided that Lanny will talk first.

She sighs. “Look, Mom. We know last night was serious. It scared the shit out of both of us. And at some point, we do want to talk about it. But not now. The last thing we want to do is spend the day rehashing it and then spend the next several nights running drills for next time.”

“We want to go to the movies,” Connor says.

I blink, convinced there’s no way I heard correctly. “The movies?” I glance again at Sam. He seems as surprised as I am.

Connor nods. “Like a normal family.”

As much as I appreciate the sentiment, we can’t just ignore what happened.

He was right the first time; we need to discuss last night and walk through what worked and what didn’t.

“Normal families don’t have their front doors broken in by the police,” I point out.

“We’re not normal. We can’t pretend we are. ”

“Yes, we can,” Lanny says, her voice firm.

“You promised we wouldn’t let fear dictate our lives,” Connor adds.

“That was before a man was murdered in our living room, and an entire SWAT team was called out to our house.”

“If not now, then when, Mom?” I notice how straight her back is and that she’s squared her shoulders as if ready for a fight. I realize, then, how important this is to them.

I want to protest. I want to double down and explain the precariousness of our situation over and over until they understand. Then it hits me, they do understand. Both of them were there last night. They were terrified, just as much as I was. They’re traumatized, just like I am .

But they refuse to let that define them.

They want to claim a piece of normalcy despite everyone trying to take it from them.

Suddenly, I’m so fiercely proud of these two that my heart hurts. Tears burn the back of my throat. “Okay,” I tell them. “We’re going to the movies. And after that, Kathy’s Kakes. Then after that , we’re picking up takeout to bring home and eating it in front of the TV.”

Lanny laughs. “That sounds pretty indulgent for a normal family.”

I smile at her. “Since when do we do anything in half measures?”

The next morning, I sleep later than I have in weeks.

Probably because I spent most of the night waking up in a panic, thinking I heard SWAT outside, ready to break down the door.

Usually, I’m up well before dawn, so waking up to the dull light of the sun seeping around the curtains in our bedroom is weird.

Sam lies next to me, still asleep, his body warm and comforting.

I press myself against his back and close my eyes.

For that moment, I allow myself to forget my doubts and fears about him.

I forget about Sicko Patrol and the podcast. I forget about Melvin’s empty grave and the man who was murdered in our living room.

Instead, I focus on the rhythm of Sam’s breathing, noting that my own matches his subconsciously.

I think about yesterday afternoon, sitting at the movies with my family and the sound of their laughter in the darkness.

I remember going to Kathy’s Kakes, where Lanny and Connor playfully argued over which flavor slices they should get before ultimately deciding to get two different ones and split them.

I think about what it had been like to pile into our living room together, binge-watching a ridiculous reality TV show and debating what we’d have done differently if we were contestants.

If I’d had my way, we’d have spent yesterday at the shooting range and talking through additional strategies to protect against home invasions.

We’d have practiced our defensive moves and breaking out of various physical holds.

I’d have set my alarm to wake everyone up at 2:00 a.m. with a surprise drill.

I’d have missed out on the sound of Lanny snorting when she laughed too hard. The feel of Connor tucked against me on the couch. The delight in seeing my kids happy and relaxed and okay.

Those are the moments I’ve been fighting for. I can’t let myself lose sight of that.

Eventually, though, the obligations of my day drag me from bed. I shower and dress quickly, slamming back a mug of burning coffee before heading out to meet Madison.

It’s only when I reach my SUV that I realize all four of my tires are flat. It’s obvious from the gaping gashes in the sidewalls that it was deliberate. Boiling with rage, I pull up our security cameras and scroll through the night before.

Sure enough, a truck rolls up our driveway just after 3:00 a.m. with its lights turned off. A figure jumps out, leaving the engine running, and saunters up to our vehicles. He takes something out of his pocket and kneels. One by one, he punctures all eight of our tires.

Then he stands and looks directly at the security camera. He does nothing to obscure his identity, making it clear as day who he is: Jesse Belldene. He pulls a sheet of paper from his back pocket and holds it up. There’s one word scrawled across it in dark ink: LEAVE!

He then tips what looks like a wickedly sharp hunting knife to his forehead in a mock salute before returning to his truck and backing down the driveway.

I stomp my foot and let out a roar of frustration. “That motherfucker,” I shout. “How are we supposed to leave if you slash our fucking tires!”

The front door flies open, and Sam appears. He’s shirtless and shoeless but clutching the .38 in both hands, muzzle pointed toward the ground. His eyes find me instantly. “Gwen?”

“It’s fine,” I growl through clenched teeth. “I’m just shouting at the universe. Jesse Belldene slashed our tires last night.”

Sam lets out a sigh and steps out of his shooting stance. “Seriously? You sure it was him?”

I hold up my phone, a screenshot from the surveillance camera still visible on the screen.

“He wasn’t being shy about it. He made sure the camera caught him doing it.

He even held up a note telling us to leave.

Which, you know, isn’t a thing we can really do without tires, so it’s kind of a mixed message. ”

“I guess I need to have that chat with Jasper about finding a way to get along.”

Anger still simmers through me. “It won’t do any good,” I spit.

“Well, I’ll figure something out. In the meantime, I’ll give Javi a call and see if he can pick up some new tires for us and drop them by.”

I run a hand down my face. “I’m supposed to be meeting Madison in town in fifteen minutes.”

“Maybe this is a sign that the podcast is a bad idea,” he offers before heading back inside. He’s joking, somewhat.

If I were in Knoxville, I could have tried a rideshare app, but that’s not nearly as available this far outside of town. Instead, I text her to let her know we’ll have to reschedule. She responds almost instantly.

Madison

I can come to you if it’s easier.

I hesitate. My house is my sanctuary. I’m not comfortable having her here just yet. When I don’t immediately respond, she adds:

Madison

Or I can come pick you up. I still have those files to drop off for you.

Gwen

We’re pretty far outside of town. There’s no need for you to go out of your way.

Instead of a text, my phone rings. It’s Madison. Frowning, I answer it.

“Okay, don’t freak out,” she says by way of hello.

My spine stiffens, and my stomach clenches.

“When I went to book an Airbnb last night, there weren’t many options. You know how they don’t show you exactly where they are on the map? So, I just picked one and didn’t think anything of it. But then I drove up here and…well…um…hi, neighbor.”

It takes me a moment to comprehend what she’s saying. I immediately spin, taking in my surroundings. Sure enough, I catch sight of a figure on the porch of the house up the hill.

The same house that Sam rented when he first came to Stillhouse Lake all those years ago. The one he used to spy on me and my family while he figured out how to get me to confess to murdering his sister.

I blink because there’s no way this is happening.

“Is that you?” I ask, incredulous.