Page 40 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

GWEN

The minute I get home, I drag Lanny out for a run. I need to blow off steam from the recording session with Madison, and Lanny’s been complaining about being bored. A run kills two birds with one stone. We start out slow, warming up our muscles as we turn the air in front of our mouths into clouds.

The farther we get from the house, the easier it is to fall into step.

We used to run like this often, though more often than not, it was against Lanny’s will.

She eventually came to love it, though, just like I did.

When we moved to Knoxville, however, we ran together less and less.

Our neighborhood didn’t have an easy loop, plus work and school always seemed to get in the way.

Finding my familiar rhythm with Lanny makes it even more apparent how discordant the last several months have been.

I’ve spent so much time trying to figure out the best way to approach Lanny about the college letters, only to realize there’s no such thing.

She’s going to be ticked regardless. So, I decide to rip off the Band-Aid.

“I found the college acceptance letters. ”

She comes to an immediate stop. It takes me a few more steps to slow, and I turn to face her.

She stands with her hands on her hips. Her expression is stormy, the glare in her eyes accusatory. “What?”

“I was looking for my Ramones shirt you keep taking.”

She scowls at me. “And you thought it might be in a shoebox under my bed?”

I don’t try to explain that, as her mother, I have a right to snoop wherever I want. She’s still legally a child and under my care and control. Instead, I say, “I’m sorry.”

My apology doesn’t penetrate. “When?” she demands. “When did you find them?”

I blow out a breath, knowing my answer isn’t going to make things much better. “A couple of weeks ago.”

Her eyes go wide. “Are you kidding me right now?”

She mumbles something under her breath and resumes her jog, except this time, she’s running. I sprint to catch up to her. “Can we talk about this, please?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you applied to all those schools?” I ask.

“Because I didn’t want to,” she responds curtly.

“Why the private mailbox?”

“To keep it private .”

I’m done with this. I’ve been tiptoeing around this information for long enough. I grab her arm and pull her to a stop. We’re both panting. “Please, Lanny. I want to understand.”

“No, you don’t,” she spits.

The vehemence of her reply takes me aback. She’s angry, but it doesn’t feel like this is just about me snooping in her room anymore.

“You keep saying things will change. You promised we’d stop letting fear dictate our lives.

But nothing changed. Sure, for a little while you let me drive to school every now and again, but then you started to get paranoid.

And I hear you in the mornings, you know.

When you get up early and sneak into your office for Sicko Patrol. You’re not fooling anyone.”

I wince, her words hitting like a physical blow. Now that she’s gotten started, though, she continues.

“I know you’re scared, Mom, but so am I.

You’re worried about some psycho killer jumping out of the bushes, and I’m scared about figuring out who I am and what I want to do with my life.

When I set up that school visit last fall, the first thing you did was drill me on situational awareness.

You never asked what classes I planned to sit in on or what I was most excited about seeing.

“You’re always so focused on the threat.

Nothing else interests you. So, no, I didn’t tell you about applying to college because I already knew what you would say.

You’d look up campus maps and pull dorm schematics to find out which were the safest and what the best escape routes were.

You’d spend more time studying crime maps than the class catalog, and I wasn’t interested in that. ”

I want to tell her she’s wrong, but she’s not. I can’t lie to her or to myself.

“I’m sorry, Lanny,” I tell her. I mean it with every fiber of my being.

I don’t know how to tell her what it’s like being a parent.

That our kids come into the world squishy and soft and so, so vulnerable.

There is no joy or terror like holding a child for the first time, knowing that it’s not just their physical bodies you’re in charge of but also their hearts and souls, dreams and desires.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “I’m not going to any of those schools anyway.” She turns and starts walking.

I hate the tiny spark of elation I feel at hearing that. My daughter isn’t going away to college. She’s not moving across the country. She’s going to stay home and be safe.

My chest crushes at the thought. What kind of a mother am I, happy that my baby is giving up on a dream? I can’t do this. I can’t be this person .

I can’t let her do this.

“Lanny, wait,” I call as I chase after her on wobbly legs.

“Why aren’t you going? What changed? If it’s the money, we can find it.

” I’m not sure how, but we could make it happen.

If we finished the podcast and sold it, I was sure we could make something.

I hate the idea of making money off Melvin, but if it paid for Lanny’s college, it would be worth it.

She shakes her head. “It’s not the money. Though, damn, those schools are expensive.”

“Then what?”

She stops again and looks past me toward the lake. It’s cold today, though a few fishermen are still out on the water.

She lifts a shoulder and wipes a tear from her eye.

“It turns out you’re right. There’s no escaping Melvin Royal.

I thought I could reinvent myself like I did when I went to Reyne U.

I thought I could be someone other than that serial killer’s daughter, but I can’t.

It’s not just the podcast. There will always be something.

We’ve been running for years and look where it got us.

” She flings a hand out at the lake. “Nowhere.”

Her voice cracks, and it breaks my heart.

I hate seeing my daughter hurting. I hate that I haven’t been able to save her from this.

I can’t. That’s the reality of becoming an adult: realizing that not all problems are fixable.

Not all pain can be brushed away with a mother’s kiss.

Not all mistakes can be solved with an apology.

It’s what I’ve been forced to understand since returning to Stillhouse Lake.

This isn’t where my post-Melvin Royal life began.

We’d been on the run for years before we settled here.

In many ways, though, this place was the start of our healing.

The point where I thought there would be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Only to find out there were more tunnels beyond this one. There will always be tunnels.

But there will also always be light. It’s too easy to forget that .

“If you don’t live the life you want, you’re letting your father win,” I tell her.

She scowls. “He wins anyway.” Her voice is so bitter it takes me aback.

I start to argue, but she shakes her head.

“No, Mom. Tell me what’s changed? It’s the same cycle again and again and again.

We move somewhere new, we enroll in school, we make friends, and then boom, our life blows up.

” She makes an exploding gesture with her hands.

“And it always ties back to Melvin. First there was Lancel Graham, the deranged acolyte who killed those two women and kidnapped Connor and me, hoping to take us to Dad. When that didn’t work, Dad came after us himself, kidnapping Connor and almost murdering you.

After that, we got a bit of a reprieve until Miranda Tidewell came after us with that stupid documentary.

Then there was Jonathan Watson, who almost killed you and Kez.

“And, yeah, maybe what went down last fall in Gardenia wasn’t directly tied to Melvin, but Connor and Vee wouldn’t have even gone with you if it weren’t for the school shooting and the media being so quick to believe Connor was involved just because of who his father was.

Now, here we are, back in Stillhouse Lake because of the Lost Angels.

It’s always, always because of Melvin fucking Royal. ”

She’s shouting now, her cheeks blazing and wet with tears. “When does it end, Mom? How? You promise again and again that it will be different, and it never is.”

My own tears stream from my eyes. She’s right. My first impulse is to argue that this time really will be the end. If we can just make it through to the other side, figure out who’s trying to set Sam up, and who’s behind these murders. But it’s impossible to say there won’t be another crisis after.

I can’t know the future, so I give her the best answer I can. “I don’t know. I want it to end as badly as you do. ”

Lanny shakes her head, cutting me off. “I don’t think you do, Mom. That’s the thing. I’m not sure you know who you are if you’re not fighting Melvin Royal.”

The words are stunningly sharp, nearly slicing me down the middle. I clutch a hand at my chest, unable to catch my breath. It’s the same dark revelation that’s been swimming under the surface of my consciousness.

“You know what hurts the worst, Mom?”

I say nothing in response. I can’t find my voice to speak.

“You didn’t even congratulate me for getting into those schools.”

She turns and starts sprinting back toward the house. I chase after her. I have no idea what to say or how to fix this. I only know I can’t let her go.

In the past, she’s never been able to outrun me.

I always chalked it up to desperation—only the truly desperate are willing to push themselves past the pain of searing lungs and screaming muscles.

This time, though, she outpaces me completely.

There’s no way I’ll be able to catch her, and a part of me worries that she might just keep on running past our house to who knows where.