Page 11

CHAPTER 11

REDLEY

The tension his presence brings is starkly missing, and I can breathe again.

I check the sky for signs of stars before starting my walk back. A faint round glow about the size of the moon helps me judge the direction. My hands stay out in front of me to protect my face and feel the way. A familiar frustration bubbles inside me as I go.

I’m well known for making my own problems. Like usual, throwing that lamp was wasteful and impulsive. Worse, it didn't do a damn thing to him. Cutting off my nose to spite my face at its finest. I hope to God the lamp by the front door didn’t blow out. When I get back, I’ll take Penny down the mountain and ask the fire chief for help. He won’t believe me at first, but at least he’ll be awake, and I’m almost positive Terry is on call tonight.

I need help, support, a way to fight back against a goddamn monster who’s tearing people apart. Terry may not be all those things, but he’s at least got one of those huge spotlights on his truck and is strong enough to lift a body. Hell, he might even believe me about the Wolf after this, and it would be amazing to have someone in a position of influence on my side.

As I walk, all I can think about is Wolf standing in the darkness watching me. Did he do the same before he killed my family? I imagine him inches from me, about to slit my throat too. The last of the Littles finally dying beneath his hands after all these years. Usually, I can control my fear of the dark, put it out of my mind until I’m back in the light. But my terror grows with my defenselessness. A gun in the dark doesn’t do me much good.

My fingers trail against what must be my uncle’s old moonshine still, and that tells me exactly how close I am to home. After I crest the worst of the incline, the land immediately flattens. Fortunately, the lamp hanging by the front door still burns, and I can see again. I pull it down and leave the porch to check the back of the house too. The Wolf could still be nearby, and I’m not going to go inside with him sitting in my chicken coop. The girls are all fine for now, sleeping, and I check the sheds too and find them all empty.

I look over my shoulder repeatedly as I walk from the backyard to the front door. Wolf might not be here now, but I’m almost certain he was recently. Despite my better intentions, I can smell his sweetly masculine scent in the air. I don’t know what kind of monster wears cologne, but I’ve got an awareness of him that feels supernatural. Years spent obsessing over killing him and what life would have been like with him have led to a sixth sense for his presence.

As I climb the steps, my fears are confirmed. A tiny red box sits on the mat with a bloody note attached. I’m not sure if this was here when I first got home, and I didn’t notice it, or if he left his gift while I was checking the backyard. That would be a nice bit of proof that all my efforts to protect myself are meaningless.

The lamp meets the hook, and then I lean down and pick up the bloody offering, shivering at the splashes of Murphy on the envelope. The tiny box is heavier than I expected, and I worry it’s a trap of some kind. He wouldn’t give me a finger. Would he?

I carry the presents I didn’t ask for and the pistol into the cabin, locking the door behind me. I place the Smith and Wesson on the table and trade it for the old double-barrelled sawed-off. He made fun of my aim, but that won’t matter with this. I’ll finally kill him. I tell myself forcefully.

My hands close around the keys hanging by the door, and I turn off all the lamps except the one outside and head to my truck. Penny complains as I start her, but that’s just what it’s like driving a truck older than I am. Mementos of the years I spent free hang from my rearview mirror, and I find myself thinking about the ocean to calm my nerves as I stick to the narrow road.

The drive takes an hour during the day and quite a bit longer at night, with dark turns and steep drops all around. By the time I reach the bottom and pull into town, I’m exhausted and prepared for a fight. I’m the crazy lady who lives on the top of the mountain, obsessed with old ghost stories. I’m used to being made a fool of.

I didn’t need to worry, though, because there is already a commotion in the Fire Department parking lot. The truck depot is nothing more than a garage, and the office is a popup shed next door. They keep a bed somewhere between the two since there’s always one of the town volunteers here, but there’s far more than that tonight. Just about every resident that lives in town rather than on the mountain is already here, gathered around for something.

They get better power access down here, and floodlights light the parking lot. Are they assembling a search party? Maybe the parents already noticed him gone. That makes my job easier, but also that much sadder to be the bearer of bad news.

There are no cop cars of course. A lot of things have changed in the years, but that hasn’t; the cops don’t care to help us out here, and the people don’t care to ask them to come. I didn’t leave Grimm Groves and forget all about it. I asked around at enough police stations over the years to know it’s like we just don’t exist anywhere . We’re not in anyone’s jurisdiction.

Blue lights flash over the scene, as do the white ones. The fire chief has the truck out to give the illusion of a crime scene or something important going on. I don’t know why he’s always doing something to make himself feel more important than he is. Hasn’t he figured out there isn’t a damn soul who cares what happens to Grimm Groves, not even its residents?

He and Doc stand together, both gray-haired men, though Doc is substantially taller and broader through the shoulders. He bends down so they can whisper to one another. I don’t see at first what they’re talking so seriously about until Doc points, and I follow the gesture. A body lays stretched out on a blanket at their feet. Did the Wolf get someone else down here too? He’s a monster, but that’s quick even for him.

I pull off the road and park about forty feet away from the center of the drama. From inside my truck, there wasn’t anything to hear, but as soon as I get out, a terrible scream even worse than the death wail I heard earlier, rips up the night. I quickly jog over to the scene but stay back far enough not to intrude on whatever’s going on.

A brunette woman sobs over the body, Mrs. Murphy. Her husband stands at her side, a hand on her shoulder, and tears pour down his cheeks. A hundred pounds of dread drops into my stomach when I finally realize who Chief and Doc are looking at.

The Murphy boy.