Page 24 of Grave Possession (Grave #2)

Chapter Nineteen

Graves

T he cell service at Mallory’s house is absolute shit lately, and waiting for this repairman to fix the internet is grating on my last nerve.

After calling to set up an appointment, I was told the next available one was in two days, and I’d have to wait around all day for him to show up.

They never give an exact appointment time, it’s a time frame, forcing you to stay put until they show up.

I battled with myself over whether to get this stupid inconvenience fixed while Mallory is missing, but driving to the station takes too much time out of my day.

My house is out of the question since it’s still a disaster zone from my melt down, and I’m pretty sure I damaged the internet modem in the process of rampaging through my living room.

I don’t know if it’s the storm rolling in that’s causing my phone’s internet to not work, or fate has just been working against me for the last forty-eight hours, but I’m ready to snap on someone.

I have found nothing of note while scouring the trails through the woods to the east, working in a counter-clockwise direction, delving deeper and deeper into the forest each time.

Pushing the limits of the ATV, the amount of gas in the tank, and the capacity of the extra jerry can I have strapped to the luggage rack.

I fixed the dent in the wall from my explosive episode while waiting for this guy to show up.

Four hours later…he’s still here. Apparently the wiring was out of date and all had to be redone.

I doubt it since Mallory moved in not that long ago.

This guy, Ron, is just trying to drag out the on-site call to make the most money he can.

I throw on my police uniform, heading down to the basement to see what the hold up is. Maybe seeing me in uniform will speed up this process since I have places to be, and a killer to catch.

“How’s it coming along?” I say, rounding the corner to the utility room. Ron is standing there looking at his phone as the wifi router flashes a green light.

Without looking up, he replies, “Just waiting for the gateway to boot up, then I should be out of your hair.”

“How do you know when it’s ready?” I question.

“The lights change from red, to orange, and then settle on green.”

“Hmm…like that?” I say, gesturing to the modem sitting on a shelf to the right of the washing machine.

His eyes finally rise from his phone, locking with mine.

A fraction of a second passes as he registers my professional appearance then he snaps into action.

Pocketing his phone, he turns to the router and inspects it.

Watching the blinking light and counting the seconds between flashes.

After about two minutes he turns to me, “Looks like you’re all set, Officer.

The wifi name and password are written on a magnet I stuck to the fridge.

Sorry that took longer than we anticipated.

” He rifles through his pockets then pulls out a business card.

Extending it, he says, “If you go to our website there’s a survey you can fill out.

After you finish it, you’ll be entered into a draw to win fifty dollars off your next bill. ”

“Sounds great,” I reply curtly. He nods, gathers up his tools, and heads out of the basement. Following him upstairs, we part ways and I watch as the company van heads out of the driveway.

Thankful to be alone, I go snag the magnet off the fridge and plop onto the couch.

I enter the new wifi info into my phone and laptop that was sitting unused on the coffee table.

While waiting for it to connect, I head to Mallory’s room.

I strip off the uncomfortable uniform, sliding on a black t-shirt with CCPD printed on my right pec and black light-weight joggers.

My phone chimes once, then again, calling me back to the tv room.

Settling back into the soft cushions, I check my notifications.

There’s messages from my uncle checking in on me.

Letting me know he will be patrolling the mill this week so if I need anything brought out to me to let him know.

A text from Victoria asks if there’s been any progress with the case.

No, you incessant woman, not since you asked me ten hours ago.

A headache begins to bloom, the pounding starting in my temples and shooting behind my eyes.

I don’t want to deal with either of those people right now.

Ignoring the texts, I open my email. Watching wide-eyed as the number of unread messages climbs as the page loads. Forty-seven. There’s forty-seven new ones. How is this possible? There’s no way I’ve missed that many replies. What the fuck?

Shocked and annoyed beyond comprehension, I open the most recent one.

I didn’t know the internet was fucking up this badly.

Why wasn’t I getting notifications on my phone at least?

Focus. Worry about that shit later. Most of these replies are from the different message boards I’ve posted on.

Asking about the locations of cabins, hunting blinds, and any other places of note that are good for hunting.

I claimed I was new to the area, and looking for a place to grab a deer when the season starts, having to put up a front so no one caught on I was a cop fishing for information.

Weeding through the emails has new hope igniting within me.

Some of these replies have pictures included, as well as GPS pinpoints of the locations.

Most are to the north, which is why I haven’t come across them yet.

The forest is so dense up that way, I was worried the quad would get stuck as most trails are for hiking.

I assumed whoever took Mallory wouldn’t have been able to get a vehicle that far into the bush.

However, based on what I see in these pictures, my theory has been wrong this whole time.

Trucks, trailers, quads, dirt bikes, side-by-sides, and even golf carts have been hauled through the woods to the north.

Damn it all to hell, I’m a fucking idiot. I should’ve known he would take her where the trees are so thick the wind barely gets through. No one will hear her scream in a forest that impenetrable.

I take screenshots of all the information, knowing that I won’t have any cell reception once I enter the thick forest. Messaging my uncle, I ask him to drop me off some more gas for the quad before I head out for one last ride before dusk sets in.

Uncle G:

Let me know when you’re back.

Graves:

Yes sir.

Hauling myself out of bed the next morning is near impossible as the astronomical weight of Mallory’s disappearance threatens to crush me.

Dragging my ass to the kitchen, I prep a pot of coffee.

The memory of Mallory sipping hers in the early morning light, leaned back against the cabinets, while eating me up with her eyes knocks into me.

Such a beautiful memory, I hate that it feels like a lifetime ago.

I vow in this moment to never stop making memories with her.

I’ll do whatever she desires, take her anywhere she wants to venture.

When I get her back we are going to live.

“Why haven’t you found me yet?” she whispers, putting the mug to her lips. What? My heart stops and drops out of my ass and onto the floor. She hums in appreciation as the steaming liquid warms her from the inside.

This isn’t real. This never happened. I’m imagining things.

My phone chimes from the counter behind me, stealing my attention for only a second. Mal’s cold palm caresses my cheek, pulling my gaze back to her. The mug, the one I smashed, sits abandoned on the counter behind her, still steaming.

“I thought you loved me,” she says, voice cracking.

“I do,” I reply. I’m such a fucking failure.

“Obviously not.”

“Baby…” I whimper. “I’m trying.”

“Do you know what he’s doing to me, Nox?” Bruises appear around her neck as blood starts to pour from lacerations that whip across her skin. The blood soaks into the fabric of her tank top, saturating it so thoroughly that it drips off the hem at the bottom. She’s dying right in front of me.

Panic seizes me, strangling the air from my lungs as my greatest fear comes to life. The light drains from her eyes as her blood pools at my feet. I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe. My chest constricts as I drop to my knees. Air, I need air.

“Stop,” I gasp. “Stop. Please. It’s not real. You’re not real.”

Mallory’s knees drop in front of mine, blood splashing and seeping into her favourite grey jogging pants. Her frigid touch raises my chin as her milky irises lock with mine.

“I’m going to die, Ghost. Soon it will be me that haunts you.”

Throwing her head back, Mal’s mouth falls open and an ear-piercing scream explodes out of her, ringing through the house.

I raise my hands to my ears, blocking out the shrill sound.

Blood blooms beneath her torn shirt, as the gurgling sound of her choking on her own blood smothers out her scream.

No. I grab her, cradling her against me.

Please don’t die. Coughing and sputtering, I feel her blood splash my face.

Her once golden eyes, now cloudy with death, stare up at me.

She’s pleading for me to help her, find her, save her.

I choke on the emotions clogging my throat as she tries to speak.

With blood leaking from the sides of her mouth, she whispers something imperceptible then fades from view.