Page 23

Dakota

M y gaze tracked the large, grumpy chef as he left the house for the third time today.

He had been checking in on Rhodes more frequently as the poor man’s health continued to decline.

Rhodes hadn’t gotten up out of bed for a few days now, relying on the rest of us to care for him while his body failed.

It was heartbreaking to watch, but caring for him had given me something to focus on, something good that had absolutely nothing to do with my still missing husband.

Mallory and Calvin had left not long after Florence had stormed off home in a huff.

Chance turning her down had caused a strange tension between my in-laws, but I didn’t have the capacity to care.

Not when their son was a fucking murderer , and they either knew and did nothing, or were completely oblivious to the monster they had raised.

The more I thought back on Blake’s behaviours, the odd little things here and there that I had dismissed as nothing more than a quirk, or a bad mood I had believed was the result of an off day at work, everything was coming together to form a gruesome picture of death and carnage, of secrets and betrayal, and my heart fucking hurt .

The police had shown up to question Rhodes again, but he had been asleep, and no one wanted to disturb him.

His nurse, Jessica, had also come by to visit a few times.

They spoke at length of responsibilities that needed to continue on after his passing, and I learned that his parents were still alive but sick, too, residing in a nearby care home for full-time care with their dementia and Alzheimer’s.

He had no siblings, no cousins, no real family to care for him, and though Jessica and Davey tried their best, they both led busy lives and couldn’t be there for him twenty-four-seven.

So, when all the others left, I elected to stay behind.

More went into that decision than helping Rhodes, however.

The police had also been in contact with me, and I chose to stick around to help with their investigation.

They had convinced me that it was prudent that I act ignorant, that staying in the campground (or close to) would project the image of the concerned wife.

So, Mikey had helped me move my things into Rhode’s spare room.

He was such a sweet man. He had parked his RV in Rhodes’ driveway, where he had decided to stay for the duration of the investigation.

He claimed it was because of Chance and Kali, but while I didn’t doubt that for a second, I could also see how he worried about me.

He fussed over me like a mother hen, constantly checking in to make sure I was okay.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but I knew he chose to stick close for me.

He could have stayed at the campsite, but he had chosen to move himself as close as possible, and I could have been more grateful for him.

In a strange turn of events, he had become my rock in this whirlwind of chaos and heartbreak.

He sat by me now, both of us sipping coffees at Rhodes’ kitchen table, the spread of paranormal investigation equipment spread out in front of us.

Mikey had set up different devices all over the property, though the bulk of it remained within the wooded area that separated our property from Blake’s secret lair.

My mind kept conjuring up images of what it looked like.

Would he be nondescript, a typical house on a large plot of land that looked picturesque, just like everything else in his life?

Or would it be creepy, rundown, and offensive to all the senses?

The picture I envisioned oscillated between the two.

Sometimes, they took off so far in one direction or the other that I got the sense of either false safety or pure dread, but other times, they merged.

Those were the images that struck me the most. A pretty little house on a well-manicured lawn, surrounded by the green of the trees and the trickle of the Little Deschutes River running lazily through the property.

It was inviting. It was a lie. Because inside, it was a house of horrors.

Blood stained every surface, dripping down walls and pooling in puddles, seeping through the floorboards and filling the space with the scent of iron and rot.

I pictured severed body parts taxidermized and displayed proudly on the walls: head, legs, arms, even a case full of fingernails and locks of white hair, a perfect match for Kali’s.

The worst ones were the nightmares. I wasn’t me, I was her.

Kali. Bound and gagged and held hostage in some sort of torture chamber.

The dream would always be the same. Blake would run his fingers tenderly over weapons and other torture devices, humming a haunting tune beneath his breath as he carefully chose which tool to use to cause the most harm.

It was a different tool each time. Sometimes it was a knife.

Others, a scalpel. A chainsaw. A machete.

A medieval contraption straight from the horrors of the past.

He would stalk closer to where I was bound in the centre of a room, a surgical mask covering the lower half of his face, but I could see the malice in his eyes.

They would crinkle at the corners like he was smiling behind the mask, and I knew, I just knew, that even if it was a dream, that was how he looked to his victims before they died.

Smug.

Powerful.

Evil.

I shivered in my seat, the memory of last night’s nightmare refusing to budge no matter how hard I tried to distract myself.

Mikey noticed. Of course he did. He was always watching, always making sure I didn’t crumble into a pathetic mass of tears and snot like I had a few days ago.

The news had taken a while to hit, but when it had, I couldn’t handle it.

I had completely fallen apart, becoming nothing more than a blubbering mess of heartbreak, terror, and sheer disbelief.

I had cycled through the stages of grief quickly, though, thanks to Mikey.

He had been a steady presence, and the only reason I was a remotely functioning human being at all these days.

‘You okay?’ he asked, his quiet, timid voice soothing the jagged edges of my frayed nerves with ease.

I sent him a small smile I hoped would bolster my lie. ‘Yeah, I’m okay, Mikey.’

He didn’t believe me, though. He never did. ‘Another nightmare?’ he asked, seeing right through me like always. He had an uncanny ability to read me like an open book, even when I tried to close the cover and lock it up tight in a cage of lies and fake smiles.

What I liked about him the most, however, was that he never called me out on my bullshit. Instead, he let me lie and tried to make things better by finding some way to take my mind off it all. Now was no different.

‘D’you wanna come with me to check the thermals? I think the wildlife got to them in the night.’

I nodded. ‘Sure. Let me just get ready and check on Rhodes, and I’ll meet you out front in half an hour?’

‘Sure thing,’ he said, dipping his head to hide the blush that spread across his cheeks.

He was getting better and conversing with me.

It was easier for him when I was in a mindless state of anxiety, but since he had pulled me out of it, he had returned to being that same shy man who had followed Chance around like a little puppy.

I felt guilty for how much energy he was spending on making sure I was okay when he had just lost one of his lifelong best friends.

I had always admired their friendship, even if I hadn’t fully understood it until now.

Chance was the brooding type, but he had a heart of gold.

He was protective of those he cared about and didn’t have time for the people who proved themselves unworthy of his time and affection.

Mikey, however, was the complete opposite.

He was timid, reclusive, and nerdy. He didn’t stand up for himself like Chance had, but he was loyal, and kind, and so damn sweet it made my teeth ache, but in the best way.

I wasn’t sure if he had latched onto me as a means of replacing the friend he had hidden behind for so long, or if he was just using me as a distraction for himself, but I had to remind myself that he was grieving this loss, too.

He had lost just as much, if not more, than me, because at the end of the day, what I’d had with Blake had been nothing more than a lie.

Mikey’s friendship with Chance was genuine.

Hell, even his friendship with Kali was more real than my own fucking sham of a marriage.

At least he hadn’t been used as a mask to hide the ugliness he didn’t want the world to see.

Truthfully, there wasn’t anything ugly at all about Mikey.

His personality matched his outward appearance.

Sure, he was nerdy and a bit gangly, but he had kind eyes and soft features that gave him a beauty most men would have been called gay for, but he pulled it off.

And despite his shy, introverted tendencies, there was a strength to him that lay just beneath the surface, hidden from those who refused to look any deeper, but so clear to see if you just paid attention.

Mikey was truly one of a kind. A sparkling gem in a sea of sharp, bland, grey rocks.

I quickly bounded up the stairs to grab a towel from the linen closet on the landing, then headed straight for the shared bathroom a few doors down.

It was a simple room, with a shower-tub combo, a large mirror over a double sink, a toilet with seat of seashells cast in resin, and an ocean theme that was cliché but pretty, nonetheless.

Everything was in shades of light blues, patterned with either seashells or seahorses, but it wasn’t homely.