Page 44 of The First Hunt (The Final Hunt)
HOLLY
And then there was Clint’s wife, Diana. It was too much of a coincidence for Clint not to have killed them all.
Holly looked around the unfinished basement. There was just enough light streaming through the small windows that faced the backyard for her to make out a large open space. There was no dry wall on the walls, only exposed studs and insulation.
Footsteps sounded on the floor above, and she lifted her head toward the sound. I should go back upstairs before Clint catches me down here, snooping around.
She stood still. What if he’d already discovered she wasn’t in the bathroom? She turned for the stairs. I should never have come down here. What am I going to say to Clint if he discovers I’m not in the bathroom?
She’d have to tell him she thought he’d said the bathroom was downstairs—and pray he’d buy it.
She cursed herself for being so stupid. She should’ve gone straight home and called Andy. What was I expecting to find down here anyway? A body?
She passed a doorway on her right. It was the first room she’d seen off of the large open area. She paused and listened for a moment. The footsteps upstairs had stopped.
She peered through the doorway, seeing the studs on the far wall were covered with paper.
She stepped inside to get a closer look.
When she reached the middle of the room, a yarn hanging from above slapped her cheek.
She yanked on it, illuminating a bare lightbulb in the ceiling. Looking at the far wall, she gasped.
Two newspaper articles stood out. The first was from the Fairbanks Examiner printed in May 1985. HORROR ON THE HIGHWAY: Body of Young Fairbanks Woman Found Near Lonely Stretch of Road. Beneath the headline was a faded photograph of a squad car beside a snow-covered ditch.
When Holly saw the article beside it, her breath caught in her throat. It was an article about Diana’s suicide.
Her gaze dropped to the page stuck to the wall beneath the article. It looked to have been ripped from a high school yearbook with rows of teachers’ headshots filling the page. One had an X in red marker over her face. Holly swallowed. John’s English teacher.
Just as she’d thought, Clint had killed her too.
Acid burned the back of her throat as the wine threatened to come back up.
She forced it back down and glanced at the ceiling.
Her pulse pounded in her temples so loudly that it nearly drowned out the thoughts that swarmed and buzzed like a disturbed hive.
Holly turned to the wall beside it. There were more newspaper clippings, just like the wall in her home office.
In fact, she’d hung up some of these at home.
She scanned the familiar articles covering the murders of Sally Hickman, Jennifer Duran, and Brooke Holtman.
All three believed to be Green River Killer Victims.
Holly inched closer, feeling as though she were moving outside of her own body.
She froze, seeing the same headline she’d been staring at for the last ten years beneath the three articles.
STRIPPER FOUND DEAD. She covered her mouth with her hand.
Just as she’d thought— Clint killed Meg.
He was the Bus Stop Killer, not Jared. The one she’d been hunting for all these years.
Her lungs locked. The room twisted. The world tilted beneath her feet.
She placed her hands on her knees. Just breathe. She stepped back to take in both walls at once, wishing she had a camera. She had to stay calm. Go upstairs. Tell Clint she wasn’t feeling well and get the hell out of here so she could tell Andy what she’d found.
She spun around and reached for the string to turn off the light. Before her hand could grasp the yarn, she registered a figure standing in the doorway.