Page 48 of The First Hunt (The Final Hunt)

JOHN

J ohn lifted his gaze to the faded article on the wall from the Fairbanks Examiner . “The hardest part was dragging her body out of the car and into that snowy ditch. I couldn’t get her as far from the road as I wanted, which was probably why they found her body so quickly.”

“Why did you do it?” his dad asked.

“I wanted to know what it felt like to kill. I needed to understand why you did it. After I strangled that bartender with her scarf beside that ditch, I knew. Power. Control. Excitement. A rush. An unexplainable feeling of pure ecstasy. Like the world finally makes sense in that moment. And relax, I’m not going to get caught.

I’m good at covering my tracks. Even better than you. ”

His dad sneered, releasing his hold on John.

“Better than me?” he yelled, his face red with fury. “You killed your fucking teacher! You can't do that. Not if you don’t want to go to prison. This is exactly what I was afraid of. Have I taught you nothing?”

John reflected on the smooth feel of his teacher’s neck beneath his hold late last night. He closed his eyes, reliving the moment. When his hands first clamped around her throat, she’d clawed at him, but not for long.

As the life drained from his teacher’s body—that slut who preyed on underage boys—it was like her energy was being transferred to him. The weaker she became under his grip, the more he crushed her delicate neck, the stronger—and more powerful—he felt.

Feeling his teacher’s neck collapse beneath his bare hands had given him a much bigger rush than when he’d strangled that bartender in Fairbanks with her own scarf.

“There's a link to you,” his father continued. “I've been waiting all day for you to get home so that we can come up with a story together to make sure you aren't implicated, and now you do this? ” He extended a hand behind him toward Holly’s body.

The pool of blood around her head was growing, John noted. He met his father’s eyes. “There was a link to Mom.”

His dad’s eyes narrowed. “That was different.”

“How?” John asked.

“I told you never to talk about that.” His dad’s voice morphed into a growl.

“Why not?” John shouted. “Don’t you think it’s time?”

“No.” His dad took a step back, nearly bumping into Holly’s body with the back of his foot.

“Be careful,” John said. “You almost got blood on your shoe.”

His father jabbed a long finger into his own chest. “You really have the balls to tell me to be careful right now?” His dad pointed at the two walls. “When you keep this kind of shit?” He pointed to Holly. “And you killed our famous neighbor while she was in our house?”

His dad’s chest heaved, spittle flying out of his mouth with an audible exhale. For a moment, John worried he might have a heart attack.

“We’ll deal with the walls later.” His dad lowered his gaze to the dead writer. “Right now, we need to figure out what to do with her body.” His father turned and paced the small space, pinching the bridge of his nose.

John really hoped he would make sure not to step in Holly’s blood.

“Shh.” John moved toward the window and looked out.

“What are you doing?”

“Listen. Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” His father stepped over Holly and came toward the window. “Stop screwing around, John. We need to get her body out of our house before anyone realizes something has happened—”

“Shh.” John put a finger to his lips.

His dad grabbed the back of John’s hair. “Don’t shh me.”

John cupped a hand over his dad’s mouth. “Listen.”

His father swatted his hand away, but a man’s shout from next door carried through the window before his dad could protest again.

“Holly!” Bang, bang, bang.

John smiled. Jared Peretti must’ve gotten his note. He knew the ex-cop wouldn’t be far behind him.

“I know you’re in there, Holly!” Bang, bang, bang. “Let me in. I just want to talk.” Rap, rap, Rap. “Holly. Come on.”

“Holly!”

John turned to his dad. “I skipped practice and went to the place where Holly’s abusive ex-fiancé is staying. Then I followed him and left a note on his car windshield with Holly’s address.”

The anger in his father’s hard-set eyes faded to wide-eyed awe. Outside, an engine revved and tires squealed before a car sped out of their cul-de-sac.

“Holly keeps a baseball bat in her entryway,” John said.

“We’ll take her body over there and make it look like that was the murder weapon.

We’ll say we saw him pulling on gloves and going around to the backside of her house.

Then we heard a scream coming from inside her home before we saw her ex run out of her front door and peel out of the neighborhood.

That’s when I called the police, and you ran over to see what had happened.

If we’re lucky,” John added, “that prick left his fingerprints on Holly’s front doorknob. ”

His dad shook his head. “There could be other witnesses. We can’t lie. What if the Wilsons saw him pound on her door for a few minutes and then leave?”

“The Wilsons are on vacation. So are the Aguilars. It’s spring break, remember?”

His father stared out the window, appearing to mull over John’s plan.

“We’ll make it look like her ex-fiancé broke in from her back door. Then, that sonofabitch who tried to arrest you for Sally’s murder will rot in prison for the rest of his life.”

His father turned from the window and locked eyes with John. “Go upstairs to the garage. Get the blue tarp. Make sure it’s not the gray one. We need it to be big.”

John headed out of the room when his dad grabbed his arm. “Before we call 911, you have to get rid of all this souvenir shit on the walls. Burn it in the fireplace, understand?”

John nodded, glad his father had come to agree with his plan. “Blue tarp. Got it.”

Then, for the first time since coming downstairs, his father smiled.