Page 37 of The Hanging Dolls (Zoe Storm #1)

THIRTY-SIX

The rain pounded against the windshield, each drop a drumbeat. The wipers struggled to keep up, barely clearing Travis’s view of the slick road ahead. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel, the pain in his chest a constant, gnawing reminder of the chaos unraveling.

What was he doing? When did that darkness engulf him?

His mind and body were on different paths.

There were times he would lose track of what was real and what wasn’t.

Dr. Melissa hadn’t prescribed him any medication—yet.

She wanted him to keep a journal of his thoughts and feelings.

She thought the problem was him bottling everything up too much.

She had only scratched the surface.

But right now, there was something else that was bothering him—Ryan.

His son had been acting strangely—too quiet, disappearing for hours without explanation. It wasn’t like him. And now, Travis was tailing Ryan through the rain-soaked streets, trying to keep his distance while the knot of dread tightened in his gut.

Up ahead, Ryan’s car turned into a dimly lit alley, its taillights glowing like ominous red eyes in the night. Travis slowed, his heart hammering as he watched his son’s car come to a stop in front of a run-down building. The kind of place that made Travis’s stomach churn with foreboding.

What was he doing here ? He was only seventeen.

Ryan stepped out of the car, his feet splashing through the puddles, hood up against the rain, and moved toward a group of shadowy figures huddled near the building.

“What the hell are you doing, Ryan?” Travis muttered, holding his breath.

He leaned forward, trying to see through the rain that blurred everything into a hazy nightmare.

He could make out Ryan reaching into his pocket and handing something to the group—money, it had to be.

One of the figures reached out, passing something back to Ryan in a swift, subtle motion.

But the rain obscured it all, leaving Travis guessing at the exchange. Was it drugs? Weapons?

He scratched through his memories. Was Ryan into drugs?

There was no smell of weed in the house.

No physical signs of him using anything harder than that.

But he rarely saw him anymore. Ryan was always dressed in hoodies and hauled up in his room.

He could be using. And Travis was gutted that he didn’t know what was happening in his own home despite being chief of Harborwood PD.

A chill ran down his spine, his worst fears tightening their grip on him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to Ryan.

Then, out of nowhere, a familiar, icy voice cut through the sound of the rain, freezing the blood in his veins. “You failed, Travis. And now look where it’s gotten you. Where it’s gotten him.”

Travis’s breath hitched, and he whipped his head to the side. In the passenger seat, where there should have been nothing but empty air, sat his mother. Her eyes were as cold and unyielding as he remembered, her lips curled into a cruel sneer.

“Mom?” The word was a whisper, barely audible over the storm raging outside.

Her expression didn’t change, the venom in her voice unmistakable. “What have you done, boy?”

Travis blinked, his hands trembling on the wheel. This isn’t real. She’s not here.

The vision of his mother leaned closer, her voice a hiss in his ear. “I should have put you all down, like dogs.”

Travis squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the voice, the image, the rising tide of panic that threatened to drown him. When he opened them again, the passenger seat was empty, the ghost of his mother gone, leaving only the echo of her words in his mind.

Benny wasn’t answering her messages. She had sent three over the last couple days but had had no reply.

She needed another fight. The rage had been building up inside her like plaque. If she didn’t release it in time, she was going to explode.

And there might be collateral damage.

So for now Zoe moved through the shadows of the dimly lit parking garage, her footsteps silent on the cold concrete.

The low hum of fluorescent lights flickered intermittently, casting long, eerie shadows that stretched across the rows of parked cars.

Her breath was steady, controlled, as she kept her eyes locked on the man ahead of her.

He was tall and wiry, his gait relaxed, almost too casual for someone who should have known better.

He walked with an air of arrogance, like he owned the place, unaware of the predator stalking him just a few paces behind.

Zoe had been tailing him for over an hour, watching as he moved through the city.

The man fumbled with his keys, the metallic jingle echoing through the empty space. He was halfway to his car when Zoe imagined what she would do to him.

There were too many dead girls. Too much going wrong in Zoe’s life and this case. And the grim possibility of something happening to Lucy loomed over her, snuffing out that light and cheer.

She had to get rid of it. She had to fix something.

She would strike him like a hammer. She wouldn’t give him a chance to recover. A punch to the gut. She wouldn’t care about his excuses or his pleas. All she saw was a pig in front of her, the man who had treated his elderly father like filth in public.

Another bad, bad person who was walking around freely.

Just like Rachel’s killer.

She imagined what his blood would look like as it sprayed from his mouth, splattering across the concrete.

But she saw someone else. That faceless man who existed in her imagination. The one who had taken everything from her and her sister.

A hand landed on her shoulder, yanking her out of her fantasy. She spun on her heel, a scream of shock stuck in her throat—only to find Aiden.

“What are you doing, Storm?”

Was any of this real? She was still in a daze.

The air seemed syrupy around her, rippling the edges of everything and making her vision sloppy.

Aiden’s probing eyes followed the man who was getting into his car and driving away.

She blinked profusely and turned away from him, waiting for her nerves to stop fraying.

She was ready to snap, so close to revealing that violence resided inside her as if she had been boiling under the sun for eternity.

A deep breath. Another one.

“Were you following me?” Her voice shook when she faced him again, maintaining her composure.

His eyes widened behind his glasses. “Yeah, I was.”

“Why?”

“Well, since you showed up with a bruise on your face that night and then you snuck out in this hoodie, you can’t blame me for being curious.” He gently guided her away. “What is going on with you? Do you know him?”

Shit. “I… I thought he might be a suspect.”

“A suspect?” he said flatly. “Really?”

“Yeah, I saw him at the hospital and he was lingering and acting shady…” She scrambled for an excuse.

“So I thought I should follow him.” They stared at each other.

She could tell he was waiting for her to come clean.

But she just shrugged. “Do you want to leave? I think he’s fine. I was desperate.”

Aiden pulled a face. A sigh of resignation. But he didn’t push her. Somewhere Zoe was relieved. What if he hadn’t come? What if she had crossed that boundary and hurt someone?

As she followed him out, she looked over her shoulder. The man was gone. But she saw another figure lying on the ground—bruised and broken.

It was her . Only much younger. That teenager who was stupid enough to clean up a crime scene. Because she was just as responsible as the killer for justice evading them. Because she was weak and selfish.