Page 56 of Natalie's Nighthawk

“I don’t understand. What are you talking about? What’s changed?”

“Hedid!” she yelled, spittle flying from her mouth. Another crack in her self-assured armor. “He was supposed to bemine! Mine! I’ve invested so many years of my life. Followed him everywhere. Done everything forhim. He’s mine. And you are in the way.”Well, crap on a cracker.Had she been in love with Graham all these years?

“He never knew?” Natalie asked.

“Of course not. He was so focused on building Nighthawk. I waited patiently. Worked side by side with him to build his dream. Our dream. I was so close. He was nearly ready. Nearly mine!” she hissed. She punctuated each word by stabbing the gun at her. Natalie was afraid it would accidentally go off. “Then you came in with the sob story about those kids. You ruined it. All my hard work. Ruined in one afternoon when a stupid girl came begging for help.” Lauren was growing more and more hysterical. Losing her grip on reality. Shock had Natalie standing as still as possible, letting the woman berate her.

Lauren stopped and took a deep breath. “Okay. Keep walking,” she demanded, waving the gun in the direction she wanted her to walk. Natalie hated turning her back on the woman with the gun, but she did, moving slowly, keeping her hands out where Lauren could see, dragging her feet as they left the path. Lauren followed closely behind and slightly to the left of Natalie. The gun pointed at her side. She felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up in her chest.

This couldnotbe happening. She had survived and she certainly could survive this. She had to. She had so much to live for now. And she desperately wanted to have that talk with Graham so that she could forgive him and be in his arms again.

The issues she’d been having the last few weeks were starting to make sense. Coalescing in her mind. The footprints at her house … Lauren had been spying on them. The pumpkins smashed in anger. The near hit and run. The car keyed. The tire slashed. All a manifestation of Lauren’s anger. Even the note made sense now. She had wanted Natalie out of Graham’s life. For good, it would seem.

Her thoughts inevitably turned to Graham. He’d be frantic with worry if she disappeared. He would search. Her heart thudded painfully at that thought. He would search, and he would lose.

Hewouldsearch. And he had a particular skill at tracking. She saw him use them when they were looking for Colin and Lucy. He could find her. She spent the next few minutes surreptitiously leaving a trail. She stumbled over sticks, kicking them aside, dragging her feet through the decaying layer of leaves. Graham had shown her how a broken branch shows a brighter, newer color under the bark. She did everything she could think of to lead Graham to her. It remained to be seen whether he would find her alive or dead.

As she walked deeper and deeper into the woods, Natalie kept her eyes out for any movement; any sign someone else was in these woods. Someone who could help. Or get help. But the farther they walked, the more that hope waned. It would be up to her. But how does one disarm a crazy person without getting shot? She felt sick with fear.

In the distance, the clearing became visible. They were close to the crumbling cabin she and Graham had found that first day. Maybe there was a means of getting away from Lauren there. Perhaps she could get her hands on one of the stones from the chimney. There had to be a way.

Entering the clearing, Natalie searched frantically for something, anything that could possibly save her. The anxiety preventing her brain from developing a viable plan.

Lauren prodded Natalie with the gun. “Over there.” It was then Natalie knew. The well. Lauren was leading her to the well. She was going to shoot her and drop her body in that deep pit. If they searched, following her trail, they’d find her dead body.

Lauren ordered her to remove the old plywood that covered the well. Natalie refused to look down into the darkness. Instead, she turned to Lauren after pushing the wood aside. Hands still half-raised; fear sweat sliding down her back. “You don’t have to do this,” she reasoned.

“Yes, I do!” Lauren said harshly. “I want Graham. You are in the way. Therefore …” she let the sentence go unfinished.

“But maybe we could work something out. I could leave. Go away. Then Graham could be yours,” she tried, desperate to talk Lauren back to reason.

“No, that wouldn’t work. He would only go after you. This way, he’ll grieve for a bit. Maybe turn to his best friend for comfort. Eventually, he will be mine. I’ve been patient this long. I can wait.”

Her heart squeezed painfully. She loved Graham and had never gotten the chance to tell him. He would never know.

“You don’t want to be a killer, Lauren. It’s not in your nature. You are a giver. A helper. A nurturer. Think of all those years you’ve spent helping people. All the good you’ve done. You don’t want to throw all that away. Not like this,” Natalie reasoned. Made sense, didn’t it? How does one person who’s devoted her life to helping other people suddenly turn to murder.

But she was too far gone to listen. Something had short-circuited in her brain. “Turn around.” When Natalie hesitated, she yelled, “Now!”

As Natalie slowly turned her back to Graham’s crazy-assed friend, she tried to reason with her again. She wasn’t beneath begging. “Please, Lauren. Don’t do this. You are a good person. You are not a murderer!”

“Oh, I know I’m not!” she said. Natalie felt a moment of confusion, then nothing.

Graham was in hell. This time of his own making. Natalie still hadn’t answered his calls. He was desperate to talk to her. He still couldn’t believe how he’d acted. He hadn’t been that bad after the tsunami. And he especially hadn’t lashed out at his loved ones. He didn’t know what had come over him. He’d had time over the past twenty-four hours to think. The fear of failure had been palpable. He’d been worried he couldn’t juggle his job and a relationship without one of them suffering. The death of that boy had seemed to prove that theory.

There was some deep-seated desire to be perfect at his job, his superhero complex as David would call it. Even while despising the term hero and hating the notoriety, succeeding at his job made him feel virtuous. But if people saw him as a hero, his failures become more prominent, twisting things in his mind until his failures became all-consuming.

This time the darkness had been much worse. And he’d taken it out on the one person who could have helped him the most.

As the day wore on, he recalled the events of the previous night, the images flashing through his mind.

Natalie falling over, crashing into the coffee table. Because he’d pushed her over.

Natalie’s grimace when she bumped her stomach into the kitchen counter. Again, because he’d pushed her.

Natalie’s cry that he was hurting her because he’d grasped her arm too tightly. He was a right solid bastard.

Natalie’s whimper of pain as the glass from the broken bottle sliced her hand. And he hadn’t done a damn thing to help her treat it. He slipped his hand into his pocket fingering the paper towel with Natalie’s blood-soaked into it. For some perverse reason, he couldn’t throw it away.

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