Page 68 of Serial Love

One week later, the Saints gathered at Jack’s house, not heading down to the command center but piling up in the living room instead, surrounding Jack who was sitting on the sofa with Bethany tucked into his side. Each leaned over, kissing Bethany’s head or offering a hug as they entered. Jack caught her nervous smile as her eyes sought his and he winked his encouragement. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her more tightly into his embrace.

“You okay, babe?” he whispered.

Biting her lip, she breathed, “Yeah.”

He kept his arm around her as the men took their seats and settled in. Engaged in small talk, the group avoided discussing the Campus Killer.

Jack’s mind wandered back to the events of the past week.

Sitting in the hospital ER bay with her while she was checked out, he began to shake as the adrenaline wore off. With antibiotic salve on her scratches and her bruised and injured wrist wrapped in a cast, she was ready to be discharged.

It was afterward that took him over the edge. Monty came in to let them know an FBI investigator needed to question her. “Would you be more comfortable doing this at home?” Monty asked, concern on his face.

Shaking her head fiercely, she cried, “No! I can’t go there!” The idea of seeing her cabins was terrifying.

Jack squeezed her, saying, “She’s coming to my place.”

“No!” Bethany cried. She glanced up at him, seeing his concerned expression, and explained, “I don’t wantit there. I don’t want to relive it there.” Her gaze begged him to understand. “I want to get it out and then leave it. I don’t want it to stay with me.”

Jack and Monty shared a glance, both knowing that she was not going to be able to talk about it without dealing with the aftereffects. Monty nodded and said, “They’ll meet us in the local sheriff’s office and do the interview there.”

Two hours later, sitting with Jack at her side and the Saints listening in as well, she recounted her tale. All her encounters with Stan and his family. How he always asked for the same cabin when they came to stay and no, she did not think that was weird. And then, the events of the day.

She maintained her composure until describing the wall of photographs. Her voice faltered as her eyes filled with tears. Face pale, she began to shake. Jack wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to share his body heat with hers, but her mind had completely taken over her body. Haltingly, she talked of finding the jar of bones. Finding the knife. Having him rush at her and placing a rag over her mouth. Waking up in the room, shackled by chains to the wall. Seeing what she thought was a rusty table, before realizing it was blood. Then the photographs.

“Do you need a break, Ms. Bridwell?” the investigator asked.

She did not hear him. All she could hear in her mind were the screams of the women on the wall.

“Enough!” Jack growled, starting to stand.

“No,” she whispered, her tearful eyes imploring his. “I need to do this for them.”

“These investigators will get their information from the evidence. They don’t have to have you relive this nightmare.”

“No,” she whispered again, her small hand on his arm. “I have to do it. For them. For the women.”

He searched her eyes, seeing fear mixed with strength. Then, sighing, he nodded as he settled back down, pulling her into his side. His eyes met the investigators, daring them to keep their mouths shut as she talked.

She finished her tale of terror, recounting his unstable ramblings, explained her attack on him and subsequent escape. “I think the only reason I had a chance was that he kept saying ‘this wasn’t how it was supposed to be’.”

“Most serial killers have a routine they’re comfortable with. You didn’t fit that profile, nor was he expecting to have to kill at that time, so your situation threw him off his norm.”

Finishing the interview, she suddenly turned to Jack and said, “Take me home.” The investigator informed her that Mountville had been barricaded from the public and the cabin had been sealed off for the investigation.

“Oh, Jack, what about my guests?”

Assured that Roscoe and Sally had taken care of them all, she leaned heavily against him. He took her weight wordlessly, with another squeeze around her shoulders. “I’ll have to close Mountville,” she said,bringing her hands up to her face. Twisting around to face him, she moaned, “The publicity will kill me.”

Now it was a week later and the gathering in Jack’s living room kept the conversation lively, no one wanting to upset her. Neither she nor Jack had brought up the events, each dancing around the subject.

Finally, not able to stand it any longer, she blurted, “I need to know.”

Jack gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and the others stared. First at her. Then at Jack. Then at each other.

“Babe, there’s no need to?—”

“Jack,” she interrupted, twisting around to look up into his scowling face. “I’m fine. Don’t you get it? I’m fine. Yes, what happened sucked, and I’ll have nightmares about that horrible room and wall for years. But honey,” she said, bringing her face in close while cupping his jaw, “I got out. I’m safe.”

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