Page 67 of Trapper Road

So who died this time? And who left their blood behind to make a point?

“This isn’t a coincidence,” I say. “It can’t be.” I twist my hands on the steering wheel, gripping it tighter. “There’s no way someone chose my house at random. This is personal. Some kind of threat or warning.”

Kez had been on the force back then, though more junior at the time. There’s no way she hasn’t already made the connection to those previous murders. “I agree that’s what it looks like. But officially we can’t make that determination until we have more information.” She knows what she’s saying is police policy bullshit.

“Kez—”

“I know,” she says cutting me off. “But you also know that when it comes to you and your family, we have to play it by the book. We’re not going to be able to keep this from the media for long, not in a town this small. The press means scrutiny, and scrutiny means we can’t cut corners.”

“This is my family,” I growl, frustrated.

“You don’t think I know that?” she fires back. “You don’t think my first thought when I saw all that blood was terror that it belonged to one of you? That I’d lost you or Sam or one of your kids?” Her voice is thick with emotion, and it shaves the edges off my anger. I hadn’t thought about what that moment must have been like for her, what she must have been thinking.

I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry, Kez. I’m just scared about what this might mean. I’m used to the usual kinds of threats — emails and message boards and websites. But this is something new. This is…” I shake my head.

“We don’t know what this is yet,” she reminds me. I appreciate her optimism, but we both know it’s misplaced.

“We know it’s nothing good,” I tell her. “Not when it comes to my family and our history at Stillhouse Lake.”

“I sent several samples of blood to the lab and called in every favor I have to put a rush on the results. Forensics is going through the scene now, but because it’s a rental we expect there to be a lot of fingerprints we need to exclude.” I can hear the exhaustion and frustration in her voice.

I know she’s doing her best, but I don’t have time to wait for lab results and fingerprint exclusions. I need to know who did this now. I need to know what enemy I have to fight.

The reality is that, as a cop, she faces constraints that don’t apply to me as a civilian. There are things I can do that she can’t. I need to get down there now. I need to see the scene for myself, so I can try to understand. “I’m on my way,” I tell her. “I’ll be there by morning.”

We say our goodbyes, and the minute I hang up I call Sam. When he answers his voice is light and teasing. “Let me guess,” he says before I can utter a word. “Lanny hasn’t been texting you back, and you’re calling to check in. Don’t worry, she’s fine. I’m standing right next to her — you want to talk to her?”

I blow out a relieved breath at how normal he sounds. Normal is good. Normal means he and Lanny are safe. At least for now.

“Something’s happened,” I tell him. I can practically feel him go on high alert through the phone. He’s silent, waiting for me to say more, and I quickly explain everything Kez told me.

His reaction is the same as mine was, and he peppers me with the same questions I shot at Kez. His frustration at my inability to give more information mirrors my own. “We don’t know anything yet, that’s the problem,” I tell him. “Except this is a threat. It has to be. I’m on my way to pick up Connor and Vee now. We’ll pack and hit the road — we should be in Stillhouse Lake by morning.”

“Wait,” Sam says. “Let’s think about this first.”

“There’s nothing to think about. Someone’s threatening our family. We have to fight.”

“We have to be smart,” Sam counters. “What if this is a trap? What if the whole point is to lure you back to Stillhouse Lake?”

“It’s not like I’m hard to find,” I grumble. “If someone wanted to come at me, they wouldn’t have to set a trap. Thanks to all the helpful internet trolls, our address is online for anyone who wants to find it.”

“Except you’re not easy to find, Gwen,” Sam says. “Not right now. Who in the world would think to look for you in Gardenia, North Carolina? The minute you go to Stillhouse Lake you’re a target again.”

I close my eyes, remembering my conversation with Connor earlier today. Him telling me he didn’t want to go home — didn’t want to go anywhere where he could be recognized. After our conversation I’d searched for his name online and had almost thrown up at the results. So much outrage and misinformation, all directed at a fifteen year old boy who’d done nothing wrong.

But that’s the problem. No one wants to believe he’s done nothing wrong. It’s a better story if the son of a serial killer snapped. And once that narrative starts to spread, it’s only a matter of time before the same kind of trolls who targeted me begin to target him.

My chest squeezes at the thought of the online outrage machine turning its force on my son. I clear my throat to keep the tremble from my voice when I ask, “What if what happened at Stillhouse Lake has something to do with Connor? With the school shooting?”

Sam takes a moment to consider this. “I don’t think we can rule that out.” He sounds so reasonable and levelheaded.

I don’t know how he does it. My mind is on fire, my entire body fighting to keep my rage from boiling over. I want to tear apart the world, find the people threatening my son, and rip them to shreds. It’s irrational, I know, but that doesn’t stop the fantasy from playing through my mind.

“I know you, Gwen. You’ve never met a threat you haven’t wanted to face head on. But I’m not sure that’s the best move right now. At least not until we know more about what’s going on.”

“You think we should just sit back and do nothing?”

“No, I think I should go down there.” His suggestion pulls me up short because it’s so obvious, and yet it hadn’t occurred to me. “We’re a team, Gwen. And being a team means relying on each other.”

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