Page 77 of Darkwater Lane

“Then what?”

She stops again and looks past me toward the lake. It’s cold today, though a few fishermen are still out on the water.

She lifts a shoulder and wipes a tear from her eye. “It turns out you’re right. There’s no escaping Melvin Royal. I thought I could reinvent myself like I did when I went to Reyne U. I thought I could be someone other than that serial killer’s daughter, but I can’t. It’s not just the podcast. There will always be something. We’ve been running for years and look where it got us.” She flings a hand out at the lake. “Nowhere.”

Her voice cracks, and it breaks my heart. I hate seeing my daughter hurting. I hate that I haven’t been able to save her from this. I can’t. That’s the reality of becoming an adult: realizing that not all problems are fixable. Not all pain can be brushed away with a mother’s kiss. Not all mistakes can be solved with an apology.

It’s what I’ve been forced to understand since returning to Stillhouse Lake. This isn’t where my post-Melvin Royal life began. We’d been on the run for years before we settled here. In many ways, though, this place was the start of our healing. The point where I thought there would be a light at the end of the tunnel. Only to find out there were more tunnels beyond this one. There will always be tunnels.

But there will also always be light. It’s too easy to forget that.

“If you don’t live the life you want, you’re letting your father win,” I tell her.

She scowls. “He wins anyway.” Her voice is so bitter it takes me aback.

I start to argue, but she shakes her head. “No, Mom. Tell me what’s changed? It’s the same cycle again and again and again. We move somewhere new, we enroll in school, we make friends, and then boom, our life blows up.” She makes an exploding gesture with her hands. “And it always ties back to Melvin. First there was Lancel Graham, the deranged acolyte who killed those two women and kidnapped Connor and me, hoping to take us to Dad. When that didn’t work, Dad came after us himself, kidnapping Connor and almost murdering you. After that, we got a bit of a reprieve until Miranda Tidewell came after us with that stupid documentary. Then there was Jonathan Watson, who almost killed you and Kez.

“And, yeah, maybe what went down last fall in Gardenia wasn’t directly tied to Melvin, but Connor and Vee wouldn’t have even gone with you if it weren’t for the school shooting and the media being so quick to believe Connor was involved just because of who his father was. Now, here we are, back in Stillhouse Lake because of the Lost Angels. It’s always,alwaysbecause of MelvinfuckingRoyal.”

She’s shouting now, her cheeks blazing and wet with tears. “When does it end, Mom? How? You promise again and again that it will be different, and it never is.”

My own tears stream from my eyes. She’s right. My first impulse is to argue that this time really will be the end. If we can just make it through to the other side, figure out who’s trying to set Sam up, and who’s behind these murders. But it’s impossible to say there won’t be another crisis after.

I can’t know the future, so I give her the best answer I can. “I don’t know. I want it to end as badly as you do.”

Lanny shakes her head, cutting me off. “I don’t think you do, Mom. That’s the thing. I’m not sure you know who you are if you’re not fighting Melvin Royal.”

The words are stunningly sharp, nearly slicing me down the middle. I clutch a hand at my chest, unable to catch my breath. It’s the same dark revelation that’s been swimming under the surface of my consciousness.

“You know what hurts the worst, Mom?”

I say nothing in response. I can’t find my voice to speak.

“You didn’t even congratulate me for getting into those schools.”

She turns and starts sprinting back toward the house. I chase after her. I have no idea what to say or how to fix this. I only know I can’t let her go.

In the past, she’s never been able to outrun me. I always chalked it up to desperation—only the truly desperate are willing to push themselves past the pain of searing lungs and screaming muscles. This time, though, she outpaces me completely. There’s no way I’ll be able to catch her, and a part of me worries that she might just keep on running past our house to who knows where.

Then, suddenly, at the last turn toward our driveway she comes to an abrupt stop. It’s so unexpected that I barely avoid colliding with her. I catch myself against a small tree off the side of the road. “Lanny?—”

I notice her expression and fall silent. She’s gone completely still, body pulled tight. I’m instantly on guard, scanning my surroundings.

That’s when I notice the woman on the dock near the turnoff to our driveway.

“That woman,” Lanny hisses under her breath.

I nod. Something about her sets the hairs on the back of my neck on end. I’ve spent a lot of time on our deck, watching the lake, and I’m familiar with most of the locals who use this old dock fortheir boats. They’re all older men, retirees with white hair, hunched backs, and limps.

This is a woman who fits none of those descriptions. She’s tall and lithe with a bob of dark hair. She definitely stands out, which sets off my radar.

“I’ve never seen her before,” Lanny whispers. “Something about her isn’t right.”

I nod. I’m about to tell her to go up to the house when she leans toward me, her voice softer than a leaf sliding across the ground. “I’ll go get Connor and set the alarm. If I don’t hear from you in five minutes, we’ll start driving. If you don’t call or text by the time we reach Norton city limits, I’ll call the cops and head to Kez and Javi’s.”

It’s exactly what I was going to tell her to do. I don’t even have to say anything before Lanny is off, sneaking through the woods up the hill to our house. I watch until I’m satisfied she’s safe, then I start toward the dock.

I generally don’t arm myself when I go jogging. I haven’t found a holster that fits right without chafing or dragging down my clothes. I regret that choice right now.

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