Page 95 of The Hanging Dolls
Zoe had no idea how she got here. She stumbled through the darkened woods as the rain pounded against the canopy of trees, each drop like a drumbeat on her skin. The wind howled, twisting the trees into grotesque shapes that seemed to reach out for her.
She could hear it—an ominous presence—breathing heavily, chasing her. The shadow moved silently between the trees, its shape barely discernible but ever-present, closing in with each passing second. Panic surged through her as she tried to navigate through the swirling darkness, her heart pounding in her chest.
She burst through the underbrush into a small clearing and froze in terror, almost bumping into someone. There was just enough moonlight to reveal who it was.
Scott.
He was drenched, his face lacking the brutal scar that ran down the middle. He looked exactly like he did when she first met him. Back when she had no idea that this is how their story would end, how he was destined to die in front of her.
“Scott!” She ran to him, realizing it was a dream. A terrible dream designed to twist that knife deeper into her heart, until all she felt was guilt.
Scott’s gaze met hers, his eyes filled with a profound sadness. “Zoe, we’ve been betrayed.”
Before she could respond, Zoe felt herself being yanked from behind. And then she was plunged into a different scene so quickly that she got whiplash.
She found herself in a familiar place—her old house, bathed in the soft, warm light of a late afternoon sun. The storm was gone, leaving behind dripping leaves. She was standing by the window, looking out. It was rare for it to storm like this here.
A reflection appeared in the window—Rachel stood behind her, holding a dish rag. Zoe felt like she was drowning. She couldn’t breathe. But she didn’t turn round either. This was a memory.
“Too bad that it stopped raining.” Rachel’s lips twisted in regret.
“You like storms,” Zoe said.
She smiled. “So much so that I wish I could name myself after them.”
Zoe dragged her feet into the station with a throbbing headache. Aiden was right behind her. It had been a few hours since she’d managed to call for backup in the woods and was escorted to the hospital. She stood in the center, observing everyone—patrol officers and uniform cops all standing subdued, unsure of what to say. She swore the walls were closing in, having absorbed the tragedy and buckling under its weight.
Aiden had driven her back from the hospital. It was a quiet ride. She could sense he was trying to say something but would never have guessed that even shrinks could be speechless. She almost bumped into the corner of a desk and Aiden’s hands came around her, freezing before they could make contact.
“I’m not fragile,” she said tightly.
“No, but you just watched someone who was like a friend get killed,” he murmured.
There it was. Scott was dead. Each time she blinked, she saw red liquid fanning out, dousing his clothes and skin before he was lost somewhere in it.
Her eyes scanned the despondent faces, looking for that one face. But when her eyes landed on Scott, her heart sank in her chest. He was talking to a patrol officer, giving him instructions from the looks of it. When he saw Zoe approaching, he raised a hand to wave at her.
She raised her hand as well. But just as she was about to make contact, a figure brushed past her, momentarily blocking her view. As the person moved away, Zoe realized that it was Travis speaking with the patrol officer, not Scott.
She turned to Aiden. “Look. You were right. There were two killers. The message left with Tara and the hesitation marks. Except the two killers weren’t acting in collusion; one was a copycat. I know you probably want to go all shrink-y on me and talk about this. But now’s not the time. I’m not in the mood.”
“I’m not asking anything from you, Storm.” His smile was forlorn.
She headed toward her office. As she neared, she saw Terri hunched over her desk, talking to someone on the phone.
Zoe stared at her—an earnest, hardworking woman who had been working with Scott for years. She waited to feel anger and spite, remembering Connor’s words about how she was his source, feeding him information from the inside. But Zoe wastoo tired, too numb. It was like the grief was tugging at her skin, pulling it down.
“Terri,” Zoe said, her voice breaking the silence with a sharp edge. “We need to talk.”
Terri looked up, her eyes swollen and red from crying. “Agent Storm,” she said, her voice quivering.
Her gaze was hard and unyielding. “Were you slipping information to Connor?” When Terri opened her mouth, Zoe raised a hand to interrupt her. “Don’t even think about lying. Connor told us before he died.”
Terri’s face fell further, and she took a ragged breath. “I— I didn’t think it would come to this,” she sobbed. “I just needed the money.”
“Hemurdereda girl.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she struggled to find the words. “I didn’t know that! I swear!” Her outburst drew some looks. “He told me he just needed to stay ahead of the other news channels for strategy. For Regina’s campaign. He would just ask for details. I didn’t think anything of it.”
