Page 94 of A Curse On Black Lake
“So then what would be a reason to deviate other than to frame you for seemingly no reason? Is it a game to him?” I ask. My brain stopped working because my gut tells me it’s nothing either of us could guess because it’s too horrid to comprehend.
“With my luck, probably,” he grunts.
“Whatdoyou know, Killian?”
He puffs out a breath and leans back in his chair. Killian reiterates the facts we know for sure, and he pauses. “Wyatt has all of that information. But he kept pushing.”
“We found the campsite with clothes, the hair I found in the tree, and a sprig of lavender, but I don’t think that was related,” Killian says.
“Have you found any of these clues in other cases like this woman’s?”
“No, we’ve never had this much evidence, from what I could recall. But I also have no proof that the campsite and clothes had anything to do with the murder,” Killian says.
“Is there a way to see if there is a connection?”
Killian shakes his head. “The only way to do that would be DNA testing. Assuming the weather didn’t affect it. Which keeps bringing me back to motive. I can’t surmise a motive from all of this. We couldn’t then and still can’t now.”
“Does he need a motive?” I ask.
Killian shoves a couple bites, of eggs into his mouth and nods, writing another note down. “Yes, motive, however strange or illogical, there usually is one. Sometimes the motive is as simple as anger. Other times it was purely not to get caught.”
“Did you work on the cases for those women found on the edges of town?” I ask him. Black Lake is a dumping ground because of our location, and yet another reason why death surrounds this town, almost as if it’s intentional. But now we know it’s Cassandra Radcliffe’s curse. There’s no other explanation.
“Yes and no, we caught a few. But most of those cases go unsolved, lack of evidence or funding.”
“That’s so sad,” I whisper and wince at the same time.
The Spirits increase their volume as they scream, and I want to scream with them. The pressure is building, and I can feel myself breaking under it.
“The flower keeps hanging me up. Like you said, it was dried with purpose. I’m starting to think he know’s the story, and its significance,” he says.
“Which means he’s from here, or lived here long enough to see it,” I whisper.
Killian’s foottaps mine, and I focus on it to ground me in the now instead of letting my mind run wild, but it already took off.
“Have you considered maybe he was trying to match someone’s hair? As if he were trying to recreate someone?” I ask him.
He tilts his head and studies me. “It’s feasible. But my first question is why, and second, how do you make that connection?”
“I don’t know … call it a feeling,” I mutter, suddenly not hungry anymore.
“Did the Spirits say that?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’m a quick learner, I guess.”
Killian hums. “It could be nothing, and he was experimenting. Or maybe you’re right, but who would he be replicating?”
I nod as tears spring to my eyes. “I don’t know, but why did this all have to happen when Grams died? I can’tbreathe,Killian.” Hot tears spill down my cheeks, and I angrily wipe them away.
“Eliana, I—”
My chair flies back as I stand too fast, interrupting him. I need air. I can’t breathe. The Spirits are moaning and screaming, and my head feels like it’s going to split open.
“We’re behind schedule. We need to get to work,” I snap.
I run out the door before Killian can say a word. I don’t want to hear it. I want the Spirits to shut up.
What I wouldn’t give to have Killian hug me again, not because I’m upset, but because he wants to comfort me and I want to be comforted.
