Page 15 of A Curse On Black Lake
I look around, and a few people walking down the street glance at me, but no one is within earshot.
“So what you’re telling me is you think, and I’m using ‘think’lightlybecause this is all bullshit and you know it, you think that some sick asshole cutting into a woman with the letter K, is somehow linked to me?”
“It’s strong evidence, Killian,” Wyatt says.
“Strong evidence of what, Sheriff.”
Wyatt’s jaw ticks. “Evidence that you are part of this crime.”
He puffs out a breath. “Look, I’m at a point where we don’t have the resources for this anymore, and the other women’s cases have gone cold. We’re up to ten now, Killian. Ten women have been killed and dumped in Black Lake, with similar signatures, and no one has seen a thing. I might have to call the FBI.”
I sigh and lift my hat before running my hand through my hair.
“Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m a lot of things, Wyatt, but I ain’t a liar or a killer. What I told you is the truth.”
“So give mesomething,” he says.
I sigh, trying to think of anything that would help.
Wyatt stares at me, and my neck tickles. He knows I don’t have anything because I don’t leave my property unless I have to. Ididn’t leave that day I found the woman, or the day before it. It would have left me ample time to do everything that bastard did to her. It doesn’t matter if it’s illogical, criminally speaking. It makes sense that I’m the first person they’re looking at.
“I’m going back to work,” I tell him and get in my truck before he can utter another word.
I need to find an alibi, and break the finger they’re pointing at me for this before they arrest my ass and toss me in jail. I’ll lose what my father and his before that spent generations to build, and I know I couldn’t survive it. The ranch is the last thing that matters to me.
Chapter seven
Eliana
Ican’tmove.
I’ve been sitting on her remade bed for an hour and I can’t move.
It’s time to lay her to rest, but the moment I go to the church, that means she’s really gone. She’s not out in the garden, she’s not in town, and she’s not visiting her friend, Ruth, down the street. She’s left me here on this Earth, alone.
I’m alone.
Not alone, never alone.The Spirits whisper.
I ignore them because it’s not the same, and they know it. Grams always kept me away from that edge. When the Spirits talk to me, it’s easy to let go into the other side, to lose my footing in this reality. But Grams held me tight and kept me from stepping over. I almost fell when they first came, but she kept me grounded.
Now that I’m on my own, I’m afraid that edge will disappear, and I’ll step over without even noticing.
It feels like the world should have stopped. Mine did. Time no longer seems to matter. Life feels all too fleeting. She’s gone, I’mstill here, and I couldn’t follow. Now I’m stuck in this deep in-between of trying to figure out what living means anymore. How do I move forward? Will I ever be able to move forward?
Taking a deep breath, I force my grief ridden body to my feet and go say goodbye.
I’m late, but I don’t expect many people to be here. They want to avoid me. But I thought people in this town would at least pay respects to her. She helped a lot of neighbors, even if it was for a simple cold or delivering a baby. She didn’t care who you were or what you did. If you needed help, she would do it without judgement.
There were times when people who had always been mean to us, called us witches, but would come in for a fever remedy, or another woman I knew from grade school was pregnant and needed help with nausea. I asked Grams why she would serve people who were always so nasty to us.
She looked at me and said, ‘Child, if I don’t help them, then I am just like them. Who am I to deny someone in need? There may come a day when you need help. Would you want someone to tell you no because you were mean to them?’
I wonder if those people will be here today. She didn’t have to help them, but she did, and that speaks to the woman that she was.
Stepping through the open doors of the small chapel, I see Ruth off to the side with Pastor Beckett, and the funeral director in the corner wearing a suit that doesn’t fit him right.
He sees me. “Is there anything I can get you?” he asks.
