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The terrain shifted gradually, the path leading them up a steep incline, the silence of the woods broken by the sound of their heavy breathing. The shadows grew longer as the sun began to set, casting an eerie glow over the forest.
“We need to pick up the pace,” Connelly said the next time they paused for a water break. “We’re losing daylight.”
Sawyer took a drink from his water bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Describe our surroundings.”
Connelly looked around. “Tall trees, mostly redwood and pine. Some underbrush, but not too dense. The ground is rocky in places, and there’s a small stream off to our left with a fallen tree over it like a bridge.”
“Is there a boulder shaped like a giant chess piece up ahead on our right?” He indicated the direction with his cane. And sure enough, there was the boulder.
“Yeah, it’s there.”
Sawyer nodded. “Good. That means the cave is right around here somewhere.”
“You don’t know where?”
Sawyer gave him a dry look as he capped his water. “I don’t do much spelunking.”
“Right. Sorry.”
As they continued pushing ahead on the barely-there trail, the air felt heavy with an unspoken tension, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath in anticipation. There was something sinister here. The shadows seemed to linger just a little too long.
A chill crawled up Connelly’s spine, his senses on high alert. He felt the weight of eyes on the back of his head and turned, but saw nothing behind them except the empty trail.
Was the killer still here?
It made sense. The guy wouldn’t just leave Lucy to suffocate. He’d want to see his handiwork.
Connelly quickened his pace, the backpack bouncing heavily against his back as he caught up with Sawyer.
“Sawyer,” Connelly whispered.
Zelda suddenly stopped moving and pressed close to Sawyer’s side. Her hackles raised, she sniffed at the air, her nose twitching as if catching a scent that sent warning signals to her primal instincts.
Sawyer knelt down, placing a hand on Zelda’s head to calm her. “Yeah, I know. I hear him behind us. But he’s not going to come out.” He kept his voice low and calm as he continued stroked his dog’s head. “That’s not his style. He attacks vulnerable women, people he perceives as weaker than him. We intimidate him, which is why he’s skulking behind us, watching us instead of attacking.”
“What do we do?”
Sawyer straightened and pushed his cane out in front of him again. “No unnecessary risks. No heroics, remember?”
Dammit, he hated having his own words thrown back at him. He glanced behind them, but again saw nothing out of the ordinary. He hurried to catch up with Sawyer. “We can’t let him get away. He’ll kill again.”
“Right now our focus has to be finding Lucy Harper or else he’s have another victim.”
Sawyer was right.
Connelly knew it, but it still needled at him. He wanted to make the killer pay for what he’d done, but if they didn’t find Lucy in time, he’d be the one to blame.
“Tell me about the victim in your book,” Sawyer said, breaking the silence. “What exactly happens to her?”
“I told you already. She’s buried alive in a graveyard.”
“But how did the killer do it?”
“I don’t fucking know.”
That smirk was back on Sawyer’s face. “You wrote the book.”
“Yeah, but... he’s a supernatural being that feeds on fear. He can just...” He snapped his fingers. “And open up a grave.”
