Avery moves in front of us, tugging the cap back over his head, his eyes wild in the lamplight. A weird smile tugs at his mouth.
“Have you figured it out?” he asks. “I worried I was being too vague, but the best serial killers leave obscure notes. Son of Sam, BTK, Green River Killer…My grandfather probably couldn’t reador write himself, which is why he didn’t leave a trail, but who says I can’t add my own twist? I mean, I already am.”
He stares at us both for a moment before standing and going to a bag on the little table. Avery begins pulling things out of the bag. What, I can’t see, but they sound heavy when he sets them on the table. The trailer is tiny—half the size of mine, and there’s zero chance of getting out of here unless we overpower him or someone finds us. Who would find us? How? There are over a hundred trailers packed in this park. Where would they even start.
I look over at Shay, who’s quiet—her eyes glassy. We’re pushed against a closed pull-out bed. I press my shoulder against hers just to feel something and to let her know she’s not alone. We’re not alone, although with each passing second, it’s obvious we’re in the hands of a madman.
I’ve read all my mother’s books. All the specialists. The FBI and the police reports. One thing comes to mind. These killers de-personalize you. They don’t want you real. I need to make us real to Avery—get him to snap out of whatever fantasy he’s in. Taking a deep, stifled breath, I call his name beneath the gag. Over and over until he looks up from his task.
He glances up, annoyed, but I also kick my foot, slamming into the chrome leg. Shay watches wide-eyed, shaking her head for me to stop. Avery stops what he’s doing and bends down, yanking the gag out of my mouth. His face is close to mine—all traces of the handsome, charming, beach bum gone. I spot something in his hand. A knife. “What?”
I force myself not to look at the blade or think about the scar on my mother’s chest from her own run-in with Gaskins. “Tell me more about your grandfather.”
He frowns. “Gaskins? You’ve studied him. There’s nothing I know that you don’t.”
He starts to plug my mouth again but I whisper, “Wait! Wait. If you’re going to kill us, at least tell us why.”
He sighs. “I didn’t know Gaskins was my grandfather until I read your mother’s book. It’s the big, dark, family secret. I recognized one of the names in the book as my mom’s cousin. I went to the records department and did my own research.”
“So, no one ever mentioned it?”
“Nope. Not once. Even when I confronted my mom, she refused to talk about it.” He rubs his forehead. “Not that I blame them, but I’ve always felt this tug—this lure of darkness. I’ve always read these books and watched documentaries. I’ve felt a kindredness to the killers. Their bloodlust, but mostly just the anger.”
“You’ve never seemed angry to me. I’ve watched you with people at the Camp or down on the beach. You’ve got friends.”
He scoffs. “Whatever. I know I’m a loser. More than a loser. I’m pathetic.” His eyes narrow at me. “I’m sure your boyfriends told you.”
“They like you,” I lie. “Justin told me you were a great skater.”
His face lights up for a moment before turning dark again. He holds up the blade and points it at me. “See, this is why my grandfather hated women. You’re all nothing but liars and whores.”
“Hey, that’s not cool. I’m neither.”
He laughs. “You think sleeping with your teacher isn’t a little slutty? Yeah, Isabel and Jess dug up that little tidbit. Then you came down here and fucked four different guys—best friends—all at the same time? You think they all want to be second best? To know you’re in the other room, coming on another guy’s dick? You actually think they’re okay with that?” He shakes his head at me. “Summer, you’re actually the worst and when I cutinto your chest and pull out your heart, it will be a relief to those pussy-whipped guys.”
I try to swallow past the lump of fear in my throat. “Maybe I’m not the best person, but don’t do this to my mom.”
“Your mom is the whore that got away, Summer. She’s why I’m doing this.”
“She’s been nothing but nice and gracious to you.” I look over at Shay. “And why her? Why did you bring her here?”
He glances at her with an annoyed expression. “Because she told me about how you thought it was those dumb bitches, Isabel and Jessica.” He rolls his eyes. “As if they could pull off something like this. She made me prove myself. Unfortunately, it’ll cost her life.”
Shay whimpers next to me. “Avery, she has kids. Don’t do this to them.”
“Do you think the State of South Carolina cared about my grandfather’s kids? Do you think they showed them mercy?”
I see the glint of evil in his eye and know there is no way to talk him out of this—he’s deranged and our exchange is only making him angrier. His grip has tightened on the handle of the knife and twice, he’s jabbed it in my direction. I open my mouth to speak once more,pleadonce more, but he curses and shoves the ball of cloth back inside, the cotton coarse against my tongue.
“There’s one thing I’ll do differently than my grandfather,” he says, standing over us with the knife hanging by his side, “I plan on taking my time.” His eyes skip between us as a chill runs up my spine. “With both of you.”
52
Justin
I don’t worryabout waking the neighbors and drive down the gravel path as fast as possible, stopping just outside Summer’s camper. The four of us jump out, Pete getting to the door first. It’s locked but he fumbles for the key her mother gave him and slides it into the lock.
“Hurry the fuck up, man,” Whit barks, uncharacteristically rattled.
