Daniel scoffs, standing so close to me that his hot breathhits my neck.
“I am writing him up,” the captain responds, causing Daniel’s head to whip in his direction so fast I feel the wind from the movement against my cheek. “And if you don’t watch yourself, you’re next.” I clench my jaw, my molars squeezing painfully tight as I hold my stance until Daniel backs down first, dropping himself back into his chair like a fucking toddler having a tantrum.
I move back to sitting as well, letting Lucy’s next cautious words distract me. “How are they connected?” she asks Alex, her gaze bouncing between the two photos on the whiteboard.
“We’re not sure yet,” he admits, shuffling the photos back into the folder and closing it. “How about you figure that one out?” Lucy brightens at the prospect of having something of value to do, and she nods her head vigorously. I stay quiet, brooding, letting the clinch of my tight jaw attempt to ground me again.
A missing elderly teacher last known to be heading out for a hike. A missing family, the patriarch last seen buying a murder kit and his wife and children appearing to flee to…where? The two cases seem entirely unconnected. But I don’t let that stop the idea from settling into my gut, that Chloe is connected to this somehow.
As the group disperses after the huddle, Alex catches up to me in the hall, clapping me on the shoulder again. No doubt he can feel the tension in my neck.
“Let’s get a beer,” he says, continuing ahead of me down the hall.
He’s gone before I can argue, but I wouldn’t have, anyway. I need a beer. And a distraction in general.
“Hey.” Captain Barrett stands in the doorway of the conference room behind me, forcing me to turn around before he continues. “Do not go near Chloe Stark.”
I roll my eyes, turning my back to him and continuing on my path toward the office.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I lie.
3
Chloe
When the three of us walk into a room together, it’s like in the movies when the popular girls are moving in slow motion down a high school hallway, their perfect hair blowing in the non-existent wind. Everyone staring and moving out of the way, whispering to each other about how hot they look.Or is it about how bitchy they are?
It has the potential to be a real ego-boost.
In the life ofTheTerror Trio—as some community members have dubbed us—it’s more of a mindfuck, because we’re not popular for being pretty, or nice, or volunteering at the animal shelter on the weekends. We do shit like that, but people don’t notice. Everyone’s staring and whispering because the three of us all have some connection to death and murder—they’re worried we’re going to be the next ones to snap and they’re going to be on the receiving end of our rampage.
And they might be. If they’re bad people.
We mostly ignore people when they gawk. We’re real people, and we deserve to have fun and live normal lives, too. Just because our lives havebeen tainted by darkness doesn’t mean we don’t get to choose to leave that world behind.
Or at least make it look like that’s what we’re doing.
I actually think some of the especially cantankerous community members are pissed off that we go about trying to live normal lives. All confidence, smiles, and no fear facing the throngs of people who hate us. They’d probably feel more compassion and grace for us if we were all meek and timid. But fuck that. And fuck them. We are doing them a favor, and we’re proud of that. There are a few people in town who recognize and appreciate the work we do, and really, that’s what keeps us smiling.
Stella follows me to the bar while Maeve splits off to save us a booth in front of our usual bowling lane. We ignore the two younger women down the bar who glance away and start sharing whispers with each other. Stella manages to wave down Mickey to reserve our lane and take our order.
Mickey’s Sip & Spinis a hot spot for the whole town; an adults-only bowling alley serving drinks and appetizers in the gutted, abandoned drug store this building used to be.
I stare up at the fluorescent red letters spellingDrugshanging on the black brick behind the bar.
After giving our order, Stella turns her attention to me, telling me some story from her and Stone’s recent travels north. The clatter of balls against pins drones on in the background, but I barely hear it as we stand there waiting for our drinks. My gaze traces the bright, blood-colored letters on the wall until the sign morphs into a gory sight, gushing and leaking blood down the brick and onto the bottles that surround it.
“You okay?” Stella asks, her words drilling through my daze.
I could tell her I’m thinking about Colin. Tell her that he’s back. But I already know the barrage of reprimands I’ll get from her, and I’m jittery with nerves about speaking the words out loud.
I don’t have to, anyway, because my phone vibrates from my purse, saving me from having to answer. I flash the screen at Stella before lifting it to my ear.
“Hi, Stoney Baloney.”
“Hey, Chlo,” he greets in response, the muffled sound of the highway filling up his background. “You good?”
It’s the same thing every time: a quick text after my job is done to let him know it’s his time to shine, and a phone call when his job is done to make sure I’m okayemotionally. Cue gag reflex. As if snuffing out evil keeps me up at night. But he and Stella both know what it’s like to take a life, and while I may not lose sleep over it, I can’t deny the emotional burden of knowing it’s far from the last of the evil that will walk this Earth.
