Page 27 of The Wedding Party

“Do we have to?” I ask weakly.

“We do,” she confirms.

There’s an authority in her voice, and my parents taught me to respect the law. When an FBI agent tells you that you have to do something, you do it. I slide my arms into the robe, and as I try to stand, she catches my arm to steady my wobbly legs. Two EMS techs step forward, and they take over. At the top of the stairs, one of them moves forward ahead of me. He’s a young man with red hair. He’s handsome. I don’t know how I make any such assessment at this moment, but I think I just need something to think about other than the blood all over my body.

Why is there blood all over my body?

“I can’t carry you,” he says. “It’s too narrow.”

Too bad, I think. I’d really like to be carried right now.

“Walk to me,” he encourages, “and I’ll catch you if you stumble.”

Aware that I really have no other option, I wobble forward, images flashing in my head. Me. Oliver. Me. Oliver. God, where is Oliver? Why have I not worried about Oliver until now? Is he lost somewhere, too? Somehow, I manage to reach the tech without making this worse and falling.

Once we reach the hotel hallway, my gaze shifts toward our room, and there are emergency crews there. Oliver. Oliver. “Oliver!” I scream. Adrenaline rushes through me and I jerk away from the EMS tech, who’s just caught my arm, and I start running toward the room.

There are shouts of “Stop!” but I don’t stop. Oliver. God, where is Oliver? I think one of the shouts for me to stop is from Agent Castle, but respect be damned, I don’t care. Shoot me if she wants to shoot me, but I’m going to find Oliver. My heart is racing and blood rushes in my ears. I have to get to Oliver, and I’m almost there when an officer steps between me and the room door, latching on to my arms.

“Let go!” I shout. “Let go! I need to see Oliver. I need to know he’s okay.” I shove at him, punch at him.

“Stop, Carrie!” Agent Castle shouts. “Stop fighting him and turn around and talk to me. Right now.”

There’s a snap to her voice, and mixed with the familiarity, I stop fighting. My head spins and tears spill from my eyes, my chin lifting in a plea toward the dark-haired man holding me captive. “I just want to go into my room.”

“Let her go,” Agent Castle instructs. “And you, Carrie, turn around and face me,” she repeats.

The officer lets me go and I face Agent Castle, standing in front of her in a hotel robe and bare feet. Even my feet are naked. How? How is that possible? “Can I please just see my fiancé?” I whisper. “Please.”

“We’ll walk in calmly together, but let me clear the room first.” She motions to the officer.

He nods and enters the room.

“Why does he have to clear the room?” I ask urgently. “Is Oliver okay?”

“I’ll let you see for yourself.” She glances over my shoulder, at the officer who has returned, and then back at me. “We’re clear,” she explains. “Let’s go inside. I’ll go first.” She motions to the officer who was holding me. “Please stand guard at the door.” The officer inclines his chin.

The space around me seems to spin. I realize then that I’m not crying anymore. I’m quiet inside, but everything is just so black. I don’t understand anything right now. Agent Castle steps into the room. I stand my ground in the hallway, in sudden resistance of what I will find inside that room—squeezing my eyes, the sensation of terror overcoming me at what I am about to see. Oliver. Something is wrong with Oliver.

I force my eyes open, and that’s when someone or something plows into me, knocking my breath from my chest.

“You killed him! Monster!” I’m on the ground by the time I realize it’s Oliver’s sister shouting at me. Natalie is my attacker.

“Natalie,” I whisper in a plea as she grabs my hair and starts smashing my head on the ground. “Stop,” I try to shout, but the words become whispers lost in the pain of her hitting my head on the floor. “Stop.”

Then suddenly she is gone—and not of her own free will. She’s yanked off me, and I roll to my side. She’s gone, but her words are not. You killed him. She thinks Oliver is dead. My head is throbbing and spinning, but I claw my way to my feet as Agent Castle and the officer work to subdue Natalie. I have to know Oliver is okay and I stumble into the room, catching my hand on the doorway and then launching forward.

It’s then that I bring the room and bed into view and find Oliver on the mattress, bloody, and oh God, cold. I’m an ER nurse. I know what dead looks like. He’s dead. No. No. No. I start screaming, and screaming, and screaming from the depths of my soul.

Chapter Twenty-Five

ANDI

Carrie goes from screaming to a sprint across the room that ends with her flat on top of Oliver’s body. I shout for assistance, and there is a scramble to pull her off that includes me and an elbow in the face that may or may not have come from Carrie. There are four of us in this dogpile.

I watch as the EMS team sedates her and rolls her away on a stretcher. The fact that Carrie screamed bloody murder when she found Oliver dead on the bed might convince some people that she’s innocent of his murder. In my mind, the fact she also flung herself on top of him and therefore contaminated the forensics makes me hard-pressed to believe that was an accident.

Allowing her into the room was a misstep, a rookie mistake someone as seasoned as myself should not have made. Just like Whit shouldn’t have beaten up a suspect in the name of good, even a bad guy like that dude. Bad decisions let bad people get away with murder. In the end, though, the serial killer nicknamed Spider Man by the press didn’t get away. I made sure of it. Oliver’s killer won’t, either.