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But I wasn’t going to let myself go back to that day, under the bed, seeing his bloodied boot stepping toward me.
I shuddered.
Brett’s arms tightened around me. He placed the phone next to us and lifted me as he got more comfortable in the corner of the couch.
Cameron Fowler’s voice came over the phone. There was some static, but his voice was clear enough. I knew it was him. “…I mean, this guy out there that’s doing these new killings, he’s not the real Midwest Butcher. I can say that because I know the real Midwest Butcher. He ain’t me either. I’ve been talking to him since he reached out since I’m in here for his crimes.”
A male voice asked, “You’re saying you’re in communication with the real Midwest Butcher?”
“Yeah. Sure am.” He coughed, but I could hear his grin. He was enjoying this. “And yeah, he’s got something to say to this new guy copying him.”
“He does? What does he think of this new killer out there? Is he the guy you’re talking about? Is he the real Midwest Butcher?”
Fowler started laughing, the sound high-pitched and grating. He was more than enjoying this call. “Oh no, no, no. That is definitely not the real Midwest Butcher. This new guy, he knows some of the Butcher’s secrets, that’s for sure, but it’s because he told the new guy.”
“So the Midwest Butcher knows who this new guy is? He’s been in contact with him?”
“He knows exactly who he is, and why he’s doing this. He’s angry at the real Midwest Butcher. Angry and hurt. He feels rejected, but he’s going about it all wrong. You see, there’s something everyone’s got wrong. He thinks it’s time to clear it up.”
“And what is that?”
“Butcher had been in that house just before me. There’s new evidence that backs it up. But—”
“Mr. Fowler, what are you saying here?”
I started hyperventilating.
Brett held me tighter, a hand rubbing over my back in long, slow, soothing swipes.
I focused on that, timing my breathing with his motions, and then I was able to hear again.
“—real message from the real Midwest Butcher is that everyone got it wrong.”
“What did they get wrong?”
Fowler didn’t answer at first. “That the girl got it wrong. She saw me because I’d gone in there to check on the family. I was going to help them, but Butcher had already left. She must not have seen him. That’s why she testified seeing me. She got the wrong guy. He’s still out there and free. I’m an innocent man inside here. And since he’s out there, if anyone were to do something on his behalf, he’d be real mad. It’d be his place to do something. Not anyone else’s. No one else’s.”
The reporter was quiet. “Are you—are you talking about if something were to happen to Willow Harm?”
“No! No,” he said sharply, before lowering his voice. “Just that if someone thought they’d be doing something for him, they wouldn’t be. That’s for him to do. He’d have to do something about them, and he said everyone could read between the lines with that one. He got a good laugh out of that.”
I shoved out of Brett’s arms and ran to the nearest bathroom, emptying my stomach in the toilet.
Brett said something on the phone before he came in, adding, “I have to go.”
I was still bent over the rim.
“Do you want some water?”
I nodded, holding on as another round came up my throat.
He returned, setting the glass on the counter. He smoothed back my hair and sat behind me, his body blanketing mine. His head rested beside mine, a hand running over my hair and back before sweeping up for another circle. I lost count of how many times he repeated this motion until my stomach stopped seizing.
He reached for my water, handing it to me.
I sank backwards against him, taking the glass and my first sip. Then I waited. It felt good going down my throat, refreshing. When my stomach didn’t clench up, I took another sip, and another.
But mostly I just sat there in his arms until I lost track of time.
