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She didn’t answer. She just kept screaming. The man raised his knife.
“No!” Gray shouted, but he couldn’t move. He wasn’t running anymore. He was rooted to the spot.
“Help me!” the girl screamed.
Gray sat up gasping. The room was dark. He looked from side to side. No one was there except Mason, who was soundly sleeping. Jack was out working the night shift. Gray kicked the tangled sheets from his legs, shivering as he stood though he was covered in sweat. He fought the urge to search the house as if the murderer and Nancy were there. Or maybe his father.
He shook his head, wanting the images to go away. A dream. That’s all it was. Why had his father been mixed up in it, though? Because of the cabin. The woods in his dream were the ones surrounding the campsite where he’d vacationed with his parents.
You had no idea what to do then either. Just like you don’t know how to find the killer now.
Fuck. Shut the fuck up. He wanted to scream at the voice in his head, the one that wrecked his confidence. But the voice was right, wasn’t it? He hadn’t known what to do when he was twelve and found out his father was a piece of shit, and he had yet to figure out a way to prevent more young women from being murdered. He felt so fucking helpless, just like in his dream. All he’d done for the last week was run in place. He had to find the girl Vandal had told him about or find Vandal and shake him until he talked.
He glanced at himself in the mirror over the sink. He looked like shit, and he was doing a shit job. How the fuck could he leave and go on a vacation, a vacation where he would probably just have more nightmares? He’d have to tell Jack and Mason they needed to cancel.
And then he’d have to pretend he didn’t feel relieved.
Gray turned over and rubbed his eyes, trying to pull himself from sleep. He had that weighted feeling where the bed seemed to suck him in, and getting up was more of a fight than he was up for. It had taken forever for him to fall back asleep after his nightmare. Now he wished he’d just stayed up.
He grabbed his phone and turned it on to see the time. The light from the screen stung his eyes. He blinked a few times and then the numbers registered: 8:03.
Fuck! He was late. Just what he needed.
He heard Mason stirring in the kitchen. Why the hell hadn’t Mason woken him? By the time he hurried through his shower, dressed, and started looking around for his computer bag—where the hell had he left it?—Jack was coming in the door.
“Gray, what are you still doing here?”
“Good question. Ask Mason since he didn’t bother waking me,” Gray snapped.
Mason looked up from his bowl of cereal. “How was I supposed to know you expected a wakeup call?”
“Because I have to be at work at eight.” There was his bag, by the TV.
“I figured you were going in late,” Mason said.
“Right, with two unsolved murders and more maybe to come, I thought I’d just sleep in.”
Jack tossed his backpack on a chair. “I had a shit night. I really don’t need this.”
“Yeah, neither do I. What I need is to get to work and find a fucking motive or a fucking suspect or something to solve this fucking case, but since I haven’t, I won’t be able to go on our little trip.”
“What?” Jack said.
“I can’t go on vacation when lives are on the line.”
“Wait, I don’t?—”
“Just cancel the reservation.”
“It’s not for another week,” Mason said.
“So sorry murder doesn’t work on your timeline.”
Mason recoiled as if he’d been physically struck.
“You’re just trying to make an excuse.” Jack’s face was red with anger, his fists balled at his side. “You never wanted to go.”
His anger pushed at Gray, calling him to strike back. “Yeah, because I have a job to do.” Gray slammed the door behind him and immediately wished he had to courage to open it back up and apologize. What the fuck was he doing? The dream had really fucked him up.
