“Go to the park,” I bark into the speaker, “I’m right behind you.”
The parking lot at Black Ridge is empty when I whip into the space next to Brett’s Tahoe. I jump out of my STI and jog around to her door. When I tug on it, it’s locked at first and it takes her a few seconds to look down and find the unlock button. I jerk the door open and pause.
Brett slowly swivels in the driver’s seat, a dazed look on her face as her eyes wander for a moment before meeting mine. Her cheeks are flushed and there are thin, pink scratches across the top of her chest just below a faint bruise that’s beginning to form around her neck.
Her entire body is shaking and she stares at me for a moment before her breaths become more labored and her chin begins to tremble. I reach for her, gently grasping her waist. One hand grabs my shoulder while the other grabs the top of the steering wheel for stability. She starts fidgeting like she doesn’t know what to do.
“Hey,” I say softly, leaning closer, “look at me.”
Brett’s eyes dart to mine and she stares at me with such intensity, she looks like she might have a heart attack. Her hand flies from the steering wheel and grabs my other shoulder. Digging her nails into my skin through my shirt, she pitches forward and her mouth tics before her face contorts and she descends into a barrage of screams and sobs.
As soon as I pull her to me, she throws her arms over my shoulders and claws at my back like she’s about to be dragged away by the fucking devil himself.
“Breathe,” I murmur into her ear, “breathe for me before you pass out.”
She’s convulsing in my arms and I feel my chest tighten with rage at every one of her cries.
What the fuck happened in that house?
With an annoyed grunt, I gently peel her off of me for a few seconds while I reach across my stomach and tear the Velcro loose on my vest. Pulling it over my head, I hastily drop the entire thing on the asphalt with a clatter before grabbing her and pulling her back into my chest. As soon as the side of her face hits my shirt, her gasps slow from erratic whimpers to long, deep breaths as her body starts to calm.
“I got you,” I press my cheek to her forehead, “I promise, I got you.”
Holding her in a tight embrace, I give her a couple more minutes before I try to pry her body away from mine enough to look at her flushed cheeks and wet, swollen eyes.
“Tell me what happened,” I grab her face, making her focus on me, “baby, please tell me what happened.”
Brett takes a deep breath and everything comes pouring out in one, long stream of consciousness; how that motherfucker waited in the dark for her to come home, attacked her, threatened her, and then locked her in the bedroom.
He should thank whatever demented god he prays to that I don’t find him right now and go at his dick with a vegetable peeler. Because he better believe that if anyone’s going to fuck Brett with their gun, it’s going to be me, and she’ll ask me nicely for it and thank me afterward.
“It wasn’t you,” she wipes her tear-stained cheeks, muttering something about texts and pills before she trails off, staring down at nothing while shaking her head, “I don’t know what else, but it was him. It was all him.”
Brett can’t focus. She keeps looking around like she’s expecting Bowen to appear out of nowhere.
Finally, I take her arm and motion for her to get out of the Tahoe, “Come on,” I nod to my car, “I’m taking you for a ride.”
She turns and gingerly tugs the smaller one of the bags onto her shoulder before she locks her car and lets me put her in the front seat of mine. By the time we’re back on the road, she seems more comfortable and ready to talk.
“I found a box up in the closet,” she sniffs and rubs her nose, “it had…things in it.”
I know she found a box, but I don’t tell her that, “What kinds of things?”
Brett hesitates and then takes a deep breath, “There was a letter,” she suddenly lets out a gasp, “The letter! I took the letter. Oh my god, I took the letter.”
I arch my brow in surprise, “You have it?”
“It’s in my bag. It’s from Emily to Bowen, and she talks about all the horrible things he did to her. There were pictures with it, pictures of her wearing my engagement ring. He gave me her ring!” Brett furrows her brow in revulsion, “Then there was a shredded shirt that was covered in dirt and, Colson, I swear it smelled like death,” she shakes her head, “and…” Brett hesitates and then her eyes go wide, “Oh, god, the dog and the fucking arm! Jay said Waylon…” she slaps her hand over her mouth with a pained groan and stares out the window.
Dog? Arm? Now she’s really not making any sense.
Brett runs her hand down her face, “Colson,” she cringes and then takes a breath to compose herself, “he has the news article that talks about how you found Evie in the woods. Evie’s your stepsister. She’s the sister you told me about.”
I grit my teeth, staring at the road ahead, “Of course he does,” I drone. Bowen probably read it frequently after it happened. Maybe now he only reads it and reminisces on special occasions. I clear my throat, “anything else?”
“Yes,” Brett’s voice changes, suddenly deeper and more serious, “I—” she inhales slowly through clenched teeth and blows it out, her mouth scrunching into a grimace, “I found her hair.”
When I turn to her, this time she’s the one staring straight ahead, “Whose hair?” I deadpan.
Brett swallows hard, “Evie’s hair. He kept her hair…” she rasps in abject horror, “it was in a bag, still braided. I even touched it. I shouldn’t have left it behind. Hannah probably took it and—” she sighs in defeat, “I should’ve fought harder…”
I vehemently shake my head at her unfounded guilt. Brett uttering those words makes my skin crawl. The idea of her finding Evie’s hacked-off hair and then taking the time to stuff it into her pants as she runs for her life is enough to make me sick. I press my mouth together, keeping my own emotions in check as I gun the engine south along the edge of the park.
“Bowen even told me about it,” she continues, “he told me how Evie died, how she was shot and beaten and raped and strangled and someone cut off her hair and then slashed her up.” Brett shakes her head with disgust, “Then Hildy acted like she didn’t know.”
“It’s because no one else did know,” I say slowly, “the only people who know any of that are Evie’s parents, my mom, me...” I cast her an ominous look, “and the Canaan Police Department.”
Brett goes quiet, fidgeting with the ends of her hair, “Why didn’t you say anything?” She finally turns to me, “Why didn’t you just tell me about Evie?”
“Because if I tried to tell you right off the bat that Bowen murdered Evie, you wouldn’t have believed a word of it.”
“So, instead you stayed quiet and—” she cuts herself off and looks away.
“He took it easy on you,” I say harshly, “even if I told you and you believed me, do you think if you asked him about it that he would’ve let you live out the night?”
Brett jerks her head up, “Then tell me now,” she snaps, “what the hell is going on?”
Slowing down over the next hill, I catch sight of a pull-off just through the trees. I veer off and whip into the dirt clearing and kill the engine.
