If I didn’t still feel like I needed to be on my guard, I’d be downing the rest of Barrett’s bottle of Town Branch right now. But, instead, I’m perched on her sofa, debating what to do next. Dragging my hand down my face in revulsion, I raise my phone and continue texting Colson.
ME (9:13PM): Bowen came here tonight.
COLSON (9:13PM): I know he did.
ME (9:14PM): How do you know he did??
COLSON (9:15PM): Because I saw it. Barrett’s smart for not opening the door.
ME (9:15PM): Don’t you have hobbies? Do you ever watch movies? Btw, we also found a GPS hidden under my car. That’s how he knew I was here.
COLSON (9:16PM): I’ll watch a movie with you tomorrow night. Because you’re coming here.
I would argue with Colson, like usual, but this time I can’t. And neither can Barrett. As angry as it makes her, she knows I can’t stay here much longer.
The GPS tracker is sitting two feet away from me on the ottoman, its blue light still blinking. We decide to leave it alone for the time being. Bowen already knows I’m here, and turning it off seems like it might exacerbate an already unstable situation. Barrett might be feisty, but she’s no match for an angry Bowen Garrison—neither of us are. And he wasn’t angry when he came to Barrett’s house looking for me.
He was hunting.
The same way he’s hunting when he finally sends me a text the next afternoon while I’m carefully packing all my stuff—what’s left of it—back into my duffel bag.
BOWEN (3:37PM): Brett, I’m so sorry for everything. I just need to hear your voice and know you’re safe. If you want, I’ll get you your own place until you’re ready to come home. I never meant to hurt you. I love you so damn much and I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right with you.
I start to type, but make myself stop. I know he sees it; the three little dots moving up and down, starting, then stopping…
It goes on like that for another 15 minutes or so.
Maybe I do still love Bowen to some extent, or at least part of him. As soon as I read his text, my stomach flutters with both horror and excitement and I have the overwhelming urge to see him. But it doesn’t last, because I know exactly what will happen if I go back to that house.
As soon as he looks at me with that intoxicating smile of his, I won’t be able to remember why I was angry. He’ll wrap his muscular arms around me and lift me in the air, hold me against him, and when he kisses me, it’ll be so intense that I’ll forget everything just long enough.
But I can’t forget. I have to remember. Because I know better.
One half-assed pseudo-apology can’t erase years of true crime binges and high school modules about dating violence and dorm bathrooms plastered with numbers for sexual assault and domestic violence hotlines. It can’t erase that night. It can’t erase the new terror unlocked for another decade—maybe longer.
My blood runs so cold I feel like a porcelain doll that could shatter at any moment. There won’t be a next time because I’ll be fucking dead.
I can’t go back. Ever again.
Barrett sinks down onto the cushion next to me, glancing over my arm at Bowen’s text. She took the day off—family emergency—to make sure I’m constantly in her line of sight. I don’t know how I managed to fall asleep last night. Maybe it was sleeping in Barrett’s bed behind two locked doors. Or maybe it was pure exhaustion from cowering in terror the previous night. Eventually, the adrenaline abates and you crash. But, either way, I needed it.
“I don’t blame you for second-guessing,” she motions to my phone, “it sounds pretty good.”
“You’d think so, if any of it was true. But I know he’s lying,” I slide the phone onto the ottoman, “because Bowen’s never sorry for anything.”
“I still hate the idea of you leaving,” she shoots me a concerned glance, “and going to Colson’s.”
“I know. But where else do I go for now that doesn’t put you or anyone else at risk? Bowen knows where you all live.” Both our gazes shift to the black box on the ottoman, lit up like a bomb waiting to detonate.
“I agree, we’re out of options. It’s just…” Barrett scoffs and looks away, “Colson fucking Lutz,” she smiles bitterly to herself.
I lean in, looming over her shoulder with a devious grin, “You could threaten him,” I waggle my eyebrows at her, “tell him if he makes one wrong move, you’ll sicc Dacia Ferguson on him.”
Barrett throws her head back in a fit of laughter, cackling up to the vaulted ceiling. A few moments later, after finally composing herself, she swipes her finger under her eye to wipe away a tear.
“OK, be honest Brett,” she clasps her hands over her knee, “do you trust Colson?”
“Yes.” The answer tumbles out of my mouth much quicker than I thought it would.
Barrett gazes at my duffel bag and work tote, packed and ready to go next to the ticking time bomb. Then she turns to me gravely, her eyes filled with trepidation.
“But should you?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Colson
High School
I loved the dark before, but now it’s what I live for. Because now it’s not just about partying and girls and racing in the dead of night with only headlights to guide our way. Now, it’s about making Bowen’s life a living hell as long as he’s still walking around a free man.
Since law enforcement isn’t going to do their job, the Dire Wolves will. The soccer season is over and we need something to do, so we’re going hunting. And it’s open season for murderers.
I don’t show Mason, Alex, Aiden, or anyone else the video, but I tell them what’s on it. Bowen’s crusted blood is still smeared across my knuckles when I tell them what Evie said about Bowen the day she disappeared. I tell them about the pole building and her grave site and every sick thing he ever said about her. And, after that, they all agree he needs to pay, and we’ll be the ones to bring her justice if no one else will.
“They don’t know us,” Mason scoffs, “they can’t arrest all of us if we don’t talk.”
This is the first time he’s smiled since we found Evie. He’s become hard and prickly, usually staring off into space like he’s deep in thought. He’s probably thinking about that morning in the woods more often than he should. But I’m the same way, I can’t get her out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about that dank, rusted pipe, the dark sludgy water, and what Bowen turned her into.
