One Tiny Secret

Chapter Twenty Three

“So, how was work?” My dad asks when I come through the front door. I know this is just the beginning of a full line of questioning that’s sure to follow.

“How do you think it was?”

“Sorry, I didn’t really know how to come right out and ask about—”

“Mr. Whitman?” I interrupt.

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“What’s there really to say?”

“For starters, how about what you’re feeling?” he responds, seeming frustrated. “I know you were close to him. I just want to make sure you’re okay, is that all right?”

“I feel angry, scared, pissed off at the world. How do you think I feel? My world seems to be crashing down around me, and my own father won’t believe me when I say there’s someone after me. Let me ask you a question, Dad. How would you feel if you were in my position?”

The look on his face changes from one of worry and concern to irritation. Typical parent move once your child calls you out.

“I want to believe you, Dani. Trust me, I do. But it seems like you’re making something out of nothing. I know you’ve seen things that would put anyone under a lot of stress. Your story just doesn’t make any sense, and you have nothing to back up these claims. There’s a protocol I have to follow here,” he explains, but every word keeps throwing more oil on an already roaring bonfire.

“Seriously, spare me your technical jargon. You’re talking to your own daughter, not some perp or victim out on the street.” I pause for a second to gain my composure. “I don’t want to become a statistic like Gunnar and Mr. Whitman. I need you to believe me before I end up being just another one of your cases,” I say, tears forming in my eyes.

“You won’t become one of my cases. Why do you think you will?”

He’s clearly not getting what I’m trying to say. Story of my life, it seems lately. No wonder Mom left him. That thought resonates deep within me and I feel terrible for even thinking it, even if it might be true.

“Never mind, Dad. I’m just speaking out of my ass, right? It’s just a phase I’m going through. It’ll pass.”

I stomp up the stairs. My dad says nothing. No rebuttal, no reply, no arguing…nothing. There’s only silence as I reach the top of the stairs and make a beeline to my room. Slamming the door behind me, I fall onto the bed and let the tears flow. I’ve been harboring a lot of emotions and I feel like every single one of them is pouring out. The pillow I’m cuddling with is becoming soaked with tears, but I don’t care. I’ll keep crying until I’m tapped out.

A light rap at my door pulls my attention to it.

“I’m sorry, Dani.” My dad’s muffled voice comes from the other side. “I’m terrible at handling stuff like this. This was always your mom’s department, but I’m trying my best here. I’m just so used to dealing with criminals and the facts. I guess I forget to turn off my sheriff brain. I don’t think you’re going through a phase, I just think you’re overstressed.”

I was with him up until he used the word “overstressed.” Wanting to just put an end to the convo, I reply, “It’s okay, Dad. You’re right, I just need to relax and take my mind off what’s been going on. I’ll be better in a day or so.”

He releases a heavy sigh. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, all right? I’ll be downstairs if you want to talk some more,” he says, and I can hear the desperation in his voice.

“I think I’m going to call it a night, if that’s okay,” I reply, trying to keep my tears at bay until he leaves.

I hear his hand graze the door before he says good night. I murmur “good night” when I hear him making his way down the stairs.

My phone chimes in my pocket and I pull it out to see a message from Parker:

Made it home safe. Hope u did 2. Tonight felt good, despite the circumstances. Try 2 get some sleep, k?

Seeing his text reminds me I still haven’t gotten a message from Unknown taking credit for what happened to Mr. Whitman. Maybe my father is right. Maybe it was an accident.



I spend most of my entire Saturday in bed. I figure that if I never leave the house, or my bedroom for that matter, then nothing bad will happen. Well, that’s my thought, anyway.

Usually about this time, I’d be watching a horror movie marathon on TV since it’s so close to Halloween. Instead, I’m lying here with a kitchen knife under the mattress and silly Saturday morning cartoons blaring from the television.

I slept like shit last night, but that was pretty much expected. This whole “sleeping with one eye open” thing is getting exhausting. I can’t seem to shake the fact that not only has Unknown been in my room, but he or she has possibly killed two people in my life. I actually find myself getting nauseous thinking about who the next target will be.

It’s been about two days since I’ve received a text from Unknown, and to say the least, it has me worried. I keep anticipating the next message, with each scenario getting graver as I play them out in my head.

It dawns on me that Alex has her gig tonight. I had completely forgotten with everything that’s happened. My stomach churns at the thought of her being Unknown’s next choice. I decide I have to find a way to get to that concert.

“Shit, she said we had to wear a costume to this thing.” I wonder what I may have stuffed away in my closet that might do.

Alighting from the bed, I hurry over to the closet and throw open the door. Clicking on the light above my head, I proceed to shift clothes around on the racks, searching for my female sheriff’s outfit—complete with dark green hot pants. That one has always been a crowd-pleaser.

After finding all the pieces to the costume, I drape them over my desk chair and proceed to plop down on the bed, realizing it’s still five hours until the concert.

The next hurdle will be convincing my dad to let me go. This will probably prove quite difficult, especially since he’s spent the majority of the morning at the station finishing all the paperwork that’s accrued due to the recent cases. He probably won’t be in the best of moods when he gets home.

I start to feel antsy and, against my better judgment, decide to call him at the station. The first time I dial, the phone just rings and rings, but never goes to voicemail. The second time though, he picks up on the third ring.

“This is Sheriff Marks.”

“Dad, it’s me.”

“This must be important if you’re calling me here, right?” he asks, and I can tell his day has been as annoying as I feared.

“Actually, it kind of is. Remember how you said I need to clear my mind and relax?”

“Yeah,” he replies.

“Well, it turns out that Alex’s band is performing tonight. And before you say ‘no,’ I think it might be a great way for me to let off some steam.” I anxiously await his reply. The grumble that follows isn’t very promising.

“Where is this gig?”

I’m surprised when he doesn’t immediately shoot down the idea. “The Brick House.”

“What time will you be out ’til?”

“Wait, so does that mean I can go?”

“Depends. What time will you be out ’til?”

“What time would you like me home?” I ask, feeling proud that I turned the line of questioning around on him.

“Midnight, at the latest,” he answers.

“Thanks, Dad. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Midnight, Dani. I mean it. I’m trusting you with this,” he says and I can hear his parental tone loud and clear.

“Thank you.”

“Okay, is that all? Because I have a mountain of paperwork to get through.”

“Yep, that’s it. Thanks again, Dad.”

“No problem. Hopefully I get to see you before you head out.”

“I’m sure you will, since I won’t be leaving until around seven or so.”

“Good, see you at home then.” I can hear his smile come through the phone. “Oh, and Dani. I love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.”



I almost don’t make it out of the house on time due to my father wavering over my costume selection. I never knew that he thought the lady sheriff outfit was too revealing. He says it’s the hot pants that have him unsure about the whole ensemble. I have to remind him that I’ve worn this several times before. I wonder why he’s showing his displeasure now. He finally caves, and with that, I grab my keys and give him a kiss before he has a chance to change his mind for, like, the fifteenth time.

Running to my car, I throw on my sheriff’s jacket to fend off the cold night wind. Thankfully I had the forethought to put on black leggings and wear my sensible army green Chucks.

As I reach Lexi’s driver’s side, I check the back seat. If horror movies have taught me anything, it’s to always check the back seat before entering a vehicle. When I see the coast is clear, I open the door and settle into the car.

A sudden rush hits me as I get behind the wheel. I keep thinking about Alex and Unknown. Even after talking to her earlier tonight, I didn’t feel any more at ease about the whole situation. Buckling up, I pull out of the driveway and head down the road, probably a little quicker than I should be driving in this neighborhood.

Visibility is poor at best through the back roads that lead toward the club. There’s a lamppost about every mile, and each side of the street is covered by a thick wall of trees. I always forget how creepy it is out here at night, since I’ve only been to a couple of Alex’s gigs at this place. Usually I drive with her and Rory, but Rory opted out of going tonight. He’s still a little out of it. I’ve tried talking to him about what happened, but he changes the subject almost instantly every time.

The lights flashing on my dashboard pull me from my thoughts.

“That was strange,” I mutter while shifting my gaze between my dash, and the road ahead.

The lights flash again, but in a rapid succession this time. A weird electronic sound echoes through the car’s interior and all of the caution lights on my dashboard illuminate.

“No, Lexi. Don’t do this to me right now. Not out here, please?” I complain while petting the top of the dash like a dog or cat.

I pull off to the side of the road while slamming my fists onto the steering wheel in anger. Thankfully, I’m right under one of the few lampposts along this road. Shifting the car into park and turning off the engine, I sit there frustrated all to hell thinking about what I’m going to do. I grab my phone and dial Parker’s number. I’m only ten minutes from his college. The phone rings and goes to voicemail. I try again with the same result.

“Dammit.”