One Tiny Secret

Chapter Thirty Three

“Thanks for letting me sleep over last night,” Phoebe says while packing up her overnight bag.

“Well, my Dad and I weren’t about to let you sleep in that house alone after what happened,” I reply, handing her a shirt that fell from the bag.

“I’m so not looking forward to going home, but at least there will be a deputy with me.”

I can tell she’s scared just by the tone in her voice. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

“I’m sure. Besides, there will be a mob of angry trick-or-treaters egging the house if I’m not there to pass out candy. And like I said, there’s always the hottie-tottie deputy to protect me,” she laughs, but it sounds empty.

There’s a knock at the door before it’s cracked open. “Everyone decent in there?” my dad calls.

“Yeah, come in.”

He moves into the room. “Are you ready to get going, Phoebe? I’m taking you over to your house and waiting for Deputy Miller to meet us over there.”

She nods and drags her bag from the bed.

“Wait, who’s staying here with me?” I ask.

“Jackson and Samson will be downstairs until I—”

“Samson? Really? I hate that guy,” I argue.

“Hate is a very strong word, Dani,” he chastises.

“Well, I think it fits in this case.”

Another knock comes at the door and Samson pushes it all the way open before stepping in.

“The whole house is secured, Sheriff. We’ve checked every entry point on the premises. Nobody’s getting in.” I mock him the whole time he’s talking. “I even put a bowl of candy out on the front step so that no one has to come to the door.”

“Well, that’s just great. I see you’ve thought of everything,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Hey, Dad? Where do you keep those little gold star stickers? I think Samson deserves one on his badge.”

“Dani, that’s enough,” my dad says, glaring at me.

Samson just gives me a smug smile and turns his attention back to my father.

“Good work, Samson. I should be back in a little while. And Dani,” he begins while turning to face me, “Samson is here to protect you. Try to get along, please?” He gives me a kiss on the forehead accompanied by a hug.

“All right, fine,” I mutter, sending a scowl to Samson over my dad’s shoulder.

As they leave, I give a quick hug to Phoebe and turn my focus to Samson while sitting heavily on the bed. “I believe we’re finished here. Go protect the house,” I order.

“Dani, I know we’ve always kind of butted heads over the years, but I want to call a temporary truce,” he announces.

“I’m listening,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and waiting for him to continue.

“I need you to trust me in order for me to protect you. If we keep up this bickering between us, it could cause complications. I know you don’t like me, but you don’t have to for me to protect you. You just need to trust me.”

Are my ears deceiving me? Is this Samson actually acting like a human being for once? I’ve never seen this side to him before. Actually, I never thought he had this in him.

I rise from my bed and walk over to him. Extending my hand, I say, “Truce.” He smiles as he shakes my hand. “But after all this is over, the bickering will resume, got it?”

He laughs. “Understood.”



I’ve been cooped up in my room for two hours now. My phone sits on the desk while I snuggle up with my pillows on the bed. I’m anticipating any minute that it will notify me of the next step in Unknown’s plan. He did say it wasn’t over, after all.

The house is quiet except for the periodic shuffling I hear downstairs. I begin to wonder where my father is. Phoebe only lives about five minutes away, and it shouldn’t have taken Miller this long to get to her house to relieve my dad of his duties. I decide to go ask one of the boys downstairs if they’ve heard from him.

I pull myself from the bed and put on my slippers. Opening the door, I make my way over to the banister and look out over it into the foyer.

“Hey, Samson? Have you heard from my dad yet?” I ask, but get no response. My voice echoes through the house, giving me the chills. “Hey, Samson?”

When there’s still no answer, I run back into my bedroom and grab the butcher knife I put under the mattress. I take my cell from the desk and dial my dad’s phone. It doesn’t ring. It just goes straight to voicemail. Dammit. I try again with the same result. Before I even have a chance to call Phoebe, the phone vibrates in my hand.

Buzz…Buzz…

I lay it back on the desk when I see a text from Unknown blinking back at me. I don’t want to look at it, and decide to head for the doorway.

Buzz…Buzz…

“Damn you,” I murmur when I turn around and move back toward the desk to retrieve the phone. Picking it up, my finger shakes visibly when it swipes to unlock the screen. There are two texts:

Everything has come full circle, and now we’ve reached your end. Are you ready, Dani?

At this point I don’t even want to read the next message. I’m absolutely terrified, but I scroll down a bit to see the rest:

I have someone who wants to talk to you.

There’s a picture attached to the message. Pressing on it, I gasp. It’s a picture of Phoebe…teary-eyed, bloodied, tied up, and gagged. Another text comes through and I scroll down.

To save her, you have to find us. Need a hint?

Before I can respond, the walkie-talkie chirps on my desk with a static sound. I look over at it in complete shock before panning my focus to the bedroom window.

“They’re in Janice’s room.”

I rush through the open bedroom door to the stairs. I stop abruptly and gaze down the steps, making sure the coast is clear before I go blazing down them.

“Samson?” I call out again. When there’s still no response, I mutter, “Shit.” With the knife in hand and at the ready, I cautiously take one step at a time until I reach the bottom.

Pressing my back against the wall leading into the kitchen, I take in a deep breath. I look down and panic when I see a small trickle of red liquid on the floor just outside the kitchen.

“Is that blood?” I whisper to myself.

Cautiously scooting around the corner, I come face to face with a scene right out of a horror film. Red fills my vision as a scream rips from my vocal chords.

Blood is smeared across the floor leading up to the kitchen table. The bodies of Samson and Jackson sit in the two chairs at the table. The sick bastard actually posed them as if they were sitting there having a conversation over a cup of coffee or something. Blood drips from the wounds around their necks, pooling at their feet.

I cover my mouth to stifle my cries. I avert my eyes when it becomes too much for me to take. When the phone vibrates in my hand, I want to chuck it across the room.

Looks like Samson won’t be a pain in your ass anymore. Sorry, I may have gotten a little carried away.

Rage consumes me the moment I finish reading the text. I’ve never been as angry or scared as I am at this moment.

Testing my will, I force my gaze back over to Samson and Jackson. Through all the carnage, my attention focuses on the gun resting in the holster on Samson’s hip. I glance at the knife in my hand and drop it to the floor when I look back at the gun.

I move to Samson’s side, trying to avoid stepping in the trail of blood leading to his body. I can’t look him in the face. The deep guilt I feel would only get worse. Unlatching his holster, I remove the gun. Its cold steel feels heavy in my hand. I’ve held several guns before, and my dad has taught me how to fire one, but this time feels much different. I’m actually intending to use this one for protection, and that feeling scares me to death.

As I walk away, I whisper, “Sorry” to the two men who lost their lives for no reason.

Sliding back the top of the gun’s barrel, I hear it snap back, loading a bullet from the magazine into the chamber. I notice the safety is on, and proceed to flip it off before tucking the gun into the back of my jeans. I pull my shirt down to cover it.

There’s been a lot of senseless killing lately, and someone needs to put a stop to it. I’m tired of being the helpless victim in this scenario. This ends tonight.