Bex could see Laney’s jaw drop open just slightly. “So you didn’t plaster my car with Missing posters?”
“What? Who the hell would do that? Let me talk to Bex.”
Laney tried to hand the phone to Bex but she waved it away, numbly walking to the passenger’s side of the car and settling herself in. The sound of the seat belt clicking was reassuring, but for a second Bex thought about unbuckling it, sliding into the driver’s seat, and driving away. She wouldn’t go anywhere. She wouldn’t stop anywhere. She would drive into the surf, a tree—anything that would stop the pain that was coursing through her body, stinging with every beat of her heart.
Everywhere she went, she brought death and destruction. Even when she tried to get away, it found her, making its presence known. That was who she was. That was who she’d always be. Bex couldn’t end Beth Anne, but Beth Anne could end Bex. She pressed her index finger to the seat belt button and heard it click. She started to slide toward the driver’s seat…but Laney beat her there. She was shaking a slim bouquet of cellophane-wrapped flowers in front of Bex’s nose.
“Trevor left these, Bex. These flowers. There were no posters here when he left these. They were under all the paper on the windshield. It wasn’t Trevor.”
Chelsea slid into the backseat and Laney started the car, the purr of the engine sending a warm shimmy through Bex. They drove in static silence for blocks before Chelsea cleared her throat and spoke in a hoarse whisper.
“How did you know the name of the little girl in the poster?”
Bex didn’t answer and Chelsea fell silent for a beat. Then, “I know who it was.” Chelsea snapped her fingers. “Zach.”
“Zach?” Laney asked.
“Yeah. Isn’t it obvious? He was at the movie, so he had the opportunity.”
Bex felt her breathing slightly regulate. “Zach? Why would he do something like this?”
“Because he’s Zach,” Chelsea exploded, eyes rolling. “He wants a story. He was probably behind us filming the whole thing. Like one of those hidden-camera pervy things. He probably just googled ‘kidnapping,’ found pictures on some creepy-assed ‘people who love weird crime shit’ sites, and slapped together a whole bunch of Missing posters. He knew we were going to the movies…”
“And there is only one Cineplex in this shoe-box town. It’s not like he’d have to drive around looking for us,” Laney reasoned.
Bex chewed her bottom lip. “I guess he’d know your car.”
“Asshole,” Laney fumed.
“Jerk,” Chelsea added.
But Bex just sank back in her seat. She wanted Zach to be the culprit and this whole stupid stunt to be a prank. But how did he know about the Wife Collector? How did he know to choose all his victims? And how did he get the picture of Beth Anne Reimer?
Twenty-Seven
“Are you going to be okay?” Laney asked when she pulled into Bex’s driveway.
“Yeah,” Bex said, waving at the air. “You’re probably right. It was probably just some dumb prank.”
“We can stay here if you want us to,” Chelsea said as they got out of the car.
But Bex wanted them to leave. She’d wanted them to leave the second she saw Beth Anne Reimer’s Missing photo. It wasn’t a coincidence. Someone wasn’t just playing around. Beth Anne Reimer had never gone missing. Whoever had stuck the posters on Bex’s car knew who she was and had spent the time creating Beth Anne’s poster. The thought burned a hole low in Bex’s gut and she chewed the inside of her lip, going through a mental contacts list.
Had Zach found out who she was, and the posters were his reality-show way of making her admit it? Did Detective Schuster think she needed an extra nudge to cooperate? Had someone on the Forum figured out who she was and where she lived? Bex shivered, the last possibility driving a knife-sharp icicle into the center of her heart. Was it her father, playing some kind of sick game?
“You guys should go,” Bex said quickly. “I mean before it gets super late.”
She wanted them to get in Laney’s car and drive for as long and as far as they possibly could. She wanted them to drive out of Kill Devil Hills, out of the last weeks of her life. She wanted her friends to be out of danger. Again, the image of Darla on the beach floated back to her, and Bex shuddered.
“Only if you’re sure,” Laney said carefully.
“She’s fine, Lane. It was a bunch of stupid posters. Paper can’t hurt her. Unless it’s a paper cut, and those things can hurt like—”
Laney grabbed Chelsea by the arm. “We’ll go.”
Bex let herself into the house, slowly creaking the door open and looking around like a criminal. She felt as though she were a trespasser in her own home. No, that horrible voice whispered, your home is with your father.
Once she was in her bedroom, Bex glanced at her laptop, pinching her upper lip.