“I tried,” she whispered to herself. “He’s not looking for me.”
Or maybe Detective Schuster had been wrong all along about her father, and he didn’t really kill all those women. Maybe her father fled because he was innocent. Maybe Zach had discovered who she was and just wanted a great story. Bex was nodding her head as hope swelled inside her. Maybe everything had just gotten turned around, and Bex—Beth Anne, rather—could have a real and regular life with a father and a mother and a home and without the need to lie. Maybe…
“Phone,” she said while rummaging through her purse. “Phone, phone, phone…” The readout on the face said 12:41. Too late to call Detective Schuster.
“Laptop.”
Bex opened it, running her fingertips over the track pad to wake up the screen. When she did, she saw the message.
GAMECREATOR: Is it really you, Bethy?
That hope that had swelled from a flicker to a flame in a few short seconds was snuffed out just as quickly.
No one else called her Bethy. Not when she was Beth Anne Reimer, not ever.
There was no joy. There was only terror, tinged with anger and hate.
Once again her father had turned her life upside down. He was on the site just like Detective Schuster had said he would be—because serial killers crave praise.
But-but-but… that little voice started. He was looking for me! He made the connection!
“No.” Bex licked her lips. “So he knows a pet name. He’s not real. He’s another imposter.”
She clicked the message icon and a single meager line toppled out.
What do you put on your pancakes?
Bex didn’t think. She typed.
Powdered sugar. By the bucketful.
She hit Send before she second-guessed herself. She waited for a response.
She waited all night.
? ? ?
Bex was poking at the soggy remains of her cereal when Denise came in the front door. Michael fixed a mug of coffee for each of them while Denise popped out her earbuds and sat down across from Bex.
“I’m telling you, Bex. A morning run feels amazing. You should come with me sometime.” She glanced at her husband and smiled. “Unless you’re like Michael here, who prefers to get his exercise by osmosis.”
Michael feigned offense. “I’ll have you know that whenever I go to the grocery store, I park very far from the front door!”
“That’s actually a great way to get extra steps in. Do you do that at work too?”
Michael globbed a knifeful of butter onto his bagel. “I’m not trying to be a hero.”
“What about you, Bex? Join me sometime? We could make it a girl thing.”
“Yeah.” Bex nodded. “That might be fun.”
“Oh, hey. How come you aren’t wearing your new necklace?”
Bex’s hands went to her throat but she didn’t answer.
“The silver heart,” Denise clarified. “That Trevor gave you.”
Bex felt her cheeks warm. “Trevor said he didn’t leave it.”
Michael crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Do you have another admirer? Am I going to have to buy a shotgun?”
“I actually don’t know who would have sent it. It’s weird.”
Denise snaked Michael’s bagel and took a bite, licking the butter from her fingers. “It was probably one of the girls then. You should wear it to school today.”
“I don’t know. It just seems—”
“If it’s not Trevor, it’s got to be Laney or Chelsea. Wear it. Show it off. It looks great on you.”
Bex shrugged but climbed the stairs and slipped the necklace on anyway. It did look nice on her, the silver a pretty contrast against her skin. Bex smiled at her reflection and slid her backpack over her shoulders, bounding down the stairs when Michael called for her.
? ? ?
Bex expected the same circus of reporters, news vans, and cop cars when Michael dropped her off in front of the school, but they were gone. Nearly two weeks and it was as if Darla’s murder had never happened.
“That was quick,” Bex muttered.
“For the best, don’t you think?”
Bex nodded, hoping her intense relief wasn’t so obvious. “Yeah, definitely.”
“Now you guys can try to get back to normal.”
“Whatever that is,” Bex said, kicking open the car door.
She walked across campus, slowing at the quad. One of the trees had been taken over and was now a makeshift memorial. Purple ribbons were tied around the trunk, with “RIP Darla” written in puffy silver paint on the tails. Bex’s eyes burned as the ribbons caught the wind, blowing across a smiling picture of Darla in her cheerleading uniform. There were letters and notes surrounding the picture, prayers and missives to her. Stuffed animals, flowers, and candles in tall glass vials were gathered at the base of the tree.
“Pretty intense, isn’t it?”
Bex glanced at Zach, his GoPro camera slung around his neck.
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s terrible.”