Chapter 35: Gwen - Hunter or Hunted

A Few Months Later

April 2024

So much had changed since Delilah’s death four months ago.

Simone was seeming more like herself. A better, happier self than I’d known her to be. She and Edwards had locked in after that court hearing. Officially an item, Sebastian and I paired up with them weekly for double dates.

When our hands weren’t full at the house, anyway.

That’s how we referred to it. The house.

Occasionally, Sebastian or I slipped up, calling it “our house,” then blushed and changed the subject.

Not because either of us had reservations. Just because it’d take us years to make the place livable. No use in getting too excited too soon.

We hadn’t even finished the demo phase when a leak sprang on the roof. That got pushed up the priority list. We got hit with a bad windstorm last month that’d ripped off more of the siding, and now that the weather had warmed some, we could get out there long enough to actually accomplish something. So tearing off the siding came next.

Between Sebastian’s time at the office and with Lizzie, and my work spliced in a thousand directions—the dwindling hours at Maple & Thyme, five piano lessons a week thanks to Mallory, and my training for the outreach department at the ranch—we just didn’t have enough hours in a day. If we had time to spend on a project, we spent it on either the van or the barn.

By the end of February, we’d finished morphing the barn into a garage. That benefited us twofold. First, for the murder we were planning. Second, a warm place to work on the van.

Mechanically, that thing ran better than my car. Which was the idea, of course. We needed a reliable vehicle that wouldn’t look suspicious as we drove our captive across state lines.

The inside required the real work.

Sebastian wanted it to be a “mobile clean room.” That meant removing all the rear seats and laying down sheet vinyl flooring. Sheet vinyl rather than peel-and-stick or click-lock so we wouldn’t create any crevices. Couldn’t have hair or bodily fluids containing DNA getting stuck in there.

But it couldn’t look like a mobile kill room. It needed to look like a travel van, a miniature camper.

So we painted the inside walls—all drywalled and insulated to prevent noise from escaping—a cozy shade of yellow. We bought a queen-sized air mattress that fit nicely back there. Against the walls, we custom-made some wooden drawers and sealed them with locks. There, our belongings stayed put.

Into the floor, over the sheet vinyl, we mounted some heavy-duty hooks. If questioned, we’d say they were to secure our stuff while on the road. But that’s not why we put them there.

They’d serve as our victim’s seatbelts.

Couldn’t have them flying around like groceries.

In the little bit of free time I had between my many jobs and hobbies, I’d cyberstalked Evan and Ava.

My speech I’d given her accomplished nothing. They’d gone Facebook official on Valentine’s Day.

Which only proved why I had to do this.

He’d already killed Allie. I wouldn’t let Ava succumb to the same fate. Whether she liked it or not.

April marked an official six months with Sebastian. Given how busy our lives had been, we casually mentioned to all our friends and family how desperate we were to get away together for a few days. No one suspected a thing when we announced our first trip in the camper van.

To their knowledge, our destination was the glorious Ferne Clyffe State Park in Illinois. Which wasn’t entirely false. We headed there first.

We went on a few hours’ hike and had sex beneath a waterfall. Afterward, we camped out under the stars with Honey.

But we only stayed for one night. By noon the next day, we secured our belongings in the boxes and got back on the road.

On our way to the destination, we stopped in a small Missouri town. We didn’t stay in the sweet old lady’s bed-and-breakfast this time. We parked at that park near Evan’s house, and we waited.

I changed my clothes. Black sweatpants, black hoodie, hair tucked in a bun, covered by a hairnet, then all pulled together with a ski mask.

* * *

Beneath the glow of streetlights and the moon overhead, Sebastian parked at the quiet playground. I stepped from the passenger seat and began my trek through the woods.

The clock on my watch read 11 P.M. when Evan’s home became visible. I hunkered down in the brush, only a dozen or so yards from his driveway, and I waited.

Silently, peacefully, waited.

Considering the spiral I had gone in when I killed David, I expected anxiety to prickle my fingertips. Maybe my heart would pound and my thoughts would race.

Nothing like that happened.

Sitting in the soil, watching the driveway, was almost meditative. Relaxing.

It didn’t feel like the buildup to an action-packed finale. It felt inevitable. One of those climaxes that didn’t feel much like a climax at all, but more like the simple end to a series of causes and effects.

At 11:14, headlights shone down the road.

From stalking Ava’s social media, I had a decent understanding of hers and Evan’s routine. He dropped her off by 11 P.M. on school nights. Had to adhere to her parents’ rigid rules.

As the truck headlights drew closer, I rose to my feet and darted to the side of his house. Bushes on the left disguised my body from any onlookers. Given the poor lighting, Evan wouldn’t see me as he exited his vehicle either.

But I saw him.

When the engine lulled to silence, the cabin light turned on beyond the windshield. Evan sat in the driver’s seat, blue light from his phone casting a shadow on his face. His smiling face. His stupid, smug, smiling face.

He stepped from the truck, headlights still illuminating the driveway. They lit his path all the way to the porch. The one I had entered when I broke in before.

Through the scope on the dart gun, I fixed on an exact point. Right in front of the door.

I wasn’t a great shot. I was working on it, but it would take time before I consistently had any luck hitting a moving target.

Sebastian suggested I do it this way. It was how Rhiannon relocated animals she didn’t want on the ranch. Lay out bait, then sit and wait, with the tranquilizer dart aimed at the bait.

The door was my bait.

Eyes on his phone, Evan fiddled with the keys in his free hand. Only a few steps from the patio, clueless, he found the right one. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger just as he stepped into my scope.

I clicked the trigger.

Once, twice, three times.

All three darts landed in the center of his chest.

He gasped, swatting at them as if they were hornets swarming, just as the lights from his truck flickered off.

“Son of a—” One of the darts, maybe two, clinked to the ground.

Those darts, and the needles that ran through them, were fit for a bear. When he smacked them away, he likely broke the needle off inside his skin.

Had it hurt? Did it still hurt?

I hoped it did.

He grasped hold of the 4x4 that held up the porch roof.

But the ketamine was already taking hold.

His legs began to wobble. He took another step forward, bracing against the porch support beam.

With one hand, he tapped around on his chest. Searching for the source of the pain, I assumed. Another clink sounded against the concrete, confirming he’d found it.

Still grasping the support beam, he leaned down. Likely trying to figure out what had just pierced his skin.

Legs wobbly in his squat, he fumbled with his phone. The light flicked on, trembling in his shaky hand.

As soon as the glow shimmered against the needle, he landed on his knees. His phone slipped from his sweaty fingers. He fell face-first, barely catching himself with one hand.

And I waited.

That tremble in his fingers stretched up his arm, all the way to his bicep, until the drugs hit that muscle group too and his arm gave out.

Good. He went down slow enough that he didn’t bash his head open.

Cheek flush to the concrete, his dopey eyes stayed open. His fingers twitched and his feet wiggled, but he wasn’t making it to that door.

Gaze fixed around the corner of the house, I swiped open my phone and clicked send on the pre-typed message to Sebastian.

Ready.

Surely invisible to any neighbors given the darkness of this road, of this home, I slid the blade from my pocket and walked along the concrete path that connected to the porch patio. Only a foot away from his head, I squatted next to him.

In a low, ominous voice, I said, “Are you scared yet?”

His wide eyes fixed on me, but no words left his parted, drooling lips.

“Allie was too.” I trailed the tip of the blade down his cheek. “But we’ll get to that. Enjoy your nap.”