When We Let Go, Delancey Stewart [early reader books .txt] 📗

Thanks to the police interruption, I got a later start on my hike than I’d intended, and decided to take the Ridge Line trail to the top of the ridge instead of heading out in the car to some more distant trailhead.

The sun shone brightly above, but beneath the canopy of tree branches, it was shadowed and relatively cool. I picked my way up to where the trail lay on the hillside and then enjoyed following the dusty groove at a brisk pace up the side of the mountain. Living at six thousand feet might not have ever been my ideal, but it had definitely improved my cardiovascular fitness. I was only a tiny bit out of breath after hiking at a steady pace for the better part of an hour.

I paused at different points to capture things along the way with my camera. There wasn’t much wildlife out, which surprised me. Usually, on a weekday when there were fewer people up and down the trails, one could find deer, martens, or even the occasional bear crossing the trail. I wasn’t eager to bump into a bear, but it might be worth it for the photos.

Just as I had that thought near the top of the tree line, I heard a scraping noise off the side of the trail. I wondered if it was a bear, and briefly considered following John Trench’s example and seeking it out. I stood still and listened, and the scratching noise continued, then stopped. It began again, and then stopped again. I stood long enough to realize that there was a rhythm to it. This was not a bear. And there was a slightly metallic sound to the noise, a grating of metal and stone. If it wasn’t a bear, what in the world was it?

My feet decided to find out before my mind had consciously joined in the plan. I walked softly through the matted pine needles and sticks littering the ground, stopping each time I broke a twig, sending a crackling noise ricocheting through the trees.

I crept through the shadows, approaching the noise, and almost gave myself away when I spotted a familiar blazing auburn head in front of me. Connor stood next to a shallow hole, shirtless, his muscled torso glistening with sweat in the sunlight. His back was to me, and I’d been quiet enough that he hadn’t turned to see what or who might be approaching.

John Trench’s story came back to me, and I wondered if Connor would shout at me if he saw me. I knelt down low, hoping if he turned this way, he’d be looking at eye level and not at the base of the big tree only ten feet or so behind him.

There was a bulky bag next to the hole he was digging, black and awkwardly shaped. Fear spiked through me. Was this where he buried the women? Was Amanda Terry in that bag?

Connor put the shovel down briefly and picked up a bottle of water. He stood tall and leaned his head back, drinking, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the strength evident in the body that stood before me. Hard planes of muscle stretched down the length of his back, making a hard ridge on either side of his spine. My eyes were drawn to the waistband of his pants, where they sat low against that solid back. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t look strong. And though I found him incredibly sexy, as I crouched in the cover of the forest watching him dig a secret hole, I realized that all that power was also frightening.

He picked the shovel up again and resumed digging. The hole didn’t look like I imagined a grave would. It wasn’t long and narrow. It was more of a circle. But then again, if he was burying Amanda, she might be in pieces. She definitely wasn’t in a coffin. My stomach turned as I had that thought. He probably didn’t need a traditional grave-shaped hole. I shook my head slowly, amazed by the direction my thinking had suddenly taken. Fear began to bubble inside me. What if he caught me here?

I cowered in the shadow and instinct kicked in. I quietly raised my camera to my eye, snapping a couple quick shots before backing very slowly away. The farther I got from Connor, the more terrified I became at the implications of what I’d just seen. He was at least a quarter-mile off the trail, and he’d certainly believed, as I had, that he’d be one of the only people up here today.

I skittered back onto the trail and hustled back down the mountain, not wanting him to catch up with me on the way back down. I practically sprinted to my trailer from the bottom of the trail, in a near panic. Could it really be true, then? He was killing those women and then burying them right up here off the trail? Who did that? Psychopathic murdering horror novelists, I guessed.

If I’d had trouble finding any fear of Connor before, I didn’t have trouble now. I sat on the edge of the bed in my trailer and let my mind run over all the clues I’d had about what this man really was. The warnings in town could have been enough. Why hadn’t I listened to people? I liked to think I was open-minded, but perhaps I was actually just dense. The Trenches warned me off and I didn’t listen. I plodded forward, in oblivious pursuit of what? Some kind of fanciful relationship with a man whom I’d perceived as vulnerable and kind?

I dropped the camera to my side and curled up on the bed, letting my mind run through the many horrible things that could have happened as a result of my own stupidity. If I thought I had problems now, they paled in comparison to the kind of problems I might have had if Connor had kidnapped me … or so much worse.

I squeezed my eyes shut as my mind turned to the girl from town, Amanda. Had I just witnessed her burial in an unmarked grave? What had he done to her first? I felt sick thinking about it. Sick and unsafe and horrible.

There was no question I needed to call the police and tell them what I’d seen. And I would. I just needed a few more minutes to process everything. I needed to give my mind time to shift from the view of Connor I’d had previously to the one that was unquestionably the correct view. He was a dangerous sociopath. A murderer.

I really knew how to pick men.

I picked up my phone after I found the card Officer Jensen had handed me.

“Hello?”

“Officer Jensen? It’s Maddie Turner.”

“Ms. Turner. How can I help you?”

“I saw something today. I saw Connor. I took some photos. I need to see you.” My voice was racing to match my whirling mind.

“We can come up to your, er, house if you like.”

“Okay. Yes. Please.”

“We’ll be there as soon as we can. Half hour?”

“Okay.”

“You sound upset. Do you believe yourself to be in danger, Ms. Turner?”

Did I? No. Connor hadn’t seen me. For all he knew, I was eagerly anticipating our dinner tomorrow night. “No, I’m fine.”

“Okay. See you in a bit.”

I scanned the woods outside my trailer, pacing near the windows until the police arrived. When their car pulled up to park next to my own, I felt a sense of terrible finality sinking in. This was it. I had the evidence that would seal Connor’s fate.

This time, the officers came inside, squeezing themselves around the small table next to my kitchen. I explained what I’d been doing this afternoon, what I’d seen.

“You did the right thing calling us.” Jensen was trying to be reassuring. Rawley nodded. “These pictures are useful, too,” he said, scanning them on the small screen on the back