Chapter 7 One Hour Before the Murder

7

Sara rolled over in bed to find Will's side empty. She looked for the clock, but there was nothing on the bedside table except his phone. They had both been too troubled by what had happened at dinner to do anything more entertaining than falling asleep to a podcast about Big Foot in the North Georgia mountains.

"Will?" She listened, but there was no sound. The cottage was quiet enough that she knew he wasn't inside.

Sara found the light cotton dress she'd worn to dinner on the floor. She walked into the living room. Her knee banged the edge of the couch. She muttered a curse in the darkness. She went to the open window and checked the porch. The gently swaying hammock was empty. The temperature had cooled down. There was a feeling of a coming rainstorm in the air. She craned her neck to see down the path to the lake. In the soft glow of the moonlight, she spotted Will sitting on a bench that overlooked the mountain range. His arms were spread out along the back. He was staring off into the distance.

She slipped on her shoes before carefully navigating down the stone stairs. Sandals probably weren't a good idea this late at night. She could step on something venomous or twist her ankle. Still, she didn't turn back to get her hiking boots. She felt drawn to Will. He had been quiet after dinner, reflective. They were both a bit shell-shocked by the scene between Mercy and her family. Sara was again reminded of how fortunate she'd been to have a loving, close family. She'd grown up thinking that was the norm, but life had taught her that she'd gotten the luck of the draw.

Will looked up when he heard Sara on the path.

She asked, "Do you want some time alone?"

"No."

He wrapped his arm around her as she sat down. Sara leaned into him. His body felt solid and reassuring. She thought about Mercy's question—does he make you feel safe? Except for her father, Sara had never been so sure of a man in her life. It bothered her that Mercy had never felt that way. As far as Sara was concerned, it fell under the category of fundamental human needs.

Will said, "Feels like it's going to rain."

"Whatever will we do with all that free time stuck inside our cottage?"

Will laughed, his fingers tickling her arm. But the smile quickly faded as he stared out into the night. "I've been thinking a lot about my mother."

Sara sat up so that she could look at him. Will kept his head turned away, but she could tell by the way his jaw had clenched that this was hard for him.

She said, "Tell me."

He took in a deep breath, like he was about to put his head under water. "When I was a kid, I used to wonder what my life would've been like if she'd lived."

She rested her hand on his shoulder.

"I had this idea that we would've been happy. That life would've been easier. School would've been easier. Friendships. Girlfriends. Everything." His jaw tightened again. "But now, I look back and—she struggled with her addictions. She had her own demons. She could've OD'd or ended up in prison. She would've been a single mother with an abusive ex. So maybe I would've ended up in state care anyway. But at least I would've known her."

Sara felt an overwhelming sadness that he'd never had the chance.

"It was nice to have Amanda and Faith at the wedding," he said, referring to his boss and partner, who were the closest thing he had to family. "But I just wonder."

Sara could only nod. She had no frame of reference for what he was going through. She could only listen and let him know that she was there.

"She loves him," Will said. "Mercy and Jon. It's obvious she loves him."

"It is."

"The fucking Jackal."

"You never found out what happened to him after he ran away from the home?"

"Nothing." Will shook his head. "Obviously, he found his way up here, managed to survive, managed to get married and have a kid. That's what I don't get, you know? That life, being a father, having a wife and kid, that's the kind of life he always wanted. Even when we were kids, he used to talk about how being part of a family would solve all of his problems. And here he is with everything he wanted, and he's fucked it all up. The way he treats Mercy is unconscionable, but Jon clearly needs him. Dave's still his father."

Sara had never met the man, but she didn't think Dave was much of anything. She also didn't know whether he was still at the lodge. Normally, Sara would never break a patient's confidence, but Mercy was a victim of domestic violence and Will was a law enforcement officer. The fact that Mercy was talking as if she felt like her life was in danger had pushed Sara into thinking she had a duty to report. She hadn't considered the impact the information would have on Will. Dave's violent tendencies were literally causing him to lose sleep.

"The part that really makes me angry," Will said. "What Dave went through—it was bad. Worse than what I went through. But the terror, the unrelenting fear—those memories live inside of your body no matter how much your life changes for the better. And Dave's turning around and doing the same damn thing to the person he's supposed to love."

"Patterns are hard to break."

"But he knows what that feels like. To be scared all the time. To not know when you're gonna get hurt. You can't eat. You can't sleep. You just walk around with a rock in your stomach all the time. And the only thing good about being hurt is you know that you've got a few hours, maybe a few days, before they'll hurt you again."

Sara felt tears well into her eyes.

He asked, "Does it bother you?"

Sara wanted to know what he was really asking. "Does what bother me?"

"That I don't have a family."

"My love, I'm your family." She turned his head so that he would look at her. "I will go where you go. I will stay where you stay. Your people are my people, and my people are yours."

"You've got a lot more people than I do." He forced an awkward grin onto his face. "And some of them are really weird."

Sara grinned back. She had seen this before. His coping mechanism during the rare times he talked about his childhood was to always retreat into humor. "Who's weird?"

"The woman with the feathered hat, for one."

"Aunt Clementine," Sara provided. "She has an outstanding warrant for stealing chickens."

Will chuckled. "I'm glad you didn't tell Amanda. She would've loved to arrest someone at my wedding."

Sara had seen the emotion on Amanda's face when Will had asked her to dance. There was no way she would've ruined the moment. "I told you my aunt Bella's second husband died by suicide. Shot himself in the head. Twice."

The awkwardness had left his smile. "I can't decide if you're joking about that."

Sara looked into his eyes. The moonlight picked out the flecks of gray inside the blue. "I have a confession."

He smiled. "What?"

"I really want to have hot lake sex with you."

He stood up. "The lake is this way."

They held hands as they walked down the path, stopping along the way to kiss. Sara leaned against his shoulder, matching his pace. The absolute silence on the mountain made her feel like they were the only two people on earth. When she'd thought about her honeymoon, this was what Sara had imagined. The full moon glowing in the sky. The fresh air. The safe feeling of Will beside her. The glorious prospect of uninterrupted, unrushed time to be with each other.

She heard the lake before they reached it, the gentle slap of waves against the rocky shore. Up close, there was something breathtaking about the Shallows. The water was cast in an almost neon blue. The trees curved around the bend like a protective wall. Sara could see a floating dock several yards out. There was a diving board and a sunbathing platform. She had grown up on a lake, and it made her happy to be close to the water. She kicked off her sandals. She slipped out of her dress.

"Oh," Will said. "No underwear?"

"Hard to have hot lake sex unless you're naked."

Will glanced around. He clearly didn't relish the idea of public nudity. "It seems like a bad idea to jump into something you can't see in the middle of the night when no one knows where you are."

"Let's live dangerously."

"Maybe we should—"

Sara cupped him between the legs and gave him a deep kiss. Then she walked into the water. She suppressed a shiver at the sudden drop in temperature. Even though it was the middle of summer, the melt in the Appalachians had come late. There was something bracing about the chill as she swam toward the floating dock.

She turned onto her back to check on Will, asking, "Are you coming in?"

Will didn't answer, but he rolled off his socks. Then started to unbutton his pants.

"Whoa," she said. "A little more slowly, please."

Will made a show of pushing down his pants. Then he moved his hips as he unbuttoned his shirt. Sara gave out a whoop of encouragement. The water didn't seem so chilly anymore. She adored his body. His muscles looked like they had been carved from a slab of marble. He had the sexiest legs that any man had a right to. Before she could really drink him in, Will did the same thing she had, walking straight into the water. Sara could tell by his clenched teeth that the temperature had surprised him. She would have to work to warm him up. She pulled him close, resting her hands on his strong shoulders.

He said, "Hey."

"Hey." Sara smoothed back his hair. "Have you ever been in a lake before?"

"Not by choice. Are you sure the water's safe?"

"Copperheads are usually more active at dusk." She could see his eyes widen in alarm. He'd grown up in Atlanta, where most of the snakes were under the capitol dome. "We're probably too far north for cottonmouths."

He glanced around nervously, as if he'd be able to see a cottonmouth before it was too late.

"I have a confession," Sara said. "I told Mercy we lied to her."

"I figured. Is she gonna be okay?"

"Probably." Sara was still worried Mercy's thumb would get infected, but there was nothing she could do about that. "Jon seems like a good kid. It's hard being a teenager."

"There's something to be said for growing up in an orphanage."

She pressed her finger to his lips, then tried to distract him. "Look up."

Will looked up. Sara looked at Will. The muscles on his neck stood out. She saw his suprasternal notch. Which brought her back to dinner. Which unfortunately brought her back to Mercy.

She said, "Places like this, you scratch a little bit under the surface and all sorts of bad things come out."

Will gave her a careful look.

"I know what you're going to say: this is why we lied."

Will raised an eyebrow, but he spared her the I-told-you-so.

"Hey," she said, because they had spent enough of their night talking about the McAlpines. "I have another confession."

He started smiling again. "What's your confession?"

"I can't get enough of you." Sara licked her tongue into the notch on his neck, then kissed her way up. She let her teeth graze his skin. The water temperature became a non-issue. Will reached between her legs. The feel of his touch made her moan. She reached down to return the favor.

Then a blood-curdling scream echoed across the water.

"Will?" Sara clutched him by instinct. "What was that?"

He took her hand, scanning the area as they waded back to shore.

Neither of them spoke. Will passed Sara her dress. She turned it around, looking for the end. She was still hearing the scream echo in her head, trying to figure out where it had come from. Mercy seemed like the most likely source, but she hadn't been the only person upset tonight.

Sara went through the others, starting with the caterers. "The fighting couple at dinner. The dentist was wasted. The IT guy was—"

"What about the single guy?" Will pulled on his pants. "The one who kept needling Mercy?"

"Chuck." Sara had watched the creepy man staring at Mercy over dinner. He seemed to revel in her discomfort. "The lawyer was obnoxious. How did he get on the Wi-Fi?"

"His horse-obsessed wife annoyed everybody." Will shoved his feet into his boots. "The lying app guys are up to something."

Sara had told him about the weird Landry/Paul name change. "What about the Jackal?"

Will's face went stony.

Sara slid on her sandals. "Babe? Are you—"

"Ready?"

Will didn't give her a chance to answer. He went ahead of her up the path. They passed the cottage, then veered left onto the Loop. She could feel him making an effort to match his pace to hers. Sara would've normally broken into a run, but her sandals made that impossible.

He finally stopped, turning to her. "Is it okay if—"

"Go. I'll catch up." Sara watched him run into the dense forest. He was bypassing the Loop, making a straight line toward the main house, which made sense because that was where the only light was coming from.

Sara turned back toward the lake. From the map, there had been three sections, one tiered larger than the next like a wedding cake. She could've sworn the scream came from the bottom layer, at the opposite end of the Shallows. Or maybe it wasn't a scream. Maybe an owl had plucked a rabbit from the forest floor. Or a mountain lion had squared off with a raccoon.

"Stop," Sara chided herself.

This was insanity. They'd darted off without a plan. It wasn't like Sara could run around waking people up because she might have heard a scream. There had been enough drama at the lodge tonight. The problem was likely Will and Sara. Neither one of them could turn off their brains from work. There was nothing for her to do but continue up to the main house. She would sit on the porch stairs and wait for Will to join her. Maybe one of the fluffy cats would keep her company.

Sara was grateful for the low voltage lighting along the trail as she made her way up to the house. She couldn't tell if the walk felt longer or shorter this time. There were no landmarks to pick out. She didn't have a watch. Time seemed to stand still. Sara listened to the sounds of the forest. Crickets chirped, creatures scattered. A breeze rustled her dress. The promise of rain was heavy in the air. Sara picked up the pace.

Another few minutes passed before she saw the porch light glowing from the main house. She was about fifty yards away when she noticed a figure coming down the stairs. The moon had gone behind some clouds. The pitch black dueled with the weak light bulb, creating a monstrous shape. Sara chastised herself for feeling afraid. She had to stop listening to Big Foot podcasts before she fell asleep. The shape was a man carrying a backpack.

She was about to call out when he stumbled across the compound, fell to his knees and started vomiting.

The sour smell of alcohol wafted through the air. Sara had a split-second where she considered turning around, finding Will, and going on with her night, but she couldn't quite bring herself to look the other way. Particularly because she had a sinking suspicion that the monstrous figure was actually a troubled teenager.

She tried, "Jon?"

"What?" He stumbled, grabbing his backpack as he tried to stand. "Go away."

"Are you all right?" Sara could barely see him, but he was clearly not all right. He was swaying back and forth like a windsock. "Why don't we sit down on the porch?"

"No." He took a step back. Then another. "Fuck off."

"I will," she said. "But let's find your mom first. I'm sure she wants to—"

"Help!"

Sara felt her heart freeze inside of her chest. She turned toward the sound. There was no mistaking it had come from the back part of the lake.

"Please!"

The front door had slammed closed by the time she turned back toward Jon. Sara didn't have time for a drunk kid. She was more worried about Will. She knew that he would go directly toward the screaming woman.

She had no choice but to take off her sandals. She lifted the hem of her dress and started running across the compound. Her brain furiously tried to figure out the best route. At cocktails, Cecil had mentioned Lost Widow Trail led to the bottom of the lake. Sara vaguely recalled seeing it marked on the map. She ran around the Loop, bypassing the trail to the dining hall. She couldn't find any markings for Lost Widow. All she could do was take off into the forest.

Pine needles drove into the soles of her bare feet. Briars pulled at her dress. Sara blocked the worst of the damage with her arms. This wasn't a sprint. She had to pace herself. Judging by the map, the bottom of the lake was quite a distance from the compound. She slowed to a jog, even as she was considering all the things she should've done first. Locate a first aid kit. Put on her hiking boots. Alert the family, because Jon was drunk and a kid and he'd probably passed out in his room.

Poor Mercy. Her family would not come running. They had been so horrible to her at dinner. The way her mother had snapped at her. The disgusted look on her father's face. Her brother's pathetic silence. Sara should've talked to Mercy more. She should've pressed the woman on her fears that she wouldn't make it to see the morning.

"Sara!"

Will's voice was like a hand squeezing around her chest.

"Get Jon! Hurry!"

She stumbled to a stop. Sara had never heard him sound so raw. She turned back toward the direction she'd come. There was no telling how much time had passed since she'd talked to Jon outside the house. She knew that Will was close. She also knew that mindlessly running back to the compound was not what Jon needed.

Something very bad had happened to Mercy. Will wasn't thinking straight. Mercy would not want her son to see her in distress. If Dave had gotten to her, if he had really hurt her, then there was no way Sara would let Jon have that memory etched into his brain.

"Sara!" Will yelled again.

The sound of his need set her off again, this time with purpose. She ran full-out, tucking her arms into her body. The closer she got, the more the air thickened with smoke. The terrain dropped precipitously. Sara went into a controlled slide. She lost her balance at the last minute, nearly tumbling the rest of the way. The wind was knocked out of her, but she could finally see a clearing. She pushed herself up. Started running again. Saw the moonlight tracing the spine of a sawhorse, outlining the tools scattered on the ground, a generator, a table saw, then finally the lake.

The smoke blackened the space in front of her. Sara ran at a crouch along the curving, rocky terrain. There were three rustic cottages. The last one burned so hot that she could feel the heat on her skin. Smoke furled like a flag as the wind shifted back. Sara took another step closer. The ground was wet. She could smell the blood before she realized what she was standing in. The familiar copper penny smell that she'd lived with most of her adult life.

"Please," Will said.

Sara turned. A trail of blood led to the lake. Will was on his knees leaning over a prone body in the water. Sara recognized Mercy by her lavender-colored shoes.

"Mercy," Will sobbed. "Don't leave him. You can't leave him."

Sara walked toward her husband. She had never seen him cry this way before. He was more than distraught. He was utterly devastated.

She knelt down on the other side of the body. Gently rested her fingers on Mercy's wrist. There was no pulse. The skin was nearly frigid from the water. Sara looked at Mercy's face. The scar was nothing more than a white line. The woman's eyes stared lifelessly at the menagerie of stars. Will had tried to cover her with his shirt, but there was no obscuring the violence. Mercy had sustained multiple stab wounds, some of them so deep that they had probably shattered bone. The volume of blood was so great that Sara's dress wicked up the red in the water.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. "Will?"

He didn't seem to register that Sara was there.

"Please," he begged Mercy. "Please."

He laced together his fingers and placed his palms over Mercy's chest. Sara couldn't find it in her heart to stop him. She had coded so many patients in her career. She knew what death looked like. She knew when a patient had already crossed over. She also knew that she had to let Will try.

He leaned over Mercy. Put his full weight into her chest.

She watched his hands press down.

It happened so fast that initially, Sara didn't understand what she was seeing. Then she'd realized a piece of sharp metal had sliced into Will's hand.

"Stop!" she yelled, grabbing his hands, pinning them in place. "Don't move. You'll cut the nerves."

Will looked up at Sara, his expression the same that he would offer a stranger.

"Will." Sara tightened her grip. "The knife is inside her chest. You can't move your hand, okay?"

"Is Jon—is he coming?"

"He's back at the house. He's okay."

"Mercy wanted me to tell him that—that she loves him. That she forgives him for the fight." Will was shaking with grief. "She said that she wanted him to know it's okay."

"You can tell him all of that." Sara wanted to wipe away his tears, but she was afraid he would rip out the knife if she let him go. "We need to help you first, okay? There's some important nerves in this part of your hand. They help you feel objects. A basketball. Or a gun. Or me."

Slowly, he came back to himself. He stared down at the long blade that had impaled the webbing between his thumb and index finger.

Will didn't panic. He said, "Tell me what to do."

Sara let out a shallow breath of relief. "I'm going to take away my hands so I can make an assessment, all right?"

She saw Will's throat work, but he nodded.

Sara gently let him go. She studied the injury. She was grateful for the moonlight, but it wasn't enough. Shadows crisscrossed the scene—from the passing smoke, from the trees, from Will, from the knife. Sara pinched the tip of the blade between her thumb and index finger. She tested it to see how tightly it was embedded inside Mercy's body. The firm resistance told her that the knife had somehow wedged between the vertebra or sternum. There was no way to pull it out except by force.

In any other situation, Sara would've stabilized Will's hand to the blade so that a surgeon could remove it in a controlled setting. They didn't have that luxury. Mercy was partially submerged in water. The pressure from Will was the only thing keeping her body from shifting with the waves. They were God only knew how far from a hospital, let alone an EMT. Even with all of the help in the world, they would be ill-advised to try to carry both Mercy's body and Will out of the forest with his hand pinned to her chest. Not to mention the risk of having a living person pinned to a dead body. The bacteria from decomposition could set up a life-threatening infection.

She would have to do it here.

Will was on Mercy's left side. The knife was sticking out of the right side of her chest, otherwise it would've been in her heart, which would have precluded attempting CPR. Will's fingers were still laced together, but the damage was limited to his right hand. The angled tip of the knife had pierced the web between his thumb and index finger. Roughly three inches of the serrated blade was showing. She estimated it was half an inch wide and razor sharp. The killer had probably taken it from the family kitchen or the dining hall. Her hope was that most of the important structures in Will's hand had been spared—there wasn't much going on in the thenar web—but Sara wasn't taking any chances.

She called out the anatomy for her sake as much as Will's, "The thenar muscles are innervated by the median nerve, here. The radial nerve provides sensation to the back of the hand from the thumb to the middle finger, here and here. I need to make sure they're intact."

"Okay." His expression had turned stoic. He wanted this over with. "How do you check for that?"

"I'm going to touch your fingers around the outside, and you need to tell me if the sensation is normal or if something feels off."

She could see the concern in his face as he nodded.

Sara lightly traced her finger along the outside edges of his thumb. Then she did the same with his index finger. Will didn't offer any feedback. His silence was maddening. "Will?"

"It's normal. I think."

Sara felt some of her anxiety lessen. "I can't get the blade out of the body. I'm going to lift your hand off the blade, but I need you to relax the muscles in your arms, keep your elbows soft, and let me do all the work. Don't try to help me, okay?"

He nodded. "Okay."

Sara held his thumb steady as she slipped the tips of her fingers underneath his palm. As slowly as she could, she started to lift upward.

Will hissed in air between his teeth.

Sara continued lifting until she had finally cleared the blade.

Will let out a long breath. Even though he was free, he kept his hand in the same position, fingers splayed, hovering in the air above the body. He looked at his palm. The shock had worn off. He was feeling everything now, realizing what had happened. He moved his thumb. Flexed his fingers. Blood dripped from the wound, but it was more of a trickle than a spray, which indicated that the arteries were intact.

"Thank God," Sara said. "We should go to the hospital so they can look at this. There could be damage we're not seeing. You're caught up on your Tdap, but the wound needs to be thoroughly cleaned out. We can find someone to take us down the access road and drive back to Atlanta."

"No," Will said. "I don't have time for that. Mercy wasn't just stabbed. She was butchered. Whoever did this was frenzied, angry, out of control. The only way you hate somebody that much is if you know them."

"Will, you need to go to the hospital."

"I need to find Dave."