Her mama looked at her papa, who shook his head, his eyes imploring her to keep silent.
“Tell me, Mama. Is this boy my brother?”
She nodded, some secret pain aging her face and dulling her eyes.
Devra stopped breathing. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Where is he? What happened to him?”
Taking great pains, her mama opened an old newspaper article and smoothed it across the table.
“You shouldn’t have kept that, Lydia,” William admonished.
Devra’s stomach turned and the room tilted as the bold, black headlines leapt off the page. Thirteen-year-old Boy Bludgeons Mother and Father to Death. Baby Survives.
“You are that baby,” Lydia whispered.
RILEY TURNED to the chief. “We have to find her.”
“Mandy, call Mrs. Hutchinson and see if she’s there. Call her parents, too, then put an APB out on Officer MacIntyre’s vehicle.”
Riley quickly wrote down the color, model and plate number for her. A homicidal maniac was after Devra and if Riley didn’t act fast, he was going to lose her. An overwhelming sensation of helplessness overcame him. Evil wouldn’t win. Not again, it couldn’t.
Riley stood to grab his jacket off the coat tree by the door and stopped. “Chief, she has my gun.”
“What?”
Riley’s cell phone rang from his pocket.
“Riley.” Tony’s voice was triumphant. “John Miller’s last known residence is New Orleans, before that Miami, three years before that Portland and before that Seattle. Every city where one of our murders took place.”
“She’s at her parents’,” Mandy called.
“Tell them to keep her there,” the chief ordered. “We’re on our way.”
Riley and Chief Marshall hurried out of the building to the chief’s car.
“Sorry, Tony,” Riley said into the phone. “And before that?”
“He lived in a mental institution in Idaho. They released him the year he turned twenty-three.”
Riley’s blood went cold. “How old was Devra when he was released?”
Riley could hear Tony doing a quick calculation. “Thirteen.”
“We’ve got your man,” he said to the chief. “Released from an Idaho mental institution the year your son died.”
“Riley, he killed his parents. And get this, there was
a toddler in the house, but he didn’t touch her. It was Devra, Riley. She’s his sister.”
“WHO WAS THAT on the phone?” Devra asked.
“Mandy, down at headquarters. She wants you to stay here. The chief is on his way.”
“On his way to arrest me,” Devra muttered. “For murders I didn’t commit. He killed Tommy.” She poked the picture of her brother. “He has the same evil eyes as the man I saw in the woods that day. I told you it wasn’t me, but you didn’t believe me. No one believed me. You were all so quick to throw me into an institution, to tell me I was sick.”
“Devra,” her papa said. “We only wanted to protect you from whatever evil possessed this young man. He was a good boy, but he turned bad. He killed his parents, my brother, right after he turned thirteen. After what had happened to Tommy, we were afraid the same sickness had taken root in you. We were afraid the authorities would start poking around and everyone in town would know about the evil in your blood.”
Devra looked at her papa and felt nothing but cold fury. How could he have been so misguided?
“Where is my brother now?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow pass in front of the window. She turned, but it was gone.
“Where he’s always been. At Willoughby’s Mental Institution in Idaho.”
Devra frowned. “Are you sure he’s still there? When was the last time you checked?”
“The local police checked out your story that a man
had killed Tommy, but you barely had a description,” her mama said. “You had Tommy’s blood all over you, and the rock used to kill him was in your hand.”
Devra blew her hair back from her face, grabbed the newspaper clipping and the pictures and slipped them back into the envelope.
“Adopting you was the best thing that ever happened to your papa and me, even after everything that happened with Tommy. We love you now as much as we did the day we brought you home to us.”
“You abandoned me.” She stood. “You dumped me off in that torture chamber and left me there without a second glance. You never even came for a visit.”
“We did come,” her mama said softly. “We came every Saturday and watched you from outside the gate. We couldn’t bear to go through the week without seeing for ourselves that you were okay.”
Surprised, Devra stared into her mama’s red, swollen eyes. “But I don’t understand. I never saw you.”
“It was the doctors,” her papa said. “They were afraid our presence would disturb you. They said you hadn’t accepted your illness, that you were trying to hide it from them, and until you accepted you were sick, you wouldn’t get better.
“You always looked so peaceful sitting under the trees, writing in your journal.”
Emotion swelled in Devra’s chest and rose in her throat, making it hard to speak. “I hated it inside the sanitarium—the smells, the noise. I stayed outside as often as I could.”
“We just wanted to help you. We were so afraid.” Her mother dropped her face into her hands and cried.
“One Saturday, we drove up there and you were gone.” Her papa’s eyes reddened and watered. He turned away.
Stunned, Devra sat back down. She’d never seen her papa cry. Not even the day he’d left her at the sanitarium. Tears spilled over onto her cheeks as her heart breaking overwhelmed her. She’d been wrong about them. All these years, she’d been so wrong. They did love her, they had cared.
“We didn’t think we’d ever see you again,” her mama said, sniffling. “But here you are, a woman with a life of your own.”
“It’s been a hard life, Mama. A life of always looking over my shoulder, always on the run.”
“How can we help you, Devra?” her papa asked.
“I should disappear. Go where no one can find me. Especially him.” She pointed to his picture once more. “What’s his name?”
“Johnny. Johnny Miller,” her papa said with a small shake of his head.
“Devra, you can’t leave,” her mama pleaded. “The chief is on his way.”
“I’m not going to let them lock me up again. Chief Marshall is convinced I killed his son. But now I know different, now I know it was my brother.”
“You can’t spend the rest of your life running and hiding,” her papa said. “You need to fight for your future.”
She stared at him, afraid to trust the strength flowing through her. They believed her. “You sound like Riley.”
Go back to the beginning and start from there.
Riley’s words whispered through her mind. “I remember this house,” she said lifting the envelope. “The one in the picture. I dreamed about it earlier. I think it’s all coming back. I think I’m beginning to remember what happened.”
“You were too young. Barely three.”
“I remember the floor, the blood.” A shiver coursed through her. “I’m going back there.”
“Let me go with you,” her papa said.
She was tempted. But she knew what would happen if she did, and if she had to watch her papa die, she really would go insane. “I’m sorry, but this is something I have to do on my own. I’m going to find this brother of mine, and I’m going to take my life back.”
“Please, Devy, let the authorities handle this,” her mama pleaded.
“I wish I could. I wish I could trust them. But I don’t.”
“What about that young man of yours?”
“He doesn’t believe in me either.” The words hurt, but she knew in her heart they were true. She opened the screen door. “But I’ll prove them all wrong.”
Without glancing back, Devra climbed into the truck, turned on the ignition and buckled her seat belt. As she pulled down the driveway, something behind one of the tall pine trees caught her eye. As she passed, she glanced behind it, but didn’t see anything. She was jumping at shadows, she thought as she settled deeper into her seat. She turned onto the main road, heading east away from Rosemont, away from the chief and away from Riley.
Riley. He was probably furious at her. She pushed
him out of her mind. The only chance she had of winning him back was to prove her innocence and for the first time in her life, she finally had something to go on, she finally had hope.
She adjusted her rearview mirror. Eyes as black as a Washington night sky stared back at her through the mirror, close enough to bore into her soul and burn her with those red glints of laughter. She stared, frozen. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel. Her vision shot back to the road, then back to the rearview mirror. He was gone. She imagined him, she thought, but was afraid to turn and look, afraid that she hadn’t imagined him and he was actually there, waiting for her.
“What do you want?” she said, her voice quavering.
Silence filled the space.
He’s not there, she told herself. You imagined him. She slowed, gathering the nerve to turn and look, to see for herself that there was no one in the back seat.
“You can run, but you can’t hide. Not from me.”
Devra’s heart slammed into her chest. She refused to look in the mirror. He was there. God help her, he was in the car. Adrenaline surged through her. She hit the brakes hard. The Expedition lurched and spun onto the shoulder. Her head slammed into the steering wheel. Pain erupted across her forehead.
She stayed like that for a long moment, afraid to move, afraid to see him. Fear quickened her blood and sent it roaring through her ears. She forced herself to lift her head from the steering wheel, to turn and look into the back seat—into the face of her nightmares.
Into the face of her brother.
He smiled—his teeth gleaming and white and perfect. “Peekaboo, Devy.”
Chapter Sixteen
Stunned, Riley stared at William. “What do you mean she’s gone?” Fury doused with fear surged through him. “There’s a serial killer out there stalking Devra and you let her leave?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. MacIntyre, but she doesn’t trust you.”
“She said you don’t believe in her,” Lydia added.
Riley cringed. He’d had his doubts, but he hadn’t said a word. How had she known?
“Any idea where she could have gone?” the chief asked.
“You gonna lock her up again?” William asked. “I won’t be party to that. I just can’t go through that again.”
The chief sighed. “No, William. Officer MacIntyre is right. Your daughter’s in danger. For Devra’s sake, tell us where she is.”
“She’s gone to find her brother,” Lydia said, her voice barely above a whisper. “She said she was going to track him down and take her life back.”
“Where was she headed?” Riley asked as uneasi
ness churned through him. He couldn’t bear to think of Devra out there trying to track down a killer alone.
“Where it all began,” William said. “Jensen’s Peak, about an hour east of here.”
DEVRA STARED into the black depths of her brother’s eyes. Eyes that had tortured her for years, every time she’d lay down to sleep. Panic sliced through her. “What do you want?” she whispered.
“I just want to play, Devy.” The tinny timbre of his voice scraped across her mind. There was a wild look to his eyes, an excitement, which caused fear to constrict her chest.
What did he mean, play?
He’d chased her through the forest the day he’d killed Tommy, he’d stood over her after she’d fallen to the ground, but had left her alive to face the wrath of a town. “Why didn’t you kill me? Why everyone but me?”
“I would never hurt you, Devy. I love you.”
Love me?
The bottom dropped out of her stomach. “Is it true? Are you my brother?” She knew it was true, as much as she tried to deny it; she’d seen the picture, she’d read the headlines. She knew better than anyone exactly what Johnny Miller was capable of.
He smiled that perfect smile and, for a second, he almost looked normal. She could almost imagine what their lives could have been like, if only he were sane.
He touched her hair, pulling a lock of curls through his fingers. She cringed as she stared at the smooth skin of his hand. It wasn’t large, callused or even dirty like she’d expect a killer’s hand to be. It was just an ordinary hand, yet it had stolen so much—her parents, Tommy, her life.
He’d ripped Michelle from Mac and Riley, and all those other women, those she knew about and those she didn’t. It was her brother she had the psychic connection with, her brother who’d killed anyone who’d gotten close to her, anyone who’d reminded him of her.
“I told you that you couldn’t hide from me, Devy. Don’t you remember when we used to play peekaboo? How you used to laugh. Laugh for me now, Devy.”
She couldn’t laugh. She wanted to laugh. Wanted to laugh with the maniacal glee of those poor sick souls she’d lived with in the sanitarium. But she couldn’t laugh any more than she could disappear into her head to better worlds, safer worlds.
Because she was sane.
The knowledge hit her with a twisted irony. Of course she was sane. She’d always known she was sane, no matter what everyone had said to convince her differently. They’d been wrong.
He touched her shoulder, softly running his finger down her arm. She cringed, and closed her eyes.
“You’ve been hiding for years now,” he said. “But I’ve always found you. And I always will. We’re connected. I can see you in my dreams, see what you’re doing. I can see who you’re with.”
Nausea rose in her throat. Had he seen her with Riley? Had he seen her alone in her house, scared out of her mind after she’d had one of her “dreams”? Is that why he continued to kill, to have that connection with her? Her stomach turned, and she knew she was going to be sick. She opened the car door and stumbled out
onto the side of the road, bent over, clutching her stomach and gasping huge breaths of air.
She hurried back down the road toward her parents’ house, still holding her stomach, trying to get away from him, to get away from the knowledge of who he was and what he’d done.
All because he loved her.
She heard him get out of the car and come running up the street. He grabbed her from behind and spun her around to face him. He was happy, he was laughing, he was completely insane.