“Fuck. Please don’t freak out.”
“Too late,” I mutter, feeling my palms starts to sweat.
“He’s leaving calling cards.”
“Calling cards?” I ask, confused. He’s never left calling cards outside of the brand he leaves on victims.
“He … he’s been leaving oak leaves … in the cuts of the victims.”
I stop in my tracks and instantly feel nauseous.
“He started shortly after you left, but we didn’t see the pattern, so he made it more obvious. Once we realized what it was, he just kept to that method.”
I bend over and dry heave, slamming my eyes shut at the images bombarding my brain.
“Then he started traveling outside of his usual haunts. And it seems like he’s taking a direct path to you.” He says it so quietly I almost miss it over the pounding in my head.
“How?” I barely gasp out.
“I don’t know, man. I’ve been working nonstop on this, and I can’t fucking figure it out. I don’t know how he’s doing any of this, or how he knows where you are. I don’t fucking know.” The pain in his voice is familiar. It’s a helpless pain—constantly seeing your failures in the most gruesome way imaginable. He’s where I was a year ago, and I suddenly feel selfish to have left it all to him.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp out, trying to get enough oxygen in my body.
“No! Jesus fuck, Oak, this isn’t on you. This is one hundred percent on Tennison. I just have no idea how to stop the fucker, and it’s eating me alive.”
“And now he’s coming after me,” I gasp out. The panic attack is taking hold before I have time to even realize it or try to combat it.
“We don’t know that.” He says the words but doesn’t believe them.
A humorless laugh escapes me through the gasping breaths. I lie down on the trail, trying to gain some stability. The rough rocks stabbing me in the back give me something to focus on.
“Oak, listen to me. This is not on you, and I will catch this motherfucker no matter what it takes. I just wanted you to be vigilant without telling you all of this. I know he’s messed with your head.”
“And now he’s getting to you,” I tell him as my breathing starts to regulate. I shift on my back, causing more pain, but it stabilizes my thoughts more.
“Well, he’s going after my best friend, so fuck yeah, he’s getting to me.”
We both are silent for a couple of minutes, both in our heads.
“How the fuck do we get him?” I whisper.
“I don’t know, man. I can’t figure out his pattern. And now that he’s on the move, which he never has done before, there are too many factors. I’m fucking scared, Oak.” His voice is barely above a whisper.
“Me too, Wood.” I want to be able to say more, but I can’t. Because I already failed. I’ve wracked every corner of my brain to try to figure out this fucker, but I just can’t. The worry now is that he’s moving toward Texas, and there’s too much that can happen.
“Please keep me updated on any movements.” It’s the only thing I can offer right now. Besides the panic attack creating a fog all around me, I can’t commit to helping or even working on the case. I want to help Kellen, but I just can’t.
“I will. I’ll catch him, Oak. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll catch him.” It’s a promise he can’t make. We both know it, but he says the words anyway. It’s no comfort to either of us.
I hear a rustle on the trail and try to perk up, but I’m sluggish.
“I’ll talk to you later, Wood. Keep me updated please.” I hang up without another word, just as a huge body comes out of the woods.
I shield my eyes against the midday sun and see Lennox dressed in his usual Park Ranger uniform. And he looks fucking pissed.
“How much of that did you hear?” I don’t bother beating around the bush, letting out a sigh and collapsing back on the trail, a rock digging into my back again but I don’t bother to move it. It helps me feel something,anything.
“Enough to know that you aren’t a fucking chef from New York.”
