Wally was fighting and struggling to get away from her. “She’s going to throw me off the ridge. Save me, Daddy!”
Panicked, Larry ran to them. A tree limb slammed down and hit him in the head and Larry stumbled and fell. For a moment, Larry was disoriented.
“Daddy!”
Through the haze of the slashing rain, he thought Franny was dragging Wally toward the ridge.
Franny shouted, “He tried to kill me!”
Larry didn’t believe her. His son was only ten. Not a sociopath.
He pushed up from the muddy ground and ran toward them. He had to intervene.
But his son kept screaming and Franny was jerking Wally’s arm and they were getting closer and closer to the ridge.
Cold fear clawed at Larry as they reached the edge of the ridge. Franny stumbled, Wally pulled back.
Larry staggered to them and tried to pull them apart. But… Franny… went over the edge.
Wally threw himself around Larry’s legs, sobbing. Larry stood in shock. Had no idea what to do.
He looked down at his wife’s body, bent and twisted below. Even in the mist he could see blood pooling from beneath her head. Her blank eyes stared up at him, haunting and terrifying. Franny was dead.
Voices in the room jerked him back to reality.What if Franny had been telling the truth about all the bad things Wally did?
Had Larry turned a blind eye to Wally’s disturbing behavior, because he hadn’t wanted to believe it? Was his son really as evil as his wife claimed?
Where was he now?
After being incarcerated, police informed him that an older woman had taken Wally in. He had no idea what had happened after that.
Now he wanted to know. His mind jumped to dark places.
Could Wally possibly be this Midnight Ridge killer?
He bolted upright on the bed.
Once the question entered his head, he couldn’t shake it. Maybe he should talk to the police. No, not a good idea. They’d probably snap the cuffs on a convicted murderer like him and assume he was this serial killer.
He pressed his hand over his blurry eyes. Maybe he’d head up to Midnight Ridge and to the lodge and look around. See if Wally might have returned to his childhood home and the attic with his crow feathers.
And the ridge where his mother died.
NINETY-FIVE
Sanctuary House
Clara and Hazel had lined three flashlights on the kitchen counter and Clara was lighting candles in the living room and bathroom to wait out the storm. The power had been out for half an hour now with no idea how long it would take to be restored.
The wind screamed outside like a rabid coyote and tree branches banged against the window. Clara glanced outside with a shiver, the beauty of the white haze fading as she realized they were trapped inside the house while a monster was on the loose, preying on teenage girls and their children.
Claustrophobia had set in, and a cloud of fear enveloped her as she felt her baby kick. She gently rubbed her belly. She couldn’t wait to meet her little girl.
But she didn’t want to deliver her tonight here in the house with Hazel and no doctors around. Not that she didn’t trust Hazel. She was a midwife and had delivered countless newborns, including precious little Iris. But a killer might be out there, Iris was missing and Clara was scared out of her mind.
Darkness filled the room as the candle flickered off. Panic seized her and she quickly fumbled with the lighter and relit it.
“This storm’s a bad one,” Hazel muttered, her voice nervous as she meandered into the living room with two hot ham and cheese sandwiches. “Let’s have a snack. It’ll help pass the time.”
