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“She’s mine,” he growled, but there was a hitch in his voice that betrayed his apprehension.

“Wrong answer.” I raised the bat and brought it down heavily, a howl sounding through the clearing.

Serial killer, Darren Ransom, was in court today and indicted on multiple felony and lesser charges. He is facing 58 first-degree murder charges, 20 kidnapping charges, destruction of evidence, witness tampering, and another dozen charges associated with his over twenty years of terror. The story continues to evolve as the depths of his crimes are revealed.

Cherrytree Hills residents are in shock as they learn the lengths Ransom went to in order to cover his crimes. As many of you know, Darren Ransom was the detective assigned to his very own case for over twenty years now, under the radar of the town and the Sheriff’s department. The Cherrytree Hills Sheriff’s department is fully cooperating in the state’s investigation.

The town is currently praising key individuals involved in this case who brought the truth to light. Peter Baker, local resident who is bearing key witness testimony and is responsible for leading investigators to Darren Ransom on that fateful day he was finally captured. The investigative journalists at Fibonacci Files who worked tirelessly over the months to find the man responsible for the crimes perpetrated against one of their own. And finally Marigold Taylor, also known as Goldie to her loved ones.

She was one of the original victims in Darren’s early crimes over twenty years ago and was targeted again. She was able to successfully escape his capture, not once but twice, bringing the minor found with her each time. The minor, whose name has been leaked as Silas Graves, who was declared dead a decade ago, had been held for ten years. We can confirm the state and his foster parents are working towards reunification with his brothers who never stopped fighting for him.

We will continue to report on the court proceedings over the foreseeable future as Darren Ransom faces the consequences for his unthinkable crimes. Thank you for tuning in as we have covered this case.

And for the last time, back to you, Bill.

Goldie

Iclicked off the news page on my computer, closing out of the browser and leaning back in my desk chair. It was strange to be the center of the very stories I wrote about. I had countless voicemails and emails from journalists, detectives, professors, and the crime junkies of the world. It was overwhelming. For so long I had lived in the shadows, not even sharing my real last name with those I cared for the most. There was safety in anonymity—a safety I had lost. But I had gained so much in the process.

My life, my history, was no longer a secret. But now my family—the one I had chosen, the one who had fought for me for months now—knew everything about me. They knew the ins and outs of who I was, who my parents were: all of it. It was a relief, a relief I hadn’t expected.

I closed my laptop and let out a breath, looking at the next issue of the journal spread in front of me. Because of the recent notoriety of my story, we had more subscribers to the journal than ever. Many were hoping this next issue would outline everything that had happened to me. For so many reasons, they were going to be disappointed. Mainly, I couldn’t share anything until the criminal proceedings were finished.

It had only been a couple of weeks since Darren was taken into custody: battered and bruised… and potentially neutered Darren Ransom. I was livid that Lexington had instructed Oliver to take me away; in my dazed mind, all I wanted was to be with him. It was the only place I felt safe. But now I was grateful. I didn’t want to have seen that, but I wasn’t angry it had happened. In fact, I was grateful.

Now that everything Lexington had done was cleared as self-defense, I could breathe easily. Did Oliver, Silas, and I fudge just how threatening Darren was being in that clearing? Maybe, but I didn’t regret it—not one bit. Lexington had incapacitated Darren long enough that he was down until the local sheriff’s department appeared.

I was surprised to see them storming through the trees, but their anger was just as palpable as mine. One of their own had betrayed them. Peter Baker, when he left Lexington and Oliver in the woods, had gone to guide them to us. It took some convincing, but Peter had done it, telling the already angry reinforcements where to find the source and cause of so much of their pain.

Before I could fully process it, Silas and I were air-lifted right out of the clearing. It probably wasn’t necessary, but no one wanted to take the risk of having us trek the few miles out of the woods. We were banged up and bruised, but we would both recover with time. I was finding I was faring rather well knowing Darren was finally caught and facing his crimes. I could breathe easier, and well… for the first time in as long as I could remember, the threat of what he could do to me was no longer a factor.

It was going to be an easy case for prosecutors. Between finding him in the act of the crime, taking Silas and me again, and searching his home, a mountain of evidence was unearthed: journals filled with the details of his crimes, the very gun used in every murder, and worst of all, he had the belongings of the children. The items taken the night those poor kids were abducted from their beds were found displayed in his basement like trophies. The prosecutors also had answers that I never thought I would know. He had taken the children on the new moon because of the darkness… that was it. The less light, the less possibility of him being found. The scent of gasoline was from the four-wheeler he rode to the bunker a few miles into the property; the antiseptic was from the cleaner they used at the police station. According to Mark, the staff cleaner, Darren was there nearly every Friday night, working into the wee hours of the morning. Everyone had assumed Darren was working the case tirelessly to finally bring the killer to justice.

In truth, he was hiding evidence: deleting details of fingerprints found at crime scenes, hiding autopsy reports, and wiping away any clue that could possibly lead to him. He even spent years discrediting Peter Baker, ensuring that if anyone did listen to his theories of Darren being responsible, they would already assume he wasn’t credible.

To think the town was right: it was the troubled boy who tormented the town in his youth who ultimately terrorized the town as he grew. He had always been their tormentor, but managed to disappear long enough to change his name after leaving town, erasing the paper trail of the troubled kid who used to burn down barns, allowing him to walk right back into the station as a savior. The man brought in to catch the ghost haunting everyone’s nightmares.

He wanted revenge, and he wanted no chance of being caught. So my parents were first—murdered because my dad tried to do the right thing.

I hoped he was proud of me, looking down on me wherever he rested, hand-in-hand with my mom, knowing I had finally brought him justice.

The deaths of my parents were finally solved. The mystery that had haunted my entire life was gone. It was… strange. Not in a bad way, but in a way I would need to think about for some time.

I wasn’t fully healed; I probably never would be. The nightmares still persisted, but Lexington was always there to chase them away. The doubts and worries still lingered, but River reminded me of the joy in my life now. River—my sweet River. I could cry tears of elation for the rest of my life that he was okay, and primarily unaffected by it all.

Spending that time in the attic had been scary for him, but a week of crawling into bed with us each night seemed to be cure enough. He also wasn’t scared of anything happening to him… but to me.

“You won’t leave me again, right?” he had asked quietly one night, the two of us whispering back and forth while Lexington slept soundly next to us.

“Not willingly, no,” I had explained in the dim light. My aversion to darkness hadn’t gotten any better, but I had a feeling Lexington would sleep with the lights on for the rest of time if I needed to, without complaint.

River was quiet for a moment, too contemplative for his young age, then leaned in closer. “Will you be my Mama now?”

I froze, not sure what to say, because it definitely wasn’t my place to answer that question. That was a question for his dad, not me. I contemplated kicking Lexington in the shin to wake him up right when he spoke, his voice gravelly from sleep. “River,” he scolded softly. “I thought we talked about this. Remember what I said?”

River’s nose scrunched in frustration that he had been caught. “If when I’m five I want Goldie to be Mama, I can ask then,” he grumbled with the sass of a teenager, and I immediately dreaded those years—while also smiling at imagining a sixteen-year-old River with matching eyes to his dad.

I booped River’s nose, and he let out a giggle. “Ask me when you’re five. I bet I know what my answer will be.” I gave him an exaggerated wink, which sent him into another fit of giggles.