Criss Cross

Chapter 61

It was long past two a.m. when Bree and I returned home. We’d had to wait for a hazmat team to come deal with the chemicals in the kitchen before any more of the scene could be processed.

These scum were selling to kids. Glad to be of service.

Bree said, “How did he know the Richardsons were moving meth?”

“I don’t know, but somewhere, I swear, he’s made a mistake.”

“Not so far,” she said, yawning. “I have to sleep.”

I did too, but sleep did not come easy. Every time I started to drift off, I’d flash on the stills of Pseudo-Craig, the blood of eight people bursting on my windshield, and the silk ties around the meth dealers’ necks.

The dead dog was in my restless dreams as well, as were the remaining boxes of the Edgerton files, everything spilled along a path through the forest that I followed as I chased M, a dark figure, smaller than I’d expected.

Strangling someone is no easy feat. It takes strength and size. So does cutting off someone’s head. And yet, my dream M was slight with narrow shoulders, and he could run and run and...

I woke with a start around five a.m. and heard birds chirping outside the window. Feeling dazed, I nevertheless remembered that slight, fast M who’d haunted my dreams and run past the Mikey Edgerton files in the forest.

The Edgerton files. I’ve heard it said that if fear is stopping you from doing something, you must take courage and do it anyway or be forever ruled by doubt and anxiety.

I got out of bed quietly and crept up to the attic.

After locking the door, I opened the final boxes of files concerning the serial rapist and killer I’d seen electrocuted a few weeks before. My tongue tasted sour when I began to read. Long-buried images of my past rose up, blurry at first, then gradually coming into focus, all of them deeply disturbing.