“You know why, Ray.”
“Did you kill him?”
That made her stop. “What?”
“Did you kill Stewart Green?”
“No,” she said. She moved closer to him, looked into his eyes again. “I never told you how abusive he was. How he hurt me.”
He frowned. “You think I didn’t know?”
“I guess you did.”
The key didn’t work.
“Just tell me why you ran,” Ray said. “Tell me what happened that night.”
“I took that path up to the ruins. I heard a noise and ran over to that big rock on the right. You know the one.”
He didn’t need to nod.
“I saw Stewart lying there in a pool of blood.” She stopped.
“So you ran?”
“Yes.”
“Because you thought the police would blame you?”
A tear ran down her cheek. “In part.”
Megan waited, hoping that she wouldn’t have to say the other part, that he would see it. It took a second or two, but his eyes began to widen.
“Oh my God,” Ray said. “You thought it was me.”
She said nothing.
“You ran,” he said slowly, “because you thought I killed Stewart Green.”
“Yes.”
“Were you scared of me? Or were you trying to protect me?”
She thought about it. “I could never be afraid of you, Ray. You always made me feel safe.”
Ray shook his head. “It explains so much. Why you never came back. Why you never reached out.”
“They’d either think I did it. Or you. There was no other way.”
Ray took the key from her hand and tried the lock again. It didn’t open. He looked lost, devastated.
“I must have arrived right after you ran,” he said.
“Was Stewart still lying there?”
Ray nodded. “He was bleeding. I figured that he was dead.” He closed his eyes and turned away. “I ran down the hill. I went to your place, afraid, I don’t know. I just didn’t know. But you were gone. I came here, to Lucy. I thought maybe you’d be hiding inside or something. I waited. But you never showed, of course. I searched for you. For years. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive. I saw your face on every street, in every bar.” He stopped then, blinked it away, found her eyes again. “Eventually I moved across the country. To Los Angeles, as far away from this place as I could get.”
“But you returned.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ray shrugged. “You know I hate all that mystical crap, right?”
Megan nodded.
“But something drew me back here. I don’t know what. I couldn’t help it.”
She swallowed. The realization was reaching her, sinking in even as she spoke. “And when you returned to Atlantic City, you went back to that spot in the park.”
He nodded. “Every February eighteenth.”
“You took pictures,” she went on. “Because that’s what you do, Ray. You see the world through that lens. You process things that way. And you took that picture-the one of Carlton Flynn the night he vanished.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“Come on, Ray. I still know your work.”
“So what did you think when you saw it?” Ray asked, a slight edge in his tone. “That I did it, right? I killed Stewart and seventeen years later, on the anniversary of that horrible night, I, what, killed this Flynn guy?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you sent that picture to the police,” she said. “You didn’t have to take that risk. You’re doing the same thing I am. You’re trying to help them. You’re trying to figure out what really happened that night.”
When Ray looked away now, her heart broke anew. Tears came to her eyes. “I was wrong,” she said. “All this time I thought… I’m so sorry, Ray.”
He couldn’t look at her.
“Ray, please?”
“Please what?”
“Talk to me.”
He took a few deep breaths, putting himself together a piece at a time. “I still go to the ruins on the anniversary. I sit there, and I think about you. I think about all we lost that night.”
She moved closer to him. “And you take pictures?”
“Yes. It helps. It doesn’t help. You know what I mean.”
She did. “So that picture you sent to the police…”
“It was stolen. Or at least, someone tried to steal it.”
“What?”
“I worked this stupid job for Fester-paparazzi at some over-the-top bar mitzvah. Someone jumped me on the street and stole my camera. At first I figured that it was a routine robbery. But then I saw Carlton Flynn on television and I remembered the photograph I took. I had a copy on my computer too.”
She said, “So you think whoever jumped you-”
“Killed Stewart Green and Carlton Flynn. Yes.”
“You say ‘killed.’ But we don’t know that. They’re missing.”
“We both saw Stewart Green that night. You think he survived?”
“I think it’s possible. You don’t?”
Ray said nothing. He looked down and shook his head. She moved closer to him. She reached up and pushed the hair off his forehead. He was still so damn handsome. She moved her hand to his cheek. Her touch made his eyes close.
“All these years,” Ray said, his eyes finding hers, “I still look for your face. Every day. I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times.”
“Was it like this?” she asked softly.
He pointed to the hand resting on his cheek. “You weren’t wearing a wedding ring.”
She took her hand away slowly. “Why are you still in this town, Ray, working for Fester? Why aren’t you doing what you love?”
“It’s not your problem, Cassie.”
“I can still care.”
“Do you have kids now?” he asked.
“Two.”
“Boys, girls?”
“One girl, one boy.”
“Nice.” Ray chuckled to himself and shook his head. “You thought I killed Stewart?”
“Yes.”
“That helped, I bet.”
“What do you mean?”
“To move on. Thinking your boyfriend was a murderer.”
She wondered whether that was true.
Ray studied her wedding ring. “Do you love him?” he asked.
