'I know.'
Mark couldn't take his eyes off the barrel of the gun. He wondered if he would see the flame or if he would hear the explosion, or if it would all happen in silence and darkness before his brain could process the shot. He would simply be standing here in one instant and lying on his back in the next instant, unable to draw a breath, feeling the warmth of blood on his chest.
Troy was crying. Mark could see the boy's chest heave.
'I have to do this,' Troy said.
'I'm not going to stop you.'
There were no easy choices. If Mark moved, he died. If he stayed where he was, he died. Troy tightened his grip on the slippery butt of the gun. As he hesitated, poised to fire, a bright beam of light speared through the night and caught the two of them in its glare like deer on the highway. Mark instinctively shielded his eyes with his palm. Troy spun in shock, taking the gun with him.
'Troy, put that gun down right now,' a man barked.
Like a child, Troy complied. His arm sagged; the gun pointed at the ground.
Mark recognized the voice and saw the man's squared shoulders and squat legs in the light that bounced off the dirt.
Sheriff Reich marched toward them from the edge of the forest.
Tresa huddled in the trees above Schoolhouse Beach. She shivered, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her red hair was plastered to her face. She could barely feel her fingers and toes. She felt paralyzed by what was happening. By the gunshot. By everything that Mark had told her. By her fears of what was about to happen.
By the past.
She'd kept the secret for too many years. She'd willed it out of her mind as if it had never happened. She'd told herself that she was wrong, but now Glory was dead, and Mark and Hilary were both in danger, and it was all because she'd pretended she didn't know anything at all. She'd allowed everyone around her to believe a lie.
She should have known what had really happened in Florida. She should have suspected the truth.
Tresa stared at the water, which was a black sheet merging into white rocks. Part of her wanted to walk down into the lake's cold embrace and keep walking until the waves closed over her head and she was numb. Her guilt overwhelmed her, and she wanted to drown in it. Her eyes got lost in the dimpled surface of the bay. The raindrops hypnotized her. Only the silhouette of the man hiking on the beach awakened her from her trance. He came from the east near Mark's house. He hugged the woods, twenty feet from where Tresa was hiding. At first, she saw only that he was absurdly tall and lean, but then, as he drew near, she recognized Cab Bolton.
Gathering her courage, Tresa bolted from her hiding place. 'Detective!'
He didn't look surprised to see her. 'Tresa, are you OK?'
'Yes.' She saw ribbons of blood on the detective's neck. 'You're hurt.'
'I'm fine,' he said, but his face was ashen. 'Where's Mark Bradley?'
'He's in the campground. We were hiding from Troy.'
'What the hell is Troy doing here?'
Tresa hesitated, but she was done hiding and pretending. 'He came here to kill Mark. I tried to stop it, but I've made a mess of everything. I don't know what to do.'
Cab put an arm around her shoulder. 'Come on, stay with me. We have to find them. Troy isn't our only problem right now.'
He pulled her along the fringe of the beach, but Tresa stopped and held Cab's arm. 'Wait.'
'What is it?'
She tried to breathe. She tried to get the words out.
'I know who killed Glory,' Tresa told him.
'Troy, you stupid ass,' Reich snapped. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'
Troy shrank like a wilted flower in front of the sheriff. The boy opened his hand, and the gun dropped to the wet ground of the cemetery. It may as well have been on fire. 'I just — I mean, I thought I could make things right for Glory, you know?'
'You?'
'Yeah. I thought if no one else could stop him, then I could.'
The sheriff marched so close to the boy that he was practically in his face. 'Then do it already,' Reich told him.
Troy cocked his head in confusion. 'What?'
'Shoot the fucker.'
Mark wasn't sure he'd heard the words come out of Reich's mouth. Reich wasn't joking. He was dead serious. When Troy stood frozen in disbelief, Reich squatted and retrieved the gun and stuffed it back into the boy's hand. Like a robot following orders, Troy turned back toward Mark, but he could barely hold the butt of the gun steady. Panic and fear made his entire body quake.
'Do it,' Reich ordered him. 'You pussy, get something right for once in your life. We'll ditch your boat, and you can go hide in my basement, and we can figure out what to do with you. We're going to have to get you seriously lost.'
'Sheriff, what are you doing?' Mark asked.
'Shut up, Bradley. I'm waiting, Troy. Pull the trigger. Do it now.'
'I don't — I don't think I can,' Troy murmured, his voice broken.
Reich stepped in front of Troy impatiently and stripped the gun out of the boy's hands. 'Like I thought, no balls. Jesus, what a waste.'
'I'm sorry.'
'Get the hell out of here,' Reich told him.
'Where do I go?' Troy asked plaintively.
'My truck is on the highway. It's parked off the shoulder a hundred yards east of here. Climb inside and stay out of sight. Stay right there until I get back, got it? Do not move.'
Troy did as he was told. He ran, tripping over the ground like a clown, through the cemetery, land. He never looked back. Reich followed Troy's progress until he couldn't see the boy anymore, and then he re-aimed Troy's gun at Bradley's chest. Unlike Troy's wobbly hand, Reich's grip was solid and assured, and his arm was rigid.
'Now it's just you and me, Bradley,' Reich said.
'Sheriff, are you out of your mind?'
'Where's Tresa?' Reich asked.
'I don't know. She ran. Sheriff, if this is a joke, it's not funny.'
'It's no joke.'
Mark could see that it wasn't. Reich's intentions were deadly.
'Why are you doing this?' Mark asked.
'Because as long as you're alive, people are going to keep digging up ghosts. Once you're gone, you can take the blame for everything. If you'd died in that car accident like you were supposed to, the case would already be closed.'
'I can't believe you'd kill an innocent man,' Mark told him.
'I've killed plenty of men. They were innocent. You're not. Don't bother pleading for your life. I'm fresh out of mercy.'
'I didn't kill Glory.'
'Now you're just making me mad,' Reich growled.
'I don't care. I didn't do it.'
'Pete knew you were a liar.'
'I didn't kill Peter Hoffman either.'
Reich nodded grimly. 'That's the first true thing you said, Bradley, but it doesn't matter. I killed Pete. You
