Chapter Thirty-Three
Echo
I was taking a step back from Amanda’s case and looking at the others.
Every statement that had been taken was almost identical. Good people, worked hard, volunteered in their spare time, and went to church every Sunday—apart from my parents. We’d never stepped foot in a church. The majority of my people didn’t go to one.
Marissa Adkins was a twenty-four-year-old waitress in Seahill when she was murdered. The report said she attended Sunday morning services with her family then they had brunch. Afterward she went to the grocery store to pick up a few miscellaneous items for a night in with her roommate. She was found that evening by her roommate in their apartment. The slits were on her back. Just like all the others, she’d bled to death.
Beth Buswell was thirty-two and had been a stay-at-home mom of three-year-old twin boys. Her husband had taken the kids to preschool in the morning, and when he got home, she’d been sliced up like everyone else. She, however, had the two slits on her forehead, instead of between her shoulder blades.
I’d been racking my brain trying to figure out the killer’s motives behind the slits on the forehead versus the back.
Dr. Dorian was helpful in letting me know that there wasn’t any main artery at those points, so they weren’t more efficient in creating the blood loss. they were solely for another purpose. He did mention that bloodletting was still used in rural areas of the world to let evil seep out of their bodies. The practice was old, and severely outdated, but couldn’t be ruled out as a motive.
I studied the cases of the others all morning. Asher brought me food and drinks to keep my energy up as I was sprawled out on his floor surrounded by files and pictures of the victims.
Kellee Strickland and her husband, Darrel, both forty years old, had been helping their neighbor move all day, and then when the neighbor went to ask them if they wanted dinner that night, found them both bleeding out in their kitchen.
Bri Partin, age thirty-five, newlywed, was found by her new husband after coming home from the gym. She was cooking dinner.
Jen Sully, Dayna Elise, Markie Divey, Shari Womack, Magda Pereira, Audrina Norton, Cassandra Tatum, and Amanda Johnson’s deaths were the same. Kind women, just doing what they could to help their world for the better.
Only common denominator was that they were all women, with the exception of the two husbands. Different ages, ranging from nineteen to forty. They all were church goers, except my parents. But they all went to different churches, so that made me think it had to have been something else that connected them.
I asked Asher to go with me to my parents’, but I still felt nervous about going. Not long after I’d turned eighteen, I boarded up the house. I haven’t been back since. My aunt wanted me to sell the house and split the profit, but I’d told her to suck it and left.
She emailed occasionally, hoping that I’d sell the house and the large property it was on, but I still told her no.
I just wasn’t ready to give it up yet.
Asher and I were quiet as I drove us out of Seahill and onto reservation territory.
It was quieter, but they had everything you needed, so you didn’t have to go into the city often.
Familiar faces turned when they heard the rumble of my car driving down the main streets. My car was very recognizable. I’m sure the gossip machine would engage in no time.
Echo Cross was home.
The house looked eerie as we drove down the gravel driveway, and all sorts of memories flooded my head.
Pop helping me learn how to ride a bike, and Momma working with me in her gardens.
Those gardens were nothing but leafless vines and weeds now. My childhood home was frozen in a time of death from both winter and the last events that occurred inside it. There weren’t any happy memories inside that house after my parents died.
“Nice house.” Asher broke the silence, and I nodded my head, no words necessary. It was a nice house, or at least it had been. Built decades ago by my great-grandparents, it was a two-story wooden house with a wraparound porch. However, the years of neglect showed. The white paint was flaking off, giving it a creepy, abandoned look.
The one key that hadn’t been touched in years felt cold in my fingers as I parked the car and stepped out into the yard.
“What are you looking for?” Asher was trying to keep my mind focused on the true reason why we were here and not the emotions that were threatening to consume my mind.
“Anything that connects them to the killer. We never went to church, but that’s the only common denominator I can find with the others. I was just a teenager; there was so much I’m sure they didn’t tell me about their lives, and maybe some insight would help.”
At least I hoped so. There had been no motive found for their deaths and the others. But there was always a motive behind these evil acts.
I unlocked the door, and it gave with a loud creak from the hinges. The air was stale, and the open living room was dark, the curtains around the windows blocking any light from getting in.
It still smelled like lavender, as if Mom had just plucked a fresh stem off the plant outside and stuck it under all of the couch cushions. She said it was good luck, and helped the house smell nice.
“Let’s split up,” I told Asher, since I could feel his eyes on me. I didn’t look at him before climbing up the stairs and looking for something that could tell me about who would want to hurt my parents and the others.
My room was the same as I’d left it, and I knew there wasn’t anything in there pertaining to my parents’ lives. So, I ventured into a room that was completely untouched since death cursed this house.
Deep breaths, and I turned the knob to my parents’ room, easing the door open.
Their scent had long disappeared, and I found myself missing it hard right now.
“You’re the best damn detective in Seahill, Cross. Find your parents’ killer,” I told myself, trying to not get emotional from seeing their things just as they left them.
Shutting down my brain from feeling anything, I looked at everything from an unbiased point of view.