Page 4 of Waysider
That photo would haunt Cass until the day she died.
Even now, she could remember it perfectly. Patrick had made a clearing in the thickest part of the woods, assuming the seclusion and the trespassing signs would guard his grisly collection. The girls were arranged in ways that made it look like they’d frozen in time. One peered around a tree, her fingers buried in the bark. Others were sitting on the ground or curled in the soil. Two of them were dancing, their thin, pale arms locked together.
Cass quickly refocused on the monster sitting in front of her. Her lips felt stiff as she said, “You asked for this meeting, Mr. Doyle. What the fuck do you want?”
His eyes narrowed, and Cass’s instincts began to hiss, even more urgently than before, Danger, danger. Nothing about Patrick’s posture changed, exactly, but tension radiated from him. Like a predator on the verge of attack. “You’ve got a real mouth on you” was all he said.
“Okay, I’m done with this. You clearly don’t know anything, and I don’t make deals with murderers.” Finally giving in to the compulsion, Cass started to rise from the chair. She couldn’t wait to get out of this hallway, this building, this fucking state.
“Not even to help Michael?” Patrick called after her, his voice bouncing off the cold stones.
Cass froze. She turned, slowly, and her heart was beating so hard it felt like an earthquake in her chest.
“What the fuck do you know about Michael?” she said. Low. Quiet.
“Ignore him, Cassie,” Cal urged, tugging at her elbow.
But Cass wrenched free and stormed back to the glass wall.
“Goddamn it,” Cal growled. But he stayed right on her heels, ready to do whatever he could when this inevitably blew up in their faces. Just like he always had.
Patrick watched Cass return to him, and this time, he did nothing to hide his smile. His real smile, and most certainly not the one he used to lure those poor women into his snare.
Because if they’d seen this smile, they wouldn’t have put one foot into Patrick Doyle’s car.
“Answering that would require a longer conversation,” he said. Patrick tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “Then there’s also the matter of Ricky. So my offer stands, but I’ll make it even simpler. I will answer your questions, Miss Ryan, in exchange for one thing—your story.”
The words echoed through Cass like a clap of thunder in a canyon. She stood frozen, her thoughts racing. Not just from fear and confusion, but also… hope. How the hell did Patrick Doyle know about Michael? How did he know anything about her? It was impossible. She hadn’t told people about Michael, other than Cal and Professor Harkens, and they didn’t know the whole truth. Not even close.
The serial killer stared at Cass calmly, waiting for an answer.
She didn’t need to think about it.
“Fine.” Cass said it with the finality of someone signing a contract with the devil. She imagined her heart as a thing made of bolts and steel, knowing that she’d need to feel nothing if she was going to do this. Relive the past seven months.
“Cass,” Cal said. His voice was full of warning… and pleading. His fingers curled around hers. “Please. Let’s get out of here.”
“It started with the boy on the bridge.” Cass forced her gaze back to the monster behind that wall. She didn’t pull away from Cal. Instead, she held him tighter. “His name was Ricky.”
CHAPTER TWO
April 27th, 1984
Albany, NY
“Mom is going to murder you.”
The ominous words rolled right off Cass. Without looking at her brother, who stared at her from the driver’s seat, she took the bag off her shoulder and threw it into the back. Her silver rings flashed as she slammed the door and dropped into the passenger side, pulling that door shut, too. Her leather coat creaked with every movement.
“Are you referring to what happened at school, or the nose piercing?” Cass asked finally, examining herself in the mirror. Her bleached, shoulder-length hair was greasy from a long day of traveling. Remnants of black eyeliner stained the skin beneath her eyes.
“Both,” Cal said, checking the side mirror before he drove away from the curb. Within moments, the lights of the bus station began to fade behind them.
Cass didn’t answer. She focused on her reflection and tried to swipe the eyeliner smudges away. But she could feel her twin looking at her. Cass still refused to look back as she muttered, “What?”
“Nice nails,” he said.
“Nice sleeves,” she mocked, darting a scathing glance at the letterman jacket Cal wore. “It’s like we’re back in high school again.”
