Page 110 of Hunter or Hunted

The drive was as controlled and calm as the abduction had been.

On our way down, we had mapped our perfect route. Exactly when we would need to stop for gas, how far Honey could make it before she needed to pee, how often we would need to pee. With stops to a minimum, we relied on prepackaged food and drinks for sustenance.

Evan survived on saline.

I kept him on a low-dose sedative drip for the duration. He stayed in a twilight consciousness. Maybe he had some awareness of where he was, who we were, but he didn’t have enough strength to fight.

We didn’t want a fight anyway. Just a clean execution.

He pissed himself several times. I didn’t clean him. That was a line I wouldn’t cross.

But I had lined the ground beneath him with a sheet of plastic and several layers of disposable pet urine pads. That way, the van would be easier to sanitize when we finished.

We arrived at the house around 2 A.M. the following day. No matter how technically sleep-deprived, our eyes stayed wide open when we pulled into the garage.

Gwen took Honey into the house. The place still needed a lot of work. We couldn’t call it close to livable, but with a few baby gates, the living room had enough space for Honey to settle down for the night. Some dust lingered, and we cleaned up anything hazardous. Couldn’t call it her cozy cabin, but Honey would do just fine for a few hours in there. Better than witnessing what we were about to do.

I had lowered the sedative drip as we approached Black Pines. Evan’s eyes opened more frequently, fingers and toes twitching as Gwen and I carried him from the trunk on the cot. Between the two of us, we got him onto a chair. Probably the hardest part of everything we pulled off so far.

We tied him in place with rope, arms behind his back, and let his head lie limp.

And then, we sat. Side by side on the white epoxy floor, we sat and we waited.

We passed a bottle of water back and forth, snacking on bags of chips, even a couple candies, waiting. Neither of us said anything. Nothing of value, anyway.

What could either of us say? We weren’t all that emotionally attached to the situation. I didn’t get some sadistic thrill from this. Judging by the slack posture of Gwen’s shoulders and the deep dark circles under her eyes, she didn’t either. We did this because it was right. It would protect Ava. It would avenge Allie.

We didn’t need to speak. We knew what we had to do. As soon as he woke up.

The clock on the wall above his head read 3:42 when his twitching intensified. His arms jutted against the ropes behind him. His head flung up, accompanied by a groan.

“Yeah, I bet your neck is killing you.” Metal clattered against concrete when Gwen lifted her blade from the ground. She stood, and Evan’s eyes landed on her. “How was your nap?”

Blinking hard, likely trying to tell if this was a hallucination or a nightmare, he yanked against the ropes again. “What are you—what’s going on? Where am I? Who are you?” Words slurred, he gave her another once-over. His eyes landed on me. He kept blinking, and his eyes widened. “You—you were at the funeral. You were at Allie’s funeral.”

“And so were you.” Gwen walked to the workbench and dragged the rolling stool across the room. She parked it a foot or two in front of him. As she sat, her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “Lot of balls for that, man. Showing at the funeral of the girl you murdered.”

“I didn’t—you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Evan scanned the room. His eyes fell on me again, like he expected me to step in. Like he thought I would help. When I only frowned, his confused, blinking eyes sparkled with something I didn’t know he was capable of feeling. Terror. At the top of his lungs, he screamed, “Help! Somebody help! Please! Help me!”

I thought I would feel something when this inevitable moment came. Guilt. Shame.

But I found myself rolling my eyes.

“We are five miles from any road.” Gwen’s voice stayed calm. Almost consoling. “No one can hear you. No one is coming to help. Just like no one came to help Allie when you strangled her and tied her up in that tree.”

“I never hurt her,” he said, panting, sweating. “I loved her. I still do. I love her so much. I never wanted anything bad to happen —”

“When I met her, she was sporting a black eye.” Gwen lifted the blade. She kept it millimeters from his face, drawing a slow circle that connected at his eyebrow and cheekbone. “That you gave her. You’re not going to deny that too, are you? Because even Charlotte knew you put your hands on her. So did all her friends, even her old soccer coach. Don’t lie to me, Evan, alright? This will go a lot smoother if you just tell the truth.”

Pale lips quivering, his nostrils flared. Tears rimmed his eyes, then glistened down his gray, sickly cheeks.

“So, let’s start over.” Gwen straightened, lowering the blade to her lap. She kept her hand on its hilt, but her posture otherwise relaxed. “You killed Allie. I want to know why. I want to know exactly what happened. How you found her, what she said, what you said, and how you wound up wrapping a rope garrote around her throat.”

“I didn’t, I swear, I —”

“I found her bracelet in your office.” Still so calm, cool, and collected. Like a parent reprimanding a child. “It was lying on a shelf. The shelf that previously showcased a several-hundred-dollar pair of sneakers. Shoes that were found on her feet after she died. Why did you do that anyway? What was the purpose of changing her shoes?”

A sob quaked his shoulders. His whole body trembled. He shook his head. “Please. Please don’t hurt me.”