Just Reality

Chapter 92

I hover at the door. I can't quite bring myself to knock, but without warning the door flies inward anyways. Sterling stands on the other side, her brown hair loose and messy, her face free of makeup, and her gun at the ready. I raise a brow in perplexity, and as she sees me she lets out a breath, lowering her weapon.

"Kathy," she says. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here." The answer leaves my lips easily.

"You live directly outside my door?"

"You're on edge too," I estimate, judging by the sheer fact she'd opened her door with a gun in hand. "You can't sleep. Neither can I."

She shakes her head in chagrin, though I can't determine whether it's directed at herself or at me, but emotions aside she steps back, inviting me in. I cross the threshold, and she closes the door behind me, flipping on the overhead light.

Glancing around I'm almost surprised at the sight of the familiar taxidermy predators, frozen seconds before they'd strike. "No wonder you can't sleep," I note sarcastically.

She bites back a smile. "He's always had a flair for the dramatic." She sits down on the edge of the foldout couch. With her hair down she looks years younger. "Why can't you sleep?" She asks. "Ankle tracker giving you problems?"

I glance down at me feet, mouth set in a pout as I shake the implied limb around. The constant weight should probably be more bothersome than it is, but with everything that's gone on these past few days, I'd completely forgotten it existed.

"No, this isn't my first rodeo so I'm fairly used to it. Yes, seeing as to how it's not even activated I'd love for you to take it off, but that's not why I'm up." She rolls her eyes in annoyance at the reminder. At this point, I'm sure she must know everything. "It's about the girl, the one that Christopher was meeting at the coffee shop. The one he was planning to abduct."

"What about her?" Sterlings voice is slightly hoarse. I wonder how many nights she spends like this, unable to sleep.

"Who was she?" I ask. "Why was she meeting Christopher?"

"She worked at the coffee shop," Sterling replies. "She'd been conversing with someone on an online dating site. He used a fake name and only accessed the account from public computers, but it stands to reason it was Christopher, taking things to the next level with victim selection. His mother was dead. He'd killed Emerson— that could have given him a taste for college aged girls."

Strangers on a train. "Christopher had an alibi for his mother's murder. Clark had one for Emerson's." I swallow. My mouth is dry, and it takes a lot of effort to keep talking. "Maybe that was it. Maybe now that Clark was dead, Christopher was on his own, but that doesn't explain how Redding knew someone was going to die, besides Clark. It was planned. And if it was planned..."

My feet carry me to the bed. Willing Sterling to understand I sit down beside her. My hands run down the length of my bare thighs. Shorts and a tee shirt have become the new normal for nighttime, but at the moment, the air is thick with a chill that grasps my spine.

"What if Christopher wasn't the one communicating with the girl online? What if he didn't choose her?"

Clark chose Emerson.

Christopher chose his mother.

They both had ironclad alibis for the murders of the women they'd chosen. What if someone else had an alibi for this one? What if they aren't the only ones?

"You think there's a third." Sterling puts the possibility into words and more than anything else that makes it real. My palms grip my knees.