"I don't know why I'm defending myself," he says under his breath.
Pax mostly keeps quiet, as usual, a few paces behind. Twigs and leaves and rotten pieces of wood snap underfoot like wishbones.
"You know what's hard about being your wingman?" Grant asks.
"What?"
"The fact that it leaves no girls for us."
He motions to Pax like he's speaking for the both of them.
"You go through them so quickly, there's hardly any left," he says. "We obviously can't date the girls you have, and your sister is off-limits."
"I never said she's off-limits," I reply. "She makes her own decisions. If you're brave enough, go for it. And why can't you date the girls I once dated?"
"Guy code, man," Grant replies with a look that says I should know this. "We can't step where you have. That'd be wrong."
Pax stays strangely quiet, and I wonder if it's because he agrees.
"Why not?" I ask.
Grant sighs, exasperated. "It's the rules, don't you know this?"
I would never knowingly disrespect them or hit on a girl they genuinely like, and I figured that was silently understood and went both ways.
"I think that only applies if I'd actually liked the girl."
I haven't cared about a single one.
Until Willow.
"I still don't understand why you get them all, though," he says. "Not really fair to the rest of us."
Grant, for once, isn't smiling.
He's jealous. It's written all over his face. If the saying is true that jealousy makes some people act deranged, exactly how deranged is Grant willing to go? I find myself wondering again about him.
"You can have whoever you want. The only person I care about is Willow," I say. "And why have you been bringing up my past girls lately? Do you want a shot with them?"
Pax looks away from me, as though he doesn't want to be a part of our conversation. He only does that when he's not interested in having me read his expressions, which gives me an odd feeling.
"They won't give me a chance anyhow," Grant mumbles.
"Why not?"
Up close, I notice the way he tries to hide a grimace.
"I already tried, okay? That's why. That's how I know. And look, I'm sorry, I know it's wrong. I'm not supposed to date your exes. But I thought this one might have liked me. She always glanced my way in biology. So I tried. She shot me down. Said I remind her of you because we're friends. I can't get the girls you did, Beau," Grant says, envy thick in his tone.
"There are plenty of girls I haven't dated," I say.
The conversation makes me wonder if Grant secretly has something against me because of his own issues and chooses to use me as an excuse. My gut tells me he does, though it's not enough to ruin a friendship over, I suppose. Otherwise, what's he doing here?
"Your girlfriend is great," Grant says. "I wish I could get a girl like her. She's nice. Always smiling. She seems cool. That's all I meant by the whole thing."
"Okay," I reply.
I really can't see it anyway. Grant killing.
He could be something good or something bad, and I wouldn't know the difference. But if it is him, he can trust that I'll find out. I've made it my mission, after all, to catch the killer.
We're not quite to the spot yet, but I take a moment to pause. At the apex of the hill, I can see all the way down into the woods. This park is public, so there are a few other hikers quite a bit ahead of us. I spot an eagle at the topmost summit of a pine tree, the world at its feet.
I breathe deeply, relishing the balmy air, and blink against the bright light of the pooling sun.
"This view … " Pax says.
Yes, this view. It has nothing on the swamp, but it is definitely second best. Safer, too.
"Who do you think's doing it, Beau?" Pax asks.
It's on all our minds.
"I don't know," I answer honestly.
I think of all the people I know: Grandpa, Charlotte, Willow, Pax, and Grant. Since my mind is a dark place, I spin each of them as the face of the murderer. But they don't fit. Or maybe it's that I don't want them to fit. I don't want to know the person behind it, to look into their eyes and speak into their ears and share the same air as they do. I want it to be a face I've never seen, so I don't have to know what it means to have associated with someone who's fond of taking lives.
"They haven't got a single suspect," Pax says. "Aside from questioning and releasing you."
That means the killer is free.
To kill again.
"You have any thoughts about who might be behind the attacks?" Pax asks Grant.
My fingertips touch knobby bark. I inhale the scent of alpine.
"Not really," Grant replies.
The world around us is mostly still. Holding its breath and waiting.
"The killer could live miles from the crime scenes. He might be using the swamp, far from where he'd be implicated," I say. "Or maybe he's an outsider, camping out and taking lives."
"Or it could be someone we know," Pax replies.
"Or it could be a complete stranger who gets his rocks off on hurting others and is damn good at almost never leaving a trail." I roll thoughts around like dice. "Even though most of the whispers through town and school suggest I did it … I didn't, of course. Most don't believe me. Maybe it's someone who hates me."
Grant watches intently as Pax and I volley possibilities back and forth.
"Makes sense, because how could he be so good at knowing the swamp if he's a stranger?" Pax asks. "He'd have to be local to have a vendetta."
Solid point.
"Let's say he's local," I reply. "He must know how to keep far from my house and Willow's property. He's good at not being seen. That would mean he knows where Charlotte is. And where Willow is. How long do you think it'll take before he turns to one of them as his next victim?"
Pax ponders my question for a moment, not speaking.
"Don't ever leave them by themselves," he finally says. "Seems like the best solution."
"Guys." Grant grunts, clearly not a fan of our conversation. "You two are killing my mood. Let's talk about the party this weekend. Or for fuck's sake, anything that doesn't have to do with dead bodies."
It's a gruesome way to put it, but I buy in.
"Who's throwing the party this time?" I ask.
I choose the right words. Grant smiles and carries on about who, what, where, when. His long-winded talk goes on and on as we make our way down the hill and to our spot.
Pax looks my way, a strange expression passing over his face. I think he knows I'm only placating Grant. I think, for all his quietness, he also knows more than he says.
I'm just not sure what that means yet.
25
Willow
The air is as warm as lava. Yet I try not to shiver.
It's happened again.
They found another dead girl today.
I think about what it means as I sit by the fire, Beau by my side, his friends Grant and Pax across from us.
"It's unreal," I say, stoking the fire with a twig, earthen fingers playing in the embers, flicking them into the air to be swallowed by darkness.
Rocks circle the pit. Beau and I sit atop a blanket to keep the bugs off us.
"That makes three girls," Grant says.
"First Samantha," Beau chimes in. "Then Julie. Now Maggie. I knew them all."
By "knew them" he most likely means "dated them," but I try not to think about it.
"They say Samantha was on her way to see you," Pax says. "That Julie was hiking. And that Maggie had rented an airboat for a sunset ride and taken it out on the swamp."
I think back to the news reports this morning.
"The boy she was with, supposedly her boyfriend, was afraid of the woods, especially at night," I say. "Who wouldn't be? Who, besides locals, would voluntarily choose to come here knowing a killer is loose? Word has it that Maggie was an adrenaline junkie and dragged him with her. So the boyfriend stayed in the boat even when she didn't. She taunted him that if anything happened to her, it would be his fault because he wasn't there to protect her. Then the crazy girl laughed all the way into the woods. That's the last anyone ever heard of her."
They checked the boyfriend's handprints. Compared them to the ones left on Maggie's cold, blue body. Not a match.
"What a chickenshit, that boyfriend of hers," Beau says, wrapping an arm around me. "I would never leave you alone in the woods."
"That poor boy must feel destroyed now," I say. "She meant it as a joke, but it came true. Imagine, her death is now on him. Her own words."
Beau nods. "Parting words are nothing to mess with."
"You think he saw something but just doesn't want to say?" Pax asks, his hair flopping in front of his face like a mop.
"Possibly," Beau replies. "But then that'd mean that he's scared shitless. Too worried that the killer will come for him next, maybe?"
"What's the motive?" I ask.