Nell froze in place, the door right beside her. The power was out across the entire house, and the only sound—aside from the thundering beat of her heart—was the rain hammering against the window. Everything else was stillness and emptiness.
But even inside that quiet void, there was something she couldn't quite pin down. A nothingness that her gift couldn't manifest as anything more than a whisper. It was almost as if her ability was finally clocking out after years of being on high alert. That had never happened to her before. So, she listened closely. She hyper-focused. And right there, standing in the dark threshold of the house, she heard it. It was a faint, barely-there sound that instantly sent her heart rate into overdrive.
She bolted up the stairs and burst into Steve's room. Her hands scrambled over the dresser drawers where the gun was supposed to be. She jumped as the slow, heavy sound of footsteps echoed from downstairs. Suddenly, Richard Harris's face flashed in her mind, smiling as he swirled his glass of wine. She remembered his warning:
"What am I supposed to do with you?"
She rushed to find the damn gun, tossing clothes onto the floor.
—Come on— she whispered—Come on, where is it?
Desperation flooded her body. Someone was coming up the stairs, and their pace was quickening by the second. Then, the door swung open. She braced herself, fully expecting to see Harris on the other side with his arms out, ready to wrap them around her throat until she suffocated. But that wasn't what she saw.
—My God, Nell— Steve breathed in relief. He was soaking wet, holding a flashlight. —Are you okay?
—Steve?— She started toward him but stopped dead in her tracks as everything came rushing back. Why the hell was he here? She hesitated—What are you doing here?
—What do you mean 'what am I doing here'? I live here.— He raised his phone, the glare from the screen blinding her—I called you a bunch of times, and when you didn't pick up, I got worried— His brow furrowed as he took in the clothes strewn across the floor and, worse, the open drawer. —Nell, what were you doing in my room?
—I was looking for the gun—she whispered, too terrified to take a step closer to him right now.—I heard noises and thought... someone broke in. I didn't know it was you.
Steve sighed, looking as if a massive weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. —I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to.
Nell clenched her jaw. The power outage, the sudden jolt of danger that had spiked inside her, and now Steve's face appearing like some late-night savior leading a double life. She was starting to wonder if her brother Luke was right about all of this. If there were more things Steve was hiding, besides the gun, of course. She wasn't stupid; she had searched every single drawer and checked every last piece of clothing. The gun wasn't there. He had moved it. And the question spinning through her head right now was: Why?
"What is he hiding? What isn't he telling me?" she thought.
—Looks like a blown fuse—Steve continued, snapping her out of her thoughts. He walked over to the nightstand and grabbed the toolbox sitting beside it —I'll try to fix it, but I need you to hold the flashlight for me. —He turned his wrist, offering the handle of the flashlight to her.
She stepped closer, trying to see something the moment her skin brushed the plastic. But everything was dark again. The premonition that hit her was nothing but a hollow void.
What was happening to her?
—Nell—he called out.
—Yeah, sorry.
She watched him turn and head downstairs, and after a few seconds, she followed.
She wasn't sure what freaked her out more: realizing her ability didn't work in the dark the way it usually did, or being alone with her brother in a creepy basement. But before she could analyze it any further, the basement light flickered and buzzed to life.
—All right. Now we just have to worry about the spiders.
She watched him, reading his body language from head to toe, a knot of unease twisting in her stomach. There, in that cold basement, with the bare bulb swaying over their heads, she finally let herself feel scared. Not just suspicious, terrified. Terrified of the man standing right in front of her. Afraid to share a roof with a suspected killer who hid in plain sight like an alligator gliding just beneath the surface of the water. Just like her dad six years ago.
It wasn't just the missing gun messing with her head, or Luke's warning. Now there was this: the connection Harris had with her brother, and the mysterious way they had suddenly become "friends."
Just like she had been keeping secrets from him, he clearly had his own. And even if her gift didn't warn her about the future, it usually clued her into the past. She had managed to see so much since moving to Forks, hard lives and equally messy pasts. But with Steve, she could never see the whole picture. She could rarely see anything at all.
—You're really quiet— Steve noted, studying her. She looked up at him, though not for long.
—I'm just tired.
—And that's the only reason?
Of course it's not the only reason, she wanted to say. Instead, she turned back to him, forcing herself to stay calm, and said: —I'm just shaken up from the scare. But don't worry about it, I'll be fine.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away.
Once she reached her room, she locked the door and sat on the edge of the bed. She didn't throw up, and she didn't cry, but the lingering knot of fear in the pit of her stomach wouldn't budge. She needed a plan; she had to figure out who was behind this. Three people were missing now, and all of them had vanished on the exact same days her father had taken his victims six years ago. The bodies disappeared without a trace, without belongings, without fingerprints. Whoever was doing this knew exactly what to do and how to do it. The thought made her stomach turn. It felt like she was fighting her father's ghost, and to make matters worse, this copycat seemed to know way more about her than she ever imagined.
—You need to talk to the police.
Nell bolted upright so fast she almost lost her balance.
—Rosalie.—She froze, shocked to see her standing in her bedroom with that same haughty, defensive posture she always used around her—What are you doing here?
Her question only seemed to annoy Rosalie more.
—What I was forced to do: protect you.— The sarcasm dripped from her voice. She scanned the room, her eyes darting over everything. Nell couldn't read the expressions crossing Rosalie's face, but none of them looked good. Still, that wasn't what caught her attention.
—Why do you say I need to talk to the police?
—Because I am sick and tired of you being a liability to my family. —Her delivery was so cold it sent a shiver down Nell's spine. Then, Rosalie turned to face her fully. —I thought about letting you deal with this mess on your own, but it's obvious you can't handle it.
Nell felt the heat rush to her cheeks.
—So what? You're going to help me?
Rosalie let out a sharp, dry laugh and crossed her arms.
—Don't flatter yourself. I'm not doing this for you.
—I know that.—Nell sighed, closing her eyes—And I also know I can't go to the police.
—Are we seriously back to that?— Rosalie groaned.
—I don't have any real proof yet.
—Yes, you do—Rosalie fired back, thoroughly annoyed—Why do you think I'm here? Have you not put it together yet? You told Emmett yourself.
Nell frowned, racking her brain. What had she told Emmett? Suddenly, her eyes locked onto the calendar on the wall. A chilling wave of déjà vu washed over her as Rosalie stared at her from across the room. The dates, she realized, completely stunned.
—That's not the only piece of evidence—Rosalie said, grabbing Nell's full attention. —When I realized you were going to be just as much of a threat as Bella, I dug into your background. The daughter of a serial kidnapper named Hugh Drake. —Nell looked away, unable to mask the crushing wave of shame that always came with hearing her father's name. —You and your brothers got lucky, but Forks didn't. Don't get me wrong, there's always some creep out there killing innocent women. —Rosalie let her guard down for a split second, her eyes glazing over as she got lost in a memory that clearly brought her zero joy—. It's tragic, but it happens all the time. Murders are common; kidnappings aren't. There's a reason this is happening here, right now, and you know it.
Her words only left Nell more confused.
—What are you trying to say?
—That you're the only one who knows when the next kidnapping is going to happen.—Nell stared back at her, her mind racing as she tried to think straight. Rosalie sounded intense, confident, and completely out of patience—You have the dates. You have the information. Use it.
She turned toward the door.
—I'm leaving.
Nell didn't even have time to try and stop her, not that she could have anyway. She was paralyzed. This wasn't just a random theory: it was the reality. She had all the tools she needed right in front of her: a gift she was no longer afraid to use, a photographic memory that let her recall exact numbers and moments, and the grit to fight this until the very end. The whole realization was as staggering as it was terrifying. Someone's life depended on her, and the only clue she had was a date.
She propped her elbows on the desk and stared at the calendar. December 25th.
The fourth and final kidnapping her father had ever pulled off.
That was in three days. Everyone would be celebrating with their families; the streets would be practically empty. It was the perfect window to pull off a stunt like that. It had worked out perfectly for her father, and it would work out perfectly for his copycat too. But Nell had no intention of backing down. She was going to end this madness once and for all.