Emily Kenyon 01 - A Cold Dark Place

jurisdiction. But those cases would never be officially solved. The Ticen suicide was a cover, she was sure, a way for Walker to silence his accomplice.
    Using schizophrenic Reynard Tuttle had been a master stroke. Handsome, brilliant, and evil: the trifecta of serial killer superstars.
    And dead.
    The house on Orchard Avenue in Cherrystone had seen its occupants find their way back to a closer, more loving relationship than they had before mother and daughter were held captive by the serial killer’s son. It had been a slow climb back to their normal lives. Jenna obsessed about her father’s new baby, his betrayal, and the nightmares of the bunker. But she was determined to get over it as was Emily. In many ways, David had become part of her past, just as he started anew with Dani and their daughter, Cassandra. Custody gripes involving Jenna were no longer an issue. David didn’t fight for his daughter to visit, and she didn’t balk when the time came.
    They found balance in forgiveness.
    Emily had worked out the loose ends-a phrase that caused her to wince-with the help of Christopher Collier, who’d made a rapid and remarkable recovery from the gunshot wound to the chest. They talked on the phone and even dated a couple of times. Where all of that would lead was beyond the point right then.
    “I just want to heal and move on,” Emily told him one night late as they were talking on the phone. “But when I do, I want you there”
    “Promise?” he asked.
    “Promise. Definitely, a promise.”
    One fall evening, the air crisp as a freshly laundered man’s dress shirt, Jenna was in her bedroom, pink keyboard and mouse in hand. On the screen was a chat window with bestfriend-forever Shali Patterson, who by then had a new VW, and was delighted with all the attention her part in the ordeal had brought her. She was the best friend of a kickass girl, one who saved her mom from a serial killer’s kid. Nice. The girls chatted about their senior year and who would be crowned homecoming queen later that week. Jenna dared to dream that it would be her. In no small way, she felt she did deserve it. Saving her mom was a bigger deal than being yearbook editor.
    With its characteristic chime, her Instant Messenger account announced a name she’d almost forgotten-Batboy88. She could scarcely believe her eyes. A wave of panic hit her.
    Batboy88: Hey Jengrrl!
    Jenna froze at her keyboard.
    Batboy88: You there?
    Nick was in county jail. He didn’t have access to a PC.
    Batboy88: Missed U!
    Jenna found her voice. “Mom!”
    Emily was in the kitchen soaking a dreadfully dried-on lasagna pan when she heard Jenna’s scream from down the hallway. The timbre of her daughter’s voice suggested trouble and fear shot through her. There had been screams for her before, night terrors, as she recalled the dark hours in the bunker. The idea that she’d been so close, a hairsbreadth from evil. But this was too early in the evening.
    She found her very still, in front of the screen, staring at it with disbelieving eyes.
    “Mom, it’s an IM from Nick.”
    Emily’s face went pale. “It can’t be” She peered over Jenna’s shoulder. “This is someone playing a game” Emily gently pushed her daughter aside and sat down. She started typing.
    Jengrrl: Who is this?
    Batboy88: Who do U think?
    Emily looked up at her daughter, her keys tapping slowly. She hit the ENTER button again.
    Jengrrl: You aren’t Nick. I know that. Who r u?
    Batboy88: When I get out, you want to go to r place, u know, the mining camp?
    Without even thinking, Emily reached over and quickly yanked the plug from the outlet. The screen sputtered and went dark. The computer’s tiny fan slowed, then whirled to a stop.
    Jenna looked horrified. “Mom! Why did you do that?”
    Emily stayed quiet for a second, her mind trying to catch up with what she’d done. Finally she spoke and when she did so, the words were more a promise than a statement. “It’s over. He’s over,” she said. She put her arms around her daughter, in the bedroom where she grew up. It was over. Nick Martin was gone from their lives.
    And so was Dylan Walker.
    Kappi Chi Fraternity, Chesterfield, Tennessee
    He’d been watching her all night. She never paid him a single glance. Her sole focus seemed to be on herself. She’d made several trips with her carbon-copy sisters to the Kappa Chi upstairs bathroom, her purse slung over her shoulder like she was headed into battle. In a way, it was.