Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I want Emily happy.
But she’s right.
I need to grab this happiness.
So I will.
EPISODE 189
THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED
River
Twenty Years Earlier...
I don’t think Marnie followed us to Larson’s, but the only way to convince Jake is to go back to prove I’m right. It’s not a good idea, going back to the scene of our crime, but I’m out of ideas at this point. Jake is going, and I can’t stop him. I can at least tag along and make sure he doesn’t go off half-cocked.
It’s a trek from town, and we don’t talk. We just walk the dusty path until the Larson property comes into view. And as we do, a hollow feeling of dread overtakes me. Something’s going to go wrong. I can feel it in the way the silence hangs thick around us, in the heavy crunch of gravel beneath our boots. The place is too still, like it’s waiting.
Every instinct I’ve got is screaming to turn around, to walk away, but I push forward. I won’t leave Jake. I won’t let him do something he’ll regret.
Each step feels heavier than the last, and I can’t shake the sense that we’re about to cross another line.
And this one we won’t come back from.
We don’t talk. What is there to say?
We simply walk. I have to go. I have to take care of Jake. I have to—
Larson’s house looms in the distance.
The place where I injected him with ketamine while he slept. Where the other four dug up his fortune.
Where we promised never to venture again.
And now Jake and I are breaking that promise.
“Marnie!” he yells.
I grab his arm. “Jesus Christ. Shut the fuck up! Do you want Old Man Larson to come barreling out of that place with a goddamned shotgun?”
Jake yanks his arm away from me and runs toward the house.
“Jake!” I hiss.
I race toward him and tackle him from the back.
“Jake, will you listen to me?” I plead.
Jake shoves me away roughly, his eyes wild and unseeing as he scrambles back to his feet. “No!” he shouts. “I have to find her!”
“Jake, she’s not here!”
But my words fall on deaf ears as he takes off once more toward the house.
Swearing under my breath, I stagger to my feet and chase after him. Panic surges through me like a tidal wave, crashing against every nerve in my body and clouding my senses. I can only see the back of Jake as he sprints toward the house, ignoring all sense of reason.
“Marnie!” Jake’s scream carries across the desolate landscape, shattering the eerie silence like glass.
The front door of Larson’s house swings open abruptly, and my heart drops to my stomach. A hulking silhouette steps into the doorway, framed by the dim light oozing from inside.
Old Man Larson.
Jake skids to a halt, barely a yard from the front steps. He raises his arms in defense, gasping for air. “Where is she?” he demands, but there’s an edge to his voice that makes me stop dead in my tracks.
Larson gazes down at Jake. His face is unreadable. “You’ve got some nerve coming here.”
Jake pushes past Larson and enters.
“Jesus fuck,” I mutter.
Before I reach the door—
The sound—the explosive burst from a pistol—and then the dull thud of a body hitting the floor.
No.
No, no, no!
Chills skitter over me, but adrenaline pushes me forward. I pull the door back and rush inside Larson’s house.
Jake stands in the small living room, still holding his pistol over Larson’s dead body. Blood seeps from Larson’s chest into the dull hardwood floor.
“What the fuck did you do?” I demand.
Jake’s jaw is rigid, his eyes staring blankly down at the corpse before him. He’s silent, his only response being the slight quiver of his gun hand.
“Jake,” I say again, softer this time, my anger melting away into a fear so acute it makes my knees weak. “What did you do?”
Finally, he looks up at me. His eyes are dull, a stark contrast to the normally sparkling blue. “I had to.”
I drop to my knees beside Larson, pressing two fingers against his neck. His blood stains my hands as I search for a pulse, but there’s nothing. Not a flicker of life.
He’s dead.
“Why? Why did you have to?”
“She’s gone,” he says. “She’s gone, Riv.”
“What the fuck are you—”
“He killed her. He killed her. And my kid.”
I look around. “She’s not here, Jake,” I grit out. “What the fuck have you done? She’s not here.”
“She was. He said so. He said to look in the bedroom.”
Without another thought, I race to Larson’s bedroom. The place where I drugged him last night.
And on his bed.
Jesus Christ...
On his bed...
It’s Marnie.
And she’s not moving.
“Marnie?” I whisper, falling to my knees beside the bed. “Marnie, wake up!” Still no response.
Tears prickle at my eyes as I take her cold hand in mine. The world comes crashing down around me, swirling into a turmoil of grief and disbelief.