Agent Brower’s case has gone cold. The utter lack of real evidence means that connecting me to the murders of Eugene Kreskey, the Boston Boogeyman and Steve Markham is impossible. Which, of course, I knew. Yes, it’s true that I was somewhere in proximity to each murder—either I lived there or was visiting for a lecture. But that is merely circumstantial, nothing on which to build an investigation, let alone prosecute a case.
Our presence on the property of Tom and Wendy Walters leading to the discovery of Billy Martin, Michele Racine and Olivia Grady is strange to say the least. Still there’s a clear chain of circumstance, accompanied by some unstable reasoning on both our parts, for how we both found ourselves there. And who can argue with the results? Three children saved—because of the tip of a troubled young girl, the dedication of her doctor, and his friend—victims of violence themselves.
The disappearance of my pack—my kill bag, as it were—is somewhat unsettling. I have not located it. But it’s gone; it’s obvious that someone took it. It has been six months since that night. I have a niggling suspicion that the bag is going to turn up. And I have a pretty good idea who might have taken it.
Meanwhile, Lara, there won’t be any more letters, or visits to your neighborhood. I won’t be eavesdropping on your monitors. Often.
Just enough.
So that I can make sure you’re safe.
We have spent hours together over the last few months, as you and Gillian have interviewed me for your serial radio show, which will begin airing next month. The buzz is tremendous. I think it’s going to be a huge success for you.
We have talked about our shared horror, the loss of our dear friend, the shattering nature of trauma—yours and mine, my journey to wholeness (sort of). How I have worked to save children brutalized as we were. We have used my knowledge to analyze the type of serial killer—if it is in fact that—who acts as a vigilante, delivering a form of justice where there was none.
We’ve talked about the question at the heart of our story. If what happened to us had not happened, what would have become of Billy, Michele and Olivia? Was there a balance to the universe after all? A divine plan? Were we its instruments?
That your story has no end. That there’s a mystery at its center that will go unsolved—Who is the Nightjar? Will he strike again?—matters not at all. This story is not about the ending, is it, Lara? It is not about who killed Kreskey, Markham and Smith. There are others, too, but I have kept that to myself.
It’s about the players, their journey, how they begin, how they evolve, and the point at which their stories cease to be told. There is always another monster to be slain, another trial to be overcome. There is always another chapter.
I can’t promise he’ll behave. But I can say that he’s as quiet as he’s ever been.
So, let’s just say, for now, we will end our story here.
You stand and collect yourself at the door, preparing yourself for our final interview. When you step inside, you will meet the woman I plan to marry, in the home where she and I hope to raise children of our own. Or give a home to children who need one, a place where they will be nurtured and loved. Or maybe we’ll do both. I am in close contact with Billy, Michele and Olivia. They are my patients, my work with them pro bono. They are all in good foster homes, their families in therapy. I am optimistic that they—all of them runaways who fell victim to Tom and Wendy Walters—will find their way home. And, if not, I won’t leave them to face their demons alone.
“Hi,” you say, bringing the cool air in the door with you.
We embrace in the foyer. It’s always a little awkward.
The energy between us, Lara, isn’t easy; we are not just old friends.
But our conversations now are pleasant enough. When the microphone turns off, we all laugh sometimes, talk about our lives, our work. I know Greg will be happy when these interviews draw to a close; he doesn’t like or trust me—and who can blame him? But he respects you. He understands that we have shared an ugly past that binds us. Close to your friends, right? Closer to