Jessica R. Patch - Killer Exposure

The Stellar Entertainment traveling carnival had spent most of last night and early this morning setting up for the week-long spring-fest. Greer had been by earlier to catch some of the action and meet with the Chamber of Commerce’s executive director—and her friend—Cindy Woolridge to discuss the vision for the website.

Most of the patrons tonight would be donning ponchos and rain boots. Alabama’s springs could be wet and soggy. But that didn’t stop families from coming out in droves to indulge in corn dogs—or, as everyone around here called them, Pronto Pups—pretzels, rigged games, a Ferris wheel and cotton candy. Greer peered into the sky. The sun had been eclipsed by thunderheads that looked a lot like spun cotton candy piled high on a stick. Breaking through the dappled clouds, lightning flashed in the distance. The scent of rain rolled in, which brought a whole different flood of emotions.

She clicked a few photos of the lit-up Ferris wheel. Perfect for the chamber website. Tourists would want to come and visit; folks moving to the area would see how family-friendly Goldenville was. Southern hospitality at its best. When she returned home a year and a half ago, she’d been welcomed with open arms. One set of feeble arms had belonged to her mother. Greer had expected to come home temporarily to help her after a mild heart attack, but Mama never completely recovered and three months ago, she’d passed into the strong arms of Jesus after a severe heart attack. Greer missed her daily. Missed that Lin wouldn’t get a chance to know her grandmother.

Another flash of lightning, accompanied by a peal of thunder, revealed the storm was fast approaching. Maybe less than thirty minutes. Greer had already taken a ton of photos this morning after her shift at the sheriff’s department. She normally worked days, but they were short a few deputies, so she’d taken the overtime and worked the night shift last night. Not much in town too sinister. Other than those thunderheads.

Locke would call them by their proper name—cumulonimbus clouds. Her tummy flip-flopped at the thought of him. But she’d been thinking about him all afternoon. She’d have never experienced a storm in all its terrifying glory if she hadn’t chased dozens with him over the few years they were together. Seen them through his shockingly blue eyes—blue like tropical waters with limbuses as black as a tempest.

She wandered through the maze of rides, games and food stands. Carnies worked to get set up. Music blared through speakers, and she gravitated toward employee campers and then to the field that widened into the woods—which gave her some unique photo opportunities to capture storms, clouds or any wild weather through the treetops. Locke taught her that, too. But their dreams of exploring the world and capturing it on film had shattered like glass in a hailstorm.

She had planned to come home and nurse Mama back to health while Locke went on with the research team, documenting storm systems and tornadoes. Then she would meet back up with him and the team, helping with photography needs.

But upon arriving back in Goldenville, she discovered a shared moment of weakness with Locke—that she sorely regretted—had left her pregnant. But God had been faithful to forgive and to provide for her and Lin, whom she did not regret one iota. Lin was the good in the whole messy situation.

Greer had quickly secured a job as a crime-scene photographer and sheriff’s deputy. Law enforcement was in the blood. From her mama’s side of the family—the Buchanan side. Dad hadn’t been one for enforcing anything. That was Mama’s job. Then he’d flown the coop decades ago, only coming back to town to visit her and her older brother, Hollister, on occasion. But eventually he became as scarce as woodland creatures before a cyclone.

She snapped a few photos of the lightning to use with her new filters. Thunder rumbled as she darted in between the employees’ makeshift homes. A commotion came from one of the smaller house trailers up ahead. Not much light due to the sun setting and the blanket of ominous clouds. Greer crept toward the sounds of a scuffle.

The door was cracked open.

A man’s garbled cry sent chill bumps across Greer’s skin. She drew her off-duty Glock 43 and darted toward the camper, swinging open the door.

A man stared at her, his eyes inky and threatening. Her training kicked in. “Drop the knife. Hands up. Come out slowly. Slowly ,” she commanded.

Dressed in a carnival maintenance uniform, he held up black-gloved hands, one still gripping the bloody blade. He wore a ball cap that hid his hair, but his short-cropped beard and mustache matched his eyes, his physical features distorted in the dimness.

The man at his feet stared blankly, unmoving. The amount of blood couldn’t have come from only one wound. He’d been stabbed multiple times. Greer feared she’d witnessed his last breath, last sound. “Take it easy. You’re under arrest.” No radio to call it in. But she had the situation under control. Once she got him to lie face down with his hands behind his back, she’d use her cell and get backup out here to cuff him.

A brilliant flash of lightning popped across the sky. The man kicked a bucket through the door. She batted it away, but it startled her. The killer leaped out and ran for the woods. Greer couldn’t let him get away. She rushed inside the mobile home and checked the victim’s vitals. As she sadly suspected—gone.

Sprinting through the light drops of rain, Greer spied him rushing into the safety of the trees.

“Freeze!” She raced in his direction. Eating up the field, she flew into the dense forest and paused, listening. A whiz up ahead. She moved in.

He disappeared.

Her heart pounded as she crept through the trees, brush, limbs and leaves crunching under her feet.

Come on. I need another flash of lightning. Come. On.

A burst of light shot through the night, and the man slammed her into a tree. Greer’s loose grip, due to the rain, was lost, and her gun plummeted into the brush. She swung at the killer and connected with his jaw with a right uppercut. She might be slight in frame, but her brother had been a Navy SEAL, and he’d taught her a trick or two—and she’d been kickboxing since her early twenties.

A raspy laugh belched from his mouth, and the knife he’d refused to drop glinted in the night. Her adrenaline kicked up a notch. Game changer.

She weaved and dodged him, hoping to spot her gun with a fresh flick of light. The camera hanging around her neck thumped against her chest.

No go. Jumping backward, she grabbed a large, gnarly branch and swung it at the attacker. Thoughts of her baby girl recharged her need to fight. The killer rushed her, and she tripped in the darkness, dropping the limb. They tumbled to the ground, and she screeched. But no one would hear. Not this far out. Not over the thunder. Not over the carnival music blaring.

Greer had no one to rely on to survive but herself and God. She screamed again as he shoved her into the dead winter twigs and pinecones. They cut into the back of her cropped denim jacket and T-shirt with a sharp sting. She drew up her knees, putting one against his stomach, blocking him from putting his whole body and weight on top of her. He grabbed her right wrist. She snatched his with her left hand, pulling his arm across her body and pushing with her free leg. She rolled out from under him, her camera strap snapping and sending it to the forest floor. Scrambling to her feet, she sprang into action and tore through the trees as the raindrops turned into a steady, but drizzly, rain.

Breathing ragged. Fear propelling her forward, faster. Stronger. Greer’s lungs screamed for more air, burning in protest. She’d left her hair down, and it matted to her face and eyes.