Karin Slaughter - A Faint Cold Fear

Sara paused, not knowing how to articulate her feelings. “Something about this doesn’t feel right.”

“That could be because of Chuck.”

“No,” she told him. “Chuck’s a jerk. I’ve known that for thirty years.”

Jeffrey allowed a smile. “Then what is it?”

Sara turned around to look at the boy on the ground, then back up at the bridge. “The scrape on his back. Why would he have that?”

Jeffrey suggested, “From the railing on the bridge?”

“How? The railing isn’t that high. He probably sat on it and swung his feet over.”

“There’s a ledge under the railing,” Jeffrey pointed out. “He could have scraped it on the way down.”

Sara kept staring at the bridge, trying to imagine the right scenario. “I know it sounds stupid, but if it was me, I wouldn’t want to hit myself on the way down. I would stand on the railing and jump out, away from the ledge. Away from everything.”

“Maybe he climbed down to the ledge and scraped his back on part of the bridge.”

“Check it for skin,” Sara suggested, though for some reason she doubted they would find anything.

“What about landing on his feet?”

“It’s not as unusual as you think.”

“You think he did that on purpose?”

“Jumped?”

“The thing.” Jeffrey indicated his lower half.

“The piercing?” Sara asked. “He’s probably had it for a while. It’s well healed.”

Jeffrey winced. “Why would somebody do that to himself?”

“Supposedly it heightens sexual sensation.”

Jeffrey was skeptical. “For the man?”

“And the woman,” Sara told him, though the thought of it made her shudder.

She looked toward the car again, hoping to see Tessa. Sara had a clear view of the parking pad. Except for Brad Stephens and the witness, no one else was in sight.

Jeffrey asked, “Where’s Tessa?”

“Who knows?” Sara answered, irritated. She should have taken Tessa home instead of letting her tag along.

“Brad,” Jeffrey called to the patrolman as they walked up to the cars. “Did Tessa come back down the hill?”

“No, sir,” he answered.

Sara looked in the backseat of her car, expecting to see Tessa curled up for a nap. The car was empty.

Jeffrey asked, “Sara?”

“It’s okay,” Sara told him, thinking Tessa had probably started down the hill then had to go back up again. The baby had been tap-dancing on her bladder the last few weeks.

Jeffrey offered, “You want me to go look for her?”

“She’s probably just sitting down somewhere, taking a break.”

“You sure?” Jeffrey asked.

She waved him off, following the same path Tessa had walked up the hill. Students from the college jogged the trails in the woods, which led from one side of the town to the other. If Sara went east a mile or so, she would eventually run into the children’s clinic. West would take her to the highway, and north would dump her out on the opposite side of town, close to the Linton house. If Tessa had decided to walk home without letting anyone know, Sara was going to kill her.

The grade was steeper than Sara had imagined, and she stopped at the top of the hill to catch her breath. Trash littered the area, beer cans scattered like dead leaves. She looked back down at the parking pad, where Jeffrey was interviewing the woman who had found the body. Brad Stephens waved, and Sara waved back, thinking that if she was winded from the climb, Tessa must have been panting by now. Maybe Tessa had stopped to catch her breath before going back down. Maybe she had come across a wild animal. Maybe she had gone into labor. On this last thought, Sara turned back to the trees, following a worn trail into the woods. A few feet inside, she scanned the immediate area, looking for any sign of her sister.

“Tess?” Sara called, trying not to let herself get angry. Tessa had probably wondered off and lost track of the time. She had stopped wearing her watch a few months ago when her wrists had gotten too swollen for the metal band.

Sara walked deeper into the woods, raising her voice as she repeated, “Tessa?”

Despite the sunny day, the forest was dark, the limbs from the tall trees linking together like fingers in a child’s game, blocking out most of the light. Still Sara shielded her eyes, as if that would help her see better.

“Tess?” she tried again, then waited to the count of twenty.

There was no answer.

A breeze stirred the leaves overhead, and Sara felt a disconcerting prickling on the back of her neck. Rubbing her bare arms, she took a few more steps down the trail. After about fifteen feet, the path forked. Sara tried to decide which way to go. Both trails looked well traveled, and she could see overlays of tennis-shoe prints in the dirt. Sara was kneeling, trying to make out the flat tread of Tessa’s sandals among the ribbed and zigzagged treads, when a sound came from behind her.

She jumped, saying, “Tess?” but it was only a raccoon who was just as startled to see Sara as she was to see him. They stared at each other for a few beats before the raccoon scampered off into the forest.

Sara stood, clapping the dirt off her hands. She started down the trail to the right, then backtracked to the fork, drawing a simple arrow in the dirt with the heel of her shoe to indicate which direction she had taken. As soon as she made the mark, Sara felt silly, but she could laugh about the precaution later, when she was driving Tessa home.

“Tess?” Sara said, breaking off a twig from a low-hanging branch as she walked down the trail. “Tess?” she called again, then stopped, waiting, but there was still no answer.

Ahead Sara could see that the path took a slight turn, then forked again. She debated whether or not to get Jeffrey to help but decided against it. Part of her felt foolish for considering it, but another, deeper part of her could not quell her fear.

Sara moved forward, calling Tessa’s name as she walked. At the next fork, she shielded her eyes with her hand again, looking both ways. The trails gradually curved away from each other, the one on the right making a sharp turn about eighty feet ahead. The forest was darker here, and Sara had to strain her eyes to see. She started to draw a mark toward the left trail, but something flashed in her mind, as if her eyes had taken their time relaying an image to her brain. Sara scanned the trail on the right, seeing an oddly shaped rock just before the sharp bend. She took a few steps forward, then ran, realizing that the rock was actually one of Tessa’s sandals.

“Tessa!” Sara yelled, snatching the shoe from the ground, holding it to her chest as she spun around, frantically searching for her sister. Sara dropped the sandal, feeling a wave of dizziness. Her throat constricted as the dread she had been suppressing all along flowered into full-blown terror. In a clearing ahead, Tessa lay on her back, one hand to her stomach, the other out to the side. Her head was turned awkwardly, her lips slightly parted, her eyes closed.

“No—” Sara exhaled, running toward her sister. The distance between them could not have been more than twenty feet, but it felt like miles. A million possibilities went through Sara’s mind as she raced toward Tessa, but none of them prepared her for what she found.

“Oh, God,” Sara gasped, her knees buckling as she sank to the ground. “Oh, no . . .”

Tessa had been stabbed at least twice in the stomach and once in the chest. Blood was everywhere, turning the dark purple of her dress into a deep, wet black. Sara looked at her sister’s face. Her scalp had been ripped open, part of it hanging into her left eye, the bright red on the underside of the flesh a stark contrast to her pale white skin.