Chapter 25

December 16th

It‘s all over.

Everything I‘ve worked for, everything I‘ve done to keep the cops from discovering me…it‘s all coming to an end.

So how am I finally going to be caught?

Well, it‘s not because I messed up and left DNA evidence at one of my dump sites. I was never spotted committing any crimes. I left behind no witnesses that could point the finger my way.

No, I‘m going to be sent to jail for the rest of my life because of a few dumb-ass drifters who thought it‘d be a good idea to start a bonfire in the middle of the woods.

That‘s right. My life is over because of a freaking forest fire. I‘m embarrassed to even admit it, it‘s so fucking stupid, but it‘s true. These three homeless guys made their way into the woods a few hundred feet away from my cabin, and then nearly burned the whole damn thing down.

Apparently, when forest rangers and first responders arrived on the scene, the fire was already raging out of control. There were plenty of homes in the area, and while half the firefighters raced to put out the flames, the other half went about evacuating the houses that were in danger of being affected.

This included mine.

“Is this Kyle Grafton?“ a voice had asked when I answered my cell at 5:15 this morning. The ringtone had woken me up out of a sound sleep and I‘d picked it up without even looking at the caller ID. This was something I tended not to do, because I liked to be prepared for anything. But this time I was so caught off guard that I‘d simply answered it. Not recognizing the voice, I finally looked at my screen and saw that the number was blocked.

This alone should‘ve filled me with suspicion, but like I said, it was 5:15 in the morning, and I was barely awake yet.

“This is him,“ I‘d answered, rubbing at my eyes, but not moving from the warmth of my sheets.

My initial worry was that something had happened to my daughter. I imagined that she‘d been in a car accident and the hospital was calling me to get my permission to operate. Or possibly to tell me that she‘d perished in the crash. The idea that she might be gone, that I‘d never get to see my kid again filled me with dread.

“Hello, Mr. Grafton. Sorry to call you so early, but there‘s been an accident…“ the man on the other end had said.

A ringing began in my ears and I nearly dropped the phone.

No. No. No. No. No.

I instantly thought I was being punished. The universe was taking away the only thing I loved, because of all the lives I‘d destroyed. If there was, in fact, a God—something I‘d never believed in the past—did He work this way? Enact vengeance on those who hadn‘t followed His commandments?

“An accident?“ I‘d asked, my mouth suddenly going dry. I fought to get out of bed now, but became tangled up in the sheets and fell to the ground hard.

“Yes. I‘m sorry sir, but there was a fire…“ the man had said.

A fire? My little Sophia had burned up in a fire? I choked back a sob.

“…and your cabin was affected,“ he‘d finished.

I blinked. He was talking about my cabin, not my kid.

I took a deep breath and began to relax. Reaching up, I grabbed for my glasses, which I‘d left on the side table, and placed them on my face. I looked up at the ceiling, not to thank God, but just because it was what people did in situations like this.

“Did it burn down?“ I‘d asked evenly. Now that I knew my daughter was okay, I could focus on this other problem and what it meant for me.

And it brought on a whole new surge of fear.

Because the cabin was my kill house and they‘d found it.

“Part of the structure is still intact, but about a third of it burned up before we could stop it,“ he‘d told me. “We had to go in to make sure there was no one inside, but once we saw it was empty, we got to work putting it out.“

So they‘d been inside then.

I fought to remember how I‘d left it. Had I put away my tools? Mopped up the blood from the floorboards? Even cleaned, there was still a huge bloodstain that had permeated the wood. Had they found the things I‘d buried beneath the floor?

Was it all over?

“How did it happen?“ I‘d asked. I needed to know what he knew.

Then he told me about the grifters, and the fire, and my dumb luck.

This was how they were going to take down the Ice-Pick Killer?

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Look sir, we need to talk to you as soon as possible, so that you can file for an insurance claim,“ he‘d said easily. “Either you can come out here and take a look at the place in person or my colleagues and I can come to you. It‘s your choice.“

I‘d never had a place burn down before, but I was pretty sure I didn‘t have to meet with the police in order to file an insurance claim. Still, the cop on the phone didn‘t sound like he suspected me of anything. In fact, he almost seemed like he couldn‘t wait to get off the phone.

Well, the feeling was mutual.

“I‘ve sort of got a busy day,“ I‘d said. “Maybe I can come out to the station later this week? It‘s not like the cabin‘s going anywhere, right?“

I was testing him. If they hadn‘t seen anything, they wouldn‘t care when I came in. Claiming my insurance shouldn‘t have been a priority for them.

“Up to you, sir,“ the guy had responded. Then a pause. “Uh, but it‘s really no trouble if we come to you. Will you be at work later? We‘d be happy to drop by the university if you like.“

I froze.

The only way this guy would know where I worked was if he‘d gone looking into my personal life. And the only reason he‘d do that was if he had a reason to.

They knew.

It was clear this wasn‘t a courtesy call. In fact, the cops were probably already on their way.

Hell, they might even be outside my place as I write these words.

“That‘s okay,“ I‘d said, standing up and walking out to the living room. Pulling at one of the blinds, I peered up and down the street expecting dozens of cops to be tip-toeing up to my property, ready to capture me.

But of course, the street was empty, nothing out of place.

I was about to retreat again when I saw a car coast down the street. It was grey, unmarked, and there weren‘t any sirens spinning on top. But I knew it was a cop car. As it drove past, the two men in the front eyeballed my house.

They‘re here.

My instincts are telling me to run, but there‘s another part of me that knows it won‘t help. If I go, there‘ll be a chase, they‘ll tackle me to the ground, push their knees into my back, threaten to kill me if I move. Maybe kick me a few times or beat me down.

It would be humiliating.

And I would look guilty as hell, thus giving them evidence that I am, in fact, the Ice-Pick Killer.

My mind was racing. All they had was a cabin full of evidence, which supposedly belongs to me. It doesn‘t prove I was connected to it. Someone else could‘ve easily been using the cabin without my knowledge. And since I keep all of my tools there, there‘s no evidence to be found here. In my actual home. They might not actually have any proof that I‘m the killer.

And if I play things cool, then I can still get off. I can outwit them all. If I run, however, they‘ll have proof of my guilt.

No. I have to stay put until they come for me.

In the meantime, this will be my last entry. At least for now.

“You still there, Mr. Grafton?“ the man had said into the phone. I‘d almost forgotten he was there.

“Yep. Still here,“ I‘d said. “You know what, on second thought, I can make myself available if you want to come by in the next hour or so. The sooner we get this straightened out, the sooner we can move on. I haven‘t been to the cabin in a while—it‘s a little rustic for my taste. Maybe this fire was a blessing in disguise. I can finally remodel, instead of just letting it sit up there empty.“

Good. Plant the idea now that I rarely went to the cabin. That way when I offer up the possibility that someone else had been staying there without my knowledge, my story will remain consistent.

“So, you haven‘t been to the cabin in a while?“ the man had asked, fishing for information now that he had me talking. I could hear scratches on his end. The shmuck was taking notes.

“No reason to go up there,“ I‘d said. “I mostly use it for storage. I don‘t think I‘ve been up there in, gosh, months.“

“Months, huh? It looked like someone had been there recently,“ he‘d said.

Stupid fucking cops. They were the worst fucking poker players. Always showing their hands.

Luckily the house always wins.

“Oh, geez. You think someone‘s been staying there without my knowledge?“ I‘d asked, sounding genuinely worried.

“I‘m not sure, sir. Why don‘t we discuss this in person. A few of my officers will be over within the hour and we‘ll work all of this out,“ he‘d said, sounding smug. He thought I didn‘t know what was going on. He thought they‘d outsmarted me.

Well, they hadn‘t. I was still the smartest guy in the room.

“I‘ll be here,“ I‘d said and hung up.

Now I‘m just sitting here, waiting for them to arrive. Take me down to the station. Begin their investigation…

Like I said, this will probably be my last entry for a while. But I have every confidence I‘ll get out of this. No way they‘re catching me. I‘m twice the man they think I am.

There‘s no way they‘ll find out what really happened…