Before She Was Found(38)

She wrinkles her nose and shrugs. “I might be able to get back inside without my mom knowing. She can sleep through just about anything.”

“I’m sure she just worries about you, Nikki, the way I worry about Max and Violet,” I tell her as Max comes back, keys in hand.

“Ready?” he says, opening the front door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Mom.”

“Nikki, please come back during the daylight hours,” I say and she gives me an embarrassed smile before the two step out into the dark.

I shut the door behind them and then hear Max’s voice. “What the hell? Mom!” he calls out.

I fling open the door. “What is it?” I ask, scanning the yard and street in front of us, searching for any sign of trouble. Max and Nikki stay facing me and that’s when I realize I’m looking in the wrong direction. I turn and though it’s still dark out the porch lamp casts a weak light that illuminates slashes of red paint across the aluminum siding. I have to take a few steps backward to take in the full measure of what I’m seeing. Murderer—U R Next. And below these words, the message is signed, Wither.

“I’m going to kill Clint,” Max says, his face set in determination, making me believe that he means it.

“You have to ignore him.” Nikki pulls on his arm. “He’s trying to get to you.”

“How can I ignore this?” Max asks, gesturing toward the front of the house. “He’s such an asshole.”

“Max,” I warn. “You do not go over to Clint’s. Do you understand? The last thing I need right now is for you to get arrested. Besides, you don’t know he did it. It could be the person who attacked Cora. This is just crazy! Come back inside.”

“I really have to get home,” Nikki says, glancing anxiously over at Max. “I’m going to get into a lot of trouble if I don’t get back before my mom wakes up.”

“Mom, we’ll be fine,” Max insists. “I promise I won’t go over to Clint’s. But if I catch him in our yard ever again, I’m going to beat his ass.”

Once they pull away I examine the graffiti more closely. Definitely spray paint and already dry to the touch. I scan the dark street, wondering if the vandals are hiding in the shadows. Did a group of bratty kids do this? Or maybe it’s a genuine threat on Violet’s life. I shiver.

Boomer sniffs around the yard and focuses his attention on an object lying in the grass. I walk over to take a look at what he’s found. A can of spray paint. I leave it on the ground where it sits and go inside to call the police.

An officer shows up within minutes and takes my statement. He knows all about what happened in the train yard so I don’t have to go over those details but I do fill him in on how Clint Phelps acted at the police station earlier in the day.

I watch as the officer slips on gloves and places the spray can in a plastic bag and then takes a few pictures of the front of the house. The words, sprayed in sharp red slashes across the house, make me feel dirty, guilty. I don’t want the neighbors to see them.

“Do you think you could help me cover it up?” I ask the officer. He agrees and I run back inside and find two old bedsheets and some tape. Together, we begin to cover the graffiti and by the time we’re pressing the final corners into place Max is pulling up in front of the house.

The officer gives me an encouraging smile and hands me the roll of duct tape. “I’ll drive around the neighborhood and then swing by the Phelps place to see if anything suspicious is going on,” he says. “In the meantime, make sure you lock your doors and call us if you need anything at all.”

I thank the officer and say goodbye as Max joins me by the door. By the look on Max’s face I’m sure that Nikki’s mom has given him hell. “What’s the matter, Max?” I ask. “Did something happen?”

He waits until the police car pulls away and then tilts his phone toward me. “Look what’s going around.” A horrific image looks up at me from the screen. Someone has Photoshopped Violet’s and Jordyn’s faces on two blood-splattered figures wielding knives, and the number of likes on Instagram is nearing three hundred. I feel sick.

“It’s probably the same idiots who spray-painted the house,” I tell him, my stomach churning. “Try not to worry about it.”

Max lets out a long breath. “Except for Nikki, I hate it here.”

“Me, too,” I say. “But we have each other and that’s going to have to be enough for now.”

We go inside. I lock the front door and then go around to each window making sure they are secured, too. I say good-night to Max and then go upstairs to peek in on Violet. She is sleeping soundly. I sit on the edge of her bed for a long time watching her chest rise and fall.



Case #92-10945


Excerpt from the journal of Cora E. Landry


Nov. 22, 2017

I know that JW44 isn’t really Joseph Wither. It’s probably some random person who saw my post on DarkestDoor and thought it would be funny to pretend to be Wither. Ha ha. I don’t plan on talking to him anymore. I mean, I did pay attention during Digital Literacy class. I’ve seen the news. I’ve heard all about stranger danger since I was in kindergarten.

And the way he asked me if I ever kissed anyone before. That is just strange. Sometimes I think about what it would be like to kiss someone. It used to be Gabe I’d think about, but now it’s Joseph. For some reason I feel guilty if I imagine myself kissing Gabe—like Joseph could look into my head and see what I’m thinking. I wonder if Joseph thinks about kissing me, too.