Every Last Fear(95)

And it was.





CHAPTER 65


MATT PINE

The front door was open. Matt walked from the foyer to the living room. Well decorated with crown molding and wainscoting, the room was filled with flowers and wreaths on stands.

Matt went into the kitchen and saw dishes in the sink, half-eaten slices of cake, finger food on plates, the remnants of the wake for his family.

Kyle Brawn walked into the kitchen, carrying more dishes.

“Matt! Oh crap, you scared me,” he said. “We were just cleaning up. We had so many people wanting to pay their respects, your family was so loved, it was just so—”

Matt charged him.

Kyle Brawn flew backward, his arms flailing, the dishes flying, crashing to the floor. Kyle’s back slammed against the large stainless-steel refrigerator. Matt’s forearm jammed against Kyle’s neck. Kyle’s eyes bulged, wild with fear.

Matt screamed, “You thought you got away with it!”

Kyle clawed at Matt’s forearm, trying to wedge his fingers in, relieve the pressure, allow himself to breathe. He looked Matt in the eyes and shook his head.

Matt felt hot tears on his cheeks. He told himself to calm down, get ahold of his emotions. If he pressed any harder, he’d crush Kyle’s windpipe. But why shouldn’t he?

Kyle’s eyes were wet too, his hands still tugging at Matt’s arm. He tried to speak, his voice little more than a rasp.

And then Kyle did something unexpected.

He gave up.

Kyle’s arms fell to his sides, any fight in him gone. As if he were awaiting—welcoming—Matt to snap his esophagus.

Just a little more pressure, and Kyle would get what he wanted. But if he died, so many answers would die with him. Matt yanked his arm away.

Kyle raised his hands to his neck, then bent over, coughing. A sickening barking cough. He finally stood, his back still against the refrigerator door, and he slid to the floor.

For a moment Matt thought he’d exerted too much force and that Kyle’s windpipe was destroyed. That Kyle was dying. But sitting amid the broken dishes and leftover food on the floor, Kyle started weeping.

It seemed like a long time, but it probably lasted only a few seconds. Matt still had an electrical charge tearing through him. He waited for Kyle to say something, but Kyle just sat there, his whole body trembling.

Matt recognized broken when he saw it.

“It was an accident,” Kyle said at last.

“Liar,” Matt said it calmly, but his voice was full of menace. “You killed her, then you wheeled her to the creek and framed my brother.”

Kyle took a deep, juddering breath. Not saying anything, but he was shaking his head violently.

“It’s over,” Matt said. “The video. At the party. Danny was wearing only a tank top. You were wearing his jacket. It was you I saw that night. And you saw me, and all these years you let me think—”

“It was an accident,” Kyle said again. “After everyone cleared out, she stayed behind. She was angry, and she said things that weren’t true, and when I told her to get out of my house, she came at me, and I just pushed her away, and she fell and bumped her head. It was an accident.” He was gulping for air.

Matt felt a slash of rage again. For a riotous moment he considered shoving Kyle’s face to the floor, smashing it into the broken shards.

“What did Danny—or my family—ever do to you?”

“We weren’t trying to hurt Danny. We tried to make it look like the Smasher.”

It explained why Charlotte’s head was caved in, the differences from the Smasher slayings Matt’s dad was always talking about.

“All these years I thought my brother … But it was you.…” Matt felt a crushing remorse in his chest. He’d hated his brother. Resented his father. He’d been such a fool, such a stubborn fool. “You!” Matt screamed.

“Not him,” a voice said from the kitchen doorway.

Noah Brawn stood holding a handgun. “Get up, Kyle,” he said to his son.

Kyle just looked up at him, didn’t move.

“Get up!” his father yelled.

Kyle rose slowly to his feet.

“Turn around,” Noah Brawn said to Matt.

Matt turned and felt a gun barrel jabbed into his back. Noah marched Matt out of the kitchen and into the great room. Bookshelves lined the walls, high-end furniture, expensive art. Noah told Matt to turn around, put his hands on his head.

Kyle came in after them. Noah seemed to be debating what to do. He gazed out the large glass window to the backyard, which was illuminated by party lights strung along the patio.

Then he seemed to make a decision.

Matt didn’t like the look on his face. “You covered for him? Framed my brother,” Matt said.

“I never meant Danny to get the blame. I wouldn’t do that to your mother. The state police had given the governor’s office a heads-up about a serial killer in Kansas that they thought may have ventured into Nebraska. I called in tips to the prosecutor and Danny’s defense lawyer linking Charlotte’s murder to the Smasher.”

Kyle chimed in: “That’s why I got Ricky to report the Unknown Partygoer. We thought they would think he was the Smasher. We didn’t know Danny would confess. It just all got out of hand.”

Maybe it was the truth. It explained Charlotte’s head. Explained why Ricky was the only kid who saw the Unknown Partygoer—creating a monster other than Danny to blame things on. Explained why Ricky raced his car into a tree, from the guilt.