For a second, she just stares back at Cal, at Jeremy, or whoever he is today. She knows what he is capable of. She slides Leroux’s gun out of his grip and stands, training it on Cal. He keeps the bow aimed at her, and his crooked smile spreads slowly across his face. He drops the bow to his side.
“Shoot him!” Leroux bellows from below her.
She hesitates, momentarily frozen in place, unable to move her finger to squeeze the trigger. And suddenly there is a pop. She watches as he stumbles back, dropping the crossbow and holding his chest. He drops to his knees, and rolls his body into some underbrush nearby, immediately disappearing in the thick growth. The sun struggles to reach through the canopy of trees. Darkness lurks all around even in the daylight. Wren is still paralyzed with fear, holding the gun still aimed at the blank space where he stood only moments earlier. She looks to her right where Will stands protectively, lowering the gun he just fired. A sharp puff of air escapes her lungs.
Officers run toward the underbrush with Will close on their heels.
“Muller, stay with Leroux!” he yells over his shoulder.
All she can do is nod, still staring at the spot where Cal just stared her down. She can hear breaking branches and incoherent orders, but it’s like her head is underwater. She forces herself to stay on alert, and a sound cuts through the air. It makes her heart race and a cold sweat form along her forehead. Two gunshots, about ten seconds apart, cause the birds to scatter and screech overhead. She stares wide-eyed for a moment. Every cicada, bird, toad, and leaf works in tandem to scream her into the present. She listens.
“Dr. Muller.”
A young officer emerges from the trees, causing Wren to jump and clutch the gun tighter in her hand. He sees her fear and holds his hands up, speaking softly. “Sorry for the alarm. Broussard is with the suspect. We just need to confirm that he’s deceased.”
Wren lowers Leroux’s gun, breathing in another gulp of hot air and nodding. She looks down at Leroux.
“Are you okay here?”
“Do I have a choice?” he jokes and winces with the effort, grabbing his leg. “Be careful, Muller.”
“I’m okay. Call the medics down for him, please,” she directs the young officer.
He steps closer to them, already grabbing his radio on his shoulder and asking for medics to come down the path. Wren sighs, wiping the sweat from her forehead and walking toward the trees. She can hear the officers speaking close by as she maneuvers her way through thick roots of ancient cypress trees. Spanish moss tickles her face. She sees broken branches and heavy footprints in the dirt. Everything moves and breathes. The scene is heavy and alive.
“Muller.” Will startles her as she approaches him. “He put one in his own mouth.”
He says the words bluntly, and she swallows to process this information as fast as she can.
“I’ll confirm,” she answers. “And thank you.”
He squeezes her hand as he passes her by. “Don’t mention it.”
She lets go of his hand and strides toward Cal’s body. He’s on his back now, blood spattered across his face and chest. His eyes are open, staring up at her from the wet ground that surrounds him. Always so clean and together, he finally looks like the monster he was inside.
She snaps a glove onto her hand and leans down to check his pulse. There is nothing.
“He’s expired,” she says coldly.
She pulls out her cell phone and dials the office, letting the deputy examiners and techs know to come over. As she turns to face the officers behind her, something catches her eye. Something about the face looking up at her seems off. She uses her gloved hand to wipe away the blood from his face, slightly turning it to look at her straight on. As she looks into this man’s green eyes, she can feel her heart stop. Her hands fumble to lift the black T-shirt over his abdomen, searching for the wound from Will’s earlier shot, and instead finds smooth, unviolated flesh.