Alejo was right. Death permeated the air here, thick enough to taste.
“I’m so sorry,” Alejo said to her. “You shouldn’t have to—”
“What’s going on down here?”
Ashley spun to face the staircase. Sheriff Paris stood at the top of the stairs. He made his way down, and Ashley understood all at once why Tristan had led her here.
Because now, they were looking at the man who had killed him.
Tristan’s ghost turned to face the staircase again. In an instant, he was reduced to nothing but an outline. He doubled over and collapsed to the floor. In all of his visits, Ashley had never heard Tristan make a sound.
But as Paris reached the bottom of the stairs, Tristan screamed.
37
And Then You Find Your Way
“No.” Alejo backed away from the stairs toward the tool bench. “It’s not you. It can’t … that doesn’t make any sense.”
Ashley could hardly hear over the sound of Tristan’s screams. She watched Paris’s face; this was the same man who had helped with months of searches, who had wept at Tristan’s vigil, who had treated Tristan like a second son. His expression was blank now, distant and unmoved by Alejo’s shock. Between his short crop of blond hair and his sun-kissed skin, he was Snakebite personified. It couldn’t be him.
He arched a brow.
“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be in a cell.”
“We were neighbors at the Bates,” Alejo croaked. In the harsh basement light, his face was almost gray. “We hung out every day. You’re the first person I told about … I know you didn’t do this. I know you didn’t hurt those kids.”
Sheriff Paris said nothing.
Ashley was going to be sick.
“We’ve talked since … I would’ve known.”
Tristan’s screams stopped. The ThermoGeist went blank. For the moment, Tristan was gone, leaving Ashley and Alejo alone to face the devil. Maybe this was all he’d wanted them to find—the truth. But now that they’d found it, Ashley wasn’t sure what to do. There was no one to tell. It wasn’t like Paris would let them leave this basement knowing what they knew.
Paris’s stance relaxed. “You didn’t know? I thought for sure you did. How long did you live with it—thirteen years? Maybe you didn’t know it as well as you thought.”
Alejo cupped a hand over his mouth. “They were kids, Frank. They were your son’s friends.”
“Speaking of John,” Paris said, “which one of you knocked him out?”
Ashley met Alejo’s eyes. So Fran had left the house. They really were alone down here. Ashley could only hope Fran was getting help.
“It doesn’t really matter.” Paris eyed the tool bench. “You know I can’t let either of you out of here.”
“It’s not too late,” Alejo said. “The Dark is strong, but you can shut it out. Brandon did.”
“Not too late for what? I killed people, Alejo.” Paris cleared his throat. “Besides, the thing’s gone. It’s just me now. This is who I was always supposed to be.”
Alejo shook his head, eyes wide. “If it’s not with you, where is it?”
“It should be with your daughter now, actually. Said something about coming full circle. I didn’t understand what that meant. It had a real grudge against your family for some reason. I tried to stay out of it.”
Alejo’s exhale was sharp. His fists clenched, but his expres sion wasn’t angry. It was a sad thing, teetering just on the edge of grief. He’d lost his daughter once, and now he might lose her again and there was nothing he could do about it. It weighed on Ashley, too. If she and Logan had just left Snakebite, none of this would’ve happened. Logan would’ve been safe.