I’m dying to know which video he’s seen and how he got it, just like I was when John confronted me all those years ago. At least with John I knew how he’d gotten it. He found my office hidden in the back of the guest suite closet, along with all the recordings of my training sessions with Mason. I studied those videos like coaches review game footage. I’ve never seen John as upset as he was the day he found everything. He wouldn’t stop looking at me like I was an evil person. He kept calling me one too. I tried explaining things to him—my groundbreaking research with Mason and how we were going to change the world—but he just didn’t understand. He said he would turn me in, but I took care of that before he had a chance. I thought I took care of everything.
“I bet you’d like to erase all those images of you hurting that poor boy. Teaching him how not to talk instead of the other way around. Or what about those candles? That’s some twisted stuff right there, Mrs. Hill.” He shakes his head. The black hoodie tight around it. “Something must really be wrong with you.”
“Shut up, you have no idea who I am or what you’re talking about,” I snap. Greatness is always misunderstood by people who don’t have it. Or the amount of sacrifice it requires. That’s all I ever wanted for Mason—a chance to make a huge difference in the world. “I gave you the money; I want the video destroyed.”
“Nope.” He shakes his head again. Much more forcibly this time. “That wasn’t part of the deal. I said I wouldn’t show the video to anyone. I never said you could do anything with it.” He takes a step closer to me. His features flattened and distorted from the mask’s pressure. “You just can’t let go of control, can you?” He steps even closer. “The video is my insurance that you never come after me. I’m not stupid.”
“And neither am I.” I rub my hand against the gun underneath my shirt. Just feeling it gives me power. “What’s my insurance?”
He puffs his chest out and pats it with both hands. “I’m it.” Then he laughs. God, I hate his laugh. I never want to hear that sound again. “Maybe knowing somebody’s out there watching you and knows who you really are will keep you nice. Might make you behave better.” He turns as if he’s going to leave and walk back to his truck before I’m done with him. I reach out and grab his arm, pulling him back.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I already told you—we’re done here.” He jerks his arm away and heads for the truck, picking up speed with each stride. I hurry along beside him, grabbing him and trying to get him to stop, but he refuses.
“I’m not done talking to you!” I yell at him, jumping in front of him on the path and blocking him with my body.
He grabs my face tight with one fist. My teeth cut into the flesh of my cheeks. The taste of blood fills my mouth. “I said we’re done here, and we’re done.” He flings me backward, sending me into the tree behind me. I smack my head against one of the branches. The impact stuns me, cracking my teeth together and knocking me even more off balance. I lean against the tree for support, steadying myself. He’s halfway to the truck.
“Hey!” I scream at his back, staggering down the path behind him. Running makes my head throb. Sends nausea shooting through me, making me dizzy. The air pulses around me.
He doesn’t stop or turn around. Who does he think he is? I slow to a stop and pull the gun out of the waistband of my jeans. I stretch my arms out and wrap my fingers tight on the trigger, pointing it directly at his back. He’s almost to the truck. I take aim and fire.
“No!” someone screams and slams into me.
THIRTY-SEVEN
CASEY WALKER
Genevieve stumbles backward so hard that she almost falls over, but she quickly recovers and whips around to face me before I have a chance to do anything. “Jesus, Casey.” Her arms are rigid and straight as she points the gun at my chest like she’ll blow a hole in it if I move. “What are you doing here? You scared me to death.”
“What am I doing here? You just shot a man.” My voice is bold and brave despite the fear rushing through me and the gun aimed straight at me. She doesn’t lower her arms. My pulse pounds in my ears. I didn’t think any of this through. I rushed her without thinking when she pulled out the gun. All I wanted to do was save the man’s life even if he’s a bad guy.
She screams in his direction without taking her eyes or the gun off me, “Get over here before I shoot you again.”
He doesn’t move toward us. Just writhes in pain on the ground a few feet from his truck, grabbing his thigh and wailing. How badly is he hurt? He’s too far away to tell.
I eye the spot in the leaves underneath the fir trees where my phone sits. I was close enough to hear everything they said, and hopefully the audio on my phone picked it up, too, while I recorded their exchange. I stopped recording and dialed 911 as soon as she pulled out the gun. I silently beg the universe to let a 911 operator be on the line.
“I said get over here!” Genevieve screams.
He tries to pull himself up but grimaces from the pain and quickly falls back to the ground. He gets up again, legs wobbling, shaking. His face tight with pain and exertion. She moves the gun back and forth between us in quick, spastic jerks while he struggles to walk toward us, clutching his thigh and half dragging his leg behind him.
Every muscle in my body jumps with the desire to run. All the previous pain gone with the smell of a spent revolver fresh in the air. Adrenaline floods my system.
“Get over there by her,” she says, motioning with the gun in her hand. Her eyes narrow, taking in both of us the closer he gets to my side. The swamp is behind her. She’s not any bigger than me, and she’s already at a disadvantage from smacking her head on that tree. My fingers instinctively flex into fists at my sides. I was right all along—she’s a monster.
The wounded man struggles to stay on his feet. His sweat is dank. He’s breathing hard. But I don’t feel all that sorry for him. He’s part of this sick plan too.
She lines us up like a two-person firing line and moves the gun back and forth between us. “Now just what are we going to do about this?”
“There’s not anything else to do. It’s over. Everything ends here.” I lay my hands out in front of her, terrified she’ll shoot us both. My voice is a desperate plea. “It’s over, Genevieve. Nobody else has to get hurt.”
Her face twists into laughter. “Over? This isn’t over. I’m just taking a minute to figure out what I want to do next. I need a minute. You ever just need a minute?”
“You don’t have to do this. This doesn’t have to get any worse.”
“Shut up! You don’t know anything. You think you know so much, but you don’t. You’re just like everybody else. You don’t understand the work I do. Nobody does. You don’t know anything.” Lipstick is caked in the corners of her lips, smudged on her teeth. Her black jeans are torn at the knees. “I was going to change the world with Mason. I made him extraordinary in a way that’s never been done before. It takes a special kind of mother to do what I did, but I don’t expect anyone to understand. How could they? But that’s okay. It’s okay. As long as I do.” She shakes her head while she talks, and I’m not sure if she’s talking to herself or me.