Vera?
She’s fighting the person holding her, but he’s too strong for her. I stare at them, completely frozen, paralyzed.
What’s going on? What’s this guy doing to Vera?
It all goes by so fast; I can barely react. It all becomes a little blurry. I remember seeing a gun, a gun in the man’s hand. At least I think it is from the way he’s holding it. I remember Vera screaming, and I see her struggling to free herself from his grip. Then, I see the gun being placed forcefully in her hand, then steered toward her temple. He’s the one holding her arm, controlling it.
I don’t even have time to scream before the gun is fired. Next, I see her body fall from the bridge toward the water. There are two splashes, one when the body hits the water, and one when the gun does.
I stare at the water where Vera has disappeared. My breath becomes shorter and shorter until I am not breathing at all anymore. I think I’m shaking, but I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’m even blinking. It’s like everything has completely stopped. I see the guy get back into his truck and leave; I see the truck drive away, but I don’t do anything.
Am I terrified? Possibly. Am I in deep shock? Very possible.
It’s not until the truck has completely disappeared that I finally dare to move. I fumble with my phone between my hands, then call nine-one-one. Somehow, I manage to tell the woman at dispatch that a body was just plunged into the water and give her directions. As soon as I have hung up, I throw the phone on the ground, then take off my flip-flops before I walk into the water.
I have always been a good swimmer, and it comes in handy now. Luckily, there isn’t any wind today, so there are no waves in the river. I push myself hard and realize I am far from the shape I thought I was in. My arms are hurting, and I am panting both with fear and effort. I can’t stop thinking about poor Vera, and every time I do, I start to cry, but I can’t let myself do that because I am losing momentum when I lose hope. I have to keep swimming if I am to find her; I can’t let despair get the better of me now. I simply can’t.
I spot something in the water as I swim close to where I saw her being pushed in. But as I come closer, I can no longer see it. Frustrated, I call out her name like she can answer. I keep swimming, and suddenly, I see her. She’s lying on the surface, face down. There is blood in the water around her.
“Oh, God, Vera,” I pant, then swim to her and grab her. “Please, Vera, please.”
I pull her around, then see how badly her face is messed up. There is no way she’s still alive. My body starts to shake violently as I realize this, and soon, I break down and cry. I can’t stand it anymore; I have to let it out, even though I am swallowing lots of water. I hear sirens approaching in the distance, and soon, I can hear voices yelling as divers are sent in after us.
Chapter 46
They take me up on the bridge after taking Vera away in a body bag. They have wrapped me in a blanket and given me a juice box, so I don’t dehydrate. I feel like a child as I hold it in my hand. I cry helplessly. I can’t control it anymore, and I don’t know what to do. Vera is—was—my best friend. Gosh, it hurts even to think it. She was the only one I could trust, besides her brother Frank. I can’t believe she’s not here anymore. It’s too surreal.
“So, this is where you saw her?” the detective asks and points. I stare at him, then at the spot. There’s blood on the asphalt and the railing. I nod, closing my eyes, trying not to relive it again. I focus on surviving right now, nothing else. I just have to get through this, get through this moment, awful as it is.
If you can get through this, you can get through anything.
“And you say there was someone here with her?”
I nod again. “He forced the gun to her head, then fired it. He pushed her over the edge, and she dropped into the water…I think he wanted to make it look like suicide. That’s why he put it in her hand first.”
“And why would he do that?”
“Because she’s military, and well…suicide is pretty common…it’s what he does,” I say. I can tell by the detective’s face that he doesn’t quite understand what I’m saying. He’s from the mainland police. He doesn’t know anything about the previous murders or about the restraining order, or anything else for that matter. I can’t explain it to him. I know he won’t listen. I know he’ll give me that look that will make me feel like Lunatic Laurie. Besides, I fear this was all Ryan’s doing. He wanted me to see it. He wants me to know that he can do whatever he wants, that he’ll come for me next if I don’t shut up. He’s sending me a message, telling me he’s serious. He couldn’t get my parents, so he found someone else that was close to me. He knew exactly how to hurt me the most and the deepest.
Already, this detective, Reed, looks at me like he thinks I’m rambling.
“Who does this?” he asks. “What do you mean?”
“He makes it look like suicide,” I say, trying anyway, even though I know it’s no use.
A frown grows between detective Reed’s otherwise friendly eyes. “So, you’re saying this has happened before?”
I can tell he’s exchanging a look with another officer who is taking pictures of the scene. I know that look. I don’t want to stay here anymore. I want to leave. I am broken to pieces. I have called my mom and asked her to pick up the kids at school today. I told her I’d have to explain later. She could tell I was in shock, so she naturally asked me if I was okay. I am not, I told her. Then I broke down and cried.
“Yes,” I answer. “Something similar. Not the same.”
“And how do you know this?”
I tell him everything anyway, just in case. As I do, he nods along like he knows what I am talking about.
“I think I read about this in the paper,” he says.
I stare at him, wondering if he is actually taking me seriously. He seems to be.
“Yeah, I did,” he says. “There were a lot of unanswered questions. But it’s on Air Force grounds, so the cases are investigated by their people. I think they reopened some of the cases, though. I’ll call and have a chat with them. Now, what can you tell me about the car this guy drove?”
“It was a truck. A big blue truck.”
As I say the words, it occurs to me that Ryan’s truck is black, and when I think about it, it didn’t look like his at all. This one was only a two-seater; Ryan’s is a four-seater. But I think I have seen this truck before. I just can’t recall where. It’s not until the detective leaves me to talk to someone else, and I spot something on the ground that I fully realize whose truck this is.
The very thought causes my blood to freeze.
They tell me to go home. They tell me to get some rest, and then they’ll ask me to come in for more questioning later. Detective Reed even hugs me and tells me it’ll be okay, that they’ll get this bastard, but it doesn’t make me feel better. I don’t tell him what I have found on the ground. Why not? I can’t say. Maybe because the realization shocks me so deeply, I have to deal with it myself.