She couldn’t recall which town they were in, only that the motel they’d been directed to stay at was only three miles from the county sheriff’s department—where all the men currently were. The women had been dropped at the motel, with the exception of June, who’d been taken to a hospital in a fire truck, and Louisa, who’d requested to stay with her.
Debbie sucked in another heavy breath. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around it. Doc was dead. Ginny and Gerald were dead. And yet she’d seen them just yesterday. Gerald had been manning the grill, cooking up the hot dogs and hamburgers that Ginny was dishing out. All three had been alive and well when their group had left the park, only to return to find them… gone.
No, not gone. Murdered.
God, it all felt so surreal. Like a dream, or rather, a nightmare. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how the others were feeling. More specifically, how Preacher was feeling.
Debbie sank down onto the curb, feeling utterly bewildered and helpless. The last time she’d seen Preacher he’d been frighteningly out of control, thrashing violently against the four police officers who’d been dragging him through the park. It had taken the officers nearly fifteen minutes and sheer brute strength to force him inside the back of a police car. Joe, who’d been equally enraged, had received similar treatment. And everyone else had been quickly gathered and given instructions to follow the police back to the station.
“Debbie,” she had informed the questioning officer, her voice shaking. “Deborah Reynolds. I’m—I’m Preacher’s, um, I’m Damon’s girl.”
Other than her name, the police had asked her where she’d been that day and who she’d been with, and then she’d been dismissed. Eventually Jim had been instructed to bring the women here.
Her arms wrapped around her shins, Debbie rested her head on her knees and stared off into the fog. She was well past exhausted and yet unable to sleep. Her worry for Preacher’s wellbeing was too pressing, and dominating all her other thoughts.
All except for one.
Her eyes squeezed closed and her arms tightened around her legs. Was it selfish to hope Preacher wouldn’t send her away? That he would still want her around? She swallowed thickly. Of course it was selfish. Self-absorbed and utterly contemptible.
Still, she continued to hope.
The sound of an engine eventually roused her, and Debbie blinked back the gathering sleep in her eyes as a familiar blue van pulled into the parking lot. A state police car followed closely behind the van, two officers inside. While the van pulled up to the building, the police remained across the lot.
One by one the Silver Demons climbed out of the van, each man looking some variation of strung out and bleak. Nobody paid her much attention as they trudged past her and entered the room. She paid them little mind as well, her sole focus on the van. The last to exit, Preacher’s long legs preceded him. His boots hit the ground hard, and when he turned, lifting his head, Debbie both flinched and cursed.
Dark bags ringed his bloodshot eyes. His left cheek was swollen and mottled with blue and purple bruises. His bottom lip had been split down the center.
Shoulders drooping, sagging with exhaustion, Preacher dropped down beside Debbie with a pained groan. Panic rose inside her as she wondered what she should say. Nothing she came up with sounded right, or nearly enough.
“Just the one room?” he asked. His voice was rough as if he’d spent the last several hours shouting.
“Two. And mine.” Debbie dug a key out of her jeans pocket and showed it to him. Jim had paid for two motel rooms before leaving with the van, after which she’d taken the initiative to purchase a third room with her own money.
“I didn’t want to bother anyone,” she finished softly.
Preacher slumped forward on his knees, and his eyes found hers. Seeing the suffering look on his face, her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Instinctively she wanted to reach out and touch him, and instead closed her hand tightly around the key, squeezing to the point of pain.
“Preacher.” His name was a hoarse whisper on her lips. “I… I…” She trailed off, and her eyes filled with tears. Quickly glancing away, she silently cursed herself.
Debbie jerked when Preacher unexpectedly placed his hand over hers and gently pried open her fingers. Taking the key, he glanced over his shoulder. “Lemme tell them where we’ll be.”
Minutes later, inside Debbie’s room, Preacher fell back against the door and stared across the room as if he were drugged, looking like he might topple over at any moment.
Debbie set her backpack on the floor and took a hesitant seat on a bed. She stared at Preacher, tears still burning in her eyes, and at a loss for how to help him.
“Doc was alive.” Preacher’s eyes blinked furiously, and his voice was brittle and weak. “A woman found him crawlin’ across the campsite, bleedin’, tryin’ to talk. She ran for help, but—”
He shook his head, let out a hoarse sigh, and slid down the door all the way to the floor “He was gone by the time the park rangers got to him.”
Debbie continued to watch him, desperately wanting to touch him, hold him, comfort him in any way she could. Second-guessing herself every other second, and unsure of what he needed, she remained where she was, with her fists clenched tightly in her lap.
“Nobody saw anything,” he continued. “Nobody saw anything, and no one knows jack shit.” Preacher’s head lolled back and rolled across the door. Their gazes collided. “How’s that work? A whole fuckin’ park full of people and no one saw a goddamn thing?”
“I’m sorry,” Debbie whispered, and instantly wished her words back. Cringing, she closed her eyes. What was she thinking? I’m sorry wasn’t good enough. I’m sorry was useless and trivial. People apologized when they spilled a drink or cut in line—not when someone’s parents were murdered. Feeling wetness on her cheek, Debbie swiped her hand quickly across her face, wiping away the tears she had no right to cry.
When she opened her eyes again, Preacher was still staring at her. Just staring and breathing—harsh, ragged breaths that sounded as if his lungs were crumbling.
“I can’t get it to stick,” he croaked. “Every time I try to think it, it doesn’t make sense. It won’t stick.”
He looked away, his haunted gaze finding a blank wall. “They’re gone. But how the fuck can they be gone? I just saw ‘em—how can they be gone?”
Filled with grief for Preacher, Debbie had to fight to keep from sobbing.
“How’s that work exactly?” he shouted, and shot to his feet. “They were there, right fuckin’ there when we left, and now they’re just gone?”
Ashen-faced, his hands running violently through his hair, Preacher glanced aimlessly around the room. “How’s that fuckin’ work?” he demanded.
He turned and faced Debbie, desperation and agony further distorting his bruised and swollen features. And her heart wrenched at the sight of him.
Debbie stood and stepped slowly toward him. She didn’t have any idea what she was going to say or do once she reached him; she only knew that she needed to reach him.
Preacher watched her approach, glancing from her face to the hand she was offering him when suddenly an anguished groan flew past his lips and he spun away, sending his fist barreling into the wall closest to him.
Debbie scrambled backward, her hand flying to her mouth, while Preacher continued to punch the wall. And then proceeded to tear the room apart.
When he reached her, a trail of destruction behind him, his chest heaving with heavy, labored breaths, blood gushing from his shredded knuckles, Debbie thought he might tear her apart, too.
Instead, he collapsed at her feet.
Debbie dropped down beside him and threw her arms around his neck. Half expecting him to push her away, she was surprised when he pulled her into his lap instead, buried his face in her neck, and began to cry.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered frantically. “Oh God, Preacher, I’m so sorry.”
She curled her legs around his back, her arms around his quaking shoulders, and just held him as tightly as she could.
• • •