Her phone buzzed.
Cheeto again.
She ignored it.
The second level wove deeper into the woods. Bone-pale tree trunks blocked out the sun. Melted snow dripped from overhead, splashing her neck with shocking cold. Dead leaves crunched underfoot. The terrain steepened. Her sides ached, and her stomach roiled from the lack of food and excess of pain meds.
When she topped the final hill, she heard the creek. Its crackling was magic to her ears, like hearing Hendrix for the first time. She spotted its sloppy banks and followed the direction of its flow. Candace had once mentioned that her Traders followed the creek to a bend where the oaks met the pines. Ash picked her way through leafless oaks, staggered past an enormous tree stump, and spotted a wall of evergreens.
Her heart rate tripled.
Hand throbbing, she pushed through the thicket until she popped out in a muddy clearing. To her right, the creek wove around a jutting rock cliff.
This had to be it.
The bend.
She set her guitar case down and hurried over.
Light poked through the treetops and shimmered over the surface of the water. Where it wasn’t shining, she saw her reflection. The waters were supposed to reflect your ideal physical self, yet right now they mirrored the same baggy eyes, janky teeth, and stiff shoulders as in reality.
Carefully, she peeled off her jacket, her hand exploding with every movement. The November breeze triggered gooseflesh along her tattooed arms. She stretched her hand over the water. Nothing ideal appeared in the reflection, just her mummified hand and ballooning purple fingers.
This wasn’t working. Maybe she’d done something wrong.
“My left hand,” she said. “I want to trade it.”
The creek trickled along.
Nothing.
There had to be a way. She tried remembering what her father said about the creek. Something about the water tugging him under. If that were the case, he had to have been partially submerged.
Kneeling, she dipped her purple fingers into the water. It swallowed them cold, relaying icy jolts of pain. Gritting her teeth, she submerged her arm to the elbow.
“Trade me a new hand.”
She pushed deeper.
“C’mon, trade.”
Still nothing.
“Trade already!”
The creek sped up. It whirlpooled around her arm like bathwater around a drain. Her hand ached and pounded from the pressure. She tried pulling her hand free.
It wouldn’t budge.
“The fuck? Let go!”
Something tugged on her cast. Some force in the water she couldn’t see. She tried tugging back, but, like a Chinese finger trap, it only made things worse.
She shrieked in pain, louder and louder, until her face smashed the surface.
8
Karl parked his patrol car beside St. Raphael’s Church. Not for police work, but because he didn’t know where else to go. Candace might’ve been right about Mac being brain-fried and them having to protect the group’s secrecy, but it didn’t make Karl feel any better. Of all the no-good, shaky decisions he’d made throughout his police career, both in Pittsburgh and Hollow Hills, none were more unforgivable than this. He should’ve called it in. Requested an ambulance. Played dumb until doctors guessed where Mac’s kidneys had gone.
Instead, he let a friend die. Murder by omission. Then he and Candace had bagged the body and dragged it through the woods, where it would soon be buried.
Happy Thanksgiving, Mac.
Karl slumped in his seat. Wind gusts struck his patrol car, making noises like ice cracking. Eventually he’d have to contact Mac’s family, ask if they’d seen him. The thought tightened his throat.
Something else bothered him: traded parts only disappeared for two reasons. Either the Trader died or they left the ten-mile radius surrounding town. Mac didn’t have his kidneys this morning, but he wasn’t dead. That meant he’d left the local limits—and most definitely not by choice. Someone must’ve kidnapped him, driven him out, and brought him back.
Someone who wanted the kidneys to be available again.
But who?
A Trader? No. Wouldn’t work. Any Trader who drove Mac outta the zone would lose their own traded parts in the process. Only an outsider could safely make that trip. But the only way an outsider could know anything about this was if a Trader told them.
Karl buried his face in his hands. This was bad. It was hard enough keeping secrets when everybody played by the rules. If someone had betrayed the group, everything could unravel.
He grabbed his phone. He needed to ask Candace if anyone had expressed interest in the kidneys recently. He could build a suspect list from there. But the moment he dialed her, he realized something. The abductor would’ve targeted Mac only if they knew for certain he had the kidneys. But knowing for certain was difficult because info on traded parts was kept private. The only people who knew about Mac’s kidneys would be Mac himself, anyone he might’ve confided in, and Candace, who kept a master list of everyone’s trades.
Karl cancelled the call.
Good God. Candace might be involved. She knew Mac had the kidneys. She was also the first to find him this morning. Heck, she’d even asked Mac to work late last night. That added up ugly.
Then again, it was possible Mac had told others about his kidneys. Or perhaps the Trader who’d invited Mac into the group betrayed him. That happened once before. Fella had invited a lady with lung cancer into the group and killed her two years later when his own lungs developed stage four. What a mess that had been.
Karl exhaled. Looking up at the church steeple, he prayed that Candace wasn’t involved. That would not only tear apart the group but Karl as well. Deep down, though, he knew it wasn’t her. Even if she had kidney issues, they could be managed. She’d have to be extremely reckless to kill a Trader over them.
Besides, she prided herself on protecting the Traders. It’d been that way ever since her husband was murdered for his traded heart fifteen years ago. She swore on his grave that it wouldn’t happen again. Not to anyone.
Karl’s phone buzzed.
Candace.
“Hello?” he answered.
“You called, Karl? I was in the shower.”
“Had a question. An important one.”
“I see. Take an early lunch. Stop by the house.”
He notified dispatch, drove over, and rang the doorbell.
Candace answered in seconds.
She was in her bathrobe, the blue one he’d bought her for her birthday last winter. Her blond hair was wet from the shower. She smelled of citrus and morning energy, nothing like the sweat she’d accumulated earlier while they moved Mac’s body.
“Any news on Mac?” he asked, stepping inside.
She shook her head. “Scoured the banquet hall but couldn’t find anything. Then again, I’m no Columbo.”
Karl rubbed his eyes. “I’ll double-check later, after you close up tonight.”
“Thanks.”
He hung his head and sighed. God, could he use a drink.
“What’s wrong, big man?”
“Been thinking,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Anybody come to you asking about kidneys?”
“Not recently.” Nothing in her demeanor suggested she was hiding anything. She didn’t avoid eye contact or fidget or stammer. “Everybody knew the kidneys were taken, so they stopped asking.”