Skeletons in the Closet

Chapter 38

As I pushed open the door to mom's house, a wave of exhaustion washed over me that I'd never felt before. Merely moving my limbs, drawing in the next breath, became a task that I wasn't sure I could complete.

Seemingly on auto-pilot, I kicked the door shut behind me. Dropping my things on the way, I found the couch and in one motion, flopped face down into the cushions. Myriad thoughts flew through my mind, but I couldn't quite manage to put them into any sort of order.

Swanson was a dead end. Everything I'd done so far, all of my leads, all of my research had led me to him and that all came crumbling into nothingness. He wasn't the guy. That much was clear, but it wasn't just a matter of striking out on a lead. This was weeks upon weeks of effort. This was all of my energy, both emotionally and physically, seemingly expended for absolutely nothing. I was back to square one and the Butcher could strike at any time. He'd been taunting me all this time and I was too stupid to see that it wasn't Swanson. If another victim is added to his already-too-long list, I don't know how I'll be able to live with myself.

My chest tightened with anxiety at the thought. In that moment, I felt like a failure. Had everything been a complete waste of time? Was The Butcher sitting back and laughing at my futility? I wanted to scream but the exhaustion left me immobile. Mentally, physically, emotionally; I was spent to the core.

I pulled myself up and into a sitting position, sweeping my hair out of my face as I expelled one long, drawn-out breath. I had no idea where to go next, but I knew I had to do something. Anything. Lives depended on me. Perhaps even my own sanity.

Collecting myself, I dragged myself to my feet. I could feel my resolve steeling, knowing that I had to push forward. I couldn't let someone else get hurt. Not because of my failures. Not because I couldn't find the right monster. Swanson was a scumbag, but as far as I could tell, he didn't have any lives on his conscience.

I grabbed all of my things – my laptop and my plethora of notes – and spread them all out on the coffee table. There had to be something here to give me the right lead, to tell me who the Butcher was and that would be all I need to get going forward. Just a crumb, a morsel to get me back on track and to find this son of a bitch. I plopped down on the couch and got to work.

Staring at every piece of information I could, I pored over all I had collected in hopes of finding something that might give me a clue. Anything that would put me on the right track because right now, without Corey Swanson, I had nothing to go on. I was back at the starting blocks.

There had to be something staring me right in the face, something that had been under my nose the entire time that I had simply failed to notice. But what? What was I missing and how could I tie it together to get to The Butcher before he could add to his horrifying list?

After ten minutes of gazing through everything, I decided that I wasn't going to find anything of substance without a little bit of caffeine to clear my head. The sleepy haze that clouded the peripherals of my vision had made it nearly impossible to focus on anything in front of me and I wasn't going to make any progress this way. I rubbed my hands over my face in an attempt to massage the sleeplessness from my eyes and made my way back to my feet.

I'd made it three steps before a blinding pain encompassed my skull. In the blink of an eye, my vision went from clear to blurry to complete darkness. My consciousness shut down before I'd even hit the floor.