Chapter 2 - The Man Behind the Bride
Daniel had been twelve when his father died.
He remembered Michael Mercer as a quiet man who repaired radios at the kitchen table and never drove at night if rain was falling.
He did not remember Rebecca Hale.
He certainly did not remember his father attending her wedding.
Yet there Michael stood.
Young.
Smiling.
One hand resting on the shoulder of the groom.
Daniel enlarged the photograph.
No mistake.
Michael Mercer.
Same narrow nose.
Same scar beside his eyebrow.
Same silver watch Daniel now kept in a drawer at home.
The image contained a handwritten date:
October 17, 1998.
Rebecca Hale disappeared that night.
Daniel called the unknown number back.
Disconnected.
He searched Rebecca’s name.
The first articles appeared immediately.
LOCAL BRIDE VANISHES HOURS AFTER WEDDING.
CAR FOUND ABANDONED ON BLACKTHORN ROAD.
NO SIGN OF FOUL PLAY.
GROOM QUESTIONED, RELEASED.
The groom was named Jonathan Vale.
Daniel opened an old newspaper photograph.
Jonathan stood outside the county sheriff’s office, devastated.
Daniel recognized him too.
Not personally.
From the photograph just sent to him.
Jonathan was the man beside Michael.
Daniel’s father had known both of them.
A sound came from the passenger seat.
Daniel looked.
The ivory button had rolled several inches despite the car being stationary.
He picked it up with a tissue.
On the underside was a tiny brown stain.
Rust, perhaps.
Or old blood.
He put it in the center console.
Then restarted the engine.
Nothing happened.
Battery lights flickered.
The engine died.
Again.
Nothing.
Daniel swore.
A pale shape moved between the trees.
He froze.
The bride stood beyond the fence.
Not running now.
Watching.
Thirty yards away.
Her dress hung motionless despite the wind moving every branch around her.
Daniel raised his phone.
The bride slowly lifted one finger.
Shhh.
Then she pointed.
Not at Daniel.
Behind him.
Daniel looked in the rearview mirror.
A pair of headlights had appeared far down the road.
Approaching slowly.
Relief hit first.
Another driver.
Then the bride shook her head.
Violently.
For the first time, her blank expression broke.
Fear.
Daniel looked again.
The headlights were closer.
Too close for the amount of time that had passed.
He tried the ignition.
Nothing.
The bride pointed toward his dashboard.
Daniel followed her finger.
His headlights.
He switched them off.
The approaching vehicle immediately stopped.
Half a mile behind him.
Daniel stared.
The bride lowered her hand.
The distant headlights went dark.
Now the road behind him was completely black.
Daniel whispered:
“What are you?”
Her face changed.
Not anger.
Sadness.
She touched her chest.
Then pointed at Daniel.
Again.
Chest.
Daniel.
He didn’t understand.
She stepped toward the fence.
This time Daniel watched carefully.
She did not pass through it.
She passed behind a gap where two broken rails overlapped.
Perspective.
The “impossible” moment had an ordinary explanation.
Daniel felt an unexpected wave of relief.
She was physical.
Human?
But how could she still look twenty-five?
The bride reached the roadside.
Then stopped abruptly.
Her eyes shifted behind Daniel.
She backed away.
Daniel heard an engine.
No headlights.
A vehicle was approaching from behind in complete darkness.
He could not see it.
Only hear tires cutting through wet pavement.
The bride ran.
Not toward Daniel.
Away from the road.
Daniel understood.
She had not been chasing his car earlier.
She had been trying to keep pace beside it.
Because something else had been following both of them.
Daniel twisted the key again.
The engine caught.
He accelerated.
The unseen vehicle followed.
Daniel’s phone rang.
Different number.
He answered without speaking.
A man’s voice said:
“You picked up the button.”
Daniel’s eyes moved toward the console.
“How do you know?”
The man sighed.
“Because your father did the same thing twenty-eight years ago.”
Daniel’s grip tightened.
“Who is this?”
“Someone who has spent twenty-eight years trying to understand why Michael Mercer lied about what he saw that night.”
“Did my father hurt Rebecca?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Daniel noticed.
“You sound sure.”
“I am.”
“How?”
“Because Michael was the last person who tried to save her.”
The road curved.
Daniel saw a sign.
BLACKTHORN BRIDGE — 2 MILES.
The man continued:
“But your father didn’t tell police the truth.”
“Why?”
A pause.
“Because Rebecca asked him not to.”
The same request.
Silence.
Daniel thought of her finger against her lips.
“What was he hiding?”
The caller did not answer.
Instead:
“Whatever you do, don’t cross Blackthorn Bridge.”
Daniel saw headlights ahead.
Not behind.
A vehicle sat sideways across the road.
Blocking it.
He braked.
The headlights illuminated an old black pickup.
Empty.
Driver’s door hanging open.
Daniel recognized it from photographs online.
Jonathan Vale’s truck.
The vehicle had supposedly been destroyed in 2004.
Then Daniel saw someone standing beside it.
An elderly man.
Gray hair.
Raincoat.
Hands raised.
Daniel lowered his window slightly.
The man stepped into the headlights.
“Daniel?”
“How do you know me?”
The old man’s eyes filled.
“Because you have Michael’s face.”
Daniel’s stomach tightened.
“Jonathan?”
The man nodded.
Rebecca Hale’s groom.
The person police suspected first.
The person the town had whispered about for decades.
Jonathan looked toward the woods.
“Turn around.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s found you.”
Daniel glanced toward the trees.
Rebecca stood there.
Jonathan’s face collapsed when he saw her.
Not with terror.
With grief.
“My God…”
He took one step toward her.
“Rebecca?”
The bride did not move.
Jonathan began crying.
“I waited.”
Rebecca slowly raised her hand.
Daniel expected the shushing gesture.
Instead she pointed directly at Jonathan.
Then dragged one finger across her own throat.
Jonathan’s face went white.
May you like
“Daniel, lock the doors.”
Rebecca started running toward them.
