Chapter 6: The Plan
"You're not going to that cemetery."
Luca's voice was flat. Final. Like he thought saying it that way would make me listen.
It didn't.
"Someone has proof," I said. "A photo of Rebecca with bruises. That's evidence. Real evidence."
"It's also obviously a trap."
"Maybe. But what if it's not?"
"Then why do they want you to come alone? Why midnight at a cemetery? That's literally every horror movie setup ever."
He had a point. I hated that he had a point.
Ashley was still staring at the photo on my phone. The bruise on Rebecca's wrist. Dark purple fingerprints wrapped around pale skin.
"Dylan did that," she said quietly. "I had bruises like that. On my arms. My shoulders. Places I could hide with long sleeves."
Marcus took the phone from her. Studied the photo. His jaw was doing that thing where the muscle kept jumping near his ear.
"Where did this person get this photo?"
"I don't know."
"Rebecca never posted it. I went through all her accounts. Every photo. Every story. Nothing like this."
"So either someone close to her has it or Dylan has it."
"Which means this is definitely a trap," Luca said. "Dylan's trying to isolate you. Get you alone. Finish what he started."
"Or someone who knew Rebecca is trying to help."
"By asking you to meet at a cemetery at midnight?"
"By asking me to meet somewhere Dylan won't expect. Somewhere public records show who comes and goes."
"Cemeteries don't have security cameras."
"Some do. Pinewood might."
Marcus pulled up the cemetery website on his laptop. Scrolled through. "No mention of cameras. But they lock the gates at ten pm. You'd have to climb the fence."
"I've climbed fences before."
"Sage." Luca moved to stand in front of me. "Listen to yourself. You're talking about breaking into a cemetery in the middle of the night to meet a stranger who might be trying to kill you."
"Or might be trying to help me prove Rebecca was murdered."
"Based on what? An anonymous text?"
"Based on a photo I've never seen before. A photo that shows evidence of abuse."
"Which could be photoshopped."
"Why would someone photoshop evidence and then offer to meet me?"
"To lure you into a trap!"
We were both getting loud. Ashley flinched at the volume.
Marcus closed his laptop. "We're wasting time. Sage, you can't go to that cemetery alone. But you also can't ignore it. So we compromise."
"How?"
"You go to the cemetery. But we come with you. We stay hidden. You meet whoever it is and if anything seems wrong, we're there."
"The message said come alone."
"Messages lie. People lie. You think Dylan's going to play fair? We don't either."
Luca was shaking his head but I could see him considering it. Working through the logistics.
"What about the break-in?" he asked. "We can't do both. Dylan gets home at nine. The cemetery meeting is at midnight. We'd have to break in, search his house, get out, and make it across town in three hours."
"So we do the break-in first," I said. "Fast and focused. Get in. Find evidence. Get out."
"That's insane."
"You have a better plan?"
He didn't answer.
Ashley stood up. Walked to her kitchen and grabbed a set of keys from a hook by the door.
"Take my car. It's older. No GPS. No OnStar. Harder to track."
"You're helping us break into someone's house?"
"I'm helping you get justice for girls who can't speak for themselves anymore." She handed the keys to Marcus. "Rebecca deserves better than what she got. They all do."
Marcus took the keys. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. Just don't get caught."
We left Ashley's apartment at six fifteen. Took her car because Luca's was too recognizable and mine made concerning noises every time I turned left.
The plan was simple. Wait until dark. Watch Dylan's house. Confirm he left for his Monday coaching session. Break in through the back window that Marcus said was usually unlocked based on his previous surveillance.
The fact that Marcus had done surveillance made me feel slightly better about this whole thing. Slightly.
We parked three blocks away. Same spot I'd used before when Dylan spotted me. Different car this time. Less obvious.
"What are we looking for exactly?" Luca asked.
"Anything that connects him to Rebecca," Marcus said. "Photos. Messages. Trophies."
"Trophies?"
"Guys like Dylan keep things. Souvenirs from their victims. Could be jewelry. Clothing. Personal items."
"That's serial killer behavior."
"Yeah. It is."
The words sat heavy in the car.
I checked my phone. The message about the cemetery was still there. That photo of Rebecca staring back at me. Bruises on her wrist. Smile on her face that didn't reach her eyes.
Something about the photo bothered me beyond the obvious. Something I couldn't name.
"What time did Dylan text Rebecca to meet him at the bridge?" I asked Marcus.
"Seven pm. Why?"
"What time did she die?"
"Coroner estimated between seven and eight. Why?"
"The text said meet me at the bridge. Not meet me at the pool. Which means Dylan knew where she'd be. He chose that location specifically."
"Because it's isolated," Luca said. "No witnesses."
"And because Rebecca was afraid of water. The bridge goes over the river. Deep water. Fast current. If he wanted to make her death look like suicide, that's the perfect place."
Marcus's hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles had gone white. "He planned it. Knew exactly how he'd do it. Probably planned it days in advance."
"Which means there might be evidence of planning. Notes. Searches on his computer. Something."
"We need to get to his laptop," Luca said. "That's where the real evidence will be."
"Laptops have passwords."
"I can get past most passwords. I took coding classes last semester."
I looked at him. "You can hack?"
"Hack is a strong word. I can get past basic security. If his password is something obvious."
"Like what?"
"Name. Birthday. Pet. Most people use terrible passwords."
At seven forty-five, Dylan's garage door opened. His silver car backed out. We all slouched down in our seats even though there was no way he could see us from this distance.
He drove past us heading toward downtown. Toward the pool.
We waited five more minutes to make sure he didn't come back.
Then Marcus started the car.
"Let's go."
Dylan's house looked different at night. Less suburban friendly. More isolated and dark.
We parked in the alley behind his property. Got out. The air was cold enough that our breath came out in white clouds.
"Back window," Marcus whispered. "Around the side."
We followed him. Stayed low. Moved fast.
The window was right where Marcus said it would be. Small. Bathroom maybe. But big enough to climb through.
Marcus tried it. Locked.
"Damn."
"Can you pick it?" I asked.
"Do I look like I know how to pick locks?"
"You did surveillance. I figured—"
"I watched his house. I didn't take a lock-picking course."
Luca looked around. Found a rock near the fence. "We could break it."
"Too loud," Marcus said. "Neighbors might hear."
"You have a better idea?"
None of us did.
Then I remembered something from when I'd watched crime shows with my mom before the drowning. Before everything changed.
"Check the door," I said. "People who are arrogant don't think they need to lock everything. Dylan's arrogant."
We went to the back door. Marcus tried the handle.
It turned.
Unlocked.
We looked at each other.
"That's too easy," Luca whispered.
"Take it," Marcus said. He pushed the door open.
We stepped inside.
The house was dark. Quiet. Smelled like cleaning products and something else. Cologne maybe.
My phone buzzed. I grabbed it before it could make more noise.
Text from the unknown cemetery number.
*I see you're at Dylan's house. Good. You'll need what you find there for our meeting. Third drawer in his bedroom desk. Don't forget it.*
I showed the others.
Luca cursed under his breath. "They're watching us. Right now."
"How?"
"I don't know. But we need to move fast."
Marcus pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. "Bedroom's upstairs. Office is down here. We split up. Cover more ground."
"Splitting up is how people die in horror movies," Luca said.
"This isn't a movie. We have less than two hours. Move."
I went with Marcus upstairs. Luca stayed down to search the office.
Dylan's bedroom was neat. Too neat. Like a hotel room. Nothing personal visible. Just furniture and generic art on the walls.
"Third drawer," I said.
Marcus went to the desk. Opened the third drawer.
Inside was a box. Plain wood. No lock.
He lifted it out and opened it.
We both went still.
Photos. Dozens of them. All young girls. All in swimsuits. All looking uncomfortable in ways that made my skin crawl.
Rebecca was there. Third photo from the top. Smiling but the smile was wrong. Forced.
"He kept them," Marcus said. His voice sounded broken. "He kept photos of all of them."
I started taking pictures with my phone. Every photo in the box. Evidence.
Under the photos were other things. A bracelet I recognized from one of the articles about Emily Chen. A hair tie. A student ID card from a girl I didn't know.
Trophies. Just like Marcus said.
"We need to take this," I said. "All of it."
"If we take it, he'll know someone was here."
"He already knows. Whoever texted me told him. We take it now or we lose the chance."
Marcus grabbed the box. "Luca! We're leaving!"
Footsteps on the stairs. Fast. Too fast.
Luca burst into the room. "We have a problem."
"What?"
"There's a camera. Downstairs. Pointed at the back door. We were on camera the whole time."
My mouth went dry.
"Where?"
"Living room. Hidden in a bookshelf. I only saw it because the red light was blinking."
"Does it record or just stream?"
"I don't know. But if it streams, Dylan might be watching right now."
As if on cue, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Not the cemetery contact. The one who'd been threatening me.
I answered and put it on speaker.
"Hello Sage."
Dylan's voice. Calm. Almost amused.
"Having fun breaking into my house?"
No one spoke.
"I have to admit, I'm impressed. I didn't think you'd have the guts. But then again, you did buy Rebecca's jacket. You did start digging. You've been very persistent."
"You killed her," I said.
"Did I? Or did a troubled teenage girl with a history of depression jump off a bridge?"
"She wasn't depressed."
"The psychiatric evaluation from her school counselor says different. Funny thing about medical records. They can say whatever the right person wants them to say."
"You falsified records."
"I didn't do anything. But people who owe me favors? They're very helpful."
Marcus grabbed the phone from me. "You murdered my sister."
"Your sister killed herself, Marcus. The police confirmed it. The medical examiner confirmed it. Even your parents accepted it. You're the only one who can't let go."
"Because I know what you did."
"You don't know anything. You have theories. Suspicions. But no proof. And that box you're holding? That's not going to help you."
Marcus looked at the box in his hands.
"Those are photos of my students," Dylan continued. "Perfectly legal photos taken during lessons with parental permission. Some items they left behind that I kept meaning to return. You break into my house, steal my property, you're the criminal. Not me."
"These are trophies from the girls you killed."
"Prove it. Oh wait, you can't. Because I didn't kill anyone."
"Emily Chen. Hannah Torres. Megan Ross. Rebecca Holt. How many more?"
Dylan laughed. It sounded genuinely amused.
"You've done your research. I'm flattered. But accidents happen, Marcus. Girls drown. Girls fall. Girls make bad choices. It's tragic but it's not murder."
"You're confessing," I said. "Right now. On this call."
"I'm not confessing anything. I'm stating facts. But go ahead. Record this. Take it to the police. See what happens." Pause. "Oh wait. You already went to the police. And they told you to stop harassing me. Didn't they?"
He knew. Of course he knew.
"My friend on the force keeps me very well informed," Dylan said. "I know every move you make. Every person you talk to. Every plan you make. You can't win this, Sage. You're in over your head."
"Then why are you so worried? Why threaten me if you're so confident?"
"I'm not threatening you. I'm warning you. There's a difference. See, I actually like you, Sage. You're persistent. Brave. Stupid, but brave. It'd be a shame if something happened to you."
"Like what happened to Rebecca?"
"Rebecca made choices. Bad choices. And she paid the price."
"You killed her."
"She jumped. And the sooner you accept that, the safer you'll be."
Luca took the phone. "We have evidence now. We're taking it to the FBI. Someone who isn't on your payroll."
"Go ahead. I'll be here. With my lawyer. And my alibi. And my spotless record. You break into my house, you steal my things, you harass me, you slander me online. Who do you think they're going to believe?"
"Someone will listen."
"Will they? Because from where I'm standing, you're three kids with a vendetta making wild accusations against a respected member of the community. You have no credibility. No proof. No case."
He was right. I hated it but he was right.
"Get out of my house," Dylan said. "Before I call the real police. The ones who actually do their jobs."
He hung up.
We stood there in his bedroom holding a box of evidence that might not actually prove anything.
"We need to leave," Marcus said. "Now."
We ran.
Down the stairs. Out the back door. Across the yard to the alley.
Ashley's car was still there. We threw ourselves inside.
Marcus started the engine and we peeled out.
No one spoke for three blocks.
Then Luca broke the silence.
"He's going to come after us."
"I know."
"He has a cop protecting him. He has lawyers. He has everything."
"I know."
"So what do we do?"
I checked my phone. The text from the cemetery contact was still there.
*Third drawer in his bedroom desk. Don't forget it.*
They knew the box would be there. They knew what we'd find.
Which meant they knew Dylan.
Which meant they might actually be able to help.
"We go to the cemetery," I said. "We meet whoever sent that text. And we get the proof we need."
"And if it's a trap?"
"Then we spring it. Because we don't have any other options."
Marcus pulled over. Turned to look at me.
"My sister is dead because of that man. If there's even a chance this person can help us, I'm taking it."
"Me too," I said.
Luca was quiet for a long moment. Then he sighed.
"Fine. But I'm going on record again saying this is the stupidest plan in the history of stupid plans."
"Noted."
We drove to get food because none of us had eaten since lunch and breaking into houses made you hungry apparently.
Fast food. Cheap burgers and fries we ate in the parking lot while watching the clock tick toward midnight.
At eleven thirty we headed for Pinewood Cemetery.
The gates were locked like Marcus said they'd be. Tall iron fence. No security cameras that I could see.
We parked on the street. Got out.
"Gate three is on the north side," I said.
We walked along the fence until we found it. Locked. But climbable.
"I'll go first," Marcus said. "Make sure it's clear."
He climbed. Dropped down on the other side. Looked around.
"It's empty. Come on."
Luca went next. Then me.
The cemetery was bigger than I expected. Rows of headstones stretching out in every direction. Trees casting shadows that moved in the wind.
Rebecca's voice was loud in my head now. Louder than she'd been all day.
I didn't kill myself.
"I know," I whispered. "I'm here. I'm going to fix this."
We walked toward the center of the cemetery. Looking for whoever sent that text.
My phone buzzed.
You came. Good. Keep walking. Past the oak tree. Third row. You'll see me.
I showed Luca and Marcus.
We kept walking.
Past the oak tree. Third row of headstones.
And there, standing next to a grave with fresh flowers, was someone I recognized.
Officer Martinez.
The cop who'd taken my statement. The one who told me to stop investigating.
She was holding a folder. Thick. Full of papers.
"Hello Sage," she said. "We need to talk."
Before I could respond, headlights flooded the cemetery.
A car pulled up to the gates.
Dylan's car.
He got out. Started climbing the fence.
"Run," Martinez said. "Take this and run."
She shoved the folder into my hands.
"What's in here?"
"Everything. Every girl. Every town. Every cover-up. It's all documented."
"Why are you helping us?"
"Because he killed my niece seven years ago. And I've been building a case ever since."
Dylan was over the fence now. Walking toward us.
Not running. Just walking. Confident.
"You should run," Martinez said again.
But I couldn't move.
Because behind Dylan, climbing the fence, were three more people.
And one of them was Officer Park.
The other two I didn't recognize but they were big and they looked angry.
We were surrounded.
And Dylan was smiling.