Wolfhunter River (Stillhouse Lake, #3)

by Rachel Caine

Conspiracy theories have been multiplying insanely for years now, ever more ridiculous and far-fetched. Chemicals in contrails. Anti-vaxxers. Climate-change deniers. And all those are almost precious compared to the toxic horror of the 9/11 and school-shooting truthers who reduce the worst nightmare of any parent’s life to fakery, and rip the survivors’ lives apart.

Make a slanted documentary, launch some outrageous claims, find something that feels true about them, and sell it hard and often. The delusional and the emotionally disturbed will find something in it to comfort them. The lazy will rely on it as unlikely but possible. And in a year or two, the lazy will convince themselves “better safe than sorry” and pass it along as truth. She’s smart to do it this way. A documentary—even peddling half truths and lies—has a certain amount of built-in credibility.

Because if they had to admit it was real, that they could be vulnerable to the same terrifying, random events that hit me like a wrecking ball . . . that’s far too frightening. Better to fight an imaginary demon than face real ones.

It always is complicated, from the inside. People on the outside looking in seem to think it’s simple to cut ties, walk away . . . but there are so many ropes holding a person down. Children. Extended family. Friends. Jobs. Money. Obligations. Guilt. And fear, so much fear. The most dangerous time in any woman’s life is when she’s separating from a partner, particularly an abusive one. Women instinctively know that, even if they’ve never seen the blood-drenched statistics. Sometimes it feels safer to endure the devil you know.

I’ve been thinking about how I once thought you could save me from myself. It’s not your fault you didn’t. Nobody could.

it’s like my life is on pause.

But Sam doesn’t need to be my therapy, or my life preserver, or my rescuer. I have to be all those things for myself if a marriage between us is ever going to work.

But if it’s a choice between watching Gwen suffer, or suffering with her . . . I’ll be with her, every time.

one thing I know about people from deep personal experience: they’re happy to jump on the hate train if it makes them feel like fucking heroes.

relaxes into that embrace like it was all she ever wanted. Someone to believe, for just a moment, that she was worth saving.

Monsters shouldn’t look normal.

I’m looking into her eyes, and for just a second, I see utter confusion in them. And fear. I see a child.

I just want to keep my family together, and safe from harm.”

“You know you may have to fight to protect it.”

I’ve learned recently that we all make our own hells out of our pasts;