Purgatory Bay (Bleak Harbor Book 2) by Bryan Gruley

Author:Bryan Gruley [Gruley, Bryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-13T16:00:00+00:00

21

3:17 p.m.

The wind has kicked up, fanning ripples that scud on perfectly spaced diagonals past the sole house rising from the bluffs ringing Purgatory Bay.

Jubilee is wrapped in her arms on her third-floor deck, ignoring the March chill, taking a break. She woke today, as she does each day, at 2:42 a.m., the precise moment the fire trucks arrived at her engulfed family cottage on the night of the murders.

Jubilee saw Caleb off at five o’clock, watching the Volvo on video cameras as it wound through the forest surrounding the bay. She spent some time preparing for the Joshua Project press conference. Since then she has been hunched before a bank of monitors inside, observing, directing, cajoling. And she has reviewed, over and over, in slow and superslow motion, three separate videos of attempts on people’s lives.

Now, watching the gentle waves of green tinged with purple churn from one end of the bay to the other, living their brief lives before they splash up against the dead winter shore, helps her find her inner peace, helps remind her that nothing lasts. Which to Jubilee is all right: the natural, irrevocable way of the world.

It’s happening now, she thinks, dropping her arms to her sides, letting the March breeze blow cold around her. After all the long nights and early mornings studying drone manuals, taking online classes, teaching herself to code, scouring the dark web, practicing her shooting on an indoor range. It’s really happening.

She wondered if, when the appointed time came, she would waver. She wondered if she would hesitate to say yes to the decisions she would have to make, decisions she knew almost no one else alive could make, justifiably or not.

Even last night, after she’d made sure that Caleb was asleep and the alarms were set for his early awakening, she asked herself if she might hesitate when she had to tell him to execute her plan in all its perfectly necessary and necessarily hideous glory. She said a quiet prayer then—to whom, she couldn’t be certain—that her resolve would be strong. She knew the prayer had been answered, that in fact she had answered it herself, when the Associated Press news alert flashed on her phone at 10:57 that morning:

Legendary Detroit Reporter Found Dead in Possible Homicide.

Jubilee had wondered, even worried a little, whether she might falter in that instant of realizing the finality of her deeds, of knowing that there now could be no return. Instead she felt her heart swell with certainty that what she had set out to do would be done. Whether it was right or wrong, good or bad, no longer mattered to Jubilee. It would be.

Then again, she reminded herself in that moment that Vance Robillard of the Detroit Times was the easiest of her targets, perhaps because he was, in the desiccated void of his soul, the most despicable of them. Robillard had no one he loved or who loved him, just a scant few who in their own howling tunnels of loneliness might tolerate getting plastered with him at some Detroit hovel.

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