“Tonight?
So soon? Damn, I thought you were getting too old for this shit!”
Elder sighed, shook his head in amusement at himself. “Damn, I didn’t think it
would get this crazy. You got me thinking about it, and damn...you don’t get it
out of your head, do you? I have to do it. Do what should have been done
before.”
“You
can come up with somebody that quick?”
Elder took his seat at the computer, clicked up a screen. “I think so. Got a
couple right here. This time I think we ought to steer clear of Center City.
They’ll be expecting that.” He scrolled a few pages, found a likely one. “Yeah,
they might be just the ones. And with the last three well east, they might not
be looking here anymore.”
Younger pointed at one. “What about him?”
Elder grimaced. “Meh. The girl’s too old, I think. Another Jessie Bruce, probably.”
He clicked up another page. “How about this one?” Another few clicks—
Younger seemed dubious. “What about the boy?”
Another few clicks. “Turning twelve. All sorts of shit’s possible with him.
They might be the ones. The girl will be good, too.” Another few clicks—“And
check out the mom. Cutie. And Dad...legal counsel. If he’s awake, he’s at work.
And every Monday night, a business dinner with The Man himself. We’ll make it
then. And their house...”
“Nice
neighborhood.”
“Snowden
Place Village. If he had more ambition he could do a little better, but not
much. About as nice as Oak Run Acres, a notch below Valleyview Estates. A nice
place to raise kids.” Another click—“And no game or practice for the boy Monday
night. They’ll all be home.”
“Sounds
like a plan, dude.”
“Bet
your ass, cuz.”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Krysten was all sympathy for Bethany. “Look, Beth, you’ve gone way above and
beyond the call. Nobody could blame you for taking a break.”
Bethany clicked a command. She had rushed back to the lab and resumed her place
with a flush on her face the rest of the girls took to be horror at the scene
she had found at the Small home. The printer in the corner began to spit pages;
Bethany rose to collect them. “No, not a break, not really. I just...I’d be
more comfortable at home for a while.” On the way to the lab, an idea had
tugged at her conscience, an idea she decided to take up. It would be just a
burden on the others anyway. And it might find these monsters all that much
faster. Dr. McNeil said there was time pressure, after all.
Krysten smiled. “You’re a real trooper, Beth. If you find something, let us
know. We’ll all drop in for tea.”
“Sure
thing, Krys.” And Bethany hurried out. None of the other girls saw her face.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
None
of the three Small victims, despite the ruin of their family’s life, seemed
badly damaged physically. No need for emergency surgery. Trish, Ginger, and
Felicity were relieved to escape for Snowden, Felicity following Tricia’s old
Kia up the interstate for the campus. “Something about this scene set them
off,” said Ginger half to herself as Trish navigated the highway behind
Detective O’Malley’s unmarked car. “Three hours. Dragged them all over the
house. And all of a sudden they’re talking about murder.”
“They
found their perfect victims,” said Trish, letting her focus on the road
mitigate the horror she still felt about the scene. She had felt the horror in
the McBride basement, seen the violence of the scenes with the Merritts and
Bruces, but something about this one was more than she could quite handle. Idle
chats about death. A young woman stripped of her very humanity, left insensate.
But for the few words she had said to Bethany, Makayla Small was unreachable,
even for Felicity. And yes, a three-hour festival of torture and rape. But even
through her horror, Trish understood that this last assault, prolonged as it
was, had been a treasure trove of information. “And there’s no doubt about that
whole sex-abuse angle you had. And we have a fair idea of at least one of the
perpetrators. The older guy thought Mrs. Small looked like her.”
“No
doubt about what the younger one went through, either. He made Garrett relive
his whole experience in three hours. Those are two seriously fucked up people,
and now we know how they got that way. Doc was right before about not finding
this case in the CPS files; these guys are way too fucked up for the case to
have gotten anyone’s attention; someone would have stopped it before it got
this bad. It went on for a decade, you know, you can figure that out from the
victimology of the boys. That’s a lot of fucking up.”
“And
the time pressure. There wasn’t any talk about killing with the McBrides or the
Bruces, and only the younger one going off on Spencer Merritt. They’ve been
building up to this talk about killing, and with them accelerating the
attacks...the next scene we go to, all we’ll find are dead bodies. They’re
whipping themselves up for it.”
“Escalation.
So we can’t just wait for their next hit. We have to get in front of them.
Thank God for Paula. She had the right idea.”
Trish managed a scoffing little chuckle. “Looks like Doc has her new prize
student already, and she hasn’t even changed majors yet!” She flicked a wink at
Ginger. “She’s my roomie, so I’ll take the credit, thank you!” And laughed at
Ginger’s completely inappropriate yet mercifully perfect replying gesture.
“Sorry, the Rodent has first dibbs!” And the exit ramp for Snowden was a relief
for the car, too.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“How
many so far?” asked Paula. Her idea seemed much less brilliant after hours
sifting various online documents.
Alyson rubbed her eyes. “I see...five possibilities from the home office not
counting the Smalls. Eight from Eastar not counting the Bruces. Ten from the
power plant, not counting the McBrides. Four from DeRozier/Allen Financial
Services. And three from Specialty Fabrications, not counting the Merritts.
Thirty possible victims. And unsubs accelerating their attacks. Probably
nerving themselves to murder their next victims. Maybe as early as tonight.
They would want to act on the impulse before it fades, I’m guessing.”
“We
have to narrow the profile,” said Dr. McNeil, closing her laptop. “How do we do
that?”
Krysten sighed. “I’m not the best at victimology, but maybe there’s something
there. What made these victims so different that it has the invaders thinking
of escalation?”
“What
went differently in this attack, you mean,” said Dr. McNeil. “Length of time
had to be a factor. Three hours, according to the response team. Lots of time
to explore their fantasies. Maybe they’ve played out those fantasies as far as
they could without actual killing.”
Alyson was already clicking up old case files. “Maybe not. They went about two
hours with the McBrides, an hour with the Merritts even after Spencer had been
knocked out of the scenario. Much shorter with the Bruces, but that was after
Jessie had been beaten.”
Krysten’s gaze faltered. “They went about as long with the Howlands as they did
with the Smalls. From what Bethany has said, they struck in the early
afternoon, and it wasn’t long after they left that Dr. Howland came back home. Maybe
even three hours.”
“And
no escalation,” said Alyson, poring through the Howland file. “The call went to
the police at...you’re probably about right, Krys. Somewhere around three
hours. And not only no escalation, but no attacks for a decade afterwards.”
“Time
of day?” asked Dr. McNeil. “No, probably not. They’ve hit in early morning,
late at night, evening, and overnight. Afternoon too, including the Howlands.
That seems dictated by the father’s schedule.”
“Which
reminds us,” said Ginger from the doors to the lab, where she and Trish had
just arrived and heard the last colloquy, “that at least one of our sickoes
knows the fathers’ schedules. That still means home office. This with the
Smalls nails that down. Craig Small is assistant CFO to the corporation, and
works out of the head office. And according to the family, these guys knew them
pretty well. Told details about Garrett and Makayla especially that they
couldn’t have known from any other source but the dad. And Danielle swore up
and down she knew the voice of the older guy. He’s our link to the head
office.”
“Which
narrows that end of the investigation,” said Trish, gathering her things.
Investigation or no, she was due to cantor at St. Ignatius for the Saturday
Mass. “Someone who would be comfortable conversing with corporate officers.”
She shrugged. “I’ll pick up that end of it when I’m done Mass. The Rodent will
just have to settle for a cold shower tonight.”
Ginger could not resist a gibe. “Doesn’t he do that all the time anyway?”
“We
don’t just peck each other on the cheek, you pervert.” The grin on Trish’s face
kept the lab peaceful. “We have our ways of entertaining ourselves. Which you
don’t need to know the details of! And now I need to go to confession again,
thanks to you!” And Trish was off to salve her soul with the Saturday evening
Mass.
“But
the victimology, still,” said Krysten, decorously changing the subject from her
best friend’s sex life. “What was different this time than all the others?”
“Social
class, maybe,” said Dr. McNeil. “Howland’s a veterinarian, a professional
lifestyle. McBride and Bruce, working class. Merritts, middle class. Smalls,
professional. They’ve taken their longest with victims from professional-class
families.”
“Except
for the Merritts,” said Alyson, busily surfing. “They stayed after assaulting
Spencer, but only for a short time. Enough for One to rape the females.”
“No.”
Ginger’s tone, dark and chill, drew everyone’s eyes. “I just thought about it.
Trish’s rodent...tell me, what was the high point with the Smalls?” Faces
reddened around the lab. They all knew. “Forcing Garrett to copulate with
Danielle and Makayla. Two’s endgame. Proof that he himself isn’t gay. Garrett
was playing out Two’s worries about his sexuality.” She dropped her chin and
drilled a sardonic gaze at her colleagues. “What do you need for that to
happen?” Stares in reply. “You’re thinking it. I’ll say it. A sexually
functional male. One capable of consummating Two’s endgame. One capable of an
e”—
“We
get it, Ginger!” said Krysten, reddening even more deeply. “But how does that
explain the McBrides? Caleb isn’t anywhere near puberty; he couldn’t consummate
anything!”
Ginger’s obsidian eyes were glowing; she rose and paced. “First hit after a decade
off. An easy mark. Middle of the night—you take them completely by surprise.
Two kids too small to be able to effectively fight back. A mother of small
children who will do anything to protect them. Just to make sure, capture the
two kids first before taking the mother. They were a warm-up.”
Now
Dr. McNeil was up, gazing at her fractious advisee Ginger with a new bloom of
respect. “Which also explains the violence of the attack on Spencer Merritt.
They were the next step, a sexually mature male to play out the psychodrama—but
that male is gay, which wrecks Two’s ‘endgame,’ to use your term, Ms. O’Day.
Next were the Bruces, but Jessie’s sexual experience short-circuits One’s
fantasy, so they abandon the invasion. That also tells us that One is the dominant
partner, the elder cousin. When Two’s fantasy is interrupted the invasion
continues, when One’s is interrupted, the invasion is canceled. Sexually abused
by Two’s mother, we’re theorizing, which would make her his aunt, younger than
his mother. Hence the questions he asked Mrs. Small.” Janet had already sent a
text briefing to Dr. McNeil on the high points of the investigation. “They were
too close to fulfilling both their fantasies, so they accelerated to get their
fulfillment. Ages of the kids were close to the Bruces.”
“In
fact,” said Alyson from her terminal, “Jessie Bruce and Makayla Small are
classmates at Jefferson Middle School. Eighth grade. Jake Bruce and Garrett
Small are separated by two classes; Jake is Jessie’s twin, so he’s eighth grade
at Jefferson, Garrett’s a sophomore at Center City South.”
Paula felt discovery boiling inside again. “So we can narrow our search of
potential victims. About the same age as the Bruces and Smalls.”
Dr.
McNeil drew a hard breath. “Maybe, Ms. Ryan. But escalation to murder might
make them fall back a little, especially in the age of the boy. Like they did
with the McBrides. Victims that are less able to fight back, since their
endgame this time is probably to kill them at the end of the scenario.”
“You
can’t go much younger on the boy, Doc,” said Ginger, resuming her seat at her
laptop. “Jake’s thirteen, Garrett’s fifteen. Puberty in boys usually waits
until 11 or 12, maybe even later.”
“The
bottom end of puberty, Ms. O’Day. Old enough to be able to reliably give the
invaders the responses they need, young enough to not be a serious physical
threat to mature men.”
Paula and Alyson exchanged a glance. Two friends forged in crisis. “That still
limits the search, Dr. McNeil,” said Paula, plunging again into her computer.
“We can eliminate any potential victims with a clearly prepubescent son.”
Dr.
McNeil smiled at Paula. “Starting Monday, you’re my advisee, Ms. Ryan.” She
glanced at the clock. “And since you have names of families, you probably can
afford a small break. I get the feeling we’re starting to close in.”
Paula rose, unfamiliar confidence radiating inside her. “I’ll go check on
Bethany Howland. This has been tough on her.”
Krysten too rose. “I’ll go with you.”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Bethany felt the cool metal of the key in her hand. She did not keep it on her
keyring, too close, too reminiscent of that afternoon. But the key to the house
was always close at hand in the top drawer of her dresser. Mom always wants me
to come visit. So does Merri. I think Dad too, but...he sees me, he sees that
afternoon too, sees us the way those two left us. Saw us there, naked and tied,
their fluids dripped all over us. Saw us the way they wanted him to see us.
Even now, he can’t look at me without seeing me as I was that afternoon. His
little daisy, torn and bloodied and raped and ravaged. The same done to his son
and his wife. Staged to show him what a failure he was. He’ll never be able to
look straight at me as long as he lives.
Saturday night. Mom and Dad will go out, maybe dinner at Pietro’s, maybe a
movie. Chris’s season in New Haven will start soon, later than the other NCAA
conferences, and they won’t miss any of his home games. Hundreds of gallons of
gas and thousands of frequent-flier miles to go up and cheer for him. Merri too
when she can. I wish I could look at him. I wish he could look at me. But
tonight, just a dinner out and a movie, maybe a drive somewhere. And
Merri...it’ll either be another sleepover with her buddies—Charity Mabrey’s
place or Jill Burton’s place, or even Alyssa Anthony’s—or something a little
more all-alone with Tess. Lucky you, Merr. Never thought I’d be happy my kid
sister is gay. Tess Vandiver has good taste in sweethearts. Merri will be out
tonight too. That big empty house all to myself. The only way I can face it,
maybe.
She
put away her scanty meal, Lean Cuisine frozen dinners not satisfying but also
not helping her lose the weight. Nothing changes. Unless I find what I think I
might find in that empty house. She shrugged into her jacket and slipped the
old house key into her pocket, slipped the folded papers from the lab into the
jacket. A house empty of anything, except maybe the answer I’ve always wanted.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The
flowing beer loosened their tongues even more. Evening brought more football, a
Mountain West Conference game on ESPN which would finish in time for a late
Pac-12 game. “So...how you gonna do it, cuz?” Younger asked, a crooked grin on
his face. “The mom. How you gonna off her?”
“Just
like I said, cuz. Cut her open. Maybe split her guts right down the middle,
then slit her throat while she’s still conscious. But the girl’s got to go
first, you know. Make Mommy watch. This one’s little enough I’d only need a
thumb on her windpipe to do it. Maybe ram a knife right up her beforehand. The
bitch will be glad to watch me strangle her after that.”
“Boy’s
got to go before the mom, too. I’d let you cut his junk off and ram it down his
mom’s throat, then I’d cut his heart out, something like that. Let their dad
find ‘em that way.”
Elder laughed. “Cuz, you are one cold fuck.” Another long draught, the beer
going tepid. “Yeah, I’m slicing her fucking head off. Take it to Mom’s grave.
Maybe even bury it in there with her.”
“And
all on Monday night.”
“It’ll
beat the football game, cuz.” They both agreed on that.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Krysten sagged away from the intercom. Another no-answer. “I thought Bethany
was going home.” Her car was not in the Snowden Commons lot, nor was Bethany
herself answering the intercom.
“Maybe
she stopped somewhere. Maybe groceries, or visiting someone.”
Krysten shook her head. “You don’t know her, Paula. She doesn’t visit with
anyone. The only visits she has are with her little sister, and that’s Merri
coming to visit her. Bethany is just about as social-phobic as it’s possible to
be. Her going around to the McBrides with Felicity took every bit of nerve she
has, I’m sure. She was always shy, and after those two attacked them...she’s
afraid of everyone. You’ve seen her, Paula; she’s even afraid of us. This whole
thing is killing her.”
Paula thought for a long moment. “Then I think I might know where she is.”
Krysten listened, agreed. “She needs it. Like I said, this all is killing her.
Maybe she needs that sort of break.”
“I’ll
send her a text. Just to let her know what we’ve figured out. Maybe that will
comfort her too, now that we might be closing in on them.”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Bethany was not surprised at the light in the living-room picture window.
Everything was on a timer; Mom and Dad would make sure to leave some lights on
just to fool any other possible intruders into thinking someone was home. I’ll
have the house to myself. No one to ask what I’m doing. Find the match, find
the name on the patient records which matches a name on this list. Then...
The
lock resisted as she turned, but only for a moment; the key had hardly been
used since Mom had given it her as she went off to Snowden State just down the
road, and the minute edges of cut-outs on the key had not been worn down
through use. But eventually the plungers gave way, the barrel turned, and
Bethany’s chill hand pushed the front door open—
And
in the small foyer, Merri stood with a old hockey stick in hand, cocked back
over her shoulder as if she would strike had she not known the face she had
just then seen through the small window. “Beth? What are you doing here?” She
dropped the stick back into the corner of the foyer. It had belonged to Chris,
but he had long since outgrown it, leaving it as a memento and possible
last-ditch weapon. Unneeded against Bethany.
Bethany
blinked at the sight of her little sister, casual in woolly pink pajama pants
and a pink sweater which concealed her plump form. “What are you doing
here? I thought you’d be out.”
Merri smirked and receded back into the living room. “Tess and her mom went out
to the West Coast this weekend to see Mr. Altamont. I’d just as soon not deal
with Tess’s old friends again.” She had met Tess Vandiver’s old circle of
friends, and would have nothing to do with them unless under severe duress. For
the Vandivers, a West Coast weekend trip was little more than a day trip.
Bethany discarded her jacket on the rack and followed Merri inside, the smell
of buttered popcorn ahead. “But Charity and Jill? Alyssa? You spend time with
them too.”
“Alyssa
and her parents are up in Pittsburgh. Steelers game, and they go up the night
before just to look around when they go. Jillian has to sit her baby brother.”
She giggled faintly. “He drives her crazy because he’s smarter than she is and
she can’t handle that.” The Bookworm Diva had met her intellectual match, in
the form of her own baby brother. Reading at the age of three. Humiliating to a
girl who only learned to read at the age of four. “And Charity...she actually
has a real date tonight. Her sister Serenity is driving her and Clinton to the
mall so they can watch a movie. God only knows what Charity’s going to have to
pay her to give up being with Joey Housely tonight.”
Bethany followed Merri to the big old sofa, found a paused Netflix screen in
the TV. The smell of the fresh popcorn enticed her. “Charity’s too young to
have a boyfriend. I mean, sixth grade, come on.” She stole a handful of popcorn
from Merri’s bowl.
Merri
followed suit. “I have a girlfriend, Beth. One that’s out on the
Coast putting up with that little witch-with-a-capital-B Reine DeLar and those
two psychopaths Halle and Katte, but still...” She flicked a teasing wink at
her sister. “You’re getting too old! There are girls still in elementary school
who have boyfriends nowadays. Mostly just to say they have them, but still.”
Another giggle. Merri had always had a charming giggle. “Clinton’s own baby
sister Ciara. She’s only in first grade, but she calls Zack Carruthers her
boyfriend.” The giggle chirped out as a full-blown laugh. “That was Charity. She
figured Ciara would be less of a pest to her and Clinton if Ciara had her own
sweetheart. If nothing else, they could tease her back about him.”
Bethany snitched the remote, started scrolling through the on-screen menus.
Merri’s taste for sci-fi and horror never had sat well with her. Bethany
preferred light comedy as an anesthetic. “So what do first-grade couples do for
dates? Chuck E. Cheese?”
Another laugh. Bethany had always been soothed by her baby sister’s laugh.
“They actually have, Charity says. They had to go along, and she beat Clinton’s
pants off him at the hoop-shoot game. He’s so whipped!” The laugh again, and
Bethany settled down beside her sister with a calming heart. “No, usually their
mom just has him over for like play dates. Mondays their dad stays out late,
something about work, so they have Zack over to play and have dinner sometimes.
Clinton says he takes pics and video just so he can blackmail her later. He got
one of her kissing his cheek, and he says he’s going to have it printed out
just to tease her!”
Bethany
actually smiled. “I really am getting too old! First-graders making
out!”
Merri
cast her big sister a sidelong, naughtily smiling gaze. “Don’t you wish you
knew what Tess and me do!”
“Meredith!”
And again Merri’s laugh cackled out, warming Bethany’s heart another few
degrees. Nothing in the world now but she and her sister, sharing laughs and
popcorn. No invaders, no broken victims, just she and Merri forgetting
everything else. Even the text that chirped up on Bethany’s phone screen.
19 The Porter
of Hell Gate
Saturday Mass had become a dinner at the Martins—both Mrs. Martin and Bobbi
were still shaken from The Rodent's early-morning prank—and a long walk to the
Chateau with him. A long hot shower, a change of clothes into her most casual
top and jeans, and the sun had well and truly set by the time she had made her
way back to Lab 1 in the criminal-sciences building. Only Alyson and Ginger
remained in the lab, Mrs. DeRozier typing and clicking at her usual fevered
pace, Ginger picking diffidently at the keys. Her mind had not been inactive
for that time; even during Mass, between her musical interludes, Trish had
found herself thinking through her search criteria. Works at the home office.
Middle-aged. Conversant enough with corporate brass that they share family news
with him. Okay, think about Mom. Facilities director here at State. She chats
with Evelyn the secretary; Evelyn always sends a card for my birthday, and
always makes sure they’re not Christmas-themed so I don’t feel like she’s
skimping out on me because my birthday is Christmas Eve. But not really anyone
else; none of the crew chiefs, certainly not the crew members, at least not
serious family details. So...not just the office help. This guy’s an officer,
or an assistant officer. Craig Small the assistant chief financial officer. He
and a cousin torture the Howlands, then take a break for a decade, and now come
back and go on a spree. Working themselves up to murder. And has access to the personnel
directories of all the different DeRozier Enterprises divisions. Personnel
department. It has to be. “So, Mrs. DeRozier, have you tried the personnel
department?” Alyson’s replying gaze was heavy-lidded, tired. “One knows
assistant department heads well enough to chat with them about their families,
after all.”
“Human
resources.” Alyson stifled a yawn.
“He
has access to the personnel files for every department. Sort of suggests HR,
doesn’t it?”
“Biggest
department in the home office, Trish. And you’ve never seen a chattier bunch
than them. They still send me congratulation notes on marrying Channing.
Channing brings me leftovers from all the things they leave in the conference
room every day. There’s no way I’m losing weight as long as we’re married!”
“So
they’re one big happy family, you’re saying.”
“I’m
saying that our unsub doesn’t have to be a head or assistant head.” Trish
stared at Alyson, shocked that she could have read her mind about—“You compared
HR at DeRozier to your mom and her department here at the university, didn’t
you? You don’t want to make that kind of mistake. You’re looking for a
shortcut, and there isn’t any.” Trish folded her arms and pushed out her lip.
“And you know Doc would tell you the same thing.”
“Naughty
girl!” said Ginger, also weary but still wisecracking. “I’ll just have to take
you over my knee for that!” Trish returned one of Ginger’s favorite gestures.
“Or I’ll just hire your fiance to do it for me!”
Trish fought back her own yawn. “But it’s still someone in HR. Has to be. We
even have the beginnings of a physical profile. Fortyish, white.”
Alyson replied with a smirk. “That leaves us about ten to choose from. And if
you get it wrong, you get sued up one side and down the other. You have to get
something like this right the first time. And over a weekend, you don’t have
everything at your fingertips to investigate.”
“Give
them to Detective O’Malley, then.”
“Already
have, Trish. See, I know how to be nice to people.”
“So maybe
Paula really was right. Find their next victims.”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Krysten
slowed her Escort as the Howland house emerged on the far side of the road,
lonely in its niche cut out of the woods just outside town. The front porch was
lit—no surprise, ever since that ten-year-old invasion—and the driveway had
only one car, a round old Camry of a color indeterminate in the night.
“Bethany,” said Krysten, putting on her signal to turn into the Howland place.
“Looks like her mom and dad are out. Maybe Merri too. She has a lot of friends
in town.” She hesitated before turning off the road—
Which
Paula noticed. “She might want to know what we found out. Like you said, she’s
put herself in a lot of distress to work with us. I’d think she’d want to
know.”
“She
didn’t answer your text, Paula. And this whole thing has made her face a lot of
things she hasn’t let herself face for so long. We have to treat her gently, we
always have, ever since...she’s hurting badly, and she’s tortured herself with
this whole thing. I think maybe we need to give her some space to recover. At
least we know where she’s at. Let’s just leave her alone.” She turned hard, a
U-turn back to town. Let poor Bethany recover after all the torture she’s put
herself through.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Saturday
night, and Janet O’Malley was still dressed for work, her customary khaki
slacks, her conservative blouse, her comfortable flats, her coarse brown hair
still in its workaday low ponytail. Perfect evidence that Janet, though still
young enough in her thirties, had little social life; her work was her
social life. Her presence in Jennifer McNeil’s Snowden Place apartment, hot
chamomile steaming in front of her, was not social, but business. Ten people.
Ten men given to her through Calico by Alyson DeRozier. One of whom is One, the
dominant partner as Calico described him to her. Maybe is One. Alyson was
Calico’s golden child of the recent criminal-sciences graduates, so maybe she’s
too confident in young Mrs. DeRozier’s talents. Too much faith in someone still
too young to have an absolute grasp of her professional abilities. But the
reasoning behind the names was solid. All of them potentially fit the profile.
No flaw in any of the arguments presented. “Is there anything she—we—could have
missed, Calico? If I collar one of these men and I’m wrong, it’s my rear end in
a very big sling. They would have a lot of backing from Carlton DeRozier if I
took one down and he turned out to not be One.”
“We can
narrow it some more, I suppose, Jan.” A long sip of the chamomile. Warm tea was
balm to Calico’s early-sixties self, no matter how much effort she put into
keeping fit. Fit enough that a couple certain gentlemen were disappointed that
she was not available to play that cool autumn night. “We suspect a cousin is
Two, someone he would be very close to, close enough to share violent sexual
fantasies with him. The variety of times for the invasions suggests that he has
no wife or other relative in his home, so he can vary the times of the attacks.
Works through the week, because the invasions take place on weekends. And is
social enough within the home office that Danielle Small recognized his voice.”
Jan
sighed. “All of which eliminates none of the ten. All except the cousin angle.
Which means we have to investigate each of the ten’s immediate families to
identify a cousin that might fit. So close and yet so damned far.” The
chamomile didn’t help the frustration.
“I
know just the student to go cousin-hunting. And I’d bet she’s in the lab right
now.” Calico smiled and took up her phone.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Trish had been feeling rootless as the investigation delved deeper and deeper
online. Alyson Carson—okay, Alyson DeRozier—playing Penelope Garcia. Not much
for me to do—and then the call from her advisor Dr. McNeil. Confirm the
familial relationship. Take your time and get it right, Ms. Dwight. She knew
just what Dr. McNeil expected. Autosomal DNA. We can confirm that One and Two
are cousins, and use that as a way to narrow down these ten names to one. To
One. Okay, what’s the percentage share? First cousins...12.5%. Compare the
autosomal DNA of the two samples. 12.5% or higher, and our theory is confirmed.
All it takes is time. Something we might not have if they stay with their
pattern of weekend attacks. Unless they’re saving up their energy for their big
murder fest next weekend. We could only be so lucky. And Trish disappeared into
the DNA lab.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Merri
was not a fan of light comedy. Bethany’s forays into The Big Bang Theory
and How I Met Your Mother got a few giggles from her kid sister, but
many more yawns than laughs. The Nicest Girl in the World had a taste for
macabre and horror. She had discovered The Twilight Zone with Dad’s
help, and was an addict for the episodes; silly comedy simply could not hold
her interest. Midnight was still more than an hour away by the time Merri
slumped against Bethany’s side, happily asleep beside her big sister. I
couldn’t face anything without her. Maybe she’s who I could have been if
only...but what happened, happened. It’s happening again, and I have to stop
it. She edged herself free from her sister, settling her on her side on the
sofa, slipping the afghan from Mom’s chair over her sister’s frame. Sleep
tight, Merr. Have nice dreams about Tess. I have work to do.
The
basement stairs were pitch dark beyond the opened door, only a faint light from
the far basement corner where Dad kept a few animal patients who needed closer
care than others. The far corner opposite her objective. That room stuffed with
commonplaces in hopes of crushing, drowning out what had happened there. A
place she had to return to.
Clamminess in the air as Bethany descended the stairs. No. The furnace was
blowing, air trickling down from the overhead trunks. The clamminess of that
day. A warm day and she was chilled to the bone, Chris beside her trembling as
they were forced down the stairs. Mom pleading, just take what you want and
leave. Mom’s hand on her shoulder, a scent of the Benadryl with which she had
dosed Merri before coming downstairs to confront the invaders. At bay at the
far end of the room. Just a burglary. Do what they want and they’ll leave soon
enough. And then, the command. Strip. Take off your clothes.
Bethany
closed her eyes, opened them again, found the light switch. File boxes. Find
those. Don’t think of what was done to you in this room. What they made you do
to Chris, what they made Mom do. Just find the file boxes. Each one with a
label, the year’s records each in their own box. Yes, that year. I can’t
stay here. Can’t stay here another minute. Her breath choked off in her throat.
Hands behind your back. Quit covering yourself up, you little porker. Hands
behind your back, you skinny little fag. No, I can’t stay down here. Bethany
grabbed the box and raced up the stairs as fast as heavy legs would let her.
Her breath came back, raspy above a pounding pulse. Merri still asleep on the
sofa. She slept through the whole thing. Stay quiet so Merri won’t wake up. My
flesh tearing, and I still kept quiet. Chris violated, and still he kept quiet.
Mom watching us ravaged, and she too stayed quiet. We wouldn’t let them get
Merri, so we let ourselves be raped in silence. Bethany glanced at the
staircase to upstairs and remembered. She walked up in silence now too, lest
Merri wake up.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Richie Dwight was big and burly, a neat blond beard on a florid face, a stout
frame. And all he was at that stroke of midnight was a waiter for Paula. He
watched as Paula, radiating an energy he had never seen in her, raced through
sites and pages on her computer in Lab 1. A long sigh now, and she leaned back
in her seat beside Alyson. “Still fourteen possibilities. Fourteen families.”
She glanced at her watch. “And for all we know, one of them is being murdered
even as we speak.” A long dissatisfied sip of the Big Mama’s vanilla coke
Richie had brought. “We have to narrow it down more!”
“Fourteen
families with a son in the right age range,” said Alyson. “You’re right. By the
time we go through fourteen families, we’ll be down to thirteen. We might be
already. They’ve only hit on weekends.” A deep yawn, a glance at her watch. “And
we’re down to Sunday already. I can’t even focus, I’m so tired.”
Alyson’s yawn was catching; now Paula and Richie were both yawning, Ginger and
Krysten as well. “We’ve burned ourselves out,” said Ginger, rubbing her eyes.
“Usually the night is just starting for me, but, damn...I guess I’m not used to
this.”
“I’ll
have to have Channing pick me up,” said Alyson. “I’m not safe to drive.” She
cast a glance at Paula and Richie. “I hope you two can make it back home!”
Richie grinned. “I can carry her if it comes down to it. I ain’t even trying to
get Trish out of the DNA lab. She’s in for the night.”
“First
thing in the morning, then?” asked Ginger as Alyson dialed up her husband at
home.
“With
bright shiny faces,” said Krysten. She had even considered skipping church.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“Are
you sure you’re all right?” Bethany at the house past midnight was a surprise
for the Howland parents.
Bethany smiled. A real smile as she glanced from her seat in Dad’s old chair to
Merri still asleep on the sofa. “I’m fine.”
“This
case is bothering you, daisy,” said Dad, hanging up his jacket, noticing the
old file box. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
Bethany cocked her head. She had finally seen Paula’s text to her, and felt
energized. Something we can search for. They find the next victims, I find the
perpetrators. And then it will be over. “I think we can figure it out, Dad. I
might be able to find the right name. He had to have been in the animal hospital
before. The last victims recognized the voice, and that sort of reminded me. He
knew things about me he could only have picked up at the animal hospital.”
Carolyn was puzzled at Bethany’s presence, but pleased at seeing an energy in
her eldest she hadn’t seen in years. But it was also very late. “Well...you
could stay here tonight, and we could help you in the morning.”
Bethany shook her head. “I’m okay to drive. I don’t want to bother Merri with
it anyway. I’ll take the file back to my place, maybe get some of the others to
help me with it tomorrow.”
“You’re
always welcome. This is your home.”
“I
know. And if we stop this, it might even be home again.” Hugs, and Bethany was
out the door with her precious cargo.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The
walk had tired out Richie as much as the work has exhausted Paula. She had
tried to get back onto her computer to do more research on the fourteen
families, but her eyes failed her, and soon she was slumped in the big Snoop Towers
couch against Richie’s shoulder. He knew she would change majors. Welcome to
the family, Paula. You love mysteries as much as the rest of the girls. Even he
found himself thinking through what he had heard. Fourteen families. One of
which was almost certainly those bastards’ next target. But unlike the McBrides
and Merritts and Bruces and Smalls, they were probably going to finish up their
sick games with murder. How to tell which of those fourteen was going to be
next? How to narrow it down? He cast a weary eye out of a window, saw the
darkness—
“How
about places where they won’t be disturbed?” Richie’s voice startled Paula
awake. He cringed, sorry he had awoken her.
“What?”
“How
to narrow down the next victims. All of them were where it wasn’t easy to see
or hear anything. The McBrides are out on the edge of town, the Smalls were way
out on their own lot, you say. The Bruces were down near the lake, and the
Merritts, well...”
“Had
an empty lot beside them!” Paula’s deep brown eyes flashed, and she was
suddenly awake. “That might be it! Look for any houses that are isolated
first!” His reward was a sloppy kiss that promised even more rewards for his
smart call.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Dr.
McNeil had been merciful. Just get the CODIS markers. I’ll send them for
comparison. Maybe I’ll try it myself, Ms. Dwight. Now get your fanny home and
get some sleep. We all need rest. And we’ll just pray we don’t wake up to a
dead family.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Younger awoke to early-morning sunshine, plodded downstairs to find Elder in
the living room, working an opened switchblade knife over a sharpening stone.
“You’re really into this, cuz! Arming up already.” The grin on his cousin’s
face as ample confirmation. “Except you’ll have a bitch of a time getting her
head off with that puny thing.”
“They’ll
have something there I can use.” Elder was the picture of placidity. “A good
saw. They live out on the edge of Snowden Place, trees all around. I know he
bitches about pruning trees all the damn time. No, this is just for their
throats. And the other shit we were talking about.” A crooked smile on
Younger’s face. “Don’t worry, cuz. I’ll let you borrow it for the boy.”
“Damn.
Tomorrow can’t get here fast enough!”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Calico McNeil was awakened in the same manner as all other mornings; her tan
tabby, Miss Lady, hopping up on her human’s shoulder and nesting at the blanket
with her front claws. Calico paid quite an extra amount on her Snowden Place
Apartments rent for her four cats, and took a strange pleasure from being
perceived as the “old cat lady” of the apartment building. Miss Lady served a
practical purpose; her existence meant that Dr. Jennifer McNeil would never need
an alarm clock. “I’m awake, Lady,” and Calico shrugged the cat off her
shoulder. Jennifer was slow swinging her feet down to the floor; sleep had not
been particularly restful that night. The case still pressed upon her, and her
first considered action of that morning was a phone call to Janet O’Malley. No
news to report, the detective replied to her query; either no invasion had
happened, or it had not yet been discovered. The news prodded Jennifer. Yes,
that one detail. The father comes home to make the discovery. Look what we’ve
done, Dad. Look at what we did to your family. Have to remind the girls of
that. “I’ll get my girls going again, Jan. I”—and her text tone interrupted. A
glance. “Well, I get the feeling our Miss Tricia pulled an all-nighter. She has
the CODIS markers for the perps’ DNA. I’ll get that sent out as soon as I wake
up here. I’ll give her a pat on the head and send her home.” As for Jennifer,
she finally managed to make her way out of bed to start her day.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Richie was thankful for his sister’s absence from the Chateau the previous
night; with Tricia out, the way had been clear for he and Paula to celebrate
their investigative discovery in a distinctly physical way. Richie, less heavily
burdened by the case than Paula, had slept well, and managed a chuckle when he
discovered his sister’s bed empty. She’d walked in on them once already, an
embarrassment he never wanted to repeat, so he woke himself promptly, deciding
to let Paula stay asleep, smoothing the coverlet over her shoulder. She worked
hard last night. Then played even harder. You earned a nice long nap, bunny. I
just wish you’d have slept better. I figure that professor’s going to drag you
all out to keep working on this case of yours.
He
felt the stir of the case even as he dressed in his clothes from the previous
night. It’s no surprise Trish has always been into this stuff, and now Paula
too. It does fire you up. Fourteen houses to check out. Maybe not
fourteen; maybe some of these possible victims live in apartments. That would
rule out a few. Damn, this mystery thing is catching! No wonder Paula caught
it! But let her sleep for the moment. She sure as hell earned it. I think I’ll
play with Google Earth a little bit. But first, a pit stop.
The
door to Ginger’s room opened as he passed, revealing Ginger passed out asleep
on her bed without having even gotten under the covers. The doorway itself was
filled with Felicity, a tee-shirt nightie hanging askew on her lean frame, her
raven-black hair even more disarrayed than usual. “Did you even sleep last
night?” Richie was never at a loss for conversation.
A
crooked smile from Felicity, a gallows-humor sort of smile that was a native
attribute of Mabrey girls. “For one thing, you and Paula made too much noise!”
The smile collapsed. “I was late getting back from the hospital, me and Chell.
We sat with Sarah Merritt. Spencer’s getting worse, his brain function is way
down. They can’t figure it out, or at least do anything about it.” A hint of
the smile returned. “And I was on the phone with Samantha. She and Caleb sat
and talked all night. At least maybe they’ll get better. At least maybe someone
won’t be totally wrecked when this is done. I talked with Danielle
Small...Makayla still hasn’t said anything except that little bit in the
basement when we got there. She’s totally lost. Garrett’s not much better.”
“You’ve
been busy.”
The
smile filled out. “I heard about Dr. McNeil getting Paula to change her major.
I think I’m pretty sure about mine. This whole string of tragedies...and I
just, well, fed off of it, you know? I felt like I had to be there to help. If
Samantha calls, or Sarah, or Jessie, I’d be out of here without even thinking
about it. I only wish Makayla would call.”
“You
need to rest. All of you do. And if what I’ve heard is right, you probably have
a chance for that.”
“We’ll
see.”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Morning had lengthened out with no word of another invasion. Alyson had woken
betimes to return to her work, heart considerably lightened by the lack of
another invasion. But Sunday was still young, and...yes, what Dr. McNeil had
called to remind me about. The father discovering his family. She scanned the
work schedules of the fourteen families. No fathers out today. No one to come
home to a ruined family. A day of rest indeed. Just check the work schedules to
see when the fathers in our target families are scheduled to work, and
concentrate on those times. Weekend attacks, which means a week to refine our
search. And a day to rest and prepare to take up the fight.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The
football was especially hard-hitting that day, an early game between Baltimore
and Pittsburgh as vicious as any game between those rivals ever was. Three
injuries from high tackles, and already two on-field scuffles between a pair of
squads who hated each other. Just the thing to get the blood moving, to stir up
energy for what lay ahead in not much more than twenty-four hours. “So when do
we go?” asked Younger.
“He
usually runs back to his house right after work,” said Elder. “Brings them
take-out to make up for not being at dinner with them. He has a hell of a lot
of conscience for a lawyer! The boy likes Hunan chicken, the mom likes beef
with snow peas, and the girl just eats wonton soup and egg rolls. Their Chinese
place up there is pretty decent.”
“Wait
‘til he drops off their dinner, and we can get some free Chinese too.”
“I
like the way you think, cuz.”
“We’ll
be down two, Doc.” Ginger, still in nothing but a short silky-red robe, glanced
in on the bedroom down the hall. Trish and Paula, both out like lights. Okay,
actually three down. Krysten won’t miss her church now that we’ve caught a
break for once. “Yeah, just what you said. Trish pulled an all-nighter, and
Paula...well, she worked late and played kind of...oh, come on, Doc! Paula’s
not some kid, she’s a big girl now! We can almost let her stay home without a
sitter!” Ginger could not feel her shoulders release tension she hadn’t known
she was bearing. “Yeah, well, thank God for small favors. It gives
us...today...Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday, until Friday night to nail
those two creeps. Most of a whole week. I heard Richie telling Paula about some
geographical profiling before they...I said before, Doc! Not even I make
profiling into pillow-talk!” It was the first fully-alive laugh she had had in
two weeks, had she been keeping track. “Well Doc, what can I say? He’s a
Dwight! Maybe you can get him to switch majors too. That way I have
plenty of time to play with him!” Yes, I have a dirty mind, Doc. You know this.
“See you in a few.”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The
name “Dr. Jennifer McNeil” on a package sent to anyone in the
criminal-forensics world guaranteed instant attention. So it was with her
delivery of the CODIS markers Trish had spent most of the night developing; one
text, one email, one submission of the markers, and friends in the Bureau had
rush-jobbed the analysis for her. Jennifer got the email as she sat down at the
Cook Pot for a post-Mass lunch. 17.8% match. First cousins, no doubt. We have
that much right at least. Trish deserved a text back for all the work she put
in. The lab’s her place. She knows it now. After the trauma of the Darrell
Holman case, she learned she was not field personnel. Dreams of Nancy Drew gone
a-glimmering, replaced by the reality of lab work. She had blossomed there, and
the urges to go out a la Nancy and save the day had faded. Good. The girl is
finally growing up. No limit to what she can achieve if she can just stay
focused.
Speaking
of...we know they’re cousins. Close friends who are comfortable sharing each
other’s victimization, and from that, sharing their psychodrama. What about the
possibility that they live together? The younger cousin perhaps boarding with
the elder one, perhaps. That would make sense. They had to do a quick
turnaround to go from the Bruces to the Smalls in one night, and separate
addresses might make that easier. I’ll put Paula on that if she wakes up in
time. A sweet little girl like that, playing the “games” Ginger had suggested.
More information than I want to know. Or maybe I’m too old after all. So how
come I’m the one awake before them?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The
usual nightmares that littered Bethany’s sleep had altered. Still the gasp of
shock when they emerged into the kitchen with a terrified Chris in their grip,
still the queasy disbelief as she and her family were corralled into the
basement and made to strip, but now she saw things, saw hints that seemed to
slip out from under the invaders’ masks. She could see the wrinkles of an older
face beneath one of the masks. She could sense the sexual nervousness of the
younger one, and the dream gasped awake with the masks slipping off their faces
as they ravaged her. She found herself awake in her overstuffed chair, the
hand-me-down from Mom, and the wakefulness had come from her apartment
intercom. It chirped again, and she struggled up out of her chair. “Yes?”
“Are
you going to sleep all day?” Merri! Last night with her on the sofa had been
restfulness she hadn’t felt almost since that day; two sisters and a bowl of
popcorn in front of a TV show. All I need.
“Not
with you waking me up! I’m buzzing you in, Merr.” Moments later, almost before
Bethany could get the door open, Merri was in the apartment, frilly in a pink
princess-waisted dress which was one of her church favorites, particularly when
matched with matching tights and maryjanes. My sister the lesbian. Lipstick
lesbian, it seems. Or a Princess-Dress Lesbian. “You can tell Mom and Dad I’m
fine, by the way.”
Merri
was amused, the girl detective in her piqued by her big sister’s deduction.
“How could you tell?”
“You
haven’t changed from church, Merr. Don’t you know lesbians are supposed to
dress butch? Flannel shirts and jeans!”
“I
don’t like flannel,” she said, lifting up the styrofoam take-out box. “And Tess
likes me in pink. Her mom designed this dress just for me. Mom got you a
sausage gravy and biscuit too. Which proves we were at the Cook Pot, right?
You’re turning out to be a heck of a detective!” She pushed the box into her
sister’s hand and passed her into the living space. “So, did you find what you
wanted last night?”
It
was Bethany’s turn to be impressed. “How could you tell?”
“You
never come over to the house, Beth, except since what happened to Samantha. You
came over looking for stuff because you thought I’d be out with Tess or over at
Charity’s. I guess you found it, whatever it is.”
“Just
trying to figure out who it was.”
Merri
settled into her sister’s threadbare love seat, found the TV and Roku remotes.
“It’d be great if you could. Samantha tries to be so strong about it, but it’s
been awful for her. For Caleb too. Word kind of got out what happened, and the
boys in his class are picking on him. You know that kind of stuff. Samantha
hates that for him because she’s not there to protect him. Of course, at school
Charity protects Samantha from the witches.” Merri spied the file box beside
Bethany’s chair of state. “So, have you found anything out?”
“I
haven’t really looked. Paula Ryan says they wait to strike on weekends, and
they haven’t found anyone this morning, so I have some time. Sort of nerve
myself to finally look into it.”
“I
can help you. I’d like to be able to tell Samantha I helped catch the guys who
did that to her and Caleb and her mom.” The special guilty softness in Merri’s
eyes again. “And you and Mom and Chris. Maybe I’d finally stop feeling like I
cheated you.” Bethany glanced uncertainly at the box. “We can do it together.”
Anything to share her big sister’s nightmare.
Another
nervous glance at the file box, back at Merri’s eager face. “Umm...maybe...we
could split my sausage gravy. Maybe then. I am kind of hungry.”
Merri
could not miss the sudden flush of nerves on her big sister’s face. “Or...we
don’t have to, Beth. Like you said, these guys only attack on weekends. You
could probably take an extra day or two to sort of get ready to look. Whatever
you need me to do.” My sister, The Nicest Girl in the World.
Bethany
shared her breakfast.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Once
upon a time, Paula Ryan was a morning person. Up at six every morning, her
toilette done well before the school bus was due. She had valiantly tried to
maintain that schedule during her first days of college, but the temptation
offered by a class day that started at ten had chipped away at her resolve. But
seeing the 2:21 on her clock, and an afternoon sky outside her window, sent her
into unprecedented self-reproach. The lab! I’d bet everyone’s down there again!
She fled to the bathroom, raced through a shower, ran a toothbrush over her teeth
and a hairbrush through her hair, pulled on the closest clothes she could
find—raced downstairs—“Richie! Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Richie,
his big feet planted on the coffee table and his eyes planted on the game on
the TV screen, spared the Steelers and Ravens a moment to smile up at his
disheveled girlfriend. “You needed the rest. And you’ve never been much into
football anyway.”
“But
the lab! Dr. McNeil wanted us all down there! We’re the only people in the
house!”
A
roguish smile. “Which means nobody for us to disturb.”
“Richie!”
“Cool
down, bunny. Ginger and the rest told the Doc you were kind of beat. And they
were nice and didn’t say how.” He lifted up Paula’s laptop, Google Maps on the
screen. “And I did a little work for you. I ran those fourteen families to see
which ones live somewhere isolated. You can cross off six of them that live
here or in Center City. Of the rest...two live around here, one out in Snowden
Place by the woods and one down in Oak Run Acres. Two up on Turkey Knob with
the rich folks. Four around Sunny Hill who work the mines. Lots of isolated
places down that way. A couple of my old buddies lived in places that weren’t
close to anybody.”
A
blushing smirk on Paula’s face as she pointed at the laptop screen. “I should
have done that myself.”
“Take
the credit yourself. I won’t tell.” He offered her back her laptop. “In fact,
we could have ourselves a field trip. Run down to Sunny Hill. You could check
out the houses, and I could drop in on a few of my old buds.”
“We
probably should start around town.”
“Meh.
Get the farthest-away ones done first, then work our way back. Besides, I like
the lake.”
Paula’s
face flushed pink. “And of course you could run out of gas somewhere along the
lake. Just by accident, the two of us.”
“Would
you object?” Her smile said she wouldn’t object.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Cherie
Maser huffed in the doorway, wry and entirely phony disgust on her face, her
trim mid-thirtyish frame leaning against one side of the wide, white-painted
opening. A quick blow flicked a strand of her rich brown bangs out of her face,
sunlight from the kitchen window highlighting the rest of her shoulder-length
brunette locks. “I thought you were supposed to be civilized, Andy! I tell you
to take your feet off the furniture more than I tell your son to!”
Andrew
Maser flicked a grin up at his wife. “I’m taking a well-earned rest before the
usual Monday grind. Mr. DeRozier’s already called to remind me of the dinner meeting,
so I imagine he’s got a lot on his mind. So I’m just sitting back and enjoying
the Ravens kicking the Steelers’ as”—
“Andy!”
Her disgust was a shade less phony. “Your language! In front of the kids!” Even
though none were in the room.
“Ciara’s
in her room playing with her Barbies, and Clinton…” A smiling roll of his eyes.
“Is up in Valleyview playing with his.”
Which
gained a titter from his wife. Clinton had spent most of his now-twelve years
of life in a dizzy crush over Charity Mabrey, and now that his fantasy had been
realized, he spent as many hours as he could with his dream girlfriend. And
Charity Mabrey was tall and slim enough that a Barbie comparison was not
terribly inapt. Or at least a Skipper comparison. And of course Clinton was
maturing enough that “playing with his doll” was beginning to carry certain
worrying connotations. “I’ll bet Ken Mabrey has the cleanest shotgun in
Valleyview Estates.” A reflective smile. “Lucky for us that Charity won’t put
up with any stuff from him.” Charity was nothing if not in charge of the
budding little romance.
“They’ll
be watching the game. She knows almost as much about it as Clint does.” He
adjusted his feet on the coffee table where they still lay. “And is Ciara’s
little boyfriend coming up tomorrow? I’ll have to get extra wonton soup if he
is.”
“Not
tomorrow.” She sat down to watch with her husband. “Zack has a doctor’s
appointment after school, so it’ll be just the three of us, as usual.” She
snuggled close. “And my Steelers will kick your Ravens’ asses, Andy!”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Merri
Howland knew enough of her big sister’s moods to know when to back off and let
Bethany settle herself, and her sense declared that today was one such day.
Understandable, I guess. This whole case has her upset. Poor Samantha is still
a mess, and she says her little brother’s even worse. And those other kids too.
This has to be terrible for Beth. Just let her deal with it at her own pace. No
need to rush her if those guys only do their break-ins on weekends. She can
take her time. “Merr,” said Bethany, wriggling some change out of her pocket,
“I’m parched. Want to run down to the lobby and get us a couple drinks? You
know what I like, and I’m still tired.”
It
was a routine errand for Merri. “Same as always?”
“Same
as always.” Merri was happy to run the errand. Little bits and pieces of
Bethany’s normal life starting up again. A Mountain Dew for me, a Diet Pepsi
for Beth. Eww, that stuff’s nasty. How can she even drink it? No one at the
vending machine, so Merri’s trip was quick and uneventful. Beth unlocked the
door, and Merri was further gratified to see a contented smile on her sister’s
face. “You’re getting quick, Merr. Were you that thirsty?” Merri saw that
Bethany had moved the file box to the front of the sofa.
“Losing
weight for Tess. I don’t want her to think I’m some kind of slob or something.
Are you ready to look at that file box now?”
“If
you help me. It’s still…if I’m right, the name of one of those two is in here.
He came to the animal hospital, he had to.”
“Creepy.”
Merri and Bethany descended upon the file box, sitting on either side of it on
the floor. “He came to the animal hospital, and then he and his brother”—
“His
cousin, they say now. First cousins. Dr. McNeil told Tricia, and Tricia texted
me. They found out a few things last night about what they do and what kind of
families they go after.”
“Eww.”
Merri watched Bethany open the lid, nervous fingers pale and unsteady. “I like
Tricia. She’s smart and funny. You went to school with her, didn’t you?”
Bethany
stared into the open file box. “Winter of sixth grade, when she moved here.
That winter after… She always tried to be a friend, but I wasn’t ready, not
after summer. I like that she’s still trying even now.”
“And
Krysten too. Krysten’s always been nice.” The Nicest Girl in the World
naturally valued niceness highly. “You wonder if those guys would go after any
of our families. Again, if it’s us.” The thought prompted a shiver in
her shoulders.
“No.
According to Paula and Krysten, they’re looking for a family with one sister
and a brother old enough to…” A blush on Bethany’s cheeks. “Well…that can…”
Merri’s
nose crinkled. “Eww. That’s disgusting.”
“I’ve
seen you watch the animals, Merr! Don’t get prissy with me!” The smile on
Bethany’s lips was worth the gibe to Merri.
“Yeah,
but…you know the way Colton was always after me, Beth. Always chasing me. And
Clinton with Charity, too. Just thinking about them, doing…eww!” She caught a
twinkle in Bethany’s eye. “And no, it ain’t the same with me and Tess! I mean,
with us we, well, hold hands, and sneak a kiss or two sometimes, snuggle
sometimes… Does Colton want to do that with Alyssa, I wonder. After the way that
guy who kidnapped her hurt her.” A sickly light dawned in Merri’s blue eyes.
“And…you said they wanted one sister and a boy old enough to…that could be
Colton and Emma! Emma Walters from our Scout troop! They’re one brother and one
sister, and he’s kind of…” She suddenly clamped a hand over her mouth; her
chest heaved. “What if it’s them? What if those guys want to do that to Colton
and Emma?”
Bethany’s
brow furrowed at her little sister’s distress, reached out to lay a hand on the
pink trembling shoulder. “I don’t think so, Merr. We found out they only go
after families whose dads work for DeRozier Enterprises. Colton’s dad is still
the janitor at the middle school, right?”
Merri
sighed, relieved. “Yeah. Still cleaning up messes all day! I hear Mrs. Walters
is going to take over Bauman’s Bakery. She’s a really great baker, always
brings nice stuff to all the big events for Scouts. I bet the cinnamon rolls
get even better when she’s making them!” Bauman’s cinnamon rolls had been the
essential Snowden delicacy for seven decades and more.
“We
don’t want to look at these yet, do we?” Bethany closed the lid. “You really
care about everybody, Merr. It’s the best thing about you. But Emma and Colton
are going to be okay, those guys won’t come after them. Maybe we should go
visit Samantha.”
Merri
glanced distastefully at the now-closed file box. “That would be good. For her
and you, and…and for me too. I hate what they did to her and Caleb.” She was up
and pulling at Bethany’s hand. “It beats sitting here being scared.” Bethany
agreed completely.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“A
field trip.” Dr. McNeil rolled her eyes.
“Field
research, that’s what my brother called it,” said Trish with a comic eyeroll.
“Researching where they can stop along the lake to have wild monkey sex, if I
know my brother. And Paula.” She cast a dry smile at Ginger. “See? You
corrupted her already.”
“She
was already corrupted,” said Ginger. “I only provided the sex toys!” She
giggled at Dr. McNeil. “I know, too much information!” She settled down again
behind her Google Maps. “But he had the right idea. Geographical profile. They
only hit places where they can be isolated. The Smalls were the absolute
frickin’ jackpot for them. Away from everything, so they took their good old
time. They don’t like surprises.”
“Like
I gave them with the Merritts,” said Chelsea, using her off day to hang around
the lab with her Snoop Towers colleagues. “I showed up and they ran like hell.
I could have ended up their extra plaything!” A thought that had already set
off a nightmare or two in her head.
“No,
you’d spoil the psychodrama,” said Krysten, still dressed for church. “It has
to be the mother, the one boy, and the one girl. And the dad coming home to
find them.”
“Eight
possible victims,” said Dr. McNeil, refocusing he discussion. “Paula and Lover
Boy are right. We know they like seclusion, and run from any disturbance, thank
you Chelsea Parker. If their intent is to end with murder, they’ll want as much
isolation and seclusion as possible.”
“That’s
Sunny Hill, all right,” said Trish, fighting off a yawn. An all-nighter after
cantoring Saturday-evening Mass had her barely functional. “Those houses are way
out of the way.”
Mrs.
DeRozier’s voice chimed in through the Skype on Dr. McNeil’s screen. “And
Turkey Knob here is unlikely. Everyone up here has a serious security system.”
A wry smile. “I still would like the guest house done quick to get Channing
away from Marnie. They fit the profile too. And I’d like a little more…ahem! privacy
with him.”
“Leaving
only the two in Snowden,” said Krysten, pecking away at her keyboard. “Mason
Abbott and family, manager of Specialty Fabrications, out in Oak Run Acres, the
oldest part toward the backwoods. The values in that part are lower because
they’re older, but still nice houses.” More typing. “The other…Andrew Maser,
general counsel for DeRozier Enterprises, one of those new places in Snowden
Place Village. One of the newest places they had to cut into the woods at the
foot of Zed’s Mountain. Both places are definitely more upscale than Sunny
Hill. Probably both have security systems too.”
A dry
grin from Dr. McNeil. “So our newest student got another one on us. We must be
losing our edge! Which means we need to take a break and get a rest. We need
sharp minds, and right now we’re about as sharp as a bunch of bananas.” She
cast a glance at Ginger. “And clean up your mind, Ms. O’Day. I know what you’re
thinking!”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“So
it’s gonna be that easy? Just walk right in?”
“Has
to be, cuz.” Another sip of beer, a glance at a setting sun outside. “They’ve
got the best security system money can buy. He brags up all the time about how
brand-new everything there is.” Elder paced the room, picked up the knife,
surgically sharp now. “You just follow my lead. Let him take off for that
dinner, get in, and let it fly.” Everything now was measured in hours.
21 One Fell Swoop
All
of Snoop Towers had gone early to bed gratefully after a nightfall with still
no more victims. A blessed week to refocus, reenergize, and nail the two freaks
before they struck again. Every bed in the old house had filled with sleepers,
even Ginger. Paula had returned home from her trip with Richie exhausted enough
for everyone to know what most of her business at Evergreen Lake had been.
Tricia, enervated from her all-nighter, slept like the dead in the same room.
Monday
morning found them all still sluggish at the prospect of another week of
classes and work. The minutiae of life—and with the invaders still not
apprehended, classes and work seemed minutiae to the denizens of Chateau
Snoop—still insisted on its share of attention. Chelsea still had her classes
and her shift at the Denny’s atop a frantic midwatch call from Sarah Merritt
that Spencer’s condition had suddenly seemed to crash even worse than it had
been. Felicity had spent the night texting with Samantha McBride and Garrett
Small, and now faced an eight o’clock class with nearly perfect somnolence. Paula’s
enthusiasm for the case was tempered with her own classes, a trip to the
registrar to complete her major change, and her own library work. For Krysten
and Tricia, the lab again beckoned. Only Ginger seemed fully awake as a chill
morning lit Snoop Towers, animating her giggle at the sight of Paula nearly
face-down in a bowl of Lucky Charms. “How did he love thee? Let me count the
ways. Position Number One, Position Number Two...”
Paula
stirred a little, enough to cast a bleary yet amused eye up at her housemate.
“You’ll be standing there counting for a while, Ginger!” The bleary brown eye
quickly faded. “We’ll name her after you.”
Ginger
savored her laugh as a finis to a nightmarish weekend. “Oh, where did we ever
go wrong with you, Paula? You were so sweet and innocent, and now, just look at
you! Drooling into your cereal after a whole day of wild sex!” Paula’s replying
titter seeped up to Ginger’s ears from the table top. “I ought to take you on
my own field trip down there and let you experience a few more positions!” She
felt more than saw the tongue Paula stuck out at her. “But really, I think you
and Richie were right about checking out the lake. The most likely next victims
are down there. Isolation and poor home security. We can maybe narrow down the
choices to a place or two they’re most likely to hit, and be ready for them.
Finally end this shit. And then I can take you out on the lake and show you
those positions!”
“Richie
would have objections.”
“Not
if I invited him along!” This time, Ginger actually saw the tongue sticking out
through Paula’s sleepy smile.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“Clinton
James, you’ll be seeing the girl in less than a half hour! Why do you have to
text her now?”
Clinton
Maser spared a moment from his Golden Grahams and his outdated but still
serviceable Galaxy phone to grin up at Mom, but his planned answer was cut off
by his giggling sister noshing her Fruity Pebbles. “Clinton wants to talk dirty
to his girlfriend!”
“I do
not!” and Clinton was answered by his sister Ciara screwing her wan blonde head
into a comic kissy-face, with a rasping faux smooch just to irritate her big
brother. “And what about you and Zack Carruthers, huh Ciara? You gonna get
kissy-face with him?”
“No!”
“Stop
it, kids, both of you!” Cherie Maser was by nature a pleasant sort, not quite a
people-pleaser but amiable enough to pass for one, but put up with no sibling
rivalry between Clinton and Ciara. “Ciara, leave your brother alone. And
Clinton, don’t tease your sister. Zachary behaves himself like a gentleman, and
I hope you’re just as much a gentleman with Charity.”
“We’re
just kidding each other, Mom.” Clinton and Ciara shared a
our-mom-is-such-a-dork eyeroll. Mom just doesn’t get it, does she? “We don’t
mean anything by it.”
Ciara was in perfect agreement with her big brother. “We just like to tease.”
“Well,
still, give your mom a break once in a while!” said Andy Maser, half-dressed in
suit slacks and dress shirt still not tucked in, his deep-blue necktie draped
around a still-open collar. “You two can be nice to each other once in a
while, you know!”
“Daddy!”
Ciara gave Daddy her best winsome smile. From Ciara Maser, that meant a great
deal of winsomeness. “I love my brother! I just like to embarrass him in front
of Charity!” For a first-grader, Ciara already had an impressive
vocabulary.
“You
love anyone else here, sugar bunny?” It was a setup line, and Ciara responded
as she always did, jumping up into Daddy’s arms and planting a sloppy kiss on
his cheek.
“You
and Mommy too!” But Ciara was well-established as a daddy’s girl.
“Then
be nice for Mommy and don’t tease your brother. Until later! Speaking of,” said
he as he shucked Ciara off him and buttoned his top button, “the usual order
for tonight?”
“That
and two pork egg rolls for me, Dad!” Clinton felt a certain pride in showing
off his adolescent appetite. He had recently sprouted his first three chest
hairs, and his masculinity was on a definite roll. At least if he could catch
up to Charity in height.
“Got
it. Now get to the bus and give your mother a break before she has to take
off!” The kids followed Dad’s instructions for once.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“Sure,
Beth,” said Merri in her best chatty tones as the bus rumbled into Snowden.
Clinton, in the seat ahead of her, was chatting on his phone, too, and Merri,
not by nature nosy, could catch snippets of his conversation. With Charity, of
course. No one else could get Clinton to actually talk, rather than text, on
his phone. “I can come over straight after school and help you with that file
box. I’ll get Mom to send them a note to drop me off at the Commons. Maybe we
could stop and get something to eat at the student union.” The Snowden State
Starbucks now had a neighbor in the student union, an actual Panera Bread,
which was doing land-office business. “See you tonight then.” Merri switched
off contentedly—
“Do
you think Charity would like that place?” and Merri found Clinton facing her, turned
around in his seat. Unlike Merri Howland, Clinton Maser was in fact very nosy.
“That Panera Bread. Mom gets her lunch there every day and she says it’s good.
She’s giving me a few dollars to take Charity to lunch tomorrow.” Mrs. Maser
got a generous lunch hour from her superior the director of student services at
Snowden State, and usually spent it now at the new Panera.
“I
guess.”
“If
it’s good I can take Charity there tomorrow. No school tomorrow for the
parent-teacher meetings, remember.”
“She
likes Chinese. Take her to the Canton Palace, they have a buffet.” Charity
Mabrey could eat like a Hoover and stay rail-thin, and yes, Merri was jealous.
A little.
“Nah,
Dad gets us that every Monday night because of his dinner meetings with Mr.
DeRozier. I don’t want it two days in a row. I end up eating half of my sister
Ciara’s soup and egg rolls anyway. So, is Panera any good?”
“I’ll
find out tonight. Me and Bethany are going there for dinner. I’m helping her
out with this case about the homes that are getting invaded. I’ll text you or
something.”
“Don’t
forget.” She knew Clinton would bug her all day about it.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Elder knotted his tie. Yeah, wear my suit to visit Cherie and her kids tonight.
That’ll disarm her. She won’t suspect anything. “I’ll pick you up out back,
cuz. Have everything ready.”
Younger was much more casual than his cousin; working the delivery route meant
a company jacket, and shirt, and work pants and boots. “I’ll be ready. I’m
skipping my lunch so I can be done early. Five-thirty, you said?”
“Quarter
‘til six. Andy stops and gets their Chinese first. I want to be there right
after he leaves for dinner with the Big Guy. Give us as much time as we can
get.”
“Looking
forward to it, cuz!”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
By
mid-morning, most of Dr. McNeil’s young team was awake and somewhat functional.
Jan O’Malley sat in on the lab meeting. “So, did you actually get a look at any
of these homes, Ms. Ryan?”
Paula could not suppress a blush at the thought of what she had mostly done
around the lake. Ginger grinned, which made the blush all the more vivid. “Yes,
Dr. McNeil. We saw all four of them. One is at the edge of town, one is on a
side road to the state park, and two well into the woods. We didn’t get a good
look at them, the owners seemed suspicious of us. But they were kind of old
bungalows, kept up, but not really nice. They’re very isolated.”
“I’ll
send some uniforms out there to interview them,” said Janet. “That’ll impress
them. If we can get someone to spot them and report them, that could end this
quick. They have to be doing some kind of reconnaissance, after all.”
“They’re
perfect targets,” said Paula. “I did see that much. They’re well back in the
woods with no neighbors around. Richie said some of the families down there are
like that.”
“They
sure are,” said Trish, nursing a tall latte. Caffeine was all that was keeping
her alive at that moment. “People out that way don’t want bothered by anyone.
Not even uniformed officers, Detective O’Malley. Your people will need to be
really delicate with them. They love them some Second Amendment.”
“Would
the invaders know that?” asked Krysten, who had a distinct distaste for guns.
“If they do, they might not be as perfect targets as we think.”
“Remember,
the husbands are always out at work,” said Alyson over the Skype, still in her
dressing gown. All agreed that red silk looked good on the statuesque Mrs.
DeRozier.
“That
has to figure in, too,” said Trish. “Some husbands are as jealous of their guns
as they are of their womenfolk.” Trish did not particularly care if her
sentiment made her sound petty; she had been done with her old hometown ever
since the deadly-dossier case from her middle-school years, when so many had
turned against her and her family as they pursued Jim Alton. “Especially some
of the ones from the backwoods.” She shrugged. “Of course, some of the wives
out there are as doomsday-prepper as their husbands.” Trish was pleased to
slander Sunny Hillers.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Sleep was never quiet for Bethany, the nightmares always poisoning her dreams,
even a quick late-morning nap before her first class of the day. Not always of
the actual invasion, but always some hint, some connection with it. There they
were creeping up on Merri, herself sleeping easily in her bed, and Bethany
tried to cry out to her sister, tried to wake her so she could run. But her
cries had been muffled, and Bethany realized that she lay bound and gagged in
Merri’s closet, was helpless to stop what the invaders made ready to do to her
sister. They crept over to her—poised above her, hands ready to grab—
Wakefulness with a gasp, as always. Always a nightmare to wake her up. Late.
Have to hurry, or I’ll be late for class. And then at least four hours in the
library. Busy all day. Hurry and get done, so you have this evening with Merri.
A hurried shower, her clothes a blind grab from her drawers. No one cares what
I look like. Least of all me. A sweater and pants is fine. If I finally lose
the weight, I’ll need new clothes. Merri will want to dress me up. Her
girlfriend Tess likes to dress up Merri, and Merri likes to dress me up. Maybe
I’ll let her. Once all this is over. I have to make myself look at those files.
The invaders are there. Merri will help with that, the only one of us who
hasn’t had her soul maimed by it.
Speak
of the devil! Bethany clicked up the text with one hand while she brushed her
teeth. Is Panera good? Clinton bugging me. Wants 2 take out Charity. Charity
Mabrey with a boyfriend. Almost as strange as Merri with a girlfriend. And
everyone knows Charity’s favorite food.
Y
not chinese? Isnt that her favorite?
Clinton
wants sumthin difrent, dad getting them chinese tonite b4 dinner with boss.
Wants 2 take Charity 2 Panera n bugging me abt it.
Bethany
smiled. If it’s Clinton buying, she’ll like it. She will like it, she likes
all food.
Lol
C
ya 2nite, Merr. Luvya. And Bethany hurried to the library for class.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“So
where’s the big boss taking you to dinner tonight, Andy? The Riverside Club?”
The Riverside had the most exclusive dining in Center City.
Andy
Maser started. He had been juggling a patent-infringement claim against
Specialty Fabrications with Mr. DeRozier’s concerns about his daughter-in-law
and her friends investigating the home invasions based on the DeRozier
employment rolls. “Not tonight, Marv. Wants something a little quieter, he
says. I think he mentioned the Pomme Verte.”
“Swanky
place, I hear. Up in Snowden, right?” Which could cause complications. Keep
that in mind.
“Yeah,
a new place, just opened last year. Mr. D says it’s really good. Channing takes
his wife there a lot. If it lives up to what Mr. D says, I might take Cherie
there some night when the kids are out. Ciara in a fancy restaurant scares the
hell out of me!” Sitting still and indoor voice were two concepts his daughter
had not yet mastered.
“Well,
let me know how it is, Andy. Might try it myself some time. If Nick ever gets
another girlfriend, he can take her there for a first date and really impress
her.”
“So
how’s he doing, anyway? Adjusting to being back home?”
Marvin Bannock chuckled. “There’s no place like home, I guess, Andy. He gave up
big rigs for driving a delivery truck just to come back here. He’s crashing at
my place until he gets set up on his own. He’ll be okay.”
“He
always lands on his feet, Marv. He has a talent!” And some you don’t know,
Andy.
“Well,
you and the big boss have a fancy time, old man!” Which earned a chuckle from
Andy.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Felicity and Chelsea rushed out after another desperate call from Sarah
Merritt. Spencer had collapsed, was on life support, his brain function zeroing
out. Leaving Paula in Chateau Snoop dressed for work at the library—a dark gray
sweater and a calf-length black skirt against a chilly day—thinking over the
case. Who should we focus on? The next victims, or the identity of the
invaders? She looked at her copy of the DeRozier Enterprises HR roster again,
sipping at a hot tea. One cousin, possibly living with him. We need more data.
No, I was right before. Find the next victims. We have time to get it right.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Clinton and his mother met at the front door. No coincidence; Cherie Maser
always timed her work to be home in time for the kids. “So, is Charity looking
forward to her date with you tomorrow?”
“Maybe
you’ll know, Mom, because Merri Howland won’t give me an answer. Is Panera any
good? She says she doesn’t know!” Book bag in the corner of the hallway, shoes
beside it like always. He would be first to the remote so Ciara wouldn’t make
him watch anything stupid. Another session of Dora the Explorer would be
enough to fry his brain permanently.
“Well,
I like it, Clinton. I’m sure Charity will too.” As if Mom would actually know
what Charity likes. Maybe Merri finally found something out. So, another text.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Snowden Commons was a frequent drop-off site for Merri, and she was buzzed into
her sister’s apartment in moments, to find that Bethany had arrived scant
minutes before her. “Professor Neal was nice and let me come over for a minute
so I could let you in, Merr. We have to stop meeting like this!” It was a lame
attempt at a laugh, but Merri conscientiously giggled anyway. “So I got you a
present. Just keep it between ourselves.” And from her pants pocket, a shiny
key. “So I don’t have to always run back and buzz you in.”
“You
have to go back?” And another Clinton Maser text provoked a glare at her phone.
“He’s making me crazy! Still bugging me about Panera!”
“Why
the big deal? I still think he should take her to the Canton Palace.”
“His
dad and his dinner meeting with his boss Mr. DeRozier. He buys them Chinese and
Clinton doesn’t want it two days in a row. I thought boys weren’t supposed to
be such picky eaters! I bet his mom wouldn’t mind Chinese take-out two days in
a row!” Mrs. Maser was always a good sport about such things.
Bethany paused, shrugging back into her jacket for the trip back to the
library. A thought had struck her. “He has a sister, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah,
Ciara, in first grade. A pain in the butt, at least according to him.”
“We’ll
have to check on them, then, before this weekend. Those guys like to attack on
the weekends.”
“I’ll
mention it to him at school tomorrow. You want me to go get our dinner while
you finish at the library? Now that I have a key, I can get back in.”
“Sure.”
Bethany plied Merri’s palm with a twenty and a ten, and the two sisters went
each on her individual way.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“It’s
not fair! Clinton always gets the TV! Just because I have the late
bus...”
“Tell
you what,” Mom said as she shucked her jacket and followed a sour Ciara into
the living room. “After dinner, you get to pick a show for us to watch while we
have dessert.” Ice cream and fortune cookies.
“Okay.”
Clinton
scowled. “Just not Dora the Explorer again!” Ciara stuck her tongue out
at her brother.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“Out
of here?”
Andy
paused only a moment in closing up his briefcase. “Sure am, Marv. Gotta pick up
dinner, and the Canton Palace gets slow sometimes.”
“Think
I’ll knock off too. Might talk Nick into wings at Dunnigan’s and Monday Night
Football.” Or not.
“Sometimes
I envy you, Marv.” He wouldn’t trade Cherie and the kids for the whole world,
but he still remembered the bachelor life with nostalgia. And both men headed
out of the office.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Dr.
Neal had been gracious again and given Bethany an early exit. Still blue sky
above an orange fringe in the west above Zed’s Mountain to light Bethany’s walk
home from the library reserve collection. The student union was very busy, and
she imagined Merri in there making instant friends with all of them. Such a
talent she has. The Nicest Girl in the World. I wish she could teach me how she
manages that.
The
apartment was still locked and dark when Bethany let herself in, testament to
the crowd in the student union. She thought about going to meet her kid sister
there, but recoiled; no, I can do without those crowds. Merri will be just
fine. A long look at the waiting file case. You have to face it, Beth. You
can’t run away from it forever. It was the weight of an anchor as she carried
it to her small table in the kitchenette. Seeing the name would feel, she knew,
like seeing the face, the eyes behind the mask. Spare Merri the reaction you
know you’ll have, Beth. Show a little backbone for once. Stop being a coward.
Her hands were cold, fingers trembling as she opened the lid and looked inside.
The
case was mostly full, twelve hanging-file folders filled with invoices and case
files. Each file folder was labeled by month, January followed by the rest.
Lots to look through, Beth. Maybe I should wait for Merri to come back.
No,
Beth. You’re chickening out again. They came to check out Dad, learn his
schedule. Reconnaissance, they said. He wouldn’t have waited long after his
visit to strike us. He couldn’t wait too long, or Dad’s schedule might have
changed without him noticing. So...July. That’s when he was there. She tried to
force her fingers to not tremble as she lifted out the hanging file. He’s in
here. Right here.
She
placed the DeRozier Enterprises personnel list beside the folder, the names of
the likely suspects highlighted. The stack of files from the animal hospital
beside. Each file in the stack had a customer name at the top, along with the
name of the animal if it had one. The names. She put aside each file as she
glanced at the name and compared it to the personnel list. A dozen, another
dozen, another dozen still. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he just guessed about
Dad’s schedule. Maybe—
Marvin Bannock. July 18. Shots for a puppy adoption from the county animal
shelter. Marvin Bannock. Supervisor of personnel records at DeRozier
Enterprises.
Her
pulse swished in her ears as she typed the name into Google. Him. Him.
Articles came up, the Intelligencer. One with a picture, corporate
officers posing at a charity function.
Oh
God. It’s him. Him. Those eyes could only be him. Aside from those parts
shoved into her during the invasion, she had seen nothing of him but those
eyes. She had seen those eyes every time she slept now, and those were the
eyes. Those eyes had struck terror in her, devouring her as she lay naked and
bound beneath him, but now rose an exultation, a sunflash of raw power. I
know who you are! She found a genealogy site, typed in the name. Marvin
Bannock, son of Ben and Marjorie Bannock. Now, the cousin. Ben Bannock. One
elder brother, childless, unmarried. One younger sister, Connie, married to
Steven Treadwell. One son, Nicholas. Cousin to Marvin Bannock. Back to Google,
more articles—and she saw him. That lean frame, and those cruel eyes. Eyes
which sparkled with malevolence as she watched him rape Chris. Marvin Bannock
and Nicholas Treadwell. 1134 Porter Place, Center City. Home address for both
of them. I have you. The thought stormed through her, nearly raising a laugh. I
have you, you bastards! Quickly, a map reference, 1134 Porter Place. I know
who you are, I know where you live, and you don’t know I know.
I
could wait. Call the police. And then what? See them arrested? See them
lawyered up to defend themselves? Watch them excuse themselves by damning Mom,
by casting aspersion on me? On Chris?
No.
BRB,
Merr. Hav 2 go out a minute. Luvya, sis. Yes, Merr. Stay asleep for this,
too. And stopping only for a moment, Bethany hustled from her apartment.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Cherie
straightened her husband’s tie as he brushed the day’s lint off his shoulders.
“You could be nice and bring me some takeout from there. I’ve never had
take-out French cuisine!”
“You’re
just jealous.” What she was, was kidding, as her quick kiss intimated. With a
smile, she sent him off to his dinner meeting. She started down the hallway to
the dining room, where Clinton and Ciara were already dividing up the evening’s
fare. The doorbell—what now, Andy? She opened up—
“Marvin!
What brings you here?” Marvin Bannock was a familiar face from company picnics
and other functions. “You just missed Andy. The usual dinner meeting, you
know.” She noticed the younger man behind the family friend.
Marvin saw the puzzlement on Cherie’s face. “My cousin Nick. We were headed out
to Dunnigan’s, but the office sent me some stuff to give Andy. Could I drop it
off?”
“Sure,
Marv. No problem.” He reached into his suit jacket—
22 Untimely Ripped
Merri Howland loved crowds, much unlike her social-phobic sister Bethany. She
was gratified that Bethany had not come with her, for the Panera was much
busier on a Monday night than Merri could have anticipated. But Merri was still
Merri, and had made at least two college friends before she had left with her
and Bethany’s order. Bethany had never understood how Merri made friends as
easily as breathing, while Merri had never understood Bethany’s fear of people.
Well, now I guess I do understand, at least a bit. After what they did to
her—did to Mom, did to Chris—how could she ever trust people again? How could
she ever not think that every knock on her door would be them again, someone
else out to hurt her? And it’s the same with Chris. He can’t trust anybody, not
after that. And he can’t be around Beth, or Mom. They made him be all alone,
put him on a little island where he could only be safe by not trusting anybody.
At least Mom and Beth have me. Who could Chris have?
Such
thoughts oppressed her usually-outgoing nature as she strolled back to the
Commons with dinner. She put down the bag at the door, pulled her new key out
of her pocket. Beth trusts me this much, to let me into her place by myself. I
wonder where she had to go out to? I bet it’s that Professor Neal again. He
makes her do half his work for him. I bet he likes her. I know she’s not
skinny, but she has a nice face, and she’s nice and gentle once you get to know
her. I bet that—and with the flip of the light switch, she saw the dishevelment
on the kitchenette table. Hmm, she started without me. She’s getting stronger.
I’m so proud of her. Merri put up the Panera bag on the counter, looked over
the scattered papers. Maybe she found something important. She straightened the
papers and sat down to give them her own examination. I wonder what she found?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Most
of the interstate trip from Snowden to Center City was downhill, leaving a trip
of less barely ten minutes to the edge of the county seat. Before tearing out
of the Snowden Commons lot, she had programmed her phone’s map feature to steer
her to—
There it is. 1134 Porter Place. A neat little brick house, detached from a
nearby set of rowhouses also of brick. A neatly-manicured lawn. Torture me and
then mow the grass, you sick bastard. Paint your porch and trim your hedges
while thinking of ways to torture boys and girls and moms. She grabbed her bag,
which she had hastily stuffed before plunging out of her apartment, threw it onto
her shoulder—
A
pounded doorbell and a pounded door knocker yielded no results. She stormed
around to the back, heedless of what or who she might find. I don’t care about
any of that. Just find him, and then—
Darkness inside, no car in the driveway at the rear of the house. He’s gone.
His cousin with him? Where is there to go on a Monday night? A bar to watch
football? Somewhere to eat and drink and plan the murder Trish and her
criminal-sciences friends said is their next plan? She sat back down in her
still-percolating old Camry. I can just sit right here and wait for him. Wait
for him and his perverted cousin to stumble home buzzed from Budweiser and
football. Where else could they possibly—
His
dad and his dinner meeting with his boss Mr. DeRozier. A dinner meeting.
Out of the house. Clinton and his sister and his mom alone. Dad with
Mr.DeRozier himself. God no. The Camry’s wheels barked as Bethany tore back
onto the street. Oh God no.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Stay
calm. Stay calm. For the kids’ sake, stay calm. Cherie’s mind kept swerving
into panic as Marvin and his cousin steered her down the hallway toward the
dining room—and toward Clinton and Ciara—but the mantra kept her functional.
Stay calm, Cherie. Give them what they want so they don’t hurt the kids.
“Marvin, you don’t have to do this. You don’t want to do this. If there’s
something you want, I’ll give it to you.”
He
wanted to tell her she had no idea what they wanted. No. Don’t spook her. Let
her think this is just a robbery, until we get them all under control. Down in
the basement and helpless, and then let her realize what’s really
happening. “That’s what we’re doing, Cherie,” he said, his knife still in the
small of her back as he prodded her toward her children. “You just cooperate
and we’ll be done soon.” And so will you.
Cherie was still trying to think as the dining room loomed ahead. I should have
hit the panic button. He would have hurt me, but the kids would have been
warned, and the police notified. Did I leave the door unlocked? Leave us an
escape route in case we get the chance? Stay calm, Cherie. Stay calm. Protect
the kids.
Ciara called out before she realized the expression on Mom’s face. “Mom,
Clinton won’t give me my”—and only then did she and Clinton see the knife in
the taller man’s hand, and the fear on Mom’s face.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Belatedly, Merri saw the name on the website still up on Beth’s laptop.
Nicholas Treadwell. She traced the family tree on the screen, leafed through
the paper on the desk. Marvin Bannock.
Oh my
God. It’s them. Them. Beth found them! She saw the address, 1134 Porter
Place. She found them! And the import of her text now struck the breath
from Merri’s lips—Hav 2 go out a minute. No. No, Beth, no. You can’t do
that. You can’t go after them by yourself!
What
do I do? Beth going after those two monsters—what do I do? Hav 2 go.
Yes! The phone! Call...who? 911?
Her
fingers trembled as she placed the call. “Hello, 911? This is Merri Howland! My
sister is in trouble! She figured out who the home invaders are and she...I
need the police! My sister Bethany Howland figured out who the...no, they’re
not in our house, she figured out who they are, and...you don’t understand! The
two people who have been breaking into houses, hurting the families
inside...no, I just said they’re not here! Bethany figured out who they are,
and now she’s...no, not here! She went to where they live to go get
them, and...Yes, ma’am, that’s what I mean! The ones who broke into the
McBrides and...I think his name is Marvin Bannock ma’am, and he lives at 1134
Porter Place in Center City, and my sister is going down there to face them!
The police have to stop her because they’re dangerous! They’ll hurt her!...No,
ma’am, this isn’t a joke! I know that my sister has been working with Detective
Janet—I mean, Detective O’Malley, and...just ask Detective O’Malley, ma’am!
She’ll tell you! And now my sister is going after these guys, and...that’s all
I’m asking, ma’am, that you send the police to that house to stop Beth from
getting hurt! Please!” The operator clicked off—what do I do now? I can’t just
stay here like she told me to do!
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Quizzical
calls from 911 operators were usually an irritant to Janet O’Malley, but the
name Merri Howland instantly removed the irritation. One of her Junior Snoop
protegees—and Bethany Howland’s little sister. She had asked the operator for
details of the call, and the operator had obliged, even to having the
supervisor play back the recording of the call. Holy crap. Beth Howland figured
them out. Maybe. In any case, Bethany Howland had to be prevented from going
off half-cocked, especially if this Marvin Bannock was not the right man. So put
out the call to Center City police. Send a unit to 1134 Porter Place, and if
necessary, put one Bethany Howland into protective custody. If Bannock isn’t
our guy, it saves Bethany from a lot of bad stuff that could happen to her
legally; if he is our guy, it might save her life. At least if Center
City PD got off its collective ass and sent someone quickly. Meanwhile, she
kicked the name over to her officers, and to Dr. McNeil and her cadre. Marvin
Bannock.
And
in minutes, Alyson DeRozier had the name of the cousin. “Nicholas Treadwell
lives at the same address, Doc. Just as we suspected. Everything fits, and I
mean everything.”
“And
Bethany goes off trying to hunt them down,” said Trish, still in the lab along
with Krysten and Ginger, Paula just arriving after her shift at the library.
“Going onto their turf...to do what? Yell at them? What the heck is she
thinking?”
“She’s
not,” said Ginger, searching the names. “Her pain is doing her thinking for
her. If she’s lucky, the cops will get to her before she can get to this
Bannock character.” Of course, that depended on Center City PD, which was
itself a forlorn hope.
“I
can ask my father-in-law about him,” said Alyson over the Skype. “At least when
he’s home. He has a dinner meeting with the general counsel. Every Monday
night, a regular date.”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Clinton had had to struggle to make his mind work as the two men herded him and
his family into the basement, a knife at Ciara’s back as one was at Mom’s. Fear
kept him from thinking clearly, Mom’s shaky voice instructing him and his
sister to obey the men the only grip on functionality he had. Do what they say,
and maybe—
And a
name burst through the fear. Samantha McBride. Charity’s friend. Their home broken
into, and—oh my god. Oh my God. Charity had tried to be confidential about what
had happened to the McBrides, but he had heard the word when she thought he
wasn’t listening. Rape. Samantha and Mrs. McBride. And Caleb? He had gone to
the hospital, had had to have some kind of surgery—and fear was now
desperation. They’re going to rape all of us! His body convulsed at the
thought—have to do something! Now they were at bay against a wall, Ciara thrown
beside him, Mom held back by the older guy, Mr. Bannock’s knife jabbed against
her side—“Now, the three of you are going to do just what we say. If you behave
yourselves”—and beyond thought, Clinton charged, lowered his head and charged
at Mr. Bannock as if he was a ball carrier in a football game and Clinton was
the defender taking him down. Knock him down—give Mom and Ciara a chance to—and
before the thought or the action could finish, his world spun crazily as an
unseen crash crackled on his jaw—he spun to the floor, barely stopping his
thundering face from hitting the carpet—he was grabbed by the collar, his legs
rubbery, and thrown back against the wall beside Ciara, her eyes wide and wet
with fear—“Now that you’ve got the piss and vinegar knocked out of you, Clint,
maybe you’ll do what you’re fucking told!” And Mr. Bannock’s next words
shattered any illusions any Maser may have had left.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Merri’s
calls to her sister were going straight to voicemail; either she was ignoring
Merri—unthinkable—or for some reason, she was unable to answer. They might have
her! They might have hurt her! Who do I call? The police again? Mom? Dad? What
do I do what do I do what do I—They strike when the father is out so he can
find them and be hurt. Clinton’s dad has a dinner meeting with Mr. DeRozier.
His dad is out.
She
had Clinton’s phone number, mostly in case Charity was with him and wasn’t
answering her phone. Besides, Ciara was a Brownie in the Scout troop. She
dialed—no answer. Dialed again—straight to voicemail. He’s not answering. And
his dad is out.
She
ran out the door, knowing nothing but that she had to get to Clinton’s house to
stop something unspeakably horrible.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Detective O’Malley was thankful for the hands-free device; it allowed her to be
in touch with Dr. McNeil and her officers at the same time. So that when, less
than a minute away from 1134 Porter Place, she got a call from one of her own
staties (who had as little use for the clowns at CCPD as she did) that the house
was deserted and that Bethany Howland’s Camry was nowhere to be found, Dr.
McNeil and her hastily-assembling Snoops knew immediately. “You know the girl
better than I do, kids; where would she go?”
“If
she’s willing to go running out to that guy’s place,” said Trish, anxiously
pacing the lab, “she’s probably trying to find him. So where does this guy go
on Monday nights?” No one had any clue—
And
a gasp from the Skype connection. “I just remembered who my father-in-law meets
with on Monday nights! It’s”—and Krysten’s phone suddenly rang—
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Merri Howland was many things, especially for a dozen-year-old young lady, but
physically fit was not one. She had fled along the lonely road between Snowden
Commons and Snowden Place Village, only to have her breath drained from her
plump frame well before she had reached Snowden Place. Mom and Dad were still
at the animal hospital, well up on the mountain, and would never get to her in
time. But the campus—and a certain ginger friend—was nearby. “Krysten...Merri!
I...Clinton’s in trouble...Dad out...meeting...alone...Clinton Maser,
Ciara...can’t make it there! In trouble! Ain’t answering his phone...trying to
get there...”
The
name spilled out from Merri’s heaving voice on the phone was the same surname
gasped out by Alyson DeRozier over the Skype. Maser. Andrew Maser. The air
evaporated from the room for a dumbstruck moment—
Janet O’Malley’s voice over Dr. McNeil’s phone speaker started them all. “Got
it! Andrew Maser...416 Bishop Court, Snowden Place Village! I’m sending all
units!” One more unit raced from the lab—Krysten Parker, racing toward the
sound of Merri’s voice on the phone, obviously on the route to Snowden Place.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Cherie’s tenuous hold on calmness was cracking as she obeyed Marvin’s order,
shaking fingers dropping the last of her clothes to the floor at her feet.
“Please, Marvin, I don’t understand. Why are you making us do this?” Before her
half-averted eyes, Clinton—his mouth bleeding from Nick’s sucker punch—dizzily
stumbled out of his pants; Ciara, sobbing in unknowing terror, tried to cover
herself with her hands.
Marvin punctuated his answer by yanking Cherie’s arms behind her back,
pinioning her wrists over each other. The rope was already out. “You wouldn’t
get it, Cherie. You don’t understand anything. Just do what we tell you if you
want us to leave.” He had spun the rope around Cherie’s wrists as he spoke, and
now provoked a pained gasp from Mrs. Maser with a tightening yank on the cords
binding her. He nodded sharply at Nick, pulling more rope out of his bag. “Take
care of those kids, cuz.”
Ciara was a gibbering ruin, already effectively helpless, so Nick concentrated
on her reeling brother, who might still be disposed to try more adolescent
heroics. Even so, as he spun Clinton facing away from him and yanked his hands
behind him, he found time to snap at the weeping girl. “Knock off the fuckin’
crying, bitch, and put your hands behind your back!”
Clinton’s grunt as the ropes tore into his wrists drove a cry from Ciara’s
convulsing throat. “M-m-Mommy”—
Cherie had no control left; her eyes gushed like her daughter’s. Nothing else
to do—“Do as he says, honey. Be a good girl and do what we’re told.” It’s our
only hope now. She could offer no more comfort; as soon as she had spoken,
Marvin stuffed her mouth with a cloth as her gag.
Ciara had no time to obey; even as Mommy told her to obey them, Nick had
finished binding Clinton, and yanked his sister into his clutches, dragging her
hands behind her—
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The
needle on the Camry’s temperature gauge seemed to rise with the altitude.
Bethany kept her accelerator mashed to the floor as the Snowden exit ramp
loomed ahead.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Merri had made a miraculous discovery; a second wind. It was the sight of
Samantha’s face that first day at school after the invasion that drove her, the
brokenness of her classmate transposed to little Ciara’s face. The thought of
what had been done to Samantha, what had been done to Caleb, perhaps being done
to Ciara and Clinton even at that moment, propelled her forward again. And the
miracle of the sign for Snowden Place Village resolved itself into her sight—
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The
high-temperature warning chimed in her ear until she shut it off with the turn
of the key. She threw her bag over her shoulder and ran.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
She’s
just a child, Marvin. A child!
Marvin glared at Cherie, weeping where she stood forced to watch the scene play
out, naked and bound, knew from her frantic wet eyes what she was thinking just
as if she could speak. “She’s a cunt, Cherie. A cunt just like the rest of you.
She’s just learning what she’s all about.” Ciara tried to wriggle up from her
knees where Mr. Bannock had thrown her—he drove her back down with a ruthless
hand—“Do what my cousin told you to do, you little cunt.” He rose, stood beside
Nick, who held Cherie in place with a hand clamped over her elbow, grinning at
Ciara weeping as she edged closer to her brother, on her knees, her bound hands
clenching into tiny fists in the small of her back—
Her
gasping sobs did not conceal a sudden click behind them all, not as loud as it
seemed in that basement.
“Just
like you taught me what I was all about, is that right?”
They
all spun about and saw what Clinton, his own eyes wet with helpless shame, had
seen just a moment before. A corpulent young woman standing inside the doorway
of the comfortable lounge, with short dark-red hair highlighting a stony round
face. And a stainless-steel pistol pointed in the direction of Marvin Bannock
and Nick Treadwell. Clinton had not dared to believe in the reality of the
young woman—only now did his mind recall she was Merri Howland’s big sister,
but still could not dredge up a name from the swirling miasma of his
consciousness—until she spoke. Is this rescue, or false hope?
Neither
Bannock nor Treadwell could place the name either, but the face itself was
suggestive, round and plump, like her body. And her age allowed her to be only
one girl. Bannock himself, startled by the sudden intrusion, recovered,
stepping toward a staggered Mrs. Maser; so too did Nick. “So...came back for
more, right, Bethany?” His voice was all bravado, but Bethany could see a hint
of uncertainty in his eyes. Uncertainty absolutely unlike the taunting
condescension in those eyes that day ten years before. An uncertainty that
stoked her own condescension. “Bethany Howland, that is your name, isn’t
it? Remember how much fun we had and wanted some more, maybe?”
The
uncertainty turned the corners of her lips upward. Uncertain, squirming. Not
knowing their fate. Just what I felt that day. “No, my fun is now, Marvin
Bannock. My fun is knowing you won’t hurt anyone ever again because of me.”
Treadwell forced a cheeky grin onto his face. “You ain’t got the guts, little
piggy. You’ll stand there and bawl like you did before, just like this little
cunt is right now.” Indeed, Ciara still sobbed on her knees. “Remember how you
bawled when we did you? I sure as fuck do! You want to bawl right now, don’t
you? I can see it in your eyes, you fucking hog.” Indeed, tears were prodding
at her even as her lips curled upwards. Seeing the tears, he shoved Mrs. Maser
aside, stepped boldly toward Bethany—“So I ought to just”—and Bethany’s hands
on the trigger tightened—
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Merri had outrun Krysten, her second wind carrying her to Snowden Place
Village. There was Bethany’s car, stopped with an open door at the intersection
with a small road leading toward the woods—Bishop Court. Steam and smoke gushed
out from under the hood, but Merri paid no heed to anything besides the fact
that Bethany was close. Bishop Court. Clinton lives somewhere here—but where?
What house? She dithered, looking down the row of beautiful houses on the
street, wondering what to do—
A
sudden burst of thunder pealed from one of the houses, and she knew where to
go—
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Not
only the trigger of the Model 60 broke under Bethany’s hand, but something
inside her. Something like power surged inside her as a circle of deep red materialized
on Treadwell’s shoulder, throwing him backward against a side wall. Now Bannock
spun toward Nick, uncertain in the wake of seeing his cousin shot—but only for
as it took for Bethany’s hands to squeeze again—
A
spray of red from Bannock’s shoulder, spinning him to the floor between the
fallen Treadwell and the still-kneeling, still-sobbing Ciara. Bethany stepped
past the reeling Mrs. Maser, clearing her two fallen targets, both struggling
to rise. No. You’ re staying here—
Three more shots. The firing of the first shots had startled Bethany, jolted
her somehow back to reality, a realty that was two wounded men lying crumpled
against the side wall of the basement lounge. Her rapists lying wounded at her
feet. She had long been delicate enough to be repulsed by the sight of blood,
just one reason she would never continue the family business at the animal
shelter. She should have been revulsed by the blood gushing from their wounds,
but was not; indeed, as the wounded men tried to rise, she fired again, the
last three rounds in the cylinder gouging into the legs, dropping them supine
to the floor at her feet. Mrs. Maser had screamed through her gag at the sight,
Ciara squealed with a new horror, but Clinton stood staring coldly at the
fallen men. But for his hands tied behind him, he would have leaped upon them
and slaughtered them.
Bethany, of course, had heard the old wives’ tales about dogs tasting blood and
losing all control, but the rage inside her, now released and given voice
through the five bullets fired, felt to her as if the old legend was true;
watching her rapists’ blood gushing made her want to see more. And she knew
from long ago how she wanted them to bleed. She reached back into the bag from
whence she had produced the Smith and Wesson she had filched from Dad on
Saturday night as Merri slept, and pulled out a handful of glittering copper
cartridges. She freed the cylinder, and began slowly, even tauntingly, to
reload the pistol—
“Bethany,
you don’t have to do this.” For a moment Bethany fancied it was her own
imagination she had heard—“You stopped them. They can’t hurt anybody anymore.
Don’t let them turn you.” No, the voice, low and pleading, was not inside her.
It
was Merri. My baby sister. My smart baby sister, who had to have figured all
this out just from what I left behind in the apartment. The Nicest Girl in the
World. The innocent soul who cannot harm another. The one we kept silent for,
so she would not be woken and ruined like the rest of us. “Beth, the police are
coming. Let them take care of it. Don’t let them turn you!” Only now did tears
distill in Bethany’s eyes.
Bethany kept loading the chambers. “They already have. Ten years ago.” While
you slept, Merri.
“Bethany,
please”—
“Go
back to sleep, Merr!” Go back and sleep, and dream of innocence. I can’t
anymore.
“Beth”—
“Take
Mrs. Maser and the kids upstairs, Merr. Untie them and help them get dressed.”
Bethany rarely commanded, but her words brooked no argument. And told Merri her
pleas were in vain. It didn’t have to end this way. But it does.
The
men still tried to rise, spitting out curses wrenched from them by their
wounds, as Merri led the family out of the room. Ciara still wept, not able to
understand what had been happening, and Mrs. Maser shuddered out the horror of
the last minutes. Clinton, for his part, hid a scarlet face from his rescuer
and classmate as she steered him away. He would never be able to look straight
at Merri Howland again. Merri looked up again at her sister. “Don’t lose
yourself, Beth.” But, knowing that part of Bethany had been lost long ago,
Merri edged away, upstairs to aid the Masers.
Both
men had tried to rise as Merri took the Masers upstairs, but their pierced legs
kept them curled supine at Bethany’s feet. For her part, Bethany fed the fifth
round into the cylinder, and clicked it back into its place in the frame.
“Bitch,” Bannock muttered, still trying to intimidate Bethany. “Fucking bitch!”
Another attempt to rise, foiled by a knee shattered by one of the shots—Bethany
aimed, just out of his reach—
Four
blasts. Four obscene red gouts in the groin of Bannock’s suit slacks wrenched a
howl from his lips, drained his face white. Blood poured out of the
wounds—Treadwell tried to rise again, to aid his elder cousin—and a gut shot
leveled him again. Her rapists, Mom’s rapists, Chris’s rapists lay crumpled and
helpless, writhing ever weaker and weaker as they bled. And Bethany reached
into her bag again, dredged up more bullets for her pistol.
And
she smiled through tears which finally began to fall down plump cheeks. A
weird, lachrymose giggle seeped from her lips as she again reloaded the Smith
and Wesson, slowly, caressingly filling the chambers. “I...read a book. Joseph
Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five, I think. Yes, Lazzaro. He told Billy
Pilgrim he was going to send someone to kill him. He told him his assassin
would shoot off his dick first, then let him think about spending the rest of
his life without it before shooting him in the head.” She glanced again at the
filled chamber, clicked it back into place. Bannock still writhed, weaker and
weaker every second as his blood gushed out of a ruined body. “I’ve thought
about that scene every day since I read it. Shooting it off, you know. Your
penis, your testicles, everything.” She aimed again—four more blasts, gouging
an already-destroyed groin—“Everything you forced into me, all gone.” The teary
giggle percolated again from her lips—“I begged you to stop, it hurt so bad.
All you did was laugh. You turned me over and raped me again, from behind. You
made it hurt even worse, just because you wanted to. You raped Mom and made me
watch. And now you can’t anymore, can you? You don’t have a dick to do it with,
do you? All gone.” Bannock’s struggles had all but stopped, only a trace of
consciousness left in his eyes. Bethany leaned close. “Are you thinking about
it, Marvin? Are you thinking about spending the rest of your life without a
dick?” His lips moved, but no sound emerged. No matter, Bethany still smiled
through tears. “You are. I can tell you are. You can’t touch a woman anymore.
You can’t rape little girls anymore. That’s exactly what you’re thinking.” She
stood upright again—aimed—and Bannock’s struggle was over, a bullet between
eyes which instantly stopped moving. And now she turned to Treadwell, still
feebly trying to rise, his face vacant with horror.
Treadwell dissolved into frantic gibbering as Bethany stood over him, again
carefully loading her pistol. His hands flew to cover his groin—“Look, I’m
fucked up! I get it! I’m fucked up! I—I can get help! I can stop! I—I’d take it
back if I could, but I can’t! I swear to God, I’ll”—but his frantic plea was
drowned in five thunderbolts tearing through his hands and destroying his own groin.
Useless hands, no groin, and his contorted face was as white as his slaughtered
cousin. And again Bethany freed the cylinder—pulled out another handful of
cartridges—loaded with a sudden alacrity—
“You
laughed when you raped me. Over and over, and you laughed. You made me watch
you rape Mom, and you laughed. Every way you could rape us, you raped us. And
you laughed! You thought it was funny!” She aimed—five more shots turned his
groin into a blood-gouted cavern between his legs—“You can’t laugh now, can
you?—more cartridges—she opened the cylinder slowly, goring him with wet eyes—
“Chris
can’t even be around me anymore. He couldn’t even look at me without
remembering what you made me do to him. I love my brother so much, and I can’t
even think of him without remembering. My heart broke every time I looked at
him, and now he can’t even be around me.” One round was slipped into place. “He
was so ruined. He wasn’t sure if he was gay, wasn’t even sure he was a real
boy. ‘I ought to cut it off you and make you a girl for real, little bitch.’ I
hear you tell him that every time I fall asleep.” A second round in place. “I
had to watch you bend him over and ram yourself into him.” Her chin quavered as
she loaded the third round. “I couldn’t help him, I couldn’t save him, I had to
watch you laugh while you raped my little brother.” The fourth round was in its
place. “I want my baby brother back.” The last round was loaded—the cylinder
closed—
One
shot, then a second, a third, a fourth into the mangled heap of ground meat
that had been Treadwell’s genitalia. As the echoes of the shots evaporated and
their tinny residue faded in Bethany’s ears, she heard the warbling of police
sirens seeping into the basement, and she smiled as she saw the recognition of
the sound in Treadwell’s eyes. “Yes, Merri was right, the police are coming.
They’re on their way to rescue you, aren’t they? Save you from me. Just like
that day. I prayed that Daddy would come and save us, save me and
Mom...Chris...” A sob escaped her smile. “You raped Dad too, you know. Left him
ashamed of himself for not being there for us. I can’t tell him how much I
prayed for him to come and save us because he’s so ashamed already. I can’t
even tell him how much I love him without making him ashamed.” The sirens were
louder, clearer. “Yeah, they’re almost here. Here to save you from the crazy
bitch you made out of me.” She straightened herself, aimed with deliberation.
“But they’re going to be too late.” One more pull of the trigger—
23 Our Several Loves
Janet O’Malley, as a uniformed officer years ago, had trained in evasive and
tactical driving, and the skills had been put to good use as she pushed her
unmarked car to Snowden, thence to Snowden Place Village, past a steaming, smoking
Camry sitting immobile on the shoulder—
And
slid the car to a stop just ahead of a red Ford Escort, from which spilled a
diminutive redhead, a young brunette woman, and a graying yet lithe woman who
served very good herbal tea. A cascade of sirens came from the direction of the
interstate ramp—“Keep them back, Calico!” And a stream of marked cars emerged
around the corner to Bishop’s Court—fanned out to a stop—
And
one shot rang out from the surrounded Maser house; a plump little
strawberry-blonde girl flustered from the front door. “Bethany! She’s down
there—got the family away—in the basement with them”—
“Move,
Merri!” Janet already had her service pistol drawn, a half-dozen uniforms
spilling out of cars in her wake and racing toward the Maser front door.
“Dammit, Calico, keep them back!” because Krysten and Tricia—with Ginger also
following now—raced in the wake of the officers. It was an active scene, and
Janet cursed herself for her rashness, but an instinct—no, one fact—Bannock and
Treadwell only armed themselves with knives—which meant that—
She
plunged through the door, a uniformed officer and Merri’s frightened whimpers
behind. No one in the doorway. An aggressive turn into the living-room archway,
pistol leveled—
A
woman and two children, a boy and girl, wrapped in blankets, trembling and
weeping. Cherie Maser, Clinton Maser, Ciara Maser. Rescued. Safe. Clear.
“Downstairs, the end of the hallway.” Cherie Maser’s voice was a wavering
squeak. “Down there, all of them.” Pistol still at the ready, Janet found the
stairway door—clattered downstairs, seeing her way through the pistol sights—
Two
crumpled, gouted bodies lying supine against a wall. A pistol lying on the
floor in a fallen blizzard of shell casings.
And
a corpulent young woman gazing emptily down at her handiwork, her hands already
laced into each other on the back of her head. Her face turned a few degrees
toward Janet, and the glisten of falling tears caught the light. Janet still
had her service weapon leveled at the ready, but Bethany Howland did not flinch
at the muzzle pointed at her. “Stay still, Bethany. It’s over.” She lowered her
weapon, hoped her officer did the same.
With
an effort, the lips above Bethany’s quivering chin moved, words formed. “I
don’t feel any different, Detective. I...isn’t it supposed to feel different?
I...killed them, and...it’s supposed to make me feel better, but it doesn’t. I
still hurt. Why do I still hurt? It’s supposed to feel different now.”
“It’s
complicated, Bethany. But it’s done.” Bethany nodded, turning back again to
face her handiwork on the Maser basement floor. “It’s time to go.” The officer,
now beside Janet, reached to his waist, produced a pair of handcuffs—only to
have Janet’s sharp head-shake and pointed stare stop him. “We won’t need that,
Corporal.” She looked again at Bethany, still weeping silently. “Will we,
Bethany? You’re finished.”
Bethany’s face declined. “I’m finished.”
Janet heard Merri’s worried whimpers at the lounge archway. No, there was no
way anyone would have kept her away from this. Not from her sister. Yes, that’s
the way to handle this. You have a gift, Meredith, including a gift for being
where you need to be, sweetheart. “Merri.”
“Detective
Janet?” Merri’s voice was as Cherie Maser’s, a timorous squeak.
“Your
sister needs you. Take her upstairs with you, and sit with her in the back of
Corporal Carroll’s cruiser.” To Carroll’s quizzical glance, she replied, “Take
them there. Ms. Howland is all right. It’s pretty evident what went on here.”
Carroll nodded, stepping aside to let Merri flutter toward her sister.
Only
one short gasp upon beholding what her sister had wrought, then Merri pulled
Bethany’s hands down into her own, her eyes locked into her big sister’s. “Come
back to me, Beth. Turn back, okay?” The faintest of nods, still woebegone and
lost, from Bethany’s wet face, and with small steps Merri led Bethany out of
the basement. In their wake, an EMT pattered into the room, but a quick check
was sufficient to tell her she was far too late. She sighed tightly and went
back upstairs, where she would spend ten minutes vomiting onto the back wheels
of the ambulance.
Her
evacuation was immediately followed by Dr. McNeil, Tricia at her adviser’s
heels. Krysten had stayed upstairs with Merri and Bethany. Hardened as she had
been by four decades of forensics, Calico McNeil still gasped at what Bethany
Howland had left behind her. “Go ahead and let your people process the scene,
Calico, but it’s pretty clear what happened. Bethany Howland figured out these
guys, followed them here from Center City...and stopped them from assaulting
the Masers.” Nothing more needed said, and Dr. McNeil said nothing. Detective
O’Malley withdrew, leaving Dr. McNeil and Tricia alone with the two slaughtered
invaders. Behind them, Paula, late to arrive, slipped into the slaughterhouse.
Tricia had counted the dropped casings as soon as she entered the room. Thirty.
Thirty empty shell casings on the carpeted floor. She fought back a wave of nausea
and counted the wounds on the bodies. Two shoulders, three legs. One gut shot.
Two coups-de-grace to their heads. Eight. When meant twenty-two rounds into
their crotches. Bannock’s groin had eight distinct holes, eight of the
twenty-two destroying his genitals before Bethany finished him. Eight from
twenty-two—fourteen. Fourteen rounds into Nicholas Treadwell’s loins. Treadwell
had been Two, the younger one. The one who had raped Bethany’s little brother.
No doubt what Bethany was thinking. Avenging her baby brother.
Quiet, shy Chris. Backward and uncertain, Maggie’s high-school boy-toy. No,
Maggie’s project. She took him in hand and did what she could to make him feel
like a man. Her body had been his recovery. Never let it be said that Maggie O’Hara
didn’t go the extra mile for her boyfriend. And Bethany mutilated his rapist’s
body. Eleven rounds had been enough to dispatch her own rapist, but for her
brother’s rapist, nineteen shots. Massive overkill. The utter destruction of
the weapon Treadwell had used on her brother. Rage that had spent a decade
boiling up inside poor social-phobic Bethany, waiting for the moment to burst
out, ten years of torment which turned Bethany into—
“Ms.
Dwight, I know what you’re thinking.” Dr. McNeil’s voice was firm, flinty, but
still with a maternal strength supporting it. “I know you’ve heard the term
'public-service murder.'” Trish spun back to her professor, her lips and eyes
agape. “You know what happened to her, Tricia. You saw the very clothes she and
her brother were wearing that day just before these two spent several hours
raping them and their mother.” In the corner of her eye, Trish spied the
clothes Clinton and Ciara and Mrs. Maser had been forced to take off, lying in
heaps like the clothes in the McBride basement. Just like Bethany and Chris.
“Tell me, Ms. Dwight—what prosecutor would dare bring charges against her?
After what she went through? After what she stopped down here? And even if you could
find a D. A. with a professional death wish, how long would a jury stay out
after hearing Bethany Howland tell them what these two animals did to her and
her brother? They’d vote for acquittal right there in the jury box, and you
know it.”
Trish shook her head faintly. “The overkill...fourteen rounds just in the
crotch...she needs help, Doc. That kind of rage doesn’t go away that easily.”
“No,
Ms. Dwight, it doesn’t go away that easily. We both know that.” Her
eyes, tenderly hard, bored in on her student, her protegee, the girl who, with
Krysten, reminded her so much of her own lost daughter. “If that was Jim Alton
here in this room, after having your father murdered, would you have done any
different?” She saw Tricia’s eyes mist and flinch. “I know if that had been the
man who murdered Michelle, my daughter...I would have shot him until his body
was in pieces.” She had identified her daughter’s tortured body in her very own
examining room nearly twenty years ago. “Bethany will get help now.” A
glint of her old hard humor slowed again in her eyes, warming Trish’s heart.
“Thirty rounds of .38 caliber are a pretty loud cry for help!” And now it was
time to help her students, her able team, now wondering what they themselves
had wrought.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The
communion wine at St. Ignatius, as Calico had long discovered, was an
inexpensive Livingston red rose, and as she had somehow decided she liked it,
kept a large jug of it in her refrigerator in her Snowden Place apartment. The
jug in the middle of her living room that had been full only last night, was
barely a quarter full. A hand reached for it—“You’re too young to drink, Ms.
Ryan.” Calico bethought herself. “Oh, what the hell. I didn’t see anything.”
Trish,
sitting curled up on one end of the old sofa, swirled her own wine in its
glass. She had her own bottle of Livingston. She had learned to like it in the
same way as her adviser. “You weren’t the only one, Doc. Today, none of us
did.” She glanced at her watch—“Well, yesterday none of us did.”
“Actually,
we saw too much.” Alyson, Channing by her side taking up the rest of the
sofa, took another sip of the Livingston. She was getting used to much fancier
vintages as a DeRozier, but inexpensive wines were a welcome reminder of
college days not so long past. “Once we picked up on the pattern of weekend
attacks, we got blinded by it.” She glanced out the venetian-blinded window of
Dr. McNeil’s apartment, where police bubble-gum lights had been flashing for
hours, only extinguished within the past half-hour. The Masers were staying at
the local Fairfield until the police were done. And perhaps until the children
could bear being inside their house again. Zack Carruthers’ mom and Charity
Mabrey’s parents were helping the family set up in the hotel, and Zack and
Charity were comforting Ciara and Clinton. “We didn’t account for the
possibility of a weekday attack.”
“That’s
understandable,” said Paula, sharing her glass of wine with Richie, in whose
arms she reposed again on the floor. “All the attacks were on the weekend, so
we couldn’t have known better.”
Krysten,
alone in the second-best chair, shook her head. She was the last arrival,
having spent hours calming down a distraught Merri who had borne up well until
Bethany had been checked into the Center City General mental-health ward for
observation, then collapsed into shuddering tears. “We should have known
better. Once we knew the Howlands were their first invasion, we should have
investigated that case more closely. We would have come up with what Bethany
found, and all the rest of this wouldn’t have happened. We would have known
that they were capable of attacking on weekdays too.”
Ginger, already on her second glass, nodded. “We made too many allowances for
it being a practice run.” She favored Krysten with a smile; they didn’t often
agree on much. “I think we chalk this whole thing up as a cluster-fuck for us.”
She noted the arch glance from Dr. McNeil. “Sorry about the language.”
“Not
for all of us, Ms. O’Day.” She had seen the flash in Felicity’s eyes where she
stood inside the door, no drink in hand.
“She’s
right,” said Felicity handsomely. “Paula nailed the victim profile perfectly,
and the rest of you guys had the cousin relationship down pat. Paula even got
the connection to DeRozier Enterprises. I’d say she did great, especially for
being so new at it!”
Trish
finally chuckled. “So I guess you really are a part of the family,
Paula!”
Paula smiled and blushed; Richie squeezed her from behind. “Well, with Richie’s
help spotting the isolated houses.” Her blush deepened. “I shouldn’t say
this...but it was...well, it was...sort of fun. As a puzzle, you understand,
not all the awful things they did to...well...”
“We
get it,” said Chelsea, just back from her shift at Denny’s standing beside
Felicity. “Trish is right, you know—if you’re not a Dwight, nobody is!”
“In
any case,” said Channing, squeezing his wife’s hand, “at least it’s all over
now. No charges or anything for Bethany. It’s done with.” He felt more than he
saw Felicity’s start.
“No
it isn’t.” The room seemed to chill. “Something like this doesn’t just go away.
It’s been three years since Dunleavy raped me, and I still feel it. Ginger, you
know how it is.”
Chelsea nodded soberly. “And there’s still Sarah.”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Two
days of observation and a prescription for Xanax sent Bethany Howland—cleared
of any wrongdoing in the killing of Marvin Bannock and Nicholas Treadwell—to
discharge from Center City General, albeit with a heavy schedule of counseling
and psychiatric therapy, but she did not immediately leave. She had been
visited by Trish, by Krysten, by Felicity, and had made a new friend who had
been staying at the hospital in an entirely different capacity. Now it was her
turn to stand by that new friend. She would be strong, especially with Felicity
and Chelsea in the room nearby.
“He
doesn’t even know I’m here. His brain is dead.”
“I
think he might, you know.” Bethany, whose soft words started Sarah, still
standing over what was about to be her brother Spencer’s deathbed, edged
closer, tentatively reached out a hand to Sarah’s shoulder. “I’ve seen it even
at the animal hospital, how the pets...well, they sort of stay with the family
even after Dad would put them down. I think maybe Spencer is here too, somehow,
and he knows you stayed.”
Sarah’s eyes reached out to Bethany. “Do you think so?”
“I
think there’s more to life then just a brainwave. And I think he knows how much
you love him. It’s okay to let him go.”
“I’ll
be alone.” She had already told her parents she could not stay in their house,
not after their rejection of her brother.
“You’ll
be with me, Sarah.” Her father had made arrangements for Bethany’s Snowden
Commons lease to be modified to add Sarah Merritt; Dr. Mabrey, upon hearing
that Sarah wanted to teach young children, had pulled strings with the
university to get her enough scholarship money to pay her way into Snowden
State. “Just like you are now.” Bethany had been drawn instantly to Sarah
Merritt; no matter how damaged Chris still was at Treadwell’s hands, he was
still alive for her to find. Sarah had lost hers, and now was the time for the
girl who still had a brother to stand with the one about to lose hers. “It’s
okay to let him go.”
Her
hand was in Sarah’s; Sarah saw comfort in the eyes of her newest friend. Her
own eyes spilling, she turned to the only other occupant of the room. “I’m
ready now.”
The
doctor nodded, punched commands into a small keyboard from which Spencer Merritt’s
life support extended. The alarms were turned off; the only sound was the soft
hiss of the ventilator which breathed for Sarah’s brother. A few keystrokes,
and the hiss stopped. The multicolored lines on the monitor, which had been
orderly only a second before, went immediately deranged. The pulse rate slowed,
then rushed; the blood pressure numbers surged, then dropped. The breathing
rate fell to 0, preceded by a question mark. O2 saturation immediately
followed, showing nothing but the same ?0 as the breathing rate. Finally, the
pulse and the blood pressure followed, leaving only flat lines and ?0s on the
screen. Spencer Merritt was dead. The silent question marks taunted Sarah; why
did this happen? Why have I lost my brother?
The
only possible answer which would not wreck her soul put her arms around her,
squeezed, whispered, “You’re not alone, Sarah. I’m here.”
“Thank
you, Bethany.”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The
new dental implants were finally in Jessie Bruce’s mouth, white and new. The
bruises had long since faded, and she was her old pigtailed self as the long
bus ride to Jefferson Middle School deposited her at the front doors. Jake rode
on to Center City South High. Even Center City was cold as October ended—a forecast
of snow flurries had students chattering about early dismissals which had no
chance of actually happening—and Jessie wore a sweater under her Center City
hoodie, her jeans the pair without the fashionable holes in the knees. Old
friends waved as she wedged herself into the lobby, stuffed with
middle-schoolers awaiting the bell to go to class; she called out genial
greetings and exchanged waves. Some of those friends were a bit nonplussed at
Jessie’s failure to congregate with them, but she had attached herself to
someone else, whom she knew would be standing alone at the doorway to the
health room. There—a calf-length wool tartan skirt, dark woolen tights and
ankle-high boots, a turtleneck peeping up above the collar of a snow-blue ski
jacket, brunette tresses restrained only by a barrette guiding them over her
ears.
“Hey
Makayla!” and Jessie flashed her new friend her newly-repaired smile. Makayla
Small had her arms wrapped around her book bag, clutched in front of her, and
her eyes met Jessie’s for only a moment before retreating. Jessie had been put
out by the reaction at first, but quickly came to understand that the timid
glance was for Makayla Small the same as Jessie’s most effusive greeting.
Jessie plopped her book bag down beside Makayla; Makayla moved over an inch to
accommodate the bag’s owner. It was that gesture that had first hinted to
Jessie that her shattered classmate liked her company. Jessie took her
accustomed place. “Like my new teeth? Next time Ollie wants me to bite him,
he’ll get a big surprise!” Makayla glanced at her again, no other reaction
visible—except for a nanosecond pull at the corner of Makayla’s lip. Yeah, you
think that’s funny too, ‘Kayla. “I like your outfit,” said Jessie breezily,
encouraged by Makayla’s glance. “I couldn’t wear fancy stuff like that. Redneck
Girl, you know, that’s me! Of course, I bet it don’t take me as long to get
dressed in the morning as you do.” A momentary lift of Makayla’s eyelid, and
Jessie read the amusement that otherwise had not moved Makayla’s expression.
“Of course, I sure as heck learned how to do makeup until my face cleared up.
Maybe I ought to go fight Ronda Rousey or Holly Holm or something!” And for an
instant—so quickly Jessie would have missed it if she hadn’t been watching—Makayla
actually smiled. To Jessie, it was a laugh as loud as the entire din of the
Jefferson Middle School lobby—and a win for her cause to revive her old
classmate and new friend. Before she could react, though, the class bell
rattled above them, and a tsunami of middle-schoolers rushed toward them—Jessie
scooped up her book bag—
“See
you in advisory class, Jessie.” Spoken words. Makayla had said them straight at
Jessie, the first she had ever spoken to her. And a smile that lasted a full
second, in that second full of anticipation of more time with her new friend.
“You
bet!” Jessie’s smile, on the other hand, would last all day.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
November
was the end of pee-wee football season, and since only the previous Wednesday
had Caleb McBride been allowed to fully participate in strenuous activity—fully
healed from the assault—it was assumed that he would not be able to play in his
C-team’s last game against the Wiltontown Bombers. But one of the A-team
players—and his Patriots-cheerleader girlfriend—had prevailed upon the coach to
let the little boy dress in his old uniform and join the team. Caleb had grown
thin, and the blue-and-silver uniform was baggy on his hips and legs, his pads
more oversized than usual. The coach hadn’t played him all game long, an easy
blowout against a badly undermanned Bombers team; Caleb was out of practice,
Coach claimed, and didn’t want to see him get hurt. After all, he was still
fragile. Caleb stood beside the bench all game long, seeming to droop more and
more as his friends—many of whom had perpetrated the teasing and taunts about
the invasion that had so damaged him—ran up the score on the Bombers. Twenty
points, thirty, even forty, and still Caleb was allowed only to watch. Mr. and Mrs.
McBride in the stands—Mrs. McBride out of the house for the first time since
the invasion—and Samantha grew more and more dismayed as the clock ticked and
Caleb drooped. A desperate glance from Samantha to a friend in the A
cheerleaders—please do something—led to a glance from Charity Mabrey to
her A-team boyfriend Clinton, himself increasingly bothered by Caleb’s
inaction. The clock was under two minutes—Clinton went over to the coach,
begging in his eyes—
And a
quick gesture brought Caleb running to the coach. An arm around his shoulders—a
fervent nod, a quick donning of the helmet—and Caleb ran out to the huddle. His
teammates seemed to be surprised at his arrival, some obviously disdainful but
glances back at the coaches brought only nodding confirmation—yes, that’s
the play—and the boys lined up, Caleb behind the quarterback. A piping
voice called signals, the center snapped the ball into the quarterback’s hands.
As two lines of boys struggled against each other, the quarterback ran back as
Caleb ran forward; handed the ball to Caleb—
He
ran, not as fast as before, but still ran. A boy detached from the Bombers line
and chased him, running Caleb to earth three yards past the line of
scrimmage—pulled him down—
And
the A cheerleaders, led by a Charity Mabrey who made certain all the
cheerleaders were with her—or else—let out a bright cheer for Caleb as he
hopped back to his feet and ran back to the huddle. A cheer for the boy who got
back up on his feet.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Janet was in casual khaki slacks, matched with a serviceable medium-blue blouse
and practical flats, still working-casual as she settled back into Calico
McNeil’s loveseat with a mug of Calico’s favorite Earl Grey blend, snow flurries
dotting the space between Calico’s Snowden Place apartment and the Maser home,
which now sported a brand-new basement, offices for Andrew and Cherie, and
homework desks for Clinton and Ciara. She bore news for her friend, who cast a
chuckle at her young detective friend. Janet took a long sip. “For your sake,
Calico, don’t tell this to Ginger O’Day—her head wouldn’t fit through doorways
if you did.”
“The
sister corroborated her profile.”
Janet chuckled. “For a while, I wondered whether Ginger had managed to interview
her during the case. Yes, in pretty solid detail. Treadwell’s mother had
sexually abused Bannock from the time he was about ten years old, well into his
teens. Bondage games, roleplaying, you name it; Marvin was her boy toy.
Treadwell’s dad sexually abused Treadwell. According to the sister, Bannock had
gone to his mom with the story, Mom blew him off, and Dad spent so little time
at home he was completely oblivious. Pretty much explains the psychodrama in
detail. Treadwell playing out his sexual confusion on the boys, Bannock
avenging himself on the girls and the mothers, and leaving the families
restrained for the dads to find. Like I said, if Ginger finds out she nailed
all that, her head will swell like nobody’s business!”
“I’ll
wait until the semester break. I won’t have to listen to her so much that way!”
Some peace for the holidays suited Calico just fine.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Ingalls Rink in New Haven was sometimes called “The Yale Whale;” from the
outside, the long, arched roof resembled a breaching humpback whale. The
roofline gave the relatively small arena a spacious feel, especially with the
wide expanse of windowpanes at one end of the building. It felt like it should
have been an ultra-modern facility, designed for art’s sake as much as sports’
sake, but in fact dated from the 1950s. It was also an oddity in that the
teams’ players’ benches were on opposite sides of the rink, allowing the fans
to sit up very close to the players. Behind the home bench, in fact, one such
group of fans—who had made a very long trip to New Haven to watch the Bulldogs
take on their rivals—had cheered themselves hoarse by the time the game had run
down to the final minute of the third and concluding period. In fact, only the
hot cocoa with which Merri had doused her throat all game long allowed her any
voice at all.
The
traveling party, usually only three—Mom, Dad, Merri—who traveled to New Haven
for home-ice weekends, was one person larger this weekend, an extra seat bought
from a neighbor in the row. Once he had heard of what had happened in Snowden,
he sold it at a steep discount, and picked up another, cheaper, seat from
StubHub. As the clock rolled under one minute with the announcement from the
rink announcer, the fourth member of the traveling party remained quiet, but
riveted to the action now to the right where the Bulldogs were defending a
one-goal lead against their Crimson opponents. Merri cheered through a hoarse
throat as a long clear against the Crimson’s six-man attack brought her brother
back onto the ice. He had had himself a strong game—a power-play goal from the
right point, an assist, four blocked shots, and five heavy body checks (each of
which sent Mom’s hands anxiously into her eyes as always)—and was out to protect
the tenuous lead in the last moments of the game.
The
Crimson opponents, wary of Chris Howland’s ability to clear his side of the
ice, dumped the puck into the opposite corner, their man advantage gaining them
possession of the puck, now thrown back to their point, where the defenseman
carrying the puck sought a screen to keep the Bulldog goalie from seeing his
shot. In front of the net, Chris struggled with a Crimson forward, jostling for
position while trying to use his stick to control his opponent’s while the
Crimson defensemen passed the puck back and forth at the blueline, seeking a
shot on the Bulldog net. Ten seconds left, and the puckcarrier fired from the
left point—the puck pinballed in front of the Bulldog net—Chris and his check both
spun for the puck—
Chris was there first, flipping the puck out of the zone just before the
Crimson could stick-check him. A moment of hushed enthusiasm as the puck spun
high, just below the curved boat-keel of the roof—and lusty cheers as the puck landed
on a clear path to an unguarded net. The last Crimson defender gave up the
chase after the cleared puck just before it crossed the goal line into the
empty net with two seconds left. Two-goal night for Chris Howland. A quick
formality of a face-off later, and the game was over to the tune of a 5-3 Yale
win. After the post-game formalities of handshakes and three stars—Chris was
second star—the teams filed off to their rooms, the Bulldogs walking down the
aisle behind their bench toward the dressing rooms well behind. Helping hands
had assisted a four-person traveling party down into the tunnel, where Chris
was arrested by the sight.
Not
by Merri; she was a regular on the family road trips, and indeed had already
made friends with half the Bulldog roster. Nor Mom nor Dad; they were always a
welcome sight, but also familiar ones. It was the fourth who stopped Chris in
his tracks.
“Beth.”
He put down his helmet on a bench along the wall, where players often waited
out a skate-sharpening, deposited his gloves alongside. The other three
Howlands knew to back away, for this was a meeting that had not happened
before. “You came.”
A
small shrug, a shy smile. “The semester’s over back home...and Sarah’s
house-sitting the apartment. Mom and Dad—well, actually Merri—talked me into it
finally.”
“Sarah...the
girl who’s moving in with you.” Bethany nodded. “The one you sent me her
picture.” Despite a long hard game, Beth saw a blush on her brother’s face.
Boys go for girls who remind them of their mothers, so she had been told. It
seems like that was right.
“You
know where to get hold of her...if you’d like to meet.”
Mom
knew what her eldest kids were waiting for. She waved Merri to follow, and the
remaining Howlands went back up the tunnel to find a way to the lobby. Chris
and Bethany needed this moment alone.
Only
when the footsteps of their family had faded, and the path to the dressing room
had stilled, did either one speak. Chris swallowed hard. “So...you’re okay
now.”
“I...have
medicine for my nerves. Xanax. But I don’t have to use it much. Mostly just on
the bad days.” She saw him about to speak—“Today was a very good day.”
“You’re
not in trouble now.”
“They
said it was justified. I stopped an attack, which justified use of deadly
force. They were going to kill them when they were done.”
“So...you’re
okay, then?” He did not know how to ask what he wanted to ask.
And
she knew. He wanted to ask, she wanted to tell, but they both had been so
smothered in shame for so long that neither quite knew how to begin. But
Bethany could not leave the unsaid silent anymore. Silence had built the rage
that had mutilated Bannock and Treadwell far beyond what had been needed to
stop them. Silence could no longer hold sway. She wandered to the bench, sat
down beside her brother’s cast-off equipment.
“It...wasn’t
what I thought it would be. I thought if I stopped them...killed them...I...I’d
feel right, I’d know what to do. But I don’t, though. It still hurts. I still
feel ashamed of what they made me do to you. It didn’t go away.”
Chris
nerved himself to sit beside his big sister. They hadn’t been physically so
close since that day. “I suppose it wouldn’t. It doesn’t take back
what...what happened.”
“Then
what does?” Bethany’s voice was an agonized squeak. “What makes it end? What
takes away the hurt, Chris?”
Chris
sighed, leaned forward, elbows on knees, face lowered. Ashamed of what she did
to me. What she was made to do to me. She didn’t hurt me. Mom didn’t
hurt me. They hurt me. This Bannock, this Treadwell. They hurt
me, and Bethany did everything she could to protect me, even to slaughter. And
still she agonizes. Still ashamed.
“Beth...I
don’t know. I don’t know what to do to make it go away.” Sidelong, he glanced
at her. My sister. We want the same thing, Beth. We want each other back. She
hides from the world...and I hide from her. I shouldn’t have hid. Maybe she
wouldn’t have become so ashamed. “But...I think...whatever it is, it has to be
from us.” He edged toward her on the bench; she edged away, stood away from
him. “From me. I hid away from you, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I
did that to you.”
Bethany held down a sob. “You were a little boy. It wasn’t your fault.
You...who wouldn’t want to run away from what they did to you?”
“But
I ran away from you, too.” He rose, stood at his sister’s side. She didn’t move
away. “And by now, I don’t know how to come back to you.”
Bethany turned toward him again. She remembered Caleb and Samantha, the two
wounded, violated siblings sitting on the swing set talking. Maybe that’s all
it is. “Maybe...” and she reached out, took his hand. “Maybe we just go back.”
He nodded; she squeezed his hand, felt no shame, felt only his desire to come
back to his sister. He finally looked full on her—sighed hard—
And
she was wrapped up in his long arms, her head against his chest, and she
fancied she could hear her brother’s heartbeat through the hard shell and soft
padding of his shoulder pads between them. Not quite all the way back, but
close enough to touch.
finis
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