by Mary Stone
Bryan had also believed that his parents loved each other. They did not. They were getting a divorce. The wife, Marla, waited until Bryan completed his first semester of college and came home for Christmas break.
During the most spiritual holiday of the year, Marla simply announced she was done being a wife and mother and wanted a divorce.
She said Bryan no longer needed her. He had recovered from his alcohol addiction, and he had come home after a successful semester. He didn’t need her to pretend to love his father any longer.
It was a cruel thing to do. It changed everything.
Now, it had been proven Bryan didn’t have problems with alcohol because of a flaw in his own character. He had problems because he had been secretly abandoned. His mother had never intended to fully support him. He might not have known that he knew the truth about her, but he always did. In his heart, he knew his mother never intended to keep her promises, either to him or to his father.
And his father? He couldn’t control his mother. That was the meaning of divorce. A loss of control.
Bryan’s father had never been strong enough to control his wife.
And she had known it. She had no doubt been betraying him for years, in her heart if not in fact.
That ended tonight.
Fully covered, I walked up to the Langford’s house and up to the front door. With the porch light out, it was easy. The front door wasn’t locked at that time of day, not in Sawmill. People rarely locked their doors before they went to bed for the night. It was about nine o’clock, and I knew the Langfords usually went to bed about ten-thirty.
Information was power.
After letting myself in, I closed the door softly behind me, turning the lock with a soft click. Frowning at all the suitcases and boxes sitting in the foyer, the sight of them made me even more certain that I was on the right path. Their son had barely made it back to his college campus, and one of them was already moving out.
Listening carefully, I heard voices coming from upstairs. Turning off the lights, I took a step toward the stairs, and…
Creak
“Bryan?” a woman’s voice called from upstairs. Marla. The woman must have the ears of a bat. “Bryan? Is that you?”
The question pissed me off. Bryan wasn’t here. She should have known that.
Bryan didn’t know what I was about to do for him. Like Gina Webster, it would take time for him to be grateful. I had to accept the possibility that he would never reconcile himself to what I was about to do, but there was a much larger possibility that he would get over it and move on with his life. A much better life without his parents’ attempts to pull him down.
When I spoke to him last, he had been crying, almost screaming. He’d cursed his mother, calling her a bitch. He’d cursed his father, calling him a spineless flake. With the upcoming divorce, they told him that they’d no longer be able to support him financially through the rest of school. He’d just have to take out additional student loans or get a second job on top of his full load of classes.
“I don’t know what to do,” he’d roared before punching a wall.
I’d felt so bad for him. He might not know what to do, but I did. With his parents gone, Bryan would be the sole beneficiary to their extensive life insurance policies. He could sell the house and all the contents for a few hundred thousand more.
He would be free, emotionally and financially, from them both. I’d make certain of that. And Bryan wouldn’t be a suspect, because there would be a ton of people in his dorm who would see him enter and go to his room. He’d also told me that he planned to get raging drunk at a party. I looked at my watch…he should actually be arriving at the party right about now.
The timing was perfect.
He was covered. I was covered.
So while their son was falling off the wagon because of their choices, I would take care of the source of his sorrow. Then, I’d be his friend and help him come to grips with things. Help him resist the temptation to succumb to his addiction.
“Bryan?” It was a man’s voice this time. Andy.
I shook away thoughts of the son and focused back on the parents.
“Check the door, Andy,” Marla said. She sounded annoyed and nervous.
I had originally planned to confront the couple together in their bedroom if I could, but after saving Gina from her parents, I learned that taking on two people at once was dangerous. I had to keep myself from getting injured. I had much work to do, and no time to heal from a broken bone or a bad cut.
I waited until Andy Langford appeared, silhouetted in the stairwell. He was my height or a little taller, but his narrow, pinched-in shoulders and stooped posture made him smaller.
“Who’s there?” Marla’s voice had grown into a screech. “Is it Bryan?”
Langford repeated her like a parrot. “Who’s there?”
As his footsteps lumbered down the stairs, I softened my breath as I sank farther into the shadows. His feet appeared first, then his legs, his torso, his arms. Before he could reach the light switch at the bottom, I lunged. Grabbing him by his shirt, I swung him down and then around the side of the stairwell. The sound of his face slamming into the wall was satisfying to hear.
“Andy?” Marla called, even louder this time.
But Langford was too stunned to answer. For good measure, I grabbed the sides of his head and slammed his face into the wall one more time. Blood spattered from what was likely a broken nose, and the man began to cough from where it flowed into his sinuses and down his throat.
I considered leaving him there, but since he was still on his feet, I decided to take advantage of his position. Twisting his arm behind his back, I frog-marched him back up the stairs. I shoved him forward, and he stumbled but began to climb. I was glad that I didn’t have to drag or carry him. If he hadn’t been able to climb the stairs on his own, I would have tied his hands and feet and dealt with his wife before coming back to get him.
This was better.
When he fell forward, he was able to catch himself, which was proof of something important. He wasn’t completely unaware. Which was good and bad. It meant that my initial plan would still work, but I needed to be careful.
When we were only two steps from the top, Marla appeared on the landing, a middle-aged, bottle-blonde woman dressed in a plaid flannel nightgown. She saw her husband and his bloody face, and gasped. For a woman who didn’t love her husband, who had never loved her husband, she seemed genuinely concerned. But I knew it was all fake.
She was so focused on the blood, I didn’t think she even saw me hidden behind him.
People just didn’t notice the important things most of the time.
“Andy, did you fall? Should I call 911? Are you all right?”
I only needed him to take two more steps, and I wrenched his arm up harder. The man moaned and began to cough again. But he took a step. Then another.
The second we were on the top landing, Marla rushed to his aid. “Andy, I—”
I pushed him, hard.
The woman took her husband’s full weight as the couple fell into a heap. She began screaming…screaming…screaming…until I lifted a boot and brought it down in the middle of her face.
Her nose burst red just like her husband’s. Fitting. A matching pair.
When Marla opened her mouth to scream again, I stepped around their tangled bodies, lifted her head up off the floor. “Shut up,” I ordered before slamming it down…once…twice. With a third slam, she was silent.
That was the thing about head wounds. They were disorienting.
I would know.
Rolling Langford off his wife, I grabbed the woman by her wrists and began to drag her into their overly feminine bedroom. There was an antique steamer trunk at the foot of the bed, the only piece of furniture I thought fitting for the man of the house. Lifting her from the floor, I hauled her up and tossed her on the mattress. The white wrought iron bed squeaked madly as it took her weight.
> I almost giggled as I imagined these two humping on the thing.
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
I had no time to let my mind wander down that path, wondering when their marital bed had turned cold. It was about to become even colder.
As I turned back toward the door, I noticed a baseball bat just inside the door of the room. Langford should have taken it with him when he went downstairs to check out the noise. More evidence as to what a cowardly wimp he was.
Picking it up, I stepped into the hallway again. Langford was trying to crawl, blood dripping from his face.
“Get up,” I said before nudging him with the bat.
The man had begun to cry, which only hardened my heart. “Please don’t do—”
The bat made a thwacking sound as it came down on his back, and I almost giggled again.
Squeak. Squeak. Thwack.
My laugh had a tinge of hysteria to it now, and I knew I needed to pull myself together.
It wasn’t easy.
“Get up,” I told Langford again, this time making my voice low and deep.
The man staggered to his feet, and I pushed him into the room.
“Marla,” he sobbed.
I pulled out a length of rope from my bag. I’d learned another lesson after my other jobs. I’d pre-tied the handcuff knot I’d be using tonight.
I tossed the rope on the bed. “Tie her up.”
“What?” He stared at the nylon as if he’d never seen anything like it before.
“Tie her up,” I ordered. “To the bed.”
When he didn’t move, I put the baseball bat down outside the door and pulled out my horn-handled hunting knife with the curved tip, turning it so the light caught the sharp blade. “Tie her up, or I’ll cut her.”
When I took a step toward the bed, he began to move. His hands were shaking as he tied her wrists and feet, but he got the job done.
By the time the last ankle was secured, Marla’s eyes were bulging a little. I must have hit her harder than I thought.
Once he was finished, I pushed him by the top of his head onto his knees at the side of the bed. I took the rope with the handcuff knot and secured his wrists behind his back. He fell over on his side, leaning heavily against the trunk, so I shoved him off, until he was on his knees again.
He needed to pay attention. He had a lesson to learn.
“Why are you doing this?” Marla asked. Her voice sounded clear enough, but her eyes were rolling in her head.
It was the moment of truth.
“I hear you’re getting a divorce.”
She blinked rapidly. “What’s…that got to do with anything?”
Was she really so blind? “You’re abandoning your son.”
“He can take…” The woman’s eyes fluttered and rolled upward. She would be unconscious soon. I move quickly and slapped her until she was fully awake. “He’s…grown man. He…take care…self.”
I scoffed. “But what about his alcohol addiction?”
“He’s…better,” she gasped.
Did this woman know nothing about addictions? “He’s losing it. He’s breaking down. Your little announcement has sent him reeling, and right at this very moment, he’s getting wasted.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Andy move. I pointed the knife in his direction, and he stopped.
Marla didn’t seem to notice. “How…how do you know that?”
I tapped a finger to my temple. “Because I pay attention, Marla. I care. I worry about creating a safe environment for your son.”
She frowned. “He’s safe here.”
This woman was making me crazy. I gestured around the room with the knife. “Safe? You didn’t even lock the front door. Some crazy person could come in, did you think of that?” I leaned closer to her. “But that’s not even the point. No home is safe when a parent doesn’t really love their child.”
She roused a bit at that, tried moving her arms, but they were bound good and tight. “I love my son.”
“You’re a liar,” I snarled. “You’re fond of him at best. If you loved him, you wouldn’t do this to him. You wouldn’t betray his father like this.”
“I…not.” She seemed confused. Another act. “It’s no betrayal.” Her eyes rolled up again and bloody spit slid out of the side of her mouth.
“You’re wrong. When parents split up, it does unimaginable things to a child.” I forced the thoughts of my parents away. This wasn’t about them. This was about Bryan and keeping him safe. “It means their life was a lie.”
I raised the knife. I was done.
Even as I brought it down, she began to speak. She had to argue, the way all women did. All the way to the bitter end.
“I love—”
The sentence ended on a gurgle that was punctuated by her husband’s cry of anguish as the blade sliced through the woman’s throat. I jumped back and managed to get away before the blood spurted from the wound. I was learning fast.
The mouth of the wound gaped, white tendons and tissue contrasting with the rich, dark blood. I’d made sure to cut into her airway so she couldn’t talk anymore. Listening to her try to justify herself just made me sick.
“Marla!”
Langford was on his feet. I expected him to come for me, but he went to his wife, using his knee to push a pillow toward her neck. He was sobbing as he pressed down on it, trying to stop the flow.
It looked as though he was trying to smother her, and the irony made me chuckle.
But not for long.
If I was sickened by the wife’s excuses, I was disgusted by the man’s weakness.
He was her slave. That abomination was what made her no longer respect him. Without respect, there could be no deep love. No true companionship. It was human nature, really. Wild animals fought each other, usually to the death for a mate. Those animals were respected. It was the way of the world.
Today’s men were half nagged to death. Weak men like him never understood what a balancing act controlling a woman was.
“Langford, Langford, Langford.” I tutted his name several more times before moving to the other side of the bed. “You were always too weak to control a woman, weren’t you? She was always going to betray you. It’s your fault because you let her.”
Aiming the hunting knife at his back, I targeted his kidneys. The muscle there was tough, but not as difficult to get through as when you accidently jabbed the tip of your knife into a rib bone.
Langford gasped. I stabbed him again. The tip went in easily, but the wider part of the blade dragged against the fiber of the muscles beside the spine. The blade wasn’t as sharp as I’d thought it was. I’d have to sharpen it for next time.
As I stabbed him once more, I adjusted the angle of the blade. That was better. It slid through skin and muscle much more easily that way.
The man was still on his knees, looking down at his wife. Though his adoration disgusted me, I found myself pulling the pillow away so they could better see each other. He dropped to her side.
“Till death do you part,” I murmured, feeling pleased that I’d helped them both respect the vow.
She wasn’t dead yet, but it was obvious it wouldn’t be long. Him either.
It was touching, actually. Witnessing the Langfords gaze at each other’s faces as their life’s blood drained simultaneously. I liked to believe that, in that moment, they fell in love with each other all over again.
When it was over, and the last bit of air had escaped them both, I knelt by the bed and offered them a heartfelt prayer. Then I offered a second one for their son.
“Amen.”
Silence was my only answer.
I was careful to lock the front door as I left. Careful to stow my protective gear into the garbage bag I carried. Careful not to be seen as I headed back to my SUV and sped away.
A visit to a dumpster was my only stop before I parked down the street from my place and crept in the back, sticking to the shadows once again.
As I lay o
n my couch, watching my favorite show, I smiled.
I had made the world a better place.
10
Autumn had been in Sawmill for twenty-four hours and didn’t know much more than she’d known yesterday.
After a restless sleep in her uncomfortably hard bed, she was beginning to mentally doubt the wisdom of Aiden having sent her out here. It didn’t help that Adam had practically been glued to her side, wanting to “explore possibilities” that turned into lectures that made her want to bash her head into the wall.
Adam had suggested a nice dinner the evening before, and when she pleaded a headache and jetlag, he had offered to pour a couple drinks in his room so that she could relax before turning in. He hadn’t been pleased when she turned that down as well, and he had been grumpy all morning. Maybe she wasn’t the only one to have a restless night.
Since their return to the police station, she had been pouring through the reports of the Webster murders as well as the reports from the prior murders that were closely linked to that case. She was searching for additional similarities, any hint of evidence that might help point her in the direction of the suspect.
When she first started working with the FBI, she hadn’t understood their habit of reading and re-reading the very same reports, but she soon learned that it was a necessary thing. The brain was funny. One moment, a person could be searching for a clue and see nothing, then a moment later, the clue simply jumped off the page, helping to make a connection that hadn’t been there before.
Please make a connection, she pleaded with her brain.
Neither Kyle Murphy nor Gina Webster had been located, although the police had heard rumors from a few people that Kyle had found a new girl and had run off to Vegas to get married. Another rumor was that he had been hired as a long-haul driver. The name of the company hadn’t been mentioned, and after calling and questioning every trucking company in the state, they’d not been able to learn of his whereabouts.
