Ancient Enemy Box Set [Books 1-4]

by Lukens, Mark

  “Palmer? Do you know why this guy would go after your ex-wife?”

  Palmer gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know.”

  Cardenelli scrunched up his face in a theatrical expression of confusion. “You see, that doesn’t make sense to me because the first two murders had nothing to do with the Dig Site Murders.”

  “He was arranging their bodies like the ones we found in the caves,” Palmer shot back with.

  “Yeah, I get that. He’s a copycat killer. But why suddenly start going after you and your family? Or ex-family, I should say. Why paint your last name on a wall? He didn’t do that the first two times.”

  “Those might have been warmups for him,” Palmer said. “Practice runs.” Cardenelli knew as well as Palmer did that a lot of serial killers bumbled their way through their first few murders, developing their patterns and rituals along the way. Even famous serial killers like Jack the Ripper seemed to evolve as he killed more.

  “So what’s this guy’s agenda?” Cardenelli asked. “Track you down? Your family? Revenge?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You didn’t even catch him,” Cardenelli said, letting those words sink in for a moment. “Revenge for what?”

  Palmer did his best not to lose his cool. “Who knows what’s going through this guy’s mind.”

  “Well, I’ve got a theory,” Cardenelli said.

  Palmer didn’t say anything.

  “At the last crime scene, I told you that there might be two killers, a copycat killer and the real killer. I believe the person who killed the first two couples wasn’t the original killer. I think it was some copycat that wanted to pay homage to those murders, especially with the cult following they’ve got now. And after he started, I believe the real killer came out of hiding and started killing again. First with Harold and Marcie Watson, and now Teresa and Gary.”

  Palmer stared at Cardenelli. “That’s a pretty interesting theory. Except you said before that these killings all seem to have been done by the same man. Same size shoe, same type of hiking boots, same way he walks. The same lack of fingerprints and hair left behind.”

  “Yeah, those are the similarities. But what about the differences? The first two old couples were cut up with saws and tools. But these last two, they seem like they were ripped apart. Like the killer pulled them apart with his bare hands. Just like the bodies at the dig site in New Mexico. Not a copycat—this is the same guy.”

  Palmer didn’t say anything. He could see the hope in Cardenelli’s eyes, the hope that this might be the original killer, that he would be able to do what Palmer couldn’t do and catch the Dig Site Killer. It would be one gigantic feather in the cap of his career. He’d be able to silence all of those conspiracy theorists and internet bloggers with their wild theories of monsters, demons, cults, and aliens. Some compared the dead bodies at the New Mexico dig site to reports of cattle mutilations. Others drew comparisons to other mysterious murders and disappearances. Cardenelli would be able to catch this killer and show everyone what fools they were for believing in monsters, for believing in a bogeyman.

  “Look, Palmer, I hate to ask this, but can you tell me what you were doing last night? Where you were?”

  Palmer felt like he’d been punched in the stomach, which wasn’t helping his nausea.

  “It’s just standard procedure,” Cardenelli continued quickly, his hands up in surrender for a moment. “You know that. You knew the victims.”

  Teresa. Her name was Teresa, the mother of my daughter. “I was at home. At my condo.”

  “All night? You didn’t go anywhere?”

  “I was there all night. I ate dinner there. Watched TV. Fell asleep. I didn’t sleep well, and I fell back asleep at dawn. There are security cameras in the parking garage. I’m sure you could check them if you wanted to.”

  Cardenelli looked away for just a moment, squinting his eyes just a little like he was deep in thought, or like he was trying to mimic a person deep in thought. He looked back at Palmer. “It’s just that the security alarm in the victim’s house never went off. It’s like the killer got in without triggering the alarm, or like he turned it off. Like he knew the code.”

  “And what? You think I knew the code to my ex-wife’s home?”

  “You said you and Teresa were still close.”

  “Not that close. She wouldn’t have given me the code to her security alarm. And neither would Gary.”

  “You know I have to ask those things,” Cardenelli said. “You know it’s just procedure.”

  Yeah, wasting time on these questions when the real killer was still out there was just procedure. But they were never going to find the real killer, because the killer wasn’t a man, it was some kind of demon.

  “What about the names on the living room wall?” Cardenelli asked. “Cole and Stella. Weren’t those the two suspects you chased down to New Mexico seven years ago?”

  Palmer realized how all of this must look to Cardenelli, but he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, those were the two.”

  “You think those two might be involved with this?”

  Palmer sighed. “I don’t know. I need to call my daughter. She’s out of town right now. I hate to tell her on the phone that Teresa’s gone, but I want her to hear it from me.” He didn’t give Cardenelli a chance to reply. He walked away, going back to his car in the large parking area. He got inside and started the car. He put on his seatbelt and then dialed Eliza’s number.

  Eliza answered on the third ring. “Dad. Hey. How is everything? I’ve been trying to call Mom all morning.”

  “Lizzy, listen to me.”

  Stone silence from Eliza.

  “I’ve got some really bad news,” he told her.

  Eliza was silent for another few seconds and then she moaned, already beginning to cry. “No.”

  “Your mom and Gary were killed last night.”

  “No,” she moaned again. “No, that can’t be true. She was supposed to leave. You were supposed to make her leave. You were supposed to keep her safe.”

  “I tried,” Palmer croaked, his throat closing up. He could feel the tears coming now. He turned on the air conditioner in his car, suddenly hot, feeling like his whole body was about to break out into a sweat.

  “No you didn’t,” Eliza hissed into the phone. “You didn’t try hard enough.” She wasn’t shouting yet, and Palmer could only guess that the kids were close enough for them to hear her on the phone.

  “Listen to me, Lizzy. Wherever you are, I want you to go somewhere else. I want you to keep moving to a new motel room every night. You understand me? You can’t tell me where you are.”

  “This is so . . . so fucking crazy.” Her voice was a whisper, and Palmer had never heard her use language like that in front of him before.

  “I know, baby. I’m sorry. But right now you need to think about yourself and the kids. Okay?”

  Silence on the phone for a moment. Palmer could hear her crying.

  “You have to be strong for the kids, okay?”

  “What about Ted?” she asked. “He didn’t come with us.”

  “I think he’ll be okay. But warn him. Let him know how serious this could be. Try to get him to meet you somewhere. Tell him that you need him with you. I’m sure he’ll drop what he’s doing and go to you.”

  “This is your fault,” Eliza said between sniffles, her voice suddenly low, her sadness turning into anger. “This killer was coming after you. Trying to hurt you. Trying to take everything away from you.”

  Palmer was going to argue again that he had tried to get Teresa to leave town, but she had refused to do it. He was going to remind Eliza that she had tried to convince her own mother. But neither of them had been able to get her to leave. It was a moot point now, and it would only make his daughter angrier. He would take her anger now, accept it—she needed someone to blame.

  “I’m going after the killer now,” Palmer told her.

  A dry and humorless chuckle from Eliza. “You couldn’t
catch him before. What makes you think you can catch him now?” She hung up on him.

  CHAPTER 19

  David

  Iron Springs, New Mexico

  David knew it wasn’t going to be easy to convince his Aunt Awenita that they were in grave danger and that they should let Captain Begay protect them. To help convince his aunt, David told her some of the things about the Ancient Enemy, details that he’d never told her before. But he told her today.

  David, his aunt, and Captain Begay sat at the small table off of the kitchen. Awenita had made coffee and served it with some cookies. Begay said he shouldn’t be eating the cookies, but he ate two of them with his coffee.

  Awenita sat silently in her chair as David told her about the night his parents were killed, the night her brother was killed. He told her some of what he’d seen, but only a little.

  “You don’t have to talk about this,” Awenita said. She sat very still, and she stared right at David the whole time, her eyes welling up with tears.

  “I need to,” he told her. They had never talked about what had happened that night. She never wanted to talk about it, and usually David didn’t either—he never wanted to remember anything about that night. But tonight he needed to convince his aunt that a monster was coming. “I need you to understand that a demon killed my parents. A demon killed your brother. I don’t remember everything about that night, but I remember the thing that killed them. I ran away, but I don’t remember where I ran. I ended up at a dig site where archaeologists were working.”

  Awenita nodded like she knew all that.

  “A woman named Stella helped me at the dig site when the Ancient Enemy attacked again,” David told her. “She drove me away from there, up to Colorado. She said she was taking me to her aunt’s house, but I think she was just trying to drive as far away as she could as fast as she could.”

  David told his aunt about Colorado and how Cole had helped them. He left out everything about the bank robbers, just telling her that Cole and Stella had brought him back down here to the reservation to find Joe Blackhorn, a shaman that Stella felt could possibly help.

  “We went to a ghost town,” David told his aunt. “We fought the Ancient Enemy there. I thought I killed it, but all I did was hurt it and make it go away for a while.” David stopped talking. He could tell that his Aunt Awenita was having trouble believing his story. He looked at Begay. “The captain was there at the ghost town with us.”

  He nodded. “I saw it. I saw the Ancient Enemy.”

  Awenita looked at Begay.

  “It was like a living shadow,” Begay continued. “It could change its form whenever it wanted to, turning into anything it wanted to. It could break apart and parts of it could be in different places at different times.”

  David hoped that Begay was giving credibility to his wild tale. But his aunt was still quiet, still sitting very still, her hands in her lap, the cup of coffee in front of her growing cold. She seemed to be trying to hold on to the safe and orderly world she believed in. Like many Navajo, Awenita didn’t believe in the myths and the monsters of their culture, the stories from the past. She called them parables and folklore; she always said the stories were entertaining, but not true. She said there were no such things as skinwalkers, thunderbirds, gods, or star people. There were no such things as magic, witchcraft, chindi, or shamans. Even though she didn’t believe in shamans, she had let David study with Joe Blackhorn, believing that David would learn the stories of his people.

  “This is all true,” David told his aunt. “The Ancient Enemy is real and we’re in real danger. I’ve been having dreams about a serial killer, and that serial killer is on his way here now. That killer is looking for me.”

  Maybe the stories and descriptions of demons and monsters weren’t scaring his aunt, but the idea of a serial killer had perked her up—that was something real and not a ghost story. She looked at Begay.

  “There is a serial killer in Colorado,” he told her. “I got the call from Agent Palmer. He told me about the killer David has been seeing in his dreams.”

  David realized that Begay hadn’t told his aunt that Palmer was a retired FBI agent, leaving that little detail out.

  “Agent Palmer was with us at the ghost town,” Begay told Awenita. “He saw everything I saw.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Awenita finally said. “I don’t see how this can be true. How something like that can be real.”

  “I know it is difficult,” Begay said. “I had trouble believing it at first, too. But you must see by now that there is something special about David. Something powerful. You two should come with me. Stay at my house. At least for tonight. It’s too dangerous for you and David to be here by yourselves. We’ll figure out what to do and where to go tomorrow.”

  David was willing to go with Begay tonight, but he also wanted to find a way to get to Costa Rica. He checked his cell phone again to see if Stella had texted him back. He felt guilty for not warning Stella and Cole earlier, but he hadn’t been absolutely sure the Ancient Enemy was back yet. Begay hadn’t told David about Agent Palmer’s phone call until they were driving back here to his aunt’s house, and that had confirmed what he’d seen in his dreams, confirming to him that the serial killer was real and that the Ancient Enemy was inside of him. But he still felt guilty for not talking to Stella yesterday. He should have trusted his visions and his instincts and warned them. He wondered why Stella hadn’t written him back yet. He hoped they were okay. He wanted to protect Stella and Cole. They had protected him and he wanted to return the favor. They could have left him at any time when they were in Colorado or when they came back down here to the reservation. They could have given in to the Ancient Enemy and killed him, but they hadn’t, and he loved them for that.

  “Awenita,” Begay said, leaning towards her. “Please. Come with me to my house.”

  “If this is so dangerous, if you’re so sure a killer is coming, then why don’t you contact the tribal police and get them involved?”

  Begay nodded like she had a good point. “I have reached out to them. I’ve told them to be on alert, that I had a tip that a serial killer might be in the area. But that’s about all I can tell them. If I talk to them about dreams and demons, about what I saw in the ghost town, they would never believe me.” He was sure the tip he’d given to the tribal police would spread like wildfire throughout the Iron Springs area. “And I don’t want to risk any more lives than I have to. And I don’t know if it will be tonight. The killer could come tomorrow night. Or the night after that. But we just need to get through tonight, and then we can worry about what to do tomorrow.”

  Awenita sighed and nodded.

  David knew she had been debating internally, but now she’d made up her mind, and now she was all in. She stood up. “I’ll pack an overnight bag.” She was off to her bedroom.

  David and Begay looked at each other. Begay was about to say something but the phone rang. For just a second David thought it was his cell phone ringing, hoping it was Stella calling him back, but then he realized it was a different ringtone.

  Begay looked at the screen on his cell phone and stood up as he answered it. He walked away into the next room, talking in a voice so low David couldn’t hear him.

  David waited at the table for a few minutes. His aunt was back from her bedroom. She had two bags; one of them was her overnight bag and the other a bag for bathroom supplies. “You need to get a bag packed, too,” she told him.

  Begay came back into the dining room just as David got to his feet. The captain looked scared, his skin paler. “That was Agent Palmer. He just told me that the killer struck again in Colorado. He murdered two more people last night—the agent’s ex-wife and her husband.” Begay looked right at David. “It was just like the murders at the dig site and the cabin. The bodies were mutilated.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The Killer

  Colorado

  Quinn had been living alone for three years now, but this
was the first time he’d ever really been scared. It was a little after noon now and he’d just finished his second drink of the day. The alcohol helped a little with the fear that blanketed him, but the fear was still there. He was hurting today—his joints, his muscles, a headache—maybe that was contributing to this feeling of fright that had been with him since he’d gotten out of bed. He popped three Advils and poured another drink.

  Quinn was truly alone now that his dog Bruno had died six months ago. Bruno’s food and water bowls were still on the floor in the kitchen, two empty metal bowls just sitting there; he didn’t have the heart to throw them away. In fact, Quinn didn’t throw much away—you never knew when you might need something. Every corner of his home was crammed with clutter.

  His wife left him three years ago, tired of his drinking and snorting crushed-up pain pills when he could get them. Good riddance; he didn’t want her around anyway. He was free now and happy living alone. Nobody was yammering at him now, telling him what to do every day. He had his monthly disability check (for a hurt back that he claimed had happened at work) and he lived in the crappy house his mother left behind when she’d died. At least the house was paid off. He didn’t need anyone; he had his home at the edge of the woods and his ten-year-old Buick that still ran pretty well.

  But he did miss Bruno. Maybe he would get another dog.

  Normally Quinn was fine being alone, but today his skin felt like it was crawling. He was antsy. He felt like he needed to escape, to run away, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to be running from. Maybe he’d take a shower and put on a clean pair of clothes, go down to Lucky’s Pub and continue drinking through the night. He had enough money for a night out. Maybe he’d pick up a sandwich and some fries before he got too wasted to eat. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. Now that he had a plan, he was ready to get started on it.