by B. B. Hamel
I shuffled into the kitchen and found stuff to make simple sandwiches. “You ever shoot a gun before?”
She appeared in the kitchen door. “You’re joking.”
“Not joking.” I waved a knife up in the air. “Not even a little.”
“I’ve never shot a gun and never want to.”
“You’re going to learn then.”
“Nick—”
“Serial killer, my darling. No time to be fussy.”
She leaned against the wall and rubbed at her face. “It’s stupid. I’m willing to put myself in danger, but the idea of shooting a gun repulses me for some reason.”
“Surprisingly rational, all things considered, but unfortunately it’s a necessary evil in this case. Don’t worry, it’ll be fun.”
“Fun.” She spit the word. “Like our run this morning?”
“You won’t get hurt. I promise.”
She let out an exasperated sigh, but turned and went back into the living room. I heard the TV come back on.
I knew she’d be angry for a while yet—but I wasn’t ready to tell her about Buck. I would, and I wanted to, but not yet.
It was hard, talking about my dead little brother. Sometimes, it was hard to remember his face. I was ten when he was murdered, and he was eight.
Sometimes I wondered if it weren’t him—
But I bet Rose wondered the same thing, and she shouldn’t.
I’d tell her. First though, I’d make lunch, and teach her to shoot.
10
Rose
Nick held the gun up, keeping the barrel aimed into the woods. “This is your weapon. Your gun is an extension of your body.”
“Don’t give me some stupid speech.” I held my hand out. “Give it to me.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Not yet. Few things first. Always keep it aimed downrange, which in this instance, is that way.” He pointed toward where we had some targets tacked on to the trees. “Technically, shooting out in the woods is illegal and dangerous, so you’re only getting the basics.”
“Fine.” I crossed my arms and leaned up against a tree. “You can be super pedantic when you want to be.”
“Oh, nice big word.” He kept talking. “Always assume a gun is loaded and treat is as such. There’s no safety on this thing, so if you squeeze the trigger, it’ll fire.” He showed me how to load it, how to unload it, and how to make sure there was nothing in the chamber. “Basically, you want to treat this thing like what it is: a tool made for murdering people.”
I made a face. “That sounds dramatic.”
“But it’s true. Handguns aren’t meant for hunting, they’re meant for killing humans. They’re tools meant for murdering people, and once you fully understand that, then you’ll start treating it the way you should. Some assholes think guns are toys, or they’re symbols of freedom or some other stupid shit, but never forget what they really are.”
“Murder tools. Understood.” I held out my hands. “May I?”
He nodded and gave it to me. The gun was small and sleek and heavier than I expected. It wasn’t loaded, but I did like he asked and treated it as if it were. I aimed it downrange, toward the bullseye tacked to the tree twenty yards away, and closed one eye, sighting down the barrel. He showed me how to stand, how to hold it, and how to aim properly.
“What do you think, want to shoot it?”
I looked around. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? We should be at a gun range, right?”
“Probably, but I’m only letting you take a couple shots.” He handed me a small magazine. “Load it.”
I slotted it into the handle like he showed me and pulled back the slide. That meant a bullet was in the chamber.
“What now?”
“Now you stand and shoot.” He stood close to me, helping me aim. “It’s going to be loud. At a normal range, we’d wear hearing protection, but I want you to get a feel for how loud it is. If something goes down, I don’t want you freezing up because you’ve never experienced it before.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Take a deep breath.” He put his hands on my hips and his cheek moved close to mine. I stared down the barrel, aiming at the bullseye. “Let it in and out. There you go.”
I steadied myself. I realized I was trembling slightly and a bead of sweat rolled down my back. I’d never shot a gun before, and for all my bluster and bullshit, I was afraid of them. And for good reason: like he said, guns were murder tools, designed with killing in mind.
I wasn’t a killer, and I didn’t want to be.
“Fire when you’re ready,” he said in my ear.
I stared at the bullseyes. I watched it, not moving, my hands trembling— then I tried to imagine it was CGK, standing twenty feet away, grinning at me, laughing about how he murdered my sister, did worse to her before finishing her off, how he’d made her final moment, final hours a horrible, endless torture session before finally granting her his most awful mercy.
I squeezed the trigger. It was loud as hell and my ears rang. The gun kicked back, but I aimed again, fired again. Two bullets, two shots, but I didn’t stop squeezing the trigger. Rage flowed through me, rage spilled out as I pictured Delia, my sister, dead in the ground because of this sick bastard, the same sick bastard that wanted to hurt me, and I kept firing, again and again, the hammer clicking against the empty chamber until Nick stopped me, took the gun away, tossed it onto the ground, and held me tight.
“It’s okay,” he said.
I bit back a sob and hugged him. I let him hold me in his arms and god, I hated myself, I hated CGK, I hated everything. I wanted my sister back so badly, it burned in my chest. I would’ve fallen from as many trees as necessary, broken my arm, my wrist, my whole body to have one more day with her. I wanted Gramma, I wanted Delia, I wanted my life. I could still taste the cold beer I shared with Del on my tongue, I could hear her laughter echoing off the trees, I could feel her hand slipping into mine.
I got control over myself after a few minutes. The forest was dead silent, the birds scared away by the loud shots. He pulled back and stared into my eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m so, so far from okay. I haven’t been okay in a long time.”
“I’m sorry.” He touched my cheek, a surprisingly tender and gentle touch, and I leaned into it. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”
“No, I needed this. I only wish you’d brought more bullets.”
He gave me a sad smile. “Two’s enough for now. I’ll take you to a range one day and you can shoot as much as you like.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
He kissed me then. I didn’t know why, but it surprised me. I didn’t expect it, right until the last moment, when his lips pressed to mine, but of course he kissed me—he had to kiss me. I needed that kiss more than anything, and I fell into it, his lips so soft, his tongue warm and gentle, his hands on my hips, and I felt covered, like with a warm blanket, comforted and close. It was a strange way to see a kiss, but lurking beneath that comfort was a fire that crackled, hotter and hotter each day, and I knew that it’d burn me away, sooner or later.
“Hey, you two!”
He broke the kiss off and whirled around, looking back the way we’d come. We were off in the middle of the underbrush, at least a few minutes from the closest path. There weren’t any houses or roads nearby. This had been farmland at some point, but it’d gone wild after developers bought it and never built.
A young kid stomped toward us, pushing a bike. Two more followed, each of them wearing baggy jeans, their long hair dirty and wild. The leader couldn’t have been older than fifteen, and the other two looked younger.
“Can I do something for you guys?” Nick stepped toward them.
“Uh, yeah,” the kid said, sounding less sure of himself now that Nick was staring right at him. “Uh, sorry, but, uh, did you shoot a gun?”
Nick tilted his head. “Now why in the hell
would I discharge a weapon in public like that?”
“I don’t know,” the kid said. “It’s cool?” He nodded at the target. “Looks like you’re out here shooting.”
“What’s your name?”
The kid puffed his chest out. “Taylor. This is my brother, John, and our friend Billy.”
“Hi,” said John, who looked like a miniature version of Taylor now that I looked closer. John only waved a little and didn’t say a word.
“You boys live around here?” Nick leaned casually against a tree, arms crossed, and I wasn’t sure what he was doing. I guessed he didn’t want these kids running back to their parents and telling them about catching us out in the woods shooting guns and kissing. That would probably send the wrong message.
“Sure,” Taylor said. “Might be nearby. Can I see your gun?”
Nick ignored that. “You ride bikes on that path, right? You ever do the jumps?”
“You’re asking weird questions.” Taylor looked more skeptical than he had, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“It’s okay, guys,” I said. “He’s an FBI agent.”
Nick glanced back at me and winked. “This is my wife,” he said, “her name’s Rose.”
I snort laughed. “That’s right. And my husband’s name is Nick.”
“You’re not FBI,” Billy said. “No way.”
Nick took his wallet from his back pocket and flashed the kids his badge. Their eyes went wide.
“Holy shit,” Taylor said. “You’re for real.”
“That’s right, boys. Now listen, do you ride out here much?”
“Uh, yes, sir,” he said. “Once a day, I guess.”
“You ever see someone lurking around the woods? There’s a house nearby, kind of old looking, got yellowish siding, the grass is growing out of control.”
“Old lady used to live there, right?” Taylor peered at me. “You live there now, don’t you?”
“We might be staying there,” Nick said. “Listen, you kids ever see someone lurking around these woods? He’d be about my age, shorter than me, skinny, white guy, dark hair.”
“Nah,” Taylor said. “Nobody like that. Mostly just the older kids on bikes. And one guy that rides a dirt bike, it’s pretty cool.”
Nick glanced at me then back at Taylor. “I want you kids to do me a favor. If you’re ever out here, and someone weird comes around, I want you to go home. Then come around the long way, stay on the streets, and come to that house where the old lady used to live. I’ll be there, and I want you to tell me about who you see?”
Taylor glanced at his brother and his friend then back at Nick. “All right, let me see your gun first.”
Nick laughed and shook his head. “It’s not a toy, boys. Guns are tools, and you don’t treat them like a game.”
Taylor looked offended. “You’re out here shooting for fun.”
“I’m out here teaching my wife how to shoot. Now, you do that favor for me, all right? I’m an FBI agent, so I can tell if you screw it up.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Taylor kicked at the grass. “Nobody weird comes around here.”
“Be careful,” I said suddenly, and Nick gave me a warning glance. I took a breath and plastered a smile on my face. “Listen to him, okay, guys? If anyone weird is around, just go home, then come find us later, okay? Don’t talk to him.”
“Sure,” Taylor said. “Whatever you say.”
“Not go back and hit those jumps.” Nick turned away from them. “We’ve got something to do.”
“You two gonna kiss again?” John’s voice was high-pitched and boyish.
I laughed despite myself, unable to help it. Taylor and Billy rolled their eyes, but John beamed like he was proud of himself.
“Get outta here,” Nick said. “You creeps. And watch out for strangers.”
Taylor turned his bike and trudged away. The other two boys followed after him.
Once they were gone, I lost it again. Nick pulled me against him, grinning, and we tumbled up against a tree. We both cracked up at little John, his voice ringing out like he was so excited to ask his weird question. We didn’t kiss again, probably because those kids were likely still watching, or maybe because the moment had passed. But either way, I felt closer to him somehow, like watching him deal with kids made him more approachable.
“You really think they’ll be good informants?” I ask as he gathered up our stuff and packed it away.
“I hope not,” he said. “I want them to stay far away from CGK if they can.”
“But they should be careful though.”
“They should.”
“Would CGK hurt young kids like that?” I chewed my lip and felt stupid and foolish for being shocked by the idea. He was a murderer, killed young girls all the time, but for some reason the idea of him killing children like that made me sick.
“Not without reason,” Nick said. “I think they’d have to spook him, you know, come across him doing something he didn’t want them to see. Otherwise, he’d ignore them. They’re not his targets.”
“No, they’re not.” I felt that darkness again settled across my shoulders. “We are, though.”
He nodded once then took my hand. “Come on. Let’s get back.”
I let him lead me away from the little clearing we used as our firing range. The path was empty when we reached it, though the dirt tracks from bike wheels were still fresh. I guessed the boys had ridden home already, which was good. I didn’t want them out in the woods, not with a killer on the loose.
Nick was right though, I felt it. CGK killed in a pattern, based on a profile, and those boys weren’t part of it.
Still, I hoped they’d stay far, far away if they could.
11
Nick
Seeing those kids in the woods knocked me off my game. The rest of that day, I kept thinking about the people in town, wondering if we should warn them somehow. But I knew that was impossible. If word got out that a serial killer was stalking the woods, that would scare him off for good. It was one thing to play a game of cat and mouse with me and Rose, but a totally different thing to have the local population on the lookout for you.
CGK was wild and angry, but he wasn’t stupid, and I didn’t want to scare him off. Still, I was glad I got to tell those kids to be careful at least. And over my time with the bureau, I’d found that there were a lot of people in this world that got overlooked and ignored, particularly young people. If CGK had a blind spot, I hoped it would be them—but mostly I hoped they stayed far, far away.
The next morning, I woke up, did a workout in the living room before Rose came down, then got a call from Cal after getting out of the shower.
“Morning partner,” I said, making coffee, my hair still wet. “How’s the big city?”
“Big city was good,” he said. “But I’m back in Foylestown now.”
“Yeah? What’re you doing here? I thought you had an investigation.”
“I want to check in with you and go over the case. There’s some stuff you should see.”
I took a breath and hit start. The machine gurgled, the coffee dripped down. “How bad is it?”
“It’s bad.”
I closed my eyes. “I have to bring Rose with me.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“You want to come here?”
“I’d rather not do that, either.”
“Then she’s coming.”
He let out an annoyed grunt. “This girl’s your responsibility. You know that, right? What happens to her, it’s on you.”
“I’m very aware of that, thanks.”
“Good.” He sounded pissed off, but he always sounded pissed off when we talked. “There’s a diner near here. I’ll text you the address. Meet me in an hour.”
“You got it.”
He hung up. A second later, my phone buzzed. I walked upstairs and peered back into the bedroom.
Rise stirred and sat up on an elbow. My little mattress nest on the floor was a m
ess of blankets. We had a system where she went to bed earlier than me, and I snuck into the room like she wasn’t there. So far, it avoided the awkwardness of our sleeping arrangement, although last night I stared at the ceiling for a while, listening to her breathe—and wondering how it would feel to crawl in next to her, feel her ass pressed against me, the warmth of her body beneath the sheets.
“Morning,” she said.
“We have to go meet my partner in an hour.” I tilted my head. “You going to be up for that?”
“Uh, I guess so.”
“We’re going over the case.”
She looked down at herself. She wore a low-cut tank top, and I wrestled to keep my eyes locked on her face. She looked back up, red in her cheeks. “I’ll get dressed.”
“Good.” I closed the door and walked away before I could do something stupid.
The diner was a rundown place ten minutes from the house. It was tucked back next to a couple beat-up houses and a large empty field. There were a few cars in the lot, Cal’s among them. Rose squinted at the sign.
“This place is a real dump,” she said. “Why’d he choose it?”
“Cal likes diners,” I said. “For some reason, they help him think.”
“Weird.”
“I know. You ever been here before?”
“Once. Food’s not terrible.”
We headed inside. Cal had a corner booth. He sipped coffee and stared at a plate of eggs without eating. His glanced up as we approached.
“You’re late,” he said.
“Five minutes.” I slid into the booth with Rose next to me. “How’s it going?”
He grunted. There were bags beneath his eyes and his shirt was rumpled. I got the sense that he hadn’t slept well, whether from the stress of the case or something else, I didn’t know for certain. He plopped a folder down on the table and pushed it over to me.
The waitress stopped by before I had a chance to look through. She poured some coffee, took our order, and disappeared through a greasy, stained kitchen door. The place itself looked like it might’ve been nice once, though cheaply built from plywood and scrap metal. I guessed the building was a house once, renovated into a restaurant, and not done all that well. There were folks eating at table nearby though, and the food smelled pretty decent, all things considered. We’d been in much worse diners since we became partners. For whatever reason, the greasier and seedier, the more Cal loved it.
