First, he had to stop shaking. Then he would call his wife.
How was he going to even be able to tell her this?
His phone lit up, surprising him again since he’d had such a hard time getting a signal. He looked at the number and didn’t recognize it. He answered cautiously. “Hello?”
“Vance, it’s Erin.”
Vance let out his breath. “Hi.”
“You okay?”
“Why?”
“You sound tense.”
“No . . . I’m just . . . What’s up?”
“You left your leather jacket.”
“Ah. That explains why I’m frozen to the bone here in Nebraska.”
“You’re making good time.”
Not good enough. A headache throbbed against his temples.
“I’ll ship it to you. I know this is your favorite jacket from one of your favorite people. Glad to see you still have it. You got an address yet?”
“Yeah. Lindy found us a place. But I’ll call you when I get there, okay?”
“Vance, what’s wrong? You sound like something’s wrong.”
He stared at the burger that slid across the counter toward him. What was wrong? Just moments ago he’d felt free and clear.
“Can I get this to go?” he asked the waitress nearby, who was swinging a dirty rag over what looked like a perfectly clean counter. He threw some money down.
“Vance?”
“Look, Erin, I’ll call you, okay? I’ve got to get on the road, but when we’re settled, I’d love that jacket back.”
“Okay, sure.”
“Thanks for calling.”
While he waited for a Styrofoam cup and container, he flipped through the contract, trying to figure everything out. Joe had mentioned that the curb was over fifteen feet from the condo’s front door and that the alleyway prohibited them from backing the truck any closer. Which meant there would be a fee.
Eight thousand extra dollars.
The words looked frantic on the page, like they danced around to avoid being read. Vance could hardly focus on what he was trying to find. He put his finger down, tracing a sentence here and there, but the document was so thick. Could it be true? A clause embedded in this document?
The waitress returned, and Vance dumped his burger and coffee into the containers. He tried to remember what Joe had said. From the point that he mentioned there would be a hefty fee for the curb distance, the rest of the conversation had been filtered through a lot of anger.
“It’s in the contract.”
“The contract.”
“Yes. The one you signed, Mr. Graegan, right on your front lawn.”
“But I don’t understand. We couldn’t have possibly known how far our home might be from the curb.”
“Not my problem, sir.”
“Where is this in the contract?”
“Page 11.”
Page 11. Vance quickly flipped to the page and scanned the paragraphs until he found what he was looking for. There it was. Loud and clear.
If the distance from the curb is farther than fifteen feet, a fee will be incurred, up to eight thousand dollars.
“This is ridiculous,” Vance groaned, grabbing his stuff and returning to his car. He threw his container in the backseat, situated the coffee, and stared at the contract. He wanted to light that thing on fire.
He knew this wasn’t fair. How could they charge eight thousand extra dollars?
“It requires more time to unload, sir, and time is money for us.” Joe’s tone had seemed smug, like he was wearing a half smile when he’d said it.
Vance looked at his phone. No bars. Great. Man, it was patchy out here. He hit reverse and peeled out of the parking lot, gliding onto the smooth black road.
Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t have bars right now. It wasn’t Lindy who was going to get a piece of his mind. It should’ve been Joe.
***
“I like this place,” Conner said. He’d hardly spoken as they drove around, and Lindy was worried about what was on his mind.
“When Dad gets here, we can go visit the ocean,” Lindy said, smiling at him. She’d let him sit in the front seat, and he was hanging out the window, letting the wind bite his face. He ducked back into the car, and his hair was standing straight up. Lindy laughed. “We better head home. I haven’t heard anything from the movers. They should be here sometime soon.”
She’d turned off the GPS. She hated that woman’s know-it-all voice. With a map in hand, she found her way back to the condo. The sun’s fiery orange glow swam against the darkening sky. Her condo, perched atop a hill, would give her this view any night she wanted to take the time to look at it. And more than anything, she wanted time to see the beauty in everything around her. She checked her cell phone to see if Vance had called yet.
As she turned onto the street, the bright yellow truck came into view.
“There it is, buddy!”
“Our stuff is here? Can we hook up the Wii? I want to get that hooked up, Mom.”
Lindy laughed. “Slow down. There’s a lot of stuff to unload. And Dad will be here tomorrow to help us get it all organized, okay?”
She pulled to the curb behind the truck. The mover named Joe was standing at the front door, looking as if he’d just rung the doorbell.
Lindy hopped out. “Hi! Sorry. We didn’t get a call from you, so I wasn’t sure when you were arriving.” She smiled as she crossed the lawn toward him. He walked off the front porch. “This is our new place.”
He nodded but remained expressionless. “I’m assuming you’ve talked to your husband?”
“About?”
“The distance your condo is from the curb.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Joe’s face, pleasant and cordial in Maryland, now looked congested with mistrust. “Your husband didn’t call you about this?”
“No, I’m sorry. We haven’t talked since earlier.”
“Maybe he isn’t taking this seriously.” Joe’s eyes sharpened.
“Can you please tell me what this is about?”
Conner blazed in a circle around them. “Mom, when can we get our stuff?” He jumped up and down like he was a human pogo stick.
“Conner, don’t interrupt!” Lindy drew in a breath, immediately regretting barking at her son. She’d promised herself that this new beginning included not taking her frustrations out on him. “Conner, sweetie, just give me a second, okay?” She tried a smile again toward Joe, but he didn’t return it.
“Your contract reads that the building we’re moving your stuff into can’t be more than fifteen feet from the curb.” He pointed to the front door. “It’s twenty-nine feet. We can’t get in the back way because the alley is too small.”
“Okay, sure. I understand. So what does that mean?”
“It’s an extra eight thousand dollars.”
“Eight thousand dollars?” Disbelief prickled her skin, like bacon grease splattering out of the pan.
“Your husband should have called you about this.”
“I don’t know why he didn’t, but I can tell you we are not going to pay eight thousand dollars. We don’t have that kind of money. And why in the world would distance make that big of a difference?”
“It’s in your contract. That your husband signed.” Joe’s tone was cold. There was no longer a customer service twinkle to his eyes. “Page 11.”
Lindy crossed her arms. “I don’t care what the contract said. You can’t do this.”
“I can do this because that’s what the contract says.” Joe began walking toward his truck.
Conner had stopped bouncing around and was now listening intently to the conversation. Lindy motioned for him to stay put as she followed Joe down the sidewalk.
“Sir! Wait right there!”
Joe kept walking. “Ma’am, you are contractually obligated to pay us what you owe us.”
“We’ve already paid you over ten thousand dollars for this move!”
Lindy fought back tears. She wanted to push him in the chest as hard as she could. “This isn’t fair!” She sounded seven years old, but it was all she could come up with. “I’m calling my lawyer!”
Joe’s demeanor remained calm as he climbed into the truck. “That is fine, ma’am. Make sure you give the lawyer a copy of that contract.” He cut his eyes sideways at her, making his point for a moment before starting up the truck.
“I’m calling the police!” she yelled over the truck’s roar. Joe never looked at her again. Instead the truck rolled away from the curb and down the steep hill, out of sight. Lindy could do nothing but let the tears fall down her face. Eight thousand dollars? That was over half of what they’d saved to start this deli. She put a hand to her mouth, trying to hold in the sobs, but it was useless.
Conner came to her side. “Mom? What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t even pretend it away. She shook her head, not knowing what to say. Wishing Vance were here. Why hadn’t he called her to tell her this?
“Mom, you’re shaking.” He put his hands on her. “I’m going to pray for you.”
“It’s okay. Mommy’s okay.” She handed him her keys as she wiped her eyes. “Can you go unlock the front door? I’ll be inside in a second, okay?”
She brushed off the tears again, but they kept coming. She had to get a grip, for Conner’s sake. How many times had that little boy seen her cry since he was born? Countless. This was supposed to be their new start, where Mom and Dad lived in peace. Where bad men were far away.
But bad men were everywhere. Sometimes they came with guns. Sometimes not.
And once again she was alone, and Vance was nowhere to be found.
5
Vance turned the piece of paper over and looked at his bad handwriting, trying to decide if he’d written down a six or a zero. His eyes stung and felt heavy, like they were slowly being absorbed into his eye sockets. He’d pulled into a rest stop at 4 a.m. intending to take a fifteen-minute power nap. He woke up an hour later. But he’d made good time otherwise.
The conversation he’d had with Lindy late last night still swirled in his foggy mind. He’d hated how upset she was, but he’d finally convinced her that his patchy cell service was why he hadn’t called.
He was furious that Joe had visited the house and talked to her. Completely inappropriate. He had to figure out what to do, and quickly. But first, he just wanted to get to his new house, be with his family. Get some sleep.
A vague pain washed through his head. It would be a migraine soon if he didn’t get real rest. But by his calculations, he was only fifteen minutes from the house, if he could find Stanton Street.
“There! Yes!” His hands did a little dance across the steering wheel. Now he was supposed to stay on this for three miles.
Already he was liking Redwood City. He’d rolled down his windows when he crossed the Bay Bridge. The salty smell of the ocean contrasted nicely with the woodsy scent of the trees and the clean, fresh air.
His mind wandered a little. Those days when fear masterfully played him like a puppet were long gone, but he hated himself for never getting the upper hand on it. For never being able to leave it behind.
With every bloodied body that he’d had to stand over in those weeks came a sense of desperation that he had never experienced before or since. He would stand at the crime scene, imagining those innocent people going about their everyday lives, death dropping them with one bullet.
The bloody concrete of the sidewalk, near the bus stop, had glistened in the October midday sun. He couldn’t stop gazing at the tree line, wondering if he and his fellow officers were being watched. Taunted. Targeted.
A nearby car backfired. People screamed. Vance dropped to the ground and pulled out his weapon. That day, October third, five people died by single bullets. At the end of that night he and his fellow detectives realized what they had on their hands. There were no connections between the victims. It was random, which was a conclusion that caused a dread so deep he didn’t sleep for two days.
Then another one. A fortysomething woman was loading things into the trunk of her car. She lived, but they all knew: whoever was doing this wasn’t going to stop.
And then October seventh came. They’d still been working the crime scene from three days before, wary and exhausted. The hunt was on for the killer, by air, by traffic stops, but the detectives knew he would more likely be caught in the details. They had to find something, anything, to lead them to the capture.
There was a white van spotted. Witnesses said they saw two men. Then someone saw a dark sedan. Roadblocks were erected. Task forces swarmed the hills and the roads. But the area was so expansive. It was like trying to find a button in a city trash dump.
He’d finally gotten some rest. Lindy had ordered it. He’d slept four hours, fitfully, but slept nevertheless. He arrived early at his desk, eager to see if anything new had come in. His supervisor, Detective Cantella, a veteran of twenty years, seemed like a rock. Vance had come off the streets only a year before, looking for a place he could find his footing. Lindy had suggested applying to go inside, and he’d gotten the job four months later when three other detectives retired.
It had taken some adjustments. He liked the thrill of the streets, the daily activity, and the sense that you never knew what was going to happen.
But he had a kid now, and the thrill was constantly coupled with the desire to give his son the very best in life, which meant keeping his danger level low.
Even beyond that, though, the real reason he’d left was Erin Lester. The nine-year relationship with his partner had grown complicated, and though Lindy would never believe it wasn’t romantic, to keep his family intact, he had to make changes.
He’d found detective work partly mundane and partly challenging. Doug Cantella became a personal hero, and life behind the desk was more than tolerable. He was learning a lot about being a great detective. He was learning to follow the trail and pay attention to detail and get the guy at all costs.
Except the man with the rifle was like a phantom. Vance managed to keep his wits about him until October seventh. He had followed Cantella’s instructions carefully and had pocketed his fears that whoever was doing this was going to open fire on all the police working a scene.
He was getting his third cup of coffee that October morning when his cell phone vibrated on his hip. He flipped it open.
“Vance?”
The voice was frantic. He recognized it immediately. Erin.
“Erin? What’s wrong? What is it?”
She was crying. In all the years he’d known her, he’d never seen her cry. Not once. Not even when she broke her leg during a pursuit. The bone had slashed right through her skin and poked out of the leg of her uniform. All she’d said was “Did we get him?”
Vance set his coffee down and turned away from the noise of the office. It was 8:14 a.m.
“They got a boy,” she sobbed. “We were the first to respond.”
Vance motioned to his partner, Drakkard, waving his hand to get his attention. From where he stood, he saw Cantella’s desk phone light up. Drakkard’s phone lit up too. They locked eyes. They knew they had another one. But a boy? A boy?
“Where?” he asked Erin.
“Bowie. Get here, Vance. He’s killing children now.”
Vance hadn’t hung up the phone when Cantella shouted from across the room, even as he grabbed his weapon and jacket.
“Graegan! Let’s go!” Drakkard hollered.
But the chaos in the office was nothing compared to what he drove up on.
The kid had been shot right in front of his school.
Vance blinked away the images, straining his eyes to see street signs. He wondered if they’d ever leave him . . . the memories. They were so vivid. So much detail was still layered atop it all
. He remembered the coffee being too hot to drink. He remembered the day being perfectly pleasant. He remembered Doug Cantella, who was calm in motion, pointing, and his hand was shaking.
He glanced ahead, trying to read the upcoming street sign. He’d gone at least three miles, hadn’t he? Sometimes when his mind drifted, time did too. He’d given Lindy the GPS. He hated that thing. It was like a rude relative, always interrupting the conversation.
He slowed down and squinted. That was it. Mistletoe Street. He turned right and drove three blocks. Up ahead he saw a condo on the corner, perched on a hill. That had to be it.
He could see why Lindy liked this street. As he topped the hill, a magnificent view spread out below him. Homes and businesses lay quietly beneath the shadows of the trees. And he quickly found the place she was thinking of for the deli. It was right across the street.
And then he saw Conner, running around the front yard, his arms extended like an airplane. Vance pulled to the curb. As he got out, Conner turned and spotted him.
“Dad!” Conner jumped into his arms and hoisted himself up, where he wrapped his arms around Vance’s neck and nearly choked him with a hefty hug.
“Hey, buddy!”
“You’re here! You’re here!” He dropped to the ground and pointed. “That’s our new home. You want to see it?”
“Of course!” Vance followed him up the sidewalk. The condo looked tidy. The bushes were neatly trimmed, the sidewalk weed-free and nicely swept. “Where’s your mom?”
“Inside.”
“Inside?” Vance tried not to react, but they had an agreement about Conner playing outside by himself. Today, though, he had to let it drop. Or try to. He opened the door and saw Lindy at the kitchen bar, just hanging up the phone. She saw him and her expression lit up. Momentarily. Dread diminished her normally sparkly eyes. But she still smiled.
“Well? What do you think?”
“Looks perfect,” he said, pulling her into a hug. She felt tired in his arms.
He kept an arm around her as Conner tugged at him. “Come on! You gotta see my bedroom!”
The place looked like it had potential but felt especially cold without their belongings. The short hallway led to two bedrooms and a bathroom.
Possession Page 4
