Kill You Twice

by Chelsea Cain

  Leo leveled his gaze at Susan. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He plucked his cell phone from her hands and led Bliss to the kitchen.

  Susan sat back down on the bed and hit refresh until Derek’s e-mail came through. The ad had been placed by Ryan Motley. There was a telephone number listed and an address in St. Helens. The telephone number was bogus: 503-555-1212. Crack security at the Herald, as usual. Susan Googled the address. It was some church in St. Helens. The Church of Living Christ.

  By the time Leo walked back into the bedroom, Susan was dressed and had her shoes on.

  “What’s going on?” Leo asked.

  “There was a gun in that gym bag, do you still have it?” Susan asked.

  “No,” Leo said.

  Susan raised her eyebrows. “Do you have another gun?”

  Leo didn’t answer.

  “Do you?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Get it,” Susan said.

  “I’m wearing it,” Leo said.

  She looked him up and down. She didn’t see a gun.

  He scratched the back of his ear. “It’s around my ankle,” he said.

  Sure, that wasn’t weird. Carrying a concealed weapon. Susan twisted her wet hair into a ponytail. “We need to go,” she said.

  Leo was between her and the door. “Where?”

  “There’s something I want to check out,” she said, trying to slide past him.

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m supposed to keep you safe,” he said. “Detective Sheridan’s orders.”

  She looked up at him. She didn’t know who he was. Or what he was involved in. Right now it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had a gun, and she was beginning to suspect that he knew how to use it. She looked at him hard. “You want me to trust you? You trust me.”

  “What about your mother?” Leo asked.

  Susan lifted each of Leo’s hands off her shoulders, and then motioned for him to follow her. She went to the kitchen, pulled a butcher knife out of the knife block by the Viking range, and carried the knife to the living room where her mother had just lifted a large pinot glass of red wine to her mouth.

  “Mom, we’re going out,” Susan said. She held the knife out, hilt first, and her mother took it. “If anyone comes to the door, stab them with this.”

  CHAPTER

  65

  The land around what remained of the Church of Living

  Christ was treacherous. The moon was full, and the spotlights from the patrol cars threw blinding light and cast strange shadows. Archie watched with Henry from behind the car as Columbia County SWAT crept forward slowly, their flashlights navigating the overgrown weeds and strewn two-by-fours that littered the ground.

  Archie tried the megaphone again. “Colin Beaton, this is the police. Come out of the building with your hands behind your head.”

  There was no response.

  The frame of the structure was still standing. They had all studied a photograph of it. A hundred-year-old wooden building, windows and door blown out, ceiling caved in. The white paint job was still visible, darkened with soot.

  “It looks haunted,” one of the SWAT guys had said. And no one laughed.

  Archie hated this part. Waiting in the back with his Kevlar vest, as the SWAT radio in his hand crackled with hushed communications.

  “Approaching.”

  “In position.”

  “Entering east window.”

  Archie peered over the hood of the car and saw the flashlight beams slicing the darkness inside the house.

  Henry pulled back the slide on his weapon and released it.

  “Clear.”

  “Clear.”

  “Clear.”

  “Shit,” Archie said.

  “Sir, we don’t see anyone in here.”

  Archie stood up.

  He grabbed a flashlight from a nearby officer and started walking toward the church, stumbling over the debris in the yard. He still had the megaphone in his hand. He lifted it to his mouth and said, “Don’t shoot, I’m coming in.”

  The SWAT commander was waiting at the front door.

  “Bad info,” the commander said.

  “Keep looking,” Archie said.

  The commander stepped aside so Archie could walk inside the church. Archie could see stars through the ceiling and the flash-lights of the SWAT team spread throughout the building.

  The commander shone his flashlight clockwise around the church. The interior walls had been stripped to their studs. It was basically all one room. There was nowhere to hide.

  “Is there a basement?” Archie asked.

  “Brick-and-fieldstone foundation. He’s not here, sir.”

  Archie hurled the megaphone on the floor. “Goddamn it,” he said.

  The flashlight beams froze.

  A shadow stepped behind Archie, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Henry. “You’re in a fucking church, Archie,” Henry said.

  Archie looked up at the night sky, the stars, the moon. “Sorry,” he said.

  Huffington arrived just as SWAT was clearing out. Archie was in the passenger seat of Henry’s car and Huffington pulled up next to him in her patrol car, her window down.

  She said, “Next time you stage a raid in my town, give me a heads-up.”

  “There wasn’t time,” Archie said.

  “It took you an hour to get here,” she said.

  She had him there.

  “We had a lead that he was in the old church,” Archie explained. “He wasn’t.”

  “Keep me in the loop, Detective,” Huffington said. She pressed a button somewhere and her window went up, and then she rolled off down the street.

  Henry got into the driver’s seat. “She pissed?” he asked.

  “She reminds me of Susan,” Archie said. He glanced at the time on the dash. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Henry pulled the car away from the curb and headed down the hill toward the highway, while Archie gazed out the window.

  “There’s something Claire and I have been meaning to tell you,” Henry said.

  The houses they passed were dark, except for the occasional flickering blue light of a TV screen. “She’s pregnant,” Archie said. “I’ve been meaning to congratulate you.” He was going to give his friend a slap on the back, or a handshake, or one of those other physical gestures men give each other at times like this, but Archie got distracted by something he saw out the window.

  “First trimester,” Henry said. “Wait a minute, you knew?”

  “Stop the car,” Archie said.

  “What?”

  “Stop the car,” Archie said.

  Henry stepped on the brakes. They were in front of the new Church of Living Christ.

  Archie peered out the window. The church was dark, except for the stained-glass windows in the main chapel, which glowed in an abstract pattern of red and gold. “Looks like somebody’s home,” Archie said quietly.

  “Maybe they’re burning the midnight oil.”

  Archie opened the car door. “Maybe we went to the wrong church,” he said, stepping out.

  “Hey,” Henry said, struggling to get unbuckled.

  Archie was halfway up the walk when Henry caught up with him.

  Their Kevlar vests were in the trunk.

  Archie tried the knob on the main doors to the church. They were locked. The large double doors were oak, with expensive hardware. Archie went to the office door. As he remembered, the door was cheaper, with a standard cheap brass doorknob. He tried the doorknob. It was locked. He got his wallet out and rifled through his cards for the right flexibility, and then settled on a Starbucks gift card. He pulled it out and slid it next to the doorknob between the door and the frame.

  “What are you doing?” Henry hissed.

  Archie bent the part of the card that was still exposed toward the doorknob and said, “Breaking into a church.” He pushed until he felt the card slide in past the mechanism. Then he leaned against the door an
d bent the card the opposite direction, until the lock popped and the door swung open.

  “I’m pretty sure you just violated a commandment,” Henry said.

  They both stared into the still, dark office.

  “I’m going in to check it out,” Archie said, unholstering his weapon.

  “You want me to get SWAT back?” Henry asked.

  “If I find something,” Archie said, stepping through the door.

  Henry drew his own weapon and stepped through the door behind Archie.

  “You don’t have to come with me,” Archie said.

  “You think I’m going to let you burn in hell alone?” Henry said. “Just don’t shoot the janitor.”

  The office was dark, but there was a slice of light under an interior door in the back left corner. Archie motioned to it, and they headed toward it, past inky shadows of desks and filing cabinets.

  “How do you know how to do that thing with the door?” Henry whispered.

  “I looked it up on the Internet once,” Archie said.

  They had reached the inside door. Archie tried the knob. It was unlocked.

  Archie looked at Henry.

  They readied their weapons.

  Then the door opened.

  Reverend Lewis stood in the doorway, his white hair backlit by the chapel lights, holding a sweater to his chest, like he’d been caught in the middle of folding laundry. “Yes, gentlemen?” he said.

  “Jesus Christ,” Henry said, lowering his gun.

  Archie didn’t lower his gun. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. “Everything okay, Reverend?” he asked.

  “I’m praying for that girl,” Reverend Lewis said. “How did you get in here?”

  “We’ll get out of your hair, Reverend,” Henry said.

  Archie didn’t move. “Can we come in and look around?”

  The reverend’s lips were thin and pale. “That’s not a good idea,” he said.

  Archie raised his gun so that it was level with Reverend Lewis’s forehead. “Step to the side and let us in,” Archie said.

  “Archie,” Henry said in a low, incredulous voice. “What the fuck?”

  The reverend swung the door all the way open and for a moment he was surrounded by light. Archie squinted as the reverend stepped out of the way to let them pass. Archie walked through the door, gun level in front of him.

  The church interior was modern and airy, with beige wall-to-wall carpet and white walls. Gleaming blond wood pews faced the front of the church. A carpeted aisle led between the pews and up three beige carpeted steps to the sanctuary up front. The carpet was marbled with bloodstains, like someone had been dragged, bleeding, down the aisle. On the altar of the sanctuary, Archie could see Pearl, laid out like a human sacrifice. She wasn’t moving.

  A dark-haired man in his thirties stood at the pulpit. He hadn’t shaved in days, and his hair was wild. But Archie recognized the long limbs and vulpine features of the teenage Colin Beaton. There was a trembling desperation about him, an almost tangible anxiety. If Archie had seen him on the street, he would have assumed he was mentally ill.

  In the room, saturating everything, was the overpowering scent of lilies. Huge bouquets of white blooms were gathered in brass urns at the front of the church and along the backs of the pews. That was where Colin had gotten the lilies. He had stolen them from churches. A missing lily here and there, a congregation wasn’t likely to even notice it.

  Colin waved Archie in as he leaned close to a microphone and said, “Come and pray with us.” The words echoed in the church, and Colin smiled.

  “We’re the police, Colin,” Archie said. “You’re under arrest.”

  “Reverend Lewis,” Colin said into the microphone, deepening his voice in a parody of authority. “You need to resume your spiritual duties.” He spread his arms wide. “ ‘For I will restore health unto you,’ ” he bellowed into the mike, “ ‘and I will heal you of your wounds, saith the Lord.’ ”

  “Stay where you are, Reverend,” Archie barked.

  “Archie,” Henry said.

  Archie stole a glance to the left. Reverend Lewis had dropped the sweater. His torso was swaddled in duct tape that held some device to his chest.

  No one said anything. Colin was so close to the microphone that it amplified his breathing. It was the only sound in the room. Archie had never seen a real bomb up close. But he was pretty sure that he was seeing one now. He could feel sweat forming on his upper lip as he counted to five. One. Stay calm. Two. Keep your voice measured. Three. Project authority. Four. Build a rapport. Five. Be firm. “What have you done, Colin?” Archie said.

  Colin laughed, and the microphone squealed with a blast of feedback that made Archie flinch. “There a phone on the pulpit,” Colin said. “I hit one button and that bomb goes off.”

  Archie couldn’t see Colin’s hands or the phone. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. These days anyone with an Internet connection could find out how to build a bomb with a cell phone detonator. Archie leveled his weapon, centering the sights on Colin’s forehead. How long did it take to press one button on a cell phone? A second? Half a second? He could feel the trigger under his finger. Archie’s legs were shoulder-width apart; his elbow was locked; his breathing was steady. All he had to do was squeeze.

  “Do you think you can kill me with one shot?” Colin asked, his amplified voice reverberating through the church.

  Archie exhaled slowly. He was fifty feet away from Colin, and Colin was a twitchy, fidgeting target. Archie wasn’t that good a shot. Even if Archie did manage to shoot him in the head, Colin’s hand might clench reflexively. Archie looked over at Henry, hoping that he had a better shot, but Henry shook his head. They needed to get closer.

  “Reverend,” Colin said. “Pray for our sister.”

  Reverend Lewis glanced back at Archie, and their eyes met. Archie searched the old man’s eyes for some sign of serenity or faith, something that the reverend could hold on to, but all Archie saw was fear. The reverend’s eyes looked up at the ceiling, or heaven, or God, and then he lowered his head and hurried down the aisle and up the stairs, where he knelt before Pearl.

  She was so still up there, it made Archie’s chest hurt. She hadn’t made an effort to move since they’d come in. She wasn’t restrained. She was unconscious. One arm hung limply off the altar, her fingers grazing the carpet. Archie couldn’t tell if the dark stains he saw on her body were shadows or blood. “Pearl?” Archie hollered. “Can you hear me?”

  Reverend Lewis’s white head was bent in prayer, one of his hands on Pearl’s forehead. She didn’t respond to Archie’s voice or the reverend’s touch. Archie hoped she knew the reverend was there, that she wasn’t alone.

  He lifted his weapon an inch, refocusing his aim. Archie had to get Pearl out of there. He had to do it for Susan.

  Colin was looking at the Bible open on the pulpit, flipping frantically through the gold-edged pages. Archie glanced back at Henry, who was digging in his pocket for his phone.

  Henry mouthed the word, Backup.

  “Wait,” Archie said. Colin looked up from the Bible. Henry had his phone in his hand. “Don’t,” Archie said. Archie didn’t know anything about bombs. But he knew a little bit about cell phones. He knew they shared frequencies.

  “If I were you,” Colin said, “I’d turn off your cell phones. Any incoming or outgoing calls on the wrong frequency and the reverend goes boom.”

  It wasn’t worth the risk. Archie kept his weapon raised and slid his free hand in his pocket, pulled out his phone, and turned it off. “Do it,” Archie told Henry.

  Henry hesitated and then scowled and hit the off button.

  Archie took another step forward, staring down the barrel of his gun. Maybe he couldn’t kill Colin with one shot; but Colin didn’t need to know that. “This isn’t going to work, Colin,” Archie said. “She needs medical attention. Not faith healing.”

  Colin left the pulpit, and Archie followed him with his weapon.
Colin’s phone was in his fist. The reverend was still praying over Pearl. If the bomb detonated, the reverend would take Pearl with him. Colin stalked over to the altar, raised his arms in the air, and said, “ ‘Behold, I will bring you health and cure, and I will cure you, and will reveal unto you the abundance of peace and truth.’ ”

  Maybe if Colin Beaton had never met Gretchen Lowell, or been introduced to the Church of Living Christ, or had a different father, he wouldn’t have killed anyone. But Archie was pretty sure he still would have been nuts. They needed to end this. Archie saw Henry start to creep right, around the back of the pews, so he could move forward along the wall to get a better shot. Archie had to keep Colin distracted, keep him talking; draw his focus away from Henry. Archie bent his elbow a little, to keep circulation flowing to his hand. He could feel his palm sweating around the grip of his gun. His arm ached. “If she dies, it’s on you, not God,” Archie said.

  Colin’s face contorted. “He said the spirit dwelled in me,” he said. “He lied.” Colin was breathing hard, his face red. He glared down at the kneeling reverend. “ ‘Forgive him,’ you said. You knew what he was doing to us, and you did nothing.”

  His pain was so raw it made Archie want to look away.

  “Please let me take her to a hospital,” Archie said, taking another step, his gun still leveled at Colin. “She’s a kid. A foster kid, like Gretchen Stevens.”

  Colin straightened up and wiped the tears off his face with his sleeve. “Is Gretchen here?” he asked with a sniff, peering out into the empty pews.

  “She sent me,” Archie said. “That’s how we knew where you were.”

  Colin frowned and gazed down at the phone in his hand. “I thought she would come,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “I looked for her for so long. I sent her messages.”

  Archie could see Henry in the periphery of his vision, edging up to the front of the church. “You mean the hearts you carved on the children you murdered,” Archie said. “And the lilies.”

  “I thought she’d come this time,” Colin said.

  “She sent me,” Archie said. He locked his elbow and fixed his gaze down the barrel of his gun. “Instead.”

  Colin pointed at him and a light seemed to go on. “I know who you are,” he said. He cocked his head and his eyebrows shot up hopefully. “Did she say anything about me?”