Evil in My Town

by Karen Ann Hopkins

  “Do you need help?” I offered.

  “No, no, I’m good,” she said quickly. Her rosy cheeks were plump and I guessed she was around nine years old. The smaller girl just stared at me with her mouth gaping. She was a replica of her older sister.

  “Is your brother home?” I tried to sound conversational, but my heart trembled and I felt sick.

  “Which one?” she asked.

  I had to smile at my stupidity. The Amish almost always had huge families. This girl might have five or six brothers for all I knew. “Matthew. Matthew Troyer,” I repeated.

  She nodded vigorously and jutted her chin toward the barn I had passed. “He’s feeding the horses. You’ll find him there.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled. I trotted down the steps, leaving the girls and their curious stares behind.

  I stretched my legs and pulled my scarf tighter, then slipped on my mittens. The temperature was dropping and snow was beginning to accumulate. If I didn’t hurry, I might not make it home. The thought of what Mom would do if I slid off the road into the ditch, and she had to drive all the way out here to get me made me move even faster.

  The sliding door was cracked open and I pushed on it until there was enough room for me to slip through. I blinked at the dimness inside and sneezed into the puff of dust that enveloped me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The voice was a harsh whisper. Matthew pushed by me and shut the door completely. My heart hammered harder when I realized we were alone. A horse whinnied, drawing my attention, and I gratefully walked away from Matthew’s angry face to pet the black head hanging over the stall door.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, and I had something to tell you.” I risked a glance over my shoulder. Matthew’s face had loosened. He looked back at me with a neutral expression. “Did you hear about the school shooting?”

  He nodded, sticking his hands in the pockets of his black corduroy coat. “How’s Lindsey taking it?”

  I realized with a jolt he had no idea she had been shot. He was Amish after all. He didn’t carry a cell phone or drive a car with a radio in it. No television, either. Everyone in town knew what had happened minutes after the first shots were fired, but not the Amish. They had to wait for information to trickle in from drivers and other outsiders’ mouths.

  My eyes widened and it was like seeing Matthew for the first time. His pants were a deepest blue that looked homespun and I would bet his mother had made the knitted black hat on his head. Brown hair flared out from under the cap and freckles sprinkled his nose. His eyes were the same muddy brown color as his sisters. I decided that he was kind of attractive and I understood what Lindsey saw in him.

  “She was shot, Matt.” His mouth opened and his faced paled. “She’s okay,” I rushed out, “She’s in the hospital and she asked me to come tell you what had happened.” I looked away. It was easier to stare at the pretty horse that was stretching its neck out to me for more petting, than to deal with Matthew’s stricken expression. “She didn’t want you to think she had stood you up last night or was ignoring your calls.”

  He moved closer. “How bad are her injuries?”

  “I don’t know all the details, but a bullet grazed her head.” His eyes grew to saucer size. “But the doctor says she should recover fully. She’ll be in the hospital for a while, doing therapy and stuff.”

  Matthew crossed the aisle and sunk down onto a bale of hay.

  Losing all nerve to talk anymore to him, I said, “I did what Lindsey asked me to do. I’ll leave you alone.”

  I was almost to the door and could feel the icy wind blowing through the slight gap when he called out, “No, wait. Don’t go yet.”

  I slowly turned back and walked toward him. “What?”

  He raised his face. “Is it true that it was Jackson who killed all those people?”

  Matthew was a year older than me, but at that moment, there was an innocence about him that made me feel much older. I watched snippets of the news and watched horror and crime movies. Violence wasn’t completely foreign to me, even though what had happened at the school was hard for me to wrap my head around. I could see in Matthew’s eyes that he didn’t even begin to comprehend what had happened or more importantly, why.

  I took a deep breath. There was enough space on the hay bale that I joined Matthew. “Yeah, it was Jackson. Twenty-six people lost their lives yesterday—mostly kids. Some were friends of mine. Lindsey’s lucky to be alive, and so am I.” I faced Matthew. “I was with Hunter, and I think Jackson was coming after us. If it weren’t for my Aunt Reni, we’d probably be dead, too. She shot Jackson and he died falling from the high place where we were hiding. He almost reached us.”

  “Sheriff Serenity saved the day again, huh? I met her, you know. When the Amish girls were killed by the English driver. My brother, Abner, courted one of the girls—Makayla.”

  “Why would she talk to you about it?”

  “She interviewed everyone in the community. Bishop Esch set it all up.” He raised a single brow. “She noticed me somehow. It was like she saw into my soul and knew that I was being reckless.”

  I shuddered once. “Aunt Reni is good at her job. She senses things about people and it helps her solve crimes.” I pressed my lips together and forced myself to meet Matthew’s curious stare. “The problem is she might be onto us”—I motioned with my hands—“all of us. She might find out about that night.”

  “That’s why Jackson shot up the school?” he whispered.

  I nodded slowly. “Maybe.”

  Matthew thudded his head back against the wall. I took his lack of words as an opportunity to make my escape. I’d told him about Lindsey and he also knew about Jackson. He was a smart kid, and he was Amish. He could keep a secret.

  He jumped up, following me. “Wait!”

  I slowed, but didn’t stop. I wanted to go home—to get away from the dark, drafty barn and the Amish boy who reminded me of sweet Naomi.

  “I want to visit Lindsey,” he said. “Will you drive me?”

  I paused without turning. “Your parents would allow that?”

  “I’ll arrange something. They won’t know where I’m going.”

  Heat spread from my stomach upward, until my face was flaming hot. I rounded on him. “No more lies and sneaking around! I’m finished with it all.” He opened his mouth to interrupt me and I pointed my finger, raising my voice to cut him off. “No, Matthew. A girl died because of us.”

  “It was her fault! She made her own choices,” he shouted back.

  I cringed. What if his mother or father appeared in the doorway? I needed to get out of there, but I paused long enough to look fiercely at him. “If you had any sense at all, you’d stay away from Lindsey and she’d stay away from you.” Hurt lit his eyes, but I ignored his pain and barreled on. “It will never work between you two. It’s doomed to end in a horrible way. Trust me, I know. Amish and English aren’t supposed to fall in love. Get out now, before it’s too late.”

  I barely felt the biting wind on my face as I stomped through the snow to my car. But I did feel the hot tears running down my cheeks.

  10

  Serenity

  “What do you have for me, Bobby?” I raised the mask over my mouth. The smell of formaldehyde churned my stomach and I hoped to avoid the nausea if at all possible.

  Bobby pulled his mask down and removed his gloves. I waited while he washed his hands and picked up his old-school notebook.

  “You’re going to have to start using the tablet,” I scolded. “Or you’re going to get in trouble with the state.”

  He made a growling noise and ignored my comment all together. He pulled back the white sheet and stood over Jackson Merritt. I approached the body with slow steps. This young man had killed more than two dozen people and critically wounded several more. Mostly, I loath
ed the sight of him, but the pimples on his forehead and chin were distracting. They reminded me that he was only kid, and that made hating him harder.

  “The rushed toxicology report already came back. He wasn’t under the influence of any kind of drug or alcohol. His system was clean,” Bobby said.

  “I’m not surprised. His methodical approach to entering the school, snapping the weapon together and reloading, proved he had a fairly sound body. His mind is another story altogether.”

  “After everything we’ve experienced, do you still not believe that evil is all around us, Serenity?”

  I rolled my eyes. My coroner was beginning to sound like Bishop Aaron Esch. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d once been Amish.

  “Let’s not get into that discussion again,” I scoffed. “Yes, I believe in evil, but I think men and women are inherently evil. There’s a lot of crazy souls out there that are just waiting to lose control and commit terrible acts. There’s no magical being making people kill each other.”

  Bobby looked at me over the top of his glasses, and my mind drifted back to a conversation I had with the bishop a couple of months earlier when we’d discovered Makayla Bowman’s body in the shed.

  A chill raced up my spine. The faint smell of blood still hung in the air. Not so long ago, right where we stood, Makayla had been tortured and murdered.

  “What are you saying?”

  The bishop snapped, “Satan was in this room. He did this—and he’s out there, Sheriff.”

  The solid sound of Bobby’s voice brought me back to the bright lights of the examination room. “I have twenty-six bodies in several morgues, most of which are teenagers.” He twirled the end of his white mustache. “There’s no way to explain that kind of savagery. Especially when it’s committed by another teen.”

  I sighed and looked closer at Jackson Merritt. He was ordinary in every way, except his name would go down in infamy on the list of the deadliest school shooters in America. I shook my head and returned my gaze to Bobby.

  “There’s nothing wrong with trying to figure out why this kid did what he did.” I rolled my neck, popping it. It wasn’t even noon yet and I was already exhausted. “We might never know for sure what made this kid snap. You were all for the psychoanalysis of the serial killer on our last investigation.”

  Bobby’s brow furrowed. “That was different. Our killer had very specific victims and motives. We were able to compare him to other serial killers. The molds for mass shooters are different—they come from all walks of life. The randomness of it is what disturbs me most. There is no way Jackson Merritt had a grudge against all the people he killed. He was going for shock value.”

  “Perhaps…” I trailed off and removed the mask. “Sorry to run, but I’m meeting officials at the school.”

  “There is something else, but it might take a few days to get conclusive results.” Bobby motioned me over to the counter, where a flannel shirt coat was folded and enclosed in a plastic evidence bag. “The shooter was wearing this at the time of his rampage.” He pointed at the pocket with his pencil. “There was some white powdery residue inside—only a miniscule amount, but the texture of it reminded me of heroin.”

  I raised my brows and he hurried on, “Not personal experience, I dare say. We’ve had enough drugs come through here that I consider my knowledge quite reliable.”

  I frowned. “I was only kidding, Bobby. If that’s true, it only complicates the investigation, giving me another reason to visit the Amish community as soon as possible.”

  Bobby folded his glasses and set them down. “What on earth do the Amish have to do with this mess?”

  “Three words—drugs and Monroe Swarey.”

  11

  Taylor

  Snow began falling harder as I pulled out onto the roadway. I leaned forward over the steering wheel and turned the windshield wipers on high speed. I couldn’t see the lines on the road anymore, and my tire tracks were the first ones cutting through the thin blanket of snow forming on the road. I shouldn’t have driven out here when the weather was worsening. I was a mess from the meeting with Matthew Troyer, and tears bubbled up in my eyes when my mind drifted back to the carnage in the school’s hallway. Had it been only yesterday that Jackson entered the school and began shooting everyone?

  My hands started to shake on the steering wheel and I squinted, trying to see through the giant flakes hitting the windshield. I saw the stop sign at the last second and hit the brakes. They locked up and my car slid sideways. I frantically pumped the brakes, but they wouldn’t catch. Even though the car was moving fairly slowly, I still gasped as I tried helplessly to stop. There was a thump and the car dipped and rolled into the snow-covered bank. My seat belt pressed uncomfortably into my chest, but at least the airbags didn’t deploy.

  I blew out a wobbly breath and grabbed my cellphone from my tote bag. The battery was dead.

  “I’m so stupid,” I muttered. I zipped up my coat, put my mittens back on and pushed the door open. Snowflakes melted on my face as I shut the door and walked to the front of the car. A tire was stuck in the ditch and without the help of a tow truck, the car wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. There was a small dent where the front end pressed into the bank, but that was the only real damage to the car.

  “Mom and Dad are going to kill me.” The words puffed out into the cold air.

  It was nearly dark, and a herd of cows with snow blanketing their backs stood beside the road, watching me. The only other sign of life was a flickering light in the distance. I guessed it to be closer than trying to walk back to the Troyer farm. After the things I’d said and the fact that I shouldn’t have even gone there in the first place, I figured I wouldn’t be welcome to return there anyway. I stood for a minute, shivering in the falling snow. The icy chill on my cheeks was like a hundred pin pricks, but the pain felt good in a way. At least I was alive to feel it. I clenched my fists and pressed my cracked lips together. I tried not to pity myself, but it had been a rough couple of days.

  A cow mooed and it seemed as if she was telling me to get moving. With a heavy heart and very little energy, I began trudging along the road, toward the light on the hill.

  The walk seemed to take forever, but it probably only lasted ten minutes when I finally reached the front porch of the small white house beside the road. There was another larger house further back up the long driveway, but I was already frozen and I didn’t think my legs would take me farther.

  There wasn’t a door bell so I knocked several times and waited. The scent of chimney smoke wafted on the wind, creating an almost magical feeling to the snowy countryside. When the door cracked open, I straightened.

  A short Amish woman peeked out. Some of her gray hair had escaped from under her cap and the hunter green dress she wore was splattered with flour.

  “Do you need help?” the woman asked.

  I tried to hide my smile. I’m sure she wasn’t expecting an English girl to be on her porch. “Yes, I had a little accident back there—slid right into a ditch—and my phone is dead.” Her eyes widened and I added, “I mean the battery—it’s dead. Can I use your telephone to call a tow truck?”

  “Oh, my, what bad luck you’ve had this night.” She flung the door wide open and shuffled me into the house. “Of course you may use the telephone, but it’s not in the house.” She shut the door and called out something in her language before turning her attention back to me. She opened a door to a closet and pulled out a white towel. She handed it to me and led me down the hallway. “We share a telephone with my daughter, and it’s in a shed halfway up the hillside. You should dry off and warm yourself with a cup of hot cocoa before you go to make your call.”

  I rubbed the towel onto my wet hair and let out a breath when the stuffy warmth inside the small house began to penetrate my skin. When we stepped into the kitchen, I wrinkled my nose at the unfamiliar odor of
the gas lamps hanging from the ceiling. They were strange looking contraptions, with live, dancing flames in each one. The room was relatively small, and the counter was piled high with Tupperware containers and tin pie trays. The odd smell of the lamps was quickly replaced by that of baking cinnamon and sugar. I inhaled deeply.

  “It smells like a bakery in here,” I exclaimed.

  The woman smiled back. “The community is having a benefit dinner and sale tomorrow for our minister, James Hooley, who’s been battling cancer. It’s a dreadful disease and his family needs help with the medical bills.” She spread her arms wide. “It’s my job to make the apple pies for the event—with assistance from my Sarah.”

  I followed the nod of her head. A girl about my age came out of another room, carrying a crate filled to the brim with apples. She dropped the crate onto the table and wiped her hands on the sides of her maroon dress. “Hello,” Sarah said.

  “Hi,” I replied. “How many pies do you have to make?”

  “We’re aiming for twenty-two, right Mam?” Sarah took an apple out of the bin and took a bite out of it. She tossed me one, and I scrambled with cold hands to grab it from the air. “Good catch!” Sarah said.

  For the first time in two days, I felt like smiling. The tall girl had dark brown hair and sparkling green eyes. Her lips curled up in a carefree grin that put me completely at ease in the strangers’ house.

  “Sarah, dear, can you give this poor girl”—she looked confused and turned to me—“what is your name, child?”

  “Taylor,” I said.

  “How rude of me not to make introductions. It’s not often we have unexpected visitors we don’t know.” She dipped her head. “I’m Anna Bachman, and this is my granddaughter.”