I Can See You

by Karen Rose

  She couldn’t see him, didn’t know him. She flinched. He was behind her. She could hear him breathing. Then she could smell it. Gasoline. It burned her nose, her eyes, and she remembered that night. The gas, the smoke, the heat. The stench of burning flesh. And the screams. She heard the screams of agony of the ones that hadn’t gotten out.

  No. Get out. Get away. She wrenched her body, but went nowhere. I’m tied. I can’t get away. Her heart was beating so fast. Too fast. Her head swam, dizzy. Bernie. It had to be Bernie. Somehow he got out. He’d planned this. His revenge.

  He’s going to kill me. She wrenched again, violently, felt the stool give, but it was brought swiftly back, all four legs on the floor with a thud that shuddered through her.

  “Better,” he murmured in her ear. Her head jerked to the sound, but he was still behind her. Then he walked around the stool, stopped in front of her, and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. Not Bernie. “Not fully cogent, but more aware.”

  Her breath hitched. A lighter. He held it in front of her eyes and flicked it to life. She reared back, unable to take her eyes from the flame. He smiled. Smugly.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Rachel. You thought after your public display of good behavior that you could slip into the shadows, and live the life you craved in a fantasy world. You thought Delilah was invisible, but no one is truly invisible.”

  Delilah. Shadowland. John. It had been a setup. A trap.

  He stepped back and her eyes followed. He wore boots and… fireman pants over his trousers. The pants were too big, gaping at his waist. He might have looked like a clown except for the gun in his waistband. Behind him she saw a fire extinguisher. And next to that, a backpack. And on top of the backpack… my shoes. Neatly together.

  “Fear is an interesting thing,” he said, and her gaze ripped back to his face. He was smiling, his eyes cold and cruel. I’m going to die. “Many fears, like the fear of snakes, are somewhat instinctive. They represent a heightened awareness of danger. It’s when those fears take control of our actions that they become phobia. You, Rachel, have an extreme phobia. Given your personal history, an understandable one.”

  She could feel his breath on her face. “I think your incarcerated ex-husband will get quite a chuckle out of hearing that you were incinerated. Poetic justice, wouldn’t you say?”

  He produced an extra-long match from his pocket, waved it like a wand. No. New terror shivered down her spine and she clenched her eyes shut.

  “I am remiss,” he said. His fingers forced her eye open and she felt wetness over her eye a split second before he pressed her eyelid back. Glued. She struggled when he tried to glue her other eye and he slapped her face with a snarl. “Don’t move.”

  He stepped back, flicked the lighter, touched it to the long match. “And without further ado.” A line of fire spread in a ring. Around me. Anywhere she looked. Coming closer. It hurt. Burned. Stop. Make it stop. Make the pain stop. The howl in her throat was muffled by the tape, her ears filled with the crackling, hissing of the flames.

  And then the man was there, winding twine around her throat and all she could see was his eyes, alive and laughing. He was laughing.

  She could hear him laughing, far away. Then he was groaning. So far away…

  He let out a long, ragged breath, torn between elation and fury. He hadn’t held it in, hadn’t been able to control it. He’d let go. And it had been… incredible. He shuddered, his muscles twitching in the aftermath. Incredible.

  His eyes were inches from hers. Empty now, they’d been wide, terrified, staring up at him because he demanded it. The whores always stared up. Never down. Never again. He relaxed his grip and the twine around Rachel’s throat went limp in his hands. His mind was clearing, logic returning. Incredible, but insane. He stepped from the carefully constructed fire zone and grabbed the extinguisher, putting out the flames, which in another few moments would have leapt free of the ring of flame suppressant he’d placed around the accelerant. The fire was out. In more ways than one.

  He glanced down at his trousers, annoyed. His clothing probably had contained his ejaculate, but he had to be sure. He could leave no DNA behind. He had bleach in the back of his car. That and the fire would suffice to hide the evidence of his loss of control. Nothing of his would remain.

  Wednesday, February 24, 2:30 a.m.

  Harvey woke abruptly when the phone rang. He fumbled for it blindly. “What?”

  “Wake up, Pop,” Dell said. “Our boys are on the move.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Following Phelps, like you told me to. Just use the GPS unit like I showed you to find Webster.”

  Something was wrong. There was a satisfied note in his son’s tone that he just didn’t trust. He swung his legs over the bed and grabbed his pants. After tonight, they’d switch. I’ll follow Phelps. Before Dell did something foolish that they’d both regret.

  Wednesday, February 24, 2:45 a.m.

  “This is it? You’re sure?” Noah stood on the sidewalk next to two uniformed officers.

  The uniforms nodded. “Yes, Detective. The address Dispatch gave us for Rachel Ward is this mailbox store.”

  Noah looked around, wearily. Jack was nowhere to be seen. He’d called him three times each on his cell and his home line, getting Jack’s voicemail each time. He thought of Jack’s state of mind when they’d parted at the coffee shop hours ago. He could see Jack going home and getting totally drunk.

  Which is his business on his own time. But this wasn’t Jack’s time. And Rachel’s time could be running out. “Thanks.” He dialed Eve. “Say the address again.”

  “Why? Is Rachel all right?”

  “I don’t know. This is a mailbox store. Check again.” She read the address again. “It’s a match. She didn’t give her home address when she registered for your study.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “What I should have done already—run her through the system. I’ll call you.” He got in his car and radioed in his request for addresses for Rachel Ward.

  Unable to sit still, he called Jack again. Still no answer. Dispatch came back with four possible addresses for Rachel Ward, one of which was only a mile from Jack’s house. Dammit. Jack, where the fuck are you?

  Noah needed backup. His finger was a hairsbreadth away from calling Abbott, but something held him back. Face it. You don’t want to turn in your own partner. Not yet. His mind ran through the possibilities, settling on Olivia. She was already up to speed, no onboarding required. They could split the addresses and find Rachel faster.

  Olivia answered on the first ring of her cell. “Sutherland.”

  “It’s Noah Webster. Where are you?”

  “Cruising downtown, looking for a witness for a trial next week. Why?”

  “I need your help.”

  “Where’s Jack?”

  “I… don’t know.”

  “Oh.” The single syllable said it all. “Okay, tell me where. I’ll meet you.”

  “No, we need to split up. I’ve got four addresses to check for a potential victim.” He gave her one of the addresses, then told her to be on the watch for an open bedroom window. If they found one, they’d be too late. If they found one, he’d need a partner.

  “What about the others?” she asked.

  “I’ll take one and have cruisers go to the other two. Thanks, Liv.”

  Wednesday, February 24, 3:05 a.m.

  He stepped back, surveying his handiwork. Five of six. Rachel Ward hanging by the neck had never looked better. Her feet were a little blistered, but the police would know a fire had occurred as soon as they entered her house. He wondered how quickly she’d be discovered. She’d be late to work tomorrow, obviously.

  Sitting at her laptop, he went into her open Shadowland account and hung the wreath on her virtual door. He already knew he couldn’t paint her avatar’s face. Rachel hadn’t bought her Delilah from Pandora, so he’d have to be content with hanging the dancer
from a virtual rope and setting the virtual scene. He could do it in a couple of clicks, as he’d done it so many times already. Then he took her computer, let himself out of Rachel’s house, locking her deadbolt behind him, and pocketed her key.

  He’d driven to the edge of Rachel’s neighborhood when his heart nearly stopped. Pulling into the subdevelopment was a cop. Not just any cop. A homicide detective.

  Olivia Sutherland. His heart started to pound in his ears. How had she known? Who told her to come here? Her car slowed as she passed and he held his breath. She had no legal reason to stop him. After the police had seen the car he’d used in Christy’s murder on the diner’s security video, he’d changed cars and plates. All part of the plan.

  Sutherland resumed driving, and letting out the breath he’d held, he carefully pulled onto the nearly deserted two-lane highway, going east when he really needed to go west. West was toward the highway and home. But if any other cops were joining her, they’d come the same way she did and he didn’t want them finding him.

  Who called Sutherland? he fumed. Who the hell had known about Rachel Ward? Now that he was breathing again, he had a pretty good idea.

  Noah Webster had the study participant list, he knew. But there were five hundred names on that list. How had they guessed that Rachel Ward was next? He’d left no pattern, left no clues that would alert them to his next victim. Webster was smarter than the average cop, he allowed, but that still didn’t make him very smart. And Webster was no clairvoyant, that was for damn sure.

  It had to have been Eve. He wasn’t sure how she’d known, but instinct had told him the girl would be dangerous. Now he realized he’d underestimated her. He would not make that same mistake again.

  He forced himself to calm and rationally think things through. Eve had known about Martha and Christy and now Rachel. I knew they were prime targets because they were always in Shadowland. Because I’m in the game with them. And so, he realized, was Eve. She had to be. Clever girl. Too clever for her own good.

  He’d thought that even if she told Webster about Shadowland, there’d be nothing to fear, but he’d been wrong. He’d come too close to getting caught tonight. Eve had come too close. She needed to be eliminated. Unfortunately, she was never alone.

  Lure her out, kill her. It could still work, but not as long as she was on guard, careful. He had to throw her off-balance. Scare her to death. Then he’d lure her out and kill her.

  Wednesday, February 24, 3:10 a.m.

  Eve was cursing herself for leading Noah to the wrong address. But how could you have known? She couldn’t have, she knew, but what if Rachel was next? What if they didn’t find her in time? Rachel Ward would be one more death on her head.

  She was staring at the list, wondering how many more addresses were mailbox stores, wondering if there was a fast way to weed them out. Just in case this happened again. It can’t happen again. We have to stop this guy.

  She zoomed in on the address column on her participant list. And then cursed herself again, peering at the column next to the addresses. Social Security numbers. Dammit, she had Socials on every participant. She already knew Noah had four Rachel Wards to check out. She’d run an address check of her own as soon as they’d hung up. Socials would tell her which Rachel Ward was theirs.

  She logged into the website Ethan used for background checks with the user name and password he’d set up for her when they’d talked that morning, blessing him for his foresight. She plugged in the information she knew and set the search in motion.

  Rachel, where are you? Please be all right.

  Feeling helpless, Eve toggled back to Shadowland and retrieved Greer. Maybe they were worried for nothing. Maybe the purple-haired dancer was wrong. Maybe Rachel’s Delilah had taken a goddamn virtual football team to her virtual condo for a virtual orgy.

  She thought of Sal. How right he’d been. Aviators and orgies, indeed.

  Eve guided Greer to Delilah’s condo, trepidation tightening her throat. And then she saw what she’d known deep down would be true. Too late. We’re too late.

  Slowly, she backed Greer away from the black wreath on Rachel’s door, not wanting to see what was inside. Eve could still see Christy Lewis’s empty eyes staring at her in real life. She didn’t need to see the virtual equivalent one more time.

  Four. Samantha, Martha, Christy, and now Rachel. He’d killed four women.

  At the bottom of her screen the tab for the background check web-site was flashing. Her search was complete. Too late.

  Blindly Eve reached for her cell and dialed Noah.

  Wednesday, February 24, 3:15 a.m.

  Olivia parked her car in front of the address Noah had given her and walked up to the house. It was dark. As quiet as the rest of the street. Carefully she picked her way around the back, through the snow, and looked up.

  Her heart sank. “Dammit,” she whispered.

  The upstairs bedroom window was wide open.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wednesday, February 24, 3:15 a.m.

  Noah answered Eve’s call on his cell. “I don’t know anything yet,” he said.

  “I do,” she said quietly.

  Noah slowed his car to a stop, a block from the address he’d drawn. “Tell me.”

  “I found Rachel’s address.” It was the one Olivia was checking at this very moment.

  “How?” he asked. In her voice he heard defeat and he knew. Too late.

  “I had their Socials. We paid them a small study stipend and needed the Socials for tax purposes. I ran a background check and found the Rachel we’re looking for.”

  “But?”

  “There’s a black wreath on her door in Shadowland. We’re too late, Noah.”

  “You stay put,” he ordered. “And stop feeling guilty. I’ll call you when I can.”

  “Okay,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” No sooner had he hung up than his phone vibrated again. Olivia. “You found her,” he said dully.

  “I’m looking at an open window, second story. How did you know?”

  “Eve found her dead in the game. Call CSU. I’ll be there in under fifteen.”

  “And Jack?”

  Noah put his car into gear. “Still not answering his phone.”

  “Noah, we have to call Abbott. You can’t keep covering for Jack.”

  “I know. Don’t go in without me. Last time he used a poisonous snake.”

  “More fun and games,” she said bitterly. “This guy’s a vile piece of shit.”

  Olivia was waiting for him in front of Rachel’s house. Jack was nowhere to be found.

  “I think it’ll be easier to get in through the back door,” Olivia said.

  It took only one thrust of his shoulder. “Police,” Noah called, weapon drawn.

  “Do you smell something burning?” Olivia murmured.

  “Yeah. That’s new.” He lowered his weapon as he entered Ward’s bedroom. There she hung, like all the others. Right down to the shoes.

  “Her eyes,” she whispered. This was her first time seeing it in person. There was something about the victims’ eyes that didn’t get captured in the crime scene photos. She touched Rachel’s arm, then whirled, her own eyes wide. “Noah, she’s still warm.”

  Noah was there in two steps. “She’s been here maybe an hour,” he said.

  “If that.” Her round blue eyes flashed fury. “A car was leaving the neighborhood, just as I was driving in. Brown Civic. I missed him. If I’d been a few minutes faster…”

  Frustration clawed. Dammit, if Jack had answered… He let himself finish the thought. This woman would be alive and we’d have a killer in custody.

  “He wasn’t driving a brown Civic when he followed Christy Lewis home,” he said tightly. “But changing cars could be his newest up-yours.”

  “I remember his plate number. I’ll call it in.”

  While she did, Noah dialed Micki, who was on her way. “We have another.”

 
“Any snakes this time?” Micki asked and Noah crouched to check Rachel’s ankles.

  His stomach lurched. “No. It appears Miss Ward was afraid of fire.”

  Olivia finished calling in the BOLO on the brown Civic and crouched next to him, her pretty face twisted in a horrified grimace.

  “Aw, hell, Web,” she murmured.

  “What did he burn?” Micki asked.

  Noah swallowed hard at the sight of Rachel Ward’s blistered flesh. “Her feet.”

  Wednesday, February 24, 4:15 a.m.

  “I thought I smelled something burning,” David said, leaning over the stove where Eve had left a scorched pot. “You’ll never get this clean. What were you trying to cook?”

  “Cocoa.” Coffee had become too much for her churning stomach. Rachel was dead. We were too late. “I got distracted when I was making the first batch and it scorched.”

  He took the mug next to her elbow and tasted it. “Not bad.”

  “You’re not the only one who can make stuff,” she muttered. “So make your own.”

  He took another sip instead. “Where’d you get the recipe?”

  “Internet.” She took her mug, sloshing hot cocoa over the sides. “Go back to bed.”

  “Can’t. I wake up when I smell stuff burning. I’m a firefighter, remember?” He said it teasingly but she didn’t smile. “Spill it.” He was serious now. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  She haltingly obeyed, starting with Buckland and the photos, ending with Rachel. David’s face had darkened through her story. “Does the fact that this Buckland asshole pops up at the same time as a serial killer bother anyone but me?”

  “No, it bothers Noah, too. Buckland’s officially on the radar. But Buckland’s been reporting for a couple years. Local color, obituaries. That he’d suddenly start killing people…” She shrugged. “I’m too tired to think.”