“I don’t know. We wanted to see where the night would take us,” Andrew confessed, disgusted by his own words.
Ellie’s hand shook and her teeth chattered. “I nearly died trying to save you and your friends.”
Andrew took a sudden step forward. Ellie stepped back. Andrew dropped the shovel and raised his hands in a non-threatening manner. “None of us deserved to be saved, but by God, I spent my whole life trying to make it right. I helped you and your career, Ellie, for what I’d done to Cory and Angela. I know it does not make it right, but I’ve tried to change.”
“What happened to Angela?” Ellie asked.
Andrew gulped. He turned back to the pit behind him. “You’re looking at her.”
Ellie and Peaches moved forward, getting a view of skeletal remains in tattered clothes.
“Cory must’ve told her. She rushed down to Willoughby because she didn’t trust me. We had a relationship falling out previously when I showed her some things that she considered disturbing. She probably thought I was going to hurt Cory,” Andrew said. “We never wanted to hurt her, but she’d seen too much. We buried them both here.”
Ellie looked into the eyes of the yellow skull. She tried to imagine Angela’s beautiful face as she had seen in Gwyneth’s family photos. Even as an artist, she couldn’t draw a comparison. The bones almost looked like they were something out a Halloween store, but Ellie knew in her heart that they were real. “There’s only one body.”
Andrew nodded in defeat. “Indeed. I wasn’t sure if Cory was behind this, but now I know. I have no answers to how he survived or what he’s been doing all these years, but he’s back.”
Peaches moved closer to the shallow grave. The moment that he looked away from Andrew, Andrew dived for the revolver. Peaches raised his handgun and aimed at it at Andrew. Andrew, lying on his side on the mound of dirt, aimed the revolver back at him. The weapon trembled lightly.
“Careful now, Mr. Maneau,” Peaches warned. “There’s no need for that.”
“You’re going to take me to jail, aren’t you?” Andrew yelled.
Peaches smiled sadly at him. “Yes. You’ve just confessed to a double homicide. Do you not agree that you should be in jail?”
Keeping his gun trained on Peaches, he rose from the dirt. “Perhaps, but I’m never been fond of being confined to any box, or cell.”
Ellie put out her hands and stepped near him. “Andrew, put away the weapon.”
Andrew sniffled. “I don’t want to shoot you, Ellie. Nor do I want to shoot this detective, but I will if I must.”
“You said you were trying to change,” Ellie reminded him. “Shooting us will be a piss poor job of that.”
“Let me walk,” Andrew said. “I can be out of the country within the next two hours. I’ve told you everything I know. You don’t need me.”
Peaches kept his gun trained on him. “Sorry, Andrew, but there’s only one way out of here.”
Andrew turned his head to Ellie but kept aiming at Detective Peaches. “Tell him to let me go.”
“Why?”
“Everything that you own was because I put you in touch with my network, and because I’m your friend,” Andrew said.
Ellie didn’t reply. Was he her friend? For all the years she’d known Andrew, she had no clue about his sinister past. He was kind to her, overly generous in his dotation, and constantly supportive in every situation. Was he truly a changed man, or was that just an act? If it was the latter, he’d been wearing a mask for a very long time that he probably didn’t know what he was. Ellie believed that Andrew didn’t deserve to die, but the law was the law. However, did that matter now that Ellie was on the run from the police too? Him aiming a gun at Peaches changed things though. It was personal.
“I don’t want to shoot either of you,” Andrew said. “And you don’t want to waste time on me. Let me go and find Cory. All I’m asking for is a head start. I only need two hours. Actually, one hour, then you can tell the whole world.”
“Sorry,” Peaches shook his head. “Perhaps the jury will be more merciful.”
A frown sank Andrew’s face. He clenched the revolver tighter. “I guess there is only one way out of here, Detective.”
Bam! Bam!
Gunfire sounded.
Blood burst from Andrew’s shoulder and again from the calf of his right leg. Howling in pain, he toppled into the shallow grave. Ellie gawked at him, trying to figure out what just happened.
Peaches squeezed his pistol trigger, firing into the tree line nearby.
“Take cover!” He shouted.
Ellie dashed to an old picnic table and pushed it to the side. She peeked over the top of it, watching Peaches stride to the side and fire into the trees. An unseen figure returned his fire. The dirt near Peaches’s feet flew outward as a bullet nearly missed him. Peaches found cover at tree and pressed his back firmly against it.
The gunfire died down, but not Andrew’s screaming. Her old friend hovered his hand over the exit wound on his shoulder, afraid to touch it. His leg that took the bullet was partly outside of the grave and gushing blood across the earth.
Peaches peeked out of cover. Bark exploded into his face as a bullet hit the trunk. Ellie tried to spot the gunman, but it appeared he was moving from tree to tree in the nearby woods. Meanwhile, Andrew, his face wet with tears, scanned his surroundings, spotting the revolver that had fallen from his hands.
Ellie yelled out to Peaches. “Did you shoot him?”
“Who?” Peaches shouted back, checking his pistol magazine.
“Andrew,” Ellie clarified.
With pursed lips, Peaches shook his head. He leaned his upper body out from behind the tree and fired into the woods. Twigs snapped and leaves fell. The shooter returned fire. Peaches made himself small behind the tree.
Andrew rolled to his belly, mouthed a scream, and reached desperately for the revolver.
Ellie saw, took a breath, and darted to the shallow grave. Bam! Bam! Bam!
Bullets whizzed by her head. She ducked and weaved, unsure how well she was avoiding certain death. She dived into the grave next to Andrew right as a bullet raced by her scalp. Her old friend grabbed the revolver and Ellie grabbed his hand.
“What are you doing?” Andrew shouted.
Ellie pried the pistol from his fingers. He tried to grab her with his other hand, but moaned as soon as he tried to move his injured shoulder.
“He’s on the run!” Peaches shouted.
Ellie lifted her head out of the pit and saw the shadowy figure vanishing deeper into the woods. “Not this time,” she said to herself and tore the gun from Andrew’s hand.
“Ellie, please!” Andrew cried.
Ellie scurried out of the grave, kept both hands on the gun, and raced to the woods. Peaches followed after her. The weight of the weapon felt heavy in her hands, and it occurred to her just how ignorant she was with firearms. Relying on her knowledge from action movies Troy used to watch, she toggled the safety off and kept her finger off the trigger.
Peaches and her pushed into the tree line, following the hooded man’s trail of stomped grass and shaking branches. Through rows of trees, some fat and others skinny, they saw the figure running. Peaches and Ellie stayed on him but couldn’t get a clear shot. Come on, Ellie thought to herself, wanting to put an end to this right here and now. The figure blindly fired a bullet behind, but the rows of trees prevented it from hitting Ellie. Her heart raged. Her legs cramped. She kept on running. Peaches lagged behind, looking sick. His concussion wasn’t doing them any favors. Up ahead, the figure dove into a drop off. Ellie couldn’t tell if it was a cliff or a ditch. Peaches and her slowed down at the edge of the woods where a drop-off overlooked a single lane road. Thirty yards down the street, a parked minivan rumbled to life.
“There!” Ellie shouted.
Peaches opened fire, shattering the back window and damaging the fender. Ellie tried to shoot the wheels. The pistol’s recoil sent a vibration all the way to
her shoulder. Damaged but still functional, the minivan burned rubber and sped down the street. Ellie and Peaches chased after it as the driver tossed an envelope out of the window. It blew in the wind and landed on the street. Ellie and Peaches’s run died into a breathless slog. Peaches holstered his pistol and shut his eyes. A look of pain flashed over his face. Ellie helped steady him by putting a hand on his shoulder. “You good?”
He waved Ellie off and hunched over, resting his palms on his knees. Beads of sweat raced down his stubbled jaw. Ellie turned her eyes back to the minivan that was a speck in the distance. She gnashed her teeth, knowing that she missed her prize.
“We must’ve led him right to Andrew,” Ellie said as she approached the envelope on the street.
“Probably,” Peaches replied and straightened himself up. He was unsteady and looked like he was going to vomit.
Ellie knelt down on the quiet rural road and picked up the envelope. It was dirty and wrinkled. Peaches stood behind her, watching her open it with her finger. The Polaroid photograph inside nearly got blown away. Ellie grabbed it. The rest of the envelope was empty. She studied the photograph, feeling her mouth dry out in fear and her eyes widen.
It showed three people seated in a horizontal row of chairs: an old man, an old woman, and a young man. Mom, Dad, and Paul. They were bound by their hands and ankles in some dark place. Looks of terror painted their faces that were wet with tears. Ellie felt the world spin. The very thing she was trying to prevent, she had made reality.
“He has them,” Ellie said, not fully grasping her own words.
She didn’t need to ask how because that didn’t matter. Perhaps Cory took Paul, Martha, and Howard on their way out the front door. Perhaps Paul had never convinced them to leave. Ellie squeezed the photograph between her thumb and finger as her body shook in rage.
“What does it say?” Peaches inquired.
Ellie snapped out of her murderous mindset and turned the photograph over. It listed an address and a note. “You know how this works. Call the cops, I kill them. See you soon, Ellie.” She read the words three times as her chest tightened. Eyes glossed over, she turned to the handsome detective. “How many bullets do you have?”
“Ellie,” Peaches said in the way men do to calm her down. “Charging in there didn’t end well for us last time.”
“You don’t need to remind me,” Ellie barked. In her mind, she replayed Troy’s scream as Cory slashed a knife down his torso.
The horrified eyes of her photographed family looked up at her. They were begging her for help. Only she could save them, and that meant making more foolish decisions. She hated being Cory’s plaything. Peaches was right, to repeat history would mean more bloodshed. Her husband’s blood was literally on her hands. She wouldn’t be responsible for the death of her little brother and her parents.
Peaches and Ellie gave the long road one final look before making a hasty return to Andrew’s position. Sweating and shaking, he’d managed to get the upper half of his body out of the shallow grave, but not much farther. When he saw Ellie and Peaches approaching, he rolled to his back in a sign of defeat.
“He’s escaped, hasn’t he?” Andrew said weakly.
Ellie and Peaches remained silent.
Andrew grimaced in pain. A massive red bloom formed around the bullet wounds in his leg and shoulder. The man that once wore $8000 cashmere jackets was covered in dirt, sweat, and blood in a grave that he’d dug twenty-two years ago. Wincing in pain, he pleaded. “I was a sick child, Ellie, and I take responsibility for not telling you about Cory earlier. I’m sure you understand why.”
Ellie loomed over him. She held the revolver by her side with her finger over the trigger. “Pull out your phone.”
“Please,” Andrew whimpered. “I--”
“Do it!” Ellie shouted.
Andrew tensed up. He slipped his trembling hand into his pocket and pulled out the cellphone.
“You have choice, Andrew,” Ellie declared. “Call an ambulance and save yourself, but know you’ll be put on trial for Angela Barksdale’s murder. Or, do what Cory did, and survive out here alone.”
Peaches protested. “We should call the cops.”
“Let him decide,” Ellie replied. “I owe him that much.”
“Thank you,” Andrew replied with earnest. “Thank you.”
She didn’t reply and started back to the car. Peaches gave Andrew a final look. “Those wounds look pretty nasty. You may want to make your decision shortly.”
The detective didn’t wait for Andrew’s response and caught up with Ellie at the truck.
“He’s a murderer,” Peaches told her as they settled into the truck. “He should be behind bars. Him giving you a nice job doesn’t change that fact.”
Seated in the driver seat, Ellie slammed the door. “Do I think Andrew deserves mercy for creating that monster? No, but when I was motivated by rage, I made stupid mistakes that nearly got you, me, and my husband killed. Andrew made some mistakes, too, that got every one of his friends killed. Now, he can decide if he’s willing to put aside his pride for his life, or bleed out. I’m not going to make that decision for him, but if you want to call the police, be my guest. I have much bigger issues.”
Ellie put the car in reverse and peeled out of the campsite. As she drove down the neglected road, she expected Peaches to call the police, but he never did. Andrew’s fate was in his own hands.
The detective put the address into the GPS and saw that Ellie was going the opposite way. She answered his question before he could ask it. “I’m going to my parents’ house.”
“Why?”
“Because I have a plan to stop Cory,” Ellie replied as she sped down the Pennsylvanian country road.
7
DEATH IN THE FAMILY
Ellie removed the spare house key from under the stone near the door and unlocked the residence for herself and Peaches. Despite knowing that Cory wouldn’t be here, Ellie and Peaches fanned out across the lightless house and checked every room for any sign of intruders. Her parents’ car was still parked out front. On their bed were two small suitcases half-full with folded clothes. Ellie felt sick, knowing that Cory got her family before they could escape. At least Paul was able to convince them to leave even if they were too slow.
Ellie headed into the basement cellar that led into the back yard. Nearest the exit was a metal shelf with a variety of paint cans. They were made for painting the outside of houses but would still work. She grabbed three cans by metal handles as thin as coat hangers and proceeded to march to the barn behind the house. Peaches followed behind with brushes, water, and other supplies. The barn stood tall and imposing. Despite having acres of farmland, her parents never owned livestock. The fields, the barn, and hill beyond the backyard were places for Ellie and Paul to play as children. They’d spend hours climbing in the barn rafters or finding a way to get on the roof. Some days, they’d shoot Paul’s BB gun at different targets. Other days, they’d hike the hill and sword fight with sticks.
Ellie put down the paint cans at the foot of the barn’s inner back wall. She was flooded with nostalgia as she looked over the caulk drawings on the old wood. The images were crude and childish, but sweet. They showed her, Paul, Mom, and Dad holding hands. Ellie smiled when she looked over it.
“I’m glad you’re doing this,” Peaches said. “It’s very brave.”
Ellie pointed at the paint cans she’d brought in. “Get those open and grab my half-inch brush.”
While Peaches prepped the supplies, Ellie put her fists on her hips and looked up at the tall wall. She imagined the mural in Troy’s blood. Just like the Polaroid, it showed her mother, father, and brother seated in a row. The two main differences were the lack of bullet holes in their foreheads and Ellie curled up at their feet, bleeding from the mouth.
Peaches handed her the brush. Its hairs were already dipped in red. Ellie took a breath. “Let’s hope this works.”
On the chalk-graphitized wall,
she created the mural for the third time, but she wasn’t so much focused on the subjects of the painting but of what surrounded them. She’d done so before when she painted Troy’s death. At first the portrait was incomplete and didn’t display the dozens of hooded mannequins surrounding his body. It wasn’t until after Ellie drew them the night she went into the bar’s basement. She didn’t have access to the blood mural or her recreation at Peaches’s apartment at the moment, so she had to hope that the power would still work.
Ellie started with what she knew. Her father Howard’s neck was tilted to one side. Crow’s feet branched out of the sides of his closed eyes while more creases were etched on his forehead. He wore a T-shirt with a Strasburg train on it. Leaning her head against Howard’s, Martha sat in the middle seat with a bullet hole at the center of her head. Thick droplets of blood leaked from her lower lip. Ellie painted Paul last. His head was tilted back and his mouth parted. His lifeless open eyes looked upward to the bullet hole leaking red racing down the left side of his nose and cheek. Peaches acted as her assistant, handing her whatever brush or shade of paint she needed. She waited for the blackout to occur as the clock ticked on. Without it, her plan would fail. She felt her blood pressure rise and her frustration build. Her brush strokes became hasty and she didn’t use enough paint.
Peaches stepped in beside her. Hands in his pockets, he smiled softly. “Relax.”
Ellie stopped moving her brush and took a moment to step away. “I don’t know what’s happening. I can paint a mural when my husband’s bleeding out, or when I get back from my honeymoon, but not now. It makes no sense.”
She tapped her foot and glared at the half complete mural of her dead family. Maybe she should’ve just been an accountant or a burger flipper at some fast food joint. This art thing was too much, and she felt useless without her power.
“Deep breaths,” Peaches said softly.
“I didn’t realize I was in yoga class,” Ellie replied snarkily.
Stolen Secrets: A Collection Of Riveting Mysteries Page 30
