by Simon King
Sam’s eyes continued darting across the virtual pages, reading police reports, medical reports, as well as newspaper stories of Norman Prescott’s handiwork.
“No wonder she flipped,” Sam said once Tim turned the volume down again.
“Who?” he asked, not following.
“Black Death. The shit this guy did? I mean there’s domestic violence and then there’s this bloke. He took things to a whole new level.”
“I’m sure once we see the sister-in-law, we’ll get a clearer picture of just how bad this shit really was.”
The Buchanan’s lived on a rural block on the outskirts of town and as Tim wheeled their car up the long driveway, could already see their intended interviewee sitting under the shade of a huge tree that covered nearly half their home.
Clara had a champagne flute in one hand, a cigarette in the other and appeared to be almost jovial as they pulled up.
“I was wondering how long it would take you,” she called out as they stepped out into the sunshine.
“Excuse me?” Sam called back.
“You’re reporters, aren’t you? Hounded us when that monster was released from custody. I knew you’d be back the second he died.”
“Ma’am, we’re not reporters,” Tim called back and her demeanor changed in an instant.
“Police, then?” Sam shook her head.
“No, Ma’am. We just wanted to talk to you about Black Death.”
They approached the seated woman as she sat her glass on the table. A man came around the side of the house and called out to his wife.
“Everything OK, sweetheart?”
“Yes, fine.”
Without bothering with formalities, Sam decided that it was time to go in with all guns blazing. They could no longer afford to beat around the bush and if this woman knew who their SK was, they needed to know.
“We know everything, MuffinMaker,” she whispered.
Clara Buchanan’s color faded from her face, almost dropped the cigarette from her fingers and snapped her mouth shut. It wasn’t what she had been expecting, at least not this soon after the murder.
“Who are you,” she whispered, for fear of anyone hearing.
“Ma’am, we are the people that know you engaged the serial killer known as Black Death. We have your conversation and we know you tried to offer payment. Like my partner here said, we know everything.”
It took Clara a long time to calm herself enough to be able to speak again. Her husband returned at one point, but she snapped at him to leave her be, that she had important business with the guests. He didn’t put up an argument, silently returning into the house.
Once she had her third cigarette burning between her fingers, she finally managed to put complete sentences together, still wary of the listening audience before her.
“I swear I don’t know who she was. All I know is that she contacted me and I responded.”
“What do you mean she contacted you? Didn’t you answer her advert or something?” Clara looked at Sam for a moment, almost as if her words had somehow amused her.
“Advert? You think she advertises her services?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out?”
“I put up a post on that site about my sister and the next thing I know, I get a message from someone claiming to be able to get rid of that prick for ever. I kind of put two and two together, figuring it had to be her.”
“And then what?” Clara looked at Tim.
“What do you mean and then what? And then I asked her to do it. You saw the conversation.”
“But how did you tell her where? When?” Clara looked confused, as if unsure of the question.
“There were no instructions. She left the conversation, sent me a single black rose and went and killed him. Quite fast, too, I must admit.” As if feeling some of her strength return, Clara reached for the glass and resumed sipping the drink. “Why do you think I’m out here celebrating?”
That was when Sam slapped the glass from her hand, sending it smashing into the ground beside them.
“We don’t have time for bullshit. This woman you think is your best friend? She’s murdered seven people that we know of, who knows if there’s more. We don’t even know if she’s eliminated witnesses yet.” That seemed to get Clara’s attention.
“Witnesses?” she asked meekly.
“Yes, witnesses. You know, people she spoke to who have half a chance of helping authorities identify her. People like you.”
“But I don’t know anything.”
“Maybe you know more than you think,” Tim added.
Clara paused, stared back to the house and saw Mike through one of the windows. As if asked, she began to speak about her husband, almost as if she was about to leave him.
“He’s not the strongest man, but he has one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever known. I know I shouldn’t have done what I did, but someone had to. Nancy has been hurt in ways none of us could ever imagine. That monster deserved everything he got. If I end up in jail because of it, or worse, dead, then so be it. I’d do it again. I saved my sister and if that’s what it takes, then let her go and continue.” She snarled the final few words defiantly and Sam knew she wouldn’t get anything else from the woman.
“This woman will continue and who knows where she’ll end up. All I can tell you is that she’s the one making the decisions with who she considers to be a threat.”
“A threat? A threat to who? The men beating up their wives?” Clara had missed the point and Sam wanted to make sure she understood it before she left. She leaned down a little closer to emphasize her words a little more.
“I pray she doesn’t consider you a threat.” It was all she could think of to say and simply turned back towards the car. Tim followed and neither looked back.
They drove back to the city in relative quiet and before Sam even knew she would, fell asleep as Tim gently nursed the car along the gentle slopes of the road. He had turned on the radio again, listening to some station playing love ballads from the 80s and 90s. Phil Collins had always had the ability work his magic on her and within a few bars of his best work, found herself gone.
There was something unnerving about knowing she was dreaming when all she wanted was to relax and let go, but right from the beginning, Sam knew it was impossible. There was unfinished business inside her mind and knew that eventually, she would have to face Lightman once and for all. He was a sickness, living inside her mind like a walking-talking tumor. He was a growth that refused to leave, trying his best to tear her down the way he had destroyed the rest of his family.
Just like the previous occasions, Sam found herself standing outside the small, run-down hut again. The sun was shining brightly, just as it always was and the scene before her appeared as tranquil and inviting as she remembered. But when she looked again, there was a single difference that immediately grabbed her attention.
It was her mother that was missing. She had always appeared in these dreams, either as a voice to comfort her, or as a victim to stand between Lightman and her child. On this occasion however, there was nobody.
The hut looked completely deserted, with not even gentle tufts of smoke billowing from the chimney. If it hadn’t been for the birdsong and gentle breeze on her face, Sam may have mistaken the scene before her as a painting, rather than an actual setting for this dream.
She took a few paces towards the steps leading up to the porch, staring down at the very spot where Lightman had ripped her mother’s throat out. Sam looked carefully, hoping for some evidence of an aged stain, but to her dismay, there was nothing but old timber boards.
Her heart began to pound as she carefully reached for the door handle, the black iron metal feeling ice cold, despite the warmth of the day. The second she touched the metal, the birdsong that had been playing all around her just moments before, disappeared in an instant, replaced with a deathly silence.
At the same time, the sun also vanished, a dark shadow suddenly over
taking the mountaintop. The gloom that fell across the countryside chilled Sam and she nearly pulled her fingers back from the door. But something told her that there would be no pulling back. She was committed to opening that door once and for all, whether she wanted to or not.
As she turned the handle and pushed gently, the door creaked defiantly as it drew back into the shadows of the room. Sam gave it a little push right near the end and watched as it pulled itself further into the room, revealing the inside of the cabin for the first time.
The fireplace was alive with flames. It surprised her considering the chimney had been cold only moments before. But from where she stood, not only could she see the flicker of the flames on the adjoining wall, but she could also hear it crackling.
Sam turned to look behind her, mostly from instinct to make sure there was no-one behind her. But as she looked, she saw that as strange as it seemed, rain had begun to fall, the heat of the day vanishing as the air chilled around her.
Just as she was about to step back and regather her thoughts, a voice spoke, one not only familiar, but also unfamiliar. It was Lightman, but somehow minus the evil. He was sitting by the fire, resting himself in a rocker, his feet raised on the edge of the brickwork.
From where she stood, Sam could smell the flames, the smokiness almost burning her nostrils as she craned to see what he was up to. She could see most of his bottom half, including part of the rocker, his legs and the feet resting on the bricks.
“Come and sit. I feel like we’ve never had a chance to actually talk before.” His voice didn’t sound old at all, instead somewhere maybe in his early forties. Sam remained where she stood, unsure of whether this was just another trick designed to fool her into slipping up.
He sat forward and for the first time in her life, Sam Rader stared into the eyes of her great great-grandfather, a monster responsible for as many as four dozen murders and counting. She stared back at him, feeling his eyes bore into her very soul.
“Just a dream,” she whispered to herself. “Just a dream.”
“Kid, if this was just a dream, then why are you so afraid?”
“Because I know what you’re capable of.”
“Capable of? But I’m long gone, child. My time ended long before you were ever born.” His face suddenly changed, somehow morphing into a younger version of himself as he smiled out at her.
“Sam, come and sit. I just want to talk.” He stood, but remained in his place. “Please?” He motioned at the chair next to his and waited.
Unsure of why she would take such a risk, Sam stepped forward, paused, then took another step, this one taking her partly through the door. In here, the warmth felt as raw as ever, the fireplace blasting heat into the small cabin. A light sweat beaded across her brow as she stepped fully through the door, swallowed hard and gave in to the monster.
“Please, sit,” Lightman said, gesturing at the chair again. Sam did as he asked, never taking her eyes off him. “I’m Eddie.” Much to her surprise he stuck out his hand, a warm smile dawning across his face.
Sam shook with him, expecting his touch to feel as cold as the day had turned outside, but instead, it felt as warm as the heat radiating from the fireplace. He pumped her hand several times, let go and dropped back down into his rocker, but not before turning it slightly to face his guest.
They sat staring at each other for a long time, Sam wondering whether he was trying to connect with her telepathically. He grinned as the thought crossed her mind, as if reading her thoughts.
“Why am I here?” she finally asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
“Because we’re related and I thought it was high time we officially met. I know Harry doesn’t extend the warmest welcome at the best of times. He can be a trifle trying at times.” He half-chuckled, as if telling some light joke. Sam didn’t respond. “Look, we both know what you really are. Don’t you think that-“
“What exactly do you think I am?” Eddie paused, caught off-guard by her question.
“Why do you women always deny your real self? Your grandmother did, your mother did and now you’re doing it.”
Sam kept her face expressionless, not giving away a thing to the monster now sitting beside her. Eddie tried to read her, but found himself unable to.
“You’re a killer and I must say, much more convincing than your mother.”
“Leave her out of this,” Sam hissed, but Eddie knew he hit the right chord and thus continued to fish.
“If only she had realized her full potential the way you have. I mean, she could have taken things so much further.”
He knew he was getting under her skin, itching in just the right place to force Sam to lose her cool. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to push the anger deeper inside herself, no easy feat when already inside your own dream.
“Did I say something wrong?”
She opened her eyes, gazed back at the face staring at her and smiled. Eddie was momentarily caught off guard again, Sam watching as he leaned slightly backwards.
“I don’t know what happened between you and anybody else in our family. But I’m here to tell you that you will never beat me, do you hear me? I’m going to end you once and for all.” He snapped his mouth shut and simply stared back, as if somehow wounded by her words. And then, as if finally unable to hold back any longer, Eddie began to laugh, his face again morphing before Sam’s eyes.
When he leaned forward again, she saw that Harry had returned, now appearing the way he always did in these dreams. His teeth were yellowed, with dark spots where the rot had set in. His hair was unkempt, long strands hanging across his face, caught in the stubble of his straggly beard.
But what Sam saw more than anything else were his eyes, pitch black, devoid of any humanity, boring into her very soul as he watched her. She tried to smile, to somehow fight back against the monster that had returned to the forefront of his show.
“Hmm,” he began, clasping his arms around himself and pretending to shiver. “So cold in here. Should I throw another log on the fire?” He turned to look at the fireplace and when Sam turned to see what he wanted to show her, felt the shock slam into her like a hammer.
Her mother’s twisted and broken body had been forced onto the grating of the fireplace itself, her head caved in and leaning on one shoulder, her dead eyes staring back out from the flames. Her clothes were mostly burnt away and Sam could see the skin scorched black, almost turned to charcoal by the heat.
As Sam recoiled in horror, her scream rising above the crackle of the fire, Harry Lightman began to laugh, a guttural sound that shook Sam to the very core. He rose, then lunged at her without warning. Sam did her best to fight him off, but he got the jump on her and she felt his hands close around her throat in a second.
Trying with all her might, Sam swung her arm at his face, then followed it with the other. None of her training seemed to work, with Lightman’s rank breath just inches from her face.
“You’re one of us, you know?”
“Never,” was all she managed to scream into the monster’s face as she swung a fist and…
“Samantha!” Tim screamed at her. It took her a moment, at first trying to fight the hands shaking her awake. She nearly bit one, the familiar taste in her mouth filling the air with the scent of blood.
“Huh?” she croaked, releasing her hold on Tim’s wrist. “What happened?”
“From where I was sitting, someone tried to murder you in your sleep.” He leaned back into his own seat and Sam noticed for the first time that they were pulled over to the side of the road.
“How long was I out for?”
“About twenty, I’d say.” He handed her a bottle of water. The taste of blood felt surreal to her and as she twisted the top off, felt something trickle down her chin. She wiped at it, then saw the reason for the taste, the streak of blood running along her finger.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered, feeling the sting on the side of her lip. “I’m gonna ne
ed something stronger than this.
9
They found a bar at a small one-stop town called Cider Creek. As Sam read the name, it conjured up memories of the place where Harry Lightman had unleashed his torment, Cider Hill never fully recovering from the ordeal.
Tim parked the car in the near-empty lot and the pair headed inside. The atmosphere wasn’t too bad, with a friendly bartender welcoming them the second they walked through the door.
“Howdy,” he offered, dropped a fresh bowl of peanuts on the bar and wiped his hands on the apron he wore around his middle. “What’ll it be?”
“JD and Coke, please,” Sam replied. “No ice.” The bartender nodded, then looked at Tim.
“I’ll have the same, thanks.”
Once their drinks were before them, the bartender returned to his previous duties, leaving the pair to do their drinking in private. At first, they just sat and sipped, Sam trying her best to get rid of the taste. It still had the power to send her senses into overdrive, being her own blood and all, but Mr Daniels soon calmed her enough to refocus her attention.
“Wanna go sit outside?” Sam finally asked, pointing to a door leading out to an undercover area. Tim nodded, scooped up his drink and followed her out.
“What the hell happened?” Tim asked after they sat again, already knowing the answer. He’d been around long enough to know whenever Sam confronted her inner demons.
Sam also knew the answer, but wasn’t sure how to answer the question, not the way she normally did. The truth was, Lightman had gotten to her. He’d never had such power over her before, but for some reason, this time felt different.
“He…,” she began, searching for the right words. “He beat me.” Tim looked at her curiously.
“What do you mean beat you? As in hit you?”
