The Slay of the Santas

by Kacey Gene

  “Really?” Jennifer says, egging him on.

  “I should have known it was going to cause nothing but problems. The letter that came with the plates was so weird.”

  “What do you mean?” Jennifer asks, icing some peppermint sticks on the gingerbread windows while trying to hide her insane desire to ask hundreds of questions.

  “Well,” Matt says, “This is going to make me sound nuts, but not only was the letter signed by a man named Fred Gailey, but under his name he had a title. ‘The Society of Santas.’ That was written under his name.”

  Jennifer freezes like she’s been put on pause.

  Matt sees her open-mouth look of astonishment and voices what he’s already said to himself dozens of times. “I know. I know. I should have just thrown the license plate and the letter away, but the $250 a week just sounded so good for the holidays, you know?”

  He continues to talk, but it’s like Jennifer’s ears shut down. The pieces of what Matt is telling her fling around in her mind. So someone wanted Matt to have those plates, but why? And why would someone then steal the plates they went to so much trouble getting to Matt? And was that someone really Fred Gailey? He wasn’t dead last week, which was when Matt received the package, but why would Fred send Matt a license plate? How did he even know Matt? And, what is the world is “The Society of Santas”?

  She needs to talk this through with Jake. She needs his insight so they can brainstorm together.

  “You okay?” Matt asks, seeing that she isn’t listening to a word he’s saying.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” Jennifer says. And with the grace of an elephant on a tightrope, she haphazardly stands up, throws her purse over her shoulder, and makes a direct line to the bathroom.

  She doesn’t make eye contact with Jake, convinced that will look too suspicious. Plus, he’s still being verbally accosted by Michele, who moved into the empty seat next to Jake.

  He’ll notice that I’m gone, Jennifer thinks to herself. Then Jake will come and find me. She’s sure of that.

  Reaching the bathroom, she pushes the door open, and even the bathroom is fully decorated in Christmas niceties -- the mirrors have swags on the top of them, and there’s a cinnamon candle burning right next to the sink, which Jennifer quickly walks by. She ducks into a stall and pulls out her phone to text Jake. But there’s a message waiting from her; it’s from her sister-in-law, Julie.

  Julie: Talked to mom tonight. She said you haven’t started on the tree skirt. I really hope you don’t rush it. I’d rather not have the skirt than receive a rushed version of the design you showed me, which I love, by the way. I’m sure you’ll figure it out, and please let me know if you want some time management tips. I do this with my clients all the time and am happy to help you. Love you and can’t wait to see you.

  There is a kiss and Christmas tree emoticon after the message, but those emoticons of affection do nothing for the anxiety now growing like a vine inside of Jennifer. She needs to work on those presents. She knows this. She frustratingly sighs as she imagines Julie’s view of her life. She probably thinks Jennifer sits around watching movies and eating Christmas cookies all day; little does she know that Jennifer is out trying to solve two murders.

  Speaking of which.

  She clicks out of Julie’s message and writes a text to Jake.

  The second she gets the message sent, the lights go out, an ear-piercing siren goes off, and a flashing red light pulses against the far wall. The alarm echoes so forcefully through the small bathroom that Jennifer tucks her phone in her purse and covers her ears. That’s when the water comes. The sprinkler system above her spurts water in every direction.

  “What is happening?” Jennifer yells, but she’s still the only one in the bathroom.

  Within seconds, her long hair that she wore down upon Jake’s request, her knitted grey sweater dress that she paired with her favorite black tights and small-heeled black ankle boots are completely drenched.

  The alarm continues to blare and echo to an unnerving point. Jennifer steps out of the stall and almost slips on the water that has puddled across the bathroom floor. Even the candle has gone out thanks to the sprinkler deluge, but Jennifer eventually finds her way back to the main room.

  It’s empty.

  Not a single person, not even Jake, is in there.

  They must have evacuated, she thinks.

  The gingerbread houses soften, collapse, and fold into themselves as the water from above saturates the tables below. Jennifer looks around the room one last time, expecting to see Jake, who she knows would never leave her behind. Then she hears a rustle. It’s coming from behind her. It’s coming from the Christmas trees.

  A panic tears through her chest as she sees one of the trees shake. Someone is in there, and they’re about to come out. Plunging her hand in her purse, she grips the pepper spray Jake made her bring and readies herself.

  Then, she sees the figure emerge from the green branches, knocking dozens of red glass ornaments to the ground when he does.

  “Matt?” Jennifer asks, squinting through the sprinkler rain and the darkness. He runs over to her.

  “I didn’t want to leave you,” he yells over the alarm, which seems to be even louder out here, “so I hid in the tree.”

  Jennifer can’t hold in her smile when she sees the sprigs of pine stuck in his hair. He grabs her hand and pulls her toward the back of the room rather than the front where they came in. The water continues to fall down on them, making Jennifer’s feet slide and squish in her boots.

  Matt pushes through a back door that Jennifer didn’t even realize was there. She figures it must be an emergency exit, and she expects to see everyone who was inside standing outside that door. But she doesn’t. Matt pulls her into an almost completely vacant parking lot.

  A cold wind blows and hits her like a tidal wave. The water that’s coating her hair and her body starts to crystalize into ice. Instinctively, she wraps her arms around herself, her teeth chatter, and all of her muscles tense up. Matt flings her coat over her, which she realizes he must have grabbed from the table before they left.

  “Come on,” Matt says, also shivering due to his drenched state. He grabs her hand, and Jennifer doesn’t refuse. “My car is right here,” he says, walking her to one of two cars that’s in this back parking lot. Jake’s car is out front. She knows she should go there; she knows she should refuse Matt, but she’s just so cold, so when he opens the door for her, she gratefully slips into the car that will immediately block this incessant wind.

  Matt shuts her in, runs around the car, and jumps in the driver’s seat. He turns on the car. “Heat,” he says. “We need heat.”

  Those words make sense to Jennifer, and they’re truly her only desire at the moment. But what Matt does next, makes no sense at all. Once he has the heat on full blast, he slyly moves his hand over to the panel on the door and hits the lock button.

  Jennifer’s heart lurches when she looks over and sees that Matt just locked her in his car.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Hidden Waterseal

  Jake is going to kill her. Well, that is, if Matt doesn’t kill her first. But Jennifer convinces herself that she’s being completely rational, especially since Matt explained that he “always locks the doors after being car jacked in Chicago last year.” His explanation paired with the police-grade pepper spray that’s on her keychain is why Jennifer cooly and calmly texts Jake her whereabouts. Although, his string of texts in response are anything but cool and calm.

  Jake: Get out of that car right now.

  Jake: Rule #2, 3, and 7!

  Jake: You are breaking all of those!

  Jake: And, you’re being reckless.

  His text when she writes back and tells him that they are already on their way to Matt’s apartment is worse. It is only three words:

  Jake: Jennifer Lynn Hunter.

  Whenever Jake uses her full name, she knows he’s moved beyond anger. He’s moved
into boiling-over-and-it’s-going-to-take-so-many-apologies-to-make-this-right zone.

  But Jennifer doesn’t feel reckless; she feels directed. Matt says his place is close, has a dryer, and he has clothes that she can borrow, but Jennifer isn’t really interested in any of those factors.

  She’s interested in the letter.

  If she can get the Fred Gailey letter then she and Jake can investigate it. They might find a clue that matches with the books or the photographs. That will make Jake forgive me, Jennifer convinces herself.

  “This is me,” Matt says as he parks his car outside the small apartment building Jennifer didn’t even realize was open. They shut this building down years ago, on the order of Doug, the bug guy. And as she and Matt go inside and climb the three flights of stairs to Matt’s place, Jennifer isn’t fully convinced this place should be open. The metal stairwell is dark, filmy, and it creaks under each of their steps. When they get to the third floor and walk down the brown carpeted hallway that still has remnants of cigarette smoke in it, Jennifer swears she can see the carpet moving. Crawling. And it gives her the chills.

  “Home sweet home,” Matt says when they get to apartment 3C.

  He proudly opens the door, and when Jennifer walks into the beige-carpeted apartment, she would describe the place as anything other than sweet.

  Barren. Bland. And Dingy. Those are the words that come to her mind.

  Matt has absolutely nothing on the walls, except for the buttercream paint that’s chipping in the corner near her. He doesn’t have a Christmas tree, a candy cane, or anything to show it’s the holiday season. His carpet is dotted with random stains, and the main room is completely boxed in by walls. Jennifer scans the room, sees one door, which she assumes goes to the bedroom, but that leaves her at a complete loss in regard to where the kitchen is. Does he even have a kitchen? Jennifer wonders.

  “Let me grab you some dry clothes,” Matt says, heading to the door off the main room. Jennifer takes the opportunity while he’s away to scour the place for the letter.

  Matt has books and papers spewed all across his coffee table, which is blocky and looks like the legs were gnawed on by a dog. Jennifer quickly shuffles through the papers, keeping an eye on the bedroom door. She doesn’t find anything but old graded papers, magazines, and piles of receipts on the table, so she quickly dashes to the back of the main room to see what’s there.

  She finds a door that is hidden behind the pop-out wall in the center of the room where Matt has hung his giant television. She wants to see what’s on the other side of that door, but she’s too afraid Matt will come back and find her snooping about. She needs more time.

  Running back to where she was standing when Matt left, she tries to think of an excuse that will allow her to be alone in his place.

  “Here we go,” Matt says, coming out of the bedroom door. “Flannel pants and a henley.”

  “Oh, no,” Jennifer says, eyeing the fabric that will have her roasting like the proverbial chestnut over an open fire. “No, no no,” she repeats.

  “What? Do you not like the color?”

  “You think I care about the color?” Jennifer asks. “I’ll sweat to death if I wear those. Do you have a t-shirt and maybe some lighter-fabriced pants or even shorts?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Matt says, turning back into the bedroom.

  Jennifer takes the opportunity when Matt is gone to run through the door she discovered. It leads to Matt’s kitchen, and she almost faints when she steps into it.

  There are dirty pans piled up on the stove, including one with crusted egg remnants in it, which she can only hope is from his breakfast this morning. There are crumbs all over the counter top, and he has dozens of old pizza boxes piled up next to his garbage can.

  She can’t believe he lives like this; his classroom is never this messy. Plus, Jennifer can’t help but think about Jake’s house. It’s this adorable cottage that’s been in his family for over a century. More importantly, she would eat off Jake’s bathroom floor with how clean and meticulous he is; she’s not even sure she’d eat off a plate in Matt’s house.

  Then she sees a collection of envelopes and papers on the small table at the end of the kitchen. She quickly runs over to them and scans each one.

  There it is, she exclaims in her mind when she gets to the third letter. She eyes the bottom of the letter and sees:

  Fred Gailey

  The Society of Santas

  Shoving the letter in her inner coat pocket, Jennifer scatters the pile of papers and runs into the family room. She doesn’t make it back to her original spot in time, but she pretends to be interested in the beer bottle lamp Matt has on his side table in the corner closest to the kitchen.

  Her heart pounds like a shoe in a dryer as she makes up some weird compliment about the lamp, which leaves Matt beaming.

  “Do you want to change in the bathroom?” Matt asks, but after seeing the state of his kitchen, Jennifer isn’t going anywhere near Matt’s bathroom.

  “Can I just change in your bedroom?” Jennifer asks.

  “Sure. Be my guest. I’ll change after you,” Matt says, handing her a t-shirt and cotton pants; he keeps the flannel pants and sweatshirt for himself.

  When Jennifer walks into his bedroom, she doesn’t even bother looking around. She immediately drops the clothes to the floor and takes out Fred’s letter. She examines every inch of it.

  The font is unlike any she’s ever seen. It’s thick and almost looks wet, like those old-timey letters and books people would write using a quill and a bottle of ink. The paper is thick, heavy, and almost has a yellow tinge to it.

  Diving straight into the message, Jennifer reads every line. Just as Matt said, there’s a whole song and dance about a promotional opportunity promising $250 a week for using these particular plates, but then Jennifer sees something at the top corner of the letter. It’s faded. Hidden.

  She holds the letter closer to her face. It’s a watermark, but it’s too dark to make out its details. Moving over to Matt’s dresser, she holds the letter up to the silver lamp he has. She feels her blood freeze when she sees that the watermark clearly spells out the word “Pelznickel.” Not only that. It’s in the same script as the sticker inside the Dickens book.

  “I knew it,” Jennifer says, utterly pleased with herself. She thinks about texting Jake right then and there, but when she looks up at Matt’s dresser every thought falls out of her head. There’s a shelf above the dresser, and it’s full of books. More specifically, it’s filled with one book.

  Jennifer silently reads title after title, and they’re all the same. A Christmas Carol; A Christmas Carol; A Christmas Carol; A Christmas Carol.

  The chill that runs through her puts her earlier frozen state to shame. “Oh my God,” Jennifer says so loudly that she puts her hand over her mouth to stop from screaming.

  Most of the copies Matt has of the book are regular copies found at any book store, but there’s one version of A Christmas Carol on his shelf that sticks out from all the others. It’s the version that’s wrapped in brown leather. The title is written in gold script, and it has gold-edged pages. The leather is a different color, but this book matches the set at Fred’s and the set in Earl’s apartment. Jennifer reaches up to grab the book, but then she hears Matt’s voice.

  “Everything okay?” Matt asks. He must have heard her almost yell just seconds ago.

  She whips her head around, and her eyes fall to the small crack at the bottom of his bedroom door. It’s letting in the light from the main room, but there are two dark spots. They’re the exact size of Matt’s feet.

  He’s standing outside the door.

  “Jennifer, you okay?” he asks, but she can barely believe this is happening, let alone respond to that question. “You’re making me nervous.”

  I’m making him nervous? she sarcastically thinks. She’s not the one who has dozens of copies of a book that has inspired a killing spree in the last 48 hours. She’s also
not the one who has an edition of A Christmas Carol that matches the missing book from both crime scenes.

  Jennifer definitively decides that she needs that book.

  With a shaking hand, she reaches up to grab it, but when she pulls it out, the other books that are leaning on it slant and tilt, causing two books to fall off the shelf. They hit the lamp and knock down the glass bottles of cologne on Matt’s dresser.

  Hearing the scuffle and still not hearing a word from Jennifer, Matt decides enough is enough.

  “Jennifer, I’m coming in,” he says. And before she can stop him, he opens the door and closes it behind him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A Christmas Spray of Caution

  “You’re not changed,” Matt says, eyeing the clothes he gave Jennifer, which are tossed on the floor. He looks up at her with a confused smile, but then his face turns to marble. He looks directly at the letter and book that she’s tightly clutching.

  “What are you doing with those?” Matt asks. A cutting edge develops in his voice when he asks, “Did you steal that from my stuff?”

  He starts to move toward her. Charge toward her.

  Jennifer goes into a complete panic as the details of everything jolt through her mind:

  Matt had the plates of the car that tried to kill her. Matt has this mysterious letter from Fred Gailey, who is now dead. Matt has a collection of the exact books that are linked with the murders. Matt somehow has worked at the same school with Jennifer for two years and only asked her out two days ago when all of this started.

  Most importantly, though, Matt is now charging straight toward her with a crazed look on his face.

  Before Jennifer even realizes what she’s doing, she pulls the pepper spray from her purse, pops the cap, aims it directly at Matt’s face, and sprays.