by Blake Pierce
A strange calm settled over Riley. She was here at last, in the very heart of the killer’s world. She was exactly where she needed to be.
“Give me a minute alone,” she said to Bill.
Bill nodded. Of course, he understood exactly what she meant. So did Lucy by now. They both went back upstairs and shut the door behind them.
Riley took in the scene. A single overhead light was already on, probably switched on by the local police. She saw that the windows were tightly covered, so if that light was off, the room would be completely dark.
God only knew how many hours of total darkness the three women had endured in Eugene Fisk’s clutches. But what the women had felt mattered little to Riley at the moment. This was her chance to learn something about what Eugene himself felt and thought, how his sick mind worked.
Riley found herself looking at a bulletin board atop a beat-up wooden table against one wall. This seemed to be a shrine of sorts. Neatly arranged on the tabletop were various items that had no doubt belonged to the women he brought here—shoes, a badge, a nametag, some buttons. Fastened to the bulletin board were all kinds of mementoes—obituaries, news stories, photos that he himself had taken of the gravesites.
Riley took a deep breath, reaching for the thoughts of the fiend who had haunted this dismal place. An insight began to take shape in inside her.
This is more than a shrine, she thought. It’s a sacred altar.
As long as he’d held them captive, the women had been quivering, moaning, starving masses of flesh, blood, and bone. They had been under his uneasy, precarious control. But upon leaving the world, they had become avenging spirits, like the Furies of Greek legend.
Whatever items he left to appease them, whatever tears of regret he shed over this table, were all in vain. He could never, ever make amends for the suffering he had caused them.
On the opposite side of the room Riley saw another table. A rusted steel vise was fastened to the side, a vestige of long ago when it had been used as a worktable. A pegboard on the wall behind the table had once been filled with tools, but was now empty.
Riley sensed that this table, too, had a story. She went over to it and looked closely at its surface, studying strange patterns of scratches in the worn top. What were those patterns? What did they spell or mean?
A vision of chains filled her mind. These were the marks left by chains. He’d kept piles of them here, sometimes coiled neatly and other times stretched out the full length of the table. He’d always handled them with the utmost reverence.
For the chains, too, were deities of a sort. Chains had ruled over him since childhood, when his mother had chained him in his own home, and again at the children’s home, where the nuns had chained the door to his room shut.
He couldn’t help but gather up more and more of them throughout his life. And here, right here, was where they’d called out to him, commanding him, instructing him. But like the spirits of the women, they were always unappeasable, no matter how devotedly he served them.
Riley looked back and forth between the two tables. These were both altars, and they were the twin polestars that steered his life—one an axis of guilt, shame, and repentance, and the other of impotent futility, always mocking the helpless child that he still truly was.
But unlike the table with the pictures and the mementoes, the table that had harbored the chains was now empty. What did that mean?
Riley breathed deeply, in and out, allowing herself to empathize with what Eugene was going through right now.
He’d taken the chains with him, of course. He couldn’t leave them here. Without them, he’d have no purpose in life. However much he might hate what they made him do, they provided the only meaning he could cling to.
She also sensed how uprooted and lost he must feel, exiled from his sacred altars. He was alone and more desperate than ever, and the chains were doubtless furious with him. He must be frantic right now, struggling to regain some footing.
Just then she was hit by a realization. She dashed up the stairs and opened the door. Bill and Lucy were upstairs waiting for her to finish her private vigil.
“I know where we can find him,” Riley said.
Chapter 37
The cemetery was silent and dark. Here, away from the drive that ran through the property, the only light came from the bright moon in the sky.
But moonlight will be enough, Riley thought. Her confidence was high.
She was looking out from behind a large marble angel with widespread wings. The sculpture stood on the hillside above a group of graves below. One of those graves was fresh. Carla Liston had been buried there that morning.
In the moonlight, Riley could easily see the walkway and the cluster of headstones below. When she and Bill had come out here a little while ago, she’d noticed a group of graves off to the right that were enclosed by a metal fence with sharp pickets. The angel she was hiding behind overlooked them all.
Riley hadn’t attended the funeral that morning. She’d felt certain that Eugene wouldn’t be there—not with all the media attention he’d gotten. Bill and Lucy had gone, checking out the crowd just in case, scanning for anyone resembling the computer-aged photo. Myra Cortese and several other nurses had kept watch as well. But Riley had been right, the killer wasn’t there.
Instead of going to the funeral, Riley had spent her morning at the hotel with April. They were getting along well right now. Riley felt their relationship growing stronger, and she believed that this time it might last. At least, she thought, the bond felt sturdy enough to survive the rest of the teenage tumult that was certain to come.
Riley had saved her own keen watchfulness for tonight. And now here she was. Bill was also keeping watch, hidden in a grove of trees off to one side of Carla Liston’s grave.
After her moment of realization in Eugene’s basement, there wasn’t a doubt in Riley’s mind that the chain killer would show up here. She knew that those two sacred altars had given him the only meaning he had in life. The one he’d left behind made his appearance here a certainty. He simply had to find an outlet for his terrible remorse.
But the stakeout had to be conducted discreetly. Riley and Bill had decided to come here alone, taking care to remain almost invisible. Eugene would be especially vigilant right now. Even a few cops and agents stationed at the graveyard entrances would be sure to catch his attention.
Even so, the Albany office knew what Bill and Riley were up to. There were plenty of agents at strategic locations nearby, all on the lookout for Eugene or his white van. Lucy was with them, helping to coordinate their efforts. Riley was sure that she and Bill would spot Eugene—and she was equally sure that he couldn’t get away.
Suddenly she heard hushed voices nearby. She whirled around and saw a young couple laughing and giggling as they approached along a path. It looked like a pair of teenagers who thought they’d found a great place to make out.
Riley stepped out from behind the marble angel and stopped them. She held out her badge in the moonlight, and put her forefinger to her lips to silence them.
The boy and the girl looked thoroughly startled. Did they realize that Riley was here looking for a killer? Riley didn’t care as long as they went away. Sure enough, that’s exactly what they did, turning around and quietly disappearing among the trees in the direction they’d come from.
Riley returned to her hiding place behind the angel and leaned her forehead on its wing, peering out beneath the marble feathers. The night was quiet for a long time after that.
Again, she remembered Hatcher’s words …
“He’s wounded where it hurts most—in his soul. There’s nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal.”
She also thought of something else that the Sing Sing inmate had said to her …
“Stop fighting it.”
He might have meant a whole host of things—her obsession with work or her attraction to Bill, just for starters. She’d probably never know what he’d had in
mind. Maybe it was just as well. And anyway, this was not the time or place to be wondering about it.
Just then she saw a movement down among the gravestones. The figure of a smallish-looking man crept stealthily along, occasionally turning on a flashlight. She drew her gun and stepped silently out from behind the angel.
The man walked up to Carla Liston’s grave. He shined the flashlight on the stone, clearly checking the name. He dropped some flowers on the grave—daisies, she could see in the beam from the flashlight.
Adrenaline shot through Riley’s body. The chain killer had left daisies at the grave in Reedsport. This was definitely him. Eugene Fisk had come to show his remorse to the woman he had murdered.
His face was angled away, and Riley moved down the hillside toward him as quietly as she could. Even so, he must have heard her. He turned and looked in her direction, then whirled around and ran.
Riley took off after him. She resisted the urge to call out to Bill. She was sure that Bill had seen what was going on and was already on the move.
Riley followed the killer, weaving through the maze of headstones and statues. She was surprised by his sudden display of catlike agility. She’d long guessed that Eugene Fisk wasn’t very strong, and she was probably right. But she hadn’t anticipated that he was so nimble and fast. She wondered if he could even see in the dark better than she could.
She was gaining on him when she tripped over a small headstone. She staggered and almost fell flat. By the time she regained her balance, she couldn’t see the killer anywhere. She stood completely still, watching and listening.
She heard movement off to one side. When she turned, she saw that it was Bill, who had been running close behind her. He, too, seemed to have lost track of the man. He stopped in his tracks.
Both Riley and Bill stood motionless, scanning the whole area. Soon there came a flicker of light that briefly revealed a figure ahead of him. The man had turned a flashlight quickly on and off to help see the path.
Riley and Bill both broke into a run toward where the light had appeared. As she ran, an image came into Riley’s mind. As a little girl she’d been out catching fireflies, following the flashes in the dark. She remembered the sheer impossibility of catching an airborne firefly after seeing it flash.
Then she heard Bill cursing. He had run into the spiky metal fence that surrounded a set of graves. Riley managed to stop just before she hit the spikes herself. She cut to one side to get around the fence, and Bill headed in the other direction.
But when they got to the far side of the fenced graves, the figure they were chasing was nowhere to be seen. There was no sound or motion other than their own.
“Damn it,” Riley heard Bill murmur just a few feet away from her.
He took out his cell phone and called Lucy to alert the surrounding agents that the suspect was on the move. Meanwhile, Riley kept searching, shining her flashlight everywhere. When Bill finished talking, he also took up the search again.
Riley looked everywhere she could—behind trees, statues, some of the larger headstones, and the doorway of a mausoleum. Finally, her path converged with Bill’s at a parking lot that was empty of cars. His hand was bleeding from his collision with the fence.
“Son of a bitch,” he growled. “Well, he won’t get far—not with so many agents all over town.”
But Riley had a sinking feeling down in her gut. Their quarry’s agility and swiftness had taken her completely by surprise. She also felt sure that he was too smart to have parked his van anywhere nearby. Again, she remembered how hard it was to trap a firefly in the darkness.
“No,” she said to Bill, catching her breath. “We’ve lost him.”
Chapter 38
It was dawn, and the chains were grumbling. Eugene had passed the second night huddled in the passenger seat of his van, afraid to sleep in the back where the chains might overcome him. They were angry.
“I keep telling you,” he said sleepily, “there was nothing else to do.”
But the muttering continued. Eugene knew that there was no point in trying to explain things all over again—that he’d been identified, and that the police would soon come to his house, and that he had to flee and take all the chains with him. Otherwise they’d be alone there. And what would happen to them when they were discovered?
Eugene twisted around, trying to get the kinks out of his weary body. After his hairbreadth escape from the graveyard last night, he ached all over. He’d had no idea that he could run so fast or so far. And he’d covered a vast obstacle course—through back yards and over fences until he could reach the van. He’d taken care not to park it near the graveyard.
He’d driven cautiously out of Albany, winding through the smallest streets and alleys, aware that cops must be on the lookout for him. He’d breathed a huge sigh of relief when he left the city on a small, southbound road and finally pulled off into a thickly wooded area to get some sleep.
Now Eugene knew he would have to go out on the road again and he had no idea where it would take him. And even though he’d disguised the van, he was still nervous about that. Years ago, realizing that a day like this might come, he’d stolen New York license plates and ordered magnetic decorations. With big colorful flowers on each side and small signs on the doors naming an imaginary business, he hoped it would pass as a florist’s delivery vehicle.
He reached into the bag of food he’d brought along when he left his house. Only a single stale donut was left. He munched on it slowly.
“Where can I go?” he asked the chains.
But their murmuring was all confused, with some irritable voices saying to drive north, others to drive south, and still others telling him to head west into the Catskills. He’d never known the chains to be so quarrelsome among themselves. They’d been like this ever since he’d bungled the killing of the last woman, breaking her neck instead of slitting her throat.
He knew that it was all his fault. Everything was his fault.
Still, he had to drive somewhere. He started the van and began to pull out from among the trees. As the van rocked over the bumpy ground, the chains rattled noisily. He turned back toward them.
“What do you want now?” he demanded.
Then came a loud screeching of tires and the blare of a car horn. He braked hard and brought the van to a stop. Because of the chains’ distracting rattle, he’d pulled out onto the road in front of an approaching car.
Now the driver was staring at him in shocked and angry surprise. Eugene swerved his van into the far lane and continued on his way.
Forcing himself to pay attention, he drove slowly past a few houses, a restaurant, and a post office. He hoped that nobody in the little village would notice him. When the road was again lined by trees, he relaxed a little.
But the chains were agitated again. They wanted something. They always wanted something.
In a few moments, he saw a woman walking toward him along the side of the road. She was wearing white. He thought it looked like a waitress uniform. She wasn’t a nurse or a guard like the others, but still …
“Her?” he asked the chains.
He heard them murmur with approval.
He pulled onto the shoulder and stopped his van, but left the motor running. He got out, went around to the back and opened the doors. He picked up a heavy handful of chains.
By that time, the woman was walking past him on the edge of the road.
“Do you have some sort of problem?” she asked, stepping toward him with a polite smile. “There’s a repair shop …”
But then her expression froze with horror. She recognized him. Just as she turned to run, Eugene smashed the chains into the side of her head. She fell to her knees with a cry, and he hit her again. He caught the unconscious woman beneath her arms. Fortunately she was small enough and light enough for him to handle. He dragged her into the van and scrambled back into the driver’s seat.
“I hope you’ll be happier now,” he said to the chains.
But as he drove, a new wave of despair began to sweep over him. How could he possibly deal with this woman in a manner that would fully quell the chains? For one thing, he had no place to keep her. He’d have to kill her much too quickly. And where could he even do it? Where could he take her now?
The road still wound among trees. After a time it bent to the right, led across railroad tracks, and ended at an old marina. There was a ramshackle pier with a couple of old fishing boats tied to it. A massive rusted steel structure loomed over the pier.
When he realized what the structure was, Eugene laughed aloud. He could hardly believe his luck. It was an old boat crane, used to lift small yachts and place them in the water. It didn’t look like it had been used for a long time, but there was still a pulley up there on its arm. A cable ran through the pulley and dangled to the ground. It would be easy to hang the woman up here, where she could be found by her family and neighbors.
It would require outrageous daring, to do all this in the daylight.
So much the better, he thought.
Maybe the chains would be impressed.
To be sure that no watchers were nearby, he walked out onto the pier. He had to move carefully because some of the boards were missing and others were obviously weak. When he reached the end, he turned and surveyed the shore.
No one was in sight. He looked out over the water. A few boats were out there on the Hudson, but most were too far away to notice him. Someone on the craft nearest him did wave in a friendly manner. Eugene waved back and watched the boat move away. Letters on the side spelled Suzy.
The Suzy, he thought. What would it be like to be out there on a boat called the Suzy?
Standing on the pier’s end, Eugene was seized by a strange craving. If he had a boat and could go out on the water, could the chains follow him? How could they?
Out there he might be free. He couldn’t remember what it felt like to be free.
