by Angie West
Kate exhaled, agitated and scared at the same time. “Then I’ll go alone. Okay? I’ll get in my car right now and take off. But I can’t let you go to jail.”
His arms closed around her in the next instant, and he buried his face in her hair. “I can’t let you do that.”
“I’ll be fine,” she argued.
“Yeah, but I won’t be,” he said, brushing his lips over hers. “I can’t let you go alone. I can’t just sit here. Please don’t ask me to do that.”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go alone,” she demanded, feeling breathless and off kilter.
“Because I can’t let you walk away from me,” he said, simply. “If anyone gets near you, I’ll fuckin’ take him apart. I’ll keep you safe, Kate.”
“But, your plea deal—”
“Shh. Let me worry about that, okay? Jake’s not going to let me go to prison. Not for keeping a civilian safe.”
“Okay,” she finally said, not believing him about that bit for so much as an instant. If he left with her, he would be rearrested. But it was also clear to her that he wasn’t going to agree to do this any other way. So, she’d take his advice, and worry about the rest of the mess they were in—the legal mess he was in—later. “Okay,” she repeated, leaning up and pressing her lips to his mouth. “We’ll go now. But,” she paused, turning in Jaxson’s arms to stare up at her house, “we can’t leave without Gollum.”
“Your cat?”
She nodded. “He’s still in the house. Poor baby, he’s undoubtedly terrified.”
“He’s probably hiding,” Jaxson said, releasing her and planting his hands on his hips. “Are you sure about going in there? I think he’ll be fine, really.”
Kate gulped, but squared her shoulders. “You said she won’t hurt me, right?”
“I’m ninety-nine percent certain she won’t hurt you.”
She froze halfway up the walkway. “Ninety-nine?”
“Well, she is a ghost. They’re not known for being predictable. Or rational,” he added. “You’re sure you won’t leave without the cat?”
“Positive,” she said, plunging ahead, up the porch steps and through the front door, with Jaxson hot on her heels. He eased her forward a few inches so that he could shut the door behind them. Inside the house, all noise and activity came to an abrupt halt. Around them, silence reigned supreme, broken only by the ticking of a clock in the front parlor. Kate glanced behind her at Jaxson. When he nodded, she took a few tentative steps forward.
“Gollum,” she called, clearing her throat when her voice came out sounding like a cross between a croak and whisper. She tried again, steadier this time. “Gollum, come here, baby. You can come out now. It’s okay.” To her surprise, the small gray cat darted out from under the sofa in the front parlor, almost immediately. She met him halfway, in the doorway of the sitting room, bending down to scoop him up in her arms. She gasped and Jaxson swore and shoved her behind him as the books began to spontaneously fall from their places on the shelf at the other end of the room. The fireplace ignited, and one by one the books were flung into the fire, as if they were being thrown by an invisible hand. Behind them, the sound of the latch on the front door clicking into place as it locked made Kate’s heart practically leap into her throat.
“Come on,” Jaxson ground out. “We’ve got the cat. Let’s go.”
“M-my keys,” she stammered, her eyes fixed on the crackling fire in the hearth.
“Where?”
“Bedroom. Upstairs. Wait—” she called out as he started for the stairs. “They’re in the kitchen,” she remembered. “Hanging over the chair.” Then Jaxson was gone, and she was alone in the front parlor.
As quickly as the fire was kindled, it extinguished itself, or, rather, Mira extinguished it. Kate glanced wildly around the empty room and struggled to hold on to her composure. Her gaze dropped to the single book that remained on the hardwood floor in front of the fireplace. It was small, much smaller than the other books had been, and she hadn’t recalled seeing it on the shelf. Had it been tucked behind one of the others? The front cover on the leather-bound book flipped open to reveal a page crammed with handwritten notes; even the narrow margins were crammed full of the same surprisingly neat, tiny, block-like handwriting. Still keeping a firm hold on the cat, she crossed the room and knelt down to pick up the journal. She took it with her to the sofa, glancing around the room one more time before she Gollum carefully beside her and placed the book on her lap. Her hands trembled as she traced one finger along the writing on the first page:
December 8th
Subject: Tanya, Age: 19
Lagoon, Sarasota, Orange ribbon
The rest of the page was filled to capacity with seemingly insignificant, minute details of Tanya’s life, from the first time he’d seen her in a grocery store, to what time she’d eaten breakfast the morning of November fifteenth, to what time she got home on the evening of December seventh, and everything in between. What she ate, what she wore, her schedule, her daily routine. Pages and pages. Oh, God. She flipped through the book, faster now, until she was staring at the back cover. Frantically, her eyes scanned the inside back cover for a name, but there was none. It didn’t matter. This was Stan’s journal. Bile rose in her throat as she thumbed back through the pages, shivering, feeling as if the invisible layer of filth that covered the book was being transferred to her now that she was touching it.
Someone touched her shoulder, and she dropped the book and screamed. It was Jaxson.
“Your purse,” he murmured, setting it beside her and shooing Gollum to the other end of the sofa so he could sit beside Kate. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the journal.
Numb, Kate leaned over and retrieved the book from the floor. “It’s my uncle’s journal. It’s his kill book,” she whispered. “He stalked all these women, and he wrote it down. He fucking recorded it all—” She broke off as the faded, tattered ribbon fluttered out from between the pages of the journal and fell to the floor. With shaking fingers, she passed the journal to Jaxson and knelt down on the floor to pick the item up.
“Kate?” Jaxson frowned.
Orange ribbon.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she gasped, dropping the ribbon again and shooting to her feet, one hand clapped to her mouth. “It was hers.”
“Mira?”
“No, one of the others. Tanya,” she said after struggling for a moment to recall the name that had been written on the first page of the journal. “He took souvenirs…to mark his kills.”
Jaxson stood and gripped her arms, forcing her to look at him. “Kate. Are you sure, one hundred percent, that your uncle died that day? Are you sure it was him hanging there?”
She nodded. “Yes. I mean, I think so.”
“Was there an autopsy?”
“I don’t know. I—what are you saying? What are you thinking?”
“Your uncle targeted young blonde women. Roger Klein targets young blonde women,” he said, falling silent and letting her connect the dots.
“No. No way.” She felt her stomach lurch again and took a step back. “No. Stan is dead. I saw him.” He couldn’t have staged his own death. It wasn’t possible; it didn’t make sense. Then again, the more reasonable part of her brain insisted, the whole Stan-Roger coincidence didn’t sound all that plausible, either. What were the odds.
“Well, anyway, come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, giving her arm a quick squeeze.
“Wait, I need to go upstairs and get some clothes.”
“We can—”
“It’ll only take a minute. I’m just going to toss a few things in a bag.”
“Okay,” Jaxson said. “But we need to hurry.”
Kate nodded, Jaxson grabbed Gollum, and they sprinted up the stairs and pounded down the hall to her bedroom. She half expected Mira to pop out, or materialize, at any moment, around every corner, but the house was silent. Jaxson thumbed through the journal as Kate yanked a large
green duffel from the top shelf of the closet and began to haphazardly stuff clothing and toiletries into the bag.
“Kate,” he said after several minutes had passed.
“Hmm?” she asked, zipping the bag and straightening.
“Your uncle Stan is dead.”
She frowned, slinging the duffel bag over one shoulder. “I know. I already told you that.”
“Yeah. But he didn’t work alone.”
Her mouth formed a small “o” as Jaxson crossed the room and took the duffel bag from her. He handed her the journal, open to a page about midway through the book. “Read this.”
She dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed, her heart pounding as she read the entries he’d pointed to. Jaxson was already talking, confirming what she was reading, before she’d even finished that page, and then another, and another still.
“Your uncle met Roger at the club. They hooked up, and discovered they had some…common interests,” Jaxson said, shaking his head, clearly disgusted.
“Like young blonde women,” Kate said without taking her attention from the page. “And stalking.”
“And murder.”
“God,” she murmured, sickened as she continued to read. “It was a competition to them. A…game.” Page after page detailed the exploits of the two men. In his notes, Stan referred to himself and Roger Klein as kindred spirits, like minds, “hunters.” And above all—competitors. The things they took from the women, from their “kills,” were the trophies. The orange ribbon. An earring; a bracelet; a lock of hair. A bone. The souvenirs seemed to escalate with every kill. Sometimes they would even stalk the same quarry. Those kills were the most prized—like Mira. Her eyes quickly scanned the last entry in the journal, and her blood ran cold.
“The glass room,” she uttered, forcing the words through lips that almost refused to work.
Jaxson nodded, his expression grim. “Was built to contain the ultimate trophy.”
“A human soul.”
“Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.” Jaxson reached down and snagged her wrist, pulling her to her feet. The journal slid to the floor, forgotten in Kate’s haste to leave the house, and her past, far behind. She was in full fight-or-flight mode now; the only thing on her mind was escape.
She didn’t see it coming. One second, she and Jaxson were running down the hallway, heading toward the stairs, and the next, a dark figure collided with them at the top of the stairs, rushing Jaxson and swinging the hilt of a knife in a wide arc, sending the heavy bone-colored handle crashing into Jaxson’s temple. He went down like a stone, without a sound. Kate’s scream was frozen in her throat as she tripped and fell over Jaxson’s unmoving, silent form. Quickly she scrambled to her hands and knees, stumbling backward until she was in the glass room. Her eyes never left the eerie, unblinking, icy blue stare of the man who steadily advanced on her.
“You’re Roger Klein, aren’t you?” she stuttered, hugging her arms around her midsection and frantically searching for a way out. There wasn’t one. She was trapped in the glass room. The only way out was through the large, knife-wielding man who stood between her and the door. Why? She silently berated herself, fear for Jaxson and for herself making her light-headed. Why in the hell had she just allowed herself to be backed into a corner?
In front of her now, Roger smiled. “Hello, Kate. We finally meet.”
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered, eyes darting left, then right. She was going to have to try and trick him somehow, get around him. And even if she managed to get around him, she would have to leave Jaxson behind—if he wasn’t already dead. Tears filled her eyes.
“Why? To win the game, of course,” he said, bemused.
“But my uncle is dead. You’ve already won the damn game,” she argued, a tear spilling over and tracking a path down the side of her cheek. Roger extended one arm, and Kate cringed as he followed the teardrop with the point of his knife. He licked the tip of the blade and smiled at her, the predator to the prey. He took a step back, running the blade along the mirrored wall beside the doorframe.
“Oh, no. I haven’t won the game,” he told her, regret tinging his voice. “Not yet. But once I kill you, I will. Didn’t you know, Kate? You were Stan’s ultimate prize. And now you’re mine,” he said, his eyes taking on an intense sheen as his gaze roamed over her body. “Nothing meant as much to him as you. He thought he was so clever. He never let on about you. Oh, he talked about you, but he refused to tell me who you were. But I was here. After Viola died, I was here,” he laughed, gouging his knife into the glass, then rearing back and slamming the handle of the weapon into the wall, shattering the mirror. Large chunks of glass hit the floor, and cracks splintered the floor, arcing beneath her feet. Kate gasped and took an involuntary step back. “I broke into the house, and I released Stan’s catch. I was prepared to accept a stalemate, until I came across a very interesting journal, complete with pictures of you.” He all but cackled, and moved toward her again. “Stan won’t win the game. Not this time.”
Kate took a deep breath, held it. He was going to kill her if she didn’t get out of this room within the next thirty seconds or so. She would have to rush him. There was no other way. She already knew she wouldn’t make it. Silently, she counted down from ten. When she got to three, muscles tensed and ready to run, she saw her in the mirror beside the door, the part of the glass that wasn’t broken. In her right hand was a blade, the same one she’d had before. Kate’s eyes widened in horrified fascination as she watched Mira Rathe smile and lift the blade to her own face. Unflinching, she ran the tip of the knife down one side of her face, then the other, cutting herself, creating long, bloody streaks all the way down both cheeks. They looked like crimson tear tracks, and Kate cringed.
Mira stepped up behind Roger, and again she raised her knife. Wrapping one arm around his neck, she dragged him out of the glass room and into the hallway. She plunged the blade in deep, over and over, until Roger lay in a pool of blood beside Jaxson.
Kate remained frozen, backed up against the glass wall, afraid to move and half expecting Mira to turn on her, to come after her next. But in the next instant, Mira Rathe had vanished.
Epilogue
Two weeks later…
“Turn left here,” Kate instructed, wincing as Jaxson raised a hand to his temple. “Do you need me to take the wheel while you take another aspirin?” she offered.
He shook his head, glancing toward her with a smile that only looked a little pained. “It’s just a headache.”
“I can drive, you know.”
“I think I’m good for at least another hour, babe,” he said, reaching out to twine his fingers with hers on the seat between them. “So, how hot do you think it is today?” he asked idly, setting the cruise control to fifty-five and leaning back with a sigh.
“Poor baby,” Kate teased, using her free hand to turn up the dial on the air-conditioning another couple of notches. “There. Better?”
“I guess,” he grumbled.
“Do you suppose you’ll survive in Georgia for the next twelve months?” she asked, only half joking.
“As long as you’re there with me?” He paused, seeming to consider this for a moment. “Yeah, I think I’ll live,” he finally murmured, tightening his hold on her.
“Georgia is a little cooler than Florida. Sort of,” she added, mumbling that last bit. “Well, it’s better than prison, anyway,” she was quick to point out. “It was nice of your uncle to get the judge to agree to let you do your probation at my aunt’s house—and to make sure I was never for questioned any further in Roger Klein’s death. I was worried I’d have to answer for that. But I couldn’t exactly tell the police that a ghost killed him.”
“A clear case of legal self-defense,” Jaxson said, quoting the Crystal Cove sheriff’s office. “I wish you’d have told them I did it, though. So, what time is your sister expecting us?”
“In about three hours.” Her cell phone pinged, and she untangled
her hand from Jaxson’s in order to check the display. “Lindsey’s already there. And she can’t wait to see us,” she said, grinning. “I miss her so much, Jaxson. I can’t hardly wait. Me, you, my sister, and Lindsey—and of course, Gollum,” she said, turning around to wink at the small, gray cat that lay snoozing in the sun in the back seat of the car. “We’re getting there just in time for a good old-fashioned Georgia Thanksgiving.” She twisted back around in her seat, toward Jaxson. “You know what I’m thankful for?”
“That Chad wasn’t real?” he guessed.
She laughed. “Well, yeah, that too.”
“Kidding. What are you thankful for?”
The phone rang. “Hold that thought,” she said. “Hello? Oh, hey there,” she greeted. She placed one hand over the phone. “It’s Rita Cash.” Putting the phone back to her ear, she listened for a moment, then grinned. “You’re kidding. That fast? Well, okay. Yes, absolutely yes. Okay, great. We’ll swing back by in about a week or so, and sign the papers then? Oh, you can fax the contract? Terrific. They understand we can’t fix the glass in the upstairs bedroom, right? Okay, then. Good.” She nodded. “Yes, thank you. You too. Bye.”
“The house is sold?”
“Full asking price,” Kate gushed. “Can you believe it?” She sighed. “I think our luck has finally changed.”
“So, who’s the buyer?”
She shrugged. “A single father from somewhere up in Ohio. You know, I almost feel guilty, though…”
“Because of Mira.”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I’m basically selling these unsuspecting people a haunted house, right?”
“In a way.” Jaxson shrugged. “But we haven’t seen or heard from Mira Rathe since she killed Roger Klein. Besides, she wasn’t the only thing in that house, and you never felt unconformable there before, right?”
Kate nodded slowly. “Not because of ghosts, anyway.”
“You’d be amazed how many places are 'haunted,'” he said. “The new owners will be fine.”
