by Tom Becker
Inside the Azalea’s crowded chapel Darla sweltered beneath her black cardigan, white blouse and thick black woolen skirt. She didn’t have much clothing to wear that was appropriate for a funeral, and it wasn’t as though there was money for new clothes. Beside her Frank surreptitiously checked his phone whilst Sasha stared dead ahead, quiet for once. Judging by the packed rows inside the chapel, most of the school had turned out to pay their respects. The building echoed to the sound of muffled sobs. Ryan’s handsome face stared out from a blown-up photograph at the front of the chapel, his mouth twitching with some unspoken amusement. His parents stood in the front row, the disbelief still visible on their drawn faces.
Word of Leeroy’s release had spread quickly around Saffron Hills, shattering the fragile cocoon of relief that had enveloped the town upon word of his arrest. The Angel Taker was still out there. As she looked around the chapel Darla felt a complex mixture of fear, anger and frustration. What was the use of her visions if she couldn’t stop the murders before they happened? Why hadn’t people listened to her when she tried to warn them? At the front of the chapel, Ryan’s crooked smile almost seemed to be mocking Darla.
Frank covered his mouth with his hand, coughing back laughter. Darla elbowed him in the ribs.
“What is wrong with you?” she hissed.
“My bad,” he said apologetically. “I couldn’t resist checking.”
He showed his phone to Darla, who looked at it reluctantly. Frank had visited Carmen’s Instagram profile, where she had posted fresh photographs of herself on her way to Ryan’s funeral. She was sat in the front seat of her car, wearing another expensive black dress and pushing her sunglasses up on her head to reveal her red-rimmed eyes. Beneath the photo she had written the hashtags: ‘#tears’ ‘#restinpeace’ ‘#beautiful’ ‘#anotherfriendgone’.
“She can’t help herself, can she?” said Frank.
There was a ripple of noise around them – Darla looked up and saw Gabrielle walking slowly down the chapel aisle, a picture of elegance in a plain black dress and veil, her hair pinned up beneath a hat.
“Though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death…” Frank murmured.
“What is Gabrielle doing here?” Darla whispered. “Doesn’t she know how much danger she’s in?”
“Her mom and dad were going to send her to Cleveland, but last night Gabrielle stood up in Pastor James’s church and said she was staying put – something about being safe in the Lord’s hands. Her parents are crazy worried but they go way back with the Pastor and don’t want to lose face. I’m telling you, give it a week and it’ll only be me, you and Gabrielle left at school.”
Frank seemed to find this idea more amusing than Darla did. She didn’t find anything funny right now. What was more surprising, neither did Sasha. As the service began Darla was sure she caught her friend brushing a tear away from her eye. Maybe Ryan’s murder had affected her more than she was willing to admit. In a strange way, Darla hoped so. She knew that Sasha and Frank loved to compete in saying outrageous things, but sometimes there was a callous edge to their jokes that made her wonder if they really cared about anything. Sasha sensed Darla looking at her, and shot her a fierce glare. If she was upset, she was never going to admit it.
Ryan’s family had invited Pastor James to speak, and the congregation fell silent when he stepped forwards and cleared his throat. But as the pastor’s sonorous tones echoed around the chapel, Darla had the uneasy sense that something was wrong. She turned and looked through the window, only to see her ghostly reflection in the glass. Instantly Darla tried to look away, but it was too late… Already she could feel herself being swallowed up by a mind that wasn’t her own. The Angel Taker was sat at a laptop in their dark room, scrolling down through a page filled with photographs. There were hundreds of pictures, all taken by Carmen Russo of herself – pouting into her bathroom mirror, lying out on the beach in her swimsuit, pretending to yawn at the back of the classroom. In one of the photographs, Carmen was leaning against the hood of her white Cadillac. The Angel Taker reached out and touched the screen, stroking a gloved finger down her cheek…
Darla put her head in her hands, fighting back a wave of dizziness. Frank gave her a concerned look
“You OK?” he whispered.
“Where’s Carmen?” Darla hissed back.
Frank looked around the congregation, which was rapt in Pastor James’s address. “Can’t see her. Probably lost track of time taking photographs of herself. Why?”
“I saw something…” Darla said hesitantly. “I think she’s in trouble.”
A man in the pew behind them shushed her.
“I gotta go,” Darla muttered.
“Now?” said Frank.
Around her people were turning and staring disapprovingly, but Darla didn’t care. Pushing her way past a surprised Sasha, she ran down the aisle and out of the chapel, the heavy oaken doors booming shut behind her.
Solemn strains of organ music were wafting out over the graveyard as Carmen hurriedly parked her car in the lane leading up to the chapel. She was seriously late. It wasn’t her fault, the traffic had been snarled up on the strip. But that wasn’t going to stop Gabrielle lecturing her, Carmen knew. Gabrielle seemed to think that she was better than everyone else just because she sang at church, but Carmen knew she wasn’t quite as pure as she made out. For one thing, she had a very un-Christian crush on Pastor James. Since Ryan and TJ’s murders Gabrielle had been acting distant with Carmen – she could pretend all she liked it was down to grief, but Carmen was sure it was because Gabrielle knew she was the only serious competition left at Miss Saffron.
Carmen went to open the car door – and stopped herself. She took a deep breath. There was no point spending all that time choosing her outfit and getting her make-up perfect if she rushed into the chapel looking like Natalie after one of her psycho jogging sessions. Pulling out her mirror, Carmen carefully reapplied her lip gloss. Could you be fashionably late for a funeral?
There was a sharp rap on the window. Carmen jumped, dropping her lip gloss. It rolled under her seat, and she swore as she scrabbled around for it on the floor of the car. Her fingers closed around the thin cylinder; she straightened up, and looked angrily out through the window. Someone was standing beside her car. Probably another do-gooder wanting to know why she was late. Carmen opened the automatic window.
“What?” she snapped.
A hand reached in through the window and latched around Carmen’s neck, trapping her scream in her throat.
Darla ran through the gravestones, taking deep gulps of air. She knew that she had caused a scene back at the funeral but she couldn’t worry about that now. The Angel Taker had Carmen Russo in their sights, and Darla had to find her before the killer did.
The Azalea Cemetery was deserted. As Darla ran up a slight incline she fell under the shadow of a giant oak, gooseflesh breaking out across her skin. When she came out in front of a large marble tomb, complete with praying angels on either side, she drew to a halt.
The West family grave was an ornate building draped in Spanish moss, twice the size of any other tomb in the cemetery. An inscription read: ‘Here lies Allan West, the Father of Saffron Hills, beside his loving wife Madeline.’ Walter’s grave was next to his parents’ tomb, a plain stone oblong on a raised plinth. As Darla examined the grave, she saw that a bunch of white lilies had been laid on the earth by the plinth. She knelt down by the grave, tracing a finger across a delicate white petal. They were fresh – someone had left them here recently. But who? Walter’s family were all dead, apart from his missing sister. Who would want to pay their respects to a known killer?
As Darla straightened up, a gleam caught her eye. Carmen’s white Cadillac was parked in the lane behind Walter’s tomb. She picked her way down the slope towards it, a knot of dread tightening in her stomach. The car’s windows were shaded, but she could see the outline of someone sitting in the backseat.
Slowly, almost as thoug
h in a dream, Darla walked over and opened the rear door. A wave of revulsion washed over her.
Carmen was dead, her eyes bulging with nameless horror and her body carefully arranged on the back seat. Her throat had been slit and her hair had been savagely hacked off, tufts of beautiful blond hair strewn all over the leather seats, which were caked with blood. Something was jutting out of her mouth. Almost against her will, Darla looked closer and realized that it was Carmen’s phone. The Angel Taker had tried to make her eat it.
Darla took a step back, and fainted clean away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was different this time. After Natalie’s death, Darla remembered how kind and gentle everyone had been with her. But when the police took her from the cemetery to the station their faces were stony, hard edges in their voices when they questioned her. And when Hopper picked her up afterwards he seemed angry too, speeding home and slamming saucepans around the kitchen as he made dinner.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” asked Darla. “You seem kinda mad with me.”
“I’m sorry, darlin’,” said Hopper, slumping into a chair. “I just wish it had been someone else’s kid who kept finding dead bodies. I came back early from my lunch break today and saw the store manager talking with the police. I ducked outta sight and waited until they had gone before going back. The store manager didn’t say nothin’ about it, but I could swear he was acting funny with me the rest of the day.”
“You were probably just imagining it,” Darla said, trying to sound reassuring. “Maybe his car was broken into or his neighbours got robbed or something like that.”
“Maybe – or maybe the police were asking questions about me, trying to see if I fit the bill for this Angel Taker.”
“But that’s crazy!” said Darla. “You haven’t done anything!”
“Not here,” Hopper said meaningfully.
He was in a dark mood for the rest of the evening, and no matter how hard Darla tried she couldn’t shake him out of it. In the middle of the night, a nightmare jolted her awake – she sat bolt upright in bed, her skin damp with freezing sweat and the taste of terror in her mouth. Darla didn’t sleep another wink, and when she met Hopper in the kitchen the next morning there were dark circles beneath his eyes too.
With another student murdered, Darla had assumed that the West Academy would be closed. But to her dismay she saw that there were students milling about the school entrance as the Buick pulled up outside. Two stern-faced policemen were standing guard at the front door, scanning the crowds through their sunglasses. Frank and Sasha were sitting at the bottom of the steps, deep in conversation. At the sight of Darla they broke off and waved her over. She hurried across the lot, painfully aware of the wary looks the other students were giving her.
“You’re brave,” said Frank. “Didn’t think you’d come to school today.”
“I wasn’t sure it would be open.”
“There was an emergency meeting of the school board last night,” Sasha told her. “They voted to keep the school open, but only with added protection. Hence the Donut Patrol by the door.” She looked up at Darla, shielding her eyes from the sun. “How are you doing?”
“I don’t how to begin to answer that,” Darla replied wearily.
“Frank said you saw the Angel Taker again in the chapel. You know, before Carmen…”
Darla nodded.
“You ever wonder why you’re getting these visions?”
“Only every minute of the day,” she said. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just as crazy as the Angel Taker. These damned visions make me feel like … like I’m some kinda accomplice or something. But what am I supposed to do, spend the rest of my life hiding from my own reflection?”
“The visions will stop when they catch the killer,” Sasha told her.
“If they catch them,” Frank added, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Hey, what kind of talk is that?” said Sasha. “You know, Franklin, you are developing a seriously uncool attitude.”
“My apologies,” he said sarcastically. “You just can’t get the hired help these days, can you?”
“Aw, don’t worry,” Sasha grinned. “You’ll always be my accomplice.”
She reached out to ruffle his hair but he irritably knocked her hand away. In recent days Darla thought she could detect a hairline fracture in Frank and Sasha’s relationship. They had seemed inseparable when she had first met them, mischievous co-conspirators. But, to her surprise, Sasha seemed increasingly interested in hanging out with her – and both Darla and Frank knew it.
Great. Something else she could feel guilty about.
“Listen – there’s something you need to see,” Sasha told her.
Darla’s heart sank. “What is it now?” she said.
Frank handed her his phone. “Another blog was posted this morning,” he told her. “Look.”
HELL’S ANGEL STRIKES AGAIN!
Another day in Saffron Hills, another brutal murder. This time the victim was walking makeup doll Carmen Russo, who had failed to show at the funeral for fellow Angel Taker victim Ryan Cafferty. Only minutes before her untimely death, Carmen had posted a delectable selfie of herself so the world could see how upset she was. Which is just the kind of thing that gets the Angel Taker’s attention.
Life is getting pretty dangerous in this quiet little corner of South Carolina. So here are some Top Tips to help you stay alive:
1. If your name is Gabrielle Jones, you might want to think about going on vacation about now.
2. Right now PRETTY = DEAD. It’s time to put away the make-up and go au naturel, ladies. (Same goes for anyone wearing guyliner.)
3. Anyone contemplating entering any local BEAUTY PAGEANTS might want to have a re-think.
4. Avoid DARLA O’NEILL at all costs. That girl is a murder magnet. Seeing as Saffron Hills’ finest law enforcement officers are struggling for leads, maybe they should ask Darla for help. She seems to know where all the bodies are buried…
“I don’t believe it!” Darla groaned. “Hopper’s going to freak when he hears about this!”
“Like it’s your fault!” Sasha said sympathetically. “Whoever’s writing this blog is a complete asshole.”
“An asshole who everyone in Saffron Hills is reading and talking about,” Frank pointed out.
Sasha turned on him. “Oh really. And that makes it OK, does it?”
The homeroom bell burst into life before Frank could reply. There was nothing for it but to go inside. As she passed through the entrance Darla shrank back under the gaze of the police. Was she being paranoid, or were they looking straight at her? They might have been placed here to protect the students, but the presence of armed men only made Darla feel more edgy. Even school wasn’t safe now. The corridors seemed emptier than usual – a host of concerned parents had withdrawn their children from school. For those who remained, there was an eerie carnival atmosphere in the halls and classrooms: whoops and screams, screeches of laughter and nervous cries.
As she looked around the nervous throngs by the lockers, Darla realized that something else had changed. The cheerleaders had taken off their make-up and had dressed down in jeans, T-shirts and sneakers. Even Gabrielle looked less glamorous than usual, her hair tied back into a brisk ponytail and her nails unvarnished.
“I don’t believe it,” said Sasha, with a disbelieving laugh.
“What is it?” asked Darla.
“They’re trying to make themselves look less attractive. They think if they don’t put make-up on that’s going to protect them from the Angel Taker.”
“You shouldn’t call him that,” Darla told her. “It makes it sound like some kinda horror film. It’s not, it’s real.”
“Who says it’s a he?” Sasha replied archly.
The fact that half of the girls in the school were trying to look as plain as possible only made Sasha stand out even more. Darla loved Sasha’s fashion sense, but she couldn’t help worrying that the anonym
ous blogger was right – this wasn’t the time to be standing out from the crowd.
As they filed towards homeroom a jock in a West Academy football shirt jumped out at Gabrielle, wrapping his arm around her and taking a camera selfie of the pair of them.
“Slay Cheese!” he cackled.
Gabrielle screamed, pushing the boy away and hurrying down the corridor. The jock roared with laughter, high-fiving his friends and showing them the selfie on his phone.
Sasha shook her head. “This place,” she muttered.
The rumours began in the canteen, hushed whispers beneath the clatter of lunch trays. Darla was sitting apart from the others at the end of one of the tables, picking at her food while Sasha bit into an apple. Frank appeared without warning, leaping into the chair beside Darla.
“Breaking news from the beauty pageant world,” he reported. “Gabrielle’s pulled out from Miss Saffron.”
Sasha chewed slowly on her apple. “Big deal.”
“She was the hot favourite to win it! Apparently Gabrielle says she’s too upset because of all the murders, but if you ask me she’s just scared of being victim Numero Cinco.”
“So what if she is?” Darla replied. “It’s just a beauty pageant. It’s not worth dying over.”
“I guess,” Frank said carelessly. “But without Gabrielle the field’s going to be wide open. Anyone could win it!”
“You enter it, then,” Sasha told him moodily. “You’re the only one who cares.”
