by L. L. Soares
They had lost all interest in him and were killing each other. There were more gunshots, but now cop killed cop. Some officers wrestled on the tarmac, trying to grab at guns just out of reach.
For just a moment, Sam Wayne stared in the direction of Viv’s car, but Colleen wasn’t sure if he could see her. She was terrified he might run toward her. She was about to start the engine again, in case she had to flee.
But he didn’t move in her direction. He picked up his suitcase again, as if it were something he felt a need for, but could not comprehend why. Then he got into the nearest police car. There was a screech of tires as he drove away.
The police officers left conscious, or perhaps they were simply the ones left alive, continued to attack each other. It was an unending chain. When one killed another, he then went on to attack the victor of another skirmish, and so on, until there was no more activity on the front lawn of Sam Wayne’s house.
Colleen sat in the car and watched. They had been as oblivious to her as they had been to Wayne. Their rage was that focused, that intense.
When she didn’t see anyone else moving, she hesitated, then shut off the engine.
She got out of the car, and walked toward the house. Passing the abandoned police cars that still flashed their brightly colored lights. Passing the dead uniformed bodies at her feet, but not close enough to risk someone suddenly rising up and grabbing her. She’d seen enough horror movies to know to avoid that happening.
But no one moved as she passed them by.
She had to go inside the house. She had to see for sure if Viv was dead.
She walked up the lawn to the house. The front door had been broken in. She went inside. She moved like someone in a trance, in a dream. It didn’t seem to be her at all.
She wandered from room to room, stepping over the unmoving shapes on the floor. She looked into each room, until she got to the bathroom down the hall. The light was on. She looked inside and saw Viv lying beside the tub.
The tub and the floor were thick with sticky blood. Colleen wondered how much of it was Viv’s.
She knelt down beside Viv and tried to lift her by the shoulders, but she felt like dead weight.
Then Viv’s eyes opened.
“You’re not dead,” Colleen said, though her mouth didn’t seem to move.
“I’m not?” Viv asked her.
“No.”
Viv tried very hard to get up on her own. She grabbed the edge of the bathtub, but her hand slipped on its bloody surface. Colleen tried her best to help her up, but Colleen wasn’t very strong. Somehow, Viv was able to stand mostly on her own.
“Is he still in here?”
“No, the police came. He killed a lot of them, and he got away.”
“I wasn’t able to do the job,” Viv said. “I tried to avenge Jeremy, but I failed.”
“That’s okay,” Colleen said. “You’re allowed to fail. Nobody can stop that man.”
“I’ll stop him,” Viv said. “Although maybe not today.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Colleen said.
Viv moved with a limp, but she did okay. Colleen guided her out of the bathroom and down the hall to the living room. Viv bent down to pick up her gun. Colleen maneuvered Viv past the bodies of dead policemen. She turned on lights as they moved, from room to room, trying to see where they were going.
* * *
Viv’s eyes were open and she was aware, if sluggish. She could have moved on her own, but was thankful Colleen was there to lead her.
As they entered the living room, also littered with bodies, Viv noticed a picture in a frame on the coffee table. Something that triggered memories. She had been in this house before. It was strange she hadn’t realized that until now. This was Maggie’s house. Maggie, the one soul taken that she regretted. She’d felt something special for Maggie, something that could have grown over time. If only Viv had given it the chance.
So this monster was her husband, Viv thought, regarding the photograph. Maggie and Sam, so young and looking so in love. Their arms around one another. A snapshot from another time, when Maggie wasn’t married to a monster. When he was just a man. Viv looked at him clearly. Engrained his face in her mind.
“What are you doing?” Colleen asked as Viv pulled her toward the table. “The way out is this way.”
“I need something,” Viv said, and when she got close enough to the table she grabbed the photograph, clenching her free hand around it hard. Her other arm was around Colleen’s neck.
“I knew this woman,” Viv said. “She was special, but she’s dead now.”
“Come on,” Colleen said. “We can’t stay here anymore.”
She led Viv through the door that went out onto the front lawn.
They headed down the sidewalk to Viv’s car. Viv got in on the passenger side.
“You can drive, right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Then drive us away from here,” Viv said. “Back to the house. I need to think about what to do next.”
Colleen started the engine and drove them away.
PART FOUR
THIS OVERWHELMING RAGE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The wind was pounding on the house, frantically trying to get in, but the walls held. Colleen was in Jeremy’s room, rolled into a ball on the bed, crying again. She’d been doing that, on and off, for days now, once Jeremy’s death finally seemed to sink in and she realized he wasn’t coming back. Viv hoped it would stop soon. Well, at least she wasn’t cutting herself anymore.
Viv was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, drinking a glass of wine. Suddenly, the house was so quiet that she could hear Colleen’s sobs without really trying, even though she was at the end of the hall, behind a closed door. Then the wind started its pounding again.
I’ll have to go in there soon and hold her again if she doesn’t stop, Viv thought. Not that it helps much. She looked at the phone and toyed with the idea of calling Grif again. When she first got home with Colleen, she’d been so wrapped up in taking care of her that she didn’t even think about Grif. But now, she wanted to reach him and ask his advice about what to do next. She’d tried to call him several times, but he wasn’t answering his cell, which got her wondering about what could have happened on his end. He was on the run, after all, or so he said. She had no idea where he was now, and she had no other way to get in touch with him. She’d left about ten messages on his voicemail, each more agitated than the last. Now all she could do was wait.
In this house.
Everything about this house reminded her of Jeremy. She’d wanted to move on, but Colleen refused to leave, and Viv didn’t feel strongly enough to fight her on this, yet. Sure, it was uncomfortable staying here, but this was her home. Viv had lived here for the last five years. In fact, Jeremy told her that he would leave the place to her in his will.
It was funny, she thought the police might come here, but they hadn’t. Maybe Jeremy really did keep this place a secret somehow, when he wanted to be a recluse. Maybe no one knew he had been living here. It was private enough. But someone had to have a record of this place—whoever took care of his financial matters. Someone had to show up here eventually, and she kept expecting visitors. It made her antsy.
This wasn’t a time to roll up into a ball and shut out the world. The man who killed Jeremy was still out there, unchecked. No one had been able to stop him. Not even a squadron of armed policemen.
Not even her. And Viv had been so sure she could handle it. Like she’d handled so many other problems in her life. For once, she’d underestimated her opponent, despite the story Colleen had told Jeremy about her friend being torn apart in front of her, and the news reports of the other victims killed the same way. Viv was sore, and bruised, but it was nothing serious. She had been tougher than even she thought.
Somehow, Viv and Colleen had walked away from that house alive. They were the only ones who did.
But Sam Wayne was still out there. Still kill
ing. It didn’t sound like the police had many leads. Viv heard on the news that Wayne had abandoned the police car he’d swiped in a ditch somewhere off the highway, and nobody had seen him since.
Every time there was a news story about a riot, about someone going out of control, or some other horrendous act of violence, Viv knew there was a chance Sam Wayne was nearby, causing it.
And here they were in Jeremy’s house, hiding from the world. Letting his killer run free.
I can’t do this much longer, Viv thought. I want to be here for Colleen, but I’m not used to this inactivity. I have to move on soon.
She knew what she really needed.
She hesitated at the door to Jeremy’s room. This was a lot like her relationship with Jeremy all over again. Someone who had frequent bouts of depression, someone who constantly tempted her to take a life. But also someone she cared about and wanted to protect. No matter how tempting Colleen seemed, Viv knew she had to fight her impulses, just as she had with Jeremy.
This meant another late night rendezvous with a stranger. There was no way around it. Somebody had to die, and Viv just wasn’t strong enough to stop the process.
She remembered what Grif had told her about souls being less and less satisfying. How he’d needed to feed more and more often these days. It was true. She felt it, too. In the old days, a soul could last her a month or longer. Not anymore.
Which is why she was so afraid, standing outside the door, hearing Colleen sobbing on the other side.
“Colleen, are you okay?”
She didn’t respond. Viv didn’t move. She wanted so much to go in there and console her, but she was getting hungry and didn’t trust herself anymore.
“I have to go out for a while,” Viv called through the door. “I have to take care of a few things. I’ll be back soon.”
“Please don’t go,” Colleen said, her voice muffled by tears. But she didn’t come out of the room to stop her. Viv was glad she didn’t.
She grabbed her jacket and went out to the garage. Her car was still there, waiting to take her away from the beach house and Colleen.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Colleen really wanted to die.
She kept seeing pictures in her head of Jeremy, of Turney. Of them dying in front of her. Of them being torn asunder by a madman with a bright red face.
Both times, she was helpless to stop their attacker. Both times she had somehow been miraculously spared.
The crying didn’t stop anymore. Viv had given her some pills, and they made her fall asleep for a few hours at a time, but then she’d have to wake up again, and the pictures would start in her head, and they’d bring forth the tears.
She had never felt so miserable before. So alone. Sure, Viv was here, but Viv had her own issues. The few times she came in and held Colleen, Viv had seemed tense, anxious. Like she didn’t want to be there, but was forcing herself.
When they first got back, after the siege on Sam Wayne’s house, Colleen thought she might be able to nurse Viv to health. She seemed to be badly hurt by Wayne’s attack on her. But the period of healing didn’t last long. Viv was back to her old self in no time. Either she healed very quickly or her injuries weren’t as bad as Colleen had thought. It was for the best, Colleen wasn’t much help to anyone in her current state.
She knew Viv didn’t want to stay here. The house must hold a lot of memories. But Colleen could not bring herself to go anywhere else. Not now. There was nowhere else she wanted to be.
Colleen sat up in Jeremy’s bed. Viv had left a while ago. Colleen wondered where she was going this time of night. There was so much she didn’t know about her. So many secrets. Her brother had kept secrets, too. Grif had looked so good, she’d almost fallen under his spell. If Viv hadn’t walked in on them that night, there was a really good chance she might have cheated on Jeremy. It had nothing to do with love, because she realized now that she’d loved Jeremy very much. But lust had always played a big part in her life, and Grif almost made her revert to her old ways.
She wiped her sore eyes and got out of bed. For the first time in a long time, she was hungry. She opened the door and went down the hall to the kitchen.
The house was so quiet, now the storm had died down.
They’d gone to his funeral. No one noticed them at the back of the crowd. . The casket had been closed, and they hadn’t seen his face one last time. But she didn’t need to. His face was imbedded in her mind. His anguished face at the time of his death. She saw enough of that face to last her a lifetime, and even then it wouldn’t go away. She loved that face and feared it, both at once. She wanted it to leave her brain forever, and dreaded that one day it would, and she might lose him.
There had been lots of people at the funeral. People she didn’t recognize and a lot of faces she did. Famous people who had been his friends once, before the accident that changed him and made him feel less than whole. Before the time when he’d hid away from the world, convinced he was hideous and unworthy of their love.
Viv had stood by her the whole time, holding her up. Keeping her strong. She hadn’t said very much through the whole thing, but her physical presence there was essential to Colleen making it through the ceremony.
She opened the refrigerator. There were some cold cuts, some bread. Some salad in a glass bowl. She helped herself, glad to feel that she had an appetite again. She grabbed a half-empty bottle of red wine from the back and filled up a glass.
She turned on the CD player on the counter. Jeremy used to like listening to music when he cooked. He almost always played jazz. And, as she played the CD that was in the player now, the sounds of Miles Davis filled the room around her, reminding her of him.
She thought of the old 45 record he’d played for her late one night, but it was too soon for that. It would be too painful to listen to now.
She stood there, at the counter, eating and drinking wine, letting the tears fall again, not trying to hold them back at all, and missing Jeremy very much.
This was his house. She hadn’t lived here long, but she’d gotten to know him pretty well in the short time they’d known each other. They’d grown very close so quickly, like they’d known all along it wouldn’t last, and they had to make every moment count.
She was glad she’d shared his life, if only for a little while.
Surrounded with the music Jeremy loved, she could almost feel him there, around her. Holding her close and keeping her safe.
* * *
Sam found himself in a narrow room, full of shadows. It had nothing in common with the house he’d shared with Maggie. He missed her intensely right now. He wasn’t sure if this was better or worse than the long period of numbness he’d felt after she died.
But he felt so alone without her now. So lost.
How did he get here, anyway? He didn’t remember much of how he came to be in this dirty room, in this filthy bed. But here he was. He could hear something on the floor and turned on the light. Roaches scurried out of sight.
He knew he was in danger. That people were looking for him. That he couldn’t go back to the life he knew.
He opened his suitcase and looked inside. There wasn’t very much that could tell him why he’d left. There were some clothes. They seemed to have been picked at random, but they’d last him a few days. And there was a photograph in a faux-gold frame of him and Maggie.
They were laughing in the picture. It made him realize that toward the end they didn’t laugh anymore. In fact, her life had been in shambles and he knew about it, but he didn’t do anything to save her. He was so busy debating what to do, that she slipped between his fingers and faded away.
He had been able to help so many people, but he hadn’t been able to help his own wife.
He sat back in the creaky bed and stared at the photograph. God, she’d been beautiful.
I can’t stay here, he thought. I don’t belong here.
Sam walked over to the room’s only window and pulled the shade down, and th
en let it snap up. It was so tense that he jerked his hand away at the sudden motion, and the shade spun up to the top of the window.
He looked out the streaked, dirty glass. There wasn’t much to see. Across the way was the windowless wall of an old warehouse. He could see an alleyway, littered with garbage. There were a couple of people at the far end, but he couldn’t see them clearly.
Where the hell am I? he wondered again. He had no memory of coming to this place, and yet here he was. And it didn’t appear as if anyone else had brought him here. He must have come on his own.
He reached up and grabbed the shade, pulled it back down to block out the sun and the grim view outside.
What do I do now? he wondered. He had a distinct feeling that he was in trouble, that people were after him, but he had no idea why, or who they were.
No, that wasn’t completely true. He had an idea why. There were memories that he had access to, but which were broken into fragments. He could remember horrific things. Things from his point of view. Things he himself had done. But he did not remember having the ability to stop these acts. To control his impulses. It was as if he were only an observer in someone else’s body.
Did I really do those things? He wondered. Am I really such a monster?
And if so, what would stop him from doing it again?
There was a knock at his door. He stood there by the window, staring at it, not wanting to answer. He did not make a sound.
There was another knock. Then a woman’s voice, “Hello?”
He didn’t recognize the voice, but it did not sound threatening. And despite his fear, he yearned for some kind of human contact. And for answers.
Sam walked slowly to the door. Stood against it.
“Yeah?” he said softly, not sure if she’d hear him.
