Killer Within

by S. E. Green

  I parallel park and check things out. People come and go from the surrounding homes, but there’s no movement from the colorful one. A few minutes in and I get out my iPhone and type in Bucky Holmstead, Falls Church, Virginia.

  I get about a dozen hits.

  The guy’s eighteen. Most recent arrest was for drug possession and assault with a baseball bat. Baseball bat. I pull his picture up. And pause.

  Well, hello there. It’s the guy who yanked me out of my Jeep at Aisha’s house. How lovely our paths should cross again.

  I continue scrolling through links, reading. I’m sure he’s got a juvie record, although that won’t be public knowledge. For the kids not to have reported Bucky, he must really have them scared. Hell, he scared me.

  I agree with Kyle; bullies rank right up there with how bad I loathe animal abusers.

  I give the house one last look before putting my Jeep in gear and driving off. I’m going to get home, grab my laptop, and really dig in to researching this Bucky guy. Drugs. Baseball bat. Knows Aisha. This just might be my link to figuring out who was watching me the other night.

  But when I get home, Victor’s in the office. I’d forgotten this was his work-from-home day. He’s with someone. I hear “Masked Savior” and purposefully hang in the dining room to eavesdrop.

  “I appreciate you letting me pick your brain,” the visitor is saying.

  “Hey, listen, we made it through fifteen years in the army together. Letting you pick my brain is the least.”

  “While we didn’t condone it, this vigilante used to be harmless. Hell, he did our job for us. But now with the recent bludgeonings, he’s morphed into a danger to society.”

  Well, shit. Does this mean they don’t think Aisha is the Masked Savior?

  “What’s the local task force put together so far?” Victor asks.

  “We’ve combed the streets, upped surveillance, and come up empty. There’s a website we’ve been keeping tabs on,” the man continues.

  “That’s a good strategy,” Victor says.

  Well, shit again. I should’ve already thought of that—I would’ve before. If they’re monitoring the site, they can track the IP addresses of those who have posted. I IM’d j_d_l. My IP address is officially traceable now.

  “What’s your gut telling you?” Victor asks.

  The man chuckles. “Exact reason why I’m here. I want to know if I’m crazy or not before I take this hypothesis to the task force.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I think—”

  “Hello.”

  I spin around to see a girl standing behind me. “Who are you?” I ask.

  She sticks her hand out. “I’m Catalina.” She nods to the office. “My dad is in there with your dad.”

  I shake her hand. “Where’d you come from?”

  “I’ve been sitting over there in the corner reading a magazine.” She grins. “Watching you eavesdrop.”

  I don’t bother denying it and in fact admire her boldness. I give her a solid look. Tall like me and even skinnier. Wavy dark hair. Cool gray eyes. I’d say about sixteen.

  Our fathers walk from the office, and I squash my irritation. I barely got a chance to hear anything at all.

  “Don’t worry,” she whispers, “I won’t tell them you were listening in.”

  I don’t respond.

  “Oh, hey, Lane, this is an army pal of mine. Mr. Coffey.”

  We shake hands.

  “I heard you talking about the Masked Savior?” I say.

  This earns a laugh from Catalina. She hadn’t expected me to dime out my own eavesdropping self.

  “Yes, Mr. Coffey’s on the local task force,” Victor answers. “We were discussing some scenarios.”

  What scenarios? I want to ask, since Catalina annoyingly interrupted me listening in.

  Mr. Coffey looks between us. “You girls have heard of this Masked Savior thing, I’m sure.”

  We both nod.

  “You two be alert and safe when you’re out and about, okay?”

  We nod again.

  Catalina gives me an amused grin as they leave. What’s so effing funny? The Masked Savior task force is in my house talking to my stepdad about me. This is so far from funny I don’t even know where to start.

  I turn to Victor. “Are you going to be on the task force too?” God, I hope not.

  He shakes his head. “No, this isn’t FBI jurisdiction. I was just giving advice. Friend to friend.” He nods to the office. “Sorry, conference call in five. See you later for dinner.”

  I nod, grab a Coke from the refrigerator, and head straight up to my room. The first thing I do is go to “my” site, delete the unanswered message I sent j_d_l, and take my registration down. I know they can still pull up a ghost image of my IP address, but at least now I can honestly say I was a member, curious like so many others, and then took my registration down after I realized the ridiculousness of the whole thing.

  What a mess.

  I do some more queries on the task force and basically get what the news has already given. What I heard Mr. Coffey say. Upped surveillance. Combing the streets.

  I need to lure j_d_l out and see what his connection is to all this. Plus there’s Bucky. If I’m lucky, they are one and the same and I can officially put this whole copycat thing to rest. Though that still doesn’t explain the woman in the dark car.

  Chapter Eleven

  “THERE’S LIKE THIS TINGLING, THIS ­nudging inside me, and I can’t seem to satisfy it. It’s like I belong somewhere else, but I don’t know where.” This is what Tommy admits to our grief group.

  I am rendered absolutely mute. That’s exactly how I feel.

  He gives the group a perplexed look. “I’m starting to do things I’ve never done before, just trying to figure it all out.”

  I get that. I totally get that.

  “As long as they are healthy things you are trying,” the counselor advises.

  Healthy things. Right.

  “And that’s all I want to say tonight,” Tommy finishes up.

  The rest of the group shares, and I choose not to. I only halfway listen to them as I play and replay Tommy’s words. There’s like this tingling, this nudging inside me, and I can’t seem to satisfy it. It’s like he’s in my head.

  I need to find somebody who completely deserves my justice. Like the Decapitator. Someone who deserves to die.

  That will fully salve my core.

  “Same time next week,” the counselor says, and we all get up.

  I follow Tommy out. I’m not the type who strikes up conversations, but with our similar thoughts, I’m want to know about him.

  I almost say his name but stop. His blond head is down, like he doesn’t want to be bothered. I know that avoidance ­routine. I respect it.

  I dig my keys from my pocket and head to my Jeep, glancing around for the BMW and not seeing it.

  “Lane?”

  I turn to see Tommy jog across the street to me. Guess I misread his avoidance.

  “Hi.” His lips twitch and my stomach flutters.

  Hmm.

  His blue eyes focus in on me. “We went to middle school together. Do you remember me?”

  “Yes. You were a year ahead of me.”

  He nods. “Thought so. Guess I just wanted to say hi and welcome you to the group. I know half the time it’s a pain in the ass and the people sometimes drone on, but it’ll grow on you.”

  I nod.

  Tommy shoves his hands down inside the front pockets of his jeans and a few awkward seconds pass. I never know what to do in these situations. The other person is obviously waiting for me to say something, but I just don’t know what to say.

  “You a senior at McLean?” he asks.

  “Yes. How about you?”

  “Freshm
an at Mason.”

  I nod. “I’m planning on going to UVA.”

  His lips twitch. “Yeah?”

  And my stomach flutters again. “Yeah.”

  “Well.” He shrugs. “Guess I’ll see you at the next meeting then. Bye.”

  “Bye.” I watch him jog back across the street and my eyes go down to his ass. It’s a good ass. Fills out his jeans. He climbs on a motorcycle. Boy’s got balls. I’ll give him that much. It’s thirty-five degrees and he’s on a bike. Crazy.

  He gives me a two-finger salute as he rolls past, and I nod.

  Maybe this grief group won’t be so bad after all.

  On my way home I drive by Bucky’s just to see whatever there might be to see and to watch my rearview for signs of anyone who might be trailing me.

  Bucky’s place is all lit up, and I catch sight of a woman sitting in a big chair reading. The rest of the windows have curtains, stopping me from seeing inside. I cruise on by, still watching my rearview, but don’t see anybody behind me.

  I head on home and straight to Justin’s room. He’s in his jim-jams, lying in bed, reading some graphic novel.

  Jim-jams. That’s what our mother used to call them.

  Justin looks up. “Hi.”

  I close his door and sit down on his bed. “Tell me everything you know about this Bucky guy.”

  My brother swallows, and the gurgle of it fills the air between us. He’s really nervous.

  “I . . . I don’t want to,” he mumbles.

  I take a patient breath. “Why? Are you scared?”

  He nods and looks away.

  I feel my jaw tighten and concentrate on not looking pissed. I don’t want to scare him any more than he already is. “Did he threaten you?”

  Justin starts to shake his head, and then he swerves his big hazel eyes over to mine and reluctantly nods. “Please don’t tell Dad.”

  Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m taking care of this myself. “What did he do to you?”

  “He didn’t touch me, just threatened to beat me up if I told anybody. But don’t worry, I know how to avoid him.”

  Anger festers in me. “Where does he hang out?”

  “Mostly the trail.”

  I know exactly what trail Justin’s talking about. It weaves through neighborhoods and playgrounds. People use it for biking and jogging. Kids use it to walk home. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Only a couple of weeks.” Justin fingers his blanket, obviously anxious about the whole subject. “I feel stupid. I thought he was the Masked Savior at first.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because of the way he was dressed.” He rolls his eyes. “Stupid, I know.”

  “It’s not stupid, Justin. Tell me, is he trying to sell you drugs?”

  “Yeah. He was giving away some too. You promise you won’t tell Dad?”

  I concentrate on maintaining a calm expression and not showing the fury boiling through me. Dressing as the Masked Savior and trying to peddle drugs. “You didn’t take any, did you?”

  “No! I promise! But . . .” He glances away. “Some of the other kids did.”

  “Justin, stay off that trail. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes.”

  I kiss the top of his head. “Night. See you tomorrow.”

  As I’m leaving Justin’s room, I see Dad in his bedroom looking through photo albums. It reminds me of the two pictures he gave me and that I want to ask him about them.

  “Dad?”

  With a pleasant smile he glances up, and I find myself smiling back. It’s so good to see him happy.

  “What’s up?” he asks.

  “Those two pictures you gave me. One had a dark-haired woman. Do you know who she is?”

  He shrugs. “Probably just someone they knew from the marines.”

  “Were they from Mom’s locker at work?”

  He heaves a sigh. “No. I still haven’t done that yet.”

  “It’s okay.” I nod to the photo album. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.”

  I go to my room, get the picture out, and take another long look at the woman. I don’t know . . . I think there’s something about this woman my mother didn’t want known.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON I USE the school’s computer to log on to “my” site. I reregister, scroll the posts, find j_d_l, and see that he is online. My heart kicks in a beat as I instant message him the same thing I had before:

  ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO PLAY?

  WHO IS THIS? he messages back.

  I THINK YOU KNOW WHO . . .

  I TRIED TO IM YOU LAST NIGHT BUT IT SAID YOUR ACCT WAS TAKEN DOWN . . . ??? I THINK YOU’RE MISUNDERSTOOD. I THINK U NEED A FRIEND.

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I’m not getting chatty with this guy. PLAY OR NOT?

  He doesn’t immediately respond, then: PLAY.

  I smile. GOOD. I’LL LEAVE AN ENVELOPE FOR YOU IN THE TRASH IN FRONT OF CVS, CORNER OF HAYCOCK AND RTE 7, FALLS CHURCH. PICK IT UP AT 8 PM. I sign off.

  Bucky works at the same CVS. Tonight I’ll find out if he and j_d_l are connected. And if the task force just monitored that message, they’ll probably be there too. I’ll have to be extra cautious, extra alert.

  At seven forty-five I’m in my Jeep in the CVS parking lot. There are many stores in this strip mall, many cars, so mine blends in just fine. I don’t see any cop cars. Then again if the task force is here, they’re probably undercover.

  I eye the garbage can right in front of CVS. The garbage I’ve put nothing in. I just want to see who approaches it.

  7:50. I get my iPhone ready to snap a few pictures.

  7:55. Someone comes out of CVS and someone else goes in.

  8:00. An elderly lady throws away a bag of McDonald’s.

  8:05. A man dressed in a business suit puts his cigarette out in the top tray.

  8:10. I glance around the parking lot. What is j_d_l’s game? If he was indeed following me the night I did Aisha, I was in Victor’s car. If he was following me the night I almost did Jacks, I was in my Jeep. That night I went out to “CVS” a dark car was following me. Then there’s the dark BMW that was outside my grief group with a woman behind the wheel. The first dark car could have very well been a BMW. Or maybe the whole thing is just a coincidence.

  The thing is—I don’t believe in coincidences.

  The one thing I do know for certain is that Aisha is now out of the equation because she is in jail.

  8:15. A young boy hesitantly approaches the garbage can. He looks around, lifts the lid, and peers inside. He moves things, looks over his shoulder, and then puts the lid back on.

  I follow the direction of his look but don’t see anything notable. Just cars and people trickling in and out of stores.

  The boy walks away in the opposite direction from which he approached, and I fight every urge in me to follow. That boy’s a decoy and j_d_l is somewhere watching. I know it.

  Sneaky bastard.

  He’s good at playing my game.

  Or maybe that was the task force using a lure.

  Either way, I sit right where I’m at, watching cars come and go from the many entrances in and out of the strip mall. Most of them are dark cars. None of them are BMWs.

  Bucky emerges from CVS. He doesn’t even glance at the garbage can, but he stands for a second and just looks around. His eyes go right over my Jeep before turning away. He walks the length of the shopping center, and I wait until he’s all the way down past the grocery store before pulling out.

  Several other cars pull out too, all going in different directions.

  Slowly I crawl along, keeping track of him as he hangs a right and starts walking along the shadowed sidewalk. The trail my brother mentioned is just a few blocks ahead, and I’d bet anything t
hat’s where he’s headed.

  That trails leads all the way back to the neighborhood where he resides. Which means I’m going to have to park and follow on foot.

  In my Jeep I pass him with a glance in the rearview mirror. I don’t see one single headlight. No one is following me. I drive beyond the trail’s head and park along the street next to a condo building.

  As I double-check my supplies, I keep an eye on the sidewalk, waiting for Bucky’s appearance.

  I survey the area around me again and still see nothing out of the ordinary. Just a dark street and a sprinkling of houses. No one has followed me. I’m certain I’m alone.

  Bucky comes up the sidewalk and cuts a right onto the trail.

  Silently I climb from my Jeep, and as I follow behind, I lower my mask over my head.

  This section of the trail is skinny and bordered by woods on both sides. It’s perfect for what I have in store.

  Bucky’s phone rings, and while he answers, I tune in to my surroundings one last time. Cold night. The scent of a fireplace in the air. A dog barking way in the distance. Nobody out. Except me and Bucky.

  My lips curve. I’ve got this guy all to myself.

  One must control animal instincts, not stimulate them. I don’t suppose my aikido sensei would agree with what I’m about to do.

  I don’t pull my Taser out. I want hand-to-hand with this guy. I need it. “Bucky,” I whisper.

  He turns.

  I go right at it, slamming the heel of my hand into his nose, just like I did Aisha. Blood spurts and I smile.

  “What the . . . ?” He stumbles back.

  I grab the front of his jacket and knee him in the balls.

  He goes down coughing and hacking.

  I rear back and kick him in the ribs.

  He coughs some more and throws a missed punch in my direction.

  I nail him in the eye.

  On his butt, he scoots away, blood and saliva driveling from his mouth.

  I don’t give him a second to retaliate as I whack the blade of my hand into the side of his neck.

  He gurgles. “Fuck . . .”

  I grab his head and slam it into the ground. “I hate that word.”