A Soul To Steal

by Rob Blackwell

  (I wonder why the press conference hasn’t started yet?) Kate asked.

  (Not sure,) he replied. (Maybe Brown wants to make a grand entrance?)

  (Could be,) the voice came back. (But I’m not sure it is needed here.)

  Kate was not at the press conference-she was in fact sitting across town at her computer trying to read something on the Internet. If Quinn closed his eyes and concentrated he could see it, as she could do likewise. That this now seemed natural was the weirdest part. In just two days, Quinn almost could not remember what it had been like before. Kate was just always there, in his head, and if that might seem scary to some, it was immensely comforting to them both.

  It was as if you constantly had your best friend on a cell line with you. But better. He did not need to say anything out loud, but could just think it. And the speed with which they could communicate was unbelievable. Better still was that they did not need to find words to describe how they were feeling.

  The other just knew. They felt it too.

  In fact, the only really odd moment had come the first time one of them went to the bathroom. But they had solved that problem quickly. It turned out that they could block the other one out-have a private thought in other words-if they wanted to. But aside from bathroom time, neither had found any reason, or desire, to do that.

  (Laurence wants you to ask him about Kyle,) Kate’s voice came in his head.

  (Yeah, I heard him tell you to call me,) Quinn replied.

  (I didn’t think you were paying attention. You were thinking about sex again.)

  (I can multitask, you know.)

  (I know. This is just different. I think multiple thoughts in my own head all the time. But it’s kind of strange when I’m hearing someone else’s.)

  (I understand completely.)

  (I thought we agreed we aren’t going to think about sex anymore.)

  (Yes, we did. But I’m a guy. It is a hard thing to shut off.)

  (I know, but we agreed for a reason. No sex for fear of scary guy riding horse. That clearly triggered it last time.)

  (I’m down with the plan, honey. I’m just saying: if you are going to listen to my thoughts, you have to know that I will think about sex a lot. It’s just there.)

  (I know. The problem is then it gets me thinking about it, too. Damn. This will be a vicious cycle.)

  (I know, I know. We will figure this out. We will figure out how to beat this. We’ll beat the trial and take it from there.)

  (What if there is no there? What if we lose?) Kate asked.

  (We won’t lose.)

  (How can this feel so natural? Why doesn’t this feel more invasive?)

  (I guess for the Prince of Sanheim thing to work the two of us have to be able to function comfortably together.)

  (You talk about it-okay, think about it-like it is some design. Like somebody really thought this through before creating it.)

  Quinn thought of the man standing on the hill, the one from his dream.

  (You think he designed it?) Kate asked.

  (I’m not sure. I’m not sure he really is who he wants me to think he is.)

  (Why is he helping us?)

  (He wants something.)

  (What?)

  (I really don’t know.)

  It had been a hellish few days. They had practically had to force their way out of Bluemont hospital. Doctors had insisted they wanted to keep him under observation. The local police had questions about how a horse had attacked the local hotel, but Quinn and Kate had claimed total ignorance. They had arrived back in Loudoun County to find another reception of police, who wanted to know where they had been, when they had been attacked and why they hadn’t reported it any earlier. Quinn had been disturbed to find that while the rest of the reporters had checked in, Kyle had not. They feared the worst. In fact, Quinn expected it.

  Sheriff Brown walked into the room. He looked pale, haggard and approximately 20 years older than when Kate and Quinn had seen him just a few days before.

  (He looks like shit.) Kate said.

  Quinn just nodded and watched the man slowly walk to the podium. He clearly didn’t want to be there. Which was odd in a way, Quinn reflected. This was a guy who loved attention, who savored the moment when Loudoun was big time news. But Quinn supposed even Brown had his limits.

  (There is something more to it than that, Quinn. Look at the way he is moving. I wonder…)

  But Brown had now ascended the platform. Flashbulbs went off. Quinn could hear the distinct whir of the TV cameras recording every second of it. For a moment, Quinn felt bad for Brown, who faced what must have appeared like a pack of wolves waiting to eat him alive.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Brown began. “I apologize for being late. We at the Loudoun County Sheriff’s department are very reluctant to communicate with suspects in the following fashion, but we have been asked, and I have reluctantly agreed, to make an exception. I wish to make the following statement: Lord Halloween has returned. Please take all precautions necessary to guard your loved ones. No one is safe.”

  For a second, you could hear a pin drop. Then more flashbulbs went off and there was a bustle of activity as reporters started scribbling on paper.

  “That is all I have to say for now,” Brown said. “I wish to make it clear that we made the preceding statement at the request of an individual who has said this is the only manner in which he will communicate with us. We do not wish to start any kind of panic. The department is doing everything it can to make this county safe for everyone. We are working around the clock. We urge everyone to be cautious and to report anything out of the ordinary to the police.”

  Before he could even finish, the questions started.

  “Did Lord Halloween leave you a note or has he contacted you by phone?” Summer asked. Quinn had not even noticed she was there.

  “All communication with this individual has been through notes,” Brown replied. “I’m sorry, but I cannot take more questions…”

  But the dam had been broken.

  “Is it the same murderer that terrorized the county 12 years ago?” she asked.

  “How many people has he killed so far, Sheriff?” another reporter said.

  “How are you assuring the safety of the county, Sheriff?”

  But it was Quinn who stood up and raised his hand. Brown, who clearly wanted to leave and had already started to walk out, paused when he saw Quinn’s hand in the air.

  (He knows what you are going to ask him.)

  Slowly, Brown nodded.

  “Sheriff, I recognize that you are normally reluctant to comment on on-going cases,” Quinn began. He licked his lips before continuing, acutely aware that he did not want to know the answer to the question he was going to ask. “But on behalf of his colleagues, we wondered if you believe Kyle Thompson’s disappearance is connected to this case?”

  One of the other reporters gasped. Quinn knew without looking it was Summer.

  Brown paused and seemed to draw a large breath.

  “Quinn, it is very difficult to answer that question without commenting on other cases,” Brown began. “But I’ve just spoken with your editor. It’s the reason I was late.

  “For those of you who don’t know, Kyle Thompson was a reporter for the local paper here. He covered the crime beat and so worked with this department for more than a decade. His disappearance was reported Sunday. We here have not always agreed with his coverage, but we respected his work. He was also a police officer for two years with this department. It is with sincere sadness that I report that at 7:00 a.m. this morning we discovered a body identified as that of Kyle Thompson. Though the body has been tampered with, pending DNA tests, we have sufficient evidence to conclude it was Kyle.”

  Quinn felt like he had been hit in the gut. It was the answer he had been expecting, almost. But it had not seemed real then. Part of him really believed that Kyle just blew town, even when he knew that made no sense. Kyle, who set his watch forward three minutes ear
ly so he would never be late. Kyle, who insisted on talking to everyone about wrestling even when he knew no one cared. Kyle, who would not have walked away from this story in a million years.

  Quinn could feel all eyes on him. It seemed like the other reporters, for one moment, wanted to give him some measure of respect. Quinn kept his voice calm, his tone steady.

  “Do you believe it was the person claiming to be Lord Halloween that killed him?” Quinn asked.

  “Yes, we do,” Brown said. “I’m sorry, Quinn.”

  And with that, Brown was gone. The other reporters threw questions at Brown as he left, some even trying to get out the door with him. Quinn sat down and stared at the floor.

  (Quinn, I’m so sorry.)

  (We didn’t always get along, but… he was a damn fine reporter. I…)

  His thoughts broke away. Somehow he became aware that a video camera was focusing on him. For a second, he forgot why. And then he knew. Because they wanted the visual to go along with the story. They had the ridiculous announcement, clearly authorized by Lord Halloween himself, but that wasn’t enough. The cameras had to have a picture of grief. And Quinn was the closest thing.

  (Just walk away.) Kate advised.

  (I hate these guys,) he thought back. (Where are they when anything good happens in Loudoun, or when it’s just the local board meeting to cover? We’re down in the trenches every day and they just show up when the bodies surface.)

  (Just walk away.) Kate said again. And if she felt his anger, he also felt her calm. Someone who understood grief better than he did and who might have had more cause to be angry at the vultures around them.

  Quinn stood up slowly, did not face the cameras and walked out. Only Summer followed him out the door.

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Quinn,” she said.

  Quinn was uncertain how to proceed. He was so used to disliking her, it was almost difficult to see her express some sincere emotion.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  (Is she hitting on me?) he asked.

  (No. Look at the recorder in her hand, genius.) Kate replied.

  And there it was. It felt good to know that he could still dislike her.

  “You want a comment?” he asked.

  Summer raised the recorder up expectantly.

  (Don’t do anything stupid.) Kate warned.

  “Write this down. Now that the best Post reporter, Summer Mandaville, is on the story, I’m sure Lord Halloween is quaking in his boots.”

  Summer switched the recorder off.

  “You know I can’t use that,” she said.

  “Yeah, that’s a pity,” Quinn replied, and walked off in the direction of the Chronicle office. He had other things to think about. Some part of his brain that was still dispassionate was already thinking of how to structure the story. Methodically, he started to think about what he would say, how to tell the story of his colleague’s death.

  Friday, Oct. 27

  Kate watched the leaves blow down East Market Street, which now looked less like the historic town of Leesburg and more like a ghost town out west. Signs hung on the doors of most of the shops declaring, “Closed until further notice.” Many people had simply left town.

  The ones who hadn’t left remained paranoid. Kate had taken notes at the local middle schools where parents had shown up to take their kids home personally, not trusting a bus to drop them off. People were afraid to leave their kids, or themselves, alone for even one second.

  Not that it would help. Kate knew that Lord Halloween had wanted this to happen. He thrived on the attention, the panic and the knowledge that he could still pick people off one by one. Unless everyone simply moved out of the county, they would not be 100 % safe.

  She was least of all, she knew. It must still be part of his plan to kill her and more than likely Quinn too. So it was with some trepidation that she had pursued her assignments alone today. But the Chronicle was short-staffed.

  Half of the staff had elected not to come to work Thursday. For some, it was genuine grief over Kyle. For most, it was fear for themselves. After all, if a serial killer decides to kill one reporter, maybe he will just keep going. Helen, who fancied herself the star reporter of the paper, called in sick. Buzz did not use an excuse. He had e-mailed Monday to say he would be out for the foreseeable future. Bill also did not bother to pretend. He had told Josh flatly that he was “not fucking coming in until the psycho stops picking us off.”

  Laurence had tried to persuade a few to come in. Alexis and Josh were in the office. And Quinn and Kate figured they were safer in a public place anyway, both from Lord Halloween and the Headless Horseman. Kate laughed to herself. It felt ridiculous even to think of it that way. But it didn’t change what was happening.

  So they were all being sent on solo assignments, at least to try and cover everything. Quinn was nominally following a tip, but really back at Janus’ apartment-which the three of them had turned into a fortress-looking again at the hotel security tapes. It was comforting to Kate to sense him there. She had a gun for her own protection, but knew that back-up was just a quick thought away. She could even see the video when she concentrated.

  She could see him in her mind going slowly through the tape, pausing every few minutes. He was bored and she laughed to herself. It was so strange and wonderful to have this other person in her head this way. She might have imagined it could be terrible, but… she felt no downside. To really know a person, to know what they think and feel, was a gift. There was no doubting his fidelity, love or commitment to her. Quinn belonged to her and she to him. She wasn’t even sure they were really two separate people anymore. That should frighten her, but it didn’t. The two had become one.

  But it was a gift that came along with the price of the Horseman. She wondered if it would be worth it. For now, it was the only bright spot. After she finished her assignment, she would go see him. Even with him in her head, she wanted to be with him again. And maybe they could go somewhere for a while… forget about all this for a bit.

  (Stop.) Quinn thought at her.

  (Sorry.) she said immediately. (I thought you weren’t paying attention.)

  (You were starting to think about sex. It got my attention.)

  (Typical.)

  (Hey, you were the one thinking it. Some of us are trying to work.)

  (Okay, okay.)

  She smiled to herself and let it drop. If they were still alive at the end of the month, they would go away somewhere, together. She knew that whatever their connection was would probably be at its weakest-her research had said it could drop out altogether-but they needed a chance to get away.

  (It’s a deal.) Quinn thought at her. (But for right now, please let me work.)

  Kate continued walking down the street and taking notes along the way. It was easier to record the shops that were open rather than the ones that were closed. Occasionally, she would stop in to interview a shopkeeper or one of the few patrons she saw.

  Suddenly she heard a voice behind her.

  “So how’s my favorite part of the Wonder Twins?” Janus said, and Kate wheeled around, her hand already reaching into her purse for the gun.

  She took a breath when she saw Janus and eased her hand away.

  “Easy there,” Janus said, holding up his hands. “I thought you heard me walk up behind you.”

  “Janus, these days, you should really call first before walking up to someone,” she replied.

  “I know, sorry. I was on the way to my car,” he said.

  “Why is it parked out here? Why didn’t you park out behind the paper?”

  “Are you kidding?” he asked. “And dream about how that maniac will hide in the back seat of my car and at precisely the wrong moment, turn up and stab me in the neck? I don’t fucking think so.”

  “Right, right,” she said. “Of course, you could just check your car before you leave.”

  “It’s better out here,” he said.

  “Where are you o
ff to?” she asked.

  “Laurence is pulling his hair out in there,” Janus replied. “He keeps trying to get reporters back in the office. He told me to go see Buzz and try to persuade him to come back.”

  “You want company?” she asked.

  “Nah,” Janus said. “Buzz doesn’t know you that well. He sees you coming, he could come up with some paranoid fantasy that we’re an assassination squad.”

  She nodded.

  “Besides,” he continued. “I’m wondering if he’s skipped town or something. Laurence said he heard from him once yesterday, but that the connection was bad. Old Buzz could have hit the road.”

  “Just be careful,” Kate said.

  “Hey, my middle name is careful,” Janus replied. “But enough about that-are you guys any closer to figuring out the Horseman? For that matter, are we any closer to Lord Halloween?”

  “Just theories spinning in our head,” she responded.

  “I noticed you said ‘our head,’” Janus said. “I guess you meant that literally. So what happens if you beat the Horseman? Can you control him?”

  “I don’t know,” Kate said.

  “And do you control him or does Quinn?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Or can you do other stuff, like read minds, or summon spirits from the underworld, or stuff like that?”

  “No, but we can shoot laser beams out of our eyes.”

  “Really?” Janus asked.

  “No, don’t be stupid,” Kate said. “I told you, I don’t know. Nothing in the research is conclusive. There is some trial, you either pass or you fail, and that’s it. There’s a Prince of Sanheim or a dead person. And what happens after that, I don’t know.”

  “Other than to know you turn back into a pumpkin at midnight on Halloween,” Janus said.

  “Yes,” she said. “Whatever power we get, it ends after Halloween is over. At least for a while.”

  “How long?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “Nov. 1 is All Saint’s Day, a holy day, so I’m sure we get nothing then. But maybe it returns gradually over time.”