A Soul To Steal
Page 38
He heard a blade being unsheathed behind him. He ran faster now, throwing all his energy into it. He had always come out on top. He would again.
But the Horseman was gaining on him. He looked at his watch again, willing it to go faster. 11:59 p.m. and 30 seconds.
He felt the horse breathing down his neck and dodged to the right to try and avoid him. Thirty more seconds and he would be free, Kyle thought.
He jumped now to the left and felt the Horseman slice the air near him as he went by.
Kyle stopped, dropped back, and watched as the Horseman wheeled around and then halted. Kyle looked from his watch to the Headless Horseman, who stood there impassively.
10 seconds, he noted.
The Horse reared back and Kyle backed up some more.
He glanced at his watch. 5 seconds.
But the Horseman did not move. Instead the horse held his position in the air and came to ground at exactly midnight on Kyle’s watch.
Kyle looked up and shouted, waiting for the figure of the Horseman to dissolve in front of him.
“I won, you stupid fucks,” he shouted, grinning, and looked back at his watch.
It was ten seconds past midnight.
But the Headless Horseman still stood there. Kyle felt the smile fade from his face.
The Horseman surged forward, his sword in the air.
Kyle looked at the specter with disbelief.
“But it’s midnight,” he shouted. “It’s midnight. You are supposed to…”
The Headless Horseman’s blade came sailing through the air and Kyle at the last moment threw up his arm to try and ward off the blow. It didn’t help.
The Horseman cleanly lopped off Kyle’s head. The look of surprise, terror and confusion was still on it as it sailed through the air and fell to the dust just as Kyle’s body crashed down.
The Headless Horseman wheeled about and rode up to the figure that had come out of the house.
Kate, now once again looking like herself, walked over to Kyle’s body. Absentmindedly, she stroked the horse’s mane as it drew up beside her.
Kate leaned over the body and pulled on Kyle’s watch. She held it up to her own.
“What do you know?” she said. “It’s three minutes fast. Just like he always taught us.”
The horse reared up and the Headless Horseman laughed. Kate just smiled.
Epilogue
A week later, it was a Loudoun Chronicle exclusive, a double by-line by Kate and Quinn. “Lord Halloween: The Real Story.”
Police had stayed quiet after the discovery of the Holober house, which they had searched after an anonymous tip. There they collected Kyle’s real body and drew their own conclusions, mostly the right ones.
However, the police were so concerned about being burned again by announcing that Lord Halloween was finished that they delayed saying anything at all. Instead, they only said that their investigation continued.
Kate had found Buzz’s papers inside the Holober house and kept them. With Buzz’s portfolio in hand, it was not hard to completely retrace Kyle’s steps over the past few years.
It was a huge hit when the Chronicle announced who the killer was and that he was dead. What followed was a definitive account of the serial killer. When it had started and even what he had planned. The last bit they attributed to police sources, who had found a paper in the Holober house that was a draft of a note that Kyle had written. In it, he talked about crucifying kids.
Kate knew much more than what she could say. She had seen into Kyle’s mind, after all, and there was much laid out there that couldn’t come from any portfolio. But Quinn and Kate kept that mostly to themselves.
As they did their role in any of it. While paying tribute to the losses of Janus and Buzz, they removed any trace they had been involved. The police never knew who called them out to the Holober house and were never certain how Kyle had been killed. It wasn’t until later that Sheriff Brown began to worry about it.
In those early days, he was still surprised by his good fortune. Once Kate and Quinn’s story broke, he rushed forward to claim credit for stopping the killings.
Quinn’s greatest satisfaction came the next day. The story in The Washington Post — written by none other than Summer Mandaville-was forced to quote the Loudoun Chronicle. Without access to Buzz’s portfolio themselves, she had precious little else to use for her story. Kate and Quinn’s story simply had too many wonderful details to ignore. And so the great Washington Post gave the Loudoun Chronicle credit. And that was not the only paper. CNN ran a whole story on it, borrowing liberally from the two reporters work, but at least giving them credit. Ethan Holden was on cloud nine for a week.
For the rest of the paper, it was more bittersweet. The killer, after all, had worked among them for years and been responsible for the deaths of two of their own. And for Quinn, the memory of Janus was ever-present.
The next staff meeting was mercifully short. Laurence said a prayer for their fallen colleagues and moved on to new business.
But Kate and Quinn did not attend. Riding on Holden’s good will, they took two weeks off, the first to see Kate’s father.
After that, they didn’t have set plans. They just wanted to go somewhere quiet for a while, and be by themselves.
They had lost their abilities at the stroke of midnight, as promised, and no longer had the connection to each other that they had in the previous weeks. That proved to be a problem, because each had become accustomed to knowing what the other felt like at any given time. They knew, though, that their abilities would come back, stronger than ever, eventually. In the meantime, the two were getting used to communicating the conventional way again. It was frustrating.
“So how long do you think we have to wait?” Quinn asked her on the car ride up to her dad’s.
“I don’t know,” Kate said in the passenger seat. She was half-dreading trying to explain her actions to her dad, though she was thankful Quinn was along for the ride. “There’s very little literature on it. Not forever though. Maybe February, March?”
“Shit. That’s a long time.”
“I know,” she said, and put her hand on his knee. “And we don’t even really know what it will be like. We only had a few minutes as the true Prince of Sanheim. And we were a little focused on revenge at that moment.”
“I look forward to it,” he said.
“Me too,” she replied, and leaned back in her chair.
She thought a minute.
“What is this going to mean?” she asked. “What do we do with all this stuff when we get it back?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Band together and fight the evil plots of Lex Luthor?”
“No, really. I’m serious.”
“I don’t know,” Quinn said. “And I’m worried.”
“About?”
“The man in my dream,” he said. “He wanted something and we gave it to him.”
“Maybe he was trying to help?”
“For what purpose? He wants something, and part of that plan was our becoming Prince of Sanheim?”
“Well, just because we are now doesn’t mean we have to do what he wants,” she said.
“We don’t really know that, though, do we? The power we had. It felt good, right?”
“It felt exhilarating,” she said.
“But it didn’t feel good in the other sense of the word, did it? It didn’t feel right.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said. “It was the best I’ve ever felt. And I saw into you, remember? It’s the best you’ve ever felt too.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m just saying that this could change us.”
“Good,” she said. “The way I see it, whatever bargain we struck, we got the better end of the deal. We have each other, and when the time is right, we will be unstoppable. Power doesn’t automatically corrupt, you know. We will know how to use our powers in the right way.”
Quinn was silent after that. Maybe
she was right.
“I did do one thing I didn’t tell you about earlier,” Kate said.
“Which was?”
“I left them a note,” she said.
“Who?”
“Sheriff Brown and the rest of the police.”
“What did it say?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said, and she smiled.
“I hate that you can keep secrets,” he replied, but he was smiling too.
“That’s just it, Quinn. I can’t keep them for long.”
“Seriously, what did it say?”
“Ask me later,” she said. “You’ll find out.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“Well,” Kate said finally. “Where do you want to go once we see my Dad?”
“I did have one idea,” he said and grinned.
“Which is?” she asked.
“I put the brochure in the glove compartment,” he replied.
She opened up the compartment and found a single brochure with the picture of a small town in autumn on it. Kate laughed out loud.
“You have to be kidding me,” she said.
“I figured we should visit our roots.”
She opened the brochure up.
“Welcome to Sleepy Hollow, New York,” it said. “Where legends and magic await.”
“Sounds perfect,” Kate said.
PS File: Letter #1
Date: Nov. 1, 2006
Investigation Status: Open
Contents: Classified
Dear Sheriff Brown,
Some of what we tell you will be lies. This is necessary to protect us both. We were the ones who killed Lord Halloween-that part is no lie, we assure you. Where you failed, we succeeded. Let me be clear up front: we will tolerate no further incompetence from you or your staff. You have let dozens of people die at the hands of a madman. You can claim victory over Lord Halloween-we bear you no ill will if you want to hog credit-as long as you understand that you had nothing to do with it. Without us, he would still be out there. Without us, he would still be killing.
Why are we writing to you? Because you are going to hear stories, lots of them. Stories that do not make sense; stories about monsters and ghosts. Some know these stories already-just ask your own son. These stories will be true. In the absence of divine intervention from above, Loudoun County will receive assistance from down below. The monsters are out in force. Continuing the ban on Halloween will not stop us.
But let us be clear: the innocent have no reason to fear us and we will give them none. Only those that lurk in shadows to strike at others have a reason to panic. To those that murder without cause, we are their worst nightmare. To those that desire retribution, we are their greatest ally.
There are times in life when one must make a stand. We intend to do so. Our medium is the one best understood by every being on this planet, from the lowly maggot to us-fear.
We will be the thing people fear. Our name already sends a shiver down the spine of the guilty, and soon it will be synonymous with the creeping darkness.
We are night. We are October. We are flesh rendered and torn. We are the rider that was promised long ago, the harbinger of fall: We are death, riding on a black horse.
You can call us the Prince of Sanheim.
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