by Dan Padavona
She grabbed her phone to read the time, but the phone was dead. Hadn’t she recharged it yesterday afternoon? Resting her head, she snagged a second pillow and dropped it over her face. Anything to block out the flashing alarm clock.
A knock on the front door sent a shock through her body. She sat up and listened, hands clutching the blanket. Nobody knocked on her door, let alone this late. The hairs rose on the back of her neck, her legs frozen and stiff as she willed the visitor to go away.
The knocks came again. Three insistent thuds that rattled the door.
Aguilar searched the gloom for her service weapon and found it beneath the bed stand. It was too dark to make out anything but vague shapes as she held the gun with a quivering hand. The deputy swung her legs off the bed. The floor felt cold against her bare feet, as though a sheet of ice lay beneath the carpet.
She crossed the hallway and approached the front door. Moonlight beamed into the living room, distorted by the shape of the man outside her door. Aguilar held her breath. Something about the misshapen shadow chilled her blood.
Aguilar opened her mouth and ordered the stranger to go away. No words escaped her lips. She swallowed, her throat parched and constricted, as if a snake wrapped around her larynx.
The man pounded three times again. Loud, booming thuds that caused the door to jiggle inside the jamb. She should call the sheriff’s department. Except she’d forgotten to charge the phone.
She aimed the gun at the door and reached for the handle. When she pulled it open, the leering face of Officer Avery Neal smiled at her. Blood dripped down his face, his eyes hollow sockets. The officer lurched forward and wrapped his fingers around Aguilar’s neck. Squeezing. Lifting her off the floor so her feet beat uselessly against his shins.
Neal drove her against the wall. The plaster crackled. A picture frame tumbled off the hanger and struck the bloody officer on the shoulder. And she kept repeating in her head, This isn’t Avery Neal. This is another attacker, some psycho or creep out of my past. I’m imagining Neal’s face.
He strangled the life out of Aguilar, slamming her head against the wall as the moon illuminated his gangling body from behind. She couldn’t pull oxygen into her lungs. Her vision failed as the life seeped out of her body. His clawed hands released her throat as she fell to the floor. Then he vanished.
Aguilar screamed and yanked herself out of the nightmare. The deputy threw the covers off her legs. She clutched her neck, as if Neal’s fingers dug into her skin. On the bedside table, the clock rolled over to midnight. Shivering, she curled into a ball and stared into the darkness. She was losing her mind.
Something awoke James McKinney after midnight. A sound outside. Or the sharp starlight washing against the windowpane.
He sat up and grabbed a glass of water off the floor. Sipping from the glass, he crept down the hallway and peeked in on Lonnie. The boy lay tucked beneath the covers, his chest rising and falling in gentle waves. James edged the door shut and moaned, accepting it would be hours before he fell asleep again. As he built a sandwich in the kitchen, he stared out the window. The night was silent, no cars moving through the neighborhood, nobody on the sidewalk.
He’d been a nervous wreck since the stranger spoke to Lonnie in the park. Was the man at the playground the Peeping Tom who stood outside his neighbors’ windows late at night? Four years ago, a woman vanished from Poplar Corners. James recalled reading about the disappearance. Santos was her name. At the time, he believed she’d run off to escape her husband. But the newspaper articles painted her as a loving wife. James worried the same man who haunted the night, the so-called Poplar Corners ghost, kidnapped Santos. And if this kidnapper had approached Lonnie in the park, right under James’s nose . . .
No. Driving himself crazy wouldn’t keep his son safe. He shook off his trepidation and wiped the crumbs off the counter. After James consumed half of his sandwich, he returned to the bedroom and sat with his back against the headboard. Outside the window, starlight frosted the neighbor’s roof, making the night seem preternaturally frigid. He considered turning on the television but opted for a book instead. Three pages later, he hadn’t comprehended a single word. James set the book down and yawned. He needed to wake up for work in five hours.
Certain he’d be up all night, James jolted with surprise when his eyes popped open. The clock told him he’d been asleep for two hours.
Yet something in the night had changed. The sounds were unfamiliar now. A secretive wind whispered around the house. In the distance, a car raced down a lonely stretch of highway.
He was about to pull the covers over his head when his son’s voice shocked him out of his slumber.
“Are you cold? Come inside before you get sick.”
Then the screech of the Lonnie’s windowpane sliding open.
“Lonnie!”
James leaped off the bed. His balance wavered as he stumbled down the hallway. Lonnie’s bedroom door seemed so far away now. It appeared to drift away as James ran for the door.
James burst into his son’s room. The blankets were tossed aside on the bed. Two child-size slippers lay on the floor.
The drapes danced with the night breeze, mocking James.
“No, no!”
He stuck his head through the open window. Lonnie was gone.
18
When Thomas stopped his truck outside James McKinney’s ranch home, Lambert galloped across the yard to meet him. His deputy had received the call ten minutes before Thomas and beaten him to the scene. Thomas dropped from the cab and stared at the house. Every light shone inside. He could see Aguilar through the window as she spoke to a man in pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. The lawn was a lunar minefield of starlight.
“Someone approached the four-year-old son’s bedroom window around two in the morning,” Lambert said, flicking his attention at the ranch. “James McKinney was awake. A sound knocked him out of sleep. McKinney heard his son, Lonnie, speaking to an unknown person outside. By the time the father ran to the bedroom, the window was open, and the boy was gone.”
“Fingerprints on the pane?”
“Just the boy’s. It’s possible the kid opened the window.”
“Or the kidnapper wore gloves.”
“That’s what I’m thinking too.”
Thomas set his hands on his hips.
“Does the father have any clue who kidnapped the boy? A disgruntled spouse?”
“The wife died when the boy was a year old. But McKinney claims a man spoke to Lonnie in the town park two days ago.”
“Did he give a description?”
“The kid told his father the stranger had blonde hair, but that’s the only description we have. McKinney overheard the conversation and figured Lonnie was talking to another parent. The stranger disappeared before McKinney identified him.”
“All right. I assume you checked for shoe impressions below the window.”
“There weren’t any. Grass is too thick.”
“Grab a flashlight and search between the window and the road. This guy must have left a shoe print somewhere.”
Lambert shifted his body to observe his fellow deputy through the window.
“There’s something else, Sheriff. Aguilar shouldn’t be here tonight.”
“This is an emergency, and we need all hands on deck. The higher-ups won’t count it against her.”
“I’m not worried about the county. I mean, Aguilar shouldn’t be on duty. At all. Something is wrong with her, Sheriff. I’ve never seen her like this. I doubt she’s slept more than a few hours this week, her color is bad, and she’s a jittery mess. This is none of my business, but have you heard anything about her therapy sessions?”
Thomas stared past the window. Inside the living room, Aguilar wrote on a notepad as McKinney spoke.
“Aguilar told me she enjoys therapy. I shouldn’t say more than that.”
“Understood. She claims she’s getting a lot out of it. But not from where I stand. I never thought I�
��d say this about Aguilar, but she needs time away from the office.”
“You’re saying I should put her on leave?”
Lambert removed his hat and scratched his head.
“I’m not sure. All I can say is I’m worried about her. She’s not herself. And she’s missing stuff, Sheriff. Like yesterday, I went over her paperwork. She left multiple entries blank and forgot to sign four documents.”
Thomas’s jaw pulsed. Aguilar was meticulous. If she was messing up paperwork, Aguilar’s head wasn’t right.
“Anything else?”
“Before you arrived, Aguilar helped me dust in the bedroom. She worked for two minutes before she remembered to put on gloves. You ever recall her screwing up like that?”
“Thanks for telling me, Deputy. I’ll keep an eye on her. Right now, I need you focused on this missing boy. Find me a print while the scene is still fresh.”
Lambert swept the flashlight beam ahead of him as he rounded the house. Thomas took a breath and removed his phone. He needed Neil Gardy. With a child taken from his own bedroom, Thomas believed Gardy’s theory about a serial killer living in Nightshade County had to be accurate. The agent was probably sound asleep at this time of night. Before he dialed the inn, Thomas’s phone rang, and Gardy’s name appeared on the screen.
“That was quick,” Thomas said, moving away from the screen door so McKinney wouldn’t overhear.
“The report came into the FBI five minutes ago. What can you tell me about the kidnapping?”
“Four-year-old boy. The father claims a stranger approached the child two days ago at the town park. No witnesses so far.”
“Our unsub has a knack for avoiding detection. It has to be him, Thomas.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Agent Bell is flying into Syracuse at eight this morning. As soon as she arrives, she’ll work up a profile. Remember, we followed this guy for eight years, so we have a head start.”
“We’ll need it, Gardy. I don’t want to pick this kid’s body parts out of a public place.”
“We won’t allow that to happen.” Gardy paused. “I need to shower and change. Give me an hour to reach the scene.”
“It’s an hour’s drive from Coral Lake during the day.”
“I’m aware. Like I said, one hour.”
The call ended, and Thomas opened the door and introduced himself to James McKinney. The man’s hair stuck out in opposite directions, his pajama bottoms wrinkled. Deep red pooled in McKinney’s eyes.
“Tell me everything about the incident in the park and what happened this morning.”
“I got his statement, Sheriff,” Aguilar said.
“Thank you, but I’d like to speak with Mr. McKinney. You checked the boy’s bedroom?”
“Of course.”
“Help Lambert outside. The FBI is on the way.”
“FBI?”
Thomas turned to McKinney without replying. Aguilar wore a jilted expression as she strode away. Thomas felt horrible upsetting his lead deputy, but repeating questions was common procedure. Often, victims recalled important information when asked to repeat their stories. This time, McKinney didn’t tell Thomas anything new.
“Is there anyone around town who paid too much attention to your son? Maybe someone you assumed was being kind.”
McKinney’s eyes darted around the room like bats caught in the light.
“Nobody.”
“Anyone ever threaten you or your son?”
“Don’t you think I’d tell you if someone had? What’s happening in this town? A child predator strolls through a playground with no one stopping him, then he steals my son through his bedroom window. What are you doing to find my boy?”
Thomas wanted nothing more than to find Lonnie McKinney. He pictured the withered hand inside the wooden box. In the sheriff’s mind, a child’s hand replaced the woman’s. His stomach churned.
“As you probably overheard, the FBI is on the way and will help us find your son.”
“Can you look me in the eye and promise you’ll bring Lonnie back alive?”
“There’s an AMBER Alert out on Lonnie. The state police are checking vehicles, and Lonnie’s face will be on every news report today. We’ll find your boy.”
19
Purple and magenta bruised the eastern sky when Deputy Aguilar left the McKinney ranch and drove home. She was due back at work by four this afternoon, but Thomas had given her the day off.
“Rest up, and return when you feel better,” he’d said, hiding his disappointment.
She’d almost blown the investigation by contaminating the crime scene. While she dusted, the gloves hung out of her back pocket. She never forgot to wear gloves. If Lambert hadn’t said something, she might have worked another hour before she remembered. She struck the steering wheel with her palm.
Lights turned on inside houses as people rose for the new day. Many were just learning of Lonnie McKinney’s kidnapping. Children held a special place in Aguilar’s heart. Whenever harm came to a child, it tore her to shreds. She wanted to bring Lonnie home to his father. Though she recognized her convoluted logic, she believed saving Lonnie would redeem her.
For what? For shooting a murderer disguised as a cop?
As Aguilar turned out of Poplar Corners, she followed an unlit road along a rocky creek. She repeated Dr. Mandal’s words in her head. This wasn’t her fault. She’d done the right thing by firing at Avery Neal. She might have saved Lambert and Trooper Fitzgerald, as both were pinned beneath Neal’s gunfire when her bullets struck the murderer and whipped him against his vehicle, blood spurting from his chest and shoulder before he crumbled to the blacktop.
Trees grew thick along the creek bed. What little ambient light existed on the horizon vanished inside the tree tunnel. She turned on the high beams and took a deep breath, one hand fiddling with the FM radio, muscles taut as she worried about deer bolting out of the brush and running in front of her cruiser.
The dispatcher’s voice crackled over the police band. He asked for her position. Aguilar muttered to herself. This was Thomas’s doing. The sheriff had offered to follow Aguilar home after they wrapped up the investigation, afraid she’d fall asleep at the wheel and wreck. He hadn’t said as much, but she’d read it on his face. She cleared her voice and reached for the radio.
“Unit two here. I’m five miles west of the highway. Estimated time of arrival in Wolf Creek is six o’clock.”
Dispatch acknowledged receipt. She turned the music louder, drowning out the infernal quiet creeping around the cruiser. Aguilar took her eyes off the road for a half-second. When her head snapped up, the man was standing on the centerline.
She slammed her foot on the brakes, the front end pulling left as the rear wheels fishtailed toward a ditch. The shriek of rubber against macadam deafened Aguilar. Trees whipped by. Then she saw the creek in the windshield, the centerline zipping past her vision, as the steering wheel pulsed and rattled beneath her failing grip.
The cruiser screeched to a halt on the shoulder. The rear tire on the passenger side dropped into the ditch with a heavy thunk and a crunch of metal. Her heart slammed. She killed the motor and stared at the empty road, searching for the man. When she didn’t find him, she twisted around in the seat, terrified his mangled body would lie behind the cruiser. The blacktop merged with the darkness.
Trembling, Aguilar dragged herself from the vehicle and stumbled back the way she’d come, afraid to turn on the flashlight. She didn’t want to see his body.
But when Aguilar aimed the beam down the road, there was no one on the road except her.
“What the hell?”
She swept the light over the ditch, then back toward the creek. Nothing. No crumpled body. No injured man moaning from the tall grass. She’d imagined him.
“No, this is impossible.”
She rubbed her eyes and blinked. The scene remained the same. Just an empty rural road with the peepers shrilling from the creek bed. Aguilar
slapped at a mosquito. Her brain fumbled to decipher the last minute of her life. She pictured the man in the road, the way he’d stared straight into the cruiser’s headlights without shielding his eyes. And she suddenly recognized the man she’d seen.
Shit.
Officer Avery Neal.
Aguilar bent over and screamed into the crook of her arm. Her stomach lurched as she set her hands on her knees and waited for last evening’s dinner to reemerge. It didn’t, though sour acid seared her throat. With her fingers interlocked behind her head, she staggered back to the cruiser to assess the damage. As she feared, the back wheel hung uselessly into the ditch, the cruiser’s bottom flush against the road. How the heck would she get the vehicle back on the road? Radioing dispatch was a last resort. She’d only confirm their beliefs that she wasn’t fit for the job.
And they were right.
Aguilar leaned on the trunk and bit back a sob. Since she was a child, she’d wanted to help people. Law enforcement was her life, but she wasn’t cut out for the job. One shooting, and she was a mess. She couldn’t picture herself in another career or working an office job.
To hell with therapy and reinstatement. When the time was right, she’d break the news to Thomas and resign. Just imagining her words tightened her throat.
She dropped into the ditch and pushed on the bumper. The cruiser wouldn’t budge. She was stuck here and couldn’t bear the humiliation of admitting she’d driven off the road. Maybe she’d claim a deer ran in front of her. Anything but the truth.
As she threw her shoulder against the bumper and lifted, a branch snapped in the darkness. She spun around and aimed the flashlight into the shadows.
“Hello?”
The peepers continued to sing. After a moment, she struggled with the cruiser again. In the gym, she squatted two-hundred-fifty pounds. The cruiser was a helluva lot heavier than that. She needed leverage. Shifting the cruiser into neutral, she returned to the back tire. With a grunt, she lifted and shoved, rocking the vehicle until the front tires drifted forward. Aguilar was so relieved, she almost cried.
