I shut the door softly behind me. Knowing his eyes are on me, I purposely turn left and walk down the street until I’m out of sight. Twenty minutes pass before I make my way back to my car. As I drive out of the neighborhood, a sleek black car passes me. As hard as it’s raining, I can’t tell if it’s a Maserati or not. I don’t think so.
The whole way home, I keep repeating, “Please tell me I haven’t made a mistake.”
CHAPTER 56
CHRISTMAS COMES AND GOES. GRAM has a fantastic time on her cruise. I tell her I’ll try to visit for my birthday. I keep a close eye on the news, and a few weeks later, just when I think I made the right decision, there it is.
Aidan set a dog on fire. Said it was trying to bite him, being aggressive. Two women out walking one morning found the poor animal in the park, trying to crawl. The burns were so bad he had to be put down. That dog’s death is on me. If I had acted instead of letting Aidan go, the dog would still be alive.
The thought of the unimaginable pain and suffering the animal must have experienced sends me running to the bathroom, throwing up my dinner. This is what happens when I show mercy.
People are con artists. That night I thought a lot about choices. What if I had made different choices? Would Jackson and I be engaged? Planning our wedding? Having children? Would I still have a job? Be happy?
But there can be no marriage or children in my future. My path is as clear as the yellow brick road. We all pay. It’s only a question of when.
Aidan has made the mistake of leaving his garage open. Slipping inside, I find the door to the house open. I walk in like I own the place. Not bothering to hide. I sit down in one of the kitchen chairs, my gun pointed at the door. An hour has passed when I hear the garage door closing. He comes in, groceries in his arms. He drops the bags when he sees me and reaches behind him. I fire the first shot, hitting him in the chest. He falls but manages to get up. I shoot him again. He goes down screaming.
“You gonna die for this, bitch.”
“What happened to the Aidan and who crawled on the floor and kissed my shoes?”
He’s moaning and rolling around, but I see the anger on his face. His eyes narrow. “You not gonna shoot me. You gonna call the cops and turn me in.”
I cock my head, looking at him like a hawk must eye a particularly tasty-looking squirrel. There is a heavy-looking urn of some type on the counter. I grab it and bring it down on his head. He goes still. Then I see his bloody chest moving up and down. Good. I want him alive for what I have planned.
I’m sweating buckets by the time I get him dragged to the recliner and propped up in it, hair sticking to the back of my neck, sweating like I’ve run a marathon. This time I brought something extra with me. Sheets purchased from the local thrift store and cut into long strips. They didn’t blink an eye when I kept my winter gloves on and made some comment about it being cold. The bored salesclerk took my money and moved on to the next customer.
Sitting back, I look at my handiwork. He’s tied to the recliner. Last, I pull a plastic bag with a bottle inside from my bag. When I open it, the smell of gas hits my nose. I dump it on the recliner, on the strips, and on Aidan.
I wind them around the chair and pull them tight. When he hasn’t come to after twenty minutes, I rummage around the kitchen, find a glass, and fill it with water. I throw it in his face, and he comes to spluttering. The blood from his chest and side is already turning the white sheets scarlet.
“You’re going to die for what you’ve done. You think you’re some kind of demented superhero?”
“Don’t you think all superheroes are a bit crazy to do what they do?”
I strike the first match and hold it up, watching as the fear fills his face, the stink of him filling the air.
“I told you what would happen. Now you’re going to know what it feels like to burn.”
I crank up the music to deafening levels. Then I strike another match, drop it, turn, and walk away. His screams echo through the room. No one will hear him. By the time they see the flames or hear the alarm, it will be too late.
For a time I thought I could find my way back to the light. But there is no light. Only darkness and death. When I stop at a rest area partway home to change and dispose of everything, I stand in the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror.
“Do you want to get caught? What were you thinking? You should’ve killed him the first time. He had plenty of time to ID you. Tell someone all about you. Idiot.”
But the face in the mirror simply looks back at me. I go into the stall. The smell of burning flesh on my skin makes me heave. There’s a knock on the door.
“You okay, honey?”
“Bad sushi.”
“It smells like something burnt.”
“I was at a bonfire.”
I see her sneakers beneath the stall. “Well, you might as well throw them away. The smell will never come out.”
No kidding. “You’re right. I will.”
For the first time, I don’t celebrate my birthday. Gram sent me a card and calls, but with no one to celebrate with, it seems pathetic to buy a cake for myself.
I blink and it’s the end of January.
Grayson has decided at the last minute he’ll throw a cookout to celebrate the odd weather. It’s supposed to be in the low sixties this weekend. I may break out the flip-flops. He invited a bunch of his coworkers and was kind enough to invite me. I declined but he kept nagging me until I said yes. Plus I want to meet his new girlfriend. I’ve seen her a few times but haven’t had a chance to talk to her.
We’re all outside, the grills fired up, people drinking and laughing. For the first time since Aidan, I’m hoping I can relax. The apartment complex is pretty nice in that it has not only a pool, but a soccer field and tennis courts. While I don’t play tennis or soccer, I think it’s great they’re there for people who do. I’m sitting in a chair talking to Dawn, Grayson’s girlfriend, when I see the bags come out of Malcolm’s car.
“You two want to join us for a game of ball?”
I stop speaking in the middle of my sentence, looking at Malcolm but not hearing anything else.
Dawn jumps up. “Oh, I love softball. Can I play?” She turns. “Are you coming?”
Mutely, I shake my head and stay seated, afraid if I try to stand I’ll fall over. They divvy up teams and I hear the crack of the bat hitting the ball. I’m immediately taken back to the house in Florida. I see Max. My mom. Splashes of red everywhere. Swallowing convulsively, I look around for a bottle of water.
Getting to my feet, I wobble a bit but don’t fall. The ice in the cooler feels good. As I uncap the bottle, the breeze shifts, and the smell hits my nose. It’s the aroma of hamburgers and hotdogs on the grill. And it smells just like Aidan when I burnt him up.
The noises of the game recede. Everything starts to go black, with big dots then smaller dots, until I’m looking up at Grayson’s concerned face.
“Are you okay? You fainted.”
There are other people gathered around, and I’m horribly embarrassed. I try to sit up but I’m still woozy.
“Take it easy.”
“I’m so sorry. I don’t think I’ve eaten anything today.” One of Grayson’s coworkers hands me a hamburger on a bun. I see the pink juice staining the white bread and that’s it. My stomach revolts and I scramble for the trash can at the edge of the parking lot, barely making it in time. I’m completely mortified, so instead of going back, I wave everyone away.
“I must be coming down with something. I hope none of you get sick. I’m going now.”
Grayson jogs over. “Let me help you so you don’t faint again.” Another wave of dizziness hits me when I hear the bat meet the ball again.
“Will Dawn be mad?”
He shakes his head. “If she is, she’s not the right girl for me.” He carries me up the three flights into my apartment. Once I’m settled on the sofa, he brings me a cool cloth and a glass of water.
“Can I g
et you anything else?”
“How about the ability to rewind what just happened?”
He chuckles and I give him a small smile. “Don’t worry about it. Everybody gets sick.” Then he grins and says, “But I’m sure they’re going to tease you about it for the next ten years.”
I feel my eyes closing. “I need to sleep. Really appreciate it.”
The concern on his face makes me wince. “You’re really getting skinny. You’ve got to eat more.” He leaves. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to eat meat again.
Over the past month, I only left the apartment when there was nothing left to eat in the house. I’ve been dreaming of alligators and wolves. Terrible nightmares.
I reach over to the nightstand and turn on the computer. The number of cases piling up in the time I’ve been hiding from the world makes the dark thing inside me batter down the door in my head. I don’t have the luxury of wallowing. Instead, I get up, dress, and go down to the community gym. It’s a nice space. Lots of machines and never very many people. I hop on the treadmill and start jogging. I can’t go as far as I used to. A month of being a sloth has taken its toll. It’s time for me to get back to work.
Grayson finished his beer. “You really think the killer has moved on?”
“Killers. There hasn’t been any activity in over a month. From what we can tell, there were about two a month since April. We can’t prove it’s one person. The working idea is two or three different shooters, but we’d better pray they don’t quit.”
“Why?”
“If they quit, we’ll never catch them.”
Grayson couldn’t convince them there was one killer. Until they had enough evidence to prove otherwise. He knew. And it was only a matter of time before they did. Back at the apartment complex, he stopped in the gym to get a quick workout in.
“I haven’t seen you around.”
She smiled at him and stopped the treadmill, her face red. “Taking a break from social media and the world. Sometimes you just need to unplug. Figure shit out.”
“I hear you.”
“So how’s Dawn?”
“You were right about her. She wasn’t happy I spent so much time with you, as she put it. So now Dawn has become Melanie.”
Hope laughed, and Grayson was happy to see her smiling again. She’d had a rough year with losing her job and her boyfriend. Now she was always alone, walking around with circles like bruises under her eyes. Never seemed to spend time with friends. He started to ask her a question but decided against it. Not like it was any of his business if she was looking for a job or not. But what was she doing with her time?
CHAPTER 57
HENRY ALLEN JAMES. TALK ABOUT a serial killer name. Henry took a kitten, dyed it blue, and gave it to his fighting dog to use for a chew toy. A neighbor turned him in after seeing the kitten in the dog’s jaws.
Somebody screwed up the paperwork and his place was searched before they had a warrant. I’m sure heads rolled over it, considering the large amount of cocaine found at the scene. The dogs made the perfect guards. Underneath the plastic doghouses was where the cocaine was stored. While I don’t care about the drugs, using a kitten as a chew toy is why I find myself in Durham on Holloway Avenue.
When I’m several streets away, I notice a large number of lost dog posters tacked to telephone poles. The posters show small-to medium-sized dogs all looking happy, some wearing outfits. Do the owners know what happened? During the course of my research, I learned seeing a large number of these posters usually signifies a dog-fighting ring in the area. The pets are used as bait dogs to train the fighting dogs. It’s barbaric.
The old Hope would have never walked down a known drug street like this. I see three guys sitting on a front stoop. And though I’m dressed like a jogger, it doesn’t stop them from catcalling. One of the guys meets my eyes as I unleash the thing within. He abruptly shuts up, elbows his buddies, speaking in low tones, and an interesting thing happens…one of them shoots me a look, a jerk of the chin. One predator acknowledging another. Recognizing there’s a new predator in town. Bigger and badder than them.
Continuing down the street, I pass a tattoo-covered guy who looks me up and down then quickly looks away. He crosses the street to avoid walking past me.
I no longer wonder if you can sense a murderer among people. They’ve shown me you can. But why don’t normal people react the same way? Or Grayson or Jackson? Perhaps you have to be damaged on some level to recognize the dark void in another? Murder has placed me at the top of the bad-guy food chain. I shouldn’t like the feeling…but I do. Very much.
Is this what being president of the United States feels like? Knowing you have almost unlimited power at your fingertips, and all you have to do is ask and some shadowy black ops unit makes your request reality. Screw the whole Congress and cabinet—give me a dictatorship. I’d make a ferocious dictator.
There are pictures online of the things Henry did. Awful images. He took the dogs that lost fights and hanged them as a warning to the other dogs to win and obey. The dogs slept in the same room with the dead animals. Heartbreaking.
Today is Friday the thirteenth. I think it fitting the thirteenth killing takes place today. Thinking about the men I passed on the street earlier makes me question if I’ve become the same as those I hunt. After all, taking life is taking life, human or animal.
Doesn’t matter. Henry Allen James takes his final breath tonight. He’s a cocky little bastard. Always leaves the front and back doors open. Even now all his dogs have been confiscated and no longer sound the alarm, he hasn’t figured out he should close the doors. I guess he thinks he’s protected. We always think we’re safe. Until we’re not.
As I walk up the steps, the pink gun waits for me to bring it to life. With the amount of drugs Henry’s done, I’m shocked he’s still alive.
On this kind of street, no one pays attention to anyone else. They mind their own business. Worried I would come back to find my car stolen, I parked it on the same street two houses down. Across the street from me is a Maserati. After I noticed the first one, I’ve noticed them all the time. Like my Jeep Grand Cherokee. This one is black and shiny. A big-time drug dealer? The car has tinted windows like mine.
The ends of my scarf flutter in the wind, the biting cold freezing my bones. When I step into his yard, I feel it. Violence, pain, and suffering linger in the air. Tangible enough to taste it on my tongue. Bitter and rancid.
I hurry through the barren yard past the ghostly shells of empty doghouses. Heavy chains are still attached to poles, the links as thick as my thumb. Disgust roils through my body. There’s a rust-colored stain to the left of the front door. No way will I touch it. I step over the stain, open Henry’s front door, and step inside like I have every right to be here. Aromas of old food, mold, and new leather assault my senses. There are holes in some of the red-painted walls, graffiti on others. Gaming consoles and the largest TV I’ve ever seen dominate the room.
The date today is a sign. Once there was a little girl. She was powerless and cowered on the floor next to her beloved dead Max. Her name was Katherine. Then she changed. Took justice into her heart. Took back her own power, became Hope. Katherine is no more, gone to rest forever with Mama and Max. Nothing worse could betide. I emerged from the watery grave. Become.
Rap music blares through the house. Just once I’d like the bad guys to have the classical station cranked. Go against stereotype. As I make my way through the small rooms toward the bedroom, a single framed photograph catches my eye.
The beautiful frame is so out of place in the room. I think it’s why I noticed. It’s Henry. And the man he’s with… I recognize his face but can’t place the name. It will come to me. I hear movement and step into the other bedroom. Stand behind the door. Footsteps go past. The door slams. Moving the curtain aside, I see him going toward a red BMW. He cannot get away. Not tonight. Tonight is special. Almost to the front door, I stop. Not knowing why, I take a picture of the p
hoto in the frame. Then I run out of the house and across the street. A flickering in my peripheral vision has me looking to the Maserati. I stare for precious seconds. No movement. Must have been a trick of the wind and the streetlight. Only a few remain lit; the rest were shot out long ago.
I’m grateful the Jeep is filthy, mud spattered along the sides and back, partially obscuring the tag. The guy drives to Southpoint Mall. It’s closed, has been for hours as late as it is. He parks at the far end of a parking lot. Alone.
The lot is huge, so I drive to the opposite end and park next to a barrier, hiding part of the SUV. I don’t have long to wait. A green muscle car pulls up. Two guys get out and pop the trunk. Small bundles are transferred to the trunk of the BMW. Through the binoculars I can see what looks like white bricks. Coke?
The green car leaves, but not Henry. Smoke emanates from the window of the car. What an idiot. He has a trunk full of drugs and he’s smoking pot in a public place?
An hour passes and there’s no more smoke or movement, so I slowly drive over, deciding I’ll play the dumb-girl card and demand to know why Nordstrom isn’t open all night long. When a girl needs a pair of Manolos, she needs them now.
The window is down. His eyes are closed, head resting against the back of the seat. I pull up so my driver’s side is next to his, my window down. He’s asleep. I shoot him in the head, the noise making my ears ring. To be sure, I shoot once more.
Then I drive away, toward home. Happy Friday the thirteenth.
CHAPTER 58
THE EMPTY CABINETS AND REFRIGERATOR have driven me from the warmth of my nest out to Harris Teeter. It’s me and the old folks, who must be retired. All I crave is sugar and unhealthy food, but I have to keep my strength up. I’ve been lax. And it’s time to get serious.
There Was a Little Girl Page 25
