by Lisa Gardner
Suddenly, in the distance, the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. Footsteps, pounding up the stairs. Charlie froze. I stilled.
Bobby, I thought, Bobby coming to rescue me.
A brown UPS uniform burst through my apartment door.
“Ben!” I gasped.
Just as Charlie said, “Benji?”
And Ben answered in a shocked voice, “Christopher?”
Bobby got caught in traffic. Of course he got caught in traffic. Because this was Boston, where driving was a blood sport, and just because the other vehicle had a siren and you didn’t was no reason not to be an asshole.
He dialed Annabelle’s number again. Got the answering machine, hung up. Punched the steering wheel.
“Temper, temper,” D.D. drawled.
“Something’s wrong.”
“Because lover girl isn’t waiting anxiously beside the phone?”
He shot her a look. “Seriously. She knew I was returning to take her to a hotel. She wouldn’t just leave.”
D.D. shrugged. “She has a dog. Maybe she needed to take her out or go for a run.”
“Or maybe,” Bobby said flatly, “Charlie Marvin beat us there.”
His phone rang. He flipped it open without bothering to glance at the display. It wasn’t Annabelle, but his buddy, Detective Jason Murphy from the Massachusetts State Police.
“Ran Roger Grayson, like you asked,” Jason shot off rapid-fire. “Found record of a storage locker in a facility right off Route Two, north of Arlington. Grayson had been prepaying the fees in five-year chunks. Latest payment ran out a few years back, so the owner’s filed a lien. In fact, if we want to come down and clean out the whole thing, that works for the owner. He’d like to get the space back in circulation.”
“Excellent.”
“Criminal history was negligible. Nothing more than a traffic infraction, and that was twenty-five years ago. Grayson must be a regular choirboy.”
“Traffic infraction?”
“Excessive speed. November fifteen, 1982. He was caught doing seventy-five in a sixty zone.”
November 15, 1982. Three days after Dori Petracelli was never seen again.
“What else?” Bobby asked the state detective.
“What else? I just started an hour ago, Bobby—”
“What about Walter Petracelli?”
“Nothing yet.”
“You’ll let me know?”
“I live to serve. Not for nothing, Bobby, but don’t let working for the city go to your head.”
Jason clicked off. Bobby slid his phone back into his breast pocket. He whooped his sirens again. Nothing happened. The traffic was snarled too tight for any car to give way.
He glanced at his watch. They were on Atlantic Avenue now. One and a half, maybe two miles from Annabelle’s apartment.
“I’m pulling over,” he announced.
“What?”
“Forget the car, D.D. We’re strong, we’re fast. Let’s run.”
“Ben, Ben, thank God you’re here. He’s stabbed Bella. He’s insane. You gotta help us. Bella, poor Bella, I’m here, girl, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”
I’d abandoned the cast-iron frying pan in favor of my dog, pulling her onto my lap. I could feel the warmth of her blood oozing all over her fine white fur. She whimpered. Tried to lick at my hands, tend her cut.
“Ben!” I shouted again.
But Ben wasn’t moving. He was standing in my doorway, staring at Charlie Marvin.
“It was you? Oh my goodness, still waters do run deep!” Charlie said.
“She’s mine,” Ben said flatly. “You can’t have her. She’s mine.”
“Call the police,” I was sobbing. “Call nine-one-one, demand Detective Bobby Dodge, ask for EMTs. I don’t know who they send for dogs, but an ambulance should do the trick. Ben? Are you listening to me? Ben?”
Ben finally looked at me. As he stepped into my little apartment. As he closed the door and started working the locks, one by one, behind him.
“It’s okay now,” he told me solemnly. “Uncle Tommy’s here now, Amy, and I’ll take care of everything.”
Charlie started laughing. The sound quickly turned into a wheezing rattle. The blow to his sternum had knocked something loose. Now that the buzzing was fading from my ears, I could feel my own aches and pains. My bruised ribs, sliced ankles, gashed cheek.
At least I gave as good as I got. Charlie’s right eye was swelling shut. As he scooted across the floor, away from Ben, he favored his left side, gasping as if in pain.
My brain was not computing anymore. I didn’t care about Charlie. I didn’t understand Ben. I just wanted to get Bella out of here. I wanted my dog to be safe.
Which was the best thing to focus on, because the conversation going on around me was too terrible to believe.
“How’d you kill ’em?” Charlie wanted to know. “One at a time? In pairs? How’d you lure them in? I’ve always stuck to prostitutes myself. No one ever misses them.”
“Did you hurt her?” Ben was still staring at Charlie.
“I’ve been looking for you, Benji. Ever since I first discovered the chamber. I thought I was clever. Working with the homeless so no one would question how I happened to be on such-and-such street corner at such-and-such night. Why I happened to know so many whores who disappeared. But then … I couldn’t believe the ingeniousness of the chamber, the scope of your achievement. If only I’d thought of it first. Oh, the things I could’ve done.”
“She’s bleeding.”
“How long did you keep them alive? Days, weeks, months? Again, the possibilities. My cover afforded me the perfect opportunity to relish the hunt. But after that … It’s the lack of time, the need to rush, rush, rush that’s always troubled me. You spend so much energy luring them in, binding them up, and then, just when you’re starting to enjoy things, you have to be practical. Someone might hear a noise, someone might get curious. You have to end the romance and get the job done. Doesn’t do any good to call attention to yourself, even for the special ones.
“Tell me the truth,” Charlie wanted to know. “Weren’t you the least bit inspired by my work? The nurse in ’75. Totally an impulse job. I was out on the grounds. She was out on the grounds. One thing led to another. It was the biggest thing that ever happened to Boston State Mental, well, until your chamber was discovered. Benji? Benji, are you listening to me?”
Ben leaned over Charlie. The look on his face raised the fine hairs on the back of my neck. I dug my fingers into Bella’s fur. I willed her not to make a sound.
I placed one hand on the floor and started silently easing myself and Bella toward the door.
“You hurt my Amy,” Ben said. “Now I must hurt you.”
At the last minute, Charlie seemed to realize he didn’t have an ally. At the last minute, he raised the switchblade, realizing the danger he was in.
Ben caught Charlie’s wrist in a single muscled hand. I heard the crunch of bones.
I hit the door, reaching up frantically, scrambling with the locks. Why, oh why did I have so many locks?
I couldn’t look, but I also couldn’t do a thing to block out the sound.
As my uncle tore the switchblade from Charlie Marvin’s crushed hand. Then, very neatly, jammed the entire blade in Charlie Marvin’s eye. A scream. A wet popping sound. A long, low wheezing groan, like air being let out of tires.
Then silence.
“Oh, Amy,” Ben said.
I couldn’t help myself. Huddled with Bella against the locked door, I started to cry.
“You’re all I ever wanted, Amy,” Ben was saying. “The other girls—they meant nothing to me. Mistakes. I saw the error of my ways years ago. And I waited for you. Until one day my patience was rewarded.” He reached out with a bloody hand and stroked my cheek. I tried to shrink back; there was no place to go.
“Please unlock the door, Ben.” I wanted to sound firm, but my voice came out shaky. “Bella, she’s hurt. She needs immedi
ate medical attention. Please, Ben.”
He looked at me, sighed heavily. “You know I can’t do that, Amy.”
“I won’t tell anyone about you. I’ll say Charlie attacked me. Was crazy. I stabbed him myself. Look at the cuts all over my body. They’ll believe me.”
“It’s not the same anymore. In the beginning, when I found you again, it was okay. I realized immediately that no one else knew who you were. You were special, untouched. You belonged to me.”
“I won’t move. I’ll stay right here. Everything can be just the way it was before. I’ll order fabric, you can deliver it every day.”
“But it’s not. You know now. The police know. It’s not the same.”
I closed my eyes, fighting for control. Bella whimpered again. The sound gave me strength. “I don’t understand. You made it twenty-five years without me. You took those other girls. Obviously I mean nothing to you.”
“Oh no,” he said immediately, earnestly. “I didn’t stop because I wanted to. That’s not how it was at all.” Ben removed his brown cap. And for the first time I saw the furrow running along the top of his head, a twisted scar that bore no hair. “This is what stopped me. If it hadn’t been for this, I would’ve pursued you forever. Twenty-five years ago, Amy, you would’ve been mine.”
“Oh God,” I moaned, because in that moment I finally heard it. Ben may not have looked like my father, but if I listened to his voice, his intense, earnest voice as he sought to make his very important point … He sounded exactly like my father. Same tone, same rhythm, same voice.
Had I realized it before, made the connection on some subconscious level? Then let him in, made him my sole connection to the outside world because blood was thicker than water and part of me had rejoiced in finding family again?
“All I’ve ever wanted was someone who wouldn’t leave me,” he was saying now, my father’s earnest voice continuing to emit from a terribly scarred skull. “Someone who would have to stay. I thought your mom was the one, but she misunderstood. Then I got myself thrown into prison.” His tone fell, then picked back up. “But when I got out, I saw you and I understood.
“The way you smiled at me, Amy. The way you gripped my finger in your pudgy little fist. You were my family. You were the one person who would always love me, who would never leave. And I was so happy. Until the day I showed up and you were gone. Your whole family. Vanished.”
“Bella is hurt,” I pleaded. “Please.”
“It was a terrible time. I knew, of course, that you never would’ve left me by choice. Obviously your father had made you do it.” Ben took my hand, stroked my wrist with his blood-splattered fingers. “So I started asking around. An entire family can’t just disappear. Everyone leaves some kind of trace. But no one could tell me anything. Then it came to me. My brother would need a job to support his family. Who could help get him a job? His former employer, of course. So I broke into Dr. Badington’s house. I found his wife.”
“What?”
“I came by in the afternoon. Naturally, Mrs. Badington refused to speak at first, but by the time I was done with her cat, she told me plenty. About your father’s new position at MIT. A house in Arlington. Better yet, she never related my visit to anyone. The kinds of things I did to her, after all, are not the things you mention in polite society. Plus I promised that if she ever said a word, I’d return and do the exact same things to her husband.”
“Oh my God …”
“I set out for Massachusetts. I was going to see you that very night. But it was late, I got lost and the craziest thing happened. I got carjacked. Wrong place, wrong time, with four big brothers who beat the shit out of me. Then they took my clothes and they … And then there was darkness. For such a long time.
“Bit by bit, I came around. I relearned how to eat, dress myself, brush my teeth. I spoke to very nice doctors who told me my life had gotten off to the wrong start but now was my second chance. I could be whoever I wanted to be, they said. I could reinvent myself.
“And for a while, I tried. It seemed like a nice idea. I could be Benji, whose father was a CIA operative and not just some drunken asshole who one day murdered his own wife before blowing out his brains. I liked being Benji. I really did.
“But I was so lonely, Amy. You must understand what it’s like. To have no family. To have no one ever call you by your real name. To have no one who knows the whole you, the real you, and not just the façade all of us must wear in public. It’s no way to live.”
“Stop it,” I whispered, tugging at my hand again. “Stop it, stop it.” But he wouldn’t shut up. He wouldn’t stop speaking, my father’s voice, my own thoughts, wiggling like snakes into my brain.
“I found the culvert one day when I was walking the grounds. It intrigued me enough to make it my own little home away from home. I was doing well by then, still living in the institute but enrolled in a nearby school. The culvert became a chamber, the chamber my study hall, and then, one day …
“I saw her. Walking home from school. I saw her and I could tell from the look on her face that she saw me, too. She liked me, she wanted to be with me. She was the one who would never leave.”
“Shhhhh,” I tried again, “Shh, shh, shh. You’re crazy. I hate you. My parents hated you. I wish you were dead.”
“At the last minute, she changed her mind. She fought me. She screamed. So I had to … It was over very fast, and afterward I was sad. It wasn’t how I wanted things to be. You must believe me, Amy. But then it occurred to me. I could keep her. I knew exactly the place. And she would never leave me then.”
“You are sick!” I pulled hard at my hand one last time, finally got it away from him. He didn’t seem concerned.
“I tried again,” he said matter-of-factly. “And again and again and again. Each time the relationships started with such promise, then quickly soured. Until one day I understood. I didn’t want any of those stupid, useless girls. I wanted you. And then I remembered what Mrs. Badington said. And I found you again.
“My Amy, my precious, precious Amy. We came so close that time. I took things slower, starting off with little gifts to gain your trust. The smile on your face as you opened each box, discovered each treasure. It was just how I’d imagined it to be. It was just what I wanted it to be. You were going to be mine.”
He stopped, sighed, paused. I nearly wept in relief.
But he wasn’t done yet. How could he be done, when we both knew the worst was yet to come?
“Roger saw me. I thought I was being clever, but, oh, big brothers. They have a way of knowing what little brothers are up to. And he knew. Of course he knew. I realized I’d have to move quickly. Except next thing I knew, cops had found my attic hidey-hole. And instead of sweeping you away, I was running from the law. By the time I regrouped, it was over. The house was there, but nobody was home.
“Roger,” he said flatly, “had always been one smart son of a bitch. Naturally, I made him pay.”
Ben’s hand had come up. He was rubbing his scar almost thoughtlessly. A nervous habit meant to soothe? Or reminder of a memory that still burned?
“You kidnapped Dori,” I murmured.
“Had to,” he said with a shrug. “Needed someone. Didn’t want to be alone. And she’d stolen your locket. I couldn’t let her do that.”
“She didn’t take the locket, you bastard. I gave it to her. She was my friend, and I shared with her because that’s what friends do. You’re terrible, you’re horrible, and I will never be with you. Your touch makes me sick!”
“Oh, Amy.” He sighed again. “You don’t need to be jealous. Dori wasn’t who I really wanted. She was merely a means to an end. I took her and Roger came back to me.”
I blinked wildly in shock. “You saw my father again? In Arlington?”
“Roger came home. Just like I knew he must. Once, a very long time ago, Roger loved me. He would hide with me in the closet and hold my hand while our parents yelled. ‘It’s okay,’ he’d tell me. ‘I won�
�t let anything happen to you. I’ll keep you safe.’ Then one night, our father walked into the kitchen, found our mother standing there, and shot her three times in the chest. Boom, boom, boom. He turned, spotted me next. He raised the gun. I knew he was going to fire. Except Roger stopped him. Roger told him to put the gun down. Roger told him if he really wanted to kill someone, the least he could do was kill himself.
“And our father did exactly that. The dumbfuck pressed the muzzle against his temple and pulled the trigger. Bye-bye, Daddy. Hello, boarding school.
“Except in boarding school, Roger disappeared. He had his own classes, his own friends, his own life. He left me. Just like that.
“So I waited in the house in Arlington. Because I knew then what I had always known. That Roger would come back. That it would be just him and me again. With a gun.”
“You tried to kill my father!”
Ben looked at me. He shook his head sadly, touched his scar. “Oh no, Amy. Your father, my dear brother, tried to kill me.”
Home stretch. Bobby and D.D. came jogging up Hanover, dodging pedestrians, ignoring honking taxis. Dusk was falling, the street growing crowded as eateries opened their doors for the night. Bobby and D.D. weaved around teenagers yakking on cell phones, mothers pushing strollers, locals walking dogs.
D.D. had an easy rhythm. Bobby was starting to flag. No doubt about it: Once this case was done, he was getting his sorry ass back to the gym.
Still no word from Annabelle.
He used his growing panic to power his stride.
And he ran.
I didn’t believe him. My father with a gun? Even Mr. Petracelli had said my father couldn’t stand firearms. Hearing about the night with his parents, I could certainly understand why.
But apparently, even for my liberal-minded father, Dori’s abduction had been the final straw. Somehow, he’d gotten himself a gun. And then he’d caught a red-eye back to Boston to track down his brother.
“Roger, please don’t go. Roger, I’m begging you, please don’t do this.…”
