by C. K. Raggio
Flemings eyed her. “Yeah, how do we know the guy wasn’t full of shit? He’s probably taking us in circles.”
“No, I don’t think so. He was telling the truth.”
“Oh, so now you’re an expert?” Flemings said. “This is a waste of time. We’re turning around.”
She paused. The snow weighted down on the boughs above her head. Maybe they should try walking next to the stream so they could see deeper into the woods. They’d decided to walk in it, hoping if the snow didn’t come, Steven wouldn’t notice their prints. But the snow was still steady. Maybe they had missed it. Gary admitted he hadn’t been there in years. She brushed ice flakes from her cheeks, wincing as her glove rubbed against her cut. She started up the embankment.
“Logan, did you hear me?” Flemings asked. “We’re turning around.”
Pompous ass. She trained her flashlight into the trees. Wooden planks jutted from a massive trunk a hundred yards away. She smiled, shined her light in Flemings’ face, forcing him to throw up a hand. “This is it. There’s the tree house Gary was talking about.” She struggled the rest of the way up the bank with everyone at her heels.
Rick looked around, moved to his right and pointed. “There’s the cave.”
Flemings grumbled and pushed past her.
She squinted at him. That guy had major personality issues.
The cave was set into a massive wall of solid rock. Was this where Steven killed Susan? Was her body inside? “Everyone watch your step, he may have booby trapped it.”
They moved forward, guns raised. At the mouth of the cave they paused. Cassie inhaled. The only thing she could smell was a musky dampness wafting from inside. She wasn’t sure what a bear smelled like, but she guessed it would have some sort of strong odor. There were no animal tracks on the ground.
Hill glanced at Rick. “What do you think?”
He shrugged and ducked under the low overhang, Cassie right behind him. Their flashlights pushed away the darkness. Two steps forward and the four of them were able to stand up straight, the ceiling well above their heads.
“It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” Flemings said, aiming his light to the back of the deep cave. “What’s that?” His beam rested on a large box-shaped object.
Hill strained his eyes. “It looks like some sort of trunk. You don’t think Susan Tanner’s body is in there, do you?”
“Only one way to find out.” Rick moved toward the box. “It looks kinda small, unless he chopped her up. Not that I wouldn’t put that past him.”
He froze and Cassie nearly bumped into his back. He covered his nose. “What is that smell?”
The odor seemed to smack her in the face. She lowered her chin into her coat. Smelled like fertilizer. It was too cold for a body to rot. Was there a bear?
Something plopped onto her boot. She looked up. Bats lined the crevices in the ceiling. She nudged Rick and he followed her gaze.
She glanced back at Hill and Flemings. “You guys may not want to shine your lights anywhere but straight ahead.”
“Why?” Hill asked. He looked up and grimaced. “Shit, I hate those fucking things.”
Cassie smirked. “Better than a bear. Just keep your voices down and we should be okay.” I think.
The trunk looked solid, but it was wearing in places, like it’d been there a while. “No lock. I don’t think we’ll find her in there.”
Rick squatted down and released the latch. The lid squeaked open.
The smell of cedar and mothballs rose from its depths. Musty books, some dirty magazines, a blanket, an old oil lantern and a pile of what looked like journals encased in large zip-lock bags.
Cassie took out her phone and snapped a few pictures. They’d be dark, but it was better than nothing. She reached in for the bags.
“What are they?” Flemings asked.
She pulled a book from one of the bags and opened it to the first page. “It’s dated May 1983. It’s a diary. This looks like Steven’s handwriting. It’s about his father getting him a puppy for his birthday.” She handed it over to Hill so he could take a look. Then she handed the others to Rick as she scanned another.
“Huh,” Rick said. “This one is much older.” He flipped through the yellowed pages. “It’s definitely not our boy’s handwriting. Nothing close to what we saw on the maps of the parks he had made up.”
Flemings looked over Rick’s shoulder. “It’s way too messy. The writing in the first journal is what? When he was eight? It’s neater than this. What’s the date? I can’t read it.”
Rick shined his light at the top of the page. “I don’t know. It looks like 1970-something… 71’ maybe?”
“That’s three years before Steven was born.” Cassie shut the journal she’d been looking at and put it carefully back in its bag.
“Let me see it,” Hill said. “My writing sucks, I might be able to read it.”
Rick handed him the book. After a few seconds Hill’s jaw dropped.
“What?” Flemings eyes widened in the dim light. “What does it say?”
Hill glanced up. “Listen. 1971. I met a man today, he’s just what I’m looking for. Tall and strong. Totally unlike the loser I married five years ago. All that man gave me was bad sex, and a weakling son. The sex I can find somewhere else, but the kid, what the hell can I do with him?”
“He’s beyond slow, at four he still hasn’t spoken a word. Just hums to himself and the neighborhood dogs, like he’s the Pied Piper. I kick the little shit’s ass real good, but it never stops. He just points and slobbers on his clothes. Anyway, back to the man. John Bailey is his name.”
Hill winced and kept reading. “If I can get John to believe I’m a southern belle whose husband died, and that I just want to be loved, I think he’ll ask me to marry him. He seems the hero type, wants to be someone’s white knight.”
“Shit,” Flemings said.
A chill vibrated Cassie’s spine. This wasn’t good. This had to be Steven’s mother’s journal and she had another son. “Does it say what happened to her other kid?”
He flipped through the pages. “Wait, listen. 1973. It worked. I got John to propose to me. It took longer than I expected, but it’s done. Problem is, people around here are getting worried with all the men disappearing. They’re starting to ask questions. Ask me questions. I’m going to have John take me back to his home in New York.”
Cassie shifted. Men disappearing? Was the mother killing people too?
“My idiot son is the only problem. His tutor in Marietta, who somehow got the little maggot to speak and write, has taken a fancy to him. Why is beyond me, but maybe I can talk her into taking him. Or, since John still doesn’t know about him, I could dispose of him as I did his father and the rest. Hmm. Decisions, decisions.”
Cassie crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling cold. “What a sick bitch.” What kind of mother could talk about her son like that? On second thought, she was molesting Steven, so it wasn’t so far out there.
“Hold on,” Hill said. “I got the tutor to take him. One less body to worry about them finding. I told the hag I was having a mental breakdown. Told her I’d be back for the little slug. Yeah right. Josh can rot in hell for all I care.”
“Huh?” Rick’s eyebrows pinched together. “Her first son’s name was Josh. Wouldn’t be surprised if the kid’s last name was Meyer.”
“The son of a bitch used his own brother’s name,” Flemings said. “If this is true, I wonder if Steven killed his brother, or if Josh is the actual owner of the kennel down south.”
Rick sighed. “If this kid was slow, it probably wouldn’t take much for Steven to talk him into helping him. He’s probably using the poor bastard.”
Cassie put each journal in the bag and placed them back in the trunk. She closed and latched the lid. Steven had a brother, and the mother mentioned something about how the kid hummed to stray dogs. Just what they needed, another crazed dog trainer.
Flemings glanced at his w
atch. “All right. Let’s get ourselves situated. If he wasn’t coming back for Susan, I’d bet my pension he’s coming back for those books.”
They walked out of the cave. Dawn had come and the snow came down harder and faster. Their footprints were already covered over. They switched off their flashlights.
“We still have some time,” Hill said. “Let’s check around back. I thought I saw a trail when we walked up.”
The short path ended at a clearing behind the cave. Mounds of old crumbled gravestones surrounded a newer one. Cassie read the inscription. “Hercules, 1983-1987. My first Loves. Check it out. This S was added on. The lettering is all perfectly aligned except the S.”
Hill groaned and let out a sarcastic laugh. “He buried her body with the dogs? You’ve got to be kidding me?”
Rick stared at the tombstone. “Okay, we’ll need to be where we can see the mouth of the cave and this graveyard.”
Winter wasn’t going to help them. The bushes were all twigs, no leaves. They could hide in the streambed, but Steven may be able to spot them if he came from another direction. An owl hooted from the trees. Cassie looked up. “What about the tree house? It looked big enough to hold all of us and would be above his line of sight.”
Fleming shrugged. “Let’s check it out. It had walls, so even if the floors are rotted away, the branches looked thick enough for us to sit on and stay hidden.”
Rick walked around the base of the giant tree. Thick planks of wood were screwed into its trunk, leading up. He tested his weight on each one as he climbed and disappeared over the top. “It seems well built. They used logs as support beams on the floor. There are a few weak spots and some animals have lived up here, but it should hold us. Watch this third step, I think it’s ready to snap.”
Cassie made her way up the tree. She grabbed Rick’s hand and he helped her onto the thick wooden floor. Nests made of branches and grasses were strewn around under the thin layer of snow. Frozen animal feces littered the floor.
She frowned at the back wall. “We can’t see the cave or the dirt trail.”
Rick smashed the butt end of his flashlight against a loose plank. It cracked and splintered. He wiggled and pulled at it until the nails gave away. “Voila.”
“Good thinking.” She smiled as Flemings and Hill came over the side. It was almost amusing: three big male agents and a detective hiding out in a tree fort.
Flemings looked at the cave through the large peephole Rick had made for them. “When Steven enters the cave, or goes into the graveyard, we’ll make our way down and corner him. The stairs will be hidden from his view, and it’s far enough away that he won’t be able to hear or see us.”
Hill settled down on a large tree limb and took out his radio. “Phil, anything?”
“Not a thing.”
The trees creaked. Branches snapped. Each sound ripped tension through the huddled group. The snow fell harder, erasing their tracks. Cassie shivered and rubbed her gloved hands together. The warmers in her pockets had gone cold. Her face and ears were numb. If Steven didn’t get here soon, they’d all freeze to death.
An hour passed before Flemings’ headset beeped. They all sat up straight. “Go ahead.”
“We found a white sedan covered with branches and snow,” Phil said. “Down an old ranger trail, a mile from Steven’s property.”
Flemings motioned with his hand for everyone to keep a look out.
“The hood’s still warm. Do you want us to try and track him?”
Flemings glanced at Hill who shrugged and looked at Rick. “What do you think?”
“I think if it’s him, he’s coming here. He knows these woods better than anyone. I say gave it ten minutes and have them head in after him. We’ll have him trapped between us.”
Cassie sat on her heels. Her eyes glued to the cave. Let him come to us. Let him fall into our little trap. She wondered if this was how he felt when he was hunting his victims in the woods. Now they’ve turned it on him.
She said a quick prayer that he would do something stupid. Go for a weapon. She gripped her pistol, it wasn’t as light as the one Steven had taken, but the extra weight felt so good in her hands. Then she prayed that she was the one to blow a hole through his mangled heart.
CHAPTER 45
Steven turned off onto the old ranger’s road, brush crunching beneath his wheels. Branches screeched across the side of the car. Everything seemed quiet, just as it should be. A breeze teased and swirled the falling snow before letting it drop to the coated ground.
The snow should camouflage the car before long. He’d have to hurry though. The last thing he needed was for the car to get stuck. He cracked his window and inhaled the cold, crisp air. He loved the smell and taste of winter.
He stepped out and covered the back of the car with branches and twigs. The car was white, but the black bumper stood out like a beacon. It would be good enough. He looked at the empty back seat. A wave of loneliness swept over him, threatened to topple him over. He braced against a tree. He’d lost all of his dogs by his own stupidity.
When he heard Cassandra’s voice over the headset at Ohaka Park, he’d gone crazy with desire. But he knew he had to get away. They had been so close. He could’ve escaped with his two dogs, but they’d caught a human scent.
Seeing her hidden behind the brush made him lose his control. The urge to torture her took over his reasoning. He pounded his palms against the back windshield. Of course there would be other cops and agents around. There was no way he would’ve had time to kill her the way he wanted, or get away without being caught.
If there were people in the woods watching him, he wouldn’t be able to tell. He’d trained his dogs to do that for him, to alert him of any human scents. Now they were all gone. And so were his heads. He’d lost Susan forever. A lump lodged in his throat and he fisted a hand in his hair. Yanking hard, he pulled until the pain took over. Calmness followed.
Gray storm clouds hid the sun. It’d taken him longer to drive to Bayhead. Though he probably hadn't needed to switch cars again, but with him being alone it had only taken seconds. He welcomed the paranoia fluttering in his gut. Being cautious was the only thing that would help him keep his freedom.
He pulled Cassandra’s gun from his pocket and checked the chamber. He hated the feel of the metal even through his gloves. Hated the weight of it. Guns made him think of his mother. Of the day she forced him to kill her.
The flakes came down harder. He looked skyward, watched as the flurries fell in chaotic waves. He sighed. Time to go. He treaded ankle deep in the snow, but had no trouble walking. He’d be at the cave in less than twenty minutes.
Pulling a throw away phone from his pocket, he paused to dial. His stomach rolled. He took a few deep breaths until it passed. His brother was going to be pissed. The phone rang four times before he picked up.
“Steven. Where the hell are you?” Josh asked.
“I hit a snag.”
“What do you mean?”
Steven took another deep breath and shut his eyes. “I lost the other two yesterday.”
“Fuck!” Static. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, need to grab a few things in Bayhead. You still have that list of parks I sent you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, meet me at number twenty-two. I’ll ring your phone twice when I’m on my way.”
His brother sighed into the phone. “You went after her again, didn’t you? Even after I specifically told you not to.”
The disappointment in his brother’s voice brought on a bout of nausea. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“I told you this would happen if you did. You’re an asshole. You could’ve been caught and then where would I be?” Disgust clipped his tone. “Stay away from the bitch and keep your head on straight. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
The line went dead. The phone shook in Steven’s hand. This was all his fault. Why didn’t he listen to his brother and come home after killing Is
abella? He heaved the phone as far into the woods as he could. It shattered against a tree.
The snow came down harder, the icy flakes cooling his sweaty brow. Relax. Keep your head. He checked his watch and broke into a high-stepping jog. The cops were smarter than he’d originally thought. He needed to say goodbye to Susan, and he needed to get his journals before they did.
He’d meant to grab them after he’d finished with Lucy. Kurt Mason telling him the cops were on their way changed that plan. Those books were the only proof that he had a brother.
If it weren’t for Josh, Steven would’ve never had the balls to do everything he’d done. Josh took care of him, made him realize he wasn’t alone. He couldn’t let the cops find his brother.
He needed to destroy the journals, and their memories. If he could burn the entire woods to the ground he would. Inside his pocket, Cassandra’s gun knocked against his thigh. This whole area reminded him of his mother and how much he loathed her.
She’d been the one who’d found the cave. She’d taken Steven to it daily, sat on his face and sucked him off. Boys should never kiss and tell is what she used to say.
Steven clenched his hands together. Fuck you.
She let it slip one time about Josh. But he'd only learned later that the single truth to her entire story was that he had a brother.
The rest about how she had let men in the woods take him away was bull. How she used to be able to hear his screams at night as they tortured him, filleting him like a fish.
Even after he shot his mother, even after he knew her story was a lie, he had nightmares about the men coming in the middle of the night and dragging him into the woods.
After Steven faked his death, he went looking for the only family he had left. He hoped he could take care of his brother. Let him know he wasn’t stupid, that it was their mother who was the stupid one.
Never did he imagine it would be his brother taking care of him. Teaching him things. Josh made him a man. He’d do anything to protect him.
A branch snapped and brought Steven back to reality. He paused and listened. A fox's red bushy tail flashed from under a bush. What was wrong with him? He needed to pay attention. Not having the dogs to keep their eyes and ears open for him was more of a problem than he expected. He’d become reliant on them. No more daydreaming, he needed to focus.
