She'll Never Know

by Hunter Morgan

  Jillian then continued her quest, checking out each storefront as she walked by. It was a nice boardwalk, clean and quaint. Bench seats ran along the ocean side with backs that could be flipped one way or the other so someone could sit facing the water or the boardwalk. She passed an ice cream shop, an old-fashioned five-and-dime with kids' colorful rafts and beach chairs displayed out front, and a pizza place. The boardwalk fries stand made her smile. She was sure she'd never had them before the other night at the diner, but right now, she might consider them her favorite food if asked. As she walked, families rode by on bicycles, kids on skateboards. Several older women passed her, power-walking in bright white sneakers, their thin arms pumping vigorously.

  Ahead, Jillian spotted an elderly man under the awning of a shop that appeared to sell art in various forms—pottery, paintings, jewelry. The old man sat on a big white plastic bucket, a paint brush in his hand. He was staring out at the ocean before them, brush poised over a canvas propped on an old easel. She stopped to study the painting. It was quite good.

  "You're in my light," the old man grunted.

  "Oh, sorry." She stepped back to stand beside him. "I just wanted to see what you were painting. It's beautiful."

  He lifted his chin, shifting his attention to the canvas, and added a fleck of color to the contour of the sandy dune. "Thank you." He added another fleck of color. "Just passin' through?" He had a gravelly voice that seemed to speak silently of the rough life he had led.

  She rested her hands on her hips, still studying the painting, fascinated that he could not only paint the sky and the water and the sand so realistically, but that he could paint the feeling of majesty it projected. "The month, at least. I've rented a cottage over on Spruce."

  He nodded. He had a weathered, freckled face and reminded her of Morgan Freeman. What movies the actor was in, she couldn't remember.

  "The Williams' place. I know it. Been there since the forties. Was a street back then, though. The ocean, she took the first street in Hazel in '54."

  "Hazel?"

  "Hurricane. Big one."

  She looked out over the beach at the crashing blue-green water, finding it hard to believe such a beautiful thing could bring such devastation. "That's too bad."

  "Called life." He wiped his brush on his worn pant leg that was streaked with days, weeks, perhaps months of oil paint. "The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away."

  She smiled at the old man's grumpiness that was somehow endearing. "Well, I should be on my way. I just wanted to tell you how nice your painting was." She started to walk away when he reached out and tapped her arm with the other end of his brush. "You huntin' for a job?"

  His question startled her. He was still looking at his painting, not at her.

  "Why do you ask?"

  He gestured over his shoulder with the brush. "Millie's lookin' for help, not full-time, just when she's busy or she needs to run errands."

  Jillian glanced at the store window behind him; Silver & Things was painted in gray on the glass. She saw a pottery lamp, a seascape on an easel, and several shelves of jewelry on black velvet display trays, but no "Help Wanted" sign. "Is she?"

  "Go on in," he said. "Tell 'er Jenkins sent you. She'll hire you, all right."

  She looked at the store apprehensively, then back at the painter. "Thank you, Mr. Jenkins." She set her jaw determinedly. "I think I will."

  "Ain't Mr. Jenkins." He dipped his brush on a card of smeared oil paint and daubed at the blue sky on the canvas, adding swirls of white. "Just plain Jenkins."

  Jillian nodded and pushed through the glass door, and a little bell overhead jingled.

  "Good morning," a slender woman in her mid-sixties said from behind a glass counter.

  "Good morning."Jillian smiled.

  The shopkeeper, Millie, was an attractive woman with white hair pulled back in a thick plait that ran down her back and a colorful gauze shirt. Long silver earrings that looked like wind chimes danced in her ears when she spoke. "Looking for anything in particular or just getting in out of the heat?"

  "Actually, I was talking to Jenkins outside"—she pointed—"and he said you were looking for part-time help."

  Millie had been polishing a piece of jewelry with a green cloth, but she halted the motion to scrutinize Jillian. "Just moved to Albany Beach?"

  "Sort of. I... it's a long story, but I've rented a place and I'll be staying the month at least. I don't know if you want to hire someone who—"

  "You're that woman Alice Addison was telling me about." She waggled the polish cloth, her interest suddenly piqued. "The one Ty found on the beach with the amnesia."

  Jillian chuckled, glancing at the indoor-outdoor carpet on the floor, suitable for sandy feet, then up at Millie. "Well, he didn't find me on the beach with amnesia; I've been like this for a while, but that's me. Word gets around fast here, doesn't it?"

  She shrugged. "Those of us who live here year-round are a close-knit group. We talk a lot, especially with something terrible like what's going on right now."

  "You mean the murders?" Jillian tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Ty told me."

  "And you're not afraid?"

  "Not really," she said with a practicality she seemed to have picked up from Ty. "Considering my situation, the chance of a serial killer stalking me seems the least of my worries."

  Millie slipped the silver ring she had been polishing into the tray in front of her. "Can you run a cash register?"

  Jillian glanced at the cash register on the end of the glass counter. "I don't think so. And to be honest, I don't think I know anything about art."

  Millie hesitated for a minute, then broke into a grin. "Oh, what the heck, half the time I can't run this new-fangled register myself, and I certainly don't know anything about art. The place was my husband's, and when he died, it was easier to just keep opening the doors than to find a new way to make a living. You're hired."

  Jillian grinned. "I am?"

  "Sure. When can you start?"

  "Well, now. "Jillian lifted her hands and let them fall. "It's not like I have anything else to do."

  "Then come on back." Millie gave a wave. "I'll show you the basics of the register, and you can start polishing these rings. You don't need to know who you are to polish silver."

  * * *

  The Bloodsucker sat at the lunch counter and stared at his uneaten BLT on toasted wheat in front of him. He took a potato chip off the Melmac plate and stuck it in his mouth. Chewed. Sipped his Coke. No ice. He jiggled his leg.

  He was wired. He couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. It was all he could do to keep up appearances at work.

  It had only been a little more than a week since Phoebe Matthews. He could still smell the blood in the barn if he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. But already the power was waning. He could feel it seeping from his pores. Oozing out. And when it was gone, the last ounce spent, he knew he would feel worse than he had before. The blood had become like a drug... no, an elixir. It was the only thing that made him feel good.

  "Need a refill, hon?"

  The Bloodsucker looked up to see Loretta reaching for his glass, her large, pendulant breasts straining against the brightly colored apron. Fat, ugly Loretta. "No, thanks. I should get back to work."

  She checked her watch. He'd seen it a million times before. It had a pink wristband and a Cinderella in the center of the dial. "I'd say so."

  He hated that watch. What kind of woman her age wore a Disney timepiece? Looking up at her, smile on his face, he mused over the fact that fat people had a higher blood volume. If he killed her, there would be more blood. More for him. The only thing was, Loretta wasn't his type.

  Against his will, the Bloodsucker's thoughts shifted to an image of a blonde. He played the image over and over again the way he could repeat a scene in a movie with his new DVD player. She had the prettiest smile. Blue eyes that had a look of confidence that he had never felt, but desperately wanted to possess. He had several women in mind
right now, but she was the one who stood out. She was the one he thought about when he went to sleep at night. The one he thought about first thing in the morning. It was like she was calling him.

  He rose from the lunch counter stool. He'd wrap the sandwich up. Take it home and eat it tonight. Share it with Max. Man's best friend. He didn't know who had coined that phrase, but it was true. Max really was his best friend.

  His only real friend.

  A familiar face walked behind the Bloodsucker and tapped him on the shoulder as he passed. "How are you, buddy?"

  The Bloodsucker nodded. Smiled. "Good, good, and you? The family?"

  "Great. Take it easy."

  "You, too." The Bloodsucker almost forgot to leave a tip on the counter; how rude. He fished two dollars from his pocket for his three-fifty lunch special.

  He thought about her again and the plan he was formulating in his head. He knew it was dangerous to take her so soon after Phoebe, but he wanted her. Needed her. And really, Phoebe didn't count because he had meant to take her twin sister Marcy.

  No, Phoebe didn't really count at all, he reasoned excitedly. So, really, it wasn't too soon to take the one with the confident eyes.

  Just the thought of her warm blood made him tremble inside.

  And silly Claire-Bear, he continued to rationalize, was no closer to him than she had been with Patti, and Patti had been dead more than a month now. Chief Drummond wouldn't catch him. The Albany Beach police wouldn't catch him. The state police who kept threatening to enter the investigation wouldn't either. They could send in the FBI, the CIA, any initials they wanted to send to their sleepy little town. No one was going to catch him because he was too smart for them all.

  * * *

  Feeling good about her day at work, she walked down the boardwalk swinging her purse on her arm. She peered up at the night sky, where clouds were growing angrier by the moment. It looked like they were going to have a summer thunderstorm. The air was still thick, hot, and humid. Maybe some rain would cool things down a little.

  A jagged light suddenly streaked across the sky, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder. She could smell the impending rain now. She would have to make a run for it if she was going to make it back to the car before she got soaked.

  Picking up her pace, she wished she'd thought to bring an umbrella. Like she owned one. She chuckled, taking a short cut down an alley between Tony's Pizza and the surf shop. Her car was just another street over. Raindrops began to fall and then, without warning, the sky seemed to open up.

  She squealed, kicked off her flip-flops, scooped them up, and started to run.

  "Wow, where did that come from?" The Bloodsucker popped his red and white golf umbrella over both their heads.

  She glanced at him, obviously taken by surprise. She hadn't seen him waiting around the corner. Had never suspected. And now it was too late.

  "I... I don't know," she said with a little laugh. She had a nice laugh, full of youth and promise.

  "I'm parked across the street from the mini-golf, so sorry, that's as far as this umbrella is going," he said, liking the weight of the umbrella in his hand. He thought about Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain. He understood how rain like this could make a man want to dance, especially with such a pretty woman at his side.

  Again the laugh. "That's okay. I'm parked there, too." She seemed to relax. She'd met him before; he was no longer considered a stranger, and therefore not suspect.

  They walked around a white delivery van, skipping over a fast-growing puddle. He glanced behind them. Ahead. There was no one else in the alley. He could smell pizza through the rear screen kitchen door of Tony's. He wished he'd thought to grab a pie to take home. He'd be up all night and would need the nourishment, but he couldn't risk it now.

  Lightning lit up the sky, and thunder cracked again. She gave a little yelp, and he lifted his arm as if to pull her closer, to protect her from the storm. She turned her face toward his as if suddenly suspecting something.

  Women were funny that way. They seemed to have an intuition about danger. But it always came too late. And they were never very observant, not when they were worried about getting their new sandals wet, or finding a pack of cigarettes in their purse.

  She never noticed the latex gloves on his hands.

  He clamped the square of chloroform-soaked gauze over her mouth and nose. Her clear, confident blue eyes grew round and clouded with fear, and then her eyelids fluttered as the chemical took effect. She fell into his arms, a rag doll, and he had to drop the umbrella to catch her. He only had to run a few feet to his car. He had lied to her, but just a little white lie. He hadn't been parked in the mini-golf lot at all. He was parked right here in the alley because he already knew where she had left her car. It was the same place she parked every day.

  The Bloodsucker used the remote on his keychain to pop his trunk and dropped her inside with a thump. Then he ran back for his umbrella and to scoop up the flip-flops she had dropped. They were pretty. Pink paisley. As he threw them into the back seat and climbed behind the wheel to start the engine, he wondered what he would do with the flip-flops. He hesitated, breathed in the scent of her off them. He wanted to keep them, but he knew no trophies were allowed. That might give police a clue they could later connect to him, and he had no intention of giving them any help. If they wanted to catch him, they would have to outsmart him.

  Maybe he would put the shoes back on her feet when he dropped her tomorrow or the next day. Maybe he would even leave the umbrella, too, if she was nice to him. The weather man said they could expect occasional thunder showers all week. He'd bought the cheap, generic umbrella at the Big Mart a town over. They probably sold millions a year, so it could never be traced to him. That way, if it was still raining tomorrow night, she wouldn't get too wet before they found her.

  The Bloodsucker hated the thought of leaving such a nice girl in the rain. And Anne Hopkins was such a nice girl. Going to college, working full-time, making her widowed mother proud. It was a shame she wasn't more careful about walking in alleys alone after dark. He would have to speak to her about that.

  * * *

  Jillian stayed at Silver & Things until closing at ten and then raced down the boardwalk through the rain to her car thinking she needed to learn a shortcut. She had left parked in the mini-golf parking lot, where the attendant had promised she wouldn't be towed. She stopped at the grocery store for a couple of things, and by the time she reached the cottage she was sticky hot and her clothes were damp from the rain.

  She found a note stuck in the screen door of the cottage, but she let herself in and locked the door behind her before reading it. Dropping her soggy bags on the kitchen table, she scanned the note.

  J.

  Just stopped by to see how you were.

  Hope you found a job. Talk to you soon.

  It was signed "T" with a peace sign.

  Jillian smiled, setting aside the note as she carried the bag of cold items to the refrigerator. She then went around the house and opened several windows to cool off the closed-up house.

  She'd had a good day. She and Millie got along well. The fact that Jillian had no life she could recall beyond six weeks ago didn't seem to matter. They found plenty to talk about—lots of common ground. In the afternoon Jillian had gone out to get lunch for them and would have offered to bring Jenkins something too, but he had packed up his easel and gone home. Millie said she never knew when he would turn up, but he always came back because she sold his paintings for him in her store.

  When they closed the store, Millie invited Jillian out for a late supper, but Jillian declined. She was worn out from her whole day in public, smiling, pretending to have it all together. It was tiring. By six she had been ready to crawl back into the cottage where she felt safe and not so exposed, but Millie had been busy doing inventory, so Jillian had stayed to run the cash register and talk with customers.

  Tomorrow, Millie wanted her to come in at three. Jill
ian thought maybe she would get some sun in the morning. Maybe find Ty on his lifeguard stand and just let him know she had found a job. After the kisses they had shared the other night, she really didn't know where their relationship was going. She didn't have any expectations, and she certainly didn't know where she wanted it to go, so she had decided to take Ty's relaxed attitude. Time would tell.

  The groceries put away, Jillian changed into her sleep shirt, had a salad, and then climbed into bed with her book. Despite how tired she was, she read until almost one a.m. She was afraid to sleep. Afraid of what she might dream... remember. But at last, when she could no longer keep her eyes open, she had surrendered and fallen asleep in the cool breeze from the open window beside her bed.

  * * *

  "I don't understand why you're doing this," Anne sobbed, so terrified that she couldn't think. She didn't know where she was, or how much time had passed since he had taken her from the alley.

  "I know, I know," the Bloodsucker soothed as he blotted her wrist with the towel. It blossomed with rich, red blood.

  "Please, I'll give you anything you want." Tears ran down her face, making it hard to see. Snot ran from her nose. She sniffed. "I... I'll do anything you want," she said trying to think of what that might entail.

  "Shhhhh." He stroked her hair with one glove-covered hand. She smelled like the sub shop where she worked. "There, there, it's all right, Anne. Don't cry."

  "I just want to go home," she blubbered, shaking. She was cold now. Tired. She felt as if she had been there forever, tied, taped to this chair. Wherever here was. "I... I'm so afraid."

  "I know. So why don't you tell me about your home? Maybe that will make you feel better." He lifted the towel and, satisfied that the bleeding had stopped, he stepped back. "You live in a blue house, don't you? A Cape Cod on Oak?"

  Anne nodded. He knew where she lived. He knew where she ate her lunch, where she'd gone to dinner the other night with the new guy she was dating, Clark. He knew where she rented her videos. He'd been stalking her, and she'd not known. A sob wracked her body. She hadn't even known.

  "Tell me," he whispered, gazing into her blue eyes that were not as brilliant as they had been. "You have a dog, don't you?"