All Hallow's Eve: The One Day It's BAD to Be Good

by Carolyn McCray

  The fire growing inside the mansion lighted the night sky. Flames shot out of windows as the air crackled. As urgently as he could under the circumstances, Paxton made his way down the treacherous roof. Carefully, he stepped next to Ruth on the small outcropping, where two wings of the mansion met.

  “Ruth …” he said as he checked her vital signs. They were barely measurable. He pulled her up against him. “Why’d you jump in front of me?”

  Her gaze already seemed far, far away as she answered softly. “All that I could think was …” Ruth coughed up bright, red blood. “Where were his parents? Where was I?”

  “Sweet Jesus, Ruth! It wasn’t your fault,” Paxton said, as he wiped wet strands of her hair from her face. “It wasn’t.”

  “Then whose was it?” she asked.

  He didn’t have an answer for that, so he just hugged her tighter, letting the rain beat against them, washing away any sins she committed. Then her hand found his. She squeezed it.

  “I would have said ‘yes.’ ” Ruth whispered, so quietly that he had to lean in to hear.

  “To what?”

  “If you had asked …”

  Unable to tell rain from tears, Paxton leaned over and kissed Ruth, as her last breath shuddered them both.

  CHAPTER 11

  Cecilia pulled back the edge of the cloak to check on Michael’s wound. He roused at the pain.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. There was no oozing, but she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  Jeremy paced beside her. “It’s been awhile since those last shots.”

  Cecilia did not want to admit it, but she had been thinking the same thing. If Paxton or Ruth didn’t come back soon, they were going to have to leave without them. If Evan showed up, well, that was a totally different story.

  She looked down to find Michael licking his parched lips. “So much for me being an archangel.”

  Cecilia smiled. “You are forever my official guardian angel.”

  “Ugh, on top of all of this, are you going to make me puke?” Jeremy commented in his usual all-about-him way.

  She was going to retort, but a call came from the other side of the attic. “Um, a little help over here would be appreciated.”

  “Uncle Pax!” Jeremy yelled as he ran to help.

  Cecilia gazed down at Michael. “If Uncle Paxton’s cranky, then everything must be okay.” Spontaneously, she leaned down and kissed Michael on the forehead.

  “You know, that almost made all of this worth it.” As he chuckled, he flinched from the pain.

  “I know,” Cecilia finished for him, “Almost.”

  “Actually, I was going to say… definitely worth it.”

  Cecilia felt her cheeks flush. Was she going to find the courage to tell him how much he had come to mean to her?

  “Get him up,” Paxton said, nearly panting as he and Jeremy rounded the corner. Her uncle was soaked through, and with more than a little blood smeared across his chest. “The place is an inferno.”

  Cecilia helped lift Michael to his feet. “We can’t leave, though. We left some friends on the second floor.”

  “The third door on the right after the second junction,” Michael added.

  Paxton repeated it as though he were writing it down in his head. “I’ll get them.” He turned to Cecilia and Jeremy. “Can you two handle getting him out of here?”

  “Definitely,” Cecilia answered, as Jeremy took Michael’s other shoulder.

  “I will meet you at the docks,” Paxton added.

  Then he did the oddest thing. Her uncle walked over and kicked a large trunk.

  * * *

  “All right, Dahmer,” Paxton said, kicking the trunk again. “You’re coming with me.”

  Sheepishly, the lead singer opened the trunk and climbed out. “You can’t make me go—”

  But Paxton was done with Dahmer’s sense of entitlement. With Ruth’s blood on his hands, he just couldn’t take the singer’s attitude anymore. He had three terrified, injured teens to get out of a burning building, and he wasn’t going to be able to do it himself.

  “It is your lucky day, Dahmer. I am deputizing you. Now move it.”

  Paxton turned to make sure Cecilia and the others were on their way. Sure enough, they were already heading down the stairs. He turned back to the lead singer. With his makeup half cried off and his skintight pants fraying, Dahmer looked like some kind of circus reject. And sounded like one.

  Paxton could barely understand the singer as he sniveled, “I’m too weak.”

  But Paxton slapped Dahmer on the back. “I’d say it’s about time you gave something back to your fans.”

  Dahmer was none too happy about it, but they made their way across the attic. During the cat and mouse with Evan, Paxton had spotted another entrance to the attic. It seemed to let out over the southern wing. At least he hoped it did.

  Cautious of a trap, Paxton used an old umbrella to hit the latch on the attic stairs. The stairs extended smoothly. Which made Paxton nervous. How many automated traps did Evan leave? For such a nerdy kid, Evan certainly had been industrious.

  “All right. Down you go,” Paxton said.

  “No way!” Dahmer shouted. “I’m not going first!”

  Paxton flatly stated, “My gun says otherwise.”

  Dahmer searched Paxton’s face, and must have realized that he was, in fact, serious.

  The lead singer mumbled something about Paxton’s momma before climbing down. Which was fine by Paxton. His momma’s memory could handle the insult if it got them out of this pyromaniac’s wet dream of a fire.

  * * *

  Cecilia stopped at the exit even though Michael was getting really heavy to carry. She could see Jeremy strain as well under the weight. But they had to stop. The exit was blocked by poor Rage. His mouth was still open in surprise at his gory demise.

  “Sis, we’ve gotta get out of here.”

  No duh.

  “What if there is another trap?” Cecilia questioned.

  “Evan showed some skills, but he just didn’t have the time to double-rig stuff.”

  How she wished she could believe that.

  Michael pushed away from her. “I’ll go through.”

  “Have you lost it?” Cecilia demanded. Blood had stopped pouring down his side, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t start any minute.

  Michael grinned, though. “I figure the one already bleeding should be the one to risk getting spiked.”

  “Yep,” Jeremy said. “I like his logic.”

  She glared at her younger brother.

  “Cec,” Michael said. “I’m doing it.”

  She wanted to argue, but found she didn’t have the heart for it. She had seen the spikes go through Rage. She heard his last anguished cry. Was she pathetic for not wanting that same fate?

  But Michael seemed to have none of her concerns, or shock had really set in, as he pushed against the metal bed frame, with Rage still attached. He was weak, though, and the spring that triggered the spikes was strong.

  To hell with fear! Cecilia thought as she added her shoulder to the effort.

  “Exactly!” Jeremy said, as he, too, helped.

  The metal screeched in complaint. Cecilia tried to ignore Rage’s dead eyes as they stared at her. She concentrated completely on not letting her hands slip from the wet surface. If she did, she too would be the skewered one.

  Once outside the shelter of the doorway, rain poured down upon them—like a bucket of ice-cold water had just been dumped. Above them, flames fought the moisture as the fire spread from the house to the surrounding trees. Even amongst the downpour, the smell of smoke reeked all around them.

  Shivering, Cecilia pushed all the harder. They were almost there.

  “Wait! Wait! Wait,” Jeremy cried out.

  They all froze.

  “Um, you know how I said that Evan didn’t have enough time to set a secondary trap?”

  “Yes …” Cecilia said, hoping against hope that
her brother was not going to say what she thought he was going to say.

  “Okay, I might have been off on that one.”

  “Why?” Michael asked.

  Jeremy kept both hands on the metal frame, but he bobbed his head, willing Cecilia to look behind her.

  “Oh, God!” she cried out, as she looked over her shoulder. Another, larger, spike- studded frame sat ready to crash down upon them.

  “I think …” Jeremy stalled, and then started out again. “I think if this frame hits the ground, that one whooshes in to … you know.”

  With Rage’s flared, bloody nostrils at eye level, Cecilia knew very well.

  “So we gently put this one back in place?” Michael suggested, sounding weaker than before.

  Cecilia glanced back into the house. The fire had broken through the last wall, and smoke choked the hallway. There was no going back. A part of the attic falling through the ceiling confirmed her theory. Sparks and embers flew, spreading the fire even more.

  They couldn’t go back, but neither could they go forward. She looked over at her brother. He had that look on his face—the one he got when he had a superbad idea.

  “Jeremy?”

  “Yaaaaaaaaa….”

  “I know that you have a plan. One that I probably won’t like, but you’ve got to let us know now.”

  * * *

  The rain streaming down his face tickled Jeremy’s nose. He needed both hands to keep the bed frame in place, but how could anyone figure a way out of a diabolical death trap when he felt like he needed to sneeze?

  “Jeremy!”

  “Okay, okay,” he countered. “But just remember, you forced me to.”

  “Jer!”

  Um, if she were that upset now? Just wait until she heard his plan.

  “Let’s all remember that Rage is dead,” Jeremy hurried on, “and I think he would be willing to take one for the team.”

  Lightning struck over the island, bringing their situation into glaring detail. The light reflected off the spikes, making them seem eager to take the plunge into them. He could see Michael’s sunken eyes and Cecilia’s lips in a firm line. And Rage? Well, Rage looked ready to take the Corpse of the Year award.

  As thunder rumbled, Cecilia asked, “And?”

  “I say we all come over to this side, and, you know, let the spring trigger.”

  “What?”

  Jeremy indicated Rage. “Let him act as a buffer.”

  Cecilia’s eyes dilated as she realized the full extent of his plan.

  * * *

  Jeremy had had a lot of bad ideas as they were growing up, Cecilia thought. Like trying to tie a rope to passing cars and skateboard behind them. That one left them both in the emergency room. Or keeping the snake they found in the their parents’ bathtub. But this was the worst.

  “What else are we going to do, Sis?”

  Michael sighed, sounding as if it took every bit of his energy to interject. “He is right. It’s the only way.”

  Bright red blood coursed down Michael’s side again. They had to get him out of here—and out of here now.

  Jeremy must have sensed her decision, because he rattled off directions. “Okay, Michael, you just need to kind of fall this way, which doesn’t look too hard for you.” Her brother looked over to her. “But Cec, you are going to have kind of toss yourself in this direction.”

  “You mean, over Rage’s body, and those two whole rows of spikes?”

  Like she said—the worst plan ever.

  “The good news is that the weight of your landing should trigger the spikes.

  Yes, that was great news. Not.

  But there was no point in arguing.

  “Michael, you go first,” she suggested, but Jeremy shook his head, spraying water everywhere.

  “No. You two have got to go together… Otherwise…”

  Otherwise, Cecilia could end up as Rage’s eternal soul mate. Again, not.

  “Michael, are you ready?”

  His head lolled, and then he nodded.

  “On the count of three,” Jeremy suggested.

  Besides Michael being horrible at actually going on three, he didn’t look like he was going to even stay conscious for one.

  “Just pull him, Jeremy. NOW!”

  With a heave, Cecilia shoved Michael over as she forced herself past Rage, all the while missing the sharpened spikes. As their weight shifted, the metal frame groaned, giving way. Once they hit the dirt, Cecilia felt a clank as the other bed of spikes was released. Jeremy grabbed her arm, dragging her along the points.

  A spike ripped her dress, and a line of pain drew across her skin. As the jaw of the trap slammed closed, Cecilia threw herself onto her back, panting, waiting for the spikes to claim her as they had Rage.

  “Hurry,” Jeremy said, tugging her. “Rage’s body is keeping them apart, but I don’t know for how long.”

  Cecilia stared up at the metal spike centered on her head. She looked over at Rage. He was wedged in a spike sandwich. But hurrying was a problem. The sharp spikes were mere millimeters from her body. Slowly, she inched her way to Jeremy. One of Rage’s bones cracked. Then another.

  Oh, God! His body wasn’t going to hold!

  * * *

  What was Cecilia doing? Taking a micro-spa moment? He grabbed her by the arm and threw himself backward. Luckily, the grass was rain soaked, and she slid out from under the spike bed like a greased pig—just as Rage’s body crumpled.

  The loud twang of the bed frames hitting one another drowned out the pouring rain.

  Cecilia just lay there.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “No … I’m just shocked. … Your plan actually worked.”

  Yeah, well, they could give him a medal later. “Help me get Michael up.”

  Even with Cecilia’s help, her boyfriend was heavy.

  “Next time, pick a vegan,” Jeremy suggested, as they half-walked and half-slid down the hill toward the waterfront.

  Bright lights greeted them. The yacht was at the dock, its cheerful decorations bobbing on the horizon.

  “Hurry!” Cecilia yelled, but what did she think he was doing? Practicing for a Jackass episode to show how awkwardly you could fall down a hill?

  “I am!”

  Then she stopped. Wasn’t that the opposite of hurrying?

  “Look! The yacht is leaving! You’ve got to run ahead.”

  Sure enough, the horn tooted.

  This could not be happening. Did they not think it was a good idea to wait for the people who actually stopped the serial killer? Did that not buy them a few extra minutes?

  Jeremy dashed down the rain-slick slope, barely keeping his feet under him. Finally, his shoes hit the wooden planking of the dock, but even that was treacherous.

  “Wait!” he screamed, but the storm sucked the words from his mouth and scattered them on the wind. “Stop!”

  But the gaily lit vessel pulled farther away from shore.

  Jeremy waved his arms above his head, trying to get someone’s attention, but everyone seemed below deck. Exactly where he would be—if he could be.

  Somewhere warm and dry.

  * * *

  Paxton propped open another door. This room was cleared.

  “I told you,” Dahmer whined. “Everybody’s gone.”

  Paxton wasn’t so sure of that. Michael had said that two of the kids left behind were injured, and so far, this side of the house had been spared the red inferno. The kids probably not even know they were in danger of being burned alive. Now, however smoke churned ahead of the approaching flames. It seemed the fire was not about to give up until it claimed every last wooden beam.

  “We’ve got to leave,” Dahmer droned.

  “Not until we have checked every room on this floor,” Paxton answered, although he feared he was trying to convince himself as much as Dahmer.

  He opened the next door. “Anyone in here?” he asked as he shone his beat-up flashlight across the room. “Police.�
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  “See?” Dahmer pouted.

  A voice piped up from the back of the room. “Police? Really?”

  Paxton strode into the room. “Yes. Show yourselves.”

  A teenage girl, her face splotchy from crying, stood up. “Detective Paxton?” the girl asked, as she launched herself at him. “Oh, my God. Cecilia told us she was going to get help.”

  As he extracted the girl, Paxton surveyed the other two injured kids. The girl was unconscious, but breathing. The boy looked trashed, but alive.

  “Frannie. Is that your name?”

  She nodded, sobbing tears of relief. Although Paxton hated to tell her, he feared they were not in the clear yet as smoke billowed into the room.

  “Okay, Frannie, I am going to take the girl. You and …”

  Paxton turned around to find his sullen deputy gone.

  “Was that Diana Dahmer?” Frannie asked.