Rebel Angels

by James Michael Rice

  “It was?”

  “You saw the crime scene. It was a slaughterhouse. It's not the first time he's killed there. Once we get some prints back from the lab, I'm sure we'll be able to rule out each of our current suspects. Like Moriarty suggested this morning, although it didn't sound like he really believes it, I doubt if those local boys had anything to do with this girl's murder. I think they just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Bailey squinted his eyes. “But what about that guy Pennington, the one who confessed to the original murders? Where did he fit in to all this?”

  “That,” Ferren said, “is a very good question.”

  “And if Mike Swart and his friends aren't guilty, then where are they? And why did they run?”

  Ferren folded his hands and leaned forward across the table. “That's easy,” he said. “Think about it. When do people usually run?”

  Bailey narrowed his eyebrows and shrugged.

  “When they're being chased,” Ferren said at last.

  ~Sixteen~

  An hour later, Mike Swart and Karen Sloan returned from the store with a back seat full of shopping bags and a full tank of gas. Mike had expected to find his friends still sitting on the porch, eagerly awaiting their arrival, but there was no one in sight. He parked the car and sat there thinking, worried that something terrible had happened in his absence. It wasn't until he'd gotten out of the car that he heard the tell-tale sound of their laughter coming from the river.

  Mike grinned, relieved. “Looks like they decided to go for a swim. I can't blame 'em. Hey, what do you say we take a walk down there?”

  Karen looked over at him with a boys-will-be-boys look and rolled her eyes. “Go on,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “Go on,” she repeated.

  “No. We gotta get these groceries inside.”

  “Don't worry, I can get them on my own. I'll make some sandwiches and meet you down there. Besides, I gotta find something I can wear into the water.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  Mike gave her his best smile. “You're awesome. I'll see you down there.”

  He dashed away to join his friends. Karen watched him for a few seconds, marveling at his speed. He was almost to the river by the time she had lifted the second bag of groceries into her slender arms. She heard someone whoop a greeting upon his arrival. Probably Max, she thought without realizing it. Their voices echoed across the valley, the distant sound of children on a playground. Karen smiled to herself and huffed a little as she hoisted the two bags of groceries up the porch steps. For the first time since yesterday, she felt totally at ease.

  Nudging the door open with her sandaled foot, Karen entered the cabin with the overwhelming sensation that everything was going to be alright. Mike would see them through this thing, as always.

  She had one foot in the kitchen when she realized that something was missing. From some faraway place, she heard the sound of glass breaking as the two bags of groceries landed at her feet. A jar of all-natural Teddy Bear peanut butter rolled across the wooden floor and stopped at the base of the coffee table.

  The couch was empty. On the floor there was a crumpled blanket, also empty. The clothes she had left at the foot of the couch, untouched. The girl, thought Karen. Where’s the girl? It occurred to her, as she crossed the living room floor, that perhaps the girl had awakened while she and Mike were at the store, and was at the river with the others. She was still considering this as she bent over to retrieve the runaway peanut butter jar. That was how Karen discovered her.

  She was naked on the floor, holding her knees against her chest, cowering in the corner between the side of the couch and the wall. Her auburn hair was slick with sweat. Her body trembled as she tried to speak, but no words came out. She motioned toward her open mouth.

  Karen understood immediately. She darted across the room and returned five seconds later. Remembering the scratches on Rick's face, she maintained a safe distance as she crouched down beside the girl. Karen twisted the cap off the Evian bottle and the girl drank with her eyes closed, the cold water dribbling down her neck and over her bare breasts.

  “Go slow,” Karen whispered, but the girl ignored her. She drank, stopped, panted, and drank again, like a baby nursing from a bottle.

  After she had taken her fill, she wiped her mouth with the back of one hand, lips slightly parted. “Where the hell am I?” she asked in a raspy voice, blue eyes bouncing off the unfamiliar walls.

  Karen leaned over and grabbed the T-shirt and shorts she'd left by the couch. “Here,” Karen said, helping the girl to her feet. “Put these on.”

  The girl looked down at herself. She had been unaware of her nakedness until just now. On trembling legs she dressed herself slowly, wincing at the soreness in her limbs.

  “Do you need to go to a hospital?”

  The girl shook her head and stared at Karen for a few seconds. She rubbed her wrists; the skin was still raw from the shackles. “How ...did you get me out of that place?”

  “Not me,” Karen said gently. “My friends. What's your name?”

  “Stacey...Mackinnon.”

  “You're far away from that house now, Stacey. You're safe, okay?”

  Stacey Mackinnon bit her bottom lip and nodded, shuddering as her mind conjured up images of that dark room, where she had listened to the blood-curdling screams of those other girls, and the laughter of that hideous thing that had held them captive there. She only hoped that this place, this dark-haired girl, was real, that she wasn't back in that room, kneeling and praying for her life, insane with fear.

  She had remained strong at first, convincing herself that help was on the way. In the end it was the screams which had broken her down. Those tortured screams of girls she could not see. And what of them? Where was the help they had so desperately prayed for in the darkness? When she spoke again, there was venom in her voice. “He ka-killed them all. F-fucking k-killed them like they were nuh-nothing. And I would have been next...he told me to pray...to pray for my sins, and not to stop or he'd kill me. I don't know how l-long I prayed. Hours? Days? I hope that bastard pays for what he did.”

  Me too, thought Karen. Me too.

  “Can you take me home, please? I just wanna go home.”

  Karen didn't know quite what to say. She lowered her head. How could she tell this girl that the nightmare wasn't over, that the man she spoke of had not yet been apprehended by the police?

  “What is it?” Stacey asked. “Is there something you're not telling me?”

  Starting with the call from Trisha Saunders, Karen told her all she knew.

  ~Seventeen~

  As the sun ducked down behind the mountains and the stars unfolded in the sky, four friends sat with their new acquaintance on a sandy strip of beach at the water's edge, warming their hands over a small fire. Max was not with them. He had mumbled something about the mosquitoes, and had wondered off in search of bug spray. It was quiet without him.

  Stacey Mackinnon sat Indian-style on the grass, considering the flames. She had not spoken much since being introduced to her rescuers, save for a few small details about her abduction, her mind still wandering back to the events that had befallen her. After listening to their story, she had readily agreed to stay with them until they could straighten out the mess they were in. After all they had done for her, she felt she owed it to them. Such a strange feeling, owing your life to a bunch of strangers.

  “Anyone want some chips?” Karen asked, holding up a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.

  They were momentarily distracted by the sound of footsteps.

  “Lookee what I found!” Max smiled as though he had just won the lottery. He was holding a bottle of vodka.

  “Where the hell did you get that?” asked Mike.

  “In your trunk.” He plopped down by the fire. He poured some vodka into a Gatorade bottle and passed it to Stacey. “Here, have some medicine.”

  Stacey
smiled a little, showing her well-formed cheekbones. “Thanks,” she said, and took a small, polite sip. It wasn't that bad, really. She could hardly taste the vodka. She took another sip and passed the bottle off to Karen.

  “Are there any beers left?” Mike asked.

  “Yeah, but they're piss-warm. I stuck 'em in the cooler,” Max said.

  The last rays of sunlight trickled away, and the vodka-flavored Gatorade continued to make its way around the fire. Soon Mike started telling jokes (mostly good ones), followed by Max, who also told jokes (mostly bad ones), while the others laughed and groaned, grateful for the distraction. Through the eyes of an outsider, they would have looked like any other teenagers, living it up on a Friday night. But hidden behind their smiling eyes, temporarily routed by their laughter, they struggled to repress their secret demons.

  By the time she realized she was drunk, Stacey felt as though she had known them all for years. Such was the comradery of alcohol. After a while, she went over and sat next to Rick. “Do you mind if I bum a cigarette from you?”

  “No.” He drew one from his pack and handed it to her.

  She bowed her head, rolling the cigarette between her fingers. “Karen told me how you got me out of that house…how you took care of me. I just wanted to say thanks. I know that probably doesn't mean much now, after all that's happened, but I had to say it anyway.”

  She raised her head and put the cigarette between her lips. Rick nodded, deliberately avoiding her eyes. “Don't worry about it,” he told her in his soothing, gritty voice. “I'm just glad you're okay.”

  Her slender fingers fluttered briefly over his hand as he bent to light her cigarette. “I'm sorry,” she said, exhaling the smoke from one side of her mouth. “About what I did to your face.”

  For a moment, their eyes met. Once again, he found himself admiring the sensuous curves of her mouth, her flawless complexion, and the stunning blue of her drowsy, almond-shaped eyes. He remembered the warmth and softness of her skin, from when he had touched her cheek in the back of Mike's car. Aside from the fact that she was a college student, and had been abducted several days ago while jogging in a park somewhere in Quincy (all of which she had confided to them earlier that evening), he hardly knew a thing about her. Looking at her, he couldn't help but wonder: Where did she come from? What kind of life had she lived before their paths had crossed at the house on Roller Coaster Road? How old was she? Nineteen? Twenty? Certainly, she was more of a woman than a girl.

  After a few seconds, he realized he was staring and quickly looked away.

  “It was my fault,” he said without looking at her.

  She gestured toward the bandage on his wrist. “Did I do that too?”

  When he did not answer, she decided not to press him any further. He seemed uncomfortable with her gratitude. She smoked her cigarette in silence, watching the sparks dance like fireflies, twisting, twirling up into the night sky. Although she felt safe with this quiet, thoughtful boy, she could not shake the feeling that he was hiding something from her. She thought she saw a trace of sadness in those kind hazel eyes. Was it pity? she wondered. Pity for her? Or was it the aftershock of all that had happened the night before?

  When the fire had reduced itself to a pitiful heap of embers, and the insects swarmed in, becoming too much to bear, they headed back to the cabin together, eager for a good night's sleep.

  As Mike made his way across the meadow, one arm over Karen's shoulders and the other holding a flashlight he had purchased at the store, a familiar chorus of voices buzzed inside his mind. Of course, he knew where these voices were coming from.

  It was Uncle Jack's giants again.

  Good night, Mikey.

  Still walking, Mike made a quick backward glance, so as not to attract Karen's attention. There they stood, blotting out the sky; the jagged silhouettes of the mountains, the giants.

  Good night, Mike returned with his mind's voice.

  He and Karen were the last ones to enter the cabin, and as he bolted the door behind them, such strange feelings overcame him.

  He felt that everything was in its place.

  He felt protected and safe.

  He felt like he was home.

  Lou Swart looked up from his makeshift bed on the floor. Through the bedroom window he beheld the great ghost of the northern sky. The moon looked close enough to touch, its edges smudged by silvery wisps of clouds. He had never seen so many stars in his life.

  After a while, he rolled over and stared at his roommate's back. “Hey, Max, you still awake?” he inquired softly.

  “Would I answer you if I wasn't?” Max asked in a dry voice, not moving.

  “Do you think people back home are...you know, worried about us?”

  “Your parents are probably worried. Rick's parents are probably worried, too. Shit, Karen's parents are probably sticking up those missing persons posters all over town.” Max stated these things as a matter of course, but when he continued, there was a trace of sadness in his voice. “But my old man…he probably just thinks I'm in my room, or crashing over someone's house. He wouldn't give a shit, even if he knew the truth.”

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...”

  “Don't worry about it, dude. I'm just a little drunk, and I'm babbling. Now shut up and go to sleep, willya?”

  “Alright,” Lou agreed. He rolled onto his side, shifted his butt around a little, and closed his eyes.

  “Hey, Max...you still awake?”

  “Whatsit this time?”

  “What do you think about that girl... Stacey?”

  “She's pretty hot. Nice ass, too. And that tattoo is kinda sexy. But I think she's got a thing for Rick. You see the way she was looking at him?”

  “Yeah,” Lou sighed longingly. “But that's a good thing, right?”

  “I guesso.”

  “I mean, it's almost like…fate that they met. And ever since Lori died…” Lou stopped there, already wishing he hadn't said her name.

  “Yeah,” Max answered, “I know what you mean.” And he understood completely. Ever since Lori Shawnessy had died, Rick Hunter had become but a shadow of the boy he had once been. But tonight, at the campfire, as Rick laughed at their jokes, and made eyes at Stacey Mackinnon, Max had seen traces of the friend he once knew.

  Hell, yeah, it was a good thing. Max still wasn't sure if coming to the cabin was a good idea, but he knew it was better than turning themselves in to the police. And if Stacey could somehow help Rick to forget about his pain, even temporarily, at least something good would come out of this mess. That one thing would make it all worthwhile.

  Max thought about this as he closed his eyes, and the crickets sang him lullabies until he fell asleep.

  ~Eighteen~

  The weekend came and went.

  It passed by with the fluidness of a dream. Twice Mike, Rick, and Max had wandered off to explore the forest, each time returning with firewood and sap-stained hands and stories about deer tracks and the wildlife they had seen. They had scattered the ashes of their original fire and dug a deep pit in its place, surrounding it with stones they had gathered from a shallow section of the river. Lou mostly kept to himself, hovering over the magazines Mike had brought back from the store: Popular Science, Entertainment Weekly, and a month-old copy of Sports Illustrated. Of the two girls, one was never seen without the other. They passed the hours talking, in that open and honest manner that was exclusive only to the sisterhood of women. They talked about clothes, music, movies, and Karen's obsession with Starbucks coffee. Stacey had just completed her first year at Quincy, and she spoke of the woes of higher education and the difficult transition from high school to college, the snobby professors and expensive textbooks, the wild parties and crazy roommates. Then they would all gather at the river, to swim during the day and to sit by the fire at night; a routine they would get to know quite well. How long before they could go home? Strangely, that question had somehow transformed itself into a different one: How long before they w
ould have to go home?

  On Monday morning, as they gathered by the river, Mike put those questions on the table. After some discussion it was agreed that they would first try to contact Kevin Chapman, in order to get an honest perspective as to where they stood with the police. They weren't sure if Kev was still in rehab, but Mike thought it was worth a try.

  It wasn't long before the somber mood of their discussion wore on Max's playful side, and before anyone knew what had happened, he had already scooped up Lou in a bear hug and had tossed the squirming boy into the river.

  “Sonofabitch!” Lou panted, arms flailing as he breached the surface. “You sonofabitch! What the hell did you do that for?”

  Max stood on the water's edge, doubled over with laughter.

  “Yeah, that's real funny,” Lou muttered. “Dickweed!”

  “Call me dickweed again, you little dork, and you'll really be sorry.”

  “Dickweed, dickweed, dickweed!”

  Max stripped down to his boxers and dove in after him.

  Watching the two wrestle playfully in the water, even Rick seemed content, which made Mike enjoy himself all the more.

  “Oh, it's so hot, I feel like I'm gonna faint,” Karen observed in a tired voice, using one hand to fan herself. “What do you say we all go for a swim?”

  Stacey raised her expressive eyebrows and nodded whole-heartedly.

  “I'm down with that,” Mike said. “Anyone else coming? Rick?”