A Secondhand Life (The Killer Thriller Series Book 2)

by Pamela Crane

  “If I had a dream that involved your Uncle Derek and your dad, and possibly what put him in jail, would you want to know?”

  “What are you getting at, Mia? Stop being so cryptic and just spill it.” His attitude immediately put me on the defensive.

  “I don’t want to cause a fight, okay? I’m asking because I’m already on thin ice with you and I don’t want to fall through.” I heard my voice growing shrill, so I pulled back and added calmly, “Do you want me to tell you what I dreamt?”

  I heard an exasperated groan, then a grudging “yes, please tell me.”

  “Now it may be nothing, but here goes,” I began. “It was before Alexis’s death, obviously, and your Uncle Derek picked her up for school with some big guy with a long, nasty white beard—like a redneck Kris Kringle. Sound familiar?”

  “Nope, but go on.”

  “They were in the car talking about casing a place, I think, and I guess the owner had guns. He mentioned your dad being in on it, but I thought you may want to ask your dad about it. Maybe he knows Redneck Santa, since he was clearly part of it. But anyway, I think it had to do with the robbery your dad was charged with.”

  “You think Uncle Derek was involved?”

  “If the dream was about the same robbery, then yeah. I don’t have proof or anything, but I’m not so sure your dad’s the only one who should be behind bars.”

  Landon didn’t respond for a long minute or two, and when he did, it wasn’t what I had expected.

  “Are you making this up because you want my uncle to go to jail? Because it sure sounds like you’re grasping at straws here.”

  “What?” I screeched. “You really think I’d make it up?”

  “Maybe unintentionally, yeah. Maybe you’re so focused on blaming Derek that your subconscious is making things up.”

  “Look, it’s not like I can prove anything. I just wanted to tell you that your dad might not be entirely to blame.”

  “Why can’t you stay out of my family business? Sometimes it feels like you’re trying to save us, but we don’t need saving. We just need to be left the hell alone, okay?”

  “You know what, he’s your dad, not mine, so it’s your problem if you don’t want to look into it. I gotta go.”

  I hung up before giving Landon a chance to toss another biting retort back at me. I was tired of being persecuted for being honest. Tired of being threatened by a killer. Tired of chasing down ghosts. Just tired.

  I wanted out. Out of it all—Alexis’s monologues, Landon’s life, even my own life.

  As far as I was concerned, I didn’t care if I ever woke up from the nightmare that had become my existence.

  Chapter 29

  The pounding on my front door rudely awakened me from my light slumber on the sofa. After hanging up with Landon, I had put on another mind-numbing movie I’d afterwards regret, The Human Centipede, which had ended hours ago, but the TV screen had steadfastly captured a screenshot of a distorted figure plastered against the movie’s cover.

  I clicked off the television and listened. Had I actually heard someone knocking, or was my imagination in overdrive again?

  Last night was a blur of panic.

  I remembered receiving the letter last night, but after that my brain had become a befuddled mess. My only recollection was the killer’s threat. Jolting upright, I forced myself awake, conjuring up a distant recall of events.

  Yes, the haze was clearing. I had tried calling Brad to warn him, but his phone was turned off. Seven urgent voicemail messages later, I recalled heading to his apartment, but his car wasn’t in the lot and no one was home. I figured he was at work, so I detoured to Bella’s Cuisine next. When I had arrived and asked to speak to “Brad the chef,” a cute and perky hostess working her first day—she was a bit of a talker—told me he wasn’t on the schedule. Eventually I went home and feebly tried to shut my brain down for the night, since there was nothing else I could do at that late hour.

  Brad is safe, Brad is safe, I had repeated to myself like a desperate mantra.

  I ultimately suffered through two forgettable movies before finally closing my eyes sometime around four in the morning. And then my fight with Landon.

  What a night.

  It was now—I checked my cell phone for the time—a little after nine.

  The rumble of my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten much for dinner. I glanced behind me at the dining room table. Sure enough, the unopened box of Mexican leftovers still sat there. I wondered if they were still any good.

  Bang bang. I jumped at the intruding sound. This time I had no doubt that my brain hadn’t made it up.

  With hesitant steps I tiptoed to the entryway, wondering if the killer was on the other side of the door. To be prepared, I grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter on my way to the peephole.

  “Mia!” a familiar voice called from the other side. “It’s me, Brad. Can we please talk?”

  “Oh, thank God!” I said as I broke down into grateful sobs. I hastily unlocked the deadbolt and doorknob locks, my fingers fumbling with the mechanisms, and I hopped into his arms, wrapping my legs around him. “You’re okay!” I cried into his shoulder as I wiped a stream of snot on his shirtsleeve. “I was so worried. Where were you last night?”

  “I, uh, was out with some friends. A little drinking therapy, y’know? Hit a bar in Raleigh and crashed at my friend’s house for the night. It was a rough day.”

  “Okay…” I said suspiciously. It wasn’t like Brad to drink his sorrows away. The cryptic nature of his explanation waved my internal red flag. “Well, I’m just glad you’re safe.” I squeezed him even harder and planted a dozen soggy kisses on his cheek.

  Brad kicked the door closed behind him and carried me into the living room, then plopped me down onto the sofa.

  “Mia, what’s going on? I got half a dozen messages from you last night, but you were freaking out so bad that I couldn’t really understand what you were saying. Is someone after me?”

  “The killer, Brad. He knows I’m tracking him and left me this.” Picking the note up from the coffee table, I showed it to Brad. He reached to grab it, but I moved it aside and out of his reach. “Be careful not to touch it. I want to see if there’re any prints. Hold it like this.” I held it out to him by one corner edge, and Brad took the other.

  His eyes scanned the document, then he looked at me.

  “This explains why I got this.” He shifted over and pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “I had hoped it was a twisted joke or something. But apparently not.”

  He handed me the paper, which I unfolded, dreading what I was about to read. My stomach churned and I felt myself growing faint. In the same meticulous script as my two notes, I read the following:

  Brad:

  Your girlfriend Mia doesn’t know how to follow orders, so now I place the burden on you to teach her this valuable exercise. I will be looking for an opportunity to meet with you, so be prepared.

  See you soon.

  “Where did you find this?” I whispered.

  “It was on my bed. I didn’t know if someone you know left it or what. To be honest, I didn’t know what to think.”

  “So he broke into your house too? That’s where I found mine.”

  “Does this mean what I think it means—he’s actually coming after me? What should I do? Should I go to the police?”

  “I don’t know if it’s safe to do that. I think one of the cops may be the killer. If that’s the case, God only knows who’s covering for him over there. Why else would this be a cold case if the cops were actually investigating it? And why haven’t they called in the FBI to help?”

  “Mia! Stop and listen to yourself!” Brad exclaimed, cutting me short. “We need to get out of here … now. This is getting way too dangerous, and now you’ve put me—and possibly my family and friends—on this guy’s radar. I know you don’t care about getting yourself killed, but don’t you care what happens to us?”

&n
bsp; “Of course I care. Why else do you think I’m risking life and limb to catch this serial killer?”

  “Because you want the dreams to stop!” His voice rose, causing a cup of water on the coffee table to shudder. “That’s really what this is about, isn’t it? You want to solve this so that you can feel peace with yourself. You’ve made this about Alexis resting in peace, but it’s really about you.”

  “What? That’s ludicrous.”

  “Alexis is dead. She has no care in the world anymore. But you—you’re the most intricately, beautifully damaged person I know. You tattooed over your scar to hide what you think is ugly, but all along it’s what makes you beautiful. Mia, you are amazing. You don’t need to prove it to anyone but yourself.”

  “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me? Look, I’ll admit I’m a mess, but only because I’m losing sleep over this. Once he’s caught, I’ll be better. I’ll be me again.”

  “That’s no reassurance, Mia. I know you. You’re afraid of love because you think you’re not worth it. But you are—to me. I love everything about you, but I can’t lose you to this … devil. The demon you face isn’t the killer, honey. It’s you.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. What was my defense? I had none. He was right. I had been a wreck long before my dreams. I was insecure, dejected … and by no one’s hand but my own. I hid behind my scars, feeling hideous, so I kept love at arm’s length. And it wasn’t just because of my scar, but because some days I felt like an unwanted orphan. Had I really become the villain in my own horror story?

  “Mia,” Brad said, much more serenely this time, “I have a confession to make.”

  The words lulled me from my self-realization as I met Brad’s distressed brown eyes. What could he possibly have to admit? He was perfect. Unflawed. Mr. Knight-In-Shining-Armor.

  “Go ahead,” I encouraged him.

  “I know you’ve been seeing a dream specialist. Dr. Avella Weaver.”

  “Wha—?”

  It didn’t make sense. I never told him about her. How could he have possibly found out … unless …

  Oh. My. God.

  In that heartbreaking moment my trust shattered into a pile of unrecognizable pieces. I felt so betrayed, so deceived. More than anything else I had experienced—watching my father die, undergoing a heart transplant, experiencing Alexis’s murder, losing Amy, facing a killer—this marred me the worst.

  A mental image flashed into my head. The ball cap—with the Durham Bulls logo. My stalker had been wearing it, trying to hide from me.

  I gasped. “How could you …?”

  It wasn’t the killer who had been following me all this time.

  It had been Brad all along.

  Chapter 30

  Thursday, May 8

  10:03 a.m.

  She wasn’t as vain as the others, Lilly Sanderson, but she was the easiest target by far. With her homely appearance, mousy brown hair, and dull blue eyes, she had never struck me as corrupted … at first. Until I saw her kissing a boy on her front porch outside of her house.

  It had never been my intention to pick Lilly. First of all, I didn’t even know she lived three streets over from mine until I recognized her, once her face wasn’t plastered up against that boy’s. Plus, I knew Melody Sanderson, Lilly’s mother. She was a single mom, divorcee, who worked at the Sun Trust bank in the Kroger plaza. I often exchanged greetings with Melody when cashing my paychecks before I switched to direct deposit. She seemed nice enough, and her modest clothes and professionalism toward me demonstrated that she took her responsibility as a role model for Lilly seriously.

  Lilly, her daughter, sold me Girl Scout Cookies—the Somoas being my favorite—every year until this year. The year Lilly apparently tossed her childhood innocence aside and took a detour down the primrose path.

  It pained me to consider taking the only thing left in Melody’s life—her only child. For all intents and purposes, I was taking a break from my calling. Things had been strained since Amy, and I needed some time to regroup. But that kiss—it was an adult kiss, not the kiss of a thirteen-year-old girl. Tongues. Passion. Fingers clamoring for more. Just seeing their lips touch made me spew right there behind the wheel as I drove past.

  At that moment Lilly added herself to my list. Poor, simpleminded Lilly.

  I didn’t have the patience today to develop some elaborate ploy or to plot out my attack. I intended to deal with Lilly right now. When life throws you curveballs, you must hit a home run.

  Killing Lilly would be my home run. My saving grace.

  The first thing I noticed when I pulled over along the sidewalk across from her house to clean the vomity spittle from my lap was that Lilly hid a key under her doormat. How predictable. I parked and watched. In plain view of the entire neighborhood she pulled it out.

  Upon retrieving the key, Lilly opened the door, invited the boy inside, and returned the key to its hiding place before she and her beau resumed their forbidden acts within.

  I checked the time—10:08. Melody’s work followed banker’s hours, so she would likely be at the bank right now. Plus the door had been locked, so presumably no one was home. I’d tread carefully just in case.

  I wondered where Lilly had been that she was returning home when she should be in school. The question didn’t go far without an answer. She had probably faked going to school, then went home with the boy to do who knows what. I shuddered with repulsion. God only knew what she had planned for the rest of her day playing hooky.

  Luckily I carried my “toolbox” with me in the car—just the essentials hidden in a duffel bag. My knife, latex gloves, and a few other odds and ends if I needed them. Today I would do the bare minimum—in, out, and onward. I didn’t have the energy to devote much more than that after a sleepless night. But I’d have to wait until the boy left to make my move.

  It was a predictably short wait—he was a teenage boy, after all, not known for their endurance.

  The hour was closing in on eleven o’clock when the boyfriend left, trotting merrily down the sidewalk, no doubt with dreams of defiling her again. Of course he was happy. He had plucked the purity from a witless child and had the gall to leave so quickly after.

  Clearly he was no gentleman.

  I tucked my knife into my pocket and marched up the sidewalk, admiring the variety of flowers lining the concrete—begonias of every color, a sprinkling of Asiatic lilies, complemented by a row of purple irises. Melody had quite the green thumb and took pride in her yard, which was hard for a single mother to find time to do. I almost felt sorry for stealing her last remaining joy … but the bigger reward would come when her daughter was free from her filth.

  When I reached the door, I checked the handle.

  Unlocked.

  I snuck in and let the door linger open as I peered around the entryway. In the living room at the back of the house I heard a television conversation. It sounded like young girls talking in adolescent gibberish … and something about Hannah Montana.

  Yes, the decision was made.

  Lilly deserved to die.

  Chapter 31

  “I cannot even look at you right now!” I screamed at Brad, pounding my fists against his chest. “You were stalking me, and it never occurred to you how terrifying that was for me?”

  Brad took each punch in stride, not bothering to hold me down or stop me or protect himself from my pummeling. This was so like him not to fight back. It was one of the traits I loved most about him—his conciliatory nature. He was an excellent punching bag and I hit him with everything my fists and motor mouth had to give.

  Several intense moments later, I felt the energy drain from me. As my arms went limp and my throat dry, I looked up at him.

  “Can you please just answer one question?” I asked weakly.

  “Anything,” he replied.

  “Why did you follow me? Why didn’t you just ask me where I was going? Why?”

  He nibbled on his lower lip, glanced upward, and sighed.
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  “Because I didn’t trust you to be honest with me.”

  “What? Why not? I’ve been nothing if not honest, Brad. I even let you break up with me to preserve my honesty. If I wanted to be dishonest, I would have lied and told you I’d stop tracking this murderer in order to keep you. But instead I told you the truth—that I couldn’t give up—and as a result I lost you.”

  He held up his hand. “First of all, you didn’t lose me. I’ve always been waiting for you to come back … no matter how long it took. And secondly, you weren’t totally honest with me about everything.”

  “Name one thing,” I snapped.

  “Landon Worthington.”

  Landon? What did he have to do with anything? It took a moment for my memory to catch up to the conversation. But when it did, everything became clear.

  Brad’s run-in with Landon and me at the coffee shop—clearly he thought I had been cheating on him. If Brad had been the one following me the night I went to Landon’s, I probably sealed my own coffin in Brad’s eyes and buried any uncertainty with it.

  “So you thought I was hooking up with Landon, Alexis’s brother?”

  “Sure, why not? He’s good-looking, supportive of this whole investigation you’re doing, and obviously has a lot of free time to be meeting up with you at ungodly hours. What more could you want in a man?”

  And there it was—the jealousy that makes a grown man act like an idiot. I exhaled a heavy breath.

  “Brad, I only wanted you. I’ve always just wanted you. Landon and I were never a thing.” I paused, unsure how to continue. My feelings had changed since this discovery.

  “Wanted—as in past tense?”

  “Right now I feel … torn. I love you, but you betrayed me. I need some time to think things over. Not because I want to be with Landon, but because I’m not sure I can be with someone who trusts me so little. And by the way, there are better ways to get information than stalking a girl when a murderer is on the loose.”