Dark Pursuit

by Brandilyn Collins

  Kaitlan’s fingers cramped around the phone. She grabbed the counter and scanned the void of the Jensons’ backyard. Through the line came the sound of her grandfather’s rattled breathing.

  “You stay in that house now, hear me? Stay down where you can’t be seen through the windows. Don’t come out until you see us pull up front.”

  Kaitlan’s heart beat in her ears. “Okay.”

  The line clicked.

  She hung up the phone with shaking hands.

  The lamps. They would illumine her through any of the front windows. If she turned the living room one off and Craig came back, would he notice?

  She couldn’t take the chance.

  Bent over double, Kaitlan skulked out of the kitchen to find a darkened room to wait in.

  thirty-three

  “I’m going with you.” Darell fumbled around the floor for his cane. Where on earth was the thing?

  “No, you’re not.” Margaret strode for the door.

  “Margaret!” He straightened halfway, shooting her back a look to kill. “Stop right now and wait for me.”

  She turned around, her neck mottled and a tic in her cheek. She clutched the paper with directions as if it might spin away. “I’m not waiting for you, D., you move too slowly. I’ve got to get down there now!” She swiveled around.

  “Mar—!”

  “You want to help your granddaughter?” She jerked back to face him. “Figure out what we’re going to do when she gets here.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Don’t try, D. Do it!”

  She whirled from the library and disappeared.

  Darell stood up, agitated and helpless, as her footsteps trotted up the hall toward the kitchen. He heard a faint thud against hardwood like the sound of a purse knocked to the floor. Then her hurried tread down the short hall toward the garage at the rear of the house. A door opened. Slammed shut.

  In the silence, air stuttered in his quaking chest.

  thirty-four

  In the forested hills above town, leaves rattled and hissed like skittish snakes beneath Craig’s feet.

  His breaths came short and swift. So little time.

  He’d blown it at Kaitlan’s. Totally blown it. He’d planned to kill her then, get it over with, but when the moment came he just couldn’t.

  Containment.

  No way could he keep her quiet day after day. What did he expect to do, take her car keys and phone every night? She’d end up telling someone, somewhere.

  He had to get back to her place. Now.

  Fast as he could Craig hurled himself through the darkness. Some fifty yards off the rutted path, he frantically sought the crumbling stone wall. His fingers gripped a flashlight, but he didn’t want to use it.

  Where was the wall?

  He skidded to a halt, neck thrust out, eyes struggling to penetrate the blackness. Slowly he scanned.

  Huge trees, only trees.

  Craig cursed under his breath.

  He slapped the flashlight’s beam end against his hand and switched it on. His palm glowed red. Raising the flashlight, he pointed straight ahead.

  No wall.

  He aimed left. More trees.

  Right.

  There?

  He sidled over two steps and cut the beam through two close trunks. Some twenty feet beyond—the rounded edges of stacked rocks.

  Craig turned off the flashlight and hurried in their direction.

  His toe found the body before he saw it. Stuffed into a hefty-sized black garbage bag, it gave a slick rustle when he kicked it.

  The wall lay just behind.

  Why the rocks were there at all remained a mystery. No old cabin nearby, nothing to show a longer barrier had once been there.

  Fate.

  He’d hauled the woman here this afternoon in the trunk of his patrol car, shock and fear injecting him with near Superman strength. A ditch in the earth just behind the six-foot wall offered what he sought—a natural grave. Spotting it, he’d dropped his heavy load in front of the rocks and sprinted back to his car, terrified that his radio might be going off while he was away.

  Not until he’d flung himself back into the vehicle had he realized he should have at least dumped the body in the ditch until he could return.

  He needed to keep a cooler head.

  Before even removing the body from Kaitlan’s bed, he had thought to untie the black and green cloth from its neck. That cloth was long disposed of. Even if by some wild fluke this body was found, it would not be tied to the other deaths.

  Craig threw down the flashlight and attacked the wall. Yanking up stones he dropped them to one side. Before long his arm muscles screamed and his breath chugged. Sweat beaded down his forehead and plinked into his eyes.

  Desperation drove him on. He had to get back to Kaitlan.

  When he’d knocked the wall down, he dragged the near-rigid body to the four-foot-long ditch and pushed it in.

  Feverishly he shoved stones over the top. When the bag was fully covered, he used the rest of the rocks to build up the height of the wall, now shorter, thicker.

  Finished, chest heaving, he snapped on the flashlight for a brief moment and inspected his work.

  Good. It was good.

  Craig swiped his forehead and rushed through the dark to his Mustang.

  thirty-five

  Kaitlan huddled on the edge of the bed in the Jensons’ front-corner guest room. Right hand pressed against the wall, she leaned forward to peer through the window. Every back muscle strained, her shoulders and neck like granite. The last dregs of light from a lamp post down the street oozed onto the sill in a sickly puddle.

  From the entryway a massive grandfather clock’s fretting tick tock hammered out the seconds.

  Where was Craig?

  Kaitlan struggled to figure how much time had passed since he left. Seemed like an eternity. But it couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes. Maybe less.

  How long did it take to dispose of a body? Would he weight her down in the ocean or bay? Bury her deep in the woods?

  Kaitlan breathed against the window and the glass fogged. She pulled back.

  Maybe her grandfather was wrong. Craig was in bed asleep, the victim’s body long ago hidden. He didn’t want to kill Kaitlan at all. But now her disappearance would force his hand.

  A yowl rose outside the window.

  Kaitlan froze.

  A second wail pierced the night, mixing pain and anger and defilement. The sound sawed through Kaitlan’s nerves.

  At the third cry she recognized the sound. Cat/i>.

  Kaitlan sucked in air, trying to still her shaking limbs.

  Long moments passed. Time filled only with the sound of her own breathing, the tick of the clock. Outside—no approaching car. Just echoing, mocking blackness.

  Kaitlan tilted her wrist up near the window, trying to check her watch. How long had she been waiting?

  The light was too dim to see.

  She dropped her hand—and sudden anger welled within her. After all her struggles to overcome her addiction and make a life for herself. Now that she had a baby to think about—this happened. It wasn’t fair. And she was not going to let it get the best of her.

  Headlights spilled down the street.

  Kaitlan jerked up straight. She listed toward the window, eyes glued to the road, waiting to see the car.

  A realization punched her in the gut. She’d forgotten to ask Margaret what she drove.

  The ghostly form of a vehicle materialized out of the dimness.

  Kaitlan grabbed the window sill, willing the car to stop, her muscles tensed to sprint for the front door.

  At the edge of the Jensons’ property line it slowed.

  Margaret! Kaitlan rocketed to her feet.

  As she turned to run a sound registered. The rumble of an engine. Far too loud.

  Kaitlan stilled. Looked back.

  The car passed her window into shadows beyond the street lamp. It was a dar
k-colored Mustang.

  OBSESSION

  thirty-six

  The glove box of my car had a glow around it.

  For weeks after I’d put the strip of cloth inside, every time I slid into my car this strange euphoria would settle over me. I’d drive humming. Smile at red lights. Traffic no longer bothered me—I had the cloth for company. Besides, the longer I stayed in the car the better I felt.

  I never touched the fabric. Never even opened the glove compartment. But I knew it was there. That’s all that mattered.

  In one word my life was … contented. At work. At home. As for that party night and what I’d done—the memory faded.

  Had it really happened at all?

  If so, it had been necessary. The only right thing to do in such a situation.

  I took to driving around just to be in my car.

  One Saturday I ended up driving for hours. I found myself on the freeway headed south. After well over one hundred miles I turned around. The pleasant feeling had melted away and my insides had started to churn. It was barely noticeable at first. I thought heading back home might help. Maybe my subconscious was simply bored at driving for no reason.

  My unease only got worse, like an itch deep inside me, moving around. Couldn’t be scratched. I shifted in the seat, leaned forward over the wheel, leaned back. Switched on the radio. The music sounded out of tune. I smacked it off.

  Funny how the hillsides were graying. The sky muddied. The road, the horizon, everything seemed to run together. Even the colors of cars faded out.

  The glove box heated up.

  Its warmth radiated to me, skimming over my arms, brushing my face. I felt no fright. I wasn’t even surprised. Hadn’t I known all along?

  My whole body started to sweat.

  By the time I got home I couldn’t wait to slip that cool cloth through my fingers. Chill the burning of my skin.

  That night I was supposed to go out with some friends. How to hide my angst? I wanted to cancel and stay home until it was time. But my rational side said no. I’d need as much alibi as I could create.

  We went to dinner, then had a few drinks at a bar. Amazing how normal I was able to act. No one would have known a thing was wrong.

  Leaving the bar around midnight, I cruised the streets. Twice I had to pull over and open the glove compartment. Feel the fabric.

  The third time I hid it under my seat.

  I spotted her on a lonely stretch of road. Her car was pulled over to the side, flashers on. She stood by the driver’s door, feet apart, hands to her mouth as if beside herself over what to do.

  As soon as I got out of my car I recognized her. The mother on meth. The one who could only say “I don’t know” when asked why she was destroying her own life and the lives of her kids. At that moment the universe slid into place, like the final pieces of a giant frame.

  This woman deserved to die.

  She didn’t remember me until I reminded her. Apparently I’d made little impression on her flighty, self-absorbed mind. She’d made a big one on me.

  No car insurance, she wailed. Now how was she supposed to get home to her children, just sent back from their foster home? The policy had run out and she’d had no money to renew it.

  Of course not. Every dime she earned went into her veins.

  Her kids would be better off without her.

  I offered to drive her home. “Oh, yes, thank you!” she cried. I told her to turn off her flashers and lock the car.

  Two miles, that’s all I managed. My fingers branded themselves into the steering wheel.

  She was chattering on about what she’d done to clean up her life since I last saw her. She was working now at a respectable job. Hadn’t used for months. I didn’t believe that. “I have some ideas for you,” I said. “Can we stop and talk a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  I pulled into an alley between two stores. Nobody was around. In one fluid movement I put the car in park, whipped the cloth from beneath my seat, and surged toward her neck.

  My body caught fire as we struggled, burning up my desire, her unforgivable sins. Turning them all to ash. The fabric hardened to steel in my hands.

  When she finally slumped over, coolness swept through my veins.

  One thing I knew then. I was born to do this. All the years preceding this quest of truth were merely funneled sands of time.

  The swelling victory. A long exhale.

  My brain notched into logistics mode.

  I put on my gloves. Shoved her all the way down in the seat.

  Searching for a place to dump the body, I felt oddly empty. Only when I’d disposed of it did I numb out in vast, near-floating relief.

  By the time I reached home I knew something more. It both frightened and excited me. From here on, things would be different. The next time I wouldn’t wait for death to seek me out.

  I would pursue it.

  thirty-seven

  Craig.

  Gravity sucked Kaitlan’s blood to her feet.

  She watched, mind crumbling, as he drove past the house and turned down the driveway leading to her apartment.

  The next thing Kaitlan knew she was halfway across the room. She stumbled over the carpet, hands exploring the dark like frantic antennae. She hit the hallway, turned left, trailing her hand down the wall toward the corner so far, far away.

  How long before he found she wasn’t home? Thirty seconds? What would he do then?

  Please, Craig, search the back woods.

  Kaitlan reached the entryway and veered left, slipping on the tile. She grunted, thrust upright, and flung herself toward the door.

  Margaret would be coming down the street any minute. Kaitlan had to flag her down before she pulled up to the house.

  Craig would be turning off his car now. Getting out …

  With melting fingers she fumbled at the deadbolt. Her hands slipped around. On the third try she snapped it unlocked and yanked open the door. She forced herself to close it without a slam.

  Kaitlan stumbled across the porch and down the steps. To the sidewalk and swiveled left.

  Craig’s in the apartment, looking for me …

  The road stretched before her for about a third of a mile, disappearing around a curve. She ran like never before.

  In no time her lungs heaved like old billows. She gasped in oxygen, pumping, pumping her arms, blood pounding in her ears. Kaitlan couldn’t stay on the sidewalk long. Any time now Craig could careen onto the street, his car beams lighting her up like fleeing prey. But she had to get far enough away from the house to head off Margaret.

  He’s behind my apartment, calling into the forest. Demanding I come out.

  He would be cussing, enraged.

  All light from the distant street lamp behind her faded. There were no more on this rural part of road. Kaitlan pushed through hungry darkness, panic feeding fire to her limbs.

  The sidewalk bent uphill. She threw a glance over her shoulder. No headlights. Her legs slowed as she forced herself on, ears cocked for the sound of an engine coming up the driveway. Knowing she wouldn’t hear it over the adrenaline rush of her own body, the slap of her feet—until too late.

  He’s jumping back into his car.

  She had to get away from the road.

  The curve still lay some distance ahead. She didn’t dare try making it.

  Kaitlan veered off the sidewalk and crashed into the forest. She tripped and fell with a loud oof! The wind knocked clean out of her. She rolled, pushed up to her knees. With effort she staggered to her feet. Feeling her way deeper into the blackness, she slid around trees, scuffing over uneven ground.

  She halted. Jerked around. The road lay about twenty feet away.

  Terror wound around her throat. What to do? Any closer and Craig could find her. Farther in, and Margaret could pass her by before she got back to the sidewalk.

  What if they drove by at the same time?

  Lights appeared. Kaitlan peered through the night. Which dir
ection were they coming from?

  They brightened. She heard a car engine. A loud one.

  Craig.

  Kaitlan threw herself to the ground behind a tree. Leaves crunched, the thick, earthy scent of soil filling her nostrils.

  The car approached slowly. Kaitlan peered around, wide eyes catching on a large beam gliding through the forest to her right. Headed straight for her.

  Craig’s police spotlight.

  Too late. She had nowhere to go. Kaitlan pressed her cheek to the ground and froze.

  The beam cruised nearer, trunks and branches and bushes bursting into light just twenty feet away. She imagined Craig holding the spotlight, jaw thrust forward, eyes like glaciers.

  Ten feet.

  Kaitlan squeezed her eyes shut.

  Every fiber of her being listened to the Mustang, willing it not to stop. Seconds ticked by … an eternity. Still she heard the engine, steady. Steady.

  She opened her eyes to darkness. Turned her head to look the other direction.

  The beam skimmed on up the woods.

  Kaitlan breathed.

  She dropped her head back down, smelling the earth, one hand hooked onto a lumpy tree root. She gathered the energy to get up.

  The spotlight disappeared, the rumbling engine now a distant low hum. Craig had driven around the curve.

  Kaitlan hefted into a crouch and hung there, listening. Watching.

  Nothing.

  She rose to her feet and fought her way back toward the sidewalk.

  At the edge of the forest she halted, neck craned to look up the street for headlights. The minute they appeared she’d have to dash out and flag down the driver. But what if it was Craig? Without the ability to see the car itself, she could only listen for the engine.

  Kaitlan leaned forward, hands poised in the air, muscles gathered to spring.

  What if Craig came back? He could decide to check the woods on the other side of the driveway.

  And where was Margaret? She should have been here long ago —

  Pale illumination spilled across the curve. Kaitlan cocked her head, straining to hear.

  No sound of the Mustang’s revved engine.