Slaughter Series

by A. I. Nasser

  “What the hell does that even mean?” Deborah yelled.

  “I don’t know,” Alan said, “but it’s safe to say that I’m the only one who can stop this once and for all. I don’t know how, but I have to try.”

  Deborah threw her hands up in frustration, kicking at the coffee table as she crossed her arms over her chest and looked in the other direction. Alan could see the tears in her eyes, and although he hated what he was doing to her, he knew it couldn’t be helped. He had to go.

  “Debbie.”

  “Shut up, Carter,” Deborah stopped him, quickly wiping a tear from her cheek. “I can’t believe I actually have to talk you into not going.”

  “I have to see this through,” Alan said.

  Deborah’s head snapped back to him, crying freely now as she screamed, “Why? Why does it have to be you?”

  Alan reached for her, but Deborah pulled back, glaring at him and waiting for a convincing answer. He didn’t have one, though, and she could see it on his face. She shook her head in disbelief.

  “Do you know what you’re leaving behind?” she asked, her voice breaking.

  Alan nodded.

  “No, I really doubt you do,” Deborah spat. “What the hell are we supposed to do if you go missing? What happens if Copper gets you again? Who’s going to save you this time?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Alan said unconvincingly. “I got out before. Twice, actually. I’ll find my way out again.”

  “Then we’re coming with you,” Deborah said. “You need us.”

  “Absolutely not,” Alan shook his head. “You’re going to stick to the plan and get Kathrine to Maine. You’re going to stay at my father’s house until I get back.”

  “I want to go with you,” Kathrine cut in.

  Alan looked at her, smiling at how brave his sister was to willingly walk back into the world she had tried for years to escape. “I can’t risk that.”

  “But we should be fine seeing you risk your own life?” Deborah snapped. “Don’t you see what you’re doing to us here?”

  Alan moved in and grabbed Deborah by the arms. She flinched slightly before letting him comfort her. “This won’t stop on its own,” Alan said, looking her in the eye. “Copper will keep at it until he finds us, and then we’re going to have to deal with it anyway. This way, I’m bringing the fight to him, and hopefully saving a few more lives.”

  Deborah shook her head, sobbing as he pulled her into his arms and hugged her. “This isn’t fair,” she whispered into his shoulder. “This just isn’t fair.”

  Alan held her tight and kissed her temple. He held her out at arm’s length, using his thumb to wipe the tears from her eyes as he attempted a smile.

  “I’ll make it home,” he said. “I promise.”

  Deborah didn’t reply and pulled away from him. Alan watched her cross the room to the large window and hug herself as she stood looking out at the street beyond. He turned to his sister, scratching his head as she glared at him furiously.

  “Take care of her, okay?” he said to the little girl and gestured to Deborah.

  “And who’s going to take care of you?” Kathrine asked.

  Alan couldn’t answer her. They stared at each other for a few more minutes before the little girl got up and walked to where Deborah stood, wrapping her arms around her in an attempt to comfort the woman.

  Alan watched them both for a few more seconds, then adjusted his bag and walked out of the apartment, gently closing the door behind him.

  ***

  Sally Brians reached for her cellphone, forcing her eyes open as the shrill ringing echoed in her ears. She silenced it before looking at the caller ID, frowning at the unknown number. She sat up in bed, briefly looking at Jeff’s naked back as he groaned in disapproval, and answered.

  “Brians.”

  Her voice was hoarse, and she coughed to clear her throat.

  “Detective, this is Joanne Pullici.”

  Sally was instantly awake as she threw off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, sitting up straight. She remembered the blonde from the bar in Darville.

  “You gave me your number, a few weeks ago, when you came in asking about Victor Fanning,” Joanne explained.

  “I remember.”

  “I know this might be a little late, but I have some information for you.”

  After a few minutes, Sally was rushing through the motel room and getting dressed.

  ***

  “You told me he was dead!”

  Ivan was driving his car well over the speed limit, heading out of Melington, his cellphone balanced between his ear and shoulder as he fumed in anger.

  “We said he was missing,” Elizabeth replied. “He’s dead now.”

  “Well, thank you for the unnecessary clarification!” Ivan yelled. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

  “Did you find anything in the house?”

  Ivan couldn’t believe how cold the she sounded on the phone. He had just told her that he had shot Michael Cole in his own house, and all the woman cared about was information.

  “I think there’s a lot more to worry about than that, don’t you think?”

  He could hear Elizabeth sigh on the other line. “Is the body with you?”

  “No, I left it in the study for the police to find,” Ivan replied.

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m in a humorous mood,” Ivan spat. “Obviously.”

  “Then get rid of it and move onto the next assignment,” Elizabeth said. “This was obviously an unfortunate turn of events.”

  “Unfortunate turn of –” Ivan started before laughing out loud. “He came out of the damn closet!”

  “I highly doubt that, Mr. Pullman,” Elizabeth said. “It was probably just a trick of the light.”

  “Are you people insane?” Ivan screamed in the empty car. “Do you hear yourself right now?”

  “Mr. Pullman, your job in Melington is over,” Elizabeth ignored his question. “Daniel Cole’s family will be here today for his funeral. Right now, our main priority is Fiona Bright. You can forget about everything you supposedly saw, bury Michael Cole’s body somewhere far away from town, and continue with the final leg of the assignment.”

  Ivan hung up without replying, throwing his phone onto the passenger seat.

  Oh, he was going to find Fiona Bright, but that would not be the end of his work in Melington. Not by a long shot.

  FBI Report

  Steven Corey

  Steven Corey, 23 Maple Drive, New York

  Don’t you guys do your research?

  Fine, I’m an agent.

  Yes, I’m David Whelm’s agent, and let me just say this right now, on the record, for whoever the hell is going to be listening to this. I am going to make goddamn sure the country knows about this. You bastards at the FBI need to put your people in check!

  I’ll answer whatever questions I damn well feel like answering.

  No, I don’t want a friggin’ attorney. I’m not under arrest.

  Who gives you these questions? Of course I knew what he was getting into. David had covered one of the most horrific incidents to hit the state of Connecticut. He unveiled police corruption. Of course he’d make enemies. It’s part of his job as a journalist.

  No, I contacted him after he released his story with the Bulletin.

  Of course! I have several clients. What does that have to do with anything?

  This is ridiculous! Do you think I keep tabs on the man all the time? He’s free to come and go as he pleases. So he missed an interview, big deal. I was able to reschedule that in like five minutes.

  No, I don’t usually go knocking on my clients’ doors to see to their well-being. I’m their agent, not their father.

  His doorman called me. Said he saw David leaving with a woman and he didn’t look very happy about it. When David wouldn’t answer my calls for another two days, I called the police. The rest is history.

  Of course I know Fiona Bri
ght. That bitch almost got my best client killed.

  I don’t know Ivan Pullman, but he definitely wasn’t after my client. Fiona was the target. I heard he killed Rachel Adams.

  No, I have no idea what the hell that’s about. Fairy tales if you ask me. Damn New Englanders and their stories. Who the hell believes in monsters coming out of their closets anyway?

  Good. Just make damn sure you keep her locked up somewhere she can’t get out from. The woman’s a maniac.

  Chapter 7

  David Whelm tried his best to avoid looking in the rearview mirror.

  He had been on the road for almost two days, sleeping in obscure motels where no one asked questions and constantly shadowed by Fiona Bright and her gun. He was exhausted and frustrated, fearing that his sudden disappearance would mess up his scheduling and ruin his fifteen minutes of glory.

  Fiona Bright was both overbearing and excruciatingly firm, not giving him an inch of slack. It was all he could do to stay out of her way. Her fury would intensify every now and then, whenever she drifted off and remembered what he had done to her. When that happened, David wished that he had strangled Stanley Turk himself.

  The fact that Rachel Adams was always in the back seat, sitting completely still even when Fiona fed her smelly baby food they’d pick up at gas stations, made the rides even more terrifying. He could swear that every time he looked up at Rachel, she would be staring right at him, accusing him for her misery as well, as if the burdens of Fiona Bright’s problems were not enough.

  “Can’t we put something over her?” he asked once, only to be shot down firmly by the former Sheriff.

  David had no idea where they were going, their route due North, and could only assume Fiona was aiming for Canada. He hoped that once there, she would let him go back to his own life.

  Never mind that. At least you have a new story to tell.

  David knew that to be true. Already, he was working out the details of his next feature, a long and detailed recount of his trip with the woman who had killed the Melington rioters. It promised to be a juicy story, and whenever he did get a few minutes of alone time, he would jot down ideas on random pieces of paper and napkins, then hide them away in his pockets to look at again later. If there was one thing David was good at, it was working a bad situation to his advantage.

  “She’s creeping me out,” David said, venturing a look into the rearview mirror only to see Rachel Adams staring back at him.

  Fiona shifted gears as she overtook a truck, then settled into her lane at a steady pace. “She’s none of your concern.”

  “I don’t understand why we’re bringing her along with us,” David said. “Why not just drop her off at a random bus stop, stick her address on a plank around her neck and let someone else deal with her?”

  Fiona gave him a menacing look. “I said, it’s none of your concern,” she hissed. “She’s my wild card. I need her a lot more than I need you.”

  “That’s not true, now is it?” David said, refusing to be any less important than the vegetable in the back seat. “If that were the case, you wouldn’t have plucked me out of my perfect life and dragged me across the country.”

  “We’re barely across Connecticut,” Fiona said, “and the only thing you’re needed for is to tell the true story of what happened in Melington. But we can do that once we’re across the border.”

  David sighed, slumping back into his seat and gazing out at the highway ahead. He watched the cars pass by quietly, silently hoping someone might recognize him and warn the authorities. He wasn’t too fond of Canada, and having to spend the whole route there in the company of this maniac was beyond unbearable.

  “I thought we were going North,” David frowned when Fiona took an early exit and changed their route due East. “If I remember correctly, this is not the way to the border.”

  Fiona scoffed. “Do you think they won’t be waiting for us there?” she asked.

  “And how is this detour going to help?”

  Fiona looked at him, a new kind of crazy reflecting in her eyes. “We’re going to find some help in a town called Darville. Time to make use of our wild card.”

  “Darville?” David frowned, already feeling claustrophobic at the mention of yet another town in the middle of nowhere. “What the hell is in Darville?”

  “Not what,” Fiona replied. “Who. We’re going to pay Miranda Cole a visit.”

  ***

  “Mrs. Cole, my condolences.”

  Miranda Cole walked into Sheriff Alexandra Bail’s office like she owned the place. Her short stature took nothing away from the air of authority she emitted. The people around her were falling into a respective silence whenever she began to speak. She held her purse close, her chin held high, a woman who could easily pass for royalty if one didn’t know any better.

  Alexandra took the woman’s hand and helped her to a seat at the desk, taking her coat and hanging it on a peg behind the office door.

  “Thank you, Sheriff,” Miranda said, her voice soft. “I do hope we could have met on more amiable terms.”

  Alexandra smiled weakly at the old woman. “I want you to know that we’re doing everything we can to find out what happened to the Chairman.”

  Miranda waved a hand and scoffed. “Chairman,” she muttered. “Nothing good ever came from that, except for a lot of heartache and sleepless nights. Tell me, Sheriff, have you found my son yet?”

  Alexandra hesitated, and that was all Miranda needed as a reply.

  “Doesn’t matter, I guess,” the old woman said. “That boy has always had a mind of his own. For all we know, he’s probably driving around the country spending his father’s money.”

  “There have been no signs of him using his credit card,” Alexandra said. “We have two FBI agents in town, and they’ve been working with us on trying to make sense of what happened here.”

  “Oh, sweetie, you don’t need the FBI to do that,” Miranda sneered. “All you have to do is walk up to the Town Hall, knock on William Brewster’s door, and find some way to make that snake talk.”

  “I visited William yesterday,” Alexandra nodded. “It did seem like he was hiding something.”

  “Oh, he’s hiding a lot,” Miranda said with a weak smile, “but never mind the musings of an old woman. The Coles and the Brewsters never had much love for each other.”

  Alexandra smiled and leaned back. “Seems like every founding family’s had a falling out with one another.”

  “Generations of people living side by side, sweetie,” Miranda said. “Somewhere along the line, someone’s going to get into someone else’s hen house and stir a few feathers.”

  Alexandra chuckled, unable to stop herself despite feeling for the old woman’s loss. She had not known Miranda Cole for long, only a few run-in’s here and there when she had still been an officer, but she had always liked the woman. Miranda Cole knew how to make friends and keep them, as opposed to her late husband.

  “And have they found out what killed my husband?” Miranda asked, her hands folded neatly on her lap.

  Alexandra nodded and grabbed a file from the top of a stack of papers and reports. She handed it to Miranda, but the woman only held up her hand and shook her head.

  “Suffice to say, it was definitely murder,” Alexandra said, cutting to the chase.

  “And when can I receive his body and make arrangements?”

  “You can do that right now, if you wish,” Alexandra said. “As for arrangements, I’ve already seen to that.”

  Miranda smiled at the Sheriff. “God bless you, child.”

  ***

  Ivan pulled up into the gas station and stepped out into the smoldering heat. His back was killing him, and with the sun beating down, his lack of sleep was slowly getting to him.

  He had spent most of the night digging a hole for Michael Cole’s body, and most of the early morning cleaning the trunk of his car. He was still shaken by what he had seen, images of Michael Cole stepping out of the closet and
gaping at him flashing before his eyes, and the lack of sleep was not helping. He would need to stop somewhere and rest, but Ivan knew that sleep would not come easy, and frankly, he was scared of his dreams.

  Ivan Pullman hated Melington with every inch of his body. First, Daniel Cole and then his son. He was in for one surprise after the other, and he hated what it was doing to him. His senses were dampened and his mind was blank, both things that he was neither accustomed to nor willing to continue his assignment feeling. He needed to be fresh and stable, his nerves solid, not shaking like a leaf.

  Ivan walked into the small station store and immediately went for the coffee machine, pushing the buttons for a tall black Americano and pulling his shades off. The young girl at the counter barely noticed him, busy flipping lazily through a magazine as she blew gum bubbles and popped them loudly.

  Ivan gazed at her for a moment before returning his attention back to his coffee. He felt the light buzz of his cellphone, and pulled it out of his pocket, sipping his coffee as he made his way deeper into the store and away from the girl and her bubbles.

  “Talk to me,” he answered, his voice hoarse.

  “Where the hell have you been?” a gruff voice replied from the other end. “I’ve been trying to reach you for two days.”

  “I was caught up in some nasty shit,” Ivan replied, keeping his voice low. “What do you have for me?”

  “You were right, man,” the man on the other line said. “She picked up the reporter, just like you said she would.”

  “Of course she did,” Ivan replied. “He’s the only one who knows the truth about what happened at those riots. Where are they now?”

  “You won’t believe this man, but she’s heading your way. I thought she’d run for the borders, but she turned into some town called Darville.”