Winter's Storm

by Mary Stone

  It’s not easy until they start shooting.

  The thought came unbidden, and he took a quick drink to wash away the sudden bitter taste on his tongue.

  Even though the past couple months had been mostly low stress, Noah would sleep better at night once they finally found the third person involved in the Riverside Mall Massacre.

  5

  The harsh white glow of a battery-operated work light cast exaggerated shadows along Jaime Peterson’s face as he slid a sheet of paper over to Will. Glancing to the tattered wooden crate they used as a makeshift table, Will slowly reached out to take the paper.

  In the two and a half months since Will had helped Jaime bury the body of a man who had threatened to turn them in to the authorities, Will and Jaime had spent more time together than not.

  With the potential snitch out of their way, they were free to start their work in earnest. Jaime had taken point, but Will was still in uncharted territory, so he didn’t protest his subordinate role.

  Soon, however, Will’s role would increase. Soon, his involvement in their cause would be unquestionable.

  Jaime tapped the top of the paper with a finger. “This is all of them.”

  Heart in his throat, Will scanned the rows of neat handwriting. “How many are there in total?”

  Crossing both arms over his olive drab jacket, Jaime took a step back from the crate. “Twenty-six, but those are just the hostages that survived. There were others in the Riverside Mall who ran away before Tyler and Kent got the crowd under control.”

  Will turned the page over. “What are we going to do about those people?”

  Scratching the side of his face, Jaime shrugged. “The hacker I got in touch with was able to get me the names and information of the people who were there for the whole thing. I’ve been thinking about it, but I’m not sure there’s even a record of everyone who was at the mall when Kent and Tyler got there.”

  With another quick look to the list of names and addresses, Will tried to think through all the options. He wanted to be helpful. He wanted to make Jaime proud. “I suppose not. It was hard enough to find all the people who were taken hostage, wasn’t it? Not all of them let the news media use their names when they ran their articles.”

  Jaime thrust his hands in his jacket pockets. “No, they didn’t.”

  “What about the hacker? Is he…well, is he part of…” Will gestured to himself and then to Jaime, “this?”

  For the second time, Jaime shook his head. “No. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him, but he dropped off the radar right after he gave me the names.”

  The first thought to cross Will’s mind was that Jaime had killed the hacker to tie up any loose ends, but he mentally scolded himself.

  Jaime wasn’t here because he was a bloodthirsty psychopath. Jaime was like Will. He was committed to their cause. To the same cause that Tyler Haldane and Kent Strickland had been committed. They were here to rid the world of sin, and as word of their work spread, more would come to join their cause. Of that, he had little doubt.

  For the first time in Will’s life, he felt like he’d found a cause into which he could throw his full support.

  He’d tried other groups in the past, and while a portion of their messages had resonated, Will hadn’t been able to envision their goals like he could envision Jaime’s.

  Will had always been an outcast. In high school, he’d been the kid who sat at the lunch table by himself. Aside from a small group of friends he’d associated with since middle school, Will had been a loner. Sure, he’d tried to make friends with the so-called cool kids, he’d tried to ask the girl he liked to go to prom. But by the time he finally gathered up the courage to talk to them, they’d looked at him and laughed. Or worse…ignored him completely. Will had been on his own.

  Then, for his seventeenth birthday, his parents had scraped together what little money they had to buy Will his first smartphone.

  On the internet, Will found friends. Good friends.

  Within a month, he was a moderator on a forum dedicated to guys like him—guys who had repeatedly struck out in the real world and who sought to commiserate with other like-minded young men.

  Once he found the forum, he no longer cared that his classmates dismissed him. He no longer cared that he didn’t have the gall to talk to girls. He knew he wasn’t alone anymore, and he knew that he and his online friends would get all the good things that were coming to them.

  God blessed those who worked for Him, after all. And Will was his faithful servant. He knew that for sure.

  Like so many others on the forum, Will had embraced white supremacy at first. But throughout all the meetings, the posts, and even the rallies, part of the mission had seemed off. Will hadn’t been sure what about the neo-Nazi ideology bothered him until he met Jaime.

  Jaime had shown him that the problem with their society didn’t rest in racial differences. The problem with their society was the amount they’d deviated from the old ways.

  Specifically, women overstepping their bounds had led to a decay in moral values. Women were and had always been inferior to men, and until they were reminded of their place, the morals and decency of modern Americans would continue to deteriorate.

  There was a measure of cool confidence in the way Jaime spoke that assuaged any lingering doubts in the back of Will’s mind. They were doing the right thing. He was certain.

  God had called upon Tyler and Kent to rid the world of forty-one sinners at the Riverside Mall that night, but their work had been stopped short by the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  Neither Will nor Jaime could fault the FBI for doing their jobs, but at the same time, they knew that the bureau would never understand. No law enforcement agency saw the problems that were so clear to Will and Jaime. If they did, maybe they wouldn’t have fired the shot that almost killed Kent Strickland.

  As Jaime reached over to clasp his shoulder, Will almost jumped out of his skin. He barely managed to push aside the shocked reaction as he met Jaime’s calm stare.

  “Don’t worry,” Jaime said. “Once we finish our task, God will show me the way. Just like he did for this.” He gestured to the paper. “We’ll have direction again once we’re finished with our task.”

  Will swallowed as he returned his attention to the list. “Why are there a couple names already crossed out?”

  The first hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Jaime’s mouth. “Their names were published in the Danville newspapers. When me and Jackson were planning to start our mission, we hadn’t worked out how to get the rest of the names yet. These people.” He jabbed an index finger at the list. “These were the start. Or, at least, I thought they were the start. I punished them, but then Jackson went soft.”

  When Jaime’s eerie blue eyes met Will’s, the chill of fear flitted up his back. He’d never seen Jaime don such an expression before. The look was intense, even piercing—almost like Jaime could see straight through to Will’s darkest secrets.

  And maybe he could. Jaime Peterson had clearly been chosen by God, after all.

  “You won’t go soft, right, Will?” Jaime’s deadpan expression didn’t change as he spoke.

  Will straightened his spine, lifted his chin, pulled back his shoulders. “No. I’m like you. I’m a soldier.”

  Jaime stared at Will for so long that the contents of Will’s bowels turned to water. “Good. I knew I could count on you. I know you won’t let me down.”

  The rush of Will’s pulse was spurred on not by anxiety, but by pride. For someone like Jaime Peterson—someone who was so charismatic and intelligent—to put his full trust in Will was just short of exhilarating.

  “So,” Will’s voice was strong and confident, “when do we start?”

  Jaime’s cold smile turned even more dangerous as he dragged the sheet of paper back over to his side of the crate. “Tomorrow. We’ll have to take this slow at first since this is new territory for you. Don’t take that the wrong way, either.” Jai
me paused to offer Will a reassuring nod. “Everyone has to start somewhere. I’m going to teach you some tricks of the trade, some things that were passed on to me by my mentor years ago.”

  Another surge of excitement swept through Will’s veins. His smile was just short of an outright grin as he returned his focus to Jaime. “What types of tricks?”

  Scratching a scruffy cheek, Jaime shrugged. “Well, we’ll start with some of the basics. Our first targets are these two. The top two names.”

  Will squinted down at the list. Reading upside down was a knack he’d acquired to cheat on exams in high school.

  “Sandy and Oliver Ulbrich,” he read.

  Jaime nodded. “I had a chance to look over them before Jackson turned on us. I’ve got a good idea of their routine and their interests, but I want to show you how I figured all that out. If we can both work independently, we’ll be much more productive.”

  Will returned Jaime’s nod. Even as Will reminded himself that working independently meant that he would be expected to commit a murder, he was ready to do whatever it took for the cause. He believed in Jaime’s conviction.

  When Will had first asked Jaime how they knew for certain that all the survivors of the Riverside Mall massacre had to be killed, Jaime hadn’t balked. The Lord worked in mysterious ways, and the Lord was the one who had herded all those people to that spot.

  They’d been put there for a reason.

  They were sinners, and they had been put at the mall to be punished for what they’d done. If Tyler and Kent hadn’t been interrupted that night, then their mission would have been carried out and completed right then and there. But thanks to the intervention of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Will and Jaime were left to complete the task themselves.

  However, the more time he spent around Jaime, the surer Will became that the action of law enforcement that night had been part of the plan. Without it, Will never would have met Jaime. He never would have discovered his calling.

  His life had purpose. His life had direction.

  For the first time in his life, William Hoult had found the place he belonged.

  6

  As Autumn approached her and Winter’s favored booth, she smiled at the fond memories that came with the homey bar. Her aunt Linda owned the place, and she had decorated the wood paneled walls with memorabilia and pictures reminiscent of a ski lodge—hence the bar’s name, The Lift.

  Though she hadn’t won a medal, Autumn’s aunt had competed in Olympic snowboarding in her younger years. The décor was an homage to the sport that had been her life’s passion.

  Autumn had never been skiing or snowboarding, but maybe now that she’d finally finished graduate school and obtained her Ph.D., she would ask Aunt Linda to accompany her on a vacation to the Rocky Mountains. Then again, after the few months she’d been employed by the prestigious forensic psychological firm Shadley and Latham, she could almost afford to take Linda to the Swiss Alps.

  Setting a glass of dark beer down in front of Winter, Autumn took her seat on the opposite side of the booth. When Winter’s blue eyes shifted from the drink to Autumn, she looked as though she’d been pulled from a deep contemplation. Wordlessly, Autumn sipped at her beer and arched an eyebrow.

  Winter brushed a piece of ebony hair from her face and shrugged in response to the unasked question. “Nothing. I was just thinking.”

  “Thinking about what you’re going to order for dinner since we didn’t catch any fish?” Autumn flashed her friend a grin.

  With a huff of feigned indignance, Winter took a long drink. “Officially, we caught two fish. They were just tiny, so we put them back. We probably wouldn’t have even been able to make a fish stick out of both of them.”

  Autumn snorted. “Adam Latham is the one who told me about that fishing spot. He said he and his wife caught a, and I quote, ‘whole mess of catfish’ a few weeks ago.”

  Winter grinned. “Maybe that’s why there weren’t any left. They caught all the big ones.”

  Waving a dismissive hand, Autumn crossed her legs. “No. I mean, I doubt that helped anything, but I think it has something to do with the time of year. Even though it was warm out today, catfish like to huddle down at the bottom of the lake when the weather starts to cool down. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I don’t know how accurate it is.”

  Winter sprinkled salt on her paper coaster, so her beer wouldn’t stick to the condensation the icy brew would create. “You should have taken more fish classes when you were in school.”

  Autumn spread her hands. “You’re not wrong. Animal Planet only gets me so far, and I don’t even think that counts as a formal fish education.”

  Winter chuckled. “No, I don’t think it does.”

  As their table lapsed into silence, the first notes of a Led Zeppelin tune rang throughout the sparsely populated space. Autumn knew from her time working as a bartender that Sundays weren’t especially popular nights for bar patrons. However, she also knew that the best bar specials occurred on nights that weren’t popular.

  Then again, the bartender, Hannah—a sweet, single mother in her early thirties—hadn’t charged Autumn for her and Winter’s drinks.

  While she’d worked at The Lift, Autumn had always looked forward to her shifts with Hannah. Despite the hardships in Hannah’s life, or perhaps because of them, she was always in good spirits, and she always had a kind word for her coworkers.

  When Winter spoke, her voice jerked Autumn out of the brief contemplation.

  “Can I ask you something? Something psychology related?”

  As Autumn turned her attention to Winter’s curious expression, she nodded. “Of course. Shoot.”

  Before she continued, Winter took another drink. “I know that the basis for a lot of the information that’s used by the Behavioral Analysis Unit at work is stuff that’s been picked up from interviews with suspects and convicts over the years. And I know that there are some serial killers like Jeffrey Dahmer who have provided valuable insight about what motivates those types of people.”

  Autumn nodded again. “That’s true. It’s still true. It didn’t end just with Dahmer. There are still plenty of studies that utilize interviews with convicted killers.”

  Winter’s eyes flicked back and forth, as if searching for the right words before her gaze settled on her beer. “This might be a longshot, because I don’t know what happened to Justin after he was kidnapped, but I was wondering what you thought of it. I was wondering if, maybe, to get some perspective on what my brother might be like or even where he might be, it would be helpful to talk to someone who operates kind of like Douglas Kilroy.”

  Well, that was one of the last questions Autumn had expected.

  Based on the work Autumn had done with Aiden Parrish several months earlier, she was confident that Winter’s brother had been irreparably damaged by his time with Douglas Kilroy—the serial killer also known as The Preacher.

  Of course, that was still a big if.

  They didn’t know for sure that Justin Black had been raised by Kilroy. All they knew was that Justin was alive, and that he didn’t want to be found. Whether he was hiding from Winter or from Kilroy, perhaps not knowing the evil man was dead, they still couldn’t be certain.

  Autumn tapped her fingers against the wooden tabletop. “You want to talk to someone to see if they can think of why Kilroy would have kidnapped Justin, right?”

  Winter nodded. “And to ask them what they’d do if they were in Justin’s position. I know what Aiden thinks about my brother. I know he thinks Justin’s a sociopath, and I guess right now I’m just thinking in terms of worst-case scenarios. I hope he’s not like that. I hope whatever’s happened to him can be helped, but I’m not naïve.”

  Their conversation hovered precariously close to a topic that Autumn sought to avoid like the plague—the topic of Justin Black’s mental health. She didn’t want to give Winter her professional opinion of Justin’s fate, but at the same time, she didn’t wan
t to lie or give her friend false hope.

  “Aiden’s always right.” There was a distinctive bitterness in Winter’s voice that took Autumn by surprise.

  “What? What do you mean? I seriously doubt he’s always right.”

  Winter let out a sarcastic sounding huff of air. “I’ve never seen him get a profile wrong. Not in the time I’ve been working for the FBI, and not during the time when I was friends with him before then. I’m just…I’m trying to be pragmatic. Hope for the best, plan for the worst, you know?”

  The phrase was one Autumn knew well. “Yeah, I understand. Just so long as we’re clear that, right now, we’re operating under the assumption of a worst-case scenario, okay?” She raised her eyebrows and shot Winter an expectant look.

  Winter pressed her index and middle fingers together and raised her hand. “Scout’s honor. Or, wait, is it three fingers?”

  Autumn was grateful for the moment of levity. “I’m not sure. I was never in the Girl Scouts.”

  Winter lowered her hand, her fingers twisting together. “Neither was I. But, yes. Right now, we’re just talking about the worst-case scenario. What do you think about talking to someone who might be in that same type of mental state?”

  Autumn pressed a finger to her lips as she mulled over the question. “Do you have anyone specific in mind you were thinking of consulting?”

  “Cameron Arkwell.” The answer was confident and quick. Clearly, Winter had already put a great deal of thought into the suggestion.

  “Cameron Arkwell,” Autumn echoed. “Yeah, that would be good. He’s roughly the same age, just a couple years older. In a different sort of way, he was alienated from his family, so that’s similar as well. Plus, he has a sister who’s doing well in life, and he lost someone he cared about when he was young. I think there are several similarities there.”

  Winter lifted her eyebrows. “Do you think it would be worth talking to him about it? Just to get some insight, all completely off the record.”