Winter's Storm

by Mary Stone

  Rossway hesitated, and Noah could see him searching for a title. Whatever was about to come out of his mouth was a lie. “Think and Grow Rich.”

  Noah laughed. “That’s a good one. Napoleon Hill was ahead of his time. What’s your favorite part?”

  It was always fun watching a suspect formulate a lie. During the interview process, Noah had fed Rossway baseline questions that he already knew the answers to just so that he could watch his eyes and body language as he answered.

  Since they couldn’t hook Rossway up to a lie detector machine, it was Noah’s job to be that machine. To gauge the microscopic changes in the man’s breathing, the way he swallowed, the pores that opened to release little beads of sweat.

  Truth had many layers. Someone telling the truth could tell their story forward and backwards, and each layer of that truth would remain the same. Someone telling the truth told a story…this happened first, then this, then this, then this.

  A liar didn’t do that. Or if he did, he often couldn’t remember the story backward or out of order. The layers would be out of line, causing him to stumble in the retelling.

  Did Noah care about the book Rossway had been reading? No, he didn’t. But he cared about the layer that book represented, and the layers that came before it and after.

  “I don’t remember,” Rossway said with a laugh. “I was tired and was basically just skimming it.”

  “What had made you so tired?” The question was offered with what sounded like genuine sympathy.

  Another shrug. “Stuff?”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  Killing your father? Slaughtering an innocent woman and little girl?

  A bead of sweat appeared above Rossway’s left eyebrow. “Just stuff. Work. You know, paying the bills kind of stuff.”

  “So, computer work?”

  “Yeah, computer stuff.”

  “How did you manage to do so much work and still hold down a job at the electronics store?”

  Rossway shifted in his seat. “I didn’t manage it worth shit. Got fired.” He perked up, like he’d just had an idea. “That was why I was so tired. Holding down two jobs can be exhausting, you know.”

  Noah gave him an understanding laugh. “Don’t I know it. Too many balls in the air and one of them is going to fall.”

  “Damned straight.”

  “I’m curious. Why the job at the electronics store? Hacking not paying the bills?”

  Rossway froze, then visibly forced himself to relax. “I’m not a hacker.”

  Noah held up both hands. “Sure you are, and that’s okay. I wish I knew how to hack. That talent would come in handy at times.”

  Rossway allowed the tiniest of smiles. “Hacking is against the law.”

  Noah shrugged. “I know, but it would be cool to look into my girlfriend’s text messages and see what she’s saying to other people.” He scowled on purpose. “Other men.”

  Rossway fell for it. “You need to keep your old lady in line. As the man, you shouldn’t even be the least bit worried about shit like that.”

  Noah made a face as if considering the advice. “True. It would also help me stop her from spending too much money at the mall.”

  Noah could mentally see Aiden Parrish sitting up straighter on the other side of the two-way mirror.

  Rossway sneered. “The mall is the modern-day brothel for whores who don’t know their place.” The vehemence in his voice nearly took Noah aback, but instead of responding as he wanted to, he laughed.

  “No kidding. Just last week, she spent five hundred dollars on a damn coat.”

  Noah didn’t even flinch at the lie.

  Law enforcement was prohibited from using physical or psychological coercion like torture, threats, drugging, or inhumane treatment during police interrogations. They could, however, lie, trick, or use other types of noncoercive methods to their heart’s content.

  Rossway bought the lie hook, line, and sinker. In fact, he looked like he was about to fall out of his seat. “You’re shitting me? You let her do that?”

  Noah thought of telling Winter that she couldn’t do anything, and the ass whooping he’d get in return.

  He swallowed a smile. “Her life. Her money. Maybe when we’re married…” He shrugged, leaving the statement unfinished.

  “You need to put a hammer on that now,” Rossway advised, pounding his fist against the table for added emphasis.

  “Is that what you do?” Noah asked casually. “Use hammers?”

  Rossway laughed and wiggled his fingers, miming like he was typing on a computer. “Nope.”

  “So, you hack?”

  Rossway laughed again. “You’re tricky, aren’t you? Told you, hacking is against the law.”

  “Let’s pretend that hacking isn’t against the law for a moment.” Noah took a full two minutes to search through his folder, pretending to search for the printout Ryan O’Connelly and Ava Welford had pulled together. Rossway was squirming in his seat by the time he set the report on the table, turning it slowly so the man could read what it said. “Can you think of any reason why this digital bread trail led to you?”

  Rossway swallowed, and Noah caught his fingers tremble before they closed into fists. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  Noah sighed, loud and long. “Phil, do you really think we’d have gone through all the trouble of staking out the cabin, chasing you through the woods, then spend hour after hour in this room if we didn’t already know the answer to our questions?”

  Rossway swallowed again. “Do I need a lawyer?”

  Noah shrugged. “Totally up to you. But between me and you, if you bring a lawyer into the mix, you stop me from being able to help you.”

  Another swallow. “Help me how?”

  Noah mentally smiled. They already knew that Phil Rossway wasn’t the third person at the Riverside Mall that terrible night of the massacre. He had an airtight alibi working at the electronic store until closing. Not only did they have his timecard and other employee testimony, but the video file they’d unearthed clearly showed Rossway selling an iPad to a young couple during the moments of the shooting.

  “Do you know much about domestic terrorism?” Noah asked.

  Rossway’s eyes grew wide. “Like 9-11?”

  “Not quite. That was terrorism of one country on another.” Noah spouted off the FBI’s definition, which he knew by heart. “Domestic terrorism is perpetrated by individuals and/or groups inspired by or associated with primarily U.S.-based movements that espouse extremist ideologies of a political, religious, social, racial, or environmental nature.”

  “So, it’s law enforcement’s way of locking up the good guys.” Rossway clearly intended the statement to be a joke, and then clearly understood how badly it had landed. He opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again. “Just kidding.”

  “Were you? It seems to me in the time we’ve spent together, Phil, that you have some pretty extreme ideologies about some things. Women, for example.”

  Rossway snorted. “They’re not ideologies. They are facts.”

  Noah leaned back in his chair. “Facts like women belonging in the kitchen, cooking and cleaning for their families?”

  “Damned straight.”

  “And if they don’t, and they go to, say a mall, then you think it’s your right to show them a lesson.” Noah slammed his fist on the table, making Rossway jump. “Bring down the hammer is how you described it, I think.”

  “I didn’t shoot nobody,” Rossway practically shouted.

  “I didn’t say that you did. You were at work, right?” At Rossway’s nod, Noah went on, “You were selling an iPad to a man and his wife just as the first shots were being fired.” Another nod. Noah tapped the report between them. “But there were so many whores who escaped that night, weren’t there?” Rossway’s lip turned up into a sneer, but he held his tongue. “Whores who had to pay.”

  “Yeah.” The admission was clearly involuntary. It was barely a breath of soun
d.

  Noah sat back. “Here is what I’m thinking, Phil. I think your friend slash acquaintance slash client has the same thoughts about women as you, and I think you accessed the list of Riverside Mall survivors when he asked you to.”

  He tapped the report again.

  “What I want to know is this…did you know that your friend slash acquaintance slash client intended to kill the people on that list? Did you know that five people from that list you gave your friend slash acquaintance slash client, including a little girl, were already dead?”

  Rossway looked like he was about to throw up.

  “That is domestic terrorism,” Noah went on. “And you’re about to be in deep, deep trouble, Phil. You might not have pulled the trigger, but there’s this thing called the felony murder rule, and because of that rule, you could be in the kind of trouble that will land you in prison for life.” He made his lip curl in disgust. “And in prison, the ‘women…’” he air quoted the word, “will be the kind that rape you every night. You’ll bleed, Phil. Bad. Then you’ll get to the point where you just don’t care. And then…” Noah leaned closer, “you’ll get to the point of where you crave the connection to another human.”

  Rossway paled. “I’m not queer.”

  “Neither are they. Only human beings can be homosexual. These are monsters who watch you during the day and prey on you at night. They’ll use your mouth and your body. They’ll make you lick their assholes clean. Every. Single. Night. All because you broke into a database and turned over a list of names.” Noah’s voice was soft now. “That doesn’t seem very fair, does it?”

  Rossway seemed close to tears, but he didn’t say a word.

  Noah let the quiet of the room settle all around them. He waited. Watched. Mentally counted to six hundred before Rossway finally answered, “No.”

  “Who’s your friend, Phil?”

  More silence, then, “I don’t know.”

  Noah gritted his teeth but kept his voice soft. “Tell me, Phil. Save yourself from a lifetime of abuse.”

  “I really don’t know.”

  Very slowly, Noah pulled the report back toward himself, then took his time putting it back in the folder and closing the file with a long exhalation of breath.

  He stood. “That’s too bad, Phil. I really wanted to help you, but I guess you’re just on your own now.”

  His chair scraped over the floor, making a loud shrieking sound that echoed through the room. His hand was on the doorknob when Rossway said, “Wait.”

  Forcing the smile from his face, Noah turned around. “What?”

  Rossway dropped his head. “I don’t know his name, but I could describe him. Would that help?”

  For the first time in hours, Noah’s shoulders relaxed. “Yeah. I think that’d help.”

  30

  Staring at the black screen of the motel room television, Will turned his phone over and over in his hand. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard the girl’s screams. Felt her blood gush over his hand.

  It made him sick, and if there was anything left in his stomach, he’d throw up again. But he was empty. Empty of food, of bile. Empty of tears, of hope.

  And beneath it all, he was disgusted with himself.

  How had he thought all of this would be so easy? Had he really thought killing someone in person was as simple as punching a button on his Xbox control? Had he really believed he could shoot or stab another human being and then just go on with his life, celebrate his win?

  There had been no victory in this, although he’d tried, over and over and over, to convince himself that the sinners had been prophesied to die. The mother and girl were messages to other sinners, and in their sacrifice, many would change their heathen ways, but in the cold aftermath of the murder…

  Will shuddered at the word.

  Murder.

  Jaime could call it what he would. Will could label it anyway he pleased. An eye for eye might have been written by God himself, but the terror in that child’s eyes as he plunged that knife into her chest condensed it all down into one thing.

  Murder.

  Will was a murderer. His hands burned from washing them so much. His eyes burned from trying to not see the blood that now seemed steeped into his own DNA.

  He needed to call Jaime. There was no question of that in his mind.

  He needed to stop being a damn pussy and just make the call. But even as he brought up his contacts, his thumb hovered over the button.

  He was scared.

  Because after he spoke to Jaime, he needed to call the police. He needed to turn himself in.

  That was his only solution.

  No…not his only one.

  With trembling fingers, he stroked the cold metal of the gun laying so innocently on the bed next to him. He could make this all go away. Right now. In an instant. All he had to do was pick up the gun, place it in his mouth, pull the trigger and…

  And what?

  What would come next?

  Eternal fire? Flames burning at his feet as he was tormented by demons that breathed an everlasting fire into his mouth, his eyes, his ears? Or was that punishment only for regular sinners? Not for those who murdered little girls?

  But she was a sinner. She was a message. It had to be done. God demanded it.

  He knew that would be what Jaime would say. Heck, it was what he had said just before the blade of a knife transformed into a point of no return. He tried saying it again now.

  “But she was a sinner.” His voice cracked with the words, so he cleared his throat and said them again. “She was a sinner. She was a message. It had to be done.” He was weeping by the time he shouted the last. “God demanded it!”

  Even though his voice was stronger, he felt no better.

  Weeping in earnest now, he fell back onto the bed.

  He should call Jaime.

  No, he should just call the police, confess everything, and put the gun to his head.

  Yes, that was what he would do.

  Wiping at tears and snot running down his face with his sleeve, he picked up his phone and thumbed to the call app. He tapped 9, then 1, then the phone rang in his hand.

  He jumped so hard that the device fell onto the bed. It landed face up, and Will saw the name of the caller. Those five letters turned his bowels to water.

  Jaime.

  Was this a sign? He didn’t know, but he’d take it as one.

  Closing his eyes, Will tapped the button that accepted the call. “Hello?”

  “There you are,” Jaime said, his tone almost sounding amused. “Thought you’d lost your phone or ran away or something.”

  Will swallowed hard. “Just lying low, you know. Letting things blow over for a couple days.”

  “That wasn’t the plan.” A barking laugh followed, but it ended as abruptly as it had started. “Of course, there were a few things…two things to be exact, that didn’t go to plan, wasn’t there?”

  “Yeah…” Will tried to force bravado into his voice. He’d been thinking about his argument, his defense for many hours now. It was a good defense, if not the correct one, but it was all that he had, and he needed to sell it. “That’s exactly right. We didn’t plan on the motherfucking father having a gun, did we? Almost got my ass shot.” He forced out a laugh, but it sounded on the edge of hysterical.

  “So, that’s why the man and girl are still alive?” Jaime asked, his tone conversational now.

  Will sputtered, wiping his sleeve over his forehead to mop up the sweat. “Of course. What other reason would there be?”

  Please believe me. Please. Please. Please.

  It was so strange. A minute ago, he was ready to put a gun to his head, and now, he wanted to live more than anything. Wanted to correct his wrong.

  As if Jaime was able to read his mind, he said, “It’s time to correct that.”

  Will stood up from the bed, started pacing the small room. “Why? I mean, don’t you think that’ll be
a big risk? I got the ones on the list and—”

  “But that wasn’t your orders, was it, Will?”

  Will turned to pace back across the room, caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, and nearly pissed his pants. He blew out a shaky breath before saying, “The cops will be watching them.”

  “It doesn’t matter. They need to die.”

  “Why?”

  One moment of silence stretched into the next, then the next. It stretched out so long that Will checked his phone to see if they’d been disconnected.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yes, Will. I’m still here. I’m just trying to think of what I should say to someone who has so blatantly broken my trust.”

  “The man had a gun, Jaime,” Will cried. “What was I supposed to do? I…I…I…” He snapped his mouth shut, hating how weak his voice sounded. How desperate.

  “I…I…I…” Jaime mimicked, “I know that the man had a gun, and I…I…I…know you had one too. Why didn’t you use it?” Jaime’s voice was growing louder. “Must I do everything? Is there no one on this god-forbidden planet that I can trust to help me do God’s work?”

  “Me,” Will said in a rush. “Just not the kids, okay? I don’t want to do the kids.”

  Another long pause was followed with a snorting sort of laugh. “I thought you were different, Will.”

  “I am, and I’m still a warrior for the cause.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re weak, Will. You can’t pick and choose. Only God can do that.”

  What should he do?

  Will had never been more scared or confused.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.” Will laid back on the bed, covering his eyes with his arm. “Just not the kids,” he repeated. “Not the kids.”

  “Did you know that, if spiders all worked together, they could eat all humans in a year?”

  Will blinked at the change of subject. “What?”

  “It’s true.”

  “If scientists gathered up every spider on Earth and weighed them, it is estimated that they’d have a combined weight of around twenty-five million tons. The Twin Towers had a total weight of about one and a half million tons, so the mass of all those spiders is equivalent to about sixteen Twin Towers.”