Under The Blade

by Serafini, Matt

She leaned against the brittle rail and chewed her lip in frustration. The sky overhead darkened and the temperature dropped. At her back, a flash of lightning blotted the sky. It was raining again.

  Her mind floated the idea of breaking in, but timidity had held her hostage for more than forty years. She didn’t speak up when neighbors fired up their leaf blowers on an early Saturday morning, and never protested her miscast role as journalism professor. She let things happen because it was easier just to cope.

  So breaking into Jed’s house was far outside her comfort zone. Attempts to rationalize his absence were at odds with logic. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the one person in Forest Grove willing to talk about the town’s history was suddenly missing.

  “Who says he’s missing,” she mumbled.

  Glass shattered at her back. Before she could turn, there was a loud bang that broke in the air like thunder, followed by more shattering.

  A figure walked out from behind the front of the garage with what resembled a tire iron dangling from a hand. From here, it looked like a man, though she could not be certain. He moved casually, with rain pelting off his steel mask.

  No. It can’t be.

  There was malevolence and purpose in his steps. He gripped the tool like a weapon. An indication that made her shutter.

  The figure walked toward the tree line and Melanie could only watch, standing slack-jawed and light-headed. After twenty-five years of nightmares, here was Cyrus Hoyt in the flesh. Alive, as she had always known, and no more than five hundred feet away. Her vision was hazy, but she didn’t dare move.

  He hadn’t seen her yet.

  Hoyt was a step away from the trees, one foot in the brush, when he stopped. He turned toward her and his visor plate flashed in a burst of lightning.

  Melanie couldn’t breathe, let alone move. Her cheeks were flushed with fear as her hand fished the cell phone from her pocket.

  The killer dashed into the trees and was gone in an instant. Melanie stared, struggling to comprehend the sight. She dialed Brady with a frantic finger and his voice was muffled in the palm of her hand. She blurted something about Last Mile Gas, about seeing him. Before she could finish, the chief interrupted.

  “I’m right there. Give me two minutes.”

  That was fine. Melanie exhaled and struggled to reclaim her jilted breath. If she moved, Hoyt might somehow change his mind and come stalking back. He had been so close. Why didn’t he come after her?

  Brady’s cruiser barreled in off the road and kicked up a mini sandstorm. He leapt from the car, his pistol drawn, and bounded forward.

  Melanie felt light-headed. She dropped to her knees, engulfed in a wave of relief.

  “Are you hurt?” He demanded, looking in every direction but hers.

  “No,” she was breathless, “just scared. It was Hoyt.”

  Brady frowned as she said it. “I caught a glimpse of your car on the way in here. It’s smashed to hell.”

  “He doesn’t want me to leave,” she said with newfound realization. It made perfect sense and her fingertips went numb as the killer’s strategy fell into place. She told Brady the whole story.

  “And he ran through there?” Brady looked at the forest.

  Melanie could only nod.

  “I’m not leaving you until my guys get here. They were right behind me. Been goose chasing these woods all day. Sounds like we’re going right back in to find this sicko.”

  “Jed,” she said, “I think Hoyt killed him. Maybe his son, too.”

  “Jed? A son? Never had one as far as I know…”

  “He does. Or someone claiming to be one.”

  Two more patrol cars skidded in and Brady motioned to the forest. He ran over to talk with them and they drew their guns and disappeared into the woods. He barked something authoritative into his radio before making his way back over.

  “Let’s get you out of here.”

  Melanie took one last glance through Jed’s window, but there was nothing. She hated Forest Grove. This was never going to be an easy trip, but now that she knew Hoyt was alive, she was ready to call it a day.

  They walked to Brady’s car, both of them soaking in the afternoon shower. His arm slipped firm around her upper waist, a gentle grip that melted away much of the day’s tension. Melanie hadn’t been this close to a man since marriage, and hadn’t enjoyed the company of one for a lot longer.

  This felt nice, even as pangs of guilt nibbled at her conscience. Brady was married and Melanie quite liked her. But this gentlemanly display made her feel safe—like nothing in this damn town could hurt her. Sure, she might’ve been enjoying it a little too much, but she also needed it.

  It was stupid to feel this way, but Melanie refused to scold herself today. Instead, she put her head against his shoulder as they walked, her shoes dragging in the muddy dirt as they went.

  ***

  The impulse to kill ate him like a cancer.

  He wanted to exterminate her back there, but there would not be enough time to savor it. Out in the open, with the police so close. That was a risk. Instead, he knew he could funnel her back here.

  He watched the building from the safety of his woods, knowing full well no one could find him here. His jaw clenched, a gesture that normally angered his rotten teeth, provoking inflamed gums to bleed into a pool on his tongue. He was accustomed to the bitter and stale taste that resulted, and was used to swallowing it down. But everything was different since waking up. His mouth didn’t hurt, and no longer bled.

  Again, he wondered why he was alive. Why he was healing.

  All was quiet across the street and his patience flaked away by the hour. Any minute now, she was going to be back. And that’s when the fun would really begin.

  The only problem was the police car sitting at the far side of the bed & breakfast. He knew enough to avoid them. They always brought trouble. He closed his eye and shook his head, trying not to think about it. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but remember the bad things, although there was blood on the brain now.

  He cultivated it with further fantasy, thinking of how Melanie Holden could die. Her pretty white flesh falling into ribbons beneath his slashes, blood bubbling up from her wounds like sliced meat. He liked to improvise, though, and that meant there was no way of knowing for sure how she was going to end.

  He might not have recognized Melanie Holden as the one who fought back all those years ago. To see her today, she might’ve been the mother of the girl he tried drowning in Lake Forest Grove. But it wasn’t. It was her.

  That face stained his mind like an inkblot, those piercing blue eyes burned with a melding of anger and madness that he would never forget—a startling desire to survive.

  He was tracing a finger through the muddy dirt, bidding time, when the police car roared and sped off. The siren’s wail eddied in the sky and lingered in his ears like a fisher cat’s scream. They would be looking for him in the woods behind the gas station, exactly as planned. None of them would figure out that he doubled back the other way.

  He rose up off the forest floor but caught himself in time, pausing like a cautious animal.

  What if this is a trap?

  Behind the welder’s visor, he eyed his surroundings. Once satisfied, he lumbered from the tree line and crossed the desolate blacktop. His boots stepped softly onto the porch and the screen pulled away from the jamb with a near-silent yawn.

  To his left was the kitchen. An elderly woman loaded a baking dish into an oven while old time music blared through a static-laden radio. He ignored her and stalked to the rear of the house. The basement was the last door on the left. He pried it open and descended into the dank cellar—wooden stairs cracking beneath his weight.

  The fuse box sat on the far wall. He crossed the stone floor and pulled open the lid, hammering switches with his chapped and rotted hands.

  Overhead, the oldies station fell into abrupt silence and he knew he had the woman’s attention. His eye searched for a weapon in the clutte
r of old patio furniture, paint cans, and damaged headboards. He smiled when he noticed a dulled pair of garden shears resting against the stairwell.

  He took them in his hands just as the cellar door creaked open, settling into position beneath the stairs, watching for her feet to land on the step that was level with his eye.

  Above him, the woman mumbled something about “too many darn steps in this place.”

  He slid his jaw back and forth with excitement as he separated the shears and slid them into position, the blade tips resting on the tread’s edge.

  Another step down.

  Then another.

  He waited.

  At last, a sandal landed on his step. Then another.

  He pushed the shears around one and slammed the hilts together with a grunt. The blades sliced through the ankle, cracking bone. Blood smacked his mask and her throat barked as she spun off balance and dropped the rest of the way. Her severed foot remained on the step, oozing blood.

  He came around to face his victim but his smile faded upon finding a corpse—her neck craned all the way around, despite having fallen on her chest. Wide eyes stared up at the ceiling and her tongue flapped against her cheek, dangling from one lone strand.

  He took her by the hair and flung the body into the corner like a ragdoll. All that remained was keeping it out of sight until he could finish things. Now there would be no one to interrupt his fun. He took the errant foot, threw it beside the corpse, and leaned the old headboards over the body.

  A flick of the fuses restored power to the upstairs. The oldies station buzzed back to life with a song he recognized from his youth. Something about Cracklin’ Rosie.

  This woman’s car was parked outside. He would’ve hidden it somewhere, but he didn’t know how to drive and making the effort brought the potential for more trouble. Melanie would be long dead before a parked car could tip anyone off.

  Three people were dead by his hands over the last two days. He felt better than he had in a long time. His hands were shaky with anticipation while he relocated paint cans to either side of the headboards, obscuring the body from any curious eyes. Then he splashed a little across the stair treads to conceal the bloodstains, dipping the bloodied shears into the dark blue color to do the same. Things didn’t have to be perfect. They only needed to pass someone’s first glance. This was about preserving the illusion of normalcy.

  Satisfied, he climbed the stairs and sidestepped fresh paint splats as he went.

  The front desk’s ledger was empty, save for one cursive signature he couldn’t read, but somehow recognized. Fumbling beneath the countertop, he retrieved the room key marked with a number 5.

  The top floor.

  The key slipped into the hole and the door swung into darkness. He stepped through the threshold and closed it behind him.

  His lips were dry and his heart raced. He felt her presence. Smelled it through his damaged nose.

  I can’t wait to kill her.

  Then he searched out the perfect place to wait.

  Somewhere she would not expect.

  ***

  Melanie watched Brady pace back and forth across the cramped confines of his office. The shades behind him were drawn, but lightning flashes lit the spaces around them in brilliant white bursts. Torrential rain pelted the glass like balls of sleet.

  The chair was torture on her back, sending aches right down to the small. She adjusted herself and listened to the chief speak on the phone.

  “That guy is a person of interest. At the very least, he’s responsible for vandalizing a car. Thing is bashed to hell. Slashed tires, broken windows. And I want him in connection to our missing New Haven kids.”

  She couldn’t hear the mayor on the other end but judging from Brady’s expression, he wanted nothing more than to hang up.

  “As of yet, sir, I do not have any bodies. If this guy is dressing up like Cyrus Hoyt to scare off Miss Holden, then there’s no telling how far he’ll go to bring that legend back to life.”

  Melanie didn’t like Brady’s immediate dismissal of the real Hoyt. But they were looking for the person making her life hell and that would have to be enough for now.

  When Brady put the phone down, he took a deep breath. “Now that we know where your stalker went, we’ll find him. On the plus side, you’ve got even more material for your book, right?”

  Melanie wanted to tell him to hold the champagne, but he had such a nice white smile that she could get used to seeing it. She caught herself reciprocating a look as her skin flushed red. “I, uh, I’m leaving anyway,” she said, embarrassed to be flirting with a married man. His wedding band glinted in the next burst of lightning. Don’t get any ideas, it seemed to suggest.

  “Probably for the best. You’re a lightning rod for our maniac.”

  Maniac. That word landed hard, bringing a certain degree of satisfaction with it. Two-and-a-half decades of paranoia were suddenly justified. She was no longer the crazy one. Because, yes folks, there was a maniac out there. As terrified as she was, it was impossible to overlook the validation.

  “Once we catch him, it’ll be a different story of course. We’ll love for you to come back then, but…”

  “You don’t have to tell me again, chief. I’m going.”

  “Nate.”

  “Okay, Nate.” They’d been on a first name basis ever since sharing a cooler of beer. It only felt right being this casual after drinking Belgian ale from the trunk of a married man’s car. “I was an idiot for thinking this would work. You can catch that freak show in the next ten minutes and it wouldn’t matter in the slightest. I’ve had more than enough excitement for one lifetime.”

  “Wouldn’t call it idiocy. It takes…something to come back after what happened to you.”

  “Something, huh? How comforting.”

  “Was going to say balls. Then I remembered I wasn’t talking to one of my men. Comfort isn’t exactly my wheelhouse, so that’s all you’re getting from me.”

  “That, and a ride back to Desiree’s, right?”

  “Of course. And I’ll be in touch with the details I’m allowed to release once we find our suspect. I want to ease your mind as much as I can.”

  “What about Jed? He’s missing…”

  Nate nodded. “We’ll find him. Johnson’s at his place now; says he isn’t there. We’re not going to worry yet though. It’s possible he’s with the man that you thought was his son.”

  “Sam,” she said. “The guy who introduced himself as his son. The old man never refuted it…”

  “I checked into it. He doesn’t have a son. Not a biological one, at least.”

  Melanie slapped her thigh in frustration. She was done arguing. Heading back to the bed and breakfast sounded like a great idea. If by some miracle she could fall asleep tonight, tomorrow would come early. Nate talked to Stu’s garage and they assured him that her car would be in drivable condition at first light. Once she got home, she’d take it to a body shop to have the dents fixed.

  Desiree’s seemed peaceful as they pulled into the parking lot. The rain receded on the drive over, leaving breezy air in its wake. Both of them climbed out of the cruiser and stared up at the evening sky.

  “You going to be okay?” Brady asked.

  “Sure. I guess. But knowing that someone wants me out of town isn’t going to get me to sleep any easier.” She tried shaking off these feelings, trying instead to enjoy Nate’s company. They sat in silence for a while and when it became clear that Nate was lost in his own thoughts, she nudged him with a smile. “Any more beer?”

  “I might have one or two left. Should’ve refilled my stash but this town is holding my spare time hostage.”

  “I know. Your poor wife.” Melanie shouldn’t have said that. Just thinking about Trish made her feel like a terrible person. She had more in common with her than anyone else in the grove, and yet, here she was making eyes at her husband like some oversexed teenager. It was just flirtation, though, and more for her benefit
than his. It couldn’t hurt and wouldn’t go any further—no matter how much she wanted it to.

  Nate responded to the topic of Trish with a violent headshake. He said nothing, and only stared up into the black-blue evening sky.

  Melanie wasn’t sure how to react. She leaned against the cruiser’s hood, forgetting about the earlier downpour, and water soaked through her shorts. She leapt off with a squeak and felt her pasty skin glaze with embarrassed crimson. Good thing the parking lot was dark.

  Nate laughed. She felt uneasy about the way he watched her, but couldn’t look away. And the longer their eyes stayed, the more flushed she felt.

  The cruiser’s radio crackled and Sergeant Maylam offered a status update. He was en route to relieve Nate. Officers Johnson and Galeberg were coordinating the foot search with the state police, while Donnelley was dialed into a status update meeting with New Haven P.D.

  “I want you to set up shop inside tonight, sergeant. In the lobby. Have Desiree brew you some coffee ‘cause you’ll be there until the morning rays. No one comes in without a good goddamn reason.”

  “Right as rain, chief.” Maylam dropped off and Melanie felt Brady’s eyes on her again. She rubbed her forearms to quell the goose bumps while her nipples stiffened beneath the loose top.

  “Every so often I feel like you, Mel. People see me as an outsider. I keep thinking that if I stick around long enough, I’ll become one of them. A part of me knows that isn’t the truth, though.”

  “Forest Grove doesn’t like you unless you were born and bred here, I guess.”

  “Yeah, and even then…not always. I practically forced my wife to move back. She was living in New York City, so imagine the culture shock. She fits in less than I do. I might have bullied her into relocating, but now I want to tell her that she was right. I should’ve just taken a private security job in the city.”

  “Why couldn’t you be a police chief in the city?”

  “I was bucking for that but…” He looked reluctant to continue.

  “Sorry.” Melanie searched for a quick way to shift topics but he was quicker.