Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection)

by McCray, Carolyn

  They all viewed him as broken, damaged goods.

  Funny—while he was in the hospital, everyone was all about how much they missed him, how much they could hardly wait until he was back in the barn. Until, of course, he’d actually come back into the barn. Then, the sideways glances. The awkward silences. The shunning. Jake couldn’t blame them. It was human nature.

  Although had he known how crappy his life was about to become, he probably wouldn’t have worked quite so hard during the six months of grueling physical therapy and the hours upon hours of talk therapy to get him through the worst of the PTSD.

  To think, he could have just been lying back in a Jacuzzi, taking his sweet time to get better.

  But here he was with a lieutenant who didn’t trust him and a station’s worth of detectives who didn’t want to be his partner.

  “Look, we can argue the merits of the case, but the fact is another woman has been taken.”

  Instead of touching his chin in a reflective manner against his chin, Breaker’s eyebrows went up again. “Really? Because I didn’t see anything on the blotter.”

  Also part of the problem was that Breaker had been a great detective before his promotion. This wasn’t the old adage, “those who can’t do, teach.” Breaker had the instincts, and had always put Jake through his paces. But now, it felt it was to make sure the Jake never got ahead of the game as he had done before.

  Jake sighed before answering. “That’s because she’s been gone less than forty-eight hours.”

  Breaker put his glasses back on and leaned into his chair before he spoke. “So are you missing the glory days? Is that what this is about?”

  Yep, this is what his life had descended to. His own lieutenant suspecting his motives for wanting to hunt down a serial killer. Guess he was going to have to prove to his supervising officer that he really was onto a case.

  “Evelyn Montgomery volunteered at the woman’s shelter, and her blood was found in an alley alongside a fresh set of van tracks. And her friend thinks that ‘something awful’ happened to Evelyn. What more do you need?”

  Breaker put his elbows on his desk and leaned forward, looking at Jake above his glasses. “I thought we agreed that you’d work your way back up to psychopaths?” He shoved the file back toward Jake. “You know, start with a little shoplifting, and maybe try your hand a few hit-and-runs?”

  “Lieutenant!” Jake tried to interject, but Breaker overrode him.

  “No, Braut. You’ve got to go home and get some rest. The department imposed your four-day work week for a reason.”

  Jake stood. “So I am expect absolutely no help on this?”

  “Absolutely is a harsh term,” Breaker conceded. “But correct.”

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Before his injury, Breaker would have given Jake, carte blanche, as many men and resources as he wanted. Now, what? Did he expect Jake to beg?

  “Fine,” Jake said. “If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone who will.”

  Jake got up and headed for the door. Breaker pushed his glasses further up his nose and went back to his paperwork. “Okay.”

  His lieutenant didn’t even respect him enough to bust his chops.

  A sad day indeed.

  * * *

  Evie rocked back and forth on the cot. She didn’t know what else to do. The motion helped calm her nerves. At least she wasn’t crying anymore. Her sides still hurt from her last crying jag.

  Darion still sat at her feet, pulling strips from the sheet. The other men—well, the other men were taunting Clyde, trying to throw things at his crotch. Evie didn’t feel a bit sorry for him.

  “Bastards!” Clyde yelled, throwing a button back at Andrew.

  The chime sounded again and the ever-so-pleasant voice announced, “How lucky you are! Potpourri will begin on the count of three.

  Darion turned to Evie. “I’ve got to explain—”

  Evie didn’t even stop rocking as she answered. “Leave me alone.”

  How could this get any worse?

  The rest of the men were cheering. Clyde pointed to her. “I may not have a cock, whore, but I’ll be fucking you over soon. Very soon.”

  Something about this tone brought Evie out of her shock. “What’s…what’s happening?”

  “Three,” the chime voice cheerfully said.

  Darion rose and sat down next to her. “After the countdown, the doors are going to open.”

  “Like last night?” Evie asked. That had been horrible enough.

  “Yes. No, not like last night. Today…” He licked his lips before continuing. “Today, all the doors will open at once, but weapons will drop from the ceiling.”

  Darion pointed up. She could see the cracks of the trap door.

  “Unfortunately, we could get a semi-automatic assault rifle, or…”

  “Remember the spatula?” Andrew asked the group. “That was the worst ever.”

  Back sneered at her. “You counting the moments, bitch?” I’m going to push you against the bars and shove into you so—”

  “Two,” the chime voice interrupted.

  Darion put his finger on her chin and turned her to face him again. “We could be seriously out-gunned. Do you understand?”

  Evie nodded, although she wasn’t sure if she could completely comprehend the horror that was about to start.

  “Oh, I hope I get the machete!” Andrew squealed.

  “Miss,” Papa said. “You’ve got to come to me. We’ll get through this dark time together.”

  Door chuckled. “Yeah. Right. You only survived your first ‘Battle Royale’ because you got the spear gun.”

  “Shit, Clyde over there could survive this one if he gets the fucking spear gun,” Back added.

  Darion caressed her cheek, pulling her face to face with him. He brought up the strips of cloth. “Once I leave the cell, you’ve got to use these to tie the cell door closed.”

  “One.”

  “But that will lock you out,” Evie said.

  “Yes, but once it is safe,” Darion glanced down to her hand. “That’s where your little friend will come in handy. You’ll cut through the ties to let me back in.”

  Evie gulped hard. Being responsible for herself was bad enough. “But what if I can’t do it quickly enough?”

  “You can do it,” Darion said.

  “Or he’ll get zapped to shit!” Back announced, almost gleefully.

  “But, like, no pressure though,” Door said.

  “Weapons first,” the chime voice announced.

  Everyone looked up to their trap door. What was going to come down?

  * * *

  Jake strode into the arcade and flashed his badge at the attendant. The place looked deserted and the attendant was busy counting little tickets on the glass counter.

  “Thomas Cabrone?” Jake asked.

  “Who?” the bushy Jewish ‘fro kid asked.

  “Trigger Finger,” Jake said, using his informant’s street name.

  “Oh, him?” the attendant said, nodding to Jake’s left. “He’s in the back.”

  Jake walked to the back of the arcade to find a figure with his hoodie up, playing a first-person shooter game. He came up to the right of the guy.

  “Police,” he announced.

  The figure elbowed Jake in the side, hitting the super sore spot on his scar. His hoodie got knocked back to reveal the baby-bottom smooth face of a thirteen-year-old boy.

  “Damn it, Brautmizter,” Tom shouted. “You almost get me killed every time you do that!”

  Jake was glad to see the kid still had some spunk. He was one of the few people who treated him the same as they did before the injury. Jake pulled out a few quarters and popped them into the machine. It looked like Tom was busy killing zombies.

  “You mind?” he asked before he hit the “add second player” button.

  “To play against the only zombie hunter who’s ever come close to beating my high score? A pleasure, always.”

&n
bsp; Jake took that as quite the compliment, and pulled the game’s gun and began firing at the zombies’ heads. There was quite the horde.

  “I’ve got a problem,” Jake explained.

  “Level seven?” Tom asked.

  “Well, yeah,” Jake admitted. “But I’ve got this case, only I’m not sure if I’ve got a perp, or even a victim.”

  “Sorry, buddy,” Tom said, dodging his head to the left as if he could avoid the zombies’ attack that way. “I can’t help you.”

  “Maybe after the game we could talk about it?”

  “No, dawg,” Tom said. “You’ve got to figure out what game you are playing first.”

  Jake took a hit to the leg. His life meter plummeted to a quarter full. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s like, we can’t talk specific strategies until you know what your game perimeters are. House of the Dead, you need to come out shooting. Mortal Kombat is all about combo moves. Call to Arms is all about stealth. Long-term goals.” The kid ducked and dived, bobbing up and down. “No point in talking about lateral flanking maneuvers if you’re playing Gyro the Dragon. Know what I mean?”

  Even though Jake took a hit right to the chest and died a painful death on screen, he didn’t care. “Yes!” the light bulb went off. “Absolutely.”

  He shoved a bunch of quarters into the slot next to Tom.

  “Thanks, Tom. Play some on me.”

  Jake turned to leave as Tom called out, “I’m here until Mom calls me for dinner!”

  * * *

  “Come on, come on, come on,” Darion murmured, but their trapdoor had yet to open. A loud twang filled the air and the trap door above Clyde opened up. A large, antique looking rifle with a bayonet fell to the floor.

  “That’s more like it!” Clyde exclaimed as he dragged himself across the floor and snatched up the weapon.

  Evie looked to Darion. Even he looked worried.

  Next came Andrew’s weapon. A small pocket knife. “No way!” he yelled. “What the heck is this?”

  Esau got a slingshot. He stopped his scripture just long enough to say, “If David did not complain, then neither shall I.”

  Door got a short bow and a quiver with four arrows.

  “Way to go, Katniss,” Andrew said, chuckling, then looked to Evie. “That was the right pop culture reference, right?”

  Evie nodded.

  “Whew, it had just blown up when I got captured,” Andrew explained.

  Darion was still staring up. So far, no weapon at all.

  Papa got a pair of hedge clippers, and Back couldn’t be happier with his sickle. He kept slicing it through the air. Yet none for them, yet.

  “No, no, no, no,” Darion lamented, looking up at the unmoving trap door.

  If he didn’t get a weapon, no matter how many cloth strips she had, they wouldn’t make it. Not against the arsenal out there.

  * * *

  Jake watched as Brad turned the collar of his jacket up against the growing wind as he trotted down the steps toward him.

  He opened his mouth, but his friend held out a hand. “Save it, man. Your lieutenant already warned us you were on one of your benders.”

  Luckily, Jake had a secret weapon. He pulled out a picture of Evelyn holding an eight-week-old chocolate Labrador retriever. The cuteness oozed off the photo paper.

  “You ready to see morgue pictures of her starved and dehydrated?” Jake challenged Brad.

  “Okay, okay, fine,” Brad answered. “I tracked down the fiancée—well, ex-fiancée. Looks like he knocked your girl up, then split. She lost the baby a few weeks later. I can try to track him down, but—”

  “No,” Jake said. The guy seemed to be in Evelyn’s rearview mirror. “That won’t be necessary. I know who took her.” Brad’s eyebrow went up. Starvin’ Marvin.

  Brad patted Jake’s shoulder. “Dude, you really need to go back on Paxil.”

  Jake was ready for this, however. He counted off on his fingers all his points.

  “Look, we haven’t identified these deaths as due to a serial killer because we were going at him like a regular criminal. We’ve got to think outside the box. Or under the radar.”

  “Clichés aside, how exactly do we do that?”

  “He may know forensics. He may know police procedure, but avoiding us at every turn forces him down a path that is predictable.”

  He handed a thick set of folders to Brad. “At each crime scene—”

  “You use that term awfully loosely,” Brad commented.

  “Each site has van tire tracks.”

  Brad sighed. “We’ve already been over this before this chick went missing. Each of those tire tracks from your previous “victims” was a different van.”

  Jake held up a finger. “Which, to an untrained mind, could imply that there was no link between them.”

  Brad noticed a few cops coming down the steps and moved them off to the side. “Or, to the ‘trained’ mind?”

  “He just used five different vans.”

  “That’s a helluva lot of vans for any one person. All of the abandoned vans during that period were registered to different people”

  “Ah,” Jake said. “But we didn’t look into their insurance companies.”

  Brad flipped through the files. “But these vans all had different insurance companies.”

  His friend was acting like that was a bad thing. “That’s because Marvin doesn’t want questions about his ever-revolving van collection.”

  Suddenly Brad’s eyes opened, his pupils dilating. “Which means he couldn’t prove previous insurance.”

  Jake nodded. “Now you’re on the path, grasshopper.”

  “So any agent worth his salt is going to want to see the new van that they are being asked to insure… His options are getting limited.” Brad clapped his gloved hands together. “So we pull footage from the last insurance office and compare it to the other insurance offices, and once we get a picture…”

  “We get a name. Then we get financial, phone records,” Jake added. “Then find real estate acquisitions isolated enough to hold a hostage for a week.”

  Brad looked at Jake sideways, then sighed. “You are… an evil, evil genius when you’re not slacking.”

  “Thanks,” Jake said, grateful his pitch had worked. He turned to walk off.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Brad said, grabbing Jake by the sleeve. “Where do you think you’re going? This is a hell of a lot of groundwork to go over.”

  “Do you really think that Starvin’ Marvin just drives along and says, ‘Hey, she’s cute. I think that I’ll take her?’” Brad shook his head. “I’m going to trace Ms. Montgomery’s movements so that I can give you specific traffic corners to check the license numbers you uncover, then trace his movements back to his lair.”

  Brad clapped him on the back. “Damn you and your evil genius.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Evie stared up at the trap door. It was still solidly closed. The other men were busy practicing with their own weapons. Back looked a little too skilled with that sickle for Evie’s taste. And the sharp clack of Papa’s hedge trimmers filled the dungeon.

  “Come on,” Darion urged the trap door, but it didn’t seem to be listening.

  “Guess your fucking luck isn’t holding, Darion,” Back sneered.

  “Yeah! Take this!” Door said as he shot an arrow into their cell. It missed wildly, then skidded into Andrew’s cell.

  “Hey!” Andrew shouted.

  “Not yet!” Back yelled at Door. “You idiot!”

  Evie looked to Darion. “Why haven’t you gotten a weapon?”

  He seemed too busy trying to make the trap door open with his mind that he didn’t answer. As always, Andrew was more than willing to step into the void.

  “Once in a blue moon, one of us doesn’t get a weapon.”

  “Not right away,” Darion snapped. He looked to Evie. “One will drop.”

  “Before or after you’re sliced up into tiny ribbons is yet to be de
termined,” Back challenged. Evie hugged herself. Could it be true? Was Darion going to lose today?

  “Random Cell Opening will commence on the count of three.”’

  Well, if he didn’t get a weapon in the next few seconds it looked like it was going to be all over. Back certainly seemed to think so.

  “Maybe I’ll let you live long enough to cut the flesh off your body.”

  “Three.”

  “Inch by square inch,” Back said as he sharpened his sickle.

  “Two.”

  “You know, your pubes would make a nice trophy.”

  “One.”

  Evie had to keep herself from hyperventilating. She grabbed Darion by the arm. “Keep him away from me and I’ll make sure you get back in.”

  “Then I’ll tie you to the bed, belly down, so that I can take you whenever the fuck I want.”

  Darion looked to her. “Maybe you’ll be…’grateful?’” Evie frowned. “Maybe just a little?”

  “Kill him, then we’ll talk.”

  “Bingo.”

  Evie held her breath waiting to see whose door was the first open. It turned out to be Clyde’s. Sweaty and weak, the hick propped himself up on his cot, aiming at the doorway.

  “Anybody, and I mean anybody, who dares come in here, dies.”

  “Found something to replace your cock there, Clyde?” Door teased.

  The big man charged the door. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Door pulled back on the bowstring. “One shot, man.”

  “Don’t!” Back ordered.

  Door swung around, aiming straight at Back. “Or maybe I’ll just prove that I’m the Back Door Rapist, after all.”

  Back pointed to Evie. “And how does that get you any closer to drilling that?”

  Evie tasted metal. Iron, to be exact. She must have bit her lip and not even realized it.

  Then Papa’s door popped open. Clyde re-aimed at the older man.

  Papa put his hands up. “Son, I have no quarrel with you.”

  Instead, he sat down and glared at Darion. Those two had some serious bad blood between them. However, it was Door’s cell that opened next. The man rushed out of his cell and set up at the far end of the room. Evie looked up. Still no weapon. They were so screwed. No, actually, she was going to get screwed, in the worst possible way.