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

by McCray, Carolyn

  Tumbling to the floor, she couldn’t stop the killer from jerking Michael up onto his feet as his new hostage. Cecilia tried to make out the killer’s face, but was too worried for the knife at Michael’s gut.

  * * *

  Ruth stepped to the left, trying to get a bead on the killer.

  “It’s over,” Paxton stated.

  She let her partner continue to try negotiating with the killer, but she knew it would be fruitless. Murderers with this little empathy would never surrender. They would escape, or die by a cop’s gun. There was no in-between. She took another step to the left, but the killer maneuvered to keep Michael between them.

  “Drop the weapon!” Paxton demanded.

  “Yeah, right,” the mechanized voice stated, although not nearly as tinny as before. The microphone must have been damaged in the struggle with Michael. “Both of you drop your guns, or I’ll run him through.”

  Michael struggled. “You can’t. I’m not even a martyr.”

  The killer though, tightened his grip. “Please. That was just a theme…” Ruth cocked her head. Did she recognize the voice? It sounded younger, now that the mechanization was toned down. “I may be a homicidal maniac, but I’m not anal.”

  No, that voice couldn’t be…

  Without warning, the killer drove the knife into Michael’s gut.

  “No!” Cecilia screamed as Michael pitched forward.

  Ruth shot before she even recognized the killer’s face.

  “Evan?”

  Dear God! The serial killer was her son.

  * * *

  As his sister rushed to Michael’s side, Jeremy yelled, “Evan!”

  Evan gripped the wound to his shoulder and ran off.

  What the hell? His best friend not only was a psycho, but Evan had set Jeremy up to take the fall. That was wicked over the top.

  Jeremy rushed to Cecilia.

  “How bad is it?” he asked Michael, as Paxton and Ruth took off after Evan.

  Cecilia’s hands came up bloody.

  Okay, that was bad.

  Jeremy glanced around. The only thing worthwhile was the stupid cloak. Despite its checkered past, it would come to some good use now.

  “Here. Use this.”

  Cecilia frowned at the item, but used it to put pressure on Michael’s wound.

  “Where’s Evan?” she asked, her voice thick with tears.

  “I don’t know,” Jeremy said, wishing he knew more. That he could do more.

  Cecilia glanced up at him, then away, and then back up. “I’m sorry, Jer. I’m sorry I thought …”

  “Phht,” Jeremy said. “I had the cloak, the mask, and the knife. Yeah, I’m starting to see how that might have looked.”

  “But still,” Cecilia countered.

  “Look. This is your one get-out-of-jail free card. From here on out, I am expecting you to take my side. Or at least not throw me under the bus.”

  Another shot rang out, followed by a scream.

  Man, woman, or best friend, Jeremy couldn’t tell.

  * * *

  Paxton cursed under his breath. He’d shot too soon and barely winged Evan in the arm. The kid dove between two couches. Granted, Evan only had a knife, but after tonight’s showing, the teen clearly knew how to wield it.

  So cautiously, Paxton approached the furniture. He did not want to be caught off guard in another “gotcha” moment. He was not going to go down to a kid, not even Ruth’s kid. And where was his partner? He hadn’t seen her since that first shot.

  Paxton stood next to the couch. As quickly as possible, he looked between them, then jerked back upright. In that brief snatch of time, it looked clear. Evan could have shimmed his way either right or left.

  If Paxton were the son-of-a-cop-wacko, which way would he go?

  Left. Toward the window, with an eye for an escape route. Or would that be too easy, or would Evan try to double back around and go after the rest of the teens?

  No, Evan didn’t look suicidal back there. As a matter of fact, he seemed quite the opposite. Cocky. Ready for round two.

  The window it was.

  A shadow passed between a table and a mirror. If it weren’t for the reflection, he would have missed it. Instead of intercepting directly, Paxton angled between another sofa and an overstuffed chair. He needed to cut the kid off. What he would do with him then was up in the air.

  Evan was Ruth’s son, but he also had killed, no, not just killed, but tortured, how many people over the last few weeks? Evan staked Helen to the cross. He just stabbed Michael. Sixtus was half a man because of Evan. And Paxton had no idea how Ruth was going to react. Sure, she was a cop through and through, but she was also a mom. A terrified and mortified mom.

  He was able to put up a barrier between him and his feelings for Jeremy. Could Ruth do the same? Could he even ask her to do the same?

  Watching the dusty mirror closely, Paxton made his way quietly across the room. Only a floorboard’s squeak gave away his position. Abandoning stealth, Paxton rushed around the stack of boxes.

  Evan raised his knife, murder in his eyes, but Paxton had him dead to rights. He braced himself for the recoil, but Ruth leapt between them.

  “No!” she yelled, and then more gently, she begged, “Don’t.”

  * * *

  “Please don’t,” Ruth pleaded. She knew she should let Paxton shoot, but she just couldn’t.

  Holding one hand toward Paxton, she turned toward Evan. “Turn yourself in, Evan.”

  But her son—her child—snorted at her. “And sit in a cage for the rest of my life? Never.”

  “Evan, please—”

  But he ran at Paxton. She couldn’t let her son do any more harm, so she threw herself between them. Pain exploded as the knife sank into her chest. A gasp escaped as blood frothed in the back of her throat.

  “Why?” she asked her son, as the blade slid out of her tissue with a sickening slurp, then clanged on the floor.

  Evan scrambled and grabbed her gun, pointing it at Paxton.

  “Why not?” Evan answered, but Ruth could hear the tremble in his voice as she slumped against the wall. “Don’t tell me that Dr. Phil didn’t warn you about kids like me?”

  “Evan, you have so much to live for.”

  This time her son’s voice was firm and cruel. “Oh, a gigantic swing, and a miss by Mom!”

  As Paxton tried to get a bead on Evan, Ruth’s son grabbed her, digging the barrel of her gun into her side. His words were far more painful than any injury that weapon could inflict.

  “I’ve got a father who would rather live a life of silent abstinence, stroking his books in a monastery, and a mother who is too busy saving the world to even bother to call to let her son know that she won’t be home for dinner.”

  “I am so sorry,” Ruth sobbed. Not for herself, but for how she failed Evan.

  Her son brought his lips to her ear, seeming to take delight in her tears. “So one day, I figured that I’d kill two birds with one stone.” Evan chuckled cruelly. “Literally. I started killing people. That got your attention, Mom. And I decided to do it in the style of the martyrs, so I’m pretty sure Dad will lift his head out of his f—ing books.”

  “Waa, waa, waa,” Paxton said. “Boo f—ing hoo.”

  Ruth looked at her partner. Had he gone mad? Her son was in agony. Couldn’t he see?

  “That is about all the woe-is-me crap I can take for the day.” Paxton brought his weapon up. “Drop the gun, or I will drop you.”

  Ruth felt her son tense. He might be a cold-blooded murderer, but it was quite another thing to stare down a gun barrel pointed at you.

  “And I’ll shoot you,” Evan said as he aimed at Paxton. “That doesn’t get you very far, does it?”

  “If I have to die to take you out and save the others, then I’ll do it,” Paxton said, passion thick in his voice. “If you know anything about me, you know that, Evan.”

  Ruth could feel her lungs fill with blood as her son’s arm shook
holding the gun.

  “Really. That’s not exactly how Mom described you. I believe her words were lazy and insolent.”

  But Paxton didn’t back down. “Try me.”

  She could feel Evan’s arms tense as he went to squeeze the trigger. Ruth backed into him, forcing his arm up as both guns went off. Ears ringing, she watched Evan’s shot go wide, but when she turned back to her son, blood soaked through his shirt. Paxton’s shot was dead-on.

  They clutched each other as their blood mingled.

  “Baby, I’ve got you.”

  But there was no love in Evan’s eyes as he looked at her. “And I’ve got you.”

  With that, he heaved them both out of a stained glass window. The glass ripped her flesh as they fell through the stormy night. Ruth tore her nails as she tried to grab hold of the shingles, but they were too slick. Finally, they landed hard against an outcropping.

  All the breath left her chest. She sucked in, desperate for air, but could find none. Just rain rolling down her face like tears. Evan slipped beside her, heading for the edge. She snatched his hand, but it was flaccid in her grasp.

  “Hang on.”

  “Why should I?” Evan asked as his fingers slipped through hers.

  Ruth watched, helpless, as her son plummeted to his death.

  * * *

  Paxton forced himself to watch as Evan hit the soggy ground. Legs sprawled out and arms askew, the kid didn’t move. Thank God. He knew that was Ruth’s son dead on the ground, and that it was a young life shattered, but all he could think was… good riddance.

  The fire growing inside the mansion lighted the night sky. Flames shot out of windows as the air crackled. As urgently as he could under the circumstances, Paxton made his way down the treacherous roof. Carefully, he stepped next to Ruth on the small outcropping, where two wings of the mansion met.

  “Ruth …” he said as he checked her vital signs. They were barely measurable. He pulled her up against him. “Why’d you jump in front of me?”

  Her gaze already seemed far, far away as she answered softly. “All that I could think was …” Ruth coughed up bright, red blood. “Where were his parents? Where was I?”

  “Sweet Jesus, Ruth! It wasn’t your fault,” Paxton said, as he wiped wet strands of her hair from her face. “It wasn’t.”

  “Then whose was it?” she asked.

  He didn’t have an answer for that, so he just hugged her tighter, letting the rain beat against them, washing away any sins she committed. Then her hand found his. She squeezed it.

  “I would have said ‘yes.’ ” Ruth whispered, so quietly that he had to lean in to hear.

  “To what?”

  “If you had asked …”

  Unable to tell rain from tears, Paxton leaned over and kissed Ruth, as her last breath shuddered them both.

  CHAPTER 11

  Cecilia pulled back the edge of the cloak to check on Michael’s wound. He roused at the pain.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. There was no oozing, but she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  Jeremy paced beside her. “It’s been awhile since those last shots.”

  Cecilia did not want to admit it, but she had been thinking the same thing. If Paxton or Ruth didn’t come back soon, they were going to have to leave without them. If Evan showed up, well, that was a totally different story.

  She looked down to find Michael licking his parched lips. “So much for me being an archangel.”

  Cecilia smiled. “You are forever my official guardian angel.”

  “Ugh, on top of all of this, are you going to make me puke?” Jeremy commented in his usual all-about-him way.

  She was going to retort, but a call came from the other side of the attic. “Um, a little help over here would be appreciated.”

  “Uncle Pax!” Jeremy yelled as he ran to help.

  Cecilia gazed down at Michael. “If Uncle Paxton’s cranky, then everything must be okay.” Spontaneously, she leaned down and kissed Michael on the forehead.

  “You know, that almost made all of this worth it.” As he chuckled, he flinched from the pain.

  “I know,” Cecilia finished for him, “Almost.”

  “Actually, I was going to say… definitely worth it.”

  Cecilia felt her cheeks flush. Was she going to find the courage to tell him how much he had come to mean to her?

  “Get him up,” Paxton said, nearly panting as he and Jeremy rounded the corner. Her uncle was soaked through, and with more than a little blood smeared across his chest. “The place is an inferno.”

  Cecilia helped lift Michael to his feet. “We can’t leave, though. We left some friends on the second floor.”

  “The third door on the right after the second junction,” Michael added.

  Paxton repeated it as though he were writing it down in his head. “I’ll get them.” He turned to Cecilia and Jeremy. “Can you two handle getting him out of here?”

  “Definitely,” Cecilia answered, as Jeremy took Michael’s other shoulder.

  “I will meet you at the docks,” Paxton added.

  Then he did the oddest thing. Her uncle walked over and kicked a large trunk.

  * * *

  “All right, Dahmer,” Paxton said, kicking the trunk again. “You’re coming with me.”

  Sheepishly, the lead singer opened the trunk and climbed out. “You can’t make me go—”

  But Paxton was done with Dahmer’s sense of entitlement. With Ruth’s blood on his hands, he just couldn’t take the singer’s attitude anymore. He had three terrified, injured teens to get out of a burning building, and he wasn’t going to be able to do it himself.

  “It is your lucky day, Dahmer. I am deputizing you. Now move it.”

  Paxton turned to make sure Cecilia and the others were on their way. Sure enough, they were already heading down the stairs. He turned back to the lead singer. With his makeup half cried off and his skintight pants fraying, Dahmer looked like some kind of circus reject. And sounded like one.

  Paxton could barely understand the singer as he sniveled, “I’m too weak.”

  But Paxton slapped Dahmer on the back. “I’d say it’s about time you gave something back to your fans.”

  Dahmer was none too happy about it, but they made their way across the attic. During the cat and mouse with Evan, Paxton had spotted another entrance to the attic. It seemed to let out over the southern wing. At least he hoped it did.

  Cautious of a trap, Paxton used an old umbrella to hit the latch on the attic stairs. The stairs extended smoothly. Which made Paxton nervous. How many automated traps did Evan leave? For such a nerdy kid, Evan certainly had been industrious.

  “All right. Down you go,” Paxton said.

  “No way!” Dahmer shouted. “I’m not going first!”

  Paxton flatly stated, “My gun says otherwise.”

  Dahmer searched Paxton’s face, and must have realized that he was, in fact, serious.

  The lead singer mumbled something about Paxton’s momma before climbing down. Which was fine by Paxton. His momma’s memory could handle the insult if it got them out of this pyromaniac’s wet dream of a fire.

  * * *

  Cecilia stopped at the exit even though Michael was getting really heavy to carry. She could see Jeremy strain as well under the weight. But they had to stop. The exit was blocked by poor Rage. His mouth was still open in surprise at his gory demise.

  “Sis, we’ve gotta get out of here.”

  No duh.

  “What if there is another trap?” Cecilia questioned.

  “Evan showed some skills, but he just didn’t have the time to double-rig stuff.”

  How she wished she could believe that.

  Michael pushed away from her. “I’ll go through.”

  “Have you lost it?” Cecilia demanded. Blood had stopped pouring down his side, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t start any minute.

  Michael grinned, though. “I figure the one already bleedi
ng should be the one to risk getting spiked.”

  “Yep,” Jeremy said. “I like his logic.”

  She glared at her younger brother.

  “Cec,” Michael said. “I’m doing it.”

  She wanted to argue, but found she didn’t have the heart for it. She had seen the spikes go through Rage. She heard his last anguished cry. Was she pathetic for not wanting that same fate?

  But Michael seemed to have none of her concerns, or shock had really set in, as he pushed against the metal bed frame, with Rage still attached. He was weak, though, and the spring that triggered the spikes was strong.

  To hell with fear! Cecilia thought as she added her shoulder to the effort.

  “Exactly!” Jeremy said, as he, too, helped.

  The metal screeched in complaint. Cecilia tried to ignore Rage’s dead eyes as they stared at her. She concentrated completely on not letting her hands slip from the wet surface. If she did, she too would be the skewered one.

  Once outside the shelter of the doorway, rain poured down upon them—like a bucket of ice-cold water had just been dumped. Above them, flames fought the moisture as the fire spread from the house to the surrounding trees. Even amongst the downpour, the smell of smoke reeked all around them.

  Shivering, Cecilia pushed all the harder. They were almost there.

  “Wait! Wait! Wait,” Jeremy cried out.

  They all froze.

  “Um, you know how I said that Evan didn’t have enough time to set a secondary trap?”

  “Yes …” Cecilia said, hoping against hope that her brother was not going to say what she thought he was going to say.

  “Okay, I might have been off on that one.”

  “Why?” Michael asked.

  Jeremy kept both hands on the metal frame, but he bobbed his head, willing Cecilia to look behind her.

  “Oh, God!” she cried out, as she looked over her shoulder. Another, larger, spike- studded frame sat ready to crash down upon them.

  “I think …” Jeremy stalled, and then started out again. “I think if this frame hits the ground, that one whooshes in to … you know.”

  With Rage’s flared, bloody nostrils at eye level, Cecilia knew very well.