DEFENGING THE EYEWITNESS

by Rachel Lee

  Even Maude, who never seemed to leave her diner, had managed to marry and have two daughters. Corey couldn’t manage even that because of an overpowering fear of men. A fear that honestly didn’t make sense to her, but one she had never been able to overcome.

  Not until Austin. She wondered if he had broken that wall down for good, or if he’d leave and she’d be afraid of men again.

  The only way to get past that was to deal with this guy, no matter how scary it was. For the sake of her future, if nothing else, she had to defang him, demystify him, turn him into the ugly but mortal being he was.

  A ghost killed her mother? No wonder she had problems. The murder was bad enough, but the childish interpretation of the killer made it worse. How could you catch a ghost? How could you stop one?

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Austin said.

  “I was just thinking about that memory I had last night. That a ghost killed my mother. I can understand why it seemed that way to me when I was seven, but maybe it was the worst-possible interpretation.”

  “I think that whole event had to classify as the worst-possible thing for you to witness. But what do you mean?”

  “I made him supernatural. How do you defend against that?”

  “Good question,” he agreed. A minute or so passed before he spoke again. “Are you feeling differently about him now?”

  “Not really. Somewhere deep inside I’m still endowing him with crazy power. I need to stop that. Obviously he’s just a man.”

  “Obviously. But something being obvious doesn’t always help. So let’s talk about how we’re going to get this guy.”

  “How can we do that when I don’t even know how or when he’ll come.”

  “We agreed earlier on your most vulnerable times. Gage and I talked more after you left. On the off chance that he might be concerned about me, I’m going to go to Mahoney’s in the evening and buy a beer. Then I’ll slip out the back and get to your place before you close. You won’t see me, okay? I don’t intend to be seen by anyone.”

  “Okay.”

  “But I’ll be there. And if you want the truth, I think you can probably handle him yourself.”

  “Me?” Her eyes widened and her stomach flipped nervously.

  “I saw you in the gym on Sunday. But it’s more than that. You’re not a child anymore. You won’t be taken by surprise. And he’s eighteen years older now.”

  She turned to look at him. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “Well, think about it now. You’re in your prime physically. He’s past his, even if he’s keeping in shape. You’re going to have speed and reflexes on your side, and you’re pretty good at using them. I saw it. You don’t really need me. I’m just backup.”

  She almost gaped at him, but then it was as if some kind of earthquake took place in her, shaking out dust and some of her fear, to replace it with confidence. “You believe in me that much?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Wow.” The warmth that flooded her, then turned her insides into something approximating melted chocolate. “No one ever believed in me that much.”

  “Not even your grandmother?”

  “She tried, but I know she always saw me as a bird with a broken wing. She tried to protect me from nearly everything.”

  “I understand the impulse. I’d do the same if I could. But that isn’t very good for you, is it?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t. I was always made to feel fragile in some way. Broken. And I was broken.”

  “In some ways. Given what you went through, it’s not surprising. But you’re grown up now, and you’re a very capable woman.” He paused. “I’m sorry if I gave you a different feeling when I pressed you about hiding. Damn, I just wanted to get past your walls. But you know something?”

  “What?”

  “I never saw you as weak in any way. You did what you had to do in order to survive a terrible trauma. That’s not weakness, Corey. That’s strength. Hell, you even had the strength to protect yourself from the dangers you perceived in therapy. The strength to put on a facade to ease the worries of your family.”

  “Pretense isn’t strength.”

  “Sometimes it is. You were not only protecting yourself, but have you considered that you were also protecting your family?”

  She drew a sharp breath. “No.”

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “You made them believe you were okay so they wouldn’t worry too much. That was protection. You’re an amazing woman. Then, despite a very reasonable fear of men, you let me in. That fear would have been unreasonable only if you’d known who the murderer was. But you didn’t. He could have been anyone. I told you before, I think you were very smart.”

  He had shone a whole new light on her, and she turned what he said around in her mind, feeling stronger by the minute.

  “I can do this,” she announced.

  “You can,” he agreed. “Now, can I take you to bed again?”

  Chapter 13

  The Righteous Man decided to wait on the note. He could send it right before he took care of the pervert and restored decency to Conard County. It would make his message clear then but not get the cops involved beforehand. He even considered lengthening the note, to make sure everyone knew that he had cleaned the trash and sin from the community.

  But perhaps that was self-serving. He shouldn’t aggrandize himself for doing the right thing. No one should.

  But it tempted him. No one had understood why he’d killed Olivia, except Olivia. That should be enough, but considering the terrible thing he had to do, and the burden he bore guarding this town from evil, didn’t someone need to understand that he was protecting them and their children?

  He wrestled with his thoughts for a while, writing various notes. Some sounded too much like self-justification. He needed none other than that he was doing the right thing. Some sounded preachy, and he knew folks wouldn’t appreciate that tone from someone who didn’t belong in the pulpit at church.

  He just wanted them to understand they had a protector, someone who was looking out for them. Sort of like Batman, maybe.

  That thought drew him up short. Talk about aggrandizing himself. He was no superhero, but an ordinary man trying to serve his neighbors.

  Halfway through his daily beer, he realized that he was wrestling with a temptation of his own: to feel important and special.

  Not good. It would diminish his purity of action and intent. Doing the right thing deserved no special attention or praise. He must do it for no other reason than that it needed to be done.

  Maybe he shouldn’t even send a final note. But no, he needed to leave some message. Some mark that there had been a reason for this. He wouldn’t want anyone to think he was just a common murderer, even if they didn’t fully understand why he was doing this. That would be bad. People at least had to understand there was a reason. Otherwise they might think he was the sinner and not understand anything at all of his grand mission.

  He called up the message he had originally intended to send and edited it. Your mother deserved it. You do, too.

  That would at least put them on the right trail as they looked for a reason. He had almost no doubt that they would figure it out. Neither mother nor daughter dated. They hung out with women.

  He took another pull on his beer and smiled. Yes, that would do. They would figure it out.

  * * *

  Corey had a restless night. Horrific images plagued her dreams, waking her repeatedly. Each time she jerked awake with a gasp, Austin was right there, holding her.

  When he questioned her about her nightmares, she finally tried to explain. “They’re not really nightmares. I just keep getting these awful, bloody images. The instant I have one, it jerks me awake.”

  “Are you remembering?”

&n
bsp; “I don’t know,” she admitted, wishing she could burrow into him. “I have no way to know. It could all just be my imagination.”

  “I doubt it,” he said grimly. “Your memory is waking. I hope it stops. Do you want to get up?”

  “For a little while,” she decided. “I need my sleep or I’m never going to get through the day. Maybe I can shake this dream off.”

  So once again they sat in the kitchen, this time with warm milk and cookies. She barely touched her cookie, but she drank her milk, hoping it would make her sleepy.

  “What exactly are you seeing?”

  She shuddered. “So much blood. Lakes of blood. How could there be so much?”

  He didn’t answer, and she thought she understood why. He didn’t want to prod her memories. But she wasn’t sure they hadn’t already been prodded. God, morning couldn’t come quickly enough.

  But as for whether she was remembering something real, or her mind was distorting things in her sleep, she had no idea. “I still don’t want to remember,” she said presently.

  “I hope you don’t. I don’t see how it could do a damn bit of good.”

  She agreed with that. She knew the things that mattered, that her mother had been stabbed to death. She didn’t need to remember it. Not for any reason. Nothing would change, essential facts would remain the same.

  It wouldn’t even help her face the criminal who had killed her mother.

  “Let’s not go back to bed,” Austin said when she finished her milk. “Maybe we can get comfortable together on the couch. It might change what your mind is doing.”

  It was worth a try, she thought. So he stretched out and had her lie on top of him, between his legs, her head pillowed on his chest. She felt surrounded by him and safe.

  It did help. No more images interrupted her sleep.

  * * *

  In the morning, he reminded her of the plan. He’d go to Mahoney’s, order a drink, play darts for a while and then as her closing time approached he’d leave through the back door.

  She had only one question. “Do you think it’ll be tonight?”

  “Probably not. I get the feeling he’s taking a bit of sadistic pleasure in toying with you. Besides, we haven’t gotten another note.”

  “Maybe there won’t be one.”

  “He hasn’t exactly said anything definitive about why he’s doing this. From the looks of the others, I’d guess he plans to make sure you know first.”

  “Like my mother knew.”

  He hesitated, taking her hand. “We don’t know what she knew. All we can do is speculate.”

  “I can’t imagine any other reason she just up and took me to Denver. Something was scaring her.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe your aunt was right. Maybe she felt she just couldn’t live the kind of life she wanted here.”

  “I suppose,” Corey said. But something deep inside her disagreed, and she didn’t know why. Something left over from somewhere, either from the night of her mother’s murder, or something she’d heard at some other point. Her mother had fled to hide.

  That thought didn’t exactly bolster her as she walked to work.

  The day had developed a slight nip, a hint that winter was getting closer. Ordinarily she loved days like these, but she didn’t really notice it that morning. She wrapped her arms around herself and clutched the knitting needle hidden in her bag.

  So Austin didn’t think it would be today. She almost hoped he was wrong. Her nerves were starting to feel stretched as tight as a drum skin. First the inchoate threat of the notes, then the realization that she might be the next intended victim of a killer with a knife.

  She hadn’t been kidding when she said she’d had enough. She wanted this settled, the sooner the better. Waiting without knowing where the end point was didn’t agree with her.

  Like her aunt’s death from cancer. God, that had been nerve-wrenching agony, watching her suffering, wondering every morning if she’d still be alive, wondering if every good night would be the last one. Much as she had grieved, there’d been an undeniable sense of relief when it was over. Her aunt had been freed of pain, and the endless watching and fearing had drawn to its conclusion.

  She felt much the same way right now. Just get it done with.

  Business filled her day. It seemed as if the door never stopped opening, the bell over it never stopped tinkling. She moved from room to room, wishing she could settle enough to join one group or another, whether it was making embroidered butterflies for the quilt, or preparing the colored pieces for it. She tried to join the knitting circle for a while, but she just couldn’t count stitches. A couple of the women remarked that she seemed edgy about something. She replied with a forced laugh. “Just antsy.”

  Antsy didn’t begin to cover it. Dread crept ceaselessly along her nerves, and from time to time massive anxiety filled her.

  Not today, Austin had said. Part of her hoped he was right, and part of her, the biggest part of her, just wanted it over before she went home.

  She caught sight of Austin a couple of times through her front window. He was walking in and out of little shops, as if he was indeed job hunting.

  Then she didn’t see him again and knew he must be moving on to the rest of the plan.

  The last group of the day came through. About a dozen women had started a project to make appliquéd holiday sweatshirts for the kindergarten through third grade at the elementary school. They were having a great time with the task, and a bit of early holiday spirit seemed to fill the place. While they worked, they talked about their next project, making Christmas-tree ornaments.

  Corey reminded them she’d need a list of supplies in the next week or two so she could start ordering them.

  Then they trailed out the door, and she decided to lock up behind them and turned her sign to Closed. As she saw the women out, though, she realized for the first time that the evenings were shortening again. Soon she’d be walking home in the dark.

  If she was still around to walk home in the dark. Grimly she set about cleaning and getting ready to take out the trash.

  Not tonight, Austin had said. All of a sudden she hoped he was right.

  * * *

  The Righteous Man decided to check one last thing before he acted. That guy staying with Corey still troubled him, although given the way she had let him run home from the college Sunday morning while she drove, he supposed it wasn’t a concern. Besides, he hadn’t seen them spend any time together.

  Regardless, he’d noticed the guy sometimes went to Mahoney’s, so he waited outside for a few, trying not to check his watch too often. At last the guy showed up and went inside. The man waited a couple of minutes and then followed him in.

  Drink. Then darts. He watched Corey’s tenant get into a friendly squabble with another guy over who was going to use the blue darts.

  Okay, he was here for a while.

  Time to go.

  * * *

  Austin was getting edgy. He had been trying to reassure Corey when he told her the guy wouldn’t act tonight, but that didn’t mean he believed it. Nothing about this situation was predictable. Not one damn thing, and he hated it. It had been easier to maneuver his way through Mexican cartels.

  He glanced at his watch and saw Corey must be closing up. He had to get to the empty building behind Corey’s place quickly. He was sure the alley would be the point of attack. Any other place and it might draw too much attention.

  He was slipping out the back door when he ran into a drunk urinating against the wall. “Hey, man,” he said as he tried to pass, “there’s a urinal inside.”

  The last thing he expected was for the man to turn and punch him in the jaw. For a drunk, the guy landed a good solid punch. Because he hadn’t expected it, Austin stumbled and felt his head hit the brick wall.
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br />   Oh, hell, he thought as he sank into blackness.

  * * *

  Corey putted around as long as she could. It only made sense to give Austin every extra minute she could to get here. But finally it was nearly dark outside, and she couldn’t find any other excuse to linger. He had to be out there in the vacant house across the alley.

  She could do this.

  She picked up the biggest, strongest, sharpest knitting needle she could find, then hesitated, wondering if it would be better to take her box cutter. She didn’t know how she could carry both of them in addition to the trash can.

  She studied the situation for a moment, then stuck the box cutter in the pocket of her apron. She clutched the knitting needle hard against the side of the can and went to the back door.

  She drew a few deep breaths, steadying herself. Summoning every ounce of courage she had. If this was it, at least it would be over.

  She hit the bar. It was a fire door, so it was always locked from the outside, but until she bolted it from the inside, she could always open it. She pushed it open a few inches, then put the doorstop in place so it couldn’t close behind her. She supposed it didn’t matter. She always had her shop keys in her apron and could still get back in from the front.

  She poked her head out. The darkening alley was utterly still and silent. She even peered around behind the door and saw no one.

  Feeling marginally better, she opened the door farther and carried the can to the bin and dumped it.

  When she turned around, she gasped.

  A man stood there. He had appeared out of nowhere, like the ghost she had once thought him. He wore no big white coverall this time, though, although he had a nylon stocking over his head. Very little of him was exposed.

  “C-can I help you?” she asked.

  “No, but I’m going to save you,” he answered.

  She’d seen him around. She knew that voice. God, she wished she could recall his name. But she knew him all right. He lived here.