Runs Deeper

by R. D. Brady

  Julie turned off the ignition and pocketed the keys. She reached into the back seat and grabbed the shotgun. “Ha.”

  She stepped out of the car. She expected to hear nothing but silence. But she could hear a faint noise coming from the lumberyard. Sullivan shot her a look.

  “The saw,” she said softly.

  His eyes widened for a second before he gave her a nod. The two then walked quietly forward. Julie gripped the shotgun. She’d made sure it was loaded before she left, and she had extra rounds in her coat pocket. But she really would’ve preferred her handgun. She’d get two shots off with this thing before she had to reload. And she knew Jack wouldn’t go down with two hits.

  Sullivan stopped at the front of the car, looking between the main building and the lumberyard entrance, which was closed up. There was no cover at the lumberyard entrance. If they went through the gates, they’d be out in the open for an extended period of time. Entering through the showroom would give them a bit more coverage.

  Julie nodded toward the main building. Sullivan followed her and then took the lead, waving her to the side of the main doors. He flattened himself against the side and then yanked one of the doors open, staying low and going in. There was no noise from inside.

  Julie took a deep breath and followed.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Steve’s mind was still trying to wrap itself around the fact that Jack was dead. And he still didn’t know who was taunting him from the darkness. At the same time, he was straining to see any sign of Declan or Russ.

  But whoever it was must have known that the snow would give his position away. He seemed to have run trails through every opening in the lumberyard before Steve arrived. It was a smart move.

  It was something Jack would’ve thought of.

  “You know, when I was growing up, I always wanted to meet my dad. I always wanted to meet the bastard that had left me with her. But she never talked about him. There were no notes hidden away in her dresser telling of an old love. So I pieced together some of her drunken ramblings.” His voice had taken on a hard edge.

  “And then one night, Jack Kane was on 20/20. She’d been glued to the TV. And, of course, to a bottle of scotch. Before the episode was over, she told me all about meeting Jack one night, in excruciating detail. She wasn’t really clear on the date, but it seemed to line up well enough that I knew in my gut he was the one. So it was just a matter of finding him, reaching out to him.”

  Steve still couldn’t tell where exactly the voice was coming from. But he thought it might be over by the shed. The shed would be a good place to hide Declan and Russ too. He slowly made his way down the path, hoping that the man couldn’t see him and hoping that he kept talking. Seemed like he’d built up a lot of rage that he needed to let out.

  “Where you going, Steve?”

  Steve stopped.

  “Did you think I was going to do one of those rambling soliloquies while the hero saves the day? I’ve seen those movies too, Steve. But you know what movies were my favorites? Those cheesy eighties movies where the hero has an impossible decision to make. Who will he save? He can only choose one. The situations were ridiculous, but man, they were fun to watch.”

  A thump sounded from the other side of the yard near the saws. Another spotlight flared to life. There was a body on the ramp leading up to the saw. It was slowly inching toward the giant blade. Steve started to run when a spotlight flared on to his left. It was aimed at the top of a twenty-foot pile of wood. The wood was leaning forward at an awkward angle held back by rope.

  He squinted, realizing the rope was attached to a pulley. He followed it to the end and saw a shadow standing. The shadow held up a knife. “Who’s it going to be, Steve?”

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Steve didn’t know what to do. In his gut, he knew he was only going to be able to save one of them. And in order to save whoever was underneath the pile of wood, he’d have to take out the killer.

  He reached in the back of his jeans and pulled out the Berretta. He took off for the saw. He knew he had no chance of hitting the guy, but he hoped he would be able to scare him away long enough for him to get both men to safety.

  Before he could even squeeze the trigger, a shot rang out. Steve winced, ducking but not slowing.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the man with the knife drop to the ground.

  “You with the knife, drop it.” Detective Sullivan charged out of the back of the showroom. Steve put more speed into his sprint. Now he could tell it was Russ on the saw table. He was only a few inches away from the whirling blade. With a burst of speed, Steve vaulted for the table, grabbed Russ, and rolled off of it. The two of them slammed to the ground. For a moment, all the breath left Steve’s lungs, and he gasped for air.

  He reached up and pulled the duct tape off Russ’s mouth. “Declan,” Russ gasped out.

  Steve’s head whipped up, and he saw the detective pulling Declan away from the tower of wood. Steve started to unwrap Russ’s arms, scanning the area for the man. Had the detective shot him? Was he down?

  A shadow shifted at the far end of the yard.

  The man sprinted into view, slicing out at the rope holding the wood back before ducking back into the shadows.

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  The tower of wood stayed still for a second before the top planks tumbled forward. Then the whole wall of wood was moving, an avalanche tumbling down.

  Steve vaulted to his feet. “No!”

  Sullivan’s head jerked up at Steve’s yell. The tower of wood raced toward the ground. Steve sprinted back from the other side of the yard, but he knew he wasn’t going to make it in time.

  Sullivan gripped Declan harder and started to move faster. But it wasn’t fast enough. At the last second, Sullivan shifted positions with Declan so that he would take the first hit. The two of them disappeared underneath the wooden planks.

  Snow flew up in the air at the impact. Steve screeched to a halt, breathing hard, his eyes scanning the wood, looking for either the detective or Declan. To his right he saw an arm and sprinted over. He started to pull on the wood, tossing it aside.

  After removing three planks, he realized it was Declan. He was at the end of the pile. Steve got two more planks removed and saw the back of the detective’s head. Blood dotted the snow around him. Neither of them were moving. Declan’s eyes flicked open, and a grimace crossed his face. He looked up and then past Steve, his eyes going wide. “Steve!”

  Steve looked over his shoulder just in time to see the two-by-four flying toward his face.

  Steve ducked, tripping over the planks sprawled across the ground. The wood flew over his head, the wind brushing along his face showing how close a miss it had been. Steve rolled, trying to get back to his feet. He scrambled back, grabbed onto a stack of wood, and propelled himself to his feet, whirling around. And for the first time, he got a good look at who had caused all of this hell for him.

  It was Rory Tilden.

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Death stared down at Steve Kane. The light was just right, so he could see the look on Steve’s face when he realized that Death, not Jack Kane, had been stalking him all this time.

  Making them think it was Jack had been easy. After all, Rory would never do anything like that. Rory was always helpful. Rory was always smiling.

  Rory was always screaming. But they never heard the screams inside his mind. They never saw the bruises or the cuts his mother and her boyfriends had doled out. He’d learned how to be unobserved. He’d learned how to disappear even while standing there. He’d learned to tell people what they wanted to hear. He’d been a ghost in his own life for years.

  But then he decided it was time to make ghosts of his own.

  His mother had been the first. He’d kept her body in the house, not wanting to let it go. Oh, not out of any sort of remorse or sentiment but as a reminder that she was finally dead. And that he had been the one who had done it. Then when Jack had reach
ed out with his plan, Rory knew what his next steps would be.

  He was going to eclipse the master.

  He’d kill Jack that first night but not before Jack had told him his plan about getting back at Steve. And Rory had liked it. And why let a good plan go to waste?

  Jack Kane was going to destroy Steve’s life again. But he’d always planned on leaving Steve alive to feel the guilt and the pain of loss. Then Jack was going to disappear and start up somewhere new.

  Rory wasn’t going to hold strictly to Jack’s plan. Oh, he was going to destroy Steve’s life and everyone in it. But he was also going to kill Steve.

  Then Rory would be the one who would slip off into a different town, a different life. Unlike Jack, who started small, Rory Tilden had started off his public killings with a bang. Slowly, he would build up the body count over the years, maybe three or four per year. He’d keep track so there was an accurate record.

  And then one day, when he was nearing death himself, he would lay it all out for everyone. People would know Rory. They would never forget Rory.

  Because Rory had become Death.

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  Once again, Steve’s mind struggled to comprehend what was right in front of him. “Rory?”

  Rory’s only answer was to swing at him again and again. Steve backed up, shifting from side to side, trying to stay out of the arc of the piece of wood. “Rory, why are you doing this?”

  “Why? I told you why.” He swung again.

  Steve ducked down a split between two pallets of wood. There was only about a three-foot clearance, which meant Rory wouldn’t be able to reach him in there. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Oh, I don’t have to. But I want to.” Rory stood at the end of the opening, and even in the dim light, Steve could see his smile. It reminded him of Jack’s. Rory dropped the wood, pulling a gun from the back of his pants. “Goodbye, Uncle.”

  Steve backed away as a blast from a gun tore through the air.

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  Julie’s hands didn’t shake. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t fearful.

  She was determined.

  She and Detective Sullivan had split up when they reached the inside. Julie had gone to check out the office and bathrooms while he’d gone through the showroom.

  She’d known at the time that he was sending her to the safer location. And she’d let him because she needed a minute to wrap her mind around what she might have to face. She’d been halfway through the showroom when she’d heard Steve yell out. She’d just reached the showroom doors when the pile of wood crashed down.

  She pushed out the doors as she caught sight of Steve digging through the wood, only to see a man step out from the shadows and swing at him with a two-by-four.

  All her fear left her then. Fear was the deep root of desperation that told you that you were going to lose someone you loved. But it was also a hindrance that in this situation made it more likely that she would lose Steve. So she shoved all her fear aside and bolted out into the lumberyard.

  She followed Steve and the man, careful to keep her steps quiet and not call out. The shotgun felt so very cold in her arms. She gripped it tightly, her fingers slipping onto the trigger.

  Steve slipped between two pallets of wood to avoid the man as he swung again and again at Steve. The man stopped at the edge of the pallet. He pulled a gun from the back of his pants.

  Julie didn’t hesitate. She raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger.

  The first shot caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around. She pulled the trigger again, catching him in the torso. She strode forward, emptying the shells. She grabbed two more and shoved them inside. Loading the shotgun, she fired again, even as he brought up his gun hand. This time she caught him in the thigh. With a scream, he dropped to his knees.

  She emptied one last shot center mass. He flew backward, a large gaping hole in his chest. She lowered the muzzle of the shotgun to the floor, stumbling a little. She gripped the shotgun like a cane, needing it to keep her upright.

  “Julie?” Steve’s arms wrapped around her.

  She released a breath, sinking back into him, adrenaline levels plummeting and her whole body going weak.

  “It’s over. It’s over.”

  She nodded, but she didn’t take her eyes off of the evil in front of her. She stepped out of Steve’s embrace. She walked toward the monster who’d tried to kill her, who’d tried to kill Bess. With a start, she realized it wasn’t Jack.

  She leaned down, the shock of recognition falling over her. Rory?

  He’d been to her home. He’d played with her child.

  She could see his mouth still moving. Anger replaced shock. She stood up and emptied the spent rounds out of her shotgun. She grabbed two new rounds from her pocket and placed them in the chamber with a snap.

  “Julie, what are you doing?” Steve asked, stepping toward her and grabbing her arm.

  She shook him off, not looking away from the man on the ground. She didn’t know why Rory had done this to her family. She did not care. He’d tried to kill the people most important to her.

  “Making sure this is over.” She emptied both rounds into his chest.

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  Nevaeh, Robert, and Reggie arrived ten minutes later. By that time, Julie and Steve had managed to dig out Declan and Detective Sullivan. Julie thought Declan probably had a dislocated shoulder and a few broken fingers, but overall he’d made out pretty well. The detective, on the other hand, had a concussion and a couple of broken ribs, not to mention the head laceration, which accounted for all the blood. Julie had already gone with him, Declan, Russ, and Reggie to the clinic. She wanted to make sure he hadn’t punctured a lung. Two other deputies had arrived and were now starting to take photos at the scene.

  Nevaeh stood with Steve over Jack’s body. “So after all this, it was Rory, not Jack?”

  Steve wasn’t sure how to answer that. If Rory was Jack’s son, then Jack had really been a part of this. Even if he hadn’t been Rory’s biological father, he’d been the inspiration for all of this.

  “I’m not sure. But it looks like Jack’s been dead for a while.”

  “It’s hard to wrap your head around, isn’t it?” Nevaeh nodded to where Rory’s body was sprawled out. “I still don’t get how it was Rory. He never had any run-ins with the police. He did well in school. He seemed like a normal person.”

  “Yeah, so did Jack.”

  “Well, it’s over now. They’re both gone.” Nevaeh narrowed her gaze at Rory’s body. “Seems like there were a lot of shots aimed at Rory. He must’ve been like the Terminator to keep Julie shooting at him like that.”

  Steve met Nevaeh’s gaze. “She needed to make sure he wouldn’t come back.”

  Nevaeh didn’t let him look away. “He was moving until those last two shots, do you understand?”

  Steve met her gaze. “I understand.”

  “Good.” She sighed. “Now, how about if you and I head inside, and you can give me your statement while they start processing the scene? And please, dear God, tell me there’s some coffee somewhere in this building.”

  Steve cracked a smile. “Yeah, there’s coffee. And I have a stash of real sugar that I keep hidden from Reggie.”

  “You are my hero, Steve Kane.”

  Steve looked out over the lumberyard. No, I’m nobody’s hero. But Julie’s mine.

  Chapter Ninety

  Ellsworth, Maine

  The room was quiet. It was two days after the events in the lumberyard, and Gomez had run out of questions for the chief. She stood now. “Well, I need to get back.”

  Gomez arranged his robe, making sure nothing was showing as he stood. “Thank you for briefing me. I appreciate it.” He extended his hand.

  Nevaeh hesitated, and for a second Gomez worried she would reject his gesture. But then she shook his hand, her eyes softening. “I wish you a speedy recovery, Detective.”

  “Thank you
.” The hospital door closed quietly behind her. Gomez looked back at the bed but had no interest in climbing back into it. He walked over to the window. The snow had tapered off to just a few flakes. In the distance, he could even see the sun trying to break through the cloud cover.

  He stood there staring out, thinking of everything that Nevaeh had said. He looked for flaws in her argument, some way that she had misinterpreted the events of the last few days. But there were none.

  He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the window. Damn it.

  After a minute, he straightened, knowing what he had to do. He left his hospital room and headed down the hall. He paused at Sullivan’s room, glancing in. Shelley had arrived late last night. Now she slept in the chair next to Sullivan’s bed, her hand clasped in his.

  Gomez kept going, not wanting to disturb them.

  He took the elevator down one floor and made his way to Room 312. He paused at the door.

  Phineas O’Rourke lay in the bed, his eyes closed. Bandages covered his hands. And even with their bulkiness, you could tell he was missing three digits. His face had a little more color than when Gomez had stopped by yesterday but still wasn’t back to a healthy pallor. There were no two ways about it, the kid had been lucky.

  A young man sat in the chair by the bed, checking something on his phone. Gomez knocked on the door. The man’s head jolted up. He glanced at the bed and then quickly walked over to the doorway. “Um, can I help you?”

  “I’m Detective Gomez. I was hoping I could speak with Phineas.”

  “Oh, hey. I’m Stuart, Phineas’s roommate.” Stuart extended his hand. Gomez shook it. Stuart glanced back at the bed. “He’s sleeping. I’m not sure if I—”