A Breath Away

by Rita Herron

  “But I had to. Don’t you see?” Ross screeched.

  “She’s psychic. She was going to expose us.” He paced beneath the awning of the building, eyes scanning the surroundings to make sure no one had followed. His head bobbed up and down.

  “I had things under control, Ross. Now it’s all wrong.” The scent of fear washed over him. Tried to trap him just like it did when they locked him away. He could hear the metal doors slamming, the key turning in the lock.

  “But that reporter!” Sweat rolled down Ross’s hair-line and into his eyebrows. “You saw that article. He told lies about me. And he was onto you. He would have exposed everything. Then you and I couldn’t be together.”

  His mind raced, the old familiar zing of panic hitting him. He couldn’t think. What to do. What to do. What to do. He pulled at the tiny hairs on his arms. Prick. Prick. Prick.

  No, stop it. You don’t think in threes anymore. It’s one. One is the number.

  He was the one. The chosen one.

  As soon as he got rid of the others.

  Only Ross wanted him to think about the two of them. Two. A couple. He didn’t know how to be a couple.

  He never should have gotten involved with Ross Wheeler.

  Ross’s fingernails dug into his shoulder blade. “I did it for you. I know you wanted her. Go ahead and finish this so we can run away and be together.” Panic made his eyes bulge. His breathing sounded erratic. “I’ll pack tonight. We can leave at midnight. Get away before the sheriff connects us to that reporter.”

  His heart fluttered like a jumping bean. “What do you mean about the reporter?”

  “I had to take care of him,” Ross squealed. “I had to. I couldn’t let the reverend find out about us.”

  The truth zapped him in the gut. “You killed Morris?” He groaned, the sound erupting like that of a baby. Ross was messing everything up. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. A film of sweat broke out all over his body. He was not a killer.

  No, he was a blood taker.

  Sacrificing the lambs for his father. Ridding the world of the imperfect. The ones that were never meant to be.

  Ross jerked at his arm. “Come on, we have to put her in your car before they come looking for her.”

  Thoughts crashed in his head. Noises collided. Violet was way down on the list. His next lamb was already waiting. He had to go back. Take care of her.

  He could see her eyes looking up at him. Terrified. Waiting.

  His panic ebbed slightly. Adrenaline surged through him.

  Maybe Ross was right. He had to escalate his activities before the police found him. And timing was important for his father….

  It wouldn’t hurt to take Violet back with him now. It might even make things sweeter. She could watch him sacrifice the others. And while she waited, he’d tell her exactly what he planned to do to her.

  Laughter bubbled in his chest. If Violet really was psychic, then she probably already knew….

  * * *

  GRADY WAS LOSING his mind. Violet had to be all right. He couldn’t live with her death on his conscience. Not after he’d just found her. Not after he’d held her in the darkness and buried himself inside her.

  He turned to Reverend Wheeler. “Where’s your son?”

  Wheeler gripped the bed rail. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Reverend. A woman’s life could be at stake. Where is he?”

  “I told you I don’t know.”

  Anger knotted Grady’s throat. “And I suppose you didn’t know anything about these.” He gestured toward the women’s photos.

  “No…”

  “That’s pretty incriminating,” Agent Adams said. “Your son has photos of each of the Bone Whistler victims.”

  “We should pray for him,” Reverend Billy Lee Bilkins said. “Lord have mercy on his soul. I knew evil possessed that boy the minute I laid eyes on him.”

  “He didn’t do anything wrong,” Reverend Wheeler argued. “He might not be perfect, but my boy wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less a woman.”

  Grady tossed a stack of porn magazines toward him. They skidded across the bed, one flying open to reveal a picture of two nude men engaged in sex. “I suppose you weren’t aware of your son’s interest in young boys, either.”

  Reverend Wheeler jumped back, a gurgle of shock erupting from deep in his throat. “Where did you get that?”

  “It was hidden in your son’s desk,” Agent Adams said. “But if Ross likes men, why was his DNA on Kerry Cantrell’s sheets?”

  “It wasn’t Ross’s DNA, it was the reverend’s,” Grady said, putting two and two together. “He was sleeping with Kerry, not Ross.”

  Agent Adams nodded in quick understanding, but Wheeler shook his head violently, one hand on his heart, the other on his stomach as if he was going to be sick.

  “What’s wrong, Reverend? It’s okay for you to screw young girls, but you didn’t want your son having sex at all, right? Especially with men. You defended him when those young girls accused him of sexual misconduct, or did the paper have it wrong? Was it boys he abused?”

  “My son…no, it’s not true.”

  “As God is my witness, I knew that boy needed to be saved….” Brother Billy Lee’s voice rose in a loud chant.

  Reverend Wheeler cradled his head in his hands and moaned. “It’s not true. Ross wouldn’t do this to me. He wouldn’t ruin my career like this…it’s a lie!”

  “Like it’s not true that Ross was the product of a sperm donor?” Grady asked.

  “No!” Wheeler’s head flew up. “That was a lie, too. A mistake. My son is mine. That reporter had it all wrong. I have proof.”

  “What kind of proof?”

  “His birth certificate. Bloodwork we had done when he was small. He has a clubfoot just like I do.” Wheeler whipped off his Italian loafer and sock.

  “You could be lying to throw us off,” Grady said.

  Wheeler cried out in frustration, then grabbed one of his son’s shoes. “Look, he has special shoes to compensate.”

  Agent Adams looked at Grady in question. Grady let that sink in. If Morris had been mistaken and Wheeler wasn’t one of the children spawned from the sperm donor, it alleviated some of the suspicion from him. But everything else pointed to him.

  “Where did he go?” Grady asked again, this time more harshly.

  Wheeler shook his head. “I don’t know….”

  It was useless. The man was in shock. Grady called Logan to issue an APB on Ross Wheeler, and filled the deputy in on everything they’d learned so far.

  “I asked around town about Farmer,” Logan said. “Someone said he stopped by Mavis Dobbins’s house.”

  Grady grabbed his keys. “I’m on my way there now.” Agent Adams hurried behind him. While he started the engine, he phoned the hospital to see if Violet had been admitted.

  His heart sank when he was told she hadn’t. Then he asked Agent Adams to go back and meet his deputy at the station. He wanted her to watch Logan, just in case they were wrong about Wheeler, and his deputy was involved.

  * * *

  PINPOINTS OF PAIN stabbed through Violet’s numbness, and yet the urgent whisper of danger coaxed her from sleep. She struggled to open her eyes. Where was she? Dark walls closed around her. The humidity was suffocating. A sense of doom washed over her. The cloying smell of death…

  “Help me. Please. I can’t move.”

  Violet tried to turn toward the sound. Was it in her head? Was she having another vision?

  Her eyelids felt weighted down as she blinked and tried to focus. A sound rumbled in the distance. Thunder? A train, maybe?

  Something white drifted into her view. A jacket. A lab coat. She must be in the hospital. Yes. She’d had an accident. But someone had rescued her. Taken her to his car. Then they’d driven. He’d said he was going to take care of her.

  She was going to be fine. Maybe Grady would come.

  No. Memories drifted back through the fog. Gr
ady had left her to defend his father. His father hated her. They had both lied to her. Grady had that bone whistle….

  “Relax, Violet, I’m going to take care of you.”

  Violet tried to nod, but her head felt heavy. A small pinprick of pain jabbed at her arm, and she squirmed, but couldn’t lift her hand. A metallic taste filled her mouth. Her lips were dry. The room spun, a kaleidoscope of colors circling above her like angel wings fluttering in the wind. Then darkness carried her away into the abyss.

  A faint voice cried out for help, but Violet couldn’t respond. Maybe if she kept her eyes closed and slept, it would go away. She wouldn’t have to watch another woman die.

  No, she had to wake up. It was the only way she could help.

  But the darkness was too strong. Pulling her under. Replacing the light with shadows. Calling her name. She was at the graveyard with Darlene. She saw her friend’s arms outstretched, waiting. The others were there, too. They looked so peaceful.

  Then there were more, floating in the distance. Looking to her for help. They weren’t ready to die.

  Darlene hadn’t been ready to die, either….

  * * *

  HE WATCHED HER SLEEP. Felt a connection he’d never felt before. His entire body tingled. She had seen into his eyes. She knew him. Saw him taking the others.

  It was her blood. She was going to be the one. The perfect one. The one who would serve his father.

  He had to hurry.

  But what about the others? He had to maintain his order. Order was everything.

  Still, his father was calling him. Urging him to hurry. Time was running out. Death beckoned—sometimes his best friend, sometimes his enemy.

  Pin peyeh obe. Look toward the mountain. The bigger picture. What was more important? His father knew. He had started it all. And he would be there in the end, when the rest of them were gone. His father would live on forever.

  But then there was Ross—the only person he’d loved besides his father. Ross wanted him to go away with him. He’d be free. Never have to be locked up again.

  Stop the hiding. Stop the running. No more dark hallways. No more cold rooms. No more keys turning in the lock.

  But his father came first.

  The big picture. Finish the sacrifices.

  There were ten, there were nine, there were eight little angels. There were seven, there were six… One little angel in the band.

  Yes, when they were all gone, he would be the one.

  * * *

  “MISS DOBBINS, have you seen Dr. Farmer?”

  Mavis ignored Grady’s direct gaze, poured water into the steam iron and dropped it onto the pair of coveralls stretched taut across her ancient ironing board. “Ain’t seen him in forever.”

  The heat in the small cramped house swirled around Grady. The scent of cabbage and sausage cooking grated on his stomach. So did Mavis Dobbins’s attitude.

  Grady had lost his patience. First, the woman wouldn’t open the door. Then she’d ignored his questions. And she refused to tell him where her son was. On the way to her house, he’d thought back to his teenage years, the allegations about Ross Wheeler, the problems with Dwayne Dobbins. It had occurred to him that perhaps Dwayne had been sexually abused, possibly by his former teacher Ross Wheeler. As an already unstable teen, anything he’d said might have been overlooked. Either that or Mavis didn’t want more trouble for herself or her son. And what if Dwayne had been a male born from the sperm donor? There could have been more than one male, too.

  “Listen, we have reason to believe Farmer knows something about the serial killer who’s been murdering innocent women. And now Violet Baker is missing, and so is Ross Wheeler.”

  “That Baker girl is crazy, always has been,” Mavis said. “Don’t go bringing my boy and me into her nonsense.”

  “I didn’t mention Dwayne,” Grady said, catching her slip.

  Mavis’s lower lip trembled. But instead of commenting, she ran the iron over the coveralls, pressing them as if she could iron out all of her troubles with the vengeance of her strokes.

  “Mrs. Dobbins,” he said, “we know Doc Farmer stopped by here.”

  Mavis’s wary look warned him to tread lightly.

  “Listen, I’m not here to question your reputation as a mother, but if you know where Farmer was going, you have to tell me.”

  A groan sounded from the back room. Mavis’s eyes darted in panic. A thump followed. Someone was back here.

  “Is that Dwayne?”

  Mavis blotted at her forehead with the back of her hand. “What if it is?”

  “I have to talk to him. See if he knows where Ross Wheeler is.”

  “He don’t know nothing,” Mavis said.

  Grady started toward the room.

  “It’s not what it seems,” Mavis said as Grady pushed open the bedroom door.

  Dwayne was lying in the fetal position on her bed, a toy rabbit hugged to his chest. He was rocking back and forth. The room smelled faintly of urine and smoke.

  “How long has he been like that?” Grady asked.

  “All night,” Mavis mumbled. She squared her boxy shoulders defensively, then shoved her hands in the pockets of her tattered apron. “He wouldn’t take his medicine lately. Has been sneaking off. I thought he might be getting into trouble setting fires again. Doc Farmer upped his medicine before he left town.”

  “He’s been in bed since?”

  “For the past day and night,” Mavis said. “He’ll calm down soon. It’s got to get back in his system. Get regulated.”

  “Where did Doc Farmer go?” Grady asked.

  Mavis hesitated, then shuffled over to Dwayne to calm him. “He said something about a vacation. A cruise ship, maybe.”

  Grady punched the number for Special Agent Norton. “Check the airports. Farmer is supposedly going on a cruise, so cover the lines to Miami and any other cruise ship point.”

  As much as he felt sorry for Dwayne Dobbins and his mother, and wondered at the trouble she’d spoken of, he’d have to explore that later. Right now, he headed to the door. They had to talk to someone at that research center. See if they had names for all the recipients of the sperm. And they had to hurry.

  If the killer had Violet, their chances of finding her alive grew slimmer by the minute.

  * * *

  GRADY DROVE LIKE A MANIAC around the mountain. Thunderclouds rumbled above the edges of the thick evergreens. Light rain drizzled down, fogging the windshield. He turned on the wipers and defroster and swore, forcing himself to slow down around the dangerous curves. Agent Adams called when she arrived at the jail, but Logan hadn’t shown up. And he wasn’t answering his radio.

  Grady cursed again, his gaze skimming down the steep, rocky incline to the canyon below, then called Norton. He wished to hell he knew where Logan lived, but he didn’t have a clue. The man had been too damn secretive. And Grady had been so absorbed in Darlene’s case he hadn’t really paid attention.

  “I’m meeting you there,” Norton said.

  “I just hope this isn’t a wild-goose chase.” But what else could Grady do? They had an APB out on Wheeler and Farmer. Agent Adams was searching for his deputy. And other agents were checking into two lab assistants that seemed suspicious. If they learned the name of the donor and other offspring, it might lead them to the killer. At least they could warn the other possible victims.

  And what if the killer was the donor? Maybe one of the recipients discovered that his or her mother had been duped and threatened to expose him. He might kill the recipients to protect himself.

  “This research center’s the key,” Norton said. “Do you think Wheeler has Violet?”

  “I think he’s connected,” Grady said. “But something doesn’t fit. He doesn’t have the medical background to carry out the murders.”

  “But anyone could research on the Internet which drugs to take.”

  “True. And with his staunch religious upbringing and his father’s rigorous rules, he fits the prof
ile,” Grady said, praying they were on the right track.

  “He does seem obsessive-compulsive. Orderly. Violet said order meant everything to the killer.”

  Grady bit his lip. Did Norton believe Violet now? “But what order? The victims’ names haven’t been alphabetical.”

  “Not by last names,” Norton said. “That’s it—he’s dismissing their last names.” He paused a second, as if a new realization had dawned. “Since the women were all spawned by the same sperm donor, he’s discounting their last names. Technically they’re siblings, children of one father.”

  “Jesus Christ almighty.” Grady slapped the steering wheel. “In his note he says, ‘For our father.’ He isn’t referring to God the Father, but to his own—the sperm donor.”

  “The killer is one of the offspring.”

  “A male,” Grady said. “He couldn’t stand the thought that his father had other children. He wanted to be the only one.”

  Norton grunted. “But Wheeler’s DNA didn’t show a genetic abnormality.”

  Grady hit the accelerator. “So if the killer isn’t Wheeler, then who the hell is it?” He remembered Norton’s reaction to his deputy. “Logan. Shit, tell me what you know about my deputy!”

  Norton cleared his throat. “I met him when we were investigating his wife’s disappearance.”

  Grady released an expletive.

  “Logan was a suspect, although we never found any definitive evidence that she’d been murdered. For all we know she might have simply left him.”

  “You didn’t think I had a right to know this?”

  “It was a need-to-know basis. Besides, technically he was cleared. No body, no crime.”

  “But you think he might be our killer?”

  “I can’t say. He did contact this genetic center about testing, but I haven’t been able to uncover the details.”

  Grady nearly howled with agony. Violet’s face flashed in his mind. They had to save her before it was too late. “If he’s our man and you kept silent, I’m holding you responsible.”