by A. J. Norris
“I, uh…just came over.”
“Okay. Then why are you wearing the same thing as yesterday?”
“Uhhh…uh…I, um…”
Brayden laughed. “It’s okay. It’s cool,” he said and went into the living room.
Grace stood there for a minute. When the TV came on she ran to Mikey’s room, flung the door open, went inside, and shut the door. She slid down the wooden panel and landed on her butt.
“Is everything all—what are you doing?” Mikey asked as he came out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in his hand.
“I ran into your son in the hallway.”
“So? It’s not like he doesn’t know you’ve slept over before.” He helped her off the floor.
“Well, I—never mind.”
Mikey finished getting dressed. Grace stayed in the room with him because Brayden was lurking in the living room. She wasn’t afraid of him; she just didn’t have a lot of experience with ten-year-olds. What would they talk about, really? And she’d had sex with his dad earlier.
Brayden opened the door without knocking. Now she remembered why Mikey always locked the door. The kid was used to coming into his father’s room whenever he felt like it.
“What’s up, kid?” Mikey pulled on a pair of socks.
Brayden walked toward the bathroom. “I’m hungry. Can we go to Eggtastic Omelets for breakfast?” He closed the bathroom door.
“Isn’t there something here to eat?” Mikey called through the door to the bathroom.
“Have you seen the fridge lately?” The kid’s words were slightly muffled behind the door.
Grace heard what sounded like water being poured in the toilet until she realized he was peeing. Mikey rolled his eyes and mouthed, breakfast? The toilet flushed. After Brayden washed his hands he came out.
“You’re coming with us, right, Grace?”
“Sure.”
She noticed the time when they got in the car, 7:16 AM. On most mornings she wouldn’t be out of bed until 8:00. She yawned.
Grace hadn’t been hungry on the way to the restaurant but her stomach growled while she read the menu. She looked over the top of the laminated folder with pictures of food that looked more appetizing than it was in reality. “What are you going to have?” She addressed the question to Brayden, curious about what he liked.
“What’s the way I like my eggs?” he asked his dad.
“Over medium.”
“Over medium with hash browns and bacon. And rye toast,” Brayden said.
Grace spotted something she couldn’t resist on the menu. “Sounds good but I think…I’ll have…a Belgian waffle.”
During breakfast they discussed the finer points of waffles versus pancakes, an argument Brayden won. Grace told him she would make pancakes for him sometime, her mother’s recipe.
Brayden used his toast to make an egg sandwich. He took a bite and the yolk squeezed out onto the plate. Grace mopped up the last bit of her syrup with a forkful of waffle and Mikey wiped his mouth on his napkin. He leaned back in the booth and put his arm around her.
“Do you love each other?” Brayden asked.
Grace coughed with her mouth full of orange juice and spat it back into the glass.
“Bray?” His father narrowed his eyes on his son and shook his head.
“Well?”
“We like each other,” Mikey answered and rubbed Grace’s back as she continued to cough.
Brayden put down his fork. “Wow, Dad, what a great influence on an impressionable young mind. She sleeps over and you don’t even know if you love her.”
Grace thought Brayden was joking until he started asking the hard questions.
“What are your intentions?” Brayden asked.
Mikey sighed. “Bray, this really isn’t any of your business.”
Grace patted his hand. “It’s okay. We’re going to keep dating and see where this goes.”
“Uh huh,” Brayden said and glanced across the table. “Well, I think you love her.”
It was Mikey’s turn to cough. “What?”
“It’s kind of obvious. You almost fell off the wagon. Not that it’s her fault…”
Grace looked at Mikey.
“I’m fine, moment of weakness,” Mikey told her.
Brayden continued, “And Grace, you came back, so there it is.”
“O-kay.” Mikey turned crimson.
“Um, I…” Grace wanted to dive under the table.
Brayden rolled his eyes. “Adults. Sheesh.”
“This from a kid who still asks me to tie his shoes,” Mikey grumbled.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-ONE
Harry
Harry’s phone vibrated right off the night stand next to his bed. He couldn’t get a decent night’s sleep. Ever. The last two weeks had settled down nicely, except for being unable to discover the true identity of Cody Pollard. Bastard ghosted right after Cynthia’s murder. The hairs they found on the poncho he’d left behind at the crime scene turned up nothing in CODEIS. However, at least if he killed again and was apprehended they could pin Cynthia Hardin’s murder on him. Of course, that sucked for his next victim.
Grace still wasn’t talking to him. And like a jackass he’d avoided Natalie since the night she’d made spaghetti dinner for him and Cedric. He hadn’t been rude to her face, although did that really matter? Although coward wasn’t a word he liked to call himself, the label fit.
Harry glanced at the display on his cell’s screen. UNKNOWN.
Great.
This time of night, the chance the call was a telemarketer was low.
He answered the call. “Whoever this is better have a damn good reason for calling so late.”
“Detective…tsk, tsk, tsk…”
“Who is this?”
“So you still haven’t figured out who I am.” Not a question but a statement. “Thought you’d be cleverer than that.”
“Cody Pollard.”
There was a pregnant pause.
“Why don’t you quit playing games and tell me who you really are?” Harry asked.
“Hmmm, think not. I have a problem…”
“Enlighten me,” Harry said, wanting to learn more. “Please.”
“See, I have this dilemma. On one hand I’m tired of Mr. Hardin. I’ve grown exhausted from killing everyone he loves.”
“Got news for you, the women you killed, he didn’t love.” Cody remained silent. “The way I see it,” Harry continued, “you did the guy a favor.”
And even left evidence to prove Mikey’s innocence.
“You would see it that way, Detective.”
“Is there a reason you called?”
“Of course, Detective.”
Harry cringed, never in his life had he despised being called that. “Yeah, what’s that?”
“Your daughter is very beautiful. A little skinny for my taste, but Mikey loves her. I see the way he looks at her.”
Harry’s heart rate spun out of control. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone. His whole body tensed. “My daughter’s not your concern.”
“Oh, but she is. She insisted upon it.”
“What do you mean?”
Click.
“Goddammit!”
CHAPTER
SIXTY-TWO
Grace
Grace checked to make sure all the doors were locked in Mikey’s place. She paced the all too quiet house, nervousness addling her brain. Brayden had been a perfect gentleman, eaten all his dinner she’d cooked and put on his plate. He even showered and got ready for bed without any fuss. Of course, she had nothing to compare his behavior to, but he told her when he was supposed to go to sleep. He even took himself to his room at 9:30.
Mikey said he’d be home after finishing his last client. However, the appointment hadn’t officially started until 8:30. Who worked this late on a Saturday night? She laughed at herself. Who the hell was she kidding? If she and Mikey hadn’t rekindled things, she’d still be at the
office.
During one of her rounds through the kitchen she checked the clock on the stove and it was now 11:03 PM. The dishes were all washed and put away, the counters wiped down. The house felt empty. Too empty. She crept down the hall to check on Brayden. He was breathing evenly. Nothing wrong in the bedroom.
A breeze wafted over from by the window. The curtain billowed and then got sucked back into the screen. Who left the window open when a lunatic was still running around? She shuddered and went to shut the damn thing. The frame banged against the sill.
Shit.
She looked over at Brayden. He rolled over.
“Grace, is that you?”
“Yes, sorry, Bray, your window was open. I think it might rain.”
“Uh huh…” He pulled the covers over most of his head.
Grace waited, making sure he was asleep before tiptoeing out of the room. The floor in the hallway creaked with each step. Thunder rumbled outside. She stopped and counted. 1…2…3…4…lightning cracked. She ran to the living room and dove under the blanket.
BOOM!
The house shook.
Yes, she was a grown-ass woman huddled under a blankie. Meanwhile, a ten-year-old slept in his room all by himself.
Good grief, Grace, man up.
The interior of the house lit up like daylight had suddenly come.
CRASH!
BOOM!
Crackle, crackle.
The power went out; a transformer had blown. Grace yelped and jerked the afghan up to her neck.
The continued lightning allowed her to navigate to the kitchen without incident. She opened the pantry and retrieved the flashlight stuck to the inside of the door. The heavy duty Coleman required a six-volt battery. She clicked the ‘on’ button. Fortunately, she discovered the flashlight during her cooking extravaganza. Okay, so she made chocolate chip pancakes for dinner. It was still cooking.
Back on the couch, she settled beneath the blanket again. She grabbed her phone to once again check the time and the ringtone startled her. The phone flipped into the air. She grappled clumsily until the cell landed in her lap. The screen read, “Daddy Dearest.”
She put the phone up to her ear.
“Grace, where are you?”
She sighed heavily. “None of your busin—”
“Grace, enough! Where are you?”
She gasped and gripped the phone tightly. “What’s wrong? I’m at Mikey’s.”
“What are you doing—never mind, is he there with you?”
“No, he’s at work. Why?”
“You’re alone! You need to leave now.”
“I can’t, Brayden’s here. I’m watching him.”
“Well take him with you!”
“Dad, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
BOOM!
She screamed.
“Grace! Grace!”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. The storm—”
“I’m coming over.”
Her father’s breaths grew shallower and heavier as he no doubt ran to his car. Grace flew off the couch and hurried down the hall to Brayden’s room. He looked too still, she couldn’t see him breathing. The phone slipped off her ear. She nudged his shoulder; he didn’t stir.
“Brayden!”
“Grace? Grace!” her father shouted.
Brayden sat up. “Wha…what?”
Grace breathed a sigh. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“What’s going on?” her father asked tensely.
She pressed the phone back to her ear. “I’m here, I’m here. Brayden scared me, that’s all.”
Grace could hear traffic noise and the sound of windshield wipers.
“I’m coming, Grace.”
She white-knuckled the phone. “Dad, tell me what’s going on.”
“I want to make sure you’re safe.”
“Bullshit. What it is?”
“Cody called and—”
“What, you think—”
“He threatened you. It’s more than likely he knows where you are.”
Grace couldn’t think about the possibility the bastard would come after her again. Perps usually didn’t do that after a bad encounter, but…She gasped. “Oh God, Mikey. How long ago did Cody call you?”
“Five, seven minutes max.”
“If he were threatening me, wouldn’t he have done that from inside the house or just around the corner? He’d be here already.”
“Shit. Where did you say your boyfriend was at? Christ…work. Hang up and call 9-1-1.”
CHAPTER
SIXTY-THREE
Mikey
The last of Mikey’s clients for the night paid and left his shop. Getting back to work after a week and a half made him feel almost normal. The police were finally off his back and he could breathe. Grace continued to live with Natalie but stayed over most every night. She and Brayden got along well, which was a relief.
Mikey walked behind the curtain in the back of the shop. He put his iPhone into the Bose speaker dock. The music blasted through the sound system while he logged his clients for the day at his desk. His receptionist’s job was to wipe off the glass counter and restock the body jewelry that had been sold. She was supposed to sweep and mop, but most of the time she avoided the chore. He hated to get on her but the floors needed some cleaning.
Mikey kept his back to the curtain and yelled. “Mandy!” With the heavy metal turned up so loud, he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t respond. He turned down the music with the remote on his desk. “Mandy?”
Feet shuffled behind him and he swiveled around on the stool. All the blood drained from his head. Cody stood on Mikey’s side of the curtain, a yellow handled sledgehammer hanging from his right hand. Blood dripped from the head of the tool. Bodily fluid was splattered on his face and clothing.
Oh God.
Mikey’s heart raced. Even though he outweighed Cody by fifty pounds, there was no telling what other weapons he had in his possession. With a young son at home, Mikey wasn’t interested in taking any chances. He wasn’t a pussy, he just wanted to see Brayden again. He put up his palms.
“Cody, what’d ’ya need? Is there something I can do for you?”
Cody’s brow creased and he chuckled humorlessly. “See, I envy you.”
“Why? My life sucks.” Mikey placed his hands on the top of his thighs.
“No.” Cody shook his head. “You’re everything I want to be.”
“You can be anything you want.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence.”
Mikey darted his eyes to the left. On the counter his phone rang, interrupting the song. At this distance he couldn’t read the screen. He hoped whoever it was figured out he needed help. Except how would they know that?
The cell chirped.
“Someone has voice mail. Probably that nice detective. Too bad he won’t get here in time. He’ll come to his daughter’s aid first. Funny how fathers are like that. So predictable.” Cody put his empty hand in his pocket.
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure he already called for back-up.”
“Do you think he cares about you? You’re the man who’s fucking his daughter. A man he despises.”
Mikey said a prayer for Brayden. He’d have to move fast if he any chance of gaining control of the situation. He lunged for Cody’s middle. They hit the ground with a grunt and slid on their sides under the velvet curtain as one. The sledgehammer skidded across the floor and out of Cody’s reach. Mikey heard a click and something sharp jabbed him on the left side of his abdomen.
No…God…No…
He clutched his gut. Blood spread out from the stab wound on his shirt. All he could think was that this wasn’t fair. Was this how those women Cody killed felt? Tears rolled down his cheeks. Swearing and gasping, he tried to stand but only managed to get on his hands and knees. His vision wavered. The killer went in and out of focus.
Cody pushed him and Mikey landed on the floor. He lay sprawled out with his hand still on his wo
und. With his cheek flat against the cold cement, he blinked a couple of times and focused on his killer.
The switchblade still stuck out of Cody’s coat pocket. He threw the knife onto the cement floor and retrieved his heavy hammer, the metal head scraping over the floor. Mikey hoped he wasn’t imagining the faint police sirens growing louder.
Cody gripped his sledge in both hands, stomped back over, and stood looking down at him. Mikey moaned but couldn’t move much. Blood pooled beneath him. The sirens fell silent and no red and blue lights flashed through the glass front of the shop. The police had been after something else. His optimism faded and left him with despair. Mikey saw his son’s face and lopsided smile.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
Out of corner of his eye, he watched as Cody swung the hammer over his head and without a sound, brought the heavy weight down.
Mikey closed his eyes.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-FOUR
Harry
The station responded to Harry’s call on the first ring. Must be some sort of record. That rarely happened.
Harry’s tires squealed. The rain made the lines in the road hard to see. “Come on. Come on!” He beat the wheel waiting for the light to turn green. He looked both ways and gunned it. The underside of his car sparked on the pavement as he bolted through the intersection. Someone honked their horn.
The car in front of him slowed. Harry blew his horn. “Get out of the way!” he screamed. The driver threw his hands up in the air as Harry passed him on the gravel shoulder, spraying the other driver’s car with rocks.
He called the station again to give them his location. A police escort would be a tremendous help now. At the next light a police cruiser joined him. He allowed the vehicle to pass. Water sprayed his car and the wipers struggled to keep up. A second car merged in line behind him, sirens blasting. He hoped the idiots cut the noise before they got any closer to the tattoo parlor.
