Bad Games: Malevolent

by Menapace, Jeff

  But I have proof! Domino managed to scribble this note just before he died. How could the police ignore that?

  Do you want to take that chance? See her somehow walk yet again? See her glance your way before she’s out the proverbial door with that faint, almost imperceptible smirk of hers? Implying that she once again, for the umpteenth time, fucked you right in the ass?

  No. No, I surely don’t.

  This note, this address, it’s everything you’ve been waiting for. You happening upon it was no coincidence. You’ve been given a final chance. Use it.

  It came at the expense of a great man’s life.

  So then do him proud. Use it. Save Amy and bring the devil’s child down.

  Yes. Yes, I’ll bring her down. I’ll bring her down and prove to the world that she IS the fucking devil’s child. Yes. YES.

  And so Kevin Lane had become a vigilante. Taking a gun with him. Speeding toward Allan Brown’s home. Parking fifty yards away so he could make the rest of the way on foot undetected. Carefully navigating the perimeter of Allan’s home until he found a window with a curtain that wasn’t drawn. A window adjacent to the patio around back that just happened to give a decent view into the den and the horrific goings on therein, giving him once again the conflicting emotions of both anxiety for the captives (two of them looked dead) and exultation for the opportunity to right the wrong that had consumed his every waking moment for the past several years.

  And the wrong was there. Holding court. Not the blameless victim with the faintest of smirks he was used to, even as far back as Stratton Grove when Kelly Blaine was still a kid, but large and in charge, despite her diminutive stature. Parading about with a cool, confident smile, sometimes even a grin (he never thought he’d see the day, wondered whether she even had teeth) as she tormented the people before her, one of them Amy Lambert. The Amy Lambert.

  And who was the girl standing next to Kelly? The one holding a…a machete? What role did she play? She was assuredly an addict; years of working with troubled youths had allowed Kevin to spot an addict as easily as the average person spotted a redhead.

  It quickly made sense. Kelly had employed the help of a junkie to assist her, plying the girl with drugs to do Kelly’s bidding. Her bidding for what, though, was what Kevin wanted to know. What was Kelly’s end game?

  Or did he want to know?

  Did the specifics of whatever sick plan she’d concocted really matter? It would all become irrelevant anyway once he got his hands on her. And he would get his hands on her. Finally.

  But how?

  He’d brought a gun with him. Start shooting through the window?

  No. Absurd. Though he was donning the hat of the vigilante tonight, he was still a counselor by trade; he’d probably end up shooting the hostages as often as he shot Kelly and her helper, if he managed to hit Kelly and her helper at all.

  He would need to get close. Did, in fact, want to get close. How often had he fantasized about wrapping his hands around Kelly’s little neck and squeezing for all he was worth? To watch the very life drain from her black eyes with each passing second, with each tightening squeeze. Call him a would-be cold-blooded murderer all you wanted, but in Kevin Lane’s eyes, he was ridding the world of evil. No different than an angel striking down a demon.

  Whichever method he chose to enter the home and take Kelly and her assistant down, it had to be soon; a second, careful reconnaissance along the perimeter of Allan Brown’s home gave him a second window with a decent view into the den, this one at the front of the house, facing the captives.

  And it was at this view that he noted the exceptional amount of blood on one of the captives he’d presumed dead. That one, a woman, was definitely gone. He was sure of it. The other, a man, looked equally gone, though he spotted no blood on him. Unconscious maybe? Who cared? Either way, his next move had to be soon, or Amy Lambert and the man next to her whom he assumed was Allan Brown would quickly join the other two captives in their tragic condition.

  Kevin Lane backed away from the window, popped the clip on his pistol to check the ammo, and then rammed it back in with an exceptionally satisfying click: the sound of justice ready to be had.

  Until headlights approaching in the distance forced justice to wait.

  ***

  For the second time that day, Jamie and Janine Brown heard the F-word from a family member.

  First from Dad when a car blew a stop sign at an intersection and nearly T-boned them this morning. And now from Aunt Kat when, just as she went to turn in to her brother’s driveway, a man leapt smack in front of her car, both hands on the hood, demanding she stop.

  “What the fuck?”

  No giggling from the girls in the back seat as they’d done with their father this morning; they were too shaken by what appeared to be a lunatic now hollering through Kat’s driver’s-side window, telling them they needed to leave.

  Kat reached into her glove compartment, pulled out a can of Mace, cracked her window an inch, and aimed the can directly at the man. “You back off right now, or you’re getting a face full of pain, buddy!”

  The man raised both hands in surrender. “Please, listen to me,” he said.

  “You’ve got three seconds,” Kat said. “Then I’m spraying you and calling the police.”

  “Good!” the man cried. “I want you to call the police! But not just yet.”

  “One…” Kat said.

  “Please, listen to me—”

  “Two…”

  “My name is Kevin Lane. Inside that house is a serial killer named Kelly Blaine. She’s holding the people inside hostage. She’s already killed one of them.”

  Kat lowered her can of Mace. A fan of The Joan Parsons Show, she remembered the episode featuring Kelly Blaine and Kevin Lane well. And now, despite the dark, despite her panic, she recognized the man by her driver’s-side window as indeed the Kevin Lane.

  This did not stop her from being ready to spray him full blast in the face at any moment, however. She remembered Kevin Lane looking unstable on The Joan Parsons Show. He looked more so now. And if the allegations Kelly Blaine had proclaimed about Kevin Lane on that show were true—a sex offender—then she was taking zero chance with her Kittens in back.

  “You better talk fast and convincingly, pal,” Kat said to him.

  ***

  Driving away from her brother’s house, Kat pulled out her cell phone. The man had begged her to wait thirty minutes before calling the police. Claimed that she would be putting her brother’s and everyone else’s life inside in mortal danger if she called any sooner. Told her—no, begged her yet again—to let him take care of things first, that he was the only one capable of doing so.

  And it was the begging that made Kat disobey. It reeked of desperation.

  It had been a year, but Kat remembered the show well enough. Remembered the rage in Kevin Lane’s eyes when he spoke to Kelly Blaine via remote camera. Despite his claims, Kat’s gut told her this man was harboring an ulterior motive that had long since jettisoned rational action. In its place, at the expense of everything else, was good old-fashioned revenge. Revenge that could cost her brother his life.

  No way was she taking that chance. She called the police right away.

  Chapter 52

  Kevin Lane bent over a writhing Kelly Blaine and checked her for weapons. He found her gun and tucked it into the waistband behind his back.

  “Got anything else I should know about, Miss Blaine?” he asked and promptly kicked her in the gut, what little air she’d recovered from his initial blow whooshing out of her again.

  He found nothing more after a second pat-down, snatched a good handful of her long dark hair, and began dragging her into the den by the scalp.

  ***

  “Kelly?” Jennifer called from the den.

  Direct line of sight from the den into the foyer was impossible no matter where you stood. The distance was too great, the angles too sharp. But Amy believed this was not the reason Jenni
fer called out. She did not even believe Jennifer called for Kelly because she was taking a while to reappear. No, Amy believed Jennifer called out because the distinctive bass of a male’s voice from the foyer was clearly audible to all, and last everyone checked, one woman and two little girls were the only ones slated to arrive.

  “Kelly?” Jennifer called again.

  A man appeared in the den. Gaunt and unshaven, eyes red from lack of sleep and possibly sanity, he was still recognizable as Kevin Lane. In his left hand was a gun pointed directly at Jennifer. In his right hand was Kelly Blaine, dangling by a fistful of hair, her face contorting from both the pressure on her scalp and what Amy was sure were injuries Kevin had inflicted on her in the foyer.

  “Drop the machete,” Kevin said.

  “Who are you?” Jennifer asked.

  Kevin thrust the gun forward. “Drop the machete or I will kill you here and now.”

  Jennifer dropped it.

  Kevin’s nose wrinkled as he began sniffing loudly, head going all over the den. “What the hell is—is that gas?”

  Both Amy and Allan nodded quickly.

  “Jesus Christ,” Kevin said. He jerked Kelly’s head upwards. “You and fire…” He shook his head and chuckled. “Crazy fucking pyro.”

  He’s loving this, Amy thought. Please don’t milk it. Please don’t make the same-exact-fucking-mistake Kelly made—thankfully—and start playing with your dinner. Kill it quick and eat it. Please just kill it quick before it bites back.

  Amy tried yelling through her gag to bring Kevin’s attention back to priorities.

  (And those priorities are?)

  Nevertheless, it did the trick. “Untie them,” he said to Jennifer, gesturing toward Amy and Allan with the gun.

  Jennifer balked.

  Kevin thrust the gun forward again. “I’m doing you a favor by keeping you alive, whoever the hell you are. You can either do as you’re told, or I can kill you right now, and I can untie them myself.”

  Jennifer walked toward Amy and removed the tape over her mouth.

  “You okay?” Kevin asked.

  “I’m okay,” Amy said.

  “You’re Amy Lambert, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Allan screamed through his gag. It was not a scream demanding his gag be removed next, but a warning scream, his eyes wide and wild and fixed on Jennifer who had subtly moved away a step while Kevin’s attention was on Amy. In Jennifer’s hand was Kelly’s black Zippo lighter, little black lid open with its windproof flame burning tall for all to see.

  Again, Kevin thrust the gun forward. “You put that away, girl, you hear me?”

  “Put the gun down or I’ll drop it,” Jennifer said. The hand with the Zippo was shaking badly. Withdrawal coupled with adrenaline.

  “Put it away now.”

  “You shoot me, and I’ll drop it. It’ll stay lit, and the whole room will go up.” Her shaking increased.

  Oh God, she’s going to drop it by accident.

  Kevin sneered. “I’m only going to tell you one more—”

  “Jennifer,” Amy cut in. “Jennifer, listen to me. Kelly would have killed you no matter what happened here tonight. Do you really think she wanted any loose ends? You mean nothing to her. Please, put the lighter away—”

  “I don’t care about her!” Jennifer yelled. “I just want to leave!”

  “Okay,” Amy said. “Okay, then leave.”

  “What?” Kevin said. “She’s an accomplice to—”

  “Shut up!” Amy yelled. She turned her attention back to Jennifer, her tone calm and soothing again. “You can go, Jennifer. No one’s going to follow you. I promise. Just please put the lighter away first.”

  Her whole body was shaking now. Her sweating profuse, skin a sickly white. “You won’t follow me?” she asked.

  “No, no we won’t. You have my word. All you have to do is put the lighter away and leave. That’s it. Okay? Jennifer? That’s it. Just put the lighter away and leave.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise on the lives of my children,” Amy said.

  Jennifer started nodding. “Okay…okay.”

  She went to close the Zippo, and Amy’s greatest fear became real.

  Jennifer’s sweaty and shaky hands fumbled with the lighter, lost hold of it, clumsily batted it from one hand to the other in a desperate attempt to snatch it back, and then ultimately failed as the open Zippo hit the gasoline-soaked rug.

  Fire consumed the den almost instantly.

  Chapter 53

  Jennifer turned and ran. Kevin Lane fired shots after her and missed.

  “Untie us!” Amy screamed.

  Kevin, still gripping Kelly Blaine by the scalp, dragged her with him towards the row of chairs, his gun arm draped across his brow, shielding himself from the growing flames all around them.

  He tore furiously at Amy’s tape.

  “Do Allan!” Amy cried. “Do Allan first! He’s stronger! He can help!”

  Kevin instantly obeyed and began ripping Allan free. The flames at Allan’s feet from where Kelly had intentionally sprinkled gasoline burned Kevin as he worked on freeing Allan’s ankles, causing him to curse and cry out and release his hold on Kelly so he could maneuver behind Allan, tilt his chair, and drag him back to a better spot to finish the job.

  And Kelly made a run for it.

  Kevin spun toward her fleeing shape through the smoke and flames. “NO!” He fired two shots after her, missed, and then immediately gave chase.

  “What the fuck are you doing?!” Allan yelled. “Get back here!”

  Chapter 54

  Officers Dixon and Lawler pulled their cruiser into Allan Brown’s driveway, quite honestly—as they would later say to all who asked—not knowing what to expect. They’d received a call from a woman claiming to be Mr. Brown’s sister. She’d claimed she was on her way to her brother’s house to drop off his daughters when a man by the name of Kevin Lane literally stopped her and told her to turn around. Mr. Lane had claimed Kelly Blaine was inside the house with several hostages, one of them dead.

  Both officers were quite familiar with Kevin Lane and his erratic antics over the years when it came to Kelly Blaine. And it was for this reason that they pulled up to Allan Brown’s house not only clueless about what to expect, but also with their caution tanks fairly low. Lane was nothing but a nutty blowhard as far as they were concerned. They’d even volleyed lighthearted guesses back and forth to one another en route to the Brown home as to what was waiting for them:

  “Kelly Blaine is probably a friend of Allan Brown’s. Probably in there having a dinner party.”

  Laughter.

  “Probably right. Lane parked down the street and has probably been peeping in on them the whole night, waiting to see if she butchers the guests.”

  More laughter.

  “Dude’s got a serious hard-on for that girl.”

  “Well, that was the whole thing, wasn’t it? Dude was supposedly fondling her back when she was a kid at the youth ranch where he worked.”

  “Plus a few other girls.”

  “Sick fuck. Think we can find a reason to lock him up tonight?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  What Officers Dixon and Lawler found that night instead—or so they thought—was a reason to shoot Kevin Lane stone dead.

  When they rolled up Allan Brown’s driveway and saw the raging blaze in the den clear as could be in contrast with the dark of night, saw Kelly Blaine burst out the front door, running toward their cruiser, screaming for help, saw Kevin Lane appearing in the doorway seconds later wielding a gun and firing after her, Officers Dixon and Lawler drew their own weapons and blew Kevin Lane away.

  ***

  Kelly Blaine collapsed into Officer Dixon’s arms.

  “Help them!” she sobbed. “They’re still inside! Please help them!”

  Officer Dixon held her at arm’s length, looked her up and down. “Are you all right?”

  “YES!” Kelly cr
ied. “Just please, help them!”

  Dixon and Lawler dashed for the house.

  When they disappeared inside, Kelly dashed too.

  Chapter 55

  Officers Dixon and Lawler finished helping Allan with Amy’s binds. There was no time to work on Karen’s or Jon’s; the fire’s strength was growing stronger by the second. Dixon and Allan lifted Jon’s chair with him in it and, braving the flames, staggered toward the sliding glass door at the back of the den. Lawler and Amy did the same with Karen, chair and all, toward the sliding glass door.

  Dixon set his end of Jon down and went for the sliding glass door’s lock. He struggled with it.

  “Just break the fucking thing!” Allan yelled.

  Dixon drew his gun, took a step back and fired multiple shots into the door. The glass did not shatter; it produced a giant spider web pattern, endless cracks from top to bottom. Dixon kicked at the glass, and it broke free in chunks. Allan immediately helped him, the two clearing a hole sizable enough for them to snake everyone through.

  Again hoisting chairs and bodies as one, they carried Karen and Jon Rogers through the hole in the sliding glass door and onto Allan’s back porch.

  Lawler urged Amy to set Karen down. Amy obliged. Lawler immediately inspected Karen’s head wound, aided by the light of the blazing fire inside.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said. He checked her pulse, dropped his head, and muttered: “She’s gone.”

  Dixon told Allan to set Jon down. He did.

  Lawler left Karen and checked Jon’s pulse, looked up at Dixon, and said: “We got a pulse on this one.”

  Dixon nodded, pulled out his radio, and called for assistance.

  Lawler turned to Allan. “Kevin Lane do this?”

  Allan, hands on his knees, panting, looked up at Lawler with wide, dumbfounded eyes. “What?”

  “Did Kevin Lane do this?” Lawler asked again.