Before He Harms

by Blake Pierce

  But then she saw it. Something coming up fast behind her. And now that she could see the approaching shape, she could hear it, too. An engine, revving up as the shape got louder. All she saw were headlights, which were turned off, and a muted grille. And by the time she made sense if it, the vehicle was colliding with the back of her car again.

  The girl beside her shrieked. She leaned forward, gripping the dashboard, as if willing the car to go faster. Of course, this did no such thing. Instead, the vehicle behind them—which Bethany could now see was a larger and older-model truck—seemed to be affixed to them. Bethany tried to speed up but could not distance herself from the truck.

  Ahead of her, the intersection came into view. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she realized what this meant. She either had to slow down for the stop, allowing the truck to push her as it pleased, or she would have to speed straight across the intersection and into the waiting trees on the other side of the ditch. Neither option was appealing to her.

  In the end, she opted for a bit of both. Beside her, the young woman continued to scream. They were tormented screams, the sort that would leave her throat feeling very sore tomorrow. Bethany let off of the gas and swerved hard to the right. She managed to snake into the opposite lane just a bit, but the truck followed right behind. Its bumper clanged against hers, causing the car to tremble and slide to the right.

  Bethany righted it back and then, almost immediately, did the same thing again. The intersection was no more than fifty feet ahead and at the speed she was going—fifty miles per hour—she and her passenger were going to be rattled one way or the other. All of a sudden, that can of Mace under the seat seemed incredibly stupid.

  This time when she swerved out into the opposite lane, the driver of the truck seemed to anticipate it. He not only slipped her bumper, but this time, he matched her angle and slammed into her. The car lurched forward and skewed slightly left. The back wheels cried out against the pavement and when she reached the intersection, the car was nearly horizontal across both lanes.

  The woman beside her was shrieking now. When the car hit the ditch, went about two feet into the air, and slammed into two large pines on the side of the road, she was still screaming. Bethany could hear it even over the sound of the side windows and windshield being demolished.

  Bethany was thrown forward, directly into the steering wheel. Her head went buckling forward but the glass of the windshield was no longer solid, so it did not do much damage. The steering wheel, though—it took the breath from her and she was pretty sure something inside of her snapped. She gasped and began to panic, dimly aware that the woman beside her was still screaming. It was dark and Bethany’s world was distorted with pain, but she was pretty sure the woman was trying to open the passenger’s side door to get out.

  Bethany tried to say no, but forming the word seemed to create some sort of pinching pain deep within her chest.

  Not that it mattered. While Bethany looked at the woman, trying to get her attention, a figure filled the shattered shapes within the window. It was too dark and the pain was too immense, so Bethany didn’t see what happened, exactly. She heard the young woman let out a sharp cry and then there was a quick, wet sound followed by silence. The woman stopped screaming, and she was no longer fumbling for the door handle. In fact, she was not moving at all.

  Bethany leaned over to the left, desperately looking for the can of Mace as the figure on the passenger’s side moved toward the hood. For a moment, the shape of the killer was hidden in the trees and that was somehow even more frightening. Her hope was that she could blind the killer, then strike him with her door as she opened it and made her escape. It seemed almost impossible, but what the hell else was she supposed to do?

  As she leaned for the little canister, the exploding pain in her chest made her realize that the little scenario she had played out in her head would indeed be impossible. She could barely lean over an inch, much less shove a door against a killer and run down a road…the same road Marjorie Hikkum had no doubt run down on the night she died.

  When the driver’s side door was yanked open from the outside, Bethany screamed. It was a short scream, cut off by the horrific tearing sensation in her chest. She was barely aware of being hauled out of the car, a rough hand taking her shoulder and then the back of her head.

  In the end, her last thought was that the pain in her chest likely spared her from the final pain that came when she was assailed against the head. The killer was holding something hard that slammed into her head once, twice, then three times. As the life faded out of her, she was pretty sure there was the feeling of being sliced and stabbed, but by that point, there was too much pain and an approaching darkness, swallowing everything, to really even care.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The phone was ringing, but it was an odd sound. It sounded muted somehow, far off. Mackenzie opened her eyes and it took her a while to understand why. She was not at home. She was not in her own bed and the phone was not right there, beside her bed like it was in her own bedroom. No, she and Ellington were in some small town in Utah and the phone was sitting on the other side of the room, plugged into one of the room’s only two outlets.

  The similarity she felt from home was Ellington’s naked body next to hers. Their legs were haphazardly intertwined—something she didn’t care for but she knew he liked—and her arm was draped partially over his chest.

  It took the third ring to truly pull her from her sleep. Ellington came with her and by the time he was sitting up, she was already at the small table that held the TV, the coffeemaker, and her phone.

  “This is White,” she said, doing a poor job to hide the fact that she had been pulled from sleep. Her brain was still trying to make sense of the time she’d seen on her phone when she had answered it: 4:34.

  “Agent White, it’s Sheriff Burke. We got two more bodies.”

  “Two more?”

  “Yeah.”

  Hearing his wife say two more at four in the morning was all Ellington needed to hear. Even before getting confirmation from Mackenzie, he was out of bed and getting dressed.

  “How recent?”

  “Not sure. It couldn’t have happened more than an hour and a half ago. I’m out here at the intersection of State Road 14 and Highway 27.”

  “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  She ended the call and followed Ellington’s example. They got dressed together, the sleep quickly sliding right off of them.

  “Two?” Ellington said.

  “Two,” she confirmed.

  It was the last thing said between them before they left. Two new victims at once told them everything they needed to know: this killer was brave and did not mind making bold moves. And while it might seem like that was a recipe for a sloppy killer, they both knew it also made for the more dangerous and cunning ones as well.

  ***

  They joined Burke and three other officers twenty-one minutes later. The intersection was blocked off on both sides by patrol cars and flares. The flares looked cartoonishly orange against the darkness of the night and the black of the pavement. The rotating bubble lights from the patrol cars and the flickering of the flares revealed a car that had crashed into the tree line on the right side of Highway 27, directly across from an intersection.

  Mackenzie felt a fluttering disappointment. Surely Burke would not have called them in to assist with two victims of a car accident, would he?

  As they made their way over to the car, where Burke and one of the other three officers were standing, Mackenzie noted the state of the rear of the car. The bumper was dented and partially hanging off. The area where the trunk could be popped open had also been badly dented, the black paint chipped and cracked. The paint had clearly been struck by something lately.

  Burke looked up gravely at them. “Looks like it was hit from behind, doesn’t it?” he said.

  “I’d agree with that,” she said. “I wonder how long ago it happened.”

&n
bsp; “Well, this one is still bleeding,” he said, nodding to the ground.

  Mackenzie looked behind him and saw a young woman who had obviously been struck in the head several times. There was also a harsh slash mark high across her chest, just below the neck. Her eyes stared up to the night sky.

  And, just like the identity-less Marjorie Hikkum, there was a strip of black tape over her mouth.

  As Mackenzie and Ellington stared down at the body, lying just outside of the trees, she could hear the approaching wail of sirens. She knew these were not the sounds of a police car, but likely an ambulance. No need for that, she thought.

  “Anything on the body?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Haven’t looked yet,” Burke said. “Thought you might want that honor.”

  Mackenzie wasted no time in taking the duty. It was quick work, though. There was nothing in the woman’s pockets other than eighteen dollars in cash. She looked the woman over a bit more before walking to the other side of the car. The other body was partially fallen against the car. Her throat had been slit hard and deep. And, no surprise, there was also a strip of black tape over her mouth.

  A search of this woman’s pockets turned up absolutely nothing. The clothes showed signs of being well-worn and in need of washing. The same could be said for her hair.

  “Who discovered the scene?” Ellington asked as he opened up one of the wrecked car’s doors.

  “A thirty-year-old local,” Burke said. “On his way to Salt Lake City. He had no idea how long ago the accident had occurred. He got out of his truck to help and then saw the bodies and called us.”

  “Where is he now?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Back at the station. He threw up twice, poor bastard. I told him to hang at the station because you two might want to talk to him.”

  As he explained all of this, Mackenzie and Ellington looked the car over. The inside was mostly clean, with the exception of an empty Dr Pepper bottle on the back floorboard. They checked the center console and dashboard and came up with just a few items. There was an old scratched Bob Dylan CD without a case, some lip gloss, thirty more dollars in cash, and a license.

  The license clearly belonged to the woman who had been driving the car—the one currently lying in front of the trees on the driver’s side. Her name was Bethany Hollister and she was twenty-two years old. Mackenzie scrutinized the license a bit harder and for just a moment, she felt goosebumps prickling her skin.

  “Holy shit.”

  “What is it?” Ellington asked.

  “Not sure…”

  She took the license out of the car and back to the body of the driver. She compared the two and it was undoubtedly the same woman. However, that was not what had Mackenzie feeling like someone had just walked over her grave. She now had two certainties blooming in her mind, neither a concrete fact but solid all the same.

  First, she was pretty sure the license was a fake—no doubt created by their new friend Todd Thompson.

  Second, she had seen this woman earlier in the day. She’d caught the briefest glimpse of her behind Amy Campbell as she passed inconspicuously down the hallway.

  “I saw her,” Mackenzie said. “Earlier today, I saw her.”

  “Where?”

  “In the house where Amy Campbell lived. The same house where I saw a red sedan.”

  “That is interesting,” Ellington said. He quickly caught on to her enthusiasm and excitement. As they walked away from the car, the ambulance arrived, pulling in beside one of the cars that was blocking off the intersection.

  “Got something?” Burke called out to them as they headed back for their car.

  “Possibly,” Mackenzie said. “I know it’s early as hell, but we’re about to pay someone a visit.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Mackenzie had only knocked on a few doors at such an early hour during her few years with the bureau and it was still a difficult thing to do. When you came knocking at 6:40, you were pretty much letting the people on the other side know that there was some form of bad news waiting for them outside.

  What truly surprised Mackenzie was how quickly the door was answered. There was no more than seven seconds between her knock and the rattling of the lock being undone from the other side. When the door was opened, it was pretty much the same as it had been earlier in the day: Amy Campbell stood on the other side, holding the door only slightly open. By the look on her face, it was clear that she had been expecting someone, but certainly not the FBI.

  “Ms. Campbell, remember me?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes seemed to wander everywhere at once, from Mackenzie to Ellington, to the empty yard behind them and then back again. Her mouth was starting to lower into a frown. Through it all, Mackenzie could actually see Amy start to understand what had likely happened. Even before Mackenzie could lean into the news that she was pretty sure one of her roommates had been killed, Amy was already there.

  “Bethany.”

  Not a question, just stating the woman’s name. Her eyes glistened with tears.

  “Bethany Hollister and one other woman. We don’t know her name.”

  Amy’s face went blank for a moment as the tears started to spill. She then took a single step back and leaned against the wall as a deep wail came out of her chest.

  ***

  It took about ten minutes for Mackenzie and Ellington to bring Amy back around. In those ten minutes, Mackenzie noted something quite interesting. While there was definitely sorrow and grief in her cries, there was a great deal of anger, too. She would go from leaning on Mackenzie for emotional and physical support to then grabbing a book from the living room coffee table and angrily throwing it against the wall with a shriek of rage.

  While Mackenzie handled the last stages of helping to calm Amy back to a rational state of mind where she could, at the very least, have a rational conversation, Ellington helped himself into the kitchen where he set about making Amy a cup of tea. Mackenzie could hear the tea pot starting to whistle as Amy began to get a grip over herself.

  “Sorry,” she said, her voice hoarse and wet from crying.

  “No need to apologize,” Mackenzie said. “I hate to be the one to tell you.”

  “What happened?”

  “We don’t know the specifics, but it appears that someone struck her from behind right at an intersection. The car crashed into some trees and then Bethany and the other girl were attacked. I’d rather not go into the specifics right now.”

  Amy nodded, wiping a tear away.

  “Do you know who the other girl was?” Mackenzie asked.

  “No. Her name was going to be Felicia Rodham. I’ve got her license in my bedroom, waiting for her.”

  “So…you’re saying Bethany left here to pick that girl up?”

  “Yes.”

  Ellington entered the room, setting down a cup of tea in front of Amy. The light smell of lavender wafted across the living room as Amy lifted and dunked the bag.

  “Amy, I know you’re trying to process a lot right now, but I have to tell you that there’s a large part of me that feels we need to take you in for questioning.”

  Amy said nothing to this. She sipped from the tea, looking at Mackenzie and waiting to see what she would say next.

  “You own a red Pontiac, right?” Mackenzie asked. “I saw it outside yesterday.”

  “Yeah, a Sunfire. It’s old. Why?”

  “Because we now know that a woman driving a red sedan-type car has been paying Todd Thompson at the DMV for fake IDs. According to Thompson, the licenses are for women that are part of a religious commune known as the Community. And you’ve essentially just admitted that you are the woman who has been buying those licenses. And now, within the span of four days, three women who had or were to have those licenses are dead.”

  “I knew buying those licenses was illegal. But I had no idea…no idea it would come to this.”

  “Based on what Mr. Thompson told us, he thinks the licenses might be a means for helping women get ou
t of the Community. Is there any truth to that?”

  “Yes.”

  In that moment, Mackenzie became quite certain that whatever snafu the Salt Lake City branch of the bureau had endured in the past within the area had been with the Community. Their reluctance to deal with them was why she and Ellington had been sent out. She wondered what had gone down to make the local branch so timid about the Community.

  “Then instead of taking you in, I’m going to ask that you level with me right here, right now. I know your heart is breaking for your friend right now, but I need some answers.”

  “You don’t know how much danger I can get into,” she said. “I mean, you see what they do…to Bethany, to Marjorie.”

  “We can keep you safe. While we look into this, we can keep you safe. But someone has to take that first brave step. Someone needs to come clean on this. Right now all I have is more than enough reason to take you in. Give me something else to keep that from happening. Help me find this killer, Amy.”

  Amy was cupping her tea in her hands, the cup trembling a bit. Slowly, Amy started to nod her head. “Yeah. Yes, I can do that. But…I’m sorry. Can he step outside?”

  She nodded toward Ellington, who looked puzzled by the request. “Me?”

  “Amy, he’s my partner and my husband. I trust him with my life and swear you can trust him as well.”

  “No. I’m sorry, but…please just trust me, okay? I’ll tell you everything I know, but I’d rather not do it in front of a man.”

  Mackenzie turned to him and gave him a playful smile. Ellington, though, apparently did not find it all that funny. He shrugged and headed for the door. “Fine,” he said. “I guess I’ll just hang out in the car.”

  “Thank you,” Amy said and then, after a pause, said: “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he said as he headed back outside.

  When the door was closed behind him, Amy slumped back into the couch. She slurped down most of the tea and took a very deep breath. “If they knew I was about to tell you all of this, they’d kill me, too. Hell, they probably already have plans to do it on their radar.”