Death Night

by Ritter, Todd

  Kat nodded while gesturing for Carl to speed things up.

  “Anyway,” he said, now talking faster, “the last of them just got back to me. Dutch Jansen is all clear, just like I knew he would be. Most of the other squad members check out, too. Some of them have a few misdemeanors. Traffic tickets. Bar fights. That sort of thing.”

  “Carl.” Kat grabbed the deputy’s shoulders in frustration. “Just tell me what you found.”

  “One of them was arrested for arson when he was a teenager,” he said. “Quite a few times. He set his family’s shed on fire. Then a neighbor’s garage. Finally, an abandoned house a few blocks away. Burned the whole thing to the ground and spent a few months in juvie because of it.”

  Kat already knew who he was talking about. It was the same person who had been acting strangely during the Chamber of Commerce fund-raiser the night before. The same guy who hadn’t bothered to show up to work that morning.

  “Chief,” Carl said, even though he didn’t need to. “It’s Danny Batallas.”

  Henry woke up gasping. He had fallen asleep in the back of the ambulance, dreaming that he was still underwater and unable to take in air. And even though he was now awake, he continued to feel damp and breathless, almost as if he was still submerged.

  He sat up and wiped his brow. His face was slick with sweat. That explained the damp part. Looking around, he saw that the ambulance doors had been closed for privacy, creating a sterile darkness. The two windows offered little additional light. Just twin squares of brightness that faded with each passing moment. Outside, dusk was falling.

  Behind him, the voice of a woman broke through the darkness. “You were having a bad dream.”

  The presence of someone else in the ambulance didn’t startle Henry. Even in sleep, he must have known he was not alone.

  “Kat?” he said.

  “No.”

  Henry rolled over on the stretcher that had been his temporary bed. He got on his hands and knees before flipping into a sitting position. Now he could finally see the other person in the ambulance.

  “How are you feeling?” Deana Swan asked.

  “I’ve been better.”

  “You look okay. A little tired. That’s why I let you sleep.”

  She offered him a half-smile. Her eyes, bright even in the dim ambulance, contained a sad weariness. “You stood me up today. I honestly thought you’d come.”

  “I’m sorry.” Henry mopped his brow again. It was stifling in there. “Things happened.”

  “The fire at the Sleepy Hollow Inn,” Deana said. “I know. I heard all about it. And then when I got word that you were in the fire at the rec center, I knew I had to see you, even if you didn’t want to see me.”

  Henry wished it was that simple, but his feelings for Deana were a writhing mass of conflicting emotions. He wanted to see her and avoid her in equal measure. Being alone with her again, he felt the urge to both embrace her and run away. Instead, he stayed where he was, motionless.

  “It’s good to see you, Henry,” Deana said. “I’m not sure I told you that.”

  “Why are you here, Deana?”

  “I just want an hour of your time. That’s all. After that, you don’t ever have to see me again if you don’t want to. I’ll completely understand.”

  Henry couldn’t summon the will to resist. Considering that he had almost died twice that day, spending sixty minutes with Deana Swan wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Besides, it felt good to be alone with her again, talking soft and close the way they used to. It was just like old times.

  Almost.

  “Fine,” Henry said. “Let’s talk.”

  Deana’s face brightened, making her look as pretty as the day Henry first saw her. “I have a better idea,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  Henry threw open the ambulance doors, startling an EMT drinking coffee right outside. He apologized and thanked him for giving him a chance to rest before helping Deana hop to the ground. Side by side, they crossed in front of the rec center—now lit up with klieg lights and crawling with crime scene techs. Once on the sidewalk, Deana steered them to the right. Henry didn’t need to ask where they were going. He knew she was guiding him to her house. Once again, he didn’t resist.

  Neither of them spoke as they walked. There was so much to say that they didn’t have the first clue where to begin. Henry wanted to tell Deana that he had thought of her often during the past year. Dreamed of her even, in nighttime reveries so vivid he could have sworn she had been lying next to him. But he knew that might give her a false sense of hope, make her think there was a chance they could go back to the way things were a year ago. That, Henry told himself, wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t. So he remained silent.

  As they navigated the streets of Perry Hollow, it dawned on Henry that the town was too quiet for a Saturday night. While the town was never what you’d call bustling, there was usually some activity taking place there. Teenagers looking for trouble. Adults looking for ways to forget theirs. Bursts of laughter from front porches or open windows.

  That evening, there was nothing. The few people they did pass looked watchful and worried, eyeing Henry’s scars with suspicious, sidelong glances. He easily ignored them. Back in Perry Hollow for less than a day, he was again accustomed to the way people in town stared.

  “I hear you’re helping Chief Campbell with all the fires going on,” Deana said, her voice full of forced cheer. “I bet that’s exciting.”

  “I’m not really helping,” Henry replied. “More like looking out for her.”

  And making out with her inside a fiery swimming pool. It was still too soon to be able to wrap his head around that particular development. All he knew is that it would certainly make for some awkwardness once he saw her again.

  “I was real sad to hear about what happened to Constance Bishop,” Deana said. “She was a nice woman.”

  A couple in their fifties, holding hands and laughing like people half their age, grew suddenly stone-faced as they passed. Deana, shrinking from their glares, began to talk faster.

  “I saw her a lot at the library. She was always researching something. Always made a point to say hello when she saw me.”

  “How do you like working at the library?” Henry asked.

  Deana shrugged. “It’s all right. Truth is, I needed the job. Things were tight after the funeral home closed. A lot of people wouldn’t hire me because of, well, you know. But I have a friend, Doreen, who works at the library. She’s the one who got me the job.”

  A woman approached. A jogger. Reflective tape was stuck to the sleeves of her sweatshirt, catching the glare of a streetlight flickering to life as she passed. Seeing them, she did a double take.

  That was the moment Henry realized that people weren’t staring at him. They were looking at Deana Swan. Judging her. Hating her. For the first time, he thought about how difficult living in Perry Hollow must be for her now. He wondered if she had any friends besides this Doreen, a person she had never mentioned during the months they were dating. He remembered what Kat had told him early that morning in the diner, that no one saw very much of Deana. He imagined her hidden deep inside her house, stepping outside only to go to work and back again. Just like he used to do.

  They were at her house now. Deana walked a little faster, visibly nervous as she led Henry up the driveway, across the front walk, to the door. Before following her inside, he touched her shoulders, bringing her to a stop.

  “I need to know,” he said, “if you’re happy. Because if you’re not, then get far away from here. Just run away and forget your past. I’ve done it twice now.”

  Deana touched a finger to his temple. Gazing at his face, she traced his scar all the way past his mouth.

  “It’s not that easy, Henry. Besides, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

  She opened the front door and they stepped inside. The place looked just as Henry had remembered it. Comforting. Like being enveloped by a warm hug. In
the living room, a plump woman with bleached blond hair sat on the couch, flipping through a copy of People. She stood when she saw Henry.

  “Thanks, Doreen,” Deana told her. “I owe you one.”

  Doreen gave her a sisterly jab in the ribs with her elbow before nodding a silent hello to Henry. Then she was out the door, closing it behind her.

  Deana moved deeper into the house, disappearing up the stairs. “I’ll just be a minute,” she called down. “Make yourself at home.”

  Henry remained standing, back to the door, craning his neck to see if he could spot Deana moving around the upstairs landing. He had no idea why she had brought him here, other than to maybe show him off to Doreen. He grew uncomfortable. The last time he was inside her home, they had made love, intense and passionate, in her bedroom. Was Deana there now? Waiting for him to come up in hopes of a repeat?

  He felt the urge to leave. It would have been easy. He was two feet from the front door. All he needed to do was slip out. Then he’d never have to see Deana again. Never need to worry about her feelings and expectations.

  But then he heard footsteps on the landing as Deana descended the stairs. She moved slowly, with caution. When she reached the halfway point, Henry saw her shoes. Then her legs. Then he saw the baby she held in her arms, asleep, wrapped in a blanket as white and puffy as a cloud in summer.

  “Henry,” Deana said, “this is your son.”

  7 P.M.

  Night had fully descended by the time they reached the house where Danny Batallas lived. For that, Kat was thankful. It would make their job if not easier, then at least less visible. The fewer people who saw their approach, the better.

  She parked her Crown Vic on the street. Carl did the same. The state trooper they had brought along—good old Randall Stroup—parked his vehicle on the opposite side of the street. The three of them then conferred outside Kat’s car.

  “Danny lives in the basement apartment,” she told them. “There was no sign of him this morning, but that doesn’t mean he’s not there now. And while he’s shown no signs of being dangerous in the past, again, it doesn’t mean he’s not.”

  All three of them had put on their Kevlar before leaving. Kat hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

  The house—a ramshackle two-story dwelling with peeled siding—looked to be unoccupied. All the windows were dark, although a porch light flickered intermittently. The place was surrounded by a chain-link fence, a sun-faded sign on the unlocked gate warned them to beware of their dog.

  Kat opened it anyway, the gate groaning as they pushed through it. It was the only noise on an otherwise silent block. Kat led the way as they crept across the yard. She kept low to the ground, scanning the dark corners of the property. A light popped on in the house next door, revealing a motionless silhouette watching them through the window. They had been spotted.

  The three of them pressed on, quickly reaching the house. Kat stuck close to it, her shoulder brushing the siding as she rounded the corner into the backyard. Along the way, she glanced down at the basement windows located near her ankles. Like the rest of the house, they were also dark. If Danny Batallas was home, he sure didn’t want anyone to know it.

  The door to the basement unit was located in the back, next to the garage. Just like that morning, it was locked. This time, though, Kat didn’t bother to knock.

  “Stand back,” she whispered to the others. “I’m going to kick the door in.”

  Randall Stroup put a hand on her shoulder. “I can do it, if you’d like.”

  “No need,” Kat said. “I’m actually pretty good at this.”

  Leaning back, she raised her right leg and smashed her boot against the door, just above the knob. The door frame splintered instantly. When Kat kicked it again, the door broke free and flew open.

  “Now!” she yelled. “Go!”

  Randall rushed through the door, pounding down the steps into the basement. Carl followed, with Kat close behind. On her way through the door, she flicked on the overhead light, illuminating the drab and dirty stairwell. The area around the bottom of the stairs brightened. It was Randall, also turning on the lights.

  Guns raised, the three of them spread out through the apartment. The place was designed like a series of attached train cars, with one narrow room leading directly into the next. At the bottom of the stairs was the kitchen, all stained linoleum and fluorescent lighting. A tiny table with one short leg propped up by a phone book sat near the door. A dead plant hung beside one of the rectangular windows.

  A closet door sat next to the fridge. Randall flung it open and looked inside.

  “Kitchen is clear,” he said.

  Kat pushed into the next room, which was a living room of sorts. Decorated like a den from the seventies, it had shag carpeting and faux-wood paneling. Candy wrappers and potato chip bags littered the coffee table. An end table contained an ashtray with a half-smoked cigarette poking out of it.

  “Living room is clear,” she yelled before moving on to the adjoining bathroom. There wasn’t much to it. A toilet. A sink. A shower. Kat opened the door to the linen closet, seeing only towels and washcloths tossed haphazardly on its shelves.

  “Bathroom is also clear.”

  The final room was the bedroom. Kat hit the light switch before moving inside. The room was small and sparsely furnished. Other than an unmade bed, it contained a nightstand cluttered with a lamp, clock radio, and several copies of Penthouse. A weight bench and dumbbells sat in the corner, next to a rickety desk crammed with a computer and printer. There was no door on the bedroom closet, giving Kat an easy view of Danny’s jeans, T?shirts, and clothes for work.

  “Bedroom is clear,” she said.

  She stared at the empty bed. Something black and shiny peeked out from beneath the tangled sheets.

  A cell phone.

  Kat grabbed it. Scrolling through its touch-screen menu, she found the log of calls, both incoming and outgoing. Danny had made several calls during the past few days, all to places with helpful labels. Work. Firehouse. Mike’s Pizza. Someone he had anointed Sex Fiend.

  There were fewer incoming calls, many from the same places he had dialed. Kat saw that a half-dozen from his workplace had come in earlier that morning in the directory of missed calls. According to the phone, Danny had yet to listen to the accompanying messages.

  In the directory of received calls, however, was one that Danny had answered shortly after seven that morning. No number was listed with it. Whoever called him had used a block on the caller ID.

  “Chief.” Carl’s voice rose from the living room. “I think I found something.”

  Kat dropped the phone back onto the bed and returned to the living room, where Carl and Randall stood over the coffee table. The wrappers and chip bags had been cleared, revealing a small stack of paper. Kat riffled through it, alarm growing with each passing page. Maybe Connor Hawthorne wasn’t their man after all.

  She turned to Randall Stroup. “Get on the radio and try to get someone from motor vehicles. I want to know the make, model, and license plate number of whatever Danny Batallas is driving. Then put out an APB and round up all the troopers not guarding one of the historical buildings.”

  She moved on to Carl. “Head to Main Street and ask around if anyone has seen Danny all day. You know where to go.”

  “The diner, Big Joe’s, and the Sawmill,” the deputy said, nodding. “Where are you going to be?”

  “Talking to Dutch Jansen. I want to find out everything he knows about Danny Batallas.”

  His name was Adam.

  That’s the first thing Henry learned about his son.

  He was delivered by C?section on a rainy day in June. Because she wanted to keep it a secret, Deana had had it done at a hospital in a neighboring county. Other than her co-worker, few people in Perry Hollow even knew she had a child. She told Henry she wanted to keep it that way, at least until the town’s collective memory faded.

  �
�I don’t want people to look at him the way they do me,” she said softly, while cradling the baby. “I don’t want him to grow up thinking he’s different.”

  “Is he healthy?” Henry asked. “No problems?”

  “He’s as healthy as can be.” Adam was awake now, wriggling in Deana’s arms. She kissed the tip of his nose. “Would you like to hold him?”

  Henry hadn’t even considered it. He was still in shock, a lump of numbness on the living room sofa. He wasn’t sure his arms, as stable as jelly, were capable of holding a baby. Still, he found himself nodding. Yes, he wanted to hold his son. More than anything.

  Deana lifted Adam and placed him in Henry’s arms. All numbness vanished as soon as he felt the weight of his son in his hands. It was replaced by a newfound strength, an overwhelming urge to do everything he could to protect this child.

  “Support the head,” Deana said, guiding his hands. “There you go.”

  Henry gazed down at the boy. Adam had blue eyes, like his mother, and blond hair that was already starting to curl. But the rest of his facial features clearly came from Henry. Same nose. Same strong chin. Same smile. Looking at his son, Henry saw his own reflection.

  “I can’t believe I’m a father,” he said. “I’m still amazed.”

  Only that seemed like too weak a word to describe how he was feeling. Overwhelmed was more like it. Or stupefied. Or gobsmacked. He could have recited an entire thesaurus and still not gotten to the root of how he felt.

  He was a father. Of a healthy baby boy. It’s what he’d always wanted. It’s what he would have had, too, if not for a snowy night, an overturned truck, and a car accident that destroyed life as he knew it. Now that it was a reality, it felt as if the past six years had been a test of his patience, the longest labor in history. Fate had provided him with the child he had always desired. It just had taken a lot longer than he expected.

  Henry thought of Gia. He couldn’t help it. All these years later, he still missed her. And he knew she’d be happy that he had helped create life after all, that something good had come from his miserable existence.