Killers Among

by S. E. Green

  As I slow to make the turn onto her road, a rumbling fills the air. It reminds of that time my family did a road trip to Florida which just happened to coincide with bike week.

  Bike week.

  Biker Dudes against Pedophiles.

  BDAP.

  Holy crap, they’re here.

  I pull my Jeep off the side of the road and kill my lights, more excited than I’ve been in quite a while. The rumbling gets close, coming down the road I was about to turn on. I slide down in my seat as first one bike goes by, then another, and another—all dressed in black with shaded helmets. Not one of them glances my way.

  A motorcycle in the middle of the pack has a small enclosed trailer attached with Rachelle Gentry likely inside. Delight tickles through my blood, and I scoot up a little in my seat. I’d give anything to follow. What fun they’re going to have tonight.

  They continue to pass me, roughly twenty in all, and one of the bikes at the end catches my eyes. Black and silver with red fenders. I’ve been on that bike. Through his shaded helmet, the rider glances over at my Jeep, and I don’t duck out of sight, I boldly look back.

  Our gazes catch and hold, and then he’s gone with his pack.

  Tommy.

  I knew he was hiding something.

  The rumbling gradually fades as they disappear down the dark road. I turn the key in my Jeep and pull out, and my lips curve into a smile the entire way back to the dorm. If I thought Tommy was hot before, he’s beyond hot now.

  I saw him. He knows I saw him. And he won’t hide it. He’ll bring it up. He knows I’ll bring it up, too. It’ll be an interesting conversation. He’ll want to know why I was there. I’ll have to come up with a plausible reason because Woodbridge is not near my home or my dorm.

  Perhaps I’ll tell him the truth. I’ll have to think about it.

  Some thirty minutes later, I park in my dorm’s lot and make my way inside. It’s close to midnight now, and my roommate, Sabrina, is—as expected—fast asleep. I strip down and slide into a sleeping tee, and with the noise cancellation headphones, I climb up onto the top bunk.

  I plug the headphones into a rain app, and as the pattering noise fills my ears, I settle into my down pillow. Sleep pulls at me, and right as I begin that lovely slide into it, Sabrina’s snore rips through the room.

  My eyes fly open.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  15

  The college experience. It’s a ritual that most kids do because they’re supposed to. Half probably have no clue what they’re “going to be” when they grow up. The majority are just excited to be away from home. Some will go through all four years, changing majors. Others will graduate and roll right into a Masters because there are no jobs and what else are they going to do?

  And then there are those like me—get in, get out. I know why I’m here, exactly what classes I need, and I also am one hundred percent sure what I want to be—a veterinarian. I’ve always wanted to be a vet because animals, well, they’re just awesome.

  It’s the people in the world that tend to suck.

  “Want a chocolate covered espresso bean?” Sabrina asks as we weave our way across the common area, heading to our morning classes.

  I glance down at the bag she’s holding out. “Actually, yeah.” I take a few and toss them all into my mouth.

  “Whoa, easy.” She laughs.

  I ignore her as I crunch. “Listen, we’ve got to talk.”

  With a grin, she waves at a petite girl standing all the way across the lawn. “She’s in my Lit class.”

  “You snore.” I like to get right to the point. “Are you aware of this?”

  Sabrina cringes. “Yes, I’m so sorry. I’ve tried all of the over the counter stuff and nothing works.”

  I roll a bean around in my mouth, crunching and swallowing. “So here’s the thing. We’ve got to figure it out. Because we’re roommates, we’re stuck with each other, and I need sleep.”

  She steps around a group of guys huddled and talking before glancing back over at me. “Is it really that bad?”

  I stop walking. “Last night I had noise cancellation headphones on, a rain app, and a pillow over my head. Yeah, it’s an issue.”

  “And here I thought my opera music would be your biggest complaint,” she jokes.

  Picking battles is important, and snoring wins out over opera. “Why don’t you do a sleep study? This is a campus. Surely they do those here somewhere. Go volunteer and see what’s up. Maybe get one of those face masks people wear.”

  Sabrina folds the espresso bag over and tucks it down inside her book bag. “Okay, I’ll figure it out.”

  See, a little communication can go a long way.

  From the front mesh pocket of her backpack, her phone plays All About That Bass. She ignores it. “It’s my annoying brother. I’m not getting it.”

  “Lane?” I glance over my shoulder. A dark-haired guy weaves his way through clumps of students as he heads toward me.

  I blink. “Zach?”

  With a laugh, he closes the last few feet between us and he wraps me up in a warm hug. Boy-scented body wash. It’s what he always smelled liked and he still does.

  Still laughing, he steps out of the hug and his brown eyes touch on my hair and face. “You look exactly the same, well, except for the shorter hair.”

  Smiling, I take in his wavy dark hair, longer than it was before and a scruffy short beard. When we dated, or hung out, or had sex—whatever you want to call it—he was always cleanly shaven. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m dual enrolled. I only had one class left to graduate high school and I’m doing that one online. I also snagged a partial baseball scholarship.” He grins. “I thought you were going to UVA.”

  “I wanted to stay close for my family.” The last I saw Zach was at his brother’s, Dr. Issa’s, funeral. Zach and his dad moved out of state and we haven’t talked since. “How long you been back?”

  “A few weeks now.” He cringes. “Sorry I didn’t call.”

  “All good.”

  Behind me, Sabrina clears her throat, and I roll my eyes, which makes Zach laugh some more. God, I’d forgotten how much he smiles and laughs.

  Stepping to the side, I make the introductions. “Sabrina, my roommate, meet Zach, a friend from high school.”

  “Actually we used to date,” Zach corrects me as he shakes Sabrina’s hand.

  Sabrina’s dark eyes light up with curiosity. “Ooh, really. And no bad blood?”

  Well, let’s see. My mother, The Decapitator, kidnapped Zach and had him unconscious in the kill room and ready to be butchered. Then my copycat, Catalina, killed Zach’s brother, Dr. Issa, and left his body in a deserted building. Of course, Zach doesn’t know my connection to either event, but still.

  “Of course not,” Zach answers Sabrina’s question. He looks back at me. “Is your number still the same? I have to get to class but would love to catch up.”

  “Sure, sounds good.”

  With a big grin and a wave, he jogs off.

  Sabrina’s eyes pop wide. “Um, hello. Can anyone say cute?”

  Yes, he is that.

  Her phone rings again, this time with The Final Countdown. “That would be my aunt. I’m not getting that one either.”

  If two people from her family have called her that close together, it could be important. But it’s her life, not mine. “Listen, I’ve got to get to class, too,” I say.

  “Right-o.” With a salute, she heads off toward her class, and I turn to cut across the parking lot toward my building on the other side of campus.

  I check my phone to see if Tommy’s texted, but nothing. That’s okay. I’ll wait for him to come to me.

  A quick stop at my Jeep, I grab a book from the back and high-tail it to class. I only have two sessions this morning and then I’m free. I’m caught up on reading and homework, and this is my day off from Patch and Paw. Daisy and Justin are both in school. I fully intend on spending my free tim
e diving into the degraded DNA.

  But a couple of hours later I climb into my Jeep, crank the engine, it turns over exactly once, and then dies.

  Of course.

  16

  “I’ll take you everywhere you need to go!” Sabrina announces.

  Inwardly I groan. This can’t be happening.

  I toss my phone down on my bed, having just hung up from a series of calls to a mechanic, a tow truck service, and back to the mechanic. It’s not looking good.

  She grins. “That’s what roomies are for, right?”

  “Right,” I agree. Maybe she’ll let me borrow her car versus being my personal driver.

  Pulling out her desk chair, she plops down and opens up her laptop. “Oh, hey, did you hear about the campus vandal? Apparently, he’s bashed a statue, cut the nets at the tennis court, and the most recent thing he’s been flushing entire rolls of toilet paper just to back things up.” She shakes her head. “Ridiculous.”

  Yes, it is. This is my life now: campus vandals.

  She clicks a few keys. “Just let me know when you’re ready to go.”

  From the top bunk, I look down at the crown of her straight black hair. I bet if I asked she’d lend me her keys. But the problem with this whole college/campus/roommate/friend thing is that lone wolves stand out. If I don’t start “belonging” I’ll be looked at with suspicion.

  And belonging means things like letting her drive me places. But that’s okay. I’m an expert at blending in.

  I jump down off the top bunk. “Okay, how about you take me to my house?”

  She jumps up. “Can we stop for froyo first?”

  Kill me now.

  17

  Sabrina drives a tiny bright orange Fiat. Even if she offered me her keys I’d say no. Let’s just say there’s no blending in when it comes to this car.

  With froyo cups for each, she cranks on Cindi Lauper and somehow manages to dance, eat froyo, and drive—all at the same time.

  “You know what?” she yells over the music and the chilly wind coming in the open windows. “I have a feeling we’re going to be best friends!”

  I can do this. I can let her drive me around for a bit. I will not kill her.

  I check my phone, hoping the mechanic has called/texted/sent a smoke signal telling me my Jeep is not so bad and will be ready later, or at most tomorrow. I need more of those espresso beans.

  While I’m staring at my phone, I bring up Tommy’s name to find that he’s still keeping silent.

  She cranks the music even louder, taking the plastic spoon from the froyo cup and using it as a microphone. “But girls they wanna have fun. Oh, girls just want to have. That’s all they really want.”

  Yeah, I’m probably not going to survive this.

  She whips around the corner that leads into my family’s community before slowing her pace and letting out a long whistle. “Sa-weet.”

  I give my neighborhood a good long study as she rolls slowly through, and yeah, it is a pretty nice development. My parents got in when the places were going up and so they were able to pick out flooring, cabinets, and what not. The yards are tiny but each brick and siding home sprawls upward and out with a two car garage and a finished basement. Victor said the homes are roughly three thousand square feet.

  In another year, Daisy will be gone to college, but somehow I don’t see Victor and Justin moving. Victor will keep the house so Daisy and I have some place to come home to.

  It’s what he does.

  I spy my stepdad just pulling into the garage and glance at the dash’s clock. It’s a bit past two. That’s odd for him to be home. He kills the engine and with briefcase in hand, steps from the SUV.

  Sabrina sighs. “Older dudes in suits get me every time.” She nods in Victor’s direction. “Especially ones that look like that.” She looks around. “So which one is yours?”

  “The older dude in the suit.”

  “Oh.” Sabrina giggles. “Whoops.”

  Victor glances up as Sabrina pulls her tiny fiat into our short driveway and yanks up the emergency brake. His gaze meets mine, more than curious of the story behind this one.

  Out the open driver’s window, Sabrina waves. “Hi, Mr. Cameron, I’m Sabrina, Lane’s roommate!”

  He waves. “Hello, Sabrina, nice to meet you.”

  She reaches to turn off her car, and I open the door and climb out. “Well, thanks.” There’s no way I’m inviting her inside. I have too much stuff to do and now with Victor here that puts enough of a kink in things. I’d planned on searching his office and computer for anything he’s compiled on this degraded DNA business.

  “Oh…okay.” Luckily, her phone rings, this time with Wannabe. She sighs. “My mother.”

  “Maybe it’s important,” I say.

  “It’s not. Believe me.” With another wave she backs out, answering the phone anyway. “You all are driving me nuts.”

  I turn to Victor, and his lips twitch. “So that’s the opera-loving snorer.”

  “Yep.” I glance down at his briefcase, itching to look inside. “What are you doing home?”

  “I took a personal day or rather an afternoon.”

  Hm, probably has to do with the exact same thing I’m here for.

  Victor walks back inside the garage. “Where’s your Jeep?”

  “It broke down and I had it towed.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” He opens the interior door, and I follow him in.

  “I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve got a lot going on.”

  He crosses through the laundry room and into the great room to put his stuff down on the dining room table. “It’s no bother. I’m your dad. It’s my job to worry and help. How long until you get your Jeep back?”

  “Don’t know. I’m waiting to hear from the mechanic.” I glance down at his SUV keys, rethinking my plans. “Are you here for your personal day or are you going back out?”

  “I’m only here to change and then I’m going back out.” His phone lights up with an incoming text and he gives it a quick glance. “I really need to go. You’ll be okay here? You can always do a Lyft if you need to go somewhere. Just make sure you check the license tag and ask who they’re picking up.”

  I wave him off. “I’m okay.”

  “Right.” He leaves everything on the dining room table and trots upstairs. As soon as his door closes, I grab his phone and swipe his lock screen—right, diagonal left, and down—and I blow out a relieved breath when his lock code hasn’t changed.

  I bring up his texts messages. There’s a few from a fellow FBI agent. Looks like Victor is tapping into their resources after all. Quickly, I roll through them.

  NO EVIDENCE YOUR WIFE, SUZIE, WAS EVER IN THE HOME.

  GLORIA MICHAELS WAS THE WOMAN WHO COMMITTED SUICIDE, A SINGLE MOM.

  NO EVIDENCE THE DAUGHTER WHO FOUND HER EVER EXISTED.

  There’s a photo of the old newspaper article attached as well. Again, something niggles around inside of me. I’ve seen that article before.

  No evidence the daughter ever existed. Now that I didn’t know. The daughter who found Gloria’s body. Just like current day with the son who found his mom.

  I put down Victor’s phone and I reach for his briefcase. Unlike Mom’s case, his is locked. I can pick this lock, but I don’t have enough time.

  Upstairs, his door opens, and I move from the table into the kitchen where I busy myself making a sandwich.

  Two suicides. Both with children who found them. Both single moms.

  Or two murders made to look like suicide. Or…two women forced to commit suicide.

  Hm.

  Okay, going with the forced idea, then this killer is a very different type of monster. Why the single mom, the neck cutting, the children who find them…what is the motivation for that setup?

  And why forty years apart? Unless there is more in between.

  A serial killer doesn’t randomly do anything. There’s a meaning behind it. A pattern. A ritual. Trophies
taken or something left. An anniversary or a celebration. Or to grieve.

  Or I’m way off here and this is truly two exact suicides at the same house precisely forty years apart.

  Yeah, right.

  With a little wave to me, Victor snatches up his phone and keys, leaves his briefcase right where it is and crosses through our house to the garage.

  The briefcase. Perfect.

  18

  As expected, it doesn’t take me long to pick the lock on Victor’s case. A quick glance at the clock tells me I have about thirty minutes before Daisy and Justin get home.

  Inside the case lays several file folders and I glance through them, finding some work-related and not applicable. At the bottom, though, lays an unlabeled black folder and I flip it open.

  Mom.

  There are pictures of her parents, long since gone. School records. Military documents. Addresses where she lived. Social security documents. Information on her time with the FBI. But there’s not one mention of her ever being connected to the private residence where her childhood DNA was found.

  Lane, baby, do you realize who I am? Do you realize the resources I have access to? I’ve spent my adult life hunting people. I can certainly make one up. I know how to generate false paperwork and make it look perfect.

  Mom’s words trickle through my memory as I go back over the page. “This isn’t her,” I whisper. She made all of this up.

  Outside come Daisy and Justin’s voices, returning sooner than expected. Quickly, I reassemble Victor’s case, close and lock it, and I’m scrolling my phone when my brother and sister walk in.

  They both come to a stop when they see me sitting at the dining room table.

  “What are you doing here?” Daisy asks, and I tell her about my Jeep.

  “That sucks,” Justin says, and Daisy and I both smile.

  Tossing his book bag in the living room, he swings into the kitchen and dives into the refrigerator. I glance out the front window and down to the curb where Daisy has parked her car, or rather the white Lexus that Mom used to drive.