by S. E. Green
“You stupid bastard!” he screams.
The dog scrambles to get away. Bart grabs a handful of his white fur, ready to propel it through the air, and in that exact second, I reach them.
Snatching a broom from the corner of the patio, I wrap it around from behind and I yank Bart back. His body catches air and the dog sprints off.
I hold the broom firm across his chest, wishing it was his neck. Bart kicks, gaining balance, and I let him go. He whirls on me and I flip the broom, handle side out, and ram it into his ribs. Just like he did with the dog. With a gasp, he stumbles back, losing his footing, and he falls down right next to his trees.
I twirl the broom, gaining a new grip, and ram him again in the ribs. “How does that feel, bastard?”
Bart yelps, scrambling away, whimpering. His skin colors up with fear. “No, please, stop.”
I look into his pleading eyes and it only serves to cement my resolve. I take a step, stalking now, and something flutters in my chest. One side of my lips kicks up. I have been waiting for this. “I know who you really are. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
From across the patio comes a voice. “Stop! What are you doing?” Footsteps race toward me.
I freeze. What am I doing?
Still staring into Bart’s fear-filled eyes, I lower the broom.
Holleen pushes past me, coming down next to Bart. “Oh my God! Daddy, are you okay?”
Daddy?
“I told you not to call me that.” With a grunt, he sits up, looking beyond her to where I still stand. Or rather lurk. “You need to go.”
My teeth grind together and I lift the broom, holding it like a baseball bat, and I swing hard at his stupid trees. One of them snaps in half and it provides a modicum of satisfaction. I carry the broom straight across the patio, back inside, across the lobby, and out the automatic front door.
It isn’t until I’m standing at the bus stop that I note I still have the broom. I close my eyes, breathing out. He’s destroyed so many families and he’s terrorized everyone into being his friend and “respecting” him. Even his daughter, which…what the hell?
She’s his human shield. For that matter, everyone who knows him personally plays that role. No one is brave enough to challenge him.
I showed him who I am. I told him I knew who he was.
He’ll see me coming now. I had a chance to get rid of him early on, and now I’m no longer at the advantage.
52
A few hours later, I sit in my Jeep at the far end of Aveda’s parking lot, staring at his beige four-door.
I didn’t remember what happened to me as a child until I was forced to. Daisy seems the opposite. She remembers but pretends that she doesn’t.
My darkness was born that day when I was just a toddler and I witnessed my birth parents slaughter one of their victims. Daisy’s darkness is slowly evolving.
Bart Novak’s darkness was born surrounding his mother’s suicide attempts.
He’s a man of ritual and tradition. He wakes up every morning. Eats breakfast. Does his freelance writing job. Eats lunch. Does his Tai Chi. Volunteers. Eats dinner. Goes to bed surrounded by his hair pillow and his cane of trophies as he contemplates his disturbing life. If he gets crazy, he may mix up the volunteering with the writing or Tai Chi.
Daddy, are you okay?
I told you not to call me that.
But somewhere along the way, he had a daughter that was so far off my radar that I’m not sure anyone else even knows.
A man of ritual, which means any minute now, and despite the fact I hurt his ribs, he’ll be leaving for his Mommy and Me venture.
The side door opens and out steps Bart, right on time. Dressed in his usual thick flannel, he pulls a beanie down over his balding head, slides his hands into black leather gloves and takes a second to look around the large parking lot.
A sea of vehicles packs the lot. He can’t see me, but still, I slide down in my Jeep.
Inside his car, he sits for a minute or so, letting things warm up, before pulling from the lot.
At a safe distance, I follow as he winds his way through Alexandria, getting onto 495, and eventually exiting in Tysons. He pulls through traffic, cutting into the mall, and parks in the multi-level garage in the only available spot.
Crap.
I circle around, heading up one level, park near the steps, and I’m out of my Jeep and racing down before he’s even crossed the walkway to go inside the mall.
In my cargo pants, I’m carrying the usual supplies plus one more—a thin noose. But there’s no way I’m using them in a public mall.
As I follow him through the crowd, I pull my red curls into a quick ponytail. He cuts off down an escalator and I wait several seconds before descending, too. People pack the place, but I won’t lose him.
From several steps up the escalator, I watch him watch others. I recognize the keen perception on his face. The aggressive eagerness. The desire for dark satiation.
Between stopping him from committing suicide and the confrontation over the dog, I’ve set him in motion.
I’m not the only one on a stalk.
He exits the escalator, circles around, and enters the food court. My focus shifts right and left, looking for a Mommy and Me gathering. Instead, he approaches a popcorn cart where Holleen, his daughter, currently stands.
They share a bag of popcorn that she already bought. I study them closely, gauging their relationship. I sense space between them, a careful distance that Bart works at keeping and probably always has. An eagerness, too, on her side. She’s excited to be part of his life. Perhaps this is the first time he’s allowed it.
It might be why he moved back to Alexandria. The 50th anniversary of his mother’s death. Holleen was here. He planned on killing himself. He was making his own twisted amends. Yes, lots of reasons to come back.
I don’t know Holleen’s age, but I’d place her as the same as my mom—mid to late forties. Which means Bart had her before he began his cycle of kills.
Where, and who is her mom?
Together they walk across the food court to where a group of women and children have gathered. The Mommy and Me group.
Holleen Ickert, Aveda Home Desk Clerk, how exactly are you involved in your father’s dual life? Do you know what is going on? Does he use you for cover? Are you clueless or in the know?
They walk up to the group and everyone waves, already knowing each other.
Holleen spends the majority of time talking and laughing with the moms, and Bart spends more time talking and laughing with the children.
Gaining their trust.
Because if a kid likes someone, the mom is more willing to let the person in too. Especially a kindly old man like Bart. Plus, getting to know the kid gives insight into the family and their habits.
No, it’s not the mom Bart zeros in on, it’s the kid. Given this pattern, then Bart one time had to know Marji.
Holleen Ickert, have you always been involved? She’s in the same age range as Mom and Marji, so it is plausible. Bart began his killing spree forty years ago. Did Holleen know my mom and Marji? Was she their friend? Did she play with them?
Probably so.
A good hour or so goes by while the group meets and walks around the mall. They do various things: eating, coffee, video games, shopping… And the whole time Bart Novak grins, laughs, and comes across as the most attentive grandfather-type figure there is.
Eventually, the time comes to an end and the group disperses. Bart and Holleen casually make their way back to the garage, and I follow. They come to a stop by his car and I hover behind a cement pillar to observe.
Holleen hugs him. “I’m so glad you let me do this with you.”
“Yes, well.” He steps from the hug and unlocks his door.
She reaches for him. “I miss you.”
“We see each other nearly every day.”
“But not like this. You introduced me as your daughter in there.” Tears
well in her eyes.
Bart takes a patient breath. “There’s a reason for that.”
“What?” She takes another step. “What is the reason?”
He climbs inside the car. “Never mind that.” He waves her off. “Sorry, sweetie, need to go.”
Another step. “Is this about what happened in that house all those years ago?”
Bart pauses in closing his door.
Holleen lowers her voice. “I told myself it was a dream. But it wasn’t, was it?”
Slowly, he climbs back out of the car. “Now slow down.” With a glance around the parking lot, he pulls her in, keeping his voice down. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw you that night. Back when I was just a little girl. My friend, Marji. You went to her house. They were renting from you. That’s how I met Marji. I remember. You parked outside and told me you needed to talk to her mom. You said you’d be a while and to wait in the car. You even put a blanket over me in case I got cold.
But after fifteen minutes, I got out and I went up to her house. Her mom was pleading, ‘No, no please’. I saw you hand her a knife. You said, ‘But if you don’t do this, I’ll kill your daughter and I’ll do it while you watch.’
I saw Marji sleeping on the couch. You walked over to her. You taunted her with the blade. ‘What did you give her?’ Her mom sobbed. You said, ‘A mild sedative. She’ll be fine. If you do what you’re told. She’ll wake up very much alive to find you dead.’
You pushed the blade closer. ‘There, there,’ you said. And her hand shook as she took the knife from you, lifted it to her neck, and sliced in.” Holleen catches her breath. “There was so much blood.”
Bart steps toward her, grasping her upper arms. “None of that is true. It was a horrible nightmare.”
She shakes her head. “No, it wasn’t. When it happened again in the same house, I knew it. I did a little digging and found out your mother, my grandmother, tried to commit suicide like that.” Holleen places her palms on his chest. “Daddy, you were there. I remember.”
Bart’s fingers dig into her arms even more and Holleen flinches. “No, you’re wrong.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “I’ll protect your secret. You didn’t mean it. It was just that one time.”
His knuckles pop white he squeezes her arms so hard. “You will stay out of my business. Do you understand me, young lady?”
Her hopeful expression shifts to desperation. “Wait. No—”
“In fact, you’re officially on restriction. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to talk to you. Nothing.” He lets go and she stumbles back.
“Daddy—”
He holds up a finger. “You’re a stupid girl. I don’t know why I bothered reconnecting with you and coming back here.”
“No! I’d do anything for you. I love you, Daddy!”
“You’re not my problem anymore. I’ve changed my mind. You’re not on restriction. You’re on your own. Do you hear me? I don’t want you in my life.”
She reaches for him. “No, please. Mom’s gone, and you’re all I have.”
“The same does not apply. In fact, I’m sorry you were ever born. The world would be a lot better without you in it.”
“No!” She cries and he ignores her as he gets in his car, cranks his engine, and drives off.
Holleen stands there crying, watching him go. The woman is in her forties and being put on restriction by her daddy? What a mess. But that last part with him cutting her off completely? From her reaction, I’d say those words officially broke her.
In an off-putting way, one tiny part of me wants to comfort her. Three girls saw the murder that night. Holleen and my mom saw it as it was happening. Marji woke up to see the aftermath. Then she hid in the closet with my mom and together they stared at the bloody mess until my grandmother arrived the following morning.
Three girls. Three paths.
Holleen apparently spent her life talking herself in and out of what happened, always wanting but never quite getting her father’s love and approval.
Three girls. Three paths.
Mom and Marji went on to become killers. Which leads me to the question: if Mom wouldn’t have been in that closet, then Marji would have never hid. Marji would have run for help just like every other kid did. Because of Mom, though, she hid in that closet and they were surrounded by death for an entire night. They stared at the blood and aftermath. They smelled it. They felt the energy of the kill in the air.
I was right. He doesn’t actually do the kill. He makes the mother take her own life.
Yes, one tiny part of me wants to comfort Holleen. But the bigger part doesn’t want me to lose Bart, and so I climb in my Jeep and race through the garage. Luckily a line of cars stall him, and I catch up with him at the EXIT.
Back in traffic, I continue to follow, merging onto the interstate. From inside my glove box, the burner phone that I purchased rings. The only people I gave that number to live and work at Aveda.
“Yes?” I answer.
Bart speaks, “Maggie, I saw you at the mall. You’re snooping. I don’t appreciate that.”
“What were you doing with all those moms and kids?” I don’t bother denying it.
“I don’t know what you think you know, but I promise you, you’re wrong.”
“Why don’t we meet somewhere? We can talk through things.” And I can finally kill you.
Bart chuckles. “Not today, Maggie Caine. Not today.”
He hangs up.
Up ahead his car picks up pace, swerving, and cuts off down a ramp. All around horns go off. I whip my wheel right, trying to follow, but it all happens too quickly and the exit zooms by.
“Dammit!” I bang my steering wheel. The next off-ramp sits a half mile up. Even if I double back, there’s no way to find him. Not now.
This is on me. I let this go on too long.
So I do the only thing I can. I drive to Aveda Home and I wait for Mr. Novak to return.
53
One hour bleeds into another, and another, then another. Bart Novak never returns. I’m about to give up when I spy his daughter walking across the parking lot toward Aveda’s front door.
I’m out of my Jeep and across the lot before she steps on the sensor that opens the door. “Holleen.”
She stops walking and turns to look at me. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
I look down to her upper arm where Bart squeezed too tightly. She’s wearing a coat but I would guess there’s a nice bruise there now. With caution, she looks around the dark lot, I’m sure curious why I’m here given the last time she saw me I had delivered a rib-shot to Bart on behalf of the dog.
“Look,” I say. “I need to find your dad.”
Fiddling with her purse strap, she frowns.
“We both know what he’s capable of.”
Holleen’s face pales. “I don’t know anything.”
“He’ll never know you helped me.” I take a step closer, lowering my voice. “He hurt you.” I touch her bicep, and she flinches. “Has been hurting you, emotionally and physically.”
She steps away from my touch.
“There’s a big ugly world out there,” I say. “And you can help put an end to at least some of it. Can I ask you something?”
Her feet shuffle nervously from side-to-side. “O-okay.”
“How many people know that you’re his daughter?”
“No one.”
“Why keep you a secret?”
“B-because it’s what he thinks is best.”
I let a few beats go by. “You would be doing the right thing to tell me what you know. Where would he be?”
“How come you’re the only one who can see my dad for what he is?”
Let’s just say we have things in common.
“Who are you? You’re not a cop, are you?”
I look older than eighteen and so it’s a common misconception. “Yes, something like that.”
Holleen looks down at her dress bo
ots. “I wish Mom were still here,” she mumbles. “She passed away five years ago now.”
“Is that who raised you, your mom?”
“Yes.” Holleen sighs. “I really don’t know much about my father.”
I lean in. “You know more than you should.”
She steps around me, finally heading inside Aveda. I follow. At this time of night, no one occupies the lobby. I wait patiently while the current desk clerk gets up and signs out and Holleen takes her place.
She was working earlier and now again tonight. Two shifts in one day. A hard worker. A nice woman. She deserves better than Bart for a father.
After she’s settled, she glances up, spies me, and sighs.
I lay all my cards on the table. “I heard you in the garage talking to Bart a few hours ago at the mall. Your childhood friend, Marji. You saw her mother kill herself. It wasn’t a nightmare. It really happened. What you don’t know is that there were many more.”
She doesn’t move. Carefully, I eye her expression. She’s either good at masking or is truly in the dark about his annual kills. I vote the latter. Though she’s not in the dark about the one she witnessed. Either way, she knows her father is not a good man.
Turning from me, she types a password into the computer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You sure about that? You’ve suspected all along that something was off. But I get it. He’s your father. You want to think the best.”
“I love my father.”
Grasping the counter, I lean in. “I don’t doubt that, but your father is a killer.”
“If you don’t get out of here, I’m calling the cops. Because I don’t think you are one.” She lifts her green gaze that matches Bart’s. I hope that’s the only thing she inherited from him. For the first time, I detect fire in her eyes and not the compliant woman she usually portrays.
I take a step back from the counter, purposefully backing down. “I get it. He’s your dad. You’re protecting him. I would do the same for my parent. I don’t know my dad but my mom and I were close, too.” I glance away, really working the emotion. “Actually, no we weren’t. I wanted us to be, but she never quite noticed me, ya know?”
