by S. E. Green
The fire in her eyes dims a little. “And you were always hungry for her approval.”
I sigh. “Well, when you say it like that it makes me sound weak.”
Holleen digests that. “I really don’t want to talk about our parent approval issues.”
“Fine but know that you can do the right thing. Somewhere along the way, I realized my mom wasn’t who I thought she was. Then it didn’t matter what she thought of me anymore because I didn’t think much of her either.”
She considers those words.
“Just tell me where you think he is,” I try again.
“I’ve tried to be a good daughter.” She shakes her head. “The best. I wanted his love. That’s all.” She huffs an unamused laugh. “But he hates me. He doesn’t love me. He hates me.” Tears fill her eyes. “He’s a killer.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“I saw what he did all those years ago.”
“But those are his choices, not yours. You can do something positive out of this.” I lean in again. “Tell me where you think he is.”
Her eyes cloud over. “How many other people has he killed?”
“A lot.”
Something shifts in her, a denial that gradually transforms into acceptance. Realization. A knowing that her father is an evil man.
With a sniff, she uses a tissue to wipe her nose. “There’s an old boat yard down by the Potomac that he often times visits when he wants to think. He might be there.”
Of course. He’s a creature of habit. He’ll revisit the spot where his mother finally ended her life. “Thank you.” Reaching over the counter, I grasp her hand in an out-of-character move for me. “Your father was wrong about something.”
“What’s that?” she whispers.
“This world is a better place with you in it. Don’t you ever let him or anyone tell you otherwise.” I squeeze her hand. “Okay?”
With a nod, she disengages our hands and pushes back from the desk. “I need a few minutes,” she says and walks off.
I want to follow, but instead, I stay right where I am. She’s a decent woman and has been nothing but kind and generous with me each time I’ve come here. I hope she heard me. I don’t want Bart getting inside of her head.
54
At the boatyard, I park in the shadows and quietly climb from my Jeep. As I step through the darkness, music filters through the air. Something old that I don’t recognize, scratchy as if it was taken from a record and placed onto a CD.
The music comes from a white four-door, and in front of it, Bart slow-dances to the tunes with his mother’s pillow held to his chest. That’s not his car. He drives a beige Corolla. “This was her favorite song,” he says.
I step from between two dry-docked boats and into the moonlight. “Was it?”
He keeps dancing, his eyes closed, a pleasant curve on his lips. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“No,” I agree. “Your mother’s suicide was not your fault.” Everything else though? Yes, very much his fault.
“How is it you know who I am?”
I lay all my cards out. He should know the truth before I kill him. “Forty years ago you forced a woman to slit her throat. Her daughter, Marji, was asleep on the couch. What you didn’t know is that my mother saw the whole thing. She was hiding in the closet.”
“And yet she wasn’t able to give a good enough description of me to the cops.” He clicks his tongue.
“She was five. She was traumatized. Scared for her life. When Marji woke up and found her mother bled out, she joined my mom in the closet. They stayed there all night with the blood and gore.”
“And where are they now?” He keeps slow dancing.
“Don’t worry, they’re both dead.” I smirk. “I’m the only one alive who knows who you really are.”
“Ah, I see.” He opens one eye. “Maggie Cain, do you like chocolates?”
“Yes.”
He nods over to the hood of the car and to where a tin of chocolates sit. One piece beside it is partially eaten. “Do you want some?”
This is how he does it. He gets the kid and possibly the mom to eat those chocolates tainted with a sedative. They both pass out. She wakes up first. By then he’s transported them both to the kill spot. He forces the mom to kill herself. The kid then wakes up to find the mom dead.
Jesus.
Wait a minute, a piece partially eaten.
I look around the dark boatyard and the surrounding ground, and my heart lurches. A small body lays curled up in the winter grass. No, no it’s too soon. Bart isn’t supposed to kill until next November.
This is on me. I set this off. My snooping triggered his cycle early.
Which means the mom is around here, too. “Where is she?” I take a step closer. “Where’s the mom?”
Bart walks over and lays the pillow on the hood next to the chocolates. “Walk away, Maggie. None of this concerns you.”
Another step closer. “You know I can’t do that.”
Bart lunges, hurling the chocolates at me, and I duck and dodge as he lunges again. He throws a punch that catches air. I whirl around, landing a side kick into what should be his knee but lands on his thigh instead.
He stumbles, rounding the hood of the car and I brace myself for what he’s going to throw next, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he grabs the pillow and races through the night toward the trees.
I don’t chase. There’s a drugged and unconscious boy that is more important right now, and a mom that I need to find.
From inside the trunk, someone bangs. “Help me!” a woman screams.
Oh, thank God, she’s alive.
Leaving her there, I race across the dried grass and come down on my knees next to the boy. I recognize him. He’s from the Mommy and Me group from earlier today.
I slip one glove off and touch my fingers to his neck, and I breathe out when a strong and solid pulse flutters my skin.
Slipping my glove back on, I pat him down and find a phone in his coat pocket. I dial 911 and leave it right there by his head.
As I hightail back to my Jeep, I scan the area. I have no clue if Bart is watching, but I’ll wait here in the shadows until rescue arrives.
I wish there was another way, but as of now, everyone will know Bart Novak’s name. They’ll know he abducted this mom and son and drugged them. As of a few minutes from now, he’ll be on every radar.
Which means I need to find him first.
55
“Police aren’t sure what the kidnapper had planned, but thanks to the boy dialing 911 before passing out, both mother and son were found safe. Although there are no leads as to who the abductor was, authorities say they will continue their investigation.”
This is what filters over my radio early the next morning as I drive to my Patch and Paw shift. Which means the mother and boy didn’t remember Bart Novak giving them tainted chocolate or they did and local law is keeping that under wraps.
Depending on the sedative used, though, there would be temporary memory loss.
My burner phone rings. That has to be Bart. “Yes?”
“What kind of person witnesses an abduction and doesn’t report it?” Bart asks.
“How do you get the mom to do it?” I counter. “You threaten the kid’s life, but who’s to say you won’t kill the kid, too?”
He chuckles. “News clippings from years gone by—a little bit of proof is all they need.”
“You think you’re so clever.”
“Who are you, Maggie Cain? What do you want?”
“A simple one-on-one, that’s all. You and me in a private place to talk.” A private place to end this and you.
“Talk, hm?”
He knows I don’t want to just talk. “We either meet somewhere, or I’ll tell the cops who you are.”
“That’s not possible. I’m not even in the area anymore.”
Bull shit. “Where are you?”
Another chuckle. “Like I’d tell you.”
“You have 24 hours to get back into town. Clock starts now.” With that, I click off.
Coming to a stop at a red light, I look across the intersection to Whole Foods, where Tommy works. I have time to spare before my shift and so I turn on my blinker and pull in.
He should be stocking produce so I round the aisle in that direction to find him standing dressed in a green apron talking to a pretty brunette. Not stocking produce.
He says something. She laughs.
He says something else. She playfully pushes his shoulder.
He chuckles at that. She flips her hair.
I don’t know who this chick is but she’s in full-on flirting mood, and from Tommy’s posture, he’s not exactly fending her off.
He glances up then, and to his credit, he doesn’t do one of those I’ve-just-been-busted-flirting-with-another-girl-by-my-girlfriend moves. Instead, he grins and waves.
Okay, that’s a good reaction.
With a few parting words to the girl, he steps around her, weaving his way through the produce section, doesn’t even say hi, and instead pulls me in for warm hug followed by an equally warm kiss.
He steps back. “Did I know you were coming?”
The girl is now “shopping” for avocado all while keeping us in her peripheral. “I was passing by and figured I’d say hi.”
He follows my line of sight back to the girl.
“New friend?” I ask.
“Not really. Her brother works here, so she stops by every now and again.” Tommy turns back to me, studying my face. “Lane Cameron, are you jealous?”
“No.” I scoff. “Of course not.” I shrug. “Though you were kind of flirting.”
Tommy’s lips twitch. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
He moves in for another snuggle. “Are you sure? Maybe we need to kiss and make up.”
Playfully, I shrug. “I guess I can put it all behind me. Move on.”
“I don’t know. If I were you—” his tongue flitters across my earlobe— “I’d be hurt—” his lips graze my skin— “angry—” his hot breath warms my neck— “mean even.” He uses his teeth and everything in me goes from warm to full-on fire.
“Is that how you want me to feel?” I breathe.
Over the loudspeaker a man says his name. With one last bite that’s just a little painful, good painful, he steps back. “Later.”
I enjoy a few seconds of his excellent ass strolling away before turning to flirty girl who is still at the avocados as she watches Tommy’s ass too.
Let it go. Walk out. Be on my way. Yeah, none of those are in my nature. So I walk through produce straight to her. In every way, she is the exact opposite of me: petite, curvy, brunette, all happy.
Coming to a stop beside her, I look down into her pretty face. “Hello.”
She jumps back. “Oh my God! You scared the crap out of me.”
My smile is tight when I say, “Stop flirting with my boyfriend.”
Nervous laugh. Flip of hair. “I wasn’t flirt—”
“Yes, you were and don’t lie. It’s rude.”
Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens.
Reaching past her I select an avocado and hand it to her. “Here.”
She takes it, holding it out like it’s a grenade instead of produce.
I turn her toward the register. “Now, let’s get that thing bought and then I’ll see you to your car. Sound good?”
“Y-yes.”
My fingers dig into her shoulder just a little too firmly. “Good.”
56
After my Patch and Paw shift, I swing home to grab a quick bite. I walk in our house, grab the remote, and turn on the TV. As local news flickers on, I strip out of my jacket and head into the kitchen to assemble a turkey and Swiss sandwich.
A reporter says, “The assailant broke into her studio apartment, didn’t take a single thing, and cut her throat to leave her bleeding out in her kitchen. If anyone has any information on Maggie Cain’s murder, please call…”
My head snaps up. Son of a bitch. Bart Novak is not out of town. He is very much local and looking for me. Because of me, that girl, Maggie Cain, is dead.
Leaving the sandwich right where it is, I run upstairs and grab Daisy’s MacBook. I launch the white pages and look for any more Maggie Cains in the surrounding area. Luckily, there are none.
One thing’s for sure, Bart now knows I’m not Maggie Cain.
Her death is on me. This is my fault.
I tucked the burner phone into my back pocket and it rings now as I’m racing back downstairs. I answer, “Bart.”
“I went looking for you. Imagine my surprise when the girl who walked into the apartment wasn’t you.” He tisks. “A big disappointment.”
Silently, I come down the last few steps and move into the dining room and over to the blinds. I inch them open and peer out but see only the usual neighborhood cars.
Bart says, “Then I checked the volunteer application at Aveda. Yet another surprise to find your home address as my childhood home. This tells me that you’ve been lying to me since the day we met.”
Yep, that about covers it. “Well, in the big scheme of things, lying isn’t so bad. I mean compared to the fact you spent the past forty years killing innocent women.”
“I didn’t kill them! They killed themselves!”
A smirk crawls across my lips. Looks like I hit a trigger point. “So given you’re really in town. Are you ready to meet?”
“Why should I trust that you just want to meet and talk?”
“Because I’m holding the cards. All I have to do is go to the cops with my eye witness testimony and there will be an all-out manhunt for you. Is that what you want?”
“Tomorrow. Let’s meet tomorrow.”
“Fine. Noon at ‘our’ address.” With that, I click off.
Perfect, I’ll go to my morning class, kill Bart Novak over lunch, and be early for my Patch and Paw shift.
Organization. Lists. Just thinking it through already makes me feel better.
Bart Novak is unfinished business.
I dial Aveda, wanting to check on Holleen. If Bart went there to research my volunteer application then they likely came across each other.
“Aveda Retirement, this is Edith. May I help you?”
“This is Maggie Cain, one of the volunteers. I was hoping to talk to Holleen Ickert. Is she there?”
“I’m sorry, Maggie.” Edith clears her throat. “Holleen was found in Mr. Novak’s room last night. Drug overdose in an apparent suicide.”
Anger, tangible and pure, flares through me and keeps me from articulating a response. A real suicide or one induced by her father? My gut says by her father.
His own daughter is now dead. Because of him. He told her this world would be better off without her, and she listened. He probably handed her the pills and she took them.
Or is this on me? The real Maggie Cain is dead because of me. That mother and child, though still alive, were abducted because of me. And now Holleen is dead.
Why didn’t I kill him when I had a chance in the woods or in the house when he made a suicide pact with me? Because of my morbid curiosity, innocent people have suffered.
This isn’t me, and I’m ashamed of myself. I should have never let it go on this long.
57
After my morning class, I jog to my Jeep, more than ready for this meeting with Bart. It’s time to say goodbye to him and put an end to his reign of terror.
Zipping up my jacket, I weave through the sea of student vehicles, and pulling out my Jeep key, I step up to the driver’s door.
All around me, students pulling in, getting out, and others leaving. Very normal and usual with no one aware I’m about to kill a madman.
I open my door. In the side mirror a shadow shifts and moves. I turn right as a person steps between my Jeep and the car parked beside me.
My body sways and my hand comes out to grasp the open door.
Bart s
miles. “Hello, Lane Cameron.”
He knows my name. He knows I’m a student. He probably knows where I work. My family.
My family.
What the hell have I done? “How did you find me?”
“I have my ways.”
Meaning, he likely followed me. I swallow. “Not here. We should talk somewhere else.”
From behind his thick glasses, his eyes crinkle in amusement. “So you can what, exact justice? What do you want, Lane Cameron?”
“I want you out of my life.”
“I could care less about your life.” He leans in. “If I were you, I’d give up this vigilante thing. You’re not very good at it.” Still, with amused eyes, he turns away. “See you around, Lane Cameron.”
He strolls through the parking lot, smiling at a few students, out for a merry little day.
He’s right. I screwed up. I let it come to this. But no more.
Jumping in my Jeep and chasing him is an option, but my family sits at the forefront of my mind. Does he know where we live? Has he been by our home?
I don’t want to lead Bart to them. I should call Victor, but what exactly am I going to say? There’s a serial killer that is possibly after you all? I would then have to lay the whole thing out. He would then call in the FBI. An all-out manhunt ensues. Bart once again falls off the radar. My family will forever be in danger until he’s found.
No.
But I do want them safe and out of town. Daisy is my best bet. I check my watch. She’s at school right now and it’s lunchtime. She’ll answer.
One ring hasn’t even completed by the time she picks up. “Everything okay?”
“I’m going to ask something of you, and I don’t want any questions. I want only trust. I promise I will explain later.”
A beat of silence goes by. “Okay.”
“It’s Friday and school lets out in an hour. You don’t have a car. Walk to Justin’s school and pick him up. Take a Lyft to Dad’s office. Don’t go home. Make it an adventure for Justin. Tell Dad you want to do another weekend getaway. Spur of the moment. Fun. You’ll get supplies on the road. You got it? We’ve talked about role-playing. This is you playing an important role.”
