by David Archer
She kept shaking her head. “I don’t know,” she said, “I don’t know. I don’t think I know anything about him at all, not anymore.”
“What about where he lives? Does he have a house somewhere, a home base?”
Still rocking and shaking her head, she said, “I don’t know where, but he has a house. He said he only gets to go home once or twice a year, and I think it’s somewhere out west. He talks about the desert sometimes, like he lives close to the desert.”
Sam scowled. Living close to the desert could mean just about anything.
“Okay, we know that he drives an old Chevy van. Do you know if he has any other vehicles?”
She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t know anything about that. Mr. Prichard, I haven’t seen C.J. in nearly fifteen years. It wasn’t long after he came back from the army, when he couldn’t find a job around here. He went to work for some company, fixing generators at different places around the country, and I guess he’s been with them ever since. He called me once or twice a month, but yesterday was the first time he even talked about coming to visit.” She sniffled again. “That’ll probably never happen, now.”
Sam looked at her for a moment, then turned to his mother. “I’m going to give you two a little time,” he said. He got up and walked outside, then went to the car and sat on the hood. He took out his phone and called Indie.
“Hi, babe,” she said. “How’s it going down there?”
“Well, I can’t say Mrs. Willis is taking it well, but she believes us. She thought I was C.J., at first.”
“Of course she did,” Indie said. “You look just like him. Did you tell her about…”
“Yes,” Sam said. “We told her about the murders. She’s crying a lot, keeps saying she should have known that he wasn’t really her son, or that he was dangerous. I’m letting Mom talk to her at the moment. I think maybe the two of them need to talk some things out, so I came outside to call you. Denny still there?”
“He’s here,” Indie said. “I’ve been tempted to shoot him a couple of times, but I’ve managed to restrain the impulse. He slept on the couch last night and got up early this morning, and Carrie slept in your recliner. The two of them managed to get Kenzie and Bo without waking me up, so by the time I came out of the bedroom, they were all four in the process of wrecking the living room.”
Sam grinned. “Denny’s just a big kid himself,” he said. “Tell them I said he has to clean up after himself.”
“He already did,” she said, chuckling. “One look at my face was all it took. Harry used the guest room upstairs, and he just came down a little while ago. He’s sitting in the kitchen with me, having coffee. Do you know when you’ll be home yet?”
“We’ll be back tonight, sometime. Ron arranged for the plane to stay at the airport until I need it, so all I have to do is call the pilot. I’m gonna let Mom talk with Mrs. Willis for a while, and then we’ll probably head back to the airport.”
“Okay, baby. I miss you.”
“I miss you more,” Sam said automatically. They whispered a few more sweet nothings to each other, and then Sam hung up the phone and put it in his pocket.
He took it out a moment later and called Karen Parks. “Karen? It’s Sam.”
“Like I wouldn’t recognize your number,” she said testily. “Have you seen the news?”
“News? What now?”
“Well, you said they were keeping it quiet about the charges being dismissed, but somebody let the cat out of the bag. Fort Collins paper had it this morning, and now it’s all over the place. Word is that you were cleared because of an error in the DNA sampling, so they aren’t talking about your secret twin just yet.”
“Well, great,” Sam said. “Trust me, C.J. will figure it out. Any word on the BOLO’s?”
“Nothing yet. Believe me, I’d be ringing your phone if we found him. Where the hell are you, anyway?”
“A dinky little town called Jenksville, Florida. Kinda reminds me of Mayberry, that sort of town. This is where C.J. grew up, and I came to talk to the woman who raised him. I’m convinced she had no idea that he wasn’t her son, or that he was dangerous. She isn’t really taking it very well, to be honest.”
“Well, put yourself in her shoes,” Karen said. “How would you like it if somebody showed up at your door one day to tell you one of your kids was a serial killer? Is she able to help at all?”
“No. C.J. doesn’t come around, and she doesn’t even have a regular phone number for him. He claims the company he works for keeps changing his number, but he’s probably just using burner phones.”
“Burner phones, fake IDs—Sam, this boy is apparently pretty serious about doing his thing. He’s probably buried his original identity long ago.”
“I know it,” Sam said. “Mom wants me to try to take him alive, and I’m sure Mrs. Willis feels that way, too, but I wonder if it’ll even be possible. He’s probably going to put up a fight whenever somebody goes to arrest him.”
“Hey, on that note,” Karen said. “I was looking at the list of similar cases to the Brenda Starling murder, and I stumbled across something. In Evansville, Indiana, six years ago, another girl was murdered in similar fashion. It has all the hallmarks of one of his killings, but there’s something else about it. An hour after the body was found, a local cop pulled over what he described as an old cargo truck. He radioed it in, but said he couldn’t read the license plate because of dirt on it, so he was going to get out and talk to the driver. He never reported back in, and his body was found two hours later. He had been shot in the head with a twenty-two, and his body was dragged off the road into a ditch. After that, the killer must’ve been wearing gloves, because he got into the squad car and drove it right over on top of the body, but no prints were ever found. I think we should assume he’s more than willing to put up a fight, and even to kill a cop.”
Sam let out a sigh. “This just gets worse and worse,” he said.
“Hey,” Karen said. “Don’t you start beating yourself up over this, Sam. You didn’t even know your brother existed before yesterday, so none of this could possibly be your fault.”
“I know,” Sam said, “but I just can’t help wishing I’d known about him sooner. Even if I couldn’t stop him from becoming what he is, at least some of those girls might still be alive.”
“You want to get mad at anybody,” Karen said, “get mad at the nurse who switched them. Or get mad at Beauregard, for not telling you about him sooner. What good is having a ghost around if he can’t warn you about something this bad?”
“Beauregard says it doesn’t work like that,” Sam said. “He can’t pick and choose what he knows, he just has to go with it when it comes.” He shook his head. “I don’t even believe in Beauregard, and here I am defending him. Go figure.”
“Whatever. When are you coming back?”
“I’ll be back tonight. I’ll check in with you when I get back, or tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, if the news is out that I’ve been released, you might refresh the BOLO around there. I’ve got Denny and Harry watching over Indie and the kids, because it strikes me there’s a possibility C.J. might want to come and look us up. Let’s face it, he would’ve seen my picture on the news. Can’t be too hard to figure out what happened.”
“Can’t be,” Karen said. “You figured it out.”
Sam ended the call and put the phone away, then sat on the hood of the car a few more minutes. Finally, when his hip was complaining about the lack of a cushion, he got up and went back toward the house.
Grace and Vanessa were sitting on the couch, both of them with tears on their faces. Grace was holding the other woman’s hand, and they both looked up as Sam entered the room.
“She’s a strong woman, Sam,” Grace said. “She loves him, but she understands that he has to be stopped.”
“Just, please,” Vanessa said, “please try not to hurt him. I realize he may end up spending the rest of his life in prison, or he might even get—he might get th
e chair, but I’d just like to see him one more time. I just want to tell him that, no matter what may have happened the night you boys were born, I still loved him. I always did, and I always will.”
“Of course,” Sam said. “My mother feels the same way. We’re going to do our best to bring him in alive and safe.” He didn’t feel it necessary to say that it was entirely up to C.J. whether that was going to be successful.
Grace promised to let Vanessa know of any developments, then got to her feet. “It’s time for us to go, Sam,” she said. “We need to get back home.”
Sam looked at the tiny woman on the couch. “Mrs. Willis,” he said, “I’m truly sorry we had to give you this kind of news, but we’re doing everything we can to try to find C.J. and stop anyone else from getting hurt. Everything we learn can help to achieve that, so I thank you for giving us your time.”
She slowly raised her eyes to meet his. “Wait,” she said. “I don’t know if—please don’t think I’m crazy, but—C.J.’s room. It’s exactly the way it was the day he left, I’ve never moved anything. I go in and dust once in a while, but that’s all. At first, I just thought I’d leave it the way it was because I figured he’d be home some day, but then it’s just become, well, sort of like my only connection to him. Maybe, if you’d like to take a look at it…”
“That’s a good idea,” Sam said. “Which way?”
“Go up the stairs, and it’s the first door on the right. The door’s closed, but that’s just to keep the dust down.”
Sam turned and walked to the staircase, then made his way up them. There was a landing halfway up and the stairs turned to the left, and then he emerged onto the second floor. He went to the first door on the right and grasped the knob, stood for just a moment as he forced himself to relax, then opened the door and stepped inside.
EIGHTEEN
His brother’s room. Sam would have felt some sort of recognition even if he hadn’t known whose room it was, because it was almost identical to the one he had grown up in. There was a twin bed with plain brown covers on it, just like the bed he had slept in throughout his teens. There was a dresser that was quite similar to the one he had, and the top was covered with model cars and airplanes, just as his had been. A bookcase stood against the wall beside the window, and Sam walked over to look at the titles.
The Foundation Trilogy and other books by Isaac Asimov. A number of titles by Robert A. Heinlein. There was a large collection of detective novels, including all of Sam’s own favorite authors like Robert Ludlum, John D. McDonald, Elmore Leonard, and even Mickey Spillane.
There were a couple of football trophies on the shelves, and Sam spotted a number of photos from C.J.’s teenage years. They were so similar to the ones that had adorned his own walls that it sent a chill down his spine. This could have been his own room, and he had to look closely to find any serious differences.
Sam opened the closet door and saw C.J.’s army uniform hanging there. It was covered in plastic, just the way his own uniform was back home, but then he noticed something on the shelf overhead. He reached up and took down a box that was covered in dust, and it dawned on him that Vanessa was probably so short that she never knew it was there. He set it on the dresser and opened the top, then froze.
Inside the box was a Polaroid photograph of a man laying partly under a truck. It was a color photo, and Sam realized instantly that it was a picture of Charlie Willis laying dead. Vanessa had said he died in an accident, and Sam remembered Indie telling him that it was some sort of shop incident. Any speculation that it was an accident went out of his mind as he looked at the photo, because only C.J. could have taken it. He probably had it on him when he called to report that his father had been killed.
There were other things in the box, including some folded notebook pages. Sam opened them and looked at them, and he started to grin when he recognized poetry and thought of his own youthful verses, but then he began to read them. The grin vanished instantly.
Insanity
by C.J. Willis
I look at those around me with their empty vacant eyes,
And realize the smiles they wear are nothing but more lies,
If I must bear to see them any longer I declare,
I’ll cut their throats and let them bleed while I just laugh and stare.
My Secret
by C J Willis
I see you in the darkness as you try to hide away,
I know you for the evil that is hidden through the day,
You think that you have fooled me, that I cannot see the truth,
But I know you, you foul monster that was once known as my youth,
I can see your evil smile as you come stalking through the night,
To steal away my secrets and to drag them to the light,
But I will make you suffer if you take away my dreams,
For I live and breathe their torment, and I revel in their screams,
Down deep in secret cellars where my innocence was lost,
I left you there behind me and I gladly paid the cost,
To feed my soul with bloodscreams and to taste the murderer’s wine,
Go back, lost youth, and leave me here to feast on fear divine,
And then when I am sated and the blood calls me no more,
I’ll dance the jig of innocence and play on childhood’s shore,
And make believe that she is not a-rotting down below,
Where I left her in the cellar where no other dares to go.
Sam felt a shiver run down his spine and took out his phone. He dialed Indie, but not before he peeked out the door to make sure no one was coming up the stairs.
“Indie? I need you to look something up for me. I’m in Jenksville, Florida. I need to know about any murders or disappearances here, between fourteen and twenty-two years ago.”
“Really? Okay, give me just a minute.” He could hear her tapping on the keys of her computer for a moment, and then she said, “Sam? How did you know?”
His heart sank. “What did you find?”
“A fifteen-year-old girl disappeared twenty years ago. People thought she ran away, but her friends and family said they didn’t believe it. Her name was Cynthia Alderson, and she was a very popular girl in the high school. Cheerleader, in the band, all that sort of stuff. Disappeared without a trace.” She paused for a second. “Are you thinking there’s a connection?”
“Possibly,” Sam said. He read her the poem, My Secret, and she groaned. “Yeah,” he said. “Sounds like maybe C.J. started earlier than we thought. All I have to do is find the cellar he talks about.”
“Wait a minute,” Indie said. “I’m checking county records on the Willis address. According to what I see here, that house does not have a basement or cellar.”
Sam sighed. “Well, there’s one way to find out. I’ll call you back in a little while.”
He put the phone in his pocket, then tucked the poems into another one. He looked around the room for another moment, then closed the door and went downstairs. Grace and Vanessa were still sitting on the couch, and they looked up as he came into the living room.
“Mrs. Willis,” Sam said, “is there a basement or cellar under this house?”
The woman blinked at him. “The basement? There was one, but we closed it off a long time ago. Animals kept getting in that way, coming up the stairs into the kitchen. Nobody’s been down there in thirty years or more.”
“Did C.J. ever know about it?”
She cocked her head and looked at him. “I’m sure he did,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“Is there any way I can get down into it and look around? I don’t want to say why just yet, but it could be important.”
She stared at him for a couple seconds, then slowly got to her feet. “In the kitchen,” she said. “There’s a trap door that leads down into it, but we put a cabinet on top of it to keep the critters out.”
Sam and his mother followed her into the kitchen, and then Sam helped to s
lide the cabinet aside. The trapdoor was about two feet square, with a steel ring attached to it to help lift it up. Sam turned back to Vanessa. “Would you happen to have a flashlight?”
She stepped aside for a moment and pulled one out of a drawer in her kitchen cabinets. She turned it on to make sure the batteries weren’t dead, then handed it to him. “What do you expect to find down there?” she asked.
“Nothing, I hope,” Sam said. He grasped the ring and lifted the trapdoor, then shone the light into the dark, empty space. There were steps leading down, very steep steps like you would find on a ship. Sam carefully stepped onto them, testing the top one with his weight before lifting his foot from the floor above. He slowly, carefully made his way down until he was standing on a dirt floor.
He shined the light around. There were plenty of signs of animals being in the basement, including many years worth of what he suspected was cat droppings, but nothing seemed to be moving or living down there at the moment. There were old boxes that were rotting away, and piles of what looked like rags, and Sam found a long stick to poke them with.
The basement was not large, roughly fifteen feet square. He made his way around it carefully, trying his best not to step in anything terrible, but then he noticed a pile of dirt near one side. He walked over and looked closely, then shone the light at the wall beside it.
Someone had dug a tunnel, or an entryway. The dirt on the floor had come from the digging as somebody opened a space near the foundation of the house in order to get into the basement. Sam looked closely and tried to see if it might’ve been the work of an animal, but there were obvious marks of a shovel. Somebody had cut this entry in deliberately, and another shiver found its way down Sam’s backbone.
He shined the light around the floor again, and this time he spotted something he hadn’t noticed before. There was a piece of wood under some of the dirt in the floor, and it suddenly dawned on him that the dirt around it was thicker and higher than the rest of the area. He poked at the board with the stick he was using and found that it was solid, so he reached down, grabbed hold of it and lifted.
