Within

A Novel

Charles Prandy

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Copyright © 2015 by Charles Prandy

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

Cover image by Ronnell Porter

Other Books by Charles Prandy

Jacob Hayden Series

The Avenged – Book 1

Behind the Closed Door – Book 2

The Game of Life or Death – Book 3

Within – Book 4

Stand Alone Novels

The Last of the Descendants

To be notified of future works by Charles, please go to www.charlesprandy.com.

Prologue

He opened his eyes, looked at his hands, and didn’t recognize them. The hands were pale with gangling bony fingers and large blue veins snaking underneath the skin. He extended the fingers and saw long black razor-sharp fingernails.

The hands felt sticky. He smelled the strong stench of rusty iron and turned over the hands to see that the palms were painted in blood. He looked along his arms and saw that his sleeves had been ripped and shredded.

Then he looked around and noticed that he was in an abandoned room with graffiti-filled walls and a dusty concrete floor covered in trash. A large dingy blanket hung over a window with a few candles providing dim light to the room.

He didn’t know why, but an impulse overcame him, and he raised his palms to his lips. He inhaled the rusty smell, opened his mouth, and let his tongue glide along his palms until the blood covered it. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

Then he heard a whimper.

He turned around and, there in a corner, he saw a woman with short brown hair stripped down to her underwear. She lay on the floor with duct tape covering her mouth. Her arms and feet were tied with a noose, and her body was ravaged with open wounds.

She looked at him with desperate eyes full of despair. He knelt down and brushed some of her hair away from her face, seeing dark smeared eye liner covering her cheeks. He should have been surprised, but he wasn’t. The woman whimpered again. But instead of pulling the tape from her mouth, he glided the tips of his fingernails along her face, menacing with torment.

She started to cry, but he didn’t feel sorry for her. Instead, he laughed. His voice didn’t sound the same; it was deep and muffled, which didn’t surprise him.

“You’re going to die slowly,” he told her.

Then he lowered his right hand to her neck and pressed his long nails against her flesh until they punctured the skin.

The woman cried through the duct tape, “Plee . . . no!”

He pushed the nails deeper until blood gushed from the wounds.

The woman cried in agonizing pain.

He removed his blood-soaked hand from her neck and then stood up and watched as a puddle of blood filled the floor just behind her head.

The woman tried to wiggle free to no avail, and the more she moved, the more she squirmed in pain. As he watched, he knew that death was ready to take her. In the final few seconds of her life, her body jerked a couple of times and then it stopped. He stood there for a moment and took in the reality of what had just happened. He then knelt back down and looked into her vacant eyes that stared unblinkingly back into his. He removed the duct tape from her mouth, leaned forward, and pressed his lips against hers.

“You are just the beginning. They will soon believe in me.”

MONDAY

One

The first swipe of the machete came close to taking off my right arm. The second swipe was aimed at my throat, but I moved out of its way by mere inches. The blade started coming in more rapid successions, each nearly touching my flesh. I bobbed and weaved like a skilled fighter avoiding a deadly knockout blow. The man wielding the machete wasn’t a professional swordsman, but his movements were fluid enough that a slip-up on my end would cost me my life.

I’d gotten separated from my team and was caught off guard by this maniac. He’d knocked my gun out of my hand as I was raising it to defend myself. The room was semi-lit. The walls were thick, so no one could hear what was going on, despite the fact that there were teams of investigators in the tunnels of the metro rail system.

A worker had found the mutilated bodies of two women who’d been missing for three weeks in a storage room underneath the streets of the nation’s capital. WMATA, or the Washington Metropolitan Area Transportation Authority, had its own police force, but since the bodies were discovered within the District of Columbia, we also had jurisdiction over the case. I, along with Detective Patricia Jennings and a couple of other detectives, were sent down into the tunnels to check out the scene.

I’d ridden the trains hundreds of times, but it was an eerie feeling actually walking through the dark tunnels. The smell of decaying flesh was evident before we even got to the storage room. As a homicide detective, I immediately knew what the smell was, but it’s not something that anyone can ever get used to.

The bodies of the two women were unclothed, and they were stuffed in lockers. Their once-smooth skin was now flaky. Rigor mortis caused their flesh to turn black and blue. The pictures we had of the two women showed their vibrant smiles and beautiful features. In their current state, though, they looked nothing like what the pictures portrayed.

The city had been in a panic over the past couple of months as women—fitting the description of those we’d just found—had gone missing. Including the two in the tunnels, we’d discovered the bodies of seven women scattered across the city.

The madman before me swung the machete again, grunting and panting with each swing. I noticed that each movement was slower than the previous, which meant he was running out of steam. When I ducked, I spun around him and threw a punch to his lower back. He acted as if he barely felt it, probably due to all of the fat that covered his body. I stood six feet, three inches tall, and weighed a little over two hundred and twenty-five pounds. The man-beast wielding the machete was built like an offensive lineman for a football team, standing close to six feet, six inches tall and probably weighing over three hundred pounds. He looked like Rubeus Hagrid, the big guy with the long beard from the Harry Potter movies.

I punched him again in the same spot, with little effect. He spun around and swung the blade toward my neck again. I ducked and stepped back as far as I could. The man finally stopped swinging the machete and looked at me. He was breathing hard, and with each breath there was a deep hoarseness that nearly felt like it was vibrating against the floor. He held his arms out a little, gripping the machete in his right hand.

I held my fists in a fighting position. My eyes were wide open, and my lungs heaved to catch my breath. I didn’t want to look away from him, but I wondered why he’d stopped the attack all of the sudden. Then I glanced to my left and right and knew why. I had backed myself into the corner of the room. The only way for me to get past him was to literally get past him, and he knew it.

“You’re going to die today, pig,” he said.

His voice was deep enough to put fear in anyone’s heart. Mine was no different. He looked like a giant holding a large blade ready for the slaughter.

“You never should have come after me, pig.”

His eyes were deep set into his head, and even with the dim light of the room, I saw the evil in them.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said. My voice held no confidence because I knew he wouldn’t stop until I was dead.

I had no weapons to defend myself, except for my hands. And I wasn’t strong enough to do any real damage to him.

He slowly raised the arm with the machete. His breaths came a little faster. He was ready for another onslaught. I steadied my feet and tightened my fists a little more. I didn’t have many options, but the ones I did have, I needed to do them well.

His eyes widened right before he swung the machete again. He opened his mouth, and what sounded like a lion’s roar erupted from deep inside his body. His massive arm moved gracefully like he was hunkering down to chop a piece of wood. He swung with enough force that the blade would have cut me right in two—that is, if it had hit me. I sidestepped to my right and threw all my weight into a kick that crashed into the man’s right knee. He screamed and the knee buckled, but he had enough balance to slice the blade into my right arm.

Sheer, hot pain shot through my body. The big man fell but continued to swing the machete back and forth so that I couldn’t attack him again. Blood oozed from my wound and stained my shirt. Every time I moved, my shoulder and neck screamed with pain.

“I’m gonna kill you, pig,” he said again.

He somehow found the strength to push himself up. His eyes were intently focused on me. Spit flew from his mouth as he fought through the pain to stand. Now at his full height, he raised his arm again, ready to swing.

I looked around the room. I needed something to defend myself. My right arm was no good, and if he got ahold of me, I’d be done. He started swinging the blade in a crisscross motion while hobbling toward me.

I moved to my right, and he moved with me. Same with my left. He mirrored my movements until he was close enough to lash out at me. He swung, and the blade came within centimeters of my chest. It tore through my shirt and came back around for another swipe. I’m not sure how he missed the second time, but he did. I angled my body just enough that when his arm was raised, I threw a punch into his right kidney with all my strength. He barely budged, but it must have done enough that his swing was off.

I darted out of reach to the other side of the room. He gathered himself and turned around. A smirk crawled along his face because he probably knew I had nowhere to go. And I knew it too. The door leading out of the room was locked, and he had the key.

“Well, pig, this is it for you.”

He raised the machete again, in what he thought was probably the last swing before I was dead. And he may have been right, until I finally saw my gun lying on the floor right under my nose. I’d been too focused on him to realize that the gun skidded in this direction.

He saw what I saw and charged at me with a fury I’d never seen before, swinging the blade in a crisscross fashion again. I lunged for the gun. I couldn’t raise my right hand, so with the gun in my left hand, I just started squeezing the trigger. Blast after blast, bullets hit the man’s chest, but he continued charging. It wasn’t until the clip was empty that he finally stopped in his tracks and just looked at me. Then he dropped the machete and fell forward, like a tree falling to the ground.

I still held my arm up, and I stayed that way for several seconds longer. Finally, I dropped the gun and slumped against the wall, sliding down to a seated position.

“Jesus.”

If this is any indication of what the rest of the week is going to be like, I want to take my vacation early.

Two

The forecast called for rain all week. Heavy rain. The D.C. area was in the path of the beginning stages of a nor’easter, evidenced by dark grey clouds that had been covering the sky for the past day and a half. Rain fell off and on during the early morning hours before the sun came up, and by the time I was out of the hospital, we were in a downpour.

My arm required ten stitches to close up the wound. The machete cut me on the outside of my tricep, just below my shoulder. The same ER doctor who stitched me up a couple of months ago from a bullet wound to my shoulder was the same one who stitched my arm.

“Detective Hayden,” he said, “have you thought about changing your line of work?”

“I could ask you the same question, Doc.”

He looked at me and smiled, and I believe that he understood where I was coming from. We all have a calling on our lives, and until we’re forced from that calling, that’s what we’ll be.

My arm was numbed up and I was on painkillers, so I could actually move it around without too much pain. Pat waited for me in the waiting room, and when our eyes met, she gave me the kind of look that a mother gives a child who did wrong. I probably shouldn’t have separated myself from the group when we were in the tunnels, or I should have at least let someone know that I was venturing off. We didn’t get a chance to talk when I was found in the room with the swordsman, but from what I’d been told, once I started shooting, everyone ran to the sound of the gunshots.

Pat drove me back to the station where Captain Hellsworth wanted us in his office ASAP. When we arrived, he appeared to be engrossed in whatever report he was reading. His office door was open, but he didn’t realize we had entered. Captain Hellsworth looked like he could have been the model for the J. Jonah Jameson character from the infamous Spider-Man comic books.

“Captain?” I said.

He flinched a little at my voice. “Jesus, Jacob.”

“You wanted to see us?”

He nodded to the chairs in front of his desk for us to sit.

“First off, how’s the arm?”

“Sore, but I’ll live.”

He looked inquisitively at Pat who shrugged her shoulders without saying anything.

“This is kinda becoming a thing with you,” he said. “You seem to find yourself in situations that the rest of us don’t.”

He paused and rubbed his eyes.

“So what happened?”

“To be honest, Captain, I don’t know. Guy came outta nowhere. He blindsided me when I went into that room.”

Captain Hellsworth looked over to Pat, “And you?”

“Down the hall with the bodies.”

“Press is going to have a field day with this,” he said. “Seven abducted girls. Seven dead bodies. And we still have two more that fit the M.O. who haven’t been found.”

He rubbed his eyes again.

“You did what you had to do, Jacob. Your life is more important than that scumbag’s. But now we don’t have any leads on the other two girls.”

“Once we I.D. the guy, maybe we can pick up their trail from wherever he lives,” Pat said. “Talk to neighbors, friends.”

“I saw into that guy’s eyes,” I said. “He has no friends, and I’d be surprised if he has neighbors.”

“He has to know people,” Captain Hellsworth said.

“I didn’t say he didn’t know people. Just not friends or neighbors. I’ll call down to the morgue and see if we can get prints run ASAP. Hopefully this guy’s in our system.”

“You need to go home,” Captain said. “You just got your arm nearly cut off. Pat can follow up with the prints.”

“I’m fine, Captain. Just a little flesh wound. There’s nothing for me to do at home except think about this case. I’m already here. Really, I’m okay.”

Captain Hellsworth looked at me for a second before glancing over at Pat. He wasn’t a man of many words, so usually when he spoke his words were chosen and pointed.

“Okay,” he said. “I.D. this guy. But, Jacob, no more.”

I nodded, acknowledging what he was saying. Over the past two years, my life and career had taken drastic turns. Mostly for the worse, and some for the better.

Pat and I stood up and left Captain’s office. When we got back to our desks, Pat turned her chair around and faced me.

“I’ll make the call and see if we can I.D. our guy.”

“Okay.”

I leaned back in my chair and faced my computer. The screen was black with the exception of the Windows logo bouncing back and forth on the monitor. Pat turned around and started clicking on her computer. I watched her for a second to make sure that she wasn’t looking at me, and then I looked down at my hands. They were trembling slightly. Truth was, even though I told Captain and Pat I was okay, deep inside, I wasn’t. I’d nearly lost my life a few hours ago. That had been a running theme for me over the past two years. But this morning was too close for comfort.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was an invisible target over my head, and unknown forces were throwing darts at me to see who could hit the bull’s-eye first. Lucky for me, so far their aim hadn’t been the greatest. But it seemed like it was getting better.

I heard Pat on the phone, and then she was silent for a spell before she looked back at me. She had a smile on her face and her eyes were lit up.

“We got him?” I asked.

“We got him.”

I stood up from my chair and stepped to Pat’s desk, pushing my hands deep into my front pockets.

Three

The guy’s name was Baldwin Lanceport, and his last known address was that of a rundown house on the northeast side of the city. Records showed that the residence had been in foreclosure proceedings for over three years. When we pulled up to the front of the house, it looked as if no one had resided there in a long time. The neighborhood itself appeared as though it hadn’t been taken care of. Most of the front lawns were overgrown with weeds and in need of a cut. The rooftops on many of the houses were worn and dilapidated. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was a street the city forgot existed.

A waist-high chain-link fence separated us from the front yard. I looked at the house before crossing into the yard, and an eerie feeling suddenly overcame me, like death was near. The house was two stories with worn-out green siding covering the exterior. The lower level windows had bars covering them, presumably to keep intruders out. But the way my mind was moving at the moment, I thought the bars might be there to keep someone from escaping.

There were two teams of us, four detectives in total. Pat and I walked to the front door, while Detectives Al Rowen and Jonathan Mitchell walked around the back. As we neared the front porch, I got the sense we were being watched; not by someone, per se, but by something. Maybe the house, as ironic as that sounded.

I lifted the door’s heavy knocker and banged it three times. Each time, I felt the vibration of the metal against the wood run through my hand. The sound of the banging echoed throughout the house as if there was nothing inside to absorb the sound, nothing more than the blankets we’d noticed covering the windows.

“Police,” I said sternly. “Open the door.”

I reached for the doorknob and found that it wasn’t locked. Pat and I pulled out our weapons, and I slowly turned the knob and pushed open the door.

“Police.”

As we entered, the house’s stale and musky smell came upon us. Along with that smell was another aroma that I was all too familiar with. Working homicide, there are certain stenches you can never confuse with anything else, like the coppery and metallic odor of blood. The smell was instantaneous, which caused my mental antennas to immediately go on high alert.

Stepping through the doorway was like walking into a house of horrors. The lights were off, and the house was dark because of the covered windows. We kept the front door open while each of us went to a window and pulled down the blankets, immediately letting light into the front of the house.

There was no furniture, as I’d expected. The walls were covered in dirty wallpaper that looked like it hadn’t been changed since the seventies, and the wood floors were in bad need of restoration. Immediately in front of us was a set of stairs leading to the second floor, and as I glanced up, a chill rushed through my spine as I could only imagine what horrors awaited us.

Pat and I cleared the front of the house and then moved to the back. The décor was no different, and the kitchen didn’t look suitable to cook a meal in. Pat found the back door and motioned for Al and Jonathan to come in.

“Shitty house,” Al said.

“You guys know what that smell is, right?” I said.

“Yeah,” Jonathan said. “Smelled it as soon as I came in.”

“See if this place has a basement,” I said. “Pat and I will check the rooms upstairs.”

Everyone nodded. Al and Jonathan drew their weapons and went looking for a basement. Pat followed close behind as we slowly took the stairs to the top floor.

“I don’t like this, Jacob,” Pat said.

“Me neither. This house creeps me out.”

At the top of the steps were five closed doors: two doors on both sides of us, and one directly in front of us. There was only a little light seeping up from the opened front door. I nodded to Pat that we’d open the door in front of us first. She nodded back and moved to the right of the door while raising her weapon toward it.

I turned the knob, pushed the door open, and stepped back. The room was a small bathroom. Pat reached for the light switch but it didn’t work.

“Probably no power in the whole house,” I whispered.

I stepped into the bathroom, but it was too dark to see anything. I knew there was a toilet, tub, and sink, but I couldn’t make out any details.

“The front windows at this level had blankets covering them too. We take them down, we’ll get more light up here.”

“We’ve got flashlights in the car,” Pat said.

“I’d feel more comfortable clearing the house first.”

We quickly moved through each bedroom and pulled down the window coverings, which brought in much-needed light. Each room was bare of furniture with the exception of dirty, worn-out mattresses.

“Have fun sleeping on those,” Pat said.

“I can only imagine what funguses are living inside them.”

The top floor was cleared, so we lowered our weapons and took a little time to study each room. The closets were empty, the floors were dusty, and cobwebs hung from the top corners of every room. I didn’t notice any blood spatters, but CSI could use luminal—a special kind of light—to detect blood that’d been cleaned. However, judging by the dustiness of the rooms, I didn’t think anything had been cleaned recently.

Just as we finished looking through the last room, I heard someone calling my name from downstairs.

“That’s Rowen,” I said.

We hurried down the top-floor steps and then rushed to the basement. As we went down the basement stairs, I saw a light; I thought was strange given that the rest of the house didn’t have power.

“Rowen,” I called from the steps.

“Back here.”

At the bottom of the steps was a hallway that took us either left or right. The light was coming from the right, as was Rowen’s voice. The hallway was narrow, and the end opened on a room that looked similar to a dungeon. The walls were the cinderblocks of the house’s foundation, and the floor was chipped concrete. From the ceiling hung three light bulbs that attached to what appeared to be a generator at the corner of the floor.

When we entered the room, Rowen and Mitchell had their backs to us, so I didn’t immediately see what they were looking at. Then when I stepped closer, I paused, my eyes shot wide opened, and my hand immediately covered my mouth in an “Oh My God” kind of moment.

Pat said it out loud, “Oh my God.”

Near the top of the wall hung a chain, and at the other end of the chain was a metal noose wrapped around a woman’s neck. The woman hung limply from the noose. Her legs were bent and her feet were touching the floor, but she wasn’t moving. Her face was beaten and bloodied. Her clothes were torn and ragged. Her arms hung by her side, and her hands were covered with blood.

“Jesus,” I said. “Pulse?”

“I checked,” Rowen said. “Didn’t feel one.”

I stepped closer to the woman and looked her up and down. She had bruises on her arms, and her hands didn’t have fingernails. I cringed at the thought of what she must have gone through. I stepped back and turned toward my group. I was about to say something, but Pat’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

“She’s not dead! Her hand just moved.”

I turned around and caught the faint movement of a finger.

“Get the paramedics here now!”

I quickly moved and lifted her so that she wasn’t dangling from the noose any longer.

Four

Across the room, there was a metal table with all kinds of devices and tools fitting for a doctor to perform surgery. Within the tools there was a ring of keys. The metal noose around the woman’s neck was clamped together by a lock. Pat brought the keys over and tried each one until we heard a click. The noose unlatched, and Pat removed it from the woman’s neck.

I gently laid her down on her back. Her pulse was weak, but she was definitely alive. Her stomach rose and fell slightly. Her right index finger, the one that alerted us that she was alive, continued to slowly move up and down. Her hair was long and dark. Both eyes were swollen, and her upper lip looked like someone had inflated it with air.

“Paramedics are on their way,” Rowen said.

I kneeled over her and looked her up and down, wondering what would cause another person to do this. I scanned her arms, and when I looked at her hands I realized why they were so bloodied. Her fingernails were missing, and there were small puncture wounds on her palms.

“She’s different from the other girls,” I said.

“How so?” Pat said.

“Look at her. The other girls weren’t like this. They weren’t beaten like this.”

Pat knelt down and examined the girl. “They weren’t. It’s rare to find a victim beaten like this, which makes me think this was personal. He knew her.”

“Or she simply pissed him off some kind of way. But I agree, I think she knew him.”

I turned and looked toward the chain in the wall and thought of how she looked when we came down. She was hanging, but her feet were touching the floor.

“If this was personal, it wasn’t an impulse overreaction. She was either beaten and then hung, or hung and then beaten.”

I looked back down at the woman and then returned my gaze to the wall where she was hung.

“The way she was hanging from the wall means that he didn’t want her to die right away,” I said. “He wanted her to suffer and die slowly. She’d probably been here for a couple of days, standing. Once her legs got tired, they weakened, and as they weakened they bent. The more tired she got, the more they bent until she was hanging from her neck. Her neck wouldn’t have snapped, but her airway would have been cut off slowly until she lost consciousness and eventually died.”

“Sick bastard,” Pat said. “He didn’t think we would be there today in the tunnels. He probably expected to come back and either finish her off or watch her die.”

“Or she could have been an afterthought,” I replied. “He could have figured he did what needed to be done and then moved on to the next ones without thinking twice about her.”

Rowen came back and said that the paramedics should be here in a few minutes.

I looked back down at the woman. Ever since my wife’s murder, I saw violence through a different lens, especially when it came to a woman. Most cops become numb to what we see, but for me it was more personal.

While Pat, Rowen, and Mitchell searched around the room, I concentrated on the woman. I wanted to help and take away the pain, but I couldn’t. Kneeling next to her was the next best thing I could do. But then she did something unexpected. She moved her lips. They parted and closed as if she were trying to speak.

“Are you trying to say something?” I said.

That got everyone’s attention. Her lips moved again.

I told Pat, Rowen, and Mitchell to be quiet.

“What is it?” I said.

Her eyes didn’t open, but her voice became a little stronger.

I leaned in closer. I could now smell the staleness of her breath as she spoke again.

“What’s she saying?” Pat said.

I raised my head. “More girls. She’s saying there are more girls.”

Five

What does it mean when you look into the mirror and the reflection looking back isn’t you? Matthew Gray was asked that question last night in his dream. He wasn’t one to think anything of dreams or try to interpret their meanings, but that was the question he remembered when he woke up in the morning. Maybe he remembered the question because of the way he was woken up. It was the last thing he heard right before the dream suddenly became sexual. There wasn’t a scene change where he was thrusting inside of a beautiful woman; rather he felt the intense desire to have an orgasm.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a blond woman’s head slowly going up and down over his penis. He didn’t have a chance to move her away, nor did he want to, before his eyes clenched tight, his mouth formed a capital “O”, his toes stretched out, and the build-up of immense pleasure strained to be released. The feeling lasted a few seconds and then his body relaxed again. What a way to wake up.

“Damn,” he said, “you need to sleep over every night.”

The blonde looked up and smiled, “Be careful what you say. I tend to take things literally.”

“Well, how about three nights a week then?”

“We’ll talk about that later once your brain comes off its orgasm high.”

Orgasm high was the correct word choice, Matthew thought. At that moment, if he had a million dollars and she asked for it, he probably would have given it to her.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” the blonde said. “You’d better hurry up and shower too. Big day ahead.”

Matthew looked at the clock and nearly jumped out of bed.

“Shit! How the hell did I oversleep?”

The blonde laughed uncontrollably. “You’re so cute when you get excited. Don’t worry, Matt, I changed the time on the clock. Just messin’ around.”

“You shouldn’t mess like that. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“What better way to wake up those brain cells of yours? Now you’re all pumped up, which will help your presentation. How much is on the line again?”

Matthew smirked, “You know how much. Don’t think that I haven’t gotten the subtle engagement signals over the past few weeks.”

The blonde touched her chest and gestured as if she was playfully surprised by the comment. “Moi, make subtle engagement signals? You’ve gotten me confused with one of your other women.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Must have been Claudia from the other night.”

The blonde picked up a pillow and threw it at Matthew.

“Whatever,” she said, smiling. “No other woman’s going to make you feel the way I do.”

Matthew leaned over and whispered into the blonde’s ear, “You’re right. You’re the best.”

The blonde leaned back and looked into Matthew’s eyes, “Good answer.”

They kissed passionately, and then the woman pushed Matthew on his back. She perched seductively on top of him and licked the left side of his cheek.

“We’ve got a little time. I want some more.”

“Ah, I’m gonna need about ten minutes. Men weren’t designed like women. We need time between orgasms.”

“No you don’t.”

“How about five?”

“How about now?”

Matthew focused on the blonde’s full, perky breasts and hard nipples. He started to feel himself rise. “Okay, now sounds good.”

“Thought you’d see it my way. And when we’re done, there’s something I want you to do for me.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ll let you know later.”

“No argument there.”

They kissed again, and before Matthew knew it, his brain was searching for that orgasm high.

Six

More girls. I kept hearing the woman’s faint words in my head. More girls were hidden somewhere, presumably in the city, either dead or scared for their lives. The woman we found was in no way able to tell us where. Her condition was dire, and I wasn’t sure if she was going to make it through the night. After the paramedics took her away, we tore the house inside and out, looking for clues as to where the others could be. We found all kinds of evidence that told us the story of Baldwin Lanceport, and that he was a psychopath who had probably been killing people for a long time. How many, we may never know. But we didn’t find any clues as to where the other girls could be. So far, our only hope rested on a woman who may or may not live through the night.

We spent nearly two hours in the house, and after deciding that we’d found all we could, Pat and I left to head back to the station. On the way, we got a call that a woman’s body had been found at an apartment community. By the brief description, it didn’t appear that her murder was related to the Lanceport murders.

The apartment community was run-down, as is sadly the case in many low-income areas. Pieces of trash were scatted throughout the parking lots, and fields of grass that were supposed to be green were covered with large patches of brown dirt. We drove to the back of the neighborhood where it seemed most of the tenants stood in groups outside of the yellow police tape trying to get a glimpse of what happened. Police cars, along with the coroner’s van, crowded the front of one apartment building.

Pat and I stepped out of the car, and a uniformed officer told us the body was in the basement of the building. The basement was two stair levels below, which was one level under the ground floor apartments. A small laundry room with three washing and drying machines was adjacent to the room with the dead girl’s body.

“Two creepy rooms in one day,” Pat said. “Poor girls.”

I nodded my agreement.

The dead girl was in a large storage room. A blanket hung on the wall, and there were candles around the room that must have been responsible for the vanilla scent in the air.

“When was this called in?” I asked.

“About thirty minutes ago,” the uniformed officer said. “I was first on the scene.”

“Who found her?”

“One of the tenants. They came down to put something in here and saw the body.”

“If this is a storage room, then that door must be locked, right?”

“I’d suppose so.”

“So whoever killed her must have access to a key.”

A male voice with a Spanish accent spoke from behind. “Not necessarily.”

I turned around and saw a fair-skinned, heavyset man standing in the doorway.

“And you are?”

“Property manager. This door is supposed to be locked, but kids in the neighborhood know how to unlock it.”

“Why would kids want to come down here?” Pat asked.

“Sex, drugs, who knows? Tenants have complained in the past about kids being in here.”

“Did you do anything about it?” I asked.

“Changed the locks. But every time I did, I got more complaints. So I stopped changing the locks and would just apologize whenever a complaint came in.”

I turned back around to the dead girl’s body on the ground. She was in the far corner of the room, and she wore no clothes except for her underwear.

“I’m going to need the names of everyone who lives in this community,” I said to the uniformed officer.

Pat and I moved closer to the girl’s body. Her eyes were open, as was the case with most traumatic deaths. She had bruises along her body and large puncture wounds on her neck, which appeared to be the actual cause of her death. Her body lay in a pool of blood.

“She bled to death,” Pat said.

“Looks that way.”

I looked closer at the puncture wounds and then placed my hands near them.

“Look at this,” I said.

I placed my fingers over the wounds.

“Does it look like I could have just dug my fingers into her neck?”

“You’d have to have some pretty long and hard nails to do that.”

“Right.”

I let my fingers hover for a few seconds before moving them away. Then I asked myself, could someone really dig their fingers into another person’s flesh to cause this much bleeding? The thought lingered, but the answer would have to come from the medical examiner.

“So the question we have to ask ourselves,” Pat said, “is: If this door stays locked except for some kids breaking in to do each other, who outside of this neighborhood would know that this room was down here?”

“Fair question. And it hasn’t been that long since she was murdered. Can you smell the candles?”

Pat lifted her head as if she were searching for the scent. “I can. Vanilla?”

“Think so. If you knew this room was here, it’s reasonable to assume that you wouldn’t worry about someone else coming down during the middle of the night. This place is creepy enough as is, so I don’t think it gets too many visitors.”

I looked around the room again and took as many mental notes as possible. The placement and smell of the candles further confirmed my theory that whoever was down here wasn’t worried about someone else coming in. Why would someone place and light candles if they were in a hurry? Answer was, they weren’t, which was scary because it meant they were calm—and, in some respect, they were used to killing.

Seven

We spoke with two residents from the apartments above the basement, and neither heard or saw anything. We spoke with the woman who found the girl’s body, and she was still in shock from what she’d found. She’d seen kids down in that room in the past, but they never bothered her, so she never complained about them.

We were on the third floor knocking on doors. Lucky enough, residents were home, but no one could give us any information about the murder. I knocked on apartment 3C, and the apartment door behind me opened. A short Latin woman whose width and height were proportional to each other peaked through the cracked door.

“Policia?”

“Si,” I said with my limited Spanish. “Policia.”

I took out my badge and showed it to the woman.

“She no there.” Her accent was thick and her voice was shaky.

“You mean the resident of this apartment? Where is she?”

“She gone.”

“Everything okay, ma’am?”

The woman’s facial expression didn’t change. Her big eyes stared into mine. In her hand she was holding rosary beads with a small cross attached.

“She gone.”

I looked at Pat. It was obvious that this woman was scared of something.

“Can we come in and talk with you?”

The woman nodded and slowly backed into her apartment.

“Is there anyone else home with you?”

“No.”

“Do you mind if I take a quick look around?”

“No, no mind.”

The apartment was small and cluttered. I held on to the handle of my sidearm as I looked through the bedroom and bathroom. No one else was in the apartment.

The woman motioned for us to sit down. She moved clothes from small couches and placed them on a table near the cluttered kitchen. On the walls were pictures of who I assumed were family members. One of the pictures was of Jesus with a halo over his head.

The woman saw me looking at the picture and made sure to point it out.

“Christo,” she said.

I nodded.

She brought the rosary beads to her mouth and kissed the cross. I noticed that her hands were shaking slightly.

“Ma’am, is everything okay. Do you need help?”

“No, no.”

“Do you know why the police are here?”

She nodded. “Si. My friend, she saw something.”

“The woman from across the hall?” Pat said.

The woman nodded, “Si.”

“What did she see?” I asked.

The woman lowered her head and brought the rosary beads back to her mouth. Her hands started shaking a little harder.

“She knock on door late at night. She come here cause she scared.”

The woman paused and raised the beads back to her mouth.

“Why was she scared?”

“I scared too.”

I leaned forward in my seat. “You don’t have to be scared. The police are here. No one can hurt you.”

The woman nodded.

“Where is your friend? Is she in danger?”

“No. She left. She went to son’s house.”

“Where’s that?”

“Maryland.”

I nodded and made a note.

“So what did your friend see that made her knock on your door last night?”

“She say she saw someone. She coming from work and she saw him.”

“Who’d she see?”

The woman looked down and kissed her rosary beads one more time. When her eyes rose, there was a conviction in her voice that momentarily raised goose bumps across my arms.

“El diablo.”

I looked at Pat and then back toward the woman. “El diablo? You mean the devil?”

“Si, si.”

“Your friend told you that she saw the devil last night?”

“Si.”

“Why does she think she saw the devil?”

“He bloody. He grab her. Look into her eyes. He say, I coming. You will believe.”

I took notes, and after the goose bumps dissipated, I couldn’t help thinking, There’s a nut on every corner.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The woman gave us the name of her friend and the name of her son. Regardless of the devil talk, we may have someone who’d seen the killer. I gave the woman my card and told her to call me if she could think of anything else.

In the car, Pat said, “So what do you make of the devil talk?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “Someone scared her. She probably thinks she saw the devil. You saw the rosary beads. Bet the other one is as devout as this woman.”

“And if he had blood on him in the middle of the night, her mind may have just gone to one conclusion.”

“If you haven’t heard so already, you’ll learn that the devil is in the middle of everything.”

“I’ve heard my share of devil stories.”

I fired up the engine and drove away from the parking lot. El diablo, I thought again. What a way to start a week.

Eight

Oversleeping wasn’t a new thing for Rachel Melton. She was approved to switch her hours so that she didn’t have to come in as early in the morning, which should have helped her arrive to work on time. It didn’t. At the age of thirty-six, she still liked to party hard like she was twenty-six. She drank last night, not enough to get totally drunk, but enough that she couldn’t drive herself home. She met a guy who she made out with at a bar, and he also offered to take her home. If it weren’t for her two friends being with her, she probably would have taken up the offer. Story of her life.

When she finally woke up, her head throbbed slightly. She didn’t have the nauseating feeling that came along with a hangover, but it took a minute or so for the room to stop spinning and for her to realize that she was going to be late for work again.

“Shit. I’m going to get fired.”

She slowly removed her blanket and sat up, her headache pounding harder.

“Why keep doing this to yourself?”

She rubbed her temples, hoping that would help with the headache, but it didn’t. She remembered bits and pieces of the night, like kissing a guy whose face she couldn’t see. She remembered taking pineapple shots and smoking weed. She remembered sitting in the back of her car laughing hysterically at her friends’ corny jokes that otherwise wouldn’t have been funny.

She finally stood up and walked to her bedroom window, which faced the front of the house. She looked outside and saw that her friend’s car was parked behind hers in the driveway. Not unusual, she thought. They each stayed at the other’s house whenever they got home too late, which made her think that they must have gotten home really late this time, given that they had to work today.

Rachel walked out of her bedroom and checked the guest room, expecting to see her two friends sound asleep on the bed, but they weren’t. The house was quiet. She didn’t hear them making noise downstairs in the kitchen, so she thought that maybe they’d fallen asleep on the couches. She gingerly made her way down the stairs, recently refinished to match the dark wood of the main level floor. They weren’t sleeping on the couches.

“Jen, Sandy?” She called out.

No response.

Maybe they took a cab home, she thought. Wouldn’t be the first time. Only problem was that Jen’s car was blocking hers in the driveway. She went into the kitchen and found a bottle of Motrin. She took three pills and downed them with water before heading back upstairs to take a shower. She figured she’d call for a cab once she finished. However, because of her headache and light hangover, she didn’t notice that Jen’s keys were on the floor right next to the front door that was slightly open.

Nine

He was already in the house. He saw her walk down the stairs and look around. He then heard her call for her friends, and then go back upstairs shortly after. The metallic and salty taste of blood filled his mouth. He let his tongue glide over the top ridge of his teeth and felt their razor edges. Blood was fresh on his hands. His fingers were stained a deep red. As he moved toward the steps, he heard the heaviness of his breath going in and out of his body.

He grabbed the banister. His thin, pale skin once again revealed thick, dark veins snaking through his arms. His footsteps were quiet and fluid as he walked along the hall. He heard water running in the bathroom. He stretched out his fingers before touching the doorknob, and then he scratched a part of the door with his long fingernails.

The door opened slowly, and he was immediately met by his own reflection in a mirror. His eyes were the color midnight with a swirl of white in the pupil, and his teeth had the jaggedness of a chainsaw. His loose hair was stringy and stripped of color. The skin covering his face was thin, and he had the scars of someone who’d seen many lifetimes of wars and the evils of humanity.

Whatever sound he made entering the bathroom was covered up by the running water of the shower. He heard her humming. A white shower curtain was the only thing separating them from each other. With his left hand, he slowly pulled the shower curtain back and saw her standing under the showerhead rinsing shampoo from her hair. White streams of bubbly soap ran down her naked body. Her breasts became perked when the cool air hit them, which made her pull her head back and wipe her eyes.

She blinked when she saw him and then let out a scream that could have broken a window, had there been one in the room. She quickly tried to step back, but she slipped from the wet surface and hit her head against the wall. He looked down at her lying in the tub unconscious with water from the showerhead beating against her face. He turned the knob, and the water stopped immediately. He looked at her for a moment before moving. Such a beautiful creature, he thought. He slowly bent down and moved away the hair that covered her face. He then grabbed her hand and interlocked his fingers with hers. He felt the warmth and wetness of her skin, and for a second he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then he moved his fingers and let the tips of his nails glide along her palm until he found his hand wrapped around her wrist. He turned her hand over, and with the next swift movement he made, he heard a snap. Rachel suddenly opened her eyes and screamed again.

“Shhh,” he said to her. “The pain won’t last long.”

He did the same thing to the other wrist, causing Rachel to scream even louder. Then he picked her up and carried her to her bed.

Her body shook, and her eyes were opened wide and glossed over.

“You’re cold.”

He covered her with the bed’s blanket.

“You won’t understand this,” he said, leaning close to her. “But you were chosen.”

She didn’t answer. Instead she whimpered and cried.

“Do you know why you were chosen?”

Through her sobs she said, “No.”

A deep and gritty chuckle came from his throat.

“Do you know who I am?” he said.

Rachel quickly shook her head.

The same chuckle came again.

“I am He.”

Rachel didn’t respond.

“You still don’t know?”

Rachel didn’t respond again.

“You and I will see each other again. When you open your eyes, there I will be.”

He then gently placed his hands around her neck. The tips of his fingernails glided across her skin.

“When you open your eyes, there I will be.”

Then, with a quick movement, his long, sharp fingernails punctured her neck, and blood gushed onto the pillow.

Rachel screamed. His hands clasped and squeezed. Her body tried to fight back, but within a few minutes, whatever life she had seeped out of her.

He pulled his hands away from her neck, and blood dripped from his already red-stained fingers.

“Because of you,” he said, “they will believe in me.”

He then leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.

Ten

The woman who saw the alleged killer was visibly disturbed by what she had seen. Her son lived in Wheaton, Maryland, about fifteen minutes outside of D.C., in a small ranch style house off of Georgia Avenue. When Pat and I entered the house, the woman was sitting in a rocking chair, holding rosary beads and saying something in her native Spanish language. I couldn’t understand what she was saying, but the words sounded repetitious like she was reciting something over and over again. Her son said she’d been like that ever since she arrived.

“How good is her English?” I asked.

“Not too good,” the son said. “But I can translate.”

I looked at the woman and smiled, hoping to get a smile in return, but I didn’t.

“Hi,” I said, “I’m Detective Hayden, and this is Detective Jennings.”

The woman looked at us but continued saying whatever it was she was saying.

“I understand that you saw someone last night.”

She brought the rosary beads closer to her chest.

“Can you tell us what you saw?”

Suddenly she stopped rocking and talking. She looked to her son and said something in Spanish.

“My mother said that she’s never going back home.”

The woman said something else.

“She said that I have to go and get her things.”

“Why is she so scared? What did she see?”

The woman shook her head and started rocking again.

“Ma’am, it would really help us if you could tell us what you saw. The more we know, the better chance we have of catching the person who committed the crime.”

The woman stopped rocking again and leaned forward in the chair. “You cannot stop him,” she said through a thick Hispanic accent. “Only God can now.”

I looked at Pat and the son and then back to the woman. I couldn’t help with the sarcasm, but I said, “I’d at least like to try.”

The son actually chuckled.

The woman gave him a stern look and then said something in Spanish.

“My mother said that the man’s eyes were black and evil. She said that his skin was ghostly white and that his teeth were sharp and jagged.”

I started taking notes but then stopped at the last description.

“Sharp and jagged?”

The woman nodded.

She continued speaking again. The son looked at his mother before translating.

“She said that his hands weren’t human.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“She said that his fingers looked like long knives.”

“Who does she think she saw?” I asked. I knew the answer but wanted to hear it from her mouth.

The woman shook her head. “You no believe. You think I crazy. But I no crazy. I saw him. I saw his eyes and smell his breath.”

“Ma’am, who did you see?”

“El Diablo,” she said with a certainty that made no mistake. “You no believe. But you will.”

We stayed for a few more minutes and then thanked them for taking their time. Pat and I went back to the station and worked through the devil talk. We asked each other questions, trying to find holes in the answers. What did the witness actually see as opposed to what she thought she saw? How did a man have fingers that looked like knives? The description all but sounded like Freddy Kruger was on the loose.

The hours slipped away from us because before I realized it, the sun was setting on the city, and I had an engagement to get to. I decided it was time for Jayden Davis, the FBI agent I’d been seeing for the past few months to meet my in-laws for the first time. I know it’s out of the ordinary for the girlfriend to meet the parents of the deceased spouse, but Mama J and Pops have been like my surrogate parents ever since mine passed away some years ago. And after Theresa’s death, we became even closer.

I picked up Jayden from the FBI’s Hoover building. It seemed like every time I saw her, I saw something new and more beautiful about her that sent goose bumps crawling along my skin. It was more than her caramel-colored skin, more than her silky dark hair, and even more than her soft, full lips that got to me. It was the essence of her spirit that drew me to her. We kissed briefly when she entered my car, and for a second I forgot where I was.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey back.”

“I’m a little nervous.”

“They’ll love you. They’re probably the coolest people I know.”

She smiled and lightly patted my knee, then she leaned over and gently rubbed the tip of her nose against mine. “You’re the coolest person I know.”

My foot accidently pressed on the gas pedal, causing the engine to rev pretty loud. Good thing the gear was in park.

We both laughed.

“We’d better get going before we won’t be able to,” I said. “A couple more nose rubs like that and we’d have to make an excuse as to why we were late.”

She didn’t answer, but the way her eyes caressed mine spoke magnitudes louder than any words she could say.

Damn, I thought, I should have picked her up earlier.

Eleven

Matthew Gray stood in his bathroom with his shirt off, looking at himself in the mirror. His younger years were spent playing three of American’s biggest sports: football, basketball, and baseball. And now at the age of thirty-five, his body still showed proof of his athleticism.

He’d been home for a little more than thirty minutes. Parts of his day he remembered well, and the other parts not so much. As he stared at himself, he thought about his dream and the question that was asked of him, What do you do when you look into the mirror and the reflection looking back isn’t you? He focused on his eyes, wondering if there was someone else inside.

He turned on the faucet and dipped his hands under the cool water. He splashed his face and noticed that his hands didn’t smell of their natural scent. He brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed. He couldn’t make out the smell, but it definitely wasn’t usual. He placed his hands under the water and grabbed the bar of soap, rubbing until the soap lathered. He brought his hands back to his nose; the smell was better, but the other scent was still there.

Could it have happened again? He wondered. There were times when he was younger that he would black out, and when he came to, hours had passed. Had that happened again? He tried to think of his day and what he’d done. He remembered everything in detail, but for some reason he didn’t remember coming home. As he rinsed off his hands, he realized that he didn’t know what time it was. He looked around the bathroom as if it were his first time there, and then rushed out to find the clock next to his bed.

The time couldn’t be right, he thought. How long had he been home? How long had he been in the bathroom? His heart started to flutter, and his head felt a little light. Matthew wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew something wasn’t right. He found his phone in his front pocket and dialed the first number that came to mind. Four rings later, a voicemail came on.

“Hey, it’s me. Call me when you get this. Gotta talk to you.”

Matthew put the phone back in his pocket and then lay down on his bed.

“Not again.”

Twelve

An hour into the dinner, I smiled and laughed with everyone else. I was glad that Mama J and Pops took a liking to Jayden. I knew they would, but nerves have an interesting way of creeping in and raising doubts. The ambiance of the restaurant created a perfect setting for our little gathering. The lights were dimmed and the tables were filled with customers. I caught Pops laughing a little too hard at some of Jayden’s jokes. Mama J caught on too, and from time to time she nudged his midsection with her elbow.

However, as much as I wanted to be all in with the conversations, my mind kept returning to the devil talk. What was the likelihood that the devil was really in D.C. killing women? Zero. What was the likelihood that someone thought they were the devil and was killing women in D.C.? From my experience, there’s a screw loose in just about every human being, so that gives me a suspect pool of just about every male in the area.

“Jacob?” Mama J said.

When I looked at her, I noticed the entire table was looking at me.

“Huh? What?”

I looked over and the waiter was looking at me too.

“What’d I miss?”

Pops, Mama J, and Jayden started laughing.

“He asked you twice if you wanted desert,” Jayden said.

“Oh, sorry. Nah, I’m good.”

The waiter dipped his head and then left.

“You had the look of a man deep in thought,” Pops said. “Usually when someone’s that deep in thought, something must really be on their mind.”

“Just thinking about work again.”

“The many adventures of Detective Jacob Hayden,” Jayden said. “Tell us what this one’s about?”

“Boring stuff really. Nothing you guys would find interesting.”

“I sit around with this big lump all day,” Mama J said smiling. “I’m sure it’s more interesting than watching reruns of Seinfeld.”

She looked over to Pops and rolled her eyes.

“Well, if you really must know, I was just thinking about the devil.”

That caught everyone’s attention.

“Thinking of changing sides?” Pops said.

“Nah, you already beat me to it.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Mama J said.

We all laughed.

“So why the devil?” Jayden asked.

“A witness claims she saw him.”

“Do you believe her?”

“Of course not.”

“So why think about him if you don’t believe her?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Something’s not sitting right with me.”

“So then you do believe her?”

I was about to respond again, but then I hesitated as I thought about the question.

“It’s impossible to believe,” I said.

“Really? Why so?” Jayden pushed on.

I looked over, and Mama J and Pops sat with smirks on their faces apparently enjoying the back-and-forth banter.

“Come on, you don’t really believe in the devil, do you?”

“Doesn’t matter if I believe or not. You obviously do. That’s what you’re struggling with.”

“That’s not what I’m struggling with.”

“Okay, then, detective, what are you struggling with?”

I wasn’t sure if she was messing with me or not, but I decided to play along.

“Okay, Agent Davis, if you really must know, someone went to great lengths to make themselves appear as though they were the devil just to kill someone. I’m worried that if someone is that psychotic, to go through such trouble to do what they did, that person isn’t finished killing.”

“So you think there will be more?”

“I do.”

Jayden took a sip of water and then gently licked her lips.

“Don’t be so quick to say that the devil didn’t do this.”

She didn’t smile or make a humorous comment afterward like she normally does, so I decided to end the conversation with a sarcastic question, wholly expecting to invoke a smile.

“Ah, did Agent Davis have a run-in with the devil?”

Her response wasn’t what I expected and nearly made me want to pick up my face from the floor.

“Actually, Jacob, I did. You see, the thing is, when you look into the devil’s eyes, you know without a shadow of a doubt, that you’re seeing pure evil.”

In my mind I was thinking, Check, please. But all I said was, “Oh.”

TUESDAY

Thirteen

At 4:29 in the morning, the heavy band of storms from the nor’easter that dumped inches of rain in the D.C. area over the past couple of days lightened up just enough that Scott Tremble felt comfortable doing his routine five-mile run before work. Yesterday morning he’d had to settle for the treadmill, which he loathed, and he already made up his mind that if the rain wasn’t heavy this morning, he’d run outside.

He tied up his favorite Nikes, zipped up his windbreaker, and stepped out the front door of his brownstone located in Georgetown. The first half mile was spent setting his pace and making sure his breaths came in and out evenly. His six-foot-five-inch frame allowed for long strides against the wet pavement that splashed water every time his feet connected.

He was making good time. He checked his watch that monitored his speed and heart rate and saw that he was running at 5.7 mph. If he picked it up to 6, he thought, he could make it home in an hour. So the stride of his legs extended further the faster he ran. In the sky, he saw the faint beginning of light entering the darkness. Usually by the time he finished his run, the transition from dark to light would be nearly complete.

His run also gave him time to think of his busy work schedule. He owned his own law practice, and had made a name for himself by successfully winning a case against a major insurance company that no other lawyer wanted to take. The judgment brought in millions to his client and gave him instant stardom in legal circles, which also brought many new clients seeking his services. Scott was a daredevil in the courtroom as well as in life. So when common sense would say not to run in a wooded area alone in the dark, Scott scoffed at common sense and figured no one would want to bother a man of his size.

He checked his pace again. He couldn’t run as fast now that he was running through a wooded path covered with tree debris and other natural obstacles. From time to time, his feet slipped on mud, but he kept his stride long and fast. The light rain that had been falling for nearly an hour turned heavier, almost returning to the thunderstorm-type weather of the day before. Large drops found their way past tree leaves, causing Scott to pull up the hood of his windbreaker. As he did, he heard what sounded like a second set of footsteps matching his stride. He turned his head, not expecting to see someone, but when he did, his body quickly went into defense mode as a long arm reached to knock him over.

Fourteen

When Scott Tremble turned around, He saw the surprise and fear in his eyes. He swung, but Scott ducked just enough that the long fingernails missed by inches.

“What the fuck?” Scott said.

Scott turned and ducked so quickly that the momentum caused him to spin around, trip, and fall over debris in the path.

“What the fuck?” Scott said again.

Scott swiftly turned over and hopped to his knees in an effort to crawl far enough away that he could jump to his feet. When Scott turned his back, He leaped in the air and threw his right knee into Scott’s back. There was a cracking sound and then a holler from Scott’s mouth that could wake the dead. Scott fell flat on his stomach, smashing his face into the muddy ground. He reached for the back of Scott’s neck and with great force yanked Scott to a standing position.

Scott’s legs could not hold him up, and he fell again. He reached down and picked Scott off the ground, all six feet, five inches of him, and brought Scott to eye level so that his feet dangled away from the muddy trail.

Scott gasped in agonizing pain. He brought Scott’s face close to his and sniffed his skin.

“Do you know why I chose you?” He said.

Scott didn’t respond. A sound like a wounded dog—not quite a moan but not a holler either—escaped his mouth.

“I know who you are,” He said. “I’ve known you for a very long time.”

Scott’s eyes couldn’t hold his gaze.

“I chose you because of who you are.”

He let Scott go, and when Scott fell to the ground, he screamed in pain.

“Do you know who I am?” He said.

“Help me,” Scott mustered.

He knelt down and grabbed Scott’s hair, forcing him to look into his eyes. Rain fell harder over them. A thunderous boom echoed in the sky, so loud it made Scott’s body flinch.

“When you die and open your eyes, you will see me again.”

Then He pressed his long nails into Scott’s neck with such force that he nearly severed Scott’s head from his body.

The thunder boomed again, followed by a bright streak of lightening.

“Now they must believe in me.”

Fifteen

I heard her voice say my name. It was as sweet as anything I’d ever heard. The softness of her tone made me smile before I opened my eyes. She rubbed the top of my shoulder with the tips of her fingers, sending goose bumps across my arm. Then she placed her arm across my waist, and I felt the tenderness of her breasts against my back. The sounds of heavy raindrops beat against my window, and I rubbed my fingers along the palm of the hand that rested on my waist.

“I woke you, didn’t I?” Jayden said.

“Yes, you did.”

It was our first night together. After the restaurant, I thought Pops and Mama J were going to come back to the house and stay the night, but they decided to make the trek back to Maryland. Before we parted ways, Mama J hugged me and whispered in my ear that she was happy for me and that Jayden seemed like a sweet woman. Pops and I slapped five and gave each other man hugs, and he said that he’d call me soon. I knew what that meant. He liked her too.

Jayden and I stood in front of the restaurant looking around like two high schoolers not sure what the next steps were. I was planning on having my in-laws spend the night, but since they weren’t, my plans were thrown off. We both kept looking at each other and then shyly looking away. I think we both had the same thing on our minds, but we were either too shy to say it, or too dumb.

Finally, I said, “Do you wanna come back to my place?”

My heart was beating fast. If she said no, I’d feel like the biggest fool for suggesting it. It wasn’t all that late yet, but asking a woman to come back to my place at that time didn’t mean I wanted to give her milk and cookies.

She reached for my hand and squeezed it as she said, “I’d love to.”

My eyes widened, and if it wasn’t for the fact that she was holding my hand, I probably would have run for my car. When we got to my house, there was an awkward silence between us for a couple of minutes. Was I ready for this? Was she? She’s the only woman I’d been emotionally attached to besides Theresa. As I looked into her eyes, I knew that once our lips touched, it was going to be more than just a sexual experience. We were going to make a connection.

I rubbed my thumb over her cheek and watched as she tilted her head back slightly and closed her eyes. She was ready, and so was I. We kissed, slowly at first and then more passionately. We stood next to the couch in the living room. We still had on our coats, which were partially wet from the rain. Then something changed, like a switch had suddenly been flipped. In her. She pulled back from the kiss and placed both of her hands on my face.

“I’m going to fuck the hell out of you, Jacob Hayden.”

I suddenly froze, not sure how to respond. “Huh?”

She winked, and if I wasn’t hard already, I was then.

We started on the couch, then moved to the stairs, then to the upstairs hallway, and then ended in the bed. I had to tell Henry, my large chocolate Lab, to look away a few times because he seemed too interested in what we were doing. He kept tilting his head in that way dogs do when they see something confusing to them.

By the time we were done, we both passed out. I didn’t hear her voice again until she said my name a few seconds ago. I turned around and smiled. She smiled back.

I tilted my head up and said, “How’d you sleep?”

“Must have been good. I don’t remember falling asleep.”

I tilted my head up again, “I kinda have that effect on women.”

That made her smile again. She looked around the room. “Our clothes must still be downstairs.”

“Must be.”

“Why do you keep lifting your head up when you talk?”

“Morning breath.”

She laughed out loud.

“And right about now, yours is kicking,” I said.

She breathed in my face.

“Yep, kicking.”

“Does that mean you won’t kiss me?”

“Of course I would.” I leaned in and gave her a big kiss on the cheek.

She leaned in and kissed me on the lips, which I must admit aroused me again, morning breath and all.

I was about to get on top of her when my phone rang. I looked at the clock. It was too early for a casual call, so I knew it must be work related.

“Hello,” I said.

Pat was on the other line. “Jacob, more girls were killed.”

I closed my eyes and sighed.

All I said was, “Okay.”

“Pick you up in thirty minutes.”

“Okay,” I said again.

Jayden saw the sudden change in my demeanor. “That bad, huh?”

“More dead girls.”

“Jesus.”

“And it’s only Tuesday.”

I removed the blanket and stood up. Whatever excitement I was about to have was now put on hold.

Hello, Tuesday.

Sixteen

When Dr. Sarah Adams opened the front door, Matthew Gray stood on the other side under a large black umbrella. His dark, wavy hair was partially wet, and his black-rimmed glasses had specks of rain on the lenses. She stepped back, allowing him to walk in. As he did, she leaned in for a kiss, but he ignored the affection by walking past her.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Sure, come on in,” she responded sarcastically.

The door closed behind her, and she followed Matthew to the kitchen that was in the front of the house.

“Got anything to drink?”

“Sure, apple juice in the fridge.”

“No, something stronger. Vodka?”

“At this time of the morning?”

“Forget it.”

He started pacing back and forth in the middle of the kitchen.

“What’s wrong, Matt?”

“I don’t know.”

He couldn’t stop moving.

“I called you last night,” he said.

“When?”

“I don’t know. You weren’t home. Were you out?”

“Are you my father now?”

“Jesus, Sarah, I needed to talk to you last night.”

Sarah leaned against the rear wall and folded her arms.

“Matt, what’s this about? You know that ever since we became intimate I can’t be your therapist anymore.”

Matthew continued his pacing.

“Is that what this is about? You need counseling?”

Matthew didn’t answer.

“Are you having the dreams again?”

He stopped pacing, and she knew that must have been the trigger.

“When did they start again?”

“I don’t know, a week ago, maybe two.”

She moved away from the wall and reached for Matthew’s arm.

“Raise up your sleeve.”

“Nothing’s there this time.”

“Let me see.”

“Jesus, Sarah, you just saw me yesterday morning. Nothing’s there.”

“Humor me.”

Matthew unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve and rolled it up, revealing the smoothness of his bare forearm.

“Okay, that’s good at least.”

“What about the dreams?”

Sarah shook her head, “I can’t do this, Matt. Not again. I can refer you to a good therapist. But I can’t be part of it. We’re too close. I’m too close to you.”

“So you’re saying I have to go through this alone?”

She held his hand and interlocked their fingers.

“No, never. I’ll be there for you. I just can’t counsel you. It’s not ethical. It’s not right.”

“You weren’t concerned with ethics when we were screwing in your office, or on your couch, or on your desk, or yesterday in my bed.”

“That’s not fair, Matt. We were different people then.”

Matthew removed his hand from hers and leaned against the counter with folded arms. He hung his head, and Sarah couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.

“Look, forget it,” he said. “Just tell me what to do and I won’t ask another favor.”

The therapist in Sarah wanted to dive into his beautiful mind and try to sort out what was causing the dreams to return. But the lover in her only wanted him to hold her in his arms.

“For now, practice the meditation we’ve talked about. I’ll see if Dr. Stanley has time to squeeze you in this week. He’s familiar with your case, so the transition should be smooth.”

Matthew nodded.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get through this,” she reassured.

“I know. You’ve been there for me in the past, so I know you’ll be there in the future. This whole thing has just gotten me all messed up in the head again.”

Sarah rubbed his arm and then kissed him on the cheek.

“You know, maybe it’s not too early for that vodka.”

That caused Matthew to smile. “Just point me in the right direction.”

She did, and when Matthew turned his back, Sarah smiled too.

Seventeen

Rain, rain, go away, and please come back later in the year, I thought. Rain had been falling over the D.C. area for nearly three days. As Pat pulled up to the house, I couldn’t help but think that just thirty minutes ago I was in bed with a beautiful naked woman, and we were about to go for round two. But instead of engaging in a possible sexual marathon, I was about to enter a house with dead bodies. Talk about going from one extreme to another.

The rain didn’t stop neighbors from huddling outside. People were gathered past the yellow police tape in bunches with umbrellas covering their heads. The human mind never ceased to amaze me; even in the midst of a downpour, people would be willing to stand outside and get wet just to fulfill their curious nature.

Inside the house, CSI technicians were busy dusting for prints and taking pictures of various rooms. Pat and I went inside the garage first, where two dead girls lay on their backs in the middle of the concrete floor. I stood over the bodies and immediately noted that they didn’t have puncture wounds on their necks, but their shirts were shredded, and the darkest of the bloodstains were near each victim’s heart.

Pat knelt down and looked at the bodies and then motioned for me to come to her side.

“They went out last night. Look at the hand.”

She pointed to a stamp on the back of one of the girls’ hands that read, “Admitted.”

“And look at their clothes,” she continued. “Sleeveless tops and tight jeans. The killer could have come home with them from wherever they were. Chances are, they were at a bar or something.”

“Do bars usually stamp someone’s hand?” I asked.

“Got me. Been a while since I’ve been out like that.”

“Same here. I know the clubs do.”

“How many clubs are in D.C.?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “There may be a way to narrow what type of club they went to. Let’s find the keys to the two cars in the driveway. Turn on their radios and see what stations are programmed. That’ll give us a clue as to the type of music they listen to, and we can check which clubs in the city play that kind of music.”

“So you’re sending me back out in the rain?” Pat joked.

“Someone has to stay inside and look for clues.”

She rolled her eyes and then stood up.

“Where’s the third girl?” I asked.

“Upstairs.”

I left Pat in the garage and made my way to the upstairs level. More CSI were dusting the rails and doorknobs. I entered the last bedroom at the end of the hall, where other detectives were huddled around the bed. As I walked in, I was immediately shocked at the amount of blood on the bed. Detectives Rudy Sanders and Carl Monroe were talking to each other. Both men were taller than me, but their builds were opposites of each other. Rudy was built like Mike Tyson in his prime, while Carl was built like the elastic man. A few months earlier they’d helped me with an incident at my house when a Russian gangster kidnapped my neighbor and was waiting for me to come home. I don’t even want to imagine what would have happened had they not been there for me.

“What’s up, guys,” I said.

“What’s up, Jacob. Just another homicide in D.C.,” Carl said. “But this one takes the cake.”

“Her wrists were broken,” Rudy said, “but there doesn’t appear to be any signs of rape.”

I didn’t need to stare too long to see that the woman’s neck had been punctured like the woman from the apartment building.

“Jesus, what’s with the guy and necks?” I said.

“The girls downstairs didn’t have the neck wounds,” Rudy said. “Why do you think that is?”

I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t have a clue. Why kill one in the same fashion as the girl from yesterday, but kill the others differently?

“Maybe they weren’t the intended targets,” I said. “Maybe this guy has some sick ritual he does with people he chooses.”

“So they were more of an afterthought?” Carl said. “Wrong place, wrong time?”

“I don’t know. I’m just digesting it like you guys.”

I turned from the girl’s body and looked around the room.

“Did we find a point of entry?” I asked.

“Front door,” Carl said.

“Pat thinks they may have been out last night. One of them has a stamp on her hand, like they give at clubs.”

“Makes sense,” Rudy said. “They bring some sick fuck home, and he ends up killing them.”

I nodded, but I didn’t agree with the theory.

I continued looking around the room and then made my way to the window. The outside crowd had grown a little larger. In my years on the force, I didn’t recall coming to this neighborhood, so presumably the residents weren’t used to seeing police in this capacity.

Most of the crowd were covered with umbrellas, but there was a guy standing without one. He wore a long black raincoat with a hood covering his head.

“Do you guys subscribe to the theory that sometimes the killer stands in the crowd of onlookers?” I asked.

“I do,” Rudy said. “Some of these wackos get their rocks off standing right underneath our noses.”

“I do too,” I said. “That’s why the guy in the black raincoat intrigues me.”

Rudy and Carl moved toward the window.

“It’s raining hard as hell and he doesn’t have an umbrella,” Carl said.

“Maybe he likes the rain,” Rudy said.

I continued looking at the guy’s face. He finally looked up toward the window, and when he realized we were looking at him, he smiled and then turned and started walking away. It took a second for my brain to rationalize what I had just seen. Then the description of the killer came to mind from the Hispanic woman’s words: his teeth were jagged and sharp. When the guy in the black raincoat smiled, his teeth were jagged.

“Shit.” I turned around and darted out of the room.

Rudy and Carl were right behind me.

Eighteen

People outside were surprised when they saw me run out of the house. I darted out of the front door like I’d been shot from a cannon. I heard voices saying, “Look” and “Oh my God.” When I got past the front yard, I looked toward the spot where the man with the raincoat had been standing, but he wasn’t there.

Carl and Rudy stood next to me, and all of us intently scanned the crowd.

“See him?” I asked.

“Nope,” Carl said.

“He turned and left,” Rudy said.

Pat was already outside in one of the cars. She rushed to my side like she didn’t want to miss out on the action.

“What’s up?”

“Look for a man in a black raincoat with a hood.”

I saw Rudy jump up like he was on a pogo stick. “Got him.”

He pointed to our right. My eyes immediately caught the tail end of the black raincoat about a block and a half away. My feet started moving before my mind finished analyzing what it had seen. I was in a full-blown sprint within about three seconds. The black raincoat man must have heard the splashes of our feet against the rainwater because he looked back and then started running.

The closer I was on him, the more I saw the nature of his size. He was a big guy. And he could move.

“Stop,” I yelled. “Police.”

Either he didn’t hear me or he didn’t care.

He turned right onto the first block he came to. We were in a neighborhood of houses, so his options were limited as to where he could go. I heard Carl on the radio asking for backup.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins, and the longer I ran, the faster I became. I was close to him. I could hear his heavy breathing and grunting as he was trying to outrun me.

“Stop,” I yelled again.

He turned his head and then tossed something from his hand. I was close enough to dive, and was getting ready to, when he suddenly did something that I think only a gymnast could do. While in full stride, he leaped in the air, spun his body around, and threw something at me. The whole sequence only took about a second, but if I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn his body slowed like he was in The Matrix. I was forced to let up and dodge whatever it was he’d thrown. Remarkably, he completed his spin and landed in the same direction he was running.

“What the fuck was that?” I heard Rudy say from behind.

The raincoat man continued running. Now I was a little apprehensive. I kept up the chase, but I wasn’t sure if I should tackle him or not. I caught up to him pretty quickly and knew that the others had my back. So, as I was nearly on top of him, I dove onto his back and brought him down. We slammed onto the sidewalk, and my momentum brought him rolling on top of me. He wiggled for a second, but then Rudy, Carl, and Pat had their weapons drawn and yelled, “Freeze” and “Don’t move.”

I guess something about seeing handguns in your face might persuade you to be obedient to the commands of police officers. I quickly moved him off me and pulled his hands behind his back, securing his wrists with handcuffs.

I took a deep breath as I sat on the sidewalk with heavy rain falling all over us.

“You okay, Jacob?” Pat asked.

“Yeah, just give me a second to catch my breath.”

Rudy and Carl stood the raincoat man up. He was big. Rudy and Carl stand about six, five, and raincoat man had them by at least two inches.

“Why’d you run?” I asked.

“You were chasing me.” He had a deep voice that sounded like Lurch from the Addams Family.

“Why didn’t you stop when I said we were police?”

“How’d I know that you were police?”

“You saw us in the house. You smiled at me.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“He tossed something before he threw something at you,” Pat said. “I’ll go back and get it.”

“What’d you toss?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders again.

I finally stood up and brushed myself off like that would help with my wet clothes.

“You know you messed up, right?” I said.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Police cars finally arrived at our location.

“Quick question. Where’d you learn to move like that?”

“Circus.”

I nodded, “Figures.”

Carl and Rudy led him to the police cruiser and put him in the backseat.

I looked over and saw Pat bend down and pick something off the ground. She looked over at me and raised her hand.

This is gonna be an interesting day, I thought.

Nineteen

Two things the raincoat man did wrong: tossing a snack bag with a crack rock in it on the ground and assaulting an officer of the law by throwing a Chinese star at me. I thought the Chinese star died out when the ninja fad went away, but apparently they’re still out there.

“How long have you been on crack?” I asked.

We had him in one of our interrogating rooms. Because of the nature of the crimes and his mere size, we thought it best to keep him handcuffed while questioning him.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know. Couple years.”

“Your I.D. says that you live on G Street in Southeast, but you were on the northwest side. What were you doing there?”

“Taking a walk.”

“From Southeast?”

He nodded.

“In the middle of a rainstorm?”

He nodded again.

Crack is a powerful drug known to have people doing things they normally don’t do. But it’s also a debilitating drug, meaning people who are crackheads usually deteriorate right before your eyes. This guy didn’t look like a typical crackhead. He was still rather strong and fast, as evidenced by the way he ran from us. And also athletic. But his teeth were a problem for me. They were jagged and rotten, like he hadn’t been to a dentist since he was born. So if a religious woman coming home from a long work shift suddenly saw a man in the middle of the night with blood on him and jagged teeth—and he was possibly high on crack—would that give her the impression that he was the devil?

“Do you normally take walks like that in the rain?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“If it’s raining.”

I shook my head. Smart-ass.

“Do you know why we were at that house?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting. Shed some light for me. Why were we there?”

“Because someone got killed.”

“Why do you think that?”

“You’re homicide. You could be sniffed out a mile away.”

“Were you ever in the house?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Sure about that?”

He smiled. “You think I’m the killer, right?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “I don’t know. I’m just asking some questions.”      

“Maybe the better question to ask is: Did I see someone coming out of the house the other morning?”

“Why would you have seen someone coming out of the house the other morning if you were just taking a walk this morning?”

He smiled again, showing off the mustard yellow monstrosities that were his teeth.

“Okay, you got me. I wasn’t going for a walk this morning.”

“Really? I totally believed that you were.”

“Well, I was going for a walk, but I was going home when you guys saw me.”

“Back to G Street?”

“Yeah.”

“Why were you in the neighborhood?”

“Let’s just say that a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“What are you saying? That you were hooking up with someone?”

“If you want to put it that way. Sure.”

I couldn’t help it, I blurted out, “With teeth like that?”

He scrunched his brows and frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” I rolled my eyes in disbelief. “So someone can give you an alibi that they were with you the entire time?”

“Not her. I was with one chick most of the night, but then I went to another chick’s house afterwards.”

“What the hell kinda dating site are you involved in?”

“Not like that. One was personal, the other business.”

“Crack?”

“Hey, the best customers are out here.”

I nodded. And, unfortunately, I had to agree. In some parts of the city, users don’t go to dealers, the dealers come to the users. But I wasn’t sure I was buying his explanation. He only had one rock on him. If he was a dealer, he would have had many more.

“So why don’t you tell me what you saw, and we’ll go from there.”

“It was the sickest shit I ever saw. Guy looked like king of the vampires or something.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean he looked like a vampire. I nearly shit my pants when I saw him. I ducked behind a car, and when he passed, I hauled ass back to the girl’s house.”

“What’d you see?”

“His hands man, they were like razors and they were covered in blood. And he had these freaky-looking eyes.”

“Were you high when you saw him?”

“As a kite. But I sobered up quick. When you see something that like—I don’t know—it makes you not high anymore.”

His hands were cuffed in front of him and resting on top of the table. I looked at them and noticed they were trembling slightly. Either he was in need of another fix or he was genuinely scared.

“Did you tell your girl what you saw?”

“No, I knew she wouldn’t believe me. I mean, we had just shot up and then I’m going to come back and say that I saw a vampire. She would have laughed in my face.”

His demeanor started to change. His massive size didn’t seem as intimidating anymore. Was he telling the truth? Did he really see what he thought he saw? Or was he covering up for what he’d done? Ninety percent of our human communication is non-verbal. Our body language tends to tell more of a truth about us than any words we can say. His body language was telling me that something he saw had truly scared him.

“Okay, sit tight for a little bit,” I said. “You’re still not out of trouble, but maybe you’re not going to be in as much trouble.”

Raincoat man nodded, and I turned and left.

So now I’m chasing the devil or a vampire, I thought.

Okay.

Twenty

Cellars are usually cold. Much like an unfinished basement, they’re used primarily for storage. The owners don’t take the time to clean up the cellar since they don’t spend any quality time down there. Cellars are dark spaces where spiders and cobwebs live in the corners of aged concrete walls that don’t experience the same kind of exposure that their above-ground counterparts do.

Cellars are also the rooms of the house where children fear the boogeyman lives, and where the horror of hauntings originate. If someone were to walk down into this cellar, they would see him, standing just beyond the dim staircase light. His breathing sounded like the ghastly gust of a howling wind that was ready to snatch up a soul with one deep inhale. If you looked far into his eyes, you would see a shell as hollow as the room in which he stands, a shell that once was the life of a beating heart.

Who was he? And what did he want?

He paced the floor back and forth, for he knew that his time was coming. He heard their voices from the floor above. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but it didn’t matter. When the voices died down, then he would enter. But for now, he waited.

He sniffed the air. He still had the smell of coppery blood on his hands, but the smell wasn’t as strong as the staleness of the cellar’s walls. The longer he was in the room, the stronger the smell became. It was like a fungus growing slowly and expanding around him.

The smell was making him impatient. He stretched out his fingers and swung his hands backward and forward, allowing his long fingernails to cut through the stale air. Then he clenched his jaw and instantly tasted blood.

He stopped pacing as he realized that the voices were becoming harder to hear. They’d moved to another room in the house, and he knew it was time to leave the cellar.

He faced the dimly lit staircase, and the beginning line of a smile slowly crawled along his face. The smile wasn’t due to joy, but rather the opposite: hate. Hatred for the world. Hatred for humanity. But more importantly, hatred for existence.

When his foot hit the first step, a quick pulse of energy surged through his body. With the next step, the surge became more powerful, and by the time he reached the top, he truly believed that he was invincible.

And as the doorknob turned and the door slowly opened, a flood of light filled the cellar. He was hunting once again.

Twenty-one

The alibi for the raincoat man came back airtight. Both women he claimed to have been with corroborated his story, and the brief time when he walked alone from one house to the next was only minutes apart. He wouldn’t have had the time to kill the women in the way they were killed in the short amount of time he was alone. Nevertheless, he still assaulted an officer and had drugs on his person, so he was still looking at possible jail time.

Back to square one. Which really was no square because I had no clue who or, dare I say what, I was chasing. Four dead women in the span of twenty-four hours, and two of them had severe puncture wounds on their necks. And now I had two witnesses who claimed to either have seen the devil or a vampire coming away from the crime scenes. Didn’t make sense.

As I sat at my desk, the phone rang, and it was a nurse from the Washington Hospital Center. She said that Tanisha Bentley, the girl we found hanging from the basement wall of Baldwin Lanceport’s home yesterday, was awake. And she was calling to say that if I wanted to come speak with her, I should do so soon. I hung up the phone and was in my car within a minute or so.

More girls is what I thought of as I drove to the hospital. That was all Tanisha had been able to mutter. More girls. There were a thousand questions I wanted to ask, but only two made the most immediate sense: How many? And where are they? I was hoping beyond hope that she’d be able to tell me.

At the hospital, there were four nurses sitting behind the nurse’s station, and all of them were either typing on their computers, monitoring their screens, or writing on pieces of paper. I cleared my throat and showed my badge.

“I’m Detective Hayden. Nurse Caroline called me a little bit ago.”

The young nurse sitting closest to me smiled and said that she was Caroline. She stood up and walked around the nurse’s station and escorted me to Tanisha’s room, four rooms down the hall.

“She’s been up for a little over an hour,” Nurse Caroline said. “She’s weak but stable.”

I thanked her and entered the room. There were two beds in the room, but Tanisha was the only patient. There were all kinds of cords hooked up to her, and a consistent beeping sound indicated the machine was monitoring her vitals. She didn’t look any better than she did yesterday, but her one good eye was open and she blinked when I was in her range of sight.

“Hi, Tanisha,” I said as I showed her my badge. “You probably don’t remember me, but I’m one of the detectives who found you yesterday in the basement of that house. My name is Jacob.”

She blinked and shook her head, and with a raspy and weak voice she said, “Thank you.”

There was a single cushioned chair in the corner of the room. I looked at the chair and then back to Tanisha, “Do you mind if I sit and talk with you for a few minutes?”

“No, I don’t mind.”

I pulled over the chair and took a seat. I looked her over as she lay in the bed, and the first thing I noticed was that her hands were covered in bandages.

“How are you holding up?” I asked.

A tear fell from her opened eye, “I don’t know. Everything hurts.”

“You’ve been through a lot. But that monster can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe.”

“He’ll never stop.”

My brows furrowed. “You haven’t been told?”

She shook her head no.

“Baldwin was killed yesterday morning. We caught up to him in the Metro tunnels.”

I thought she would be happy to hear the news, but her reaction was not what I expected.

She shook her head, which appeared more out of sadness than excitement, while more tears streamed down her face.

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“Help me understand. Yesterday when we found you, you said there were more girls.”

She turned her head and looked out the window.

“Are there more girls out there? Did he kidnap more girls?”

She shook her head again and began sobbing.

“Tanisha, if there’s anything you know, please, help me.”

“I can’t. He’ll find me and kill me.”

“I told you he can’t hurt you anymore. He was killed yesterday.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I want to understand.”

I moved the chair closer to the bed.

“Tanisha, there are a lot of worried families out there who are looking for their daughters. If you know where they are, you need to tell me.”

“I don’t know where they’re at. I just know that there’s more.”

“How do you know?”

She looked away again. She seemed to have found something to fixate her eyes on outside the window.

“Tanisha,” I said again, “how do you know?”

With a slow and raspy breath, she said, “Because I helped catch them.”

My eyes widened, and I nearly fumbled my words when I spoke again.

“What do you mean?”

“It was me. I lured them in.”

“You helped kidnap those girls?”

She nodded.

“Then why were you bound to the wall?”

“Because what we were doing was wrong. I threatened to go to the police if he didn’t release the other girls.”

I sat back in my chair. Pat was right, I thought. He left Tanisha there to suffer slowly and die because she was more personal to him.

“Do you remember where you picked up the other girls?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what they looked like?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you and Baldwin kidnap the girls in the first place? What was it about them?”

She shook her head again, “You don’t understand. You keep saying Baldwin, but he wasn’t the one who kidnapped the girls.”

“Sorry, right, you said that you did.”

“I helped.”

“I’m not following.”

“Baldwin was a brute, not a brain.”

The light finally went off in my head. “Are you saying that you helped someone else kidnap those girls?”

She shook her head, “Yes.”

“And it wasn’t Baldwin Lanceport?”

“Yes.”

I briefly closed my eyes and then rubbed my temples with my two pointer fingers. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“How many other girls did you kidnap?”

“I don’t know.”

“Best guess.”

“Five.”

“Are they alive or dead?”

“I don’t know.”

“Best guess.”

There was a long pause and then she said, “Dead.”

“Who’d you help?”

“He’ll kill me.”

“Who, Tanisha?”

“A monster beyond your wildest dreams.”

I shook my head. Where have I heard that before?

Twenty-two

I gave Tanisha a couple of minutes to compose herself. She started crying hysterically, which caused her heart monitor to go crazy, which in turn brought in Nurse Caroline. She told Tanisha that she needed to calm down so her blood pressure didn’t rise, and then told me that I shouldn’t do anything to get Tanisha excited due to her current condition. After a couple of minutes, Tanisha calmed down, and then I went back to asking her more questions.

“Try to stay calm with these questions, okay?” I said. “I understand that what you went through was very traumatic, but I need you to help me so I can find these girls.”

Tanisha nodded.

“Who’s the third guy?”

“I don’t know his real name. We just called him Dark.”

“Dark? Because of his skin color or something?”

“No, because he was dark, like in his personality.”

“What’d he look like?”

“Like he just stepped out of a Brooks Brothers catalog.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s a beautiful man. Dark hair, big eyes, broad smile, and a body that every woman wanted.”

“But his personality is dark?”

“Not on the surface. That’s how we were able to lure them in. He was very charismatic on the surface. But his soul was a different story. Once we had them, he just changed. His eyes became hollowed and his smile stiffened. Even Baldwin, as big as he was, he didn’t mess with Dark.”

“And Dark was the brains? He’s the one who orchestrated everything?”

Tanisha nodded.

“What was his reasoning for kidnapping them?”

“I don’t know.”

My brows furrowed. “You don’t know? Don’t bullshit me, Tanisha. You helped him. Obviously you know something.”

“I loved him. At first. It was supposed to be just a game between us. See who could convince a girl to come home with us. The first one felt awkward. She was willing to have a threesome. I wasn’t sure if I could really do it. But I loved him, so I agreed.”

“So you lured girls with sex offers?”

“You’d be surprised, Detective, at how easily they agreed.”

“So what happened after they agreed?”

“The first time we did it, we had a threesome. The girl stayed the night. The next morning Dark said that he was taking the girl home. I didn’t think anything more about it until a week later I saw her face flash across the news channel, saying that she’d been missing.”

“You sure it was the same girl?”

“Yes. She was the first woman I’d ever slept with, so I remembered exactly what she looked like.”

I nodded and continued taking notes.

“When I told Dark what I saw, he told me that he and Baldwin killed her.”

“Just like that? He just came out and said it?”

“That’s how he is.”

Tears started rolling down her face again.

“He told me that if I said anything he’d kill me. He said that I was a part of it, and that if he got caught the police would arrest me too.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“Over a year ago.”

“And you have been helping him ever since?”

She nodded.

“Did you actually see him kill any of the girls?”

Tears fell harder down her face. “Yes.”

The heart monitor started beeping faster again.

“They begged me to help them, but I didn’t. I was too afraid.”

“Calm down,” I said in a gentle voice. “Calm down.”

I gave her time to calm down before returning to the questions.

“Is Dark the one who beat you and chained you to the wall?”

Tanisha nodded.

“Where does he live?”

“He’s gone, Detective. You won’t find him.”

“Let me worry about that. Give me his address.”

She did, along with another place where they took some of the other girls.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked.

“Right now, you need to get better. The courts will decide what happens to you. But for now, I’m going to assign an officer to stand by your door for a few days.”

She nodded as more tears fell down her face.

“Thank you, Tanisha. You did really good today.” I said. “But before I leave, I need to ask. You said that you don’t know Dark’s real name, yet you said you loved him. How could you fall in love with someone whose name you don’t know?”

“I asked myself that same question over and over again.”

Twenty-three

Dr. Robert Stanley sat on a cushioned black chair across from Matthew Gray. He was a distinguished-looking man who wore his beard close to his skin, and his dark brown hair fell slightly below his ears. When he spoke, he pronounced every syllable to every word and often hung on to the last letters of the word. Matthew found it odd that Dr. Stanley spoke this way, but he was the head psychologist of the practice, and according to Sarah, he knew just about everything there was to know.

“Mr. Gray,” Dr. Stanley said, “Sarah told me you’ve been having dreams again. Tell me about them.”

“You can call me Matthew.”

Dr. Stanley nodded. “Fine. Matthew it is.”

Matthew cleared his throat and then searched his mind for a beginning point. “The dreams started when I was around twelve years old. They were kind of like out-of-body experiences. At least they felt that way.”

Dr. Stanley nodded, and Matthew saw that Dr. Stanley was mentally engaged with him.

“The dreams were like it was me, but it wasn’t me at the same time. I don’t know. It’s kinda hard to explain.”

“Just take your time. I’m sure you’ll find the right words.”

Matthew cleared his throat again. His palms were slightly clammy, and his heart raced. The only person he’d spoken to about this was Sarah, and even then it took him a little while to warm up to her.

“So, in these dreams I’m full of rage. I don’t know why I’m so angry, but I am.”

“Possibly some kind of repressed emotion,” Dr. Stanley said.

“I don’t know. I don’t have anything to be angry about. I’m not an angry person.”

Dr. Stanley smiled and then nodded his head, which Matthew took as a sign to continue.

“Have you ever seen the show The Incredible Hulk?”

“The television version? Yes, of course.”

“There was an episode where David Banner thought he could control the Hulk through dreams. Each time he dreamed, he tried to build barriers around the Hulk, but each time the Hulk kept escaping them.”

“I’m familiar with the episode.”

“That’s kind of how it was for me, but the opposite. Each time I dreamed, the anger was trying to build barriers around me. Almost like the anger was trying to keep me from waking up, so that it could be me.”

“So, you could see this anger as a separate entity from you?”

“Sometimes. Like I said about the out-of-body thing.”

“What did the anger look like?”

“I saw it but couldn’t see it. Like it was blurred out or something.”

Dr. Stanley rubbed his chin. “Interesting.”

“And then there was always this question.”

“Question?”

Matthew nodded. “What do you do when you look into the mirror and the reflection looking back isn’t you?”

“What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who was asking you the question?”

“No one. It was just a voice.”

“Was it your own voice?”

“No, not mine. Just a voice that I’ve never heard before.”

Dr. Stanley rubbed his chin again before speaking.

“And Sarah said that the dreams became physical?”

“One time, yes.”

“How so?”

“One time when I woke up, I had cuts along my forearms.”

“And the last dream, did you have cuts along your forearms?”

“No, not this time.”

“Hmm. And you said that the dreams started when you were around twelve?”

“Yes, I believe I was around that age.”

“That’s around the age of adolescence. Young boys begin the transition to manhood. Hormones in our bodies start to change. We even start to see a transition of our emotions. So I find it very interesting that the anger, as you describe it, was prevalent in your dreams back then.”

“Again, I don’t know why. I wasn’t angry as a child.”

“Maybe you weren’t. But something within your psyche held back repressed emotions that were causing your dreams to be angry.”

Matthew shook his head, “I don’t know what.”

“Neither do I. But that’s what we’re going to try and figure out.”

Dr. Stanley leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on his knees, and interlocked his fingers together.

“Tell me, Matthew, what were your parents like?”

Twenty-four

Two hours had passed since I interviewed Tanisha at the Washington Hospital Center. While I was at my desk, the hospital called and informed me that shortly after I left, Tanisha went into cardiac arrest and passed away. The injuries she sustained were too much for her body to handle. After I hung up, I sat in my chair for a few minutes without saying anything. Even though I didn’t know her, and she did some terrible things, I felt sad in a way I hadn’t expected.

When we’d found out that she was actually still alive at the house, I didn’t think she would make it through the night. But for some reason she was allowed to live long enough to tell me that the real person behind the kidnappings wasn’t Baldwin Lanceport, but a man named Dark. A believer would have called that an act of God. A skeptic would have said it was just blind luck that I was able to get to her before she died. Whatever it was, it gave me a new lead in a case that I thought had pretty much died with Baldwin Lanceport.

I put the name Dark into our database, and only three hits came back. In two of them, the name Dark was part of a longer name, and the third man looked nothing like Tanisha described. I put a call in to our forensics team to see if they could put a rush on any prints they pulled from Baldwin’s house. I was sure Mr. Dark would have left his prints all over that place, and hopefully he’d be in our system.

The next thing to do was to hit the pavement and see if I could get a lead on who this Dark really was. But before I did, I made a call to a reliable informant of mine who had given me incredible information last year that brought down a corrupt judge who was also smuggling weapons.

“What up?” Turtle said. His voice sounded lazy, but not from being sleepy.

“I know you’re not high again?”

Turtle coughed and cleared his throat. “Jacob?”

“Don’t you look at the number before answering? At least try to act like you ain’t high.”

“Sorry, man, one of those days.”

Turtle was a young man in his early twenties who I’d known for a few years. The first time we met, I was actually trying to bust him for selling weed. He took off running, and the only reason I caught him was because he darted in front of a car that clipped him and hurt his leg. The kid had all the upside in the world, but as I’d learned, you can’t help someone who isn’t ready to help themselves.

“So what’s up, Jacob?”

“I was just given a name. Hope it’s someone you’ve heard of before.”

“You know me, I know everyone in this city. And if I don’t know them, I know someone who does.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Come on now. Who’s your boy, Jacob? I’ve come through before. What’s the name?”

“Dark.”

Turtle hesitated, which immediately raised the alert level in my head.

“I don’t know about this one, Jacob.”

“Why? Who is he?”

“Never met him, but people talk.”

“So what are people saying about him?”

“That he’s straight loco. Crazy as hell. I don’t mess with crazy people.”

“Crazy enough to kill?”

“You talking about girls, right?”

“I am. What have you heard?”

“Damn, Jacob, of all the people you want to ask me about, you gotta ask me about Dark.”

“You sound like you’re scared of him?”

“Like I said, I don’t mess with crazy people. They’re too, what’s the word, crazy!”

“Don’t make me have to get outta my seat and come over there and raid your crib, okay. Just tell me what you’ve heard.”

Turtle said something under his breath, but I just let it go.

“I heard that he’s been kidnapping girls. But it’s not just that he’s been kidnapping them, it’s what he does to them once he’s got them.”

“Why didn’t you call me with this before?”

“Man, I’ve been going through some things. Mom’s kicked me out of the house. My girl left me. I got fired from Walmart.”

I rolled my eyes. If I could, I would have reached through the phone and wrapped my hands around his neck.

“Look,” I said, “sorry to hear about that. I’ll swing by and we can talk later. But now I need to find out where Dark is.”

“I don’t know where he stays.”

“I was given an address, but it turns out it was a dead lead.”

“Sorry, man, but I don’t know.”

“But I’m sure you know someone who does?”

Turtle hesitated again.

“Turtle!”

“Okay, okay, I might know a guy who knows a guy.”

“I’ma call you back in thirty minutes.”

“Okay.”

“And Turtle?”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you get fired from Walmart?”

“Ah, man, they just trippin’.”

He started to say more, so I just hung up. Another thing I learned is that when someone doesn’t take responsibility for their own actions, there’s no point in listening to what they have to say.

I’d call him back in thirty minutes and let him re-explain why he was fired.

Twenty-five

I called Turtle back exactly thirty minutes later, and true to fashion, he had the information I needed. Regardless of his personal problems, or the fact that he just seemed fine coasting through life on a cloud of weed, he had never let me down. I used to always bunker down on him about getting his life together, but I noticed that the more I did, the less he listened. So now I just let my life be his example, and I know one day he’ll come around.

I hung up with Turtle and turned around in my chair. Pat sat at her desk looking as beautiful as usual. If she ever decided to leave the police force to become a model, I doubt she’d have a hard time getting work. But as I’d told many criminals, don’t let her looks fool you. She’s as tough as any man I’d ever been around.

“Baldwin Lanceport wasn’t the guy behind the kidnappings and murders.”

Her eyes widened, “What do you mean?”

“The girl we found at the house. Her name was Tanisha, and I met with her this morning at the hospital.”

“Really? And you didn’t call me?”

“It was a last-minute type thing. The hospital called and said she was awake, but that if I wanted to talk to her I needed to hurry over.”

“Why hurry?”

“She passed away shortly after I left.”

Pat’s face suddenly looked pale. I’m sure she felt the same way I did. It’s not every day you find someone chained to a wall looking the way Tanisha did. You wouldn’t be in the right frame of mind if you didn’t feel some kind of compassion for her.

“I know. Hit me the same way,” I said.

“Poor girl.”

“Ever hear the name Dark before?”

Her eyes started looking around, and I could tell she was searching her mind for the name.

“Not as someone’s name. Who or what is Dark?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Tanisha told me that she was the one who lured the girls to this Dark guy.”

“Oh my God. Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“So who was Baldwin Lanceport?”

“According to Tanisha, he was the brute, not the brains.”

“And the girls?”

“There’s definitely more. Are they alive? I don’t know. But we need to hurry up and find this guy.”

“I’ll run a name search.”

“Already did. No match. And I put in a call to forensics asking for any prints from Baldwin’s house ASAP.”

“They had all that equipment there, but I didn’t notice any gloves. So prints will probably be all over the place,” Pat said.

“Good point. Hopefully he’s been printed in the past.”

“So where do you want to start? I know you’re not going to just sit and wait on forensics.”

I smiled. “You know me too well. I’ve already gotten a lead.”

“Do you want me to drive, or you?”

“I’ll drive. You scare me a little bit.”

We both laughed and headed to the car. Fifteen minutes later, we were in front of an apartment community that looked as though it needed a serious restoration. Turtle told me that a guy named Mr. Syrup would know how to locate Dark. Where do these people come up with these names? The apartment community wasn’t the projects, but it was as close to the projects as they come. And I’m sure Mr. Syrup didn’t get his name because he liked pancakes.

Mr. Syrup’s apartment was on the ground floor, near the rear of the building. Before knocking, I gave the area a once-over. The apartments all had balconies, so his apartment would have a sliding glass door with a patio. There wasn’t too much going on at this time of day. Nighttime would be a different story. I knocked on the door. Not too heavy as to alert him that we were police. After a few seconds, no one came to the door, so I knocked again a little harder. I was about to knock a third time, but out of the corner of my eye I saw a Caucasian male run from the back of the building.

“Shit, he’s running.”

Pat and I took off after him.

This guy was nothing like the big guy with the bad teeth we’d chased earlier. He was scrawny and frail with thick bushy hair and big dark-framed glasses. He almost looked like he should be doing a science project rather than running from cops. I caught up to him with no problem and tackled him to the ground.

“What are you guys doing?” he said.

Pat wrapped his wrists with cuffs and we stood him up.

“Mr. Syrup, I presume?”

“Wrong guy. My name is David.”

“David what?” Pat said.

“Ugh, Smith.”

“David Smith. Pretty original,” I said.

“Look, I know my rights. You guys just can’t chase me like this. This is police brutality.”

“Why’d you run when I knocked on your door?” I said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just going for a jog.”

“Really, in this neighborhood?”

He wore blue jeans with a brown button-up shirt and no shoes.

“Pat, you know many people who go jogging with no shoes?”

“Fools. That’s about it.”

“Yeah, I think only a fool would jog with no shoes. Are you a fool, Mr. Smith?”

“I don’t have to talk to you guys.”

“You’re right. You don’t. But here’s what I can do. I can let you go. But, see, I have to go to the station and do some paperwork. Paperwork involves me calling people. I can say, “You know, I was talking to Mr. Syrup earlier today, and he told me some very interesting stuff.” Then that person would tell another, and then another. See where I’m going with this? By nightfall, everyone will know that you’ve been talking to cops and your syrup business will be shit.”

His demeanor suddenly changed. Living in neighborhoods like this, everyone knows that being a snitch is like a death sentence, or in Mr. Syrup’s case, an immediate loss of revenue.

“What do you want?” he said.

“Dark.”

“Dark what? Dark roast coffee?”

“Don’t bullshit me. Where can I find him?”

“Look, man, I ain’t looking for no trouble.”

“And you won’t have any if you give me a location.”

“I don’t know where he lives.”

“And I thought you would be helpful. Okay, I’m going to un-cuff you. But I’ve got to get back to the station and start making some calls.”

“Look, man, I don’t know where he lives. But I know where he hangs out.”

“Where?”

“Place called Dreams.”

“How do you know him?” Pat said.

“He’s a client.”

“Client,” Pat said sarcastically. “I love how these guys make it seem like they’re professionals.”

“Look, that’s all I know. He contacts me when he needs some stuff, and I meet him there.”

“When’s the last time he contacted you?” I said.

“Five days ago.”

“What’s the trend?”

“Every five days.”

I pulled out my card and gave it to Mr. Syrup.

“You call me as soon as he calls you. And I mean as soon. If I don’t hear from you then your name is going all over the hood wire. Got me?”

“Yeah, got you.”

I un-cuffed Mr. Syrup and let him go. One thing about being a detective is that you have to be able to get a good read on people. I doubted this was the place he actually lived, and once I got Dark, I’d pass his name over to narcotics. Mr. Syrup would call because he’s a wimp. I liken him to the Internet thug who sits behind a desk, all the while splatting hate from the comforts of his own home without threat of personal confrontation. The last thing Mr. Syrup wanted was his name associated with the police.

As Pat and I headed back to the car, my cell rang. I saw it was from the station.

“Detective Hayden.”

“Jacob, it’s Hellsworth.”

“What’s up, Captain?”

“A body was found in the trails off the C&O Canal. I need you and Pat over there pronto.”

“Okay, we’ll be there shortly.”

“This body has the same wounds as the others in the neck.”

“Jesus. Is she alone?”

“It’s not a she this time.”

“A male?”

“Yes. So get over there right away.”

“Heading over now.”

I hung up the phone and told Pat what Captain said.

A male, I thought. Definitely a twist in the story.

Twenty-six

The rain fell harder, and the temperature dropped. It didn’t take us long to get to C&O Canal trail, where the body of a tall white male, was sprawled across the path. Blood was everywhere near the body. The rain made it difficult for forensics to get any footprints due to the mud being smeared together in a lot of places.

“Guy’s name is Scott Tremble. He had his wallet on him,” a uniformed officer said.

“Any money, credit cards?” I asked.

“All there. This definitely wasn’t a robbery.”

Pat and I walked closer to the body. The punctures on his neck were consistent with the other two women, only his appeared deeper. Maybe he put up a fight?

“How tall would you estimate him to be?” I asked Pat.

She looked him up and down. “I don’t know. Taller than you.”

“Right. He probably is. And he’s dense. Look at his build. He’s a big guy.”

“So you’re thinking the killer is a bigger guy?”

“I don’t know.”

I looked up and down the trail.

“So, our killer doesn’t just get a hard-on for women. He likes men too,” I said.

“And size doesn’t intimidate him,” Pat responded.

“Apparently not.”

I walked down the trail a little until I got to a spot where the mud became mushier.

“He was surprised here.”

I pointed further down the trail.

“The ground is unbroken until he got to this point. He was probably running in stride, and then something happened here.”

Pat looked back and forth. “He was caught from behind. They tussled a little, and then he was killed over there.”

I nodded. Judging from the way the ground looked, a fight definitely ensued.

“So where’s the connection?” I said.

“Two women and a man. He doesn’t fit the profile, if we think the killer was only going after women.”

“So why him? Why go after a guy as big as him who could have put up a fight if he wasn’t taken by surprise?”

“Maybe he likes a challenge.”

“That’s a big challenge.”

“Maybe he is the real devil,” Pat said.

I gave her a “Really?” look, and she smirked. But that comment got me thinking.

“What was it that the first Hispanic lady said? ‘I’ve come so you will believe.’”

“So whoever he is, he believes that he’s here on a mission or something.”

“What does he want everyone to believe?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. What would any fanatic want people to believe?”

I tossed the thought back and forth in my head for a few seconds.

“That he’s real,” I said.

“We don’t even know who he believes he is. We’re going off descriptions of what others claim they saw.”

“But so far, the descriptions are similar, and from two people who couldn’t be more opposite from one another.”

“So, do you think the killings are random?” Pat asked.

“I don’t know. Whatever he wants us to believe, he thinks that we’ll believe it through murder. Doesn’t make sense.”

We stayed at the crime scene for another thirty minutes. My shoes were soaking wet, as were the bottom half of my pants. We stopped by my house on the way to the station so I could change my shoes. Good thing too, because Henry had that look in his eyes that pretty much said if I didn’t want a mess on the floor, I’d better take him out.

When I’d left earlier that morning, Jayden was still in bed. I gave her money for a cab and told her that I’d call later today. When I went to my room, I found that she’d made my bed and left a single red rose in the middle with a hand written note, “You’re Great!” I couldn’t help but smile; my heart was growing for her more and more each day.

I carried the rose downstairs where Pat was waiting for me.

“What’s the rose for?” Pat asked.

“It’s a thank you rose.”

“From Jayden?”

“Yep.”

“She left a rose for you?” she smiled.

“What’s with the smile?”

“Oh, nothing. Just, isn’t that something a guy normally does?”

“What are you saying?”

She raised her hands in defense, “Nothing, nothing. Just wondering who wears the pants in this relationship.”

“What, you don’t think I do? Of course I do. I … I do.”

“Okay,” she said. “If you say so.”

My cell rang just as I was about to say something else.

“This isn’t done yet.” I raised the phone to my ear, “Detective Hayden.”

“Yes, Detective, this is Jeremy Wilson.”

“Who?”

“Ah, Mr. Syrup.”

“Oh, the syrup guy. What’s up?”

“Dark just called. He’s going to be at the Destiny club tonight. I’m supposed to meet him there.”

“Okay, great. I’ll call you back in a little bit.”

“So, you’re not going to say anything, right?”

“Hey, if I get my guy, you’re off the hook.”

I hung up and told Pat who that was.

“Looks like we’ve got to get the crew together,” I said.

We left to go back to the station. As I shut my door, I thought about the rose. Of course I wear the pants.

WEDNESDAY

Twenty-seven

12:07 a.m. was what my watch read. The club scene was just starting to liven up. A line that seemed to be a mile long stood along the sidewalk in front of Destiny nightclub. Women wearing short skirts and low-cut shirts appeared to have priority over the women who weren’t dressed as provocatively. Guys who fit the mold of an A-list Hollywood actor walked right up to the front door and were let in without having to wait in the mile-long line. Three large men wearing shirts a size too tight stood outside of the doors and were given the privilege of letting in who they wanted and when.

Mr. Syrup gave us a pretty general description of what Dark looked like, and quite honestly, any one of the Hollywood-looking guys could have been him. I sat in an unmarked car across the street from the club, along with Pat and Mr. Syrup. Carl and Rudy were in another car a few spaces behind us, and we had another two teams a block away.

We’d been sitting in the car for over an hour. Mr. Syrup said that Dark didn’t usually arrive until after midnight. I was still waiting on the prints from Baldwin Lanceport’s house to come back from forensics; so, as of now, all we had was a confession from a dead woman and the name Dark. What we needed were prints to put Dark in the house, but since we didn’t have them, we planned on getting him on buying narcotics from Mr. Syrup. I still couldn’t believe I was calling a grown man “Mr. Syrup”.

“Something’s wrong,” Mr. Syrup said.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“I don’t know. He would have contacted me by now.”

“You said usually not until after midnight. It’s just past midnight.”

“You’re nervous,” Pat said. “Take a deep breath and calm down. Has he stood you up before?”

“Never.”

“Okay, then he’ll be here.”

Fifteen minutes passed. The other two teams around the corner said they hadn’t seen anyone fitting Dark’s description walk by them yet. I had to admit that I was starting to get a little antsy. Maybe it was the outside energy. On this particular block there were four different clubs, and each had lines waiting to get in. The vibrating sound of the bass coming from the establishments was pumping my adrenaline. I had to mentally talk to myself and calm my nerves.

I looked in the rearview mirror. Mr. Syrup was looking up and down the street, presumably trying to get the first glimpse of Dark. We had him wear black-framed glasses that had a microphone and camera built in to catch the transaction going down. Lucky for us, Mr. Syrup wore glasses, and Dark had seen him in them before. So, wearing glasses tonight wouldn’t raise any suspicion.

“I’m telling you, he knows something’s up,” Mr. Syrup said.

“Just relax,” I said. “Be patient. Things don’t always happen right on time.”

“But this is my neck that I’m sticking out. If he thinks I’m involved with the cops, I’m a dead man for sure.”

“Walk me through it again,” I said. I wanted to get his mind off the waiting. “Tell me how it usually goes down.”

He took a breath and then looked toward the front of the car.

“He usually sends me a text with a code word. That word allows me up to the VIP room. The room is sick man, all kind of girls and whatnot.”

“Spare me,” Pat said.

“Oh, sorry. Once I’m up there, I hand him the stuff and he pays me. I usually hang up there for a little bit and have a drink with him, and then I leave. I try not to stay too long.”

“Why not? Sounds like heaven for you,” I said.

“The guy creeps me out. He’s a good paying customer, and I do what I need to appease him, but I don’t like the vibe he gives off.”

“How long have you been his supplier?”

“Not long. A few months. Maybe half a year.”

“And every five days this is how you meet? You’ve never seen him outside of this club?”

“Mostly. Sometimes he’d have his girl meet me. But mostly it’s here.”

“His girl?”

“Yeah, pretty chick named Tanisha.”

I looked over at Pat when Mr. Syrup mentioned Tanisha’s name. I didn’t tell him that she was dead.

The car fell quiet for a few seconds. Then, because of the quiet, Mr. Syrup’s phone beeped loud, which startled me. He picked it up and looked at the screen.

“It’s him. He just gave me the code.”

“We’ve been here for an hour and a half. Did you see him walk in?”

“No, I didn’t see him.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Pat said. “He’s in there.”

I radioed the other cars that we’d just made contact. The plan was for two teams to go inside. Once the deal was done and Mr. Syrup was safely outside, we’d grab Dark.

“Ready?” I said to Mr. Syrup.

He gulped, and his eyes were wide. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Okay, then. Let’s go get us Mr. Dark.”

Twenty-eight

Turns out one of the big bouncers wearing a shirt one size too small was an off-duty cop named Will. I didn’t know him well, but well enough that when he saw Pat and me together, along with the other two detectives, he knew we weren’t there to party. He let us in as if we were some of the important people who didn’t need to wait in line. It was actually good that he worked at the club, because he could be in the VIP section without any suspicion and could help escort Dark out smoothly.

Once inside, the energy was more vibrant. The bass from the techno music vibrated through my body. The main floor was open to two levels, and the upper level had a balcony matching the perimeter of the lower dance floor. On either side of the dance floor were two bar areas that, along with the crowded dance floor, made the whole bottom level appear as if it were one giant sea of people. Neon blue-and-green lights made everyone’s eyes and teeth glow like they were aliens from another planet.

The VIP section was on the third floor, and from how Mr. Syrup described it, it was big enough to fit close to one hundred people. One detective stayed on the ground floor, and the rest of us went to the second level. Once there, I told the second detective to stay near the steps to the third level. When it was time to take Dark, I’d send Will down to bring him up.

Will led us up to the third level. We let Mr. Syrup enter first, and then Pat and I entered a few minutes later. There was a small bar in the VIP room, where a beautiful brunette with a rather healthy chest stood behind the bar. Pat and I stood near the bar and mingled with each other as if we were a couple. The same music from the main club also came through the VIP room’s speakers.

Pat leaned in close and put her hand on my shoulder.

“Which one do you think he is?”

Mr. Syrup didn’t immediately walk up to anybody. When he entered the room he looked around and then slowly started walking to the back of the room.

“Hard to tell. There’s a group of guys back there. What does a psychopath look like?”

Will stood near the entrance of the room, looking like a bouncer as he waited to check anyone trying to enter.

I kept my eyes on Mr. Syrup while also trying not to be obvious that I was there watching him. He walked past one guy who I thought was Dark, but then he didn’t stop and acknowledge him. Finally, he walked to the other side of the bar and gave me a glance that said, “He’s not in here.”

“Think he’s on to us?” Pat asked.

“Not sure what’s going on.”

I placed my hand on Pat’s waist and pulled her a little closer.

“I know this is what you’ve been waiting for,” I joked. “I see how you’ve been checking me out.”

Pat rolled her eyes, but she leaned in and showed a little affection by rubbing my arm.

“So we’re a couple tonight?” she said.

“Everyone else is in here. We don’t want to stand out.”

“I feel like we’re about to be in the middle of Eyes Wide Shut.”

That made me laugh. Most of the people in the room were couples, or at least that’s what they appeared to be. And most of the people were extremely good looking. If GQ and Vanity Fair were looking for prospective models, they’d have no problem finding them in here.

“He looks nervous,” Pat said.

“I know. I want to go over there and tell him to chill out.”

Mr. Syrup was now sitting on a barstool. I looked away, letting my eyes drift around the room. Pretty much everyone was enjoying themselves. Men were flirting with women, and women were flirting back. There was one couple that looked too comfortable in the back corner of the room. The man was sitting on a chair, and the woman was sitting on his lap. If I was a betting man, I’d say she was doing more than just sitting down.

“A bunch of freaks in here. That’s what this is,” I said.

Pat nodded. “So I’ve been checking out the guys in here, and none of them have even paid any attention to our guy.”

“If he’s in here, he’s being real careful.”

“He’s not in here.”

“So where is he then?”

“Somewhere else.”

“So, if he’s not in here then he’s probably downstairs. And if he’s downstairs, then he probably saw us come in with Mr. Syrup.”

“Which means he made us,” Pat said.

“Which also means he’s probably long gone.”

I motioned for Will to come over.

“Do you recognize most of the people in here?” I asked.

“Most. They’re the regulars.”

“Ever hear of the name Dark?”

“Once, and that was just in passing. Someone said a guy named Dark was here.”

“Okay, thanks. If you ever hear of him again in here, give me a call.”

We shook hands, and then I motioned for Mr. Syrup to leave. Outside, the rain had lightened up to the point that we didn’t need umbrellas.

“If you don’t mind, Detectives, I think I want to take a cab home.”

“Okay,” I said.

“So I did my part. I’m off the hook, right?”

“You did, Mr. Syrup. You’re off the hook. For now.”

We shook hands, and Pat and I turned toward our car.

“You aren’t really going to just let him go, right?”

“Of course not. Let’s let him get a cab and see where he goes.”

“You think he’s going to see Dark? That this whole thing was a facade?”

I smiled. “Would you ever trust a guy named Mr. Syrup?”

“Hell no.”

“Neither would I.”

Twenty-nine

One month ago, seventy-two-year-old James Stewart, Ph.D. retired from St. Luke’s Academy boarding school as the school’s teacher of religious studies. The boarding school was nationally known for its strict academics and preparation for what they called “future world leaders.” Dr. Stewart had been with the school for twenty-five years and was once an acting principal during a transitional period.

His only family was his wife who passed away twelve years ago to breast cancer. Her battle was long and well fought, but in the end, God had a better plan for her, Dr. Stewart told friends and colleagues. Now that he was retired, he had begun reconditioning his body to stay up later because he didn’t have to wake up any longer at 5:30 in the morning to get ready for school. He was a big fan of movies and spent his evenings getting familiar with On Demand movies that he never got around to seeing when they were in the theaters.

At 12:37 a.m. he’d just finished watching The Theory of Everything, the movie about Stephen Hawking. Dr. Stewart turned off the cable box and television, and then he stood up to stretch. His mind started working, thinking about what he was going to do in the morning. When he’d told friends and colleagues that he was retiring, the consistent advice he got was to keep himself busy. One friend told him that if he started sleeping in and getting lazy, he’d be dead in six months. The sleeping in he didn’t mind, the being lazy he wouldn’t let happen.

The day he retired, he’d purchased an expensive Cannondale road bike. Cycling had always been a big part of his life, so his present to himself was a new bike. The heavy rain over the past few days hadn’t allowed him to ride outside, but he bought a trainer that he could mount the Cannondale to and do a twenty-five-mile ride indoors. Exercise, check.

Next, he thought about the novel that he was planning on writing. Outside of being a teacher, he had a passion for writing. He’d written short stories, some of which had even been published with various magazines, but nothing to the extent of writing a full-length novel.

While stretching his arms and legs, Dr. Stewart heard a clicking sound coming from the basement. It sounded like the basement door had just opened. He instinctively looked at the digital clock on the cable box and saw that it was 12:45. His mental antennas immediately started going off, putting his mind in defense mode. Did someone just break into the house?

Before he became a scholar, and during his early years of college, Dr. Stewart made money through street fighting; or a better way to look at it was he placed bets on himself that he could defeat the other person. Most of the time, he’d won. There were times that he’d lost, but those were few and far between. He was a good fighter and very instinctive, and the reason he won so many fights was because he trusted his instincts and his talent.

He never backed down from a fight. However, at seventy-two years old, he knew his limits. His biceps were still thick and bulged when he flexed, but they didn’t have quite the power they once had. The once-quick reflexes that had allowed him to dodge any punch he saw coming, were now delayed by a second and a half. So when he heard what sounded like the downstairs door opening, a part of him wanted to pick up the phone and dial the police. But another part of him, the part that eventually won, told him that this was his house and if someone had indeed broken in, then he needed to beat the crap out of whoever it was.

The first thing Dr. Stewart did was sit and listen. He stayed quiet. If someone was in the house, they’d eventually make some kind of noise. His eyes looked toward the opening to the downstairs. The staircase leading to the basement was dark. His heightened senses let him hear every creak the house made. His own breathing sounded like his ears were in his lungs and he heard the intricate detail of his breaths coming in and going out.

After sitting for close to a minute, he didn’t hear anything coming from the lower level. Maybe what he heard came from somewhere else in the house, he thought. It was possible. He and the house were nearly the same age, and older houses, like older people, could make unexpected noises. He sat for another minute, and when he didn’t hear anything else, he decided either he was just hearing things or the house was making one of the creaky noises it sometimes made. So he let his mental antennas die down, relaxed, and stood up.

In the kitchen, he stood over the sink to wash out the cup and plate he’d used during the movie. The faucet ran, and he hummed a tune that he remembered hearing earlier in the day. When he turned off the water and stopped humming, the hairs on his arms immediately stood up. His eyes widened and he grew stiff. His fingers were like vice grips on the wet plate, and he knew, in that instant, that he wasn’t alone in his house.

The breathing that he heard was close, and he could smell the musky body odor from the person standing behind him. His first thought was that he regretted not calling the police. His second thought was that he didn’t want to turn around. The breathing didn’t sound like it came from someone pumped with adrenaline; rather, the breathing was calm and steady. Whoever stood behind him wasn’t nervous, in a hurry, or worried about what they were doing. Dr. Stewart understood this kind of breathing because that’s how he had trained himself to breathe when he fought. He knew at a young age that between two fighters matched skill for skill, the one with the clearer mind and the controlled body would win the fight. The person standing behind him was in control of their emotions.

“You know I’m here,” the deep baritone voice said.

“Why are you here?” Dr. Stewart said.

“It is time.”

Dr. Stewart slowly turned around. Whatever he thought he would see was nothing compared to what he saw.

“Dear God,” Dr. Stewart said.

“Yes,” he said.

Before Dr. Stewart realized it, his pants became soaked from his own urine.

“Doctor, I’ve been waiting a long time to see you again.”

“I … I … don’t … understand. We’ve never met.”

“Yes, Doctor, we have.”

Dr. Stewart’s mind raced through his life. Mental images came in and out, searching for anything that looked like what was standing in front of him. He’d never seen eyes so full of death and emptiness. He’d never seen hands that could kill with a single swipe. He’d never been so afraid that the mere sight of something like this could cause him to wet his pants.

“What do you want?” Dr. Stewart found the courage to ask.

“For you to believe.”

“Believe in what?”

“In me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will, Doctor.”

Dr. Stewart’s body trembled harder, so hard that he couldn’t hide the fact that his hands were literally shaking. He wasn’t sure how much longer his legs would support his weight, and he worried that he might pass out.

“Doctor, look into my eyes. Look at my face. Tell me what you see.”

“Please, I don’t know what you want.”

“Look at me, Doctor, and tell me what you see.”

Dr. Stewart did what he was told. He couldn’t think clearly, but he tried to focus on the eyes and the face. The eyes themselves appeared hollow and void of a soul, but the shape of the eyes triggered a memory in Dr. Stewart’s brain. Then he looked at the face, the outline of the jaw, the boldness of the nostrils, and the broadness of the forehead. Another memory flashed through his brain, and Dr. Stewart’s eyes suddenly widened.

“Yes, yes, Doctor. You know why I’m here.”

“Dear God,” Dr. Stewart said. “It’s you.”

“Yes, Doctor. I am He.”

Before Dr. Stewart could say another word, He raised his hands and drove his sharp nails into Dr. Stewart’s neck. Dr. Stewart fell to the floor and didn’t take another breath.

Thirty

The rain had slowed for a little while, but now it was heavy again. My windshield wipers were on their fastest speed, and even then it was difficult to see in front of us. It was like every time the wipers went one way, a blanket of water covered the windshield again, making driving at a decent speed nearly impossible. Mr. Syrup’s cab was three cars in front of us, and luckily everyone driving on the road had the same problem.

“Why do you think he played us?” Pat asked.

“Why not? Between the cops and a psychopath, and he knew the guy was a legitimate psychopath, who would you go with?”

“The cops, myself. But that’s just me.”

“And you aren’t a lowlife. That’s the difference.”

“It amazes me how these guys think they can always outsmart us. I mean did he really think we would just say, ‘Okay, Dark didn’t show up, have a nice life?’”

“What did Forest Gump say? Stupid is as stupid does.”

“You’re corny, Jacob.”

I smiled because it was true, I am corny.

The cab drove for another five miles until it turned into the J.W. Marriott. The cab stopped under a covered driveway, and Mr. Syrup got out. He didn’t look around suspiciously to see if he was being followed, so I guess Pat was right that these guys think we’re easily outsmarted.

“Pretty fancy place for a serial killer,” I said

“Only thing better would have been the Bates Motel.”

We stepped out of the car, and it felt like I walked into the shower with my clothes on. Pat and I ran to the driveway’s covering. We watched Mr. Syrup walk casually through the lobby like he didn’t have a care in the world. Once he was out of view, we stepped inside. The lobby was elegant and expansive, with marble floors and columns opposite each other running along the length of the hotel. The lobby was three levels deep, becoming an atrium, and each level mirrored the other.

“How many rooms do you think this hotel has?” Pat asked.

“I don’t know. Few hundred.”

D.C. is one of the few cities in the country that’s not allowed to have buildings taller than 130 feet. So the tallest buildings only have thirteen floors.

We walked over to the large front desk where two employees stood on the other side. One was looking at her computer, and the other was writing something down. The one on the computer looked up and gave us a big smile.

“Yes, can I help you?”

We showed her our badges, and the smile immediately disappeared.

“A guy just came through here a few seconds ago,” I said.

The woman looked around the lobby.

“Caucasian male, about five-ten, wearing blue jeans and a black jacket.”

“I’m sorry, Officer, I wasn’t paying attention.”

I looked toward the other woman, and she looked up from whatever she was writing.

“Yes,” she said, “I saw him just come through.”

“Did you recognize him?”

She shook her head. “No, sorry. We see so many people come through here. I don’t recall seeing him before.”

I sighed and let out a breath of air.

“Can you check the name, Jeremy Wilson?”

The woman in front of the computer typed in the name.

“Sorry, Officer, no Jeremy Wilson.”

“Can you try Jeremy Syrup? I know, ridiculous name.”

“Sorry again. No Jeremy Wilson or Jeremy Syrup.”

“How about just the name, Dark?”

The woman’s brows furrowed, and I could tell I was starting to worry her.

“No, Sir. No Dark.”

I looked toward Pat. “What do you think?”

“He could be under any assumed name.”

“How about the name, Tanisha Bentley?”

The woman typed again.

“Sorry again. No, Tanisha Bentley.”

I knew it was a long shot.

I stepped back from the desk and looked around the lobby. Something struck me as odd, but it took my brain a few seconds to register what it was. With the front desk to my back, I realized that the elevators were to my right just around the corner. We lost sight of Mr. Syrup when he entered the lobby, but I was sure I saw him go left. I walked toward the elevator area and saw an employee mopping. Near where he stopped was a yellow sign that said wet floor. I approached the employee and showed my badge. For a split second, I thought he was about to run. Maybe he thought I was there for him.

“How long have you been mopping here?”

“Just a few minutes.”

“Did anyone get on the elevator?”

He shook his head. “No one.”

I thanked him and turned around. I started walking back toward the front desk but stopped in the middle of the lobby. Mr. Syrup went left. There were two levels below us and on the wall next to the steps was a sign for a restaurant. It didn’t take long for my mind to register what he’d done. I yelled across the lobby to the women behind the front desk.

“Is there an exit from the restaurant?”

“Yes,” said the woman at the computer. “From the kitchen.”

My eyes met Pat’s, and we instantly sprinted for the steps. I took them two at a time until I was on the lower level. Pat was right behind me. There was a hostess standing next to a podium in front of the restaurant.

I raised my badge, “Where’s the kitchen?”

The hostess nervously pointed around the corner. We ran for the kitchen, and when we entered, I asked the first person I saw where the back door was. He showed us, and when we got there, the door opened to an alley behind the hotel.

Pat and I looked around. Next to the hotel was an office building. The rain was coming down so heavy that it made it difficult to see ten feet ahead of us.

“See anything?” I said.

“Nothing.”

We ran to one opening of the alley, and just by chance we heard tires squeal from the other side of the alley, and an engine revved like it was about to drag race. By the time we made it to the other end, whatever car made the noise was gone.

“I can’t believe this,” I said.

“Shit,” Pat yelled.

“How in the hell did this happen?”

“He played us for fools.”

“He couldn’t have known,” I said.

“He knew enough.”

We walked back inside the hotel soaking wet. If we were dogs, we’d be whimpering in defeat with our tails between our legs. If Forest Gump was real, I wonder which one of us he’d call stupid is, and which one he’d call stupid does.

Thirty-one

When Dr. Robert Stanley’s phone beeped and he heard his secretary say that his next patient, Matthew Gray, had arrived, a sense of excitement and curiosity filled his emotions at the same time. Before his secretary notified him of Matthew’s attendance, Dr. Stanley reviewed Matthew’s intake sheet. Matthew was thirty-four years old. He had a clean medical history. Both parents were deceased. No recent brain trauma of any sort. As he continued skimming, he found nothing that would raise a red flag.

Yet Matthew was having dreams. Dreams that Dr. Stanley eerily related to.

The office door opened and Matthew entered with a pleasant smile. The two shook hands, and Matthew took a seat on a two-cushioned couch.

“How are you today?” Dr. Stanley asked.

“Fine. I’m good, thanks.”

“How’d you sleep?”

Matthew curled his lips and briefly looked toward the floor. “Dreamed again.”

“How about we start there. Were they angry?”

“Yes.”

“Can you gauge the intensity of the anger, like on a scale from one to ten?”

“This time it wasn’t as intense. Probably a five.”

Dr. Stanley nodded and wrote down notes on his notepad.

“Are you having these dreams more frequently?”

“Been nearly every night for the past week or so.”

“And when you had them before, how frequent were they?”

Matthew shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe once or twice a month, if that.”

“So, let’s look back over the past week or so.”

Dr. Stanley cleared his throat.

“Can you think of anything that you may have done, or anyone you may have come in contact with that would have triggered the dreams?”

Matthew shook his head, “That’s what I’ve been thinking about. My routine has been normal. I see the same people and do the same things.”

“Okay. So let’s go back to the dream. What was it about?”

“This time it was a little hazy. I was back at my middle school. I don’t know what made me think of middle school. I haven’t thought about it for a long time. Anyway, I was in class and some of the kids started making fun of me. I was sitting at my desk and I was starting to cry, and that’s when the anger came in.”

“As a separate entity again?”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell what it looked like?”

“That’s the hazy part. I knew it was there, but I couldn’t see it. It was like if I looked at it, it moved out of my eyesight.”

“Did anything happen?”

“Everything became dark. The room started shaking and I heard kids screaming. Then the lights came back on and I was alone.”

“What happened to the kids?”

“I don’t know. I woke up a few seconds later.”

“Interesting that you were back in middle school. When we last spoke, you said the dreams started happening around your middle school age.”

“That’s the earliest I can remember.”

“And there’s nothing you can remember that caused the dreams to start back then?”

“I don’t think so. I was like any typical kid.”

“Did you get picked on?”

“Not out of the ordinary.”

“How about from teachers?”

Matthew shook his head. “No.”

“This next question is going to be a little odd, but I’m trying to find the root of the anger in your dreams.”

“Okay.”

“Were you ever molested?”

“Jesus, no.”

“Okay, but something, somewhere in your life, caused these dreams to start.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Dr. Stanley. I can’t think of anything.”

“May I suggest something?”

“Sure.”

“Sometimes when something happens that’s so traumatic, our brains shut off any memory of it to protect us.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that can happen.”

“Sometimes those memories are lost forever. It’s like our brain created a vault with a combination that could never be decoded. But there are other times when, through hypnosis, we can find out what the memory was protecting us from.”

“So if I’m hearing you correctly, you want to hypnotize me to see if something happened to me as a kid?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know about this. I don’t think I can be hypnotized. I mean, don’t you have to believe in stuff like that?”

“Hypnosis is really just an altered state of consciousness. There’s no magic or hocus pocus involved.”

Matthew shrugged his shoulders and said, “Okay. When?”

“How about now?”

“Now? Really?”

“No time better than the present.”

“I, uh, wasn’t prepared for this.”

“Would you feel better doing it tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’d like to talk with Sarah a little before I get hypnotized.”

“Okay, I understand. We’ll schedule for tomorrow at the same time.”

“Thanks, Dr. Stanley.”

Matthew stood up and left the office. Dr. Stanley wrote down more notes from the session and then put the notepad down and walked over to the window. He thought about Matthew’s dreams and what they could possibly mean. Something happened to him when he was younger, Dr. Stanley believed that for sure. What it was he couldn’t say, but that’s what he was hoping to find out. More importantly, Dr. Stanley wanted to know what Matthew’s dreams had to do with his own.

Thirty-two

Right before I woke up, I dreamed that I was kissing a woman. I wasn’t anyplace in particular, and the woman wasn’t any woman I knew. And frankly, the kiss was rather sloppy. That’s all I remembered about the dream because when I opened my eyes, Henry was licking my mouth, which happened to be open.

“Henry!”

“Wuff.”

He jumped back and wagged his tail.

“Ugh. Now my mouth tastes like dog saliva.”

He playfully spun around in a circle and jumped up and down, which looked more like a gallop because of his size. The floor shook slightly from his weight, and if someone had been downstairs they would have thought another human was jumping up and down.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and then quickly went to the bathroom and gurgled with mouthwash. He stood outside the bathroom door and looked like he was ready to play. His tail wagged hard, and he had a slight bend to his knees.

“Next time if you need something just bark.”

“Wuff, wuff.”

“So what do you want?”

“Wuff, wuff, wuff.”

“You’re not old enough to drink yet. But I have some kibble and water. How’s that?”

“Wuff, wuff.

He darted from my bedroom, and I heard his paws run along the hallway and then down the stairs. Before I followed him, I looked out the window and saw that it was still raining. Four days straight, and it didn’t look like it was letting up.

Downstairs, Henry inhaled the food I put in his bowl. He was really hungry, and I was really tired. After we’d left the hotel last night, we drove to Mr. Syrup’s apartment and waited for another hour in case he showed up. He didn’t, which we expected. We decided to put an undercover in the neighborhood for the next few days. But if he and whoever he was with were smart enough to outsmart us and ditch us at the hotel, he wouldn’t be dumb enough to return back his apartment.

The name he used when he called me, Jeremy Wilson, wasn’t a real name. The phone he used to call me turned out to be a TracFone that anyone could buy from any convenient store. The numbers weren’t traceable. Pat said she’d contact the property management company today to see who his apartment was leased to.

I still couldn’t believe that we fell for last night’s trick. Why go through the whole charade? Mr. Syrup had to have known that I wasn’t going to just leave him alone. If it was Dark’s idea, then he was trying to show us who was smarter. And if that was the case, he won round one. The one good thing for me was that people like Mr. Syrup couldn’t stay hidden for too long. He had a business to run, which meant he needed interaction with people. Once I put the word out that I was looking for him, it shouldn’t take too long to find him.

Henry finished the last of his food. He lifted his head and then went to his corner in the living room and laid down. He looked like if he had pants, he would unbutton the top button and fall asleep. Must be nice not having any responsibilities.

I was getting ready to make coffee when my phone rang. It was still early, so it meant that work was calling. I looked at the number and saw that it was from the station.

“Yeah, this is Jacob.”

“Hey Jacob, its Carl.”

“Uh oh, you calling this early isn’t good. I guess you aren’t calling to say that you’re bringing over waffles and eggs.”

“I wish. We found your boy from last night.”

My pulse quickened. “Mr. Syrup?”

“The one and the same.”

“That’s great news.”

“Hold your horses. I didn’t say how we found him.”

Shit. My head dipped. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Sorry, man. Shot execution style. Took one in the back of the head.”

I would have thrown my phone if I had an anger issue.

“So now I’m really back to square one.”

“We have uniforms canvasing the area and talking with people who live nearby. Maybe someone saw something.”

“Yeah, maybe. Thanks anyway. I’ll be in soon.”

We hung up, and I felt like an empty pit was in my stomach. So close, but yet so far away. Mr. Syrup was dead. Dark must not have trusted that we wouldn’t find him. So the number one question was: What now? Backtrack my steps. I knew that Dark liked the club scene, but he probably wouldn’t go back to the one from last night. I also knew that Dark knew Mr. Syrup, and given how often he called for new supplies, he was an addict. A light went off in my head. What do addicts do when they’ve lost their supplier? Find a new one.

I quickly grabbed my phone and dialed Turtle’s number. Four rings later, his groggy voice answered.

“Yo.”

“Turtle, it’s Jacob.”

“Jacob? What time is it?”

“Too early for you.”

“You couldn’t wait until this afternoon?”

“Right, so you can get your thirteen hours sleep.”

“Beauty needs its rest.”

“Then that means you’ve slept long enough.”

“Ha ha you should go on stage with that one.”

“Anyway, listen … Mr. Syrup is dead.”

That must have woken him up because his voice suddenly came to life.

“What?”

“I’ma come and pick you up.”

“Me, why?”

“Because, Dark’s an addict. His supplier is dead, so he’ll need another supplier.”

“So what’s that got to do with me?”

“Like you always say, you know everyone in the city. And if you don’t, you know everyone who knows everyone. I need to know where Dark will go next.”

“That could be anybody.”

“Could be. But think about it: You’re a serial killer, maybe even psychotic. Would you go to just anyone to get your stuff?”

Turtle blew out hard. “Okay, okay, I get your point. But Jacob, man, you’re about to go into a world that you don’t want to see.”

“Who do you think I work for, and in what city? I’ve seen just about everything. But if I don’t find this guy, more girls are going to die.”

“I understand. But picking me up now won’t do any good. These guys are nocturnal. They’re like vampires during the day, you just don’t see them. Scoop me up this evening and I’ll take you to a couple of places.”

I was about to protest, but I knew he was right. He knew these streets better than me, and that was saying something.

“Okay, seven o’clock. Be ready.”

“I will. And Jacob?”

“Yeah?”

“You suck.”

He hung up.

Damn kids.

Thirty-three

At the precinct, I was sitting at my desk looking over notes from the “Devil” case. The first body we found was in the basement of an apartment building. The woman was nearly naked and she was bound. The second woman was naked as well, but we knew that she was naked because she was in the shower. That’s where we believed he’d found her. We found tiny specs of blood on a couple of the tiles in the shower. Chances were she must have hit her head either from falling, or he’d struck her there. The third victim didn’t fit the mold of the first two in that he was a male. A very large male, which wasn’t the M.O. for most serial killers. They generally liked to prey on weaker people who wouldn’t put up a strong fight.

The one thing they all had in common were the wounds to the neck.

So far we hadn’t been able to find any fingerprints from the killer, which was strange to me, given that the wounds to the neck appeared to have been made by the killer’s hands. The most obvious reason would be that the killer wore gloves. The two women were not sexually assaulted, so there was no DNA left over from a possible rape. So this killer, much like Dark, was a faceless murderer as of now.

As I looked over the files, I kept wondering if these were random murders, or if the killer knew the victims. In Dark’s case, I at least knew that he was targeting girls as part of a sexual game. The Devil’s victims weren’t sexually assaulted, so at the very minimum, I could scratch off sex as a possible motive.

“Are you just as stumped as I am?” Pat’s voice came from behind me.

I turned around to find Pat turning on her computer.

“Didn’t hear you come in.”

“I saw you looking at those pictures. Trying to make the connection, right? Same here.”

“Yeah, I’m not getting it yet. They’re only scattered pieces to a puzzle.”

“So I was thinking last night. Couldn’t sleep for a while after getting humiliated by your boy Mr. Syrup. But we have two eyewitnesses who say this guy looked like a devil or a vampire, right?”

“That’s what they say.”

“And the one witness said he told her ‘I have come so that you will believe’.”

“Right.”

“Where else have you heard that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who else said something like that?”

My brain searched my memory bank for the answer, but it wasn’t coming.

“Jesus, hello,” Pat said.

“Sorry, I haven’t been to Sunday school in a long time.”

“I looked it up last night. The words aren’t exactly the same, but in John, Jesus said, ‘Now I have told you before it happens, so that when it happens, you may believe.’ The context is different, but the meaning is similar.”

“But the way he’s been described, this killer looks nothing like Jesus.”

“Right, but the devil is the antithesis to Jesus.”

“Okay. Keep going.”

“Christianity says that Jesus came so that all who believe in him would be saved.”

“You’re not about to start preaching, are you?”

“You wish. But if the reasoning for Jesus to come was for salvation, what’s this guy’s reasoning? What does he think we need to believe?”

“He’s a psycho. Who knows what he wants us to believe.”

“You’re not getting it.”

She sat in her chair and rolled it closer to me.

“Maybe to these victims, he’s giving them salvation.”

I shook my head, “Still not following.”

“For their sins,” Pat said.

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would the devil feel the need to offer salvation?”

“You’re thinking like a rational person. Think like an irrational person. If you think you’re the devil, what’s the one thing you want more than anything?”

“Power?”

“More than that.”

“Control?”

“Keep going.”

The light finally click on. I smiled, “To be God.”

“Jeesh, and it only took you ten minutes to figure that one out.”

“So you think this guy wants to be God?”

“I do. Or at least be like God.”

I sat back in my chair and thought about it. The rationale made sense, but how did it help us find the killer.

“I can read minds, Jacob. You’re probably thinking like, So what does all this mean?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s what I was thinking too. If a guy wants to be God where do we start?”

“Seems like a good question to ask.”

“It does. So I did a little digging into the pasts of our first two victims. Turns out they’re the same age.”

The wheels in my mind instantly started turning. I grabbed the file of the male victim and looked at his age.

“Thirty-five.”

“Right.”

“So they’re all the same age.”

“And can you take a guess at something else they have in common?”

I scanned all of their files. I think my mind was running too fast, because I wasn’t catching the common theme.

“At least the two women, at one time lived in Pennsylvania.”

“Really? I didn’t see it in the file.”

“You won’t. I haven’t had a chance to add it. After I had the revelation, no pun intended, I placed a call to the two victims’ parents. I had a feeling they’d be awake. I mean how could anyone sleep after finding out their child had been murdered. I asked just a couple of background questions, and both said that the girls went to a boarding school in Pennsylvania.”

“Really? Interesting.”

“I’d bet my next paycheck that the guy found in the trail went to the same boarding school.”

“Only one way to find out.”

“One step ahead of you. I placed a call to his girlfriend, and she said we can come and talk to her this morning. She didn’t want to talk over the phone.”

“Good work. And I thought that Henry French kissing me was going to be the light of the morning.”

“Okay, that’s gross, Jacob.”

“Wasn’t intentional.”

“Still.”

We had a quick laugh, but it was short lived when Captain Hellsworth came over. He had bags under his eyes, and his hair was disheveled.

“Damn, Captain, you need a vacation,” I said. “Didn’t get much sleep?”

“Wait until you get my age, Jacob. The wife’s been hounding about this and that around the house. She’s acting like I’m still in my twenties. Anyway, we got another victim. An older gentleman was killed during the night. A friend came by and found his body in the kitchen.”

“Let me guess, his neck was thrashed?”

“Sounds like your guy was busy again last night.”

“Shit.”

“Jacob, we need to find this guy. Soon the press will be all over this thing. Do what you gotta do, but find this guy, okay?”

Captain Hellsworth walked away.

“So how does an old guy fit into your theory?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Looks like our day just became that much more interesting.”

Thirty-four

“James Stewart, Ph.D.” I said.

His doctoral diploma was on a wall over a small wooden desk, and his home office didn’t appear as though anyone went through it.

“Do we know what he was a Ph.D. of?”

“Former teacher,” Pat said. “The friend who found him told one of the officers. He lives a few houses down the block.”

I made a mental note to talk to the friend once we left the house. I looked around the office before retuning back to the kitchen where Mr. Stewart’s body still lay. Crime scene technicians were taking pictures of the body and the surroundings. So far, the only thing we knew was that Mr. Stewart was a seventy-two-year-old widower who lived alone, and that he was a retired teacher.

As I looked over the body, the only thing that kept coming to mind was what Pat said, that the first two victims went to a boarding school in Pennsylvania. Now we had a dead former teacher. What were the odds?

“How much of that paycheck do you want to bet that he was a teacher at the same boarding school of the first two victims?”

“So our killer could have been either a student or another teacher there?” Pat said.

“Could have been anyone. But it looks like these killings may not be as random as we thought.”

“Revenge?” Pat said.

“Possibly.”

“Jealousy?”

I nodded.

“The thing that causes me to pause is why wait so long to plot revenge against someone?”

“Look at what we’re dealing with here. The guy walks around looking like a vampire. We’re not talking about a normal psyche. And revenge and jealousy might not even be the reason for the murders.”

“He didn’t just pick their names out of a hat. If this teacher taught at the same boarding school, then the school is the link. Something must have happened there.”

We looked around a little longer and then went to visit the friend who found Mr. Stewart’s body. He was a wreck, as we might have expected. His hand visibly shook when I extended mine for a greeting. He looked to be about Mr. Stewart’s age.

“How could this happen?”

“If we could come in and talk for a few minutes, that’d be helpful to our investigation.”

He led us into a cozy living room.

“Mr. Harper, correct?” I asked.

“Yes, Craig Harper.”

Mr. Harper motioned for us to sit down.

“I’d offer you something to drink, but that’s what I was planning on getting with Jim. We were supposed to go grocery shopping this morning.”

“That’s why you went by his house?”

Mr. Harper nodded.

His voice was shaky, and at times almost inaudible.

“Were you two neighbors for a long time?”

“Over fifteen years. We were there for each other when our wives passed.”

“Sorry to be coming at such a difficult time.”

He nodded and then wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

“Did Mr. Stewart mention anything about anyone harassing him?”

“No. Jim was well liked and well known in the neighborhood.”

“I saw in his room he received his Ph.D. Do you know in what?”

“Theology. He taught theology for over twenty-five years.”

I looked at Pat—the devil character was starting to make a little more sense.

“Where did he teach?”

“St. Luke’s Academy.”

“In Pennsylvania?”

“Yes, that’s right. He retired about a month ago.”

“So did he live here and in Pennsylvania?”

“He did. He’s originally from the D.C. area and wanted to keep his roots here. But he worked in Pennsylvania, so most of the time he’d come to D.C. on the weekends or during holidays.”

“What can you tell us about Mr. Stewart?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what you want to know. He was a quiet guy. He kept to himself for the most part. I know that he wasn’t too thrilled about retiring, but a lot of workaholics are like that.”

I picked on Mr. Harper’s tone when he said the word thrilled.

“Did he not want to retire?”

“Truth? No, he didn’t. The school offered him a very generous retirement package. They approached him, not the other way around.”

“Did he try and stay?” Pat asked.

“He didn’t put up much of a fight. He saw the writing on the wall years ago. The school came under new management, and said management wanted the school to become younger, if you know what I mean.”

I nodded.

“Did Mr. Stewart ever talk about any other teachers, former students, anything like that?”

“Not in detail. He loved teaching and mentoring kids. The older kids he could get a little more philosophical with, and the younger ones it was more like a Bible school for them.”

“What about the devil? Did Mr. Stewart talk about the devil much?” I asked.

Mr. Harper’s eyes widened. “Why would you ask that?”

“Just something I’m trying to work out in my head.”

“We’ve talked about the devil.”

“Did he believe in the devil?”

“Very much so.”

“Do you know if he taught about the devil?”

“These are strange questions, Detective.”

“Frankly, Mr. Harper, this is a strange case.”

Mr. Harper let out a deep breath of air. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m sure the school has rules about what he could and couldn’t teach.”

“I’m sure they do.”

I motioned for Pat that we were about to leave. As we stood up, Mr. Harper said something that almost caused me to sit down again.

“There was something that Jim told me about the school.”

Mr. Harper’s eyes shifted between me and Pat, and then he looked toward the floor. He pushed his hands in his pocket and slouched his shoulders.

“He had an affair.”

“Really?” I said.

“No one knew. He told me because it was eating him up inside.”

“When did this happen?”

“Years ago. Before his wife passed away.”

“Who was she? Another faculty member?”

“No. A student. A senior. She was eighteen.”

“Did he give a name?”

“No. Just that it lasted for a few months, and then she graduated and went off to college.”

Pat and I thanked him for taking the time to speak with us. I gave him my card in case he thought of anything else.

In the car, Pat said, “You thinking one of the victims was the girl he had an affair with?”

“That was the first thing that crossed my mind.”

I put the car in gear and pulled away from Mr. Harper’s house. In my head, I thought that if this were a trivia game and the question was asked, “What does a teacher, the devil, and an affair have in common?” and I answered, “I don’t know,” I’d win the grand prize.

Thirty-five

It’d been a few hours since Matthew Gray was in Dr. Stanley’s office. After he left, he immediately called Sarah Adams and told her that they needed to talk. She told him that they could meet at her place, and that she’d be there when he arrived.

When she opened the door, Sarah was wearing a pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and it didn’t appear to Matthew that she’d been out of the house. He stepped through the doorway and gave her a light kiss on the cheek before moving to the kitchen.

“Didn’t go into the office today?” Matthew asked.

“No. I need to go through case files. Plus two of my clients cancelled on me, so I figured I’d just work from home.”

Matthew nodded and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“What’s up?” Sarah asked.

“Dr. Stanley wants to hypnotize me. He thinks he can find the root of the dreams that way.”

“Okay, great. Are you worried about something?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I want him in my head like that. Freaks me out.”

“What are you worried about? Think there’s something that he may find out that you won’t like?”

Matthew shook his head, “No, not at all.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know. Hypnosis? Do you really think that’ll help?”

“Sure. If you’re having trouble remembering something, hypnosis is a way for us to hurdle over that mental block and find the cause of the problem.”

Sarah walked over to Matthew’s side and leaned against the counter. Her right arm touched his left arm, and she nudged his mid-section with her elbow.

“What’s really going on here? You can’t be this worried about being hypnotized?”

Matthew hesitated before speaking again. He looked over at Sarah and then allowed his eyes to look at the floor.

“What does blood smell like?”

“Blood? I don’t know. Why?”

“Have you ever tasted your own blood? Like from a cut or something?”

“That’s gross. What are we, like five?”

“I’m serious.”

“Not lately I haven’t. No. Why, have you?”

“No.”

“So what’s with the blood questions? Thinking of turning into a vampire?”

She smiled, but when she saw that Matthew didn’t smile back, she became serious.

“Okay, so what’s with the blood questions?”

Matthew thought about the morning he’d looked at himself in the mirror and the smell of his hands. Something was different about him that he couldn’t explain. And he’d been thinking about the question that kept coming back to him in his dreams. What do you do when you look into the mirror and the reflection looking back isn’t you? What did it all mean? He wasn’t sure. But something within him wasn’t right.

“The other day I think I smelled blood on my hands,” his voice was soft and low.

“What do you mean blood? Like your blood?”

He looked into Sarah’s eyes, “No. Not mine.”

“Then whose?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it a morning after you had a bad dream?”

Matthew nodded, “Yes.”

“Was there blood in the dream?”

Matthew rubbed his hands through his hair and exhaled, “I don’t remember.”

“You know at times dreams can be so powerful that the mind thinks they’re real. If there was blood in your dream, your brain could have been reminiscing the scent when you raised your hands to your nose.”

“It’s not just the blood smell. Within me, something doesn’t seem right.”

“Did you tell this to Dr. Stanley?”

“No.”

Sarah sighed and then stepped away from Matthew.

“Jesus, Matt. I told you that I can’t be your therapist. There are some things that we shouldn’t talk about. I’m too connected to you.”

“But I feel more comfortable talking to you.”

“Matt, Dr. Stanley is good at what he does. Frankly, he’s one of the best.”

“But I don’t know him.”

“Precisely. He’s a third party. An outside consciousness. With him, there’ll be no biases. With me, there would be.”

“Fine,” Matthew said as he moved away from the counter and stood under the kitchen light fixture in the middle of the room. “Just tell me one thing.”

Sarah sighed again. “Okay, what?”

“If you looked into a mirror and the reflection looking back wasn’t you, what would you do?”

Sarah hesitated before answering. “Is that what’s happening to you?”

Matthew lowered his head, “No. But it’s what I keep hearing in my dream.”

“What does it mean to you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know. But I think something’s trying to tell me something?”

“Something, or someone?”

“Both maybe?”

“Okay, Matt, you’re kinda freaking me out here.”

“You’re freaked out? How do you think I feel?”

They both stayed quiet for a few seconds. Sarah turned around and looked out the kitchen window. The window had a view of an oversized front yard that had a large oak tree with thick green leaves. The lawn was perfectly manicured. Matthew followed Sarah’s gaze out of the window, and a random thought popped into his head about what it’d be like to climb to the top of the tree. And then he wondered if he did climb to the top, would Sarah follow him?

He reached out for Sarah’s arm. When she felt his touch, she turned around and smiled, caressing the back of his hand with hers.

“I need your help, Sarah. You’re the only one I trust.”

“I know. It’s kinda always been like that between us.”

“It has.”

“I’ll talk to Dr. Stanley and see if he doesn’t mind if I’m in the room with you.”

“I’d feel much more comfortable if you were there.”

He pulled her close, and she rested her face on his chest.

“I love you, Sarah.”

“I know. I love you too, Matt.”

She looked up at him, and instantly he felt a comfort overcome him. They smiled at each other before embracing in a passionate kiss.

“We’ll get through this,” Sarah said.

“You and me together.”

“That’s how it’s always been.”

Thirty-six

We decided to make the two-hour trek up to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. I wasn’t sure what to expect given that this could be the place where a possible serial killer was from, but driving through the campus gave me the feeling that this was an everyday, ordinary institution for learning. The grass was beautifully manicured and the buildings appeared well kept. We reached the main building, which looked more like an ancient Catholic monastery where the walls were made of large beige, grey, and brown stones. Mrs. Walters, the school’s secretary, met us in the building’s lobby and then led us to the principal’s office. We’d told Mrs. Walters ahead of time what happened to James Stewart; she was devastated, and she cried over the phone.

“I still can’t believe it,” Mrs. Walters said.

We stood outside the office of a Mr. Patrick Raymond. He was on the phone, and when he saw us, he motioned that he’d be right with us.

Mrs. Walters held a handkerchief in her hand and placed it under her nose every few seconds.

“Jim was such a good man.”

Her eyes were red and puffy.

“I told him that he should have stayed up here after he retired. D.C. is such a violent place.”

Pat and I looked at each other but decided not to defend our city.

“We’re going to do everything we can to find the person responsible,” I said kindly.

“Poor Jim,” she said as she placed the handkerchief under her nose again.

Mr. Raymond cleared his throat as he stood from behind his desk. He waved us in and then buttoned up his suit jacket. He was a middle aged-man with dark hair that didn’t look like its natural color.

“Detectives, thanks for coming up from D.C. We’re all devastated at the news.”

He shook our hands and then motioned for us to sit down.

“Thanks for taking the time to talk with us.”

“Anything we can do to help.”

He sat down behind his desk.

“Can you tell us a little about Mr. Stewart’s time here?”

“Well, I’ve only been the principal here for about three and a half years. But during my time, he’s been one of the more pleasurable people to be around.”

“Who was the principal before you?”

“Sharon Duncan. She was here almost as long as Jim.”

“Still in the area?”

“Sure. I’ll get her contact info for you before you leave.”

“So, in the three and a half years that you were here, did Mr. Stewart ever have altercations with any of the staff or students?”

“Jim? No, he was a saint. Guess that’s why he taught our religious courses.”

“Ever hear any rumblings about something that could have happened before you were here?”

“Like gossip? No, I try my best to make sure the staff doesn’t involve themselves in anything like that. We’re around kids all day, so it’s easy to get caught up in the entire he-said-she-said kinda thing.”

“Sometimes gossip offers the best leads,” Pat said.

“Sorry, Detective, I haven’t heard anything. But please feel free to talk to some of the staff who knew him best. Maybe they could help.”

“We will, thanks,” I replied.

“Just out of curiosity, do you think Jim’s murder is in any way related to the school?”

“I don’t know. We’re just trying to get background information right now.”

I decided not to bring up the other victim’s names or the affair that Mr. Harper mentioned.

“So, Mr. Stewart taught religion?”

“Yes. One of the few benefits of running a private school is that we get the option to teach religion. Some of the kids scoff at it, but others really enjoy it.”

“Do you mind if I ask what is taught?’

“Like the curriculum? Uh, Bible, religious history, religious philosophy, and the social dynamics.”

“Do any of those classes discuss the devil?”

“The devil? Only in the context of the scriptures. We don’t go out of our way to talk about the devil, if that’s what you mean.”

“In your time here, have you had any issues with any of the kids playing out or acting out like the devil?”

“I’m not sure I’m following your line of questioning.”

“There’s a possibility that whoever murdered Mr. Stewart thinks or believes that he’s the devil.”

“So you know who did this?”

“No, we don’t. But we have a witness to another crime that may be linked to this one.”

Mr. Raymond slumped back in his chair and rubbed his hand over his hair.

“As long as I’ve been here we haven’t had any problems with kids acting out in such a manner.”

I nodded and wrote down notes. We talked for a few more minutes and then stood up to leave. As we left the office, Mrs. Walters stood in the hallway with an elderly woman who, at first glance, reminded me of my grandmother. Her skin was dark and smooth, and her hair was as white as snow. She couldn’t have been taller than about five feet, and she was as thin as a pin, but by her straight posture and the authority she had when she stuck out her hand, I knew she was much stronger than she looked.

“This is Ms. Millie Dee,” Mrs. Walters said. “She’s been with the school longer than most of us here. She may be able to give you some information about the school.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it. Mr. Raymond said that he’d give us the contact information for a Ms. Sharon Duncan.”

“I know Sharon,” Ms. Dee said. “If you need her, I can take you to her.”

“Even better,” I replied.

“Thanks, Donna,” Ms. Dee said to Mrs. Walters. “I can take it from here.”

Mrs. Walters walked away with the same handkerchief in her hand.

“How’d Jim die?” Ms. Dee asked bluntly.

“He was murdered,” I said.

“And you think it may be connected to the school?”

“We don’t know.”

Ms. Dee turned around and started walking. She didn’t walk fast, and as a matter of fact I had to shorten my strides just so I wouldn’t walk ahead of her. She led us down a long hallway that was filled with cases of trophies and art.

“You’ve been here a long time?” I asked.

“Thirty years come this spring.”

“What do you do for the school?”

“Whatever they need me to do.”

Pat and I looked at each other, and I immediately thought that if my grandmother had a twin in personality, Ms. Dee was it. The hallway took us to a set of glass doors that led to an outdoor patio with furniture that could have been in any home and garden magazine.

“Have a seat,” she said.

We sat down on a cushioned bench, but she continued standing.

“You’re not going to sit?” Pat asked.

“Nope. I like to stand.”

“Mr. Raymond wasn’t able to give us too much information since he’d only been here for a couple of years,” I said. “Is there anything you can tell us about Mr. Stewart?”

“What do you want to know?”

“What was he like?”

“A good guy. Very smart. The kids liked him, and he taught them well.”

“What about other faculty? Did he get along with them?”

“Yep.”

“Was he ever worried for his life?”

“If he was, we never knew.”

“Let’s go back a few years. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Does anything or anyone stick out in your memory who would want to harm him?”

Ms. Dee looked at me, and it seemed as though she was looking into my eyes, searching for a truth. She smiled when she figured something out.

“You already know.”

“Know what?”

“About the affair.”

Pat and I looked at each other and then back to Ms. Dee.

“Does everyone know?” I asked.

“Nope. Only a couple of people.”

“Could any of those people have a reason to kill him?”

“Only if the killer came out of a geriatrics convention.”

“I’m not following?”

“That affair happened back in nineteen ninety-eight. Seventeen years ago. The few people who know are either too old or too dead to do any real damage.”

“How’d it get discovered?”

“It’s not rocket science. An eighteen year old having an affair with a fifty-something-year-old man. The way they looked at each other and interacted, how could anyone not know? Sharon Duncan approached him about it. She knew his wife. The only reason he didn’t lose his job was because of his wife. Sharon didn’t want her to know, so she handled it in-house.”

“The girl’s parents never found out?”

“No, she was of legal age.”

“Do you remember the girl’s name?”

“I don’t. But Sharon would. She talked to her back then.”

“And you said you can take us to see Ms. Duncan?”

“Yep. I called and told her what happened and that you were here. She’s expecting us.”

“Can we see her now?”

“Don’t see why not.”

Thirty-seven

Sharon Duncan lived twenty minutes away from the boarding school in a small white bungalow with a white picket fence wrapped around the front yard. When we pulled to the front of the house, an elderly woman sat on a rocking chair on the front porch. She had a little dark color mixed in with her grey hair. She smiled and waved when the car came to a stop.

“That’s Sharon,” Ms. Dee said.

“She looks comfortable,” Pat said.

“Sweetest woman I know.”

It wasn’t raining in Pennsylvania, but the sky was overcast, and I was sure they’d be getting our rain sometime soon. When we reached the porch, there were four glasses sitting on a small wooden coffee table filled with what looked like lemonade. Ms. Duncan’s smile widened as she stood up to give Ms. Dee a hug. After their greeting, Ms. Duncan turned and extended her hand.

“Detectives, I’m Sharon Duncan.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “My name is Detective Hayden, and this is Detective Jennings.”

“I hope you’re thirsty from that long trip from D.C. I made us some lemonade.”

“Looks refreshing.”

There were three other wooden rocking chairs on the porch that were pulled over close to Ms. Duncan.

“Please, everyone have a seat.”

We did, and then Ms. Duncan’s demeanor changed slightly. The smile she wore on her face went away and in its place came a slight frown.

“I understand that Jim Stewart was murdered last night.”

“Yes, he was.”

“And the only reason you’d be up here is because you think the school might be related in some way.”

“We aren’t sure. But any information you can give us on his past would be helpful.”

“Where do you want to start? I knew Jim over twenty years. Most pleasant, some not so pleasant.”

“Let’s start with the not so pleasant. We understand that he had an affair with a student.”

Ms. Duncan nodded, “Yes, he did.”

“Do you remember her name?”

“I do. Elizabeth Rawlings. We called her Liz.”

Strike one, I immediately thought. She wasn’t one of the two female victims killed by our mysterious devil character.

“How’d you find out about the affair?”

“By an anonymous student. Someone put a note in my inbox at school. All faculty have inboxes. I came in one morning and saw a handwritten note that said they knew about the affair.”

“And you’re sure it was a student? It wasn’t another faculty member?”

She shook her head, “No. It was written like a student. But it didn’t matter either way. When I asked Jim about it, he admitted to the affair. He said that it had been weighing on his conscience and he was having a hard time sleeping because of it.”

“Why wasn’t he fired?”

“In hindsight, he should have been. I was close with his wife and I knew they were in a tight financial situation. She wasn’t working, and if he had been fired, they might have lost everything.”

“What about Liz?” Pat asked. “What happened with her?”

“We talked with her. She was eighteen, so we didn’t have to inform her parents. Plus, her father was a graduate of St. Luke’s and was a large financial contributor. Had I brought this to the board and her parents found out, we would have lost his backing.”

“So how was Mr. Stewart reprimanded?”

“Docked two weeks’ pay. He told Sandra, his wife, that he was donating a paycheck to a charitable cause.”

“Sounds like he got off scot-free,” Pat said.

“Maybe. But he knew that I knew what he had done, and he never looked at me the same after that. Imagine how he felt whenever Sandra and I hung out, or I came over to his house.”

Pat rolled her eyes, and I could tell she wanted to say something else but decided against it.

“And the student who gave you the note,” I said. “Did you ever find out who it was?”

“I had a suspicion, but no, I never found out.”

“Okay, besides the affair, does anything else stand out during your tenure at the school? Were there any incidents that Mr. Stewart may have been involved in?”

Ms. Duncan and Ms. Dee looked at each other in a way that said, “Should I say something or you?” But they didn’t say anything. There was an awkward silence between us all for a few seconds, and I’d been around long enough to know that when silence is that awkward, there’s usually something loud that needs to be said.

“Do the names Rachel Melton or Michele Underway ring any bells?” Pat asked.

The two women looked at each other again with the same look they’d shared a few seconds earlier.

“Yes, they do,” Ms. Duncan said. “Why’d you bring up their names?”

“They were both murdered. We think the same person who killed James Stewart may have killed them as well.”

“That’s the link to the school,” I said. “That’s why we’re here. Three people from this school have been murdered in the past forty-eight hours.”

“Dear God,” Ms. Duncan said.

“There’s another victim,” Pat said. “A Scott Tremble.”

Without them saying anything, I knew that Scott Tremble was the fourth link. The faces of both women nearly turned pale.

“I don’t understand,” Ms. Duncan said. “Why them?”

“We don’t know,” I said. “That’s why we’re here. Who were they?”

“They were good kids,” Ms. Dee interjected.

“When were they students here?”

“They came here in the mid-nineties,” Ms. Duncan said. “Most of them stayed until they graduated.”

“Mid-nineties?” I said. “That was twenty years ago. Why do their names stick out over the thousands of others who passed through?”

“Certain kids just have that way of sticking out.”

“Were they a clique? Did they stick together?”

“Not in the least. They obviously knew each other from being in the same school since middle school years, but I don’t think they were friends.”

There’s a sports commentator on the ESPN network that always says, if it looks like a duck, and sounds like a duck, then it’s not a mongoose. Something wasn’t adding up with their answers.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but we have four people from this school who have been murdered, and you expect me to believe that they weren’t friends?”

They didn’t say anything.

“And isn’t it a little astounding that all of the victims ended up in D.C.? I mean, what’re the odds of four people from Pennsylvania who attended or worked at the same school being murdered in the same city a couple hundred miles away?”

Ms. Duncan took a second to look at all of us and then looked down to the full lemonade glasses.

“If you don’t mind, Detectives, I think I’m going to need to replace the lemonade with something a little stronger.”

“Glad you said it,” Ms. Dee said. “Because I sure enough was thinking it.”

Ms. Duncan stood up. “Why don’t you be a dear and bring in the lemonade. I’ve got something inside that I’d like to show you.”

She turned and headed for the front door.

Pat and I looked at each other, and if I were a mind reader, I would bet she was thinking that this should be good. Because that’s exactly what I was thinking.

Thirty-eight

The inside of Ms. Duncan’s home was quaint and had the cottage feel that one might expect from a bungalow. The rooms were small and the furniture looked even smaller. Pictures of different parts of the campus were blown up and framed as artwork on the walls. The floors were natural-colored wood, and the walls sported wainscoting and crown molding.

We took a seat on the living room couches, and Ms. Duncan went into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of white Moscato wine.

“I know you both are on duty, so I won’t ask if you want some.”

She poured two glasses full for Ms. Dee and herself.

“So, if I may ask, Detectives,” Ms. Duncan said, “why do you think the murders are all connected?”

“Because of the way they were killed,” Pat responded.

“And how was that?”

“Their necks were thrashed in the same manner.”

The conversation paused as Ms. Duncan and Ms. Dee took in the manner of the murders.

“Do you recall any students or faculty who may have suffered from some kind of delusion?” I said. “Any kind of brain dysfunction?”

“No, we don’t get those kinds of students at the boarding school. Generally, the state provides programs or assistance for the mentally challenged in public schools, or the parents send them to specialty schools where they can receive the best education for their condition.”

“And other faculty?”

“Not during my tenure.”

“And not in recent years,” Ms. Dee said.

Then why the devil? I thought. Clearly, anyone who dressed up in the manner that the witnesses described must be delusional. Unless … never mind. Impossible. The devil isn’t real.

“Ms. Duncan, you said you had something to show us?”

“Yes,” she said.

She stood up and left the room. A minute or so later, she returned with three yearbooks.

“There’s no smoking gun here,” she said.

Ms. Duncan turned to various pages in the three yearbooks, which showed students in different activities. The first one she pointed out was a photo of a high school football game, and next to the photo was another photo of a young jock kneeling down in a pose in his football gear holding his helmet in his hand.

“That’s Scott. He was captain of the football team and the star quarterback.”

In the crease between the pages was a newspaper article that Ms. Duncan unfolded.

“That game Scott threw five touchdowns and ran for one himself. That was a school record that’s still on the books today. No other quarterback has come close to doing what Scott did.”

“He was the star athlete?”

“One of the best that’s ever come through the school.”

She put that yearbook down and picked up another one. She flipped through pages until she came to one with a young girl with jet-black hair and wearing black clothes with black lipstick. The gothic look. She stood next to a locker and looked as though she was annoyed that someone was taking a picture of her.

“That’s Rachel. Totally different extreme from Scott. She hung with the punk rockers. Looking at her, you would never know that she had a gift for painting. Some of her artwork still hangs on the school’s walls and others have been sold around the world.”

Rachel Melton was the second woman murdered. The lady I’d seen on the bed looked totally different from the young girl on the page.

Ms. Duncan then grabbed the third yearbook and skimmed a few pages until she landed on the one she wanted. She turned to a page with a group of kids in white lab coats standing next to a man of obese dimension who was holding up a large check in the amount of fifty thousand dollars.

“The blond girl in the middle is Michele. She was part of a team of student scientists who invented a robotic skeletal spine that, when fused with the human spine, could make someone who lost the ability to walk, walk again.”

“Incredible,” I said.

“Genius more like it,” Ms. Duncan said.

I grabbed all three yearbooks and looked at the pictures that Ms. Duncan showed us. Three students from the same school, yet totally different in student dynamics. A jock, a goth, and a brainiac. What were the chances they would have been friends or hung around each other? If I thought about my days in high school, I’d say the chances were slim.

“Would all of them have gone through any of Mr. Stewart’s classes?” I asked.

Ms. Duncan nodded, “Yes.”

“They were around the same age. Maybe that’s the connection. They were all in the same class together.”

“Even if that were the case,” Ms. Duncan said, “why twenty years later would someone kill them in such a manner?”

The million dollar question, I thought.

“Would the school still have records of which students were in certain classes from back then?”

“Yes. Everything is stored electronically as well as on paper. But the paper records are stored in an offsite facility.”

I looked to Ms. Dee, “If you can get us access to the electronic records, that’d be great. Maybe something’s there that could point us in the right direction.”

“I’ll talk to Mr. Raymond, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“This begs a disturbing question,” Ms. Duncan said. “Do you think that more alum from the school are targets too?”

“I don’t know. Could they have been targeted for a specific reason, or is this lunatic just going after anyone, and they happened to be a coincidence?”

“Seems unlikely to be a coincidence,” Ms. Dee said.

“It does. But as investigators, we have to ask all questions and leave no doubt for anything.”

“We were a part of the school,” Ms. Duncan said. “Could we be next?”

I exhaled and was slow to answer. I’d been thinking the same thing ever since we arrived.

“We don’t know. But just to be safe, before we leave, I’m going to speak with the detective in charge of this county and urge him to place uniforms in the neighborhood until we can catch this guy.”

Both Ms. Dee and Ms. Duncan looked at each other, and the paleness that overcame them when we told them about the murders and the possible connection to the school returned.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Ms. Duncan said.

“We’re working hard to find out who’s doing this. The more information we have, the better our chances are of catching him. And from my experience, everyone at some point makes a mistake and slips up.”

She grabbed her glass of wine and took a big sip, which could almost be categorized as a gulp.

“Lastly, before we leave. Do you recall any students or faculty that had any kind of fascination with the devil?”

“The devil?”

Ms. Duncan and Ms. Dee looked at each other as if they were mentally searching the other’s memory banks.

“I don’t think so,” Ms. Duncan responded. “Why the devil?”

I didn’t want to worry them any more than I already had, so I decided not to tell them about the devil detail.

“Just an angle that we’re working on.”

We handed them our cards and asked them to call if they thought of anything else.

“Do you mind if I hold on to the yearbooks? I’ll take good care of them.”

“Please,” Ms. Duncan said. “I don’t know what you’d find, but if it helps, by all means take them.”

I scooped up the yearbooks, and Pat and I turned to leave. As we left, I heard Ms. Dee say to Ms. Duncan, “I think I’m staying here tonight.”

Thirty-nine

The lights in the office were off. The mini blinds were turned so that they were partially closed, and because of the cloudy day, it made the room a little darker than normal. Matthew Gray sat slouched on the couch as per instructed by Dr. Stanley.

“I want you to be as relaxed as possible,” Dr. Stanley said.

To Dr. Stanley’s left, Sarah Adams sat with a notepad on her lap and a pen in hand. Dr. Stanley had agreed to let Sarah sit in on the session because Sarah was a colleague, and because he knew through their conversations that Matthew would be more comfortable if she was there.

“How do you feel?” Dr. Stanley asked.

“Fine.”

“For the record, you are knowingly allowing me to hypnotize you, correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.

“Okay, then. Let’s begin. I want you to look at my forehead and focus on a spot in the middle of my forehead.”

Dr. Stanley noticed that Matthew’s eyes went to his forehead and that he was looking at a particular spot.

“The more you stare at that spot, the more you’ll feel your body start to relax. And you’ll also notice that my voice will become more relaxing.”

Matthew’s continued staring at the middle of Dr. Stanley’s forehead.

“Focus on that spot, Matthew. Your entire body is beginning to relax.”

Dr. Stanley noticed that Matthew’s body was starting to slouch a little more on the sofa.

“As you focus on that spot, your eyes are beginning to get heavier and heavier.”

Matthew’s eyelids were slowly starting to close.

“Soon your eyelids will become so heavy they’ll be impossible to open.”

Matthew’s eyelids closed even more.

“Now, as I count backward from five to one, on the number one your eyelids will be so heavy that you won’t be able to open them.”

Matthew’s eyelids were nearly closed.

“Five, four … your eyes are relaxing more … three, two, one.”

Dr. Stanley snapped his fingers, and Matthew’s eyelids were completely closed.

“Your eyelids are stuck shut until I tell you to open them.”

Matthew’s eyelids remained shut.

“The more you try to open them, the more stuck shut they will be.”

Dr. Stanley looked over to Sarah and nodded, and Sarah wrote notes on her notepad.

“Now, Matthew, when I touch your shoulder, your whole body will be loose and limp.”

Dr. Stanley leaned over and touched Matthew’s shoulder, and Matthew’s body slouched even more. The command he gave was a test and also an instruction to let Matthew’s psyche know that he was in charge.

“Matthew, do you know where you are?”

“Yes, in your office.”

“Good. Let’s go back to when you were twelve years old, before the dreams started occurring. What’s your earliest memory?”

Matthew’s brows started scrunching, and his eyes moved from left to right underneath his eyelids.

“I … I … don’t know.”

“A simple memory. Maybe you were playing outside, or your mother was making cookies.”

“I don’t see anything.”

Dr. Stanley looked over and saw Sarah taking down notes.

“Okay, then, what’s the earliest memory that comes to mind?”

Matthew’s eyes continued moving underneath his eyelids. Finally they stopped, and a smile came across his face.

“I remember meeting a new friend at the playground.”

“Do you remember how old you were?’

“I don’t know. I think I was twelve or thirteen.”

“What were you and the friend doing?”

“Throwing the Frisbee.”

“Do you know if this was before or after the dreams?”

Matthew shook his head, “I don’t remember.”

“Okay, what’s your friend’s name?”

“I don’t know. He never told me his name.”

“Did you tell him yours?”

“I did.”

“Were your parents around?”

“I don’t see them.”

“How long were you throwing the Frisbee?”

“I don’t know. For a while.”

“Did you do anything else?”

“I don’t think so. I only remember throwing the Frisbee.”

“Okay, you’re back in my office now. You’re not at the playground any longer.”

Dr. Stanley cleared his throat.

“Do you remember when the dreams started happening?”

Matthew nodded, “Yes.”

“Okay, we’ll go to that time. What’s your earliest memory right before the dreams started happening?”

“I remember I was at the park again. The park was across the street from where I lived. My new friend was there. I asked him if he had the Frisbee, and he said he didn’t. He looked like he had been crying.”

“Why do you think that?”

“His eyes were puffy and red.”

“Did you ask him if he’d been crying?”

“No. I asked him if he was okay.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing at first. He was sitting and plucking at the grass.”

Dr. Stanley nodded, “Okay, what happened next?”

“He finally looked up at me and asked if I thought he was fat?”

“Fat? What’d you say?”

“I told him I didn’t think he was. I told him sometimes on TV they call people big-boned. That’s what I thought he was.”

“So he was a big kid?”

Matthew nodded.

“Okay, what happened next?”

“He said that sometimes he wished that he wasn’t living.”

“Really? And he was your age?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me.”

“Do you know his name by now?”

“Not now.”

“Okay, what else happened?”

“He told me things. He said that he’d done things; things that he didn’t like to do.”

Dr. Stanley looked over at Sarah, and she was now looking at Matthew. Her eyes were transfixed on him.

“What things did he tell you he did?” Dr. Stanley asked.

“I can’t say. He made me promise.”

Dr. Stanley curled his lips. He couldn’t help thinking that this kid may be the root of the dreams.

“Were the things he did bad?”

Matthew nodded.

“After he told you, did it make you mad?”

“No, I wasn’t mad.”

“How did you feel?”

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

Matthew didn’t answer.

“Afraid of what, Matthew?”

“That he could do the same thing to me.”

Dr. Stanley hesitated for a second and then told Matthew that he was now back in his office again.

“Matthew, you mentioned that you had a friend right before the dreams started happening. Do you remember your friend?”

“Vaguely.”

“You said that your friend told you a secret. Do you remember what he told you?”

Matthew nodded, “No, I don’t remember.”

“When’s the last time you saw your friend?”

Matthew’s eyes started moving back and forth under his eyelids again.

“I think I was fifteen.”

“Okay, go back to that place when you were fifteen. Do you see your friend?”

“I do.”

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s walking.”

“Where’s he walking to?”

“Into the woods. There’s a creek where we used to go and throw rocks.”

“Is he going to the creek?”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to catch up to him.”

“Do you know his name yet?”

“No, he never told me his name.”

“Okay, did you ever catch up to him?”

“Yes, I kept saying, hey, hey, and he finally turned around.”

“Did you ask him what he was doing?”

“Yes, he said that he was going into the woods to hide something.”

“What did he hide?”

Matthew didn’t answer again.

“Matthew, do you know what he went to hide?”

“Yes. A gun.”

Dr. Stanley abruptly paused. He looked over at Sarah, and her eyes were staring at Matthew. The expression on her face appeared as though she wanted to cry for him.

“Did he hide the gun?” Dr. Stanley asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you know where he hid the gun?”

Matthew’s eyes started fluttering underneath his eyelids. His calm breathing started to change to more rapid breaths.

“Matthew, do you know where he hid the gun?”

Matthew’s jaws started to tighten, and the veins in his neck began bulging through the skin. His normal pinkish white skin started turning red.

“Matthew?” Sarah gasped. “Dr. Stanley, what’s wrong with him?”

“His memory is fighting against his subconscious. I’d better bring him out.”

Dr. Stanley leaned up in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees.

“Matthew, when I count backward from five to one, you’ll start to feel your eyelids lighten up and become lighter to the point that you will open your eyes. Five, four, three … your eyelids are light … two, one.”

Dr. Stanley snapped his fingers, and instantly Matthew’s eyes opened. He was sweating and breathing heavy.

“Matt,” Sarah said gently, “are you okay?”

Matthew didn’t move. He sat on the couch looking back and forth at Sarah and Dr. Stanley.

“Matthew?” Dr. Stanley said. “Do you know where you are?”

Matthew’s eyes quickly moved left to right, and then right to left, looking back and forth at Dr. Stanley and Sarah.

His eyes were his eyes, but Dr. Stanley saw something different in them. Their color was slightly off. Their shape wasn’t as oval. The life inside them wasn’t the same.

“Matthew,” Dr. Stanley softly spoke, “is this you?”

“Matt, it’s Sarah. I’m here with you.”

Slowly, Matthew’s breaths calmed, and the shifting of his eyes slowed to the point that now he was only looking at Sarah.

“You still with us?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Matthew,” Dr. Stanley said, “when you opened your eyes, what were you feeling at that precise moment?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“Rage.”

Forty

We left Sharon Duncan’s house and found the head station for the Dauphin County Police Department. An officer at the front desk picked up a phone and buzzed back, saying that two detectives from D.C. were there to see George. The officer hung up the phone and informed us that Detective Willis would be with us shortly. We thanked him and waited a few minutes in the lobby.

“Pretty quiet around here,” Pat said.

“It’s the suburbs. What’d you expect?”

“Quiet is nice at times.”

“You’d go crazy if you were here.”

Pat smiled, “I said at times.”

A minute later a gentleman of about my height and build, who appeared to be around my age opened the door leading to the back part of the station. He had short dark hair and a scruffy, yet trimmed beard.

“I’m Detective George Willis,” he said.

“I’m Detective Jacob Hayden, and this is Detective Patricia Jennings.”

Pat and Detective Willis shook hands, and I caught a slight glimpse of a sparkle in her eye.

“You guys are from D.C.?”

“Yes, that’s right,” I said.

“What brings you up to Harrisburg?”

“If you don’t mind, we’d like to talk to you about a homicide case we’re working on.”

“Sure, follow me back. We can take a conference room.”

We walked through a set of hallways until we reached a conference room with a large oval table. Detective Willis took a seat at the head of the table, and we sat in the two chairs closest to him.

“You guys thirsty? Want any water or anything?”

“I’m good.” I said.

“Same here,” Pat responded.

“So, what kind of homicide you guys working on?”

I leaned forward in my chair and cleared my throat. “You’re gonna have to bear with us because what you’re about to hear is one of the strangest cases I’ve ever been involved in.”

“I’ve seen strange,” he said.

I smiled, “I don’t know like this.”

Detective Willis sat back in his chair as I told him what we knew about the case thus far. At times his eyes widened, and at other times he nodded as if he understood. Pat and I took turns giving our perceptions of the case and how each of us saw it. At the end, Detective Willis didn’t say anything. Pat and I sat quietly while he absorbed the details.

“Can I be frank?” Detective Willis said.

“By all means,” I responded.

“Sounds like you’ve got a certified nut running around.”

“That’d be an understatement,” Pat said.

“But I do agree with you that we need to put cars around the school, and also the former principal, Ms. Duncan.”

I nodded.

“How long have you been with the department?” I asked.

“Nine years.”

“Have you ever had any calls over at the school?”

He shook his head, “Not that I can recall. I mean, I personally have never had to go over there for any altercations or anything like that.”

“You from the area?”

“Not originally. I’m from further up north. Connecticut. Came down here to join the force.”

We sat quiet for a few seconds. I didn’t know where else to go with my train of thought. By everything we’d heard, the school and its students had been a model of decency and tradition. That is, at least from the outside looking in.

“Actually, you know who might know more about the school? Brenda.” Detective Willis said. “As a matter of fact, I think she may have even attended there. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Detective Willis quickly hopped out of his seat and left the room.

“What are you thinking?” Pat asked.

“Trying to connect the dots.” I turned toward Pat. “You?”

“The whole time, I was thinking what those victims could have done to warrant such a death.”

“So you think it could have been something they did, as opposed to our guy just being straight loco?”

“So, follow me with this,” she said. “Most people are murdered by someone they know.”

“Right.”

“Despite what the general public believes. People don’t usually just kill random people.”

“I’m following.”

“In this instance, we have four people who were murdered and who were all connected to this school.”

“Not a coincidence,” I said.

“Right. So, if it had just been one person, maybe the first victim, we could theorize that maybe this guy had an obsession with her, or she made him jealous, or he just didn’t like her. We could even stretch that same theory to the second victim. But now we’re adding in two male victims, one of which was a teacher. The obsession, love triangle, jealousy theory wouldn’t fly.”

I nodded as I listened.

“Next we look at the revenge angle,” she said. “Three of the victims were in their mid- thirties, and one in his early seventies. If we believe that the school is the connection, then at least the three victims haven’t been to this school in close to twenty years.”

“If it’s revenge, why wait so long?” I asked.

“Right. Why wait?”

“And why kill a teacher?”

“Not just any teacher. A teacher who taught religion, and maybe the reason why the killer’s walking around looking like the devil.”

“But you heard Ms. Duncan,” I said. “The victims hung in different cliques.”

“I heard her. But that doesn’t mean they don’t share a common past.”

I was about to say something, but Pat’s words stopped me in my tracks. I sat back in my chair, and my mind took me to the yearbook pictures of the victims. All of the victims were so different, only connected by the school. Three teenagers who probably wouldn’t have talked to each other if they were out in the real world. But they weren’t; they were in high school.

“So, you asked what the victims could have done to warrant such a death,” I said. “If you were in high school, what would someone have to do to you to make you so mad that you could kill them?”

“Humiliate me.”

“What else?”

“Shame me.”

“Keep going.”

“Crush my spirit.”

“Could that humiliation last for nearly twenty years?”

“What if it lay dormant?” Pat said.

“What do you mean?”

“What if it had been suppressed, but something happened to wake it up?”

“Like he recently saw their name or something?”

“Possibly. Could have been a recent turn of events or a sudden memory came to mind.”

“Hmm. I like where you’re going with this.”

“Me too. We need to get back to the office so I can start doing some research.”

Just then, Detective Willis and another women entered the room. The woman appeared to be in her mid-forties, and truthfully, looked like she should be working on a farm instead of in a police station.

“Detectives, this is Brenda Cunningham.”

Pat and I stood up and shook Brenda’s hand.

“She’s been with the department as an administrator going on fifteen years.”

Brenda smiled, “Understand you guys are checking out St. Luke’s.”

“Yes, we’re hoping to close a loop here,” I said.

“Well, you came to the right place because there’s a few things about that school that you really need to know.”

“Really?”

“But instead of telling you, how about I just show you.”

“Brenda, you’re getting me a little excited,” I said.

She winked and smiled, “That’s what all the men say to me.”

She turned around and left the conference room.

I think I’m going to like Brenda.

Forty-one

Back in D.C., the emergency room department of George Washington University Hospital was slow for this time of day. Dr. Mitchell Leggler, wearing blue scrubs and a white physician’s jacket, entered one of the rooms where a seven-year-old boy and his mother were sitting on a bed. The seven-year-old’s eyes were puffy and red, and his right wrist had a bag of ice over it.

Dr. Leggler smiled at the little boy and said in a playful tone, “Are you Jason?”

The little boy nodded.

“Hi Jason. I’m Dr. Leggler. So, I hear someone took a little fall today riding his bike.”

Jason nodded again.

“Were you going really fast?”

“Yes.”

“Did you do a wheelie?”

“No.”

“Tell you what. When your wrist gets better, I’ll show you how to do one. I used to do them all the time.”

Jason smiled.

“Can I take a look at your wrist?”

Jason looked at his mother, who nodded in approval.

Dr. Leggler gently held the little boy’s wrist and lightly rubbed his fingers over the red spot.

“Well, I have some good news, Jason. Do you want to hear it?”

Jason nodded.

“Do you remember when you allowed one of the technicians to take a picture of your wrist?”

“Yes.”

“That picture let us know if your wrist was broken or not. What do you think it showed us?”

“That it’s not broken?”

“You’re one smart kid.”

Jason smiled for the first time.

“It’s going to hurt for a few days, but I promise you, you’ll be back on your bike in no time.”

“Thank you, Dr. Leggler,” Jason’s mother said.

Dr. Leggler turned to the mother and smiled. He’d noticed her when he walked in, but wanted to give all of his attention to Jason.

“No problem,” he said. “This is what turns a boy into a man.”

The mom smiled.

“How’d dad react when he heard his boy fell?”

“Oh, no dad. Just me and Jason.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.”

“No worries. It is what it is.”

Dr. Leggler took a closer look at the mom: long blond hair, deep blue eyes, and a broad, beautiful smile. It also didn’t hurt that she looked like she could have been a contestant for any beauty pageant in the country.

“Well, I was serious when I said I’d teach him how to pop a wheelie. You can bring him by the hospital anytime. I’m sure there are a few empty halls we can play around in.”

Jason’s eyes lit up.

“Can we mommy?”

“I don’t know, Jay. I’m sure Dr. Leggler is a very busy man.”

Dr. Leggler waved off the comment. “No trouble at all. Once his wrist heals up we’ll make it a date.”

“Date?”

“Sorry, date was maybe the wrong word.”

Mom smiled, “It’s okay. I can go with date.”

Dr. Leggler smiled. “Well then, a date it is.”

He rubbed Jason’s hair and excused himself from the room. Three minutes later, his cell phone rang. Dr. Leggler looked at the number and moved to a more private area.

“Yeah,” he said.

“I’ve got the stuff.”

“Good. We’ll meet where I said we’d meet.”

Dr. Leggler hung up the phone. As he walked back to the main room of the ER department, he couldn’t help but feel a little happy inside. Truth was, he’d noticed Jason’s mom as soon as he entered the room. He’d paid more attention to her than the kid, even though he didn’t look at her. He noticed the way she stared at him the entire time. Being extremely handsome, he was used to the attention. So he knew that the mom would be contacting him within a few days. The other thing that made him happy was that he’d found a new supplier who wouldn’t slip up like Mr. Syrup.

Dark was a happy man.

Forty-two

Brenda Cunningham took us on a fifteen-mile ride to a more rural part of Harrisburg. The roads became narrower and the countryside more expansive. During the ride, she told us a little of her background. She’d grown up in Harrisburg and had always wanted to be a police officer. But when she was eighteen, she tore cartilage in her right knee that required surgery. Her knee was never the same again, and thus she knew she could never pass the physical exam to be a cop.

Detective George Willis was a third-generation cop. He moved to Harrisburg seven years ago to join the force and also to start what he thought was going to be a long and fulfilling marriage. His former wife was from the area and wanted to be close to her family. His wife left him for another man nine months into their marriage. By then he’d fallen in love with the city and decided to plant his roots here.

We turned onto an even more rural road that eventually led us to a small farmhouse. The house looked as though it hadn’t been taken care of in years. Grass was overgrown, the white siding was dirty and dull, and the roof looked like it needed to be redone. Brenda parked the car, and we all got out.

“Here it is,” she said.

“Looks abandoned,” I said.

“It is. No one’s lived here in over twenty years.”

We walked around the front of the property, and I thought if I were a movie executive looking for a scary house to shoot a film in, this would be it.

“Hope you don’t mind me asking, Brenda, but how does this house tie up loose ends for us?”

“This here farm used to belong to old man Fields some years back. He had a wife and kids. He was one of those men that everyone in town knew.”

“So what happened to his farm? Why has no one lived here in over twenty years?”

“No one’s willing to touch it.”

“Why, is it haunted?” Pat said.

“I wouldn’t go that far. But folks don’t want to buy a house that an entire family was murdered in.”

Pat and I stopped walking.

“Murdered?” I said.

Brenda nodded. “Yep.”

“Jesus. How?”

“They were shot. It was the story of the town, and all of Pennsylvania. I was around twenty or twenty-one at the time.”

I looked at the house and instantly thought of the old saying, If these walls could talk what would they tell?

“Did the department ever catch the killer?” Pat asked.

“Didn’t need to. He turned himself in.”

“Really? If all killers did that, we’d be out of a job,” I said.

“So who was it?” Pat asked.

“Their son.”

“I’d heard the story,” Detective Willis said, “but I’ve never been over here to see the house.”

“So what happened?” I asked. “Did the kid just lose it one day and blow them away?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. But if he told it, old man Fields had been abusing him since the time he was born.”

I looked around at the outer property of the farm. A lot of land. Small house. No neighbors. No one around to hear anyone scream.

“So, Brenda, if I may ask,” I said, “what does this have to do with the school?”

“He was a student at St. Luke’s.”

“Really?”

“I’d already graduated by then, so I never knew him. But word had it that the school knew that old man Fields was abusing his family, and instead of them reporting him to the police, they just expelled Bernard the following year and didn’t allow him to return.”

“Get out of here. And Ms. Duncan was the principal back then?”

“Of course.”

“Interesting detail that she left out,” Pat said.

“Why wouldn’t she have mentioned it?” I asked.

“You’d have to ask her that,” Brenda said.

I felt my body temperature rise. Ms. Duncan didn’t tell us about the murders, which led me to wonder what else she didn’t tell us.

“So the kid. What happened to him?”

“He was around fifteen or sixteen at the time. Prosecutors tried him as an adult, and he was sentenced to life in prison.”

“Do you know where he was sent?”

“No, I don’t. After the trial, things quieted down, and to be honest I kind of forgot about it until you two showed up here.”

“I can find out,” Detective Willis said.

“Things happened behind those walls,” Brenda said. “And to be honest, I’m surprised Bernard didn’t do it earlier.”

“That was his name? Bernard?”

Brenda nodded.

“How was he abused?” I asked.

“Abused probably isn’t the right word. More like tortured.”

“Doesn’t sound good.”

“And what’s so astounding is that Mr. Fields was a very popular pastor in Harrisburg.”

My antennas suddenly went up.

“Pastor?”

“That’s right.”

“Was he a fanatic?”

Brenda raised her hands and gestured as if she were debating the question. “Thinking back, could he have been a little zealous? Probably so. But no more than anyone else who thinks they’re doing the right thing.”

“Do you remember what kind of messages he preached?”

She blushed a little, “I was never a good churchgoer when I was younger. But from what I remember, it was the typical message, ‘Jesus is Lord, and if you don’t move away from sin you’ll be living with the devil in eternity’.”

The devil, I thought.

“So how does someone who preaches Jesus is Lord turn around and abuse his family? Or, in your words, torture them?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. How do some people do half the things they do? We’ll never know because he’s not around to answer.”

“A similar instance happened in Connecticut when I was younger,” Detective Willis said. “Only the preacher’s son didn’t kill them. The preacher was found out and sentenced to twenty years in federal prison. A lot of people preach goodness but have evil in their hearts.”

I nodded and understood.

“So, did this Bernard kid try to use any kind of insanity defense, like the devil made me do it?”

Brenda pointed at me, “Amityville Horror, right?”

I nodded, as that was exactly what I was thinking.

“Folks tried to make the case that’s what happened. Local media was pushing that angle too. A religious family murdered by their son with accusations of abuse. The Amityville Horror movie kept coming up.”

“Right. So, any connection?”

“Not that I remember. But it would have made for a great ending to this tragedy.”

“Is Bernard’s defense attorney still in the area?”

“Sure. He skyrocketed to local fame after the trial.”

“We should probably go see him before we leave if we can.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Brenda said. “He actually works as a consultant for the department on some of our more complicated cases.”

“He switched sides? How commendable.”

“He said he was tired of defending losers and too old to be a prosecutor. So he wanted to help the police all he could.”

I nodded. Brenda turned around and started heading back to the car followed by Detective Willis. Pat and I stood still for a moment looking at the house.

“This is getting too weird, Jacob,” Pat said.

“I know. I’m not sure what to make out of it. If there’s anything to make out at all.”

“You know we need to go back and speak to Ms. Duncan before we leave.”

“Right after we meet with the defense attorney. But I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t she have said anything?”

“I don’t know. Makes me think she’s hiding something.”

“Touché.”

I looked at the house for another moment before turning around. I thought about Pat’s question: What could the victims have done to warrant their deaths? I didn’t know. What could anyone do to warrant their own deaths? Did the victims even know Bernard Fields? And if so, how did that relate twenty years later? And how did all of them end up in D.C.? That still baffled me.

“While we’re here, we should track down the victim’s families,” I said.

“Thinking about something?”

“One thing came to mind, but I’m sure it’s a long shot.”

“As crazy as this case is, everything is a long shot. What are you thinking?”

“All of the victims are from Harrisburg. Just wondering if they were members of old man Fields’ church.”

“Trying to see if they would have known Bernard?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “Looking for that needle in a haystack.”

We started heading back to the car.

“Pat?”

“Yeah.”

“I saw you eyeing Detective Willis.”

“Stop it.”

I looked at her and she had a slight smirk on her face.

Forty-three

The defense attorney’s name was Charles Whittaker. When we pulled up to the house, the front door was open, but the screen door was shut. Classical music was playing, and we could hear the faint sound of a male voice singing. The house was similar in style to Sharon Duncan’s.

Brenda knocked on the screen door, and the voice abruptly stopped singing.

“Hold on a sec.”

Charles Whittaker slowly wobbled to the front door using a brown wooden cane for support. He wasn’t an overly obese gentleman, but he carried around enough weight that I was sure his knees struggled to keep him upright.

“Brenda? Detective Willis? What a surprise.”

He wore large glasses that were probably in style in the mid-eighties.

“Charles,” Brenda said. “Good to see you.”

He looked at me and Pat, and then his right eyebrow rose.

“Don’t think I know these two.”

“These are Detectives Jacob Hayden and Pat Jennings. They’re from D.C.,” Brenda said.

“D.C.?” He looked at me with more curiosity. “Wait, I’ve seen you before.” He pointed his finger at me like he had an “ah ha” moment. “The Judge Peters case, right?”

I nodded, “Right.”

A little over two years ago, I was involved in taking down Superior Court Judge Frank Peters who was involved with weapons smuggling. The case made national news, as it was the first time a judge was knowingly involved in such a fiasco.

Detective Willis looked at me, and his eyes widened. “Wait, I remember that case. That was you?”

I nodded. I don’t like to talk about the case much, as it was the reason why my wife and former partner were murdered.

“I remember seeing it on CNN. Jesus, you were a rock star then.”

“Yeah, it garnered a lot of press,” I said.

Pat must have noticed my uneasiness because she jumped in and changed the topic.

“Mr. Whittaker, the reason we’re here is that we learned that you were the defense attorney for Bernard Fields back in the nineties.”

Mr. Whittaker looked inquisitively at Pat and then back to me.

“I was. What’s this about?”

“If you don’t mind, sir, we’d like to talk a little bit about the case.”

“I’m sure you’re familiar with client confidentiality.”

“We are.”

“They’re working on a murder investigation back in D.C.,” Brenda said.

“Bernard Fields was over twenty years ago. Not sure how I could help, Detectives.”

“Frankly, we aren’t sure either,” I said.

He looked at all of us for a few seconds and then said, “What the hell. I wasn’t doing anything anyways.”

He backed away from the screen door and motioned for us to come in. Stepping inside the house was like stepping back in time. Antique furniture was his decoration of choice, along with an old record player that I could only guess was from the 1940s that elegantly played the classical music we heard outside.

“Have a seat,” Mr. Whittaker said. “So, what’s this about Bernard Fields that brought you two from D.C.?”

“Frankly, Mr. Whittaker, I don’t know that Bernard Fields’ case has anything to do with ours, but Brenda took us over to the Fields’ house and told us about the tragedy that happened.”

“Yes, it was quite a shame. I knew Andrew and his wife, Ellen, Bernard’s parents. Knew them most of my life. We all attended the same schools together since middle school. Harrisburg back then was just a small town.”

“What was Mr. Fields like?” I asked.

“The Andy I knew was a peaceful man. A God-fearing man. He and Ellen were high school sweethearts and always dreamed of having a family.”

“Were you close to them before the murders?”

“We’d grown apart over the years. Happens to a lot of people. Work and life get in the way sometimes. He had his family and I had mine. We talked from time to time, and we’d talk a little more the times that I went to church.”

“And you never saw any signs of abuse?”

Mr. Whittaker looked at me, and for the briefest of seconds, his eyes squinted and his lips clamped together.

“Well, Detective, there must first be abuse in order for any signs of abuse to show.”

“So you don’t think he abused his family?”

“That’s not the right question to ask.”

“What is the right question to ask?”

Mr. Whittaker smirked, and his eyes suddenly lit up like he was back in the courtroom defending a client. “Did Bernard think that he was being abused?”

The question lingered for a few seconds.

“Did he?” I asked.

“It didn’t matter. What only mattered was what we could prove.”

“He was found guilty. So you couldn’t prove that he believed he was abused.”

“Let me ask you something, Detective. Have you ever looked into the eyes of a person who’s been torn down? That the mere quick movement of your arm causes them to flinch?”

I thought about some of the cases I’d worked on in the past; homicide cases that started as domestic abuse cases.

“I have.”

“Then you know when someone’s been abused. You know that even though they say they’re fine, they’re not. You know that any quick movement could cause them to panic because they’re used to that quick movement usually in the form of a slap or punch to the face.”

“Did Bernard exhibit any of those signs?”

“He did not.”

I looked at Pat with a look that said, What the hell are we doing here?

“Sorry for asking the question again, but you don’t think that Bernard was abused by his father?”

Mr. Whittaker nodded his head, “I don’t.”

“Why kill them, then?”

“Frankly, Detective, I don’t think Bernard killed them.”

I looked at Debra, “I thought you said he turned himself in?”

She nodded, “He did, from what I remember.”

I now looked around the room, “Is there a possibility that the family was killed by someone else?”

“That’s what I always believed,” Mr. Whittaker said.

“But believing and proving are two different things,” Pat said.

“Correct. The fact is that he turned himself in. He admitted to it. Prosecution had nearly an open-and-shut case.”

“Nearly?” I asked.

Mr. Whittaker opened his mouth as if he were going to expand the comment, but simply said, “That damn attorney–client confidentiality. I’m sorry, Detectives, not sure what you’re looking for, but I’m in kind of a bind as to what I can disclose.”

“We understand,” I said. “St. Luke’s is really the reason why we’re up here. We were hoping to find that needle in a haystack that would close up some loops.”

“Why St. Luke’s, if I may ask?”

Brenda cut in, “Oh sorry, Charles, we never did tell you why they’re here. Their case in D.C. involves the murder of three former students and also James Stewart.”

“Jim Stewart, the religious teacher?”

“That’s right,” I said.

Mr. Whittaker’s face nearly became pale white. He turned his head and looked out the window, but it was apparent by the glossy glaze that came over his eyes that he wasn’t looking at anything.

“Everything okay, Charles?” Brenda asked.

“Uh, just surprised, that’s all.”

“I take it you knew Mr. Stewart?” Pat said.

“I did.”

“A lot of the old-timers from Harrisburg seemed to know each other,” Brenda said. “They all congregate at the IHOP on Saturday mornings.”

That brought a little chuckle from all of us except Mr. Whittaker.

Mr. Whittaker turned his attention back to us. “Well, everyone, I’m sorry to cut our meeting short, but I’ve got a few things that need to get done before the day gets late.”

He looked at Brenda. “You know how us old-timers get.”

She blushed a little and then stood up. We followed her lead.

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Whittaker, if anything happens to pop in my head, would you mind if I reach out to you at a later date?”

He didn’t seem like he was paying full attention but said, “Sure, no problem. Call anytime.”

We shook hands and left.

In the car, the ride was quiet for a minute or so. I wasn’t sure what to make of the last few minutes of the meeting. Mr. Whittaker’s personality had changed drastically when he found out that James Stewart was one of the victims. Was he suddenly saddened that someone he knew was murdered, or was it something else? Something bigger?

As Brenda drove, she looked in the rearview mirror at me. I caught her glancing back a few times.

“Where to next?” Brenda asked. “I’ve been around detectives for a long time and I know the look of inquisition. You’re still curious about something?”

“I am.”

“Shoot.”

“I don’t feel like we’re getting the full story here.”

“Yeah, Mr. Whittaker suddenly became ghost white when we mentioned James Stewart,” Pat said.

“Still thinking that the school is the link?” Detective Willis said.

“I don’t know anymore,” I said. “Something’s not lining up.”

“One question that I’ve been struggling with is why D.C.? What made those four move to D.C.? I mean, I’m sure D.C. is a wonderful city, but what are the odds that all four would end up there? The same with the killer.”

“We were trying to figure that one out too,” Pat said.

“Maybe it’s not a coincidence at all,” Brenda said.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Maybe the killer brought them there.”

I looked at her in the rearview mirror. Her green eyes looked back at me with what I could only explain as saying, “Gotcha.”

Forty-four

Dark ended his shift early. He told the other doctors that suddenly he wasn’t feeling well and that it was probably best that he head home so as not to get anyone in the ER sick. He went to his locker in the doctor’s lounge, grabbed his things, and headed to his car. He hopped in his brand-new black 2015 BMW 435i Gran Coupe. He personally wasn’t into high-end luxury automobiles, but to play the game right he knew that he needed to look the part of a sophisticated up-and-coming physician. Plus, he thought, chicks dig BMWs.

He weaved in and out of traffic through the city like a professional racer until he was on the parkway and then eventually the beltway. He got on I-95 heading south and got off at the Fredericksburg exit about fifty miles south of Washington, D.C.

He came to a large white plantation-style house that was on nearly five acres of land and sat back a good distance from the road. The garage was around the back, separated from the house. Dark pulled in, parked the BMW, and then walked around the corner to the cellar. The keys jingled in his hand until he found the one for the lock. While he opened the heavy metal door, he whistled a tune that played in the car as he shuffled down the cellar’s steps. Daylight flooded the entrance of the cellar, but the farther back he walked, the darker the cellar became.

Dark was a tall man, and the ceiling to the cellar was low, so he had to hunch over and lower his head. He came to a lightbulb in the middle of the room and pulled on its cord. The room lit up, not as bright as the daylight, but bright enough to see. He kneeled down and looked at the three women who were chained to the wall by their wrists and had duct tape over their mouths.

“How is everyone today?”

The women didn’t answer. Their blond hair was matted and grimy. Their skin was pale and covered with dust and dirt. Their eyes had the look of a wounded animal that had given up all hope of life.

Dark covered his nostrils and then waved a hand in front of his nose.

“When’s the last time you guys bathed?”

The women didn’t answer again.

“Oh, that’s right. It’s been a couple of weeks.”

Dark moved to the closest women and rubbed the back of his hand over her head. As he did, she shied away.

“Rosa, you were once so beautiful,” he whispered.

She whimpered and then started crying.

“Now I wouldn’t fuck you with your boyfriend’s dick.”

Dark turned to the second woman.

“Angela, you had aspirations of being a news anchorwoman. And when I told you that I was connected, you rode me like you were auditioning for a rodeo. Now look at you. What happened?”

Angela lightly sobbed.

Finally, Dark turned to the last woman, and she looked to the floor. He moved close to her and rubbed his nose on her right ear.

“You were the one I wanted to keep. When you told me that your name was Sophie, I thought I was in heaven. I had a crush on a girl named Sophie in middle school, but she wasn’t anything like you.”

Sophie didn’t whimper or cry, she stayed quiet and kept her eyes to the floor.

“But you lied to me. You were fucking another guy.”

Dark raised his voice, which caused Sophie to whimper.

“You’re a whore!”

He looked at all of the women and then yelled at the top of his lungs.

“You’re all whores!”

His face turned red, and veins edged from his neck.

“The only thing you were good for was a good fuck, and there’s no way my dick is touching any of you ever again.”

The women had their backs against the wall, but at Dark’s outburst, they tried to move back even farther.

Dark stood up as best he could and walked to the other side of the cellar where there was a bench lined with surgical utensils. He picked up a surgical blade, looked at it, and then turned around toward the women.

“I think this has Sophie’s name on it.”

Sophie’s eyes grew wide, and she feverishly shook her head.

“You’re right, Sophie. Maybe this isn’t yours. On second thought, I think it’s Angela’s.”

“No,” Angela’s muffled voice screamed through the duct tape.

Dark slowly moved toward Angela. He bent down and mockingly waved the blade in front of her face.

“Everyone’s time comes to an end at some point.”

Angela’s eyes were wide and they followed the blade back and forth.

“Aren’t you tired of waiting around to see who I choose to be next?”

“No, no, no,” Angela screamed through the duct tape.

“Maybe you weren’t. But I was. I just couldn’t decide.”

Dark moved the blade close to Angela’s right eye, placing its tip in between two eyelashes.

“To make the event more entertaining, I’m going to allow the other two to watch. First time I’ve done that. It’ll be like being on a live reality show.”

Now all three women were crying.

“Don’t worry, Angie. I’m a professional. I cut into people all the time.”

The sudden smell of urine caused Dark to look toward the ground. When he saw a puddle next to Angela, he smiled.

“First time I ever had a women pee over me.”

He laughed at his own joke, and when he finished, his cell phone rang. He looked at the number, and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Not sure who this could be. How about I answer?”

He pressed the blade a little firmer against Angela’s eye.

“Anyone make a noise and Angela’s surgery starts early.”

He raised the phone to his ear and politely said, “Hello? Dr. Leggler?”

“Dr. Leggler, this is Lisa Smith. My son came into the emergency room earlier today with a bruised wrist.”

Dark couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes, Mrs. Smith, I do remember. Jason, right? How is the young lad doing?”

“Oh, Jason’s fine. He’s great, actually.”

Dark’s smile widened because he knew what was coming next.

“Um, I, um, I’m not sure how to say this. I don’t usually call up men I don’t know.”

“That’s okay, Mrs. Smith. Did you want to ask me something?”

“Actually, I was wondering, I mean, hoping, that if you didn’t have plans, that you’d want to go out to dinner or something?”

In Dark’s mind, he envisioned a bull’s-eye with the arrow hitting right in the middle.

“Actually, I don’t have any plans at all. Would young Jason be joining us?”

“Oh, only if you want him to.”

“As much as I would, I’m sure he’d be quite bored with adult conversation. How about we bring him next time?”

Dark could almost hear Lisa Smith smiling on the other line.

“That sounds perfect,” she said.

“Okay, then. It’s a date. I’m finishing up some household stuff, so how about I call you back in about an hour to set up a time to meet?”

“Sounds great. I’ve got a couple of things to do too.”

They said bye, and then Dark slowly removed the blade from Angela’s eye.

“You have a guardian angel,” Dark said.

Dark stood up and made his way back to the bench where he replaced the surgical knife. He turned around and looked at the three women and then blew them a kiss before taking the steps back outside. He closed the cellar doors and locked them with a key.

Maybe, he thought, this one will be a keeper.

He whistled the tune again as he headed inside the house.

Forty-five

I asked Brenda to take us back to Ms. Duncan’s house. The former principal had left out some important details about her tenure at the school, and I wanted to know why. It didn’t make sense that she didn’t tell us about Bernard Fields and the crimes he’d committed.

When we pulled to the front of her house, Ms. Duncan sat in the same chair she’d been sitting in when Pat and I arrived earlier in the day. She had a blanket covering her legs, and she wore reading glasses while looking down at a book. She raised her eyes and smiled when she saw me get out of the car.

“Detectives Hayden and Jennings,” she said as she rested the book in her lap. “You’re efficient. I see you brought Dauphin PD back with you.”

“Hi, Ms. Duncan,” I said. “This is Detective Willis and Brenda Cunningham.”

Detective Willis and Brenda shook Ms. Duncan’s hand.

“I remember Brenda. Class of ’90, am I right?”

“Good memory. You haven’t aged a bit,” Brenda said, smiling.

“You don’t need to suck up to me anymore. I have no authority over you.”

Brenda smiled, “Old habits, I guess.”

Ms. Duncan looked Detective Willis up and down like she was eying a fresh piece of meat from the butcher.

“So, Detective Willis, are you going to be the one sitting in front of my house for the next few days?”

“Ah, no, we’ll have a uniform here.”

“Too bad. I make a mean green bean casserole.”

Detective Willis rubbed his stomach, “Um, yummy. And I love green bean casserole.”

I wanted to smile at the sarcasm but fought against it.

“Ms. Duncan, I wanted to ask you some follow-up questions to our earlier conversation,” I said.

“Sure.” She looked at all of us. “Does anyone want some lemonade? I have a whole container inside.”

All of us shook our heads no.

“Very well, then. Please, everyone have a seat.”

We all sat on the chairs on the porch. I looked at everyone before asking my questions.

“Ms. Duncan, I’d like to talk about Bernard Fields.”

Ms. Duncan had been smiling the whole time, and she continued to smile after I mentioned Bernard’s name. But for the briefest of moments, her posture changed slightly; when she tilted her head to the right, I saw a vein in her neck come forth.

“Bernard Fields?”

I nodded.

Ms. Duncan looked toward Brenda and Detective Willis before giving me her attention again.

“What about him?”

“Brenda told us what he did. That he killed his family.”

Ms. Duncan nodded, “I see. And you’ve come back probably wondering why I didn’t tell you about him.”

“Yes,” I said emphatically.

“Bernard Fields was a long time ago, and his case can’t possibly have any relevance to what you’re investigating.”

“Why do you think that?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “I just do. Besides, he got a life sentence.”

“That’s beside the point. When I asked if there was anything in the school’s past that could link the murders, you looked at me and said you couldn’t think of anything.”

“And I couldn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Duncan, but something as tragic as what Bernard Fields did isn’t something that’s just forgotten. You knew, when I told you about the murders, that Bernard could be a possible link. Why were you hiding him from me?”

“I wasn’t hiding him from you, Detective. I just didn’t think to mention him.”

I was nearly flabbergasted at her comment and had to pause a second to control my nerve.

“Ms. Duncan,” Pat cut in, “what can you tell us about Bernard Fields?”

“From what I remember, he was a quiet kid. Didn’t really socialize too much with other kids. Kept to himself. Extremely bright. Very well spoken.”

“How long did he attend St. Luke’s?”

“I believe he came in sixth grade.”

“Until the murder?”

“No, just until ninth grade. He didn’t return the following year.”

“Why not?”

“The family was having a hard time paying tuition. They decided to send him to public school.”

“So they pulled him out?”

“Why, of course.”

The tone in Ms. Duncan’s voice changed. She wasn’t as cheery as she had been when we first came to the house.

“These questions were asked and answered after the murders,” she said.

“Forgive us, Ms. Duncan,” Detective Willis said, “I wasn’t with the department back then, and Detectives Hayden and Jennings are just trying to get some background on Bernard Fields.”

“Yes, but I feel like I’m a suspect.”

“Rest assured, you’re not. But anything you can tell us will be greatly helpful.”

“I don’t know what you want to know.”

I sat back in the chair and looked around the porch. Her answers sounded plausible, but my gut was telling me there was more. The fact that she hadn’t told us about something as important as Bernard Fields didn’t sit right with me.

I noticed things on the porch this time that I didn’t pay attention to when I was here earlier. There was a white-and-green flowerpot on the floor next to the front door. There was a red-and-black welcome mat that had “Welcome” spelled out in cursive. And above the front door there was a porcelain cross tacked onto the siding.

“Do you mind if I ask, Ms. Duncan, are you a churchgoer?” I pointed to the cross above the door. “Noticed the cross there.”

“Every Sunday.”

“What church do you currently attend?”

“Mt. Zion First Baptist,” she said with a smile.

“Has that always been your church?”

“Has been for nearly twenty years.”

I nodded and smiled back.

“Where’d you attend before Mt. Zion First Baptist?”

Her smile twitched a little, “Redeemed First Baptist.”

I looked at Brenda, and she nodded, “Old man Fields’ church.”

“I understand that a lot of the locals attended that church back then,” I said.

“We did. Pastor Fields was an anointed man of God.”

“So were you surprised by the accusations of him abusing his family?”

“I was.”

“Did you believe it?”

“Of course not.”

“Forgive me for saying this, but I’m trying to understand something. If most of the town was attending his church, and he was also a farmer, I’m sure he brought in enough money to cover tuition for his son.”

“He was a small-town pastor, Detective. Not like those televangelists you see on TV.”

I raised my hands in defense of my question. “My apologies.”

“Anything else, Detectives? If not, then I should be heading inside, as it looks like rain is coming soon.”

I looked out at the clouds; they were darker than they had been earlier.

“One last question,” I said. “Are you friends with Charles Whittaker?”

Her eyes narrowed before she answered.

“Yes. We live in a small town. A lot of people know a lot of people.”

I nodded.

“Thanks, Ms. Duncan, for your time.”

We stood up and left.

In the car, I said to Detective Willis, “What do you think about doing a stakeout?”

“I’ve got time.”

I looked at Pat, and she nodded.

“Great, because if I was a gambling man, I’d say that Ms. Duncan’s about to make a visit to Charles Whittaker.”

Forty-six

We knew where Charles Whittaker lived. And we knew where Sharon Duncan lived. We took Brenda back to the station, and I thanked her for all she had done. I wasn’t sure if anything was going to come out of it, but at the very least she pointed us in a direction that I hadn’t planned on taking.

Twenty minutes later, we were parked near Ms. Duncan’s house, and to no one’s surprise her car pulled out of her driveway.

“Bingo,” I said.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Detective Willis said.

“What, that I was right?”

“No, that we’re following a seventy-year-old.”

We all laughed.

“Look at it this way,” Pat said, “we won’t have to worry about them outrunning us.”

We followed Ms. Duncan for about ten minutes. Her car made a couple of turns, but it didn’t appear that she was heading to Charles Whittaker’s house.

“Charles Whittaker lives west of here. We’re heading north,” Detective Willis said.

“Keep following her. She’s taking us somewhere. You saw her reaction. She’s hiding something. They both are.”

We stayed three cars behind so she wouldn’t notice us. The clouds were becoming darker, and big drops of rain started falling sporadically, but not to the point that we needed windshield wipers on.

A half mile later, a blue sedan passed us from behind. When I looked over, I saw Charles Whittaker behind the wheel. He didn’t look over at us as he passed; his attention seemed to be focused on the road.

“Lookie here,” I said.

“Yeah, I see him,” Detective Willis said. “I recognized the car from his driveway and saw him behind us about a mile ago.”

Charles Whittaker’s car drove beside Sharon Duncan’s. From behind, it was apparent that they were looking at each other, and then Sharon Duncan changed lanes and drove behind Charles Whittaker.

“Do you think he recognized us?” Pat asked.

“Don’t think so,” I said. “He didn’t look over when he passed. I think his mind is elsewhere.”

Two miles later, they turned into a parking lot at the next shopping center and parked next to each other. The parking lot was semi-full, so we were able to park at a distance where we could see them, but they wouldn’t easily see us unless they were looking around. Sharon Duncan got out of her car and went into Charles Whittaker’s car.

“I’d like to be a fly in their car right now,” Detective Willis said.

A few minutes went by and then a white sedan slowly drove down the parking aisle near Charles Whittaker’s car and stopped in front of his car. In the driver’s seat was another older gentleman about the same age as Charles and Susan. The driver waved at them and then started driving away. Charles Whittaker’s vehicle followed behind.

“What do you make of this?” I asked.

“Looks like we’re going for another ride,” Detective Willis said.

We carefully kept our distance. They didn’t appear to be in any hurry as they drove the speed limit. The ride lasted another twenty minutes, and then they made a right onto what appeared to be a side road.

“Do you know what’s back there?” I asked.

“Just open fields. Nothing really.”

Detective Willis slowed down and let the two cars get a good distance ahead of us before he made the right turn. We slowly drove for another two miles until we saw in the distance that both cars had pulled to the side of the road. Detective Willis was right. There was nothing back here except an open field.

“They’ve got to still be in the cars,” Detective Willis said. “They wouldn’t have had enough time to get out of our line of sight if they got out and are on foot.”

“If they’re still in their cars, then the driver would have seen us by now in his mirrors.”

“What do you think? Should we approach them?”

“Might as well at this point.”

Detective Willis slowly pulled behind the second car. From where I sat, I didn’t see any heads in either of the cars. I looked around at the open fields and didn’t see them either.

“They couldn’t have gotten far,” I said. “Where do these fields lead to?”

“It’s all farmland. A few hundred acres up the road is the Copeland farm.”

I looked around the fields again, squinting to see as far out as I could.

“Let’s head up to the Copeland farm. I don’t know how they would have gotten there without us seeing them, but that’s probably where they’re at.”

“But then why not drive all the way up?” Pat asked. “They aren’t spring chickens anymore.”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Unless you’ve got the vision of an eagle, that’s the only place that makes sense.”

Pat shrugged her shoulders.

Detective Willis drove on until we saw the crown of the farmhouse in the distance.

“Let me guess,” I said. “The Copelands are old folks, right?”

Detective Willis looked at me, “They are.”

“This might be turning into Children of the Corn, except with old people.”

That drew laughter in the car.

We came to a stop about a hundred yards away from the house. There was a white pick-up truck in front of the garage. That had to have been how they got to the house so fast.

“We should drive up,” I said. “We need to find out what’s going on.”

Detective Willis nodded and drove to the front of the house. We stepped out of the car, and as my door closed, I heard the rapid sounds of gunfire, which caused all of us to duck.

“Coming from inside the house,” Detective Willis barked.

We drew our weapons and swiftly made it to the front door. Pat and I stood on either side of the door as Detective Willis kicked it in. Splinters flew from the door’s hinges, and our weapons went up.

“Police!” Detective Willis yelled.

The house was quiet.

“Police!” Detective Willis said again. “We’re coming inside.”

Detective Willis entered first. Pat was second, and I was third.

Adrenaline pumped through me. My eyes shifted everywhere. Questions ran through my mind. How many people were in the house? How many shots did I hear? Was anyone hurt? It was a surreal feeling to be relaxed in a car, and then seconds later be tense and full of adrenaline walking through a house where gunshots just went off.

The front of the house had a small foyer. There was a short hallway that led to an open kitchen. Detective Willis paused for a second when he saw the first body lying on the floor. Walking farther into the kitchen, we saw a second body. Charles Whittaker and the gentleman they followed in the car were both dead. The shots to their heads were clean. We cautiously walked past them and saw another body in a sunroom off the kitchen. I didn’t recognize the person, but it was an older woman roughly the same age as the victims.

Where’s Ms. Duncan? I thought. I replayed the sounds of gunfire in my mind. There had been more than three shots fired. We walked past the third dead body and saw a forth lying further in the sun room. A male.

“Copelands?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Detective Willis responded.

My eyes looked past the body and out into the backyard. Ms. Duncan stood in the middle of the yard with her back facing us.

I stood at the back door and said, “Ms. Duncan.”

We went out and slowly walked up to Ms. Duncan. When she heard our footsteps, she turned around. Her face and clothes were splattered with blood. She was holding a handgun.

“Drop the gun, Ms. Duncan,” Detective Willis said.

She was sobbing nearly uncontrollably, but she didn’t drop her gun.

“We’re all to blame,” she said.

“Please, Ms. Duncan,” I said. “Drop your weapon. We can talk about this.”

She shook her head slowly, “No, we can’t. We did this.”

Before we had a chance to respond, she quickly raised the gun to her mouth and pulled the trigger.

“No!” I yelled.

The way her head rocked back, there was no denying that she was dead before she hit the ground.

Forty-seven

“Do you want to talk about it yet?” Sarah asked.

They were back at Matthew Gray’s apartment after the hypnosis session. Matthew hadn’t talked much over the past couple of hours. He wasn’t sure what was going on in his head, and he wasn’t sure what he was feeling. A part of him wanted to reach out and hug Sarah like he was used to doing, but another part wanted her to leave him alone and never bother him again.

“Matt, eventually you have to talk to me.”

They were sitting on Matthew’s couch. The television wasn’t on. The radio wasn’t on either. The room was quiet except for their breathing. Matthew could hear Sarah’s breaths coming and going. He felt the palpitations of his heartbeat in his chest. The quiet was unusual, which to Matthew was very scary.

“Matt, are you even listening to me?”

Matthew turned his head and looked at Sarah. She was sitting to his left with her right legs folded underneath her butt.

“I’m listening.”

Matthew saw the tension in her face lighten a little, but he knew that she was concerned for him.

“You seem to have been in a fog ever since Dr. Stanley’s session. I think we should talk about it. Especially what happened right before you woke up.”

“I told you, I don’t remember much about what happened.”

“I know, but in that last thirty seconds or so, you changed. You didn’t look like the same person. Literally. I was afraid for you.”

Matthew nodded. He didn’t feel like the same person either.

“And you said that you felt rage inside you.”

“I don’t know how else to explain it,” he said.

“Do you remember what you were thinking?”

Matthew shook his head, “No. Only what I felt.”

“I’ve known you for a long time, Matt, and I’ve always felt safe around you. But after what I saw, I don’t know. You just didn’t look yourself.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes widened a little, and her lips parted as if she wanted to answer, but she didn’t. A part of Matthew’s heart sank at Sarah’s hesitation.

“I’d never do anything to hurt you,” Matthew said.

“I know you wouldn’t.” She pointed at him, “I know you wouldn’t. But what I saw wasn’t you. It was like something entered your body and was trying to come out through you.”

Matthew sat up in his seat a little.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You make it sound like I’m possessed or something. And I know that you don’t believe in stuff like that.”

“I don’t. But how else would you explain what happened? Dr. Stanley saw it too.”

Matthew looked away and let his gaze fall to the floor. His feet caught his attention. He wasn’t wearing any shoes or socks. He wiggled his toes, and for some reason the little piggy nursery rhyme entered his head. This little piggy went to the market. This little piggy went home …

“Matt? You’re doing it again. Are you with me?”

He looked up from his toes. His thoughts had just drifted off in that short span of time; this wasn’t like him. Usually he was focused. Usually his concentration wasn’t cut off by the mere sight of his toes. What’s going on?

He looked over at Sarah again. Her eyes were big and her face looked tired.

“What do you want me to say?” Matthew said to her.

“Just talk to me. I want to help you.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t do that because of our relationship.”

Sarah exhaled, which sounded more like a sigh.

“I know. I shouldn’t. But I’m too involved now. I care too much about you.”

She leaned in and wrapped her arm around his waist, laying her head against his left shoulder. Matthew looked down at the top of her head. He saw where the roots of her hair were growing in and the color was darker than the rest of her hair. Then a sudden sight flashed by his eyes. Or was it a thought? A premonition? He saw Sarah’s hair covered in blood. He saw her lifeless eyes looking back into his. He saw blood covering her neck.

The thought caused Matthew to lurch backward suddenly, and Sarah’s head fell off his shoulder.

“Matt, what the hell?”

Matthew scooted one seat cushion over. His heart raced, and he felt little beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. He could feel his pulse beating in his temple.

“Sarah,” he said. His voice was nearly panicked. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

She looked at the sudden change in his demeanor, and her eyes grew wide.

“Okay, take it easy. Breathe.”

Matthew tried to calm his breathing. He took in deep breaths and then let them escape his lungs.

“What happened?” Sarah asked.

“I don’t know. My heart just started racing.”

After a few seconds, his body started to control itself.

“Maybe we should go to a hospital. That’s not normal.”

Matthew shook his head, “No, I don’t need a hospital. I’m feeling better now.”

They stayed quiet for a few seconds. Matthew caught his breath, and he figured Sarah was collecting her thoughts.

“Were you thinking of something before this happened?”

Matthew was, but he didn’t want to tell her.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Come on, Matt. Everyone thinks. You were thinking of something.”

“I don’t know. It just came out of nowhere.”

“Was it me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You freaked out right after I laid my head on you.”

“No, it wasn’t you.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

She looked into his eyes for a second, and Matthew sensed that she knew he was keeping something from her.

“Oh God, maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m doing this to you.”

“Sarah, don’t be silly. I’m fine. I just had a moment.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Matt. Maybe I’m doing something to you.”

“Sarah, this isn’t about you. Please don’t make it be. Nothing that you’ve done is doing anything to me.

“I was in the room with Dr. Stanley when you flipped out. Now, I’m in the room again when you just had some kind of episode. Why don’t you think I’m doing something to you?”

“I just know.”

“But how could you?”

Matthew didn’t understand what was suddenly happening, but his heart palpitations were returning. His breaths were coming in short, quick intervals, and his body temperature was starting to rise. Words started running through his head that at first were jumbled together, but the faster his heart beat, the slower the words came until he saw what they read: Rage.

“Matt, what’s going on?”

“Just leave me alone,” he said. “Leave.”

“Matt?”

Then an aggression he hadn’t felt except through his dreams rang out through his voice.

“Get the hell out of here!”

Matthew toppled over off the couch and fell to his knees. His stomach hurt. More than hurt, it felt like something was growing in him. When he fell, he heard Sarah scream. He looked at her and she pointed at his hands.

“Matt, what’s happening to you?”

He looked at his hands and saw that his fingernails were turning black. That was the last thing he saw before he passed out.

Forty-eight

Twenty minutes had gone by, and I was still looking at Ms. Duncan’s dead body. Dauphin County police had shown up and started their investigation. The bodies in the house were covered with white sheets. Police were all over the place. I didn’t know much about this city, but I was sure nothing like this had happened here in some time, if at all.

Ms. Duncan still held the gun in her right hand. She was lying on her back and her arms were spread wide.

“What do you think she meant by, ‘We all did this’?” Pat asked.

Pat stood next to me. Detective Willis had been going back and forth between us and his colleagues.

“I don’t know. I was trying to figure that one out. She also said ‘We’re all to blame’.” I turned around and looked back to the house, “They were into something here.”

“There were four of them. How could she have killed all of them? I mean, she’s seventy-plus years old.”

“They all were. How quick of a reaction do you think a seventy-something person has?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

I wasn’t quite sure if I was upset that Ms. Duncan took her own life, or if I felt sorry for her. She left so many questions unanswered, and now with these deaths, she’d created a million more questions. To begin with, what was everyone into? How were they connected? What did they do to warrant their deaths? And what had Ms. Duncan meant? We came up to Harrisburg to see if there was a connection with the school, but now that this had happened, we’d obviously stumbled upon something much deeper than I could have expected.

“Hey guys,” Detective Willis said as he came up from behind us. “Everyone is stumped. On the face of it, no one understands why she would do something like this.”

“The Copeland’s?” I asked. “Has there ever been a problem with them?”

He shook his head, “Not as long as I’ve been here. Chief’s been with the department the longest and knows all of them. He can’t figure this one out either.”

“Something with the school,” Pat said. “Everything happened after we visited the school. It’s like we opened a can of worms.”

“Sorry to have brought all this on you,” I said to Detective Willis.

“No apologies needed. From the looks of what’s going on, something’s possibly been brewing for a long time. I’ve got my hands full, but as the old saying goes, better late than never.”

I nodded and looked at Ms. Duncan again. “The elephant in the room. How does all of this relate to D.C.? How do these old-timers relate to our devil killer?”

“The million-dollar question, right,” Detective Willis said. “She blurted out some things that got me thinking, but I don’t want to say anything until I do a little digging.”

“You think you have an angle?”

“I don’t know. Just a bunch of thoughts. This whole thing is like a big jigsaw puzzle with the pieces scattered about. If I can pick up an angle, you’ll be the first I call.”

“Same back to you.”

I looked at Ms. Duncan’s body one more time before turning to leave. Detective Willis had an officer take us back to our car so we could head back to D.C. The car ride was mostly quiet. Pat and I had a lot on our minds, maybe too much to talk about. In my head, I kept replaying Ms. Duncan’s suicide. I’d seen death before, and I’d killed out of necessity. Actually witnessing someone die was not something a sane person could ever get used to, but an elderly woman of Ms. Duncan’s age who could have been anyone’s grandmother was doubly disturbing.

I kept picturing her sitting on the porch with that blanket over her legs and offering us lemonade. She seemed sweet enough on the outside, but the few questions I’d drilled her on showed that there was another side that I didn’t want to know. And yet, what could be so terrible that a sweet old woman would take the lives of four of her friends, and then end hers? The thought was troubling.

It took us less than two hours to get back home. Seeing the sights of D.C. brightened the mood a little. Traffic was horrible, as usual. We drove by the monument and then the national mall and then the capitol. The rain had let up a little, but it was still coming down in a steady flow. I dropped Pat off at the station and told her to get some rest. I imagined this was the kind of case that was going to take a lot out of us.

I stopped off at home briefly to check on Henry. His tail wagged hard as I entered the door. I think he was more excited about getting out to use the bathroom than actually seeing me. We walked the block once and then headed back in. After feeding him and changing my clothes, I was back in my car. I dialed Turtle and told him I was on my way. He didn’t sound too excited, but he told me he’d be ready.

Fifteen minutes later, I was honking my horn in front of his door. It took him another five to come outside. I hadn’t seen him in a while and wasn’t sure what to expect. Was he going to wear his pants past his butt like all the other young fools, or was he going to look respectable, knowing that I’d tell him to pull his pants up? Was his hair grown out like a fro or cut close? With Turtle, you never knew.

He stepped out of his apartment building surprisingly looking pretty smooth. His jeans looked like a normal size, and his shirt was fitted to his lean frame. He opened the door and sat in the passenger seat, and for a brief second, I remembered him as the young teenager I caught running away from me, a kid in desperate need of a positive male role model in his life. But now he looked like a young man well on his way to accomplishing something great, if he could ever hold down a steady job. Which I’d have to talk to him about later.

“What up, Jacob?”

We slapped five.

“What’s going on, Turtle. You looking sharp.”

He lightly tugged at the collar of his shirt, “Well, you know, a playa gotta be a playa.”

I rolled my eyes. “How you gonna be a playa and you ain’t got no job?”

“You always got jokes.”

“Just keeping it real.”

“See, that’s why I don’t like hanging out with old people. They always talking about gettin a job.”

I scrunched my eyebrows, “Old people?”

“Yeah, ain’t you like fifty?”

“Now you got jokes.”

We laughed, and I pulled away from his building.

“So where you taking me?” I asked.

“Fuddruckers.”

“Fuddruckers? They got something going on there that I don’t know about?”

“Nope. You’re buying me dinner.”

“Dinner? We aren’t dating.”

“Look man, I’m hungry. Plus the spots don’t start getting hot until later tonight.”

“Then why’d you tell me to pick you up at seven?”

“Because I knew I’d be hungry.”

I shook my head. “Turtle, you can hustle people on the street, but you’re not hustling me.”

“What’s a meal between friends? Plus, it’s the least you could do. I’m putting my neck out for you. Do you know what would happen if people found out I’m riding around with a cop?”

“Turtle, don’t hustle me. I’ll buy you some food, but lay off the bullshit.”

Turtle smiled, “You’re a good dude, Jacob.”

“Uh huh.”

“Plus, it’ll give me some time to fill you in on some stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Patience, my good friend. Patience.”

“Unfortunately, Turtle, patience is a luxury I don’t have right now.”

“I feel you. Still, I got to school you on some stuff.”

“Like what?”

“First off, you look too stiff. Loosen up. You’re chillin’ with me. I’m your homie.”

Bullshit 101, I thought.

“Secondly, I’m taking you to meet the Mechanic.”

“The Mechanic?”

Turtle nodded. “If anyone knows how to find Dark, it’s the Mechanic.”

“Dark, Mr. Syrup, the Mechanic. Where the hell do these people come up with these names?”

“It’s all a game, Jacob. You of all people should know that.”

I nodded. The underground world at its finest.

“So we go to Fudds, you eat up, fill me in on this Mechanic, and then we go.”

“Right. Just … don’t be so square. You’re going to need to loosen up a little. The Mechanic isn’t like Mr. Syrup.”

“Chill out, Turtle, I’ve played every game in the book.”

He looked at me, and I could feel him rolling his eyes.

“Jacob, I wasn’t lying what I said to you earlier.”

“What’s that?”

“That you suck.”

“That’s cool. How you gonna eat tonight?”

“Always got jokes.”

“And I wasn’t lying what I said to you earlier.”

He rolled his eyes again, “What’s that?”

“Click.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Remember when I hung up on you? Click.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Of course it was.”

“See, this is what I mean. Corny has a new face. And his name is Jacob Hayden.”

I drove on. I thought it was funny.

Forty-nine

We stayed at Fuddruckers for a few hours. Not the typical type of restaurant I’d stay at for such an extended period of time, but Turtle scarfed down enough food for three people. I didn’t know where he put it. He couldn’t weigh more than one hundred and seventy-five pounds. He had no body fat, no place to store the extra food, so I was stumped at how much he took in. But, thinking back to when I was in my early twenties, I realized I ate the same way.

We were at the Fuddruckers on 7th Street near Chinatown, a busy part of the city. People came in and out, and the later the night became, the more crowded Fudd’s got. Turtle took the last bite of his half-pound burger and sat back in his seat rubbing his belly. I just shook my head. The benefits of being young with a metabolism as high as the sky.

“If I was a woman and this was our first date, would you be expecting some?” Turtle joked. “After all you spent on the meal?”

“You’d be an ugly first date. So no, I wouldn’t. And the meal wasn’t that expensive to be expecting some.”

He smiled and waved off the comment.

“Old school,” he said. “Dudes nowadays expect some after a Happy Meal.”

“That’s the problem. You guys don’t have any respect.”

He rolled his eyes, “Okay, we’re not going to get into the morality conversation, right? We’re supposed to be talking about Dark.”

“You brought it up.”

“Wish I hadn’t,” he said under his breath.

I nearly pressed the topic but chose not to. He was right, we needed to find Dark. The morality conversation could wait until later. Turtle looked at his watch and shook his head.

“Still early, but I think the Mechanic should be there.”

“Where are we going?”

He smiled, “I’m about to rock your world, Jacob.”

“Something tells me I’m not going to like this.”

“You will. In fact, it’s something you need.”

I sighed, “Turtle, I don’t have time for games. I’m looking for a serial killer, not looking to have fun.”

“Why can’t the both go hand in hand?”

“Are you serious?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I’m just saying. The places Dark goes are places where fun can’t be ignored.”

“Maybe for you. But the two of us are in a totally different stratosphere in what we consider fun.”

He rolled his eyes again.

“So, where are we going, for the millionth time?”

“This place in southeast called The Exchange.”

“The Exchange? That’s a rave club, right?”

“Huh, didn’t think an old-timer like you’d heard about The Exchange.”

“That’s enough with the old-timer talk. I’m only in my mid-thirties.”

“Exactly.”

I balled my right hand into a fist and raised it near my chin. “One of these days, Turtle, the two of you are going to meet.”

He opened his mouth to say something but then stopped himself.

“So can we focus on Dark now?” I asked.

He nodded, “Okay, my bad.”

“As a matter of fact, we need to get rolling. Hopefully this Mechanic person can give me the information I need.”

“Don’t worry about that. The Mechanic has the information. The question is, will you be able to get her to talk?”

“Her? The Mechanic is a woman?”

“Surprised?”

“At this point, I shouldn’t be.”

We left Fuddruckers and headed across the city to The Exchange. We were early, as Turtle said. A line hadn’t formed yet, but I could hear the bass of the music pounding through the walls.

We walked up to two bouncers who looked like former NFL linemen and were standing in front of the door like they were the guardians to a secret world. Both wore sunglasses, and as we neared them, they looked us up and down as if they were sizing us up. The four of us stood there for a few seconds without saying anything. I wasn’t sure if there was some kind of code word that we should say; maybe Turtle was right, I was too old to be at a place like this.

Finally, Turtle took a step forward. Maybe there was a secret handshake that he knew. He looked at one and then the other. Then after another few seconds, the three of them burst out laughing and slapped five with each other.

“What’s going on, Turtle?” One of the bouncers said.

“You two lugs look like you about to go commando on somebody.” Turtle responded.

“It’s how they want us to act.”

Turtle turned to me and introduced us. We shook hands, and I couldn’t get over the fact that their hands were the size of bear paws. They stepped to the side and told us to go on in.

“Benefit of knowing people,” Turtle said over the loud music. “We would have had to pay fifty each to get in.”

I shook my head. Fifty dollars to stand in a crowded room with a bunch of drunk, high, and sweaty people and try to dance while probably getting knocked over everywhere. No thank you, I thought.

Turtle led me across the room. The few people there were dancing, sporting small neon tubes around their wrists. The bass was loud, and I couldn’t help but think again that Turtle might be right. I was old. When we crossed the room, we entered a hallway where a young couple came out of a room. They looked stoned. The guy had his arm around the girl’s shoulders for both of their support, and they laughed the entire time.

Turtle entered the room the couple had come out of. The lights were neon, and the few people inside had eyes and teeth glowing a neon-green color. There was a woman sitting by herself at a table near the rear of the room. It was hard to tell what she looked like because of the lights, but from what I could tell, she appeared very attractive.

Turtle leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

“What’s going on, love?” She said to Turtle.

“Hanging as usual.”

She looked at me and smiled, “Who’s your friend.”

“Oh, this is Jacob.”

I extended my hand, and she shook it gracefully.

“You have a nice hand,” she said.

“Really? Never thought about it.”

“Well, you do.”

She turned her attention back to Turtle. As she did, I was trying to figure out what she looked like. Her hair was long, and she had a big smile, as evidenced by the neon green teeth. Turtle and I took a seat at her table.

“So, Turtle, you wanna tell me why you brought a cop to see me?”

“Damn, is he that obvious?” Turtle said.

“Look at him. He doesn’t fit in here. I mean he’s cute and all, but he’s too stiff and too old.”

“What the hell?” I said. “It’s not like I’m walking around with a cane.”

“I told you, Jacob, you need to loosen up.”

I slouched in my chair, “How loose can I get?”

“That’s not it,” the Mechanic said. “I spotted you when you first came in. You looked around the room like you were assessing a crime scene. And just now, you’re trying to figure me out. Most guys come to me looking for a fix. You’re trying to figure out what I look like.”

“He’s cool,” Turtle said. “He’s one of my boys. He needs help, and I knew you’d know how to help him.”

“Help doesn’t come free.”

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Nothing now. But if I scratch your back, one day maybe you’ll be able to scratch mine.”

I nodded. This was a game I played all the time.

“If you help me, then I’ll think about it.”

“He’ll help you,” Turtle said. “I wouldn’t have brought him if I didn’t think he would.”

She looked at me for a few seconds. “Okay, what do you want?”

“Dark.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s a big request.”

“He’s done some bad things.”

“I’ve heard. And I know the last person who crossed him ended with a bullet in the back of his head.”

“Mr. Syrup?”

She nodded.

“Has he contacted you?”

“I’m the best at what I do. What do you think?”

“When?”

“The other night.”

“What are you making for him?”

“Molly. That’s his drug of choice.”

Molly, I thought. An MDMA, or 3,4-methylenedioxy-methamphetamine; the more potent form of ecstasy.

“I didn’t think Molly was addictive.”

She laughed, “And you’re a cop? It’s very addictive. And if not made right, very deadly. There’s all kinds of crap on the streets that’s called Molly, but really shouldn’t be. Besides myself, Mr. Syrup was the only other person known for making the good shit.”

“And that’s why you’re here, I assume. Ravers like Molly.”

“They do. Gives them a sense of euphoria. It releases large amounts of serotonin in the brain, which influences the mood.”

As much as I would have liked to get into an in-depth Molly discussion, I was there to find Dark. He was all that mattered at that point.

“Will Dark be here?”

“He will.”

“When?”

“When he wants.”

“I’m not into bullshitting at this point. When will he be here?”

“I’m not bullshitting. He didn’t give me a time. But he’ll be here.”

I looked at Turtle, and he nodded.

“Stay here, Turtle. I’ll be back.”

“Who are you, Arnold Schwarzenegger?”

I balled my hand into a fist again. “One day, Turtle.”

I left the room. If Dark was going to be here, I needed to be ready.

Fifty

On the outside, Dark was attractive, mannered, well spoken, intelligent, and a joy to be around. On the inside, Dark was insulting, conniving, shrewd, and evil. Some people got to see the outside of Dark without having to bear the inside. Most, though, weren’t so lucky. Lisa Smith, the mother from the emergency room, was next in line, and Dark wasn’t sure if the outside or inside was going to show up tonight.

He’d driven an hour from his Fredericksburg home to meet Lisa Smith in the city. He told her to meet him in Georgetown and park in the parking lot under the Georgetown Shops. Georgetown was a heavily populated part of the city, which boded well for him because his face drowned in the sea of so many other faces that he’d be totally unrecognizable. His hair was gelled back, his cologne smelled right, his teeth were as white as they’d ever been, and he knew that a few minutes alone with Lisa Smith and she’d be putty in his hands.

Putty that he’d gladly wait on.

He called her when he was on M Street nearing 18th Street. He’d told her to wear something light and bright because they were going to be dancing the entire night. He even made a comment about his rhyming skills. And she laughed. Dark knew the way to a woman’s heart wasn’t money, but humor.

As he came upon the intersection, he saw her standing at the corner with her phone in hand and wearing a yellow top and jean skirt. He tapped the horn, and her smiled brightened when she saw him in the BMW.

“Looks like you’re waiting for someone,” Dark said.

Lisa Smith bent down to the open window. “Yeah, some guy’s supposed to be meeting me here, but he’s a no-show.”

“Too bad. You can hop in with me if you like. I’m sure I’d be more fun than that dud.”

Lisa Smith raised her finger to her lips as if she were contemplating the offer. “I don’t know. My mom always warned me about strange, good-looking men in fancy cars. She said they’d likely break my heart.”

“You know something? Your mom was right.”

They both had a laugh, and then Lisa opened the door and got in.

“Stunning is all I can say,” Dark said.

“I was about to say the same thing. But, oops, girls shouldn’t talk like that.”

Dark smiled and immediately thought that this was going to be too easy.

“I like a woman who speaks her mind.”

She pulled the seatbelt over her and snapped the lock in place. Dark couldn’t help but notice how the seatbelt laid perfectly over her breasts.

“So, you’re a dancing man, huh?”

“I do a lot more than dancing, darling.”

When Dark took his foot off the brake to tap on the gas, the locks to the doors immediately engaged. Click. A tingle ran down his spine. His palms became moist, and his senses felt like they were awakening. A beautiful woman was inside his car, his locked car. Oh, the things he could do to her. The things he would do to her. But not the kind of things that she expected a man to do to a woman. He wanted to do vulgar things, painful things that only a monster could bear.

His lips formed a smile, and he turned to her. “Ready?”

“Of course. Where are you taking me?”

If only you knew.

“How does a rave sound?”

“Really? I’ve always wanted to go to one. But aren’t we a little old?”

“Old? One’s never too old to rave.”

“A rave. Sounds exciting.”

“They truly are. Plus, it’s the perfect excuse to get high.”

Lisa’s eyes widened. “High? You get high?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Ah, a little.”

“Don’t tell me that you don’t. A beautiful woman like yourself.”

“Well, I just didn’t think that a doctor did.”

“We’re people too.”

She nodded, “Yeah, guess you are.”

Dark reached for Lisa’s hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. Then he brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed it.

“Get ready for the night of your life.”

“You make it sound so mysterious.”

You have no idea.

Fifty-one

I called in my backup: Rudy Sanders, Carl Monroe, and Pat. Along with a few other undercovers, we had seven cops on the inside and three cars outside. Dark wouldn’t have been tipped that we were here, so I had no doubt he was going to show up. I made sure that I stayed within sight of the Mechanic. She was going to let me know when he made contact by brushing back the left side of her hair with her hand.

By now, the rave was in full mode. The main floor looked like a sea of people jumping up and down and being carefree. I wouldn’t classify what they were doing as dancing, but as long as they were enjoying themselves that was all that mattered. I gave Turtle a twenty and told him to take a cab back home, but true to fashion, he kept the money and said that he’d find a girl to take him home. I shook my head, but I remembered what it was like at that age, so I didn’t get on him.

The bass pumped loud. It was hard to hear the radios in our ears, but each of us checked in every few minutes. I tried not to look stiff, but it was hard to relax knowing that at any moment a serial killer would be in eyesight.

The back room was set up like the VIP room where Pat and I took Mr. Syrup. There were a few tables where people sat and conversed, and there was a separate bar from the main floor bar. The neon lights made it difficult to get a good look at the faces in the room. Pat and I stood near the back of the bar. Randy and Carl were spaced on either side of the room. The good thing about the neon lights was they offered all of us cover, and to the casual observer, everyone looked as though they belonged.

From time to time, a male would approach the Mechanic, which made the adrenaline in my body spike, but not once did she brush the left side of her hair.

“Think he’s on to us again?” Pat said over the loud bass.

“I don’t think so.”

I looked at my watch and saw that it’d been nearly two hours since I called everyone in. The rave was jumping, but it was still early in the night for these types of gatherings. Was doubt starting to set in? Yes. I didn’t want this maniac to get by me again, so I tried thinking different thoughts to keep the doubt away.

“First time to a rave?” I asked Pat.

“First and only. I was never into things like this.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

She looked at me, and I could sense the curiosity turning in her head.

“Meaning?” she said.

I tried not to smile, but I couldn’t help it. “Nothing. Just that you don’t seem like the party type, that’s all.”

“I partied.”

“Okay.”

“You think I’m boring, don’t you?”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to.”

I was about to say something else, but I figured I should quit while I was ahead. We both turned our attention back to the Mechanic. More time went by, and for the Mechanic, more customers too.

One of the plainclothes detectives standing outside spoke into his radio. “The line is starting to wrap around the building. At least a couple hundred people.”

I thought about the size of the building and about how many could fit inside. This was an old warehouse converted into a nightclub; it could easily fit a few thousand people.

My microphone was tucked under my shirt and strapped to my wrist. “We’ve still got eyes on the prize,” I said. “No contact has been made yet.”

“10-4.”

I noticed the Mechanic glance my way. She did that whenever one of us spoke into our wrists. I tried not to make long eye contact with her in case Dark was watching her somehow. But I got a good feel for everyone that was in the room. Those who stayed appeared to be in their own little world with their own friends. No one seemed to be paying attention to anyone else. Those who came in for the Mechanic did so and left.

“Maybe she tipped him off somehow?” Pat said.

I looked at my watch again. Another thirty minutes had passed.

“I don’t think so. There’s four of us in here. We’ve all been watching her at different times. We’d know if she tipped someone off.”

“Just like we knew about Mr. Syrup?”

I was about to respond, but I understood her point. Could she have played us? I’d seen everyone who came into the room. Though I couldn’t get a good look at their faces, I studied their body movements. No one had suddenly tensed up. No one seemed to immediately change their minds about being there. No one looked over at us as if they were curious about who we were. But Pat’s point was valid, so I decided to approach the Mechanic.

I pulled out a twenty and handed it to her. “Give me something like you’d normally do.”

She reached into a larger bag and pulled out a small ziplock bag.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“You being straight with me?”

“Are you crazy? He could be here any minute.”

I took the small ziplock bag and stuck it in my pocket. We looked at each other for a moment, and then I went back to Pat near the back of the bar.

“What was that?” Pat asked.

“She hasn’t tipped him off.”

“Did you ask her that?”

“Didn’t have to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Most of our communication is nonverbal. Her body tensed up when I came over. She was genuinely worried that Dark might have shown up while I was over there.”

Pat shook her head, “I worry about you sometimes.”

A smile crept along my face. I worry about me sometimes too.

Fifty-two

Dark’s adrenaline flowed smoothly through his body during the car ride to the rave, but after he pulled up to the building and saw the crowd of people waiting in line, it spiked, nearly bursting through his skin. He suddenly felt extremely alive; like he was ready to take on the world. He looked over at Lisa Smith and wondered if she had any clue what was going to happen to her. Of course not, he thought. How could she?

“Do you come here often?” Lisa asked.

“From time to time.”

“Is it always this crowded?”

“Do crowds bother you?”

“Not at all. I prefer them.”

Lisa winked, and Dark felt a tug at his heart. Not the affectionate type of tug one might feel toward a loved one, but a more seductive tug, a lustful tug. That tug immediately sent messages to his brain that simply said: bang her.

“You’ve got a little mystery behind you,” Dark said.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You’re different from other women I’ve been out with.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Definitely good.”

Lisa smiled. “Then yes, I do have a little mystery behind me.”

Dark miraculously found a parking spot only a block away. He did the gentlemanly thing and opened the door for Lisa. They walked affectionately close to each other like couples do, and if someone had just seen them on the street, they would have thought Dark and Lisa were a couple in love.

“That’s a long line,” Lisa said.

“Don’t worry about lines. You’re with me.”

They walked past the long line and up to the two bouncers guarding the front door. Pulling his hand from his pocket, Dark reached out and shook one of the bouncer’s hands and slipped him a fifty-dollar bill. The bouncer stepped to the side and opened the door, allowing Dark and Lisa to go inside.

The rave was full of energy. Dark clenched his hands into fists and started moving to the beat of the music … thump … thump … thump … He looked at Lisa who was dancing.

He leaned in and raised his voice over the sound of the bass, “This is exciting.”

She nodded and yelled back, “It is.”

He took her hand and lured her into the sea of dancing people. They blended like they were tiny pieces added to a puzzle. Dark reached for Lisa’s waist and pulled her closer. Their bodies moved in unison, and their hips mirrored each other. They stayed with the up-tempo beat. Dark’s eyes never left Lisa’s. It was almost as if he were trying to communicate with her telepathically. The way she gracefully moved her body, he imagined how she would move with her legs wrapped around his waist. Probably just like how the others moved. The other women moved like Lisa. They had a rhythm to them that showed Dark their sexual nature.

He moved his right hand from her waist and brought it up to the back of Lisa’s neck. He gently massaged it with his fingers, which caused Lisa’s eyes to close erotically. She leaned her head back slightly, making Dark become erect; more erect than it’d been all night. He thought about her wink in the car, and the earlier message from the receptors in his brain. She needs to be banged, he thought. But first he wanted what he’d come for.

He leaned in close to her ear and said, “We don’t have to stay long.”

Lisa nodded and said, “Okay.”

“There’s someplace I want to take you.”

“Where’s that?”

“Someplace magical.”

“I like magic.”

“Then you’ll love where we’re going next.”

He moved his mouth from her ear and then let his lips gently slide past hers. He felt the warmth of her breath on his lips, which made his already hard erection even harder. He grabbed her waist again and pulled her body close to his so that she could feel his erection. Her eyes widened, and she gave him a modest smile.

“You’re so going to love that you called me,” Dark said.

“I’m getting that feeling.”

“You have no idea.”

“Tell me then.”

“I’d rather show you. But first I need to get something from someone.”

Lisa nodded.

“And then we’ll leave,” Dark said.

They danced a little longer, and then Dark took Lisa’s hand and led her out of the sea of people. He wanted to hurry up and find the Mechanic so he could get what he came for and then go bang Lisa. And after he banged her, he had a special place for her in the cellar with the other girls.

Fifty-three

I looked at my watch for the third time in ten minutes. The time was creeping on midnight with no signs of Dark. The back room became crowded, and sometimes people got in my direct line of sight to the Mechanic. When that happened, I moved to another part of the room where I could see her. She seemed to know where I was, as she always managed to look my way whenever I moved.

Sometimes people used this room as another space to dance, but it never lasted long. The true energy was on the main dance floor. If a particular song came on that everyone knew, they hopped and laughed and raised their hands and danced to the beat of the drum.

I stood across the room from Pat, and was behind the Mechanic. The room had gotten pretty crowded a few minutes ago, but a popular song just came on that caused most of the people to rush out to the dance floor. As I made my way back to Pat, I glanced at the Mechanic, and she nodded as if to let me know that Dark still hadn’t shown up.

“How you holding up?” I asked Pat.

“Legs are a little stiff, but I’m okay.”

I was able to make eye contact with both Rudy and Carl, and they nodded to let me know they were okay as well.

“Everyone’s still in place,” I said. “Now all we need is this maniac to show up, and we can put this thing to bed.”

I looked at my watch again; admittedly, I was becoming frustrated and impatient. The anticipation of Dark showing up was waning now. My legs were becoming like Pat’s, and I feared I might slip up and not react quick enough should Dark show up.

“This Mechanic chick has been busy tonight,” Pat said.

“She has. A little too busy for my comfort. But she may come in handy for us at some time later.”

Pat shook her head, “Ticks me off that people feel they need drugs to get a high on life. Life should be high enough.”

“Agreed.”

The song changed, and a minute or so later the room started filling up again. I wasn’t into the rave kind of music, so I didn’t know what was popular or not. The Mechanic was talking to a few people, and then I lost sight of her again. I looked over to where Rudy and Carl were standing and noticed that they had moved as well.

“I’m going to move again,” I said.

“How about I move. I need to change positions.”

“Okay. I’ll stay here then.”

Pat walked away, and I tried to look around the sweaty bodies that created a kind of wall in front of me.

“Shit,” I said.

I couldn’t see the Mechanic, so I focused on Pat. She stood near the place where I’d been able to see the Mechanic the last time I moved. The more crowded the room became the darker it seemed to get. Pat faced the Mechanic and didn’t make any sudden moves, so I knew Dark still hadn’t shown up. What were the chances he would show up when the room was most crowded? I wondered. My luck, the chances were very high.

I looked to Rudy and Carl’s positions again. There was no way I could see Rudy from where I was because of the crowd, but I saw that Carl had returned to his spot. He gave me the nod, which meant that everything was clear on his end.

I was getting antsy. The crowded room was making me nervous. I looked toward Pat again, and she caught my eye. I motioned with my head that I was going to walk. She scrunched her brows at first but then understood what I was telling her.

Adrenaline was flowing through my veins again. My heart began beating fast. My senses lit up like a Christmas tree. I didn’t know why, but something—maybe intuition—was telling me that Dark was in the building. And if he was here, I wasn’t about to let him leave without being handcuffed.

I started to make my way through the crowd. There were more people in the room than I had thought. Most seemed to be in cliques. Ravers were a different breed than the regular clubbers, and I knew that they liked to hang in bunches. Even though I didn’t know what Dark looked like, I tried to connect with the faces that I walked past. Most were oblivious outside of their own cliques. Most smelled like marijuana, beer, and sweat. Not a good combination of aromas.

I made my way past the Mechanic and saw her talking to a man. She didn’t brush her hair with her hand, so I continued past her without making it seem like I was keeping an eye on her. I found Rudy, and he was standing against a wall. When he saw me, he nodded, and I nodded back. I made a full sweep. I walked past the door to the room and caught the eyes of a couple that had just entered. The man was a good-looking guy with dark hair, and the woman was an attractive blonde. When the man saw me, there was the faintest glimpse of what I took as surprise, but then he walked past me and put his arm around the woman’s shoulder.

Rudy was the closest to me. I turned my head and nodded toward the couple. He nodded back. I continued walking back to my original spot as if I hadn’t noticed the couple. The crowd continued to grow, so I found a spot closer to the Mechanic. I was now keenly focused on her. I lost the couple in the crowd, but I knew that Rudy had them. I caught Pat’s attention and nodded. She straightened up, and I saw her look at the Mechanic too. She was talking to a couple of guys and then reached in her bag.

“Come on,” I said under my breath.

I tried to casually look through the crowd to get eyes on the couple, but I didn’t see them. Surprisingly there were a lot of tall guys here. I stood six feet, three inches tall, and it felt like I was the average height. The couple I saw were shorter; the guy was probably around six feet. So it wasn’t a surprise that I’d lost them within the trees of men in here.

What was it about the guy that stood out? Did he really seemed surprised to see me? If so, why? I wasn’t wearing any kind of police gear. Was it true what the Mechanic said, that I looked like I was looking around the room like it was a crime scene? Even so, I’d never seen Dark; I had no clue what he looked like. Could he know what I looked like?

I thought back to Mr. Syrup. I thought back to how Pat and I were played at the other club. Was it possible that Dark had been at the other spot the entire time? I studied the faces of everyone that had been in that VIP room. The bartender, the couple who were sitting together, the group of guys standing around with drinks in their hands. Then I tried to match faces with the guy’s face that I’d just seen. None of the eyes fit. None of the jawlines worked. None of the noses were the right size.

Then I expanded my memory to anyone’s face I’d been able to study while walking to the VIP room. The lights were jumping and the place was crowded. It was hard to make any kind of connection. But, there was one. There was a man who had slightly bumped me. He’d said, “Excuse me.” I hadn’t said anything back. I’d looked at him and kept walking. He had dark hair and was around six feet tall.

Then, as if someone had just handed me a photograph, the man’s face came clear in my mind. He was looking at me as he bumped me. The bump was clearly intentional, but not hard enough to cause me to think that it was intentional.

“Shit,” I said out loud.

I quickly moved from my spot and to the Mechanic. I didn’t want to alarm her. She was still talking to the group of guys. She looked over but was still engaged in the conversation. She’s good, I thought. I nodded toward her but she didn’t react. Then I walked through the crowd in the direction that the couple would be making their way to her. I didn’t see them. I found Rudy.

“Where’d they go?”

He looked toward the crowd and pointed.

“They were just over there.”

“Come on. That’s him.”

As Rudy moved away from the wall, the sound of two gunshots rang through the room, which caused everyone to duck immediately. And then the screams rang out. The couple was on the run.

Fifty-four

Dark recognized him immediately. He was the same detective who found Mr. Syrup and followed him to the hotel. The same detective he learned killed Baldy in the Metro tunnels. What the hell was he doing here? When the two made eye contact, Dark knew that he’d made a mistake. Even though he didn’t give much of a reaction, he gave enough that the detective looked at him a little too long. And then he nodded to his friend who was standing against the wall.

The Mechanic, Dark thought. She was the only one who could have tipped the detective off.

After he passed the detective, he casually looked around the crowded room. He found the Mechanic talking with a group of guys. He looked past her and saw the blond detective against the wall trying not to look like she was looking for someone. So far he counted three detectives. He was no cop, but he figured that if they were trying to catch him for what he’d done to the girls, there were more than three detectives in the rave.

What did he have going for him? The room was crowded. And he had a gun. And possibly a hostage. If he needed her.

Thoughts darted quickly through his mind as he tried to think how he could make it out of the room …

They didn’t know who he was, otherwise why come here? The only person who knew he was going to be there was the Mechanic. And she didn’t know his real name. If they knew who he was, then they would have come to his house or the hospital where he worked, not to a rave where a few thousand people were going to be …

If they didn’t know who he was, then the only person left who could give them any hope of finding him was the Mechanic …

She needed to die …

The crowd offered great cover …

He bent down and pulled a 22 caliber from his pant leg holster. He was so casual about it that Lisa Smith didn’t realize what he’d done.

He held her hand as he walked through the crowd. No one paid them any mind. He held the gun by his side in his right hand. The bass was loud and the crowd moved with the beat. He wondered if the gunshot would be loud enough to create a scene. Two shots, he thought. That’s what he needed.

He neared the Mechanic. She was into her conversation and didn’t realize that he was there. He raised the gun, and right before he pulled the trigger, she looked his way and her eyes grew wide. He pulled the trigger once. The bullet crashed into her forehead, causing her head to rock backward. He quickly turned around and shot the first person he saw in the chest. By now, screams rang through the room. Dark squeezed Lisa Smith’s hand and pulled her through the crowd. At first, the people in front of him parted like the opening of the Red Sea, but then everyone ran for the exits like a stampede of animals. Great cover, Dark thought.

Lisa Smith tugged at his hand. Dark quickly pointed the gun at her head and said, “Don’t do that.”

The crowd from the room spilled into the already overcrowded rave. Once the larger crowd saw people running and screaming, it created mass hysteria, and a room of a few thousand people tried to make for the exits all at once. Dark and Lisa were now chameleons. Security standing at the front doors didn’t know what to do. What could a few bouncers do when a herd of scared people ran frantically toward them? Nothing except move the hell out of the way. And that’s what they did.

Once outside, Dark quickly scanned the scene. People were in disarray. The police who were there were on walkie talkies. They didn’t see him yet. He tucked his gun under his shirt and quickly pulled Lisa toward his car. Time was crucial because he knew that the place would be crawling with cops within a matter of minutes, if not sooner.

“Please, you can let me go. I won’t say anything,” Lisa pleaded.

“I might look like a fool, but I’m not.”

He saw his car a block away. By now he knew that he was in the immediate clear of the police. The hysteria was behind him, and there were too many people for the police to sift through to realize that he’d come this way.

He pulled his keys from his pocket and pushed the unlock button. The car’s lights flashed, and Dark heard the doors unlock.

“Hurry up and get in.”

“Please, just let me go. I swear I won’t say anything.”

Dark pulled his gun from under his shirt and pointed it to her head again.

“I normally don’t have to repeat myself. If I do again, it’ll be the last thing you hear.”

Lisa hesitated only a second, then she pulled open the passenger door. She sat down, and as she pulled the seat belt over her, Dark reached in the glove compartment and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

“I’m sure you know what to do with these,” he said.

She was about to protest, but Dark gave her a look that made her stay quiet. She took the handcuffs and wrapped them around her wrists.

“Good girl. I was planning on using them on you later, but circumstances have obviously changed.”

He quickly closed the door and ran around to his side. Once inside, Dark fired up the engine and pulled away from the curb in a hurry, but not like a maniac trying to get away from the police.

Even though he was.

Fifty-five

The crowd swarmed right when I saw Dark and the blonde run for the door. Pat yelled that the Mechanic was down. I looked to where she had stood a moment earlier and saw that she was lying on the ground. Her body wasn’t moving. I was about to take off after Dark when someone from the stampede knocked me down, and then someone else stepped on my back. Screams and cries erupted from those inside. The people were frantic, and truth be told, I couldn’t blame them. They didn’t know where the gunshot came from, and as far as they knew, the gunman was still in the room.

I finally got to my feet. Pat was by my side with her gun drawn. Rudy and Carl were trying to make it through the door, but with too many people trying to leave at once, it was like the worst traffic jam I’d ever seen; the door was literally clogged.

I radioed to the other detectives in the building that Dark was here and that he’d shot the Mechanic. But as I spoke into the radio, I heard what sounded like the outer cries from everyone from the larger dance floor.

“Police! Police!” I yelled. “We need to get through!”

People were climbing over each other trying to get through. Then the music suddenly cut off.

The DJ’s voice came over the speaker, “People, calm down. Calm down.”

I pushed my way through the frightened crowd. People were yelling, “Get off me,” “Someone help,” “Let us out.”

I finally made it to the larger dance floor. It was a scene like I’d never seen before. Literally thousands of people were jamming themselves through the three front doors leading to the outside. By now I knew that Dark had made it out. He was the first one to run, so he wouldn’t have gotten caught in this jam. Pat and I pushed and prodded until we were finally out past the front doors.

Once outside, people either ran toward their cars or stood around wondering what in the hell happened. Two detectives rushed to me with their weapons drawn.

“Everyone came out at once,” one of them said. “It was like a herd of elephants coming at us. What the hell happened inside?”

“Dark shot the Mechanic.” I said. “The gunshots scared everyone in the room, and then everyone else ran.”

“Did you see him?”

“Yeah, he was with a blonde.”

The detectives looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

“Sorry, Jacob. There were too many people. We didn’t know what the hell to look for.”

I scanned the immediate perimeter, but there were too many people standing around to catch Dark’s face. And I was sure he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to hang around.

“He’s gotta be around here, Jacob,” Pat said.

“Did you see him?” I asked.

“Not good enough. It happened too fast.”

Rudy and Carl finally made it out and came by our sides.

“Son of a bitch nearly caused a riot in there,” Carl said.

“This can’t be happening,” I said. “How does this happen?”

I wanted to throw something, but nothing was around to throw.

Police sirens echoed in the distance. The parking lot and side streets were covered with people.

“Someone needs to check on the Mechanic,” I said.

“Already did,” Rudy said. “She’s gone. Another guy was hit in the chest. He’s gone too.”

“Fuck!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

“We’re gonna get him,” Pat said.

I flashed a glare at her. She meant well, but that was not what I wanted to hear at the moment.

“How’d he make us?” Carl asked.

“He recognized me,” I said. “I saw it in his eyes when we walked by each other.”

“Thought you didn’t know what he looked like?”

“I didn’t. Dumb luck really. I walked by him and we both made eye contact. The way he looked at me … I don’t know … his eyes gave him away.”

I took a couple of steps away from the group. I needed air. I needed to clear my head. Dark was right there, and then he wasn’t. We had him, and then we didn’t.

I started pacing. What now? My last lead was gone. The girls that he’d killed, or the ones that were still alive, how would I find them? How would they get justice? My blood was starting to boil. I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze the life out of him. I could feel my inner self yelling at the top of his lungs out of frustration.

“Excuse me,” a male voice said. “Are you guys cops?”

I turned around, and a twenty-something guy with bushy brown hair and light facial hair walked up to us.

“Can I help you?” I said.

“Yeah, you guys are cops, right?”

“Right. How can I help you?”

“Oh, I just saw this dude pointing a gun at a blonde. He made her get into his car.”

All of us looked at each other.

“Where?” I said sternly.

The young main pointed down the street. “Over there. He drove off a couple of minutes ago.”

“What kind of car?”

“Black BMW. I was about to tell him how gnarly it was until I saw him pull out the gun. I ducked behind another car before he saw me.”

“Hop on the radio,” I said to one of the detectives.

“You did good, kid.”

He smiled, “Oh, I got the tag number if you want it.”

Right then, I could have given him a kiss.

Fifty-six

We put out an APB (All Points Bulletin) on the black BMW. Every squad car on this side of the city was looking for it. We had one of the uniforms pull up the tag number on his computer inside his squad car.

“Son of a bitch,” I said when I saw the name. “Mitchell Leggler.”

“Address has him out in Fredericksburg,” the uniformed cop said.

“That’s about an hour away,” Pat said.

An hour away, I thought. He comes into the city, grabs a girl, and then takes her an hour away to suburban Fredericksburg, Virginia, where his neighbors and friends probably have no idea what he’s been doing.

“That’s Spotsylvania County,” I said. “Get them on the phone. We need a search warrant ASAP. Hopefully we aren’t too late.”

“You think the girls are there?”

“I do.”

“What about the blonde?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know. The way he was holding her arm, I don’t think she knew what she’d gotten herself into.”

Pat turned and got on her phone. I had the uniform run the name Mitchell Leggler through the database, and of course he came up clean. No warrants. No citations. No outstanding tickets. On paper he looked clean. On the outside he was probably your everyday choirboy. But within that choirboy was the darkness that Tanisha Bentley warned me about.

Rudy and Carl walked over to me, and Carl patted my shoulder.

“Don’t beat yourself up too much. We did all we could. There’s no way to have known that he’d seen you before.”

I nodded and understood. But it didn’t change anything. Dark still was out there with a woman whose life was in danger, notwithstanding the other possible girls he kidnapped.

We slapped five—an understanding between men that we were going to be good. Everything was going to pan out.

Pat came back to the group. She had a smirk on her face like she was ready to spill the beans about something.

“I was put through to a detective over there. As soon as I gave him our guy’s name, he knew who he was immediately.”

“What do you mean?”

“Turns out Mr. Leggler is actually Dr. Leggler. He’s an ER physician here in D.C.”

“Really?

My mind immediately went to the surgical utensils we’d found at the house of horrors.

“Why do they know him?”

“A year ago his name came up in an abduction case. A woman went missing. He was one of the last to allegedly have seen her alive.”

“Jesus.”

“When her body was found, his DNA didn’t match. So he was cleared.”

“Did they ever find the killer?”

She shook her head, “No.”

“A million bucks our dead friend Baldwin Lanceport’s DNA matches.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m almost scared to know how many women he’s been a part of kidnapping and killing.”

“Hopefully you’ll get the chance to ask him.”

I nodded. “So what hospital does he work out of?”

“GW.”

“Jesus. He’s around young women all the time over there.”

I looked to Rudy and Carl.

“You guys wanna go over there and see what you can dig up at GW?”

They both looked at each other.

“Depends,” Rudy said. “You going out to Fredericksburg?”

“Of course.”

“Then hell no. We want in on the action.”

I smiled. I couldn’t blame them.

“Okay, we’ll send someone else.”

“The detective is getting the search warrants ready,” Pat said. “He said he’ll wait for us to come down.”

“Okay, let’s get moving. If our guys grab him before he gets out of the city, I can wait another couple hours to talk to him.”

“Say they don’t?” Carl asked.

“Then he’ll get a little surprise out in Fredericksburg.”

Fifty-seven

The driver’s seat was reclined slightly. The windows were halfway down. It hadn’t rained for a few hours, so the breeze was comfortable. Dark was still running on high adrenaline, but he calmed enough so as not to push the gas pedal too hard and bring unwanted police presence. He cruised the streets of D.C. until he got onto 395, which took him to Interstate 95 heading south toward Fredericksburg.

This was when Dark felt most alive. He’d just killed two people, and he had a beautiful woman sitting next to him who was scared for her life. The fear was like an aphrodisiac to him, and the more fear he sensed from Lisa Smith, the hornier he became. Not that she didn’t make him horny already. Banging her was a given, but just like fear and adrenaline make an animal’s meat more flavorful, fear added a necessary spice to sex that just made him totally get off.

Once they pulled onto 95, the ride was smooth. At times the BMW felt like it wasn’t even touching the ground, more like gliding through the air. Quality craftsmanship at its best, Dark thought.

“Why did you shoot that woman?” Lisa Smith asked.

Dark raised his right eyebrow. He slowly turned to look at Lisa Smith who, at the moment, didn’t seem like a woman who was afraid of him.

“Interesting question. No one’s ever asked me that.”

“Will you answer it?” The tone of her voice was stronger than it had been when she pleaded to be let go.

“Perhaps. But let me ask you a question. And before you answer, think hard.” He paused to let the suspense build. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly.

“Are you sure? You know how the old saying goes, ‘Ignorance is bliss’.”

A smirk slowly crawled over her face; that got Dark’s attention.

“There’s also a saying that you should never judge a book by its cover.”

Now Dark was the one with the smirk on his face. A woman after his own heart. This night might be even more interesting than he thought.

“Okay, then, if you must know, she was about to set me up.”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions for someone in your situation.”

“What else am I going to do?”

“You aren’t afraid, are you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not afraid to die.”

Interesting response, Dark thought.

“So, two-part question,” Lisa Smith said. “Why was she going to set you up? And how did you know that she was going to set you up?”

Dark didn’t know what to make of Lisa Smith’s sudden boldness, but he had to admit that he liked it.

“Part one of your question: She knows something about me. Part two of your question: I recognized a detective when we entered that room. There was no reason for him to be there except for me.”

“What did you do?” Lisa Smith asked with more authority.

“Are you really not afraid to die?”

“No,” she said confidentially.

“So if I were to run us off the road right now, that wouldn’t frighten you?”

“No, but it would frighten you.”

“You think I’m afraid of death?”

“I know you are.”

“Why?”

“Because you handcuffed me. You didn’t trust that I would sit here quietly and not put up a fight. Because that’s not what you want from me.”

“What is it that you think I want from you?”

Lisa Smith’s eyes squinted a little and her lips puckered just enough that Dark became erect in his pants.

“I see how you look at me. You wanted me in the hospital room while you were examining my son. You want me to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.” She paused for a moment, and Dark let her words linger in his imagination. “But now you have a problem. You’ve shown me your true side. You aren’t the innocent doctor you portrayed when we first met. You still want to fuck me, but now that I’ve seen the real you, you think you’ll have to take it from me instead of me giving it to you.”

For the first time in a long time, Dark was at a loss for words.

“But just like you tried to hide your real self from me, I hid my real self from you.”

“How so?”

“I’m not so innocent myself.”

Dark gulped, and he feared suddenly that it was too quiet in the car, that she might have heard it. He looked in his rearview mirror and changed lanes. He pushed a little harder on the gas pedal, and the BMW swiftly picked up speed.

“So are you trying to say that you and me are the same?” Dark said.

“No, I’m saying that you and me aren’t the same because you aren’t on my level.”

Dark laughed, raising his hand and pointing in the air.

“Now I get it. You think you’re going to play mind games with me. That if I think we’re equals I’ll un-cuff you. You’re more stupid than I thought.”

“Think what you want. But I’m not the only one with a pussy here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

She shook her head, “I have a pussy, and I’m sitting with a pussy.”

Dark hesitated for a moment and thought to himself, Did she just call me a pussy?

“Making me angry isn’t your best option to get out of this alive.”

“I’m not worried about that. But you should know that your methods are sloppy.”

“Now you’re going to school me on how to kill?”

Lisa Smith sighed before responding. “Had you been paying attention, you would have noticed two undercover detectives outside of the rave before we headed in. And had you been paying more attention, you would have noticed that there were three more inside the rave by the exits.”

“And you know this how?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been around a lot of cops.”

Dark took his eyes off the road and glared at Lisa Smith for a few seconds.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m who you thought I was. Only worse. Or for you, an ally.”

“I don’t need any allies.”

She tilted her head, “And here I thought we were going to fuck each other’s brains out tonight.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, and don’t worry about the handcuffs. I got them off five minutes ago.”

Dark’s eyes widened when she raised her hands holding onto the handcuffs. The whole time they’d been on 95, Dark hadn’t realized how dark the inside of the car had gotten. And the way she’d been talking to him was more of a way of getting him to not focus on the fact that she was unhooking herself from the cuffs.

“You’ve been playing me the entire time,” he said.

“Rule number one: Never handcuff a person’s hands in front of them.”

“What’s rule number two?”

“You’ll find out when we get to your house,” she said with a smile.

Dark didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But one thing he did know, he was ready to bang Lisa Smith.

Fifty-eight

Once on I-95, we made it to Fredericksburg in thirty minutes. Detective Danny Williams met us in the parking lot of a McDonald’s right off the interstate. He was an older gentleman who looked like he was nearing the end of his career but also appeared to have kept himself in great shape. We all introduced ourselves, and Detective Williams gave us the breakdown of the homicide case in which they’d originally had Mitchell Leggler as a suspect.

“The girl had been missing for about three days before we received the report. Initially we thought she could have been a runaway or was shacked up with a guy. Apparently, she was a party girl who oftentimes stayed away from home for nights at a time.”

“So why’d the family initially report her missing?” I asked.

“One of her friends was with her the night she met Dr. Leggler. The friend said that night he kept throwing around that he was a big shot doctor, but then by chance she ran into him two days later and he acted as if he didn’t know who she was.”

“And the friend never heard from the girl after that night?”

Detective Williams shook his head, “Nope.”

“Where was she found?” Pat asked.

“In the woods about ten miles from here. She had bruises around her wrists, and she’d been sexually assaulted.”

“And his DNA didn’t match?”

“Nope. And he had an airtight alibi. We screened him carefully because he was a doctor. The last thing we wanted was for the press to get wind that a doctor was a suspect and turn this town into a media circus.” He paused for a second to clear his throat. “I was the lead detective on the case. Something about Dr. Leggler never sat right with me, but without any evidence I had to let him go. So when Detective Jennings called, I nearly hopped out of my seat when she said his name.”

I nodded and understood because I’d been there.

“Is the case still open?”

“It is. We were never able to match up the DNA with anyone we brought in.”

“I have a guy who may match.”

“You’re shittin’ me. Where?”

“Back in D.C. His current dwelling is in the city’s morgue. We believe that he and Dr. Leggler were a tandem and that there could be a total of seven victims still unaccounted for.”

“Jesus. Well, we better get on the move then.” He patted his left breast jacket pocket. “I’ve got the search warrant ready. SWAT is going to meet us about three miles from here. They’re ready to go. Dr. Leggler’s house is about ten miles from here. Based on what Detective Jennings said happened, if Dr. Leggler comes back to Fredericksburg, he may not go down without a fight.”

“Keep in mind that he may have a hostage with him, a blonde woman.”

“Will do. We already sent a scout to check out the house. If he’s there, we’ll know.”

We all got back into our cars and followed Detective Williams out of the McDonald’s parking lot.

Fifty-nine

Dark sat behind the steering wheel for a moment as he shut down the engine. The car came to a quiet halt rather quickly. The dashboard lights glowed in the dark night, and the sounds of crickets chirping filled the silence. He looked up through the glass of the sunroof and saw the first break of bright stars through the clouds, finally clearing after hovering over the area for the past few days.

“Sometimes, after I get home from the hospital and the night is clear, I just sit here and stare at the stars,” Dark said.

“Are you looking at anything in particular?”

He shook his head, “No. Just admiring the vastness of space.”

Lisa looked up through the sunroof. “They are beautiful.”

He lowered his head and turned toward Lisa. “Yes, they are.”

She looked away from the stars and into his eyes, and the two stayed that way for a few seconds.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

“How should I look at you?”

A sinister smiled lit her face, “You’re ready for me, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“How bad?”

“As bad as can be.”

Lisa Smith turned toward the house. “Maybe we should go inside now.”

“Okay. But first I want to show you something.”

“What?”

His eyes widened, “It’s a surprise.”

“Ooh, I love surprises.”

“I’m starting to sense that about you.”

Dark opened his door, and Lisa followed suit. She walked around the car and stood next to him. He reached for her hand and gently placed his fingers in between hers.

“You have soft hands,” she said.

“I’m an ER doctor. What’d you expect?”

The two laughed.

“So what’s the surprise?”

“Walk with me. You’ll love it.”

They started walking across the yard.

“So how’d you learn the trick with the handcuffs?”

“A good magician never reveals her secret.”

“Ah,” he waved off the comment. “I just didn’t clamp them tight enough. You slipped your writs through them.”

“If you say so.”

They continued walking until they reached the cellar. Dark took out his keys; he unlocked and pulled open the doors.

“Are you a winemaker?” Lisa Smith asked. “Are you taking me to the cellar to show me your vast collection?”

Dark laughed, “I don’t collect wine. But you’re on to something.”

He stepped down the steps first and beckoned Lisa Smith to follow. Once in the cellar, he clicked on the light, and the women chained to the wall squinted in the sudden brightness. Dark couldn’t hide his smile. He turned to Lisa who was looking at the women.

“What do you think?”

“What do you mean?” Her voice wasn’t as strong as before.

“About my collection?”

“Who are they?”

He grabbed her hand again. “Here, let me introduce you.”

They walked deeper into the cellar.

“This here is Stephanie. She’s been with me the longest.”

They took another step in.

“And this is Angela. She had promise, but in the end she turned out like the rest of them.”

They took another step.

“And this here is Sophie.”

Dark looked at Lisa Smith who now had a tear running down her face.

“But you already knew that, right? Being that she’s your sister and all.”

“Sophie,” Lisa said under her breath.

“Don’t worry,” Dark said. “You two will get well acquainted very soon. But first I’m going to get from you what I’ve been wanting all night.”

Lisa Smith was about to put up a fight, but Dark elbowed her in the back of the head and she was unconscious a few seconds later.

“Lisa!” Sophie yelled through the duct tape as Dark grabbed Lisa by her wrists and dragged her limp body across the floor.

Sixty

The lights inside the house were on. The black BMW was parked in front of the garage. Dark’s house was off a back road that didn’t have a streetlight, making the front yard nearly black, with the exception of a single light next to the garage door. Detective Williams’ scout told us that Dark had carried an unconscious woman inside the house through the front door.

“Was she blonde?” I asked.

“Hard to tell, but I think she was,” the scout said.

I nodded. “Possibly the same woman from the rave.”

“They emerged from that side cellar. I’m not sure, but I thought I heard another voice.”

SWAT had the whole house surrounded. One team was around the back, and the other was in the front. They wore black clothes and gear, which made them blend perfectly with the night. The leader of the SWAT team, a Sergeant Tucker, stood with us in a circle near one of the cars.

We were all looking in the direction of the cellar, and I was sure all of us had the same thoughts in mind: the missing girls might be down there.

“What are our options?” Detective Williams asked.

“We hit the house first,” Sergeant Tucker said.

“He’s armed,” I reminded.

“Once we pinpoint his location we’ll target that specific area.”

I looked at the house again. The window coverings were all down. I wasn’t sure how he was going to pinpoint their location, but then a light went off in my head. I looked back at Sergeant Tucker.

“Body heat?”

He nodded. “This might be Fredericksburg, but we’ve got technology too.”

Detective Williams looked around at us and then said, “I don’t want to be the dumb one in the class, but I was told no question is a stupid question. Body heat?”

“Infrared lenses allow us to find out where they are by the heat that their bodies emit,” Sergeant Tucker said.

Detective Williams rubbed his balding head, “Jesus, I’m a dinosaur.”

Sergeant Tucker patted him on the shoulder, “No you’re not. The department is. I had to beg and then beg some more to get them approved.”

“So if we see that they’re on the other side of the house, maybe we can check out the cellar,” I said. “Less chance of him hearing us.”

Sergeant Tucker nodded.

“What about the girl?” Pat said. “She probably needs medical attention.”

Sergeant Tucker nodded and then radioed his men.

“Do we have eyes yet?”

A deep voice came back over the radio. “Two bodies in a rear upstairs room.”

“Both warm?”

“Copy that.”

“Any way to get to that room from the outside?”

“That’s a negative.”

“10-4. Hold your position.”

Sergeant Tucker looked at the group of us, “She’s alive at least.”

“I say we check out the cellar,” I said. “There may be a way inside from there.”

“Nah,” Detective Williams said. “This is an old Victorian. Probably close to a hundred years old. They wouldn’t have built an entrance to the house back then.”

“Maybe he put one in.”

“Then why carry the blonde around instead of going through the inside entrance?”

He had a point, I thought. Still, I needed to know if those missing girls were in there. Dead or alive.

“Maybe there’s a way to draw him out,” I said.

“Shoot,” Detective Williams said.

“We check out the cellar. If the girls are down there, we make noises. He hears the noise and comes out to check on them. When he’s out of the house we grab him. That way the blonde in the house is safe and so are the girls in the cellar.”

“And if the cellar is empty?”

“It’s not. They’re down there.”

Detective Williams looked to Sergeant Tucker.

“What do you think?”

“If it gets him out of the house, it makes it safer for my guys. He won’t expect us to be out here.”

“All right, then,” Detective Williams nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Sergeant Tucker radioed his guys to check out the cellar.

“I want to go too,” I said.

“Let us clear it first.”

I nodded reluctantly.

From where we stood it looked like shadows were running across the yard.

“Really think they’re down there?” Pat asked in a low voice.

“I do.” My voice was equally as low.

We saw the cellar door open and the shadows climbed in. Seconds later the deep voice came over the radio.

“Serg, we got something.”

Sixty-one

Dark stood at the foot of his bed wearing only a black pair of boxers. The lights in his bedroom were dimmed, and a fireplace had two logs burning. From time to time, the fire caused the wood to make crackling sounds. Had this been any other occasion, the woman lying on Dark’s bed would have thought the dimmed lights and fireplace were a romantic gesture for setting the mood. However, as Dark stood there and watched Lisa Smith’s eyes flicker open from unconsciousness, it was clear romanticizing the night was far from her mind. And Dark was okay with that.

It took her a couple of seconds to realize that her wrists were bound to the headboard by leather straps. Her ankles were bound to the footboard, and her legs were spread wide enough for Dark to insert himself into her. It took her another second to realize that she was completely naked.

She tried to yank her wrists and ankles free, but they were tightly secured. Just seeing her struggle caused Dark to become erect.

“You look too much like her,” Dark said.

He stepped from the foot of the bed and walked to Lisa’s right side.

“I didn’t catch on at first. But when I came home, I looked through Sophie’s purse and saw a picture of the two of you.”

In his right hand he held a long knife, which he raised and pointed at Lisa Smith.

“Did you really think you were just going to walk in here and take her back?”

Lisa didn’t answer. Her eyes were focused on the knife.

Dark sat down on the bed. With his free hand, he rubbed his fingers through her hair.

“I liked the Lisa Smith you portrayed in the car. I could have gotten used to her.”

“I can be her,” Lisa said weakly.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

Dark brought the knife to the center of Lisa’s breastbone and let the tip gently glide along her skin.

“How’d you know who I was?”

“I don’t know.”

Dark pushed the tip of the knife a little into her skin, which caused a spot of blood to come forth.

“Wanna try that again?”

He bent down and licked the blood with his tongue.

“I knew someone. She told me one night she met a good-looking guy at a bar, a young doctor. She said that he tried to get her to go home with him and do a threesome with another girl who was with him. She said that she was going to, but then the guy started creeping her out by how pushy he became. And then she overheard him say to the other girl that when they were done he was going to get rid of her like the others.”

Dark shrugged his shoulders, “There’s lots of assholes out there who do threesomes all the time.”

“She told me his name was Mitch.”

Dark shrugged his shoulders again. “She missed out on a good time.”

“When my sister went missing, I started doing my own investigation. And then I remembered my friend’s story about the young doctor named Mitch. And I wondered, if she had gone home with him would she be alive today?”

“What do you think?”

Lisa didn’t answer.

“Who was the kid in the ER?”

“A friend’s son. It didn’t take long to find out that a young doctor named Mitchell Leggler worked out of GW.”

Dark smiled. “And then you came after me. I must admit, I’m flattered.”

“Let my sister go. You can have me. I won’t put up a fight.”

“I know you won’t. But you see, I kinda have a thing for sisters.”

Dark stood up and walked over to a dresser where Lisa Smith’s purse rested. He went through the purse and pulled out a 9mm handgun. He pulled out the clip and saw that it was full. He then cocked back the chamber and noticed that one round was ready to go. He held out the gun as he walked back to the bed.

“I bet the first bullet had my name on it.”

Lisa Smith didn’t answer.

Dark placed the gun on the nightstand and sat back down on the bed.

“When I’m done with you, I’m going to give you a choice. I can either kill your sister with this,” he held up the knife, “or that,” he pointed to the gun. “Personally I like getting my hands dirty, if you know what I mean.”

He winked at her and then placed the knife down next to the gun.

“I hope you’re ready for me, because I sure am ready for you.”

He stood up and pulled down his boxers, revealing his erectness. He slapped it with his hand and watched as it bounced up and down.

“Like a rock,” he said.

Lisa’s eyes widened, and her lightly tanned skin suddenly turned pale. Dark climbed on top of her. He pushed her legs open wider with his knees. He licked her neck and then inhaled the scent from her hair.

He brushed his lips past her ear and then gently whispered, “Oh, I’m going to love banging you.”

Lisa whimpered, which made Dark’s erection even harder. He let the tip touch the outside of her vagina and was getting ready to push himself inside when he heard a woman’s voice call for help from the outside. In a millisecond he suddenly remembered that he forgot to lock the cellar doors because he was carrying Lisa Smith.

Shit!

Sixty-two

A chill ran through my bones when the SWAT officer came over the radio and said that they found something. All of us quietly hurried across the yard to the cellar. A few SWAT officers were down there shining their flashlights on three women chained to a wall. They were dirty and looked dehydrated.

“Son of a bitch,” I said to myself.

“What about the chains?” Detective Williams said to one of the SWAT officers.

“They’re secured pretty tight. We’d make too much noise trying to break them.”

The girl bound farthest in the cellar said, “He has my sister. Please help her.”

“We will, ma’am,” I reassured.

The girls were crying, but we tried to get them to stay quiet.

“Sergeant,” I said, “I know how we can draw him out.”

“I’m listening.”

“Place three of your men down here. We open the cellar door. We’ll stand around the corner and Detective Jennings can call out that she needs help. He won’t recognize that her voice is different from theirs. Only that it’s a woman’s voice. He’ll freak out and rush to see what happened. Once he’s out of the house, your men can take him down.”

Detective Williams was the first to speak up, “Sounds good to me.”

Sergeant Tucker looked around the cellar and then at his men. “You three stay down here with them.” He then looked toward me and Pat. “You two come with me.”

He then spoke into his radio and advised his team of the new plan. We quickly headed up the stairs and out of the cellar. Pat and I stuck with Sergeant Tucker around the corner of the house. Detective Williams crossed the yard and went back to his car. One team stood behind the porch of the front door, and another team stood behind the rear door. Because it was so dark, they were like ghosts in the night.

Sergeant Tucker readied his team and then gave Pat the go ahead.

“Help me! Help me! Help me!”

My heart was literally ready to jump out of my chest with anticipation. After Pat quieted down, all I heard was my breathing. It sounded too loud, so I tried to calm my nerves. Seconds passed, which turned into minutes. Crickets chirped. The more I focused on their chirping the louder they became.

The first-level lights inside the house went out. A few seconds later, the porch light went out too. The front door’s deadbolt clicked, and the squeaky sound from the hinges sang out as the door slowly opened. It was too dark to tell if he came outside or not. The SWAT officers stayed in their positions. No one made any noises. Then, as if the sound came from the midst of the night, a woman’s voice whimpered. Footsteps came from within the house and onto the front porch. SWAT stayed in their positions.

The woman’s whimpers changed to light sobs. The sound of the sobs slowly moved across the yard and then came to a stop. There was the faintest outline of two dark figures standing still. I wondered if he knew that we were there. If so, why come out?

“Light,” a male voice said softly.

A light came on from a flashlight. The light showed their position, but that was it. We didn’t know if Dark was carrying a weapon or not, which complicated things. SWAT would put themselves and the woman at risk if they rushed him while he was carrying a weapon.

The light swayed back and forth like it was looking for something on the ground.

“Move,” Dark said.

The light started moving toward the cellar doors. If they made it there and Dark went down, he’d run right into the three officers. And if he was carrying a weapon, who knew what he’d do. I tried to think of our options. It was so quiet out that our slightest movement would be amplified. But then again, if Dark heard movement, he wouldn’t go to the cellar—he’d go to where he heard the movement. Because why was he out there? He’d heard a woman’s voice. He thought one of them got out. He now saw that the cellar door was open, so in his mind, he was trying to find his prey before she was able to get away.

The only thing my mind could come up with was to run. And if I could run back into the house and hit the lights, I’d at least be able to see if he was carrying. I had a fifty/fifty chance, I figured. Pretty good odds in my favor.

I leaned over to Pat and put my mouth next to her ear and whispered, “I’m heading for the house.”

She firmly grabbed my wrist. We were close enough to each other that her eyes were screaming “No” to me.

I pulled from her grasp and let her know with my eyes that I’d be okay. Her eyes said “No” again. It was almost like we were having a non-vocal argument until she finally gave in. I rubbed her arm and then turned.

The flashlight was closer to the cellar, which turned out to be in my favor as it gave me more running time. I’d always prided myself on being a fast sprinter, and now was as good a time as any to put my speed to the test. I stepped away from Pat and Sergeant Tucker. He didn’t notice at first, but when he did he sensed that I was about to do something foolish. He was about to reach for my arm, but I bent my knees, pushed off, and burst toward the front door like a runner coming out of the block.

As soon as my feet started making noise across the grass, the flashlight quickly turned from the cellar and toward me. It couldn’t find me, but the light started bobbing like the person holding it was jogging.

“Hey, stop!” Dark yelled.

The light started moving faster, and I heard the woman’s voice whimper louder.

“She’s getting away, dammit. Pick up your feet,” Dark said.

I made it to the front porch and then into the house. I crossed the doorway like I was the first sprinter to break the finish line. I hit the first light switch I could find. And then I found another and another. By the time I was done, I had a few lights on the main floor on. I ducked to the back of the house and found the kitchen light. I turned it on and then bent down behind the center island. I was hoping that the rest of the team realized what I had done and that as soon as Dark and the woman entered a lit area, they’d be able to take him down.

I was breathing hard and had a difficult time controlling it as sweat now dripped into my eyes. I took in huge gulps of air hoping that would calm my breathing. It helped a little but not quickly enough. Seconds went by that felt like minutes. I wondered what was taking SWAT so long to take Dark down. By now he had to be near the front door. And the light from the foyer would have shown them both in great detail.

More seconds went by, and then I finally heard them. I heard the woman’s whimper. I heard them step into the house. But the next sound was something I wasn’t expecting to hear: the front door closed.

“Whichever one of you broke away from the chains, you’re going to wish you hadn’t,” Dark said. “And in case you came in here expecting to use the phone, sorry, but there’s no landline.”

I heard Dark tell the woman to sit down. Then I heard the sound of handcuffs clicking.

“Stay here. If you try to run I won’t be so easy on you either.”

The next thing I heard made my blood run cold. Dark cocked a shotgun.

That’s why SWAT didn’t rush him.

Sixty-three

I had my sidearm in hand. I finally had my breathing under control. I was bent down behind the center island in the kitchen. Dark was in the front of the house. I could hear his footsteps walking along the wood floor, but the footsteps remained in the front of the house.

“The longer you hide,” Dark said, “the angrier you’re going to make me. And you should know that you don’t want to make me angry.”

I heard a door open, which I assumed was a closet or bathroom door. Seconds later the door closed.

“Now why’d you go and have to ruin a perfectly good evening for me? If you wanted to join in, all you had to do was ask.”

His footsteps moved to the right side of the house, but he was still near the front. I looked around. I didn’t have much time before he’d find his way to the kitchen. The one advantage I had was that he didn’t know I was in the house, and because of his calling out, I knew where he was at.

I tightened my grip around my gun’s handle and quietly moved to the other side of the island. I peeked around the corner and had a clear sight line to the front door. It took a few more seconds to dawn on me how much of an advantage I had. Dark wasn’t with the blonde, and I had a reasonable idea where he was. I also had my cellphone with me. I reached for it and texted Pat.

“Blonde handcuffed in another room. Dark on right side of house with shotgun.”

I hit Send.

Seconds later, Pat’s text came back. Good thing I remembered that my phone was on vibrate.

“Okay. Breach?”

I replied in all caps, “YES.”

I kneeled down lower than I had been and covered my ears. I expected at any second for the door to crash in and the flash bang to erupt, but it didn’t.

My phone vibrated. I looked at it and saw that Pat sent another text.

“Breach holding. Where is shotgun?”

“Shit,” I whispered.

I quickly typed, “Hold on.”

I put the phone back in my pocket. I looked around the corner of the island again and saw the front door. I heard Dark walking, but this time it sounded as if he was coming toward the kitchen. I moved to the other side of the island and peeked around the corner, and that’s when I saw the tip of the shotgun moving through the other room. The tip was pointed down, which quickly let me know that he wasn’t worried about being attacked. And it also let me know that he wouldn’t be prepared for a surprise.

I waited another couple of seconds until I saw him come into my full view. He was casually looking around as if he were looking for a lost remote control. I gripped my gun a little harder and then shot to my feet with my nine millimeter aimed at Dark’s chest.

“Drop the gun,” I yelled.

He twitched and then stumbled back a step. When he realized that I was standing in his kitchen, his eyes grew wide and he raised the shotgun.

“Don’t do it!” I yelled.

He didn’t listen. Before he had a chance to complete his aim, I put two rounds in his chest, which knocked him back. He didn’t fall, but he dropped the shotgun. I leaped out of the kitchen, and two steps later I knocked him down. We hit the wall before falling to the ground. I turned him over and placed his hands in cuffs. Blood was gushing out of his chest. I quickly ran to the front door and opened it. When SWAT saw it was me they rushed inside.

Sergeant Tucker immediately got in my face. His eyes had the intensity of a bull, and it looked like steam was shooting from his head. “What the hell was that?!”

“I had to do something.”

“Not like that! You could have put this whole operation in jeopardy.”

I didn’t respond. We faced off for another few seconds before one of his team members patted him on the shoulder.

“The suspect is down,” his team member said.

He stared at me for another few seconds before turning around to check on Dark.

“Yeah, that was really stupid, Jacob,” Pat said.

“Sorry,” I said. “I went with my gut. That’s what I do.”

“Well, that gut needs to take a chill pill sometimes. This could have ended horribly.”

She walked away and went to check on Dark as well.

Both Rudy and Carl came up to me and patted me on the shoulder.

Carl said, “Don’t sweat it, Jacob. I would have done the same thing. I only wish I was in here with you.”

Sergeant Tucker walked by me as he headed out the front door. Before going outside, he said, “He’s dead. Happy now?”

The lives of four girls were saved. I felt like shit for the reprimand. But then as I thought about it, a little smile crawled onto my face. Yes, I was happy.

THURSDAY

Sixty-four

It was late and I was exhausted, but I didn’t want to go back to my place. I texted Jayden to see if she was interested in having company at two in the morning. Surprisingly she responded back rather quickly and said that she was awake. I knew that she’d been working long hours lately on a case, but I didn’t think it’d keep her up until 2 a.m.

Normally I would have been worried about Henry not getting out, but earlier in the evening I spoke with my neighbor Hal, and he said that he’d check on Henry if I wasn’t back by a certain time. A few months ago there was an incident at my house where a Russian broke in to wait for me and my friend Rule to come home. Hal went to my house to walk Henry and was detained by the Russian. Luckily for us, everything worked in our favor, and Hal only walked away with minor injuries. I thought he would have been afraid to come back to my house, but he said that he and his wife felt more secure that I was their neighbor and that they understood the nature of my work.

I dropped Pat off at her home, and then fifteen minutes later I stood outside Jayden’s door. When the door opened, I marveled at how nice she looked simply wearing a robe with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She didn’t have on any makeup, nor was she dressed in anything skimpy, and yet I found myself more attracted to her than I had been seeing her dressed up.

“Hey, stranger. Seems like it’s been ages,” she said.

I nodded. It’d only been two days, but it felt much longer. “It always feel like that.”

“Never seems like there’s enough time.”

“Nope, never does.”

I leaned in and gave her a light kiss.

“So is this Detective Hayden’s first attempt at a booty call?”

I laughed. Sometimes the words that come out of her mouth, and the timing of the words, simply cracked me up.

“If I hadn’t just put two bullets in a man’s chest, then yes, I’d say that it was.”

Her demeanor changed. The jokingly affectionate smile on her face quickly disappeared, and now she looked more like a concerned parent than a lover.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not now. Maybe later. Now I just want to lie down.”

She stepped away from the door and I walked in. She led me to the couch in her living room where she had papers spread about and file folders on the floor. She quickly picked up the papers and moved them to the side. She sat down first and then patted her lap. I sat next to her and rested my head where she patted. She gently rubbed her fingers over my head, and every so often she lightly scratched my skin with her fingernails, which sent goose bumps across my arms. I took in a deep breath and then exhaled. Life was good right at that moment.

“Was this the Dark character?”

I nodded.

“Any survivors?”

“Four.”

Her voice rose a little with excitement. “That’s great, Jacob.”

“Yep.”

My eyes remained closed.

“The FBI got you pulling all-nighters?” I asked.

“You know how it is. Our jobs are never going to be the typical nine to five.”

I nodded and understood.

“What case is this?”

“It’d put you to sleep.”

I chuckled, “And that’s a bad thing?”

“I guess not, being that it’s two in the morning.”

I could hear her smiling.

I kicked off my shoes and curled my long legs onto the couch. My body was relaxing, and I literally felt the tension in my muscles releasing. Jayden started talking about the case. I heard the first few words, but then the rest started sounding like the teacher from the Charlie Brown cartoons. Focus, Jacob, I tried to tell myself. I was the one who asked her about the case, and now I was barely interested in what she was saying.

My mind started drifting, and I thought about how the old-timers used to say that if you couldn’t sleep, then start counting sheep. I don’t know why that thought popped into my head. Falling asleep wasn’t going to be a problem, staying awake was.

I heard Jayden say something about a knife, and I managed, “Oh, really.” I guess that gave her the ammunition to keep going because she thought I was awake. Perhaps I thought I was awake too, but after the fourth sheep jumped the fence, I knew I was in la-la land. How did I know? Because sheep don’t look over at you and talk back.

Sixty-five

At 2:47 in the morning, Constance McClure opened her eyes and felt the urge to use the bathroom. She cursed at herself for drinking so much water before she went to bed, but her late-night workout left her thirsty and dehydrated. As she sat up, she kept hearing her mother’s words from when she was a kid about not drinking fluids past seven o’clock.

“Great, I’ll never get back to sleep.”

For the most part, Constance felt that she was nocturnal. Rarely did she get to sleep before midnight, and if she woke up before her alarm clock, then she was up. She got out of bed and rushed to the bathroom in the hallway. She lived in a two-bedroom apartment on the lower level of a brownstone in Washington, D.C. Since she was awake, her thoughts started drifting toward the workday ahead. She thought about the emails that she hadn’t responded to before she left the evening before. She thought about the two meetings that her boss asked her to lead. She hoped that she was ready for them because it could be a career move in the right direction.

After finishing in the restroom, she walked to her bed, lay back down, and covered herself with a thick, soft blanket. She exhaled. She knew she was in for a long night because she wasn’t sleepy anymore. The few hours’ rest that she did get was good enough for her body. She thought about if there was anyone she could call. No. Anything that she wanted to surf on the Internet? No. She even thought about porn briefly, but then decided against it.

She reached for the remote control and turned on the television. She started sifting through channels and finally landed on a rerun of House Hunters that she liked.

“Oh well. Guess it’s you and me.”

Fifteen minutes into the show, her eyes started getting heavy again. She pushed herself deeper into her pillow, and she felt like she was lying on a soft cloud. Then she heard something coming from the living room. She wasn’t sure what it was, but living in the city, she was used to hearing sounds. And being on the ground level, she always heard people walking by and cars driving along the road.

She ignored the sound and turned her attention back to the television. At the same time, her cell phone rang, which startled her. She saw it was her mother ringing. She looked at the clock again, and a panic suddenly overcame her. Did something happen to her father? Possibly her brother?

“Mom?”

“Hi, honey.”

“Is everything okay? It’s three in the morning.”

“Sharon Duncan is dead.”

Constance’s voice rose, “What?”

“They’re all dead, honey.”

“What? How?”

“That’s not important. Right now I want you to leave your home and come here.”

“What? You’re two hours away.”

“It doesn’t matter. Just come home, honey.”

“Mom, you’re not making sense.”

“Constance, listen to your mother. Come home now.”

“Wait, wait. Let me call Mr. Stewart. He’ll know what to do.”

“Jim is dead too.”

Constance’s eyes widened and she nearly dropped the phone.

“Listen to your mother. Whatever you’re wearing, just grab your keys and come home.”

“Okay,” Constance softly responded.

She hung up, and it took her a few seconds to do anything. They’re all dead, she thought. Suddenly memories started flashing through her mind.

Then she heard the sound again, the one she heard before the phone rang. She looked toward the hallway leading out of her bedroom. All the lights were off except for the television. What had she heard? At first it sounded as if a window had opened, but she knew that couldn’t be it because her widows were locked.

She kicked the blanket off her legs and then turned her body and got out of bed. Her pajama pants had pockets, and she unconsciously slipped her phone in the front right one. Her bare feet gently shuffled along wood floors. When she reached the hallway, she turned on the light.

“Hello?”

She carefully made her way along the hallway and picked up a long umbrella she’d used earlier in the day. She held the umbrella like she was ready to swing at a fastball. Her hands were wrapped tightly around the handle of the umbrella, but her arms shook from nerves.

“Hello?” she called out again.

She made it to the living room, and the first place her eyes went to were the windows. Dark drapes covered them, so she couldn’t tell if they were open or not. She looked around the room, and nothing seemed out of place. What had she heard? Maybe her mother’s phone call had just made her uneasy.

She gripped the umbrella tighter as she walked toward the windows. However, she didn’t have to make it all the way to realize that it wasn’t the windows that were open, but the front door. She nearly froze with fear. She was scared to turn around for fear she might see something that she didn’t want to see. Why was the door open?

“Hello?” She called out again with a shaky voice.

But this time, the silence of the apartment didn’t answer back. A male voice did.

“Hello, Constance,” a deep voice replied.

Constance squeezed her eyes shut tight, and her knees nearly knocked back and forth. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to keep her balance. She finally found the strength to turn slightly left, and that’s when she saw him standing in the kitchen. She wanted to scream, but fear wouldn’t let her. Her hands ached from squeezing the umbrella so tight.

The man walked toward her, and the closer he came out of the darkness of the kitchen the more horrifying he looked.

Tears began streaming from her eyes. “No, no, no.”

“Shhhh. I have been waiting for you,” he said.

He was now standing close to her. She had to tilt her head back slightly to make eye contact with him. His teeth were jagged, his skin was pale, and his fingers were like knives.

He raised his index finger to her lips and let her feel the sharpness of the tip.

“Do you know who I am?”

She quickly shook her head back and forth, no.

He smiled, displaying the fullness of his jagged teeth.

“I am He.”

Constance’s eyes remained wider than ever.

“I have come so that you will believe.”

He took a step closer and lightly wrapped his large right hand around her neck. He didn’t squeeze.

“It was you all along,” he said. “You were the reason I have come.”

Constance didn’t say a word. She couldn’t say a word. Her voice was lost deep inside her own fear. Her hands finally unclamped themselves from the umbrella, and it fell to the floor. Her arms felt like they became deflated of all strength.

“Constance,” he said. With his other hand, he brushed the sharp fingers through her hair. “No one believed. I hope that you do.”

With his large hand wrapped around her neck, Constance was barely able to muster up enough courage to ask, “Believe in what?”

His eyes grew wide. The hand that was wrapped around her neck squeezed just enough that she coughed.

“In me.”

Sixty-six

Back in Harrisburg, Detective George Willis was awake at his kitchen table looking through case notes of Ms. Duncan’s murder/suicide. It was 4 a.m. and he’d normally be sound asleep, but given what he witnessed earlier in the day, he couldn’t sleep. Once news broke about the incident, the town was in a buzz as to why a seventy-something former principal would kill her friends and then herself. It didn’t add up in the town’s mind, or in Detective Willis’.

Looking over the pictures of the crime scene, Detective Willis kept hearing Ms. Duncan’s last words echoing through his mind: We’re all to blame; We did this.

“What did you do, Ms. Duncan?”

He read and reread his notes of the incident. He remembered the look of sadness and loneliness on Ms. Duncan’s face before she killed herself. The horror she must have been living with to end her life and the lives of her friends in the way she did.

He read through Detectives Jacob Hayden’s and Patricia Jennings’ statements hoping to get another perspective as to what they saw and heard. But they were right there and witnessed the same thing he had. There wasn’t a smoking gun that stood out and said “Ah ha, here’s the answer to all your questions.” If anything, Ms. Duncan’s final comments created more questions than answers.

He opened another folder and pulled out the photocopied pictures of the victims from D.C. that Detective Jennings emailed over. He printed them on four separate pieces of paper and lined them up one next to the other. Their eyes showed no life; the pulse that once was in their bodies was no longer there, yet their deaths were trying to tell him a story. Unfortunately, trying to read this story was like trying to uncover the mysteries of the universe.

But then he thought about what Jacob Hayden had said, that everything linked back to St. Luke’s. The four killed were from Harrisburg, yet they were all in D.C. Three of the four were former students, and one was a teacher. We’re all to blame; We did this. Was she blaming herself for the D.C. murders? Or more importantly, did she know who the murderer was?

Detective Willis lightly banged his fist on the table. His notes were taking him in circles, and he started to feel like he was in a vacuum. He looked at the clock and saw that it was 4:13. He wasn’t sleepy. He knew that if he went to bed he’d toss and turn for the remainder of the morning. His bed would probably feel hard as a table.

He stood up and stretched his legs and then grabbed his keys and left his house. The morning was a little cooler than he expected, but as his mind tried to sort out the case, he soon forgot the chill of the air.

It took Detective Willis fifteen minutes to reach Ms. Duncan’s residence. The house was dark, as would be expected, and the neighborhood was quiet. As he stepped out of the car, he looked at the porch, and it felt like he was just here. He could nearly hear Ms. Duncan’s voice as she greeted them from her rocking chair. He remembered thinking how she looked like a typical grandmother rocking back and forth with a smile on her face, just enjoying the slower days of life.

He looked back and forth along the street. The night was too late or the morning was too early—depending on how you looked at it—for anyone to be roaming the streets. He walked to the front porch and hoped that, like many older folks who live in smaller communities, Ms. Duncan left her front door unlocked. He reached for the knob and gave it a jiggle; it was unlocked.

“Thank you, Ms. Duncan,” he said to himself.

He slowly pushed the door open, and it squeaked the entire movement. He didn’t think anyone was inside, but as he didn’t have a warrant and technically wasn’t supposed to be on the property, he wanted to be careful. However, as the door’s squeak filled the quiet house, if anyone were home, they’d know he was there.

“Hello.”

Detective Willis stepped inside.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

No answer.

He closed the door behind him, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small flashlight. He hoped that if there were answers to any of his questions, Ms. Duncan’s house would be the catalyst. He shined the light on his feet, being careful not to trip over anything. He thought about heading to her room but then figured: If she’d been keeping a secret that caused her to shoot herself, would she have kept any evidence in her room? Probably not. Best case was the basement.

Ms. Duncan lived in an old bungalow, and houses this style generally used the basements for storage. And this basement didn’t disappoint. There were more than a dozen boxes, two dressers, and various other little things that were probably collected over Ms. Duncan’s lifetime. Detective Willis stepped further into the basement, rolled up his sleeves, and opened the first box.

The only light he used was the flashlight. He was engrossed in his search. He went through two boxes, and so far he found nothing to satisfy his curiosity. He opened the third box and was bent over sifting through it when he heard a sound from behind him. The flashlight was clamped between his teeth, and when he swung his head, the light shined on an elderly African American woman standing at the foot of the staircase aiming a gun at him.

“You’ve got five seconds to tell me what you’re doing here before I blow you away.”

Detective Willis quickly put his hands in the air. He was about to speak but forgot that the flashlight was in his mouth. With his right hand, he slowly lowered it and took the flashlight out of his mouth.

“Don’t shoot,” he carefully said. “I’m a detective.”

“Stand up.”

He stood up slowly.

“If you’re a detective then you should have a badge.”

“I do. I’m going to grab it.”

He slowly reached to his back pocket and pulled out his wallet and badge. The woman stepped back a turned on the basement light from a light switch next to the staircase. Her eyes never turned away from his.

“I’m Detective George Willis.”

The old woman studied the picture and then looked back to his face.

“If you’re a detective, why are you snooping around here in the dark?”

“Ma’am, I’d feel more comfortable if you lowered your weapon.”

“And I’d feel more comfortable sipping on a glass of Vodka, but that ain’t happening right now.”

Detective Willis sighed, but he understood her concern.

“Were you a friend of Ms. Duncan’s?”

“Best friend. Now, answer my question.”

“I’m investigating her murder/suicide.”

“That still doesn’t answer why you’re down here in the dark.”

“I was hoping to find answers to questions that have been raised.”

“Like?”

“Ma’am, please put the gun down. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

“I’ll put it down when I feel comfortable that you’re being straight with me.”

“Okay, fine. Before Ms. Duncan died she said something that’s been baffling us, and frankly I was hoping something around here would give us the answers we need.”

“What’d she say?”

“I can’t disclose that.”

“Mister, you have a gun pointed at your chest, I’m about to pull the trigger and kill a burglar, and you have the nerve to say that you can’t disclose information?”

Detective Willis didn’t need any more convincing.

“Ma’am, you said you were Ms. Duncan’s best friend?”

“Yes.”

“Then maybe you can tell me what this means. Before she killed herself, she said that we’re all to blame. That we did this. What was she talking about?”

The old woman looked away from Detective Willis for the first time. She slowly lowered the gun, took a step back, and sat on the stairs.

“We met with two detectives from D.C. yesterday,” the old woman said.

“Right, Detectives Hayden and Jennings.”

“You know them?”

“Yes.”

“So then you know about what happened in D.C.?”

Detective Willis lowered his hands and carefully moved closer to the old woman.

“I do. I’m working with them in trying to solve the murders.”

The old woman looked up into Detective Willis’ eyes. He saw an anguish and pain in them that appeared to burn at the core of her heart.

“Sharon wasn’t strong enough to handle the murders. She blamed herself.”

“Why’d she blame herself?”

“Because she was our leader.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not following. Do you mean as a principal?”

“No, Detective, not as a principal.”

Detective Willis kneeled down in front of the old woman. He carefully took the gun from her hand and clicked on the safety.

In a soft voice he said, “Ma’am, what do you mean she was your leader?”

The old woman now had tears in her eyes, and her top lip trembled before she spoke.

“She was right. We were to blame. We did do this. If it hadn’t been for our selfishness and cruelty, those people in D.C. would still be alive.”

“Ma’am, you’re gonna have to help me out here. What did you do?”

“We gave them to each other. And they gave themselves to us. All but one. He wasn’t mentally strong enough, and he killed his family because of it.”

Detective Willis looked away trying to understand what the old woman was talking about. Gave themselves to each other? What does that mean? Then a light clicked on and he thought about the school. Three students, one teacher: We all did this. The school was the key.

He looked toward the old woman, and his eyes grew wider with each passing second.

“The victims were all students at St. Luke’s and one was a teacher. Are you telling me that you made them have sex with each other, and then with you?”

The old woman hesitated, and then nodded.

“And the one who wasn’t strong enough. Was that Bernard Fields?”

The old woman nodded again.

“How many students were there?”

“Including Bernard, six.”

Detective Willis looked away, mentally trying to comprehend what he’d just heard. He thought of the victims and then realized something important.

“So there’s one more left that’s out there.”

The old woman nodded again. “She’s in D.C. too.”

Detective Willis quickly stood up and reached for his cell phone. There were two immediate calls he had to make. And one of them was to the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections.

Sixty-seven

My phone vibrated in my pocket, which freaked me out a little. I must have been in a deep sleep, and the feeling of the vibration made me dream that a bug was crawling on my leg. I quickly hopped to my feet and shook my leg, only to realize that it was my phone. I’d forgotten that I fell asleep on Jayden’s lap and had to quickly jog my memory as to why she was sleeping on the couch with her head back against the cushion and her mouth wide opened.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I didn’t recognize the number and wondered why someone was calling me at 4:30 in the morning.

“Hello?” My voice was deep and groggy from sleep.

“Detective Hayden?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“Oh, it’s Detective Willis from Harrisburg. Sorry to have woken you up.”

Detective Willis’ voice sounded rushed and a little excited.

“Hey, George. No worries. What’s up?” I yawned.

“A lot.”

If I had been sleepy, I wasn’t anymore. My mind woke up from its fog at the intensity of his voice.

“You got something?”

“More than something. The something.”

I hurried out of the room because I didn’t want to wake Jayden. I’d only been asleep for about two hours, so I imagine that she’d worked past the time I had fallen asleep. I went into her bedroom and closed the door. I turned on a light and then sat on her bed, which was more comfortable than anything I’d ever sat on. I pushed down and felt my palm conform to the mattress. Posturepedic?

I shook my head and returned my thoughts to the call. “So what’d you find out?”

“First, you need to reach out to a Constance McClure.”

“Who’s that?”

“She’s the fifth member.”

I looked around Jayden’s room for a pen and paper. If she was like me, she’d have one in a drawer, possibly in the nightstand. I pulled the drawer and found what I needed.

“Member?”

“Get ready for this.”

He told me about his breaking into Ms. Duncan’s home and having a run-in with Ms. Dee.

“Scrappy old lady,” I said.

“You’re telling me. Try having a 22 pointed at your chest.”

“Do you think she would have shot you?”

“I have no doubt that she would have shot me.”

He went on to tell me about their conversation. About how she broke down and cried about what she’d done. About how they all were to blame for what they’d done in the past.

“Jacob, they used the kids as their sex toys.”

My voice escalated, “What!?”

“There’s more.”

“Good thing I’m sitting down.”

“The reason Bernard Fields killed his family was because they were a part of it too.”

“Wait, wait, wait. What’d you say?”

“The family, they knew what was going on. They were a part of it. Bernard couldn’t handle it. He was the weakest out of all the kids. One day he snapped and killed his family.”

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t any of this come out at the trial?”

“Ms. Dee said everyone kept it to themselves. Those who knew didn’t talk about it.”

“George, if I’m hearing you right, Ms. Duncan and all those old-timers were having sex with these teenage kids for sport?”

“Think about it. Twenty years ago they weren’t that old. And the kids were mid-teens.”

“That supposed to make it better?”

“Of course not. Just giving a little perspective.”

I shook my head and wasn’t sure if I was still dreaming or not.

“So who’s this Constance McClure?”

“She was one of the five kids in the group. Ms. Dee gave me all of their names. Your victims were all of the kids who were in this group.”

“Wait, I only have three younger victims, and the former teacher, James Stewart.”

“Stewart was one of the adults involved back then. Rachel Melton, Scott Tremble, Bernard Fields, Tracy Sloane, and Constance McClure were the group of kids.”

My mind suddenly made the connection. Whoever was killing these people was killing the group. Therefore, Constance McClure would be next.

“Shit. I need to get to Constance,” I said.

“Exactly. But, Jacob, there’s one more thing you need to know.”

“Okay.”

“Bernard Fields was released from prison six months ago.”

“Really? Why didn’t his lawyer say something? He had to have known that Bernard was released.”

“That’s a question we’ll never know the answer to.”

“What about his P.O.?”

“I got his name and just called his phone. No answer. I left a message.”

“Call again. Keep calling until you wake his ass up.”

“Bernard could be the guy.”

“I wouldn’t bet against it.”

I started remembering the conversations we had at the Fields’ home. The father was a religious man. He probably taught about the rigors of good and evil. Probably taught that the bad people went to hell. What would Bernard have thought of the complexity of hearing his father say one thing while his actions said something else? Would Bernard have been confused? What would he have thought of the devil? Could he become the devil?

My mind then switched to Constance McClure. Who was she? And what role did she play? Was she really in danger? Then my thoughts went deeper. If Bernard’s parents were a part of this group, were the rest of the parents? Were Constance McClure’s parents?

“Find Constance McClure’s parents,” I said. “They may still be in Harrisburg.”

“You and me are on the same mental wavelength. I know what you’re thinking.”

“They may have been involved too.”

“Exactly. I’ll find out where they are.”

We talked for another couple of minutes and then hung up. I was kind of in a daze. I’d seen and heard a lot of crazy things over the years, but this one may take the cake. How could parents allow their kids to get involved in something as neurotic as this? The parents had to have been psychotic themselves.

I looked at my phone and found Pat’s name and number. I hit the button and the phone automatically dialed. A few rings later, her groggy voice came on.

“How do you know that I’m not alone?”

“No man would put up with you.”

“Smart-ass. Why are you calling at this time?”

“I just got a call from Detective Willis up in Harrisburg. We got a lead. I’m gonna swing by and pick you up.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“And Pat?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

I heard the phone click.

Guess she wasn’t in the joking mood.

Sixty-eight

Jayden was still sleeping when I left. She looked so at peace that I just left her a note thanking her for allowing me to crash and that I’d call her later. I picked up Pat who didn’t look the least bit thrilled to see me at this time of the morning, but she offered a weak smile as she entered the car.

“So if Detective Willis called, and you called and got me out of bed, I’m guessing this must be important.”

“It is. I think I know who the next victim could be. And if she’s here in the city, we need to find her.”

Pat’s eyes widened a little. “Okay, that’s pretty important.”

I showed her a piece of paper with a phone number on it.

“I Googled Constance McClure’s name and I found a Pennsylvania phone number. I don’t know if it’s current, but it’s a start. Plus I’m waiting for a callback from the station to see if we have an address on her.”

“If everyone else was in D.C., good chance she is too.”

“That’s what I figured. For some reason, they’re all here. I don’t know why, but they are. She’d be no different.”

I told Pat of my conversation with Detective Willis and everything he shared with me. Her eyes grew wide at parts, and at other parts she shook her head.

“Sick fucks.”

I agreed.

“So why Bernard Fields? Why would he be the one killing them?”

“I don’t know. But think about it. He was a part of the group of five. Maybe he’s killing them for some kind of retribution.”

“But why him? Maybe he’s dead too? Maybe someone else knew about them.”

“I don’t know. What’s more logical: he’s released from prison and is now going after his old group, or someone else who wasn’t involved is killing them for God knows what reason?”

“None of it is logical, but I get your point.”

“Didn’t Brenda say that Bernard was a big kid? Like really big?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“And our devil guy, the two witnesses said that he was huge.”

Pat nodded.

“He’s got to be the guy,” I said.

I looked at the number on the page and dialed it on my phone. It rang two times and then went to voicemail. A woman’s voice came on saying to leave a message. I said who I was and gave my number and said to call me back as soon as possible.

“I can’t wait,” I said.

I dialed the station and talked to one of the detectives I talked to a few minutes before picking up Pat.

“Hey, did you get that address?”

“Just about to call you. Not too many Constance McClure’s in the city, so she was easy to find.”

“She’s here? Great.” My voice was full of excitement.

I copied the address and thanked the detective.

“I know the area. We aren’t far from that address.”

“She’s probably sleeping. That’s why she didn’t pick up the phone.”

“Hope you’re right.”

I fired up the engine and we pulled up to the address in less than ten minutes. There were brownstones on both sides of the street, and like many D.C. neighborhoods, both sides of the street were filled with parked cars. I put on my parking lights, and Pat and I got out of the car. The address was for a lower apartment of one of the brownstones. We stepped down a few stairs and then I knocked on the door. No one answered. I looked through the front window and saw that a hallway light was on.

“See anything?” Pat said.

“Just a light.”

I knocked again. No answer.

“I’m going to walk around back and see if I can see anything,” I said.

I walked around the building and into the dark back alley. Her yard was fenced in. I jumped to see over the fence a few times, but because of the darkness, I wasn’t able to make anything out. I went back to the front of the house where Pat was knocking again.

“Nothing,” I said.

“She’s not home. I knocked pretty loud.”

My phone rang. I saw that it was Detective Willis’ number from earlier.

“George?”

“Hey Jacob. Got some news.”

His voice didn’t sound overly confident.

“I got ahold of Bernard’s P.O. He was sent to a halfway house for six months before being formally released. Two months ago he just walked away, and no one’s seen him since.”

“What? How does that happen? Your department wasn’t notified?”

“That’s what I’m checking on. In any case, someone dropped the ball.”

“On a convicted murderer? Give me a break.”

“I don’t know what to say on that one. But I did contact Constance McClure’s parents. They’re still here in Harrisburg.”

“Have they been in touch with her?”

“Her mom just talked to her about an hour ago. She said that she was home.”

I looked at my clock. An hour ago would have put the time around 3:30.

“Kind of a strange time to be talking to your daughter. Did she say what they talked about?”

“Only that she told her daughter that she wanted her to come home. And get this, she said they were close with Ms. Duncan and the rest of the gang.”

I shook my head. “I’m standing in front of Constance McClure’s home now. She’s not here.”

“Maybe she coming back to Harrisburg.”

“That’s a two-hour trip without traffic. You should be there in case that’s where she’s headed.”

“I’ll keep you posted if she shows up.”

We hung up and I exhaled.

“Bernard Fields is nowhere to be found,” I said to Pat.

“Why would he be? That’d make our jobs too easy.”

I looked around and then stepped up to the main street.

“I don’t know. Something’s not sitting right.”

“What else did Detective Willis say?”

“That he talked to Constance’s parents, and that the mother asked her to come back to Harrisburg. That was at 3:30.”

Pat looked at her watch. “Well, we at least know that she was here an hour ago. Maybe she’s heading back to Harrisburg.”

I continued looking around, and then my eyes went to the cars on the street. I dialed the detective again, the one who gave me Constance’s address.

“Hey, can you pull up Constance McClure’s driver’s license information?”

“Give me a second. Yeah, got it right here.”

“Can you pull up her registration and see what type of car she drives?”

“Wait a minute. Here we go. 2011 Honda Accord. Red. Tag DC 7496.”

“Thanks for the help again.”

I hung up. I started walking along the street.

“Where you going?” Pat asked.

“Look for a red Honda Accord.”

I started jogging up the street until I heard Pat call from the opposite end.

“Red Honda.”

I rushed back and looked at the tag number.

“This is her car.”

“So she’s not headed to Harrisburg.”

“At least not in this car.”

We both looked at each other. If this were a game of guesses, I’d guess we both had the same thought. Constance McClure might be in trouble.

Sixty-nine

Matthew Gray tried to control the pain as sweat flowed from every pore of his body. His breaths were short and choppy. His teeth were clenched together. Whenever he felt a spasm coming, he balled his fists and hunched over and tried his hardest to not let it overtake him.

“Sarah!” he said through breaths.

“I’m here, Matt.”

Sarah kneeled next to him. Whenever she put her hand on any part of his skin, he screamed.

“I called Dr. Stanley. He’s rushing right over.”

“What’s happening to me?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Why did my fingernails turn black?”

“I don’t know, Matt. I don’t know anything.”

Matthew felt the pain start to grow in his body again.

“It’s coming back.”

“Breathe, Matt. Just breathe.”

He clenched his fists together and contorted the muscles in his body. He yelled when the pain became too much. Two seconds … three seconds … four seconds … the pain subsided.

Matthew took in quick breaths and relaxed. He was nearly naked except for his boxers.

“I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“I’m with you, Matt. I’ll always be here with you.”

“Sarah, I feel it. The anger from my dreams. It’s the anger.”

“That’s impossible, Matt.”

“No, it’s not. It’s there. It’s trying to break free.”

Sarah didn’t respond.

“I don’t know how else to explain it,” Matthew said.

“Just relax, Matt. Try and stay calm.”

Four rapids knocks came from Sarah’s front door.

“Dr. Stanley,” Sarah said.

She hopped to her feet and rushed to the front door. Seconds later, she and Dr. Stanley were back in the living room. Dr. Stanley quickly kneeled next to Matthew.

“Matthew,” Dr. Stanley said, “what are you thinking at this very moment?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Concentrate. What are you thinking?”

“Murder.”

Dr. Stanley looked over to Sarah.

“What are you feeling?”

“It’s here. It’s—”

Matthew screamed in pain again and clenched his fists. The pain grew more intense, and Dr. Stanley and Sarah suddenly backed up when they saw that Matthew’s skin started turning pale white.

“Dr. Stanley, what’s happening to him?” Sarah cried.

“Dear, God,” Dr. Stanley responded.

He knelt back down and put his face near Matthew’s. “Matthew, I need to understand. Where are you?”

Matthew’s teeth were nearly clenched together when he spoke, “It’s here.”

Two seconds … three seconds … four seconds … five seconds … the pain subsided and Matthew’s kneeling body slumped to the floor. The paleness of his skin returned to its natural peach color. His breaths slowed and his eyes were closed.

“Matt?” Sarah said.

“I think he passed out,” Dr. Stanley said.

“No, I didn’t,” Matthew said weakly. “I’m still here.”

Everyone fell silent for a moment. Matthew’s breathing returned to its normal pattern, but he kept his eyes closed.

“Matthew,” Dr. Stanley said, “was that the anger?”

Matthew nodded.

“I’ve never seen something manifest itself like that,” Dr. Stanley said. “The color of your skin changed.”

“It happened to his hands a little while ago,” Sarah said.

Matthew’s hands were still balled into fists. Dr. Stanley took on of Matthew’s hands and opened it up. The hands were normal too.

“Matthew, I need to know,” Dr. Stanley said, “what were you thinking when the anger started?”

“Nothing,” Matthew whispered. “I wasn’t thinking about anything.”

Dr. Stanley raised his gaze and appeared to have lost focus.

“Dr. Stanley, is everything okay?” Sarah asked.

“I don’t know.”

Matthew slowly opened his eyes and then began to push himself up to a seated position.

“Dr. Stanley, why do you keep asking me what I was thinking?”

Dr. Stanley finally blinked his eyes and looked at Matthew.

“In my office it was the hypnosis that triggered a forgotten memory that sparked the uprising of the anger. This time, you weren’t thinking of anything, yet the anger still tried to come through you.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that the anger is more than in your dreams. It’s a part of you. In fact, it is you.”

Dr. Stanley stood to his feet and walked over to a window; he peered out for several seconds without saying anything. With his back to Matthew and Sarah, he cleared his throat and then said something that caused both of them to stay silent for several more seconds.

“I, too, have felt the anger. I’ve struggled with it for many years. I’ve had the same dreams that Matthew has described.”

He turned around and faced the both of them.

“I don’t know how, but I’ve seen the anger staring back at me when I look in the mirror sometimes. And I’ve heard the words that Matthew has described: What do you do when you look in the mirror and the reflection looking back isn’t you?”

Sarah slowly stood up, “I don’t understand how that’s possible. It almost sounds like you’re saying that you and Matthew are sharing this same feeling.”

“The same? No, I don’t think so. Similar, yes. But mine is far less intense than Matthew’s.”

“So I’m not going crazy,” Matthew said.

“If you are, then I am too,” Dr. Stanley replied with a slight smirk on his face.

“Okay,” Sarah said. She calmed down and caught her breath as well. “So now that the episode has passed, how do we prevent it from returning?”

Matthew shrugged his shoulders.

Dr. Stanley left the window and slowly paced back and forth.

“We need to get to the root of the issue,” he said. “Whatever caused the anger in Matthew’s past to come forth needs to be uncovered.”

“We tried that before. He didn’t know,” Sarah said.

“No, I think he does.”

Dr. Stanley looked to Matthew.

“The friend with no name. He did something that deeply affected you. We uncover that, we uncover the anger.”

“Hypnosis?” Matthew asked.

Dr. Stanley nodded, “That’s the only way.”

Matthew exhaled. “Okay, okay.”

He looked over to Sarah who was already staring at him.

“What about you, Dr. Stanley?” Matthew said. “How will this help you?”

“I don’t know, Matthew. In some strange way, maybe your past is my past too.”

Seventy

Matthew hadn’t had another episode in over fifteen minutes, so Dr. Stanley felt it was okay to start the hypnosis. He went through the same routine he had in his office. He told Matthew to focus on a dot on his forehead, and within minutes Matthew’s eyes were closed.

“Okay, Matthew, we need to find the source of the anger,” Dr. Stanley said. “During our last session, you mentioned a friend.”

Matthew nodded, “I remember.”

Dr. Stanley wanted to tread lightly because the last time they talked about the friend, Matthew had an episode.

“You mentioned that your friend had a gun.”

“He did.”

“And you also said that your friend was walking to the woods.”

Matthew nodded again.

Dr. Stanley looked over to Sarah because this was around the time that Matthew’s episode happened the last time.

“Okay, let’s slow this down,” Dr. Stanley said. “Do you see your friend walking into the woods?”

“I do.”

“And you said that you called out to him?”

“Yes, but he didn’t hear me.”

“So that’s when you decided to follow?”

“Yes.”

“Did he know you were there?”

“Not at first. But the woods make noise when you walk over things, so he eventually turned around and saw me.”

“What did he do when he saw you?”

“He waved me on.”

“And you went?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what happened next.”

Matthew paused, and Dr. Stanley thought that maybe another episode was coming. He looked at Sarah, but her attention was squarely on Matthew.

“He told me that he needed to get rid of something,” Matthew said. “He said that he knew I’d show up.”

“Really? What would have made him think that?”

Matthew shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know.”

“Where did you follow him to?”

“There was a riverbank about a mile in. When we got there, he pulled out a gun from his waistband and threw it into the river.”

“Were you surprised to see the gun?”

“Of course.”

“Did he say why he was getting rid of it?”

Dr. Stanley noticed that Matthew’s demeanor was starting to change. “Okay, let’s not go there,” Dr. Stanley said. “Let’s go to another time after the woods. Did you see your friend again?”

Matthew shook his head, “No, that was it.”

“You never went by his house to see him?”

Matthew quickly shook his head, “No, I couldn’t. I never knew where he lived.”

Dr. Stanley sat back before asking another question. The reason for Matthew’s anger began sometime in the woods; that was clear. Whatever his friend said to him, Matthew held it deep in his heart, and it had emotionally scarred him in some way. But if he asked Matthew about it, he feared another episode would come on. Then again, Dr. Stanley thought, maybe the anger is what we need.

“Matthew, do you feel the anger?”

“It’s here. It’s been here.”

“What is it doing?”

“Waiting.”

“Matthew, I’m going to ask you something that you’re not going to like. But I think it will help. I think it will answer all of our questions.”

Matthew’s eyebrows scrunched.

“Let the anger in.”

Sarah’s voice immediately interrupted, “What? You can’t.” She looked to Matthew. “Matt, no!”

“Sarah, it’s the only way,” Dr. Stanley said. “We must confront what we fear.”

“It could kill him.”

“No, it won’t.”

Sarah opened her mouth as if she were going to protest again but decided against it. Dr. Stanley turned to Matthew and took in a breath.

“Matthew, why was your friend getting rid of the gun?”

Matthew shook his head, “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Matthew’s breaths started coming quicker. “You don’t understand.”

“Help us understand.”

Beads of sweat began forming along Matthew’s forehead. He grabbed the cushions of the couch and clenched his fists around them. His face tightened. His muscles flexed. His mouth opened but no voice came out.

“Dr. Stanley, don’t make him do this,” Sarah pleaded.

“Matthew,” Dr. Stanley said, “why was your friend getting rid of the gun?”

Matthew’s body jerked three times and convulsed another. Then, the peach-colored skin that encased his body started changing to a pale white. His hands, which were clenched around the sofa cushion, extended and his fingers started to lengthen. His nails turned black. His eyes opened, and Dr. Stanley immediately knew that Matthew was no longer in control. The anger was present.

“I can’t,” a semblance of Matthew’s voice was there, but the voice grew deeper, almost otherworldly.

Dr. Stanley and Sarah quickly moved away from the anger that was coming through.

“Matt,” Sarah said softly. “You can’t let it overtake you.”

The eyes that were no longer Matthew’s looked at Sarah. The transformation halted. The room became quiet. The eyes stared without blinking or moving. If it weren’t for Matthew’s stomach rising and falling, Dr. Stanley would have thought the anger had killed him.

Sarah took a step toward Matthew. Parts of him were still there, but most of him had transformed.

“Matt? I know you can hear me. Please, come back to me.”

The eyes blinked and the mouth opened.

“Sarah.” Matthew’s voice was nearly unrecognizable.

“Matt, come back to me.”

She kneeled near his feet and extended her right hand.

The stomach started rising and falling harder. It sounded as if the anger was panting. The eyes blinked, and then a ghastly scream came from deep within the body. The voice started off deep but then the longer it yelled, the more it started to sound like Matthew’s voice. The skin color returned, the hands became their normal size again, but the eyes stayed the same. Matthew was there, but the anger was there too.

“Matthew,” Dr. Stanley said, “is that you?”

“Yes, Dr. Stanley. But he is here with me.”

“Who is he?”

Matthew’s voice became deep again, “You should know, Dr. Stanley. You of all people should know who I am.”

Dr. Stanley moved closer to Matthew. “Are you Matthew’s friend?”

The panting continued, but slowed when he spoke, “You’re getting warmer.”

Seventy-one

She took in a deep breath as if she were inhaling air for the first time. Her lungs expanded as the oxygen filled them, and when she went to release the air, she coughed four times. Constance McClure opened her eyes, and didn’t at first know what was over them. She moved her head around like she was looking for something, but then she realized it wasn’t just her eyes that were covered, but her entire head. She raised her hands and pulled the object off her head and saw that it was a burlap sack.

She didn’t know where she was or how she got there. The last thing she remembered was standing in her living room thinking that she was about to die. The thought caused her to jump to her feet. Where is he? She looked around the room. The lighting was dim and the room smelled musty.

Her heart raced. She scanned every corner of the room as she frantically looked for him. But he wasn’t there. Her nerves were still jumpy, but she relaxed a little when she didn’t feel that there was an immediate threat. She exhaled and looked around the room again, but this time she looked at the room more than just sweeping it for her kidnapper.

The low light came from a kerosene lamp at the far corner of the wall. There was an old wooden desk with a chair on one wall, and a single mattress with no blanket or sheet on the other wall. She turned in a circle in the middle of the room and immediately noticed that there were no windows.

Where am I?

She took in a deep breath and inhaled the musty smell. Wherever she was, the smell indicated the place hadn’t been cleaned in a while. She walked to the kerosene lamp and picked it up. When she bent down, she noticed that the wood floor was scratched and dusty.

With the kerosene lamp in hand, she walked toward the room’s door. Her hand shook the closer she got to the door, which made the lamp shake. Her breaths came quicker, and she felt sweat start to form around the edges of her hair. What would she do if she opened the door and he stood on the other side? Where could she run? Her hand trembled when she touched the doorknob, and she thought for a second that maybe she shouldn’t turn it.

She pulled her hand back. Her heart was beating so loudly that she heard its echo through her chest. She took in deeper breaths to try and calm her nerves. She knew that she needed to think clearly or else she had no chance of making it out alive. She reached for the knob again, and when she touched it she slowly turned it until it wouldn’t turn anymore. She pulled at the door and it opened. Constance held her breath. The door opened with no one standing in front of it. Relief washed over her, but it was short lived. Now she had to step out of the room and into another unknown space that turned out to be a hallway.

The hallway was dark. The only light was from the kerosene lamp. She turned left and then right; either way appeared to be endless. She didn’t know which way to go. She was nearly frozen with fear as she worried that either way, her kidnapper could be there. But she knew that she needed to move. The longer she stayed in one place, the greater chance that he would come back. So she turned right.

The farther she moved away from the room, the more afraid she became. The dim light only allowed her to see a couple of feet in front of her. The hallway looked like she was walking into a black abyss, and at any moment she could fall off its edge. She’d walked about ten feet away from the room when she suddenly stopped. She couldn’t see what was in front of her, but she heard his breathing. Her hands shook more vigorously and she nearly dropped the lamp.

She took a step backward, and as she did, his outline began to enter the light as if he were a phantom coming into form.

“Constance,” he said. His voice echoed through the hallway.

The sound of his voice caused her to drop the lantern. She couldn’t move. The fear that she’d felt before returned; it wouldn’t allow her to take another step. He came closer to the light but stopped far enough that only half of his face showed.

He stared at her, and she couldn’t take her eyes away from him. She wanted to, but something about the way he was gazing at her wouldn’t allow her to shift her eyes. She didn’t understand it, but something about him was familiar. Underneath his hideousness was a familiarity.

“I know you,” she said.

Her mind raced through her past like she was skimming paragraphs looking for a word. Her curiosity overcame her fear, and she was able to take a step forward.

“Why do I know you?”

She took another step forward. The lamp was now behind her, and he was standing only feet away. She looked into his eyes while her memories continued sifting. He raised his hand and rubbed her cheek with the back of his finger. The sudden gentle touch caused a face to appear out of the blur of memories. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened. She was about to say his name, but he stepped back from the light becoming like a shadow in the hall.

“Why?” Constance asked. “Why have you done this?”

“They needed to know,” he said.

“Who needed to know?”

“The others.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No one believed in me. But now they do.”

He stepped back into the light and the subtle gentleness that had been in his eyes only a moment before was now gone. Constance felt a chill run through her body, and the fear that wouldn’t allow her to move returned.

“And now you will believe in me.”

She wanted to scream, but when she opened her mouth, her voice wouldn’t come.

He smirked, “You already do.”

Seventy-two

An hour had gone by, and Constance McClure hadn’t returned the call from my voicemail message I left on her phone. I didn’t want to panic, but given what happened to the others from Harrisburg, I wasn’t feeling good about our chances of finding her alive. Detective Willis contacted her parents and asked if they knew any of Constance’s friends in the D.C. area. Luckily they knew two of her close friends. I reached out to them as soon as I had their numbers, but unfortunately neither of them had heard from her. One of the friends named Olivia lived around the corner and had a key to Constance’s place. She met Pat and me ten minutes later.

She came around the corner with a guy who was nearly twice her size hugging her shoulders. When they saw us, they stiffened a little, and it was evident by the way they walked shyly toward us that they were concerned. Pat and I showed our badges, which only seemed to bring on more concern.

“Can you tell us what’s going on?” Olivia asked.

“We aren’t sure yet. Right now we just want to find out where Constance is.”

“Is she in some kind of trouble?” the guy asked.

“No, not in any kind of trouble.”

“After you called,” Olivia said, “I called Constance’s phone, but she didn’t answer. That’s not like her. She literally wears her phone on her hip. If it rings she answers it.”

“Even at this time of morning?”

She nodded. “It doesn’t matter. The only time I haven’t been able to reach her is if she’s in the shower. And even then she usually calls me back when she’s done.”

Pat and I looked at each other and my mental alarms grew even louder.

“Her car is here and she’s not answering the door,” I said. “Any chance she’s a heavy sleeper?”

“No chance,” Olivia responded. “She’s such a light sleeper that if the wind blows hard she wakes up.”

More mental alarms rang.

“Did you bring the key? We’d like to check out her place.”

She handed me the key as tears began to fall from her face.

“Do you think she’s in there? I mean, if she’s in there and hasn’t been answering, could she be … dead?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Best you guys stay here until we clear the place.”

Pat and I turned toward Constance’s front door and pulled out our sidearms. The sight made Olivia gasp. As we headed toward the front door, I kept thinking that once we were inside, we’d find Constance’s body on her bed with her neck slashed, like the others. As I put the key in, I took a deep breath and hoped that we wouldn’t find her like that. I felt the knob’s handle before I turned the key and realized that it moved too easily. I twisted the knob and found that it was already unlocked.

“It was unlocked the whole time,” Pat said.

I stepped away from the door and went back to Olivia and her friend.

“Does Constance leave her door unlocked?”

“No way.”

I pondered for a moment and then went back to the front door. I looked around the door’s locks and didn’t see any signs of forced entry.

“Something isn’t right,” I said. “The door’s unlocked, yet she’d never leave it unlocked.”

“Get ready for anything,” Pat responded.

I turned the knob slowly and then gently pushed the door open. A squeak rang throughout the front room. Pat and I entered the apartment with our weapons aimed.

“Constance,” I said in an authoritative tone. “This is D.C. police. Are you here?”

Only the silence of the apartment responded.

We quietly walked through the apartment and turned on every light we found. Within a few minutes it was clear that Constance wasn’t inside. I called in Olivia and her friend and asked if anything looked out of place. They quickly walked through the apartment.

“Everything looks normal,” Olivia said.

“Nothing’s missing then?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

I looked at my watch; it was now close to five in the morning. We knew that Constance talked to her mother at 3:30, and we arrived close to 4 a.m. So that meant whoever she left with had about a thirty-minute window to take her from the home.

“Constance’s keys are on the counter,” Olivia said. “She wouldn’t leave without them.”

“Let’s get forensics down here. This is now a crime scene. Maybe the guy finally left prints.”

Pat reached for her phone and made a call. I stepped closer to Olivia and her friend. Their faces went from looking concerned to now distraught. Olivia cried. The guy’s head was down.

“We’re going to find her,” I reassured.

Olivia nodded.

“She hasn’t been gone that long. Our chances are good.”

“Do you think she’s dead?”

I looked around the apartment again, “No, I don’t think so.”

“How can you be sure?”

“We’ve been working similar cases. If it’s the same guy and he wanted her dead, her body would still be here. The fact that he took her and didn’t kill her leads me to believe that he wants something, or possibly someone else, from her. So we’ve got a shot.”

Olivia turned and dug her face into her friend’s chest and wept.

“You guys should go home. I’ll be in touch with any news.”

The guy nodded and comforted Olivia as they walked out the door.

“Forensics are on their way,” Pat said.

I looked around the apartment again, not sure where my next move would be. The only thing we knew was that a guy named Bernard Fields had been released from prison and was one of a group of kids who was involved in a sex ring in Harrisburg. For all I knew Bernard Fields could be dead too.

“Damn, if we had just been a few minutes earlier,” I said.

“No way could we have known.”

“I should have found out who all of the kids were earlier. We could have prevented this.”

“So then, what’s the next move? This is a big city. He could have taken her anywhere.”

“My thoughts exactly. I mean, where does the devil take his victims?”

“Definitely not a church.”

I looked at Pat and furrowed my brows. Definitely not a church. The church is the antithesis of the devil.

“Why not a church?” I said.

“Why not a church? Um, God, the devil, they kinda don’t like each other.”

“Maybe a church is the perfect place. Think about it, why didn’t he kill her? Why’d he take her away?”

Pat shrugged her shoulders, “I have no clue. The guy’s a psychopath. I don’t think he even knows what he’s doing.”

“Maybe she’s his sacrifice. Maybe there’s something about her that he saved for last. Maybe she’s his bargaining chip with God.”

“I don’t know. Sounds like a stretch to me.”

“Well, if you’ve got something I’m all ears.”

“Even if you’re right. How would we begin to locate her in this city? There’s got to be over a thousand churches in D.C.”

We both paused in thought. Pat was right, there’s nearly a church on every street corner. Trying to find her would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. I was about to chalk up the idea when a thought caught my attention. Something Oliva said.

“Wait, didn’t Olivia say that Constance’s phone wasn’t here?”

“I believe she did.”

“So that means she has it with her.”

Pat’s eyes lit up. We both turned at the same time for the front door and rushed outside to the car. Our chances of finding Constance just got that much greater.

Seventy-three

Streaks of lightening shot across the sky, and the occasional thunder rumbled as Pat and I sat parked across the street from an abandoned apartment building. Behind us were Rudy and Carl in Rudy’s car. After we left Constance’s place, I immediately called Olivia and asked if she knew who Constance used as a phone carrier. She knew, which didn’t surprise me. After that, I woke up Captain Hellsworth and told him what was going down. He got us a search warrant quicker than expected, and we contacted Constance’s carrier. They can use a technology called triangulation in which they calculate where a cellphone is located based on the signal strength from different towers. The technology wasn’t always accurate, but it gave us a general location within a city block. It didn’t take us long to pinpoint the best possible place where Constance could have been taken.

This part of the city hadn’t been as kept up as well as other parts, and in many cases we were called here for some of the more violent crimes. Buildings were run-down or abandoned, and the people who lived near didn’t seem to be especially caring that the city had forgotten about them.

The rear doors to my car opened and Carl and Rudy quickly got in.

“You picked a good night to do this,” Rudy said. “Looks like we’re about to venture into a Walking Dead scene.”

That got chuckles from us. But he was right. The apartment building looked like it hadn’t been touched in a few years. It was three stories high and housed twelve units. Some of the windows were broken, and as we knew, these types of buildings were havens for crackheads and any other kinds of drug addicts. So in a sense, Rudy’s Walking Dead joke might not have been a joke at all.

Another lightning bolt streaked across the sky.

“So we know there’s twelve units and four of us,” I said. “I say we take them two at a time. No need for any of us to be alone in a unit.”

Everyone nodded and got out of the car. Pat and I had our nine millimeters drawn, while Rudy and Carl carried semiautomatic rifles. When we got to the building’s front door, I immediately felt an eerie feeling come over me; it seemed to crawl along my skin and raise the hairs on the back of my neck. I stopped, which caused everyone else to stop.

“What’s wrong?” Pat whispered.

I shook my head, “I don’t know. It’s nothing.”

“This devil thing’s gotten to you,” Carl said. “Remember, he’s only a man. He’s not the devil.”

“That’s not it. It was just a weird feeling, that’s all.”

“Weird like you see dead people weird, or weird like we’re about to get attacked by zombies?” Rudy said.

“Rudy,” Carl said, “you’re a grown-ass man.” He shook his head. “Zombies.”

“Okay, let’s get a grip. It’s nothing.” I reached for the door, “Ready?”

Everyone nodded.

We entered a dark hallway, and I heard Rudy whisper from behind me, “Damn.”

Seventy-four

His long fingernail scratched against the skin at the bottom of her neck right before it met the breastbone. His pale skin looked paler against her golden tan. She trembled at his touch; her lips quivered, but she couldn’t look away from his eyes.

“Five,” he said to her. The deepness of his voice vibrated against the walls of the small room they were now in. When he counted the number four, Constance’s eyes slowly began to close. He knelt over her body that rested on a single mattress on the floor.

“Three.”

Her eyes closed even further.

He looked to his right at the rectangular mirror that leaned against the wall. The reflection looking back showed the sharpness of his teeth, the scaly flesh of his skin, and the mystery of his eyes. By the time he finished counting back to one, Constance was in a deep trance.

“Do you recognize my voice?” he asked.

Constance nodded.

“And you know who I am?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know why I have come?”

“Yes.”

“When you see my face, what do you see?”

A tear dropped from Constance’s left eye, “Fear.”

“What am I afraid of?”

“Me.”

“Yes,” he said.

He dug his fingernail a little deeper into Constance’s skin. She winced but didn’t come out of the trance.

“Why am I afraid?”

“You think what you’re doing is wrong.”

“And you didn’t?”

“I didn’t know.”

“Because they made you believe that it was right.”

“We did what they said to do.”

“We were judged,” he said.

“They had that right.”

He leaned in a little closer and tilted his head slightly to the right.

“Why did they?”

Another tear fell from Constance’s left eye.

“They were our parents.”

He slowly looked away and caught his reflection again. Veins bulged from his neck and his face tightened with tension. His voice erupted and sounded like thunder booming through the clouds, “They had no right to judge us.”

Even in her state, she flinched at the sudden outburst.

He came in close again and sniffed her neck and face.

“You still have their stench on you.”

She didn’t respond.

“You forgot about me,” he said.

“We were told to forget about you.”

“How could you? How could you?”

“I never did.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked at her face. He knew that someone in this state wouldn’t lie. He pushed himself to his feet and walked to the far wall and leaned his forehead against it. He clenched his jaws together until he felt blood trickle in his mouth from where his teeth cut into his gums.

“You once said you loved me. Was that true?”

“That’s what I was told to say.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. Memories of his past came and went, and the more he saw them the angrier he became.

“You’re just like the rest of them.”

He lifted his head from the wall and slowly turned toward her.

“I have come so that they will believe. You believe. Now you must die.”

He walked toward her and knelt back down. He placed his hands on her neck and let the ends of his fingernails lightly dig into her skin.

“When you open your eyes again, there I will be.”

He was about to push them through, but he heard a faint sound come from the floor above, a sound like doors opening. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and growled.

“They’re here.”

Seventy-five

Pat and I took the first apartment on the left. When I pushed in the front door, two things immediately struck me: the rancid smell of urine and the biggest rat I’d ever seen running past my feet. I jumped back and almost blew the thing into pieces.

“Imagine having that for a pet,” Pat said.

“Don’t want to.”

My gun was aimed right above my lower hand that held a flashlight. We walked quietly through the run-down apartment. A filthy mattress lay on the floor in the living room and trash was scattered throughout. There were even a couple of crack pipes on the floor that fueled my suspicion that this was a place drug addicts came to get high when they had nowhere else to go.

We cleared all the rooms in the apartment and then made our way back to the hallway where Rudy and Carl had just come out from their search.

“All clear,” I said.

“Same here,” Rudy said.

I nodded for us to search the other apartments when we heard a noise from the next floor. We instantly aimed our weapons at the stairs. I’m not sure about the others, but I held my breath for a few seconds after the sound. The lower level hallway became extremely quiet. None of us moved. And then I heard the sound again; it sounded as if something was being kicked around, like a jar or glass cup.

I made eye contact with the others, and then I took the lead up the stairs. We were quiet with our steps. The lights from the flashlights bobbled against the wall. At the top of the stairs, I took a quick peek around the corner and didn’t see anyone in the hallway, which meant that the sound came from one of the four apartments.

I raised my hand in a gesture for us to hold our positions. The sound didn’t come for another few seconds, but when it did it was clear that it came from the second apartment on the left. We walked gracefully toward the apartment door. Our weapons were aimed. When we reached it, I leaned in and put my ear against the door to see if I could hear anything. I heard slight movement, but no one was talking. I turned to the rest and motioned with my eyes toward the doorknob. The movement sounded close, and my best guess was that whoever was on the other side of the door was in the living room area.

I reached for the knob and felt to see if it was locked. It wasn’t. I turned back to my group, and with my hand I counted down from three. When I reached one, I turned the knob, and we rushed inside the apartment.

“Police! Police!” I yelled.

The others yelled too. Our voices were succinct and sounded rehearsed.

A man stood in the middle of the living room, and when he saw us his eyes grew wide. His clothes were dirty-looking and ragged. His beard was overgrown and his lips were extremely chapped.

“Down! Get down on the ground!” I said.

He didn’t move at first. I assume he was so caught off guard that it took his brain a few seconds to realize what was happening. And judging by the way he looked, he was probably so high that his brain took even longer to understand the realization.

“Get down,” I said, “or I’ll put you down.”

Finally the man raised his hands over his head and went to the ground. Rudy rushed him and wrapped his hands in handcuffs behind his back.

“Are you alone?” I said.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the only one here.”

We quickly cleared the apartment and confirmed that he was alone.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“Look at me, man, you think I got many options.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know, couple of days.”

“Anyone else living here too?”

“I hear things, but I don’t check it out.”

“Hear anything tonight?”

“Yeah, man, I heard something.”

“When?”

“Earlier.”

“Coming from where?”

“Downstairs.”

“Our apartment was clear,” Carl said. “We didn’t see anything.”

“Same with ours,” Pat said.

“No, man, I meant down, downstairs.”

“The basement?” I said.

“I was walking around and heard a couple of voices. Figured they were kids looking to get their freak on. So I came back upstairs to give them their privacy.”

“You heard a woman’s voice?”

“Yeah, she was definitely a woman.”

“How long ago?”

“Who knows? I’m not good with time.”

“Was it still dark?”

“Oh yeah, it was dark.”

I looked to the others, “Who wants to volunteer and stay with him?”

They looked at each other, and then Pat reluctantly said, “Okay, I’ll stay with him.”

The man smiled.

“Don’t get your hopes up, buddy boy,” she said. “You move and you will wish one of them was with you.”

The smile quickly vanished.

“She’s not lying,” I said. I looked toward Rudy and Carl. “Ready?”

They nodded.

“Okay, let’s see if we can find the devil.”

“You had to say it like that,” Rudy said.

“For as big as you are, you’re one big chickenshit,” Carl said.

I shook my head and cracked a smile as I walked out of the apartment.

Seventy-six

If the upstairs to the building was dark, the downstairs was pitch dark. The stairway was lit up by our flashlights, but anything beyond the lights was a black abyss. When we came to the bottom of the stairway, we entered a long, narrow hallway. I wasn’t sure if Rudy’s comments had gotten to me, but every step I took I kept thinking that something not alive was going to pop out of nowhere and try to eat my brains.

After walking a few feet into the hallway, I immediately saw four closed doors that were positioned across from each other. Coming up to the first door, I motioned to Rudy and Carl to stand on either side. Before they did, I flashed the light further down the hallway and noticed that it went deeper than the actual building above us. Too deep, I thought.

“On three,” I whispered.

I counted with my fingers and then reached for the knob. It turned with ease, and I pushed the door in. Rudy and I stepped inside only to find a small room the size of a walk-in closet. I wondered if the other three were similar in size. In a building this old, I suspected these rooms were at one time used for storage. We did the same routine for the next two rooms, and when we came to the final door, my hopes in finding Constance were dwindling.

I counted down again with my fingers and then reached for the knob. This one was locked, which surprised me. I jiggled the knob again, but it didn’t turn.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“Shoot the handle,” Carl said.

“Yeah, and really wake the dead,” Rudy responded.

I turned around and re-aimed the flashlight down the hall. From my position, I didn’t see any other doors, but I was intrigued to see what was farther down.

“Let’s go down some more and see what’s there. If nothing, then we’ll shoot the handle.”

Rudy and Carl nodded. We walked the hallway for another couple hundred feet. With each step, I felt like I was heading into an uncertain future. I constantly moved the flashlight from wall to wall, again wondering if the living dead were going to jump out and scare the hell out of me. Damn, Rudy, I thought.

When we reached near the end of the hall, I flashed the light and saw that it ended on a concrete wall. I was baffled at why the hallway was so deep, given that the building ended over a hundred feet ago. I looked at the walls a little farther down and didn’t see any other doors or places where a person could be hiding, so my next thought went back to the locked door. If Constance wasn’t in there, then I was seriously back to square one again.

As I started to turn around, I heard the shuffling of feet and then Rudy’s voice made a gurgling sound, which startled me. I aimed the flashlight on him and saw that his eyes were stretched unnaturally wide. I then saw what looked like blades wrapped around his neck. And finally I saw a man a few inches taller than him standing right behind him with his left arm entwined with Rudy’s left arm.

“What the fuck?” Carl said as he realized what was happening.

Both of our guns were now aimed on the man who had Rudy wrapped up. I unconsciously took a step back. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I wondered if they were deceiving me because standing behind Rudy was the devil.

My voice was initially lost, but after a few seconds I finally said, “Let him go.”

I looked at Rudy’s neck and saw the blades pressed against his skin. Dear, God. My thoughts immediately went to the witnesses who’d described this guy, and I now understood why they were so freaked out. The man was gigantic in stature. He wore a black covering over his upper body with a black hood over his head, which made him look like death. When his mouth opened, I saw the jaggedness of his teeth, and it sounded as though he hissed.

“Let him go,” I said again.

The blades dug a little deeper into Rudy’s neck.

“Leave this place,” the devil-man said.

His eyes looked unnatural, opened wide.

“Where’s Constance?”

“She’s mine.”

“Rudy,” I said, “stay cool, okay?”

Rudy didn’t move.

“Leave this place,” he said again.

“We can’t do that.”

“Then you all will die.”

He stressed the word die, and in that instant I heard something more sinister in his voice than I’d ever heard in any human voice before. There was an absoluteness to the way he said it; that in his mind, he knew we were already dead. That absoluteness sent a chill down my spine that I’d never felt before, and at that moment, I truly believed the devil existed.

“What do you want?” I said.

“I have what I want.”

“I can’t let you have her.”

“That’s not your decision.”

I looked again at Rudy’s neck and saw trickles of blood starting to form from his skin. I tightened my grip around my gun and raised my aim a little higher.

“You need to let him go,” I said with more authority in my voice.

“Do you think your gun will kill me?”

The question took me aback, and I momentarily doubted if it would.

“Leave this place or I will sever his neck.”

“We can’t do that,” I said. “Let him go or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”

The devil-man stared at us without moving. Then Rudy’s eyes tightened and more blood fell from his neck.

“Last chance,” I said.

“Jacob,” Rudy winced, which sounded more like a plea for help.

Hearing the sound of Rudy’s frail voice triggered an instinct in my head that changed my thought pattern from fearing for Rudy’s life to needing to save it. Without moving, I squeezed the trigger to my handgun. The blast echoed in the hallway, and a second later the devil-man fell.

Rudy fell to one knee and reached for his throat.

“Rudy, you okay?” Carl said.

He nodded, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

We all turned and aimed our flashlights on the devil-man lying on the ground. None of us moved for a few seconds. I had to admit that I thought he might just float up like they do in the movies when the audience thinks they’re dead. But when he didn’t move after a few seconds, I knew he wasn’t getting up.

“Jacob,” Carl said. “If I wasn’t here to see this, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“You and me both, brother.”

“Do you think that’s him?” Rudy said.

“Who?” I asked.

“Him, him?”

“Come on, of course not.”

I was about to take a step toward the devil-man to see if he was still breathing when his arm twitched. All of us jumped back and aimed our weapons again.

“Check his pulse?” Carl said.

“Give me a second,” I said.

Matter of fact, give me two.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Seventy-seven

Forensic Psychologist Dr. Timothy Marlow placed his briefcase and bag on the metal table and took off his jacket. The room was sterile with no personality, and the walls were made of cinderblocks. He’d been coming to rooms like these for years, so the lack of character didn’t bother him. He checked the two cameras that were positioned side by side and made sure they were aimed in the appropriate places. Then he looked at the television that captured his image standing next to the table. He rubbed his thick, dark beard with his hand and then brushed his hair back with his fingers. He turned back to the table and pulled out a notebook and pen from his briefcase and then took a seat. He wrote the day’s date at the top of the notebook and then seconds later the heavy metal door to the room opened.

Two correctional officers stepped inside followed by the largest man that Dr. Marlow had ever seen in person. The first thought that came to mind was the man was the size of Shaquille O’Neal. His second thought was that the man didn’t look like a criminal. He had schoolboy hair with a face to match. The third correctional officer walked in after the man and cuffed his right hand and right foot to the table after he took a seat.

“We’ll be right outside, Dr. Marlow,” the third correctional officer said.

“Thanks. We’ll be okay here.”

The three correctional officers left, and Dr. Marlow turned his attention to Bernard Fields.

“My name is Tim Marlow,” he said. “I’m a forensic physiologist. I understand that you’re Bernard Fields.”

“Yes, that’s my name.”

“Do you understand why you’re here?”

Bernard nodded.

“Do you understand why I’m here?”

“You’re here to see if I’m crazy.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that. I’m here to evaluate you. Some things happened a couple of weeks ago, and the courts need to know if you understand what happened.”

“So the courts want to know if I’m crazy.”

“For now, let’s just say they want to get to know you a little better.”

Bernard shrugged his shoulders, “What do you want to know?”

“First, let me ask how you’re feeling. You took a bullet to the face, and lucky for you it passed right through your cheek without causing any major damage.”

“I’m doing okay. My face is still sore.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Dr. Marlow made a note on his notepad and then cleared his throat before continuing.

“I read through your file from the State of Pennsylvania, and I understand that you previously served time.”

Bernard nodded, “I did.”

“Do you mind if we talk about that a little?”

“No, I don’t mind.”

“Can you tell me what happened that caused you to serve time?”

Bernard’s eyes shifted a little and then he said, “I killed my family.”

“And how old were you when you did that?”

“I was fifteen.”

“And why did you kill your family?”

Bernard’s eyes shifted again, and this time he paused before answering. “I did things that weren’t appropriate.”

“Can you tell me what you did?”

Bernard’s eyes closed and he tilted his head slightly to the left. “My father made me have sex.”

“With him?”

“No, never with him. With the others.”

“What others?”

Light beads of sweat started forming at the top of Bernard’s head.

“Just the others.”

“Do you know who the others are?”

Bernard nodded.

“Can you say their names?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“We swore we wouldn’t talk about it.”

“You swore to your father?”

Bernard’s eyes remained closed while he nodded his head. “And to the other parents too.”

“Would you mind if I said a few names? And then you can nod if they were the same people?”

Bernard’s face tightened, but he said, “Okay.”

“Rachel Melton?”

Bernard nodded.

“Scott Tremble?”

“Yes.”

“Constance McClure?”

Bernard’s face tightened again, and sweat began falling from his face. Dr. Marlow noticed the change in Bernard’s posture and wrote in his notepad.

“It’s okay, Bernard. We can take a break for a moment.”

Bernard’s breaths came in more rapid succession, and when he opened his eyes again, Dr. Marlow immediately noticed a stark change. Bernard lowered his head and stared at Dr. Marlow. His eyes were beady and there was a low growl to his voice. Dr. Marlow immediately felt a chill run through his body, and he shifted his eyes toward the door where the guards were.

“Bernard?”

He slowly shook his head no.

“Am I talking to Bernard Fields?”

Again, the slow shake of the head.

“Who am I talking to?”

His voice lowered an octave and then he said the name, “He.”

Seventy-eight

The next day Dr. Timothy Marlow sat in his office and wrote the following report:

I met with subject Bernard Fields at a correctional facility following a string of murders in Washington, D.C., in which he is the accused perpetrator. When Mr. Fields initially entered the interview room, he appeared cordial and respectful and was willing to answer my questions. We briefly talked about his past and the fact that he spent time in the penitentiary. However, it wasn’t until I questioned him about the reasons why he was incarcerated that I noticed a change in his mood and behavior.

Mr. Fields began sweating and appeared as though he was becoming agitated; not necessarily with me but with the scope of his past. I told him that we could pause the questioning because I noticed that he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and that’s when I saw in his eyes that Bernard Fields was no longer there. I asked who I was speaking with, and the response that I got was “He.” Hereinafter, “He” is the name I will use when discussing this personality.

He said to me that he came so that the others would believe. I asked him what that meant, and he said that no one believed in him and that he came to ensure that they believed. I asked him what did the others need to believe, and He said that they needed to believe that he existed. It was during this time that I reached into my briefcase and pulled out gloves with blades attached to the fingers, teeth moldings with sharp edges, and contact lenses. I asked He if these belonged to him and he stared at them as if he were looking at foreign objects. I asked He if he recognized the objects, and that’s when he looked at his hands and appeared to be examining them. The following dialogue occurred next:

“He, do you recognize these?”

“I don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

He looked at me, “What game are you trying to play, Doctor?”

“I’m not playing a game. I’m just asking if you recognize these items. Do you know where I would have gotten them from?”

He looked at his hands again, “My hands look different.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at the gloves with blades and then looked again at his hands.

“Why do my hands look different?”

“Can you describe what they looked like before?”

“My fingers, my skin. They’re not the same.”

“Do you know where I got these from?”

“No.”

“They were pulled off your hands after you were shot.”

A low growl came from his mouth. “What do you mean pulled off my hands?”

“I mean the detectives pulled these from your hands. Do you remember putting them on?”

He looked back to his hands. “Gloves?”

A thought popped into my head by the way he continued studying his hands.

“He, are these your hands?”

He touched his fingernails and then looked at the blades. He then rubbed his teeth with the hand that wasn’t chained to the table.

“Are these your teeth, too?”

He looked at me but didn’t answer.

“He, what do you see when you look into the mirror?”

“What did you say?”

“What do you see when you look into the mirror?”

He stared at me as if he changed from human to statue. There was no movement. Then seconds later, when he blinked his eyes again they didn’t have the sinister glare that was previously there. He blinked his eyes a few more times and then looked around the room.

“What did you say?” His voice wasn’t as deep as it had just been.

He looked confused, and I assumed that Bernard had returned. Something about the question I asked must have triggered something in Bernard’s brain.

“Bernard?”

“Who?”

“You’re not Bernard?”

“Bernard? What are you talking about? My name is Matthew.”

“Matthew?”

“Matthew Gray. What did you just ask me?”

“I’m sorry, I thought I was talking to someone else. I asked what do you see when you look into the mirror?”

“That’s it. That’s the question I keep hearing.”

“Sorry?”

“‘What do you do when you look into the mirror and the reflection looking back isn’t you?’”

“Someone’s been asking you that question?”

“In my dreams. I hear it in my head.”

“So, your name is Matthew Gray?”

Matthew looked around. “Where’s Sarah? Where’s Dr. Stanley?” He pulled at the arm that was chained to the table. “Why am I handcuffed?”

“Matthew, do you know where you are?”

He looked at himself and then looked around the room again.

“Am I in jail?”

“We’re at the correctional facility in Washington, D.C.”

“What? Why? I haven’t done anything.”

“Bernard Fields has.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know Bernard Fields?”

“Bernard?”

Then Matthew looked around as if he were in thought.

“Is that my friend from when I was like fifteen?”

“Is that when you met Bernard?”

“I guess so. But if he did something, why am I here?”

I noted the time that Matthew says he met Bernard and found it intriguing that it was around the same time that Bernard killed his family.

“Who are Sarah and Dr. Stanley?”

“Sarah Adams. She’s my girlfriend. And Dr. Stanley’s my therapist. He’s trying to help me figure out the anger.”

“Anger?”

“I’ve been dreaming about anger. But now it’s not dreams anymore.”

“Why not?”

“The anger became real. It tried to overtake me.”

“Did it?”

“Yes.”

“Were Sarah Adams and Dr. Stanley with you before you came here?”

Matthew nodded, “I was with them a little while ago.”

“How long have you known them?”

“I’ve known Sarah for a long time. She’s been there for me for as long as I can remember. And Sarah works for Dr. Stanley. I just met him not long ago.”

“Would you say that you and Sarah are closest when you feel troubled?”

“That’s exactly correct.”

I continued talking with Matthew for another ten minutes, and then Bernard Fields returned. Interesting to note that Bernard’s younger brother and sister who he murdered were named Matthew and Sarah. And after further conversation with Bernard, I learned that his grandfather’s name was Robert and his father’s middle name was Stanley.

My assessment of the personalities is that Matthew Gray came during a time when Bernard’s mind was most vulnerable. He was the personality that attempted to comfort Bernard when he felt that no one else would. The Sarah personality was both Matthew and Bernard’s protector. She showed up when both Matthew and Bernard struggled to understand who they were, and when they needed to be nurtured and loved. The Dr. Stanley personality was Bernard’s brain’s attempt to rationalize and understand the psychosis that it was experiencing.

And finally, there was the He personality, the one that murdered. As He stated, he came so that they would believe. Bernard explained that when he was forced to have sex with his peers, he didn’t feel like he was visible. He explained that they treated him like the dumb kid who didn’t know any better. For the record, Bernard was diagnosed with a mild form of autism that was never treated until he was around twelve or thirteen years old. By then he had fallen so far behind with his grades that he was forced to stay back a year in school. So, He was born from the built-up anger deep inside Bernard toward his peers. An interesting note: When He saw his reflection, he didn’t see the gloves with blades or the fake teeth or the contact lenses; rather, he saw what his mind allowed him to see. He saw the anger as evil, and therefore his mind transformed the gloves into scaly hands with long fingernails, the teeth were ragged and sharp, and his eyes were demonic.

Therefore, in my professional opinion, Bernard Fields did not murder Rachel Melton, Scott Tremble, Tracy Sloane, or James Stewart. He did. And it is He who should be on trial, not Bernard Fields.

Seventy-nine

I read the forensic psychologist’s report and saw the video. If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t have believed it. During my tenure with the police department, I’d seen my share of defendants claiming insanity only to be proven that they weren’t insane. But I must admit that I believed Bernard Fields wasn’t the one responsible for the murders. It was him in body but not in mind. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen to him moving forward, but hopefully he’d get the help he needed.

As for Harrisburg, the FBI started a probe into St. Luke’s and the remaining parents. I could only imagine what would be uncovered and how many other people like Bernard Fields were out there. Hopefully they’d be able to get the help they needed too.

Constance McClure filled us in on her time in D.C. She said that they all made a pact when they were in high school that after college they’d all live in the same city. They’d visited D.C. when they were younger and fell in love with the city. Constance said that they all felt connected to each other and that they were a part of a brotherhood, so to speak, regardless of the immorality. I didn’t judge her for what happened to them when they were younger; as a matter of fact, I felt sorry for her. She would live forever with the fact that she was a part of a group that, knowingly or not, caused a young man to kill his family in cold blood.

Preview of the next Jacob Hayden adventure entitled: Who is Benjamin Reeves.

Prologue

His breathing was consistent and heavy. Sometimes he snored when he slept on his back, but tonight he slept on his side. He was in a peaceful sleep, lying snug under a blanket that displayed Spider Man swinging from one building to the next. His head rested on a soft pillow decorated in the same theme as the blanket.

The room was quiet and dark with the exception of a faint glow from a night-light opposite his bed. His mouth was slightly agape, drool caught between the side of his mouth and the pillowcase. Cuddled between his arms was his favorite superhero, Spider Man. His mother bought him the two-foot doll for his fourth birthday, and they’d been best friends ever since.

He cradled Spider Man close whenever he woke up from a bad dream. He didn’t have to call to his parents as much when he was afraid because Spider Man was there to protect him. Before he slept, he would spray an invisible web from Spidey’s wrist around the circumference of the bed just like his dad taught him to do. That kept away the monsters in the closet or from under the bed. He even dressed like Spider Man when he slept, with the exception of the mask.

He didn’t immediately wake at first when his father quickly shook him. Didn’t hear the stress and fear in his father’s voice when he called his name. Benjamin Reeves was dreaming about his first day of school in the first grade, which started in two days. He hadn’t seen most of his friends from kindergarten all summer and was anxious to play with them again. He knew that his first grade teacher was going to be Mrs. Saulters. He’d met her last week at the back to school festival. She was tall, and her hair was the same blond color as his mom’s. Ben remembered that he had to bend his head way back to look up at her, much like he did with his dad.

Finally, he roused from sleep. He heard his name frantically being called. When he opened his eyes, he saw his father standing over him quickly pulling the blanket off. He didn’t understand the look on his father’s face. He’d never seen it before. He was too young to understand that his father was scared. More than scared. That something had frightened him enough to wake Ben up.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Ben’s six-year-old voice spoke softly.

His father reached down and picked him up and spoke faster than Ben was used to hearing. “You know the place that you like to hide from me and Mommy sometimes? Well, I want you to hide there right now and don’t make a sound, okay?”

“I’m sleepy, Daddy. I don’t want to play hide-and-seek now.”

Ben’s dad quickly carried him out of the room and into the hall. The lights in the house were off.

“Where’s Mommy?”

“Mommy’s playing too,” Dad said quickly. “She’s hiding right now.”

They reached the middle of the hall and stopped in front of a narrow glass table four feet in height. Dad kneeled down and Ben stood next to him.

“Ben, you have to do something really important for Daddy, okay? Just like you do when you play hide-and-seek, I need you to be as quiet as you can. Can you do that for me?”

Ben nodded.

“It doesn’t matter what you hear. You don’t say anything until either me or Mommy come for you. Understand?”

“Yes.”

Dad pushed the table aside. The lower half of the walls in the hallway were covered with decorative wainscoting panels. Dad moved a panel away to reveal a small crawl space fit for someone Ben’s size.

“Remember, Ben, don’t make a sound.”

As Ben crawled in, he heard something break downstairs, like glass.

“What’s that noise, Daddy?”

“Hurry, Ben. Get in.”

Ben had never seen his dad act this way.

When Ben was finally snug in the crawl space, his dad put a finger over his mouth like he did whenever he wanted Ben to be quiet. The panel quickly covered the opening, and then the crawl space was dark. He heard the same sound of breaking glass again, and then he heard the creak of the front door opening. He knew the sound well because that let him know when his dad was home from work.

Next he heard voices. Two of them. He didn’t recognize the voices. Didn’t recognize the words that were coming from their mouths. In his kindergarten class, he’d learned a few Spanish words like “Hola” which meant “Hello” and “Come Te Lallas” which meant “What’s your name?” But the words coming from the deep voices, he didn’t recognize. He’d never heard people speak like them before.

Then he heard his dad’s voice. His dad spoke the same way the two other voices spoke. He didn’t know his dad knew how to speak like that. First the voices were low, then one of the voices grew louder. Not his dad’s voice but the other ones.

Then he heard his father’s voice yell, “No, No!”

A loud bang came after that, and then he didn’t hear his father’s voice anymore.

Seconds later, he heard heavy footsteps. Ben’s dad had told him to be quiet, so that’s what he did. He didn’t make a sound. Then he heard the voices again, speaking in the way he didn’t understand. Seconds later, he heard his mother’s voice, but it wasn’t the way he was used to hearing it. She was crying. Then screaming. Then the loud bang came again. Ben didn’t hear his mother anymore.

The footsteps walked along the hall. Heavy footsteps. Ben knew they were walking to his room. The floor creaked the same whenever his parents walked to his room. Then the voices came back. One of them spoke quicker this time, and then Ben heard all kinds of noises coming from his room. Things broke, he knew. Daddy and the men must be doing something in his room, he thought.

Then the heavy footsteps walked along the hall again and down the stairs. All kinds of noises came from downstairs. Things broke again. Several minutes later, Ben heard the front door open. He didn’t hear the men any longer. He figured his dad would be coming for him soon. He tried to stay awake waiting for his dad, but his little eyes couldn’t stay open any longer.

Ben fell asleep in his favorite hiding space.

His dad never came to get him.

Other Books by Charles Prandy

Jacob Hayden Series

The Avenged – Book 1

Behind the Closed Door – Book 2

The Game of Life or Death – Book 3

Within – Book 4

Stand Alone Novels

The Last of the Descendants

To be notified of future works by Charles, please go to www.charlesprandy.com.