A Stranger at the Door

by Pinter, Jason

  But when Serrano knocked on the front door, only for Rachel to open it, revealing Evie Boggs standing in the foyer, Rachel had to make Serrano swear not to ask any more questions. She promised to explain everything tomorrow.

  “There’s only one way I’m going to agree to any of this,” Serrano said.

  “You want me to do—what was the last one—the turducken tantra?”

  “Well, yes. But I’ll need a few days to stretch to make sure I’m limber enough for it. No, I was going to say a pint of ice cream and a cold beer.”

  “I have a low-fat yogurt pop and a handle of Ketel One in the freezer.”

  “Guess that’ll have to do,” Serrano said. He took Rachel’s hands, leaned in, and kissed her. Rachel felt a heat spread through her body, and she thought about how they’d made love the other day, needing each other. She hadn’t known how much she’d been craving that warmth and intimacy until they had returned to her life with John Serrano. There’d been many times over the past few months when she’d questioned the relationship. Questioned whether she could trust anyone. Commit to anyone. But feeling him inside her, feeling her body shiver as she climaxed, she knew she’d have to see it through. She deserved that. She didn’t know if she loved him. But she knew she didn’t want to be without him.

  “I have a feeling I know where you’re going,” Serrano said. “Just be careful, Rachel.”

  “I always am,” Rachel said, slipping on a blue windbreaker.

  “If you were always careful, I wouldn’t have to remind you.”

  She smiled at Serrano, blew him a kiss. Then Rachel and Evie walked out the door.

  “Where are we going?” Evie said.

  “To get my son back.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “Yup.”

  Voss Field loomed ahead of them, a monument in the void, the massive LED lights hanging overhead casting a pall over the darkened field. Evie walked alongside Rachel, her hands in her pockets.

  It was 1:15 a.m. when they arrived. Rachel had no idea how punctual these people were. The field itself was lit only by the moon, but even in its soft glow she could make out a number of kids toeing the dirt around the infield. All boys. All young. They were fidgety, and there was a palpable sense of unease. They knew about the murder of Peter Lincecum’s father and were understandably anxious about what it meant. And after the Linklater death and Reznick assault, the fratres kids were justifiably on edge. One of their own had lost a parent—possibly because of his ties to the very man they had come to see.

  “This is a YourLife meeting,” Evie said. “What the hell are we doing here?”

  “Like I said,” Rachel replied, her voice steel. “Getting my son back.”

  “Please don’t do anything rash, Rachel. There are lives at stake.”

  “Including my son’s. You want me to help you?” Rachel said. “Then first I need to burn your brother’s business down.”

  “Rachel . . .”

  Rachel saw Eric. He was standing by himself near the pitcher’s mound. He was on his phone and appeared to be texting. Rachel would have cut off a toe to see what he was writing.

  She recognized Benjamin Ruddock. He was talking to a boy much younger and smaller than Eric. Ruddock towered over the boy but leaned in close, his hand on the kid’s shoulder, appearing to reassure or console him about something.

  Rachel saw Bennett Brice approaching from the right field bleachers. Brice walked quickly. He appeared agitated, moving with a purpose. As soon as the boys noticed Brice, a hush fell over them.

  Benjamin Ruddock went to meet him. Ruddock extended his hand. Brice gave it a perfunctory shake and kept walking. He stopped when he got to the pitcher’s mound. The boys encircled him.

  “Gentlemen, thank you again for coming,” Brice said. “I have a number of important things to discuss. You may have some questions of your own, and I need to set the record straight on a few issues.”

  Rachel’s heart began to beat faster as she walked onto the field. Evie followed her. The boys were still focused on Brice. But then a hefty boy of about sixteen saw the women approaching. His mouth dropped and he pointed at them. He said something Rachel could not hear. Brice turned around.

  “Evie. Ms. Marin. What the hell are you doing here?”

  Rachel looked at Eric. His eyes were wide. He took a step back, as though afraid his mother was there to scold him, or worse.

  “Tell these kids the truth, Brice!” Rachel shouted. “Tell them about Peter Lincecum. How his father is dead and Peter is missing because of you. About the gangsters and killers you’re in business with.”

  “Rachel . . . ,” Evie said, softly yet urgently. “This isn’t what I agreed to.”

  Rachel ignored her.

  “Gentlemen,” Brice said, his voice overconfident, trying to keep a rein on the meeting as the boys started to fidget. “My sister and this woman have nothing to do with our business, and this crazy person is lying.”

  There were murmurs from among the group of boys. Rachel wanted to reach out to Eric, to grab him, to take him away. But first he needed to understand why she was there. That she was protecting him. And she would do that even if he hated her for it.

  Eric seemed utterly confused by what was going on. Ruddock was going around the circle, trying to keep control, reassuring the other boys that this intrusion was nothing to be alarmed over.

  “Ms. Marin, if you don’t leave, I’m going to be forced to call the authorities,” Brice said. “This woman has threatened me numerous times. She is completely unhinged and emotional.”

  “Go ahead,” Rachel replied. “Call the cops. Tell them the truth. Tell them—”

  And then a crack of thunder interrupted Rachel. Not thunder. It took less than a second for Rachel to realize what the sound was.

  That was a gunshot.

  Red began to blossom underneath Bennett Brice’s clean white shirt. His hand went to his chest. It came away coated in blood. He looked up, in shock. Then one of the boys screamed.

  “Evie?” Brice said as he fell to a knee.

  “Bennett?” Evie cried. “Oh my God, Bennett!”

  Another crack filled the air, and this time the screams multiplied. Another crack. And another. The boys began to flee, running in all different directions away from the field, cries filling the air like something out of a horror movie.

  Three shots, Rachel thought. But only one hit the mark. The gunman is an amateur.

  “Eric, run!” she shouted. Then she saw her son sprinting away from the field. Rachel ran after him, her legs churning as fast as they ever had in her life.

  Then Eric’s legs buckled under him, and he collapsed to the ground with a cry. Rachel’s eyes widened. She saw a trickle of red dripping down his leg, and for a moment, Rachel’s heart felt like it had stopped. But then she saw the culprit: he hadn’t been shot—he’d just tripped and shredded his knee on a rock.

  But it also meant he was stationary. And given that Rachel had no idea if the shooter had any targets in mind other than Brice, she dived on top of her son, tucked him under her body, and shielded him. Her wounded head thrummed as she hit the ground, a bubbling sensation like seltzer in her brain.

  “Mom,” Eric said, struggling to break free from her grip. He was strong, but Rachel was stronger.

  “Just stay here,” she said, her arms around his head. “Just stay here.”

  He stopped moving. She could feel Eric’s heart beating so fast, jackhammer fast, as he gulped down air, trembling beneath her.

  Take me, she thought. Please don’t hurt him.

  Then Rachel heard another shot and looked up in time to see Bennett Brice knocked forward from the force of the bullet. Rachel saw a puff of grass and dirt kick off the ground about twenty feet in front of Brice. The bullet had entered and exited cleanly through Brice’s arm, the bullet burying itself in the turf. Five shots. One in Brice’s chest. One through Brice’s arm. The rest had missed.

  Brice got to his
knees and began to crawl. Blood dripped from his shirt, from his sleeve. Evie was next to him, on the ground, crying. Both were covered in blood and dirt. One hand was around her brother, trying to help him get away. The other held a cell phone.

  “My brother has been shot,” Evie said between gasps. “Voss Field. He’s been hit twice. The shooter is still here. You need to send cops and an ambulance now.”

  Brice managed to stagger to his feet. Evie threw his arm around her shoulder. He tried to limp off the field but collapsed to a knee. Rachel watched them in horror, still covering her son.

  “It’s OK,” she said to Eric, hoping the words would comfort him, even if she didn’t believe them.

  “Come on, Bennett,” Evie said, her voice desperate, terrified, pleading. She tried to pull her wounded brother along. “We have to get you out of here. You’re going to be OK.”

  Brice got back to his feet. He staggered forward. Rachel heard a siren in the distance. But it was far away—too far.

  Suddenly five shots rang out in succession—BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM.

  Rachel heard two soft thuds. A red splotch appeared on Bennett Brice’s stomach, and a gout of blood sprang forth from the side of his neck.

  Evie screamed as Brice fell forward. He twitched once and then did not move again. Rachel watched Evie Boggs wail as she rolled her brother over and tried to administer CPR. But the man was dead. Evie was trying to resuscitate a corpse.

  “It’s over,” she whispered to Eric. “It’s over, baby.”

  Her son replied with three words.

  “No, it’s not.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Ten shots. Four hit the mark. And Bennett Brice was dead.

  Rachel was sitting in her living room. It was six thirty in the morning. A cup of cold coffee rested on the table in front of her. Dirt and grass covered her jeans. Her shirt was torn and caked with mud. The sofa cushions had grime all over them, detritus that had fallen from her body, pieces of the field that had stuck to their clothes.

  I’m going to need to get these cushions professionally cleaned, she thought absently, a buzzing in the back of her skull as she struggled to make sense of the night’s violence.

  Serrano had stayed at their home. Leslie Tally had joined him as soon as she got word of the shooting. Once Rachel and Eric returned home, APD Officers Chen and Lowe took over so Serrano and Tally could begin the work of tracking down the shooter.

  As soon as Rachel and Eric stepped through the door around three in the morning, covered in dirt and tears and blood, Serrano embraced them. To Rachel’s surprise, Eric hugged Serrano back. Hard. Her boy’s hands clung to the man’s back, fingers gripping his shirt so hard they turned bone white. Serrano put his hand on Eric’s head and said, “It’s going to be OK. You’re safe.”

  Rachel joined the embrace. It was the first time in a long time she could remember having her arms around her son without him struggling to break free.

  “Thank God you’re both OK,” he said.

  “Are we?” Rachel replied.

  “In the most important sense of the word, yes,” Serrano replied. “We’ll work on the rest of it.”

  Once the other cops arrived, Serrano and Tally left to work the case. Serrano was no longer a babysitter, a boyfriend, or a friend. He was on the job. They had nearly twenty kids who’d witnessed the shooting to interview, complicated by the fact that their ages necessitated having guardians present for questioning, plus forensics having to scour the entire interior and exterior of a baseball stadium.

  Lowe and Chen took statements from Eric and Rachel. They asked Eric about his relationship with Bennett Brice. How he had come to be at Voss Field that night. If he knew anyone who wanted Brice—or Matthew Linklater—dead.

  Eric sat on the couch next to Rachel while the cops peppered him with questions. His hands were folded in his lap. His eyes downcast as he responded. Rachel kept her hand on his knee, not firm enough to make him feel like he was being guided but with enough pressure so he would know she was there for him. With him.

  “So you met Bennett Brice through Benjamin Ruddock?” Chen said. He was sitting on the love seat across from Rachel and Eric.

  Eric nodded. He said nothing.

  “And you met Brice in person two times, both at Voss Field. Both times in the middle of the night, around one thirty a.m. Is that correct?”

  Eric nodded again. Megan sat at the dining room table, scribbling on a notepad, seemingly oblivious to the circus in their home.

  “What did Bennett Brice say in each of those meetings?” Lowe asked him. Lowe’s voice was sympathetic, understanding that Eric was still in shock. The boy stayed silent.

  “Eric,” Rachel said. “I know this is hard. But we need to find out exactly what happened tonight and why. You can help us find the truth.”

  Eric shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t,” he said.

  “Yes, you can,” Rachel replied, giving his knee a gentle squeeze. “We need you, hon. I need you.”

  “No. I can’t talk anymore. Just leave me alone. Forever. Just let me go somewhere I can be by myself. I have to get away from you and Megan.”

  “Eric,” Rachel said, taken aback. “Why would you say that?”

  Then Eric looked at Rachel, eyes red and wet. “Because everyone around me dies,” he said softly. “Mr. Linklater. Albie Roberson. Mr. Brice. Dad. You almost died. I don’t want that to happen to you or Megan or Penny. I lose everyone I care about. What’s wrong with me?”

  Rachel felt her heart tear open. “Oh, baby, none of those were your fault. Terrible things happen that none of us can control. You are a good son. And I am blessed to be your mom.”

  He looked at her and said, “Should I leave? So you and Megan will be safe?”

  Rachel gathered Eric into her arms and held him and said, “Don’t you dare. It took me a long time to realize this, but you’re like me. You are me. The way you’ve felt, that anger and helplessness—that’s how I’ve felt, too, since your father died. But I found an outlet for it. I never let you find yours, and I’m so, so sorry. You have courage and compassion, but we also live with incredible guilt. And that’s not fair. Because that guilt doesn’t belong to you, just like it doesn’t belong to me. These things happened to us. They were beyond our control. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It should hurt. It just means we can’t blame ourselves for the pain.”

  She knew the officers were waiting, patient, but they could all go to hell while her son was hurting.

  “I would follow you to the ends of the earth to protect you,” Rachel said. “If you went up in a hot-air balloon, I would build a plane out of gum and paper clips to go get you. But soon enough you won’t need it. Because you’re strong on your own. You’re like mithril armor times a million.”

  Eric laughed, and Rachel felt the tear in her heart close ever so slightly. She ached for that laugh like a drowning woman ached for air.

  “How do you know what mithril armor is?” he said.

  “Maybe if you weren’t too busy playing Warfare Brigade Zombie Platoon Seventeen, you would have noticed that I read one or two of those fantasy books you and John always talk about.”

  Eric nodded, seemingly impressed. “They’re good, right?”

  “I never thought I’d ever be so invested in elven culture,” she said.

  Eric laughed, and Rachel felt it in her heart.

  “Listen, all I want is you here with us,” Rachel said. She repeated herself. “Here. With us. And I’ll do whatever I need to do to help you stay that way. I’m sorry if I’ve been too much, too suffocating. If I didn’t let you be you. But I’ll do better.”

  “I will too,” he said.

  At that moment, Megan came over and draped her arms around her brother’s shoulders. She kissed him on the back of his neck and said, “I will too.”

  Eric choked out a mixture of a sob and a laugh and squeezed his sister’s arms tightly. “I love you so much, Megan.”


  “I love you, Eric.”

  “I want to read every Sadie Scout story.”

  She stepped back, her face now deadly serious. “Do you mean that?” she asked.

  “I mean it.”

  Megan jumped up in the air and said, “I’m writing a brand-new one just for you.” Then she ran off to her room.

  “That’s a lot of reading you just committed to,” Rachel said to Eric.

  “I know. I owe it to her.”

  “You do,” she said.

  Eric turned back to the detectives and said, “OK. What do you need to know?”

  He gave them the names of all the kids he knew who were at Voss Field both nights he attended meetings. Rachel paid attention to what Eric said as closely as the cops did. Because she prayed Peter Lincecum was still alive. If he was out there somewhere, hiding for his life from Randall Spivak, the clock was ticking. And while Serrano, Tally, and the rest of the APD officers had to cede jurisdictional authority to the Carltondale police, Rachel had no such limitations.

  Rachel had also lost touch with Evie Boggs. She had texted Evie several times but hadn’t heard from her since the first gunshot hit her brother. Evie was her best link to Brice, to YourLife, and to getting a lead on Peter Lincecum.

  “Why don’t you go take a shower?” Officer Chen said to Eric. “Feel good to wash the night off a bit. Let your mom and I catch up.”

  “Go ahead, hon,” Rachel said. She rubbed Eric’s back. He stood up, wobbled as if in a stupor, then righted himself. Then he planted a kiss on Rachel’s cheek and left. Rachel beamed.

  Once Rachel was alone with the officers, she sighed and ran a dirt-streaked hand through her hair.

  “Any line on the shooter?” she asked the cops.

  Chen shook his head. “Shots came from outside the stadium, so no footprints in the outfield grass. No debris in the parking lot. We’re going over it, but given the size of the crime scene, it will take time.”

  “What about the weapon?”