It turned its head to her, she closed her right eye and trained her left one between his eyes, then settled the sight right between those two points. Two bullets, shoot the thing or shoot the bear? she thought. The thing did not release its hold on Chris. She held her breath and squeezed the trigger oh so slowly, knowing the recoil the wood handled Smith and Wesson would have, she’d fired one, many times. But this day, things were different, these woods were different, this beast was different. Luckily, the gun she had was different too. As inexplicable as it was, once she squeezed the trigger, she watched that bullet leave the barrel and travel the hundred yards exploding into the skull of that thing, right between her eyes: It was otherworldly. She let out her breath and then held it again, this time aiming just slightly higher. She pulled the trigger and once again watched the bullet, as though in slow motion spin through the air and strike exactly where she aimed in the middle of his forehead. His whole head exploded like a porcelain doll raining blood and brains down on top of Chris.
It stumbled back, letting go of Chris and collapsed into a pile of bones at the small entrance to the mound. Kim dropped to her knees for a moment and looked to her right, no bear. Had it been there at all? Was it lurking nearby? With no time for the luxury of thinking it through, she stood back up and raced to Chris. An eagle perched on a branch, fifty-feet up, directly above where the bear had been, and it let out a blood curdling caw before taking flight and circling just above. It flapped its wings, and then dipped from side to like a Blue Angel Navy Jet saluting the fallen soldiers. Its lamenting cry drifted away with it as it ascended above the trees and flew away.
She put her fingers on his neck searching for a pulse. “Chris? Chris?” she called and then found it, it was strong. When he opened his eyes, relief flooded into her face and waves of smiles rolled off her mouth. “Thank God,” she said. “Are you hurt?” He shook his head from side-to-side. He sat up and looked around. Then he looked at Kim, crouched there with the .38 still in her hand. “It worked?” he asked. “Like a talisman,” she answered. “Come on let’s get you to a hospital. Can you walk?”
Chapter LX
The white Mustang sat across the street from the home of Ken and Cindy Conrad with the top down and the engine running. The heat was on and the contrast of the cold air with the warmth coming from the vents was an unexpected joy. Special Agent Kimberly Watson was in the driver’s seat and Chris Conrad was next to her, their hands touching on the seat. He had a half cast on his arm and a sling but otherwise was feeling damn good, all things considered.
“Want me to come with you?” she asked.
“Yeah, of course, just not right at first, okay?” he countered.
“Sure, this is your show, Chris, I’m just a bit player.”
He leaned across and kissed her. He held her cheek with his right hand and looked into her eyes. “Thanks,” he said, “for everything.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m right here when you’re ready.”
Chris wondered if she meant that how it sounded. He couldn’t help but think that he’d never be ready, and she’d never be there. He opened the door and stepped out of the car. “How do I look?” he asked.
“Like an expectant father,” she mused.
Chris took the street in leaps and bounds and was up the stairs and ringing the bell in a minute. He had called his brother earlier, to make sure they were home and to make sure Chris answered the door. When he did, the look on his face told Chris all he needed to know. Sure, the kid would have lots of questions and he didn’t always have great answers, but the one undeniable truth was that he did it all for Conner. He never gave up the dream of being reunited with his son, of salvaging some of their life, establishing some sort of father/son relationship and then working every day to strengthen it.
“I fuckin knew it,” Conner said and threw open the door. Chris thought his son was about to throw his arms around him and hug him, but he stopped and looked in his father’s face. Chris knew there must be a thousand questions bounding through his head like silver orbs in a pinball machine. “It’s okay son, I’m here to stay. I promise I’ll never leave you again. I know we have a lot to work-through but listen to me, everything I’ve had to do, I did for you. I’ve never stopped loving you.” Conner stepped out onto the porch and this time he did throw his arms around his father and held him and for Chris it was all he needed, all he had dreamed of and their arms around each other felt exactly like he’d known it would.
* * * * *
Across the street in the Mustang, tears were flowing from the eyes of Kimberly Watson and her mascara ran in black rivers down her cheeks. The tears were part joy for the reconciliation and part sorrow for what would never be, for her. She knew now that Chris would be a working project for any woman, certainly way too high maintenance for her and her lifestyle, her commitments, her job. Chris needed to take some time to reestablish the bond with his son and then he needed a woman who would be there for him, that was not her, she just couldn’t be there for anyone right now. She had too much to do. So much evil, so little time, she thought, and a suppressed chuckle squeezed a fresh stream of tears from her green eyes.
The sound of a barking dog broke the sleepy Saturday morning quiet of the neighborhood.
Chapter LXI
For the second time in as many months, Special Agent Kimberly Watson had checked into the Radisson Inn in Madison, Wisconsin. She requested two card keys from the same bespeckled young man who had checked her in previously and headed up to her room. It was just past noon and there was an early autumn chill in the air, the North wind that blew down from Superior promised a night that would be almost wintry. The cold that bit her nose when she walked in from the parking lot reminded her briefly of the snow she had already seen this year, and goosebumps raced up and down her arms.
Once safely tucked into her second-floor room, she showered and went to work on her final report to Executive Assistant Director Jack Riley. She sat at first with a towel wrapped around her as she typed away, constantly checking her notes, and working from a previously created outline. After a while, the towel came off and she sat naked, banging the keys much harder than necessary. For the last hour or so she had worn a white, men’s tee shirt and black cotton panties.
The report detailed the friendship between a rock star and a reclusive mountain man, and their twenty-year spree of kidnapping, murder, and dismemberment. There were forensic teams from the bureau crawling all over Jimmy Vale’s Hollywood estate and the burial mound on Blackwell’s Island. So far, the Vale house had produced a single set of remains, not intact but about half of a human skeleton, female.
The burial mound promised to be much more productive but much more problematic as well. There were observers from the State Antiquities Bureau and observers from two different Native American tribes, all of whom had opinions on how the search should and could take place and none of them helpful to the authorities. None-the-less, they had already recovered about a hundred bones with no concept yet of how many lives that represented. All the bones were found within the area of the mound entered through the small opening and none from the large opening. Every bone would have to be subjected to carbon-14 testing to determine whether it had the potential to be part of this ongoing investigation. If it did, then the DNA testing would begin. Any bones that were too old would be reinterred at some later date, at federal cost and in conjunction with the burial rights observed by the tribes that were present.
At just past six thirty, Kimberly typed her last word, sat back in the desk chair, and closed her eyes. Most of what she had just written was fiction, bullshit. She knew it and Jack knew it. This was the “official” report. There was no mention of a mongrel mutt, no mention of a Wendigo and no mention of Chris Carter. While her report touched on the possibility of cannibalism, it also said that nothing conclusive was yet provable. The report cautioned that not all the missing girls under Kimberly’s umbrella would be included in the final evidentiary results. That wo
uld be too crazy a coincidence, too neat a package. Finally, the report made no mention of anything supernatural, spiritual, or even evil, those discussions would remain a private matter for now between her and Jack. She closed her laptop and pushed it aside.
When she had finished what she came here for, there was one more son of a bitch back in New York that she needed to take care of. She had considered using Jack’s NYPD contacts to bring the guy in, but she wanted to see the look in his eyes when she told him he had drugged an FBI agent, yeah, that would be worth the wait.
She leaned forward and pushed her auburn curls behind both ears and began to apply just a touch of makeup, mascara and soft-pink lip-gloss. Then she dressed in a red flannel shirt with no bra and a pair of blue jeans with no underwear. Three top buttons on the flannel were open so that a casual observer would know there was no bra. Low heeled red pumps completed the outfit. She stared at the face in the mirror and for the first time in a long time, liked the person looking back.
She drove her car to Brocach, the Irish Pub she had eaten in the last time she was in Madison. She remembered how good the lamb stew had been and she was craving a Jameson to spread some warmth through the chill that had found her bones and didn’t want to leave. Not coincidentally she sat at the same table she had last time and had the same view of the bar and, more importantly, the bartender. Sean Regan remembered her, even remembered her name, and he was as charming as ever. His beautiful green eyes lured her in and his lilting Irish brogue sealed the deal. When she was done with her meal and had paid her bill, she stopped at the bar on the way out for one more whiskey. She drank it quickly and pulled the second card key from her pocket; Radisson Hotel Madison, Grand Canyon Drive it said on it, over which was written in red Sharpie, Room 204. She slipped it under her glass and left the pub.
Dead Girls Page 26