by JC Gatlin
“Abbie Reed, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I want to believe you but… just stay there.” She stared at the edges of his trench coat flapping in the wind. “Why are you sending me the text messages? Have you done something to Clinton Reed?”
“No.” He looked surprised. “What’s going on with your father?”
She searched his face, looked for any hint of deception. “Tell me why you’re sending me the text messages?”
“I haven’t sent you any text messages, Abbie.” He kept his hands in the air. “Tell me what’s happened to your father?”
“The messages are coming from your number.”
“My cell phone was stolen at Gaspar’s Grotto. I followed you in there and someone took it when I wasn’t looking. So, I haven’t sent you any text messages. Someone else is.” His voice, though quiet, had an ominous quality. “What’s happened to your father?”
“Your cell phone was stolen?”
“Abbie.” His tone sharpened. He seemed to be losing patience. “Where is your father? What’s happened to Clinton Reed?”
Abbie kept her eyes focused on him, debating whether or not to answer his question. “He left me a voice mail message. He thinks I’m waiting for him at our old home.”
“Is that where you’re headed?” he asked.
“I have to get to him.” Her lips thinned with anger. “If you’re telling me the truth, then Dr. Wachowski is—”
He held up a hand to silence her. “Abbie, you can’t go there.”
“I don’t have a choice. Either you can help me or you can get out of my way.”
“Your father wouldn’t want you to do this.” He remained absolutely motionless for a moment. “You can’t go back there. It’s not safe.”
Frustrated, Abbie turned her head, shut her eyes. “What do you want? Why are you here?”
“Like I said before, Abbie.” He took a step closer. “I’m here to protect you. Your father hired me to watch out for you.”
She opened her eyes, looked at him. “Why?”
“He was worried about you coming back to Tampa, after everything that happened.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You have to, Abbie. And I can’t let you leave.”
“You killed a girl…”
“I didn’t kill her. I didn’t hurt her.”
“You were stalking her.”
“I was framed. I got kicked off the force because I was framed for stalking and killing that teenager, but Abbie, I promise you, it wasn’t me. I didn’t hurt her.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know. I never found him.”
“Why would someone frame you?” She waited for an answer. He looked away. Abbie tried to move past him. “I need to go.”
“I can’t let you leave.” He took another step, blocking her. Abbie raised a hand.
“Step back or I will call the police.”
“Please, Abbie. You have to trust me.”
A warning voice whispered in her head. He continued talking.
“If you come with me, we’ll check out your old home together, get your father and I’ll get you both back to Pembroke Pines.” He took another step. Abbie watched him, thinking about what he was saying. “Abbie, your father hired me. When I left the police force, I started a private practice, and your father hired me.”
Abbie shook her head, but she didn’t move. He stepped closer, holding out his hand.
“I won’t hurt you, Abbie. You have to trust me, like you did when you were a child hiding in the attic. You were scared then, but you trusted me.” He came closer, reached for her. A flash of blue and black rushed past her and tackled Charlie Hicks to the ground.
“Josh!” Abbie screamed.
“Run!” Josh yelled as he wrestled with Charlie Hicks in the grass.
At the same moment, two squad cars veered around the parking lot entrance. Two more cruisers were up on the curb, lights flashing. The squad cars screeched to a stop in the center of the parking lot. Four uniforms surrounded Josh and Charlie Hicks. They were well armed.
Josh released Charlie Hicks, and backed away with his arms in the air. Hicks remained on the ground, his head raised as an officer placed a knee on his back, pinning him to the ground. With Hicks subdued, Josh came over to Abbie.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“I’m okay.” Still, a sensation of intense sickness and desolation swept over her. Time was running out.
He hugged her, holding her tightly. “It’s over now. We got him.”
“Where’d you go? You weren’t in the apartment.” She buried her face in his chest.
“I was looking for your landlord.”
She broke from his embrace and looked up at him. “In the middle of the night?”
“We knew we’d get Charlie Hicks here. I needed to let him know what was going on,” he said. “But I couldn’t find him.”
Abbie looked surprised. “What?”
“He didn’t answer his door.” He seemed to notice her concern, and took her hands in his. “Abbie, listen to me. It’s over. We’ve got Charlie Hicks and the police found his hotel room. They’re raiding it right now. It’s over.”
That really didn’t process, and Abbie looked at the crowd of people who’d emerged around them. Neighbors came out of their apartments and were standing on the grass in bare feet and slippers, watching the police place Charlie Hicks in handcuffs.
“No, wait! Josh!” Abbie squeezed Josh’s hand.“Clinton Reed left me a message. He’s—”
Josh didn’t let her finish. “Charlie Hicks was positively identified in a couple of the pictures you took on your phone. He was stalking you, Abbie. But you’re safe now.”
“No, Josh. You don’t understand.”
“Give me a minute and then we’ll talk about it.” He moved his hand, releasing her. “I need to help with crowd control. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Abbie nodded and watched him head back toward the crowd. Charlie Hicks was still lying on the ground. A cop was reading him his rights. Josh addressed the curious neighbors, telling everyone to go back into their homes. Abbie listened, folding her arms across her chest. Her phone suddenly rang in her hands, and she saw that it was Clinton Reed.
She answered the call.
“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all night,” Abbie said. There was no answer. She looked at the cracked screen to see if it had disconnected. “Clinton Reed?”
“Are you ready for the next dare?”
“Who is this?” Abbie didn’t recognize the voice rippling through the speaker. She looked back at Charlie Hicks, then focused on the caller. “Dr. Wachowski?”
“I asked you a question. Are you ready for the next dare?”
“Okay,” Abbie whispered. “Go on.”
The voice on the phone chuckled. “I dare you to save your father.”
The line clicked and the call ended. Abbie dropped her phone. She trembled a second, thinking. He had Clinton Reed. He had her father. The worst case scenario raced through her head. Then she remembered Clinton Reed’s voicemail. I just got a message from your therapist. He said that you’re not doing well and wants me to pick you up at our old house.
She looked at Josh. Looked at the four officers arresting Charlie Hicks. Looked at the surrounding crowd. Looked at the parking lot and the flashing lights on top the two cruisers. Charlie Hicks’ car was still behind Dharma’s Prius. His car was running. The engine hummed, waiting for her.
Abbie jumped in Hick’s car and slipped behind the wheel. She flipped the gearshift into drive, then maneuvered around Dharma’s vehicle. She didn’t bother with the seat belt as she rolled past the officers busy placing Charlie Hicks in a squad car. Gunning the accelerator, she headed for the highway.
Chapter 30
The old neighborhood waited for Abbie Reed as if she’d never left. Her childhood home remained standing, abandoned, and she pulled to the curb in front
of the house.
Clinton Reed’s old station wagon was parked there too. She parked behind it. He’s here, she thought. She looked around. There were no other cars. About ten feet behind her, a dead dog lay on the side of the road. The carcass was stiff, but one black ear fluttered in the wind. The other houses on the street were dark, the people inside fast asleep.
Abbie felt utterly alone as she turned off the engine.
“I’m here,” she said into her phone. “Clinton Reed’s car is here too.”
“You don’t know what he’s doing there.” Josh’s voice crackled in the phone’s speaker.
“Yes I do. Dr. Wachoski is using Clinton Reed’s phone. He stole Charlie Hick’s phone at Gaspar’s Grotto.”
“Abbie, you’re not making any sense. The police are at Charlie Hick’s residence right now. He’s been stalking you and your friends.”
“And you’re not listening to me. Charlie Hicks was following me, but not in the way you think. He was trying to protect me from Dr. Wachowski.”
“He stalked and murdered that teenage girl.”
“He was framed, Josh. Someone framed him then, and someone is framing him now.”
“And you think it’s this doctor? Your therapist?”
“Yes,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “I think so.”
“Then let my dad handle it, okay?”
From the car window, Abbie looked at her childhood home. Despite the deterioration, the house looked as it had when she was five, before she went to live with her grandparents. It stood empty for years now, and was slowly rotting away. Shingles were missing on the roof. Boards were nailed across the front windows. Weeds grew tall around the foundation. The wood was rotten, with flecks of paint coming off it. It looked nothing like she remembered, yet somehow, nothing had changed.
Josh’s voice caught her attention and she looked back at her phone.
“I’m calling my dad, okay?” he said. “Okay?”
“Just get here as fast as you can.” She was about to say more when an incoming call interrupted her. The name “Clinton Reed” flashed on her broken screen. She accepted the new call and disconnected Josh.
“I’m here.” She answered the call with quiet, but desperate, firmness. The voice on the phone chuckled.
“Are you just going to sit in the car? Or are you coming inside?”
“What’s Clinton Reed doing here?” She studied the house. The windows upstairs were dark. There didn’t seem to be any movement whatsoever. “Why did you tell him to meet you here?”
“I’m waiting.” It was all he said.
“Listen, Doctor. If you’re trying to make some point about what happened to us back when I was kid, you’re going about it all wrong. This isn’t right.”
“Oh, tssk, tssk.” His voice grew heavy with sarcasm. “Do you really not know? Have you not figured it out yet?”
“Please. Don’t hurt him.” She lost her cool, and fought back tears. Her heart slammed in her chest. “Do you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Pretty One.” His words chilled her. She almost dropped the phone, but found her courage. He continued, his voice rippling through the phone speakers. “Now c’mon inside,” he said. “I dare you.”
Abbie looked away, then thought of Charlie Hick’s concealed weapon. It had to be in here. She opened the glove box and sorted through insurance papers and folded napkins. Nothing. She looked in the center console, found spare change and breath mints. Nothing. She felt beneath the seat. Her fingers gripped something hard. Something cold. She lifted up a black semiautomatic pistol.
She had no idea how to fire it.
Trembling, Abbie climbed out of the car. Holding his handgun, she ran to her father’s station wagon, looked in the windows. The car was empty. She looked at the rotting house. Clinton Reed was in there, waiting.
With the phone clutched between her shoulder and ear, she gripped the pistol and marched across the dead lawn. A muddy “FOR SALE” sign stood crooked in the yard, viny stink weeds weaving up its wooden post. She approached the house, stepping onto the porch. Her footsteps sounded like a funeral drumbeat on the weathered boards. She approached the front door, reached for the doorknob. It almost seemed to be receding from her, receding into the black soul of the house. Her fingers closed around the knob. She didn’t want to do it, but she had to do it. She pulled the door open. The hinges creaked.
She stepped inside and darkness engulfed her. Her bottom lip trembled when she realized where she was. It had been sixteen years since she set foot in this room. He’d carried her down that staircase, across the living room. Heather’s body laid face-up, motionless on the floor, beneath the large bay window. Her head angled back, her eyes open, staring empty toward the ceiling. Her neck was exposed, as was the angry gash that ran from her left ear across her throat. Abbie shuddered. The room was so full of Heather’s presence that it felt haunted. Without thinking, she reached for the unicorn pendant. She gently tugged the necklace. Behind her, the open door allowed a little light to filter inside. She didn’t close it. A quicker escape, she thought.
She looked at the staircase, and remembered standing on the upper steps with Heather, watching the man rummage through the roll top desk that used to be in the corner. He ripped pictures off the walls. The memory made her heart pound. Her legs stiffened with tension. She stepped deeper into the room. Moonlight filtered through the window, although there were no drapes. A two-by-four stretched across the pane.
Abbie paused, took a breath. She thought of Buffy.
On her eighteenth birthday, the Vampire Slayer lost her powers and was forced to find her way through an old, abandoned house, alone. An ancient vampire hid in it, and Buffy had to find the creature and stake it. She fought as a regular teenage girl. Just like Abbie. Buffy made it through that night. She survived without her powers, and she defeated that ancient vampire and made it out the house alive. But that was a TV show. This was real life.
The man on the phone chuckled. She’d forgotten he was still on the line and his voice was an affront to the silence. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m inside the house.” She forced confidence behind her words. It’s what Buffy would’ve done. “Where are you?”
“I bet you’re thinking about that night,” he said. “That night the boogeyman broke in and attacked you and your sister. Is that what you’re thinking about?”
“Where are you?” she asked again. Her voice wavered slightly, betraying her, and she wondered if he noticed.
“Are you remembering what happened that night?” He sounded like he was getting pleasure from all this. “Are you remembering how he came upstairs? Crept into your bedroom?”
“Stop it,” she said. “Just tell me where you are. Where’s Clinton Reed?”
“He wasn’t there that night, was he? Your father left two little girls alone, like little unprotected lambs. And the wolf knocked on the door, didn’t it? And Daddy wasn’t there to protect you—”
“Stop it,” she cut him off. “Stop doing this.”
“You’re angry. But you’re not angry at me. You’re angry at him, aren’t you? You’re angry at your father.”
“Stop it or I will hang up this phone.” She listened for his voice. She hoped to hear him and identify where he was hiding. “I will search every room in this house until I find you. And, I swear to God, I have a gun and when I find you, I will shoot you.”
“Fine.” He laughed. “I dare you to walk upstairs.”
“Is that where you’re hiding?”
“I think you know where I’m hiding.”
“I told you, I’m not playing anymore games.” She hung up the phone. Holding the gun, she stepped up the staircase. One step at a time, she ascended.
Stopping at the upstairs landing, she hesitated. It was utterly dark. All the bedrooms doors were shut. Still she could see where the table lamp once stood beside the wall. She remembered the caution sign that hung on Heather’s bedroom door. She
saw Clinton Reed’s room.
She walked slowly toward the master bedroom.
Quietly, cautiously, she opened the door. It squeaked, just as it used to, and the noise made her jump. Moonlight came in through the bedroom windows, and Abbie’s eyes adjusted to the dark. There were no drapes, no dresser drawers. There was a naked mattress where her father’s bed once butted against the wall.
Two bodies lay side by side.
A man and a woman.
They lay face up, arms at their side, legs straight. Their faces were covered by grinning, grey Gareth the Ghoul masks.
Rocky and McKenzie, Abbie thought.
She ran to the mattress. She kneeled beside the female body dressed in the red Qipa. A small business card rested on the woman’s chest. She picked it up. It read: CHARLIE HICKS, HICK’S PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS. She threw it on the floor, then looked at the corpse. Abbie removed the mask. McKenzie’s frozen face stared back at her.
McKenzie’s eyes were open, but empty. Blood saturated the front of her neck where a deep gash stretched from her left ear across her throat.
Abbie simply stood there, staring at McKenzie’s face. It took a second for the scene to fully register. When the horror sunk in, Abbie’s mouth pulled back in dreadful agony. Bile rose into her mouth and burned her throat. She forced back the urge to vomit. She dropped to the floor, suddenly weak, not wanting to look. But she couldn’t keep from looking. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She didn’t.
She had to get control of herself. Clinton Reed needed her. He was here, in the house, somewhere, and he needed her to be calm.
Abbie took a breath. Held it. She thought of Buffy again. Buffy defeated the ancient vampire. Buffy got out of the abandoned home alive. Slowly, Abbie stood, but her legs were like rubber. She stumbled backwards toward the wall and grabbed the door frame for support. Her heart racing again, she tumbled through the bedroom door and pressed her back to wall in hallway. She caught her breath again and considered bolting downstairs and out the front door.
But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Clinton Reed needed her.