You Can't Hide: A pulse-pounding serial killer thriller (7th Street Crew Book 3)

by Willow Rose

  “Your sister would never have done that!” or his favorite: “You could learn a lot from your sister, young man.”

  Blake scoffs and walks up the stairs. He stands still by the door to Mary’s room and listens, then opens it slowly and walks inside. Snowflake jumps down from her bed and runs to him wagging his tail, the crazy animal. He pets it gently and hushes it when it whimpers because it is so excited to see him.

  Stupid dog.

  Blake feels the knife in his pocket with his hand as he walks closer to his sister. She has not gotten smaller. Her plump body is lying heavily on the bed, half covered by her sheet. It’s hot tonight and their dad has always been cheap with the AC, especially at night. Blake is guessing nothing has changed on that front.

  Mary is snoring lightly, lying on her back, facing him as he leans in over her. She grunts something in her sleep. Blake looks at her fat neck and wonders how much strength he’ll need to strangle her.

  Mary’s sleep is restless and she starts to toss and turn. By her whines and grunts, he senses she is tormented, dreaming heavily.

  “What are you dreaming about, dear sister?” He whispers close to her face. “Did I bother you with my little trick destroying your blog? Are you having a nightmare? Well, you ain’t seen nothing yet. I’m just getting started. I’m going to make your life as miserable as you did mine.”

  Blake is overwhelmed by the feeling of great power he possesses in this exact moment. He fights the urge to kill her right here and now. It’s been awhile since his last kill. The sensation, the longing, the desire is back. Big time. But he can’t. No, not yet.

  Blake walks backwards and pets Snowflake on the top of the head before he leaves the room, a chill still running down his spine.

  He hurries down the stairs and finds his dad’s room, then enters. The old man is heavily asleep as well. Furor wells up in him as he approaches him. All the anger, all the frustration of never being good enough, engulfs him, and he clenches one of his hands into a fist, then holds on tight to the knife with the other.

  Blake’s body is trembling with anger; he bites his lips as he leans over his father’s lifeless body, then whispers.

  “I’m coming for you, Daddy dear. I’m coming for all of you. I’ll take care of you last.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  April 1975

  It’s dark in the water. The small boat is being thrown around between the waves. It feels like the waves are playing with them, Danh thinks.

  Like a lion plays with its prey before devouring it. Toying with them to wear them out, before the fatal strike is set in.

  Danh holds on to his sister, who seems to grow even smaller by the hour now. She doesn’t make a sound and barely breathes. Bao sits by the oars and rows, using up all his strength. Danh has no idea how long it has been since they were left there and they watched the fishing boat sail away. Six-seven hours? Maybe. It is nighttime now and they have no idea what direction they’re going in, where land is. So far, they have just tried to keep in the same direction as they saw the fishing boat go, but they have been tossed and turned so much by the waves, they could have been going in circles without even noticing it.

  “It’s no use,” Bao says, and puts the oars down.

  Danh wonders if he is angry with them for putting him in this situation. Danh is shivering in fear and wants badly to cry, but has no more tears. He is terrified for Long and worries that she’ll die. Her fragile body seems so lifeless in his arms.

  “Please, don’t leave me, your majesty,” he whispers in the darkness, while Bao lays down to rest. The ocean seems to calm down a little, even though they’re still being thrown around and water keeps coming into the small rowboat.

  Danh wonders how long they will be able to keep the water out and how long they will be able to survive without anything to drink. They haven’t had much for weeks as it is, and now they’re completely without anything. Danh sobs tearless cries while smoothing his hand over her head.

  “Please. I promised Mother I would take care of you. I made a promise! I can’t go on without you, princess. Don’t leave me.”

  Somehow, Danh manages to doze off way into the night, and when he wakes up, his mouth is dry and nasty, and the sun is right in his face. His skin is burning. The ocean is calm now. The first thing he sees is Bao. He is still sleeping. Half of his body is sunken into water in the bottom of the boat. Danh blinks a few times, then remembers where they are, and looks down.

  “Long,” he says.

  She is in his lap, still wrapped in his jacket. There is no color in her face, her lips are cracked, her eyes still closed. Terrified, he leans over her small body and listens. He can’t hear anything. Is she dead?

  Please, don’t be dead!

  “Your majesty?”

  Finally, she draws in a small breath. Danh leans back with a sigh of relief. Long is still alive. Bao wakes up, but barely has the strength to lift his head, let alone his body. He blinks a few times and licks his lips, but it doesn’t help. Danh knows how it feels.

  “We’re going to die out here, aren’t we?” Bao asks.

  Danh shakes his head, but it barely moves. “No,” he whispers. “I promised Long she would get ice cream.”

  Bao tries to laugh, but only a strange wheezing sound comes out of his throat. He leans his head down and closes his eyes again. Danh wants to sleep as well. He is so tired, and as hope oozes out of him, so does his will to survive.

  You gotta stay awake. For Long. You gotta take care of Long!

  Danh forces himself to open his eyes. They soon become heavy again and close. He has no idea for how long, but when he opens them again, he sees something. At first he believes it is a part of his dream, or an illusion of some sort. It can’t be real. It simply can’t.

  Yet, it is still there even after he blinks.

  He parts his dry lips and tries to point. “Boat,” he whispers, but no one can hear it. He tries to speak again, but no sound leaves his lips, and soon he can’t hold his eyelids open anymore. Seconds later, the darkness swallows him completely.

  Chapter Sixty

  April 2016

  I have the worst nightmare and wake up screaming. It’s still dark outside. I sit up in my bed. I feel thirsty and walk out of my room, Snowflake running right behind me, wagging his tail because he thinks it’s time to get up.

  On the way down the stairs, I think about Paige and how she still hasn’t been found. I wonder where she is and if she is scared. I also think about the two bodies they ended up pulling out of the canal.

  Who were they?

  The police had quickly arrived and blocked the area off so we couldn’t see much, and soon I went home, tired and depressed because we hadn’t found Paige, and slightly scared because of the bodies. It took me many hours to calm down and be able to sleep, and when I finally did, I had the strangest dream about my brother Blake.

  I turn on the light in the kitchen and grab a glass that I fill with water. I feel hungry and open the refrigerator. I grab the leftovers of the stew I had made for my dad and me before I went to do the search. I never got to eat much of it, but I can do that now.

  I eat out of the pan and don’t even bother to heat it first. It tastes great even cold. Then I move on to the more comforting stuff. I pull out a bucket of Mint chocolate ice cream from Fat Donkey, the ice-cream place off Minutemen. It’s the best ice cream in the world and I save it for when I feel especially down. I do now. Because I worry about Salter, because I worry about Paige Stover, and the disappeared women and children.

  As I dig into the ice cream with my spoon, I hear a sound. It sounds like it is coming from my dad’s room.

  That’s odd?

  I put the ice cream back, then close the freezer. I walk towards my dad’s room with my heart in my throat, Snowflake at my heels. Unfortunately, he is not much of a guard dog. He is even more easily scared than I am. During every thunderstorm, he creeps under my bed and shakes for hours afterwards.

  I
grab the door handle, turn it, and walk inside. My heart is pounding. My dad is still in his bed, on his back, snoring lightly, calmly. I relax my shoulders and walk closer to him.

  That’s when I notice the window is open and a vase has fallen down from the small table next to it. It isn’t broken, but the flowers have fallen out, and the water has run out on the floor. I wipe it up and put the flowers back in, then look out the window before I close it.

  Probably just forgot to shut it earlier today.

  I feel like a fool, even though I can’t remember opening it. I might have done it to give him some fresh air. I am too tired to remember.

  My dad is lying peacefully, until he starts to move his fingers and hands excessively. I stare at them, remembering his physical therapist telling me this would happen, that he would experience spasms at night, in the parts where he has recently regained mobility. But then I see something that makes me tear up. His foot.

  His right foot is moving too!

  I gasp and pull the blanket off. I can’t believe what I am seeing. My father’s right foot is twitching and turning in small, almost rhythmical spasms.

  “Oh, my God,” I exclaim, tears streaming from my eyes. “You’re actually moving your foot in your sleep, Dad.”

  Before I leave him, I grab my cell phone and start recording it. My hands are shaking and it is hard to hold the phone still. I can’t stop crying and take several videos both of his hands and his foot.

  Finally, I leave him and walk back into the hallway. On the way back towards the stairs, I pass the picture wall I have made of us of the few pictures I had left after my dad’s house burnt down. Luckily, I had some copies among my things; otherwise, all my childhood pictures would have been lost.

  I almost walk past it when I suddenly stop and walk a few steps backwards.

  Something is different.

  One of the frames is empty. The picture of me with my surfboard that I got when I was seventeen, is gone.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  April 2016

  I show my dad the video the next morning when we’re eating breakfast. He too has tears in his eyes when he sees it.

  “It’s moving. It’s really moving!”

  I sniffle with joy and cut up some more fruit for him and help him get it on his fork. “I know. I can’t believe it either. But there is definitely movement going on down there.”

  “I can’t wait to tell Jack,” he says.

  “He’ll be here tomorrow,” I say. “I’ll make sure he sees it.”

  My dad smiles widely. I know how badly he wants to walk again. For the first time, I have a real feeling that it is reachable, that he might be able to walk at some point again, even though I also know there is still a long way to go. Seeing how slow it has been with his fingers and hands, I know we need to brace ourselves with all the patience we can muster, but the hope is there. It is definitely there.

  “I had the strangest dream last night,” my dad says, after a few minutes of silence. He is chewing his fruit. I know he hates the fruit, but Jack has told him he needs to watch his weight. Being heavy makes it harder on his legs, should he ever get up on them again, since he has no muscles left in them. I am completely to blame for his weight gain, since I constantly feel so bad for him that I always make the best food. It is, after all, the only thing he can really enjoy these days, so why not get the best of the best?

  Well, not anymore. I am eating the fruit with him, since I could lose a few pounds myself. Even though breakfast probably isn’t my biggest problem.

  “Oh, what was it about?” I ask.

  “Blake,” he says, his face turning very serious all of a sudden. “I dreamt about Blake.”

  “I dreamt about him too,” I say. “What a weird coincidence.”

  My dad looks speculative. I try to shut my hunger up by eating a banana. I am more in the mood for pancakes, but this will have to do for now. I can’t be eating pancakes in front of my poor father.

  “That is odd. I woke up with the strangest feeling,” he continues. My dad looks at me. “I think he’s here.”

  “Blake? Bah. Nonsense. He and Olivia went to Naples, where he killed her. He’s wanted all over the state of Florida. He’s probably long gone. Out of the state. He’s not stupid enough to come back here.”

  I help my dad get a strawberry in his mouth, while I think about the missing picture in the hallway and the open window. I shake the thought. Maybe Salter took the photo. Or it fell down or something.

  My dad sighs. “I guess you’re right. It is just so odd. I have this feeling that…that he is very close. It was like he spoke to me last night.”

  “You were just dreaming, Dad,” I say. “Dreams can get so vivid sometimes.”

  He nods and I put a piece of watermelon on his fork. He misses his mouth and it splashes on his cheek instead.

  “Ugh!” he exclaims. “I hate this! I want some real food!”

  I nod. “You know what? So do I.” I get up, walk to the kitchen, and open the refrigerator. I pull out bacon and a carton of eggs. “How does bacon and scrambled eggs sound?”

  “Like heaven,” he yells from his chair.

  “Heaven it shall be. It is, after all, Sunday and the good Lord knows we deserve it,” I say, and crack an egg and drop it into a bowl.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  April 2016

  We finish our meal and I finally feel full. My dad is also satisfied and asks me to take him out on the porch. He wants to listen to the ocean and feel the breeze on his face. After eating, that is his favorite thing to do.

  I place him in the shade with a hat and sunglasses on and he sighs, satisfied, while watching the beachgoers fight with umbrellas. It’s very windy today and the waves are completely blown out. A woman loses her hat and starts to run after it as it rolls across the sand.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, and takes in a deep breath of the fresh air. “Nothing beats this air.”

  “I know,” I say. “It’s the best place on earth.”

  I take Snowflake for a walk on the beach, thinking the local police force has enough going on today as it is, enough to not care if someone walks their dog on the warm sand.

  I walk all the way to downtown and the restaurant, Coconuts on the Beach, where all the tourists lay almost on top of each other, then turn and walk back. When I return to the house, I find Detective Fisher waiting on the porch for me. He is engaged in a chat with my dad.

  “Okay,” I say, throwing out my arms. “You caught me. I was walking my dog on the beach. You can take me away now. But, I tell you this one thing, it was totally worth it. Please, just spare my dog. He has done nothing wrong.”

  “Quite the comedian,” Fisher says, addressed to my dad.

  “Always has been,” he says. “Part of her charm.”

  Fisher chuckles.

  “If you’re not here to bust me and my dog, then why are you here?” I ask, and let Snowflake back into the house. He runs to the water bowl and starts to drink, dragging a heavy load of sand with him inside.

  “I thought we could chat,” he said.

  “Sure. What about?”

  “Maybe we should do this inside?” he says, and nods at my dad.

  “Don’t mind him,” I say. “I’ll tell him everything after you leave anyway. He knows everything that goes on.”

  “I don’t watch soaps,” my dad says. “What I hear around here is so much better.”

  Fisher laughs lightly. He grabs a chair in the shade and sits down. “All right, then. But this can’t leave the house, all right?”

  “I can’t even leave the house,” my dad says.

  “Anyone want some coffee?” I ask, mostly because I really need some after the night I had.

  “It’s too hot for coffee,” my dad says.

  “I can make it ice-coffee if you ask me nicely.”

  “Then, yes, please,” Fisher says. “I would like that.”

  My dad nods in agreement and I walk inside to make
it for all of us. I put straws in the cups and walk back out.

  “Quite the view you have here,” Fisher says, as I serve it to them. “I wonder how you ever get anything done around here.”

  I chuckle. “Who says I do? But I can’t blame it on the view. Just a lot has been going on lately.”

  Fisher nods, pulls out a file, and places it on the table. “Yeah. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Those bodies…that we pulled out of the canal…”

  “What about them?” I ask.

  “Well, you knew about them. It’s two of your girls.”

  “What do you mean they’re my girls?”

  “The ones in your articles, remember? The ones you gave to me when we were drinking coffee.”

  I sink back in the chair. “Really? I mean, I can’t say I didn’t think the thought, but still. Which ones? Please tell me it isn’t Tara and Maria; please say it’s not them.”

  “It’s not them.”

  “Phew.” My heart drops. “Then who is it?”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  April 2016

  “Kim and Casey Taylor!”

  Boxer yells at his brother, who sits on the couch in his living room, drinking vodka straight from the bottle. Boxer should know better than to yell at him, since it only makes him sick again, but he can’t stop. Not since he saw the face of the girl they pulled out of the canal when searching for Paige Stover, has he been able to stay calm. He

  recognized her right away as the girl he abducted from the mall one year ago, along with her mother.

  Now they’ve turned up dead?

  “Oh, my God,” he says, as he walks back and forth. “They’re going to come here, aren’t they? They’re going to get me for this even though I didn’t kill them, aren’t they?” he groans.

  “Maybe they won’t,” his brother says and lights up a cigarette.

  Boxer can’t stand cigarette smoke, especially not in his house, but he also knows his brother is in a fragile mental stage right now, and if smoking helps him, then he’ll have to endure it. Boxer stares at his brother as he smokes, holding the cigarette between his shaking hands, eyes closed, and he wonders what he thinks about, worries that he’ll get sick again.