by L. T. Ryan
A nice place to be laid to rest.
When no one answered, Cassie said, “Now what?”
“We have to wait until we have the warrant to go inside.” Harris was staring down one end of the wrap around porch. “But we can check out the yard. Come on.”
They crossed the driveway and Cassie made sure to stay as close to Harris as possible without getting in her way. The detective didn’t pull her service pistol out, but she kept her hand near her hip. Cassie wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. They both kept looking up at the windows around the house to see if anyone was watching them.
Cassie spotted the mounds in the yard first.
There was one to the left of the house, about twenty feet from the front porch, and another about ten yards to the right of the first. Several mounds dotted the yard in a semi-circle. A figure stood over the last one and when she looked up, Cassie recognized her as Sage, the latest victim.
“Oh my God.”
Harris gripped the butt of her gun. “What?”
“The bumps on the ground? I think they’re the hearts.”
“I’m not going to ask how you know that.”
“Sage is standing over there.” Cassie pointed.
“I said I wasn’t going to ask.” Harris walked closer to one. “What I’d like to know is why.”
Cassie shrugged. “Bradley said he was using the hearts in a ritual. Maybe it’s like a protection spell? He had to bury them in the yard around his house?”
“Protection spell? Burying hearts? That’s disgusting.”
“I don’t disagree.”
“And what’s he placing them in? What’s stopping the coyotes from digging up the—"
Harris’s mouth hung open; her voice replaced by the crunching of gravel at the same time. A blue pickup truck appeared around the bend in the driveway.
Cassie, glancing around the yard for a safe place, started to duck. “Should we hide?”
“No, we don’t want to make him suspicious. He won’t know we’re cops right away. Once he gets close enough, I’ll announce who I am. Stay behind me. We’ll keep him close and try to get him to let us inside. If we can keep him talking, we can stall until David gets here.”
Cassie was about to agree with the plan, but as soon as the truck pulled to a stop, the man behind the wheel jumped out. She only had enough time to catch a quick glimpse of gray hair and the scowl on his face before he pulled a shotgun and aimed it right at the two women.
Then he pulled the trigger.
Forty
Harris reacted before Cassie could process what was happening.
By the time Baker had gotten the shot off, Cassie was on the ground and Harris was on top of her. Cassie had landed on a sharp rock. Pain radiated throughout her arm. It dulled almost as the realization of their current situation slammed into her.
Another shot rang out and echoed across the plot of land and Harris rolled Cassie behind a thick oak and pulled her Glock out all in one swift movement.
“Are you hit?” Harris asked. “Are you hurt?”
“No, no.” Cassie’s heart was pounding. “I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Baker shouted from the driveway. It sounded like he was walking toward the house. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing on my property?”
“Savannah PD!” Harris shouted. “Stop shooting!”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Baker said. “Especially by yourselves.”
“Savannah PD,” Harris shouted again. “Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air.”
The CHUNK-CHUNK sound of the shotgun was Baker’s response. A few seconds later, he shot off another round. Splinters of tree and bark cascaded down over them as the round shaved off the right side of the tree they were hiding behind.
“Savannah PD—”
“I heard you the first time!” Baker pulled the trigger again.
Cassie screamed as a small branch landed on her head. There was a ringing in her ears, but she heard a door slam.
“He’s inside.” Harris was up and moving across the yard. “Call David and stay in the car!”
Cassie ignored the directive. She needed to stay by Harris’s side. She bolted from around the tree and spotted the detective crouching low next to her car. Cassie slid across the gravel as she made a mad dash to Harris. Her thighs, knees, and shins burned as the small rocks scratched through her pants and dug into her skin. She pushed past the pain and pulled out her phone and dialed David’s number. He picked up on the first ring.
“Cassie? How’s it going?”
“Bad, horrible,” Cassie whispered with a tremble. “He showed up and started shooting. You need to get here. Fast.”
David pulled the phone away from his face and started shouting. When he returned, he sounded frantic. “Are you okay?”
“We’re both fine. But you need to get here.”
“Fifteen minutes tops,” David said. “Stay on the phone with me, okay?”
“Oka—”
Cassie didn’t get the whole word out before Baker fired another shot. It hit the ground in front of Cassie. She jerked back. Misjudging the space around her, her elbow slammed into the fender, rendering her arm numb from that point down. She lost her grip on the phone. It slid across the driveway, out of reach.
“Don’t go for that!” Harris peered over the hood of the car.
Another blast rang out. The right taillight shattered. Glass and plastic hung in the air, glinting in the sun, then cascaded to the ground. Harris returned fire. The bullet shattered the glass in one of the first-story windows.
The man inside grunted.
“Stay here.” Harris sprinted for the front door.
Without thinking, Cassie followed her, skidding to a stop as Harris kicked in the door and pointed her weapon inside.
“Go back to the car, Cassie.”
“I can help!” she shouted. “Elizabeth will help us!”
Harris didn’t bother arguing. She kept her weapon steady as she walked through the door. “I know I hit him. He’s injured.”
“Look.” Cassie pointed across the room. Under a swath of blood trailing along the wall, was his shotgun.
Harris nodded. “Good catch, but don’t get complacent. I’m sure he’s got firearms stashed throughout the house. He might’ve switched it out for a 9mm or a .40, something easier to handle. It’d make sense if I hit him in the arm or shoulder.” She aimed her finger at nothing. “Stay right behind me, Quinn. Watch my back, okay?”
“Okay.” Cassie’s voice was so high she sounded like a child. “You wouldn’t happen to have another gun on you, would you?”
“If I did, would you know how to shoot it?”
“More or less.”
“Not the confident answer I was hoping for, but no, I don’t have another one. If you spot anything else, grab it. Fire poker. Baseball bat. Anything, got it?”
“Got it.”
Cassie stayed right behind Harris as they made their way through the front entrance and into the living room. Cassie noticed how beautiful it was, with period pieces of furniture and original hardwood floors. But there was something off. Wallpaper peeled at the seams. Paint chipped, revealing an artist’s pallet of colors underneath the freshest coat. While the house gave the appearance of being pristine, it was all fake, a cover up. No amount of paint and wallpaper could hide the evil that roamed the halls.
“Do you hear anything?” Harris whispered.
“No,” Cassie said, “do you?”
Harris shook her head. “Do you see anything?”
Cassie was about to give the detective the same answer, but as soon as they stepped from the living room to the kitchen, she noticed Elizabeth standing in front of another door. Her face was a mask of determination and as soon as her eyes locked with Cassie’s, she faded away.
“I think he’s through there.” Cassie pointed to the door. “And I’m guessing the basement
is behind that door.”
“What makes you say that?” Harris asked.
“My vision from earlier, remember? I saw a basement with an altar. Ten bucks we go through that door, we find it down there.”
“I’m not in a gambling mood,” Harris said, “but I don’t think we have a choice.”
“Can’t we wait for backup?”
“There’s most likely a cellar door that leads outside. We can’t risk him getting away. If he disappears into the woods, we may not find him again.” Harris stopped outside the door and looked around the kitchen. “Butcher knife is missing. He doesn’t have a gun on him.”
Cassie followed the detective’s line of sight and pulled out a knife of her own from the butcher block. “What’s the plan?”
“I need you to be my eyes, okay?” Harris looked at Cassie, who was thankful the detective looked much braver than Cassie felt. “He knows this house better than we do. It might be dark down there. I want you to use my phone as a flashlight, okay? When I look left, you move it left. If you see movement somewhere else, you call out the direction and shine the flashlight on it.”
Cassie felt like crying. “Okay.”
“We’re going to be alright,” Harris said. “There’s two of us. Three if you count Elizabeth. We outnumber him.”
Cassie blew out a huge breath and nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Forty-One
Harris twisted the door handle to the basement and pulled it open sharply. It bounced against the wall with a thunk. She stuck her head into the darkness and leaned back. When nothing happened, she did it once more.
“There’s a bit of light down there,” Harris said. “But it’s still dark. Might be candles. Are you ready with the flashlight?”
Cassie held up the phone and pointed it forward. “Yes.”
“Remember, stay as close to me as you can without getting tripped up. If you see movement, call the direction.”
“Okay.”
Harris waited a few beats to make sure Cassie didn’t have anything else to say, and she stuck her head through the doorway one more time. “Savannah PD. Come out with your hands up.”
When there was no response, she lifted her weapon and descended the stairs.
Cassie moved in tandem with the detective, making sure she kept the phone’s light over Harris’s left shoulder.
The wooden stairs creaked, each one sounding like a gunshot in the silence. Baker would know where they were, and Cassie was terrified he was underneath them, waiting to sever her Achilles and send her sprawling.
But Harris was unconcerned. Maybe it was practice. Muscle memory. She had performed the moves so many times, they just happened. She took each step at an agonizing pace, sweeping her head left and right, making sure every movement was purposeful. She would pause on every stair to stop and listen, but Cassie couldn’t hear anything except water moving through the old pipes.
Halfway down the stairs, Cassie got a glimpse of the basement opening in front of her. Unlike the rest of the house, it wasn’t finished. It looked old, more like a food cellar than an actual basement, and she was certain that this room was in its original condition.
The hair on the back of Cassie’s neck tingled and she felt her skin crawling, starting from her ankles and going right up her back. More than anything else, she wanted to get off those stairs. She couldn’t ignore the feeling that Baker was lying in wait, ready to pounce.
They were about three steps from the bottom. Harris started to take a step down, and as Cassie went to follow, she misjudged the distance to the next step. She stumbled, and knocked into Harris, who had to rush down the rest of the steps to stay on her feet.
“Sorry!” Cassie whispered. “I’m sorry!”
“Stay with me, Quinn.” Harris looked to the left.
“I’m with you.” Cassie turned the light in Harris’s direction. In front of them were rows of wooden shelves. They looked new and each one held various canned goods. It was quite a stockpile. There was enough food to last several months, if not longer. What was this guy preparing for?
Harris kept spinning, guiding the light to the staircase they had climbed down. Cassie didn’t like putting her back to the room, but despite the invisible bugs crawling across her skin, she stayed connected to Harris.
At the very least, she knew that Baker hadn’t been hiding under the stairs like she had feared.
Harris kept moving and as the light swept the room, Cassie saw the altar from her vision. Her memory of what she had seen was vague but familiar, almost déjà vu. She leaned closer to Harris.
“That’s what I saw.”
“Let’s move closer,” Harris whispered back.
The detective kept her head on a swivel and Cassie stayed with her. There was a door on the far side of the room, opposite the stairs. Harris wasn’t concerned about busting her way through it.
They got closer to the altar and the smell made Cassie’s eyes water. On top of the table were seven candles colored a deep blood-red, almost black. Four of them were lit, the other three remained untouched with fresh, wax-covered wicks. A dull, red glob sat in front of the four that had flames and Cassie knew, without a doubt, that it was a piece of the heart from each of Baker’s victims.
“Shine the light on the wall,” Harris said.
Cassie lifted the phone to look at the wall behind the table. Blood was smeared this way and that. It appeared random at first. Cassie’s eyes took a minute to adjust to what she was looking at.
In the center was a square with four spokes leading to red splotches that formed a half circle on the outside. Surrounding that were the symbols Cassie had seen in her vision, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of what they were supposed to be.
“That’s the house in the center,” Harris said.
Cassie nodded her head. The light moved with her, casting shadows around the altar. “And the dots are the hearts. But what are the lines?”
“Something to connect the hearts to the house,” Harris said. “Maybe the blood?”
Cassie was about to open her mouth to say that made sense but saw something pale move in the corner of her eye. She was quick-witted enough to call out, “Left!” and wait until Harris turned to look before she shined the light in that direction.
“I don’t see anything,” Harris hissed.
Cassie breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s Elizabeth. Jesus, my heart’s pounding.”
“I can’t decide if it’s better or worse that I can’t see her.”
“I would answer that question, but I don’t want to offend the ghost who’s helping us.”
“What’s she doing?”
“Right now? She’s standing outside the door staring me down.” Cassie blinked and Elizabeth disappeared. “And now she’s gone. She wants us to go through the door.”
“Then let’s go through the door. You with me?”
Cassie gulped, but answered despite the panic rising in her chest. “I’m with you.”
The two women made their way across the floor with measured steps. When they made it to the door, Harris guided a full three-sixty turn to make sure no one was behind them. Despite the chill still running down Cassie’s spine, the room was empty.
When they turned back to the door, Harris held up her fingers and counted down from five. When she got to one, she reached for the knob and twisted.
The door swung out with more force than Harris pulled with, and Baker barreled his way through the opening and collided with the two of them. Light flooded the space from a dangling, swinging bulb surrounded by a metal cage hanging from the ceiling. Had he been waiting there the entire time? All three hit the ground. The phone slid across the floor in one direction and Harris’s gun in the other.
Someone kneed Cassie in the stomach and she grunted against the impact. A flurry of arms and legs, the three of them tried to untangle themselves and get the upper hand. Baker was the first to make it to his feet and he must’ve known Harris was the bigger threat beca
use he reached down with both hands and lifted her clear off the ground.
Cassie had a few seconds to register him and was surprised by how much his son didn’t look like him. The older Baker was tall and broad like Bradley, but his features were light. His hair was almost white and his eyes a piercing blue. He wore jeans and a plain shirt and if she hadn’t known any better, she would not have thought he was as wealthy as he was.
Or that he was a serial killer.
The biggest difference between William Baker and his son, however, was the mask of rage that the older man wore on his face. It was beet red and encased a violence that scared Cassie down to her bones. A sharpness to his eyes made her more afraid.
This man had orchestrated the brutal murder of four women and had been smart enough not to do the dirty work himself.
Harris’s instincts to protect herself kicked in faster than Cassie’s. The detective kicked out with one foot and collided with the big man’s knee cap. He grunted but didn’t release the grip around her throat. He tossed her against the wall and watched as she hit it with a thud and slid down in what seemed like slow motion. The second she tried to scramble to her feet, he struck out with a blow to her temple.
The detective crumpled to the floor.
Forty-Two
When Baker turned on Cassie, all she could do was curl up in a ball and cover her head with her arms. She decided right there that she was going to start investing in self-defense classes again. She was tired of being in these situations without the proper tools.
But she did have one tool.
Cassie became aware that she was still death-gripping the knife in her right hand. When Baker leaned down to wrap a hand around her throat, Cassie swung up and drove the blade in between his ribs in hopes he would back away.
Baker howled in pain. Instead of backing away, he released his grip on Cassie’s neck and pulled the knife from his side. Warm blood squirted on Cassie’s arm. The knife clanked against the concrete floor. His hands returned to Cassie’s neck, squeezing so tight she was certain that her head would pop clean off.