THE PERFECT HOUSE

by Blake Pierce

  “To what do I owe the hono—” he began before Jessie cut him off.

  “They’re dead,” she said sharply. “Bruce and Janine Hunt are dead.”

  Crutchfield delicately placed the paperback on the mattress, then looked up, meeting Jessie’s eyes.

  “That is unexpected,” he said slowly.

  “You told my father where to find them and you figured he’d just want to chat?” Jessie demanded incredulously.

  Crutchfield didn’t speak for a few seconds. When he finally did, his voice was hushed.

  “First, I didn’t tell him where to find them. I gave him a clue, which I assumed, if he was able to use it, would lead him to your former home. I thought he might deduce your current whereabouts based on that information. Second, I thought it likely that he would want to keep a low profile, gather the necessary details to find you, and depart without making his presence known. In retrospect, I see that I erred in that assumption.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Clearly,” he continued, ignoring her sarcasm, “I didn’t properly consider the level of animosity your father would have toward the people he viewed as usurping his parenting role. I also apparently overestimated his concern about getting caught.”

  “Yeah, you seem to have made a lot of errors in judgment,” Jessie agreed venomously. “And now two innocent people are dead as a result.”

  “I regret that,” he said flatly.

  Jessie took a long, slow, deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm. As upset as she was, it served no purpose to scream and shout at him. She needed whatever information he could offer and attacking him, however satisfying, would surely be counterproductive.

  “Maybe there’s a way to mitigate the damage you’ve done,” she finally said.

  “It seems that ship has sailed, Miss Jessie.”

  “For my parents, yes,” she agreed, keeping her voice even. “But Xander Thurman is still out there. He’s looking for me. And it’s quite clear that he has ill intent. Unless it’s your wish that he succeed, help me. Otherwise it’s very possible that this will be the last time we speak. I may not be around much longer.”

  “How can I possibly help you?” he asked. “I’m incarcerated.”

  “You’ve met with him twice recently. You know how he thinks. Give me some tools so that I can protect myself. You owe me that,” she implored.

  “I’m afraid that your father was very cagey with me. He knew that I was enthused to be in his presence and that I would consider that enough of a thrill to help him, even if there was nothing of consequence in it for me.”

  “He must have given you some sense of why he was looking for me,” Jessie insisted.

  “Nothing specific, unfortunately. I think his trust in me only went so far.”

  Jessie sat there at the desk across from his glass-walled cell, quietly thinking. For the first time in their interaction together, she didn’t get the impression that Crutchfield was playing her. He seemed to genuinely not know what her father intended.

  “There was one thing,” he finally conceded. “I hesitate to even mention it because I’m not sure it’s of any significance. But if it helps you better understand how your father’s mind works, perhaps it will be of assistance. He kept talking about family.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He said he wanted to reunite you with the family. He wanted the family to be together. I didn’t know if that was intended as a metaphor, as in he would kill you and reunite you with your dead mother. Or if it was intended as a literal desire—to kidnap you and take you to some island populated solely by members of the Thurman clan. But it seemed important to him. Did he make a big fuss about family when you were a child?”

  “No,” Jessie recalled. “I met a few relatives on my mom’s side when we’d visit. I don’t even remember where they lived but it wasn’t near us. I don’t think I ever met a single member of my father’s family.”

  “Then it does seem odd that it would be of such consequence to him now,” Crutchfield mused. “Don’t you agree?”

  Jessie stared at him through narrowed eyes.

  “How do I know this is legit and that you’re not just screwing with me?”

  Crutchfield looked mildly offended.

  “I suppose you don’t,” he admitted. “I can’t prove that what I say is true. All I can do is tell you what he said. You can choose whether to believe me or not. I’m not even sure how it might be of use to you. But it’s all I have to offer.”

  Jessie didn’t know why, but she did believe him. Still, she stood up and pushed the chair back, ready to leave. To her surprise, Crutchfield stood up as well and walked over so that he was right in front of the glass divider, only five feet from her.

  “Miss Jessie,” he said quietly, “you are familiar with my crimes. I cannot pretend that I am capable of the kind of empathy one might expect in this situation. But I can tell you that in the time we have come to know each other, I have developed a reluctant respect for you. Testing wits against you has been invigorating. I hope you believe that it was never my wish that those you care for pay the price they have. It would not have been my choice.”

  “Is this an apology?” Jessie asked.

  “It’s an acknowledgment of my shortcomings. And should your father find you and slice you into ribbons, I will be glad to have said it.”

  “Thanks,” Jessie said sarcastically, turning for the door.

  “One more thing, Miss Jessie,” Crutchfield called out. “You are almost free.”

  “What?”

  “You won’t want to hear this but you should view yourself much as an involuntary psychiatric patient strapped to a table. Your New Mexico family was tying you down. They were a source of authority, one which bound you to traditional perceptions of morality. Their deaths, however painful for you, have partially unbound you from those strictures. Now only your father remains. He binds you to some sense of loyalty to the past. Once you have broken loose from the hold he still has on you, you will finally be unshackled, free to pursue your true mission, no longer haunted by the authority figures who have defined your life until now.”

  Jessie stared at him open-mouthed, stunned at the bounty of madness he’d just verbally vomited.

  “You know,” she finally replied, “sometimes, with your gentlemanly drawl and polite demeanor, I forget.”

  “Forget what?” Crutchfield asked, his eyes blazing with righteous intensity.

  “That you’re bat-shit crazy.”

  Then, without another word, she turned and left.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Jessie stared at the TV monitor, her finger hovering over the VCR “play” button, debating whether to push it.

  She was in the bedroom of her apartment, truly alone for the first time in twenty-four hours. She and Kat had parted ways at NRD and Officers Beatty and Nettles had escorted her back to the city. Jessie had convinced them to abandon their black-and-white, check out a less conspicuous vehicle, and change into plain clothes.

  “The goal is to avoid attention, not draw it,” she’d told them.

  So after they’d done that, the three of them made a grocery run and went back to her apartment. She showed them her roundabout “lose a tail” route through the adjacent retail complex, which Nettles seemed to get but Beatty looked perplexed by.

  When they got to the lobby of the condo building, Nettles went to talk to Fred the security guard while Beatty went upstairs with her. While he checked out her various security measures, she threw a frozen pizza in the oven for the three of them. A few minutes later, Nettles joined them and filled them in.

  “I told your security guard buddy Fred that I was assisting a resident who had filed a restraining order against an ex. I wasn’t specific about who and he didn’t ask me for details. He knows to call my cell if he sees anyone suspicious.”

  After pizza and a few Top Chef reruns, Jessie told them she was exhausted and was calling it a night. She gave them some blankets an
d pillows and left them to work out their sleeping accommodations. There was only one couch and she suspected Beatty, the junior officer, would be spending the night on the floor.

  She took a shower, changed into sweats, locked the bedroom door, and walked over to the VCR she’d set up earlier. She could hear that the guys had changed the channel to some Jason Statham action movie and knew that it was loud enough to cover the volume of whatever she was about to watch.

  Finally, annoyed at her own hesitance, she stopped lingering over the “play” button and pushed it. The screen went from blue to static and then finally to a shot of what she recognized as her parents’ bedroom.

  The image remained unchanged for several seconds, long enough for Jessie to think it might be frozen. But then a man stepped into the frame. He was much as she remembered him from the prison video and from her childhood. Tall and lean, his arms ropy strong, and he had catcher’s mitt–sized hands.

  He wore a black ski mask over his face so that only his eyes and mouth were visible. She thought she saw facial hair around his lips but couldn’t be certain in the poorly lit room. His eyes, the same green hue as her own, were also the same as in her nightmares—cold and penetrating.

  In the two-year-old prison video with Crutchfield, his black hair had been graying. But with the mask, she didn’t know if that had advanced or if he’d possibly shaved it off altogether. The fact that he was hiding his face suggested he made alterations he didn’t want her to be aware of. He confirmed as much with his first words; the first time she’d heard his voice since she was six.

  “Sorry for the cloak and dagger stuff, Junebug,” he said, pointing to the mask. “I just want you to be surprised when we meet up. Can’t have that if you know what’s coming, right?”

  His voice was low and gravelly, like someone had taken sandpaper to his vocal cords.

  Was that how he always sounded? Or did I just block it out all these years?

  “By the time you see this, the nice folks who live here will be cold. Part of me regrets that. I tried to get Brucie to tell me a bit about what you were like growing up since I missed out on so much. But he’s not being real hospitable; real closed-mouthed, that one. I imagine that’ll change a bit when I introduce him to the blade. Doesn’t matter that much anyway. We can catch up more in person soon. That’s what I really wanted to talk to you about, Junebug.”

  He adjusted the mask, which had moved slightly to cover his mouth, then resumed talking.

  “I’ve been looking for you a long time, Jessica. Our family has been apart for far too long. But I’m going to remedy that real soon. That Bolton was a real tease, refusing to give me your current particulars. But I’ve been looking around the place here and even though your replacement parents kept almost no paperwork on you, I gleaned a few details.”

  He smiled through the mask, clearly enjoying the drama of the moment.

  “Now that I know you are Jessie Hunt and that you’re a forensic profiler, it won’t take me long to find out where you’re hanging your hat these days. And when I do, you’re going to have a decision to make.”

  He stopped talking for a second and stepped out of frame. When he returned, he was wiping his mouth as if he’d just had a sip of something. Oddly, he seemed slightly nervous, as if he were stalling in saying the next part.

  “Here’s the deal, Junebug. Your training was cut short. When I came back to the cabin to get you all those years ago, you were gone. You can’t imagine how disappointed I was, all that effort for nothing. But now we’re going to get a chance to pick up where we left off. You see, I was upset at first when I heard your new name was Hunt. But now I know it was meant to be because we are going on a hunt together, Junebug. It’s time for you to reclaim your family’s legacy.

  “We are going to get back in the business of taking the lives of the unrighteous, only now we’ll do it together. There are far too many unworthy souls out there. It’s the Thurman family’s duty to thin the herd. And it’s time you stepped up.”

  There was knock on the bedroom door. Jessie jumped slightly and hit “pause.”

  “Yeah?” she called out.

  “Just heard voices in there and wanted make sure you were okay,” Nettles said from the other side of the door.

  “I’m cool,” she answered quickly. “Just watching a little TV before I crash for the night.”

  “Okay,” he said through the door. “We’ll turn the volume down out here. Let us know if you need anything, all right?”

  “I will,” Jessie assured him. “Thanks, Officer Nettles.”

  “No problem,” he said and she heard footsteps as he retreated from the door.

  To be safe, she turned the volume down and moved closer to the television monitor before hitting “play” again. Her father’s stationary image clicked back into motion.

  “We both know the real reason you became a profiler, Junebug,” he said softly. “It’s in your blood, girl. You’ve got the same instincts as your daddy. You’ve got a taste for the killing. And you hoped that by hunting down these killers, you could immerse yourself in their worlds without becoming one of them. It’s like getting a contact high.

  “But you know as well as I do, it’s not enough. Once you get a taste for it, you can’t just nibble. You have to take a big bite. It’s time to chomp down, Junebug. It’s time to accept your true nature and cross over.”

  Jessie squirmed involuntarily as she stood in place. It was as if Xander had reached into her brain and activated a part of it she’d forcibly kept dormant for years. All her anxieties about whether the child of someone who lived to kill inherited that instinct rose up inside her. She physically gulped, as if that would contain her unease

  “So here’s what’s going to happen,” he continued cheerily. “You have a choice, darlin’. You can accept your birthright and join the family quest. Or you can become the first sacrifice on the altar of the new world we’re creating here. You see, the way I look at it, if you’re not willing to join up and make the family proud, there’s no point in letting you take up space. You’re either part of the problem or part of the solution, Junebug. And if you choose to be a problem, then I’m here to be your solution.

  “So this is my proposal. I’m taping this video on Tuesday afternoon. I figure that by sometime this evening, these nice people here will be found and you’ll be contacted. So let’s call it a loose forty-eight hours. I expect that you’ll reach out to me by Thursday evening, let’s say around eight p.m. If you look at the other side of the Post-it on the videotape with your name on it, I’ve included an e-mail address. You can get hold of me through that.”

  Jessie made a mental note to have the tech team learn everything about the e-mail address and see if it could offer any leads.

  “One more thing, kiddo,” he added, seemingly reading her mind. “Follow my instructions and you’ll be fine. Disobey them and…not so much. I know you’re a smart girl but don’t get too smart. I may not be a spring chicken but I’ve learned a thing or two about how the interwebs work. If you try to play me or get a jump on me by following my digital footprint or setting up some kind of sting, I’ll know. And I will not be amused. There will be consequences for those who assist you. Just ask Mr. and Mrs. Hunt how it goes for people who get between me and my progeny. You’ve been warned.”

  Jessie didn’t know if he was bluffing or not. But the idea of putting her co-workers at risk to save her own skin was something she didn’t think she could handle. Her father moved on, oblivious to her internal conflict.

  “I’m real hopeful that you’ll make the right choice here, Junebug. If you do, we can accomplish incredible things together. If you don’t, well, you remember how things went for your mama. Talk to you soon.”

  He stepped out of frame again and a moment later the screen cut to black. Jessie sat on the end of her bed, trying to wrap her ahead around everything her father had said. It was simply too much. She felt as if her brain was bubbling over.

  For
the time being, as a way to short-circuit the panic she felt beginning to overtake her, she set aside his claims about her “true nature” and focused on the more immediate concern—the countdown he’d established for her. She looked at her bedside clock. It was just after 9 p.m. on Wednesday night. That meant that she had just under twenty-four hours until he expected some kind of response.

  And as he viewed it, she had only two choices: join him in a murder spree or be its first victim.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  There was one positive element to Xander’s ultimatum.

  It meant Jessie was safe until his deadline, which meant that she could go to sleep without fearing that he would break into her apartment and kill everyone there. The second she came to that realization, she fell into a deep slumber that she didn’t awaken from until Officer Beatty knocked on her door the next morning.

  “You okay in there?” he called out.

  She looked groggily over at the clock. It was 7:04 a.m. She’d slept for almost ten hours, uninterrupted.

  “I’m good,” she shouted back. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

  After a quick freshening up, she stepped into her living room where she found both officers fully dressed and sipping coffee.

  “Nettles made you some eggs,” Beatty said, nodding at the plate on the counter. “His wife says it’s the only thing he can’t ruin.”

  “Shut it, Beatty,” Nettles said. “That was shared in confidence. Remind me never to recommend you for an undercover assignment.”

  “Thanks,” she said, ignoring their squabbling as she shuffled over. “You guys sleep okay?’

  “We slept,” Nettles said noncommittally. “What about you?”

  “Surprisingly well,” she admitted. “I had a thought last night that calmed me down a bit.”