by Rick Mofina
“I was a bratty little bitch and I never got to take back what I said, to tell her I didn’t hate her, that I loved her.”
“Sweetheart, she knew. Your mom knew you loved her.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. You have to work on accepting that you were being a kid. You didn’t mean those things. You have to forgive yourself for being human.”
Emma looked down the shoreline.
The man in the floral shirt was far-off now, looking through his binoculars. Only now Emma could’ve sworn they were definitely aimed at her.
Unease shivered through her.
Then she turned in the opposite direction and saw two large kites curling and coiling high in the sky.
What’s he looking at?
* * *
After the beach they went to a restaurant. It was dog-friendly and they sat on the patio, where Tug was permitted, “and welcome,” their server said, to sit beside them.
Once they’d ordered, Emma got a text from Glenda Heywood, her principal, updating her on Carson, telling her that he would be seeing a psychiatrist and his family was with him.
“Everything okay?” Ben asked Emma as their nachos arrived.
“Yes, my student is getting the help he needs.”
“Good,” Ben said.
“So Dad,” Kayla said. “What do you think? Can we all go to the cabin sometime? We’ve only been up a couple times with Emma. You’d like to go back, wouldn’t you, Emma?”
“It’s beautiful there,” Emma said, “but it’s up to your dad.”
Ben thought while chewing on a chip. “I’d like to get my next book settled first. Then we’ll see. Okay?”
Ben looked to Emma but her attention had shifted from the table to a white car parked some distance down the street near the end of the block. She was certain the man who’d gotten into it was the floral shirt man from the beach. But he didn’t drive off. He just sat behind the wheel.
Is he looking at the restaurant patio?
Is he looking at us?
Ben followed Emma’s gaze. Then turned back to her.
“What is it?”
“Sorry. I thought I saw someone from the beach.”
“Something wrong?”
“No, it’s nothing.”
She waved off concerns, reached for a nacho, smiled as she chewed but shot a secret glance back to the man’s car.
* * *
At home that evening Emma was still bothered by the floral shirt man, fearing he could be connected to the note and the mystery woman watching her at school.
Still, she wasn’t certain that the guy near the restaurant was the man she’d seen at the beach.
So what if it was? It would only be a coincidence. Or would it?
Her worry pulled her back to the threatening note.
No one knew about it.
And no one will ever know about it.
Still, it gnawed at her.
I’ve got to find out who’s behind all of it and put a stop to this. I’ll protect Ben and Kayla no matter what it takes.
Emma had spent most of her life looking over her shoulder because of who she used to be. She glanced around, taking in the gorgeous home she shared with Ben and Kayla, amazed that she lived like this here in California. When she looked back on her life, where she came from, what she came from, she couldn’t believe how it all got so messed up and how she worked so hard to bury that life to find the love and trust she never knew growing up.
Emma knew how fortunate she was that Ben and Kayla had opened their lives to her at a time when they were both—and still were—grieving. She ached to help them, sensing that they needed her as much as she needed them. It had not been easy. But now, if her past were to be exhumed, it would destroy Ben and Kayla, and everything that Emma had worked to build with them. In the end, it would destroy Emma, too. She did believe that Ben, on some level, would understand, if one day she felt she could tell them the truth. But for now she needed to protect them from it.
I’ve survived this long and, so help me God, I’ll get through this.
Tired from their day in the sun, everyone in the house had retreated to their own space. Kayla was in her room. Ben had worked in his office, then went to the living room to watch a game. Emma was alone with her laptop at the kitchen table, the lights dimmed, dealing with her uneasiness.
Double-checking to ensure she was alone, she launched a search. In seconds, something surfaced. Something new.
A headline on the site of a major newspaper in Canada over what looked like an opinion piece.
Anniversary of the Eternity Murders Nears
Where Are The Killers Now?
Emma gasped and her heart beat faster. As she read, her mind raced back to the note, the woman and the floral shirt man. Maybe they’re reporters?
But the judges and the lawyers guaranteed me that no one outside the system would ever, could ever, know who I used to be. They guaranteed it. Yes, she expected people would write about the case, even after all these years.
But God, somebody knows! “What’s that you’re reading?”
Emma jumped.
Kayla stood over her shoulder, a fruit cup in her hand.
“You startled me. Goodness...” Emma smiled, casually turning and blocking her laptop. “Oh, nothing, just some history I was looking up for my job, a paper on juvenile justice.” She shifted the subject. “I was thinking you and I could go out for dinner and shopping one day after school this week?”
“Sure, that would be fun.”
For a moment, Kayla’s eyes lingered on Emma’s laptop as she closed it. Then they met Emma’s.
Eight
Eternity, Manitoba
2000
Marv Lander and Fran Penner took in the sky as Marv drove toward the edge of town.
A clear morning, the sun was rising.
Glen Campbell’s “Wichita Lineman” flowed through the SUV’s radio. Marv hummed along, annoying Fran.
They worked for Roy Tullock at the Prairie Winds Farm Equipment Center. Marv, his top manager, had been with the company twelve years. Fran, who’d joined ten years ago, handled the finances. Marv’s wife, Gloria, was Fran’s sister.
Small town life.
Marv observed Fran clasping and unclasping her hands.
“What is it?”
“I’m nervous about today.”
“Right. You don’t like flying, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“You can get something at a pharmacy in Winnipeg. You’ll be fine.”
Marv resumed humming.
Fran rolled her eyes.
Today was a break from their usual routine. Today, they were picking up Roy Tullock at his house, driving to Winnipeg, then flying to Edmonton for a business meeting the next day. A group of investors was impressed with the Farm Equipment Center’s model and how it performed. They wanted to discuss a franchising proposal. Roy wanted his best people with him. He’d also arranged for an Edmonton lawyer he knew to join them.
Roy had stressed that he wanted to get to Winnipeg early so he could work in a visit with his daughter, Torrie. Marv and Fran were among the few people who knew that Torrie was being cared for in a private facility. She’d had a history of what Roy had called “disturbing episodes.”
Today Marv and Fran would spend time at one of Winnipeg’s big malls while Roy visited Torrie. Roy would then take a cab and meet up with them at the airport.
That was the plan.
The Tullock property was west of town on Old Pioneer Road. They drove up the twisting paved driveway, bordered with tall trees. Marv never tired of admiring the grand house with its four-car garage, in-ground pool and the vast, perfect lawn and gardens.
They parked and got out.
Marv rang the doorbell
and they waited, listening to the sound of chirping birds.
When they got no response, Marv shrugged. They were about five minutes early. He pressed the button again, hearing the chime echo in the house.
Nothing happened.
“Awfully quiet,” Fran said.
Marv knocked hard but still nothing.
“They went to Regina for the weekend, right?” Fran asked.
“Yeah but they were supposed to return yesterday.” Marv surveyed the Tullocks’ vehicles parked outside: Roy’s SUV, his Cadillac, Connie’s Mercedes. “All their vehicles are here. They’re home.”
“Everything seems so...still,” Fran said.
Marv took out his cell phone and called the Tullocks’ landline.
“Maybe he’s in the shower, or they’ve got the TV going?” He shrugged.
Phone pressed to his ear, his call rang. They could hear it ringing inside the house, ringing until it went to voice mail and Marv hung up.
“This is odd.” Marv slid his phone into his pocket. “You wait here. I’ll walk around back in case they’re at the pool.”
“It’s so early. You think they’d be there?”
“Who knows? Wait here.”
Marv walked around to the back of the house, agreeing it was likely too early for the whole family to be at the pool. Maybe they’re having breakfast there? That’s what he was thinking, hoping, as he followed the stone walkway to the backyard fence and opened the high-level latch on the gate.
The beautiful in-ground pool was a picture of tranquility, the calm water reflecting the morning sun, the filter’s soft thrum soothing. Marv took quick stock of the lounge chairs, the kids’ pool toys.
No one was there.
He turned to the house, stepped closer to the sliding patio doors and called out.
“Roy! Hey, Roy, it’s Marv!”
No response.
Again, he reached for his cell phone. This time he called Roy’s cell phone. He stood up against the glass of the patio doors, used his free hand to shield his eyes from the sun, looked inside as his call rang.
He didn’t see anyone.
Then he paused, lowered his phone, set it on the ground and let it ring and turned his ear to the glass. He stopped breathing and could hear the faint ring of Roy’s cell phone coming from somewhere inside.
“What the hell?”
Fran’s scream pierced the air.
Marv grabbed his phone and ran to the front. Trotting along the path, this time he’d noticed a seam across the bottom of one of the basement windows, suggesting it was not shut all the way. Before he could take a closer look, Fran screamed again and he moved faster, finding her near the door hugging herself.
“Look!” She pointed a trembling finger to a narrow window at the entrance. “Look inside!”
Shielding his eyes Marv scanned the front interior, spotting a pair of legs on the floor, partially blocked by the staircase.
“Holy sh—”
Marv seized his phone and called for an ambulance as he tried the door. It was locked. The regional emergency dispatcher answered his 9-1-1 call.
“We need paramedics now! We’ve got a medical emergency in Eternity at the Tullock residence, 1721 Old Pioneer Road.”
Marv headed for the garage with Fran behind him.
“We’ve got to get inside!” he said.
Forcing himself to keep calm, Marv’s mind raced. He had watched over the Tullocks’ home when they had spent winter vacations in Florida, or took a Caribbean cruise. He lifted the cover on the security keypad for the garage doors, praying that Roy hadn’t changed the five-digit code he’d given him.
Hands shaking, Marv opened his wallet to the card where he’d written the code. He punched it in then pressed ENTER.
Nothing happened.
He took a breath, tried again, only slower, with more care, pressing down each digit before pressing the ENTER button.
The signal clicked and the doors rose.
Ducking under the rising door with Fran, he rushed through the garage, opened the door to the utility room of the house, which led to the kitchen.
“Roy? Connie?” Marv called.
Racing through the kitchen his mind hurled questions. Did someone fall down the stairs? Did they have some sort of seizure? Hurrying around a corner toward the stairs at the front of the house Marv’s foot caught on something, throwing him to the floor.
Fran screamed.
Marv had tripped over Connie Tullock.
She was lying on her stomach, blood pooled and webbed around her.
A muscle, an electrode, or some neurological switch spasmed in Marv’s brain, and his mind went numb, thrusting him into shock, failing to convince him that what he was seeing was real.
Everything moved in dreamlike slow motion.
Fran shouted something about getting a towel for Connie as Marv went to the stairs. Roy was lying on the floor, eyes open wide, fixed on the ceiling. Marv shouted his name, taking stock of his polo shirt encased in blood, shredded, as if repeatedly slashed. His face, arms, hands were laced with blood. The floor was covered with splatters and ribbons of blood.
Marv saw suitcases near the front, opened, clothes and toiletries spilling from them as if someone had rifled through them. Two of the smaller suitcases had colorful cartoon patterns and he suddenly thought of the children.
Neal and Linda.
Marv’s focus shifted up the blood-splotched stairs. Fran’s whimpers as she got on her knees next to Connie filled the house. Marv followed the blood marks up the stairs. Taking one step after the other he moved into a bedroom that belonged to one of the kids.
He turned to the open doors of the closet and froze.
Six-year-old Neal was facedown on the floor. His face was turned sideways, eyes and mouth open as if he were crying out. Blood haloed around his head and fanned from his body, making Marv think of a snow angel.
Blood angel.
Neal’s body lay, almost protectively, at the feet of his little sister.
Linda was sitting on the floor, her back against the closet wall, head bent down, hair covering her face, her T-shirt, soaked in blood, a stuffed toy polar bear on her lap, smudged with blood.
A throaty harsh sob shot from Marv as he fell to his knees and took Linda’s small, cold hand in his. His chest heaved, releasing another guttural sob, as he reached out with his trembling hand to stroke Neal’s hair and whisper a prayer.
Marv stayed that way, unsure if seconds, or minutes, or all time had passed, his heart hammering as he searched the room, the ceiling, the heavens for an answer to the horror.
Tears rolled down his face. Then his concentration left the closet and the bedroom, going to the hallway, the light hitting the wall displaying three words scrawled there in blood.
KILL THEM ALL
As he tried to process everything, Marv called 9-1-1 again. This time for police, just as Fran’s cries reached up from the main floor.
“She’s breathing! Marv, I think Connie’s alive!”
At that moment they heard the first approaching siren.
Nine
Cielo Valle, Orange County, California
Present day
The pressure on Ben Grant to start a new book was mounting.
The conference call with his agent and editor was not for another half hour. He’d only taken a cursory look at the latest list of crime stories they’d sent him to consider. Nothing really grabbed him.
Searching for a solution he looked to the framed covers on his office wall, to remind himself of what he did for a living.
He chronicled death.
With titles like, Darkness Waiting, The Killer No One Knew, A Blood Trail in Australia, Devil’s Dance in Paris, The Lone Star Murders, and all the others, he had journeyed into society’s darkest corner
s. Visiting realms of horror and anguish had left him with memories of survivors, perpetrators and the dead.
In writing his books Ben had talked with everyone connected to the crimes. Investigators analyzed the facts. The survivors had trusted him with their pain and what they had left to give to honor those they’d lost. The criminals talked out of self-interest because they wanted their story told, or what they presented as their story. No matter what the guilty ones said, or how they framed their role, Ben reiterated the cold, hard truth.
Through it all he believed he had a solemn duty to attempt to make sense of the acts that defied comprehension and illustrate the toll they exacted. He drew upon his university studies of journalism, literature, existentialism, philosophy and a course examining religious responses to death. Not only did they prepare him for reporting on crime, they equipped him for the books he was destined to write.
At times he felt like Virgil, the blind poet who had guided Dante through hell. But Ben had always infused his work with humanity, understanding and compassion. Still, he took into account the old caution about “gazing too long into an abyss,” for it had filled him with a secret fear that death would touch him, too.
Tragedy came for him that day four years ago when those two San Bernardino deputies knocked on his cabin door, and he knew, he just knew before the first one even spoke.
Sir, I’m sorry to inform you...
The ground under him heaved, he fell into darkness and in the years that followed he did all he could to protect Kayla. Then Emma came into his life, bringing the light he needed. Her eyes were tinged with sadness, but they also held hope. He loved her for her spirit. They’d bonded on another level for not only had she read each of his books, she’d understood and embraced what he had attempted to achieve. Emma had reached him, brought him back to life.
Ben’s love for Emma was deepened by the way she had helped him heal after losing Brooke. In some way he couldn’t quite articulate, being with Emma mended him. She possessed a warmth, a goodness that had eased his guilt, just a little, over Brooke’s death—made him feel that it wasn’t all his fault. Emma had helped him come to terms with the fact he was a good man and needed to move forward and that’s why he loved her.