by Nolon King
She stared out the window, her jaw clenching and unclenching, fists clutching her sleeves and pulling them across her chest.
“What happened, Katie?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“What?”
“When Ben first accused me of sleeping with James, I hadn’t even done anything. But he still said he’d send my ass back to the group home if I got pregnant. Because he ‘refused to raise a slut.’”
“Wow,” Mal said, stunned by both the news and her foster father’s response.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Are you asking if I want an abortion?”
“Something like that.”
“I don’t agree with my dad. Or the religion, on a lot of things. But I still can’t bring myself to kill a baby.”
“Does the father know?”
Katie shook her head.
“And he’s your age?” Mal asked.
“He’s eighteen. It’s legal if we’re within a few years of each other, I think.”
“You sure he’s eighteen?”
“Well, I never carded him. But does it matter? It’s not like I’m pressing charges or anything. And if you try to charge him, I’ll just deny it.”
Mal wasn’t going to argue that if she was pregnant, they wouldn’t need her permission to press charges. The baby would be evidence enough.
But a back and forth would be pointless. Katie was defensive, and an argument wasn’t the way to reach her. She would only close down. Besides, there was too much Mal didn’t know about the situation, like whether he was her peer or some old scumbag preying on the girl’s need for attention and continuing the cycle of abuse in her life.
Mal always erred on the side of caution in situations like this, and she’d rather be overprotective than turn a blind eye to any bright red flags. Still, the best thing she could possibly do right now was to simply listen and be there for Katie.
“So, are you going to tell him? What do you want to happen?”
Katie smiled, looking almost dreamy as she thought about him. “Well, I’d love it if we got married and moved in together, but I don’t know if that’s possible.”
“Why not?”
“He’s kinda living with someone else.”
Ah, scumbag.
But Mal said nothing.
“He’s not in love with her, anymore. James is trying to find the right time to break things off. But she’s emotionally fragile, and he’s afraid she’ll hurt herself.”
Mal had heard that line plenty of times before. She tried to hide her disbelief and disgust. She wasn’t judging Katie, the girl was desperate for connection. Growing up sheltered and in an abusive situation, she needed something good in her life.
But this guy didn’t sound like the person to take care of her.
“So, what are you going to do? Stay at the foster house until he can live with you? Does he make enough to support you and a baby?”
“I don’t know,” Katie said with a long and frustrated growl. “I was hoping you’d be able to give me some advice or maybe tell me what to do.”
“Let me talk to Ben and Sarah.”
“That is a horrible idea. I wouldn’t want to go back and have my kid there. He’s so judgmental. He’s a terrible father figure. I’d rather live on the streets.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen. You can go back to the group home.”
“I don’t want to go back to God’s Mercy.”
“Why?”
“The kids there are awful. Girls would hit me, call me names, and steal my stuff. The boys were all the worst, making sexual comments and stuff ALL the time. It’s like I run into assholes wherever I go.”
“I can talk to the people there.”
“The people who worked there weren’t much better. I doubt it’ll do any good.”
“Did they hurt you?”
“No, nothing like that. They were just really mean.”
“All of them?” Mal asked.
“Enough of them. They ignored me when I told them what the other girls were doing to me. Sister Agnes was the only one who seemed to care. But she was old and way too nice, so the other girls walked all over her.”
“Can you go home for tonight and keep the pregnancy to yourself? I’ll talk to a friend of mine and see if she can help me figure something out for you.”
“I guess,” Katie said. “Thanks.”
After dropping Katie off at home, Mal left a message with Carrie Thompson in Victim Services, then she checked in in on the Shaw case.
McKenna was still in the coma. Aanya had tracked the cell phone’s GPS coordinates with the carrier. After being activated in Jacksonville, it hadn’t pinged another location until the church where Alice’s body had been discovered.
The number used by the unsub to call Mal was also a burner, which she’d tracked to another gas station. She sent a detective over, but he got nothing they could use to track the unsub. That phone’s GPS pinged near the church the day he called Mal but hadn’t surfaced since.
Back in her hotel room, Mal grabbed a cold bottle of water, sat on the couch, then called Mike to follow up on his progress with Sheila.
He was on his way home to Gina and the kids.
“Yeah, she was a bit reluctant, but her story matches Terry’s. Says a cook who used to work with her got her into it to help make ends meet. She only had a few clients when he got busted. Got spooked and stopped. Claims she hasn’t sold since and never used.”
“You believe her?” Mal asked.
“Yeah.”
“And Skippy?”
“I interviewed her alone, sent him to follow up on interviews with people at the church.”
“Any new leads?”
“Nothing else.”
Mike updated Mal on some other details from his conversation with Sheila, along with a few dead-ends he’d been chasing. There was a long, awkward pause once he finished, and Mal thought about what Sheriff Barry had said about him keeping an eye on her.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
Ask him. Ask him if he made a deal with the devil, and if so, why?
“Just thinking about that Katie kid,” she lied, then updated him on what was happening with her adolescent disaster.
“So, what are you gonna do?”
“I put a call in with Carrie to see if she knows of any other options.”
“Bet you’re glad that you didn’t adopt her.”
“I told you about that?”
“You were feeling awful about what happened with her parents, so I understand. But it sounds like a handful.”
“She’s definitely working through some shit. And I’ve got enough of my own.”
“How are you doing?”
This your way of checking up on me for Barry? Or do you really want to know?
“What do you mean?”
“Just checking in. Ever since you came back, you’ve been, I dunno … different. I know you went through hell. I guess I’m just trying to ask if you need anything. We don’t talk like we used to. I mean, really talk.”
“I’m good.” Then she answered the question lurking between the lines. “And yes, I’m still sober.”
“Good,” he said, following a pause.
“Yeah.”
“I know I don’t ask often because I don’t want to be too intrusive. You can get a bit …”
“Bitchy?”
“I was gonna say ‘hard to love,’ but sure, bitchy works in a pinch.” Another pause, then, “I just want you to know I’m always here for whatever you need. To talk, cry, make me listen to your godawful taste in music — whatever.”
Her tears were welling up. A part of her wanted to talk to Mike more than she did, to open up about how difficult everything had been, how lonely she felt, and how hard it was to get over murdering a man in cold blood, even knowing he was the monster who destroyed her life. She wanted to unburden her soul with confession, tell him how she’d gone on a vigilante spree of her own to dea
l with her rage. Admit she’d mutilated a man without flinching.
But it wasn’t fair to put that all on him. Mal didn’t think Mike would ever rat her out, but she didn’t want to make him choose between upholding the law and protecting her. Best to keep her partner at a distance.
Nobody could understand that side of her, except maybe Jasper Parish, a crazy murderer who saw and talked to his dead daughter.
It also felt weird discussing her loneliness. For the most part, it was a choice. She had him, and Tim Brentwood had tried to connect with her plenty of times. But some part of her needed to keep the world at a distance. Every time Mal started to feel something for someone, she sabotaged it.
Why? Was she self-destructive garbage? If so, Mike was too sweet of a guy to burden with her bullshit. He had his own family to worry about without having to wonder why she was never happy, no matter what.
Best to keep him at a distance, like everyone else. He wasn’t going to have the answers she was looking for, so there wasn’t any point in dragging him down to her level.
”Thanks, Mike. I’m gonna find something to eat.”
“Alrighty, see you tomorrow.”
She hung up then looked in her fridge. Leftover Chinese with cartons of an undetermined vintage. So, room service it was.
The phone rang before she could call — the one left by the unsub.
“You’ve got twenty-four hours, detective,” said the voice when she answered.
“Twenty-four hours for what?”
“To find her.”
“Find who?”
But the call went dead.
Seconds later, a text with an image. A closeup shot of a brunette in her twenties, a gag in her mouth and eyes wide with terror. A gloved hand held a blade above her.
A text followed.
Twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes, detective.
Then another library of congress call number.
Mal found the book, Pilgrim’s Progress, then went to the library and located the page number listed. But instead of an address, she found a message in the gutter.
Hello, detective.
Mal slammed the book, buried her terror, then did what had to be done.
Chapter 21 - Howard Loomis
Howard paced the abandoned motel in the dark.
The place was relatively close to a gas station off I-95, but it was well concealed behind vegetation that had claimed both the building and the road leading to it. His van was parked in the rear, obscured if not invisible.
Nobody ever came here. It was one of those abandoned buildings passed by thousands of people each day with only a few ever looking over. It wasn’t a destination. Even homeless people never squatted here since a lone gas station was the only other thing around.
Cami was still sleeping, gagged and bound to a chair, reeking of piss and sweat.
He shined his flashlight on her lacy bra as he sat on the dusty old bed beside her, rubbing his crotch.
She opened her eyes, startled by the light, squinting same as the last couple of times. Cami looked down at her lowered tank and squirmed, but there was nothing she could do.
She mumbled something Howard couldn’t make out. Probably more pleas to set her free.
He set the flashlight down. It shined against the wall, bouncing back on them both.
Cami mumbled something else.
Howard stood, drew the knife from his belt sheathe, and presented it to her. A massive, machete-sized blade. “I’ll cut your throat if you scream. Do you understand me?”
She nodded and he removed the gag.
“Please … I need some water.”
How grabbed a bottle from the floor, unscrewed the cap, then offered her a mouthful.
Cami swallowed as fast as she could.
He pulled it away before she felt too quenched, allowing some of the water to spill on her bra and shirt, making him harder.
“What do you want? You want to fuck me?”
“You wouldn’t fuck someone like me, would you?”
“You never know,” she said, an obvious fucking lie.
“You laughed at me. You and your bitch friend.”
“Oh, shit. I remember you.” Her eyes widened with realization.
Howard’s worry lasted only a moment. Even if she could describe him to a sketch artist, even if she knew his full name and address, she would never get a chance to spill a word of her misery to anyone.
Mister K’s directions were still a mystery, but surely they would end in her death.
“You were at Sloppy’s that day!”
He nodded. “I was.”
“Is that what this is about?”
Letting her wonder why she was here, Howard said nothing.
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry we laughed at you. I did feel really terrible.”
“Yeah, right. I’m a joke to you. She was right — you’re all lying whores.”
Cami looked like she wanted to yell at him, but she bit her tongue and forced a pathetic attempt at sympathy. “Is that what this is about? You want revenge?”
“This is about more than that.”
“What do you want?”
“I just want the truth.” Howard smiled.
“What truth?” Her voice climbed a few octaves. “What do you want from me?”
“From you? I don’t know what you can give me.”
“Then let me go.”
“I can’t do that.” Howard laughed. “He won’t let me.”
“Who?”
He looked at the door behind him, where he could feel Mister K waiting in the shadows.
“Please, you don’t have to do this. You’re better than this.”
He met her eyes with a whisper. “You don’t know me. Don’t pretend like you care.”
“I know you’re not a killer. You’re just lonely. Please, let me go. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. Just … please.”
“I wasn’t a killer, at first. But … you made me.”
“I made you? I don’t even know you. What do you mean?”
“You and your bitch friend laughing at me. That’s why I followed you. And that’s when you led me to them.”
“Led you to who?” Her eyes went wide as it dawned on her. “You did that to Alice and McKenna?”
“It was your fault.” Howard gave her a pained smile. He tried not to hurt them and really didn’t want to. But Mister K demanded it. Howard needed to prepare others for The End. He was still confused what his role in all of it was, but confusion couldn’t keep him from compliance.
If this was a test of his worthiness, he intended to pass it and show Mother she was wrong. He was worthy, not wicked.
Cami cried.
“You shouldn’t have been such a bitch. Mother is right, you’re all worthless whores.”
“Fuck you, you sick fuck!”
Howard stared, confusion unsettling him.
Did I make a mistake?
Should I let her go?
Something in Cami’s anger made him want to shrink away like the frightened child his mother always turned him into.
She seized on his fear. Her expression changed. She started laughing, hysterically.
“Oh, my God. You’re just a weak little incel with mommy issues! This is the only way you can get off, by tying up women and hurting them!”
He closed his eyes, tears burning them as Cami turned into his mother. She laughed and yelled even louder. “You’re not a real man. A real man wouldn’t have to do this. A real man …”
“You going to let her talk to you like that?” asked Mister K from the darkness. “Or are you going to teach her?”
“I’m going to teach her.” Howard stood and looked down at Cami.
He reached into his pants pocket then pulled out the mask.
She shook her head, eyes darting around in their sockets, her fear like a nectar to savor.
He slowly slipped on the balaclava, his fear and doubts all disappearing. Only power remained as he
grabbed her bra and ripped it off of her body.
Cami screamed, thrashing within the confines of the chair.
“I told you to stay quiet.” He wagged his finger while shaking his head.
He punched her in the face, hard enough to rob her consciousness, then he shoved the rag back in her mouth and tied the gag around it.
Howard sat on the bed. Unzipped his pants with one hand while pinching her nipple hard with the other. He’d never touched a girl’s tit before and it made him come too quickly.
Mister K laughed from the shadows.
Hot shame washed over him, reminding Howard of when Mother punished him for his sinful thoughts. Not only was he wicked, but he couldn’t even touch a tit without blowing a load in seconds.
“So, was it everything you’d dreamed it would be?” Mister K asked.
Howard wiped his jizz on Cami’s shirt, wishing he’d lasted longer. He wanted to take his time and enjoy her more.
“Don’t worry, Howard, you’ll get another go before it’s time to dispatch her. Take it slow and enjoy her next time. With every girl who’s ever laughed at you and the way your mother treated you, you’ve earned this. You deserve it.”
He stared at Cami’s tits and his heart raced faster, sin and wickedness be damned.
“Yes. Yes, I did.” Howard reached down, coaxing the power back into his body.
Chapter 22 - Mallory Black
The studio lights were bright, making Mal anxious as she sat at the desk across from her old boss. It was the first time Mal had seen Gloria Bell since Barry’s reelection.
Gloria had gone from sheriff to host of a Sunday morning political talk show on the local cable network where she tackled issues involving race, women’s rights, gay and trans rights, or any topics typically ignored by the press in a mostly conservative county. Her show didn’t have a big audience, basically being a step above public access. But the right people watched it, and Gloria was finding a way to influence local leaders and help people despite her recent loss.
Mal thought Gloria was far more suited to this career than she’d been to being sheriff. Here she could actually make a difference. She was terrific at talking on camera and interviewing guests.
She called Cameron Ford at first, hoping he would broadcast a message out about the missing girl. He did the bare minimum, a photo and a hotline number, saying it was late and he’d touch base with her in the morning.