The Art of Fear (The Little Things That Kill Series Book 1)

by Pamela Crane

  No, I couldn’t accept that.

  Her trauma was clearly buried so deep in her psyche that she was becoming self-destructive, her thinking debilitated. And then I thought of my own self-loathing. Friendless, until Tina. Alone, until Tristan. Aimless, until now. Was I looking into a mirror, seeing a distorted reflection of myself? Was my mind crumbling beneath the weight of my own past?

  “It’s not too late for forgiveness, Rosalita. We can’t save Josef, but Killian and Tina still have a chance. Your family can be saved. But you have to forgive yourself first.”

  Rosalita sat quietly for a long moment, then turned to me.

  “Speaking of forgiveness, I must ask for yours.”

  “For what?”

  “I did something I sincerely regret.”

  “Okaaay,” I said, wondering what she could have possibly done.

  “I asked Killian to break into your apartment.”

  “Wha—why?”

  “I feared for Tina’s life, and I thought maybe staging the break-in would scare her into going to the police about her traffickers. I just wanted her to get protection and put that evil man behind bars. My intentions were good, I swear, but perhaps I only caused unnecessary fear.”

  Fear had become an art form. Manipulated to propel action, nurtured to instill obedience.

  “It’s okay. I’m glad you told me. In the end we’ll all get our wish—George behind bars.”

  Our visit was concluded with a hug and a promise to call if we heard anything.

  “Tina’s tough as nails,” Rosalita reassured me. “She probably just needs some alone time to sort things out.”

  Perhaps she was right. We had fought. Her brother was near death. Maybe I was the last person she wanted to see.

  I was worrying about nothing. I’d get home and there she’d be, and I’d apologize and pop some popcorn and throw in a movie. By tonight we’d be joking around again.

  But why no note? A slip of the mind—after everything she’d been through? After her suicide attempt. Certainly she would have known how panicked I would be at her disappearing act. I’d tell her as much when I got home.

  As clueless about Tina’s whereabouts as when I arrived, I headed to my car feeling lost, like a child wandering a dark wood. With my head in a fog, I hadn’t noticed the car slowly trailing behind me. It wasn’t until I heard a grumbling engine revving when I looked up and saw it.

  The vibrant red.

  The sleek body.

  The slick tires … peeling across the pavement straight for me.

  Chapter 39

  Ari

  One day until dead

  “You lied to me!” Tristan’s ire hung on the phone line like a shirt angrily whipping in a harsh wind. “You said you wouldn’t see Debra Littleton without me, and you did anyways. How can I trust you when you aren’t honest with me?”

  The instant the words had passed my lips, I regretted telling him about my detour to Debra’s house, and then about nearly getting creamed by the exact same car I saw at her place.

  “You mean like you were honest with me about your occupation?” I retorted.

  “You put your life in danger. I was trying to keep you safe, Ari.”

  “Ignorance isn’t safe, Tristan.” I spat his name like it tasted sour.

  I had apologized a hundred times over, and it still wasn’t enough. It would never be enough for breaking his trust. And for nearly getting run over by a red Corvette. Richard Littleton’s Corvette.

  The little prick had tailed me to Rosalita’s and tried to run over me, but he’d lost his nerve and swerved at the last possible moment. Or more probably he was just trying to scare me. Either way, the Corvette hauled ass out of the motel parking lot, and the last thing I saw was Richard flipping me off in his rearview. The punk had balls, all right, but he had no idea who he was messing with. I wasn’t some flighty blonde who shrieked at a spider scurrying toward her. I was the type of girl who smashed the guts out of bugs who crossed my path, and continued to stomp them into the pavement until there was nothing discernable left. I’d do it to him too, if he wasn’t careful.

  I had recognized the Corvette from when I had blocked it in at Debra’s house. It only made sense that her son still lived at home. Slackers usually did. And the car—too rich for their blood. Unless Richard had been paid off to kill my sister. That’s what I suspected, and I wasn’t going to let go until I got my answers. My only mistake was telling Tristan about it on my way to confronting Richard.

  “Look, I don’t want to fight with you over this, Ari.” Tristan’s tone softened as he spoke. “It’s just that right now I’m working a case that involves a potential serial killer—one that’s too close to home. Like, close as in possibly in our suicide support group.”

  “What?” I yelled.

  “That’s why I’m there undercover, to see what I can find out. So you putting yourself in any kind of danger freaks me out. I’m not trying to control you. I just want you safe.”

  “And I’ll stay safe,” I assured him. “But Richard isn’t a serial killer. He’s a punk trying to scare me off from turning him in. I’ve been through more shit than you can imagine. I’m not some wimpy chick who needs a man to rescue her. I can handle this. You couldn’t understand unless you’ve lived my life, saw your sister die. But I have to do this.”

  “Then do it with me beside you.”

  I considered the offer. Maybe if he waited in his car out of sight … I just couldn’t afford him scaring Richard off.

  “Fine. Meet me one block away from Richard Littleton’s house. I’ll see you there.”

  As I pulled the phone from my ear to hang up, I heard Tristan’s fiery curses about me being irrational, but hey, at least we both got my way.

  **

  Twenty minutes later I left Tristan a couple doors down as I headed up Richard’s front porch. I promised to stay outside, in sight, in case anything went awry.

  I banged my fist on the door, yelling at Richard to come out. I knew he was home because the Corvette was parked in the driveway, the engine still warm. The coward must have run inside to his mommy for protection.

  “Richard, I’m going to break this damn door down if you don’t get your ass out here!” I yelled.

  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. The devil had nothing on me today.

  When no one answered, I threw my leg up and kicked, rocking the door violently against its hinges.

  “You better hurry before this door comes down!” I screamed.

  As I lifted my leg for another kick, I heard a pleading voice on the other side and waited. Finally he was going to listen to reason.

  The door rattled open, the worse for wear, and a guy—not a real man by the looks of him—stood there looking at me as if he hadn’t a clue who this crazy woman banging down his door was. He couldn’t have been much older than me, maybe thirty. His glassy eyes, set in dark hollows, had a haunted aspect, like someone whose depression or remorse had for years robbed him of a good night’s sleep. His body jutted out in angular elbows and knobby knees, a walking pile of skin clinging to bones. A ratty goatee rounded his mouth in a patchwork of brown hair. I cringed at the thought of kissing him, but I didn’t know why the thought even surfaced.

  “You know who I am and why I’m here,” I stated. “Talk. Now.”

  “Wanna come inside?” he asked. “As long as you can keep your voice down?” His voice quivered and his neck craned inside the house. “Don’t wanna wake Mama.”

  I wondered if he was more scared of his mother finding us together or me kicking his ass.

  “No, let’s talk on the porch. But if you think you can run, think again.”

  He only glanced warily at me, then nodded toward the metal folding chairs in the corner of the enclosure.

  “For starters, why did you follow me and then try to run me over?” I demanded.

  “I knew you came by. I wanted to send you a warning to back off.”

  I laughed. “You—war
ning me? Now it’s the other way around, Richie. You shouldn’t have missed.”

  “I wasn’t trying to hurt you. Just scare you into leaving me alone.”

  “Well, that’s sure as hell not gonna happen now. Start talking. I know you killed my sister. And I know it wasn’t an accident.”

  His blue eyes widened in horror. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I know, Richie. You swerved up on the curve, didn’t you? You aimed at my sister, didn’t you? That’s how you afforded your Corvette, right—you got paid, you sonofabitch! Am I right?” When he sat there dumbly, I decided to soften my blows. I knew I was scaring him into silence. “Look, I just want answers. I want to know why my sister had to die. You know why. Please tell me. I can’t stand to wonder anymore. Please.”

  The tears came unbidden. I hadn’t wanted to cry, hadn’t thought I was even capable of peeling off the calloused layers in front of this murdering stranger, but I slipped out of my safe place and wept.

  Sometimes a woman exposing her soul is enough to make even the hardest hearts crumble.

  “I was only sixteen. I didn’t know what I was getting into. I’m sorry.”

  He stopped, and I wondered if he would continue, or if he couldn’t face the truth either.

  Then he spoke again, his words rambling and hasty, like he was on speed. “A friend of mine knew a guy who paid cash for jobs here and there—random things, like roughing up someone who owed money, things like that. I wanted in. I needed a new car, I didn’t want to get involved in dealing drugs ’cause I’d known too many kids getting pinched. This one job would pay a fortune, and it sounded easy enough. Your dad—Burt—it was supposed to be a message for him. Just scare his kid and that was it. It wasn’t supposed to kill her. Hurt her a little, but not kill her. I didn’t mean to hit her head-on like that. The steering wheel slipped—like, jolted in my hand. I must have been going too fast, I dunno. I was so nervous. So scared. And then next thing I know I’m just trying to get out of there. I didn’t know she died until I read about it in the papers the next day. I’m so sorry.”

  “I guess a Corvette is a whole lot easier to handle than a piece of shit Pinto, else I’d be roadkill too. Huh, Richie?” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “Look, I said I was sorry, didn’t I? What do you want from me? Your dad’s the bad guy in this piece, not me. I was just the scapegoat.”

  “Wrong, asshole! You got off—I was the scapegoat.”

  I had to take a moment to process all this. My bones had known my father was involved … but to what extent? And why? All this time it had been his fault. All this time I shouldered the blame when my father was responsible. The message was for him. Carli’s life—her death—was a message to him.

  “Who hired you? And what was the message about?” Asking my father would lead to tight lips and a swift boot out the front door. I needed more meat, something bigger to bring to him—indisputable facts that would finally make my father talk.

  “I wish I could tell you. All I know is that my friend Jay Boyd hooked it up. He kicked your father’s ass the night before, and my job was to make sure he knew the threat was real. But the guy who hired me and Jay, I never met him. Jay handled the payout and everything.”

  If I could speak to Jay, maybe I’d get what I needed. “Do you know where Jay is now?”

  “You can find his ashes on his mama’s mantel. He died back in ’08 from a robbery gone wrong. Got shot trying to flee.”

  It wasn’t everything I wanted, but at least I had enough to shake my dad for more. Jay Boyd—that was who showed up the night before Carli’s death. One name mentioned to Dad and I bet I could get him to talk.

  “There’s nothing else you can tell me about Jay’s connection? Didn’t Jay use a name when he referred to his boss? Think, Richie, please.”

  He closed his eyes, as if concentration mustered every ounce of his strength, and then popped them open like he’d flushed out a memory. But he shook his head instead. “Your dad would know for sure. The guy musta been real gangsta, though, because Jay was scared to cross him.”

  There was only one way to find out who was behind the hit-and-run—and my dad held the key. Maybe Tristan could shake the truth out of him. I’d pass this along to him and cross my fingers.

  Richie prattled on, pulling me back to him. “The dude paid Jay a lot of money to do stuff for him—mostly picking up young girls and collecting money—but after what happened with your sister I never went back. I couldn’t handle it after that. I’m so sorry.”

  Another meaningless apology that couldn’t change the past. He shook his head, shame washing over him as his eyes turned runny. After all this time I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

  “Would you be willing to turn yourself in? Help the police figure out who hired you and why?”

  His nod was slow, solemn. “Anything to get rid of the guilt.”

  It wouldn’t fix everything, but maybe it would give Carli justice. Maybe it would end one small circle of crime that revolved in my town. Maybe it would scare whoever was responsible into coming forward.

  One voice—that was sometimes all it took to cut open the seeping wound to clean out the deeper infection.

  I needed to expose and eliminate the infection—starting with my own father.

  Chapter 40

  Tina awoke with a cold thud of panic. I could see the fear spread across her face, like a starburst sprouting in her eyes, then working its way across her features in a silent scream. The hush gasped around us, then her eyes, like flares, darted across the room.

  I sensed her relax at the familiar surroundings, finding the calm in my smile, then she struggled violently against the bindings on her arms and legs. I had doubted the wisdom in bringing her here—was it too soon? There was a chance we could be easily found. But I had run out of time … and options. With Killian still alive, according the news report, it was only a matter of days before he’d wake from his coma, put two and two together, and my name and a police sketch of my face would be plastered all over the media. With the speed information is spread, I needed to move faster.

  I had used up nearly an entire roll of duct tape attaching her to the chair, immobilizing her for this moment. This glorious moment of homecoming. Perhaps realization was dawning on her now. Perhaps she understood why I had brought her here. Not as a long overdue reunion, but as a final good-bye.

  The past few hours had grown heavy as I found myself unable to work, paralyzed by a sense of duty to protect her. And yet I was protecting her, wasn’t I? I was rescuing her from this life. I was delivering her into heaven where everything would be better.

  And yet here I stood, frozen, entombed in my own mind.

  My voice stuck in my throat, and then wriggled free.

  “Sophia. You’re awake.”

  I must have startled her, or it was a delayed reaction, but she shrieked like a banshee wailing about an impending doom. “Help!”

  It hurt to hear her cry. I would tend to her—didn’t she know that? I wasn’t too worried about the neighbors overhearing, but I grabbed a dusty rag and shoved it in her gaping mouth regardless.

  “Shush, dear. No need to alarm the whole neighborhood.”

  She muttered against the fabric, attempting to spit it free.

  “I’ll take this out if you promise not to scream. Can you act calm?”

  She nodded rapidly, her eyes wide and staring with horror. It hurt me to see such terror toward me, her savior. I needed to smooth things over.

  I removed the rag, and she coughed and sputtered.

  “Would you like some water?” A peace offering. I hoped to quell her nerves. There was no reason for there to be hostility between us. Not now, not at this most pivotal turning point in our relationship.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Glad that she accepted, I brought her a glass and tipped the edge up for her to sip.

  When she finished, she looked at me, sad but hopeful. “Why are you doing this to me?�
�

  Her voice was like a worm wiggling and burrowing into my heart. Didn’t she understand this was a mercy I was gifting her?

  “My beautiful girl, I’m rescuing you. I’ve watched you suffer for too long. It’s time to be free, and I’m going to free you.”

  “Free me? Killing me isn’t freeing me.”

  “Then why did you attempt to take your own life not more than a few days ago? You apparently thought death was freedom back then.”

  “I was wrong. I don’t want to die. If you love me at all, please let me go.”

  Didn’t she realize what was happening? Her birth was an exclamation point—a beautiful, wondrous event. But after her father exchanged her for a handful of coins, her life dwindled down into nothing more than an asterisk in someone else’s perverted story. She could depart with dignity. I was giving her that. I was handing her a chance at immortality. Couldn’t she see?

  “I can’t do that. It’s too late. I’ll not have you live the rest of your life in mediocrity. You were meant to be great. I’m here to ensure that with your last breath.”

  Chapter 41

  Ari

  D-Day

  According to Tristan, George Battan wasn’t talking. The clues weren’t talking. Nothing was talking about where Tina could possibly be.

  The hours had crawled by. It was now the following afternoon and no sign of her. Tristan had agreed to put pressure on the Durham Police Department to put out an APB on her, but he couldn’t guarantee any recourse until evening. By tomorrow they’d take me seriously.

  Only, I had a feeling that tomorrow would be too late.

  I paced my apartment, feeling enclosed and trapped within my brain. The past two weeks had felt endlessly long, convoluted, chaotic. I traced the jagged edges of what I’d unearthed, painting in rough strokes the bigger picture of what happened with Carli.