But Allie looked forward to the woman’s visits, in small part because she always brought her gifts: cheap trinkets, candy bars, Beverly Cleary and Judy Blume books. But Allie mostly looked forward to the visits because she thought the woman would one day save her. When she stopped by, Allie saw concern in the woman’s eyes. Concern about Allie being trapped in the hellish whorehouse that was her childhood home. Many afternoons, Allie would catch the woman staring sadly at her for beats of time, and before long she’d come to rely on that sadness to one day save both her and her brother.
But then one afternoon something went very wrong.
The afternoon had started like most of the others. Norah had stopped by and given Allie’s mother a paper grocery bag full of food. She also handed her an envelope with four twenty-dollar bills in it. Allie specifically remembered the amount because her mother had made a big production of counting the bills before stuffing them back into the envelope. Then, seeming satisfied, she started humming as she carried the food into the kitchen and poured two whiskeys.
As her mother busied herself in the adjoining room, Norah quietly handed Allie a new book, a chocolate bar, and a folded-up five-dollar bill. Then she pressed her index finger to her lips and winked.
Delighted, Allie took the gifts and scurried into her room to put her new treasures away. She’d only been gone a few seconds when she heard her mother’s voice become angry. Allie hurried into the hallway to see what was going on.
“Think you’re sneaky, do you?” her mother drawled, approaching Norah. “You bring your uppity college-educated ass in here and think you’re goin’ to pull a fast one on me? What? You think I don’t have eyes? That I’m just some uneducated backwoods hooker that don’t have the good sense to see that you’re up to no good?” As her mother spoke, her voice continued to rise. “Well, you’re wrong on all accounts, little Miss Priss. And you just crossed the wrong hooker!”
At first Norah didn’t speak. When she finally did, she said, “I don’t understand, Dariah. What did I do?”
“Tell me what you gave my girl behind my back!”
“Oh. It was just a few gifts. I hope that was okay? I guess I should’ve asked you first—”
“What did you give her behind my back?” the woman roared.
“Just a book and some candy, Dariah. And five dollars so she can get herself . . . you know, a little something when you go to town.”
“You meddling shit!” her mother hissed.
“What? I don’t under—”
Allie rushed back into her room, shut the door, and jumped into her bed. Throwing the covers over her head, she clamped her hands against her ears and began to hum, just as Norah’s screaming began.
Allie hid in her bed for hours. She stayed there the rest of the afternoon and through the night. Finally, at two o’clock in the morning, she lifted the covers and listened.
Hearing her mother’s loud snoring from across the hallway, she slipped out of bed and went to her door. Then she crept to the hallway bathroom, used the toilet, and headed back to her room.
But then her curiosity got the best of her, so she tiptoed down the hallway and peered into the dark living room.
The TV, tuned in to an infomercial, pulsed with silent blue and white lights. As she stared at it, something awful filled her nostrils. It took her only a few seconds to place the odor. Her stomach clenched. It was the metallic odor of blood and pine-scented cleaning solution. She’d smelled the combination many times before.
She heard a noise behind her.
It came from the kitchen.
She turned toward the sound. Peeking around the corner, she saw that her brother was on his hands and knees. Even in the dim light, she could tell his skin was pale.
She froze as she realized what he was doing. A bucket was in front of him. He was peering down, wringing out a bloody cloth. She looked around. Blood covered the linoleum and was smeared across the back door.
Hearing her, her brother looked up, his eyes glistening and urgent. “Go back to bed, Allie,” he whispered. “Hurry. You don’t want her to see you right now.”
Thunder boomed outside, jarring Allie from her nightmare. Her eyes popped open and she stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember where she was. As the realization sank in, her frantic heartbeat began to slow.
Turning on her side, she watched the storm as it raged outside her window and tried to push the nightmare from her mind. She wanted to focus on how much better it was at Miss Bitty’s.
How different her life was now.
How much safer.
CHAPTER 26
HE TOSSED AND TURNED, listening to the storm build outside. As thunder exploded in the sky, rage built inside him.
Not killing the brunette had turned out to be a big mistake. He was foolish to think he could get by with mere stalking.
He grabbed the fork from his nightstand, then quietly went to the window and watched the storm. He raked the utensil down his scarred back in long, hard strokes, trying desperately to soothe the itch.
It was making him go mad.
Crazier than he already was.
He had been seven when his rage first became a problem. The boy on the school bus had been taunting him, as many of the students did during his school days, and he’d responded by jamming the pencil, hard, into the boy’s leg. If the boy had been a girl, he probably would’ve driven it in even harder.
Twenty minutes later, when he and his mother were in the principal’s office, his mom told him to tell the principal that he was remorseful.
But he wasn’t.
So he didn’t say it.
The principal stared at him, red-faced. “The wound could get infected and he could die. Then how would you feel?”
But he had simply shrugged and said, “I don’t think I’d feel anything at all.”
And he’d meant it.
Telling the truth cost him a two-week suspension, and he’d been grounded at home for a solid month: no television, no Atari gaming system, no Friday pizza night, no Saturday matinees. And, eventually, after a second altercation with a different student—this one involving a pair of freshly sharpened scissors—the principal called him a monster and expelled him from the school. That was when he realized he didn’t value human life like others did.
He didn’t feel for people quite like others did.
He was sick, and he knew it. He was every bit the monster his principal claimed he was all those years ago.
SHE was the only living person who knew what he had done. But she didn’t even know the half of it. She only knew about two women several years ago, but there had been many more.
SHE’D loved and protected him but had also promised that if he ever did it again, it would be the last time.
SHE’D abandon him.
He shivered at the thought.
Feeling fine rivers of blood snake down his back, he blinked back angry tears and finally accepted that hunting the women wasn’t going to be enough anymore. He had tried. He really had.
The pain was just too much.
CHAPTER 27
SWEAT ROLLED DOWN the hollow of his back, its salt stinging his open wounds. His body felt like a big open sore.
He’d watched the house for a few hours earlier in the day and had seen the brunette come and go, each time without her son. Now certain that she was going to be alone for the night, he was going in.
He circled the house, watching for lights, movement.
No lights were on and everything was still. He easily gained entry through the back door, then closed it softly. His gloved hand tightening on the knife, he walked through the kitchen, to the living room, then down the hallway that led to the bedrooms.
His heart hammered inside his chest. He felt so utterly alive he almost couldn’t stand it. No drug in the world could ever mimic what this did for him.
He stopped to check the son’s bedroom and confirmed the bed was empty; then he headed to the laundry room and opened the brea
ker box. After flipping all the switches to the off position, he went to the front door, unlocked it, and eased it open a few inches.
Now . . . I am ready.
He moved back down the hall and assumed his place.
His blood flooded with the thrill of anticipation as he rapped hard on the wall outside of her bedroom door.
He quickly stepped into the room next to hers and listened in the darkness, hearing her stir on the other side of the wall. A few seconds later, she approached her bedroom door and flipped the light switch.
Nothing happened.
“Justin, was that you?” she called, her voice thick with sleep. “Justin? Baby, are you here?”
She swung the door open and walked down the hallway, her steps cautious, timid. He followed her, staying several paces behind. She poked her head in her son’s room and tried to switch his overhead light on. “Justin?”
But of course there was no answer. And no light.
“Shit,” she said, and proceeded to the living room and noticed the front door ajar and streetlight filtering in. “What the hell?”
She hesitated, staring at it for a moment. Then she hurried to the door and closed it. All was silent in the house except for the sound of the front door’s dead bolt being engaged, the chain lock being put into place, and the thundering of his heart.
As she hurried toward the hallway again, no doubt heading for her cell phone, he flipped his flashlight on and aimed the beam directly at her face.
For a quick second she looked stunned, her dark eyes wide. Then she gasped and ran for the hallway. Blinded by the bright light, she misjudged her path and banged into the coffee table. She shrieked, but he clamped a hand tightly against her mouth and lifted her off the ground.
She flailed and bit at his palm as he carried her into her bedroom, but he just smiled. She was no match for him. It was like a baby bird trying to fight a wolf. Besides, when hunting, his strength and pain tolerance both increased a hundredfold.
He threw her down on the bed and pinned her. Then he shone the light into her face again.
“Please, don’t,” she begged. She’d gone to bed with her mascara still on and it was sliding down her cheeks.
“Why are you doing this?” she cried.
He thought about the question and decided to tell her the truth. After what he was putting her through, she deserved it.
“Because nothing else makes me feel good.”
Her already wide eyes widened even more.
He shined the light on himself so she could see his face. “Do you recognize me?”
She hesitated, then drew in a shaky breath. “The supermarket.”
He smiled.
“I don’t understand. What did I do?”
His face hardened. “You were a bitch to me,” he said. “Then, you smiled.”
He turned the flashlight back on her and watched her sob.
“Please . . . I’ll do anything,” she sobbed.
But he didn’t want anything. He wanted this.
She became hysterical, her chest heaving in between long sobs. “Why me?” she pleaded.
His throat clenched and unclenched like a heart. “Because you’re exactly the type of woman I like doing this to. You like to hurt people, so I’m going to hurt you.”
The color drained from her face.
Raising the knife above his head, his body broke out in a cold sweat. He smiled at the woman. As the corners of his lips turned up, they also drew back from his teeth. In the heat of murder, he became something different.
He became something sick.
He became himself.
Everything else faded away as he watched the brunette go limp. He was lightheaded with pleasure, so calm he felt he was drifting into a trance.
He realized he could finally breathe freely.
The itch had finally been extinguished again.
Hopefully for a very long time.
He decided he would take his time before leaving the house. He was exhausted. He wanted to lay next to her for a while, breathe in her odor and thoroughly enjoy the peace he’d finally found.
He lay down, closed his eyes, and, before he knew it, fell into a deep, luxurious slumber.
At some point, he heard the voice. “Mom?” It sounded like a young boy.
Clawing out of his deep slumber, he wrenched open his eyes. He blinked the sleep away and tried to get his bearings. He was with the woman . . . and there had been a voice.
Or had there? Maybe it had been his imagina—
“Mom, what’s going on? What’s wrong with the lights? Hey, Mom?”
Suddenly the overhead light bathed the room in mind-bending brightness.
Where the fuck did he come from? And how the hell did he turn on that light? I flipped off the fucking—
He saw the boy standing in the entrance of the room and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. The kid stared, quickly comprehending the scene. He fumbled for his knife, grasping it just as the kid disappeared down the hallway . . . and he tore after him.
CHAPTER 28
CASHIERING WAS MINDLESS WORK.
It was also the type of work that could make you lose your mind, Allie thought a few hours into her first day at Sherwood Foods. You just say hello and smile at the customers as though you were honestly happy to see them.
Then, after the greetings and fake smiles, scan the groceries, tuck the items in the bag, making sure that fragile items like eggs are secure. Announce the total, make change, tear off a receipt, and say “Good-bye, have a wonderful day!” with a big cheesy smile on your face.
Then do it all over again.
And again.
And again.
The work in and of itself was fine. It was so easy, Allie could do it in her sleep. The difficult parts were the boredom and being in such a public place for a long period of time.
Too many people were milling around. Too many eyes were on her, watching. Staring. She tended to wilt under people’s curious eyes. Eyes made her insecure.
As soon as Miss Bitty had dropped her off in front of the store, she knew it was a mistake. Then, when she started manning her register, she could swear the sea of customers was talking about her. Judging her. But, of course, she was just imagining it.
Well, wasn’t she?
She dutifully followed her manager’s commands, even though she was having a tough time concentrating with his thick hand resting on the small of her back. Many times she wanted to slap it off. To tell him what else he could do with it.
But it was important to her to do well. To make Miss Bitty proud. After all, she imagined the woman didn’t have an easy time getting her the job in the first place.
At least Miss Bitty had made it a point to get her a job outside of Grand Trespass, in a place where it was less likely folks would know her and her story. Even though she had been a social hermit all her life, enmeshed with the rest of her family, chances were someone would eventually recognize her in Grand Trespass. At least here, miles outside of town, the odds were slim.
After her lunch break, someone set a few items on the conveyor belt: an egg salad sandwich, a bag of Fritos, a can of Coca-Cola. When she looked up to greet the customer, she was surprised to see Hannah’s stepfather, Ted.
“I didn’t realize you worked here,” he said, smiling.
“I didn’t. Um, well, not until today anyway,” she said, remembering how much of a fool she’d made of herself the last time she’d seen him. She scanned his items quickly.
“This place is kind of out of the way, isn’t it?”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
“I’m building a fence for a family out here today,” he said. “Figured I’d grab myself some lunch.”
She rang up his last item. “Um, I guess that’ll be $4.55,” she said, glancing up at him. He handed her a crisp five-dollar bill. She made change and he grabbed his bag. “Well, hope to see you around the house. Hannah could use more friends.”
He wants me
to be Hannah’s friend?
He actually approves of me?
“Uh, sure. Okay,” she stammered. Maybe she’d gotten him all wrong. After all, if he approved of her, he couldn’t be that bad of a guy, could he?
“Have a good day, Allie.”
“You, too, Mr. Hanover,” she said, and threw him a half smile.
After he walked off, someone tossed a box of powdered donuts on her conveyor belt. She looked up to greet her customer and her blood ran cold. The man glared down at her with dark, hard eyes and hissed, “How does it feel being a killer’s sister?” He leaned even closer and, eyes blazing, said, “Your mama was a killer, too. Isn’t that right? Both a killer and a whore?”
Adrenaline flooded Allie’s veins. The words, said aloud and so angrily, frightened her.
“You sick, too? See, I have little kids to protect. I don’t need no loony tunes working close to where they go to school and play. You follow what I’m sayin’?”
Desperate for help, Allie turned toward the automatic doors but saw that Ted was long gone. She peered up at the manager’s office, but the manager wasn’t there. Finally, she turned back to the man, the back of her neck on fire.
“Just so you know, I’m watching you,” the man continued. “All of us are.”
She heard voices close by. Looking over her shoulder, she saw a small group of teenage girls in soccer uniforms, ringed socks up to their knobby knees, staring at her from aisle eight. Five pairs of cold eyes watched her; judged her. She inwardly cringed, imagining what they must be thinking.
Allie turned back to the man and gripped the box of donuts so hard, the box imploded. Do not cry . . . do not cry . . . do not cry, she told herself, beads of sweat forming on her upper lip.
She tried to work up a fierceness in her eyes. Tried to play it tough, like she always had, but she was too scared.
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