Shadows: A Bayou Magic Novel

by Kristen Proby

  So, it’s not just me he’s after.

  It’s all of us.

  The living room is neat as a pin. The furniture is old with holes and faded fabric, but the pillows are placed precisely in the corners. The green shag carpet has recently been vacuumed.

  Footsteps in the kitchen grow louder as someone walks my way, and I stiffen, hoping with all my might that I recognize him and that he doesn’t know I’m here.

  He doesn’t look at me as he walks past, so close that I can smell him. I can feel the heat coming off his body.

  Suddenly, I realize I do know him. I do recognize him.

  I didn’t even know he was still alive.

  “Oh, hello,” he says as he looks at me and gives me a happy, wide smile. “Brielle! You’re here. I’m so happy to see you.”

  I look around, wanting to escape, forgetting that I’m in a dream.

  It’s a dream.

  “Yes, I can see you. I can always see you.” He smiles kindly. “Did you see my room of fun?” He gestures to the back of the house where the girls are. “Isn’t it great? I’ve been doing all of this for you, of course. I just knew you’d love it. I’ve been waiting for you because I wanted to have enough practice to make everything perfect for you.

  “You’re special, Brielle.”

  He laughs and looks around his house.

  “I’m so glad I cleaned up this morning so the house was nice for you. Now, I know what you’re thinking…”

  He holds up his hands in surrender and sits in an old chair in the corner. I haven’t said a word yet, haven’t even confirmed that I am, in fact, here.

  “You’re wondering why I would do such special things for you and not your sisters. After all, fair’s fair, right? Well, I have so many wonderful things planned for them, too, don’t you worry. But you’re the oldest, Brielle, so it just made sense to start with you. They’ll understand, won’t they?”

  I don’t reply. I simply tilt my head, watching him quietly. I remember him well, but I don’t ever remember him speaking this much. I didn’t even know he could talk this much. I always assumed he was stupid. I never liked him. He always gave me the heebie-jeebies.

  Guess I was right to listen to those instincts.

  “Brielle?” He frowns as he watches me. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “I don’t know what to say.” And if that’s not the truth, I don’t know what is. I don’t want to set him off, to send him into an angry tirade and have him go off and kill all of the girls in that room.

  But I also don’t want to encourage him.

  I’m no psychiatrist!

  “Brielle.” He stands and walks to me, taking my shoulders in his hands, and I want to throw up again. I do not want his hands on me.

  I never did. Just a brush of his hand on my shoulder when I was a kid made me shiver.

  And I’m not sure why he can touch me in this dream when I can’t touch anything.

  “I’m sure you’re so overwhelmed with excitement that you don’t know what to say. I understand. You’ve always been such a sweet girl.”

  “You barely know me,” I whisper.

  “I admit, it’s been a while, but I know everything, Brielle. I’ve watched you on your little tour. You’re such a smart woman, aren’t you? I know you’ve decided to date that man. Now, I admit, I didn’t like it. I wanted to just cut his head right off his body the first time I saw you two together. But I also knew it was just a matter of time until you came around.”

  “Came around to what?”

  “Well, that we’re all meant to be together, of course. Just the way it was supposed to be all along.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. His expression falls. The look in his eyes hardens. But before he can do anything else, I smile.

  “You’re crazy to think that I wouldn’t want that too, of course.”

  “There now,” he says, satisfied. “That’s a good girl.”

  I wake with a start and run to the bathroom, then hover over the toilet and throw up until my body is wracked with dry heaves. I can’t stop it. Someone rubs my back while someone else sets a cool rag on my neck.

  Finally, I sit on my haunches and look up to find Daphne, Millie, and Cash all staring down at me with concern.

  “I know who he is.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “After my head has been chopped off, will I still be able to hear, at least for a moment, the sound of my own blood gushing from my neck? That would be the best pleasure to end all pleasure.”

  - Peter Kurten, AKA the Vampire of Dusseldorf

  He hasn’t been this excited in a long time. Brielle finally knows what his plans are, and despite it coming earlier than he anticipated, he’s pleased.

  Yes, they will have to decide what her punishment will be for jumping the gun. The timeline is there for a reason, and she ignored it. That displeases him, so there will be consequences for that.

  Should he cut out her tongue? He ponders that for a moment as he sharpens his second-favorite knife in the corner of the room of pleasure. No, cutting out her tongue would mean he could no longer have wonderful conversations with her, and that would be a pity.

  Perhaps he should just take her toes. They are pretty little digits, but she has displeased him, and that means she needs to be punished.

  Losing those pretty little toes will be a great punishment indeed.

  Satisfied with his plan, he turns to the girls. The new ones are too fresh. Their fear too raw. They certainly won’t do for today’s fun. He needs one of the seasoned girls.

  His eyes move to the one on the end, the one he’s kept the longest of any of the girls he’s taken. He’s not sure why he decided to draw out the inevitable for her. She still has a lot of spirit, which he admits, he admires.

  He’s enjoyed having her here, but it’s time for her to have some fun.

  She’s earned it, after all.

  “Oh, Brielle, today has been such a treat.” He whistles to himself for a moment as he gets his workstation ready for her. He’s decided to treat himself even more today and play with the disemboweling again. He so enjoyed it the last time, although he got too excited and his toy died before he was able to fully detach her anus from her body.

  It really was disappointing. But this time, he’ll be more careful. He’s been practicing in his head, running it over and over, and he’s certain he won’t make the same mistakes again.

  The table is freshly cleaned, and his tools are ready when he turns to the girl with a smile.

  “Today is very special indeed, Brielle. We are going to have so much fun. Now, I’ll wait to put my gear on until after I get you situated. I know that’s not how I usually go about things, but I honestly enjoy the way your little body feels against mine without the rubber apron. And soon, not today, but very soon, we’re going to be together in the most special way, so I’ll let myself feel you today.”

  She doesn’t flinch. She’s not breathing hard. She looks calm and collected and resigned to what’s about to happen.

  It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

  It’s as if she loves him as much as he loves her.

  Finally!

  “Okay, Brielle.” He leans over and unties her hands, then helps her to a standing position and starts to turn toward the bench. Suddenly, the unthinkable happens.

  His knife, his favorite knife, is suddenly plunged into his side, right into his stomach. He stares at her, pain rushing through him.

  “I told you I was going to kill you, you sick fuck.”

  He slaps her hard, sending her to the ground, and pulls the knife out of his side. Blood spurts over his hand covering the wound.

  “Brielle,” he keens. “How could you?”

  He starts to cry, shaking his head.

  So much blood.

  And he’s so sad. She hurt him! She tried to kill him.

  No. Not his Brielle.

&n
bsp; She wouldn’t do that.

  This one is no good.

  He has to stop the bleeding.

  “Ruth,” he mutters as he hurries out the back door and down the stairs that lead to solid ground. “Ruth can stop it.”

  He hasn’t seen her in a while, but she wouldn’t turn him away, not when he’s like this. She’ll help him stitch up the wound, and then he’ll go back and kill that little bitch.

  How could she?

  How dare she?

  He trips and falls to the ground, his shoe falling off in the process. He stares down at it.

  Should he try to put it back on? There are so many things in the swamp that could hurt his feet.

  His mama always told him that.

  But there’s no time. Too much blood.

  He wrestles his way back to his feet and shuffles along. The house is only a mile from his. He could get there blindfolded.

  Yes, this is the right thing.

  Ruth will help.

  But he’s sweating in the heat, and he’s lost so much blood. Too much. It’s running down his side, his leg. Everything is going dark around the edges of his vision.

  Why is he so cold?

  He needs Ruth to put a blanket on him, that’s all. She has lots of blankets.

  But maybe he’ll stop in this old shed and take a break. Just to catch his breath, then he can make it the rest of the way to Ruth’s house.

  He hobbles inside and slides to the ground.

  Critters have made this their home over the years. The roof is gone. He can’t escape the hot sun.

  And as he closes his eyes, he knows he won’t make it to Ruth’s.

  Suddenly, he’s hovering over his body. There’s so much blood. There’s no way he can survive.

  But that doesn’t mean he can’t finish the job he’s set out to do. It’s still the most important thing, after all.

  And now that he’s free of that worthless, aging body, he can work even more diligently.

  He soars over his old house, past the driveway, and onto the road leading to the highway.

  Then he floats down to the road.

  And waits.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cash

  “Who is he?” I demand, my heart hammering in my ears.

  “Horace.”

  The girls all stare at each other. “What?” Daphne asks at last.

  “It’s Horace,” Brielle repeats and stands to walk back to the bedroom. “And he’s a fucking psychopath. Call Asher.”

  “On it.” I dial the other man’s number and as soon as he answers, I start talking. “She knows who he is. First name is Horace. What’s his last name?” I ask.

  “I have no idea,” Daphne says with a frown. “He was always just Horace.”

  “We know where he lives,” Millie says. “Right by Mama.”

  “Jesus. Did you hear that?”

  “I heard it,” Asher says, “but I don’t know what it means.”

  “I’ll send you the address of their mother’s house. If Horace is nearby, he can’t be far. We’re headed there now.”

  “We’re leaving, too. Give me that address. And, Cash, follow protocol. We don’t want anything to mess up this bust.”

  I text him the address while we hurry down to the car. I’m driving, with Brielle in the passenger seat. “Now, who the hell is Horace?”

  “He was a man who lived near us growing up,” Brielle says. She pulls on her bottom lip, watching the city speed by. “Our parents hired him here and there to help around the house. He did yard work, painted the house, did some plumbing, electrical. Really, he was the family handyman.”

  “Creepiest handyman ever,” Millie mutters from the back seat. She grabbed their grandmother’s book on the way out of the apartment and is now reading it in her lap. “I never liked that guy.”

  “None of us did,” Daphne agrees.

  “Why? What made him so creepy?”

  “He was just always there,” Brielle says. “If we were outside playing, he was nearby, trimming hedges or pruning flowers. If we were inside watching TV, he was just beyond the window, looking in.”

  “Did he ever approach you? Touch you?” My stomach turns at the thought of some sick fuck putting his hands on these women when they were girls.

  “No, he never touched us,” Daphne says. “In fact, he avoided touching us. I remember one time, he was sitting at the table in the kitchen having coffee with Mama, and I walked past him and innocently brushed his arm. He recoiled as if I’d burned him.”

  “He and Mama had an affair for years,” Brielle adds. “She played with him. I was a kid, and still I knew it. She used to laugh when he left the house.”

  “They weren’t quiet,” Millie says. I glance at her in the rearview and watch her wince. “And she humiliated him. Even back then, I knew it. Why in the world would he come back for more of that nonsense?”

  “Could be a pattern for him,” I reply, thinking it over. “If his mother humiliated him, and then your mother did the same, he might think that that’s how women behave. That it’s normal.”

  “Well, that’s just fucked-up,” Daphne says.

  “I mean, he’s a serial killer,” Brielle reminds them. “So, pretty much everything he does is fucked-up.”

  Lights flash behind me just as my phone rings.

  “Asher,” I say into the phone.

  “We’re behind you. I have four more cars behind me.”

  “Excellent,” I reply. “Just follow me. The road in there is rough, so it’ll be slow going once we’re off the main road. I’d say we’re about twenty minutes away.”

  “Copy that. Once we get to the house, you do not go inside.”

  “I know the procedure,” I reply and hang up. “I’m with the FBI for fuck’s sake.”

  Brielle reaches over and takes my hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. I glance her way and smile.

  This is almost over.

  I’m so fucking relieved. I want to be with her in a normal setting when I’m not constantly worried about her well-being. I just want to be with her.

  “We’re almost there,” Daphne says, pointing to the lane that turns off the main road. “Turn there. After we go over that part that was washed out, turn right. His house is about a half a mile from the turn.”

  “Got it.”

  We have to slow down more than I’d like, but there’s no choice with the lane in the condition it’s in.

  Just when I round a bend, Brielle holds up a hand.

  “Stop the car.”

  “What?”

  “Stop the goddamn car.”

  I slam on the brakes and turn to stare at her. “What? What is it?”

  “Do you see him?”

  She’s staring straight ahead. I follow her gaze and about come out of my skin.

  Standing maybe ten feet in front of the car is a shadow.

  A man.

  “I fucking see him,” I mutter in surprise.

  “He’s dead,” Brielle says.

  “Do you see a shadow or a man?” Millie asks. “Because I see a shadow.”

  “Me, too,” Daphne says.

  “That makes three of us,” I add.

  “I see a man. I see Horace,” Brielle says. “Drive through him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yeah. Fuck him.”

  I nod once, put the car in drive, and step on it, plowing right through the shadow. It dissipates around us, and I gingerly drive over the washed-out area, then turn onto Horace’s driveway.

  Sure enough, about a half-mile later, a small house comes into view. The back side of it butts up to the swamp and has a rickety porch suspended over the expansive water beyond it. The house is small, and it leans to one side. But the roof has been recently patched.

  I stop the car and wait while Asher and his men jump out of their vehicles and surround the house, all of them armed.

  Less than three minutes after they break down the door, Asher comes out and gestures for us
to follow him.

  “He’s not here,” he says as we walk through the front door. “But we found the women, all still alive.”

  “Whoa.” Millie’s eyes are wide as she stands in the living room and stares at the photos on the walls. “It’s all three of us.”

  “He told me that we were all part of his stupid plan. I was just first because I’m the oldest,” Brielle says and takes Millie’s hand in hers. “He had plans for you and Daph, too, but he didn’t say what they were.”

  “I killed him.” The girl’s the first to be escorted out, wrapped in a blanket. “At least, I think I did. I stabbed him, and then he hit me and ran away. But there’s no way he could survive that. I stabbed him in the gut.”

  “Get men out to the swamp,” Asher orders one of his men. “We’re going to find that fucker.”

  “Sarah.” Brielle approaches the other woman carefully. “Do you remember me?”

  Glassy eyes turn to Brielle, and then Sarah starts to cry.

  “You found us,” she says and wraps her arms around Brielle. “I did what you said. I stabbed him.”

  “You are a fucking badass, Sarah Chandler. I’m so damn proud of you.”

  “We all are,” Daphne says, joining in on the hug. Millie wraps her arms around all of them, and they stand for a long moment, giving each other comfort and strength.

  And if I know these girls at all, they’re adding a little magic to the mix right now for Sarah, as well.

  Once all the abducted girls are loaded into ambulances and taken to the hospital, I join Asher back in the killer’s playroom.

  I stop at the doorway and take it all in. I’ve seen other lairs, and I’ve seen more blood, but I don’t know if I’ve seen this level of absolute evil.

  Three toddler-sized beds line one wall, each with a bare, soiled mattress. An electric chair is in the corner, and the opposite wall boasts the biggest workbench I’ve ever seen in my life, with tools of all shapes and sizes lining shelves above the bench. They’ve all been cleaned, but forensics will lift blood samples from the tools and the counter. And, most likely, the floor, beds, and chair.