Careful little eyes: An addictive, horrifying serial killer thriller (7th Street Crew Book 4)

by Willow Rose

  “I don’t know, and I guess they do. They told me to send it to them and they’ll take a look at it when they can.”

  “Wow. That’s really serious. Meanwhile, someone might get killed tonight. And we’ll have to live with the guilt of not having done anything? I don’t think I can do that.”

  I shake my head. “Me either. There is only one thing we can do.”

  “And what’s that?”

  I walk to the computer and open it up again. I exhale and press the spacebar to make it light up. “We have to publish it. I know it was the one thing they told me to never do, but I have to follow my conscience. I am publishing it on my blog. What are they going to do? Arrest me?”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  July 2016

  Mia never gets tired of Ian’s mac and cheese, which is good, since it is the only dish he knows how to make. They have been eating it for months in a row, except for when they go out for their weekly burger on Wednesdays.

  Tonight is no different. Mia is eating happily and Ian is watching her, his heart throbbing with joy. He doesn’t know exactly how it happened, but he has come to love the little girl like she was his own, and he can’t imagine going even a day without her.

  “This is sooo good,” she says.

  “That’s wonderful,” he says.

  The murder the night before has been the talk of the town all day and it has been hard for Ian to avoid talking about it with Mia nearby. He doesn’t want her to know about it or be afraid, but every tourist that climbed on the carriage today asked him about it, and he had to answer. Even the other drivers down on Jackson Square kept mentioning it, asking if Ian had heard that The Axeman was back.

  As if I haven’t heard! I have been face to face with him, you idiot!

  Ian wanted to yell at them, but to be fair, they didn’t know. He never told anyone and the attack on him and Cindy didn’t make the news in the same way the attack on this new couple has. No, this is different. These are rich people killed in a fancy hotel downtown, actually the most historic hotel in town, while in their sleep. He can see the appeal of it and why the media wants to throw themselves all over it, compared to his story that they all just said was domestic violence at first, and then it died out once the suspicion moved away from him. But Ian is certain the two kills are connected. He read everything in the paper when Mia took a nap earlier in the day, in between clients, and now Ian knows it’s the same guy. It has to be.

  “I’m done,” Mia says and puts the spoon down. She looks tired.

  “Go brush your teeth and I’ll come tuck you in,” he says and removes her plate. He hasn’t had much appetite since Cindy died, so he finishes Mia’s plate and calls it dinner.

  He walks up to her and she is already in bed, reading. He kisses her on the head and tells her she can keep reading for fifteen minutes before she has to go to sleep, then kisses her again and leaves the room.

  As he walks into the hallway, he glances over at the shed in the back yard and spots the black man sitting on a wooden stump in front of it. Ian gasps. He hasn’t seen the man over there since the night Cindy died.

  Why has he come back? To finish the job?

  Ian feels his heart rush, then decides to close the curtains. He walks downstairs and turns on the TV. The story is all over the news, as expected, but to Ian’s surprise the story has taken a new turn. Apparently, some famous blogger who is in town has received a letter from The Axeman himself and published it on her blog.

  “The letter went viral within a matter of minutes,” the news anchor states seriously.

  Ian exhales and sits down on the old recliner. Usually he would grab a beer at this point, but he hasn’t been drinking since Cindy died. But right now—for the first time in many months—he really craves one. Especially when the letter is read out loud to the viewers.

  “Now, to be exact, at 12:15 (earthly time) tonight, I will pass over New Orleans again. I will take with me a victim. Maybe more than one. It is all up to you. As I did the last time I was here, almost a hundred years ago in earthly time, I will spare every person in whose home jazz music flows at the time I will pass through town. Anyone who doesn’t, will get the axe.”

  Ian gasps. “I was right, then,” he says to himself. “It is a demon. It is the same demon that has come back to kill us all.”

  “Ian?”

  Ian turns and looks into the eyes of Mia. He mutes the TV. “What are you doing up?”

  “I couldn’t fall asleep and got scared. What was that on the TV?”

  Ian bites his lips. “You know what’s wrong? We don’t have enough music in our house. We need music,” he says. “We need jazz music and we need to play it really, really loud.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  August 2005

  “What the hell are you doing with my daughter?”

  Robyn is in the front yard, bent over her rose bushes, cutting them, when someone walks up behind her and asks the question.

  Robyn is startled and accidentally pricks her finger on a thorn. She stands up and looks into the face of a woman a lot younger than her.

  “Excuse me?” she asks, while looking at the blood on her finger. It stings. “Who are you?” she asks, annoyed.

  “I’m Melissa. Suzy’s mom.”

  Robyn’s eyes widen and she looks at the woman again. She recognizes parts of Suzy in her. Robyn has known the girl for almost six months and never even seen her mother. She looks at her again, scrutinizes her hair that is colored a reddish color that looks almost pink in the sunlight, then her teeth that are in very bad shape, several of them are brown, some are missing, probably been pulled out. Her eyes have too much eyeliner and she looks to be a lot older than she probably is. Her skin is worn, she is skinny and slightly hunched forward, her jean shorts way too short, and her tank top has been used and washed a lot. She is holding a lit cigarette in her right hand and smokes it frequently, blowing smoke in Robyn’s face.

  Robyn smiles and reaches out her hand. “I’m sorry. Hello, Melissa. I’m Robyn. Nice to meet you.”

  Melissa looks confused. She grabs her hand and they shake. When they let go again, Melissa looks at Robyn with suspicion. The cigarette hangs from the side of her mouth, one eye is slightly closed because of the smoke.

  “I can assure you I am enjoying your daughter’s company. She is such a sweetheart.”

  “Yeah…well…but she’s mine,” Melissa says.

  “Oh, yes, of course. I never meant to overstep any boundaries on that account,” Robyn says, a hand to her chest to show her sincerity.

  The woman in front of her has the authority to take Suzy away from her completely, and that would be hard for Robyn to handle. Ever since John left, her moments with the girl have been all she lives for.

  Melissa lifts a finger in the air. “She is my daughter. And I don’t like that she is hanging out over here all the time. You rich people think you can just do whatever you want to, don’t you? Just because you have money, doesn’t give you the right to…you can’t buy my daughter…you hear me?”

  “Oh. But I can assure you. I would never. She comes here because she likes my food and well…because she feels alone in the small condo.”

  Melissa loses a little of her feistiness. The finger comes down. “There is nothing wrong with my condo.”

  “No, no. I didn’t mean to say that there was. It’s just…well it’s a lot of hours for her to be alone. She likes it here and…well, I make sure she gets her homework done and that she is fed. I can’t see there is any harm in that.”

  Melissa pulls out the cigarette and blows smoke. “Where is your own kid, lady?”

  Robyn feels thrown back by the question and takes in a deep breath. “I…I don’t have any.”

  “How about your husband? You all alone in there?”

  She sighs. “Yes. I am alone.”

  “So, that’s why you’re trying to take my child, huh?”

  Robyn shakes her head. “I am not trying to take her o
r do anything like that. I am just taking care of her while you’re away doing God knows what. I am just giving her what she needs in terms of adult company and food. That’s all.”

  The finger is back and pointing at Robyn. “You think you know anything about me, do you lady? You take one look at me and think you have the right to judge me?”

  Robin snorts. She is getting annoyed with this woman. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I don’t know anything about you. I have never even met you in the six months your daughter has visited me. Why is that, huh? Maybe because you’re never home. Where do you go when you leave her alone? Huh?”

  “I work.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I work, lady. You have bad hearing or something? I work from two p.m. till eleven p.m. every day. At that gas station downtown, the Chevron on Franklin Avenue.”

  “But that’s all the way across town,” Robyn says, feeling embarrassed. She had been in such a hurry to judge the woman, she had no idea.

  “Yeah, well. There’s your explanation, lady. That’s why I don’t get home till right before midnight. There are only a few buses running at that hour.” Melissa sniffles. “I told you. You don’t know anything about me.”

  Robyn feels awful. She smiles out of pity. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know that. And you don’t even have a car?”

  “Used to, but it was stolen right after we moved here.”

  “I am sorry about that. Here,” Robyn says and reaches into her pocket. She pulls out a hundred dollar bill. The settlement after the divorce has left her quite wealthy and she has no one to spend the money on. It’s not like she’s going to spend it on herself. She hands Melissa the bill.

  “I don’t want your charity!” she says and recoils forcefully.

  Robyn feels embarrassed again. She is afraid she has offended Melissa. “I am sorry. I just wanted to help you out a little. I didn’t mean to…oh, I am sorry. Wait. I have an idea. How about you borrow my car? I never use it anyway. It’s always in the garage. I walk to the store these days. Use it to go to work and maybe you can make it home a little earlier, huh?”

  Melissa shrugs. “I guess that would work.”

  “Yes, it could. It’s a great car. A Mercedes. You’ll love it. Wait here. I’ll go get the keys,” Robyn says and leaves. She comes back bringing her car keys. She hands them to Melissa, who looks like a child at Christmas.

  “Just promise me one thing.”

  Melissa looks up. “Yeah?”

  Robyn clasps her hands. “Let Suzy keep coming here and eating dinner with me while you’re at work. She needs help with her schoolwork if she is not to be held back again. Since they started after summer break, she’s been struggling. I promise I’ll make sure she does all her homework and that she gets back to the condo in time for you. Consider it free babysitting. How does that sound?”

  Melissa nods with a shrug. “Pretty sweet, actually.”

  Robyn smiles, relieved. “Then we have a deal.”

  Chapter Forty

  July 2016

  I don’t think I had any idea the chaos it would create when I published the letter on my blog. Seconds later, millions of people shared it on social media, and it turns out to be the biggest hit of any of my posts so far.

  Chloe is excited and keeps calling me, telling me she loves that I did it. I am happy I did. I have found the original letter online, received by a New Orleans newspaper in nineteen eighteen. The wording is very much like the one I received, and it makes me slightly uncomfortable. Of course, I know it can’t be the same guy; I just can’t help feeling a little uneasy, especially since seeing that little boy in my hotel room, whom I never saw again.

  I don’t believe in ghosts and all that stuff, but something is very eerie and spooky about this whole thing. I’ll give you that.

  The letter is all over the news that same night, and soon after I hear music coming from almost every window and street corner.

  At first, I thought it was kind of nice, but soon it becomes quite the nuisance. Joey and I walk down Canal Street to grab something to eat, and everywhere we go, music hits us. From every door, every open window, and even in the street people are playing jazz, either by use of their own instrument or by using their phone or whatever else is handy.

  If only they would all play the same song!

  Joey has even jumped on the bandwagon and is playing something from his phone as we walk down the street. We find a small diner and walk inside. A band is playing from the corner and Joey turns off the music from his phone. The music is great and we sit down and order a burger each.

  “Must be a dream night for the bands here in New Orleans,” I say. “I bet they’re all booked.”

  Joey chuckles. “Sure is. And maybe the police are right. Maybe it is just some lunatic.”

  “But what would his gain be?” I ask as my soda arrives. Joey is having a beer. I feel like I need to keep my head clear.

  “To promote jazz music? Maybe he’s in a band,” Joey says with a grin. “Or maybe he is an agent for several bands and things have been slow lately. Then boom he hears about The Axeman being back and writes the letter.”

  “I sure hope you’re right,” I say and drink. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

  “Well, not with all that music playing you won’t,” he says.

  I chuckle, then notice something on his neck.

  Is that lipstick? Sure looks like it. Doesn’t it? No, Mary. You watch way too many soaps.

  Our food arrives and the waitress looks at us, hands on her sides. “Anything else I can get for you two lovebirds?”

  “I think we’re good for now,” I say, blushing. “And we’re not…lovebirds that is…” I stop myself. It’s just too much trouble having to explain everything. Sometimes I wish I could just have a sign to show people that says It’s complicated.

  The burger in front of me smells divine. Looks tasty too.

  “All right, now don’t forget to play that music tonight, white boy,” she says, and winks at Joey.

  Joey blushes and I feel a prick of jealousy. Why do I keep reacting that way when girls like him? He is not mine anymore!

  I take a bite of my burger. Joey starts with his fries, as always.

  “There’s something I want to ask you,” I say, even though I promised myself to leave it alone.

  It’s none of your business anymore, Mary. Butt out.

  “Sure.”

  “I couldn’t help but notice that you came back from your little—well, whatever it was—smelling like perfume and you have a little lipstick there on your neck…”

  Joey blushes. And I mean seriously blushes. He is completely red in the face. I have known him since we were children. I know. Believe me. Something is up.

  “I thought so,” I say. “It’s none of my business anyway. You don’t have to explain.” I suck in air through my teeth and continue to eat, trying hard to convince myself that what I just said is right. That I shouldn’t care. It’s his life.

  “But still…” I say anyway.

  Joey sighs. “I knew it.”

  “How can you do this to Jackie?”

  He stares at me. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Come on,” I say. “The evidence is pretty clear.”

  He drinks, then puts the glass down hard. “You’re right. It’s none of your business. Besides you’re the one who told me to go screw some woman, right?”

  I raise both my hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was to blame for this. I still thought you had some control over your dick, but apparently I am in full charge of it.”

  “You always have been, Mary. It never stopped.”

  I look into his eyes. I try hard to, but I can’t suppress my laughter. Seconds later, I burst and so does he.

  Chapter Forty-One

  July 2016

  It feels good to laugh. I can’t stop. Neither can Joey. It’s a relief of some sort. It clears the air of all the tension. We laugh and
laugh and I can hardly finish my food. Joey orders another beer and I grab one as well. I decide I deserve a glass of wine, then another, and soon I have had enough.

  We decide to walk back through the music filled streets of New Orleans. It is quite spectacular how the entire town is vibrant with jazz music coming from every corner, every open door, every open window. It doesn’t really sound good. More like frantic, almost manic, and quite eerie.

  We walk into the hotel lobby, but we can’t go back to our room. Not till after twelve-fifteen, at least. We don’t want to risk ending up as The Axeman’s next victims. So, we continue into the hotel bar, The Carousel, where the music is playing vigorously like everywhere else in town. Musicians on the small stage are playing like their lives depend on it, which they kind of do. And everybody else’s in the bar.

  There are a lot of people in the bar, as there were in most of the restaurants and bars we passed on our way back. They seek the music and company instead of waiting in their homes for The Axeman to strike. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought it was all just a PR stunt for getting more people to eat and drink out. A few people defy the fear and chaos and decide to dance instead. People we talk to are scared, but tell me music has saved the town before and will again.

  I have a few cocktails and Joey joins me in the spinning bar. For once, Joey and I seem to have found a way to be together without fighting. It’s a huge relief, and I slowly remember how much I used to enjoy his company.

  I think of Salter while watching a dancing couple join the others on the dance floor in front of the band. It’s not really a dance floor, but just a small space where the waiters have removed the tables so people can have some fun, even given the circumstances. I wonder if Salter is in a place with music; I wonder if Blake knows to protect my son. Then I realize it is strange to trust a murderer to protect my son from another murderer.