I Know Everything

by Matthew Farrell

“You . . . killed . . . Amanda.”

  “Tell me! I want to hear your truths!”

  “You . . . killed . . . my . . . wife.”

  Sam got off of Randall and walked toward the door. Randall remained on the floor. He could taste his own blood and spat it out. He got to his knees and wiped his mouth as tiny shards of glass fell from his wet body. “Why don’t you just kill me,” he panted. “That’s what’s eventually going to happen, right? You toy with me, and then you kill me? Just do it now. I’m ready.”

  “I’m not going to kill you. I just want to hear your truths.”

  “What truths? What are you talking about?”

  “You know.”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Then you’re not ready. And we’re not done.”

  Sam disappeared into the house for a moment, and Randall closed his eyes, wanting this all to be a dream. He could hear him in the kitchen. Pots and pans clanging. Drawers and cabinets opening and slamming shut. He scrambled to his feet and made his way toward the front door, reaching for the knob, desperate to escape. But Sam was suddenly on him again, pulling him away by his hair.

  “Look at me.”

  “No.”

  Another punch to the side of his head. “Look at me.”

  Randall opened his eyes into slits.

  Sam was holding a photograph in his hand, and Randall recognized it instantly. It was the picture Peter had on his desk in his office, taken by a professional photographer on the beaches of Grand Cayman. The entire Reems family was dressed in white shirts and blue shorts. Sam must’ve stolen it.

  “I know every move you make. I know every thought. I know every plan. I hear every conversation. You can’t escape your truth. I warned you that if you went to the police, I would destroy the people you love.”

  “No, please! I’m sorry! Please!”

  “Do I have to kill Peter’s entire family for you to know I’m serious?”

  “No!”

  “His wife. His three precious children. The dog.”

  “No. Please.”

  “And if I kill them, I’ll deliver the cops a case that’s airtight and points only to you.”

  “Don’t hurt them. I’m sorry.”

  “What are your truths, Dr. Brock?”

  Randall began to cry. “I don’t know.”

  “You do.”

  Sam stuffed the picture into his pocket and pinned Randall against the floor, kneeling on his chest. He grabbed Randall’s left hand and forced it down onto the floor. “What are your truths?”

  “Leave me alone!”

  Sam grabbed a stainless steel tenderizing mallet from his back pocket and slammed Randall’s hand with it. Randall screamed out in both fear and pain. Tiny bones snapped upon impact. The mallet came down again, its jagged surface cutting the skin around his knuckles and fingers.

  “Stop! Please!”

  “Everything’s changed now,” Sam said, panting. He climbed off of Randall and tossed the mallet onto the floor. “Your actions have consequences, and your inaction only makes things worse. I want your truths. About your little brother. About Rose and Lily Anderson. And about Amanda. I won’t rest until I get what I want.”

  Randall cradled his hand against his chest, tears streaming down his cheeks. Just before he passed out, he heard Sam leave through the front door. He tried to stay conscious but was suddenly so tired. He needed to close his eyes. Just for a second. He needed to rest.

  41

  “This has to end,” Peter said as he got up from the couch. “Who is this guy, Randall?”

  Randall looked up at him. They were alone in Peter’s living room. The house was quiet. “I’m telling you, I don’t know. One day he shows up, and the next thing I know I’m being arrested for Amanda’s murder and my life is in chaos. Now he’s threatening you and your family. Please, Peter. Just take Becky and the kids and go away for a bit. It’s the holidays. Go on vacation.”

  “You know I can’t do that. Not with all the work I have to get done.”

  “Look at me.” Randall held up his left hand. Three of his fingers were in splints, and he was wrapped in a bandage from knuckles to forearm. “This guy isn’t playing around. He has your picture from the campus office and knows your family.”

  Peter began pacing. “So the police know about Gary Anderson and Lily and Rose. They know about William Feder, and you told them about Sam. They’ll need to fill in the parts that’re missing, which means they’re probably already working on subpoenas for your medical records. This is all falling apart. Your life. My life. The study. Everything.”

  “We need to find Sam.”

  “But who is he?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “And he confessed to killing Amanda?”

  “Not in so many words. He said we did it. Together.”

  Peter knelt down next to Randall, grabbing him by the shoulders. “You have to consider the possibility that Sam is like Jerry or Stephen or Jason.”

  “No. Impossible.”

  “How can you say that? Look at the things he’s done! And the police will come to the same conclusion.”

  “It can’t be.”

  Peter got up and began pacing again, running his hand through his hair over and over. “What does Sam want?” he asked. “Think for a second. What does he really want?”

  “He wants me to relive what happened with my brother. And with Rose and Lily. He says they’re my truths, and he wants to hear me talk about them, but I can’t. I won’t. It’s too painful.”

  “Okay, why does he want you to admit these truths?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Maybe this Sam was a relative of Rose or Lily? Could even be a distant relative of yours who learned about what happened. The fact that he needs you to ‘confess your truths’ to him leads me to believe he’s emotionally invested in what happened to someone you hurt.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And you’re not giving him what he wants, so he’s turning violent. He’s escalating.”

  “Yes, he certainly is.”

  Peter stared at him. “You have to go back to the police and tell them what happened.”

  “I’m afraid to. Somehow he knows my every move. If I go back to the police, he’ll come after you. For all I know, he might be planning to do that already. Please, Peter. Tell me you’ll take the family away for a week or so. Maybe the police can find him by then.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Peter replied. “But you need to go to the police.”

  “I can’t,” Randall said. “He’ll know, and he’ll start hunting the people I love.”

  42

  The town began to convert the auxiliary soccer field into the Christmas tree lot about a week before Thanksgiving, and it became fully operational on December 1. Each tree purchased at the field included a donation to the local volunteer fire department, so the lot was popular among the residents, and the mood was always festive.

  Susan walked through the maze of spruces and pines, gazing at the string of lights that hung from the poles at each corner of the field. Snow was falling, the tiny flakes whirling and spinning in the cold breeze, making the moment all the more perfect.

  Coming this late in the season meant that the majority of trees would already be taken. Susan, Beatrice, and the twins were among a smattering of people milling about, all of them last-minute shoppers with only days to go before Christmas.

  “Mommy, how about this one?” Tim asked, pointing to a ten-foot pine that looked dead toward the bottom and top heavy at its peak.

  “Honey, that wouldn’t fit in our house,” Susan said. “I’m not sure that would even fit through the door.”

  “But I want a big tree,” Tim whined. “It has to be giant so Santa won’t forget us.”

  “Santa won’t forget us. You wrote him your letters, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you told him you’ll be at your own house instead of with your dad, right?”

 
“Yeah.”

  “Okay, so we’re good. We don’t need a giant tree. Santa knows what he’s doing.”

  “Does he?” Beatrice asked.

  Susan turned to her. “Yes, he does. It’s all under control.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  The kids ran on to the next row of trees.

  “Nope, I got it. Eric already got most of what was on their list since they were supposed to be with him, so I’m going to take a run over to his place and pick everything up. Anything he wasn’t able to get is already sitting under my desk at work. All under control.”

  “Well, good for you. You continue to amaze me with your inner strength and determination to make this all work.”

  “Was that sarcasm?”

  “Of course not,” her mother replied, smiling. She winked, and the two women laughed.

  Casey stood next to a tree that looked full throughout and appeared to be about six feet tall. “How about this one?”

  Susan walked up to it, shook a few of the branches, and could see that very few needles fell off. “Yes, this could work. What do you think, Tim?”

  Tim sized up the pine, walked around it twice, then stuck his nose in the needles, taking a long sniff. “I like it,” he finally said. “And I think it’s big enough for Santa to see.”

  “We can put lights on it, too, so Santa has to see it!” Casey exclaimed, jumping up and down.

  “So should we get it? Grandma, what do you think?”

  Beatrice hugged the twins. “I think it’s perfect.”

  Susan snapped the ticket from the branch and checked the price, reminding herself that part of the proceeds went to the fire department. “Okay, I think we got ourselves a tree.”

  The twins jumped and clapped. Her mother took a few pictures with her phone. The snow continued to fall. It was the perfect moment. Picturesque. Norman Rockwell. Americana.

  But then she saw him.

  Standing in the last row of trees, just under one of the corner poles. The spotlight atop the pole cast him in shadows. She could see the silhouette of the hood covering his head, the tiny furs along its edge blowing in the breeze. He was unmoving, staring only at them. It was the man Randall had described. It was the man who’d been standing in the parking lot at the barracks and sitting behind the wheel of Hooper’s car.

  Sam.

  Without thinking, Susan stepped in front of her family, her back to the man. She reached inside her coat and unsnapped her holster. “Mom, can you bring this ticket up to the guy and let him know we’ll take this one?”

  Beatrice took the ticket. “Sure. Are you going to wait here?”

  “Yes. Take the kids with you.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Just take the kids.”

  “Okay.”

  When Susan turned back around, Sam had retreated a few steps. He was now on the outer perimeter of the lot, about thirty yards from a patch of forest that surrounded the field, swallowed by the darkness outside the spotlights. Once the kids were gone, she gently pulled her weapon from its holster and held it down in front of her. She took a step, then another, then without warning broke into a sprint.

  Sam peeled away and dashed toward the woods. She followed, running as fast as she could, hopping over the orange mesh fencing that had been erected to mark the perimeter of the lot. He disappeared past the tree line, and as she broke from the lights and into the shadows, she stopped, realizing that her eyes had not adjusted to the dark and she was vulnerable.

  She got down on one knee, her focus on the woods in front of her, her Beretta aimed straight ahead. Her breathing was deep and heavy. She tried to calm herself.

  There were too many tracks in the snow to determine which direction Sam had run. Kids used the path to cut through to the high school campus and a popular deli. Susan waited until she could see and then ran toward the woods, stopping only when she was past the first line of trees. The woods were quiet, pitch black. There was no moon to guide her, and she was reluctant to make herself a target by turning on the flashlight on her phone. She took a careful step, scanning the area for any sign of movement. Her boots crunched in the snow, sounding like a cannon in the serenity of her surroundings. She stopped, wincing at the sound, knowing she’d given away her position.

  Adrenaline was coursing through her. She leaned against a thick elm and squatted down again, straining to see her target through the blackness.

  Where are you?

  Susan steadied her breathing and turned from side to side, listening for anything that would tell her which way Sam had run. There had been maybe twenty or thirty seconds between the time she’d had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the dark to when she’d broken through the first line of trees. Depending on how fast Sam had been running, he could’ve put a fair amount of distance between them, but she was certain she would’ve been able to hear his feet crunching in the snow as he ran. But there was nothing. No sound. No movement.

  He’s here. Close. With you.

  She stood up a bit and looked over a set of bushes, still listening for movement, her weapon aimed out in front of her.

  Come on. Where is he?

  She looked behind her. Nothing.

  He’s gotta be close.

  From left to right.

  Close.

  Nothing.

  Here.

  Movement, to her left.

  Susan spun around as soon as she heard it, but as she turned, something hit her in the chest, sending her to the ground and knocking the wind out of her. She struggled to take a breath and tried to get up. Her fumbling hands wrapped around the Beretta as the woods suddenly filled with the sound of footsteps thumping in the snow, running away from her. She poked her head up the best she could and caught a glimpse of the hooded figure disappearing deeper into the woods and out of sight.

  She got to her knees and wiped the snow from her face. Her breath finally returned, ragged and short. When she knew she was alone again, she dug inside her bag and retrieved a small tape measure she always kept with her. She walked to the nearest set of footprints and bent down, stretching the tape across the length of the left print. It was just under twelve inches, making the shoe size about a twelve or a thirteen, give or take. She took several pictures with her phone, then did the same thing with the right print. The woods were quiet again.

  Sam had been watching her this entire time.

  He’d been watching them all.

  43

  The Christmas tree lot had become part of the crime scene. Town officers and a handful of state police personnel had descended on the soccer field after Susan had called it in. K-9 units had been sent into the woods to try and track Sam’s scent. Portable spotlights had been erected so the uniforms could see what they were doing as they canvassed the area. Susan had sent her mother and the twins home in the back of a state police unit with instructions to the troopers to stay with them until she arrived back at the house. It killed her that she had to let them go without her, but she was a witness and the primary investigator on the case. There was nothing she could do.

  Crosby emerged from the woods and stood with Susan just outside the tree line. “K-9s are having trouble picking up a scent.”

  She watched as the others worked. “I want to get in there.”

  “Not gonna happen. This isn’t our jurisdiction, and secondly, you’re the victim. You need to stay removed from the scene.”

  “You didn’t have to come all the way up here.”

  “Like hell I didn’t. One of my people call for help, I’m gonna be there. Day or night. You know how it is.”

  “Yeah, I know how it is.”

  “How’s your chest?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “EMTs look at it?”

  “Yeah, just a bruise. Knocked the wind out of me, but I’m good.”

  “You better not be bullshitting me.”

  She turned when she heard footsteps approaching and watched as Tommy traipsed through
the tree lot toward the edge of the woods. He was dressed in an oversized parka and ski pants.

  “What’re you doing here?” Susan asked.

  “What do you mean?” Tommy replied. “My partner called in a 10-33. Where do you expect me to be?”

  “But don’t you live like an hour in the opposite direction?” Susan took a step back. “And why are you all wet?”

  “I was night tubing at Hunter Mountain.”

  “Night tubing?”

  “Don’t look at me like that. You should try it. The kids would love it. Anyway, I came straight from there. What happened?”

  Susan pointed to the lot behind them. “I was getting a tree with my mom and the twins, and all of a sudden I see this guy watching us. Big hood, fur along the edge. Matches the Sam description Brock gave us, and he also looked like the guy who was at the barracks tailgating me the other night in the Subaru. I draw my weapon and pursue, and he runs into the woods. I lost him in the dark, and while I was waiting on him to make a move, he hit me with a tree branch and ran off. Called for backup. Here we are.”

  “Why is he targeting you?” Tommy asked, looking into the thicket of trees. “First he runs you off the road. Now this.”

  “Maybe we’re getting close, and he’s trying to scare me. Maybe ‘Sam’ is Randall, and he’s trying to convince me he’s innocent and there really is another guy out there.”

  “Maybe.” Tommy motioned toward Crosby. “Anyone check on Dr. Brock since he left the barracks?”

  “I have a unit rolling,” Crosby replied.

  A K-9 officer came out of the woods and walked up to Susan. “We tracked him for a little bit but lost the scent near the creek in the back there. Maybe he jumped in or walked through it or fell, but the scent goes cold there. I’m guessing he went southeast, though. You know where that might dump out?”

  “Somewhere near the high school.”

  The officer nodded and called for a unit to take a drive through the high school grounds.

  Crosby took Susan by the shoulder and walked her back toward the tree lot. “I want you to go home and be with your family,” he said. “If we find anything, I’ll call you. Your house will have a unit out front twenty-four seven until this is put to bed.”