by Ben Follows
“Trevor, I’m putting you in charge," he said. "Send a message to all available units to block off all exits from Blind River. Randall will be trying to get somewhere where he can start a new life. He’ll want to find somewhere he can kill more people. Every moment we wait is a moment he could be leaving town. Tell the police, tell the news, tell Facebook, tell everyone you know. Ten thousand dollars paid by the FBI for any information leading to an arrest. Put it out now.”
Curtis didn’t know whether or not the FBI would pay, but it sounded realistic and there wasn't time to check.
Trevor nodded frantically. “Okay, anything else?”
“No, do it now. Use my authority to make sure they follow through. I’m going to find Frankie.”
Curtis turned and ran into the bar. He pulled out his gun and kept it at the ready. He walked through the quiet bar.
“Frankie!” he shouted.
He heard nothing. He cleared the kitchen, then came back to the main bar area. The basement was the only place he hadn’t checked. He walked down the stairs, the steps creaking.
At the bottom, he swung his gun from side to side. His heart jumped when he saw movement to his right. He spun and saw it was window of a freezer.
He took a few steps until he was certain he'd seen movement behind the small window. He unlocked and cranked open the door. Light spilling into the freezer and onto the two people inside.
“Frankie, thank God!" said Curtis.
“Curtis?” Frankie lowered her hands and stood slowly, as though her limbs were frozen. She stumbled forward and hugged Curtis like he was a long-lost brother. He held her there in the cold air emanating from the freezer, looking over her shoulder at the hunched over form in the corner. It took a few moments to recognize Kendra Matheson, wrapped in a heavy parka and in obvious need of medical attention.
“Come on,” said Curtis, releasing himself from Frankie's grasp and walking into the freezer. He took Kendra’s cold hand and helped her stand. Kendra was unable to speak and only barely able to nod, her movements stiff and inconsistent.
When they got out of the freezer, Kendra continued shivering despite the humid air.
“We need to get her to a hospital,” said Frankie.
Curtis nodded. “Trevor’s outside. Come on.”
As they were walking up the stairs, going slow to accommodate the small steps Kendra was capable of, Frankie filled Curtis in on what had happened, recounting what Kendra had told her.
They exited the bar and stepped into the sun. Trevor was standing beside his car, talking frantically on the phone. He gave a rushed ending to his conversation and put his radio back in the car.
He ran to meet them, explaining that roadblocks were being set up at all exits from Blind River. He quickly agreed to take Kendra to the hospital. Trevor led Kendra to his car and put her in the passenger seat. He drove away and turning toward the hospital.
Frankie turned to Curtis. “Roadblocks? What happened?”
As they walked to Curtis’s car he explained what had happened, including Marino and the events at the station.
When he finished, Frankie took a few moments to answer, as though trying to figure out where to begin. “Is Marino still out there?”
Curtis climbed into the car and put the keys in the ignition. “I gave his coordinates to the team of FBI agents who were sent to find him. They’ll deal with him.”
Frankie nodded, buckling her seatbelt. “Chief Tucker’s really dead?”
“Seems like it. This entire thing has turned into a massive shit storm.”
He waited for Frankie to chastise his language, but she said nothing. She turned on the seat heaters and cranked up the temperature in the car.
57
When they walked into the police station, there was an unmistakable sense of nervousness and fear. All eyes turned toward them. Curtis took a stand at the front of the station, trying to look as authoritative as possible. Frankie walked around the outside of the room to Dr. Novak and began speaking with her.
“Everyone,” said Curtis to the assembled police officers, “I know some terrible things have happened, but we can’t do anything about it. We need to look forward. The first thing we have to do is stop Robert Randall from getting out of Blind River. Are the roadblocks up?”
“Yes," replied a sergeant.
“What about news reports about rewards?”
“It's on every local channel and the channels of adjacent towns.”
“Good. Any bites yet?”
“Not yet, sir.”
Curtis nodded and looked up at the ceiling, trying to think where Robert would go. His thoughts were interrupted when his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and answered, turning away from the assembled crowd.
“Hello?” “Hey,” said Monica. “Trevor’s here at the hospital with Kendra. He told me what happened. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. How are things there?”
“Chaotic, actually. The doctors are having a tough time keeping everyone calm.”
“How are things going with dad?” Curtis didn’t want to think about his father, but if he didn't ask the question would bug him. Everything that had happened over the past few days had reminded him how fragile life could be.
“As good as you could expect. Father Bryan dropped by to help with the funeral stuff.”
Monica didn’t offer any more information, and Curtis didn’t ask. It was enough that she was taking care of it. He would wait to tell her about Josh. They ended the call without saying goodbye.
A landline rang, and one of the cops picked it up. He spoke with the caller for a few moments, then hung up. He looked up at Curtis and shook his head.
Curtis sighed and started pacing. They were waiting for something to break free and show them where Robert had gone.
Someone must have seen him.
58
Robert took a left turn toward the highway and was greeted by a long line of cars. In the distance, he could see a police roadblock checking everyone moving through.
It seemed as though everyone in Blind River was trying to evacuate, probably as a response to the shootout and killings at the police station, along with Marino's escape.
Robert cursed under his breath.
As he drove past the row of cars, he smiled. No one was looking at him.
Something in the corner of his eye drew his attention and he jerked his head to the right. On a porch to his right stood a middle-aged woman with streaks of gray in her hair. Her young daughter was pointing directly at him, and the woman’s eyes had gone wide. She grabbed her daughter's shoulder and pushed her inside, her eyes constantly darting back to Robert.
Robert cursed again and accelerated, trying to think of a way out of Blind River that might not have occurred to the authorities. He heard more pounding from the trunk as Natasha tried to get his attention.
She would understand eventually.
Suddenly, an idea occurred to him.
He turned right and pushed the gas pedal to the floor, the forest looming in the distance.
That was how it had to end. It would be poetic.
59
“We’ve got him,” shouted one of the officers, putting down the phone. “East side. Highway entrance. Woman reports that she saw Robert Randall drive past the blockade and turn back toward town."
“We're on it,” said Curtis, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. Frankie was already ready to go. He walked to the officer and took the notepad page with the woman’s address. “Keep us updated.”
Curtis and Frankie left the station and climbed into their car. Curtis looked up at the sky and felt baffled that it wasn’t even four in the afternoon.
As they climbed into the car, Frankie looked at Curtis. “Are you okay?”
“What do you mean?” he said.
“Your dad, Marino and all that’s happened, are you okay?”
“Is this you or Johnson asking?”
“It's me, Curtis. You’re
my partner. Be honest with me.”
“I’ll be fine once we get that sociopathic sack of shit Robert Randall. Let’s go.”
Frankie nodded, turning on the car’s engine.
When they rang the doorbell at the woman’s house, the door opened slowly, the chain still across. She asked to see their identification before opening the door all the way. She introduced herself and her daughter then explained what she'd seen. She was absolutely certain it was Robert Randall.
They thanked her and exchanged contact info before returning to the car.
“Okay,” said Frankie as they pulled out of the driveway. “If he came this way, where would he be going?”
“He'd be trying to find any streets not blocked off. I’ll check.” Curtis spent a minute on the phone talking to the dispatcher and was told with absolute certainty there were no roads exiting Blind River that weren’t being monitored. Assuming the witness got her time right, Robert Randall had still been within the town limits when the last of the roadblocks had been set up.
“Okay,” said Curtis after hanging up. “If he wasn’t able to get out of town, where would he go?”
“He couldn’t go home,” said Frankie.
“He couldn’t go to any of his friends’ houses.”
“Unless they think he’s innocent. There’s a reason he was never suspected until it became obvious.”
“It could be someone he worked with in the Marino era. I’ll check known associates.”
Curtis took out his phone again and called the station. While he was on the line, Frankie drove on a circuit of the town. They checked the roadblocks and the lines of cars being held up while the cops checked everyone’s identification and made sure they weren't trying to smuggle anyone out.
Curtis frowned. He hung up and said, “Turn left here.”
They turned toward the forest and the road where they had first gone when they arrived in Blind River. Curtis instructed Frankie to pull into the same parking lot as that first afternoon where he'd told her about Sam Marino.
There was a single car parked at the edge of the forest.
“Is that what I think it is?” said Frankie as she parked.
“That's Robert’s car.” Curtis couldn’t prove what he said next, but he somehow knew it was true. “He’s going to take Natasha into the forest," he said. "He's going kill her, and dump her body into the Blind River. Then he’ll do the same to himself.”
60
Natasha opened her eyes, her head pounding, and looked up at the canopy of trees above her. The sun was shining through. It took her a moment to realize where she was.
She remembered the trunk opening. She'd been ready to jump out in anger, but Robert had been ready. The butt end of a shotgun had hit her in the face. She could taste blood.
She slowly became aware of being dragged, her arms above her head and her legs dragging through the muddy leaves on the forest floor. She tried to extract her arms from Robert’s firm grip, but he seemed to not even notice.
“Robert,” she said, flailing her legs against the muddy ground, unable to get any traction. “What are you doing? Robert!”
“Don’t scream," he said calmly. "You’ll ruin it.”
“Ruin what?”
“Since I first saw you, Natasha, I knew you were special. You understood me. For that, I want to give you something no one else can.”
“What?”
“You, my last love, will be my last victim, as my first love was my first.”
Natasha frowned in confusion. She thought about Robert’s wife, about how she'd gone to Florida for an experimental cancer treatment and never come back, how she'd been buried in South Carolina with her ancestors. The story had never been questioned. It had seemed wrong to question a grieving husband and a valued member of the community about his dead spouse. She thought of the fourth body in the river, the most desecrated of the four. She knew Robert hadn’t killed Miranda O’Connell, but hadn’t gotten the chance to ask who the fourth body was.
Now she knew.
Natasha took a few moments before it truly dawned on her that she was going to die. This wasn’t how she wanted to go out. She had too much left to write and tell the world.
She took a deep breath and screamed at the top of her lungs. Her voice echoed through the trees. Birds flew from the branches.
“We’re too far into the forest,” said Robert. “No one can hear you.”
Natasha gathered all her strength and screamed again.
Robert sighed.
61
Standing at the edge of the forest, Curtis frowned as birds flew from the top of the trees.
“There’s blood in the trunk,” said Frankie, walking up to him. “I’ve called it in. If Robert went in there, we’re too late. He could be anywhere.”
“He’s going to the Blind River.”
“That pond you mean?" said Frankie. "The sinkhole? Where they hid the girls?”
“Yeah, Jeff and I used to joke that the pond was the true Blind River the town was named after.”
Frankie nodded, although she obviously thought it was a stupid name for a pond.
Curtis unholstered his gun. “The cops won’t get here in time. I’m going in.”
“Are you serious?”
“Someone has to save Natasha. No matter what she did, she deserves better than this.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Curtis turned back to Frankie. “No, stay here and meet the cops.”
“If you think I’m letting you go in after that maniac without backup, you’re insane.”
“There’s no talking you out of this, is there?”
“There is not.”
Curtis sighed. “Fine, let’s go.”
62
They stopped.
Natasha looked up at the trees, trying to figure out where they were. Robert let go of her arms and she fell to the ground, her head landing in the mud.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” said Robert. “I’ve always loved this pond. Curtis Mackley told me about it. It almost makes you believe magic could exist, don’t you think?”
Natasha rolled over and looked where Robert pointed.
She recognized the pond from the pictures. Only a few pieces of crime scene tape remained. At another time, she might have agreed it was beautiful. Now it was a thing of horror, of death and suffering. If she went into that pond, she'd never come out.
She had to move, but her body wouldn’t listen.
She had to get out of there. She managed to get onto her knees. She had one foot in front of her when she was yanked backwards by her hair. She yelped in pain as she fell back onto the ground.
“You’re not going anywhere,” said Robert. “Not until we’re done.”
63
Curtis sprinted through the forest, Frankie just behind him. Normally, Frankie would be outpacing him, but Curtis remembered the terrain from his childhood. He maneuvered through the trees and sweated as the oppressive sun beat down on him.
There was a scream, straight ahead. It was faint, but undeniably female. It was in the direction of the Blind River.
Curtis found another reserve of energy he didn’t know he had and accelerated his pace. Leaves crunched behind him as Frankie did the same.
As they ran, the screaming got louder.
“Leave her alone!” shouted Curtis as he burst into the small clearing around the pond, pulling out his gun.
He aimed at the broad back of Robert Randall. Natasha was on her stomach, her head and neck over the edge of the pond, a shotgun pressed into her neck.
“Curtis,” said Robert, turning his head to look at them. “How nice of you to come.”
Robert looked completely calm.
Frankie emerged from the forest beside Curtis, her gun pointed at Robert.
“No one else needs to get hurt, Robert,” said Frankie. “Let her go.”
Robert laughed. “What are you going to do? Shoot me? So what? I’ll take death over being in a priso
n cell any day of the week. I've killed many people, Curtis. I’ve been blessed with the chances that have been bestowed upon me.”
“You’re insane,” said Curtis.
“I knew you wouldn’t understand. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Robert turned and put a second hand on the shotgun, pushing Natasha’s face toward the water.
Curtis fired three times, all three bullets hitting the broad target of Robert’s back.
Frankie added another four, making Robert’s back a mosaic of bloody fabric. Robert stumbled forward, his foot slipping on the edge of the pond. He pulled the trigger of the shotgun and blew a hole in a nearby tree. With his arms flailing in a last-ditch effort to steady himself, he pitched forward into the Blind River.
He hit the water, and a small tidal wave spread out from his body, splashing against the edges of the pond. The waves continued for a few moments as he sank below the surface, the water turning a bright red. He disappeared into the darkness, where his body would be absorbed by the sand, just as four of his victims had been.
Natasha lurched back from the rapidly bloodying water and gasped, spinning around to a sitting position. Frankie ran up and put her arms around Natasha, trying to stop her shaking.
Natasha just kept muttering, “I’m sorry. I knew it was him. I should have stopped him. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Frankie held her close, reassuring her it would all be okay.
Curtis stepped to the edge of the pond. He looked down through the bloodied water. He pointed his gun into the pond, looking for something to shoot. Somehow, it didn’t seem that farfetched that Robert would emerge from the pond.
After a few moments, seeing nothing, Curtis holstered his gun.
He stepped back from the pond and its murky depths into which the killer had fallen. He hoped he'd never have another reason to come back here.