Kill Her Again

by Robert Gregory Browne

Although you could see the place looming in the distance, they had quickly learned that the city was a jigsaw puzzle, and an access road wasn’t readily apparent.

  “Once you get to Marigold,” he told them, “just take a left on Johnson, a right on Haywood, and go straight. You’ll find it. But the city don’t like trespassers, and they sure as hell don’t allow target practice.”

  “I won’t be practicing,” Anna said.

  Pope drove again, following the gun shop owner’s directions, and before they knew it they were traveling down a dusty, weed-infested road lined with bullet-riddled NO TRESSPASSING signs.

  It was a little past 3:00 p.m. when they reached the entrance, but for Anna, it might as well have been midnight. Darkness had settled into her heart, and into that single scrap of Chavi’s soul she still carried.

  She was on a mission now.

  She wanted what was rightfully hers.

  The entrance to Big Mountain was blocked by a tall aluminum gate, topped with barbed wire. More bullet-riddled signs adorned it, warning people to KEEP OUT. DANGER. The gate was fastened by several heavy-duty padlocks, which would have been impossible to breach if Anna hadn’t thought to buy a bolt cutter in the gun shop’s “Handy Hardware” section.

  She snipped through them, then swung the gate open, and the two of them traveled by foot across a tumbleweed-strewn parking lot, Pope now armed with the Mossberg 590 shotgun they’d bought.

  They came to a set of dilapidated ticket booths and rusted turnstiles that fronted the place. A sun-bleached sign above the turnstiles read: HAVE A NICE BIG MOUNTAIN DAY! — and if this was an example of the amount of imagination that had gone into the place, it was no wonder it had been a dismal failure.

  The pavement was weatherworn and full of cracks, desert weeds sprouting up between them, some of which had grown waist high. And just beyond the turnstiles was Traveler’s Trail, or at least what was left of it, a crumbling yellow sidewalk that led into a wide tunnel carved into the side of a fake rock wall.

  Sitting atop the wall, on rusted railway tracks, were the remnants of a three-car passenger train, the Big Mountain Express, scarred by neglect and the heat of many summers.

  As they worked their way into the darkness of the tunnel, Anna kept the heel of her hand resting on her Glock, which was now holstered on her right hip. She was waiting for her sixth sense to kick in, to warn her of any danger ahead, but it never did. And as they emerged on the other side, they were presented with the full ruined glory of Big Mountain Amusement Park.

  Traveler’s Trail now split into two, wrapping around the enormous plaster mountain that stood at the center of the park. Near the top of the mountain, a large hole was cut into its side, to allow the passage of sky cars, one of which hung precariously from a broken cable.

  There was a faux log cabin structure to the right, the words GENERAL STORE carved above it. A lone, empty postcard rack lay overturned in its doorway, a tumbleweed caught beneath it.

  To the left, along the trail, was a sign that read LOGGER’S LODE, which, to Anna’s mind, was an unfortunate name for a ride. But the structure itself was so overgrown with weeds that it was hard to tell what kind of ride it had been.

  At the fork of the trail was a small kiosk made of fake logs. Mounted at its center was a shattered glass case, a tattered and faded map inside.

  The map was full of cartoon-like representations of the rides, showing their locations relative to where Anna and Pope now stood. All of the standard low-rent amusement park rides were there, but with new names to reflect the Big Mountain theme.

  The roller coaster was called The Avalanche, the Ferris wheel had been renamed The Old Mill Wheel, and the bumper cars were Log Jammers. Even on paper this couldn’t have sounded like much of an idea.

  The Miner’s Magic Mirror Maze was located at the northeast corner of the lot near the roller coaster, in an area labeled: MINER’S COVE. Anna studied the map, then squinted toward the trail, trying to gauge the distance, and it suddenly occurred to her that, despite her bravado, she had no real plan in place, no specific approach to take.

  “What do you think?” she said to Pope.

  “This is your show, remember?”

  She nodded and pointed to the map. “Let’s come around from the side here. That should give us a sweep of the area, then put us here, near the roller coaster, across from the entrance.”

  “And then what?” Pope asked.

  “Then I go inside.”

  The avalanche had looked big enough from the highway, but up close and personal it was a rickety, rust-rotted behemoth that towered over everything in its vicinity. The cars, retooled to look like coal wagons, had been disconnected and piled up against the aluminum fence, home to at least one family of rats.

  Anna and Pope were crouched nearby, in the thick weeds beneath the first dip, their gazes on the mirror maze, which stood in the shadow of the roller coaster. Another faux log cabin structure, it was larger than Anna had expected.

  A quick surveillance of the area behind the building had revealed a tear in the aluminum fence, just room enough for a man to fit through.

  Parked beyond it, in an overgrown field, was a rusted-out Ford pickup that may or may not have been functional. There was a door in the rear of the building, but it was locked, and there was no way to tell if it had recently been accessed. They had searched for signs of blood, but found none.

  Out front, the mirror maze’s double-doored entrance was padlocked, more NO TRESSPASSING and KEEP OUT signs adorning it. The words DANGER-BROKIN GLAS were spray-painted above them.

  Anna and Pope stayed crouched there for quite some time, watching and waiting, but there was no movement, no indication that anyone was inside.

  Keeping his voice low, Pope said, “This is a waste. He isn’t here.”

  But Anna didn’t believe that. Her sixth sense was kicking in now and she knew this was exactly where she was meant to be.

  “He’s here,” she said. “I can feel him. But Madam Zala was wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “He’s knows I’m coming. He’s waiting for me.”

  “Jesus,” Pope said. “You’re giving me the creeps.”

  “He’s hurt and he’s weak, and he wants this over with as much as I do. One way or the other.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I’m the gypsy witch, remember?” She tapped her temple. “I have the gift.”

  She was only half-kidding, but Pope gave her a look. “You know I’m not gonna let you do this, right? I told you, I don’t want to lose you.”

  “This isn’t your call,” she said, “so don’t even start.”

  Pope said nothing, but she could feel his resistance. She touched his cheek. “I love you, Danny. I do. But I’ve got to do this. You know that.”

  “There’s some other way. There has to be.”

  She kissed him. “You’re not gonna talk me out of it.”

  “Then at least let me go in with you.”

  “No. I told you. It’s between him and me.”

  He gestured to the 590. “Then what the hell did I bring this for?”

  “Your own protection.”

  She squeezed his hand and rose, pushing past the weeds until she was standing not thirty yards from the entrance to the mirror maze.

  She turned, looking at Pope.

  “Besides, if this all goes south and he comes out of there instead of me, I want you to take that thing and blow the shit out of him.”

  4 6

  She approached the building from the side, pressing her back against the wall as she inched toward the entrance. The padlocks were gone in two easy snips; then she dropped the bolt cutter to the ground and unholstered her Glock.

  Trying to keep the noise to a minimum, she gingerly pulled the doors open just wide enough to slip through, then peeked inside.

  Darkness.

  Not surprised, she brought out her Mini-Mag and hesitated. He could be waiting for her, right here,
ready to pounce.

  Sucking in a breath, she flicked it on and shone it inside.

  No bogeymen in sight. Just a wide hallway, littered with broken glass. Shattered lightbulbs from the fixtures in the ceiling above.

  Releasing the breath, she turned sideways, slipping in through the opening, skirting the glass as she moved into the hallway, each step making her cringe, certain he’d hear her and strike at any moment.

  Sweeping the beam around, she saw the frayed remnants of a rope line and a few overturned stanchions, and realized she was in a lobby. A nearby set of double doors led to the maze itself, a faded sign above them reading: ENTER IF YOU DARE. But the doors were closed, guarded by another padlock.

  Cursing herself for leaving the bolt cutter outside, she reached forward and jiggled the lock, surprised when it fell open in her hand.

  Intentional?

  Slipping the lock free, she pushed the doors open, expecting to see a maze of cracked and shattered mirrors, more glass on the floor. But a single sweep of her flashlight told her she was wrong.

  Every mirror was intact, mounted between broad pillars that formed what looked like arched doorways, a dozen of her reflections staring back at her. Her flashlight beam was doubled and tripled and quadrupled, giving the illusion that there was more light in the room.

  The sight was breathtaking. Someone-and she had no doubt who-had spent hours maintaining this place, keeping it pristine.

  The angle of the mirrors made it seem as if there were several long corridors leading deeper into darkness, but she knew this was deceptive, designed to confuse. There would be only one true passageway, and finding it in near darkness would be difficult, if not impossible.

  Steeling herself, she moved forward, stepping through one of the archways. She was only able to go a few feet, however, before she hit a dead end.

  Turning, she doubled back, tried another archway, and got luckier this time, moving several yards down the corridor before hitting another dead end. But when she turned to look behind her, ready to again double back, all she saw were more reflections, and she couldn’t determine exactly what path she’d taken.

  A feeling of panic rose-a mild claustrophobia-but she tamped it down, telling herself to remain calm. The pathway was near. It had to be.

  Pressing her back against the mirror to her left, she moved along it, using it as a guide, shifting from pane to pane, her progress slow but steady.

  Then she turned, passing through another archway, moving deeper into the maze.

  And that’s when she heard it.

  A shuffling sound.

  Very faint, but unmistakable.

  Anna clicked her flashlight off, knowing, without a doubt, that she wasn’t alone.

  Pope could barely contain himself.

  Still crouched in the weeds, he gripped and regripped the 590, chastising himself fifty different ways for letting McBride go in there alone.

  He was no hero-he’d proven that more than once in his life-but he knew he shouldn’t have listened to her. Shouldn’t have let her have her way.

  He waited there, staring blankly at the building, wondering what was going on inside.

  When he couldn’t take it any longer, he stood up and headed for the entrance.

  The Maze was silent again.

  Anna heard only the sound of her own breathing, and tried desperately to keep it under control. Leaving her flashlight off, she once again flattened against a mirror and moved slowly along it, shifting to the next and the next until she found the continuation of the passageway.

  Turning, she passed under an archway — and another sound filled the room. A quick fluttering. The shuffle of feet.

  She whipped around, peering into the darkness; then the sound came again and she caught movement in the mirrors. Something passing behind her.

  Something red?

  She turned — but he was gone. The room silent.

  Backing against a mirror, she brought the Glock up and waited, heart thumping. Even in the darkness she felt exposed.

  Suddenly thinking this had all been a colossally bad idea, Anna forced herself to move, inching along the corridor until she found another open archway.

  Passing through it, she saw light ahead-at least she thought it was ahead-and moved toward it.

  A moment later, she found herself standing in the center of the maze, a tiny skylight overhead, letting in a narrow swath of sunlight.

  And here, in the middle of room, was a set of wooden steps that led downward, into a hole in the ground.

  A wooden sign next to it read: MINER’S MAGIC MINE-ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.

  Keeping her Glock up, Anna carefully approached the hole, peering into it. Candlelight flickered below, and there was just enough sunlight for her to see that the walls on either side of the steps had been decorated with spray paint.

  She was immediately reminded of Susan’s notebook.

  They were covered with gypsy wheels.

  Pope was about to slip through the gap between the doors when his cell phone rang, startling him.

  Stepping back, he quickly dug for it, saw the caller’s name. Ronnie.

  He clicked it on, keeping his voice low. “Hey, Ron, this isn’t exactly a good time.”

  “Oh, god. Thank god.” Her voice sounded shaky. On the edge of panic. “I’ve been trying to call you all day, but I didn’t have your number-Jake’s got it on his cell. Where are you?”

  “Up near Salcedo. Why?”

  “Is he with you?”

  “No, what’s going on?”

  “Christ,” she said. “I haven’t heard from him since last night. He isn’t home, he doesn’t answer his phone, and nobody at the station house has seen or heard from him.”

  “You know Jake. He probably turned his phone off to get some peace and quiet.”

  “It’s not just him I’m worried about,” Ronnie said. “It’s Evan.”

  “Evan?” Pope’s stomach tightened. “Why? What happened?”

  “We’re at my parents’ house. He was upstairs sleeping. I was going to let him sleep through the morning, but when I went to check on him, the bed was empty and the window was open.”

  “What?”

  “He’s gone, Danny. He’s been gone for hours. Either he ran away or somebody took him.”

  “Took him? What makes you think that?”

  “Jimmy Chavez questioned the neighbors. One of them said they saw a car parked out on the street early this morning. One they’ve never seen before.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “An old Ford pickup,” Ronnie said.

  Pope didn’t know if Ronnie kept talking after that.

  He had already dropped the phone.

  Anna approached the steps, her gaze on that flickering candlelight, knowing it was a trap, that he was down there somewhere, waiting for her.

  But what were her choices?

  She could turn and flee, which wouldn’t change anything. Wouldn’t stop him from coming after her again. Or she could push ahead and hope for the best, even though her training warned her against it.

  She looked into the mirrors, saw her reflection, could see the fear in her own eyes.

  Do-or-die time, McBride.

  Make up your mind.

  But a sound made it up for her. Faint but unmistakable: a crying child.

  And not just any child.

  She’d recognize the sound of those tears anywhere.

  Evan.

  He had Evan down there.

  Oh, sweet god…

  Quickly stepping past the sign, Anna turned and moved sideways down the steps, keeping her Glock at the ready, the sound of Evan’s tears growing louder with each step.

  The room below was awash in candlelight, dozens of them lining a long shelf and a small, squat table. There were more gypsy wheels spray-painted on the wall, the floor littered with stacks of newspaper and phone books and street maps, some new, some decades old.

  And there, seated on an old army cot,
a swatch of bloody bandages on his left shoulder, was Mikola. He held a blood-caked knife in his hand, precariously close to a crying Evan Fairweather, who sat at his feet on the cement floor.

  Evan started to rise at the sight of Anna, but Mikola grabbed his collar, pulling him back.

  “Do not move, boy.”

  The sobs grew louder.

  Mikola looked at Anna. “He cries too much, this one. A small poke and he cries like an infant. Let him spend just one day in my skin and then he will find something to cry about.” His gaze snapped to Evan. “Shut up, boy, or I cut your throat.”

  Evan turned sharply, looking at him, and abruptly stopped crying.

  Anna kept her Glock up, pointing it at Mikola. “Let him go.”

  “Of course,” Mikola said, calmer now. “Once you have given me what I seek.” He paused. “The boy is important to you, yes?”

  “Let him go, goddamn it.”

  Mikola shook his head. “Such language, Chavi. I see you have been corrupted by the gadje.”

  “I swear to God, I’ll shoot you where you sit.”

  Mikola swiped the knife through the air. “And if you do, the boy will die. Is that what you want?”

  Anna said nothing.

  “You have only you and your friends to blame for this. It would not be necessary if the one on the stairs had not put this bullet in me. But no matter. I will get what I seek, yes?”

  Again, Anna said nothing, her mind in turmoil, trying to figure a way out of this without getting Evan hurt.

  “My terms are simple,” Mikola said. “You for the boy.”

  Anna wanted so badly to pull the trigger. A bullet straight to the neck would sever his spine, destroy his motor senses, and render him unable to use the knife. But what if she missed?

  Evan would die.

  “Do not disappoint me, Chavi. I’ve traveled far for this.”

  “Through the mirrors,” Anna said.

  “Yes, through the mirrors. A simple skill that so many have chosen to ignore. Even you.”

  “Me?”

  “You are the greatest chovihani the Zala family has ever seen, yet your fear of the black arts is amusing. What is the harm in simply looking into the mirrors and asking that they take you where you wish to go? Look what it has done for me.”