by David Gane
He smiles. “I knew sooner or later I’d get a rise out of you.”
“Hey, you’re my parents first, Pink Floyd groupies second.”
“All right, all right,” he says, but continues the reminiscing. “I stayed clean. But we stayed until the very last notes of ‘Run Like Hell,’ then hit a couple of pubs. By the time we were done, it was 4:00 a.m., we were exhausted, and nothing was open, so we decided to sleep in the car.”
“Nice!” Charlie says. He likes that this side of my parents exists.
“We were sleeping like rocks when someone tapped on the window and scared the hell out of us.”
“Cops?”
“Nope. A street person looking for bottles. We gave him what we had, plus a sandwich, and a thermos full of coffee from the gas station down the street.”
Mom happens to walk in at this point and joins the conversation. “I always liked that thermos. Sort of sad I gave it away.”
She gives Dad a kiss.
“You boys must be starving,” she says, lifting saucepan covers. “It smells delicious, Ben.”
“I’m famished,” Charlie agrees.
“Well, then. Let’s eat.”
chapter 64
After supper, Charlie and I borrow Dad’s car so we can check on the Rogers’ home for Barb and Irene.
Mom gives us a hard time, saying that I should have prioritized homework and my part-time job over playing basketball—seems Charlie’s story stuck—but thankfully, she doesn’t make a big case out of it.
It’s not until we’re travelling north that I finally ask Charlie, “Why aren’t you upset about Gekas?”
“Wondered when you’d bring that up.”
“She reamed us out, man.”
“Yup.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Sure. But who cares? It’s out of our hands.”
And that’s when I get it. He’s happy we’re done. For the first time in a very long time, he’s got a normal household: home-cooked meals, hot showers, and people who care. Chasing serial killers can only mess that up. And sooner or later, no matter what, I’m going to have to let it go too.
Then Charlie casually says, “So, the library girl—Elaina?”
“What about her?”
“What’s her story?”
“I told you. She’s nice, smart, a little bit different— Oh, wait a minute! Chuck, you ol’ sly dog, you got a thing for her.”
He gives my arm a swift punch, hitting so hard that the car swerves a little.
“Settle down, man!” I yell, arm throbbing.
“Quit making this difficult,” he says. “Does she have a boyfriend?”
“I don’t think so, but I can ask around.”
“Aw, Shepherd, that’s okay. I’m a big boy. I’ll pass my own notes in class.”
One thing about Charlie is that he never shies away from doing what needs to be done—even if it’s asking someone out.
chapter 65
The Rogers’ house is on the edge of an older neighbourhood, along one of the central streets that runs through the heart of the city. When we pull up, Charlie climbs out and stands in the middle of the road to survey the area.
Across the boulevard there’s a small park with a spray pad where kids play in the summer, and an outdoor hockey rink for the winter. Right now it’s empty, but there’ve been times when I’ve come by here and the place is bustling, no matter the weather.
“This place has a nice feel,” Charlie says.
“Really good community around here. Mom and Dad always say it’s like a small town.”
“I’ve never seen so many free libraries.” He nods to the small house-shaped boxes filled with books on a few front lawns.
“The area’s packed with hippies.”
“I can almost smell the pot.”
It wouldn’t surprise me, actually. I’ve stopped by this house more than once and been certain the neighbours were getting blazed in their backyard.
“Betcha they’ve got a lot of swingers around here too!” he says.
I shoot him a look, and he gets defensive. “What? It’s all about the free love, man!”
“Let’s go inside,” I say, gently nudging him up the sidewalk.
The Rogers’ house is a small two-storey with a covered deck on the front. A stained glass window decorates the front door.
Charlie whistles. “That’s some fine craftsmanship.”
“Let me guess,” I say. “You’ve done it in the past?”
“I wish. But I don’t have the patience. I’m better at breaking them than building them,” he says with a grin.
“Well, not now,” I say, pulling out a key from my pocket. I unlock the door and we step inside.
Charlie takes his shoes off right away, poking my shoulder until I do too. “We can’t be savages, Shepherd. Someone’s paying you to look after their place. You’ve got to respect that.”
The first floor of the house is filled with huge painted canvases, many of which are stacked in rows along the walls. A small bedroom contains even more, while the kitchen has been converted into a space for paint supplies and cleaning brushes. An office in the back corner is a combination sunroom—there’s a whole jungle of potted plants—and library; wall-to-wall shelves are filled with books on subjects ranging from art theory to philosophy and history, and everything else in between.
Charlie whistles again. “There’s a whole other something going on with this family.”
“Actually, it’s just one person. An art professor at the university.”
He thumbs through some of the artwork in a stack. “She was married though, right?”
“Yeah, her ex was from Italy and decided to run back home. Wait, how’d you know?”
He shows me one of her art pieces, a mix of blue and red and black streaks. “I don’t know when this period’s from, but it’s showing a lot of resentment toward someone.”
Of course Charlie would pick up on something like that.
“So, what do we do?” he asks.
“Check locks and windows, water plants, make sure the basement isn’t flooded, switch some lights around—”
“Really, this is your job?” he says scornfully.
“Hey, give me a break. True, this is the easy time of year. But summer? It’s all about mowing and gardening. Fall is raking—”
He grins. “Oh man, you’ve really got it tough, princess.”
“Just don’t steal anything, okay?” I say as I head downstairs to make sure the sump pump is working.
“I’ll try and resist the urge,” he yells. “But I could probably sell some of this artwork for a couple thousand to some of the assholes downtown.”
There’s no water on the cement and no one’s broken any windows, so I go back upstairs.
Charlie’s nowhere to be found. He’s likely gone up to the second floor, so I wander up.
The upstairs is the size of a small bachelor suite. There’s a kitchen with a big window looking out into the backyard on one side of the main room, and a sofa, chair, and TV on the other side.
Charlie’s down the hall, looking at framed pictures in the bedroom. “Any of these Ms. Rogers?”
I point to a couple of pictures of her on beaches in far-off places.
“Pretty good-looking for an older woman.”
I’m about to comment when my phone hums in my pocket. I pull it out and see Gekas’s name flash on the screen.
“Answer it!” Charlie says.
I swipe and hit the speaker. “Hi, Detective.”
She cuts to the chase. “I didn’t know if you’d listen to me, boys, but I thought I’d let you know that the information you sent me was a wild goose chase.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Theodore Thompson? It�
��s a fake ID.”
I can hear the frustration in her voice.
“But what about the plane ticket?” Charlie asks. “It could be attached to a profile.”
“All of which are dead ends. A mishmash cobbling together of stolen identities.”
Charlie grabs the phone out of my hand. “But it was an international flight! He must’ve needed a passport, a certified photo—”
I can tell he’s grasping at straws.
“Unfortunately, it’s easier to fake an ID than a passport.”
“So it was stolen?”
“Correct. He was able to book the flight, but it would’ve been flagged if he’d tried to use it—”
“So he never got on the plane.”
Gekas’s silence confirms Charlie’s guess.
“But the condo?” I ask.
“Paperwork was all done online. No one ever met him in person.”
“But there was stuff inside—”
“A furnished rental.”
“But he had to have been there. We found his ticket.”
“Oh, the neighbours saw a man coming in and out of the apartment, heard him blasting operas and symphonies, but so far I’ve been given three different descriptions of what he looked like.”
“Disguises?” Charlie asks, but Gekas doesn’t respond.
“What about the cleaning supplies?” I ask, knowing that doing so tips our hand that we were inside.
“Doesn’t prove anything, Anthony. They could’ve been left by the last tenant or brought in by a cleaner—”
“And I’m betting there’s no DNA or fingerprints because he destroyed it all with bleach,” Charlie splutters.
Gekas pauses. We know she can’t share anything more.
“Boys, Theodore Thompson is nothing. He doesn’t exist. He’s a ghost. You need to let this go.”
chapter 66
After Gekas hangs up, we stand in the silence of Professor Rogers’ home. For the first time today, Charlie doesn’t seem content with the outcome of our actions.
“I thought we had him. I was sure we were done,” he says, shaking his head.
I had been too, except …
My thoughts drift back to Theodore Thompson’s condo and the warning bell ringing in my head. Something’s still bothering me, and I’m trying to grasp it, to understand it. My eyes search the room, trying to make the intangible real. I stare at the television in the corner—
“Why’d he print out a ticket?” I ask. “Hell, why leave the ticket there?”
“Huh?” Charlie asks, caught off guard.
“Of all the places he could have put it, why there?”
“Because he’s weird like me.”
“Maybe,” I say, ignoring the cheap shot I know I could make. “But it doesn’t make sense. The condo was pretty well empty. Why leave that one piece of incriminating evidence in the whole place?”
“He forgot it …” Charlie trails off, and I can tell by the tone of his voice that not even he believes it. “Or he wanted it to be found.”
I tap my nose, knowing we’re onto something.
“But why?” Charlie asks.
“I’ve got a better question: How’d he know we’d find it?”
Charlie pauses, thinking it through, until he tosses his head back and I know he’s come to the same answer that I’ve come to. “It’s all part of his plan.”
“He wanted the bodies to be found,” I say. “And at the start, when they weren’t showing up, he had to change where he was leaving them so they would be.”
“He didn’t just happen to talk to Donny and his people—”
“He did it intentionally. How good are Donny and the gang at picking pockets?”
“Not bad,” Charlie says.
“But if this guy’s as careful and cautious as we think he is—”
“He’d’ve protected himself. Unless he expected to be robbed.”
“He’s been guiding us the entire time, leading us to the condo.”
“But why?” Charlie wants to know.
I stare at him and I suspect we’re thinking the same thing.
“We’re all just pieces on his big ol’ chessboard,” Charlie says, clicking his tongue.
“Not so fun when you’re one of the pawns, is it?”
“Nope, not really.” He shakes his head. “So, what do we do then?”
“I’m afraid we have to wait for his next move.”
chapter 67
The first rains of spring arrive.
Droplets speckle the third-floor window of the house, flowing down in haphazard tiny rivers. And somewhere hidden behind the clouds high above, the moon is waning gibbous.
Jack sits in the centre of the room, twisting his beloved’s purple ribbon around his fingers, the one he took from her the night they met. The one he’s kept, a symbol of the love that binds them, regardless of place or time. And as he’s bound to her, he’s bound to the moon.
But now it’s all unravelling.
The boys have upset the balance. They have made connections and found his condo. They’ve been inside. They’re close.
He knew they would come, but he didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. They were good … maybe too good.
He quells a sudden flash of anger. Such weakness will not help.
Time is speeding up, rushing forward. Things are happening quickly, and for him to achieve his goals, to deal with the impostor and the boys, and to protect his beloved in her weakened state, he must take control. And the only way forward is to let go.
He must untether himself from the moon.
But if he lets the ritual go, what change will come? Will he be able to move the pieces and guide the course of events? Will he maintain his strength and ability?
Will she understand his sacrifice?
As the storm builds, he knows his answer: If you love something, you must set it free.
Without his risk, without his sacrifice, she will never become truly strong again. Not only must he untether himself from the moon, but also from her.
He knows what he must do. He must kill again. And he must do it very soon.
But not for her. Not this time.
This special gift will be just for them.
chapter 68
The next morning my phone rings, waking me up.
Oh God, it’s 5:00 a.m. Who’d be calling me at this hour?
Gekas.
Shit. We’re going to jail for B&E after all.
I answer.
“Anthony?”
I try to shake off the sleep. “I’m here.”
“Sorry to wake you but I wanted to tell you personally. There’s been another murder.”
Why’s she telling me? Didn’t she just bitch me out last night for sticking my nose where it didn’t belong?
“They found him—they found another body. He was on the running path … where Sheri disappeared.”
Oh Jesus.
My whole body tightens, but that isn’t the worst of it.
“It’s Mike,” Gekas says. “Your friend Mike is dead.”
part 3
chapter 69
There is nothing but pain.
With Sheri, I never knew what happened. I had time to wish and hope and deny. I had time to process. But here, there is no question: Mike is dead.
My friend is gone.
Some cowardly asshole had snuck up, shot him in the head, dismembered him, and stuffed him piece by piece into a canvas bag.
My chest aches and my ears ring and I want to vomit. I will never understand how someone could do such a cold, senseless, brutal thing to my friend.
I stumble into Mom and Dad’s room to tell them, but they’re already up. Gekas called them before me.
Mom puts her arm around m
e, and I barely feel it. My brain is somewhere far away, replaying Gekas’s phone call again and again. I don’t remember hanging up or saying goodbye. Shit, maybe I just dropped the phone and walked away.
Dad comes back into the room. I don’t even remember him leaving. He’s got a phone in his hand and through the dizzying fog, I wonder who he’s calling.
“Shirley and Bill are on their way down to the station,” Dad says.
Mike’s parents. God, what must they be going through?
“News will likely start reporting it in the coming hour.” He sits beside me, his hand on my back. “Gekas is going to do everything she can to find out what happened—”
The more he talks, the more the anguish hits, a dull throbbing building behind my eyes in wave after wave.
“Dad, please stop.”
He falls silent. My parents sit on the edge of their bed, their arms around me.
I should feel safe. I should. But I don’t.
All I can think is that I’m responsible.
chapter 70
I wait until Charlie wakes and finds his way into the kitchen for coffee before I tell him. He barely knew Mike. They sure as hell wouldn’t have met if it weren’t for me.
But Charlie surprises me.
“Shit, man. I’m so sorry.”
“Charlie, don’t give me any bullshit—”
“No, Tony, seriously, just stop. Mike was your friend. What happened—how it happened—it just really sucks.”
He’s right.
It does suck. It sucks in the absolute worst way.
chapter 71
Although Mom doesn’t want me at school, I decide to go anyway. It’ll help me get out of my head. Being around people, listening to teachers, having to do homework—hopefully all of it will help. I just know that the more I sit around the house, the more it’ll hurt.
Charlie makes himself a big breakfast, but I can’t imagine forcing food into my mouth. A dull, solid headache pumps away at the base of my skull, and I grab a couple of Tylenol before heading upstairs to dress. By the time I come downstairs, Charlie’s waiting by the door.