Through Brian's Eyes
Page 18
Chapter 10
Kyle had done the unthinkable and forced Adam to transform into Kinkaid right before his eyes, and Kinkaid was furious. No one questioned him like that. People did the same thing while he was alive and he despised it. He was the one that asked the questions before he murdered someone. He was the one in control before that person passed their last breath. Letting that little punk flip the script on him was absolutely unacceptable. He stormed away from Kyle and Vance as he mentally prepared himself for his most ambitious murder spree yet.
Yes, people were going to die today. Not just one, but as many as he could find on that list Kyle emailed him. Eliminating all of them was his goal, no matter how impossible the task. Adam’s body was just a vessel to carry out his deeds. He didn’t care what happened to it. What mattered most was that those people pay for what they did.
He spotted Adam’s house after turning the corner and made a bee-line to it. Adam’s parents wouldn’t be home, but sitting around like he did yesterday wasn’t part of his plan. He would be in and out with just enough time to grab what he needed.
Once inside Adam’s house, he ran up the stairs straight to Adam’s room and removed the list from Adam’s desk, stuffing it in his pants pocket. Then he grabbed that Phillips screwdriver from its hidden location. That junk in Adam’s backpack had to go so he dumped it all on the bed. In its place went the screwdriver, a small notebook and a pencil. Done. Next, he hustled back downstairs and out through the door leading into the garage.
He hit the light switch and rummaged through the tools, picking out a pruning saw, a flathead screwdriver, and a utility knife. In the backpack they went. Containing himself became difficult as thoughts whizzed through his mind. Just before dousing the garage light, he spotted a work smock. It was just what he needed. He plucked it from the wall hook and stuffed it in the backpack. In the corner were a pair of work gloves that sat on the bottom shelf of the workbench. He snatched them up and stowed them in the backpack. He was done. The backpack’s zipper resonated off the empty garage’s walls as he closed it. He switched off the light and shut the side door. There was one last thing to do in the house…get something to eat. He made himself a sandwich, and as he ate, he had ample time to develop his diabolical plan even further.
He sported a toothy grin as he left Adam’s house. He headed in the direction of the school to find a car, preferably an older model that was inconspicuous, and chances were good that he’d find one along that route. This town was full of older model cars since the nearest dealership was in Wichita. Who would his first victim be? He pulled the list of names from his pocket and scanned it. There was one name that stood out…the judge’s, Judge Clayton. It was time for the judge to be judged. Coming face to face with the man who sentenced him to death made him drool. Watching him die a horrible death would be the pinnacle of excitement. The judge lived on the edge of town according to the paper, and that was perfect. He slipped the paper back into his pocket and proceeded with his quest for an automobile, focusing on the traffic buzzing along Catherine Avenue.
He rounded the corner from Elwood to Catherine. The cemetery and shops were a few blocks away. If he wanted, he could just carjack one of these passing cars, but getting caught would defeat his plans. He continued down the street and grinned when he glanced at the shops on the other side of the street. That was the site of his first killing since coming back. He’d been a good boy and did a good job on her. Reliving those breath-taking moments heightened his need to get to the judge. What if a suitable car was parked in between the shops where he performed his first kill? He joked with himself…the killer returns to the scene of the crime…why not? He crossed the street then headed towards the parking lot.
At the back of the small parking lot was a chain-link fence with a raised curb that ran in front of it. He recalled how safe people felt in this town. It was inevitable that someone would leave their car unlocked. Safety wasn’t a huge issue here, and he took advantage of that fact. Perusing each vehicle, he found the perfect one, an older model gray Nissan Maxima. Six cylinders for speed, decent tires, automatic drive train, and fairly clean. Since no one was around, he opened the door and casually climbed in like he owned it, then he went underneath the steering column. It didn’t take long before the engine roared to life. He gave the side and rear-view mirrors a slight adjustment then backed out. It was a new experience to drive this car with his new body. He felt shorter than he remembered, but once he pulled into the street, he adapted quickly.
It was early afternoon, and Kinkaid was unsure if the judge would be home or not, but he was in no particular hurry. Either way, he had to find out where the judge lived and stake out the area. No one would suspect a teenager walking along the street with a backpack flung over his shoulder. But he was getting ahead of himself. Maybe the judge was still at the courthouse, and the only way to find out is to cruise by there. It would be the first time he’d seen that part of town since his fate was doled out to him about two years ago. If luck was on his side, he might spot others that wouldn’t live to see tomorrow.
Roaming the streets of Southern Pines was easy, and it was just how he remembered it. Up ahead was Jefferson Street, the five-laned thoroughfare running through the center of town, and the only street with parking meters on both sides of the street…a quaint way for the city to earn some meager revenue. He always thought this downtown district was weak. Vehicles and pedestrians shared the roadway. He remembered the large Quiki-Mart just down the street from the courthouse being a favorite lunchtime stop where snacks and gasoline could be purchased simultaneously. McDonald’s, Arby’s, El Pollo Loco, and KFC formed a popular and convenient fast food corridor.
The small mom and pop shop located at the corner of Jefferson and Baker Road, known as JK’s, was one of his favorite hangouts. It was a low-key place away from the city’s stuffy elite...those city employees with their thumbs up their asses. As he turned the corner from Baker onto Jefferson, he recalled how Jason and Kym Wells, the owners of JK’s, would go out of their way to protect him from harm. They had always treated him very well. Those sweet memories were followed by a recollection he couldn’t shake. Seeing their distraught faces inside that courtroom as they watched him being sentenced to death was gut-wrenching. It was one of the few regrets that haunted him. He would love to stop by and pay them a visit, but he was on a mission. No time for pleasantries. Anyway, they wouldn’t know who he was.
At the courthouse, up ahead and on the right, the judge’s prominent parking slot was still occupied. The asshole drove a light brown Lexus. Now he knew the make of the judge’s car and his address, and that’s what he needed. He drove past the courthouse, turned right onto Carver Court and pulled over.
He was happy to see no one paying any attention to him. He unzipped the backpack sitting on the passenger seat and felt around for that sheet of paper with the names and addresses. A spark of insanity made its presence when the back of his hand scraped the teeth of the pruning saw. He pulled out the sheet of paper and examined his hand. No blood. The rustling paper drowned out any traffic noise. He read the list. There was no way he was going to sit around waiting to kill someone. Someone else has to be at home. He found the name of another juror, a woman this time, Mrs. Marta Rivera. She lived on the outskirts of town also. Paying her a visit would be fun, and he hoped she would be stupid enough to open the door for a nice looking teenager like himself. He re-stowed the list and pulled from the curb.