All the houses had large yards surrounded by wooden fences about ten feet high. There was a gate in each one that opened up onto a lane running parallel to the street. There was a matching set of enclosed yards on the lane’s opposite side, the backs of their associated houses clearly visible in the moonlight. Garbage bins stood beside a few of the gates, but otherwise, the lane was clear of debris.
I turned left, toward Ling’s house. The gates were numbered. I was at house number 410. A quick mental calculation put Ling’s house at 416. I checked and double-checked the numbers until I was confident I was correct. Two more houses, and I’d be there.
Pale lights shone from the windows of some of the buildings. There were no streetlamps in the lane, but the moon was bright enough that I’d be clearly visible to anyone taking a moment to look in my direction. I sent out a silent prayer for a cloud bank to move in to obscure the moonlight and provide me with at least little cover. Then I hurried down the lane until I reached the gate marked 416.
It was held closed by a wrought iron latch. I lifted it slowly. It barely made a noise. The gate itself was less accommodating and creaked as I opened it. The sound seemed too loud, and I flinched. I ducked through the gate, flinching again as it groaned even more loudly as I closed it. A garbage bin was just inside the gate. I moved behind it and crouched down.
Most of the house was in darkness, but I could see a pale glow through the French doors that led from the yard. I strained to hear sounds of life from inside, but it seemed the entire town was silent. I took it as a sign that no one had seen me in the lane either, but I waited a few minutes longer, just to be sure, then began counting off the seconds. I counted to thirty-two before I decided it was safe and walked slowly along the concrete pathway to the corner of the house.
I crept up to the French door and peered inside. The room beyond was dark, but I could see a door leading into a hallway lit by a stark light bulb. I grabbed the door handle and pushed. The door shifted slightly but stayed shut. I wasn’t surprised. That would have been too easy.
I ran to the opposite side of the house and peered around the corner. A narrow alley ran between the house and what looked like a garage. It ended in another wooden gate. A few feet away, there was a door leading inside. The glass was warped into concentric circles like water in a rainstorm. Again, the lights were off, but the light from the hallway spilled into the room and provided just enough illumination for me to make out cooking appliances and a fridge.
Hesitantly, I tried the handle. It twisted, and the door opened. I removed my knife from its sheath and slipped inside. The faint scent of a meal tinged the air, meat and fat and onions. I waited, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light and listening for sounds of movement. Then I walked lightly across the linoleum floor to the hallway. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a harsh glare across the room. I could see the dining room with its French doors to the left. The front door was on my right along with another one that was closed.
There was a staircase, too, running up diagonally in front of me. I hesitated, unsure whether I should head straight upstairs or check the one remaining room down here first. If there was someone in there, I didn’t want to get trapped upstairs. I couldn’t hear anyone. In the pre-zombie world, there would have been a television or maybe a radio, but those modern conveniences were long gone. I gave myself to the count of four to make a decision.
I’d check out the ground floor first.
I crept along the hallway and pushed the door to the front room open. Ling was inside.
Chapter 43
Ling
Ling was sitting in an armchair directly across from a massive flat-screen television, illuminated by a tall lamp standing nearby. He sat with his head lolled back, eyes closed, mouth open wide. I thought he might be dead, then he took a slow, rasping breath. I scanned the rest of the room. There was a sofa, but it was empty. He was alone.
The shadow smiled, and I smiled with it.
I adjusted my grip on the knife then moved in front of the chair. I reached out with my left hand. My fingers hovered over his throat.
The shadow rose up, flowing through my body and setting my senses on fire. I could feel the blood rushing through my veins, hear the pounding of my heart. The dead had given the shadow an outlet, but I’d forgotten what it felt like to hold the life of a real, live human being in my hands.
Ling’s nose was still bruised where I’d bitten him. The wound had healed badly, too, the pale flesh puckered at the edges. Guilt oozed from the scarred flesh and ran in narrow rivulets down his face. It coated his teeth, pooled in his mouth.
My fingers slipped around Ling’s throat. I tightened my grip. His eyes opened, and he let out a strangled cry. I leaned into him, pinning him to the chair with my weight.
It took a second for him to respond as the adrenaline dragged him kicking and screaming from sleep, but then realization dawned in his eyes. He started to fight back.
I raised my knife, flicking the blade in front of his face then pressing the tip just beneath his left eye. “Shhh…”
Ling continued to struggle but stopped when I pulled the bottom of his eyelid down with the tip of the blade.
“That’s better,” I said. “Now, just so that we’re clear. If you make a sound, I will kill you. If you struggle, I will kill you. If you don’t give me what I want, I will kill you. Do. You. Understand?”
Ling’s throat moved beneath my hand as he swallowed. He was afraid. The shadow fed on that fear, and in turn, the shadow fed me.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I loosened my grip on his throat and moved the knife away from his eye.
“Where’s the leather case you took from the cave?”
Ling’s eyes widened. “I… I don’t kno—”
I grabbed his throat again, my fingers sinking into the flesh around his windpipe. He gasped and choked. Behind me, his legs kicked against the floor. He shook his head, desperation in his eyes.
I released his throat enough for him to be able to speak. “Where is it?”
Ling shook his head. When he spoke, the words tumbled out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We didn’t go in the cave. We didn’t take your case.”
I slid the knife down Ling’s cheek. A thin line of blood appeared, dark in the room’s meager light.
Ling let out a high-pitched whimper. “Please, I don—”
I backhanded him across the jaw. It wasn’t a heavy blow, but his head snapped to the side. Blood trickled from the wound in his nose and mingled with the oily guilt. When he looked back at me, there was desperation in his eyes, but he didn’t speak.
I stared at him, picturing the confident thug that had confronted me in the forest. How quickly bullies become cowards when they’re face to face with their victims. A bitter sense of satisfaction welled up inside me.
I placed the knife against the soft flesh beneath his jaw and pressed, just hard enough for him to feel how easily I could drive the blade into him. He tensed.
“Okay, Ling. You don’t know me very well, but let me assure you I’ve done this many times. You could say it’s my calling. So, bearing that in mind, know that I won’t hesitate to kill you. In fact, I’d enjoy it.”
They say confession is good for the soul. If I still have one, I think I know exactly where it’s going to end up, but saying those words did feel good. It felt liberating.
“So, I’m going to ask you one more time. Where’s the case?”
I saw him trying to find the right words, the words that would stop me from killing him. I realized then that he hadn’t been lying. He really didn’t know where the case was. He hadn’t taken it. Which meant someone else had.
Ling’s eyes flicked left. I had time to feel him relax, to see the confidence returning to his eyes before something hit me in the side of the head and the world went black.
Chapter 44
White Walls
I awoke confused and with a headache th
at seemed to be caused by some burrowing creature trying to gnaw its way out of the side of my skull. From the size of the lump there, it was well on its way to succeeding.
Someone had changed my clothes. My jacket was gone, and my shirt and jeans had been replaced by loose-fitting overalls. They were blue, not orange, but that was the only thing that stopped me from feeling like a prisoner.
The room was windowless, cool, and damp, with a single door. The walls were whitewashed brick and conspired with the light from the fluorescent tubes to drive nails into my skull through my eyes. I was probably in a cellar somewhere. The only furniture was the iron cot I’d been laid on. It held a sagging old mattress covered with a garish tartan blanket that smelled of mothballs and dogs.
I wasn’t tied up or handcuffed, but once I’d shuffled unsteadily across the room, I found the door locked. It was wooden and heavy, too solid for me to break out. The overalls seemed even more appropriate.
A narrow rectangular slit was cut into the door for use as a window. The room beyond was too dark to see anything. If there was a guard on the other side, they ignored me when I called out.
I shuffled back to the cot and sat down. A wave of dizziness threatened to engulf me, so I lay down again, closed my eyes, and willed the room to stop spinning.
Something about my situation was wrong, but it took a few minutes for me to realize what. I should have been dead. I’d been attacking Ling—just about to kill him, in fact—when I’d been interrupted. It must have been Lawson or maybe Bailey. It made sense. After all, I hadn’t checked the rest of the house, and I’d known Lawson was in there somewhere.
My carelessness should have cost me my life. The question was, why hadn’t it? Why hadn’t Ling finished the job he’d started back in the forest? Was he just afraid of getting caught?
The shadow dismissed the idea as too easy.
And what about the scalpels? Had he really not known what I was talking about? If he hadn’t taken them, who had?
A thought struck me and amped up the throbbing in my head. What if I hadn’t lost the tool kit at all? What if it was back at the cave, hidden somewhere I hadn’t checked?
Anger and frustration welled up inside me. I wanted my old life back.
A key rattling in the door to my makeshift cell interrupted my train of thought.
Melissa walked in. A broad-shouldered ox of a man almost a foot taller than her followed just behind. He watched me carefully. He needn’t have bothered. Just the thought of trying to take him on sent pain spiraling through my skull. I did manage to sit up, but even that left me wincing.
Concern flickered across Melissa’s face. “It’s okay, Tom, I don’t think he’s a threat.”
Tom looked doubtful, but he nodded anyway. “I’ll be just outside.”
“Thanks.”
Tom left the door open a couple of inches, and I could see his bulk through the gap.
I tried a smile on Melissa. She didn’t return it.
Instead, she looked confused. “What happened, Marcus? Why did you attack Ling?”
“I…”
What should I say? Ling must have told them what I’d done, or I wouldn’t be in the cell, but beyond that I knew very little about my situation. The best lies skirt the truth, but what do you do when you don’t know what that truth is?
Melissa raised her eyebrows as she waited for my reply. I saw flickers of accusation, of mistrust. My anger bubbled up again, stronger this time. What right did she have to judge me? Ling had attacked me first. He’d tried to kill me, stolen my possessions.
The anger pushed words out of my mouth. “It was Ling that attacked me in the forest.”
Surprise registered on Melissa’s face. Apparently, Ling had forgotten to mention that detail.
But the surprise quickly faded, and the judgmental look returned. “So, you thought you’d kill his wife to get revenge?”
“What?” I said, my mind reeling. “I… killed someone?”
“Yes, Nancy.”
The dizziness returned for a moment. I had to lower my head until the world stopped spinning. When I raised it again, Melissa’s accusatory look had softened slightly.
“Look,” I said, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So, you deny you broke into Ling’s house, murdered his wife, and tried to kill him, too?”
“Yes. No. Not all of it.”
“People saw you, Marcus.”
“Yes, I broke into his house and confronted him, but I didn’t kill anyone.”
Melissa frowned and gave her head a single shake. “I’m very good at seeing through lies.”
I almost laughed at that. “Then you should know I’m telling the truth.”
There was a pause as Melissa considered my words. Then she shook her head again.
I started to protest. “But I—”
“I’ve seen the body.” Melissa’s face twisted in disgust. “I saw what you did to her.”
I hesitated. Had I killed her? No. I couldn’t have.
“I didn’t kill anyone.” Uncertainty made my voice softer, and the words sounded hollow, even to me.
“I’m supposed to believe what? That Ling sliced up his own wife and is trying to blame it on you? That’s absurd.”
“What about Lawson? Wasn’t he there?”
Melissa’s voice increased in volume. “He was the one who stopped you. Without him, Ling would be dead, too.”
Anger flared inside of me. “I don’t know what to tell you. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“I wish I could believe you; I really do. But I just can’t.”
The shadow rose up inside me, driving me to my feet. “Then get out.” The words were bullets, powered by all the anger and frustration of the last few days.
Melissa flinched as though she’d been slapped but didn’t move. The door flew open, and Tom burst into the room. He put himself between me and Melissa, but I was already turning away. I sat down on the cot, the rage draining away as quickly as it had arrived.
I waited for them to leave, but instead I heard someone else enter the room. It was Parker.
Chapter 45
Accusations
She locked eyes with me the moment she entered and didn’t turn away as she walked toward the cot. Her eyes were hard, cold. There was certainly no sign of fear in them. Her lips were drawn tight, and I could almost feel the antipathy coming off her in waves like heat from a hot stove.
A few seconds later, Captain Harwood entered the room. He nodded to Tom, and he stepped back, taking up position next to Melissa. He looked down at her, and his eyes softened.
Parker stood in front of me, not speaking. I held her gaze like we were taking part in some sort of staring contest, the outcome of which would determine whether I lived or died. Her jaw tightened just before she finally spoke, as though she were steeling herself for the upcoming discussion.
“I want to make something very clear, Mr. Black. I will do whatever it takes to keep this community safe. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“A woman has been murdered, and the evidence strongly suggests that you’re her killer.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Well, perhaps you should start with how you ended up in Ling’s house.”
“I wanted to talk to him.”
Parker raised her eyebrows. “About what?”
Harwood had moved to stand just behind Parker, and I thought I saw a flicker of a smile of his face.
“Ling was the one that attacked me in the forest. He and his gang tried to kill me.”
I’d expected surprise from Parker, but there was none.
“He told us you used to be part of his group. He told us you became violent and attacked him.”
“No, that’s not what happened.”
“So, you weren’t a member of his group?”
“No… not really. I met them in the forest.” I looked across to Harwood. “At the clearing where the aircraft went do
wn. We left just as you got there. They made me go with them. I played along until I could get away.”
“And that was when they attacked you?”
“No, that was when Captain Harwood picked me up, before I met you in Hope.”
“You didn’t mention Ling and his gang then,” Harwood said.
“No, I—”
“Very convenient,” Harwood said.
“Not really.”
“You’re going to have to give me more than that, Mr. Black,” Parker said.
“Look, I admit, I went to the house to confront Ling. I was afraid he’d come after me again.”
“What were you planning on doing?”
I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers against my forehead. “I… I don’t know. When I saw him, I… lost my temper. I just wanted to scare him the way he’d scared me.”
“So, you attacked him?”
“I threatened him.”
“Was that before or after you killed Nancy?”
“No,” I said, forcing emotion into the word even as my own doubts resurfaced. “I didn’t even see her.”
“Then how do you explain her death?”
I searched for an explanation that Parker might believe but found none. My mind had gone blank. There was only one scenario I could imagine.
I took a deep breath. “I think Ling killed her.”
“Pardon?”
“I think Ling wanted to set me up, so he killed her. She wasn’t his wife. She used to be his second-in-command, but something happened to make her expendable. She was scared of him. I could see it when she got to Sanctuary.”
Parker stared at me, incredulous.
I carried on before she could speak. “I know it sounds absurd, bu—”
“This goes way beyond absurd,” Harwood said. “Parker, he’s clearly paranoid, and these… delusions probably drove him to kill the woman. You said you wanted to hear his side of the story, but he doesn’t have one. You know what needs to be done.”
Serial Killer Z: Sanctuary Page 22