Parker glared at the captain. She might have known, but she wasn’t comfortable with the idea.
Melissa stepped forward. Her eyes were filled with sorrow. “Please, Allison.”
Parker raised her hand. “Why not just come to me? You could have told me about Ling.”
I shook my head again, my mind racing as I tried to find the right words. A knot of frustration formed in my stomach.
“All you have is Ling’s word against mine!” I said, the frustration overflowing. “There’s no evidence I killed her; there can’t be because I didn’t.”
I caught sight of Melissa. Her sorrowful look deepened.
“There’s plenty of evidence,” Harwood said. “We shouldn’t even be having this conversation.”
Blood rushed to my face. I stood. Moving quicker than his bulk would have suggested was possible, Tom was at my side in moments. I felt his hand on my arm. I tried to pull myself free, but his grip was like an iron shackle around my forearm.
I screamed at Parker. “What evidence? Tell me!”
“You were covered in blood when we found you. So was your knife.”
The words punched me in the gut. I almost doubled over. The world twisted on its axis. “I… No, I didn’t…”
I heard Parker say something, but her words were distant. If what Parker said was true and I really had killed Bailey, why did I have no memory of it? The idea that I’d somehow erased great swaths of my actions sent me staggering backward.
Tom let go of my arm, and I all but collapsed onto the cot. He positioned himself partway between me and Parker. If I wanted to get to her, I’d have to go through him first. But I wasn’t interested in Parker or Harwood or Melissa. My mind was reeling as it fought to reconcile the truth of what they’d told me with the lie of my memories. It must be the shadow; it had to be.
I sensed movement around me. Parker was leaving, but I didn’t care. I needed to be alone. I needed to think. Somewhere between my memories and Parker’s words lay the truth, and I had to find it. Another wave of dizziness struck me.
At some point, Harwood had followed Parker out of the room, but Melissa was still there. Then Tom was at her side, one hand on her shoulder, guiding her away. She took one last look at me as she left, her eyes filled with pain.
Chapter 46
The Killing Mind
The door to the cellar clunked shut, and silence descended on the room. I tried to still my mind. Thoughts and images whirled through my head, and the onslaught left me feeling sick. I tried to take a breath, but it caught in my throat. Panic surged within me as I tried to force air into my lungs. I tried again, sucking desperately at the air around me. My chest tightened. A short wheeze managed to crawl out of my mouth before the muscles in my throat sealed shut. I clutched at the cot’s metal frame and squeezed. My heart thundered in my chest. I closed my eyes and forced myself to focus on the cold of the metal. Lights burst behind my eyes. I tightened my grip. The metal cut into my hands, the pain slicing through the panic. And then the bands around my chest broke apart, and air poured into my lungs.
The rush of oxygen set my head spinning. I rocked backward, leaning my head and shoulders against the wall. I took another breath as my heart began to slow. The last shreds of panic dissipated like fog in the morning sun. I blinked away tears and forced my eyes open.
I took four deep, slow breaths. The thoughts warring inside my mind quieted. I pressed my hand against my heart and took another four breaths. The confusion and doubt were still there, but the panic was gone. I found the shadow, still nestled deep inside me, and drew comfort from its presence.
Four more deep breaths.
I needed to make sense of what was happening. Parker believed I was guilty; that much was clear. She might only be a schoolteacher, but I believed her when she said she’d do anything to keep Sanctuary safe. I’ve never been one to leave my fate to chance. I needed to find a way to convince her I wasn’t a threat long enough for me to leave.
I looked down at my hands. Dark creases marked the palms where I’d grabbed the cot. I turned them over. The skin beneath my nails was stained a reddish brown. I ran my thumbnail beneath one, scraping away the grime and letting it crumble to the floor.
The idea that Bailey might be Ling’s wife and that he’d killed her seemed absurd, even to me, but I couldn’t imagine a scenario that was any more plausible.
Or I didn’t want to.
Even if she weren’t his wife, he’d still murdered one of his own gang to… to what exactly? Set me up? He already had me threatening to kill him. What more did he need?
I stared at my hands, at the gaps beneath my nails, the creases across my knuckles. Was that smudge of brown beneath my thumbnail just dirt? Or was it something else, something darker? Was Ling telling the truth? Had I let the shadow loose?
I replayed the evening’s events, starting from the point I’d stepped into the yard behind the house. I could picture it all perfectly—the cool air, the damp grass. I remembered the cold metal of the handle as I opened the door into the kitchen, the light from the hallway spilling into the room. The hallway itself, the stairs, the door to the living room where I’d found Ling—all of them were clear in my mind.
So, too, was Ling—his damaged nose, the fear in his eyes. It was all so vivid, the memories as clear and detailed as any other. But were they my memories, or were they the shadow’s?
It was the not knowing that concerned me. My kills had always been controlled and careful, a conscious decision to free the shadow. I was the one who chose the time and the place. I was the one in control. Or had been.
Now? Now I couldn’t be sure.
I squeezed my eyes shut and was greeted by the image of my hands, soaked in blood. Beyond them lay Bailey’s body, her throat slashed. My stomach churned, and I opened my eyes again.
Footsteps passed across the ceiling above my head.
I walked through my confrontation with Ling. I was looking for cracks, inconsistencies, some clue that my memories were false. They felt real enough, as real as memories ever are. I’d seen Ling’s fear, felt his weight beneath me and his throat in my hands. And I’d seen him relax, that smug smile replacing his terror.
I reached up to my head and felt the lump there. Someone had knocked me unconscious—that part was definitely true—but what about the rest?
And if I couldn’t trust these memories, what about the others? Were the caves real? The zombies I’d killed? My life before the outbreak?
My sense of self was unraveling. Every time I clutched at a memory, it slithered away like an eel. There must be something, some point of reference I could secure my thoughts to.
I let out a low, animal growl and clenched my fists. My knuckles cracked. A wave of weariness washed over me, the frustration suddenly draining away and leaving behind a dull, tired ache. I leaned my head back against the wall.
Chapter 47
Melissa
There was a click, and the door opened. Melissa peered into the room. There was no sign of Tom, and she seemed uncertain, nervous. Either she wasn’t supposed to be here, or she was afraid of me. I was surprised to find I cared which it was.
She closed the door quietly behind her. I tried to look as non-threatening as I could, but she stayed by the door, her back pressed against it.
“Answer me one thing,” she said, “honestly.”
I nodded.
“Did you kill Nancy?”
My instinct was to deny it and protest my innocence, maybe throw in a bit of righteous indignation for dramatic effect. But even though I wasn’t sure the words were a lie, the idea of speaking them out loud felt wrong.
She stared at me, an earnest expression on her face, but there was a softness in her eyes. It was a look I couldn’t remember seeing from anyone other than my mother. Melissa cared for me. There was hope in her eyes, too. She wanted me to be innocent, wanted to believe in me.
My throat felt dry. I licked my lips. “I don’t know. I don’t rem
ember killing her, but it’s possible I did.”
Melissa swallowed.
The silence dragged out between us, and then she nodded. I’d expected the hope in her eyes to evaporate, but if anything, it grew stronger.
“Thank you,” she said. “We need to go, now. Harwood is trying to convince Parker she needs to execute you.”
“And you think he’ll succeed?”
A pained expression came over her face. “I don’t know. She’s… changed since Hope was attacked. Now, come on. Tom is upstairs talking to Parker, but he could be back any minute.”
I didn’t need any more encouragement. I was off the cot and moving toward the door before Melissa had finished talking. I saw her flinch as I came toward her and felt a pang of regret. She seemed to steel herself but let me go out the door first.
I’d been right about the room I was in being part of a cellar. Beyond the door was a much bigger area, lit by three rows of fluorescent tubes. Cardboard boxes and wooden crates lined the walls. A solitary concrete staircase led up to the ground floor and a brightly lit corridor.
We crept slowly up the stairs, alert for signs of Tom returning. Despite the need for silence, part of me wanted to talk to Melissa, to make her understand what drove me to do the things I do. But I couldn’t find the words.
When we reached the top, we turned right, heading past a doorway to a tiny kitchen that smelled of coffee and burned toast. Muted voices came from behind us. I thought I recognized one as Parker, and the other was probably Harwood, but the words were impossible to make out. It wasn’t hard to imagine them debating my fate.
The corridor ended in a fire exit. Its blue paint was bubbling and covered in patches of rust. The door had one of those long bars to open it, the kind that make a lot of noise, but Melissa had thought ahead. The door was held open with a block of wood. She led me through, removed the block, and let the door close properly behind us.
We were on a narrow, shadow-cloaked street, not much more than an alley. It was dark outside again—I’d been out of it for longer than I’d thought—but I recognized the building we’d just left. It was the town hall. It was raining heavily, laying a wet sheen across the ground. Melissa moved quickly down the alley, and I followed her to a battered green dumpster where two canvas backpacks lay on the ground.
She pointed at the largest. “There’s a change of clothes in there.”
The bag contained camouflage gear—a T-shirt, jacket, pants, heavy boots. They matched the clothes I’d seen several of the captain’s men wearing. Melissa turned her back to me as I changed. I put the almost-prison overalls in the bag and gave it back to her. She dug around in a side pocket and pulled out a military cap then threw the bag into the dumpster.
She handed me the second backpack. “There’s a knife, a flashlight, and what supplies I could get—a couple of days’ worth.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’ve got a way to get you out.”
“You want me to leave?”
“It’s your best bet. You’ve lived out there before, and you can’t stay here. If Parker catches you, she’ll have to kill you, and I don’t want that.”
I nodded. Melissa began moving down the alley, but I placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Why are you doing this?”
Melissa looked back at me. “I told you, I don’t want Parker to kill you. It’ll tear her apart.”
I frowned. “There’s more to it than that.”
An odd look filled Melissa’s eyes, one I didn’t understand. The corner of her mouth curved upward in a wry smile. She shook her head slightly then walked away down the alley.
I watched her for a few seconds, assessing that look. She was helping me even though I’d admitted I might be a murderer. Did that mean she’d accepted the shadow’s existence? Could she understand me? Accept me? The idea seemed ridiculous, but that look—it meant something.
By the time we reached the wall, rain was dripping off the peak of my cap, and I could feel it seeping through my jacket.
Melissa stopped and checked left and right. She seemed puzzled.
“What are you looking for?” I said.
“There’s a way through the wall near here. I’m trying to remember which direction.” She looked to the right. “This way.”
I followed her, wondering how I could have missed a gap in the wall when I’d done my circuit of the town.
About seventy feet along the wall there was a cluster of conifers growing at the edge of a small flower bed. I remembered the trees. I’d walked past them without looking closely.
Part of the wall behind them had been replaced by a twenty-foot length of chain-link fence. It looked secure enough, but one end had been cut. The links had been reattached to the metal fence post using iron bolts. I pictured pre-zombie apocalypse kids using the fence to sneak in and out of their parents’ safe little community to buy beer or something harder.
Melissa pulled out the three bolts, and the fence sprang open, creating a triangular gap about three feet high.
I crouched and looked out into the gloom. The shadowed hulks of the rest of the town stretched out ahead of me like a herd of bizarre, angular beasts. Any one of them might be home to the living dead, but there could be food, too.
She must have read my mind because she said, “Don’t waste your time looking in the other houses. Harwood did a sweep of them as soon as we got here.”
“Maybe they missed something.”
“Maybe, but there’s a lot of buildings, and when Harwood finds you’re gone, he’s going to come after you. Now, you should go before one of the patrols finds us.”
I felt I should say something. I caught her gaze and held it as I searched for the right words, something more than a simple “thank you.”
She gave me the look again, the one I didn’t understand. And then it was gone, and she was pushing me out through the opening.
I ducked underneath the fence. The chain rattled and creaked behind me as she replaced the metal bolts. When I looked over my shoulder to say goodbye, she was standing with her fingers hooked through the fence.
“Thank you,” I said.
She nodded.
Something moved off to her right, on the other side of the trees. A flashlight flickered across her body.
“Who’s there?” said a man’s voice. It trembled slightly.
She slashed her hand at me, urging me to get moving. “It’s okay. It’s just me, Melissa.”
I crouched and ran away from Sanctuary.
A gust of wind caught me as I ran, hammering me with rain and shifting me sideways across the slick pavement. I couldn’t hear any noise from behind me—no shouts, no shots—but I didn’t relax until I reached the first house.
It was a run-down bungalow, all crumbling stucco and sagging eaves. It was as though the presence of the upscale gated community now known as Sanctuary had sucked the life out of the building.
I crouched and pressed myself up against the building’s side. It provided some shelter from the rain and gave me a chance to check behind me. The wall around Sanctuary and the patch of chain-link fence were still visible, but the trees beyond were just dark outlines. I couldn’t see Melissa or the man who’d called out. I narrowed my eyes, peering through the fading light. I knew I should move on, get away from Sanctuary, but my feet were locked in place. My gut felt uneasy, knotted by a deep sense of loss. Even the shadow’s insistent voice couldn’t break through my inability to move.
A drop of water landed on my neck, and I shuddered. I wiped it away but kept my eyes locked on the fence. Light flashed somewhere beyond the trees, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Thunder rumbled dully off in the distance. It was quiet and still a long way away, but I needed to find cover before the storm blew in. I still couldn’t bring myself to move. I just stayed there, staring, as the wind and rain lashed at me.
Thunder rumbled again, the sound long and drawn out. It faded away but left behind a dull droning sound. I didn’
t realize what it was until the zombie was almost on top of me.
Chapter 48
A New Sanctuary
I scrambled backward. My legs, stiff from being locked in one position for too long, gave way, and I sprawled across the ground. The zombie loomed up in front of me. She had a dent in her forehead as though someone had hit her with a two-by-four. Her face was black with blood, and I thought I could see bits of pale bone within the wound.
She lumbered toward me. Her arms were outstretched, and she rocked from side to side as she walked. It made her look more like an extra in a B-grade horror comedy than a deadly threat. I reached for my knife then realized I’d been too distracted to get it from the backpack Melissa had given me.
I pushed myself along the ground to buy myself some time. My right hand landed in something slick and wet and slid sideways. The zombie, maybe sensing I was an easy mark, flung herself at me. I swung the pack, trapping it between my body and hers. Her moans grew louder, more earnest. I plunged a hand into the backpack.
The knife was at the top. I grabbed it and jammed the blade into the side of the zombie’s skull, just behind the ear. It skidded off, tearing away a sliver of flesh but nothing more.
The zombie grunted and tried to paw the backpack out of the way. I shoved it up into her face and jabbed the knife into her neck. It slid uselessly across her flesh again.
This time, I realized why—it was still in its sheath. A breath of air that smelled of fish wafted over me as the zombie struggled to get past the backpack wedged between us. I yanked the pack up and jammed it into her mouth. She clamped down on it. Realizing her mistake, she immediately pulled her head back and resumed trying to knock the pack away.
It was too late. The delay gave me enough time to grab the sheath and pull the knife free, tearing away the thin strip of leather holding it in place in the process.
Serial Killer Z: Sanctuary Page 23