by Tom Becker
Click.
Another sly noise from somewhere in the bushes. Was he being photographed? As the pool rippled around him Ryan felt his fury ebb, replaced by a slow, creeping dread. He shivered violently, his teeth chattering in his skull. Whoever had cut TJ open had to be a stone-cold psycho – what was he doing trying to fight them? He needed to get out of the pool and call the cops.
Ryan was reaching for the side when a shower of sparks erupted from the bushes near the generator and the lights went out around the pool. The power had been cut. As Ryan backed away through the water, a dark snake wound its way across the poolside towards him. The killer had cut the generator cable and was feeding it towards the water.
Fear punched Ryan in the gut with a cold, solid fist. Stranded in the middle of the pool, there was no way he could make it to safety before the deadly cable hit the water. Sasha’s friend had been right after all. She had seen a dead body in the pool – maybe if Ryan had known it was going to be his, he might have listened to her.
Ryan’s helpless, hysterical laughter rang around the terrace as the spitting electrical cable slipped into the water. There was an angry fizz, and then everything fell silent.
Chapter Fourteen
It seemed like Darla had barely collapsed into bed before her alarm clock brutally woke her up again. She stared up at the ceiling, the fog of sleep taking time to clear from her head. As she sifted through her memories of the previous night, a horrible uneasiness hung over her like a cloud. Forcing herself to get up, Darla went downstairs into the kitchen, where Hopper was sat at the table eating a slice of toast. He looked surprised to see her, but instead of asking why she hadn’t stayed at Sasha’s he merely pushed back the chair next to him so she could sit down, and nodded at the coffee brewing in the machine.
Darla showered and dressed in a daze, sleepwalking into the Buick and then out of it at the school steps. She barely noticed the jocks as they jostled her in the halls, or Carmen and Gabrielle’s giggles as they whispered to one another by the lockers. Usually Ryan and TJ would be with them, but today they were nowhere to be seen. They could have just been hungover and decided to cut class, Darla told herself, it didn’t have to mean that something bad had happened to them. But as she sat down at her homeroom desk, Darla realized that Ryan and TJ weren’t the only ones who hadn’t made it into school. Sasha’s chair was empty too.
Darla had to wait for lunch until she found Frank. He was sitting alone in the canteen, a preoccupied expression on his face as he scribbled into a pad of paper. When Darla came over and sat down next to him, he closed it quickly.
“Have you seen Sasha today?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“I thought you stayed over at her house.”
“She withdrew her invitation. I think she was kinda pissed about the party, so I took her home and drove back to my place. I texted her this morning to see if she wanted a ride but she didn’t get back to me. Sometimes her dad drops her at school, so I figured she was OK.”
“I’m worried,” Darla whispered. “Sasha isn’t here, and neither are Ryan and TJ. You don’t think… You don’t think she went back to the party, do you?”
“How should I know?” Frank said irritably. “You’re the one with the crazy visions, not me.”
“Hey! That’s not fair!”
He took off his glasses and sighed, rubbing his face. “I know,” he said. “Sorry. When you told us all that stuff last night I couldn’t believe it but now people aren’t in school and… I’m just worried about Sasha, is all.”
Darla wished she could reassure him. Going back to the party sounded like exactly like the kind of thing Sasha would do, even if she had been warned it might be dangerous. Especially as she had been warned it might be dangerous. Darla couldn’t help feeling responsible, and she agreed to drive over with Frank to Sasha’s house after school to check that she was OK.
All afternoon, Darla was haunted by the fear that a shocked teacher would appear in the doorway with news of another murder, or a solemn principal announcement would come over the tannoy, but class went on as usual. She tried to take comfort from the normality of it all.
After the final bell had rung, she hurried down the school steps and met Frank by Sasha’s pick-up. Opening the passenger door to the truck, Darla paused. Students were streaming out of the school, parting with their friends as they got into their cars or headed for the school gates. Carmen Russo and Gabrielle hurried towards Carmen’s white Cadillac and tossed their bags in the back, barely glancing at the people around them. At that moment, Darla felt utterly alone.
Frank leaned over from the driver’s seat. “You OK?”
“Yeah,” said Darla. “I’m fine.”
She climbed into the truck. As she closed the door behind her, there was a movement in the rearview mirror. A figure sprang up in the backseat. Darla screamed.
“Jesus, Sasha!” shouted Frank.
Darla’s hand flew to her mouth. The punk was hunched in the backseat, her face pale and wary.
“What?” she said defensively.
“You scared the hell out of us!” said Frank.
“By sitting in my truck? If you’ve got a problem with that, get your own!”
“Why were you hiding?”
“I didn’t want any of the teachers seeing me.
Look, something happened last night. Ryan and TJ are dead.”
Darla shrank lower into her seat, a wave of nausea washing over her. She had been so desperate to be wrong.
Frank swivelled round in his seat. “What? Are you sure?”
“Dead certain,” Sasha replied grimly. “My dad knows a couple of officers inside the local PD, one of them called him this morning to warn him. They said Ryan’s house looked like the set of a horror movie. TJ had been strung up and cut open, and they found Ryan’s body in the pool. He had been electrocuted. Literally cooked in his own skin.”
Just like she had seen in the dark room photographs. Darla was worried she was going to be sick.
“The Angel Taker,” Frank said darkly. “It has to be.”
“But it don’t make no sense!” Darla burst out. “You said Walter West was dead – and I thought he was only interested in pretty girls?”
“Walter may be dead, but it looks like someone’s trying to make his memory live on,” Sasha replied. “And Ryan and TJ might not have won any beauty pageants, but they were pretty, Darla. When it comes to killing people, it looks like this Angel Taker is a firm believer in equal opportunities.”
“Can we stop calling him that, please?”
“If you like.” Sasha shrugged. “But we’re not the only ones who are going to make the link – the whole town’s going to be talking about dead angels when this gets out. The only reason it’s still hush-hush is that Ryan’s parents are on some kind of safari in Africa and the cops are having trouble reaching them. Man, they are really starting to sweat – there’s a maniac running around the hills killing students, and some very rich and powerful people are going to want answers.”
“Do they have any suspects?” asked Darla.
“Not that I know of,” Sasha said. “But let’s just say I’m not holding my breath. Three people have been killed in a week – who knows who might be next? Do you really want to cross your fingers and hope that the Donut Patrol catch whoever’s doing this?”
“What’s the alternative?” laughed Frank. “Go out and catch this guy ourselves?”
Sasha stared at him.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.
“What?
“Even for you, this is a bit … Scooby-Doo.” Frank tapped the side of his head. “Seriously, Sasha.”
“Just hear me out,” Sasha said, leaning closer. “We didn’t listen to Darla last night – and maybe if we had, Ryan and TJ would still be alive. But what’s she going to do, tell the cops she’s having visions of murders before they happen? They’ll think she’s a total whack-job!”
�
��Or that she had something to do with it,” Frank added.
Darla hadn’t even considered that grim prospect.
“Right,” said Sasha. “But if Darla really is somehow tuned in to the Angel Taker, maybe we can work out who they are before they attack anybody else.”
“But I told you last night, I never see their face,” Darla said desperately. “They could be anyone!”
“But you did see a truck though, right?” Frank said suddenly. “We all did.”
Sasha frowned. “What truck?”
“You need to stop drinking, girlfriend, you’ve got the memory of a goldfish. There was a red pick-up parked outside Ryan’s house when we drove up.” Frank sat up in his seat. “And the night me and Darla found Natalie, we only stopped by her house because a truck damn-near rode us off the road!”
“Great work, detective,” Sasha said sarcastically. “But since there’s about… oh, about ten thousand trucks in the county, we might need to narrow it down a little.”
“Maybe we can,” Darla said slowly. “When we came to Saffron Hills we nearly crashed into a red pick-up, and I kinda thought it might be the same one we saw outside of Ryan’s. The realtor told Hopper that the driver was a guy called Leeroy Mills.”
“Leeroy Mills?” Sasha scratched her head. “I don’t recognize the name.”
“You wouldn’t,” Frank told her. “You live in the wrong part of town. I drive past Leeroy’s trailer on the way to school. He’s bad news, got a habit of getting into bar fights. A while back he did a couple of years in prison because of it.”
“In other words, someone you don’t want to mess with,” said Darla. “Tell the police if you want, Sasha, but don’t get involved.”
“Look, I’m not saying we handcuff this guy and take him in ourselves,” she replied. “But let’s go and have a look at his trailer, see if he’s up to something. At the first sign of trouble, we call the cops. Case solved, to rapturous applause from the grateful townspeople.” Sasha made a graceful imaginary wave. “Eat that, Miss Saffron.”
Darla was already regretting having mentioned Leeroy’s name. But it was useless trying to talk Sasha out of her plan – she was so used to getting her own way that she didn’t bother listening to anybody else, especially if they were trying to tell her ‘no’. Darla was tempted to leave her to it, but when Frank caved in and agreed to drive down to Leeroy’s trailer, she reluctantly said she’d go with them. Hopper wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours, and who knew what kind of trouble Sasha and Frank might get themselves into?
The pick-up spluttered out of the school lot and made its way along the main strip and into the countryside, where it rattled along dirt tracks. Birds hooted and chattered in the sassafras trees. Creek water oozed like a seeping wound. Chewing pensively on a strand of her hair, Darla could sense a creeping apprehension inside the truck. Sasha switched off the radio and they sat in silence. They had to be on the very edge of Saffron Hills itself. Finally Frank pulled over by the side of the lane and turned off the engine.
“We’d better walk the rest of the way,” he said. “Don’t want Leeroy knowing we’re coming.”
He looked uneasy, and Darla knew she wasn’t the only one regretting coming down here. She stayed close to Frank as he crept along the side of the track, keeping tight to the shadows. Further up the way there was a turn-off, a glimpse of rusted corrugated iron visible through the trees: Leeroy’s trailer. As she stepped over a large fallen log, a loud pop made Darla jump. She looked round to see Sasha clumping blithely down the middle of the lane, chewing on a piece of bubblegum.
“What are you doing?” hissed Frank. “Get out of the road before he sees you!”
Sasha sighed and came over to join them in the shadows, resting her foot upon the log.
“Look, you can play commando all you want, Franklin,” she said, “but we’re not breaking any laws just walkin—”
“Get down!” squeaked Darla.
She grabbed Sasha and dragged her down behind the fallen log. Just in time. A cloud of dust went up at the mouth of the turn-off and Leeroy Mills’ pick-up skidded out on to the dirt track, bouncing past them towards Saffron Hills. Darla pressed herself to the parched ground, holding her breath until the growl of the pick-up’s engine faded away. She looked up to find that Sasha had already stood up, and was brushing the dirt from her clothes.
“Well, that makes things a little easier, doesn’t it?” she said brightly.
They emerged warily from behind the log and followed Sasha as she marched along the track. The turn-off led on to a small patch of ground scuffed with tyre tracks and ringed with trees. A wooden lean-to secured with a heavy padlock and length of chain threatened to topple over at any moment. Next to it was Leeroy’s trailer, a scarred and rusting oblong. Empty beer cans were scattered on the ground by the door, beside a broken cool box lying on its side.
Sasha marched up to the door of the trailer and tried the handle. She made a face.
“Locked,” she said.
“That was predictable,” said Frank, puffing out his cheeks. “What now?”
As he and Sasha started bickering over whether or not Sasha should kick the door in, Darla sized up the trailer, thinking. More than likely, there was a spare key lying around somewhere – especially if Leeroy liked a drink. She crouched down by the trailer and ran her hands over the tyres to see if anything had been left there. No luck. Darla went round the side of the vehicle and examined the air-conditioning vent to see if a key had been taped to the top or the bottom, but there was nothing there either. Frank and Sasha were watching her now, intrigued. Finally, in desperation, Darla went over to the empty cool box and reached inside. Her fingers closed upon a key taped to the inside of the lid. She smiled, and produced the key with a flourish.
“Here you go,” she said. “Problem solved.”
Frank blinked with surprise. Even Sasha looked impressed. “Nice work!” she said. “How did you know there’d be a spare?”
Darla shrugged. “Lucky guess.” She wasn’t about to tell them that she had grown up around trailers – it was nice to be the one with the secrets for once. Darla slipped the key in the lock and turned it. As her hand fastened around the door handle, she glanced quickly back toward the lane to check for any telltale cloud of dust. Then she plunged inside the trailer.
Years of living in trailer parks had also taught Darla that there were pretty much two types of owners – the house-proud, obsessive types who kept everything clean and tidy, and the slobs. Leeroy Mills was not the first type. His trailer was a mess of dirty clothes and half-finished cartons of fast food. The air was sour with cigarette smoke.
“I don’t know if this guy’s a murderer,” said Frank, wrinkling his nose, “but it sure smells like someone died here.”
Darla went over to the sideboard, where a collection of framed photographs jostled for room. They all appeared to be of the same girl: a pretty teenager with long eyelashes and curly blond hair. In one she was dressed in a West Academy cheerleader’s outfit, in another she was wearing a tiara and clutching a bunch of flowers. There was a sash over the ballgown, with the words ‘Miss Saffron 1995’. It was Crystal.
“Well, this is ker-reepy,” said Sasha, taking the photo of the murdered girl out of Darla’s hands. “Stalker’s paradise, or what?”
“Jackpot!”
Frank emerged from underneath Leeroy’s bed, holding a brown Louis Vuitton shoebox.
“It’s only a shoebox, Frank,” said Sasha.
“Take a look around,” Frank said dryly. “Do you really think that Mr Mills is a regular customer at Louis Vuitton?”
“OK, maybe not. But I’m pretty sure Natalie was.”
“Precisely my point.”
They sat down on the bed and watched as Frank prised open the box. Inside, to Darla’s surprise, there was an old-fashioned Polaroid camera and a sea of photographs. Every single one was a selfie of Natalie.
“Jesus!” breathed Sasha. “I mean,
I know the girl thought she was hot, but this takes narcissism to a whole new level.”
But as she leafed through the date-stamped pictures, Darla wasn’t so sure. Usually people in selfies smiled at the camera, or tried to pout seductively. But Natalie didn’t look happy in any of these photographs. She wasn’t showing off how pretty she was, or what a good time she was having.
“I don’t think Natalie wanted anyone to see these,” Darla said. “So how did Leeroy get hold of them?”
There was only one answer to that question. He had to have been in her house. The more important question was: before or after Natalie had died? As they continued to sift through the pictures, Sasha gasped.
“What is it?” cried Darla.
Wordlessly Sasha handed her the photograph. It was dated the previous week, the day Natalie had died. She was standing in a bedroom, her face red and her long blond hair tied back into a ponytail. It looked as though she had been exercising. Behind her the door to her closet was ajar. A pale, indistinct face was peering out over Natalie’s shoulder.
“That is messed up,” Frank murmured. “She caught her own killer on camera just before it happened.”
“Can you see the face?” Sasha asked eagerly. “Is it Leeroy?”
Outside, an engine gunned in reply.
Frank leaped up, startled, spilling pictures of Natalie all across the floor. He ran over to the window and peered through the blinds.
“Not good,” he said. “I repeat: not good.”
Outside a swirling cloud of dust had got up, a red truck crunching to a halt outside the trailer. Leeroy Mills was home.
Chapter Fifteen
At the sight of the pick-up outside the trailer, Darla’s blood froze. Sasha raced over to the window and swore loudly.
“What are we going to do?” she said.
“Find somewhere to hide and pray he doesn’t find us?” Frank suggested.
Sasha gestured around the cramped trailer. “Where? We can’t all fit under the bed, Frank!”