In an attempt to stay away from that subject for as long as possible, he brought up his meeting with the mothers.
"I was thinking of meeting with the moms again. I won't if you don't want me to," he said, remembering her last reaction when she'd learned from Karen that they had gotten together. But Megan only smiled and said, "Go ahead."
"You don't mind? Are you sure?" John said.
"Positive," she said, then added, "I don't care anymore."
It was that last statement that scared John. If she hadn't added that, he would have pushed on to discussing the subject of the planned meeting with the moms—maybe inviting Megan to come along.
She surprised John a second time by reaching up and gently touching the skin around his scar. As always, the sensation of having her close, smelling her perfume, and feeling her breath on his cheek, brought him to a mild erection. First gear and ready to accelerate. Then she leaned up and kissed it softly, her lips lingering on his newly formed skin. Before he could stop long enough to process his feelings, Megan moved from his scar down and across to his lips, and they parted as she slipped her tongue inside his mouth, letting their wetness mingle before reaching her arms around his waist, and pulling him close. They held their kiss for a long time, slowly rolling their tongues in a game of mouth twister. Then Megan reached her hand down into John's shorts and took hold.
She pulled away, took a deep breath with a low moan—he knew her passion was taking control—but as she was just about to drop to her knees, John gripped her by the upper arms and held her tightly in place.
"Wait," he said, lifting her up to face him.
"What's wrong?" she asked, feigning ignorance. But she knew. Didn't have to ask. She knew. John took a minute to catch his own breath, all the while his libido questioning his own sanity, and then walked Megan over to the couch and sat her down. He looked into her eyes and studied her face, realizing just how much he was getting used to seeing it, and liking it more and more. So it was with great warmth of heart that he took her hand in his and said, "We need to talk about the other day."
Megan said nothing, but shook her head slightly as if to say, what happened the other day?
"The bookstore…" John said, not wanting to play innocent about what she knew…that he knew.
"That was nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Yeah, I've been working so—"
"Megan, please."
She stopped. Now it was John's turn to shake his head.
"Don't. We've been so open with each other and it's been really good. But, I saw the book."
Still not wanting to admit to anything, Megan smiled and shook her head again as she said, "I not sure—"
"You're an addict, Megan. Why else would you have stared at that book title for so long? Why else would you start crying, and then just walk away and leave me without saying good-bye?"
John watched as Megan's composure dissolved and she clenched her teeth and stood.
"I'm not addicted…to anything!" she shouted.
"I can get you help," John said.
"I don't need help."
And there it was. The I don't need help, cry for help that every addict uses at least once. John knew he was right. Not so much what she was saying, but how she was saying it, with such anger and denial. She stormed away from John, but there wasn't anywhere to go in his small home. John followed her into the kitchen, where she came to a dead end, swung around, and said, "So I like sex. Lots of people like sex." She pointed her finger at John. "You like sex."
"I do," John said, "And I've had more sex with you in the past two weeks than I can ever remember having in any two-week period in my entire life."
"Most guys would thank me."
"Do they?"
Megan swung at his face, but John ducked in time as he heard Megan yell, "Fuck you!"
He stood back up watching for another swing that never came.
"I'm sorry," he repeated.
"You should be."
"I am. But please don't pretend that—"
"I'm not pretending. I enjoy sex. My life is hectic; my schedule is all over the place. Sex helps me unwind. Some people drink a glass of wine when they get home. I screw. Is that so wrong?"
John said, "It can be argued, and often is, that the person that comes home every night and has a glass of wine is an alcoholic. They can't just come home and not drink. They need that drink…and I think you need sex."
"I don't want to talk about this anymore."
"I just want to…"
"Leave me alone, John!" She shouted and pushed past him, heading for the front door. John dashed past her and blocked the front door. He didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t want this exchange to push her so far away he would never get her back. But he knew it all had to be said.
"I'm not saying I want us to end. I don't. I love what we have. I love us."
John reached out, took her hands in his again, and said, "I love…you.”
Megan stood still, unsure if she'd just heard what she thought she'd heard. She decided it was just too good to be true because she pulled her hands from John's, and nudged him aside, and opened the front door and walked out. John stood at his door looking out as she walked down his front path.
"Megan, please. Come back inside."But Megan didn't.
CHAPTER 54
The black two-door 1968 Chevelle started on the first try. Isaac knew it would. He cared for it just as he'd cared for all his cars. They were kept in a four- car garage he'd built on his property behind the auto shop. The shop and property were handed down from his father when he'd passed away ten years prior, and Isaac took the small shop and turned it into a highly successful business. Everything he did, he did one hundred percent. This was why he was so skilled at killing. Choosing his girls was a science. Choosing the night to hit was planned with detail. Yes, he was on a roll and the only blemish on his record was that lady with the bat. He'd read the papers and watched the news reports. The cops had arrested that doctor guy. He was the one inside the car.
Sucker.
But they’d figured out that he wasn't the one. Isaac knew that the doctor had seen him, but it was so dark, and raining, he couldn't have seen enough to make any sort of identification. Maybe the hair? He could cut it, but that might bring more attention. He'd worn it long since he was in his twenties. No, he was fine.
He turned out of his driveway and onto Hawthorne Boulevard, heading north. It was just past one, but the night was young. He drove a mile then turned left onto Palace Avenue, taking him into the Brookview Homes neighborhood. He made another quick left, then a right, and once again eased down Sonoma Street to 2517. Colleen Hanson. As he'd done three times before, Isaac placed his palm against his lips and blew Colleen a kiss before driving down the street and turning the corner. He turned right onto Carson Street and headed east. Three miles later, he turned left onto Louise Avenue and drove down the street until he pulled up to Lori Pashton's house, blew her ghost a kiss, then drove on, and turned right. Sixteen minutes later, Isaac was blowing a kiss to the memory of Jamie Kirk. The last house Isaac visited was Rachel's.
If he'd come just three hours earlier he might have seen John walk out the front door, turn back and give Karen Sharp a hug good-bye. He might have seen John stop at his car and glance over where he was parked that night just four weeks ago. But that was three hours ago, and Karen was sleeping now, dreaming of Rachel.
Isaac blew the ghost of Rachel a kiss and drove down the street, turning at the same corner he did that rainy night. But it wasn't raining tonight. Tonight was a beautiful moonless night.
It was 2:15 a.m. when Isaac pulled up to 3885 Monterey and cut the engine. He sat there listening to the silence, until he couldn't take it any longer. He grabbed his fanny pack and opened the car door. He approached the side gate, reached over the top, and unlocked the latch. He pushed it very slowly, listening for creaky springs or hinges. There was one small clicking sound, but it didn't last, and soon he was at
the side door.
Locked.
He walked around the back to the sliding glass door. Also locked. Isaac walked to the other side of the house and found the side window to the living room. It was locked, but Isaac could see the latch at the top. He pulled out a long thin steel blade, something he'd created just for this type of window and this type of lock. He slipped the blade between the window panels and clicked the lock out of position. He slipped the blade into his pack, and then lifted the window in a slow manner, gently pushing when it got stuck, until it was high enough for him to climb through. Isaac had practiced this maneuver on his own window at home many times. Once he had his torso through the window, he stretched his hands to the floor and he let all his weight go to his arms and shoulders, lowering himself down in slow motion, controlling his breathing as he went. Once inside, he slowly stood and closed the window. He waited silently for three minutes, taking in the sounds of the house. After three minutes, he walked to the front door and unlocked the deadbolt. Rules are rules…and he knew this particular rule saved his ass last time. Then he turned back, and entered the hallway. Two doors on the left. One on the right. He crept forward knowing that number five was about to happen…and he could barely keep from shouting.
CHAPTER 55
John received the call from Marcus at 6:45 a.m. The Bedroom Killer had struck again. The mother found her, called 9-1-1. Now, five hours later with his stomach growling from lack of food, he stood watching the bustling crime scene from across the street, standing among an ever-increasing crowd of onlookers, craning their necks and shouting questions like, Is it the bedroom guy?…and, Did they catch him?
The news vans were already there, and probably had been since shortly after the 9-1-1 operator dispatched a paramedic and police cruiser to the residence. John spotted Megan's car parked in front of the house when he first arrived. She was inside, asking questions and looking for clues…at least he hoped she was doing those things. He wanted to be with her, to work by her side, to support her. The thought of another dead girl inside the small wood-framed house across the street was enough to turn his stomach.
What was she doing now?
Looking at the dead girl?
Talking with the technicians?
At this point, John didn't exactly know where her mind was and he wished he could call her and say, "Are you okay? Cuz I'm right outside if you need to come talk to me."
He hoped she was well enough to turn away any thoughts of him, thoughts of getting away, thoughts of sex. As he gazed across the street, he spotted a county morgue van pulling up to the crime scene tape. Before it came to a complete stop, an officer dropped the tape, allowing the van to pull through. It pulled into the driveway, which had just been vacated by a police cruiser specifically to allow the van to park as close as possible to the house. Then Detective Anderson stepped out of the house and spoke to a group of men and women standing on the sidewalk in front of the house.
As he spoke, Andy happened to look across the street and his eyes met John's and froze. Their eyes stayed locked on each other for a couple of seconds before the detective brought his attention back to the group. After a few moments of hand waving and pointing in different directions, he turned and walked back into the house.
***
After seeing Dr. Randall across the street, Andy had to wonder why he was there. It didn't make any sense, but he knew from training that at times you might actually find the perpetrator of a crime standing out in the crowd admiring his own work, although this was more applicable to the arsonists. What's the point in starting a fire if you can't hang around and watch it burn?
To his left was the hallway leading to the bedrooms. He knew that Megan was down there. It was the first place she would go, stepping past other evidence, as if she had to see the final product before she could work her way backward to check off the evidence list.
Off to his right was the kitchen and dining room area, where Gerald and Kennedy were interviewing the mother, Melissa Conrad. Her sixteen-year-old daughter was named Hillary. Of course she was crying—bravely attempting to answer all their questions through her sobs. Andy moved through the room, down the hall, and stopped at the bedroom door. Eric the CSI technician was inside, along with Megan. The gurney and the two young men from the morgue were waiting patiently in the hall just past the bedroom door. Andy nodded to them, the same two who have come to each of the previous murders, and stepped inside the room to find Megan staring at a photo collage on the far wall, just above the dead girl's head. He stood there for what felt like a full minute—and Megan never moved. Andy looked behind him and noticed Eric staring at him. Andy nodded and Eric approached.
"She got a phone call," Eric said. “She's been like that since she hung up—five minutes at least. I just kept working."
Andy said, "Give us a minute."
"I'm done anyway," Eric said, and then walked out of the room. Andy turned back to Megan, reached out his hand, and whispered her name.
"Megan," Andy said.
She didn't move, so he said her name a little louder.
"Megan."
Startled out of her trance, she quickly turned to face Andy. Her cheeks were red, streaked with tears, and her eyes were filled with more tears just waiting to drip over her lower eyelids. Andy saw that and couldn't think of what to say. She was his superior. She knew more than he knew, had more years on the job, had taught him a lot of what he knew, and as he stood in front of her one foot away from the dead young girl, she was completely lost. But he wasn't entirely surprised to see her this way, knowing that things had been rough for her lately. He'd seen it building. He didn't know all the reasons why—but he felt that he knew some of them. It was more than the job. He knew that for sure.
"Oh, Megan," he said.
Megan quickly reached up and swiped her cuff across her eyes, wiping off the tears as best she could.
"You should go home," Andy said. "We can take care—"
"No," she said. "I'll be okay. It's just…"
But before she could say another word her entire body shuddered and she tipped forward. Andy quickly reached out and pulled her into his arms. She buried her face into his chest and sobbed. Andy swung his head back to look at the bedroom door, praying he wouldn't see Gerald walk through, but all he could see was one of the morgue guys peeking around the corner and whipping his head back when he locked eyes with Andy. He had to get her out so they could get in and do their job. But as soon as that thought hit him, Gerald arrived.
"What the hell is this?" said Gerald, puffing out his chest.
Megan instantly pulled away and straightened up.
"She needs to go home," Andy said.
"No. I'm fine," Megan said, choking back her tears.
Gerald looked from Megan to Andy and back to Megan and said, "What's your problem?"
"She's overworked," Andy said.
"Aren't we all?" Gerald said, then added, "And since when do you speak for Detective Ash?"
Gerald took a step into the room toward Megan and she instantly stepped backward, knocking her lower back into the corner bedpost, which acting as a fulcrum, suddenly tipped her backward onto the dead girl's head and upper body. She immediately slipped off the bed and landed on her butt on the floor. Megan screamed.
"Jesus Christ!" Gerald shouted, reaching out to grab her.
Megan saw his hand coming toward her and screamed, "No! Get away!"
Andy reached for her, too, but she slapped his hands away as she gathered her feet underneath her to stand.
"Get away!" she yelled again as she stood.
"Get away from me!" she shouted, gulping air and trying to breathe, talk, and cry at the same time. She bolted passed Gerald, heading for the door, but he caught her arm as she passed.
"Where are you going?" Gerald said.
Megan frantically shook her arm, trying to escape Gerald's meaty hands, but he had a tight grip on her small wrist. She lashed out at Gerald with her fist.
"Let me go!" Megan screamed.
Gerald held on.
"Not until you…"
"Let me go!" Megan screamed again.
Andy took a step forward thinking he might grab Gerald's hand when Kennedy and another detective rushed to the door.
"What's wrong?" Kennedy shouted.
"Let me go!" Megan screamed again.
"Gerald, let go!" Andy yelled.
Megan reached her right leg up and landed a solid kick on Gerald's upper thigh, causing Gerald to pull backward and loosen his grip. Megan twisted her arm and broke free, swinging and shoving her way past Kennedy and everyone else who had gathered in the cramped hallway, tossing them backward one at a time as the second-in-command screamed and shoved her way out of the house, with Gerald following close behind.
CHAPTER 56
John's stomach went queasy when he thought about the fifth young girl killed by the man who landed on his car hood. They hadn't caught him yet, and now he'd killed again. He'd made a mental calculation and realized it had been twenty-two days since that night. Yes, he was decreasing the number of days between murders. They were losing time and had to find this guy or they'd be doing this very same thing within the next two weeks. John had seen his share of dead bodies—blood and gore didn't bother him—when it was part of his work. Still, he was surprised at his reaction to just thinking about the dead girl inside. The news photographers continued to snap pictures and the on-scene reporters continued speaking into the cameras as they narrated to the TV audience what was going on inside the house behind them. Although he didn't have a TV to watch, at this moment John knew that this was playing out live on all the local stations.
"Hey, you're that guy."
John didn't know who said it, but it came from off to one side and, as he turned to the left to see who was speaking, he found two twenty-something boys staring at him, one of them pointing at him, his eyes wide.
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