Red Rain_Hurricane

by David Beers

  “Why can’t we get in touch with him, then, Diane? Why hasn’t he called?” Alicia looked up, her face tear-streaked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he lost his cellphone. Maybe he wanted to try doing this all by himself. Maybe he had a fucking heart attack—I DON’T KNOW. I do know that my husband didn’t murder him and fuck you for thinking that was even a possibility.”

  The two women stared at each other for a few seconds, neither saying anything.

  “I’m going to him and I want you to come. He wants you to come. No one else, though, and I don’t give a damn what they try to say to me when I go back down. You can stay or go, that’s up to you, but if you stay, you’re not to say a word about where I’m going.”

  * * *

  “How far out are you?” Alan said.

  “Two hours if traffic doesn’t act up,” Susan answered.

  Alan looked through the glass doors inside the house. He stood in the same place Diane Hilt had thirty minutes ago. No one watched him as they all had her, though. No, the rest of the police were inside trying to talk Diane out of this insane idea. Trying to get her to stop lying as well.

  “His wife is delusional,” Alan said.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Well, she got a call a little bit ago, but she went outside to take it. Refused to let anyone hear what she said. Then she came back in, marched the sister upstairs, and just came back down saying that the two of them were leaving.”

  “Who did she say was on the phone?” Susan asked.

  “She won’t tell us, though it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out.”

  “And you think she’s going to Hilt?”

  Alan nodded. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m thinking. We don’t have her phone tapped, so we don’t know the conversation, but I think he told her where he is and I think she’s going to him now.”

  “Well, you can’t let her. That’s simple.”

  “Why not?” Alan said.

  “Why … ? Why not? Mainly because the man just killed his father and will most likely kill them too. What do you mean, why not?”

  Alan saw Diane yelling at one of the cops inside the house. “He knows we’re here. He’s not going to show up at this house waving a gun around. The quickest way to find him is to let them go.”

  “And when he kills them, Alan, what are you going to say to the boss? The media? His kids? You can’t let them go.”

  Alan knew the arguments because he’d made them to himself already.

  “We’ll find him one way or another,” Susan said. “If it’s not right now, then next week.”

  “And what about Kaitlin? You think he’s just going to carry her around for a week?” Alan said.

  “Look, I care about that girl. I went to see her when you were done with her. But do you think she’s still alive? She’s gone, Alan, and finding him today is only going to prove that. You can’t save her.”

  Alan started pacing, walking across the large backyard. “Maybe she’s alive.”

  “That’s all you got, a maybe.”

  Alan said nothing and found himself at the edge of John Hilt’s pool. Monetarily, the man dwarfed anything Alan had, or could hope to, amass.

  “You know she’s dead and if you send anyone else to him, more blood will spill.”

  He closed his eyes. “I think she’s alive and I’m not going to let her die, Susan.”

  “You can’t do this,” she said. “I won’t let you.”

  “Call me when you’re back, Suse.”

  Alan hung up the phone. He didn’t walk back inside, didn’t even turn around to see what was happening. Susan was right about so much but, what if they didn’t catch Hilt? What if he just disappeared? He certainly had the means to do so and not a single injunction had been put on his bank accounts. How far could a man like that run in Europe? South America?

  And Kaitlin Rickiment. What if she wasn’t dead? No one knew how long Hilt held his victims for—could be hours or could be a week. If he put a net out and hoped that Hilt walked into it, she would die. He was certain about that and if they had any chance of saving that girl, it had to be soon.

  Susan might try to call the chief, but it would take time to get the apparatus moving in the opposite direction—stopping Alan as opposed to supporting him.

  And the last thing that neither he nor Susan brought up?

  Alan wanted Hilt. He didn’t want to cuff him but to put a bullet through his fucking head.

  He didn’t walk into the house, but instead went around the side, out the gate and into the front yard. He went to his car first and then Diane Hilt’s before returning to the backyard.

  * * *

  Diane watched the back door open and the detective re-enter the house. He had taken his own phone call and Diane didn’t like that at all.

  He closed the door behind him and walked across the kitchen to the living room.

  “We’re leaving,” Diane said. She’d been in here arguing with the rest of these idiots for the past ten minutes, but clearly none of them had decision making authority. All of it rested on this detective and he would see very shortly that Diane had the authority to go to her husband.

  “When?” he said.

  “Now. As soon as you and your gestapo bastards stop harassing me.” She turned to the lawyer. “Can they keep us from leaving?”

  The lawyer sat on the couch looking like he imagined a night spent naked in Alaska was more appealing than her living room.

  “Technically, no. Do I think you should disobey a police officer’s orders? No, I don’t. You should stay. But as long as you aren’t being detained for a lawful reason, they can’t stop you.”

  “You hear that?” Diane said.

  “I heard him. Do you think we don’t know who you’re going to see, Mrs. Hilt?”

  “I don’t give a goddamn if you think I’m going to sit on Santa’s lap at the mall; as long as you let me go and don’t follow me, you can think whatever you want.”

  The detective held her eyes for a few seconds. “Okay,” he said. “Let them go. You’re risking a lot, Mrs. Hilt.”

  Diane ignored everything he said after okay. She looked to Alicia. “Are you coming?”

  Alicia nodded but said nothing. Diane could scarcely believe Alicia ate the bullshit these cops spoon fed her. John killed his father? His last parent? When this was done, Alicia could fuck off, because she wouldn’t be around Diane’s family anymore. The only reason Diane let her come now was because John specifically asked her to.

  “Let’s go.”

  Diane grabbed her purse from the coffee table and walked to the door, hearing Alicia’s footsteps following. Diane didn’t bother saying anything else to the police or her sister-in-law. She walked out of the house and started her car, barely waiting for Alicia to climb in before jetting from the driveway.

  * * *

  “You can’t let them go, regardless of what the law says. Her husband is out of his goddamn mind and I want to be on record telling you this.” The lawyer didn’t stand up from the couch as he spoke, didn’t move an inch. Alan thought the man had resigned himself to a spectator of the whole debacle, the fact that his clients paid him to protect them be damned. He had no control here and knew it, so why break a sweat?

  “What do you want to do?” a cop from across the room said.

  Susan had most likely called in his plan already. Alan had to act quickly if he wanted to get away with it, because he imagined the chief wouldn’t let this play out.

  “I’m going to follow them. I want you all to stay here in case this is some kind of ruse and Hilt comes back hoping that everyone left. Move your cars to another neighborhood and walk back. Leave the lawyer here while you walk back. One of you stay with him.” Alan put his eyes on the attorney. “I’m telling you right now, you leave this house and I’ll have you arrested for obstruction.”

  The attorney still didn’t move, but raised his eyebrows less as a shocked gesture, but more as if
to say, anything else?

  Turning back to the cops, Alan said, “Move his car too. Get his keys. I’ll call in when I know more. If anyone shows up here, you call me immediately. Any questions?”

  “The boss know you’re doing this?”

  “He will as soon as I get in the car and call him. Other questions?”

  No one said anything but they didn’t have to. The single query summed up what they all thought, that this was a mistake. Well, it would be his mistake—not theirs.

  Alan got in his car and reached into his glove box. He pulled out a small black box and turned it on. The digital screen came to life and a tiny, red dot started blipping on the screen.

  They were heading south.

  Alan pulled out of the driveway.

  24

  The End of the Beginning

  The problem, as John saw it, was that he differed from true sociopaths. He studied it some during his last year in England. Sociopaths cared about nothing but themselves, and a lot of them felt other people only existed to please them. Some even believed if they died, the world would end—the entire universe truly revolved around them.

  John didn’t think anything like that, which was where everything broke down for him. If he had been able to view the world as his personal playground—like Harry did—then all the thoughts assaulting his conscience would cease. He could have been happy.

  Even now, with a butcher knife in between his feet, the thoughts came at him mercilessly.

  Harry sat next to him, literally twiddling his thumbs in the black night.

  “You’re right. You do have a problem. You’re thirty minutes away from getting this fucker out of your life and you’re worried about what?”

  John was glad to have Harry back, at least a part of John. He missed Harry and knew no other way to put it. Harry was comfort. Harry was home. Or maybe … he was glad Harry returned because he wanted to kill Vondi and Harry made it that much easier.

  “Except not all of you wants to, does it?” Harry asked, interrupting his thoughts with more of the truth. “The difference this time is that you don’t want to kill because you care about yourself, not about him.”

  “So …,” John said. He didn’t want to talk about it, not right now—in a few short minutes, death would arrive on this street.

  “You’re obsessed with what this says about you. That you’re not wallowing in self-pity and hate. Why aren’t you, though?”

  “Because he’s trying to hurt me,” John whispered, “in the only way he can.”

  “Exactly. What does that say about you?”

  “What are you, my fucking shrink now?” John said, turning away from the knife at his feet to look at Harry.

  “Well, we have some time and I’m tired of sitting here listening to your thoughts on the subject. You need to hear what I think.”

  “And why would that interest me at all?”

  “I don’t care if it interests you. Now, what does killing this man say about you? He’s going to hurt you in a way that you might not survive. It’s not like the guy is reporting you to the police for unpaid parking tickets.”

  “It says that I value my life more than his.”

  “Exactly,” Harry said. “What you’re having trouble seeing is that everyone else in the world feels the same way. How many people, when faced with death—or at least irrevocable life change—are going to turn the other cheek?”

  John said nothing.

  “Yup. Not too many. You’re different than other people, John, but this isn’t one of the ways. Hell, your own mother told you what to do.”

  “And I’m going to do it, aren’t I?”

  “Your mother loves you,” Harry said. “She loves you more than she loves herself. That’s what mothers are supposed to feel.”

  John wasn’t an idiot. When his mother told him how her father died, he knew what she was doing: giving him an instruction manual for murdering their doctor. Because if he did it that way, and something happened, it would be far too easy to pin the whole thing on her. She would sacrifice herself if need be.

  “I have a good mom,” John said.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Harry said it as if undecided on the subject. “But she certainly did you a solid here.”

  A few minutes passed in silence.

  “Are you ready?” Harry asked.

  John nodded. He felt it coming on, the focus that set him apart from others. All but the greatest, because surely Michael Jordan felt the same thing in fourth quarters.

  They had watched Vondi for the past week; the man was a workaholic. Not married. John didn’t know why he worked so much, whether because he wanted money or truly thought he made a difference in the world. Either way, he worked late many nights each week. A chance existed that he might already be home, but it was a small one—John checked the office parking lot before spinning over here and Vondi’s car had been in its usual spot.

  John’s watch said one in the morning and the street Vondi lived on was devoid of people. He had an apartment just outside of downtown Dallas. A swanky place where people parked on the street. John sat about five feet away from a Mercedes.

  He knew how Harry wanted him to do it, but he didn’t know if he completely agreed.

  “You better agree,” Harry said.

  “Doing it outside isn’t a good idea; I don’t care what you say.”

  “Look, you don’t know if they have cameras inside—”

  “I’m wearing a fucking mask, Harry.”

  “And your getaway is going to be slowed down. You need to do it out here.”

  “Just shut up,” John said.

  He felt the hunger growing greater and greater. The world was fading away, and with it his ability to focus on anything else. Not where and not how. Things would flow naturally.

  John saw Vondi’s car pass, heading down the road a block or so to where he usually parked.

  John stood up, gripping the knife’s handle. He couldn’t wait. He started across the street, pulling the mask out from his back pocket. He slipped it over his face as he reached the other side of the street. Looking straight ahead he walked along the road until he saw the red taillights of Vondi’s car.

  He ducked behind the car next to him, careful to keep his body out of view from Vondi’s mirrors.

  Harry stood behind him, not hiding but watching with rapt attention.

  John listened to Vondi’s car door open; he looked through the driver’s side window, checking to see Vondi’s next move.

  The doctor leaned inside his car, grabbing his bag.

  John moved quickly and made less sound than a leaf blowing across the ground.

  As Vondi stood, John met him, slamming the butcher’s blade into the middle of his throat. He hacked hard, and then once in, pressed down even harder, feeling the flesh split and open the soft tissue beneath.

  Vondi made a sound like boiling water bubbling in a pot. Blood shot from his mouth and throat simultaneously, covering his chin and shirt. It looked so much darker in the moonlight than the fresh red it actually was.

  John lifted the bottom of his ski-mask above his eyes, barely keeping it on his head at all.

  Vondi, blood spewing from holes it shouldn’t, looked into John’s eyes, and there was recognition.

  John let him drop with the knife still lodged in his throat. The doctor fell in between the car and the door, sitting up in the v-shaped corner they made. His head sagged down over the knife, as if simply taking a snooze.

  * * *

  The air was cold on John’s bare skin.

  He stood in a secluded area in the woods behind his parent’s house. The same woods where he once clocked someone with a rock. The same woods where he skinned a live animal, just to see what it felt like.

  He achieved another first this morning. The sun hadn’t come up yet and John only wanted sleep but knew he had more to do. In front of him, a circle of rocks surrounded a fire. Wood covered in lighter fluid, a little paper, and a match had started it
. John’s clothes sat in a pile to his right and he stood naked, trying to warm himself with the fire.

  If someone were to come out here and see him like this, his bloodied clothes lying next to him, he was done for. He doubted that would happen, though—not this early in the morning. Most people weren’t willing to set their alarm for four, let alone walk into the deep woods.

  John sprayed a little more lighter fluid on the fire and watched as the flames rose in excitement. He put the fluid down and reached for his clothes. He fed them, article by article, into the fire. It ate his clothes with the same enthusiasm as it ate the wood John placed there earlier.

  When it was finished, he looked down at his naked arms and legs.

  He didn’t know why it took him so long to think through the DNA problem. He should have figured that out in England, and by not doing so, he put himself at unnecessary risk.

  Before he went out last night, he sat down in his tub with a brillo pad. He scraped every part of his skin, including his head, dispensing with loose skin and hair, making sure that none of his DNA would end up on Vondi.

  And now with the fire having done its work on John’s clothes, none of Vondi’s DNA would end up on him either.

  He reached into a small duffel bag and pulled out a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and sandals. He put the clothes on and then grabbed a water bottle from the bag. He poured it over the fire, listening to the flames sizzle as they fought futilely to continue living.

  Harry would say that nothing can continue living if I don’t want it to.

  Harry was gone. John had no reason to think about him. Hopefully, he wouldn’t come back ever, though John doubted that was a possibility any longer. He would see Harry again, but right then, John thought that time couldn’t be far enough away.

  He kicked over the remaining wood and ash, then grabbed his duffel bag and found the trail leading back to his house.

  Walking across his backyard, he saw a single orange light glowing just outside of his backdoor. No lights burned in the house and John didn’t know what the small glow could be.