A Soul To Steal

by Rob Blackwell

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I want to trust you. And I do…”

  “But only so far,” he finished.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’m sorry. But I’m on my own here. He’s hunting me, not you.”

  Quinn sighed and lay back on his bed. What was he supposed to say? How do you really know somebody else? There has to be some leap of faith, but what if you’re wrong?

  He raised himself up again and looked at her.

  “I believe in you,” he said. “I know it sounds corny. But I don’t think you’re going to be beaten by this guy. He may know who you are, but other than that, he knows nothing else about you.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “You’re not a scared little girl anymore, Kate. You’re not the girl he saw. Don’t let him put you in that position. You grew up. You’re smart, capable and tough.”

  “Plus I have a gun and know how to use it,” she added and smiled a little.

  “There is that, yes,” Quinn said. “You’ll beat him. We’ll beat him.”

  “I hope you’re right, Quinn,” she replied and the smile faded. “I hope you’re right.”

  *****

  “Any news?” Janus asked when Quinn and Kate arrived at the Chronicle in the morning. Quinn was used to having most of the newsroom to himself, but he noticed Kyle, Buzz and Laurence were already there too.

  “Hello,” Janus said again, as Quinn stared at the Coke machine in the kitchen. “Any news?”

  “What news?” Quinn asked, and suddenly he was reluctant to share too much information. “Not much help in the files, I’m afraid.”

  “Christ, you are bloody stupid,” Janus said. “Not about that.”

  Janus glanced meaningfully in Kate’s direction, who was already sitting at her desk.

  “Oh,” Quinn said and sat down. God, he was tired. “Not much.”

  “Not much?” Janus asked. “Dude, you guys came in together. And unless I miss my guess, this is the second day in a row where that’s true. Plus you look totally knackered. So what kept you up all night, eh?”

  “Not what you think,” Quinn replied.

  “So she didn’t stay with you?” he asked. “I mean, it’s early in the morning…”

  “She did, but…” Quinn said. “Let’s just say she came by to grab some stuff here last night. What she found was not exactly the stuff of romance.”

  “What?” Janus asked, sitting down in the chair across from him.

  “A note from everyone’s favorite serial killer.”

  “What?” Janus asked. “Are you fucking insane? Shouldn’t the police be here then? What did they say when you called them?”

  Quinn shook his head.

  “We didn’t. It would raise more problems than it would solve.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Janus said. “You have to tell them. What if the guy left fingerprints?”

  “He never does at murder scenes. Why would here be any different?”

  “But you don’t know, Quinn.”

  “I know that if we bring the police in, nothing good will come of it,” Quinn replied.

  “If you keep this a secret and they find out later, nothing good will come of that either,” Janus said.

  “Maybe. But some things are better left not broadcast.”

  Quinn was not sure why he and Kate had agreed to keep it secret. After all, the one person whom they did not want to find out her identity clearly already knew it. But there would be questions from Sheriff Brown, not exactly what either of them wanted at the moment.

  “So he left a note?” Janus asked.

  “He did,” Quinn replied. “So she stayed at my place just in case he figured out where she lived.”

  “Where does she live?” Janus asked.

  Quinn stared at him a moment.

  “What makes you ask now?”

  Janus’ eyes widened.

  “Are you crazy?” Janus said. “What-you think I might be behind this?”

  “I don’t know who’s behind it, Janus.”

  “Well, it bloody well isn’t me. And you should keep your paranoia in check.”

  “Just because you are paranoid does not mean they are not out to get you,” Quinn replied.

  “Come on, Quinn, you can’t be serious,” Janus said. “You know I could never do any of this. I was just being fucking inquisitive. Like reporters are supposed to be…”

  Quinn lifted his hand.

  “I don’t think you did it,” Quinn said.

  “Good,” Janus said. Then a long pause. “Why?”

  “Just my intuition,” Quinn said and got up to leave.

  The two walked out of the kitchen to see much of the newsroom now in motion. Nearly all the reporters were at their desks, even Buzz, who made it a habit never to be around when anyone else was.

  “Big crowd today,” Quinn said. “And early, too.”

  “Not hard to see why,” Janus said.

  Quinn looked at him.

  “If there is a killer on the loose, would you want to be sitting at home alone?”

  Quinn looked over at Kate who was working the phones.

  “No, I wouldn’t,” he said.

  Though all the reporters were at the office, most of them were stuck with little to do. Friday was a slow day in their news cycle, the day they were supposed to kick back, check with sources and plan for the next week’s paper.

  Kyle was the only reporter who was busy.

  It was a hard thing for Quinn not to resent. Since crime was Kyle’s beat, he had taken over much of the investigation into the recent murders. Around noon, he loudly mentioned to anyone in ear shot that there was another possible killing in Lovettsville and had to run to check it out. It turned out to be nothing but a wild goose chase, but it was clear the guy was in his element, having fun. He was on the phones all day checking in with people.

  And Quinn had nothing. He had found Tim Anderson-maybe-but he couldn’t go out there today. He worked the phones all day hoping to get some new information on the murders, but he got nowhere. His police sources were terse, barely even polite, and he felt like he was spinning his wheels.

  Quinn watched Kyle stand up and, much to his surprise, the mustached reporter came his way.

  “Quinn,” Kyle said. “I was hoping for some assistance.”

  Quinn’s jaw practically hit the floor. That had simply never happened before. Kyle hated help. He didn’t seek it and he didn’t want it.

  “I know, I know,” Kyle said. “It’s unusual for me to ask.”

  Unusual? Try unprecedented, Quinn thought.

  “But there is a lot going on here and I can’t keep up with all of it.”

  “What can I do for you?” Quinn asked. It came out sounding more excited than he meant it to.

  “I’m chasing down too many leads,” Kyle replied. “There was the Lovettsville thing and I keep getting calls from people who think they may have seen something. There are just too many to keep track of and I’m already thinking I could be here all night every night for the next week. I thought maybe we could divide some of it up and you could help with the legwork.”

  Quinn sat stunned.

  “You want to be a team on this?” Quinn asked.

  “It’s too much for one person,” Kyle said. “I figured rather than getting beaten by the Post, it would be smarter to get help.”

  “Sure, Kyle,” Quinn said. “You know I’m happy to help.”

  And with that, the two of them sat down and went through a list of more than a dozen phone calls. If he had not already known the panic was coming, Quinn could see it now. It was just a trickle of course, but one more murder would send everyone over the edge. There were calls from all over the county. They divided up the list of leads, with Kyle even allowing Quinn to pick a few. Quinn was still amazed at the sudden shift in Kyle's behavior. This was a guy who usually wanted the biggest story all to himself. Quinn had been free to pursue his own leads, but the idea that Kyle might share his ow
n tips had never crossed Quinn’s mind.

  Maybe Rebecca or Laurence had talked to Kyle, he thought.

  By afternoon, he was half-way through his list. For the most part they were dead ends: people who heard vague noises outside their house at night and a couple who thought their neighbors, whom they had never liked, were the killers. Quinn would have preferred to go in person, but there were simply too many leads.

  It was the seventh or eighth call that sounded different. It was something in the guy’s voice that did it for him. He sounded too calm and kept apologizing for bothering anyone. Panicked people didn’t do that. They insisted that it was something serious and demanded attention.

  Quinn called Janus and asked to meet him in a neighborhood on the outer edges of Leesburg.

  On his way out, he stopped by Kate’s desk. She was busy looking things up on the Internet-Quinn couldn’t immediately tell what. He knelt down beside her.

  “I have to meet Janus out near Rudolph Street,” Quinn said. “You okay here?”

  She turned to him and Quinn momentarily wanted to step back. He felt like he was looking at a stranger. Her face was impassive.

  “I’m okay without you, you know,” she said.

  Quinn held up his hands.

  “I never implied anything else,” he said. “It’s just…”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said.

  Quinn didn’t want to draw attention to them. He looked at her for a moment more and then headed out the door.

  It was about a 10 minute drive to the house of Tony Comizio, a big burly guy who should have a voice like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s, Quinn thought. Instead, his voice was almost too soft.

  “I should have called the police maybe,” Comizio said, and Quinn had to inch closer to hear him. “But I know a couple of guys over there and I didn’t want them making fun of me.”

  Janus pulled up in the driveway behind them.

  Quinn motioned to the car.

  “That’s my photographer. Why would they make fun of you? You said on the phone you found something.”

  “It’s probably nothing,” Comizio said. “You guys can come out and see. I’m probably wasting your time.”

  Janus looked at Quinn quizzically as he walked up and Quinn shrugged. He was beginning to think Mr. Comizio had self-esteem issues.

  They followed Comizio around back. The house was a nice large, brick colonial. It was in a good subdivision but backed up on a forest. In a few years, Quinn knew these beautiful woods would be gone, plowed down to make way for a new subdivision. But for now… it was nice.

  “It’s back here,” Comizio said. They walked to the back of his yard and followed him as he disappeared into a copse of trees.

  Quinn was amazed at how fast civilization seemed to disappear here. One minute he had been driving through a pleasant suburb and now all he could see were trees. Comizio stopped at the top of a hill and looked down a steep slope.

  “It’s down here,” he said. “Watch your step.”

  Janus nearly fell, but grabbed a branch to avoid sliding. The three of them carefully worked their way down the slope.

  “It’s wild back here,” Quinn said.

  “We’re on the old Phillips farm now,” Comizio said.

  “Right,” Quinn said. He knew more than he wanted to about this place.

  “Some developer wants to pay a fortune for it,” Comizio said. “It’s a huge space. About 60 acres of prime Loudoun land.”

  They continued walking for a bit. Normally Quinn might have loved the opportunity for a walk in the woods. But he still felt jumpy from last night and had a strange feeling that someone was watching him.

  “What do you think about the development deal?” Quinn asked. He was not sure he cared that much. But it was a conversation and Janus was being oddly silent.

  “Well, I guess most of us are against it,” he said. “I mean, it’s historical land, isn’t it? That fantastic dirt road, you know? George Washington used it. And they keep that covered bridge in great condition. Well, the Phillips used to at any rate. It’s a little worse for wear now.”

  “Right.” But Quinn didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. The feeling in his stomach had gotten worse. He felt queasy and the sense of being watched was stronger.

  “You know the one, right?” Comizio asked. “People still use it occasionally to get out to Waterford, especially during the craft fair like the one last week. You have to go slow, of course, but people still use it.”

  Quinn now remembered the bridge, but couldn’t remember taking it. He also couldn’t remember the last time he was in Waterford.

  “Right,” he said.

  “We’re almost there,” Comizio said again, as they walked up a short hill.

  “I’m bloody out of shape,” Janus said finally. “I mean, I’m doing okay. I’m pretty sure Bill would have keeled over already. But still…”

  “I started hearing it about a week ago,” Comizio said as they came to a clearing. There was a small, narrow field in front of them.

  “Hearing what?” Quinn asked.

  “Horses,” Comizio said quietly.

  Quinn’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Multiple horses?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Comizio said. “Believe it or not, you can hear a lot from the house. But the first night I thought I was dreaming.”

  “What did you hear?” Quinn asked. He felt like he had to concentrate just to get the words out. Now he knew why he felt so terrible. The field, the woods, everything had a familiar feeling. In his head, he turned over Comizio’s words again. The road. The bridge. He felt like he wanted to run.

  “It would be in the middle of the night,” he said. “I mean-it’s impossible to ride at that speed in the dark, especially through here, you know?”

  “Yeah,” Quinn said.

  “So I thought I was just imagining it,” Comizio continued. “It was the same thing every night. I would hear it at one o’clock one night, then two hours later. It was a little freaky.”

  “I bet,” Janus said.

  “I’m sorry again, guys,” Comizio said and looked down at his shoes. “This probably has nothing to do with what you are working on.”

  “Why did you think it did?” Quinn asked.

  “Cause I thought I was crazy, right?” Comizio said. “Then I came down here and started seeing stuff, too.”

  Comizio walked forward a bit and pointed at a patch of mud near the edge of the field. Quinn did not even have to look. There were hoof prints in the mud.

  “That was the first thing,” Comizio said. “Then it was other stuff.”

  “What other stuff?” Janus asked.

  Quinn could not move. He felt his heart pounding. He wanted very much to run or stay immobile. He could not decide.

  Comizio and Janus appeared not to notice.

  “Look up here,” Comizio said. He and Janus walked over to some trees near the edge of the field. Quinn couldn’t hear them anymore.

  “You coming, Quinn?” Janus called back, but without looking.

  Quinn did not know how he could. I won’t be able to take it, he thought. Last night a very real killer had been in the same room with him. He might be watching him even now. And now this guy was seeing Quinn’s phantom. Something that should not be real. I can’t take both of these things, Quinn thought. I’ll lose my mind.

  “Quinn?” Janus called.

  With tremendous effort, Quinn moved forward. He walked stiffly across the distance and could feel his legs wanting to break into a run.

  “What?” he asked. His voice came out as a whisper.

  Janus looked at him for a minute.

  “What?” Quinn asked again.

  “Cuts in the tree,” Janus said. “Look at the limbs on the right side.”

  Quinn looked down the right side of the field. Branches hanging over the right side were broken, as if something rode through them.

  “Someone has been riding up and down the fi
eld,” Janus said. “Apparently in the middle of the night. And look at this.”

  Janus pointed to the tree in front of them. There were a series of cuts on it. Quinn knew what kind of instrument had done the cutting: a sword. The Horseman had been here.

  “I think it forms a word,” Comizio finally said.

  “Really?” Janus asked. He looked at the tree harder. “Is that an S?”

  Comizio nodded.

  “It took me a bit,” he said. “But I figured it out. Or at least I think I did.”

  Before he could say it, Quinn knew what the word was. He did not know how or why.

  “Sanheim,” Quinn said.

  Comizio turned in surprise.

  “Yeah,” he said. “But it took me a couple of days to figure that out. You have to step back. How did you even see it?”

  “Sanheim?” Janus asked. “That’s just another word for Halloween.”

  “What?” Quinn asked, suddenly turning to Janus.

  “He’s right,” said Comizio. “I looked it up on the Net. It’s similar to the spelling of the Celtic word for Halloween. He was the God of Halloween, I think. All these Christian groups are going on about how Halloween is a pagan festival and stuff. They keep using his name. That’s why I thought you guys would want to see it. Because of that killer. I’ve only lived here six years, but I’ve heard the stories. Lord Halloween, right? Isn’t that his name? It wasn’t in the paper, but I thought…”

  “That’s his name,” Quinn said. He stared at the word on the tree. It should mean something to him, but it didn’t. Or it did, but he couldn’t remember it. It was like having something on the tip of your tongue, but not being able to say it. He knew the word, but why? Was it in his dream too? Everything else about this place was so familiar.

  “Right,” Comizio said. “So I thought this was the God of Halloween, right? The killer calls himself Lord Halloween? It can’t be a coincidence, right? Maybe the killer has been out here, riding around. I know I must sound pretty stupid.”

  “Well, it is weird,” Janus said.

  “It doesn’t sound stupid at all,” Quinn said.

  “I’m glad to hear you say it,” Comizio said. “Should I call the police? I mean, I didn’t want to if it was a waste of time. I know those guys are busy.”