A Soul To Steal

by Rob Blackwell

  “I broke the rules and a sweet, pretty, lovely girl who always remembered birthdays and everyone loved died in the worst fashion I can imagine. We were all in the building, did you know that? She was dying and calling for help and we were all there! All of us upstairs making changes and doing our jobs and she was begging us to help. But we couldn’t hear her. The printing press was running and running and running and it was so loud. She died screaming for help, knowing it was seconds away.”

  Tim Anderson wrapped his arms around his legs. Quinn had the feeling this was something he had wanted to say for 12 years and never had.

  “In the letter, he made it sound like you were dating Carrie,” Kate said. “Do you think he knew you weren’t?”

  “Oh, he knew,” Anderson said. “It was all just an elaborate trap. I had to spend hours talking to the police about a relationship that simply did not exist. They thought I did it. Once again, they thought I was Lord Halloween. Because why not? They couldn’t find any other candidates. Holober was a sick fuck, but he wasn’t a serial killer and they knew it. He was just another schizophrenic. They wanted a better candidate. I spent hours with the police. Hours I should have been looking for the real killer.”

  “What happened? Why didn’t they blame you?”

  “Holden happened,” he said. “He showed up with a lawyer and scared the shit out of them. He got them to seal the records on Carrie’s death, too. She was listed as a victim of Lord Halloween, but he convinced the police to keep where the body was found as confidential. He said it was about protecting information that only the killer would know, but I knew better. It was about protecting his precious paper.”

  “And after that?”

  “By then, all hell had broken loose anyway,” Anderson said. “The town banned Halloween, trick or treating, you name it. They would have agreed to any demand from Lord Halloween, if he had asked. And I just followed the story. Ethan finally gave me free rein to write about the impact on the town, speculation as to the killer’s motives, everything. Lord Halloween was happy with me. He wanted chaos and I gave it to him. I couldn’t write about the letters, but I wrote enough. There was sufficient information to characterize the killer and I did it.”

  “So he let you live?” Kate asked. “You did what he wanted and he let you live.”

  “Oh no,” Anderson said. “With him, there is always something beneath the surface. He set up a final test. You read the hint he gave already; pull no punches. That was about the police, but I pulled no punches with everyone. I am surprised Laurence let me publish it-certainly Ethan was pissed as soon as it came out, so he apparently didn’t know anything about it. Go find it in the archives. It was the best piece I have ever written-a sum up of the murders, the town’s reaction, the paper’s involvement, and the killer himself. And I let everyone have it.

  “‘When we give in to madmen, we lose the most vital part of ourselves. And we have given in to Lord Halloween. We have panicked, turned on each other and lost our way. In a time when we should be united against fear, we have let it run rampant, divided ourselves and given terror a free hand. This man-and that is all he is or will ever be-is a thief. He has robbed us of our safety, our piece of mind and our faith in each other. He has stolen our very soul. And we have let him do this. Where we should stand firm and fast, we have wilted. Where there should be resolve, there was cowardice. For that, we bear some responsibility.’”

  “Sounds like Lord Halloween would have loved it,” Quinn said.

  But Anderson wasn’t finished yet.

  “‘But I do not forget who holds the most responsibility for this month that will never end. It is the man who calls himself Lord Halloween. He preys on the weak, feeds on fear and lurks in the shadows. He does this under the illusion it makes him powerful. It makes him nothing. He is a phantom and nothing more. True, he has held a mirror to our faces and we have been found wanting.

  “‘But if we have given into fear, so has he. He could have played a part in this world, but he has chosen to hide in it. He strikes at us because there are things he doesn’t understand: love, compassion and empathy. They have always been alien to him. He mocks them with his actions, but the truth is something he must know: he envies us. We experience feelings he can’t know or express and he hates us for them. He is a creature to be pitied, not feared. He is alone in this world and always will be. When we pick up the pieces of our lives, we will go on loving, caring and empathizing. We can hope we will learn from this miserable experience and stand stronger against the things that would tear us apart. He, however, will be by himself, lost in a world he cannot fathom.

  “’I do not fear you Lord Halloween, I fear what you have wrought in us. One day we may bring you to justice, but if we do not, do not think it has not already been meted out. You have been judged and found unworthy.’”

  “Damn,” Kate said.

  “You should have been dead man walking.”

  “I expected it,” Anderson said. “That was published on Oct. 31. And I went home and waited for him to strike. I wasn’t going to make it easy. I had bought a shotgun and I sat in a corner of the room where no one could sneak up on me through a window or anything else. I didn’t answer the phone, I wasn’t going to be baited outside. I just waited. It never occurred to me that he would let me live. Why should he? I had called him out. I had told him who he really was. I had struck him with the only weapon I have, the only one that ever matters: the pen.”

  “And you remember it word for word?”

  “I took a long time to write it,” he replied.

  “What happened?” Quinn asked.

  “At about midnight exactly, a letter was pushed through my door. I watched it come through, but I didn’t move. I assumed it was a trick. I would get up, read the letter and he would somehow sneak in behind me. So I sat there for six more hours. I could hear the birds in the trees and dawn was coming. And I thought, ‘What does it matter now? He’ll get me in the end anyway.’ And I got up and read the letter.”

  “He let you live,” Kate said.

  “Yes. I realize now it was his way of saying goodbye. He told me in no uncertain terms to get lost, but he also said he was letting me go. I didn’t fully believe him, but I suppose the fact that I am still here means he was serious.”

  “Why?”

  Anderson got up and paced around the room.

  “You’ve seen the letter,” Anderson said. “I gave it to Laurence, whom I know kept copies. He kept copies on all of Lord Halloween’s victims.”

  “Why?” Kate asked.

  Anderson shook his head.

  “Laurence was once a reporter, too,” he said. “It was a good story. A good journalist keeps all his notes. I’m assuming he gave you those letters from Lord Halloween. I know the police didn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t say he gave them to us…” Quinn said.

  Anderson smiled wanly.

  “I didn’t feel any relief when I got the letter,” he said. “Not then and not now. I had been let go. I didn’t escape, he had simply chosen to let me live. And I thought about Carrie a lot. About how she died. I also did what he wanted: I left. I knew then that he was going to lay low. My death would have looked like an accident, but he would have found a way to kill me. So I packed up, handed in my resignation and moved west.”

  “Why didn’t you go further away?” Kate asked.

  “The same reason you came back,” Anderson said. “Because you are never really free. Would I be safer in Seattle? Maybe. But I didn’t know who he was and he could find me, I knew that. Anywhere I went, he could show up and take me out. So there was no point in going far away. I sometimes wonder if he did me no favor by letting me live. I still see him everywhere. I don’t trust anyone and the fact that you found me so quickly shows how useless that was. I’m a haunted man, Quinn O’Brion. I don’t need to tell Kate this: she already knows. I’ve been waiting for him to show up for 12 years.”

  “Do you know who he is?” Kate asked.
>
  “No,” Anderson answered. “I had theories at some point, but none of them really held together. I will tell you this: whoever he is, he’s connected with your paper.”

  Kate nodded.

  “Why do you say that?” Quinn asked.

  “He chose me,” Anderson replied. “And at first I was arrogant enough to assume it was about me. But it wasn’t. He chose the paper, not the reporter. I find it curious he hasn’t sent letters to either of you-what that means, I don’t know, but it means something. But I think that paper mattered more to him than the Post or New York Times or any of it-papers, by the way, that did cover his killing spree. I think it was this: I think the Chronicle was his hometown paper. I don’t think he went anywhere for 12 years. I think he just laid low. But whoever he is, he knew who you two were long before he started his latest spree. My guess is he knows everyone at the paper.”

  “Ethan Holden?” Kate asked. “That’s who you think it is.”

  “You’re perceptive, I’ll give you that,” Anderson responded. “Yes, that’s been a particular focal point for me. He’s a bit old to be running all over town killing people, but you can’t rule it out. He shares certain qualities with Lord Halloween: he’s arrogant, cold-blooded and deeply in need of a conscience. He thinks he’s high minded, but he’s not. I watched him encourage Laurence to take stories in certain directions-ones that might sell more papers, but weren’t exactly true either. Nothing overt. Nothing you could stand up and take a stand against.”

  This time it was Quinn who was nodding.

  “He’s your best candidate,” Kate said. “But are there others?”

  Anderson responded by getting up and walking away again. When he came back, he held a monstrous file in his hand.

  “This is it, the Holy Grail,” he said. “As much information as I could collect on everyone. Ethan, Kyle, Buzz, Laurence-even Sheriff Brown is in here. Nothing conclusive on anyone. If you look hard to see if someone’s a murderer, you find all sorts of things that could prove you right. But that doesn’t mean you are. Most people make mistakes and some are even ruthless, but that doesn’t make them killers.”

  “You’re giving this to us?” Kate asked.

  “It’s yours,” he said. “If Lord Halloween kills you, he’ll find it with you. When he does, he will know who wrote it. If he doesn’t know already you came to see me, he will after that.”

  “You want a final showdown,” Quinn said. It wasn’t a question.

  “I want it to end,” Anderson said. “I’ve been waiting for 12 years. It’s long enough. I won’t just kill myself-that’s a coward’s way out. And I won’t go down easy. But I’m through waiting. Either you finish him or he finishes me.”

  “Thank you for all your help,” Kate said.

  “How could I refuse you?” he asked. “I met your mother once, working a crime story. You look stunningly like her-same blue eyes and blond hair. She was beautiful. When I saw her, it was to meet your dad. She knew your dad didn’t like to talk to reporters, but she couldn’t have been nicer to me. I’m sorry for what that man did to her. I’m sorry for what he did to you.”

  “I’m going to finish him,” she said. “I’m going to make him pay.”

  Kate and Quinn rose to leave. As they were heading out the door, Anderson spoke for a final time.

  “Promise me something,” he said. “When you find him, don’t treat him like the monster he wants to be. He gets off on that. He’s just a man. Treat him that way.”

  When they were in the car driving away, Quinn turned and asked, “What did that mean? Treat him that way.”

  “He meant he wanted us to kill him,” Kate said. “Don’t capture. Don’t wait for the police. If we get a chance, take him down.”

  “You think you could?” Quinn asked, but he already knew the answer. He had trouble imagining himself hurting anyone, much less killing them.

  “It’s not a matter of could,” she said. “When I find him, I will.”

  Kyle paused while cutting onions and waited. He was preparing dinner, but he moved slowly. He kept listening for the scanner to go off.

  There would be action again soon-he could feel it. All day he had waited for the call. A new body, a panicked police source, but nothing had come.

  He managed to finish making dinner without any unusual scanner activity. He flipped the TV on while he ate.

  He turned the channel to find some wrestling, found it and watched it without paying much attention to it. He still had one ear cocked for any squawk of the scanner.

  A loud thud came from outside and Kyle jumped out of the chair. God, he was testy, he thought. It was probably just a package being delivered. Still, he weighed possibilities in his mind, decided it was better to be cautious and moved to the kitchen. He picked up the knife on the counter, still moist from chopping onions.

  He looked outside the kitchen window and saw nothing. He could wait here, but Kyle preferred action to waiting. If someone was playing a game, let them come. He would be ready.

  He walked toward the back patio and slid open the sliding glass door. He moved slowly and quietly. He thought with some irony that this would make a good story. A very good first-person perspective piece.

  Kyle crept around the outside of his house, keeping his eyes peeled for any movement. When he got outside the kitchen, he saw it. The bushes right by the window had been trampled. Someone had been looking in.

  He held the knife steady in front of him and kept walking. If someone was here bent on mischief, they would have another thing coming. Kyle had not spent years in the service so that he could be sneaked up on and ambushed.

  Kyle came around the front of his house and saw with some shock that the door was open. He cursed himself. Had he even locked it? He should have been more careful.

  It occurred to him that his tracker knew he had been running around outside the house. Shit. Now the person was inside and he was the one skulking.

  He felt a twinge of anxiety as he crept to the front door. He should be more careful. He could even call the police. But he pushed that thought away. They would mock him for calling them out here if they didn’t find anything. He wasn’t sure he could take it. No, he would handle this as he did everything else-by himself.

  He crept up to his front stoop and slowly opened the storm door in front. It squeaked slightly and made Kyle wish that he had oiled it more recently.

  The front door stood wide open. Closing the storm door quietly behind him, Kyle carefully walked in, the knife still at his side.

  He tensed with every muscle and listened. He moved to the stairs and walked down into his den.

  Slowly, Kyle thought. I mustn’t rush. He thought about his gun upstairs, but he had not used it in years. Mostly it had been there for decoration, since Kyle had never fully embraced the weapon.

  He pushed himself up against the far left wall and crept ever so slowly forward. He checked behind him, but there was nothing. Moving forward, he edged around and looked beyond the corner, just briefly.

  Sure enough, there was a figure sitting in the chair in his computer room.

  “You can come out now, Kyle,” the voice said, startling him. “I’ve been watching you for some time. You aren’t nearly so clever as you think you are.”

  Kyle walked around the corner and instantly recognized who sat in the chair. He took a step back in surprise.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Kyle asked. “Don’t you know there is a murderer on the loose?”

  “Yes,” the figure said and chuckled slightly. “I do.”

  Even though he was draped in shadow, Kyle saw him pull something large from behind him.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing?” Kyle asked.

  “I think you know,” the figure replied.

  Kyle realized that the man had a gun pointing at him.

  “Jesus, you can’t be serious,” said Kyle, backing up.

  There is a way out of this, he thought. I will not go down l
ike this.

  “Deadly,” the figure said. “Don’t make a move, Kyle. Not even a sound. I knew you would be trouble, so don’t think I won’t fire first. I’m taking no chances here. But don’t worry, that is not what I have in store for you. I want to take my time with this.”

  Kyle decided that he would have to make his move soon. He gripped the knife at his right side and wondered how quickly he could throw it.

  The figure took one step toward him and Kyle made his move. He flung the knife in the figure’s direction and darted off to the right. As he started to move, Kyle heard the gun go off.

  Nov. 1, 1994

  Dear Tim,

  At least you went out with a bang. I want you to understand two things: I fully intended to kill you the other day, but I’m not going do so anymore. You have proven worthy. You were brave when most men would have been cowardly. You signed your name to an article you knew would infuriate me, with the full knowledge that I would end you for it.

  Your words did cut to the bone, Tim. I won’t lie. But right is right and sometimes even I have to concede a point. So, congratulations, you get to live.

  There is one condition to this: you have to leave. I don’t want to keep seeing you around. Eventually, I’m bound to let my anger get the best of me. It wouldn’t be a death at the hands of Lord Halloween-they caught him, remember? — but it would be an untimely accident.

  You have three days. If I see you here again, your death will be so quick, your soul will leave your body before your corpse even hits the ground. Leave Loudoun County to me. Find somewhere else to roam. I’m finished with you.

  Sincerely,

  Lord Halloween

  Chapter 19

  Sunday, Oct. 22

  “You still awake?” she asked in barely a whisper.

  “Of course,” Quinn replied.

  After visiting Anderson, the two of them had headed back to the hotel room to look through the files. They had tried unsuccessfully to find a VCR to watch the security tapes from Kate’s hotel, but the man at the front desk said there were none available. They had poured over the information until they couldn’t see straight.