by Jason Parent
“I’m retired. I was in the army for a while. After that, I kind of bounced around a bit.”
“Army man, huh? I was in the Navy myself. I’ve got fam—” Ryan reached for his neck as though he were trying to strangle himself. The cup fell from his hands, and coffee spilled across his lap. His eyes appeared as if they might pop out of his head. His face turned red and continued to darken with each passing moment.
Nicole smirked and shook her head. “Burned yourself again? Real swift, Ryan.”
Ryan started convulsing. White foamy saliva bubbled from his mouth.
Nicole looked down at her cup. She picked it up and threw it onto the floor. “What did you do to him?” She reached for the radio to signal for backup with one hand, at the same time moving her other toward her gun.
The man lunged through the window, simultaneously splaying over Ryan and slashing out with a knife. By the time Nicole saw the blade, its point was already heading toward her left eye. She had no time to react before it made contact and plunged into her eyeball. Her sight in that eye went dark, and something with the consistency of egg yolk oozed down her cheek.
Then came the pain.
She screamed. She raised her hand to grasp the knife. Her mind screamed for her to get it out, over and over again. Her eye felt as though someone had stuck a bunch of lit firecrackers directly into her pupil, each miniexplosion tearing deep into her brain. It made her thoughts wild and her actions purposeless. The flaring pain was unlike anything she’d ever felt. Her nerve endings were on fire.
She tugged at the knife handle with both hands. She knew the man was somewhere nearby, probably preparing for another strike, but the thought came second to getting that awful thing out of her face. Blind in both eyes, the uninjured one blurring with tears, she yanked hard on the handle. The knife stuck at first, then it slid free with a popping sound that echoed through her mind.
A hand wrapped around hers and pried her fingers loose. Her attacker’s zealous grin made Nicole’s heart sink. Pain and fear immobilized her completely. Aside from some uncontrollable twitches, her body would not move.
“I’ll take that,” he said, pulling the knife from her grip.
He used the blade to cut the cord to the radio. She willed her trembling, bloodied hand to move toward her service pistol.
“Uh-uh,” the man said in the same tone as one would scold a small child reaching for off-limits candy. He shifted and jabbed the blade deep into her stomach.
Nicole coughed, and blood sprayed from her mouth. Her hands went to the fresh wound. The seat beneath her moistened, and she didn’t know if she sat in poisoned coffee or urine. The man withdrew the blade, and Nicole was surprised to feel nothing more than a tugging sensation.
Vomit rose in her throat. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a gurgling sound.
He wiped the knife on Ryan’s uniform as he crawled back out the window. “Hey, are you going to eat those?” he asked, pointing at the bag of doughnuts.
Nicole tried to shrink back as he reached into the car again, but she couldn’t move. The man picked up the bag he had given Ryan.
Bent over in front of the window, he pulled a chocolate glazed doughnut from the bag and took a bite. “See? These were fine. You could have had one. In my house, we don’t waste.”
He tossed the bag back onto her lap, chuckling when she flinched again. Then, he straightened, wiped his hands on his thighs, and walked away.
Nicole couldn’t move. Help will come. Someone had to have heard something. She couldn’t look at her partner.
Her mouth dropped as her car door opened. She tried to find her voice but only managed a whimper.
“Will you shut up?” The man sounded angry, no longer the jovial doughnut eater from a moment earlier.
He grabbed the back of her head and slammed her face into the dashboard. Nicole felt the nauseating motion, but she no longer felt pain. As he repeated the act again and again, her mind and vision retreated into the darkness. Every now and then, she caught a glimpse of a pulpy dashboard or her own matted hair flashing in the waning light. Her face began to feel less solid, and she wondered if what she was feeling was what dying felt like.
Finally, he stopped. The motion of her body didn’t, and she fell forward into the dashboard one more time. She was barely conscious, gazing out the window through a fluttering eyelid. She saw the man walking away, toward the quiet house across the street.
Chapter 27
“So…” Tessa stared past Michael at a poster of a comic character she didn’t recognize. The wicked-looking biker dude had a flaming skull for a head, and his broad grin bared skeletal teeth. For some reason, the poster reminded her of Father. She shook her head and looked at Michael. Something in his eyes made her smile. “What do you like to do for fun? I mean, when you’re not having visions, hanging around with cops, or stabbing people?”
He shrugged. “What else is there?” His goofy smile made him look like a little kid.
“Well, I know you like comics.” She picked up a controller from the floor. “And video games, like most boys, I guess. I’ve never played them. Father thinks they’re everything that’s wrong with the world. He doesn’t even let me listen to the music I like half the time. He thinks American Idol is a bunch of spoiled brats looking for a handout.”
“Sounds about right.” Michael chuckled. “He probably wouldn’t like my music.”
“What kind of music do you like?”
“Rock. The heavier, the better.”
Tessa bobbed her head, letting her hair thrash around wildly. “Is this how you dance?” She laughed.
Michael said, “I have to ask you something.”
A sudden wave of anxiety made her nauseated. “Yeah?”
“How did you know where I live?”
“Huh?” When she realized he was serious, she started to laugh. Soon, she was laughing so hard her sides were splitting. Blood rushed to her head, and she felt dizzy. She hadn’t laughed that hard since—
Michael was frowning at her. “What’s so funny?”
Tessa tried to talk, but after she took a few deep breaths, a second fit of laughter erupted. “Michael,” she wheezed, “we’ve been on the same school bus all year.”
His nose crinkled. “No way.”
She nodded, finally getting her giggles under control. “Yep. I get on way before you, and I always sit in the very back. You’re like second-to-last to get on, and you always sit in the second seat on the left. You never talk to anyone. I don’t think you even look at anyone. It’s no wonder you never noticed me.”
Michael grinned sheepishly. “I notice you.”
“Yeah, now maybe.”
Michael looked away, his face turning red. She felt warmth in her own cheeks, so she lowered her head and doodled on the bedspread with her fingernail.
“So why the fake name?” he asked. “Who’s Jaime?”
“What’s wrong with Jaime? Besides, I just thought it would be easier—”
“We have to tell Greg and Helen who you are. Your father might be looking for you. Sam has some cops out on the street outside our house, and my foster parents have been told all about him, which is great ’cause now they don’t think I’m going around stabbing people for the heck of it. If he somehow makes it past the police, they need to know not to unlock the door for anyone. They’re nice people and all, but they can be a little gullible.”
“Maybe they just choose to see the good in people.”
Michael laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You and I both know there’s no good in people… or at least not most people.”
“They see the good in you. That has to mean something, right?”
“Yeah… I guess.” He shrugged. “Anyway, they do seem to want to keep me. This social worker will be coming over soon to talk about what I went through at the scho
ol and, you know, at your house. Poor Greg and Helen are kinda stuck in the middle of it all. They didn’t have nothing to do with it, but they’re sticking by me.” Michael straightened, his mouth curving into something close to a smile.
His foster mother called from downstairs, “Michael!”
“Dinner must be ready,” he said. “Come on. But I warn you, Helen’s roast pork tastes like used cat litter.”
“You eat a lot of cat litter, do you?”
“Ha, ha,” he said sarcastically, but the laugh that followed seemed sincere. She liked his laugh.
Michael opened the door, and she got up and followed him out of the room. For some weird reason, she even liked the back of his head. She wanted to reach out and touch his hair. When he froze midway down the stairs, she nearly bumped into him.
“Hey, I almost—”
Michael whipped around and put a hand over her mouth. Tessa stared at him in shock, then she realized there was a new voice drifting up the stairs, one she knew all too well. She crept back up a step. She could see only the back of the man’s head, but that was enough. She had seen it so many times before, envisioned bashing it with a rock or other blunt object over and over again. She knew its every contour. But killing him had never been more than a fantasy. Father had always done the killing in their family.
He’s found me. Her heart thumped so loudly that it echoed through her skull. Trembling, she felt faint. Oh God, he’s here! Every cell in her body yelled at her to run, but her feet seemed frozen to the floor. The front door! I can reach it. Just ten steps, a turn of the knob, and I’m gone. Run, damn it!
Her mind commanded, but her legs disobeyed. They even moved in the opposite direction, and she shuffled back to the top of the stairs. Father would catch me. He’s faster than I am. And when he catches me, he’ll make me bleed.
Michael, standing just behind the spot where the wall ended and the railing began, whispered, “What the fuck is he doing here? Why would they let him in?”
“Michael, I—”
“Shhh.” He crouched and leaned forward a little.
Tessa carefully took one step down and stood on the step above Michael.
“He has company at the moment,” Mrs. Plummer said. “We weren’t expecting you until after dinner.”
“I have to admit that I often show up unannounced,” Father said. “We at DCF like to view the child in his normal setting, see how he’s really coping with things, particularly in situations as grave as his. I can only imagine what the boy has gone through.”
“Well, we would appreciate it if you didn’t let his girlfriend know why you’re here,” Mr. Plummer said. “Michael doesn’t have many friends, and it’s nice to see him finally opening up to someone besides that detective.”
Girlfriend? Tessa almost giggled, but fear stifled the impulse.
“A girlfriend, you say?” Father asked. “Well, that is progress.”
“They think he’s the investigator from DCF,” Michael whispered. “I have to warn them.” He handed her his cellphone. “You run outside and get the cops. They’re parked across the street.”
Tessa heard his instructions, and she wished she could do that. She wished that, just once, she could be brave. Father stood in the center of the living room, talking with Michael’s foster parents as if he were only a neighbor stopping in for a friendly chat. He wore a thick ski jacket, and Tessa knew he could be hiding anything beneath it. Not that it mattered. He was dangerous enough with just his hands.
“What are you waiting for?” Michael asked, waving his arm. “Run. It’s him. You need to run.”
Tessa realized that if she fled, she would at least have a chance of surviving the night. If she stayed where she was, she was good as dead. She headed down the stairs, hoping Michael would be right behind her. But as she went for the door, Michael turned the corner and headed straight for Father. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael dive into a man who would likely kill him.
“Michael!” Mrs. Plummer blurted. “What are you doing?”
The attack had caught Father off guard, but he never lost his footing, even as Michael drove him into the side of a chair.
Father straightened and pantomimed dusting himself off. “These teenagers today, huh, Greg? They don’t know how good they have it.”
Michael’s foster parents stared, mouths agape, clearly not understanding the danger.
“It’s him!” Michael shouted, jabbing a finger at Father. “It’s Masterson, the killer!”
With lightning-fast speed, Father pulled a knife from his jacket, and before anyone could react, he was behind Mr. Plummer with the blade buried beneath the man’s Adam’s apple. Mr. Plummer’s eyes were wide as he stood frozen.
Mrs. Plummer gasped. “Let him go!”
Michael ran to his foster mother’s side, and she shoved him behind her. Tessa had opened the front door. Only a glass storm door stood between her and escape. But she couldn’t leave Michael. She turned away from the night and hurried over to him, taking two of his fingers into her hand.
Father tsked. “Children. They do whatever they want.” He smiled like a predator who had cornered his prey. “They stay out to all hours of the night, making noise, causing all sorts of ruckus. They don’t listen. They don’t obey. They certainly don’t respect their elders.” He laughed, but it was cold, empty. “You try and you try to raise them right, yet they constantly disappoint. So you set some ground rules, enforce them with an iron fist, and hope that doing so will guide your children toward purposeful futures, but even the best-made gauntlet is weak at its joints. Without constant supervision, our children find ways to displease us, to spit in the face of all we champion. Before you know it, one of the little brats is trying to stab you with your own kitchen knife. Isn’t that right, Michael?”
Mr. Plummer mouthed “Run” while staring at Michael and Tessa.
“And now your little brat thinks he can get away with fucking my daughter,” Father stated in a flat tone that didn’t match his nasty words. “I’ll kill him first. I’ll kill all—”
Mr. Plummer slammed his head back into Father’s face. Tessa heard something crunch.
Staggering against Father, Mr. Plummer tried to wave a hand at his wife. “Get them out of here. Get the children—” With a sharp intake of breath, he fell to his knees, still reaching out for his wife.
Father pulled the blade from Mr. Plummer’s back. He grabbed a tuft of the man’s hair and tilted the head back. With one swift motion, Father ran the blade across Mr. Plummer’s neck. Mr. Plummer raised his hands to his neck as blood began to flow.
Mrs. Plummer shrieked, then she shoved Michael and Tessa toward the door. “Run!”
Tessa grabbed Michael’s hand tighter and tugged him along. He didn’t struggle, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off his foster father. Tessa got him out onto the front steps, then she was shocked when Mrs. Plummer, instead of following, closed the door between them.
Michael pounded on the storm door, rattling the glass. Inside, Mrs. Plummer screamed.
“The cops! We need to get the cops!” Tessa shouted, yanking Michael away from the door.
Michael finally quit resisting. He pointed at a police cruiser across and a little way down the street. “There!”
As they approached the car, Tessa realized something wasn’t right. The headlights were on, and the engine was running, warm steam rising from the back of the car. But the inside was dark and still. They ran over to the passenger side.
Michael got there first and reached for the handle. He stopped with his hand outstretched. “Oh my God!”
Tessa skidded to a stop beside him. Blood was streaked down the window, thick as maple syrup and looking a lot like it in the dark. Michael stepped away, bent over, and vomited.
Tessa stared back at the house, expecting Father to burst out the door at any m
oment. She grabbed Michael’s hand. “C’mon! We have to go.”
“But—”
She pulled harder. “We can’t help them. We need to go. He’ll come after us.”
Chapter 28
Michael ran. His harried mind told him repeatedly that it was what he needed to do. They had to go somewhere safe, someplace he could get Sam to meet them. The only place he could think of was the school.
He felt Tessa’s hand, warm and sweaty, in his. His mind kept flashing back to that empty black hole in the officer’s face where an eye had once been. Maybe Tessa was no stranger to blood and guts, but Michael doubted he would ever get used to it, visions or not.
After a few blocks, they had to stop. Tessa bent over, panting. While she worked on catching her breath, Michael plucked his phone out of her back pocket. He scanned the street and houses for danger, as if it could pop out of anywhere.
He called Sam but got her voicemail. “Sam, it’s Michael. I’m with Tessa. Masterson came to my house. I think he”—his voice cracked—“killed Greg, and he’s gonna hurt Helen. We ran. We’re heading to the school. I’ll call you when we get there.”
As soon as he hung up, they started running again. Both kept checking over their shoulders, and they ducked behind bushes and cars every time they saw headlights. That slowed them down considerably, but they finally made it to the school.
They made their way around the building, testing window after window for one that was unlocked. Michael found one in the east wing and shimmied it open. After sliding through, he took Tessa’s hand and helped her inside.
The classroom was dark, but the setup was familiar. Five orderly rows of chairs, the kind with fold-out desks attached to them, lined the floor. A teacher’s desk would be at the front of the room, centered in front of a giant whiteboard. All classrooms at Carnegie were set up the same way. Michael hurried over and pulled the door open. Right then left, he searched the hallway, but he saw no one. As far as he could tell, he and Tessa were alone.