It Takes a Killer

by Natalia Hale

  It had been the alley that turned her on. Hannah quickened her pace and checked her watch; three minutes behind.

  By the time Hannah arrived at her apartment her legs were wobbly and the heat had completely vanished. She felt chilled now, as if her entire body were covered in frost. It was hard to move, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was unbelievably unsatisfied. She still desired something, but since it wasn’t sex she didn’t know what. Humans were easy for her to understand, and their simple biological needs even easier. Yet it wasn’t a biological need that Hannah had experienced in the alley with Dane, or even in the kitchen with him. It was something else.

  And that something else haunted her all night like the ghost it was. It haunted her until her alarm went off at seven o’clock, and she realized she had nowhere to go that morning. It haunted her as she made her coffee and turned on the news and found nothing interesting had happened, and there were no leads in the death of Bart Tompkins; it hadn’t even been ruled a homicide or suicide. For now it was just suspicious. It haunted Hannah until late that morning and there was a banging on her door, and two police standing in front of her.

  “Are you here to give my wallet back?” Hannah asked.

  The same woman as before stared her down, eyes narrow. “We’re here to ask where you were last night?”

  “Why?”

  “Answer the question,” she ordered. Her partner gave her a small elbow, all of them knowing Hannah didn’t have to say a thing if she didn’t want to.

  “I was here,” she stated, “my neighbour saw me come in. Ask him if you want, Officer…” She pointed to the door beside hers, where she could hear Chuckles growling from the other side.

  “Officer Martin,” the woman said. “What time did you get in?”

  “About eight,” Hannah said. She wasn’t sure, really. Last night was a memory of blurred action and vivid thoughts, and her watch was still set to the wrong time. She might have been home but her head hadn’t left the alley.

  “And you were here all night?” Martin asked.

  “What is this regarding?” Hannah asked back. The ghost that stood behind her and held her shoulders down vanished, and she was able to stand tall. She seemed to tower over Officer Martin, who didn’t flinch beneath Hannah’s gaze. Hannah made sure not to furrow her brow as her father did, and instead chose to look down her nose at Martin and the other officer.

  “You were with Dane Hemlock last night,” the male officer stated. Hannah finally read his nametag; Rowen.

  “I saw him at the Lux, yes,” Hannah said. “I was there to see my friend.”

  Martin nodded. “Witnesses say you went into the alley with Hemlock and there was…moaning.” The alley, Hannah thought, not an alley. Her lips pursed, growing tired of this conversation already. Her hand rested on the edge of the door, ready to slam it shut again when Martin inched forward.

  Hannah watched her but didn’t move. Martin said, “You were the last person seen with Dane Hemlock that evening and it would help our investigation if you would cooperate and tell us what you did with him in the alley. There’s no denying you weren’t with him, like all the other women he’s taken a shine to.”

  “I wasn’t with him,” Hannah denied. But even if she was it was none of their business. Annoyance crawled over Hannah and she wondered how she could have let her anger take over her so easily. It was obvious how stupid that was, now. “What investigation?”

  “The investigation into his murder.” Martin tilted her head and Hannah saw her lips twitch again. She was enjoying this far too much, and she wanted a reaction out of Hannah more than any officer of the law should.

  Hannah raised her eyebrows to show as much disbelief as she could. “You can’t be serious.”

  Martin tilted her head a little more, seeing right through Hannah’s words. That pinch in her chest was back. Martin asked, “I can’t be serious that Hemlock is dead or that I think you killed him?”

  “Martin, shut it,” Rowen hissed. He laid his hand on her elbow, preparing to pull her away. She yanked out of his grip and almost tripped into Hannah’s apartment. Hannah doubted it was an accident.

  “I think we’re done here,” Hannah stated.

  “Yes,” Rowen agreed, “we are. Officer Martin.” He gave his partner a glare. Martin gave him one right back before turning it on Hannah. A lesser person would have given in to anything the woman wanted, maybe even given a false confession just to get out from under that deadly gaze. But Hannah had experience with a deadly gaze, and Martin didn’t intimidate her. Two weeks ago maybe she would have looked away, but now she wouldn’t. Couldn’t, even. Hannah realized it was impossible for her to show such weakness.

  Martin blinked first, and when she did Hannah shut the door, making sure to give a small smirk to the officer first. She peeked through the peephole to see the officer’s reaction but was disappointed to only catch a glimpse of a blonde ponytail vanishing on the edge of the glass.

  Hannah fell back onto her heels, hands pressed against the door. The emotion she had over Dane’s death wasn’t what she knew it should be. It wasn’t sad or angry over the death of someone in the prime of their life; he had after all brought the hotel up to five-star status. He nearly single-handedly brought Garnet’s Lake back from the depths of destruction. It was sad that he was dead.

  But Hannah didn’t feel sad. Instead she was…curious. Curious about how he’d died, how long it had taken. Who would be so willing to murder the man and why? She almost opened the door back up just to chase down the officers and get a good look at what was going on in her formerly quiet town; if she had enough time to talk with them she was certain she could make them tell her everything. But she steeled herself, and knew she would have to wait. Having too much curiosity in the investigation might look suspicious to certain people, namely Martin.

  Before she could do anything there was something she had to take care of.

  Hannah walked to her parent’s home for the second time that week, finding it funny that it took murder for her to see them more often. She’d never described their relationship as strained, but she was never very close with them either; most days it felt like they simply didn’t want to see her. It had never bothered her until recent events made it feel like something out of the ordinary. If her parents didn’t want to see her because they didn’t need to then that was fine with her, not everyone needed the constantly stay in touch. But if they no longer wanted to see her because they thought of her as a murderer, then she had a problem with that. She would make them see her, whether they wanted to or not.

  Unable to find them at their home, Hannah headed to church. She hadn’t been there for quite some time, and she knew there would be some murmurs over her appearance. All it took was murder to get her back to church, too, it seemed.

  But as she made it to the old steeple, it’s point driving into the sky with fierce determination, she found it nearly empty. Hannah looked at the bare parking lot and clean steps and was confused that nobody was there. With the discovery of Dane’s body she thought everyone would be here praying for his soul. And yet…the only person she could find was Father Tompkins.

  “Hello, Father,” Hannah said, her voice echoing through the pews. Nobody could even whisper in the church without everyone hearing it. Hannah had loved that as a child—hearing everyone’s secrets. They all knew they were broadcasted around the large church, but they spoke anyway. It entertained her to no end.

  “Hello, Hannah,” Father Tompkins replied. He was the silver fox of Garnet’s Lake. Tall and traditional, he looked quite a bit like Dane. Hannah tilted her head at him with a gentle smile, noting that he tried to give her one back. He turned to her from the pew beside her. “What brings you here?”

  “I’m looking for my parents,” she answered. “But I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Bart—Bartholomew.”

  Father Tompkins inhaled deeply and nodded, his hands clasped together in front of him. He was wearing dark blue jean
s and a black button-up shirt, the white collar showing through beneath his Adam’s apple. “Thank you.”

  Silence rang throughout the church. Hannah began to sweat lightly in the heat, the dark red hues of her surroundings making it feel even hotter than it was. Father Tompkins didn’t say anything else; he wasn’t giving any of his sage advice to her like she thought he would, nor was he talking about her parents or what she’d done. It was comforting, in a way, but she thought that might have just been the church. She’d always liked coming to church, even if she thought it was all silly stories.

  “Would you like to sit down?” Father Tompkins asked. “Or have you come to confess?”

  Hannah looked to the two boxes she’d never sat in before. They were small and stifling, and Hannah still couldn’t understand how confessing to the things she’d done would let her into Heaven. She’d never done anything, in her mind, which needed confessing. It felt like apologizing, and Hannah didn’t have anything to apologize for.

  To answer, Hannah sat beside Father Tompkins. She could smell his aftershave, musky and dark, and knew he had only shaved out of habit. He wore that collar out of habit, came to church out of habit. Her mother had always said people survived after tragedy because of their faith, in God and in themselves, but Hannah knew better. They survived because that’s what the human race had to do—it was ingrained in them to keep going, and to keep doing what they always did. People didn’t change because of tragedy, they were simply revealed.

  “Where is everyone?” Hannah finally asked, breaking the silence. It bothered her that they weren’t in church.

  “There’s a vigil being held at the hotel.” Father Tompkins shifted against the hard wood.

  A vigil for Dane but not for Bart, Hannah thought. That’s what happens when you’re found with a bunch of stolen wallets. “And you’re not going?”

  “I couldn’t find the strength.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t understand,” he said. Father Tompkins leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together beneath his nose. “It wouldn’t be right for me to go.”

  “Because of Bart?” Hannah asked.

  “Because of judgment,” Father Tompkins replied. “I’m sure you’ve noticed a change in those around you. Your own mother confessed to me she is afraid of you.”

  Hannah’s eyes darted towards the confessional box. “I thought you were sworn to secrecy.”

  “She didn’t tell me that in confession.” He sighed leaned back, eyes forward. It seemed like nobody was going to look Hannah in the eyes again, either because they didn’t want to or they couldn’t. Hannah felt the latter was a better option. She furrowed her brow and looked towards the front, folding her hands in her lap.

  Father Tompkins went on without provocation. “You were a child when your mother began to fear you, you know. I thought it so strange that a mother would fear her own child.”

  Hannah blinked at the dozens of candles in front of her, unable to say anything. He said, “Do you remember what happened?”

  Hannah’s head turned slightly. She then shook it, completely baffled by the fact that her mother feared her. She would never do anything to harm her family—what did they have to fear?

  “She always said you had the devil in you,” he admitted. “After you killed a cat.”

  “I never killed a cat,” Hannah denied, appalled at the idea. While she wasn’t about to have any pets, she didn’t wish them harm. She faced the preacher, challenging him.

  “I didn’t think you would remember,” he said, “you were young. Your mother never told me the story, but your father did. He was hoping I might have some insight for Jessica about the situation but…I suppose nothing could convince her it was the act of an innocent child.”

  Hannah gulped. “I never killed a cat,” she repeated.

  “I don’t believe you were malicious in the act.” Father Tompkins faced her, his brown eyes exactly like Bart’s. Small but knowing. Certain but…lost. “You found it dying on your front porch; you knew it was sick and wasn’t going to make it, so you put it out of it’s misery. A merciful act, according to your father.”

  Rubbing her hands over her arms Hannah was suddenly chilled. There was a flash in her memory of a white kitten on her porch, but she didn’t know why. She couldn’t tell if it was her imagination concocting the image or an actual memory. It felt like the weathered words on a gravestone—something that should have lasted forever but didn’t. Something she could almost understand, but unable to read.

  Father Tompkins leaned an arm on the back of the pews, opening up to Hannah. “Your mother knew it wouldn’t be the only time you killed something. I told her that couldn’t be true and now…” He shook his head and inched back on the wood. “I didn’t know what to tell her now.”

  Hannah trembled in the pews. She held herself, unable to deny what the preacher was telling her, but unable to agree with it as well. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might give out, or give up. It whispered to her that this was the truth. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Unlike Jessica, Hannah didn’t hold any blind trust in people, not even Father Tompkins. And while he had never lied to her, Hannah knew he was capable of it; but this wasn’t a lie.

  This was a confession. A confession of fear towards her, a confession that he knew even when she was a child that she was capable of terrible things.

  “What I did wasn’t wrong,” Hannah said, standing. “I did what I had to do to protect my friend. I’m sorry somebody had to die, but I’m not sorry I killed that man!”

  Father Tompkins flinched back, eyes wide. The words echoed around them like a chorus but when they came back to Hannah she had to cover her mouth. A chill ran through her body, making every hair stand on end.

  A footstep drew their attention. They each turned towards the doorway where a group of people stood; among them was Jessica and Jonathan Best. Jonathan shook his head while Jessica clutched at her dress. Her sandy blonde hair was tied back in a bun, like it always was. As soon as Hannah met her eyes they darted away, ashamed of her daughter.

  Hannah looked over the few faces that stared at her. Her lips pursed, and that pinch in her chest came back. She resisted wrinkling her nose, because that would only add fuel to the flames that surrounded her. The holy ground she stood on felt tainted, but not by her presence. By theirs.

  Head held high, Hannah did her best to walk forward. With each click of her heel on the carpet Hannah felt worse and worse. Her own parents feared her, shunned her. Her best friend refused to talk to her. And now she was certain she was going to become a plague on the town she called home. Maybe she already was; there had been two more deaths after all, ones she was somehow connected to.

  It couldn’t have been a coincidence, Hannah thought, that Bart and Dane were each killed after being with her. It wasn’t coincidence that a note was left with Bart; she was the common link between them all.

  Somebody was killing on her behalf.

  Going to the police with the idea that she could help them catch a killer made Hannah feel hollow. She wanted to stop this person, but having them in police custody made her feel somehow defeated. Like she blinked. But the lessons her father taught her since she was a child commanded her body to go to the station and talk to Martin about what she’d realized, what the officer already realized.

  Predictably, she was put into an interrogation room. It was obvious since the beginning that Martin wanted to get Hannah into handcuffs, but since that couldn’t happen without some kind of evidence, the beige walls and unwelcoming metal chair would have to do. Hannah stood behind the chair and hated to think of all the people that had sat in it. It was an easy weapon; heavy and hard, and not bolted to the ground as it should have been. Garnet’s Lake had never needed to bolt their chairs down—bad things didn’t happen here.

  Growing impatient, Hannah moved towards the two-way mirror. She kept to the edges and peered at that
way it wasn’t built into the wall—she held up two fingers and found it was mounted. Not a two-way then. She huffed and spun on her heel, looking casually to the camera that sat in the corner. If she stood below it nobody would see her, so she did just that and pretended to look out the barred window.

  The door clicked as it opened behind her. “I know what you’re thinking,” Martin said, stepping inside. “What kind of interrogation room has a window?”

  Hannah looked to her and shrugged. “I know the police station doesn’t see many dangerous criminals.”

  Martin gave her a tight smile, as if that were an insult. “It’s usually peaceful around here, but not anymore, right? That’s what you’re here about. Take a seat.”

  Hannah eyed the chair disdainfully. “I’m more comfortable standing.”

  “All right,” Martin replied. She slapped a brown folder on the table with the label “Hemlock” on the front. It was in big blocky letters, an obvious tease towards Hannah. Hannah pretended not to be too interested in it, since she knew nothing important would be kept in it. She looked out the window again, counting the two police cruisers that sat in the lot. Garnet’s Lake only had three, and she assumed the third was either out patrolling or watching the area where Dane had been found.

  “You wanted to talk yet you’re not talking,” Martin said. Her tone was a little more relaxed here, more in control than when Hannah had seen her before. This is her territory, and Hannah was no longer a threat but rather potential prey. Hannah looked at Martin over her shoulder and gave a single nod.

  “I was just at the church talking with Father Tompkins when I realized something,” Hannah admitted.

  “What’s that?”

  “I think you already know.” Hannah turned, leaning her back against the window frame. “I’m the only connection—I didn’t want to admit that but…maybe there’s something to it.”

  Martin quirked a pale eyebrow. “I’m surprised it took you so long to admit. You don’t seem like the type to live in denial.”