Chasing Clowns: A Novel (Girl Clown Hatchet Suspense Series Book 2)

by Mav Skye

  Chloe and Diana looked at each other.

  Diana said, “Did you know that the Original Night Stalker would break into houses days—weeks even—before he committed a crime? He’d loosen the screws in the windows, so he could slip in undetected. He’d mess with the alarm systems, remove bullets from a gun. He’d even hide a small bag with gloves and rope in the bushes nearby, so he’d have them available when he’d go to rape a woman.”

  Brandy turned to Diana. “So? How does this apply to reading?”

  “Because, if you had read about this, you would know how he chose his victims. They were women just like you, Brandy. How can you fend off an attack if you don’t have knowledge of an attacker? That’s why you read.”

  “He chose women like me?” Brandy’s eyes grew wide.

  “Uh huh,” replied Diana. “First, he’d make them take their clothes off and lie back down on the bed. He’d tie their wrists and ankles with anything handy, curtain cords or what-not.”

  “I thought you said he’d hide rope in bags.”

  “Yes, uh huh, but he liked to switch things up, too. Though his knots were all the same.”

  “Hangman’s noose?”

  “Nope,” Diana shook her head, “He made diamond knots.”

  “Like for a friendship bracelet?”

  Diana said, “Then, he’d blindfold them. He would go down to their kitchen and get a juice glass. He’d balance the glass on their hands, and threaten to kill them if they moved and the glass fell.”

  “Then what?” asked Brandy.

  “Well, then he’d rape them, of course,” Diana said. “It would last for hours.”

  “Oh,” Brandy drew her fingers to her throat.

  Diana continued, “Some victims reported that after the rape, he’d stand in the corner of the bedroom and cry. He’d say a woman’s name over and over, ‘Bonnie,’ he would say, ‘Don’t make me do it, Bonnie. Please don’t make me do it.’ Afterward, he’d go and rape again.”

  Brandy set the clipboard down and wrapped her arms around herself. “Who was Bonnie?”

  Diana shook her head. “No one knows.

  “Weeks later, he’d call his victims and tell them he would return to kill them when they’d least expect it.”

  “That must have been horrifying.”

  Diana said, “Yeah, I imagine it was. Other times, though, he’d just breathe into the phone. He’d breathe really heavy like he was…”

  Brandy nodded.

  “Here’s another odd fact,” Diana continued, “victims reported they could hear other voices in the background when he was breathing heavily. The voices sounded as if a TV was turned on to a mom and pop sitcom like Leave it to Beaver or The Andy Griffith Show.”

  Brandy was quiet as she contemplated this. “Why would a man so horrible as to plan out an attack and rape women cry in a corner or watch Leave it to Beaver?”

  Diana smiled. It was genuine. She tapped her finger on the book. “People are complicated.”

  “No,” the nurse argued matter-of-factly. “People are simple. Black and white. Good and evil. Even my Daddy says that—”

  “If that’s so, Brandy, why did he cry?”

  “He was putting on a show.”

  “He could have been, but to sob and plead with the ghosts of the past…people are complicated, Brandy.”

  Ghosts of the past. The phrase sent chills down Chloe’s spine. Isn’t that what she saw?

  When she looked up, Diana made eye contact with Chloe, but she spoke to Brandy. “People are complicated, Brandy. And our pasts aren’t easy to resolve. If we don’t own our past, our past will own us.”

  Chloe relaxed into her pillow, thinking about Diana’s words. She spoke the truth. Haunted by ghosts of the past was something she and the Original Night Stalker had in common, though they rested at opposite ends of society—law and criminal. In the end, it was their humanity that connected them, and it was society that separated them.

  Chloe eased out of her uncomfortable ponderings and watched thoughts flicker across the young woman’s face. For the first time, possibly in her life, Brandy’s imagination was caught up in the mystery of a horrifying story. One that she could relate to through fear.

  “I suppose you are right.” Brandy asked, “Did the police track the calls?”

  “Oh, they tried, but he’d hang up before they could trace it back to him. Remember, this was back in the 80’s—before technology was great.”

  “He left them alive, then?”

  Diana said, “At first, but then, he began to bash their faces in.”

  “To death?”

  Diana nodded.

  She lowered her voice, “How?”

  “He’d put a towel over their face, and then he’d use something—a piece of firewood and—” Diana stood, picked up the hardback book, lifted it up in the air and swung it, smacking the little table beside her.

  The loud Thwack! made Brandy and Chloe jump.

  “Oh.” Brandy swallowed hard and picked up the clipboard again. “And how long ago did this happen?”

  Diana shrugged. “The Original Night Stalker? I don’t know. The 70’s, 80’s? He possibly even killed into the late 90’s is what they say.”

  Brandy glanced at Chloe and let out the breath she’d been holding. “Phew! That was a long time ago, Mrs. Hacksworthy. I’m sure they caught him ages ago, right?” She trained her attention on Diana, searching her face for confirmation.

  Diana sat back down in the chair, replacing the book in her lap. She leaned forward. “They never caught him.”

  Captivated by Diana’s words, the room fell silent. A chill ran down Chloe’s spine. It was true. They’d been able to test DNA samples taken from the women. Usually the results came back stating it was from the same person, but the DNA didn’t match anybody in the databases.

  Diana said, “We can ask ourselves: Did he stop? Did he relocate? Did he die? The fact of the matter is we’ll never know. Someone who does that kind of thing doesn’t just up and quit. They can’t help themselves, you see. That kind of crime, to that kind of person, is more addicting than any drug. What I can tell you is that the past tends to repeat itself. He may be dead and gone, but there’s another one out there, right now, doing the same exact thing. He may even be watching you, Brandy.”

  Brandy sighed. “What a downer. I was going to lunch soon, too. I’m not hungry anymore.” Brandy shook her head, her blond hair flipping back and forth. “Whatever. You tell a good ghost story, Mrs. Hacksworthy.”

  Diana said, “True story, Brandy.”

  Brandy nodded and clutched the clipboard to her chest. She whispered, “Do you really think he could be watching me?”

  Diana nodded. “Could be.”

  “What should I do?”

  Diana smiled. “If I were you, I’d swing by the library and pick up a book on him.”

  Brandy said, “I’ll do that tonight on the way home.”

  “I think that is an excellent idea.”

  The nurse beamed at Diana. She then straightened her voice and turned to Chloe. “Murder aside, you’re looking good, Chloe. I think the doctor will see fit to send you home. Do you have a ride?”

  Diana said, “She does.”

  Brandy smiled again at her. “Great. I’ll let him know.” She turned to leave, then said to Chloe, “Oh, and doctor wants to talk to you about a prescription for anxiety he’d like to start you on.”

  Chloe frowned.

  Brandy rushed out of the room, her perfect existence transformed forever by the power of a force she hadn’t believed in seconds before, the power of a story.

  Diana sat with a satisfied grin on her face.

  “A little tough on her, weren’t you?” Chloe sipped on her water.

  “She’ll go to bed less ignorant than the day before.”

  “Ignorant? I’d call it terrified.”

  They both laughed.

  “There’s scary things in this world. She is now officially aware of one of
them. Besides,” Diana shrugged, “it kept her from asking about the clown and you didn’t have to lie.”

  “True.” Chloe sat down her cup. “I’m ready to get out of this hospital gown.” She felt at her back; the gown was still open.

  Diana stood and set down her book. “Your clothes are over there in that gym bag. I think I’ll stretch my legs for a bit and find a cup a coffee.”

  Chloe nodded, then said, “Diana?”

  Diana opened the door and turned. “Yes?”

  “Where is Wes? I’d have thought he’d be here.”

  “Oh, he asked me to come,” Diana opened the door. “He said he had an inspector coming to the restaurant today. And your Aunt has the kiddos.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Diana left quietly, leaving Chloe alone in the room with her thoughts. She dressed quickly, and the doc came in soon after, giving her instructions on how and when to take Lorazepam for anxiety. She had been on the medication before at the Police Academy. It seemed to help, and with everything going on, Chloe agreed that it would be good for her to be on it—temporarily.

  Especially because of the…clowns, he said.

  The doctor rattled on about side effects. Chloe bobbed her head, but she didn’t hear a word of what he said. All she could think of was the rainbow clown she had nearly killed, and the strange cover story he had told. Who was he? And why would he protect her?

  Part III

  Her Fear Diary

  I killed a clown today.

  They stopped me, but in my mind? It was dead.

  I am a sworn officer of the law, and I tried to kill a clown with my bare hands.

  I think I’m losing it. I really do.

  Diana doesn’t think so. She says to be strong. She says to fight.

  It’s hard to fight when I feel so alone. I doubt the people that I trust.

  I doubt myself.

  I tried to kill a clown.

  He was just a guy in a wig bringing a balloon to a kid, and I tried to kill him.

  Me.

  Who the devil am I?

  Ghost clowns haunt me.

  I chase clowns.

  I’ll keep chasing clowns until I catch them, or they catch me.

  His Journal

  I see the monster’s rancid smile—his yellow teeth and stained wife-beater shirt. He’s stumbling about, yelling about his broken down truck, before plucking an empty beer bottle off the counter and pounding me with it as I escape out the front door into the forest.

  Like Tarzan, the trees are my home. They are my safety from the monster in the night.

  It’s where I sit now, in the old maple tree outside Pops’ trailer.

  I see a billion stars in the sky. They each gleam like diamonds. They are wishes of children, promising to come true in every prism sparkle.

  My wishes have never come true—unless you call the beer in AJ’s fridge a wish. But that’s not a wish; beer only blurs the hope, the belief.

  A wish is closer to a dream. It is a vision you only see when you close your eyes. It is a voice you hear when the night is still, and there is only the purr of your heartbeat to keep you company. It is the soft skin you can touch as long as you leave your eyes closed, and reach your hand as far as it will go.

  Sometimes—only sometimes mind you—that wish will reach out her hand, too, and hold your hand back.

  11

  The Setting Sun

  LEAVES CRACKLED BENEATH HER FEET. FROST coated the evening in its web of fragile ice. It soothed Chloe’s aching muscles from tackling the clown, and was a godsend for the wound on her arm. It had begun to scab over and the cool air calmed the prickly itch. Flip Flop pushed his rib cage against her as they walked. Ridgebacks were bred to protect the village at all costs. When faced with a threat, the breed’s instincts were to act on its good judgment instead of waiting to be told what to do. It was both a blessing and a curse.

  Chloe had parked at Spindler High and sat down on the steps leading to the entrance. She scraped her fingertips along the cement, finding herself staring at a wad of dried pink gum. A brief memory flashed through, and she turned and examined the doors to the main entrance. She remembered the way the sun had felt on her skin as she left those doors for the summer, the feeling of elation. Chloe had wondered if she rode the bus home or if she walked, and suddenly she knew she walked.

  She pushed herself up from the steps and approached the sidewalk. She glanced left, then right, waiting for the invisible thread of intuition to lead her. Which way had she gone after leaving the school steps? Which way was home?

  Flip Flop stood still, his floppy ears perked, watching her intently.

  After a second, Chloe felt an urge to turn right, and that was what she did. She recognized the chipped fern green paint of the old Victorian on the street corner. The white picket fence across the street covered in morning glory vines. It was exhilarating. The more she recognized, the faster she walked retracing her old path from school to home through Spindler’s older neighborhoods.

  Chloe recalled listening to mix tapes on her headphones as she walked. She remembered Tom Petty’s Free Falling playing. The memory ended, but she continued to walk.

  The crisp air and the sound of crunching leaves lifted her out of the loneliness she’d found herself drowning in, and enabled her to think.

  The night before, Diana had driven Chloe home from the hospital, and she had walked up the drive to a dark and empty house. Tanya had left a note saying Wes was staying overnight in Olympia for an early morning appointment with the Better Business Bureau. He had arranged for her to keep the kids at her hotel for the night and take them to school and after school activities the next day.

  What had come next in the note was what had tugged Chloe into doom and gloom. Tanya wrote that she and Wes both felt Chloe needed time to herself, and they had decided not to bother her until the next evening.

  She had wadded up the paper and thrown it away. As a Police Officer, she’d seen this kind of behavior many times in domestic abuse cases. The family and friends often assumed that victim battling trauma wanted to be alone.

  Nothing could be further from the truth.

  Chloe, as the victim knew that, but how did one communicate that to family and friends when they had already made up their mind what was best for their loved one? Chloe had tried to explain it to the families, but when someone’s mind was made up, that was that. No flexibility or room to consider that maybe the victim was tired of being alone with their thoughts and fears. That is how Chloe felt. She felt the only one who truly saw and engaged intimately with her was that stupid clown who wanted to whack her with the hatchet.

  Flip Flop nudged her hand and licked it, gently informing her that he was there. Chloe paused and scooped his giant jaw up in her hands and kissed his nose. She said, “You’re right. I’m not alone am I?”

  He sneezed in response.

  “Ew!” Chloe wiped off her face and laughed at the same time. “You’re here, all right.” He wagged his tail, and Chloe scratched behind his ear before he took a few steps, tugging on the leash.

  They continued down the sidewalk, heading out of town. She could see up ahead where the sidewalk ended and the forest began. She focused on that spot, and became lost in her thoughts again.

  After throwing away the letter, Chloe had scavenged the fridge for food, but her Aunt had cleaned it out, so she settled for a can of Campbell’s soup she found in the pantry. She shared some of it with Flip Flop—her lone companion for the night, and afterward, she had fallen asleep on the couch with the big dog stretched along beside it. The next day she found a message on her phone from Captain Ben, telling her to take the day off and relax.

  She pretty much spent the day as she had the night before. Restless, moping, and after texting Wes and Tanya and not receiving a reply, she left the house to do some grocery shopping. It was after dark when she’d arrived back. The lights were on inside, and she sat in the driveway watching them in the living room through
the large window, happy to find the house full of life once more.

  Shayla and Chev were watching Samurai Jack on the TV, which had made her smile and she’d opened the car door to step out, but then closed it when she saw Tanya stomp into the living room and snap the TV off.

  Her Aunt pointed at the hall, and both kids stood and went to their bedrooms. Wes entered the room with his hands on his hips. Tanya raised her palms in front of her, looking as if she were in a courtroom, negotiating her case. Wes shook his head, unmoved. Tanya had pressed a medication bottle into Wes’ hand, and he forcefully gave it back.

  Chloe felt sick. She’d seen enough. She’d started the car again, pulled out of the driveway, and found herself at Spindler High school.

  What had been in the medication bottle? Perhaps it was her Aunt’s heart pills? They were arguing over whether to tell Chloe about it. But deep down, Chloe knew that wasn’t the truth.

  Flip Flop whined and stopped, pulling Chloe out of her thoughts.

  “What’s up, boy?”

  Flip Flop pointed at the tree line. He wasn’t in attack mode, but alert. Aware. In the moment.

  Chloe turned toward the tree line, engaging in her senses. The chill of the night air seeped in around the coat openings at her throat and hands. She slipped her hands into her pockets, the handle of the leash edging up over her wrists. She glanced up at the tops of the long skinny trees, remembering the feeling of peace when she walked by them. Her Etsi had always told her it was her Cherokee roots reconnecting with nature. Chloe smiled, happy to suddenly recall this memory. She also remembered something else, something that had given her a fright that last day of school.

  At the thought of this, she heard a snap deep, deep in the woods.

  She searched the woods, looking for what had made the noise.

  In the heart of the darkness, between the thin branches and thick brush, something moved.

  Flip Flop growled. A chill crept under her skin, a knowing.