“I said, turn it off!” Ruth yelled at the security chief.
“They are trying, but they aren’t sure which breaker controls that wiring.”
The electrical bolt abruptly stopped, but apparently not from anything security was doing.
Ruth grabbed the radio from the chief. “Turn them all off! Throw every freaking switch in the place!”
Paxton put a hand on her arm. “Ruth. They are trying.” He wasn’t used to being the reasonable, levelheaded one. Ruth was the one always preaching about how you caught more flies with honey than with vinegar. And right now, she was about as sour as you could get.
“You don’t understand. Saint Barbara survived two lightning strikes, but succumbed to the third. Those first two jolts weren’t meant to kill her, but the third one will.”
“Damn it!” Paxton growled as he pulled his gun. “Everyone down!”
Of course, no one but those in his small party could hear him over the calamity on the dance floor. Paxton took aim at the chains holding the cage up and fired. A shot sparked against the metal, breaking one strand, but there were three more. And the damn thing was swinging over the crowd. Talk about a freaking moving target.
Paxton aimed again and as he squeezed the trigger, another surge of electricity poured through the metal and into the girl. His second shot missed. He didn’t have time for finesse. Paxton shot and shot at the chain. He broke though all but one chain, as the girl seemed to levitate, her body suspended in the air by the current.
Lights all around the room flickered off until the only illumination in the room was the girl’s electrocuted form. Then, sparks flew from the metal cage and all the lights blew. The room was momentarily dark as the crowd quieted.
Did the rabble finally get the picture that a girl had just been killed before their very eyes?
Then the red emergency lighting came up, and the crowd let out an ear-splitting scream of excitement. To these idiots, this was nothing more than part of the show.
Morons.
Paxton changed out his clip. With two dead girls, he knew he was going to need all the firepower he had.
Ruth turned to the security chief.” I want this entire ballroom locked down. I want each and every kid accounted for.” She pointed to the stage. “And I want those freaks off the stage. Understood?”
“Copy that,” the security chief said as he turned to several guards.
The woman, though, still did not get the message. “Now, wait a minute!”
Ruth went to rebuke her, but Paxton stepped between them, his gun still in his hand. “I am so in the mood to arrest someone, anyone, for obstruction of justice.”
The PR chick’s eyes dilated. Good. It meant she was finally taking them seriously.
“Now, why don’t you go sit in the corner like a good girl and figure out how we are going to get everyone across the lake when we are ready?”
The PR woman stumbled back a few steps, and then sat down hard on a plastic chair.
He turned to find the security staff staring at him. Paxton pointed to Diana Dahmer strutting around onstage. “Detective Matte said now!”
* * *
Cecilia held Frannie’s hand as they crept down yet another hallway. This mansion was like a maze, with some pretty awful surprises buried within it. Michael cracked open another door. They had checked so many that Cecilia feared they might be doubling back.
Michael flashed his light inside to find a single boy on the floor, bound and gagged. “Connor!”
Cecilia let go of Frannie as she rushed to join Michael. She tried to remove Connor’s gag, but the thing was tied tightly.
From the doorway, Frannie pointed to the ceiling. “Guys, something is going on up there.”
“I’ve almost got his feet untied,” Michael said.
Connor screamed wordlessly as his eyes looked upward. Cecilia followed his stare.
Something dripped onto her face. She wiped the drops away. Blood.
“Michael …” she warned, as the ceiling shook ten times harder.
Before Cecilia could do anything, the ceiling cracked, raining body parts down upon them.
“What the—!” Michael screamed.
“Just carry him!” Cecilia yelled as she tried to shield her head from the hands and feet and worse that tumbled from the ceiling.
She grabbed one arm and helped Michael get Connor onto his feet. Frannie held the door open as they rushed out of the horrid, horrid room. They were halfway down the hall before Connor ripped himself from their grasp and threw himself on the floor.
His gag slipped enough so that he could shout, “Stop! F—ing stop!”
Panting, covered in blood, they halted.
“Connor, man, we’ve got to get out of here!” Michael urged.
“I can’t!” Connor sobbed. “My feet.”
Cecilia swallowed hard as she realized that Connor had spikes driven through the bottoms of his feet. And they had just made him run on them.
“Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!” Frannie kept repeating between retches.
Michael ran a hand through his bloody hair. Even Michael, who had been brave through it all, seemed too horrified to act. But finally, he dropped to his knees next to his friend.
“Okay, Connor. I’ve got to pull them out. This is going to hurt.”
“No, f—ing kidding! I want some kind of pain meds, man! Just get me a nurse or something.”
“We don’t have time,” Michael said, and then turned to Cecilia. “You are going to have to hold him down.”
“She’s not holding me down!” Connor yelled. “No one is holding me down. I want a doctor!” Connor said as he tried to drag himself down the hallway.
Cecilia gulped. She didn’t want to hold Connor down any more than he wanted to be held down.
“Connor!” Michael shouted and grabbed his friend by the shirt. “We’ve got to be able to run.”
“Screw that!” I’m staying right here until—”
“Helen’s dead, Connor. And those were the body parts of God knows how many people. Probably our classmates’ body parts!”
“Falling on your head!” Frannie interjected.
“You got off lucky, Connor, but we don’t know when the killer will be back for you or any of us.”
Connor looked between Cecilia and Michael. Then he, too, gulped.
“Yeah. Okay. Do it. Pull them, man. Pull them out now!”
As Michael moved down to Connor’s feet, Cecilia helped prop Connor up against the wall. “Frannie, grab his hand. Comfort him.”
While her friend took Connor’s hand, Cecilia wasn’t quite sure how comforting it was as Frannie kept murmuring, “Oh, my God.” Over and over again.
“Frannie, something a little more constructive, please.”
“Oh, dear God! All that blood. All that blood.” Her eyes darted down the hallway. “He could be here. He could be behind any door. He could be coming right now.”
Not exactly what I had in mind, Frannie, Cecilia thought.
“Do you have him, Cecilia?” Michael asked.
She nodded sharply. The hall seemed darker, more foreboding. Every time the walls shook from the music, Cecilia imagined body parts falling down upon her. Or that hawk mask swooping in and claiming them all. The sooner they got the nails out of Connor, the sooner they could get out of here.
Michael gritted his teeth and gripped the steel spike. “One. Two.” He jerked the spike from Connor’s foot.
“Ow!!! You didn’t say three!”
“There’s just one more,” Michael said. “Take a breath.”
Connor leaned his head back against the wall. Cecilia let up on his shoulder to give him a momentary break when Michael grabbed the other spike and pulled it from Connor’s foot.
“You didn’t even say one!” Connor bellowed.
“Come on, get him up,” Michael urged Cecilia.
She didn’t have to be told twice. “Frannie, help me.”
But her friend backed
away. “That could have been me. Why wasn’t it me?”
“Yeah, why wasn’t it her?” Connor questioned, as he leaned into Cecilia.
“Guys!” Michael whispered harshly. “Listen.”
Sure enough, there was a creak. A creak coming from the darkened hallway. Closer and closer.
“Let’s just get the hell out of here!” Michael whispered.
This time, no one argued.
* * *
Ruth watched as Diana Dahmer slid on his knees across the stage, holding a flashlight up to his face, making grotesque expressions. It seemed that the amps were tied into the same backup generator as the emergency lighting, because she could hear every foul note of the band’s song.
She turned to the security chief. “I thought I said I wanted them offstage?”
“Look, I’ve only got twenty men, and that’s including the station’s ushers.”
Security had barely corralled a tenth of the teens, and even those kids were threatening to break free of the guards if they didn’t get Dahmer offstage. Fast. She turned to find Paxton trotting back from talking with some of the security guards from the other side of the ballroom.
“No sign of Cecilia or the boys. They could be anywhere.”
That did not calm her nerves any. She had to just be happy her son and the others weren’t with Helen in the “Pre-Morgue” turned real morgue.
“Chief,” Ruth said. “I need that band offstage.”
“Look,” he retorted. “I need some prioritization here. Half my men are out trying to round up the kids from the ‘fun rooms.’ ” He pointed toward the back halls. “I’ve got another set sweeping—”
An usher in a tight ballerina tutu splashed with blood ran up. “Sir, we … I … found…” the girl gulped air. But as the gurney rolled up with a sheet over a body, it became pretty damn clear what she had found.
Ruth found that her feet would not move forward. Even Paxton seemed rooted in place.
“Boy or girl?” Paxton asked the ballerina.
“Pretty sure it’s a guy, but he was… well… scalded.”
“What…” Ruth tried to pull herself together as she stared at the bloodstained sheet that covered the body. “What does he look like?
“Well,” the girl answered, “he’s kind of pink and—”
“No,” Paxton interrupted. “She meant hair color? Eyes?”
“Um, I wasn’t exaggerating. He’s just a big pink glob at this point.”
Ruth went to step forward, but Paxton grabbed her arm and gave it a squeeze. “Let me.”
She shouldn’t let him. It could be his nephew, but Ruth just couldn’t pull back that blanket.
Paxton strode up to the gurney. But, once there, he stalled. She watched as he clenched his fingers into a fist to keep from shaking. He lifted the sheet gently. Ruth watched as he brought his sleeve up to his mouth.
“I can’t. I can’t tell,” he said. Ruth’s heart sank. Was that her son under that sheet? How long would it take to know for sure? But then Paxton lifted the sheet higher. “Wait. It looks like there’s a tattoo.”
Suddenly Ruth’s feet were moving, and she joined him. The usher had been right. Every inch of the boy had been melted. Skin swirled like candle wax. His features were simply gone. His nose was where his ear should be and his ear was on his forehead.
Paxton pointed to the shoulder. “It looked like there used to be ink over the biceps.”
He was right. While warped, the image did look like a skull with flames shooting out of its eyes.
Her partner let the blanket fall back down. “It’s not Jer or Evan.” A flicker of a smile crossed his face.
She too felt such a wave of relief she had to grab the side of the gurney. “No,” Ruth said, straightening up. “But it is someone else’s son.”
Ruth turned to the security chief. “I want him,” she said pointing to Dahmer, “off the stage now.”
The security chief indicated his radio. “I’ve sent three guys up there already. He refuses to get off. He says he wants the station to gets its money’s worth.”
“Great,” Paxton said. “A devil worshipper with a work ethic.”
“Look, I can send more guys—”
Ruth shook her head. The time for delegating was over. As much as she wanted to head out into that crowd and check every single one of them to see if it was Evan, she had a bigger obligation—making sure every parent’s kid came home safe.
“Don’t,” she said to the chief. “We’ll handle Dahmer. Once we get the band offstage, get this room locked down systematically, then go through all the ancillary rooms. Got it?”
After the chief’s nod, Ruth headed backstage. Paxton was right beside her as they hauled ass toward the right of the stage.
“Sorry I didn’t discuss the plan with you first,” Ruth said.
“Well, it wasn’t very partner-ly. However, I do love to see you in action.”
Ruth only wished there was more action. They should be searching for the boys rather than dealing with some singer’s inflated ego.
“Any idea how we are going to get them offstage?” Ruth asked.
Paxton indicated his gun. “I’ve already discharged my weapon in public. If I’ve got to fill out that paperwork, I might as well make it worth my while.”
“Well, hopefully it won’t come to that.”
Paxton put his finger in his ears and rubbed. “You say, ‘hopefully it won’t.’ I say, ‘hopefully it will.’ Tomato. Tomato.”
Ruth couldn’t help but grin. She knew he was as worried about Jeremy as she was about Evan, but still he tried to cheer her up. Or he was serious. Which was fine by her.
CHAPTER 9
The group stopped in unison at the sound. The clang echoed off the long hallway, making it hard for Cecilia to know where it came from.
“What was that?” Frannie whispered.
“Probably the spike guy,” Connor moaned.
Cecilia couldn’t blame him much. The floor beneath their feet was slick with Connor’s blood. Every step they took, Connor became weaker and weaker.
“Shh!” Michael whispered, as Frannie caught a sob in her throat. “We’re got to figure out which direction the sound is coming from.”
Cecilia held her breath as they waited. Then a creak came. From above them. Nausea rolled over her. Not again. But this noise sounded more like a footstep than the ceiling giving way like before. Sure enough, another footstep… then another. Someone was walking overhead.
“There must be an attic,” Michael whispered.
Another set of footsteps echoed down the hallway. That wasn’t just someone in the attic—there was someone else in the hall as well.
“We’re exposed out here,” Cecilia whispered back.
Michael tested the door nearest to him. The knob turned. “Hurry, inside.”
Cecilia had to practically carry Connor as they entered.
“Oh!” Frannie cried out, pointing to a crumpled figure in the corner.
It looked like a girl. She was in a dress, except her head was bald. And her fingernails had been ripped off.
“Is she dead?” Connor asked the question they were all thinking.
Michael carefully closed the door behind them and, step by step, approached the still figure. Cecilia couldn’t let him do it alone. She crept behind him as he knelt down. He felt for a pulse.
“She’s alive,” he breathed out. “Unconscious, but alive.”
Cecilia snuck in closer. The girl lay at an unnatural angle. Her left leg was twisted back and her arm was trapped under her. But there was something about her eyes and cheekbones that seemed familiar.
“Paula!” Frannie exclaimed above them.
Cecilia looked back down at the girl. It couldn’t be Paula, could it? Paula from PE? “But what happened to her hair? She has long, black hair.”
Michael scurried back. “Ugh. I think I found it.”
He was right. At his feet was a pile of dark, shorn hair. Who had done th
is to her? And why? Why do any of this? She bet Paula wished that she’d had a party at her house, DJ and all.
Connor hobbled up behind them. “Okay, so the spikes weren’t so bad.”
Cecilia helped Michael get Paula into a more comfortable position. The girl roused only a little, then fell back into her stupor.
“Was she drugged, like Frannie?” Cecilia asked.
“I don’t know, but her pulse is weak.”
They both knelt there. Clearly neither of them knew what to do. In the sparse light, Cecilia trembled. She could hear her own harsh breath. Tears sprang to Cecilia’s eyes. She didn’t want to be like Frannie, sobbing pitifully into her hands. She didn’t want to look weak, but who really was strong at a time like this?
Michael put his arm around her. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve figured it out,” Connor said, sliding down the wall. “I’m staying here.”
Cecilia frowned as Michael’s arm dropped from her shoulders. She already missed the warmth and support.
“We can’t. Not to reinforce Frannie’s hysteria,” Michael nodded to Frannie. “No offense, but the killer really could be coming back any minute.”
Connor rubbed the wounds on his wrists where he had been bound. “And he could also be around the next turn. Or the ceiling above us is filled with guts. Or a thousand different things. With a guy this f—ed up, we just don’t know.”
“But we’ve got to try,” Michael stated as he rose. “Quentin is still out there.”
“And for that, man, I am sorry, Michael. But dude, I just can’t go any farther.”
Frannie hugged herself, rocking back and forth. “Me, either.”
“Guys! What if that were you still out there, like Quentin? Alone and terrified, hoping someone was coming for you? Well?”
Cecilia stood as well, putting a hand out to Michael. “Come here.”
At first, he just glared at her hand, like it was treasonous offering. But she smiled, hopefully with reassurance. Tentatively he took her hand and she drew him away from the others. His breath came in puffs, he was so angry. Cecilia couldn’t blame him. She could only imagine how she would feel if Frannie were still missing.
“Michael.”
“Not you, too,” he said, holding her gaze.
Down & Dirty: A McCray Crime Collection Page 14