“Jon Abel,” she said flatly.
“Of course.” He pulled off the hood. He looked just as he always did, and that was almost more frightening than anything else. He shook his head. “I guess I’ve gotten…hungrier lately. So many only come to me when they’re broken, old, mutilated. There’s something beautiful about death, you know. Especially death just as it happens. And the pressure of my job…”
“You’ve been killing for a long time,” she told him.
He scowled at her. “I was not so hungry then, as I said. But…when I discovered that there was actually a crypt below the family vault, it was suddenly so easy. Meant to be, you might say. Of course, I didn’t figure on the river and the water level—stupid, you say? Not really. In all this time, only two bones have ever washed out, and if it weren’t for your lover, no one would ever have known. And you know, the women I’ve…shall I say loved? Have actually been better off. Their lives were small, unimportant. They’re not the kind of women anyone would miss.”
“Sheila is missed,” she snapped.
“Well, yes, but Sheila…she was necessary. She was too interested in this place, in its history. I couldn’t take the chance that she would find out about this little…retreat of mine. There was a casket of remains, a soldier from that unfortunate business between North and South. The body was quite rotted, of course, but he’d kept a diary, which was very nicely preserved in a piece of oilcloth. He was quite an interesting man. He and I had quite a lot in common. Not only that, in his journal he talked about the way he disposed of corpses out here. It made things so much easier for me. And so—”
“And so Amelia saw lights,” she said.
He smiled. Just as Jon Abel always smiled. He still hadn’t changed.
The only thing that had changed was that now she knew, knew exactly what kind of monster he was. Knew that he could kill and, if his victims ever did turn up, fill in false reports.
He could stage a break-in at the coroner’s office.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” she said softly, “this will probably sound like an in—a ridiculous question to you, but why?”
“Because of the hunger,” he said, as if she should understand perfectly. “And I’m a genius, but you already know that. Not every man can be allowed to indulge the hunger, of course, but as a genius, I deserve to have what I want. And because so much of what I see in my work is so ugly, that’s why…lately…I’ve been hungrier. And that’s why I need the pretty ones, alive and afraid…. I’m tender with them at first, of course,” he said, walking toward her. But the knife was still down. He wasn’t going to strike, not just yet.
If only she could find something to use as a weapon.
He paused in front of her. “You see?” he said softly, indicating the body parts floating around her. “Death can be so ugly. But not at first. It takes the terror in a woman’s eyes and replaces it with peace, the peace that comes with death. And it’s beautiful, so beautiful. Until the rot comes. And there is no one who can stop the rot.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw an arm bone. Her heart quivered in her chest. It was still wearing the remnants of a black fleece sweatshirt.
He was close now, so close. He reached out, and she felt him touch her face. “You’re such a pretty one.”
Now or never.
She reached down for the bone and brought it up as hard as she could, striking him a tremendous blow across the face. He shouted hoarsely and recoiled, so she lifted her weapon to strike again. But he came back at her quickly, catching her arm with a surprising strength. He slammed her against the wall and held her there, but somehow she managed to retain her hold on her weapon.
“You don’t understand!” he told her angrily.
“I do,” she told him quickly. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. The body rots, but the soul doesn’t.”
“What?” he demanded.
“I knew about you. The ghosts told me.”
He hesitated, stunned by her words.
“That soldier, Victor Grebbe. He killed women here. The ghosts knew it, and they knew it was happening again. But they don’t intend to let you get away with it. So if I were you, I’d get out of here now. I’d run away. You can hide. You can disappear. You’re a genius, remember? You deserve to live. But you need to get out—now—if you want to escape the ghosts.”
“The ghosts?” he said coldly.
“They’re here now,” she told him.
“You’re insane, do you know that?” His hand was twitching.
The hand with the knife.
She couldn’t break his hold on her, but Henry…Henry was beside her, struggling to break that hold for her.
Jon Abel frowned, as if he sensed something touching him, and his grip eased, just the tiniest bit.
It was enough.
She struck him as hard as she could with the bone, this time aiming for his knife arm. She was rewarded by hearing the knife clatter against the stone wall of the crypt and then fall, with a splash, into the water rushing around her ankles.
It wasn’t just that they were below sea level here, she realized. It was the river. It was close.
Somewhere here, there had to be a connection to the river.
She held on tight to her weapon, knowing he would come after her again as she forged through a sea of dismembered corpses, trying to find a way out. Henry was at her side, urging her on. Giving her strength.
But she didn’t get far. She felt fingers twine into her hair, and she was jerked back. Struggling, they sank down to their knees together in the fetid water.
Somehow he’d found the knife.
And he brought it to her throat.
Aidan followed the ghost into the tomb, his light darting swiftly around. There was no one there. Except the woman in white, beckoning him on as she backed toward the altar.
And disappeared.
All of a sudden he felt his ancestors, Brendan and Sloan Flynn, at his side, urging him forward.
He raced around the altar and saw the false floor, the opening to whatever lay below.
Without hesitating, he jumped down into the darkness, his feet splashing hard, putrid water rising up to meet him. He staggered with the force of his landing, and fell, the Colt flying out of his hand.
“Aidan!” Kendall screamed.
“Stay back!” It was a man’s voice, hoarse, almost inhuman.
Jon Abel.
And he had a knife at Kendall’s throat.
“Kill him, Aidan,” Kendall said softly. “Or he’ll kill us both.”
He looked at her as reassuringly as he could, then turned his implacable gaze on her captor. “Abel, you haven’t got a prayer of getting out of here alive, you know.”
“Back off! I’ll kill her right now,” Abel said, his voice growing shrill.
“Don’t be a fool, Abel. Even with a knife, you’re no match for me. You—”
He broke off then. A thick mist was rising from the water. Rising, and taking shape.
The woman in white, Fiona, was to his left, Sloan standing to the other side of her. Brendan flanked him on the right.
But they weren’t alone.
The mist was alive.
“They’re here, Jon,” Aidan said very softly. “All the women you’ve murdered. They’re here now, with us. And they’re going to kill you.”
“You’re crazy!”
“No, I’m not. Just look, and you’ll see them.”
At last, Abel looked.
Kendall felt his hold on her loosen. She met Aidan’s eyes, and he nodded grimly. She kicked Abel as hard as she could, and it was enough to buy Aidan the split second he needed. As Abel screamed in pain, Aidan rushed him, pushing Kendall out of the way.
The two men plunged into the water together, struggling desperately for control of the knife.
Straining, Aidan gripped Abel’s wrist, wrestling for the blade, and as he fought, the faces in the mist came closer. Ghostly hands reached out, and Abel began to scream and
scream.
Aidan would never know the truth.
Had he meant to disarm the man, or kill him?
It didn’t matter.
The knife was pulled from Abel’s hold by ghostly hands and plunged into his heart.
Blood stained the water as the faces faded back into the silver fog.
“Please,” Kendall whispered to Aidan as she threw her arms around him. “Please, we have to get out of here.”
“God, yes!”
He turned, and for one moment they were still there, Fiona and the men who, one way or another, had died to protect her.
Then they were gone.
Aidan felt Kendall shivering, trembling, as he led her back toward the glow from above that showed where the drop into the crypt from the mausoleum lay. He pushed her up and through, then vaulted out behind her. Together, they staggered out of the mausoleum and then paused.
An array of people stood before them. Soldiers and businessmen, women in beautiful frocks. In the front of the group stood one man in blue and another in gray, and Henry was with them.
Fiona stepped forward, carrying a rose, which she set before them with a smile.
And then the entire crowd faded away.
The sound of sirens suddenly shattered the night. In moments there were police everywhere, followed shortly by Hal, and Jeremy and Zach. At some point Vinnie woke up, much to Kendall’s relief.
The night was mass confusion, but one fact was clear.
The reign of terror had ended.
The bones and bodies would be retrieved, and the dead would be buried.
The ghosts could rest in peace at last.
Epilogue
Kendall was dressed in something black and gray and ragged. Her hair was streaming down her back, and, despite her makeup-induced ghostly pallor, she was stunning as she stepped on stage to duet with Vinnie. Together, they brought down the house on song after song.
The decorations were as macabre as the costumes, and the costumes were both varied and elaborate. Skeletons danced with Indian princesses, and there were at least three mummies, two wolfmen and a horde of Draculas. There were beautiful fairies, giant trees with gruesome faces and more.
The Haunted Holiday Happening was in full swing.
Admittedly, it was a full year later than planned, but no one was complaining.
It was also serving as an excellent way to introduce The Barn, as the new community theater was going to be known.
In the past, a killer had gotten away with murder here—until he had been killed himself during the commission of his last crime.
What psychosis had come upon Victor Grebbe, it was far too late to know, but contemporary doctors would have a field day studying the mind of JonAbel, a brilliant man with a fine career who had been cursed with a criminal hunger.
The last number ended, and Kendall stepped off the stage with Vinnie, who was walking on air, now that Zach had offered to produce the Stakes’s first CD.
“Hey, I’d like my wife back now,” Aidan called to Vinnie.
“I’m returning her safe and sound.”
Drawing Kendall to him for the slow dance that was just beginning, Aidan looked around the room. Jonas was there with Matty, and they were happy. She had been right; by forgiving her husband and standing by him, she had saved him.
Miss Ady, with a clean bill of health, was sitting on a bale of hay and tapping her toes. She smiled and accepted when Jimmy walked up and asked her to dance.
Both his brothers were deep in conversation with attractive women.
In short, everything was good.
And, most importantly, Kendall was in his arms.
“Can we slip out for a minute?” she asked him, her eyes dazzling.
“Out?”
“Please?”
He arched a brow but followed willingly as she led him into the cemetery.
“This is going to seem odd, I know,” she told him.
“Oh?”
“I have something to tell you. And I thought…I thought they should know, too.”
They.
He didn’t ask her who she meant.
“We’re having a little Flynn,” she said in a rush, her eyes on his anxiously.
He picked her up and swung her around, then set her down carefully.
They were standing at Henry’s grave, and now she placed a hand on it and said, “He saved the Flynn baby all those years ago, and he helped reveal the real story. And then, if he hadn’t saved me, well, helped save me—”
They seldom spoke of that night. There was no need. They both knew what had happened, so what did it matter if the rest of the world knew, too?
“You were right to come out here,” he said. “Henry should know. And Fiona and Sloan and Brendan, too.” He smiled. “Nothing could make me happier,” he told her, and pressed a tender kiss on her lips. “Except maybe ditching the last few minutes of the bash?”
“Hey, it’s your brother’s party, anyway,” she said.
“We’ll tell them tomorrow,” he said.
He carried her past the barn full of revelers and up to the house, which was haunted by only the best kind of spirits.
And soon it would also be haunted by the sound of little feet.
Neither of them had all the answers, but they did have one another.
And that was more than enough.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-2112-7
DEADLY NIGHT
Copyright © 2008 by Heather Graham Pozzessere.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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