Total Victim Theory

by Ian Ballard

  Taking a last look inside the drawer, the large notebook again caught her attention. Gary must have a good reason for keeping it here. There must be other secrets she'd yet to uncover. She pulled it out and placed it on the floor in front of her. Its spine gave a pop, as she opened it up to a page in the middle. It was crammed with records, dates, and money entries. She couldn’t read English, but as she thumbed through the pages, she saw several Mexican first and last names scattered among the entries.

  Flipping to the last two last pages of entries, Emilia found what she already half-expected she might—the first and last names of the last twelve men to work at the ranch. All the names had blanks after them. All, that is, except two—the names Fernando Lucero and Esteban Duarte were followed by zeros and today’s date. October 31, 1992.

  Suddenly, the door to the study was thrown open, and the light switched on. Gary stood in the doorway with a look of woeful disappointment on his face. Gary, who was wearing a green apron and oven mitts, and at whose side hung a butcher knife.

  *

  Arturo and Raul left the barn and hurried back along the gravel road they'd come in on. Lacking any better means of defending themselves, they took the ax with them, still damp with what Arturo assumed was the blood of the two missing workers.

  Their plan was to go out the main gate—the only way off the property—then walk up the road to the closest gas station and call the police. The way Arturo figured it, Gary wouldn't be up before dawn and so couldn't discover the break-in at the barn till sometime after that. As long as the police got there within the next few hours, the eight workers in the bunkhouse wouldn't be in any danger. There was a gas station less than two miles away, so time was on their side.

  As they approached the main gate, Gary's house came into view not more than a hundred yards up ahead. The lights were out and nothing moved. Still, Arturo was anxious to get past this final stretch, where a chance peek out the window by any sleepless soul could alert the head of the household to their presence. And only bad things could come of that.

  “From now on, not a word,” Arturo whispered in his son’s ear.

  Raul gave a nod and the pair quickened their pace.

  Then—with the exit no more than a hundred yards off—a window on the left side of the house lit up.

  Arturo froze in place, unsure what to do. How was this possible? Had someone been standing watch for them?

  Seeing that a small shed lay to the left of the path, Arturo grabbed his son's arm and pulled him toward it. It would at least provide cover if someone decided to aim a gun at them. A second later, they stood with their backs pressed to the shed's far side, both breathing hard.

  “They saw us, Papi?” Raul asked.

  “They must have.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Just stay still and be quiet,” Arturo said, peeking his head around the corner. The light in the house was still on, but there was no one standing in the window, nor were there any signs of movement. Could it have just been a coincidence? Just someone getting up to get a drink or go to the bathroom? And if someone had spotted them, why would that person turn the light on and draw attention to himself?

  Just then a silhouette appeared in the lighted window, only to vanish from sight a second later. Whoever it was didn't seem to be peering out, but just passing by. And the figure was tall, surely that of a grown man—which would have to make it Gary. But what was he up to at this hour if he hadn't, in fact, spotted them?

  But then Arturo's thoughts were interrupted as a scream shattered the night's silence. A woman's scream—coming from the house.

  It had to be Emilia. She was the only woman there.

  Jesus, what were they doing to her?

  A second scream rang out. It was agonizing to listen to. Not the sound of fear, but the sound of someone dying. Of someone whose body was enduring unspeakable agonies.

  Arturo's heart beat wildly. He had to help her—if she could still be helped.

  He turned and grabbed the handle of the shed door and found it unlocked. “Go inside and wait for me here,” he said to his son.

  “Papi, I'll go with you—” Raul pleaded.

  There was no time to argue.

  Arturo placed his hand on his son's shoulders, spun him around, and ushered him firmly through the shed's open doorway.

  “Raul, escucha bien. No matter what happens, you stay put.” Arturo hated to leave him, but there was no other way. What he was about to do was far too dangerous. He wouldn't expose his son to that risk.

  “I want to go with you, Papi,” Raul said. “Please.”

  “You can't go. I need you to promise me you'll stay.” Arturo's voice was forceful and grave.

  “But it's not safe for you—”

  “Promise me.”

  His son was crying and he looked down. “I promise,” he said.

  “It's going to be okay,” Arturo said.

  “I hope so, Papi,” Raul whispered.

  “Te amo, mi hijo.”

  “Te amo, tambien.”

  With his son inside, Arturo closed the door to the shed. Then, gripping the ax in both hands, he sprung out onto the gravel road and dashed toward the house.

  33

  Midland

  Sherman sets the Teddy bear down on the coffee table in front of me. My breaths come quick and shallow. Throat feels constricted. I give a tug at my tie to loosen the knot.

  What this means is still sinking in. All the worst things I'd imagined are true and then some. He was here today. In this fucking house. He had to have been watching me last night at Lisa's. But that's not the worst. The worst is that whatever's going on, whatever this sick fuck intends to do, involves the girl. Involves my daughter.

  “Everything all right, Agent Burton?” Sherman asks. “You look white as a sheet.”

  It’s obvious that Sherman's suspicious of me, or at least thoroughly confused by all he's just heard. Fear and doubt are written all over his face. “Yeah . . . everything's okay,” I mutter.

  “What do you make of that stuffed animal?” he asks. “Do those circumstances strike you as odd?”

  Somewhere on the other side of the house, a door opens and the dark barks.

  My thoughts are all over the place. Nearing a state of panic. This guy could be right outside the house. Or inside, for all I know. Waiting till we’re all together—to make me watch while he slaughters her.

  Is that what this is—a fucking ambush?

  “Sounds like they're back,” Sherman says.

  Voices talking to the dog. Some rustling and clanks from the kitchen. Bags being set down on countertops.

  “Hey, Lou, we're home.” A woman's voice.

  Sherman steps over to the kitchen and peeks his head in. Speaking in a low tone. “Hey, baby, there's another agent from the FBI here. I think he'd like to talk to you and Danielle when you get the chance.”

  “Another agent?” I overhear the woman say. “It's about Lisa?”

  “Yeah,” Sherman says.

  I stand up and start pacing around. Looking out the windows and in corners as if I expect him to be here. And why shouldn't I expect that? He was apparently right over my shoulder last night.

  A moment later, the three of them come out of the kitchen, and I lay eyes on my daughter for the first time. Her features are darker than I'd imagined. And she's taller and ganglier than she looked in the picture, as if she's hit a growth spurt since then. Fascinating how my heart manages to snatch a moment of joy even in the midst of this terror I'm feeling. Whatever happens, she's okay right now. It's still within my power to stop things. To protect her.

  Sherman takes a half-step forward. “Agent Burton, this is my wife Margo and my daughter Danielle.”

  Margo, a tall, sturdily built woman with graying hair, gives me a nervous nod. Danielle's wearing a blue dress and little black shoes. She gives a little wave without smiling. Everyone looks gloomy, though it's not clear if I'm the cause or if it has to do with
the news about Lisa. Not sure if they would have told Danielle yet.

  “Honey, why don't you go upstairs?” Margo says to Danielle.

  “No, that's okay,” I interject. “I'd like her to be present.” My voice sounds tense and jarring.

  For a moment no one says anything. They’re all looking at me expectantly.

  I’m trying to figure out what to do. Keep picturing the guy showing up. Appearing behind them with a coil of his rope and an ax tucked under his arm.

  We—me, Danielle, all of us really, need to just get out of here. Right now. I feel the sweat streaming down my face and I bring my hand up and wipe it away.

  “Agent Burton, I have to admit, some of the things we've talked about are pretty unsettling. Maybe if you could just tell us what's going on or what exactly you're concerned about, it could—”

  “Look,” I interrupt him. “We're all in a lot of danger right now. I need you to listen very carefully and do exactly what I say."

  They cringe on hearing my words. Margo clutches Danielle close to her.

  “What kind of danger?” Margo asks. “I don't understand—”

  “The man who abducted Lisa Walters may have been in your home today.”

  “Are you talking about Agent Allen?” Sherman asks. “You're saying an FBI agent was responsible—”

  “I'm saying he wasn't an agent at all. The evidence suggests he may be targeting your family—your daughter in particular.”

  “Oh my God,” Margo gasps.

  “How do you know? What evidence?” Sherman demands.

  “I don't have time to go into it. I'm asking that you trust me.”

  “That's a lot to ask,” Sherman says, “after you bring up that agents aren't always who they say they are.”

  Trying my best to stay calm. To collect my thoughts. “This is what needs to happen, right now.” I say. “I need you and your wife to get in your car and go directly to the police. You aren't the killer's primary target as far as I can tell, and you should be safe as long as you stay clear of this house—”

  “What the hell are you talking about, me and my wife? What's going to happen to Danielle?”

  “I'm going to have to take her into Federal custody for a few days. No one else is in a position to provide for her protection now.”

  “You've got to be kidding,” Margo says. “There's no way—”

  Sherman interrupts her, “There's no way we're letting you take our daughter. We'll call the police, right now. Get them out here. If they back you up on all this, then—”

  “There's no time for that,” I say. “I have to treat this as an emergency situation at this point. We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way.” I reach under my coat and unsnap the shoulder holster.

  “It's going to have to be the hard way, then,” Sherman says, resolutely, taking a step forward as if to shield his family from me.

  “I'm sorry to hear that,” I say, as I draw my piece and aim it at his chest.

  34

  El Paso, 1992

  Something had awakened Luke. He sat up in bed, listening. He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd heard a voice. Had someone screamed?

  Suddenly, he heard three loud thumps. Something banging against a wall. It sounded like it was coming from the room across the hall. The study.

  Then, there was a scream—Emilia.

  What was going on? Luke had heard her voice make sounds in the night before. When Gary would go in her room. The sounds adults made when they did it. But this time her voice was different. This was a scared, squealing kind of sound.

  Another scream. A scream that faded away in the middle, like when you turn the sound down on the TV real quick.

  Luke got out of bed, tiptoed across the room, and pressed his ear to the door. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what the sounds were. His father was in the next room hurting Emilia.

  Killing her.

  He didn't know why it was happening, but he knew his father wouldn’t do it without a good reason. His father didn’t kill people unless he had to. Maybe Emilia found out something she shouldn't have or maybe he caught her stealing money—his father said Mexicans would do that anytime they got the chance. But still, Luke wished it wasn't happening. He thought Emilia would be with them a long time. And he wanted her to be. His father had always treated her different than the others. More like part of the family. The way he visited her room made Luke think that maybe his father cared about her. Or at least that he wouldn’t hurt her. Luke didn't like hearing these things, and he didn't want Emilia to be gone.

  She'd been with them more than a year now. Longer than any of the others. After Rose died and Margarita went away, they didn't have a housekeeper for a while. No one was really doing chores, and dishes and laundry had gotten to be a big mess. Then one day Gary showed up with Emilia. She cooked and cleaned and started spending a lot of time with Luke. Her mouth was always moving and she’d talk about whatever popped into her head. She didn’t speak English, so Luke learned a lot of Spanish that way. They’d watch telenovelas together and she’d even read him Mexican comics—the dirty ones where chubby, bald guys were always drooling over blondes with big boobs.

  Before Emilia came, Luke had always treated people the way a cat does when it brushes up against you. Like you were a piece of furniture. People were moving, talking coat racks. He felt nothing for any of them—including Gary and Rose—and it didn't matter if they were around or not. But then, very, very slowly, he started to feel something for Emilia. Something warm. Like when the purring part of a cat starts to gently rumble. Once when Emilia was about to read him a story before bed, he saw himself in the mirror. He was brushing his teeth and he noticed that his eyes were glowing. Lit up, the way Roscoe's used to look when Rose would take him out of the kennel and he would run circles around the living room and jump up on the couches.

  Emilia had always seemed so happy. And it made the ranch happier too. Although Luke remembered a time when she was making gazpacho and she suddenly started crying. Luke thought it must be the telenovela or the onions, but when he asked what was wrong she said she was in love with Gary. That she wanted to marry him. That was her one wish. But then she said it would never happen because Gary wouldn't want to. Luke almost told her not to waste her one wish on him. In some ways, he wasn't that great. Plus, he killed people from time to time. But Luke kept his mouth shut. Saying something like that would have gotten everyone in big trouble.

  Another cry came from the study. Low and muffled. The sound brought Luke's mind back to the present.

  Just then Movie Time kicked in. That’s what Luke called it. It happened enough that it needed a name. It was where he could see the things other people were seeing. Like getting cable when you didn’t pay for it, except from people’s minds. And there was never any sound. Just muted movies. A secret switch would get flipped within him and he’d suddenly be looking out through their eyes.

  The first time it happened was when he was real young, maybe three years old. It seemed normal. He figured it must happen to everyone. But when he'd told other people about it—Gary, or Tad, or Rose—they looked at him like he was crazy.

  Movie Time only started when he saw something really bad. The first time was when he’d seen Garrett hurting Guimauve, the old orange tabby with white boots and shabby fur. Garrett, who was seven or eight then, was holding the cat down, pinning him against the carpet with his elbow. He was hurting him. The cat hissed and its ears went back. Suddenly Luke was just inside the animal’s head, peering out through its eyes. He could see Guimauve’s paws trying to scratch or gain hold of something. He saw Garrett high above like a three-story-tall giant and in the background a sofa as big as the Loaf and Jug. Luke could even see the lines of Guimauve’s whiskers, as if they were growing out of his own nose.

  Guimauve twisted its head, struggling to see what was happening to him. Still pressing the cat flat to the floor with his forearm, Garrett took the tail in both hands, then, with a sudden snap, brok
e it midway down. The tail bent at a crooked angle. A few drops of blood wet the fur. Guimauve fought, freed a pinned paw, and gave Garrett a deep scratch on the arm. Then he squirmed free and scampered off. As soon as Guimauve had escaped, Luke’s window into the cat’s world closed. The first Movie Time was over.

  Movie Time became a regular feature of Luke's life, as Tad—taking over where Garrett left off—forced Luke to witness some really bad things with animals around the ranch. Tad always wanted to see how long he could get them to last. He'd just leave them there in the shed, whining and whimpering till they passed away, sometimes days later. The problem was that once Movie Time started, it just kept going, like the Energizer bunny—until it was all over. While an hour or two inside a skunk’s or a coyote's mind was the perfect cure for summer boredom, much more than that was hard to stomach. To keep from going crazy, Luke would often steal Tad's keys and after sunset, sneak out to the shed and put an end to the suffering.

  Drowning was the best way. There was a well not far off and he'd lower them down in the bucket. Then he'd carefully dry them off and put them back just like they were, so Tad never knew.

  But today it wasn't just the mind of some dumb animal he was trapped inside. Today he was looking out of Emilia's eyes. Of course, it had happened with people before—with a few of the laborers, and of course, that one time with Tad and the neighbor girl in the upstairs bathroom that Luke never liked to think about. But it had never happened with someone he'd been this close to. And the fact was, he'd never been that close with anyone like he was with Emilia.

  When Luke heard Emilia cry out the second time, what she was seeing suddenly appeared before his eyes. She was pinned beneath Gary, struggling to free herself. A knife was moving up and down in the air. Disappearing and reappearing in and out of her. As she tried to scream again, a meaty hand clamped down over her mouth. She was trying to say things. But it was all wet and muffled because of the blood and Gary’s hand.