Her phone beeped again.
She pulled away. “I’ve really got to go.” She bumped into his bed. “I’ll bring my hiking boots to California. I’ll need them, right? That was real, real good, by the way.” She bumped into his desk. “Real good.”
“I don’t think you should be driving.”
“Is that your geeky way of saying you want to be with me?”
“No, I really mean you shouldn’t be driving. But I absolutely do want to be with you.”
“Okay.” She tossed him the keys. “Let’s go.”
His face turned hot. He knew he was blushing. “I need to wait a few moments. The girls are out there.”
She looked at his pants and laughed. “You’re okay, you know that?”
“Surprised?”
“No, but it’s just that you’re shorter than J . . . forget it. It’s not nice.”
This time his laughter was unrestrained. “That’s the nicest thing anyone ever told me.”
“Just hurry up. I’m already late. Think of homecoming or something.”
A minute passed. Ben said, “Let’s go.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“If you don’t touch me. I’m a little quick on the trigger right now.”
“You know what, Vicks? I’m happy.”
“I’m happy too.” He stopped at the door, turned around, and took a step toward her, holding her face in his hands, concentrating on her eyes, the black dilated pupils surrounded by pure blue. Within moments, they moistened, water overflowing onto her cheeks. He took his thumbs and swept them along her lower lids. “Seems like I’ve been waiting a lifetime to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Wipe away your tears.”
He broke away and opened the door. Haley and Lilly looked up with apprehension. Lilly held out a plate. “Cookies?”
“Sure.” He swiped two. “I’m starving.”
Ro hung up her cell. “I’m about to pick up Griff and Ezra. How about we all go out to an early dinner? I haven’t eaten all day. I’m famished. It’ll mean you’ll have to squish in the backseat, but something tells me that’s okay.”
“It’s four thirty,” Haley said. “What’s even open?”
“Pantry.” Ben took another cookie. “I could use a burger. I’ll drive.” He put on a jacket and opened the front door. The storm had picked up again. Rain was coming down in torrents. “Wait here, guys. Let me warm up the car. It’s freezing outside.”
Haley touched her brother’s arm. She whispered. “Everything okay?”
Ben grinned as he pointed outside. “As right as rain.”
Sometimes there is a happily ever after.
They darted outside, headed toward a white Explorer: a boy and the three girls, each female looking yummier than the last.
Not that he planned on doing anything. Those days were over. He’d done it and no one was the wiser and he knew he had to stop before someone put the pieces together.
He was only in New Mexico for a short time. He didn’t even have to be here. He chose to be here. He chose to come and to drive out of the way just to stare, just to imagine, just to wish he had the opportunity—
No, no, no. No more opportunity, no more, no more, no more.
Take a deep breath and settle down.
There were other things in life.
Maybe.
Settle down, settle down, settle down.
Deep breath. Deep, deep breath.
Minutes passed.
Okay, he convinced himself, no more.
This was just a whim, a passing fancy.
To come here and relive.
And relive and relive and relive and relive and relive . . .
Snowstorm
Prologue
The thought kept pulsating through his brain—an arterial beat with synapses jumping one after the other and the other and the other until he wanted to scream.
One more time, one more time, one more time, one more time.
He had sworn that if he did manage to complete a cycle without detection, he would stop. He wanted to stop. Truly and sincerely, he wanted to quit. He had an astronomically high IQ. Men like him didn’t self-destruct. Internal immolation was for the mentally ill, those with flawed frontal lobes who couldn’t contain their impulses. He was no psychopath. He had fear. He had a conscience. He had empathy and sympathy and all those things that were necessary to live in a social world.
Except, once in a while, things got to him.
Hence the repetitive thought.
He didn’t fear the obsession. As long as he kept it inside his brain, he was fine. But from past experience, his obsession—a disorder of thought—often led to a compulsion—a disorder of action. That’s what he was fighting against: acting on his obsession. He didn’t want to do it anymore. Because once he started with the first one, he’d have to go through another cycle. And now he was older and much wiser, and the task in front of him just seemed so onerous.
But the thought was making him anxious. Interrupting his sleep and giving him panic attacks. He was too young for that. He was too smart and too savvy and he had to do something to quell the obsession even if it was a temporary fix.
He decided to meet it halfway . . . obsession leading to partial compulsion.
He’d dig a grave.
He hoped that the act of bringing shovel to dirt would stanch some of the nervous energy. There was physicality in breaking ground, in pushing a spade into hard-packed dirt, hoisting the soil over his shoulder until it became a mound of clotted mud. Surely that would deter him . . . all the force needed to shape the precise dimensions. All the cunning required to pick the spot and hide it from the dozens of trackers and hikers who crisscrossed the area (although very few came once the ground froze over).
The solution was in front of his face: just dig the damn grave. Even if he decided not to fill it, it would make him feel warm and fuzzy knowing it was there.
Just in case.
Chapter 1
Winter came on like a beast.
By late December, northern New Mexico howled with cold winds, freezing rain, and harsh temperatures. Out came the boxes packed with winter wear: the boots and gloves and parkas and waterproof jackets that Ro was sure she wouldn’t need when the family moved to the Southwest. But Santa Fe was high desert and that meant occasional blizzards with bitter nighttime temperatures. It was weird for her to see cacti covered in snow.
School was out for the holidays, allowing normal families the opportunity to vacation in hospitable climates. Of course, her family chose to stay put, because why tan in Hawaii when you could be a paleface with chapped lips in the zero humidity of the mountains? It had been ages since her family had gone anywhere fun. Her parents existed, but they didn’t do a lot of living.
Her mother threw herself into redoing the house with Christmas cheer. There were wreaths of holly on every door; dozens of red, pink, and white poinsettia plants placed at strategic locations; and garlands of juniper and gold tinsel around the staircase banister and the second-story railings. In the center of the living room sat a ginormous Christmas tree dripping with tinsel and ornaments both old and new. There was white fluff under the tree and gaily wrapped presents. But the scene, instead of coming across as jolly, looked more like a funeral parlor. That’s what happens when decorating is less an act of joy and more like a compulsion to stave off depression.
Their temporary house was a modern take on a traditional adobe home. Instead of fluid, undulating walls and rounded corners, it was all sharp angles and lines with tall windows and baronial doors. Vicks had told her that it was typical of a house built by part-timers—some rich Texan or Californian erecting a visible paean to a sizable ego. But Ro loved living in something modern. Their place in Scarsdale was as traditional as the mores of the suburb.
Her dad, trying to add some brightness into dreary lives, had hired a worker to string multicolored Christmas lights instead of the traditional New Mexican farolitos�
�paper bags filled with sand and lit by tea candles. No one used real farolitos on their roofs anymore—can you say “fire hazard”?—but they did use pretty good plastic replicas. Even so, in the black nights of the poorly lit street, Ro thought her house stood out like a garish beacon.
By Christmas Eve, the night had turned savage with temperatures in the teens. The aftermath of the noontime rains had turned to sheets of ice as the skies cleared and the mercury dipped below freezing. Had there been any moisture left in the sky, it would have been a white Christmas. Instead, it was all chill and no atmosphere.
At least the house smelled like the holidays. Her mom was a fantastic cook and she’d been going at it for two days. Yesterday was all the desserts—cookies and cakes and pies and the aroma of winter spices. Today was the meats and side dishes: turkey and ham and potatoes and candied yams and string beans and salad.
At six thirty, the Majors sat down for dinner. Mom had chosen a red satin dress and black pumps. She had diamonds on her earlobes and pearls around her neck. Dad had on the requisite black suit and Griff looked like a thinner, shorter version of Dad. He had slicked back his unruly hair and looked preternaturally stiff. Ro had donned black—a symbol of mourning for her former life back east. The food was phenomenal; the conversation not so much. It didn’t exactly flow but it wasn’t as stilted as it had been in Christmases past. By eight, they were finished with the main meal. Ro wasn’t ready for dessert, but tradition was tradition, as feeble as it was, and she knew she had no choice but to consume copious quantities of sugar and fat.
The knock on the door was unexpected. Griffen was up and out of his chair before she could look up.
Jane Majors looked at her daughter. “Who on earth?”
“It’s probably Vicks.”
“You invited him here on Christmas Eve?”
“No, I didn’t invite him. I just said if it’s anyone it’s probably him . . . and the girls.”
“They don’t believe in Christmas dinner?”
“Mom, I don’t know. I’ll go see who it is.”
Her dad said, “Tell him he’s welcome to stay for dessert.”
Ro turned to her mother. “Is that okay?”
“Of course.” Her tone was more reserved than welcoming.
Ro hadn’t seen Vicks in over a week. She had agreed to go with his family to his sister’s grave tomorrow, and now she was having second thoughts. She wasn’t creeped out at going to a cemetery—she had visited her sister’s grave often enough—it’s just that she felt like a ghoulish intruder. But he insisted it was okay.
Griff was deep in conversation with Vicks and the girls. They were dressed appropriately for the weather in jackets, boots, and scarves. Ro was not. “Hey.”
Ben’s eyes did a quick up-and-down. “You look nice.”
“Thanks, Vicks.” She rubbed her arms. Secretly she was glad that someone saw her looking so hot. “It’s freezing out here. My mother has invited all of you for dessert.”
“They’re going to a carnival,” Griffen said. “They invited us to come.”
“Carnival?”
“The Canyon Road walk,” Ben said. “It’s a Santa Fe tradition on Christmas Eve.”
“Where all the art galleries are?”
“Yep. The street is closed off to cars and overrun with people.”
“Like, everyone in Santa Fe is there,” Haley said.
Lilly said, “It’s totally wholesome. There is lots of off-key caroling and dogs dressed up as reindeer. It sounds corny but it’s actually a lot of fun.”
Ben said, “I haven’t gone since . . . in a while. Come. It’ll be fun.”
“Thanks, but my mom will be upset if we leave.”
Griffen made a point of giving a disgusted sigh. “It’s like a tomb in there.”
Ro opened the front door. “Come in and say hello.”
The five of them went inside the house.
“Merry Christmas,” Ben said. “We’re just stopping by. Sorry to interrupt.”
“No interruption.” Mom’s eyes swept over their casual dress. “We were just finishing up. Would you like to stay for dessert?”
“Uh, thank you.” Ben said. “That’s very nice of you.”
Griffen said, “They’re on their way to a carnival, Mom. They’re just being polite.”
“Carnival?” Dad said. “On Christmas Eve?”
“No, it’s not a carnival,” Ben said. “It’s a tradition in Santa Fe to do a walk up Canyon Road. Lots of the galleries are open and they serve coffee and hot cider and hot chocolate. There are bonfires and lots of caroling.”
“Bad caroling,” Lilly said. “And bad brass bands.”
“I’m stuffed, Mom,” Griffen said. “Maybe, like, we can go and come back for dessert?”
Dad looked at Ben. “How long does it take?”
“About an hour. But if you have other plans—”
“We don’t,” Griffen said. “I should change, right?”
Vicks’s eyes darted between Ro and her parents. He was barely on their good side so he was hesitant. “I don’t want to interrupt any traditions you have.”
“Traditions we have? Seriously, dude?”
“Griffen, be polite,” Dad warned him.
“C’mon,” Griffen cajoled. “It’s okay, right?”
“Everyone can come,” Ben said.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Dad said. “It must be ten degrees outside.”
“It’s pretty cold,” Ben said.
“Let them go, Jane.” Dad loosened his tie. “I’m stuffed.” He looked at Ben. “Be back in an hour plus fifteen for dessert. I’ll probably enjoy it better myself.” He stood up. “I’m going to go change into something warm and comfortable. Merry Christmas.”
Mom paused, then began gathering up dirty plates. “Well, I suppose the decision has been made.”
“I’ll stay home with you,” Ro offered. “I don’t want you cleaning up this mess by yourself.”
“Why don’t we go and we’ll clean up everything when we come back?” Vicks suggested. “Least I can do for interrupting your dinner.”
“That’s an idea.” Ro smiled. “Go relax, Mom. We’ll take care of everything later.”
Dad had returned in sweats. “Make sure you do. Go. To tell you the truth, I would like to be alone with Mom. It’s a rare thing.”
Mom cracked a smile. “Thank you. That was a very nice thing to say.”
Dad put his arm around Mom and kissed her cheek. “Heartfelt.” To the kids: “Clean up everything when you come back. Mom worked hard enough.”
Twenty minutes later, with everyone dressed and sweating in the car’s heat, Vicks pulled into the line of vehicles on Paseo de Peralta, waiting to get into one of the parking lots across from the mouth of Canyon Road. His mom’s SUV inched across the asphalt until they were finally allowed in. Cars were everywhere. People were everywhere. Old snow had turned to blocks of ice. The parking lot was one big skating rink with frozen water crunching under tires and refreezing as soon as it hit the frigid air. Ben found a parking space. As soon as they got out of the car, Ro took a couple of steps and her feet slid out. Vicks caught her by the arm. Then his gloved hand took hers and the crew walked to the beginning of Canyon Road.
Griff and the girls disappeared almost immediately in the swell of humanity. Vicks got two cups of cider, gave one to Ro, and surveyed the scene. He pointed to an open gallery. “Want to go inside?”
“What’s inside?” Ro asked him.
“Dunno, but it’s probably warm.”
“Enough motivation for me.”
Inside was jewelry, cases of gold and silver crafted with a native flair. The pieces were studded with semiprecious stones, mostly turquoise, but also coral and opal and accented with diamonds. The shapes were fluid and modern. Ro studied each item with an assiduousness that was usually reserved for SAT exams. Maybe that was her problem. There was no jewelry section on the test.
“Pretty, pretty.” She slippe
d her arm around Ben’s waist. “You’d better get me out of here or it’ll cost you.”
“Wallet’s pretty empty but I do have my parents’ CC.”
She punched his shoulder. “Let’s go have some fun.”
They started up the incline and through the throng of people. It was hard not to get into the holiday spirit because it slapped you in the face. The narrow road was packed with families and pets and there were twinkly Christmas lights everywhere. Couples were linked arm in arm, toddlers sat on parents’ shoulders, red-nosed kids ran up and down and weaved between people. There were men dressed up as Santa and dogs dressed up as reindeer, and bonfires burned at strategic locations, places to thaw frozen fingers.
There were stalls set up to serve hot cider, cocoa, and coffee, needed more as hand warmers than thirst quenchers. Some booths were also selling cookies and kettle corn.
When they got to the top of the road, Ro looked down at the crowds. She realized she was genuinely happy. “This is incredibly corny.” She kissed his cheek. “But it’s fun, and to tell the truth, it was great to get out of the house. It was glum in there.”
“I hear you. My father doesn’t care about the holidays anymore, and my mom cares too much. The thought of going to the grave tomorrow always puts her in a deep funk on Christmas Eve.”
“Why does she do it?”
“Her way of celebrating Christmas with Ellen, I guess. I really don’t know.” Vicks rubbed his hands together. “You’re still determined to make this trip with me to California? You can back out if you want.”
“Why would I? California, at the very least, is warm.”
“Actually San Francisco is scheduled for rain.”
“I own an umbrella. I won’t get in your way.” Ro looked at him. “As long as whatever you find out, you’ll take to Shanks.”
He shrugged. “Let’s not talk about that now.”
“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
“How gorgeous you are.”
“That’s always a good topic.” She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a passionate kiss.
Killing Season Page 23