Kill Her Again (A Thriller)

by Robert Gregory Browne

  “Sweet Jesus,” he said, then crossed himself.

  “What? What is it?” Worthington was still trying to keep his attention centered on that black doorway, as if he expected the man in the baseball cap to come bursting out of it at any moment.

  Chavez said nothing, turning instead and moving away. He paused, then leaned forward and vomited into the dirt.

  That was all the answer they needed.

  And as Worthington finally turned, looking at the figure on the ground, Anna knew from the horror spreading across his face—

  —that they had just found Kimberly Fairweather.

  19

  “CONSIDER YOURSELF TOAST, McBride.”

  Royer stood at the rear doorway of the ambulance, a smug, self-satisfied smile on his face. Anna sat on a gurney inside, a paramedic applying ointment to the half-dozen burn marks on her neck.

  They hurt like hell.

  On the carnival grounds, sheriff’s deputies and citizen volunteers were in the midst of an expanded search. This time for the man in the red baseball cap.

  “I just got off the phone with the brass,” Royer said. “They’re recommending beach time, and possible termination.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “What the hell do you think? You haven’t changed, McBride. Once a fuckup, always a fuckup.”

  “You’re blaming this on me?”

  “You had the perpetrator in your hands and you let him get away.”

  Anna gestured to the burn marks. “In case you didn’t notice, I wasn’t exactly in control of the situation.”

  “Maybe if you’d followed proper procedure you would’ve been. Face it, McBride, even your daddy won’t get you out of this one.”

  Anna stared at him. She was weak and tired and depressed and just wanted to cry. But she refused to show it. “Does that make you feel good, telling me that?”

  “You’d better believe it.”

  “Then enjoy yourself while you can. Because when IA comes calling, I’m sure they’ll want to know why you were beating the crap out of an innocent man while your partner was up to her elbows in shit.”

  Royer’s smile faltered.

  “Not to mention that there was a little girl being butchered less than two hundred yards away.”

  Then it disappeared altogether.

  “That’s right, Teddy. There are a lot of different ways to spin this thing and the way I see it, I’m not the only one on the hook here.” Now Anna smiled. “Better pack your thermals. I hear the winters in South Dakota are brutal.”

  Royer went through a round of face roulette before finally settling on a glare. Unable to come up with a clever retort, he resorted to an uninspired, “Bitch,” then turned and walked away.

  The paramedic, a fortyish blonde with world-weary eyes, said, “I think you just lost him a few nights’ sleep.”

  “It won’t last,” Anna told her. “Third or fourth time he looks in a mirror, he’ll be back to normal.”

  The paramedic chuckled, then, finishing her work, gestured to the burn marks. “You’ll be in pain for a few hours, but I think you’ll live.”

  Happy day, Anna thought. She’d gladly accept a less promising prognosis if it meant Kimberly Fairweather were still alive.

  Missing is always better than dead.

  When her mother first passed, Anna made up little scenarios in her head that she’d really been kidnapped by faeries, or had gone to Hollywood to be a movie star. It was okay for her mom to be gone, but not dead. Anything but dead.

  And this morning Anna had almost joined her.

  She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been, letting that freak get control of her so easily. She had to keep reminding herself that Kimberly had already been butchered by then. There was nothing she could have done to prevent what had happened to the poor girl.

  But for some reason that thought didn’t comfort Anna. This night, this morning, had gone from bad to truly devastating in a few short hours.

  Watching the scene on the carnival grounds, she wondered if the man in the red baseball cap was watching, too. The house of mirrors had already been thoroughly searched, but there’d been no sign of him, not even a hint that he’d ever been inside. And what was most puzzling was that there had been no back doors, no escape routes.

  So where the hell had he gone?

  Anna couldn’t tell you why, but she sensed he was still around. Out there somewhere. Waiting.

  I’ve come for what is mine, Chavi.

  I’ve come to make it right.

  The image of Kimmie’s body wouldn’t leave her.

  She was a mistake, he’d said. But what exactly did that mean? Was he feeling guilty? Remorseful?

  Not a chance. Kimberly’s murder was number four for the night. This asshole didn’t make mistakes and he didn’t feel a thing except bloodlust. And just as he’d had no trouble bringing that stun gun down time after time, Anna knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.

  She thought about her vision, the strongest one so far. Red Cap dragging her through the leaves into the center of that clearing, bringing out that knife, crusted with dried blood.

  She thought of the tattoo on the back of his neck: a wheel with missing spokes. Its significance was beyond her at the moment, but at least it was something. Some small clue they could cling to, to help them identify the sick fuck. She hadn’t bothered to tell Worthington that she’d only seen it in her vision. That was one small detail he didn’t need to know.

  There was no doubt in Anna’s mind now that she was meant to be here. The things she’d seen—no, experienced—so closely echoed what had happened to Kimberly that there could be no mistake that this was where she belonged.

  But even if what she’d experienced was a premonition of some kind, an intimate preview of Red Cap’s next victim, Anna wasn’t sure she wanted to be here. The visions had begun to take their toll, and every time she had one now she felt just a little less stable, a little less in control. And how can you stop a madman if you don’t have control?

  Anna felt the urge to cry again. Let it all out, her mother used to tell her.

  After Mr. Stinky was hit by that bus, she had cried and cried for . . .

  Anna paused, her rapid-fire thought process screaming to a halt.

  Mr. Stinky?

  “So, how are you holding up?”

  Anna snapped out of her reverie and realized she’d been staring intently at her left hand.

  It was trembling.

  Looking up, she was surprised to find Daniel Pope standing in the same spot Royer had stood just a moment ago.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Long story.”

  “Where’s Evan? Did social services come get him?”

  She glanced around the grounds, hoping to hell the boy wasn’t out there somewhere, where he might catch a glimpse of his sister in a body bag.

  “There was a slight change of plans,” Pope said. “But don’t worry; he’s fine. I took him to Jake’s house.”

  “Why there?”

  “His wife Ronnie’s a nurse. She’s watching him until they get the whole social services thing worked out. We figured for the time being he’s better off with a real family anyway.”

  “I assume you know about Kimberly?”

  Pope nodded.

  “And Evan?”

  “I haven’t told him, but I have a feeling he already knows.”

  “He seems like a pretty intuitive kid.”

  “More than intuitive.”

  There was weight to the statement and Anna frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Pope said nothing for a moment. He seemed to be searching for the proper approach.

  “Neither of us were here when this all went down,” he said, “but we might as well have been. I got the whole play-by-play from Evan. And this may be hard to believe, but I think he saved your life.”

  Anna’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand.”

  “Why don’t we
go get some coffee.”

  THEY WENT TO the Hungry Spoon, a coffee shop in a strip mall about a block away from the school. The mall itself was relatively new, but the Spoon had been standing for decades and looked it.

  It was the high school hangout, but at this time of morning there were only a few local businessmen in attendance, drinking coffee and reading the paper before heading out to the office.

  Pope had worked here as a busboy when he was a teenager. Except for the waitstaff and the yellowing linoleum, the place hadn’t changed. He remembered working Friday nights when Jake and their buddies were out getting high and chasing girls.

  And then there was the shy schoolgirl who regularly came in for a glass of milk and a slice of French apple pie. She always sat in the back booth, a pile of books around her, scribbling furiously in a notebook between bites.

  He and Susan didn’t get together until years later, but after they were married she always joked that she had been stalking him, even back then.

  The thought of that made him shudder.

  But in his own way, wasn’t he stalking her?

  He and McBride found a table away from the counter. They ordered coffee, and as McBride spoke to the waitress, Pope looked again at the scar on her face. The concealer she’d used had fallen victim to sweat and exertion, and the scar stood out in bas-relief, a thin pink blemish on otherwise flawless skin.

  McBride, however, didn’t seem at all self-conscious about it. Didn’t seem to even realize it was there. But Pope wondered whose blade had cut her and, for reasons he couldn’t explain, felt the sudden urge to punish the bastard.

  “So,” McBride said, after the waitress had gone away. “How exactly did Evan save my life?”

  “He’s the reason Jake and Chavez were there. The reason they found you.”

  “You’ll have to explain that one.”

  “Let me back up a little. I’m getting ahead of myself.” He wasn’t quite sure how to start. He thought about it a moment, then said, “I had a little trouble at the Oasis.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Let’s just say I had problems with some of the personnel and leave it at that. The point is, I needed to get out of there, but the social worker hadn’t shown up yet and I didn’t want to leave Evan alone.”

  “So you brought him here.”

  He nodded. “Evan was still out when I left, but when I got him to my car, he started talking in his sleep. He kept saying your name.”

  She looked surprised. “My name?”

  “It’s Anna, right?”

  She nodded. “I know he likes me, but I didn’t think I’d made that much of an impression.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” Pope said. “But the thing is, I don’t think he was dreaming.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Keep in mind this was all happening while I was trying to get the hell out of there, and at first I thought he was having a nightmare, but in light of what’s happened since, I’d say it was anything but. More of a hypnotic trance, actually. I was able to engage him in conversation.”

  “And what did he say?”

  Pope paused, wanting to get this right. “ ‘He’s watching her. He’s watching Anna.’ And when I asked him who, he said, ‘The man in the red hat.’ ”

  McBride stiffened. “Is this supposed to be funny?”

  “Not particularly, no.”

  She leaned toward him. “You talked to Worthington. You know what happened.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “He told you about the man who attacked me.”

  “Yes,” Pope said. “But this is straight from Evan’s mouth. Before the attack.”

  She shook her head. Pope noticed she had lost some color. “All this really means is that it’s coming back to him. This freak killed his family and he’s remembering.”

  “That’s what I thought at first. But why would you be part of that memory? It doesn’t make much sense.”

  “He’s confused, is all. Mixing things up.”

  “I don’t think so,” Pope said. “And neither will you, once I’m finished.” He paused. “You look a little pale. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, but he sensed it was a lie. There seemed to be a quiet pulse of fear in her voice. She was conflicted and afraid and hiding it about as well as she hid her scar.

  The waitress came over with their coffee. McBride dumped cream and sugar into her cup, which surprised Pope. She didn’t seem the cream and sugar type. And the way her hands were trembling, he thought she might want to forgo the caffeine altogether.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She sighed then, leaning back. “You caught me. I’m not even close to okay. I’m tired, I’m cranky, and I’m still trying to regain control of my body. And once we’re done here, I may have to find a bed somewhere and lie down.” She took a sip of her coffee, grimaced. “So go on. Let’s get this over with.”

  It was a nice little speech, but Pope thought she’d left a whole lot out. He sipped his own coffee, which was just as awful as he remembered. Then he said, “When we got close to Ludlow, Evan had another seizure.”

  McBride’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “He’s fine now. But here’s the thing: It didn’t seem like your typical grand mal.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “I’m not sure. But as soon as he came out of it, he started shouting. About you again: ‘He’s hurting her. You have to stop him. He’s hurting my Anna.’ ”

  McBride frowned. “My Anna?”

  Pope nodded. “He was pretty much on another planet when he said it, but those were his words. Then he told me that the man in the red hat was taking you to the house of mirrors.”

  She stared at him a moment, then started to rise. “Okay, that’s it. I think I’ve about reached my bullshit quota for the day.”

  Her protest seemed hollow, however, as if the believer was battling the skeptic inside her and the believer was definitely winning.

  She moved out from behind the table and stood, but Pope grabbed her wrist. Her tremors were more violent now.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” he said, “but I think the kid is psychic.”

  “Let go of me.”

  “That’s how he knew where you were. When I called Jake and told him, he didn’t believe a word of it, but he went looking for you anyway.”

  “Let go,” she said, wrenching her arm free. He could see that her fear had compounded. Despite the air conditioner blasting down on them, she was starting to sweat.

  “Look,” he said, “I’m not trying to give you a hard time. I heard what I heard.”

  “And maybe you’re as confused as he is. I really don’t need to be getting into this right now. I’ve had a pretty fucked-up night.”

  “Just answer one question.”

  “What?” She was sweating profusely now and seemed on the verge of a panic attack. Something was going on here that went well beyond the possibility of a psychic kid.

  “Have you ever heard of someone called Chavi?”

  McBride’s face fell. “What?”

  “He seemed to be talking to this person. ‘Is it you, Chavi? Is it you?’ ”

  If she’d lost a little color before, she lost it all now, saying, “I have to get out of here. I have to go.”

  And then she was across the room and out the door, Pope rising, fumbling for his wallet as he watched her. He dropped a few bills on the table and followed.

  In just the short time they’d been in the Spoon, the heat outside—heat he’d spent a lifetime in but had never gotten used to—had grown unbearable. McBride was working her way unsteadily across the strip mall’s parking lot, headed back toward the high school.

  He caught up to her, touching her shoulder, and she spun on him, wobbling slightly. Her eyes were filled with tears.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “What’s going on?” Pope said. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t do this
anymore. It has to stop. I can’t . . .”

  And then she fainted. Dead away.

  PART TWO

  Out of the Past

  20

  THERE WERE STARS on the ceiling.

  Anna saw them the moment she opened her eyes. The shades had been drawn and the room, while not quite dark, was dim enough for the stars to shine. They had been carefully painted in Day-Glo yellow against a dark blue sky and were surrounded by multi-colored planets.

  Anna turned her head and took in the rest of the room. Posters on the wall: Kobe Bryant executing a perfect three-point toss, Homer Simpson munching on a donut.

  The dresser held a TV/DVD combo unit with a stack of Disney movies next it. A gaming console. Glove and baseball. A collection of tiny action figures, lined up for battle.

  Obviously a boy’s room. But whose?

  As soon as she sat up, Anna knew. On the nightstand next to the bed was a double-hinged picture frame, one side showing a photo of a freckle-faced boy on his dad’s lap—Pope and his son, Benjamin.

  The other side was blank.

  Was she in Vegas? That didn’t seem likely. The last thing she remembered was Pope getting in her face outside the coffee shop, the sun beating down on her so hard she thought she was going to pass out.

  And she’d been crying. The events of the night, the visions, thoughts of her mother, the man in the red cap, the burns on her neck, Pope’s insistence that Evan was psychic, her belief that she herself might be psychic—hell, the last few weeks of her sad, sorry life—had all been too much for her to bear. An enormous pileup of physical and emotional freight that had caused a cave-in.

  Overwhelmed was as good a word as any.

  But the chances of Pope driving her forty miles to sin city were fairly remote, and this definitely wasn’t a suite at the Oasis.

  So, she was still in Ludlow. But where?

  Hearing voices from another room, Anna got to her feet and discovered she wasn’t wearing shoes. She found them at the foot of the bed, quickly slipped them on, then moved to the door and opened it a crack, peeking out.

  Across a narrow hallway was a kitchen, bright sunlight streaming in through its windows. An attractive woman in her mid-thirties was framed by the kitchen doorway, talking to someone out of sight.