Today’s opening scene takes place in the men’s department of an upscale department store. The good-looking young man is examining a sensory feast of silk neckties, smooth to the touch, colorful, with creative artwork and beautiful patterns. The quiet music of a classical string quartet drifts out of the speakers in the ceiling. He picks up a tie and holds it next to his cheek, checking in the mirror to see if it’s compatible with his skin tone and eye color.
In the mirror, just a few feet behind him, he notices a little girl watching him. She doesn’t look much older than three. When she takes a step closer, the man turns toward her. He stoops down onto one knee as if he believes in love at first sight and intends to propose on the spot.
She moves even closer but hesitates when she gets within arms’ reach. He stays completely still, one hand on his knee, the other still holding the tie. From about three feet away, she also stays frozen in place. Only her eyes move, taking in the stranger’s posture and the kind, welcoming look in his oddly pale eyes. Her facial expression shifts slowly from fearful to curious. She’s completely motionless except for the subtle, almost imperceptible movements of her eyes and mouth, the rabbit-like twitching of the pulse in her neck and the quick up and down motion of her chest. Nothing she does is spontaneous or impulsive. When she finally steps closer again, her gait is stilted.
As if he’s trying to tempt a wild bird to perch on his hand, the man gently holds out the tie. “It’s pretty isn’t it? Would you like to feel how soft and smooth it is? The fabric is one hundred percent genuine silk.”
He smiles a real smile, the kind that wrinkles up the skin around his eyes and darkens them to a more conventional shade of blue. She walks over, stands beside him, and gazes at the colorful assortment of neckties displayed to his left. Reaching out one small, delicate hand, she touches the tie he’s holding out toward her. It’s a blue tie with a painting of an eagle soaring across it.
“Do you like this one?” he asks her. Slowly, he reaches over and holds it against her cheek. “The fabric for this necktie was woven by the tiniest, softest, prettiest little worms you’ve ever met.”
“Worms aren’t pretty.”
“Oh, but these ones are. They live in special farms, and worm farmers pamper them like crazy. They sleep on canopy beds and eat only the most delicious, expensive worm food. They’re called silkworms.”
“Silkworms,” she repeats. Finally, she takes the tie from his hand and holds it against her cheek. “So smooth. It feels like it was made by worms who sleep all day on big, puffy canopy beds. Queen size.” Her smile outshines the garish lights on the ceiling of the store and makes the man’s heart stop beating for two seconds before it starts up again.
“Did you come here to buy a present for your father?” He glances around but doesn’t see any adults nearby. Maybe she’s lost. “Where are your parents?”
The smile in her eyes abruptly changes to a look of dread, and she shudders, but only once, then regains control. She presses the tie against her cheek and stares silently up at him.
A woman’s voice cracks the silence like an earthquake splits open the ground beneath an entire neighborhood and swallows it whole. “Brittany!” Both the man and the child cringe.
The handsome young gentleman quickly regains his composure and rises to his full height.
A pale woman wearing lipstick that matches her shiny crimson high heels clickety-clacks up to him and, instinctively, he moves in front of the sweet angel. The little girl cowers behind him, clutching the expensive necktie with both hands, as if it contains a special magic that will save her from this monster that intends to drag her away to its lair and pound her into a bloody pulp.
“Brittany! I told you not to wander off.” Her voice is so shrill it’s a miracle that all the glass display cabinets haven’t shattered. Still blocking her access to the frightened child, the young man smiles at this horrifying woman. She stops moving toward the petrified little girl and returns his smile, like a piranha smiles at its prey right before it chews the helpless animal’s flesh off its bones.
A tiny voice pipes up weakly from behind him. “Mama, you told me to come over and talk to the dark-haired man with the blue eyes.”
“I did no such thing, you little sh . . .”
“Of course you didn’t,” the tall, handsome and obviously wealthy stranger interrupts her. “What if I was a child molester? What kind of mother would tell her child to approach a stranger?”
Confusion replaces the woman’s irritation and self-confidence. “A bad mother?”
“And someone as lovely as you could never be a bad mother. You would never instruct your child to approach a stranger as a way to pick up men. You’re too pretty and well bred for that kind of nonsense. You’d never deliberately place your child in danger. Plus, a woman like you doesn’t have to resort to cheap and risky pick-up strategies. I bet there are tons of eligible men calling day and night. I’m sure that you’re never at a loss for male companionship.”
He reaches back and closes one hand gently around the child’s tiny fists. She’s still clutching the tie, as if she’s in horrible danger and the silk necktie is a very pretty, very expensive lifeline to safety.
Her mother bends down and speaks loudly, with her face an inch away from the little girl’s. “Brittany, you’re wrinkling the necktie. Let it go.”
But Brittany can’t let it go, because the man’s big, warm hand is wrapped around both of her trembling little hands. Finally, she stops shaking. He lets go of her hands, flashes his most dazzling smile, and extends his right hand toward the piranha. She straightens up and places her hand in his. Every tendon in her pale, thin hand is visible as she grips his smooth, carefully manicured hand. Her long, crimson nails match her lipstick and high heels. He holds onto her hand longer than the time required for a polite handshake and makes serious, attraction-charged eye contact. “Gabriel Stone. You’re so lucky to have such sweet little girl.”
“I’m afraid she’s not all that sweet. I told her to stay close by, and she wandered off.” The vile woman bares her teeth again. “Pleased to meet you, Gabriel. My name is Marianne.” He continues to clasp her talon-like claw in his big, warm hand and tries to stifle a shudder of revulsion but it zips down his spine nonetheless.
She mistakes this barely perceptible movement as physical attraction and takes a step closer. “I’m sorry if Brittany interrupted you. I’m afraid that it’s impossible to shop peacefully with a kid like her around, always touching everything and chattering on and on about nonsense.”
“She’s a charming and intelligent child, and I completely enjoyed the conversation we had about silkworms. No need to apologize. Allow me to buy the tie. Brittany can give it to her father. He won’t mind the wrinkles if he knows his adorable daughter picked it out for him.”
“No worries there. Brittany’s never met her father. He took off on us about six months before she was born. We have no clue where he is. She won’t be giving him a necktie any time soon.” The piranha mom laughs at her own crude joke.
Gabriel extracts the eagle tie from the poor child’s death-grip and waves it at a sales person. The man rushes over to take care of the purchase. Marianne inches in closer and practically starts salivating when Gabriel opens his wallet to reveal tons of cash along with several black, gold, and titanium credit cards. He selects the titanium Visa, and she watches him sign the receipt for the $195 tie.
He leans down and tells Brittany, “I’ll think about you and your lovely mother every time I wear this.”
In a tiny voice she squeaks out, “Don’t go.”
This time the mother’s crimson smile is close-lipped but still predatory.
Gabriel smiles back. “I realize that it’s inappropriately forward of me to ask you this, but you’ll be safe with me because we have this pint-size chaperone.” He reaches down and pats Brittany’s head. “Will you two ladies have an early lunch with me? There’s a very nice bistro on the second floor.”
; He takes them to lunch and to dinner the next night and on many dates after that. Brittany is always with them. Marianne makes it clear to him that she cannot afford a babysitter, but he doesn’t take the hint and offer to pay for one. In what Gabriel knows is an inappropriately short period of time, he invites Brittany and Marianne to move into his luxury condo in the city, and they do. He and Marianne pretend to like each other. In reality, she likes his money, and he feels protective toward her child. In time, Marianne grows to love his money, and he grows to love her child. He marries the wretched woman and legally adopts Brittany. Two months later, Marianne is dead.
Gabriel’s young wife was the second victim of a mysterious serial killer who never left any evidence behind.
When he tells me about her death, he doesn’t announce it like he’s proud of it. He says it like you’d say, “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow.”
“I began formulating a plan for Marianne’s murder the day I met her and finalized it during our honeymoon. At my insistence, Brittany came with us on the trip, and I never let her out of my sight. This annoyed my new wife sometimes, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. She was married to a very wealthy and generous young man, and she knew she needed to keep him happy.”
Finally, I interrupt his fascinating tale. “You don’t think Marianne loved you at all? Not even a little?”
“She was incapable of love. She loved my money. And that was fine with me. The first gift I gave my bride was a titanium Visa card. I encouraged her to use it, and she did. I said things like, ‘My mother was a single mom. I know what your life has been like. Go out and treat yourself to something nice. I’ll watch Brittany. Take as long as you want.’”
“And she did.”
“Damn right she did. It was a dream come true for Marianne. She was living the life she had always felt entitled to. Being married to Marianne was hell. Being Brittany’s dad was heaven. I planned my wife’s murder meticulously because there was no room for error.”
I listen carefully so I can remember every word. If there’s ever a trial, I’ll be ready to take the witness stand. Gabriel continues, seemingly oblivious to my motives.
“I knew Marianne couldn’t be my first victim. The authorities would look very closely at her husband as a suspect, and making her the first would cast even more suspicion on me. I planned on sandwiching my wife’s death in between two others. Marianne’s murder needed to seem like a serial killer had randomly chosen her. I had to have a first victim and a third because, as you know, the authorities don’t consider a murderer to be a serial killer until he’s killed three times. I had to act fast, too. I was afraid to leave Brittany alone with her own mother, plus I couldn’t stand being around Marianne. I wanted to literally wring her neck every time she went near Brittany.”
“So you chose your first victim, and it was my mother.”
“Trust me, Harper, it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”
Whenever anyone precedes a statement with the phrase “trust me,” I immediately don’t. But instead of acting skeptical or, even worse, angry, I keep my mouth shut and arrange my face into an expression that says, politely curious, and nothing more, as Gabriel begins to tell me about my mother’s death.
“I cruised the types of places where you’d normally see mothers with their children but couldn’t find anyone who suited the right victim type: a young, abusive mother, someone like my own mother and my wife. Finally, one day, I saw a beautiful blonde woman struggling violently with a screaming child. They were in the parking lot of a department store in Raynwater. The child screeched like she was being tortured, and the mother wouldn’t leave her alone. Finally, the kid stopped crying when she was strapped into her car seat with her jacket zipped all the way up to her chin and a pacifier stuffed in her mouth.”
“That was me.”
“You were a handful, Harper, even back then.”
“Thanks.” What I really want to do is beat the shit out of Gabriel, not thank him, but I need to hear his full confession, and I need to escape. So I continue to sit and listen “patiently” to his story.
“I followed the two of you home. During the next few weeks, I lurked around in the shadows of your neighborhood, waiting for an opportunity to present itself. I heard lots of outraged screaming. You often yelled like you were being skinned alive. Even though I never actually saw your mother strike you, I had reasonable cause to believe ongoing abuse was occurring.”
“Reasonable cause?”
“I’m sorry. It seemed like it at the time. I was new to the game.”
“It wasn’t a game. It involved people’s lives. And my mother’s death.” I can’t keep my mouth closed, but I manage to subdue my rage and get myself under control before I lose it completely.
“Do you want to hear the rest or not?”
“Go ahead. I’ll shut up.”
“Good.” He clenches his teeth together so hard that his jaw twitches, then gazes out over the meadow and continues. “One night, right around dusk, I tracked you and your parents to your grandmother’s house and waited. Finally, your mother left to do an errand, with you in tow. The rest was easy. I followed her car to a nearby supermarket. When she arrived in the parking lot, before she went into the store, you were sitting in the shopping cart seat, wrestling simultaneously with the seatbelt and the sleeves of your jacket. I guess you hadn’t learned how to operate a zipper yet. It was zipped all the way up to your chin, and you kept grabbing at the sleeves and the neck, trying to pull it off.”
I interrupt him. “This happened on September 20, 1999?”
“Yes.” He responds and hangs his head for a minute to look down at the picnic blanket. Then he rubs his eyes and looks up at the sky, anyplace but straight at me. Imagine that? I think the notorious killer might have a conscience. He actually feels ashamed. Maybe even guilty. As if he can read my thoughts and wants to disprove them, he looks straight into my eyes with his signature glacial-blue stare and goes on with his story.
“Your face was bright red, and you were screaming as loud as you could, struggling, and kicking your feet. If the parking lot hadn’t been empty, everyone would have heard you. I never could have gotten away with it. But there weren’t any other shoppers around. You were still raising hell when your mother pushed the cart into the store.”
“But she didn’t hit me, or twist my arm or anything like that, did she?”
He looks down at the ground and sighs. “No, she didn’t. Point taken. When you came out of the store with your mother, you didn’t have your jacket on anymore. She must’ve given up, taken it off of you, and stuffed it into one of the shopping bags.”
“My dad says I’ve always been stubborn, even when I was a baby.”
“Is your dad usually given to understatement?” I ignore his sarcasm, and he continues. “Next she tried to put you into the car seat, and the violence and the noise escalated once again. It was a full-scale battle. Fortunately, no one heard. If they did, they ignored it.”
For a moment, I imagine what would have happened if someone had heard. My whole life would be different. I wouldn’t be here right now, held prisoner by a madman.
The psycho who has complete control over everything but my thoughts continues. “I parked the van away from the security cameras, in the darkest area of the parking lot. When I was ready, I pulled the sweatshirt hood forward to hide my face and acted fast.”
I don’t want to listen to him anymore, but I have to. This is the most important thing I’ve ever done, and I can’t shirk the responsibility. I need to hear and remember every word of the killer’s story, so I can retell it accurately in court. Steeling myself, I hide the fact that I’d rather spit on him than speak to him and say, “What happened next?”
“Finally your mother won, and you were strapped into the car seat but still yelling. She plugged your mouth shut with a pacifier, and you quieted down. That’s when I snuck up behind her and hit her on the head with a weighted leather sap. I snatched
the pacifier, too. I wanted you to cry so you’d be found as soon as possible. So you’d be safe. Then I carried her to my van and drove away. The whole thing took less than four minutes.”
“She wasn’t abusing me. She was a hypochondriac. My mother was phobic about my health, too, not just her own. She made me wear a jacket even on warm days. My father told me how much I hated it. I used to scream and try to pull it off. She never hit me. She loved me. She was only trying to protect me.”
“No one could protect either one of you from me, though, could they?”
It takes all of my self-control to keep still and not attack him. This would be the wrong time to strike. I need to seem compliant, so he won’t be even a teeny bit suspicious when I execute my carefully planned siege. Surprise will be my most effective weapon. I can’t blow this when I might be so close to the endgame. My anger must be apparent, however, because he apologizes.
“Again, I’m sorry. I know any apology I make is inadequate, but I’m very sorry, Harper.” He tries to make eye contact, but I turn away because I can’t stand the sight of him. I grab the sunglasses and slide them up my nose. I can’t give him the silent treatment forever, though, because I have a plan. And the plan won’t work unless he trusts me. And he won’t trust me unless he thinks we’re best friends.
I know I need to say something to smooth things over, and I almost gag on the words but finally manage to squeeze out, “You had no way of knowing about her hypochondria.”
“Thank you. But I’ll never forgive myself. I promise to spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, Harper.”
Hopefully the rest of your life will be a very short time. I think this but have the good sense not to say it.
And how do you plan on making it up to me? By holding me prisoner in a cold, black, silent hellhole? I’m getting better at keeping my mouth shut, but I need to change the subject fast, before I say what’s on my mind or, worse, lunge at him and ruin everything.
Hidden in the Dark (Harper Flagg Book 1) Page 25