by Ania Ahlborn
“Everything in the box that I gave you came from my mom,” Echo said. “All her stuff was legally passed on to me when I turned eighteen. So I guess you’d ask me.” Another smile. “It’s nice to finally have someone living so close by. Weird that you’re writing about Jeff, but I guess that’s what you call a happy coincidence.”
“I guess so,” Lucas said.
“The last family who lived in your house only stayed for a few months. They were a lot like you and Virginia, just a man and his son. But we never did gel.”
“Why’d they leave?”
“Something about work,” she said. “They broke their lease and moved to Seattle, I think. Maybe Vancouver. But I never did believe it was work related.” She paused, gave him a knowing look. “I think it was the house.”
The back of Lucas’s neck bristled. Had something happened to the man and his son that had driven them away? Like maybe the kitchen table magically ending up in the middle of the living room? Had they found people wandering around the property, holding séances and fire-lit rituals in an attempt to speak to the dead?
“Do you know who they were?” he asked. “Their names, I mean? Maybe I could interview them, see what drove them out.”
“Unfortunately, no,” she said. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if they took off when someone told them what happened there. I doubt they were aware of the history of the place. Or maybe they picked up on it on their own despite not knowing where they were living. Some people are really sensitive to those types of things. On some level, I think we’re all a little psychic. Maybe they just couldn’t handle it.”
“Handle what?” Lucas asked.
“The shift in energy,” she said.
“I don’t know.” Lucas leaned back in his seat, skeptical. “What’s done is done.”
Echo gave him a thoughtful nod. “Yeah, you’re right.”
The coffeemaker blipped behind her. She rose from her seat and moved back to the counter, poured two cups, and returned to her seat. “Jeff wasn’t a bad guy,” she said. “None of them were. I just hope that your book reflects that rather than rolling with the whole, you know . . .” She frowned, shook her head, and took a sip of coffee. “The satanic thing.”
Lucas nodded, though he couldn’t help but wonder where Echo was garnering her sympathy for Jeff. He was a murderer. Except, rather than killing with a knife, he did it with the power of persuasion. If Echo’s mother had been as close to the group as it seemed, she’d been lucky to escape Halcomb with her life, regardless of whether she had cut that life short in the end. If Echo’s mother had had the slightest inkling of what Halcomb would end up doing to Audra Snow, he doubted she’d have been posing for family photos with Echo in tow.
He tapped his fingers against the rim of his mug, a question balanced at the tip of his tongue. He wanted to ask if Echo’s mother was close enough to Halcomb to be in the group, but he wasn’t sure it was appropriate. He didn’t want to push, didn’t want to put her off and risk having her take back the photos.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, cutting him off midthought.
Lucas glanced up at her, reflexively feigning innocence.
“There were a lot of people like my mother out there, a lot of outsiders who began to creep in. From what I understand, Jeff never was one to turn away a willing set of ears. He loved to talk about his philosophy and people loved to listen.”
“Your mother—” he began, but Echo didn’t allow him to finish.
“My mother is beside the point,” she said. “What’s important is that the people who died that day weren’t the only ones who believed in what Jeff was preaching. The kids that died here . . .” She shook her head with a knowing look. “I’ve read all the news articles and the biographies, probably as many times as you have. The media spun it so that it was sensational. Demon worship, satanism—all that is a lie. My mother was a good person, just like Jeff and his family were. She would have never associated with the type of person the papers painted Jeff to be. But that stuff sells.” She leveled her gaze on him. “That stuff sells books.”
“I only want to tell the whole story,” Lucas told her.
“After the papers scared everyone, they dispelled public fear by saying that Halcomb’s true believers were limited to the kids who died here that day. Everyone seems to think that the ones who were here were the only people who loved Jeff enough to sacrifice themselves for him. But they’re wrong.”
Because there was January Moore, a self-sacrifice thirty years too late. Lucas had no doubt there were others, but how could he track down nameless ghosts? Lucas furrowed his eyebrows, picturing dozens, maybe even hundreds of Halcomb’s Faithful living quietly out in the world. Guys like Charles Manson got mail because they were accessible, they wanted to talk. But Halcomb had become a ghost himself. He refused interviews and TV appearances. Guys like Halcomb were forgotten, their own crimes buried beneath more recent, heinous acts played out by far more vocal criminals. And yet Jeff received stacks of envelopes from a secret fan club. And here, at Jeff’s old stomping ground, Lucas was seeing people in the orchard, he was hearing things, items were being moved. Pictures hung upside down.
“And what was Halcomb’s philosophy? Do you know?”
She shifted in her seat, stared at her coffee cup. Eventually, she spoke. “That if you live right, you can live forever.”
“Literally?”
She lifted a shoulder to her ear.
“Like what he was telling the kids in Veldt?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never been to Veldt.”
His gaze settled on her face. “But do you believe it?”
Echo stared at him for a long while, and for a second he could see it in her eyes—the uneasy spark of being found out, of being caught. “I’m just a helper,” she reminded him. “I had what I thought you might want, that’s all. Speaking of which . . .” She placed her cup on the table. “Here I am rambling about my mother without ever asking to what I owe the pleasure of your visit.”
Lucas blinked, suddenly shifting his attention from his mug to his cell. He yanked it out of his pocket and checked the time. Shit. He’d been at Echo’s place for over forty-five minutes, and Selma had yet to return his call. “Christ.”
“Gotta run?” Echo asked.
“Yes, I do. But that’s exactly why I came over.”
“Oh?”
“This is going to sound crazy, but I’m kind of out of options here.” He gave her a pleading look. “Would it be possible for you to come over for the afternoon and watch Virginia? I have an interview with a couple of guards . . .”
Echo straightened in her seat. “Guards?”
“Yeah, from the prison out in Lambert.”
She glowered, as if disturbed by the news. “For the book?”
“I’m not sure yet. I hope so. But I have to leave in, like, fifteen minutes.”
Echo’s gaze flitted to her cup, then back to him.
“I can pay you,” he offered, sensing her trepidation.
“No, it isn’t that,” she said. “I’m just surprised. We don’t know each other that well. I’m not sure Virginia would be happy about some stranger babysitting her for the day.”
“She suggested it,” he said.
Echo perked. “Really?”
His gut told him that he should figure something else out. He could take Jeanie with him to Lambert, drop her off at a Barnes & Noble, and go about his business. Sure, Echo had saved his ass with the box of stuff and yes, she was the object of Lucas’s current intrigue, but she was still a stranger. He could trust her to water the plants or check the mail, but not to watch the love of his life.
“You know what? Never mind. I shouldn’t even have asked, putting you out like this . . . It’s insane.”
“It’s okay,” Echo said. Lucas got up.
<
br /> “Thanks for the coffee. We’ll definitely get together again soon—”
But Echo cut him off.
“No, seriously, I’d love to do it.” She rose from her seat and, with a defined sense of determination, left the kitchen to grab her bag.
35
* * *
VEE HEARD THE car crunch up the driveway. She shoved her clothes back to where they originally were on the closet rod, pushed an empty cardboard box into the corner, and closed her closet door. When she finally stepped into the upstairs hall, she was just in time to catch Echo following her father inside.
Echo tilted her chin upward and gave Vee a warm smile. “Hello, Virginia,” she said. “Remember me?”
Vee caught her bottom lip between a row of teeth, unable to help wondering if suggesting Echo coming over was the most fabulous idea. She seemed nice enough, but there was something about her that tied Vee’s stomach into a loose knot. Suspicion. Vee had never been all that great around strangers. Try harder.
“Hey,” she finally said. “Yeah, I remember. Hi.” She forced a smile before slowly descending the stairs.
“Sorry, you two get acquainted, I need to . . .” Vee’s dad stopped midsentence, as if cycling through all the stuff he had to get done before hitting the road, random things he’d not realized would take as long as they would. He passed Vee on the staircase like a whirlwind. A moment later, the pipes groaned in the walls.
Vee pulled her attention from her dad’s bedroom door to Echo, who was inspecting the place like a tenant looking to rent. She eventually looked back up to Vee, who had stopped in mid-descent, not sure whether she should go all the way down to the ground floor.
Echo arched a questioning brow over one eye, then gave Vee a knowing sort of grin. “He’s like that all the time, huh?” she asked. Vee nodded, still unsure. “Well, between you and me, my dad was the same way.”
“Really?” Vee rubbed at the back of her neck, surprised by the unexpected confession.
“Really, but don’t tell. I told your dad I never knew who my father was.”
“Why?”
Echo shrugged. “Eh. I guess I sensed that they were probably both alike,” she said. “And I didn’t feel like telling your dad that my dad hardly knew I existed. What’s the point of talking about someone like that? You may as well say you never knew them at all.”
Vee considered that logic. She thought about refuting it, wanted to argue that her dad knew she existed—he was just really busy. But something about defending him after being forgotten the day before brought a sourness to the back of her tongue. Why should she defend him? Yesterday, he had promised to take her to the beach. Today, he had promised to take a day off and take her to Seattle. Both vows were empty and worthless.
“Hey, maybe we can take a walk along the coast,” Echo suggested. “Have you gone yet?”
Vee shook her head that she hadn’t.
Echo gave her a dubious stare. “You aren’t even a quarter of a mile away and you haven’t gone yet? Oh, you poor girl.”
She was supposed to have gone yesterday, but no, thanks to dear ol’ dad.
Echo was right, Vee was a poor girl. And maybe Echo had been a poor girl, too. Maybe, finally, Vee had found someone who understood what it was like.
NORTHWEST NEWS 1 TRANSCRIPT
Aired April 2nd, 1986 – 06:15 PST
JAMES MARKEL, NWN1 REPORTER: Breaking news this morning regarding Washington State congressman Terrance Snow.
(Begin Video Clip)
JAMES MARKEL, NWN1 REPORTER: Police report that Congressman Snow’s vehicle, a silver Lincoln Continental, was found having veered off the road a few miles north of Thurston County’s Schneider Creek. The vehicle, traveling northbound on US Highway 101, was involved in a possible sideswipe scenario, causing the congressman to lose control of the car.
(End Video Clip)
JAMES MARKEL, NWN1 REPORTER: Both the congressman and his wife, Susana Clairmont Snow, were pronounced dead at the scene. President Reagan issued a statement early this morning regarding the congressman’s untimely passing.
(Begin Video Clip)
PRESIDENT RONALD REAGAN: Nancy and I were saddened to hear of the passing of our friend and congressman Terry Snow. Terry was a great leader. He led with diligence and honor. We will truly miss his presence and his unwavering devotion to our great country.
(End Video Clip)
JAMES MARKEL, NWN1 REPORTER: The couple lost their daughter and only child, Audra Snow, three years ago at the hand of cult killer Jeffrey Halcomb. Congressman Snow has been using the Halcomb case to strengthen his argument for retaining the death penalty as a form of punishment in Washington State. He was due to speak on the Congress floor regarding his capital punishment stance later this month. NEWS 1 will continue to report story details, as well as keep you informed of plans as they develop regarding a memorial for the congressman and his wife.
36
* * *
LUCAS PULLED THE Honda into the Chili’s parking lot, tucked a hardcover copy of Bloodthirsty Times beneath his arm, and stepped into the restaurant. He spotted Josh and Marty just left of the door. Josh raised a hand, motioning him over.
The two coworkers were already snacking on a plate of nachos when Lucas took a seat. A cola sat at Josh’s elbow, fizzing in a plastic mug fashioned to look like a heavy-bottomed beer glass. Marty had a matching mug, his filled with pale yellow pilsner.
“Hello again,” Lucas said, extending a hand to Marty for a formal introduction. “Lucas. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Good to officially meet ya,” Marty said. “I bought your book. It’s good. Really good. I sure would appreciate an autograph, if you don’t mind doing that sort of thing.”
“Not at all.” Lucas took a seat and gave the two corrections officers a pensive smile. “Speaking of which . . .” He held his book out to Josh, who immediately brightened.
“Thanks, man,” he said. “How much do I owe you?”
Lucas shook his head and held up his hands. “Don’t worry about it. This meeting is payment enough. Consider it a thank-you.”
“Hey, thanks a lot.” Josh reached out and swatted the back of Lucas’s shoulder, then flipped through the pages of his new book. “It must be pretty cool getting your stuff published, huh? It’s like, even after you’re gone, this book will still be here. Almost like immortality.”
“Well . . .” Lucas gave Josh an indulgent look. “Until it goes out of print.”
“What? Why would it go out of print?” Josh peered at the thick volume before him, then gave Lucas a dubious glance.
“Just the nature of the beast.”
“Ebooks,” Marty cut in. Both Lucas and Josh turned their attention to the man who looked even more like a grown-up Goonie out of uniform than he did in it. “You know, ebooks?” he asked. “Those don’t go out of print. They’re just a file sitting on a server, right?”
“That’s true. Ebooks will save the world. So, Josh mentioned that you have a family emergency,” Lucas said, veering the conversation toward the point. “Hope everything is okay.”
Marty shrugged and peered down at his beer. “Wife’s pop,” he said. “He’s been sick for a while. It’s been a long time comin’. The old man finally gave up the fight.”
“Sorry to hear it,” Lucas told him.
“It’s all right,” Marty said. “The old guy was a pain in the ass, if I don’t mind sayin’ so myself. Never did like me much. But when the wife’s pop dies, you drop everything and fly out to the funeral to hold her hand.” He dislodged a cheese-covered chip from a mountain of nachos, stuck it in his mouth, and crunched down. “You married?”
Lucas hesitated just long enough for Marty to catch on.
“Divorced, then. Yeah, it happens. Me, I’ve been married for thirty years this September. I keep telling Josh
here to get himself hitched, but he listens as well as a deaf guy.”
Josh raised both eyebrows at his coworker. “Who am I supposed to marry, Marty? I don’t even have a girlfriend. Besides, mi madre is a picky woman. If the girl doesn’t stack up to Our Lady of Guadalupe, she’s a putana and gets her ass thrown out onto the street.”
Marty barked out a laugh and chomped another chip. Lucas nodded at the waitress who approached. “Just water for me, thanks.” The girl wandered away, and the conversation at the table waned into silence.
“So,” Lucas said after a moment, “rumor has it you may have some information about Jeffrey Halcomb that could be useful? Josh mentioned a visitor.”
Marty nodded and wiped his mouth with the corner of a napkin. “All off the record, though, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” Lucas agreed.
“I’m being dead serious here. Because the last thing I need is to be losing my job, you know? If that happens, I’m gonna be divorced, too, and let me tell you, a sad sack like me can’t afford a breakup. I’m not a fancy world-famous writer like you.”
Lucas bit back a comment. Yeah fucking right, he thought. The sob story I could tell you, Marty. It would break your goddamn heart. Instead, he forced a smile and offered more reassurance. “This will all be anonymous, if I use any of it. This is all for background information, I promise.”
“You swear?” Marty asked. “We don’t have to sign some sort of paper or anything like that?”
“Only if you don’t trust me,” Lucas said.
Marty and Josh exchanged looks, as if considering their options. Finally, Marty exhaled a breath and murmured, “Shit, forget it. Whatever happens happens, right? Dance like nobody’s watchin’.”
“What?” Josh laughed.
“It’s something the wife always says.”
“Oh, okay.” Josh peered at his friend, then gave Lucas a look that swore he had no idea Marty was so sensitive.
“Anyway, after Josh told me you were writing a book about the guy, I kept my eyes peeled. You know, just in case? I’m pretty close with a few of the guys on the row. And we just call it the row because we don’t know what else to call it—it isn’t death row, but I’m sure you know that already.”