“Man, get out for a few hours and you are one mean bitch.” The young man plopped down in an armchair. “Anything busted?”
Maggie shook her head as she got up and flipped on more lights. A shiver ran through her. She picked up the photos, put them in the box.
“I’ll make something to eat,” Rayney said.
“I’m not hungry.” Maggie picked up the box of photographs.
“I’ll make something anyway.”
“I still won’t be hungry,” she said, disappearing into the library.
Chapter Six
Damn, that chick was a bitch. Fucking cold bitch. He would show her. She couldn’t treat him like shit. Not him. Not after what they shared.
They met when he was cruising. Work had been hell lately. Administration was breathing down his neck because he wasn’t living up to what he promised. His wife was dutifully supportive… which was absolutely no help. He wanted her to blow up at him just once. Tell him what she really thought, but she never did. Now she was out of town visiting her parents for two weeks. He couldn’t take time off. Not now.
So after another ass-kicking day, he was looking for some fun and she gave it to him. He blew over two hundred bucks that first night. Later back at his place, he spent a good hour building her up to speed. Teasing her, whetting her appetite. They watched one of his DVDs together and he knew she liked it. They acted out one of the scenes. It’d been real good, real good for both of them. They promised to meet the next night at a bar downtown near the Pier. He was there half an hour early and sipped Jack Daniels slowly so he wouldn’t be sloppy later. At nine-thirty, she still hadn’t shown. He held out until ten, then made the call. Wrong number. The fucking bitch gave him a bogus number. Three more Jacks and he went home.
The next night, he found her blocks from where they first met. She was with another sucker with the same white mark around the third finger of his left hand. He waited for them to leave the restaurant, then followed them to the poor sap’s place. He waited outside until the new bunny fucked her and she took off, then he followed her back to an apartment building in Wrigleyville. There were too many people around to do anything, so he went home.
Fucking bitch. She couldn’t do this to him. Maybe to other bastards, but not him.
At work the next day, he wasn’t feeling well. No sleep. His neighbor’s radio kept blasting in his head. When he told the old woman to shut it off, she swore she hadn’t had it on all day. His head ached and he felt sick to his stomach, so he took half a sick day. Instead of going home, he waited for her outside the apartment.
He flipped open his laptop and watched the same DVD they watched that first night. This time he would watch it through to the end. With her, he stopped before things got messy. He didn’t want to scare her. Now one little click and he could see it all. The woman, laid out like an eighth grade dissection project. Two men in masks moved around. Shit, he wished they would just leave in the original sound instead of this hack narration.
“We may never know how our lovely lady met her untimely end.”
He looked up again to see if she was home yet. Nothing. Not a problem. He could wait.
Chapter Seven
A full plate of fried rice, kung pao chicken, and an egg roll stared back at Maggie. Rayney was already dishing seconds for himself. He decided they should order in from the China Palace as a reward for surviving the day.
“Eat,” the young man said, “or I’ll shove it down your throat myself.”
And he would. Rayney never bluffed. Maggie learned that the hard way during the last couple of months. Picking up the fork, she shoveled some rice into her mouth and swallowed.
“Chew it, for Chrissake,” he scolded. “You start choking and you’re on your own. I don’t care what your daddy pays me. I’m too tired for this shit.”
The two chewed in silence for several minutes.
“You’re doing better, you know.”
Maggie surprised both herself and Rayney with a quick chuckle.
“With a couple exceptions,” her nurse smirked. “It’s time you saw him.”
“Maybe.”
“Tomorrow,” Rayney said. “I’ll wake you up.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Later, after Rayney had gone to bed, Maggie sat in a bright corner of the library. Her room. Richard never spent much time there. Neither did Erin. Both preferred the cheery living room with the TV and comfortable couch. The library was strictly Maggie’s domain. Where she relaxed. Worked. Thought. And where the dark now waited.
All around her.
In the corners.
In the creases of the curtains.
Behind a closet door.
In the shadows. In her dreams. Everywhere she was afraid to look.
It first came the night after Erin died. If the dark was there before, Maggie never noticed. She’d gone to bed exhausted, then felt something moving, oozing out of the shadows. She flipped on the lights.
“What is it?” Richard mumbled, flopping over in the bed.
“Nothing,” she whispered. Just the effects of a battle weary mind. “Just a thought.”
“Your killer?”
“Yeah,” she lied.
Maggie drifted downstairs to the kitchen to make coffee and pretend to work on the serial strangulation case. Weeks of work brought her close, but not close enough. A second killing revealed the pattern. There was always a pattern and where there was a pattern, there was a solution. Her man preferred young women, early twenties, beautiful, well-dressed. Tall. Both over five foot, eight inches. Both had money. Old money. In both cases, the parents were divorced. He struck fast and left no trace, no witnesses. Nothing. He probably watched his victims for weeks, possibly months. Trolling on a regular basis and cultivating multiple targets, so he could strike when the circumstances were most advantageous. Her man was patient, meticulous, and clever. A dangerous combination. There was some sort of medical background. His cuts were skilled, deliberate. Trained. And best of all, her boy was a lefty. That immediately eliminated about ninety percent of the population. All Maggie needed was a little more time and she would have him. But then Erin died and now Maggie was off the scent too long. There would be a third victim before the killer was brought in. She was sure of it.
But she had been sure of a lot of things. Sure, but wrong. As her mind wandered from the case, Maggie heard scratching at the door. Like a dog wanting to come in from the cold. The kid in her was too terrified to look, but the adult knew there was very little that could shock her.
Crack the door.
Look.
Nothing.
Close the door.
The scratching was louder. Releasing the safety on her Heckler & Koch .45, Maggie swung the door open. Nothing. Just dark. She flipped the lock and went back to the library. The gun remained close to her right hand. Safety off.
Richard found his wife asleep at her desk the next morning. He helped her up to the bedroom where the two of them dressed in silence before going out the door to Erin’s funeral. They returned just as silently later that afternoon. Maggie went straight to her daughter’s bedroom. She sat on the window seat and stared at the bed that would always be empty.
Like St. Michael’s was that day. Empty. And so big. The last time she was there was Erin’s christening and now everyone returned for the little girl again. Friends, family, police officers, lawyers. Maggie stared at the small white casket and tried to push away the words of the mass.
Oh God, to whom mercy and forgiveness belong…
Maggie barely heard the priest, but she did see something.
Hear our prayers on behalf of your servant, Erin,
Something in the shadows.
Whom you have called out of this world.
A man.
&n
bsp; Command that she be carried safely home to heaven and come to enjoy your eternal reward.
In a blue nylon jacket.
In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.
And he was laughing.
Amen.
When she opened her eyes, Erin’s room was dark and Maggie’s clothes were wet with sweat.
Scratching.
There it was again.
Then she felt something slide against her brain. It sailed in on a warm breath. To her lungs, her heart, then it looped around Maggie’s soul and settled in. There was so much space, so much emptiness to fill, but the dark was up to the challenge. She sunk into the floor. Into the shadows. And then Maggie did nothing but listen to the whispers next to her brain as the dark curled around her, filling all the empty spaces.
The arrangement was quite comfortable. Until one day, the embrace was suffocating. The caresses, ravenous gnaws. She tried to pull away, tried to push it out, but the dark had its claws sunk in. There would be no easy escape. Still, Maggie made a break and ended up with thirty-six stitches on each arm and a new address for three months.
Now, in the library with Rayney sleeping upstairs, Maggie Quinn sat, watching every nook where a shadow could hide, every crack in the wall where the dark might fit. She checked the lights one more time before settling into the recliner in the library. Pulling the blanket up around her neck, Maggie had to laugh.
Pushing forty and afraid of the dark.
Chapter Eight
He waited at the apartment until nine-thirty. She walked to a convenience store three blocks away to pick up a sandwich and bottled water. No free meal tonight, he sneered to himself. He took her as she cut through a deserted alley and tossed her in his car. She tried to unlock the door, but he flipped the child protection lock earlier. No one was leaving.
He drove while she chattered nervously, telling him how sorry she was that they hadn’t gotten back together. How much fun she had with him. When he didn’t respond, her attitude changed. Suddenly he was a stupid, limp-dick asshole. Did he really think she went out with him because he was a catch? What kind of sick bastard made women watch those kind of movies and do those things? When his silence continued, she cowered against the window and cried.
The warehouse on Pershing had been on the market for the last two years. Property taxes were up forty percent and it needed a lot of work. His brother-in-law said no one was buying, so he stopped trying to sell it. Bigger fish to fry. His brother-in-law always had bigger fish.
He pulled into the parking lot and discreetly tucked the car in the narrow alley between some large storage containers and the warehouse. When she saw their destination and the care he took to hide the car, the woman panicked. She pulled on the door handle and screamed. A firm smack left her slumped against the seat.
He looked for entrances to the building. What if the doors were all locked? How would he get in? What if he couldn’t get in? What would he do with her then? He couldn’t let her go. He had been dumb enough to tell her his real name.
Leaving her slumped in the car, he checked the back doors. Locked. The front was no good. Too risky. He wasn’t familiar with this part of town. Didn’t know who might be watching.
“Jesus, dear Jesus,” he kept repeating. “What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?”
His eyes panned the building. There. Windows and they were low enough to reach. He headed for the one furthest from sight. The one in the shadows. It was locked. Pulling his jacket sleeve over his hand, he struck the glass. Nothing.
“Son of a bitch.” He set his jaw and struck the window again, then again. The glass finally broke. Only a few pieces fell in. The rest stayed lodged in the frame. Carefully, he picked them out and tossed them to the street. The last piece sliced his index finger.
“Shit.” He wiped it on his pants, then tossed the glass aside. It was just a scratch, so he climbed through, found the back door and unlocked it.
She was still groggy as he dragged her up the steps and through the door. In the darkness, he tripped as he pulled her across the floor and landed on top of her. She whimpered and was still. Jesus Christ, he couldn’t see a thing. What now, he wondered? His eyes caught the silver gray beams from the second floor. He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her up. She didn’t protest as he struggled to get her to the floor above, her body bumping up the steps. The place was wall to wall windows with enough moonlight for him to see the boxes and tarps left behind as well as an old broom, half a bottle of window cleaner, an old box cutter and small crowbar that probably fell out of a workman’s tool belt.
He skipped the hour and a half build-up and got right to business. She didn’t protest. She didn’t scream. Didn’t do anything. That’s not how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to hit him, try to break away, call out for help. That’s what they did on the DVDs. That’s what she should do, but she was ignoring him, the fucking bitch. She was acting like she couldn’t care less. Like he was just another guy. He slapped her. Nothing. Slapped her again. Still nothing. The anger rose in him as he grabbed her neck and shook, then squeezed until she went completely limp. He didn’t even get a chance to play out the whole scene. Now, looking down into a lifeless face, he lost the desire.
Rolling off, he lay staring at the ceiling of the deserted warehouse. Well, now he was fucked. He looked at his watch. Jesus, it was almost one and he couldn’t afford to be late to work another day. Standing, he was suddenly filled with rage.
“Bitch. This is all your fault. You fucking slut.”
He lashed out, kicking her gut, then her chest, then her face. He wasn’t sure what happened next. But by the time he was done, there was one hell of a mess to clean up. Fuck it, he thought. If he hurried, he could still get four hours of sleep before work.
Chapter Nine
Maggie’s pulse echoed in the small, metal room. She only managed a couple hours of sleep before Rayney woke her at ten. Sleep was impossible during the two-hour drive to Joliet. It was the first time she was visiting her father since his granddaughter’s death.
The smells and sounds of prison caught Maggie by surprise. Everything felt foreign even though she made regular trips since she was a teenager. Joe Zimmerman brought her father. The tall, thick man had been a guard most of his life and for much of that time, he delivered Paddy Quinn to his visitors.
“Hey, Maggie.” Joe smiled as he led the old man in. Same greeting every time. Same tone. Same volume. Same smile.
Paddy Quinn wrapped his arms around his daughter and held her for longer than Maggie could remember. “I missed you,” he whispered before they separated. “Are you all right?”
“Better,” she answered. Her father looked old. His face was still hawkish, but he moved slowly. Time was finally catching him. “Sorry I didn’t come sooner. I just… Things kind of snowballed.”
She slipped her coat off and onto the back of the chair like she always did. Her sleeves were pushed back, revealing the long, red scars running up her forearms. She caught her father’s stare.
“Pretty stupid, huh?” she said quietly.
Paddy Quinn nodded. His eyes were moist as they followed the lines from his child’s wrists to just below her elbows.
“So what now?” the old man asked. That’s why the Outfit loved Paddy Quinn. He was a practical man. The time for emotion was over. There was business to take care of.
Maggie shrugged and stared at the table.
“Work,” he said.
For the first time in almost a year, she laughed. A nice strong belly laugh. “You’re a piece, Dad.”
“They’ll want you back.”
“Not this time.”
“You had a rough patch. You made a mistake. So what. Big deal. You were confused, that’s all.”
Maggie couldn’t tell her father
her mind was quite clear the night she took the X-Acto knife out of the drawer.
“They’ll take you back.”
“Sure, Dad.” Maggie snapped the gum she was chewing and tugged her sleeves down. There would be no job. No job. No family. No life. Nothing.
“They’ll take you back. Wait and see.”
“Wait and see” meant making some calls, exploring what strings could be pulled and who had to be paid to pull them. Then it hit her. How had she let something so obvious slip by? Had Maggie not finally come back to life, her father would’ve stopped Richard. Hell, he was the one who suggested Simon look over Richard’s prenuptial. Paddy Quinn would’ve made some calls and fixed the problem. It’s what he did. It would be that easy. But Maggie had pulled herself together. She took the bait as her father intended.
“Look, Tierney… he’ll take you back,” Paddy Quinn nodded. “He might rip you a new asshole, but he’ll take you back.”
“No, Dad,” she countered. “I fucked up big.”
“Your language, girl.” Paddy Quinn’s mouth was foul for as long as Maggie could remember. Her mother never swore. And that’s how the old man wanted it with his daughter.
“Look, no way would anyone partner with me. Not anymore. That’s a fact.”
“Tierney tells them, they follow orders. That’s how it works. Simple.”
“No, not simple. He tells them, they say ‘sure’ and I end up fu… I end up head to head with a bad guy and no back-up. That’s how it works.”
“You can’t just let them…”
“How are things on this side?” Maggie asked.
The old man was silent for a moment.
“The usual.”
Always the same question and always the same answer. Maggie’s father ran a big piece of the black market inside Stateville. The Outfit supported him and he managed to turn quite a tidy profit for himself and his backers. He never talked about it. What his daughter didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Of course, Paddy Quinn didn’t raise an idiot.
Too Dark To Sleep Page 3