Give the Devil His Due

by Blackwell, Rob

  “A door!” Janus shouted. “I see a door!”

  “Is it close?” Quinn asked.

  The two of them ran harder than they had in their lives, pushing with all their strength up the mountainside. When Quinn looked behind him again, one of the sluagh was nearly on top of him. It swiped at him with a very human-looking hand, but with sharp talons instead of fingers. Quinn dodged away from it and the sluagh shrieked again.

  Quinn watched as another dove toward him, followed by several more.

  “Quinn!” Janus shouted.

  Quinn looked ahead to see they had emerged into a small clearing. In front of them was a sheer mountain, but at the bottom of it was a small red door.

  “Through the door,” Janus shouted and both of them kept running. Behind him, Quinn heard more shrieks and felt wings in the air right behind him.

  What if the door is locked? Quinn thought.

  But Janus didn’t even pause as he ran toward it, throwing himself into it with all his might. For a second, Quinn was sure it wouldn’t open, that he would finally meet oblivion under this purple sky at the hands of a mythical creature. Instead, the door gave way and both Janus and Quinn ran through it. Janus slammed the door once they were on the other side, and they both lay panting against it.

  Outside, they heard a series of shrieks and then the sounds faded away to nothing.

  Quinn wasn’t sure what he expected when he turned from the door to examine where they had entered — maybe a dark dungeon, the kind that came complete with orcs and goblins. But it was like nothing he had anticipated. Quinn looked at Janus to see his reaction, who sat there equally stunned.

  Although they had entered a door in a mountainside, there was no sign of that here. They weren’t underground or in a cavern. A blue — not purple — sky greeted them and below it was a series of kitschy buildings leading to a wide pathway lined with signs. From a distance, they could see a rusted Ferris wheel and a broken down roller coaster track.

  Quinn didn’t understand how it happened, but the door they had passed through had taken them from the ocean — right into an amusement park.

  Chapter 4

  Tim Anderson could tell from Brown’s stride that he was angry. He watched as the sheriff marched into the newsroom, passing the advertising department and most of the editorial staff in a visible huff.

  Alexis and Josh jumped out of his way as Sheriff Brown brushed past them. Only when he got closer did Tim notice he held a newspaper in his hand.

  Sheriff Brown walked in and slammed the door behind him, throwing the paper on Tim’s desk.

  “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to write about it,” he snarled as he stood at the edge of the desk.

  “Sit down, Phil,” Tim said.

  “We agreed…”

  “Sit down,” Tim said again.

  Tim remained calm and dispassionate. Beyond his office, he could see Alexis and other staffers huddling with each other, trying to eavesdrop. Still fuming, Sheriff Brown pulled up a chair.

  “I’m sorry,” Tim said. “It was a story. I couldn’t just ignore that.”

  “You promised,” Brown replied.

  “I said that everything I saw inside the station would be off the record,” Tim said. “I didn’t violate that promise. Did you read anything about how the killer got through the entire local police force?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Brown said. “Did you know I have the FBI on my ass now? Gill was being transferred to federal custody and now he’s dead.”

  “I can appreciate how that looks,” Tim said.

  “Can you? Do you know how difficult it is to explain that? I’ve got four officers wounded and a dead man inside my own jail. And now, thanks to you, I have the rest of the media calling. They’re going to go ape-shit with this.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tim said.

  “I trusted you,” Brown replied. “You swore you would help stop her.”

  “I tried.”

  “Not hard enough!” Brown said. “As far as I can tell, you just used it for a story and nothing more. Worse, you made Gill sound like a damn saint. He was a killer, but you played up his struggling childhood. I never picked you for a bleeding heart liberal, Tim.”

  Tim leaned back in his chair.

  “You’re so angry you’re not thinking this through,” Tim replied.

  “Thinking what through?” Brown said.

  “There’s only one way to stop her, Phil,” Tim said. “And that’s to appeal to her conscience.”

  “Oh yeah? How’d that work out for you the other night?”

  “Not very well,” Tim replied. “Which is why I’m trying to present a more complete picture of Mr. Gill’s life. I didn’t write that article for you or the county or for anyone else other than Kate Tassel. I may not know her well, but I know she’s still reading the paper. She needs to know what she’s become. If I write stories painting her victims as common criminals, she’ll never stop. If I can show her they’re still human…”

  “You really think that’s going to work?” Brown said.

  “Do you have a better idea? We’ve got roughly three weeks left in October. Until then, she can do what she wants, kill as many ‘criminals’ as she desires and there’s not a damned thing we can do to stop her. Except appeal to her conscience.”

  “I still can’t believe this is even happening,” Brown said. “She was locked up in a mental institution for God’s sake. I visited her in July, did you know that? Just to see if she was ready to stand trial for Ball’s Bluff, or if what the doctors said was really true.”

  “It was true,” Tim said.

  Brown sighed.

  “She was nutty as a fruitcake,” he said. “When I was there, she still thought she was Quinn O’Brion. I know you warned me she could break out when autumn came, but I never really…”

  “It’s hard to believe the existence of the supernatural,” Tim said. “No one knows that better than me. Last year, even when all the evidence pointed toward something beyond my understanding, I refused to accept it until…”

  “She turned into Kyle Thompson,” Brown said.

  “Yes, and even then I fought for ways to explain it,” Tim said. “But sometimes the explanation that’s hardest to accept is also the right one. I assume you believe me now. You’ve seen what she can do, not just the other night, but multiple times. She broke out of the asylum without so much as opening a door. I read the official report they sent you. ‘Unless she just walked through the wall, there’s no way to explain her disappearance.’ But that’s precisely what she did, Phil. She became the banshee and floated right through the wall. There’s no other explanation that makes sense.”

  “I thought you said her powers may not come back,” Brown replied.

  “I said it was possible they wouldn’t,” Tim said. “I’ve done a lot of research on the Prince of Sanheim, but not nearly enough to understand it fully. I thought when Quinn died and their connection broke, she might be left crazy but… for lack of a better word… human. Instead, her powers appear to be stronger than ever.”

  “Why are we still seeing the Headless Horseman if she’s supposed to be a banshee?”

  “It seems to give her comfort to take that form, as if she can pretend Quinn is still alive.”

  “But this ends November 1, right?”

  “As far as I know, yes,” Tim replied. “The question is, how much damage can she do before then? Every criminal in the county seems to be fair game to her.”

  “I’ve already begun the process of transferring prisoners out of the county,” Brown said.

  “It might not be enough,” Tim said. “I don’t think she’s going to limit herself to Loudoun for much longer. Short of trying to reach her through the paper, I don’t know how to contact her. And absent another catch like Gill, I don’t know who her next target will be.”

  Brown gazed at the wall of framed newspaper fronts behind Tim and sighed. Tim followed his glance, examining the history of the L
oudoun Chronicle. They’d added more than a dozen front pages since he had become editor. One showed a large photo of Quinn O’Brion on the bottom, while above the fold there was an even bigger shot of body bags on a battlefield. “Massacre at Ball’s Bluff” read the headline, written in the large type that papers typically reserve for huge news events. Josh had called it their “war” font.

  “When did the world go crazy?” Brown asked.

  Tim swiveled back to face him.

  “I think it’s always been crazy, we just pretended it wasn’t,” Tim replied.

  “Did you know my own son admitted to me he saw the Horseman once? That was two years ago. Back then all I had to worry about was a serial killer. Now I’ve got monsters.”

  “That’s not fair,” Tim said. “She’s not like him.”

  “So you say,” Brown replied. “But from the body count, I’d say she’s aiming to equal his record.”

  “She’s gone after criminals, not innocent people,” Tim said.

  “Tell that to my men,” Brown replied.

  Tim stared hard at Brown. He had known him for more than 15 years now, but Tim thought he had aged double that. The lines on his face made him look like an old man, though Tim knew he was still in his late fifties. Was that how he looked, Tim wondered? Gill had called him an “old man.” He wasn’t, not really, but oftentimes he felt that way. Especially now.

  “Why are you really here?” Tim asked.

  “Excuse me?” Brown replied.

  “I know the official reason for your visit, but you could have shouted at me over the phone,” Tim said. “You don’t usually storm into the newsroom like this.”

  Brown pursed his lips and gave Tim an annoyed look.

  “Sometimes you’re too smart for your own good, do you know that?” he said.

  “Just tell me what you came here to tell me,” Tim said.

  “It’s not official, you understand,” Brown replied. “But what if I told you I might know where Kate will head next? Would you be able to stop her?”

  “I don’t know,” Tim said immediately. “I thought if I talked to her the other night, it would have some impact. It still might, once she stops to think about it. All I can say is if you know where she’ll be, I’ll do my best to try to get her to end this madness.”

  “Didn’t she threaten you?”

  Tim waved his hand dismissively.

  “I’ve been threatened by worse than her,” he said. “And I’m not going to back down if there’s a chance I can help.”

  Tim glanced beyond his door to see if his staff was still eavesdropping. But now that the sheriff had stopped shouting, they appeared to have lost interest. Helen and Alexis kept shooting glances his way, but no one seemed likely to interrupt them.

  Brown dug a photo out of his jacket and tossed it onto Tim’s desk.

  “Isn’t he the one you told us about?” Brown asked.

  Tim picked up the photo and his heart caught in his throat. In it, he saw a tall, thin man with a mop of unkempt brown hair and blue eyes. He looked to be in his thirties, but Tim knew he was much older than that. The photo looked like a still from grainy security footage. The man appeared to be looking straight at the camera, almost as if he wanted to give a full view of his face.

  “Kieran Collins,” Tim said under his breath. “He came back.”

  “That’s him, isn’t it? The one who snuck into the asylum last year to visit Kate?” Brown asked. “The one who you think actually killed Quinn?”

  “Yes, or at least that’s what Kate said during her ramblings,” Tim said. “Where is he?”

  “One of my officers saw him in Sterling and thought he might be our guy,” Brown said. “We’ve tracked him for the past two days. He’s staying in a seedy motel, appears to be keeping a low profile.”

  “Not long after Kate broke free,” Tim said. “But why would he be back here? It’s suicide. Unless…”

  Tim’s thoughts drifted. From what he knew, Kieran didn’t have any supernatural powers. Why would he be back? There was only one reason he could think of, something that Kate had talked about after Kieran’s sudden visit. Tim had tried to track him down after that, but Kieran was crafty. He had completely disappeared.

  “How fast can your people be ready to move?” Tim asked.

  “We have a 24-hour stakeout on him,” Brown said. “My officers are just waiting to see what he’s up to.”

  Tim studied the photo.

  “I don’t think we can wait for that,” Tim replied. “We need to bring him in now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if she finds him first, she’ll kill him, and we need him,” Tim said. “He may be the only person who can stop this.”

  *****

  Kieran Collins banged on the wall.

  “Could you please keep it down?” he screamed. “Some of us are trying to sleep off an epic hangover in here.”

  He heard a brief pause in the rhythmic grunting from the other side of the wall, then it started up again. If anything, the woman’s moans were even louder than before.

  “I’ve killed people, you know!” he shouted. “You don’t want to fuck with me.”

  Kieran took another swig from the vodka bottle in front of him and then amended his earlier remarks.

  “Come to think of it, the last two people I fucked actually died, so I mean that literally,” he said, still shouting. “Wait, no, that’s not right. Three people. Yes, three people I fucked have died. I’m like the Typhoid Mary of fucking.”

  The noises from his neighbors continued unabated and Kieran sat back down on the bed.

  “To hell with you,” he said.

  He took another drink from the bottle and sat with his back against the wall. He looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was only 3 p.m., but it felt later. How long had he been in town? He couldn’t remember. As for his plan… well, there was a good chance he was going to die before he could implement it. But what else was new? He had been taking crazy risks for so long it felt normal.

  He listened to the moaning from next door and tried not to be jealous. It wasn’t that he missed sex; he just missed other people. He had been in Sawyer’s crowd for so long, he had forgotten what it felt like to be alone. Only after they were dead and his new companions betrayed did he remember what that creeping emptiness felt like.

  After he killed Quinn and fled Kate, he had traveled for a straight month, trying to put as much distance between himself and his past as possible. But what was it Elyssa had said? “Your past is like a band of demons, forever nipping at your heels.”

  Elyssa had been wrong about many things, but not that. He could run to the ends of the earth, but he would never get the one thing he really wanted.

  The plan he came up with was so insane, he had dismissed it at first. Surely his part in this little drama was over. Sanheim had forced him to play a role and he had done it. He was Judas Iscariot to not one, but two Princes of Sanheim. He could win a medal for betrayal. And where had it taken him?

  Over the next weeks and months, the scheme had gnawed at him, taunting him even in his sleep. It had sparked research, followed by trips with an actual destination. Soon he discovered he wasn’t running away anymore, but actively seeking out information.

  And then he’d found the key to everything.

  He let his thoughts drift off and took another swig of his drink. He’d been a fool to come back earlier this year and seek out Kate at the asylum. He should have known she would still be lost in la-la land. He remembered what it was like to lose Grace. Kate wasn’t ready for him. He had told her the truth — at least as he understood it and tried to share the outlines of his plan.

  But it hadn’t worked out. At the end of his visit, she was still crazy and he was left to scheme alone. He did what he did best — he ran. Again. This time there was a purpose. He had more research to do, more secrets to uncover.

  And now he found himself back here again. He must still be crazy. Only an idiot would co
me back here, take a chance like this. But he knew what he wanted now and if he had to risk everything to get it, so be it. He had gambled before and lost. But that just meant his turn had come, didn’t it?

  Kieran noticed that the sounds next door had stopped. Everything was quiet. And that made him smile. Not because now he would get the sleep which he desperately craved, but because the next part of his plan was about to come to fruition.

  He didn’t even hear them when they came up the stairs of his motel. One minute all was quiet, and the next, the door to his room burst open.

  What felt like an entire SWAT team came through the door, and Kieran watched them in slow motion. The officers fanned out across the room in full tactical gear, as if Kieran were a dangerous assassin instead of a pathetic drunk. He had needed the alcohol, of course. He could use any kind of courage, liquid or otherwise, for what came next.

  The police pointed their weapons at him and shouted at him to put his hands up. Kieran calmly took another sip before setting his bottle down and raising his hands.

  One of the officers spoke into a radio and Kieran watched as a man entered the room. This one was no cop, and Kieran was sure it violated just about every police procedure in the book that he was here.

  “Hiya Tim,” Kieran said, and the words came out more slurred than he expected. He hadn’t intended to drink quite so much.

  “You’ve been waiting for us,” Tim replied.

  “No, no, no,” Kieran said. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say. You’re supposed to cross the room, look at me and say, ‘Come with me if you want to live.’ I said it to Quinn once, did you know that? And I meant it, too. I just didn’t know I would have to take it back.”

  “We have to get you out of here,” Tim said. “As soon as she knows you’re here, she’ll come for you. We’re going to move you to D.C., get you farther away while we sort this out.”

  But Kieran just smiled at him and drained the bottle of its remaining contents.

  “Don’t bother,” he said. “I know what happened at the Leesburg jail. It’s why I came back now. I’m ready, Timmy. I know she’ll come for me. In fact, I’m counting on it.”