Victoria's Destiny

by L. J. Garland

  The closet.

  After slipping through the half-open door, she eased back into the farthest corner behind her toys and stuffed animals. Her breaths came short and shallow. Her heart pounded so hard, surely Scarecrow would hear it the moment he stepped into her bedroom.

  She knew he would. He had a wild, you-can’t-hide-from-me look about him. He would know right where to find her.

  She burrowed deeper into her pile of toys. Grabbing Mr. Brownsy, she held the overstuffed dog tight to her chest. He couldn’t protect her from Scarecrow—nothing could—but he made her feel less alone while she huddled in the dark.

  The door to her room creaked open.

  Scarecrow. He’s found me.

  Footsteps whispered over the thick emerald carpet. She held her breath. He would grab her, shake her, and break her just as he had Sarah.

  Vicki bit down hard on Mr. Brownsy’s ear, dared not make a noise. If she stayed quiet like the church mouse her mom had told her about, maybe Scarecrow would leave her alone.

  The closet door opened, and light flooded the little space. Her already shallow breath hitched. Buried beneath her trusted stuffed friends, she shivered, and tears welled from the corners of her eyes.

  “Victoria.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed and wished with all her might. Go away.

  “Victoria Spiere.”

  Opening her eyes, she tried to peer past her fuzzy companions, but she’d buried herself too deep. All she heard was Scarecrow.

  Except…it doesn’t sound like Scarecrow.

  “You can come out, Victoria. It’s safe.”

  She frowned. How does he know my name? I don’t know him. Never seen him before in my life.

  “The bad man’s gone, Victoria. You’re safe.”

  Safe? A ray of hope shot through her so hard she all but jerked from its force.

  “I know you’re in there. You can come out. You’re perfectly safe.”

  It sure didn’t sound like Scarecrow’s raspy monster voice. This one was rich and deep and clear. Instead of sending chills down her spine, the tone infused her with warmth. Like her dad’s voice.

  “Hoo ah oo?”

  The man knelt, his knee brushing over the carpet. “What was that?”

  She pulled Mr. Brownsy’s ear from her mouth. “Who are you?”

  “A friend.”

  “Friend?” She peeked around an enormous gray rabbit for a better look. Still clutching her stuffed canine, she stared up into a pair of brown eyes. “I don’t know you.”

  “Well, I’m Matthew. But since we’re friends, you can call me Matt.” He gave her a sun-filled smile, which created good feelings inside her. “Why don’t you come out so we can shake hands properly?”

  Vicki eased forward. “How do I know you aren’t friends with Scarecrow?”

  “With who?” His brow wrinkled then cleared. “Oh. I promise. I am not friends with him.” When she didn’t move, he tilted his head. “The scarecrow guy, he wasn’t very nice. I got rid of him, so you’d be safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He held up his hand. “Promise.”

  She pushed through her stuffed animals and stood on wobbly legs. “Pinky swear?”

  He reached toward her, offering her his grown-up finger. “Pinky swear.”

  Well, if he knew about the pinky promise, she could trust him. She took two steps forward and wrapped her finger around his. They shook twice, and he grinned.

  He lifted her from the floor, carried her to the bed, and placed her on its edge. Sitting next to her, he breathed deep and released a long whistle of air between his lips.

  “You’ve got something bad to tell me. Don’t you?” she said.

  “What gave it away?”

  “Whenever Daddy has something bad to tell me, or like, when I’m in trouble or something, or when he’s really, really angry with me, he makes that sound.” She examined Matt’s face and found kindness. He looked young, but his black grown-up’s suit made him seem much older.

  “It’s Sarah. Isn’t it?” Tears filled her eyes. Guilt bore down on her.

  “Yes.” He ran a hand through his short dark hair. “I need you to stay right here until the police arrive. I’ve already called them, so you won’t have to wait long.”

  “Why did he do that? Scarecrow.”

  “Sometimes people do bad things.” He rose, walked to the door, and turned back to her. “You wait here. Don’t leave this room. When the police get here, you tell them everything you saw.”

  “Even about you?” She didn’t want to get her new friend in trouble.

  “Yes. Tell them about me, too.” As if deep in thought, he tugged his earlobe twice. “Might even work better for them in some ways.”

  “Okay.”

  He stepped into the hallway and looked around. “You probably won’t see me for a while, but know I’m keeping an eye on you. So stay out of trouble. Okay?” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “’Kay.”

  With a final nod, he left her. She sat on her bed, waiting for the police. The silence after Matt’s departure teased and tortured her. Was he really gone? What had he done to get rid of Scarecrow? What was taking the police so long to arrive?

  She wanted to do what Matt had told her and stay put, but the stillness of the house drove her from her bedroom. She eased down the back stairs to the kitchen. On the other side of the counter, she discovered Scarecrow.

  He lay faceup in the floor, a small round hole in the middle of his forehead. A skinny red streak ran down the side of his head and gathered in a puddle on the tile before soaking into the grout lines.

  Had Matt killed Scarecrow to protect her?

  Her gaze tracked the path the blood had followed, trickling between some tiles but not others. Tilting her head, she narrowed her eyes and let her focus blur. Her breath caught.

  Six.

  The blood from Scarecrow’s body had created the number six on the kitchen floor.

  A shiver coursed through her, raising goose bumps on her skin. Backing away, she skirted the body and continued to her original destination. She found Sarah on the foyer floor where Scarecrow had left her.

  In the distance, sirens whined in earnest. She glanced toward the front door. Maybe she should have waited up in her room like Matt had told her. But she needed to do something first.

  Kneeling next to Sarah, she pulled the white square of paper from her blood-soaked jeans pocket. Vicki knew the numbers but read them nonetheless. Two. Four. Six. Eighteen.

  “You won, Sarah.” She stared down at her nanny’s ashen face. Guilt returned in force, and tears stabbed her eyes. Leaning close, she whispered, “I’m sorry I killed you.”

  Chapter Two

  Near Austin, Texas

  Twenty Years Later….

  “Detective Chastain, they got it open.”

  River Chastain looked up from the map he’d spread open on the back cargo area of the unit’s Chevy Tahoe and focused on the young officer who hurried toward him. Not even ten-thirty in the morning and massive dark patches lined the pits of the rookie’s uniform shirt. The temperature might be unseasonably warm for March, but then tracking a serial killer through Hill Country, Texas, was enough to make anybody sweat.

  “They think the Valentine Killer might still be inside, too.” The officer glanced down at the map. “Wait, you don’t think he might’ve gotten out, had a back door or something, do you?”

  “Possible.” River ground his teeth at the likelihood the murdering son of a bitch might have escaped…again.

  The guy snagged a bottle of water, downed half of it, and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “They cleared enough rock from the cave entrance to get in. So, I’m guessing we’ll all know real soon.”

  “Tell them I’m on my way.”

  “Yes, sir.” The kid jogged back up the hill.

  River pulled out his cell phone and punched autodial. After half a dozen rings, voicemail picked up.

  “D
amn it, Kent. Where are you?” He stared at the hive of activity at the cave entrance. A paramedic wheeled a gurney uphill over rocks and rubble. “We’re about to apprehend this asshole. Jones tracked him to a cave a hundred miles northwest of Austin and, well…damn it. Jones is dead. He didn’t wait for backup. Triggered a tripwire the bastard had rigged and was blown to bits. They’re loading what’s left of him now. It’s a mess.”

  He paused to wipe a hand over his forehead and through his hair, lugging sweat with it. “You better have one helluvan excuse for not being here. Captain’s been asking, and I can’t cover much longer.” He slammed the Tahoe doors closed. “Just get your ass out here.”

  After ending the call, he shoved the cell into his pocket and stalked to the rear of the vehicle. He’d had a knot in his stomach since the first victim had been discovered, and with each successive murder, the gnarl had drawn even tighter. A little over five hours earlier, his cell had rung, the caller informing him the Valentine Killer had been tracked to a cave in Hill Country. Even before he’d finished writing down the location, his gut had twisted back on itself like a snake eating its own damn tail.

  He shook his head. Such a strong negative reaction made no sense. The murder and madness plaguing Austin for the last eighteen months was about to end. But for some reason his teeth remained on edge.

  “Chastain.” Captain Suarez ambled toward him. “You ready?”

  “Right there, Cap.” River grabbed two water bottles from the cooler and strode toward the heavy-set man in his late fifties with skin the color of a hand-rolled Maduro cigar.

  “Garner’s heading up SWAT. He’s checked the entrance, and he and the team are ready to move inside.” He took the offered bottle and opened it. “We follow right behind.”

  “Like white on rice, sir.” He fell in step alongside his captain.

  As they headed up the hill, he pulled his Smith & Wesson .40 cal, checked the magazine, and snugged it back into his shoulder holster—a routine he’d performed since cadet days.

  They paused, allowing the gurney to pass as it bounced and rocked by in the opposite direction. A body bag lay on top, the remains of Jones’ broken corpse inside. River’s chest tightened, his gaze sliding over the heavy black plastic, the gleaming zipper. Jones had been a good man.

  “Damn good man,” Suarez’s growled. “El cabrón in that cave is going to pay.”

  River grunted in agreement. One of their own had fallen prey to the serial killer. Jones deserved more than a closed casket ceremony, grieving widow, and a funeral home packed with blue. So yeah, the bastard would pay.

  “How’s it look?” the captain asked one of the SWAT guys.

  “ROV’s almost finished.” The man tapped his finger on the computer’s screen. The laptop perched on the square folding table displayed what the Remote Observation Vehicle saw inside. Several black wires snaked from the SWAT vantage point into the cave. “Haven’t encountered any further resistance.”

  “Alpha Team.” Another SWAT member waited to the right of the cave entrance while six men dressed in black fatigues, Kevlar vests, and ballistic helmets assembled around him.

  “That’s Garner, the team lead.” Captain Suarez moved closer.

  “Okay,” Garner said. “ROV’s been in and out. First thing found was a wire running from inside the cave. Traced it to a generator dug into the side of the hill about forty feet away. From that we’ve confirmed the place is rigged for light. Course, when the bomb blew, so did the connection. Unfortunately, we can’t wait for repairs. There might be a vic who needs us inside.

  “Although the ROV’s cleared the entrance, it doesn’t mean this asshole hasn’t hidden other surprises. So watch your step. Approximately ten yards in, the cave opens up, higher ceiling, more room.” Garner turned toward the cave entrance, his expression somber. “ROV didn’t spot any bodies, so the guy may have had a back door and be long gone.” He looked back at the men. “But we’re hoping the explosion cornered him. If that’s the case, he’ll be waiting for us. Stay focused, stay alert, stay alive. Questions?”

  Silence.

  “Good.” Garner slapped his hands together. “Rios, you’re on lights. Toblin, you take point. Captain Suarez and….”

  “Detective Chastain,” the captain supplied.

  “Captain Suarez and Detective Chastain have hunted the Valentine Killer for quite a while. Don’t let them down. After they gear up, we’ll head in.”

  River shrugged on a Kevlar vest and communications gear while the Alpha Team checked their stubby MP5s. Each member performed the same ritual—safety, magazine loaded and secured in place, first round chambered, laser sights on. The deft movements of their weapons reminded him of a well-rehearsed orchestra.

  Someone shoved a black cap emblazoned with the letters SWAT into his hands. He pulled his hat low over his eyes, switched on his flashlight, and fell into line at the cave entrance.

  He scrambled over rocks into darkness, his senses on high alert. His gut knotted tighter. Something wasn’t right. “How long is the entry tunnel?”

  “About ten yards,” the lead SWAT guy replied.

  Thirty feet and an awkward squeeze. Not too far. Hunched over, he shuffled behind Suarez, flashlight in one hand, Smith & Wesson in the other.

  A few yards inside, an inescapable wave of stench washed over him. The distinctive scents of acidic fertilizer and cooked human flesh assaulted him. His stomach convulsed. Gagging, he brought his arm up over his nose and breathed through his mouth. It helped, but not much. He guessed by the interrupted cadence of Captain Suarez’s steps in front of him he’d suffered the same reaction.

  The scent intensified deeper inside the cave. River tried not to think about Jones’ last moments. The deafening explosion. The fire. The massive rocks crushing him, stealing his breath.

  Gritting his teeth, he kept moving forward. He would do his job and catch the asshole who’d slaughtered eight girls—probably nine since Mindy Carter was missing. The high-profile trial would be fast-tracked, and the jury would serve justice. The Valentine Killer would be sentenced to death, and in the great state of Texas, that meant lethal injection.

  River frowned. Hell, the needle’s too painless. After nine girls and Officer Jones, the bastard deserves to fry. Slowly.

  The tunnel opened up. Fine granite dust hung in the air, muting the flashlight beams. Red streaks from the SWAT team’s laser sights crisscrossed the area while they checked for potential threats.

  “All clear.” Toblin’s voice echoed inside the cave as well as through River’s earpiece.

  “Affirmative,” Garner replied from outside the cave. “Hey, Rios thinks he’s got the wiring done. Prepare for lights in three, two….”

  Small orbs flashed to life, illuminating the cavern.

  “We’ve got light,” Toblin reported.

  “Holy mother of….” One of the Alpha team members stumbled back a step. He crossed himself and gripped his weapon, his knuckles whitening.

  Hundreds of symbols painted in what seemed to be blood—hell, he’d followed this guy long enough, River knew it was blood—covered the granite walls of the large cavern. The curls and exaggerated jagged points of the signs appeared satanic in nature.

  River tilted his face up, and his neck hair stood on end. The ceiling had been painstakingly chiseled smooth, and sketched in the center was a huge circle with a star in the middle—a pentagram surrounded by more symbols and numbers. The thing was at least six feet in diameter, maybe more. All drawn in blood. Right over their heads.

  “Steady, boys,” Toblin warned. “Stay alert.”

  “Sick sonovabitch,” another guy murmured.

  A cold sweat settled like dew on River’s skin. His stomach churned, spitting acid.

  “What is it?” Captain Suarez craned his neck.

  River turned his flashlight on and illuminated the center of the star.

  Suarez pointed at the dark-red symbol. “That’s the drawing he leaves.”

  �
�I know.”

  “Garner, Toblin,” Suarez spoke into the headset, his words carrying to the whole team. “We’ve found the Valentine Killer’s lair.”

  “Sir, there’s another room,” a team member interjected before Garner or Toblin could respond.

  Toblin’s head snapped toward the man, his eyes sharp and assessing. “What?”

  “In the dark, it looked like a jag in the wall, sir. But when the lights came on….”

  Ice-cold apprehension swallowed the room. Weapons came up, and eyes narrowed. At Toblin’s signal, the team moved into lineup, their feet whispering over the sandy floor. River positioned himself near the far wall, giving them room to do their job.

  Like a panther stalking prey, Toblin crept into the next room, silent, deadly. The rest of Alpha team imitated his movements. River sensed the well-trained energy flowing between them. One mind. One goal. Take down the bad guy.

  Four Alphas slipped into the adjacent area without a single shot fired.

  “Clear,” Toblin said over the headset.

  River brought up the rear, last to enter the new region. The smell of blood and death curled around him, embraced and pulled him forward. Carnage on a nearby table drew his attention. His jaw clenched. Mindy Carter lay amid torn clothing and blood, her skin pale as summer moonlight. Even without checking for a pulse, he knew she’d bled out.

  He forced his attention elsewhere, focusing on the remaining surroundings. He would get to Mindy in proper time.

  The room was similar in size to the previous one, with a sandy floor and walls covered in symbols and numbers. A comparable blood-etched pentagram loomed overhead on the chiseled ceiling as well. However, this one had breaks in the circle. Five small gaps, perhaps each an inch in length.

  So, is that supposed to let something in…or let something out?

  “Chastain.” Suarez joined him.

  He tore his gaze from the drawing. “Sir?”

  “We got him.” The captain pointed across the room where several Alpha members had gathered around a body on the floor.

  “What?” A dose of adrenaline dumped into his veins, and his heart rate skyrocketed.