Dark Pursuit

by Brandilyn Collins

  The next day I awoke wondering if it was all a dream.

  Reality hit. I had killed.

  Why would I do that?

  The fabric. It was the fabric.

  On a gut level I knew this. Yet still that cloth sang to me. I couldn’t imagine getting rid of it.

  By noon I would talk myself out of the silly notion that it was to blame.

  In my car I found a couple brown hairs. Dirt on the floor. I’d just washed and vacuumed the car the day before. I washed and vacuumed it again. Removed the vacuum bag, took it across town and threw it in a dumpster.

  I worried about the parking lot. Had anyone seen me pick up the woman? But I knew it had been empty.

  Leaving her car there was good. Very good. That would throw detectives off the trail. They’d think she left with someone in the bar. They’d question everyone there that night. If I were investigating, that’s the first thing I’d do.

  Why did I kill her?

  Too much to drink at the party maybe.

  No matter, it wouldn’t happen again. I’d been driven beyond myself, the victim of some sinister compulsion. But no more. Now I was in charge of my own life.

  The next day I went back to work feeling normal.

  On the news that night I heard the story. A couple of hikers headed up into the hills saw a flash of color some distance off the dirt road. Something made them check it out.

  No report of the most crucial detail. A bow of black silk cloth with green stripes tied around the victim’s neck.

  Of course I understood why.

  twenty-six

  As Kaitlan walked away from Chief Barlow, Craig lasered her with his eyes. Hand at her back, he steered her toward Hallie.

  “Kaitlaaaan!” Hallie sang the name in that lilt of hers, flinging an arm around Kaitlan’s neck. “Thanks for coming to my party!”

  Hallie was tanned and athletic, with large brown eyes. Coarsely textured and straight, her hair was highlighted in varying shades of honey blonde. She’d starting coming to Kaitlan for styling two months ago. Good thing. Her cut had been all wrong for the shape of her face.

  Hallie, if you knew the trouble I was in, would you help me?

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Kaitlan managed a smile.

  Craig kissed Hallie’s cheek. “Happy birthday, Sis.”

  Kaitlan shuddered at the thought of those lips on her own skin.

  “Thanks.” Hallie rolled her hand in the air. “Everybodyyyy! Does everyone know Kaitlan, the very best hairstylist in the world? I should know because she made me look terrific.” She pushed up one side of her hair in an animated primp.

  Kaitlan heard laughs and a chorus of “Hi, Kaitlans.” She tried to nod to each person.

  Hallie bounced her hand from one friend to the next, introducing each one. Patty from work and her husband, Mike. Sheila and Leslie, also from the counseling service. And their dates, somebody and somebody. Then seven or eight more people. Kaitlan tried to focus, but the faces and names started to run together.

  “And of course my wonderful dad, who’s paying for this night on the town!” Hallie picked up a glass from a nearby table and raised it high in the air.

  “Hear, hear!” The others joined in her toast.

  “Thank you,” Chief Barlow boomed. “It’s costing me a fortune, but hey. Anything for family.”

  He slid a look at Kaitlan.

  “So go ahead, Hallie.” Patty waved her fingers in the air. “You were telling us about the crazy guy at work.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Hallie looked to Kaitlan. “This was a few years ago, and the people are long gone, so I can tell the story.”

  Sheila shook her head. “We counsel some of the nuttiest people.”

  Hallie guzzled a quick drink. “So like I was saying this woman and her husband come in, say they can’t pay the bills, are always fighting about money, blah, blah. The husband says the wife’s spending too much, and the wife says well maybe if he’d get a job …”

  Her audience laughed.

  “So I say to him, ‘You’re not working?’ ‘No,’ he says, ‘I don’t see the need.’ ” Hallie rolled her eyes. “Right. ‘I don’t see the need.’ Then I turn to the wife. ‘You working?’ ‘Yes, two jobs.’ ‘Two jobs?’ I point to the husband. ‘And he’s not doing anything?’ Hubby speaks up. ‘I’m doing something. I’m cutting out coupons.’ ”

  “Oh, good grief.” Eddie shook his head.

  “See what I mean?” Sheila’s eyebrows raised.

  Hallie pushed hair off her forehead. “ ‘Coupons,’ I say. ‘You mean like for the grocery store?’ ‘Yeah.’ He looks proud. ‘I save us a good twenty dollars a week.’ ”

  She cocked her head with an “I can’t believe this” expression. “ ‘Twenty whole dollars.’ I drag out the words, like—wow, you know. ‘Wonder how much you’d make if you worked all week.’ He looks at me like I’m crazy. ‘But then I couldn’t clip coupons.’ ” Hallie gurgled a laugh. “ ‘Try clippin’ ‘em at night,’ I tell him. ‘Working moms do that all the time.’ ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘but I read too slow.’ ”

  “Read too slow!” Steve guffawed.

  Hallie giggled. “No, no, wait, doesn’t stop there. He says, ‘And my fingers are stiff, so I cut slow too.’ ”

  Everyone howled.

  “Oh, get outta here,” Joe said. “I don’t believe this.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s true!” Hallie pushed his shoulder. “This is the kind of idiots we have to deal with.”

  “Yeah, well, try working on the police force,” Chief Barlow said. “You see a few nuts there too.”

  Not to mention a murderer …

  A few latecomers arrived, interrupting the conversation. People broke into smaller groups. Kaitlan didn’t know where to go. She didn’t want to stay near Craig, and Hallie was in too much of a party mood.

  Craig gestured toward the open bar. “I’ll get us some wine.”

  “No. Thanks, but … I’ll take some 7UP.”

  He gave her a long look. “You never drink 7UP.”

  “My stomach’s kind of queasy. Maybe that’ll settle it.”

  Oh, no, why’ d you say that?

  Craig scratched his jaw, eyes still on her. Like he was looking right into her soul. “I’ve never known you to have stomach trouble before.”

  Surely he couldn’t know she was pregnant. Could he?

  Kaitlan went hot. The pregnancy test kit. He’d been in her apartment…

  No, no wait. She’d taken the garbage out this morning.

  Kaitlan suppressed a shudder. “I haven’t exactly had the easiest day.”

  No response.

  Craig moved away to get their drinks. She watched him approach the bar, trying to hear what he ordered. What if he didn’t come back with 7UP? She wasn’t about to drink alcohol, not now.

  Joe appeared at her side, navy blue T-shirt showing off the biceps he spent every day in the gym maintaining. His block-shaped face and one-inch flat top added to the don’t-mess-with-me look, but Kaitlan saw concern in his brown eyes. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, sure. Why?”

  “You seem a little tense.”

  Was she that obvious? Kaitlan glanced across the room at Chief Barlow—and their eyes met. She looked away.

  “I’m fine.” And she smiled. Widely.

  Craig returned and handed her a glass. “7UP.” He shook his head at Joe. “Girl’s gone nonalcoholic on me.”

  Joe shrugged. “Happens to the best of us.”

  Was it just Kaitlan’s imagination, or did she sense underlying meaning in their casual comments?

  Craig—she’s acting different. Should I be worried?

  Joe—It’s nothing, relax.

  Did Joe know about Craig too?

  Would he do that—protect Craig? Would Steve and Eddie?

  Cops were so tight. Day in, day out, they protected each other, laid their lives on the line for each other. Hard to turn that around when one of their own became the crimi
nal.

  Waiters entered bearing platters of food. Garlic bread, pasta, chicken wings, pizza. Their smells filled the room. Kaitlan buried her nose in the glass of 7UP. As everyone else loaded their plates, she took a little salad and managed a few bites.

  Conversation swirled around her—stories from the Gayner police force, Ed showing pictures of his oldest son playing soccer, Patty shaking her head over some family she’d counseled that day. Kaitlan tried to laugh in all the right places and add a comment when she could. Joe’s words echoed in her head. She didn’t want anyone else asking if she was okay because she just might lose it, just might not be able to play the part another minute.

  She longed to go home, but the thought scared her to death. She’d be going with Craig. Alone.

  If only Joe could take her.

  That is, if Joe was really her friend.

  Hallie announced she couldn’t wait any longer to open her presents and dug in, oohing and aahing over each one. One thing about Hallie—she knew how to make a person feel special. “Oh, I love this bracelet!” she trilled upon opening Kaitlan’s gift. Hallie stopped to put it on and held it up to sparkle blue in the light. “Thank you, girl!”

  Kaitlan smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  By nine-thirty she was exhausted from stumbling over lines, an actress on the wrong stage. Her thoughts kept returning to her grandfather. Were he and Margaret sitting by the phone, waiting for her call? Had he figured out what to do?

  “Yo!” Steve whooped to Chief Barlow. “You hear what happened when Big Daddy here”—he jabbed a thumb at Ed—“took his kids camping last weekend?”

  What if she couldn’t call for hours? What if Craig wanted to stay at her apartment?

  Chief Barlow shoved a final bit of birthday cake into his mouth, crumbs sticking to his lips. “No, but I bet I’m about to.”

  Kaitlan’s heart tumbled. She couldn’t be close to Craig, couldn’t kiss him, surely couldn’t sleep with him. The thought of even lying with him on her bed made her shudder. The bed, where he’d killed.

  Steve guffawed. “First he couldn’t get the fire going …”

  What did it matter what her grandfather came up with? Tomorrow was too late. She needed rescuing now.

  “… then he dropped all the marshmallows in the dirt …”

  Kaitlan fled to the restroom.

  She barricaded herself in a stall, leaning her forehead against the door. Six and a half hours, that was all. Her whole life had changed in six and a half hours. It seemed like an eternity. She couldn’t do this.

  “God,” she closed her eyes, “I know I’ve made some mistakes. But please—help me.”

  She exited the stall. Standing next to a woman at the sink, she washed her hands. Kaitlan took her time until the woman left. Then she faced herself in the mirror, wondering how she’d gotten here, where she’d gone wrong. The day she’d walked out of jail she vowed to change her life. She joined a Twelve Step program and committed fully to getting clean. For a year she held two jobs, barely making it, saving every penny she could toward cosmetology school. Some days she wanted to get high so badly she nearly climbed the walls. That’s when prayer helped the most. A California license required six hundred hours of school—thirteen to fourteen months if she worked real hard. Not to mention tuition of around ten thousand dollars. She applied for federal grants. Most went to single moms, but amazingly she got one. God, she thought.

  In cosmetology school over a third of her classmates dropped out after the first four months. It was way more demanding than many of them thought—herself included. At first she found it hard to concentrate, the drugs had so messed up her brain. But slowly her head cleared. She pressed on, determined. When her old car broke down, she took the bus. When she didn’t have money for the bus, she walked. No help from her mother in England, who couldn’t care less. And she was too afraid to ask her grandfather.

  The day she earned her license was the happiest day of her life. Moving to Gayner, finding a place to work, meeting Craig—blessings beyond belief.

  Now it was all about to be taken away.

  The restroom door opened. Sheila and Leslie pushed in, chattering away.

  “Hi.” Kaitlan forced a smile.

  “Hey, Kaitlan!” They disappeared into stalls.

  Straightening her shoulders, Kaitlan returned to the party and Craig.

  An interminable half hour later as they prepared to leave the restaurant, Chief Barlow closed in. “Son.” He shook hands with Craig. “You say goodbye to your sister?”

  Resentment flicked across Craig’s face. “Twice.”

  “Then go say goodbye to Joe.”

  Craig shoved his jaw forward, turned and left.

  The chief leaned toward Kaitlan. “Keep yourself out of trouble now.”

  She gave him a tight smile.

  Craig returned and put his arm around her shoulder. “We’re leaving, Dad.” He spoke the words flatly—I can handle her.

  The chief gave them a mock salute. “Good seeing you both.”

  Craig ushered Kaitlan out the door.

  As they crossed the parking lot he kept his head down, hands in his pockets. “Nice party.”

  “Yeah.” Kaitlan hugged herself against the cold.

  In the Mustang, Craig put the top up for the drive home.

  Kaitlan focused out the window, watching familiar streets go by. They no longer looked friendly.

  Somewhere out there lay a woman’s body. Kaitlan realized she hadn’t noticed if the woman wore a wedding ring. Was some husband going crazy with worry? Children?

  Surely by now she’d been reported missing.

  They reached Kaitlan’s apartment. Her heart pounded and her limbs felt brittle. If Craig touched her she’d break apart.

  Please stay in the car.

  He pulled up behind her Corolla and cut the engine. “I’ll see you inside.”

  The words hit like stones. She opened her door and got out.

  Crickets’ pulsing songs grated her ears. A chilling breeze lifted a strand of her hair, popping goose bumps down her arms.

  The surrounding forest was so dark.

  How had she ever felt safe here? The night seemed to have a thousand eyes.

  Her footsteps sounded loud as she approached the door and unlocked it. Stepping inside her kitchen, she could feel Craig’s looming presence at her back.

  This was insanity. She never should have listened to her grandfather.

  “I won’t be staying,” Craig said as she placed her keys and purse on the table. “Tomorrow I’m on the 6:00 a.m. shift.”

  Relief weakened her knees. She nodded.

  “I’ll just check your place out. Make sure you’re safe.”

  Kaitlan stood like granite as he walked through the living room, into the hall. She clutched the top of a chair, the fingers of her other hand curling into her palm. Get out, Craig, get out! she wanted to scream. The minute he drove away she would throw what she needed into a suitcase and drive like a madwoman to her grandfather’s —

  “Kaitlan. Come here.” He called from the door to her bedroom.

  Something cold and slimy unfolded in Kaitlan’s chest. For a wild moment she pictured herself tearing out the door and into the black forest.

  Where she’d get maybe one hundred feet before Craig caught her. And he’d be furious.

  “Hey! Come here.”

  If he tried to hurt her, she’d fight. She’d tell him that others knew what he’d done, and if anything happened to her, they’d go to the police.

  Yeah, right. The Gayner police.

  Kaitlan did the only thing she could. She walked toward the bedroom.

  twenty-seven

  Silence echoed through the house. A silence that mocked as Margaret waited for the phone to ring.

  She had become accustomed to small noises amid the quiet. The heater kicking on in winter. A newly made ice cube falling in the freezer. The creak of a wall for who knows why, except that the house was old
and perched on a hilltop where the wind whirled between ocean and bay.

  Tonight Margaret heard none of these. Only the ticking, aching silence.

  Dear God, protect Kaitlan.

  Shortly after eight Margaret had tiptoed across the hardwood floor to D.’s office and leaned an ear against the door. No sound from within. Holding her breath she eased open the door, tensing against his sure anger at her intrusion. But she found him in his chair at the computer, legs splayed, head lolled to one side and mouth open. Sleeping.

  On his monitor—a randomly rolling ball against black void.

  She leaned against the door, its knob in her hand as hard as the fist of a corpse.

  Through dinner, while cleaning the kitchen and mopping its floor, she’d clung to the hope that the clear mind D. had displayed with Kaitlan would remain. That given this deadline of all deadlines, he would rise above his weaknesses—because he had to.

  How foolish she’d been.

  Repelled and angered by the futility of the room, she’d shut the office door and hurried away.

  Now Margaret stood in the library, facing the bookcase containing the first editions of D.’s novels. She’d been driven to this place with the sense that something here could help their situation. But what?

  She scanned the ninety-nine books, shelved in order of publication.

  Margaret’s eyes landed on Fractions, D.’s first in his Ben Seitz mathematician-turned-detective series. It was followed by Division and Decimal Point. Margaret’s gaze skipped around then, from Tumult to Ransacked, Perilous Hope to Midnight Vision, In the Making, Out of Madness, Last Speck of Dawn, Black Over Water, Sky Bright, From the Mist. She knew them all. Many she had edited. Those written before she’d started working for D. she’d read on her own. Ninety-nine inciting incidents and story arcs and resolutions, spanning over forty years of work.

  They say a writer’s worldview emerges through his stories. Over the years Margaret had seen an element repeat in D.’s books. After Gretchen died it appeared even more strongly. Through symbolism and subtext throbbed what Margaret had come to call his “vain empires” doctrine, the phrase taken from her favorite passage in Paradise Lost. Always D.’s main characters were in one way or another bent on the dark pursuit of some obsession in their lives—only to discover that their private little empires were all in vain and brought only emptiness.