Slaughter Series

by A. I. Nasser

  Her mother was going to love this. She could already see the I-told-you-so look on the older woman’s face once she found out about the two of them, and wondered if her mother was going to give Alan a one-on-one talk about workplace relationships. That would definitely be interesting.

  Deborah smiled to herself as she rummaged through the refrigerator, her humming slowly turning into a soft singing as she danced to the music in her head. She reached for the eggs and bread, and pondered how hungry Alan would be after last night. She quickly moved to the cupboards, grabbed a pan and set it on the stove, and began looking for a bowl to beat the eggs in.

  She found one on one of the top shelves beside the refrigerator, and pushing herself onto her toes, reached for it clumsily. Her fingers scraped at it, and just as she thought she had gotten a good grip, the bowl slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor with a crash. Deborah gave a yelp as she jumped back from the broken shards, immediately covering her mouth and wincing. She waited, listening for any sign that the noise had woken Alan. Thankfully, she heard nothing, and with a frustrated sigh, quickly started looking around the kitchen for a broom.

  Great work, Debs, she thought to herself. Just what she needed to ruin the moment.

  She tiptoed around the shards, careful not to cut herself, and sighed in frustration when she couldn’t find what she needed. She wondered if Alan even had a broom, thinking of where else he might keep one if not in the kitchen.

  Her eyes fell on the garage door and she smiled to herself.

  Of course it was in the garage.

  Deborah kept her eyes down, watching where she went in case a lonely shard had managed to escape the carnage and punish her clumsiness. She reached for the garage door, opened it, and only looked up once she had crossed the threshold.

  ***

  Rachel Adams walked into Melington Middle School a good hour before everyone else had arrived. The security guard had been surprised to see her and had even offered to walk her in, but she had assured him she was okay. Excuses of paperwork and mid-year exam preparations quickly convinced the man that nothing was out of the ordinary. She didn’t need anyone musing over her broken routine.

  She quickly marched down the hallways to her office and unlocked the doors, throwing her coat and purse onto her secretary’s desk as she fumbled for the filing cabinet keys. Her hands were shaking, and she quickly clasped them together, closing her eyes and breathing in deep as she tried to calm herself down.

  This was a bad idea. She knew it with every inch of her soul. The last time she had been asked to do this, the result was catastrophic, and it took three weeks to clean up the mess. Still, Daniel was right. It couldn’t be helped.

  Rachel silently prayed that Fanning would die a slow and painful death wherever he was.

  Feeling slightly better, she unlocked the cabinets and began sifting through the files, careful to avoid the classes that Deborah or Alan taught. Blake Collins had been a bad call on her part, but it had passed innocently enough. She had never expected that she would be pulling out another name from her roster so soon.

  Her fingers found their way through the files, and she quickly pulled out a few that she remembered might be promising. She opened them quickly, briefly glancing at her watch to make sure that she was still safe before her secretary came in. Rachel knew she didn’t have to explain herself to anyone, but the less she acted out of the ordinary, the safer it was for everyone.

  Names and faces popped out at her from every file she opened, and she could already feel her heartbeat quicken. Her body shivered as she fought back the guilt that threatened to overcome her as she decided the fate of one very unfortunate child. She tried to shrug it off, to be strong as she worked, but there was no denying how she felt about all this. Had she really become this cold?

  Rachel was about the put the files away when something in the last one caught her eye. She scrutinized the contents of the file, noticing the profession of the child’s father as her fingers tapped the company’s name thoughtfully. She winced when she saw that it was one of her daughter’s students, yet again, but it couldn’t be helped. There was no better choice.

  Rachel Adams had found their next victim.

  ***

  Deborah couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She stood frozen inside the garage, staring dumbfounded at the wall in front of her. The faces of dozens of children stared back at her, and a shudder raced through her as she contemplated the creepiness of it all. Multiple threads were strung between various pictures, each surrounded by newspaper clippings, sticky notes and pinned up sheets of paper.

  She felt her feet move on their own, her eyes fixated on the mural of photographs in front of her and she moved closer and closer to the smiling faces. She noticed how their eyes seemed to be following her, and the sheer number of them frightened her deeply. She recognized a few students whose families had either left Melington over the years, or had been victims of tragic accidents that had taken their lives too soon.

  Deborah noticed the boxes that littered the garage space, some neatly packed over each other, others tossed aside carelessly, as if having had been unpacked in a hurry. Dead center of it all stood a large working table, numerous files and stacks of papers organized in batches on top of it.

  Deborah looked back at the wall. Her mind raced with probable explanations as to what it was she was seeing. There had to be a logical reason for it all, something that could explain all this without pointing to a conclusion she couldn’t bear to consider; that maybe Alan wasn’t all he claimed to be, all she thought he was.

  He’s sick, a thought suddenly jumped into her head.

  She remembered the weeks after his sister had disappeared, how he had screamed on and on about a hand that reached out from the sandbox and took his sister away. She had been naïve enough, and young enough, to believe him, but as the years progressed, she had shrugged it all off as a reaction to the trauma.

  She remembered doctors visiting the Carter’s house, how everyone was saying that the loss of his sister had somehow broken his mind. It was one of the main reasons they had moved. She had cried in her mother’s arms after saying goodbye to her best friend, accepting the explanation that Alan had left because he needed help that he couldn’t get in Melington.

  Was that where he had been all this time? Was that why he had never written or called? Had he been locked away somewhere as doctors tried to treat whatever it was that was bothering him?

  Deborah hugged herself as her eyes began to water. She tried to wrap her head around the thoughts that currently plagued her mind. She read scribbled notes in Alan’s handwriting with questions like ‘where are they now?’ and ‘hasn’t registered at any other school in Connecticut.’ Was he still convinced with what he had seen? And if so, how did they let him out?

  Deborah moved towards the table, her hands running over the cold wood as she fingered through some of the files. Her hands suddenly stopped when she noticed the school logo on some of the photocopied sheets, and when she took a closer look, realized what they were. Alan had photocopied files from the school, information that he was not authorized to even have.

  She noticed Blake Collins’ file open to one side, a bunch of telephone numbers jotted down on a sticky-note taped to the boy’s picture. On one side were a bunch of names crossed out randomly, and below them Alan had written, ‘no family member has heard from them yet’.

  “How did you get these?” Deborah whispered to herself, her eyes wide as she looked at the files displayed in front of her.

  “I stole them.”

  Deborah’s head snapped up and she felt her heart skip a beat as she gazed at Alan Carter leaning against the door frame.

  From the Journal of Jeremiah Carter.

  Melington. October 12th, 1826.

  It is quite unusual how my Abbey seems to be in relatively high spirits.

  Of course, I do not dare complain. After what she has been through, what we have both been through, it is quite
refreshing to see the change in her demeanor. I would not trade her cheerful singing and dashing smile for all the riches of the world, yet it does seem out of place, all things considered.

  I find myself still bothered by the Council’s inaction. I know I had promised to remain neutral to all activities from here on out, my presence in the meetings merely a formality associated with my name. However, I catch my hands shaking with frustration as we discuss one useless matter after another, things of no consequence that bear no significance to what truly matters.

  There is no word of what is to be done about my daughter’s killer. Chairman Cole discusses proof and lack of evidence, something I find quite entertaining as he leads us further away from justice. I have voiced my opinion on the matter, opting for higher authorities to take matters into their own hands, but it seems my words fall on deaf ears.

  Evidence! How can we hope to find evidence when we do not search for it?

  Cole has assured me that he has men watching Copper Tibet day and night, waiting for a sign of anything suspicious that might lead to his timely demise. I know they will find nothing. After our interrogations, I doubt anyone will be stepping out of line in the near future. I know that Copper is guilty, I can feel it in my bones, and it angers me that all we can do is watch.

  The fact that we still try to keep this matter within Melington is frustrating and absurd. I have voiced this to my wife, and she has advised me to ride to Hartford and talk to the proper authorities. However, I feel that the Council knows of this plan, as I have often found wandering eyes fixated on me in the marketplace, or when I am drinking at the pub.

  I believe the Council is not only watching Copper, but has its eyes on me as well.

  I have spent countless hours discussing my options with Abbey, and I cannot understand how I have never done this before. She is a wise woman, my Abbey, full of insight and patience. Her words comfort me as she lifts my spirits. The conversations help, letting me know that I am not alone in my dilemmas.

  My Abbey. What would I ever do without her?

  Chapter 13

  “What do you mean, you stole it?”

  Alan sighed, a sad look on his face as he took a step towards Deborah.

  “Don’t!” Deborah’s voice echoed through the garage, stopping his approach. “Don’t come near me!”

  Alan stood completely still, arms crossing his chest as he eyed her carefully. She was obviously furious, but what hurt him was the fear in her eyes. He could only imagine what stumbling across all this would do to someone, and he hated the fact that she had probably jumped to the wrong conclusions. He wanted to comfort her, explain everything, but he could see that she had already assumed the worst.

  “What the hell is this, Alan?” Deborah asked, her voice shaking. “Why do you have pictures of children on your wall?”

  Alan ventured a step forward and instantly stopped when Deborah pointed at him angrily, her face scorning him from across the garage. He sighed heavily and shook his head in dismay.

  “It’s not what you think, okay?” he said.

  “Oh, you have no idea what I think, Alan Carter,” Deborah hissed, and he could see her hands visibly shake as she held up Blake’s photograph. “What is this?”

  “That’s Blake Collins,” Alan replied.

  “I know who it is, dammit!”

  Alan winced as her voice boomed in the closed space. She was visibly crying now, and he fought the urge to rush to her, take her in his arms and comfort her. She was already scared of him. He didn’t need to make it any worse.

  “Why is his file here?” Deborah asked frantically.

  “It’s all research,” Alan said, gesturing with a hand to the wall. “He’s one of the many children that have gone missing in Melington over the years.”

  “Missing?” Deborah asked incredulously, her frown deep as she stared at him in disbelief. “Blake moved away with his father, Alan. I told you that.”

  Alan nodded slowly, knowing that explaining things to her like this would go nowhere. “Deborah, this isn’t the right setting for a proper explanation. Why don’t you just leave the photograph and come back to the living room.”

  Deborah slammed the photo down on the table. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you explain what the hell is going on here!”

  “The Collins didn’t leave, Debbie!” Alan shouted, causing her to flinch. “Blake was taken, okay?”

  “Do you even hear yourself?” Deborah asked. “Do you have any idea how crazy you sound right now?”

  Alan scoffed. “Trust me, they’ve been telling me that for twenty years.”

  Deborah felt a stab in her gut as she quickly realized that her initial assumptions about Alan’s disappearance had been correct. “You still believe your story, don’t you?”

  “Story?”

  “About your sister,” Deborah’s voice was barely a whisper. “You still believe a hand came out and pulled her into the sand.”

  Alan didn’t reply.

  Ever since he had left Melington, his parents had taken him from one doctor to the next, trying to desperately make sense of what had happened to him. Not only did they have to deal with the loss of their daughter, but their only remaining child was convinced of a bodiless hand taking his sister away. He had tried for years to convince everyone that he was telling the truth, and when he couldn’t, he would threaten to run away and look for his sister himself.

  It had only made things worse. Doctors diagnosed him with schizophrenia, and eventually his parents had him locked away in a mental institution, worried that he might try to hurt himself. It had taken him ten years to finally realize that nobody would ever believe him, and that he would have to get to the truth of the matter himself.

  However, he hadn’t expected last night. He hadn’t expected his feelings for Deborah Adams, and he definitely hadn’t expected to be standing here now, trying to explain himself. It was making it so much harder to gather his thoughts into anything remotely coherent.

  “Dammit, Alan, that was twenty years ago!” Deborah almost screamed.

  “I know what I saw, Debbie,” Alan said.

  “You were a kid,” Deborah retorted. “I was a kid. I believed you then, but you can’t honestly think I’d believe you now. Your sister’s dead, Alan, and you’re still chasing ghosts!”

  “I tried!” Alan yelled. “I tried to convince myself otherwise. Everyone tried, Deborah, but I couldn’t. The hand was real!” He pulled at the collar of his shirt. “This scar is real! How I got it is real!”

  “Stop it!” Deborah cried out, covering her face with her hands. “Please, Alan, just stop it.”

  Alan was about to reply when he decided it best to do as she wanted. Deborah raised her head up, her eyes red as she stared at him sadly and shook her head in disbelief. He could see that he wasn’t going to be able to get to her, that anything else he said would fall on deaf ears. She looked from him to the pictures on the wall to the files on the workstation.

  “Does anyone else know about these?” she asked, pointing at the photocopies of the school files.

  Alan shook his head.

  Deborah gazed at him for what seemed like forever before nodding. “You need help, Alan,” she said, her tone measured as she got a hold of herself. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but you do.”

  Alan shook his head in frustration, angry that she wasn’t even trying to consider the truth behind his words. If only she knew everything. If only she would give him a chance to explain.

  “I won’t say anything about this,” she said, “but I don’t want to have anything to with it.” She looked at him solemnly, her eyes tearing up again. “I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

  Alan felt like the world had suddenly decided to take a break and lean over on his shoulders. He felt heavy, and try as he could, he couldn’t bring himself to reply to that. Deborah just stared at him, and when it was apparent that she would get nothing in the way of a reaction she wanted, she ma
rched forward and past him.

  Alan grabbed her by the arm, and immediately felt a pain in his chest when she tensed at his touch.

  “Deborah,” he whispered.

  “Let me go, Alan,” she said calmly, firm in her determination to leave. “Don’t do this.”

  Alan held on for a few more seconds before reluctantly loosening his grip as her arm slipped away. He heard her feet padding across the floor and up the stairs, and every inch of him wanted to run after her and stop her before she walked out of his life completely.

  But, he didn’t.

  Alan stood still in his place, angry and frustrated, and did nothing even after he listened to her walk out the front door and slam it shut.

  ***

  Sheriff Fiona Bright walked through the Melington Hospital’s sliding doors and made her way to the front desk. She was in a hurry, and it was annoying just how much pressure the Chairman was putting on her. Fanning’s disappearance was on her, and Daniel Cole had taken it upon himself to make sure she remembered that with every phone call.

  The doctor had voiced concerns over his role in what the Council was doing, and over the past year had grown restless and guilt-ridden. It had been Fiona’s task to keep an eye on him and make sure he continued his work like a good little soldier, but Fanning had been able to slip away. She was determined not to make any more mistakes.

  The Sheriff idled to the front desk and rapped her fingers gently to get the nurse’s attention. The burly woman looked up from her clipboard and immediately flashed Fiona a wide smile.

  “Sheriff, what a surprise!” the nurse greeted.

  “How are you Gene?” Fiona smiled back.

  “Good, good,” Gene replied, dropping her clipboard on her desk and trudging to Fiona. “Slow days are good days. What can I do for you?”