Cecilia took in a long breath, filling her lungs. She was starting to feel nearly human again. “You have been really sweet hanging with me like this, but I know that you manipulated me into coming along.”
What was it with guys? Jeremy lying to their mother? John harassing her? Michael withholding tickets from Francesca and Helen?
“I still have no clue about what you mean.”
As the rain came down with more vigor, Cecilia stretched her neck.
“I know that you told Helen and Francesca that they couldn’t come unless they convinced me to come along.”
Michael chuckled. “They said that, did they?”
“Look, I’m not even mad. I just need to get my stomach settled so that I can find Jeremy. Him, I am mad at.”
Carefully, she took a step away from the post. The world only spun a little bit. It might take her half an hour, but she would make it up to the mansion before the storm hit in force.
“Just one little problem with that theory,” Michael said, as he hovered near her.
“And that would be?”
Michael grinned. “I never said that. As a matter of fact, I told them the tickets were theirs.”
“What?” Cecilia asked, even though she had heard every word he had said.
“I even told them that they could invite another girl along, since you seemed pretty adamant that you did not want any part of this.”
“Crap,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I’m sorry. I should have realized Machiavellian Helen was behind this.”
He shrugged. “Hey, we devil-worshipping heathens are used to being typecast.” Michael shuffled his feet.
“What is it?” Cecilia asked, a little afraid to hear the answer.
Still, he looked down at the tip of his shoe, digging into the moistened ground. “I … Um … I’m not sure they really saw Jeremy.”
“What?” Cecilia apparently couldn’t stop asking that question. But seriously, what?
“I had my suspicions back at the car. But just now, when you asked them to look for Jeremy, Francesca looked pretty darn guilty, and Helen made the ‘zip it’ gesture behind your back.”
Cecilia groaned, and had to reach out for Michael to support her again. Her knees felt weak as her head spun again. So she had just gone through the worst boat ride of her life, puked her guts up in front of a somewhat-cute guy, and for what? Because Helen wanted a part in the remake of Dangerous Liaisons?
Oh, she was going to wring Helen’s neck. That is, once she could stand up on her own.
“Sorry,” he said. “I just didn’t want you worrying about Jeremy all night.”
Sighing, Cecilia allowed herself to relax a bit against Michael. “No, I’m sorry. I should have known it was the sticking-their-noses-where-they-don’t-belong twins at work.”
“It’s okay. It let us—”
Before Michael could finish his thought, a thought Cecilia wanted to hear, a mime, an angry mime, came running down the path at them. The black and white face makeup smeared with the rain. The red “blood” at the edges of his lips looked fake. But the anger in his eyes was not.
He made frantic movements toward the mansion.
“What does he want?” Cecilia asked.
The mime made a “wall” in front of him, then punched through it, and acted like he tossed a ball toward the mansion.
“I have no idea …” Michael answered.
“It means, get in the damned house!” the mime shouted.
“Okay, then,” Michael said, as he escorted her behind the mime, who was still mumbling to himself.
For the first time in a long while, Cecilia laughed.
* * *
“Thanks,” Paxton said, as Ruth handed him a coffee. Black.
“Having any more luck than I am?” Ruth asked.
Paxton clunked one heel up onto his desk and then the next, stretching out as best he could in his chair. It was the equivalent of going to the gym when deep in a case.
“You can only go through so many animal-sacrificing freaks before you want to sacrifice yourself. You know what I mean?”
Ruth nodded. “And who knew there were so many disturbed individuals within a hundred-mile radius?”
Paxton took a swig of the hot coffee. It nearly burned as it went down, but it was oh, so good. Now, if he just had a porterhouse to go with it…
Instead, though, he pulled his feet off the desk and tapped a stack of files on its edge. “Which is why I decided to reverse-engineer this puppy. I went back to investigate the MO, trying to establish a pattern to the killer’s choices, but I pulled up blank.”
Opening the files, he pointed down the list. “Although there is something about the names. I don’t know, like there may be a theme there, but it is just out of reach.”
Ruth leaned in, her necklace swaying over the files as she read the names aloud. “Roger Landing. María Sanchón. Father Marc Gonzales. Arnie Hoffman.” She stood up again, to Paxton’s disappointment. He was getting used to her body heat radiating toward him.
“I don’t see a—” Ruth cocked her head the way she did right before she went all smart on him. “Well, if it helps, those are all early Christian names.”
“Roger?”
Ruth nodded. “Which is a modern version of Rogellus, yes.”
“Arnie?” Paxton asked.
“Arnus, yep,” Ruth responded. “And not just Christian names, but names of martyrs.”
“Wow. You paid a lot more attention in Sunday school than I did.”
Abruptly, Ruth moved away from his desk and sat down at hers.
Paxton looked right, and then left. What just happened? “Um, did I say something wrong there?”
His partner bit her lip, seeming to go deep within herself. When Ruth finally looked up, she leaned forward, speaking only loud enough for Paxton to hear.
“No, it’s from my ex. Reading aloud from ancient Scripture was his idea of an exciting after-dinner activity with the family. You know, before he left me and Evan for a monastery.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Ruth held up her hand, though. “I know the rumors going around. I just don’t like to add fuel to the fire.” Her head cocked again.
“What is it?” Paxton asked, having a hard time keeping up with her mood.
“What were the dates on those deaths?” she asked.
Fumbling to keep up, Paxton flipped through the files. “September 16th, October 17th, and one yesterday on the 30th, and the last on the 31st.”
“Oh, no! I don’t know why I didn’t see it before,” Ruth said, as she nearly ransacked her desk. “Do you happen to have The Vatican’s Guide to Christianity handy?”
“Um, gosh, no,” Paxton replied hoping the sarcasm really came through. “I must have left it at home.”
Ruth didn’t even register his sarcasm. Instead, she yelled down to a detective at the other end of the bull pen. “O’Malley. You Catholic?”
The younger detective stiffened. “Yeah. What of it?”
Ruth rose and crossed over to him. Paxton couldn’t help but follow.
“Do you have the Pocket Guide to the Feast Days?”
O’Malley squirmed in his seat. “Maybe.”
Paxton’s partner extended her hand. “Out with it.”
The redheaded detective dug around in his back pocket and produced the slim pamphlet. “Look, I only carry it around because my mom gave it to me for my wedding.”
Ruth rapidly flipped through the guide. “Damn it! Saint Rogellus’ feast day is September 16th. What’s the next one?”
Paxton opened the file. “María on October 17th.”
She frowned. “Which is exactly Saint Maria’s feast day. Marc’s is October 30th. And Arnus’ is October 31st. Here is the pattern,” she said excitedly.
“I’m sorry, I still don’t quite get it.” Paxton hated feeling behind the curve.
Ruth brought the feast day guide up next to the list of victims.
“Whoa! That is obscure,” Paxton said, as the logic began to filter through. But that meant that the feast day guide was a guide to the killer’s agenda. “Anyone that we should be worried about tonight?”
“Good question,” Ruth answered as she flipped through the pages again. “Let’s see… Begu, Erc, Follian, Quentin, Wolfgang.”
“Whew,” Paxton whistled out, feigning wiping sweat off his forehead. “Luckily, there aren’t a lot of folks going by those names.”
“Wait!” Ruth jumped in. “Not necessarily. The killer has already shown that he will settle for the modern derivation of the saint’s name. Begu went through several corruptions to become Gwen. Erc is ancient Irish for Eric—”
“I get it, I get it,” Paxton said, surrendering to her logic once more. “But would he strike again this soon?”
“Oh, God,” O’Malley said, as he made the sign of the cross.
“What?” Ruth asked.
“Do you know what tomorrow is?” O’Malley asked, more spooked than Paxton had ever seen the detective.
Then Ruth’s face went several shades paler. “Oh, no …”
“What? What are you guys talking about?” Paxton asked looking at either one of them to explain what had them so freaked out.
With a tremor in her voice, Ruth stated, “Tonight is All Hallow’s Eve.”
“Yes, and…?”
“Tomorrow is All Saints Day,” she finished, sitting down hard in the chair next to O’Malley’s desk.
Finally, O’Malley found his voice again. “It is the feast day for all of ’em. It’s one of the highest days of devotion to the saints. It’s when you pay homage to them all…”
Oh crap. That’s why they were both freaked out. “Or in this case, the killer has a field day killing off the surrogates.”
* * *
Cecilia nearly tripped on her own shoe as the mime rushed them into the towering front doors of the mansion. By now, it was pouring out there, and even she was grateful for the shelter of the house. Or she would have been, if there weren’t several hundred screaming teens in the ballroom.
And the more she looked at the surroundings, the more Cecilia didn’t mind a bit of rain. “Bodies” hung from the ceiling. Spider webs covered the walls. “Blood” was spilled in copious amounts across, well, everything. Clearly KMNY spared no expense in trying to create the ultimate eerie environment. They had succeeded a bit too well for Cecilia’s taste. But there was no going back outside, as the mime had locked the front door. His glare got her moving toward the loud and crowded ballroom.
The vaulted ceiling must have been at least two stories high above them. Cecilia found her feet stalling to enter the cavern of throbbing, hopped-up-on-fear teens. Behind her, a woman definitely not dressed for the part grumbled to the mime, “If I ever volunteer to chaperone another Diana Dahmer concert, shoot me.”
Cecilia couldn’t agree more. Especially with her stomach rolling again, it seemed it wasn’t quite as used to dry land as she had hoped.
The mime threw his hands up. “You? You get to wear regular clothes. Look at me!”
“Life’s hell when you’re an intern. Now be quiet, and go scare some kids.”
The mime cursed something under his breath and pushed past Cecilia and Michael.
“Hey!” Michael said, but the talkative mime simply hurried on. Michael looked at Cecilia and must have noticed that her cheeks flushed again. “We had better get something for your stomach.”
Cecilia managed to nod. “Crackers or bread.”
They entered the ballroom, but Michael kept them close to the wall, avoiding the crush of dancing maniacs. Their keepers weren’t much better. The ushers were dressed in vampire, werewolf, and zombie costumes. Again, the common theme was copious amounts of blood—not exactly reassuring. But that did not seem to be the point. KMNY wasn’t kidding. It really seemed like they wanted everyone to stain their shorts.
An announcer dressed as a mortician came onstage as the crowd went wild.
“Now my victims, I mean, guests…”
The audience went berserk for no apparent reason, thought Cecilia.
“Our K-Money crew will be coming around with unbelievable ‘trick-or-treat’ prizes, so be on the lookout!” Slowly, music began to swell. “And whatever you do, don’t go roaming the haunted hallways. We can’t vouch for your safety, if you know what I mean!” As the music intensified, Cecilia cringed. The crowd felt ready to bring down the house. “I know you are just dying to see Diana Dahmer. But first, let’s welcome Face Down to the stage!”
As the music thumped and the singer screamed his lyrics, Michael finally guided them to a large buffet. Only Cecilia took one look and almost hurled. Instead of “food,” the tables were loaded with what looked like torn limbs, a torso with the ribs torn out, and a head with a knife sticking out of it.
“It’s okay. It’s really just chicken salad.” Michael tried to reassure her, but Cecilia had seen enough, and stumbled back. “Let’s find somewhere for you to sit down.”
Cecilia didn’t fuss when Michael led her away from the table and deeper into the huge ballroom.
Could this night get any worse?
* * *
“Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh!” Evan kept whispering under his breath.
Jeremy elbowed him a good one. “Shh!”
Cecilia had barely moved from the buffet. Ducking under the table had been their only option. What in the heck was his sister doing here? She hated, no, loathed, Diana Dahmer. He had planned for a lot of contingencies tonight, but that wasn’t one of them.
He peeked out from under the black lace tablecloth. Cecilia was out of sight.
“Okay. I think it is clear.”
But Evan shook his head, clutching his backpack to his chest. “That’s it. I’m out. I am done.”
Jeremy jostled his friend’s arm. “You can’t chicken out. I’ve got big plans.”
“Not with me. I can’t. I mean, I can’t get busted.”
“Fine, then stay here all night. But don’t get all bummed after you see what I pull off.”
Not waiting for his friend, Jeremy scrambled out from under the table and made for the back hallways. He did not need an escort. Not where he was going.
* * *
Ruth entered “Marcus,” “Saint,” and “Death,” into the search bar. Sure enough, a picture of Saint Marcus came up… upside down crucifixion and everything.
“Marcus, too,” Ruth stated.
Paxton nodded across the desk. “Rogellus had his feet cut off.”
Actually, Ruth was pretty certain that he had all of his limbs severed, but close enough. She looked up into her partner’s eyes.
“So not only is the killer choosing his victims and their dates of death on a saint’s feast day…”
“He is replicating the manner of their deaths,” Paxton finished for her.
The level of disassociation this would take ... To practice such premeditation to commit such acts of horror? How could anyone do such a thing? And then go on with their lives?
“But where does that get us?” Paxton asked. “Plus, why start six weeks ago? And how does Diana Dahmer fit into this?”
O’Malley looked at them both. “You are kidding, right?”
“No,” Ruth answered for both of them.
“Diana Dahmer’s new album is called Make Me A Martyr, and it dropped a day before the first killing.”
“What is she like, the new Lady Goo-Goo?” Paxton asked as Ruth typed.
The younger detective rolled his eyes. “It’s Gaga. Diana Dahmer is a guy.” From Paxton’s more confused look, O’Malley explained. “He took Princess Di’s first name and Jeffrey Dahmer’s last name. Diana Dahmer.”
“Oh, obviously,” Paxton said, hoping some of the sarcasm dripped onto O’Malley.
&nb
sp; Ruth’s fingers flew across her keyboard. “So we need to get the lyrics to all the songs, and—”
O’Malley snorted, drawing Ruth’s attention.
“You have something to add, detective?” his partner asked.
“I mean, I am just saying that if your killer is really this hard-core a Dahmer fan, he isn’t going to act on anything available to the public.”
Paxton leaned forward. “Then what would they go off of?”
“Easter eggs.”
“What?” Ruth asked. They seemed to be going farther and farther afield. She could feel how close the killer was to striking again. Perhaps in a few hours. They really did not need to be discussing some stupid pop culture phenom.
“Easter eggs,” O’Malley repeated, “You know. Secret codes that lead to secret Web pages with secret content. Easter eggs.”
Ruth looked at Paxton, who looked equally confused.
“Or maybe a disguised QR code?” O’Malley added.
“A what?” Paxton asked.
“Quick Response Code.” O’Malley looked them both up and down. “You two do get out and interact with the world, besides just interrogating people, right?”
All right. She did not need to necessarily understand a trend to investigate it. “So I just need to search for QR codes and Diana Dahmer ‘Easter eggs.’ ”
“Tell me you’re playing this whole stuck-in-the-’80s thing up?” O’Malley laughed. “These extras are like gold to fans. If anyone is caught posting these things in public, they are, like, banned for life. The only way to get one of these codes is to purchase the CD.”
Ruth sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was support Diana Dahmer, but sometimes you had to suck it up. “Sounds like a trip to Mega-Music.”
Paxton shook his head and pulled on his jacket. “No need.”
“But I thought we needed the actual CD?” With O’Malley looking ready to correct her, Ruth hurried on, “Or MP3, QR thing.”
“Unfortunately,” Paxton went on, “I know exactly where we can find what we need.”
“I don’t understand,” Ruth said, as she hurried after her partner.
“You will when we get there.”
CHAPTER 6
The killer watched the boy catch the girl as she stumbled toward the bathroom. She held her midriff and made a god-awful retching sound. They were both oblivious to his stealth approach. It really was easier than taking candy from a baby. Some of those toddlers were pretty darn tenacious.
Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection) Page 39