Suddenly the gun was gone. But a strong arm was wrapped around Sam’s neck, pressing against his windpipe.
Todd’s voice was deep and jagged. “If you were on my side, Sam, you wouldn’t be moving in on my girl.”
Sam could hardly breathe. He struggled, trying to free himself.
“She’s mine,” said Todd. “Lola will always be mine.”
Sam’s vision was going dark around the edges.
“You’re not going to die now,” breathed Todd. “You’re just going to go to sleep so that I can get away. Good night, Sam.”
More pressure on his neck, expertly applied.
And everything faded out.
* * *
“Did you see him?” asked the police officer, a no-nonsense woman with a dark ponytail.
“No, it’s like I said, he was behind me,” said Sam.
“So, can you be sure it was Nicholas Todd?”
“I’m sure it was him. I recognized his voice.”
The officer raised her eyebrows.
“I’ve met him before.” Sam kept rubbing his neck, which was sore. “I’m writing a book. I went to visit him in prison.”
The officer squinted. “Oh, yeah. That’s why you look familiar. I saw you on the news.”
Sam stroked his neck. “Can I get some water?”
“Sure,” said the officer. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”
Sam slumped in the chair next to her desk. He’d woken up in his car, alone, and he’d called the police right away. Since Nicholas Todd was a big deal, wanted by the FBI and everything, he’d had to come into the station for further questioning. At this point, he felt like he’d been repeating the same story over and over again.
He wondered if this was why people started lying in interrogation. Maybe they just got bored.
The officer came back with a paper cup full of water.
Sam took it. “Thanks.”
“So, why’d you visit him in prison?”
“To interview him for the book,” said Sam. “I wanted to get some quotes, get an impression of him.”
“And what was your impression?”
“He’s creepy.” Sam sipped at the water.
The officer cocked her head to one side.
What? Didn’t she appreciate that assessment? Sam peered down into his water. He wasn’t going to talk anymore unless people asked him direct questions. He felt like he’d been talking and talking for hours. At least he didn’t feel drunk anymore. He was pretty sure that Nicholas Todd had scared the drunk right out of him.
Another officer came over to the two of them and touched the woman who’d been interviewing Sam on the shoulder. “Fed’s here.”
The officer smiled at Sam. “Come on. You got someone else who wants to talk to you.”
* * *
Sam stepped into the interrogation room, looking around. “Am I, um, in trouble or something?” He was beginning to worry that they were never going to let him go home.
A man in a suit crossed the room to shake his hand. “I’m Adam Cross. FBI. I’ve been assigned Todd’s case. I just want to ask you a couple of questions. Have a seat.” He gestured to the other side of the table in the room.
Sam sat down.
The officers who’d escorted Sam here handed Cross a few folders.
Cross came and sat down across from Sam. He looked to be in his early thirties. He could have used a shave. Of course, maybe he’d been woken up to come here. If the guy worked in D.C., then that was only maybe an hour’s drive. Heck, forty minutes at this time of night when there was no traffic. And, of course, maybe he lived somewhere closer. Hell, maybe he lived in Frederick. Lots of people commuted to D.C. from this area. Daphne had done it for a few years.
Cross flipped through the folders, reading stuff that was written down and then looking up at Sam.
Sam was starting to feel nervous. He didn’t like the way that Cross was staring him down.
Cross went back to what he was reading. He set the folder down on the table. “So, he threatened to kill you but changed his mind, that right?”
“Not exactly,” said Sam. “He said that he was going to wait to kill me until the time was right, and that in the interim, he was going to kill substitutes.”
“Oh, right,” said Cross, scanning the report in front of him again. “And he threatened Lola Ward as well?”
“That’s right,” said Sam.
“And you know Lola because…?”
“I’m writing a book about her,” said Sam.
Cross eyed him. “You’re not her boyfriend.”
“No.” Sam rubbed his forehead.
“But, Nicholas Todd thinks you are.” Cross pointed at the report.
“That’s right,” said Sam.
“And why does he think that if it isn’t true?”
“I don’t know,” said Sam. “He’s crazy. Or I guess he saw me on the news with Lola.”
“Right.” Cross rubbed his whiskers. “Look, I never read any of your books. I don’t find crime entertaining anymore, considering it’s my job. But I know of you. I remember seeing that one book Stolen all over the place a few years back. It did pretty well, I guess.”
Sam shrugged. “It did.”
“This development must be, uh, pretty exciting for you.”
Sam furrowed his brow. “What development?”
“Well, it’s great for the book, isn’t it? You’re writing a book about Nicholas Todd, and then he escapes from jail. That’s pretty fortuitous.”
“No, it’s not,” said Sam. “It’s really not. Not when he’s trying to shoot me and threatening my life. That’s pretty much the opposite of fortuitous.”
“But even so, it’s great stuff to write about, isn’t it?”
“What? Practically pissing my pants in my own car?” Sam shook his head. “I write about things that happened in the past, to other people. Nothing about this is great.”
Cross stared at him. He tapped a pen against his lip.
“Are you accusing me of helping him escape, like they were saying on the news?” Sam felt his throat tighten. “Because there’s nothing about having Nicholas Todd out of jail that’s good for me. Nothing.”
Cross shrugged. “I didn’t say anything like that, Mr. Black. But it’s interesting you brought it up.”
Sam could hardly swallow. He poured water down his throat, almost choking on it. This guy suspected him, and now he’d done something to make himself look guilty. He didn’t know what to do.
Keep your mouth shut, he told himself. Don’t talk unless he asks you something.
“Let’s just go back a little bit, shall we?” said Cross. “So, Todd was in your car when you got in it. How do you think he got in?”
“I, uh… I don’t know. I maybe left it unlocked.”
“You don’t usually lock your car.”
“I usually do, but I might not have been thinking about it. It was unlocked when I got back to it. I don’t have any memory one way or the other.”
“You didn’t know he was there when you got in the car.”
“No.”
“So, then what?”
“Well, then he put the gun in my face and started talking to me.”
“And that was when he told you that he was going to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“But not until the time was right.”
Sam nodded.
Cross sighed. “That’s weird, don’t you think?”
Sam shrugged.
Cross went back to flipping through the folders. “You’re writing a book about this guy—”
“Actually, it’s more about Lola.”
“Okay, but he’s in the book. You’ve spent time thinking about him. You write about crime, so you might have some insight into the criminal mind. Does this seem like Nicholas Todd to you?”
Sam drank more water. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Well, you know the case, don’t you?” Cross sounded casual, but Sam di
dn’t trust him. Cross was probably setting him up to sound guilty about something else. “You know what kind of killings he did before. How would you characterize them?”
Sam fidgeted. What was the right answer here? “Bloody?”
Cross chuckled. “No, I mean, how premeditated of a killer does Todd seem to be?”
Sam cleared his throat. “Well… he must have planned out killing Lola’s parents. He knew how to get into the house. He came with a weapon.”
“Sure, sure,” said Cross. “But the other murders? The ones on the road?”
Sam rubbed his neck again. “I guess he just killed whoever he came across.”
“Exactly,” said Cross. “Who does that, anyway? Who plans out one murder and then randomly kills a bunch of other people? What kind of killer is that?”
Sam didn’t say anything.
“I got a preliminary sort of profile on Nicholas Todd,” said Cross. “According to that, he wouldn’t be likely to kill again. All just guesswork, of course. No way to know what he’s actually going to do until he does it.”
Why was Cross going on about this? Sam drank more of his water. He finished it in one big gulp.
“And you didn’t see his face, right?”
“You don’t think it was him?” Sam was incredulous.
“I didn’t say that,” said Cross. “You didn’t see his face. He threatened to kill you, but he didn’t kill you. Now, as far as we know, Todd has never done anything like that before. If he’s been in a position to kill, he’s killed. So, if he wanted to kill you, why wouldn’t he kill you?”
“How would I know?”
Cross nodded. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t. Weird, though. Whole thing’s weird. Weird enough that it could almost be… made up, don’t you think?”
“Made up?” Sam glared at him. “What are you saying?”
“Boy, you sure are defensive, aren’t you?” Cross smiled. “Guess we’ll see if you end up spinning this little story into more free publicity for your upcoming book. That would be a hard opportunity to pass up.”
Sam was starting to feel pretty indignant. “I didn’t make this up. He was there. He threatened me. He’s going to kill me. You should have people staking out my house, not only for my protection, but to find this guy. He’s obviously planning to come after me.”
“Oh, I’m sure the department will be in touch with your local department. They’ll keep an eye on you.”
“I live in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia,” said Sam. “The police department there has a staff of maybe five people.”
Cross was still smiling. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Black.”
* * *
It was after three in the morning before Sam made it back to his house. He pulled into his driveway and looked up at the dark building, tucked back against the bare-limbed trees. The house looked empty and quiet. It seemed to look back down at him.
Sam was exhausted. He felt like he had the beginnings of a hangover, a tightness behind his temples and a dry mouth. He wanted nothing more than to go to sleep.
He got out of his car. He cast a glance up at his house and realized he hadn’t locked the door. He never bothered with locking anything out here. He’d never had any problems. It was quiet and safe around here, and it didn’t matter if the doors were unlocked or not.
He felt a shiver of fear crawl up his back.
How had Nicholas Todd known which car was his? Had Todd been following him? Could Todd have followed him home?
Hell, maybe Todd had already followed him back to this house. Maybe he knew all about it.
Maybe Todd had eased his way into Sam’s darkened, unlocked house and was now waiting for him inside.
A cold wind whipped down the mountain, taking Sam’s breath away.
Sam huddled against it, head down.
His car door was still open. The light inside burned a small circle of illumination onto his yard, which was scattered with dry leaves.
The wind picked up the leaves and made them whisper to each other, dry secrets as they danced down his driveway.
Sam turned in a circle.
He didn’t see anyone.
He thought about calling the police, but he wasn’t sure what they would say. He had been assured that the Harpers Ferry department had been alerted to the possibility of Todd being in the area. But at this time of night, there was no one there. If he called 911, he’d probably get the state police who were still on patrol. Maybe someone from Charles Town.
What would they do? Look over his house?
And if no one was there, he was going to look like an idiot.
Sam swallowed.
He shut the door to his car. The sound echoed through the night air.
Sam pulled his coat tighter around himself. He started up the driveway. The pavement was dark. His feet crunched on the dead leaves as he walked.
The wind picked up again.
Sam cringed against it.
He came to the steps, leading to his porch. He put his hand on the railing and began to ascend. The steps needed another coat of wood stain, because they were starting to get pretty water damaged. They swayed a little as he climbed up. Creaked. They weren’t too strong.
With each step he took, the stairs moaned softly under his feet.
If Todd was in the house, he could hear Sam approaching, that was for sure.
Sam took a deep breath. Todd couldn’t be in the house.
Well, he actually could. There was no reason for him not to be. He could have found this place. And there was nothing keeping him out.
The steps groaned.
He stepped up the last one and now stood on the porch. He surveyed the patio furniture that was still out here. He should have brought it in during the fall. There was a shed out back. That was where it was supposed to be stored.
Now, he made sure to peer behind the chairs and table, looking to make certain no one was crouching in the pools of darkness.
Were the spaces there big enough to hide someone like Todd?
Why hadn’t Sam moved this stuff a long time ago?
He took slow steps forward, craning his neck.
Everything seemed silent and still.
He grasped the arms of one of the chairs and dragged it forward. It scraped against the wooden porch.
Nothing there.
The other chair.
No, nothing there either.
He crouched down, feeling around under the table.
There was no one on the porch.
He straightened, laughing softly to himself. He was freaking himself out for no reason, wasn’t he?
And then the wind whistled through again, icy fingers reaching inside his coat to chill his skin.
He rushed into the house, yanking open the door and tugging it closed after him.
It was dark inside, and there was no sound except for his ragged breath. He found the door knob, locking it. Locking the dead bolt.
He tried to calm his breathing.
He needed to turn on the light. Light would banish all of this, would make his house bright and safe.
He stumbled through the darkness for the light switch.
But then he hesitated, his hand on it.
He had a flash, an image, that he would turn on the light and that Todd would be there, right in front of him, waiting, baring his teeth.
But it wasn’t the Todd he’d seen in prison that he pictured.
It was the Todd that Lola had described, his eyes darkened with eyeliner, strands of black hair hanging in his blood-spattered face. He wore a dark hoodie, the sleeves dripping red. A bloody baseball bat dangled from one hand.
For a second, Sam was seized with the fear that he’d turn on the light and see that monster standing in front of him.
Todd would lift up the baseball bat, and he’d say, I’m doing this for you, baby.
Sam would cower, lifting his hands.
But Todd would bring down the bat anyway, slamming it into Sam’s flesh, crunching his bo
nes, making his blood splatter…
Sam’s heart stammered in his chest.
He flicked on the light.
There was no Todd. There was only his living room, looking exactly the way he’d left it, right down to the empty glass he’d been drinking bourbon out of earlier.
Sam crossed the room and picked it up. His heart was still beating out of control. He strode into the kitchen with the glass. He turned on the light in there too. He put the glass in the sink.
There’s no one here, he told himself.
But Sam still felt that itching, crawling feeling on the back of his neck. He needed to be sure.
He tore through the kitchen, opening the pantry door, flicking on the light in there.
He opened the cabinets, the refrigerator, even though they were too small to contain anyone, certainly not someone as hulking as Todd.
There was no one there.
Sam started down the hallway.
He opened the hall closet. He turned on the light.
No one.
He moved aside blankets and towels, digging inside, searching.
Nothing.
He threw open the door to the guest room. Nothing there besides the bed and the scattered, unpacked boxes he’d still never got to. He flung open the closet there.
Empty.
He went into his office, turning on the overhead light and his desk lamp. It was messy in there, and it smelled of stale coffee. Sam eyed the cluster of coffee mugs that sat on the corner of his desk. He really needed to wash those.
But there was no one in his office, no one under or behind the desk, no one in the closet, no one skulking behind the door.
Still, his heart beat like a brass band.
He scrambled out of that room.
Across the hall, the door to the bathroom stood open. Sam went over to it. He put his hand on the door and slowly pushed inward. The door groaned on its hinges.
He saw the gleam of the faucet on the sink in the darkness, and then he flipped on the light.
The bathroom appeared empty, but the shower curtain was pulled closed.
Sam seized it and tore it aside.
There was nothing in the tub besides his soap and shampoo.
He took a few breaths. See, you’re crazy, he told himself. Nothing here.
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