The Haunting of Secrets

by Shelley R. Pickens

  Again, the boys share an uncomfortable look, like they want to leave, but loyalty to their fallen friend has cemented them to their chairs. Leah sighs heavily; she’s had about enough caring for one day.

  “You guys gonna sit there and stare at me all night? Because I have work to do and I need to get back to it.”

  Logan gives her a quizzical look as he leans in closer to her, their arms almost touching. “Work huh? What kind of work is so important that you forget to live? I’d sure be interested in that. Wouldn’t you, Tyler?” Logan asks as he glances at his companion sitting next to him.

  “Yep, super interested actually. So what has you so enthralled on that computer, Leah?” Tyler asks moving his chair closer to her.

  Exasperated, Leah folds her arms over the computer, hoping that the boys would just leave. “Well, it’s none of your damn business so you two can just forget about what I’m working on and leave.” If only it were that easy.

  “Oh come on! Tell us. Is it another program like you created for Daniel to help when he played HALO? That was a sweet setup.”

  Appeased by his words, Leah relaxes a little since her programming abilities are something she’s actually willing to discuss. “That was nothing really, just a simple gateway to go around the programming and help him win. It made him happy so that is...was all that mattered.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Leah, that was an amazing program you gave him,” Logan interjects steering the conversation away from Daniel. “Are you working on another one? Can I see it?” he asks, moving his hands towards Leah’s computer to lift up the screen.

  Leah stops him before he has a chance to peek at what she’s been working on. “Just gathering some information on people at our school, nothing cool. But if I do another program like that, I promise to send it along to you, ok? For now though, I need to get back to work.”

  “Okay. But in the meantime, remember that we’re all here for you if you need anything,” says Logan.

  “You don’t have to go through any of this alone,” Tyler assures her.

  “I know and thanks for offering, boys, but I’m going to be fine.”

  “Well, we’ll leave you to it then. We’re glad to see you doing better,” Tyler says as he pushes himself out of the chair and moves to give Leah a hug.

  Leah allows this, grateful to share some of her unspoken grief with him. She puts her arms around Tyler and holds on tightly, absorbing as much of his strength as she can before she once again has to do it on her own. Tyler doesn’t move to end the hug until she’s ready. After a bit, Leah breaks away, sits back down into her seat and opens up her computer, effectively dismissing them both from her thoughts.

  Leah clandestinely watches as Logan and Tyler make their way out of Starbucks and get into a car parked just out front. Why the sudden interest in her and the work she does? When Daniel was alive, they never cared that much. Huh. Maybe her grief is making her see things that aren’t really there. Leah turns her attention back to her screen, the strange conversation with Logan and Tyler all but forgotten. Refocused, she continues her work on finding out who killed Daniel. Revenge is all she has time for now. And revenge she will have. It’s never a good idea to piss off a hacker. Especially not one that’s hacked into secret documents housed in the Pentagon—twice.

  Chapter Twelve

  ~ The Battle Within ~

  I wake up in darkness. I’m sweating and have no idea where I am. A loud scream comes from across the room. It’s close. The sound excites me. I slowly rise from my perch in the corner and make my way across the room. The floor is wet and cold on my bare feet, but it only exhilarates me, makes me feel more alive. I look down and see the knife in my hand, turning it over and over again, the cold steel calming me. Up ahead a soft light comes into view. Moving closer, I see her lying in the middle of the bed. Her arms and legs are tied up and all she has on is her underwear. She’s whimpering in her sleep. It’s music to my ears.

  Slowly, I make my way around the bed, careful not to startle her just yet. I take my knife and use it to caress the area between her breasts, follow it down over her stomach, and in one fell swoop, cut her lightly all the way to her navel. Excitement bubbles up inside me; so much that I am afraid I will burst at any moment from the sheer magnitude of it. She awakens with a start, as she is finally alerted to my presence. Terror fills her eyes as she realizes who has come to tuck her in. She braces herself for what she knows is coming, but doesn’t struggle. I grow angry since she’s not giving me what I want, to see pain and terror in her eyes. Well, no worries. I can make her feel terror.

  I hold out my knife and show it to her as I begin moving it back and forth in front of her eyes, making damn sure she can see the instrument of her destruction. I bring the knife closer and closer to her face, watching her eyes follow its path. Her eyes are wide and afraid as they follow the point of the knife until I move it lower and lower, pricking her just below her right eye. I’m fascinated by the way the blood cascades down her face in a serpentine pattern. She winces and lets out a muffled cry of pain laced heavily with fear. My reward is the terror that pools in her eyes. I put the knife over her stomach and raise my hand high for the blow. I wait a few precious seconds for her to realize what’s coming. When she screams, I plunge the knife into her abdomen, careful only to go half way through. I shall not be denied the pleasure, the power of my final act. Warm blood pools around my right hand as I slowly withdraw the knife and wipe it on my shirt. I wait until the blood loss relaxes her body before I lean in close to her ear.

  “That, my darling, was just the beginning. Tonight, you will know the meaning of true pleasure.” What I didn’t tell her was that the true pleasure was for me. After all, I’m not a complete monster.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ~ Hell Hath No Fury ~

  I wake up in my bed screaming and shaking from the memory. A storm rages outside as I sit there sweating, fighting the one inside, mentally willing the images of the memory to go away. I quickly run to the bathroom and vomit, no longer able to fend off the horrors still buzzing in my brain. Yesterday, I welcomed the memories of this madman. Now, I only want them to go back to hell where they belong. The clock shows that it is just after two a.m. There is time for me to go back to sleep before it’ll be time to get up and get ready to go to the new school, but I don’t want to. I get my notebook from my bedside table, grab my pen, and turn on the lamp. As much as I don’t want to do it, I reach back into the current memory and write down every detail I can remember. As with the other two memories, the girl had blue eyes. Her hair was matted with blood, but I could still see it was long and dirty blonde. I write down that the floor was wet and the fact that there are definitely no windows, evidenced by the complete darkness.

  A half hour later, no new revelations have surfaced so I decide to go down to the kitchen to make some warm milk. I stumble along in the darkness, unwilling to turn on any lights so I don’t wake Mary. Ever since the bombing and my coma, Mary has worried so much about me that she rarely sleeps. Many nights she’s downstairs on the couch cuddled up within a blanket and the TV on to some show she never finished watching. I can’t be certain, but I think that she feels sleep takes her away from her job of watching out for me. Even though I’m sixteen, she still thinks of me as a child. I can’t say that I mind at all since she’s the only mother I have ever really known.

  I reach the bottom of the stairs and see the living room empty. Thankfully, Mary seems to have made it to her bed tonight. I go through the living room and push open the door to the kitchen. I’m about to turn on the light, when the lightning illuminates something outside the double windows directly in front of me above the sink. I move further into the kitchen to have a better look out the window and crouch down a bit when I reach the sink. At first, I see nothing, thinking it must have been all in my mind. Fleetingly, I wish I had the power to see in the dark. So much cooler than seeing memories, but then I remembered that they had already invented night gogg
les so who would need a worthless power like that?

  My wandering thoughts are interrupted a few seconds later when the darkness is again illuminated by the lightning from the storm. There is no mistaking the outline of a figure beside the old willow tree in the middle of our back yard. I fall to the floor and put my hands over my mouth to stifle my scream. I will the dark figure I saw to go away. Part of me wishes that it was just Logan again, lurking out there, playing around with me, just caring about my safety. But the irrational side of me knows better. The side that holds the bastard’s memories is practically humming. It can only be him out there stalking me, waiting for me to make my move. From his memories, I can tell he’s a planner. And he’s waiting for the opportune time to strike.

  I am not a coward, but I am no Jack Bauer either. Mary used to watch that show ‘24’ all the time and if I was bored, I would watch it with her. That badass killed at least a dozen people every episode. Most of the time he did it with his bare hands; not to mention he did it in only twenty-four hours. Having shunned all human contact for as long as I can remember, I never did learn how to fight. I’ve never had the opportunity to be brave. My first instinct is always self-preservation; running is usually the best option.

  Like always, the desire to flee consumes me, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let that stop me this time. It isn’t just about me anymore. There are others I love and a life, as pathetic as it is, to protect here in this small town in the bowels of Georgia. But before this former coward goes up against a seasoned killer, I’m going to need a weapon.

  As stealthily as I can, I crawl on all fours until I reach the drawer that holds the sharp knives. I open it and feel around as best I can for a weapon. I prick my finger on a knife and wince from the pain. I am sure there is blood, but that is the least of my problems right now. Finally, my fingers land on the large cutting knife. I curl my fingers around the hilt, take it out, and close the drawer. I take a deep breath for courage, stand up, and walk to the kitchen door. My hand freezes as it grips the doorknob, fear practically oozing from every pore. My palm is sweaty and I’m second-guessing my decision to be courageous. Maybe this is what the killer wants? Maybe he knows I’m a coward and wants to lure me into a trap so he can kill me like he killed other countless girls. Or what if he isn’t after me at all? What if it’s Mary that he wants to kill, to punish me for absorbing his secrets? The thought of Mary alone and helpless, sleeping, fills me with anger. With anger comes courage. As irrational and stupid as it might be, I have to go out there and face him; distract him so he can’t go after Mary. I unlock the back door and step out into the dark rain, the knife held in front of me like a sword.

  “I’m here, you bastard!” I spit into the darkness with uncharacteristic bravado as rain falls in sheets soaking me through almost instantly. “Come out and face me!” I am met with silence, but I’m not convinced he isn’t still out there just waiting for me to get closer. Slowly, I make my way around the yard to the tree where I saw the figure from the window. I hold the large knife out in front of me, ready to strike at the first sign of movement. The storm rages up above and rain pelts my face, but I’m oblivious to it now. My only focus is staying alive and protecting Mary. Finally, I reach the tree. My hand shakes from gripping the knife too tightly. I shiver as I slowly make my way around it, whether it’s from fear or the cold I don’t know. I have almost reached the back. If he’s still here, this is where he would be hiding. I decide to give him a surprise of my own. I close my hand even tighter around the hilt of the knife, jump the final few steps, and yell, “Hah!” hoping to catch him off guard. But all I find is empty space. The dark figure is gone.

  * * * *

  A few short hours later, I managed to pull myself together enough to be on time to catch a ride with Dejana to our new school. As I sit next to her, we’re both quiet. Although that isn’t so unusual for me, it is for Dejana. It is on the tip of my tongue to ask her what’s wrong, but something stops me. After my encounter last night with the killer, I just don’t think I could handle anything else. As much as I want to be there for Dejana and help her with whatever is bothering her, I have enough to deal with in my own world right now. So, we sit together in companionable silence, each of us unwilling to share our fears of what is to come.

  Up ahead, we see the abandoned high school we will now call home. It resides on the top of a small hill overlooking the city of Gainesville. As expected, it is a large rectangular structure, two stories high with a fairly large footprint. It has the abandoned look about it; peeling paint, chipped concrete, and the landscape is overgrown. Still, most students are grateful for the chance to come together again, almost gleeful at the chance to start over and put the horrible bombing behind them. Though I’ve always enjoyed learning, I can’t feel happy about going back to school. Knowing there is a killer in our midst and we are no closer to finding out his identity is a hard truth to endure.

  After Dejana parks, we make our way to the front office to check in. As I walk, I look around at the bubbly faces of my fellow students as they get off their buses and I envy their ignorance. Though a few of them were in the cafeteria and survived the bombing like I did, most of them are just innocent bystanders happy to have some normalcy back into their lives. None of them has to deal with awful memories of blood. And they sure as hell shouldn’t have to face a killer. Worse yet, face a killer with no face, no name.

  Before the frustrations of my search for the killer engulf me, I put my book bag over my shoulder and head into the school. We were emailed our schedules with room numbers and a map of the school last night. As we walk through the front door, we see administrators, parents, and counselors all here to help us on our first day back. Luckily, the layout of this building is very similar to the one that we previously attended, so finding my first period class should be easy. Before I head there, I turn to Dejana and smile lightly hoping to reassure her. Even though I can’t find the words to comfort or help her, she knows that we share the same worries and fears. Dejana smiles back at me before we both turn to head to first period together.

  After four grueling periods of teachers striving to be normal in a completely abnormal situation, I head for the first time, to my newly assigned locker. It’s located somewhere near the library in the dead center of school. I wade through the crowds, careful not to touch anyone. I easily find the D lockers, but it takes more time for me to find the number code of the locker 1460. I am careful to avoid the other students as I go down the row from the 1200s and make my way around to the 1400s. At last, I see my locker near the end of a long corridor. Most students have already headed to the cafeteria for lunch. Today, we were given the choice to eat either in the cafeteria or outside, the faculty noting that some students would feel scared or panicked at being in a cafeteria again. I, for one, am extremely grateful for the decision. I need to get away from all these people and getting some vitamin D while I’m at it, couldn’t hurt.

  I pull out the combination from my book bag and slowly turn the face of the lock to open my locker. I turn it round and round until I arrive at the last number and I hear the click of the lock give way. I pull up the lever to release the locker and open it up expecting to find empty space for my things. Instead, I find a folded piece of paper laid neatly in the center of it. Curious, I look around at the other open lockers in the corridor. I see students putting their books and such in their lockers. I don’t see anyone else open a piece of paper. I guess no one else has a note inside. Thinking it may be a note of encouragement for our first day back after the bombing, I open it up and begin to read. My breath comes faster and faster as I read the words on the page. Four simple words designed to instill fear inside my very soul. The paper drops from my hand and flutters to the ground. My lungs feel as if they’re filled with lead because I can’t catch my breath. The roar of the intense pounding of my heart fills my ears. I’m frozen, the safe world I have created here crashes before my eyes with those four simple words:

  ‘I’M CO
MING FOR YOU.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ~ The Road Less Traveled ~

  “Earth to Logan. Logan? Dude!” exclaims a very frustrated Tyler. “I asked you a question. Do you think that Coach Kutter will still let you play point guard on the basketball team if we make the baseball playoffs too?”

  Logan is sitting by a tree out in the courtyard, eating his sandwich and chatting with friends, but his mind isn’t on his lunch. He tries his best to concentrate on what his best friend, Tyler, is saying.

  “I’m sorry, man, just a bit out of it today,” explains Logan. “I guess we’ll just have to see if we make the playoffs first, then deal with Coach Kutter when the time comes.” He says knowing full well that Tyler will worry about it until then anyway. Even though Tyler is a top-notch player and practically the best pitcher this school has ever seen, he still pushes himself to be better, to outdo anything he had achieved in prior years. He’s the epitome of obsessive compulsive. Yet despite his many quirks, he’s a good friend to Logan and has always been there for him no matter what.

  “And it doesn’t matter anyway, you know I would never choose basketball over baseball, so stop worrying or I’ll declare you a girl and banish you to the softball fields.”

  “Ha! I’d like to see you try!” teases Tyler, lightly punching Logan in the shoulder for emphasis. Lightly scuffing with Tyler and not eating his lunch is exactly what Logan’s doing when he sees Aimee run out the side door of the new school and head for the parking lot. Without needing to look at her face, he knows there’s something wrong. The way she’s running; she’s definitely running away from something or someone. There is a desperate edge to her movements. Without a thought, he drops his sandwich and runs after her. Behind him, he can hear Tyler hurling questions at him, wondering why he’s sprinting away, but Logan ignores Tyler’s protests. There is something more important at hand.