* * * *
I am standing over a rectangular pit in the middle of nowhere. The only sounds I hear are the sounds of nature. It is pitch black save the small light emanating from a flashlight behind me. There’s a shovel beside me and I must have been digging for hours, yet I don’t feel tired. My hands are covered in dirt. I look down and see that my clothes are covered in grime. So much so that I can’t tell if the clothes are darkened from the dirt or if I’m really dressed in all black. I stare at the pit in front of me, it stares back, an endless cavern of nothingness. The most satisfying part is almost here. I reach my hand in my right pocket and feel around for the lighter. I hold it in my hand, wanting to enjoy this moment as long as possible. The lighter feels cold against my dirty hand. After a minute, I open the lighter and flick it to release its flame. The yellow light is beautiful, mesmerizing. My pulse quickens as I throw the lighter into the pit. It touches her gasoline-soaked body and immediately erupts into a beautiful light brightening the sky like a beacon. The outline of her body is clear now; I can witness first-hand the melting of her skin, the destruction of every piece of evidence that could ever convict me. I inhale the smoke of her burning corpse allowing it to infuse me with power. I rub my hands together and smile in triumph. I even dare to laugh as I bask in a job well done. It does not matter who hears me, we are completely alone in this burial place.
* * * *
I wake up in a cloud of thick black smoke, similar to the one I just left. I cough, desperate for air. I roll over and put my face to the ground, searching for some reprieve from the cloud that engulfs me. In the distance, I hear a pounding at the door. I try to yell for help, but I can’t find my voice. My throat is burning. I crawl to the steps, gasping for air, wondering how long my body can go without oxygen. I only go a few feet when a loud crash thunders in the air and the door to the attic gives way. Through the smoky haze, I can see Logan running towards me. I put my gloved hand up in a silent plea for him to come and save me. Within seconds, he reaches me and as delicately as possible, picks me up and cradles me against him. In the back of my mind, I note that, although he is cradling me in his arms, he doesn’t hold me too close. Even in an emergency, Logan is keeping a respectable distance between us. Again, I get the nagging sensation that it is more out of fear of the unknown than respect, but I push that thought aside; I am sick of second guessing every action a person takes. Logan carries me down the stairs and out to the front lawn. He gently sets me down next to a seemingly unconscious Mary.
I panic, forgetting my own pain in my throat. “Mary!” I scream hoarsely, my voice barely above a whisper. “Are you ok? Wake up! You have to be alright, please!” I plea with her unconscious form.
Logan gently puts his hand on my shoulder in an effort to calm me. “It’s going to be ok, Aim,” he says in a calm voice. “She’s going to be fine. I think she was hit over the head and inhaled some smoke while she was unconscious. We both were hit actually,” explains Logan, putting his hand on a tender spot on the back of his head. He tries to hide his hand, but he isn’t able to before I see it come away blotched with red. “That’s why she’s unconscious. I checked her pulse and it’s strong. I called an ambulance to be sure though.”
Reeling from what he just told me, I collapse back onto the ground feeling more helpless than ever. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to keep anyone safe.
“Just after I ran out your bedroom to follow you, something hit me over the back of my head. Everything immediately went black. When I came to, smoke was everywhere. I ran to Mary’s bedroom. When I called her name, she didn’t answer. I carried her out here and then went back upstairs to find you. I was lucky I wasn’t unconscious any longer or else I may not have been able to save any of us,” Logan says his voice scratchy from the smoke.
As I sit there, digesting what Logan just told me, my eyes drift back to the house. The whole upstairs is engulfed in yellow flames. Smoke billows as far up as the tree line. Strangely, there’s no fire on the bottom floor. It’s all concentrated on the top level, where Mary and I sleep. Though I have no idea yet what started the fire, I have a sinking feeling it wasn’t my curling iron.
“Please tell me what the hell I’ve ever done to deserve all of this?” I ask, pointing to my burning house. The fire fighters arrive, and a few run towards Mary and me. To my right, I see the rest of them run with their hoses toward my house. I hope that they will be able to contain the damage to just the top floor. Thanks to the fire, Mary would never know about the broken window. My worrying about replacing a silly window seems so pointless as I watch my bedroom being incinerated. I guess I should feel lucky the flames didn’t take the whole structure, but luck just doesn’t seem to be part of my vocabulary these days.
I lie back against Logan’s chest, mentally exhausted, as I watch them take Mary away in the ambulance. I’m grateful for the comfort he’s offering, yet desperate for something more. The more time I spend with Logan, the more danger I am in of losing the battle not to touch him. I long to kiss him; so desperate for human touch that I am willing to say, ‘to hell with the consequences’ and just go with my intense feelings. But, I can’t of course; giving in would mean I would hold all his memories. I would be privy to his every past thought. And anyone who has ever been in a relationship knows how dangerous that can be. There are just some things a girl should never know about the person she’s dating. There’s no mystery for me, no chance at a normal life. I am a fool to even entertain the idea; even for the briefest of moments.
Logan is careful not to hold me too closely. He puts his arms loosely around me; settling his hands on my lower stomach. I can tell he is doing his best to stand straight, to hold me without touching the places where my skin is exposed. As much as I want to stay in his arms, I have to follow Mary to the hospital. I have to know that she’s all right. I turn in Logan’s arms to face him, to tell him that I’m leaving to go be with Mary at the hospital, but as soon as I turn, I’m distracted by how close his lips are to mine. His breath smells sweet against my face and his hazel eyes reflect the same passion I feel. I don’t dare move, afraid of what may happen if I do. He looks at me intensely, silently asking for permission. Without knowing if I give it or not, Logan’s face descends slowly towards mine, he’s going to kiss me. I should stop it, but I can’t move. I can’t breathe. All I can do is hope. Beside us, someone coughs. I jump out of Logan’s embrace like I was caught doing something terrible. My emotions are a strange mix of regret and relief for the interruption. We turn to see a police officer and a firefighter standing next to us, an inquisitive look on their faces.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need you to come with us, Ms. Richardson, to answer some questions about the fire. They’re routine. We’ll know more as the investigation continues, but it’s safe to say this is a case of arson. The smell of gasoline is overpowering in your bedroom, Ms. Richardson. We can question you while you wait at the hospital with your mother. And as for you, young man,” says the officer turning to Logan, “you’ll have to answer some questions, too. First being how you ended up here in the middle of the night, at just the right time to save them,” the officer finishes in a voice heavy with suspicion.
Beside me, I can feel Logan’s panic, knowing that both of our parents would kill us if they knew we were alone in my bedroom, in the middle of the night. My mind scrambles, trying to find a plausible explanation. Since I can’t find one, escape is the only option. I turn to Logan, making sure my back is facing the officer and fireman, I mouth ‘go!’ and start to cough violently as I fall to the ground. As I had hoped, all rescue personnel near me rush over to help. I bury my face in the ground and hack, most of which was not an act, to give Logan the few precious seconds he needs to get the hell out of here. I count to thirty and stop coughing. The police officer near me had produced a bottle of water and I drink hungrily from it. By the time the rescue workers had ascertained that all was fine with me, Logan was nowhere to be found. For once, the scales are balance
d. I was able to save my savior.
Chapter Twenty
~ The Search Continues ~
The constant beeping of the monitor next to Mary’s hospital bed drowns out all other sounds. It’s almost hypnotic. For hours now, I have sat in the cushioned seat beside her hospital bed, content to just sit there and watch her breathe. Every time I see her chest rise and fall, my heart is reassured that Mary is alive and getting better, despite the multiple tubes coming in and out of her. She has an oxygen mask over her face and wires everywhere monitoring her condition. It’s all surreal.
The nurses come in from time to time to take Mary’s vitals, but they mostly ignore me; work around me since I refuse to move from my spot. It has been this way since they checked me over and found no real damage, other than a bad cough. Luckily, they can’t see inside my brain or they would never let me leave. Mary, on the other hand, is in far worse condition. The doctors determined that she has a concussion and some serious complications from inhaling smoke while unconscious.
Mary is the only mother I have ever known, and I refuse to let the actions of a sick bastard take her from me. If one good thing has come out of the fire, it’s that Mary is safe now. The killer is only after me. Until we catch him, Mary will have to stay as far away from me as possible. For right now, she is safe in this hospital, which means I’ll need to find the killer before they release her. I can’t know for certain, but I’m guessing I might have a week at most to do what I want to do. I’ll have to think of a plan to finish this before then; one that preferably doesn’t hurt anyone else I love. My plotting is interrupted by a light knock at the door. I turn to see Dejana and Leah enter the room.
“Hey, girl. How you holding up?” asks Dejana solemnly. She is wearing dark colors, clearly an extension of her mood. Per her usual style, she’s in jeans and nice shirt, but the outfit is conservative, respectful of the shit storm we currently find ourselves in. I ponder her question a bit before answering. Truth is I wish I knew how I was holding up. My lungs still burn from all the smoke, I get lightheaded very easily since my experience within the memory, and my adopted mother is sitting in a hospital bed with a breathing tube. I guess there’s only one answer to Dejana’s question.
“It’s a good thing I dye my hair black or my natural blond color mixed with all this soot would make me look like a Picasso painting,” I say in jest, trying to take away some of the seriousness of the situation. I smile at her to mellow the possible sting of my sassy response. Dejana frowns, clearly not at all impressed with my halfhearted attempt at humor, but accepts the effort with a nod. My guess is that the fact that I’m not doing well is written all over my face and torn, ripped clothes. Leah stands behind her in tight jeans and a low V-neck shirt that shows way too much of her breasts, but to each her own.
Leah has her arms crossed in front of her, her posture clearly indicating that she’d rather not be here. I can tell she’s still uncomfortable around me after seeing my eyes cloud over yesterday. Can’t say I blame her. But, in my opinion, she needs to get over it. I was the one who almost died in a fire. I cross my arms, getting more annoyed with Leah by the moment when she does something completely unexpected—she wipes a tear away from her eye. I realize then that I may have misjudged Leah, just as so many have misjudged me. I may not know her very well, but it’s obvious that she’s brave or she wouldn’t be here right now. She’d have cut her losses and run. In a completely uncharacteristic move, I walk over to her to put my gloved hand on her shoulder. I see Leah retreat a bit at first, frightened by the prospect of my touch, but to her credit, she doesn’t flee.
“Thank you for being here, Leah. I know we dragged you into this, but we still appreciate you staying -- even after you learned the truth.”
Surprised that I moved to touch her, Leah seems frozen in place, any words she wanted to say catching in her throat. Her eyes meet mine and I see the sincerity in them, the desire to give comfort. One more tear falls from her face before she looks away and mumbles something that sounds a lot like, ‘No problem.’
I turn back to Dejana and ask, “Not that I am not grateful for the company, but why are you two here?”
As if on cue, Leah takes out her computer from the handbag looped around her shoulder, walks around me, and goes about setting up the computer onto the small, square table beside Mary’s hospital bed. Behind us, Dejana is bouncing with excitement. Something is clearly up and from the look on their faces, it’s a good thing. It’s about damn time.
“What’s going on you two? Why are you both so happy? I was almost killed in a fire and Mary is lying in a hospital bed, remember? What is there to be happy about?”
“You won’t be unhappy for long, girl,” responds Dejana, her eyes dancing with excitement.
Beside her, Leah has opened the computer and her hands are flying over the keyboard. Without looking up, she explains what is on the screen. “Well, I was thinking the other day about the girls you asked me to look into. I found the girls you specified parameters for, but the program I created went deeper than that. Each girl that was chosen by the computer had a commonality; a tag we could use not to only single out the killer’s type, but also actually find out who might be his next target. Dejana gave me every detail she could remember from your memories, including the portrait of the first girl you saw. Using that information, I refined the program to target his next possible victims using those common tags. It incorporated looks, lifestyle, beliefs, values, behavior; all sorts of other things related to the type of person each girl was. The program took that information and extrapolated which of the girls from the list would be his most likely target. The program narrowed the list down to three.”
I stand there astonished, looking at the proud faces of Leah and Dejana and have never in my life, felt so lucky to have friends.
“I can’t believe it. You two did it. Just when I thought we were spinning our wheels, you come up with this. I don’t know how you did it, Leah, but damn, I am impressed,” I say, emotions welling up within me.
Leah brushes me off with her hands, seemingly uncomfortable with admiration. I don’t mind as I understand the feeling very well.
She ignores my compliment and continues. “So here are the names and pictures of the three girls,” she says pointing to the screen. “Brenda Miller, Erica Collins, and Allyson Giles. Each girl shares the same coloring as the others, sandy blonde hair with blue eyes. Each girl is fairly popular and makes decent grades. Each girl is part of multiple clubs at school and all are on the academic honor list. For all intents and purposes, any one of these girls could be next. I say we each take a girl. Follow her around for the next few weeks and see which one he takes. If we can catch him in the act, we may have a shot at stopping him,” finishes Leah, clearly excited about her plan.
Though I don’t share her enthusiasm for following around a stranger, I’m happy to finally have a break. After all the setbacks, we’re finally moving forward. Progress is good. “Ok, Leah. I like the idea,” I say just before I hear Dejana let out a squeal of joy behind me. I guess I wasn’t the only one frustrated with the current progress of our nonexistent plan to catch the killer. “But just to clarify, if either of you see anything out of the ordinary or manage to actually see the killer abduct one of these girls, you call the police. We would finally know who he is and give it to the professional to finish. I don’t want either of you mixed up with this sick bastard. Believe me, if you had seen what I have, you wouldn’t get within ten feet of him.”
Both Dejana and Leah agree with my reasoning and we make a plan to begin our clandestine stakeouts tomorrow. They voice concerns about my returning to school so soon, but I brush them off. The last thing I need to do is sit here all day drowning in what might have been. I need to do something. I need to act. If following one of these girls leads me to the killer, then I will do whatever it takes to make it happen.
Chapter Twenty-One
~ No One Knows What You Did In The Dark ~
The meet
ing takes place at the cemetery an hour before school starts. The deserted grounds offer shelter from probing eyes. Anonymity is the key to survival. The consequences of being overheard would be disastrous.
He waits amongst the tombstones, the stench of rotting corpses and stale air stinging his nostrils. He shifts his weight back and forth on his feet, the repetitive motion calming him. He looks around trying to ascertain from which direction his companion will come, but to no avail. The darkness blankets everything. The fear of being revealed as a killer is ever present, but he’s not worried. He’s the master of disguise and methodical. Each minute of this meeting has been planned meticulously. If anything were to go awry, a backup plan is already in place. The risk of being spotted matters not to him; complete privacy is the key. No one can know what he and his companion have planned.
The Haunting of Secrets Page 9