The Haunting of Secrets

by Shelley R. Pickens

I face her square on, prepared for drama. “Brenda’s dead. We saw her body on the stretcher. I screwed up, Leah. We had our chance and I blew it. I’m sorry,” I mumble, expecting to be yelled at, but all I get is Leah staring at me. I decide to continue. “Dejana and I have been talking and we’re ready to bring the fight to us. I’ll completely understand if you want out, Leah, but we could really use you. I have a plan to bait him, but I’ll need your help,” I say, hoping it’s enough to get her interested, but not so much that it sends her running for the hills. A determined look creeps into her eyes, and I remember that she isn’t the type of girl to run.

  She seems to contemplate my words for a minute more before stating, “I’m in, of course. Some people have already tweeted about the girl they found in the woods tonight; the fact that she was from our school. And I knew Brenda. She was a flighty cheerleader, but as sweet as they come. I know you must have done everything to protect her, Aimee,” Leah states, letting the words hang in the air between us.

  I debate whether or not to tell her the truth. Finally, I decide that she’s taking as much risk as we are hunting this killer. She deserves the truth. “It is my fault she’s dead. We had a plan, but I bailed early after being spotted. After following her all day, I felt sure that she wasn’t going to be a victim. I’ll have to live with the regret of my mistake for the rest of my life. You have every right to be angry with me, but I hope that doesn’t stop you from helping us. I promise to do everything I can to make it right. Please believe me,” I plead in one breath, grabbing her arms with my gloved hands to emphasize my point. I see the hurt that Leah’s trying to hide and my guilt intensifies. I wish I could take back every bad thought I had today about Brenda. I wish I could have just done the job right. But I can’t change the past, I can only figure out what to do from here. “I’m going to make this right. Some way, somehow I will make him pay.”

  I see Leah nod in agreement, see her fighting emotions she can’t even begin to process. I see her inner debate, wondering if trusting me is a good idea. I wish I knew what to say to her. In my life of solidarity, I’ve never had to worry about that.

  “Well, regardless of what came before,” begins Leah, apparently arriving at some forgone conclusion she’s unwilling to share, “we still have a job to do. And I think I might have found the key to stopping him. Not a key, so much as a pattern, actually. There’s one more thing I have to work out, but I think I’m on to him,” finishes Leah, her stance determined.

  Dejana and I stand there, taken aback by the sheer brilliance that is Leah. The wind swirls around us rustling up leaves and humming through trees. It is the only sound we hear as we stand there in awe, unsure but desperate to trust the hope that has sprung forth with Leah’s discovery. We’ve been here too many times; a place where we think we have a chance to stop a killer and all it leads to is more death.

  Leah watches us as we stare at her, dumbfounded. “Um, hello you two,” she says waving her hand in front of our faces. “New information? A possible way to stop a horrific killer? Is it too much to ask for a thank you? I’d even settle for a high five if you have one, just no more of this staring. It’s creepy.”

  Leah bends over to pick up the forgotten binoculars and that’s when I see it. A white note, pinned to the tree behind where we’re monitoring the crime scene. I’d recognize the handwriting anywhere. I’m the first to snap out of it. I poke the stupefied Dejana standing next to me. When she looks at me, I nod my head in the direction of the tree. She moves forward to read it, but I don’t need to. I already know what it says.

  “We have to move,” exclaims Dejana. “Now,” she adds before leading the way out of the woods and back to the park where our cars are waiting for us. We are silent as we walk, looking all around us for any sign of the killer. He could be watching us right now, from any point since the woods offer all kinds of places to hide. We finally make it back to our cars, the people at the park oblivious, never noticing we were even there. None of us talk. We are all still avidly watching the people as we pass, aware that any one of them could be the killer. I grab my phone and shoot a quick text to Dejana and Leah, telling them to meet at Dejana’s house later tonight to plan. I need to return the car to Logan and check on Mary at the hospital. I’m not sure when my life became a soap opera, but when I no longer have a psycho killer after me, I’ll figure it out. We all get into our cars and head out, our hearts heavy with grief and worry. As we race to face the inevitable, the note left on the tree flaps in the wind. The words on it taunting and dark:

  Learn this lesson well. Next time, it will be you.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ~ A Killer Idea ~

  The drive from the park to her house is less than five minutes, but for Leah, even that time frame is too long. Her mind is spinning, her thoughts focused on one thing: finding Brenda’s killer. Before, Leah only halfheartedly helped Dejana and Aimee, but now she’s fully invested. She had her own agenda: find the person who set off the bomb that killed her Daniel. Now, she’s determined to find this killer whose memories Aimee has, before he kills again. Poor Brenda. If only she had worked harder to help Dejana and Aimee, Brenda may still be alive.

  Second guessing herself is foolish and a waste of time. Brenda is dead and nothing can change that now. Keeping this killer from ending someone else’s life, that’s something Leah can sink her teeth into. She can find anything, anyone with a digital footprint. All she needs is a computer, an idea, and an internet connection. Then she becomes deadly. And oh boy, does she have an idea now.

  After what seems like an eternity, Leah arrives at her small house she shares with her absent parents in the outskirts of the city. It isn’t much, but it’s a place to sleep. She hauls her small, red clunker of a car into the driveway and opens the door, flying out before it’s even at a complete stop. She runs into the house, turning on the foyer light as she races up to her room. She’s desperate to get to her laptop, frantic to put her mind to work on creating the program she came up with at the park. Something about the obscurity of the trees gave her an idea, a place to look that none of them had even thought of. If Leah could create a program with the correct parameters that takes everything they’ve learned so far into account, then maybe she can finally track down this horrible killer. Emotions of elation swirl within her grief, but she pushes them down. This isn’t the time to feel, this is the time to think like a programmer. She has to focus if her idea is going to come to fruition.

  Out of breath, Leah makes it to her bedroom and dives onto her bed where she left her laptop. She fires it up, impatient as she watches the screen start up. Normally, she takes pleasure in watching the computer spring to life, giving her a world of endless possibilities, but not today. Her anxiety propels her forward. Finally, the laptop is ready and Leah sets to work. The possibility of success is intoxicating. Hopefully, within a few hours, Leah will have everything the three of them need to nail the killer’s ass to the wall.

  For the first time, Leah knows she can change things for the good of others. No more selling viruses to end corporations, or even governments. This is her chance to do right by Brenda, to help everyone who died at the hand of this killer. It’s only a matter of time now.

  Eventually, she’ll find out who set the bomb; she’s nothing if not persistent. But for now, she can only do so much. She’s taking it one killer at a time.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ~Bleeding Heart ~

  It’s late and Logan is sitting in his room playing Call of Duty when he hears the doorbell ring. He yells down to his mom, “I’ll get it” as he descends the stairs, curious to see who it is. He opens the door and his breath catches at the sight before him. Aimee, still dressed in the outfit from their botched date, stands before him. Her cheeks are flushed and the dark that surrounds her somehow amplifies the crystal blue of her eyes. They practically sparkle in the soft light that shines from behind him in the foyer. Her hands are folded behind her like usual and her expression is hard to rea
d. He has no idea where she went, but something in her has changed; of that, he’s sure. She seems harder somehow, less frightened of life, but not in a good way. He stands facing her, waiting for her to say why she’s here. He steals a look behind her and sees his car in the driveway. So, that’s why she came to his house. He thought, perhaps foolishly, that maybe she might want to continue their date, but her continued silence has all but killed that idea. Well, if she wants to play that game so can he.

  “So Richardson, you have a nice joy ride in my car?” he teases hoping that she opens up a bit about why she left their date so suddenly. Despite the fact that he gave her his car, there’s a lingering anger just beneath the surface ready to take her on. He worked and bided his time these past few years, trying to get close to her. He really wanted to get to know her despite the walls she so desperately surrounds herself with to keep out everyone. Then when he finally got her to sit down and actually begin the process of getting to know each other, she ran away. That stings, he has to admit. Seeing her here now, clearly in pain, but not wanting comfort or even a simple conversation, just amplified his sour mood.

  “Fine,” he says getting angrier by the second. “Keep your secrets. But caring about someone means letting them in to share your life, your worries. One day those demons you fight are going to catch up with you and I won’t be there to save you,” he says forebodingly as he moves to shut the door in her face. However, before he can finish the job, a foot darts out to stop it. What now, he thinks as he opens the door back up, ready to do battle with the stubborn girl hovering on his doorstep. She begins in such a soft voice he almost isn’t sure she had said anything at all. He leans in closer and asks not so gently “What? Just spit it out.” He doesn’t even miss the irony of repeating that exact phrase back to her.

  Tears well up in her eyes, creating a reflection that reminds Logan of the sun reflecting off the water. It makes him think of a peaceful, happy time long before the bombing. A time before the world became a very complicated place, where grief and pain can turn a perfectly normal human being into something dark and sinister. A time before a bomb taught him about tragedy and loss.

  “The world is coming down on me Logan and all I can do is think about you. After a lifetime of living in the dark, running from a past that always catches up to me, all I want to do is put my arms around you and live in the light,” Aimee says, tears now streaming down her face. “I wish I knew what it felt like to be in your arms, to feel like I belong, but I don’t and I can’t. If I let you in, you’ll see the truth and the truth behind my walls, is ugly. No one deserves to see that. Especially you,” she finishes, her breath coming in gasps now.

  Logan has no idea how to respond. He wants so badly to hold her, to show her how much he does care, has always cared, but he knows she would just turn away and right now, he can’t afford to take that chance. The urge to put his arms around her, to absorb her pain and mix it with his, is overwhelming. He puts his hands in his pockets to avoid the temptation. The tears are almost his undoing. He moves to take one of her hands into his and is pleasantly surprised when she does the same. He feels the soft fabric of the glove, the pressure of her fingers as they curl around his. But the moment doesn’t last long. She releases her hand from his and drops cold metal between his fingers, his car keys. Despite his disappointment, it’s in that moment that he sees exactly how far he has come with her, how much she actually has opened up to him. Before the bombing, she wouldn’t even let him within a foot of her personal space. Tonight she offered him her hand. He knew being with her would be a constant challenge, but he never seemed to care, never actually had a choice, because his heart has always been hers.

  No longer able to resist, Logan moves to put his arms around her. He is crushed when she retreats a step, turns, and starts to run away. He steps out onto the porch to go after her, to stop her so he can tell her how much she means to him. She must have sensed him behind her, because she stops and turns. Logan’s heart is hammering in his chest; only a few steps separate them now. Aimee fixes her eyes on him; such desperation in them that she seems to look straight into Logan’s soul. He wishes he could find something, anything to say that would make her stay, but he just can’t form the words. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway since the next thing she says floors him.

  “I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart Logan,” she says before turning and disappearing into the night.

  * * * *

  I run as fast as I can for fear that I will turn around, tear down the door to Logan’s house, and run straight into arms. The need for him to touch me is overwhelming, suffocating. Tears stream down my face, flying in the wind as I run. I have no particular destination in mind, just one goal, to get as far away from Logan as possible. Telling him goodbye was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Nevertheless, I had to let him know how I felt about him before the killer catches up with me and it’s too late.

  I stop for a moment and plant my butt on the curb of an abandoned street corner, exhausted. As I catch my breath, I try to reconcile what my heart feels with what needs to be done. The worst part is that I miss him already. The sting of the goodbye pierces my heart with a thousand needles. I had to give up the one thing that makes me happy to ensure his safety. My curse brings nothing, but despair. In saying goodbye to him, I spare him a life of regret, a life of never knowing what might have been. I may not be able to see the future, but what I can see is that I was never meant to love; never meant to share my completely messed up life with someone as good and honorable as Logan. Despite the desperation I feel when I’m around him; no good can come from loving me. I live in the past, never able to see what others so crave, the possibilities of the unknown. All I see are mistakes buried in a mountain of regret. No one can change the past, but everyone can learn from it and grow, use their regrets and guilt to build a better life for themselves. That’s my hope for Logan, to survive, to have a chance at a life free of regret and disappointment. It’s my hope that the happiness so easily eluding me, blesses him in ways I can’t even imagine. And isn’t that love? Hoping, wanting, and desiring a better life for someone else?

  Before the melancholy completely consumes me, I get up off the ground and will myself to let Logan go. It takes all of my strength not to turn around and run back to Logan’s house, but I manage to repress the overwhelming urge for comfort, for love. Lost in self-pity, I nearly miss my cell vibrating in my pocket. I take it out and see that Leah wants us to meet at Dejana’s house in a half hour to show us all of the information she had gathered on the killer.

  Finally, I thought. The beginning, of what I hope is the killer’s end. I wipe my tears away and run the last few blocks to Dejana’s house. I never see the dark form that’s been following me since I left Logan’s house. Never even realize it’s there as the shadow pulls away from the tree ten yard behind and jogs along with me towards Dejana’s house.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ~ Checkmate ~

  It's almost too easy. Aimee's foolish enough to walk alone at night, practically a beacon in the darkness, signaling free reign for those who wish to harm her. And oh, how he wishes. He watches as she checks her phone before sprinting off. He follows her, easily tracking her to Dejana’s house. He revels in his immaculate planning. The fire he set at Aimee’s house was never meant to kill her. Its sole purpose was to take Mary out of the equation. For his plan to work, Aimee must be alone in the world, a runaway, someone that not a soul would miss. Mary surviving the fire is inconsequential. She must believe Aimee ran away though, that's the key. Now, all that’s left is to take care of the other loose ends in her life. That'll be the fun part.

  He checked with his sources at the hospital yesterday and found out that Mary will be out of the hospital soon. That leaves little time for him to execute the final phase of his plan—a plan in which he needs Aimee lost and alone. She must feel desperate, so lost in her solidarity that the thought of her fleeing is plausible to the world. The
irony is that she'll never escape. He won't let her.

  But first, she must be broken. He can see it in her eyes, the yearning that comes with newfound love. But it's an illusion, a faҫade that will soon come to an end. He can't wait to carve her eyes out of their sockets as she realizes the betrayal, forever preserving the perfect look of hurt and shame that will gleam out from her blue orbs forever.

  He has something to complete first though. A necessary errand he will truly enjoy. Every pawn is in place and it's time to finish this game.

  Except in this match, it ends when the queen falls.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ~ The Road Never Travelled ~

  A short while later, I’m back at Dejana’s house, showered and ready to work out the details of the final phase of our plan to catch a killer. I brush out my long, black hair, grateful after so much emotion to do something as simple as that. I get dressed in a soft, black, cotton shirt and dark blue jeans before I make my way to Dejana’s room; a short climb up the stairs from the main floor where the guest bedroom is located. Her room is at the far end of the hall and overlooks the back yard. I put on my gloves as I run up the stairs, careful as always to cover what I can. I knock on her door and hear rustling before the door swings open. There stands Dejana, dressed in a trendy, peach fitted shirt that scoops at the neck and skinny jeans. Her hair is up, a clear indication that she’s been drawing. I’m not surprised since it soothes her, keeps her centered. It makes me wish I had some kind of talent like that, something I can draw upon in bad times. Oh well, you can only do the best with what God gave you. It’s clear from her rather annoyed expression that she did not want to be disturbed.

  “Um, sorry if I interrupted your creative time, I just thought Leah would be here any minute, so I dressed quickly and headed on up,” I explain.