A Cold, Fine Evil

by A. C. Alexander

More disturbingly, she thought that maybe Jon wasn’t surprised enough, that he was more than aware when Larimer had exited this earth that dark soul had found George. He sat back, ankles casually crossed. “You killed Amy. Why?”

  Her throat had closed up and she couldn’t swallow.

  “It was almost too easy.” George shrugged as if that was a normal question. “She trusted me. I think I wanted the easy kill, but also to see what Troy would do to pin it on you. I defended you, by the way, but he was really determined. It was entertaining to watch.”

  “That’s Larimer talking.”

  George leaned forward. “The problem is, I’m not sure who it is. I’m not myself all the time, but then again, who the hell wants to be me? No one, so no need to answer.”

  She’d never been more afraid in her life. Not even when Larimer followed her into that barn.

  It must have shown in her face too, a certain horror that made George consider her. “You’re the one that got away. That has to be fixed. You know the worst part? Jon has a bit of a dilemma. I believe all along he’s known he was supposed to be the heir apparent and if he defends you and kills me, he’s going to have to fight that epic battle again. The first time, it basically shattered his sanity. He isn’t up to it, and he knows it. Physically he could defeat me, but mentally, he can’t take it. If I had to guess, his real fear is that it would happen against his will, that he would become the monster even though it isn’t what he wants, and trust me, if I could get away with it for all these years, he’s a lot smarter than I am. Just think about what he could do.”

  She couldn’t think at all.

  “You were in the hospital when that young mother was abducted.” Jon didn’t argue the point. “How did you manage that?”

  “Checked myself out against the doctor’s orders and then went back and conceded he was absolutely right, I didn’t feel well—that was true enough—and they readmitted me. Anyone could check and I wouldn’t have an alibi but why would anyone check? I’m a dumpy, middle-aged man. Can you think of anyone less likely to be responsible for murder?”

  Had he not been looking at her, Alicia might have been able to make her vocal chords work, tell him to go to hell and bolt from the room, but her muscles were locked in place. Her skin was clammy, she felt dizzy, and it didn’t help when Jon said, “Go ahead. Kill her.”

  * * * *

  It was all an incredible relief.

  George. Yes, the pieces fell into place. He should have known—maybe he did know on some level. It wasn’t like he hadn’t felt the influence for most of his life now, and he could see George as a perfect host, not that any of it really made much sense, but Black Lake was like that.

  Cursed, possessed, whatever you wanted to call it.

  Was he positive he could break the cycle? No. He didn’t even know where to begin with that, but if he took out George that was one step in the right direction, just like wiping Larimer from the face of the planet. He had no regrets about that night.

  He wouldn’t have regrets about this one either.

  George wasn’t a challenge for him physically and they both knew it.

  The clock was ticking because George was on the way out due to his crappy health and the entity was looking for a new host. Now that really was a challenge.

  He also knew hands down that George was trying to commit suicide by confession, whether it was voluntary or not. Jon was the elected executioner. Was this just a passing of the baton?

  If he went after Alicia, he’d have no choice.

  Good strategy.

  George was right. He’d been forced into a corner before, when his mother’s death made him realize this was a contest of wills he didn’t fully understand.

  He had a better grip on it now.

  George reached down and took out the knife from his pocket. Switchblade. It looked old, and the handle was worn. He flicked it open. The blade was polished and wickedly sharp. “You want to watch me kill her?”

  “You’re counting on the fact I don’t.” He added quietly to Alicia even though he didn’t directly look at her, “Run. I’ll handle this.”

  “Jon.” Her chair scraped back and her voice was strangled.

  His body was tense, but inside he felt a sort of deep calm. This was why he’d come back. He’d wondered all along. “Go.”

  She went, bolting out the door at high-powered rifle speed, and he did feel a flicker of regret that she hadn’t been absolutely sure he’d protect her, but then, he wasn’t really sure that was what he was doing anyway, so she was entitled. He would have, but this was more a settling of the accounts.

  “Did you kill my mother?” He wasn’t really talking to George now. He probably hadn’t been since he arrived in Black Lake.

  George rubbed his jaw. “No, you did. To the extent she did it to herself because of what was happening.”

  He wondered if this conversation was with Larimer or William Murray. Or even the others in between. Maybe they were all crowded in there, vying for space. The sum of the devious parts.

  “It wasn’t Larimer?”

  “I think he was there at the end, sure. She wasn’t necessary.”

  That was how you summed up a person’s life? Jon knew he was being baited but stiffened anyway.

  He considered the next question carefully. He had no idea how this was going to go, but at least Alicia was fairly safe. As safe as anyone could be around Black Lake.

  “We both know you could do it.” George said stoically.

  “Do what?”

  “Take me on.”

  “And kill you?”

  “Right.”

  Jon could. He’d killed Larimer and never looked back and this was essentially the same thing. History was just going in a cycle and with no real end in sight.

  He considered his old friend with a faint smile. “Why is it I’m still sitting here? You’re the psychologist. You’ve confessed to serial murder. I just told Alicia to get the hell out of here. So now it’s just you and me. Talk.”

  George eyed the last piece of pizza but evidently decided not to go for it. “I’m fairly sure you are one of the rare people I’ve ever met who isn’t afraid of dying. It isn’t good or bad, it just is. Most animals will scratch and claw for their place on this earth, but not you or me.”

  “That’s the basis of our friendship?”

  This wasn’t George talking so he wasn’t even sure why he asked that question.

  “I think that’s part of it. We recognized it in each other.”

  “I don’t think that was us.”

  “True. Want another drink?”

  Jon wasn’t sure. Either he or George was probably not leaving this shabby dining room alive. He was feeling it, the bite of alcohol, the escalating tension, the foreign presence. It was possible he was going into a fugue state, one of those frightening blackouts, and this was really not the time for it. But he was sweating, and his entire body was numb.

  More alcohol was a very bad idea.

  He pushed his glass aside. “I’m good, but thanks. Tell me, when did it happen?”

  It was William Murray looking back at him through George’s eyes. It was such a strange feeling to know that to be absolutely true. “I can clearly remember. I very much wanted to kill my devout grandparents. You know, they weren’t probably bad people, but they weren’t good people either. Not like they thought they were. It made me wonder. I think that’s where it started. I wondered about the right and wrongs of this world. The thought of their righteous God made me cringe. Oh, I understand there are a lot of people who are well-meaning and generous, but there are sure a load of them that should be dropped in the Dead Sea without a lifejacket.”

  “I don’t disagree.”

  “There you go. Kindred souls.”

  “Not quite. First of all, I’m not convinced you have a soul. Secondly, I don’t like killing. I did something I had to do when it came to Larimer.”

  “I think you’ll find you do like it. It’s the pures
t kind of pleasure. More satisfying than sex.”

  “I’ll just take your word for it.”

  The knife was still in his hand and George turned it so the blade gleamed. “Killing me will be something you ‘have’ to do. If you don’t, I’ll find Alicia. I do think of her as unfinished business. I don’t think you are emotionally capable of love, but you do care about her.”

  Some of George was still in there because that was an accurate assessment. “I care. I’m not sure, thanks to you, I really understand love anymore.”

  “I doubt you ever did, with or without me.”

  Not true. He’d loved his mother. There was a more guarded affection for his children because he was aware of the pain of loss. His feelings for Amy had been part adolescent lust and a romantic sensibility that he should love her if he was going to sleep with her. True love? He had no idea.

  Absolutely he was going to have a panic attack and a blackout. It was coming, he could feel it. That slow crawl toward the darkness, and this was really not the time.

  They both heard the squeal of tires on the street and the slamming of the door. George said, “Alicia didn’t waste any time, did she? I think my cousin is here. Given his state of mind, I think you’re off the hook, Jon.”

  He was slipping fast. Going away on a journey he wasn’t going to remember.

  Troy came through the door with a vengeance and since it had been his grandmother’s house too, he stalked into the dining room immediately, weapon lifted, his expression livid. He’d been drinking, no doubt about it, his service weapon unsteady. He even leaned on the doorway. His eyes were so bloodshot they shone. “God dammit, George, is it true? You killed my wife? You killed Amy?”

  “I did.” George said tauntingly.

  Oh shit.

  Jon managed to say, “Don’t do it. Troy, don’t shoot him. Please, don’t kill him.”

  Then the world went away.

  Chapter 25

  Will the indomitable spirit always prevail? It’s hard to say. Maybe a more intellectual inquiry is whether good triumphs over evil. Then that raises even more questions. What is the definition of evil? It must vary from person to person. What is the definition of good? That must vary even more.

  I’ve always thought it a useless discourse.

  Good and evil are a perception, plain and simple.

  Alicia sat in her kitchen and drank a cup of coffee, extra cream, extra sugar, but what the hell.

  Jon was sound asleep. She suspected, without any expertise as a health provider, that was one of his main problems. His blank spaces were times when his body just told him enough was enough.

  He wandered out an hour later, rubbing a hand over his face, and she was still sitting there, wondering what the hell she was doing.

  How he could look incredible at this hour of the morning, after the night they’d had was a mystery to her, but he still did, rumpled, disheveled and only in a pair of boxers. He could be on the cover of a magazine. She, on the other hand, was not-so glamorous in sweatpants and tee-shirt with a beer logo on it a vendor had given her.

  “Coffee?”

  “Please.” He sank down in a chair and held his head in his hands. “I’m going to need to know what happened, but for now, coffee.”

  He looked weary, but she wasn’t surprised.

  She poured him a cup and set it down. “You don’t remember?”

  “Alicia, you know I don’t.”

  That was true. She knew it happened because he’d told her sometimes it did, but she’d never seen it before.

  “George is dead.”

  “Troy killed him.”

  “No, essentially you did.”

  “I did?”

  He was astonished. That he couldn’t remember that surprised her, but then again it didn’t. She pointed at his cup. “Drink your coffee.”

  He did, quiet for a few minutes. Then he ruffled his hair with his fingers. “Okay, once again, what happened? Why am I not under arrest?”

  She’d taken her seat again. “You saved Troy’s life. George went after him and you went after George, and took away the knife. I don’t think it will ever make him stop hating you, but Troy was drunk, and you got to George before he could shoot him. He shot but missed both of you, and if I had to call it, had it been a different day, one when he hadn’t decided to chuck those twelve steps to the wind, you and George might both be dead. Maybe all three of you would be dead.”

  “Double murder/suicide? I can see that.”

  So could she. Her dreams might be nightmares for life now. “George had a second heart attack during the struggle. This one killed him.”

  “Interesting. How did I do with the police?” Jon just sipped his coffee as if that was at all a normal question.

  “Troy didn’t do so well, but you sounded fine. My question is, where is this going?”

  His smile was humorless. “You could say straight to hell, but I’m pretty sure all of us have already been there. You, me, Troy and George.”

  It wasn’t like she disagreed. “I didn’t call the sheriff’s department when I ran outside. I called Troy. Maybe that was my mistake. I think they’ll cover for how drunk he was, but then again, he didn’t actually do anything except drive under the influence and shoot an old hutch. It isn’t perfect, but his wife was just murdered. I think the general populace would forgive him. I’m sure there’ll be a hearing, but you’ll sail through that one okay.”

  Jon regarded her as if seeing her for the first time that morning. “You say George is dead. Troy and I may escape unscathed; we might not, but what about you? Is Alicia Hahn going to walk away from this?”

  A lot of that answer depended on him on a number of different levels. “I don’t know. Do you care?”

  He thought it over, and that was comforting, because a facile answer was not what she was looking for. Jon eventually said slowly, “I do. I’m not going to ever drop to my knees and say I can’t live without you, but you don’t seem to need that, which makes for a nice balance. I’m comfortable with you and that is the least romantic compliment on earth, but then again could be one of the most flattering.”

  Alicia flattened her hands on the table. “Thank you, then. How do you feel?”

  Jon gazed at her. “Meaning?”

  “The Entity. You’re the one who swears it just finds a new host. George said it wants you. He can’t be responsible for everything. The laughter, the gravestone, or Larimer in the liquor store. I can tell you that wasn’t him.”

  He stopped as if he was trying to remember the conversation. Maybe he didn’t. She wasn’t sure when the blackout started.

  “If it was possible that happened, what are you doing here alone with me?”

  He hadn’t answered the question.

  “I have never understood what I was doing with you at any time, Jon.”

  “You are a smart girl.” His smile was thin-lipped. “But I feel exactly the same. Well, borderline the same anyway, hating Black Lake but unable to picture being away from it for long. Your turn. Where did it go? How do you feel? You’d be perfect. You refuse to leave, your ties are so deep. Everyone in this town trusts you.”

  That hadn’t occurred to her. “Me?”

  “You might not be as physically capable, but don’t put the idea entirely aside. Troy is a likely candidate too. I would have voted him in more than George in the first place.”

  She would have, too.

  Alicia took a deep breath. “We have a bigger problem.”

  “Oh, I’d love to hear what that might be.”

  She took in a breath. “When you whispered in my ear you’d had a vasectomy so we didn’t need protection, were you lying?”

  “No.”

  She believed him. Or she believed he believed it. Maybe he thought he’d gone and done it but he’d said plainly he hadn’t told his ex-wife because he didn’t want the argument. What if he just didn’t remember?

  She told him then.

  “Well, I’m pregnant, and
don’t you dare ask me. Yes, it has to be yours.”

  Dead silence except for the ticking of the clock on the wall.

  He said in a hollow voice, “I didn’t sleep with Connie after I had the procedure. I suppose it is possible. The odds are astronomical against it, but…possible.”

  Alicia put her hand on her belly. “You don’t think…”

  He didn’t hesitate. “I don’t know, Alicia.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A.C. Alexander

  A.C. Alexander has always been a fan of suspense and horror novels. She lives in scenic southern Indiana, in Brown County, and is owned by a big black dog, and a small black cat.

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