“I know, I know. It was a terrible thing to do. You weren’t exactly perfect in college, either, remember?” I pointedly remind her.
She blushes and abruptly stops condemning me, at least out loud. I go on to explain that my roommate, the guy who wrote the manuscript, was a real oddball.
“Walker Fitzgerald,” I muse aloud. “I wonder whatever happened to him. It was this guy my friend Carly knew in a shared apartment situation…”
I stop talking, realizing that Hannah is staring at me wide-eyed.
“Your weird housemate who you stole from…This guy who has reason to hold a grudge against you…You’re sure his name was Walker Fitzgerald?”
“Yeah, why?” I ask suspiciously.
“The guy who sold me drugs was also named Walker Fitzgerald.”
“Not a common name.” Now it’s coming together. “So, Walker knew both of our secrets.”
“You know what else?” Hannah adds. “Walker had a bit of a crush on me. I had to turn him down twice before he got the message. That’s another potential grudge.”
“Hm, well, I honestly can’t blame him,” I admit, nibbling her earlobe.
She smiles and shoos me away. We both agree that we need to share this realization with Sheriff Kean immediately. Leaving the cabin is a risky decision, but if there’s any chance that this information can help Sheriff Kean to track down the killer and end the madness then we need to take the chance. We get dressed and make a bee line for the car. Slamming the doors closed and buckling our seatbelts, we speed down the mountain to the Visalia police station. Bursting through the doors, I relax a tiny bit. I actually feel safer inside the police station, despite having recently been imprisoned here. When Sheriff Keaton runs the name Walker Fitzgerald, it comes back as belonging to a deceased person.
“Well we knew that,” Sheriff Kean says, surprising us. “That was the dead man on your front porch, Chloe.”
“What? That guy was Walker? I never would have recognized him! He looked so different. So…”
“Dead?” Sheriff Kean suggests mildly. “Anyway, I know that Fitzgerald hasn’t been running around town killing people since he’s dead and all. But the fact that he has a personal connection to each of you is very interesting and completely new information. We should do some digging, see what else comes up.”
The telephone rings again. When Sheriff Keaton answers he is told of another murder. This time a note was left with the body.
Dead man walking and it’s time to pay the piper
Hannah
Whoever this deranged lunatic is, he seems to be operating in this neck of the woods, for the most part. If people are turning up dead in Visalia, then I’m ready to leave Visalia. Besides, we were told not to leave the cabin or we would die, but we made it to the police station alive. I find this encouraging. The killer may be ruthless and insane, but he is not omniscient. When I broach this idea to Chloe, she agrees that we should make a run for Los Angeles.
Thanking Sheriff Kean for his continued help and his faith in our innocence, we head back to the Camry, impatient to leave this bloody town behind. I toss Chloe the keys, hoping to catch up on some sleep. The weather is smiling down on us. It’s finally warm and sunny. This feels like a good omen. Apparently, being in fear for your life can turn a person superstitious, I think ruefully. Outside of town, we pick up Highway 99 headed South.
Just as I start to relax, I notice a box truck in the passing lane that caught up to us but isn’t passing. It’s just hovering directly behind the Camry’s left shoulder. Chloe sees it too and keep darting nervous eyes at the rearview and side mirrors. Suddenly, the truck is swerving into our lane, running us off the road. Chloe jerks the wheel to the right and we swerve into the roadside scrub. The truck skids to a stop beside us and a man in a black ski mask jumps out. He pulls out a handgun and points it directly at me, striding around to the passenger side door and yanking it open.
“Get out of the car,” he orders me. Turning to Chloe he adds, “you stay in the car.”
For a moment, I think she’s going to disobey him and get us both killed trying to protect me. I catch her eye and shake my head. Then I get out of the car. The masked man shoves the gun into the small of my back and tells me to walk towards the back of the truck. When we get there, he slides the latch and tells me that I have to pull the door up.
“It’s heavy. You have to pull it hard. If you don’t succeed, I will shoot you.” The door rattles open, sliding on its rails, and the man tells me to climb in. As soon as I’m in, he grabs a rope dangling from the handle of the door and heaves the door closed again, latching it from the outside. Crouched in the darkness of the empty truck with my back against the wall, I hear 4 gun shots. My logical mind tells me that the masked thug just blew out the tires of the Camry. Why else would it be 4 shots? But what if he shot Chloe? It’s possible that she’s out there dying right now and there’s nothing I can do. I hear the motor start and feel the vibrations in my feet. Then the truck is moving and I find a corner in which to sit down, brace myself, and cry as the truck lumbers off to wherever it’s taking me.
When the truck stops moving, I wipe the tears from my face and steel myself for whatever is coming. I am terrified, but I know that you should not show weakness to bullies. When the door clatters open, the masked man directs me into a rental cabin that seems to be outside of town. I don’t hear any traffic or see any neighbors. With a shudder, I realize that we are quite alone out here. The cabin is an A-frame structure with large windows. It’s the type of woodsy retreat that pretends to be rustic while offering every amenity and coming with a hefty price tag. Okay, now I know that this guy is wealthy. The man ties my ankles and wrists to a kitchen chair and removes his mask.
“Matt?” I ask incredulously. It isn’t really a question. Matt Malone, my lawyer friend…or so I thought. The guy I called for help, twice. The guy who recommended the private investigator. Matt walks to the sidebar and pours himself a glass of wine, red, of course. He smiles indolently and sips his wine, enjoying my confusion.
“I met an interesting man about a month ago. He used to be something of a struggling writer, even descended into drug use in college. I believe he was a friend of yours? Fitzgerald, I think his name was. Such a small world…” Matt pauses to smile at the memory. “You and your little girlfriend thought you had it all, but I knew you were phonies. Too bad Fitzgerald had to die for my art, he was so instrumental in crafting it!”
“You’re insane.” It’s the only statement that makes sense anymore. “Completely insane.”
He laughs and pulls out a manuscript. “It’s almost finished. I only need a few more pages to complete my book. Pages written in murder. You have to admit, there’s a certain poetry to it. Call it a tribute to your beloved’s work; I was inspired! Do you want to hear how you and Chloe will die in the end?” he taunts.
I shake my head no. Laughing again, he spends the next hour crooning to his captive audience in explicit detail about how exactly we will both die at his hands. Sickened and scared, I have no choice but to listen.
Chloe
I used to think that hitch hiking was dangerous. It’s all relative, I guess. When a scruffy looking guy in a pickup truck pulls over to let me in, I climb in without hesitation. Come hell or high water, I will make it to the police station. “Jake” is on his way to Visalia and drops me off without any trouble. I thank him and run inside. I tell Sheriff Kean about Hannah’s abduction, including the license plate number that read off the box truck. Running the license plate on the truck, Sheriff Kean finds out that the truck is registered to a man who owns a rental cabin outside of town.
Ordinarily, civilians do not get to ride along with police officers, but Sheriff Kean lets me ride with him, in case I have any mystery novel insights to contribute. We park out of sight of the cabin and head in on foot, leaving the access road to approach from the side. The truck is parked in front. Sneaking up to a window, we peer inside. My heart jumps in my chest;
Hannah is inside, tied to a chair with tape around her mouth.
“I’m going in. Stay here until we know it’s safe,” sheriff Kean whispers.
The door is locked. Sheriff Kean shoots the lock and bursts through the front door. Watching through the window, I see no sign of the masked man. I wait about 30 seconds before racing inside after him. While Sheriff Kean secures the rest of the rooms in the cabin, I pull the tape from Amanda’s mouth and start working on the rope binding her wrists and ankles, angling my pocket knife carefully between her skin and the cord.
“We have to get out of here!” she says, desperately. “He meant for you to read the license plate. He wanted to lure you and Sheriff Kean to the cabin while he went into town.”
As Sheriff Kean reenters the room, having found no trace of Matt Malone, Hannah fills us in on who the murderer is and what his incoherent rationale looks like. Matt left the manuscript, like some kind of clue in a sick game. Pointing to the last few, blank pages, Hannah explains that Matt intends to write them in blood.
“Each death is because of us! The killing won’t stop until we voluntarily kill ourselves. And you don’t want to know the death he has planned for us if we don’t…He told me all about it, at length,” Hannah concludes with a horrified look on her face.
She stands up and I wrap my arms around her. “None of that is going to happen. We’re going to find this guy and lock him up. We know who he is now. He can’t evade us forever. And we are absolutely not going to kill ourselves. He may be living out a murder mystery but the rest of us live in the real world where serial killers get caught.”
I sound more confident than I feel. But I can’t stand seeing Hannah so demoralized. We all troop back to the cruiser, this time using the main road. No need to be furtive now. Hannah walks with her head down, massaging her chafed wrists. I have my arm around her waist, wishing that I could retroactively protect her and playing the scene over and over in my mind. Maybe if I’d had a gun. I’m a nonviolent person, but if I’d been armed, maybe I could have stopped that bastard from terrorizing Hannah. Maybe I should have pulled off the road sooner, before the other driver was expecting it. I could have turned around, driven across the median, and raced back to town before he could run us off the road. Maybe if I’d been clairvoyant…I know this line of thinking is futile and I should just be thankful that she’s alive.
Gregory
Speeding into down with lights flashing, I pull in at the police station, shocked to see a crowd gathered. This can’t be good. We all get out of the car and walk over to find a man lying on the ground, dead. It looks like he was shot 3 times in the chest and then dumped in the street. Police officers are swarming the area and trying to hold off the onlookers. Scanning the crowd, I notice a man I’ve never seen before. Considering the circumstances, he has a strange expression on his face. He’s smiling.
“You there! Stay where you are!” The man looks at me, still smiling, and then turns and runs.
I’m right behind him. He’s young and fit, but I have a long stride and I run him down within a few blocks. Cuffing him and towing him back to the station, I pause in front of Hannah for her to identify him. She glares at him with obvious recognition. It’s Matt Malone.
I breathe a sigh of relief, having the murderer apprehended. Calling my wife at her sister’s house in Monterey, I tell her that it’s safe to come home. Over the next 2 days, life goes back to normal. My son and wife return home. Hannah and Chloe return to the cabin, obviously inseparable and thrilled to be alive. I’m sitting at my desk, enjoying a nice slow day at work, when I receive a phone call. There’s been another murder.
Shocked, I immediately pay a visit to my captive, Matt Malone. When I tell him that another man has turned up dead, he smiles.
“I warned you. When Hannah and Chloe kill themselves, I will call off the second killer. What kind of murder mystery would this be without a second killer hidden in the pages?”
Keeping my face neutral, I ask what the parameters are. He makes up the rules as he goes. I want to see if he’ll give me any additional information.
“They have 24 hours to kill themselves. They must shoot themselves or more innocent people will die. I’m not stupid. You can’t just tell me they did it and expect me to believe it. They need to shoot themselves right in front of me.”
I feel like the ground is slipping away beneath my feet. I can’t prevent the innocent people in Visalia from falling prey to ruthless killers. I have no intention of letting Hannah and Chloe martyr themselves, but even if they did, there’s no guarantee that the killings would stop. What’s the word of a madman worth? Nothing. But I remember what the letter promised. Even the sheriff dies.
I drive to Chloe’s cabin to update her and Hannah on the most recent development. Their faces fall when I tell them that it’s not over yet. There’s been another murder. I’m sure that my face looked about the same 30 minutes ago when I received the same news. I tell them what Matt is requesting.
Before they can respond, the cabin’s door is kicked open and a man that I don’t recognize runs in and opens fire. The bullet’s impact knocks me backwards and I fall to the floor, stunned. Once I’m down, the shooter stops firing. Apparently, I was his only target. The pain in my side is excruciating but I lie still with my eyes closed, pretending to be dead, as he corrals Hannah and Chloe out of the cabin.
Hannah
The gunman forces me and Chloe into a pickup truck while I try to wrap my mind around the fact that Sheriff Kean is dead. He seemed like such an indomitable force. I can’t believe he’s dead. He has a wife and son...Tears leak from the corners of my eyes as the shooter slams the door and starts driving into town. As I anticipate, he pulls up in front of the police station.
Inside, two dead deputies are slumped at their desks, lines of blood trickling obscenely down their faces. We are ushered to the back where Matt is waiting for us. He is in the cell but the door is open. The shooter must have pulled the keys off one of the deputies. Without warning, as soon as we’re standing in front of Matt’s cell, the man who shot Sheriff Kean lifts his arm and smacks Chloe across the face. Half his size, she’s knocked off her feet by the attach. Before she can scramble out of the way, he kicks her hard in the ribs twice. Matt watches intently, smiling sadistically. The shooter still clutches his handgun. Every time I involuntarily start to go to Chloe, to stand between her and her assailant, he aims his gun at me, warning me to stay put. Watching the beating, I start crying uncontrollably, feeling every strike as though it fell on my own body.
The crazy shooter pulls a second weapon from his belt. Handing one gun to me and the other to Chloe, who is cowering on the floor clutching her bruised ribs, he repeats the instructions that Matt has been giving us.
“Kill yourselves,” he tells us without feeling. Matt has his gun pointed at us, ready to enforce the rules if necessary. The shooter then hands Matt the manuscript and a pen, passing them through the bars like contraband even though the door is open. Watching them, I know that both men are undeniably insane. When we make no move to obey his command, the man who shot Sheriff Kean abruptly departs. Matt continues to point his gun at us while we all wait for…nothing good, I’m sure.
When the mystery shooter returns, he’s carrying a very young child under one arm. The little boy looks to be about 3 years old and he is red faced and wailing for his mother.
“Now, it appears you need some motivation,” drawls the shooter, pointing his gun at the child.
At the same time, Chloe and I raise our guns to our own heads. I’m watching Chloe’s trigger finger like it’s the only thing in the room. I see her tense and start to squeeze the trigger and, without thinking, I point the gun at the shooter and shoot him in the head. The man who had brought the little boy into the jail jerks forward as though pushed suddenly from behind. There is blood on his forehead. As soon as she sees the shooter incapacitated, Chloe takes the chance and, bringing the gun from her own head, aims it instead at Matt Malone. He
r aim is true. She shoots him 3 times in the chest and he falls backwards onto the floor.
The moment both of the violent lunatics are down, I drop the handgun and scoop up the little boy. My focus is getting him as far away from the violence as possible and I assume that Chloe is right behind me. I’m halfway across the room before I realize that she isn’t. Turning back, I see her in the cell, reading something in the manuscript. Realizing something important, she turns around. Just as she does so, Matt rises like a grinning vampire from where he has fallen, gun still in hand. He shoots Chloe. I see her clutch her stomach and drop to her knees.
“The madman always wins in the end,” Matt intones fanatically.
He pulls a long, ugly knife out from under his cot. Leaning down over Chloe, he drops the gun to raise the knife overhead, holding the white, bone handle in both hands. I am unarmed and halfway across the room, watching a madman about to kill the woman I love. I run towards them desperately, knowing that I won’t get there in time. The manuscript is lying on the floor, inches from Chloe’s grasping hand, stained with her own blood. Finding it with her fingers, she desperately grabs ahold of it and with all her remaining strength begins to tear it up.
Matt drops the knife, looking stricken. Pleading with Chloe to stop, and reaching for the torn pages, Matt is distracted just long enough for me to seize the opportunity. Reaching for the gun I dropped a few moments earlier, I take careful aim and shoot him in the head: twice for good measure.
I call an ambulance and sit with Chloe and the little boy until one comes. Chloe is unconscious but alive and the child is, thankfully, unharmed. Most importantly, this horrible nightmare is over.
Chloe
It’s been a month of bedrest and much needed TLC holed up at the cabin. Hannah seems transformed by our experience; gone are the walls and the rationalizations. She knows now that she loves me too much to lose me. And, though my stomach feels like a bowling ball cruised straight through it, the rest of me feels utterly content. Plus, even bedridden invalids can write. Sometimes, Hannah props me up in bed so I can work on my new novel: Love in the Aftermath.
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