She glanced over at Kyle. He’d been quiet the entire ride over, and he stared now, his eyes blank, into the equally blank eyes of the house. “We’ve got an audience,” she said. “If we were here officially—I mean, if we were actually allowed to be here—we’d probably need to go over there and interview her.”
Kyle stared over at Bella, his piercing eyes still unfocused as if he were looking right through her at something far more interesting. “Interview who?”
Bella nodded her head toward the house across the way.
“An old woman, directly behind me. She’s been watching us since we showed up.”
Kyle’s eyes finally sharpened, and he looked over his shoulder with a quick flick of the head. When he returned to meet Bella’s gaze, uncertainty was easily readable in his expression.
“She’s seen Salem,” Bella went on. “She knows something for sure. Hell, she probably thinks we’re a couple of teenagers here to score meth.”
Despite the dour tone that had fallen over both of them, Kyle laughed.
“Teenagers, that’s great. Must be my twelve-step Korean skincare routine.”
Without responding to him, she put her hand on the gate and pulled the latch with a determined yank. She was already through the gate and maneuvering a path among the trash that carpeted the walk.
“Wait a second. Jesus, Bella. What’s the plan?” he hissed, crouching a little as he walked behind her, like he could not be seen.
Bella stopped dead and turned to him. “The plan,” she hissed back, moving close enough so she could speak in a whisper, “is for me to go in there and get a good look around. That’s all. You need to stay out here.”
“I’m not staying out here. If you’re right, and if that psycho is in there, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go in there alone.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Bella said. “I don’t care if Brooks fires me, but I’m not taking you down with me.”
“It’s a little late for that,” Kyle said, raising his arms to indicate their position. “I’m in this for real now.”
Bella was even closer now. She pressed her finger against the moist wool of his hideous sweater. “You wait outside, in the back. If I need you, you’ll know, all right?”
“If you need me?” Kyle sputtered, his jaw flexing.
“I didn’t want you here. I just wanted you to know where I was going. But this? All of this crazy, damaged, fucked-up bullshit is all on me, all right? If you get hurt… If anything happens to you…” She trailed off. There was silence as she withdrew her sharp little finger and looked up to the starless sky. There were a few seconds where the knot in her stomach grew even tighter.
“If anything happens to me…?” he finally said, an eyebrow crooked.
Bella paused, keeping her thoughts to herself. There was no point getting sentimental now. Without wasting any more time, she pulled the gun from her holster. “I’m going in.”
Of course it was locked. There was no way Salem would be that lazy. Her time in that farmhouse had been like a prison lockdown. He didn’t allow anyone in or out without his express permission even back then. Now that he was up there with the nation’s most-wanted criminals, there’s no way he would’ve left a door unlocked.
Bella took a quick look around the neighborhood. Feeling a little like the man she was hunting, she pulled the sleeve of her anorak down to cover her hand and punched the window that flanked the door. The shattering clack of the glass was louder than she’d anticipated, and she froze, her breath hot and captive in her chest.
She looked back over her shoulder at the old lady’s house across the way. The curtains were closed, thank God. Her ears strained in the silence, searching underneath the sound of the freeway next to them for any indication of life inside the house.
There was nothing.
Bella reached her hand through the broken window. She bit her lower lip again as the stretch to the dead bolt burned up her arm and into her shoulder. Finally, there was a satisfying, solid click, and the door was open.
Her gun was raised in a firm grip before the door had finished swinging open. With her heart in her throat, Bella stepped into the entranceway.
The small house was pitch black. She’d expected to be hit with the smell of rot and human waste that usually emitted from squatter property, but it was absent. Instead, she picked up the scent of wet metal and wiring. It stung her nostrils, racing up into her sinuses with a hot, unnatural tang. This was not the smell of an abandoned house. This house was being used.
This house was occupied.
Her firearm raised to her eyeline, Bella stepped farther into the house. She was gripping her gun so tight she could feel her heartbeat through her clenched fingers. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she turned to where the entrance opened up to the living room. From what she could see, the house was dark throughout. However, the streetlights shining through the uncovered front window showed a room stacked with Amazon Prime boxes and gutted electronics.
As far as she knew, squatters didn’t order online.
Her heart sped up. Kyle was in the back. She needed to keep that in mind. All she had to do was yell and he’d be there. She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest felt locked.
When she passed through the kitchen, she was met by a narrow hallway that ran through the back of the house. Stepping into it, her back tensed in anticipation. She had no indication that he was here. She had only a suspicion. Her body knew though. It sensed his presence like muscle memory, like a woman who flinches every time her abusive husband raises a hand.
The hallway swallowed her. She cast a quick glance out the bathroom window, hoping to see Kyle’s shadow somewhere out there, like a lighthouse guiding her way.
She saw nothing but blackness.
There was one bedroom at the end of the hall. Moving on cat-paw soft feet, her gun still and lethal in front of her, she slowly pushed the door open with the tip of her sneaker.
He was here.
Bella froze in the doorway, her gaze rolling over him to take in the details. Her legs trembled like leaves in the breeze, all her strength leaving her in an instant. He was so much older than she remembered him, his wrinkles growing deeper within sagging flesh, but he was no less terrifying.
When Salem looked up over his shoulder, his jaw was slack. Bella saw all of those perfectly shaped, perfectly carnivorous teeth where they were sunk into his rotting gums. He was literally half the man he once was. His skin was like jerky, lined and tough against the bones of his skull. His body was so crumpled in on itself where he sat, it was almost doubled over as if relaxed.
But his eyes told a different story.
They widened with excitement that sent a wave of nausea so strong through her body, she almost stumbled back. His eyes hadn’t changed.
“My…” He dropped what he’d been working on, his soldering gun falling with a clatter among the rest of the electronics that rose like a pyramid on the desk in front of him. Standing from his desk, he was just as tall as she remembered. A sigh ran through him, like a mockery of maternal love. “My little duckling. I’ve missed you.”
The little girl inside Bella screamed, clawing at her insides as if begging her to leave. She resisted, raising her gun even higher in a fierce grip, positioning it perfectly in the center of his forehead. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m here to stop it.” She heard her own voice like a recording. She didn’t remember thinking of those words or even giving her brain the permission to say them. “You need to come with me.”
Salem smiled. “I don’t need to do much of anything.” He smirked. “Except…” To her horror, he unfurled his arms from his side. They were like predatorial wings, stretching across the room until the dark feathers blocked the light. “Except welcome you home, my little duckling.”
Bella suppressed a gag and gripped the gun tighter. It was steady. Thank God it was steady. She just had to maintain that until she had enough air in her lungs to call
for Kyle. She pictured him all of a sudden, waiting by the back door. “Don’t fucking call me that.” When she found her voice, it was tougher than she felt. “I don’t ever want to hear those words out of your mouth again.”
Salem recoiled as if he’d been slapped. The genuine hurt in his beady, dark eyes was enough to give her pause, if only for a second. “But that’s what you were: my little duckling,” he said, stepping away from his desk where a mass of electronics towered, illuminated by a single task lamp. There was a shudder under his voice.
“Was.” Her cheeks burned. Her head swam. “You didn’t give me a choice, you sick bastard.”
That smile again. She’d hoped the full force of the rage in her voice would’ve had some sort of effect. It didn’t. He simply smiled the same mild but ravenous grin that he did before.
“Who’s outside?” he asked, sliding his chair back under the desk.
Bella froze, her flesh turning cold. “Nobody. I mean, none of your goddamn business.”
“Ooh, two answers. I love two answers. Which one is the truth? Which will unlock the secret prize? Is it nobody waiting outside, or is it none of my business?”
He was near her now. She willed her legs to move but received no response. Her body was as frozen as her mind, locked tight under Salem as he crept closer and closer.
“I’ve missed you, sweetheart.” He was inches away now. His hands, as steady as hers, reached out and pressed her gun downward. She was helpless. Her brain screamed at her to lift her hand, to squeeze the trigger and send him spiraling backward into the wall. She couldn’t. All she could smell was his breath against her cheek. It leaked into her nose, heavy and guttural. “I’ve missed you so bad.”
His fingers were on her cheeks. She heard the huff of her own breath but couldn’t force her arms to move. It was like she’d become some kind of statue—racing heart and roiling bowels hidden beneath the stone. “Go to hell.”
That was all she could manage.
“I’ve been trying to get your attention, Isabella. Those two murders? Honestly, I thought you’d appreciate those. The young one? Memory lane.” His breath was bathing her skin. He accentuated every syllable, made sure every puff of exhalation hit her like a punch. “Good times.”
Bella wondered how long it would take for a heart to give out. Unable to move, paralyzed by her own fear, she held her gun mutely.
“That second one was just to get your attention. I thought you might have missed the subtlety of the first but wanted to be certain you’d get my point with the second. He looked an awful lot like your boyfriend, right? I’m proud of that one. Found that kid at a bar downtown. Nipped his chronic alcoholism in the bud.”
“What do you want?” Bella finally spoke, a staccato of nerves.
Salem took a deep breath. He buried his old, moist nose in the side of her head. “I want what I’ve always wanted.” He stepped back.
For a second of sheer horror, Bella found herself staring directly into his eyes.
“I want you.”
The rage that seared through her was bright enough to finally free her. She heard her gun go off.
In one second, Salem was off her and hurling back until he slammed into the wall. He sank to the ground, blood slipping through his fingers where he grabbed his arm. His face, lined with wrinkles unfamiliar to her, looked up at her with morbid vacancy. Vulnerable—he was deliciously vulnerable.
“Does that hurt, asshole?” The voice that came from her throat sounded like something recorded from an exorcism. Her head swam. Her throat burned. “Does that hurt, huh? Tell me how much that hurts! Tell me how much! Tell me how much, you piece of shit!”
She’d advanced on him but wasn’t prepared for his response. Too spry for a man his age, he leapt from where he’d landed. Bella felt breath explode from her lungs as he slammed his fist into her and made for the door.
As her head whipped against the faded wallpaper, she heard herself yelling out for Kyle. She’d missed her chance at Ross, but there was still the vague hope of Kyle catching him on his way out.
There were a few seconds when her vision blurred so badly from the blow against the wall that she couldn’t see. The room swam like she was six scotches in. She tried to breathe. She tried again. There was such screaming in her head that she couldn’t distinguish her own feelings from the fear and primal rage that ran through her. Her mind went blank as unconsciousness threatened to take over.
No. No. No!
He couldn’t get away again.
Not on her watch.
“Bastard,” she mumbled, gripping her gun tighter in her hand despite the dizziness. She watched the door, all six of them, as they swung in front of her gaze and then solidified into a singular exit.
It was up to Kyle now. As long as Salem used the back door, they’d be covered. A way better aim than she was, though she’d never admit it, Kyle would be sure to tag Ross before he made it past the patio. She gasped for breath, listening for the aggressive pop that would signal the man’s demise.
But there was nothing.
Despite the nausea, Bella pushed herself to rush out of the room and into the kitchen. The screen door was open, and the backyard was empty.
Where was Kyle?
She stumbled outside, standing on the small cement stoop with her chest heaving like she’d run her best time. She scanned the yard for Salem, her sharp but confused eyes recording every detail of the shady, overgrown garden before her.
There was a groan to her right.
Kyle.
His body was crumpled, so young and tender in his Freddy Kreuger sweater, on the uncut grass. Bella was down the stairs and at his side in a second, barely aware of the gate that slammed behind Salem as he escaped the yard.
Her pants absorbed the wet grass as she landed next to her partner. Her hands were on him in an instant, wrapped around his warm neck and knitted into his hair like they’d been woven together since birth. “Oh Jesus, Kyle. Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”
He’d taken a blow to his head. She could feel the warmth of her partner’s blood where it oozed from his wet hair and over her hands. His eyes gazed up at her, unfocused.
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice weak. He raised a hand and touched his head, wincing. “I think.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The walk to the garage had been excruciating. The pain in his arm had caused him to slouch like a wounded animal as he made his way through backyards, alleyways, and finally, under the freeway, a dizzying roar of lights and certain death. By the time Salem reached the property, he’d been soaked in rain, blood, and his own humiliating sweat.
The pain in his arm had made him vomit twice along the way. At least he liked to think it was the pain. It did occur to him as he was bent over in the bushes, bile dripping from his face, that there might be a fair amount of self-loathing forcing up his dinner as well.
Now, he looked down at himself where he stood in the dim of his rented space, studying another of his bodily fluids; his shirt was covered in blood, and the pajama bottoms he wore had been torn at the hems. The soiled fabric fell over his bare feet, which were in equally bad shape. He hadn’t had the time to grab anything useful before he was driven from the house. There’d been no choice but to leave it all.
They’d be picking through it now, drawing their inevitable conclusions from the electronics, chemicals, and packing slips that littered every square inch of the place.
What a fool.
The waves of heat that consistently gushed out from his wound seemed worse now he’d stopped running. He felt the blood stream down his bare arm with every labored beat of his heart. Shaking, he made his way to a large tool chest against the far wall. He opened one of the drawers and pulled out the medical supplies he’d had the forethought to stash.
Salem pulled off his T-shirt. It made a plopping sound as the soaked fabric hit the concrete floor. When he’d picked this spot as his “alternate location,” he’d been fond of the fact
that it was heated. Something in the back of his head had thought he might’ve needed somewhere cozy in a pinch. He just didn’t think it would be quite such a pinch.
He screwed the cap off a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. Placing a thick roll of medical tape in his mouth, he bit down as he poured the alcohol onto his wound. His jaw clenched against the pain. There’d been enough hunting accidents in his past that Salem could tell a clean gunshot wound when he saw one. As the alcohol swept away the blood, he could see where the bullet had blasted through the thin meat of his upper arm and out the other side. For a celebrated detective, Isabella was a shitty shot.
He spat the tape from his mouth and began to wrap gauze around the seeping wound. He pulled it tight, wincing against another burst of pain. It would need stitches, but that would have to wait until he had the supplies. For now, all he could do was stop the bleeding as best he could and try to calm down.
Salem took a deep breath. He dug deeper into the chest drawer for one of the heavy, elasticized bandages he remembered storing in there. His hands shook. They barely looked like his own. His vision was still blurry with shock, and he noticed, as if for the first time, how old his hand looked. Purple veins bulged against his skin as he stumbled around in his limited supplies like the hands of a palsied old man. Was that what he was? Was he really, finally, that weak?
He stopped and took another breath. He had to stay calm. He could feel the rage scraping behind his eyes, waiting for him to give it permission to stop whining at the door and come in. What was behind there was black, stickier than the blood that coated his feeble old hands, and bigger than he could contain. It would rip him apart on the way out.
He pictured his impotent old-man hands around Isabella’s throat, squeezing tendons and muscles and bone between his fingers until her sweet, innocent face turned violet.
Kill Game: An Unforgettable Serial Killer Thriller Page 10