Cold Sight

by Parrish, Leslie

  “Then what happened to it? Did he leave it to anyone else?”

  She checked the screen. “Sold at auction. Guess the perv wasn’t big on paying his taxes.”

  Damn. “The man had to have friends, someone he was close to outside of the Hellfire Club. We need to talk to people who worked with him, his students.”

  “Why don’t you talk to his brother?”

  Aidan and Lexie both swung around, shocked as a strange voice intruded. They were equally shocked by the words he’d said.

  Kenny stood in the doorway, his mop in his hands. Though the scars made his expressions hard to read, there was no hiding the tension in his pose.

  “What do you mean?” Lexie asked, rising from the desk. “Coach White didn’t have a brother.”

  “Sure he did.” Kenny frowned, then scrunched his eyes closed. “Uhh . . . oh, boy, my brain just doesn’t wanna work right. Can’t recall his name.”

  Walking over, Lexie put a hand on the man’s shoulder and led him to a chair. “Did you know Mr. White, Kenny?”

  He nodded as he took a seat. “Went to school with ’im. Jed was quiet, cried a lot, and got picked on. But his big brother was a real bully.”

  “We can’t find any mention of a brother anywhere.”

  “Are you sure?” Kenny’s face scrunched up as he thought. “I coulda swore he had one. But I guess maybe I could be wrong. I get confused sometimes. It was a long time ago.”

  A brother, not mentioned anywhere? Was that possible?

  Kenny’s frown deepened as his frustration grew. “Maybe it was a cousin? I’m so stupid, I never get anything right!”

  “Give it a minute.” Aidan walked over to stand on the other side of Kenny’s chair. “Don’t concentrate too hard, just let it come.”

  The maintenance man sniffled. “Been thinking hard all day, ’bout Miss Taylor and Miss Jenny.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “Rascals, the two of ’em,” he whispered.“The way they’d switch places. I knew right away Miss Taylor swapped with Miss Jenny last Monday. Lordy, was I thankful to hear she was okay after I heard the one she walked out with got grabbed by the Ghoul.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Never dreamed he’d get her a few days later.”

  Lexie tilted her head in confusion. “Wait, you’re saying you saw Taylor at school Monday night? With Vonnie Jackson?”

  “Yeah. Swapped places, they did. I was cleaning up after the meeting and saw her. No mistakin’ Miss Taylor’s smile, even if she was calling herself Jenny.”

  Shocked, Aidan had to wonder what this could mean.

  Kenny continued. “When I heard what happened to them girls, I got to thinking about it. Wondering if maybe the Ghoul was afraid Miss Taylor’d seen him and that’s why he took her.”

  Aidan could only stare at the man, so often ignored and overlooked by those around him. His ears and eyes were always open, though, picking up truths and tidbits others would never notice. Because, of course, what he said was a possibility. They’d all been focused on where Vonnie had been grabbed—in the Boro, where her books had been found—they hadn’t considered that she might have been stalked while still at her own school.

  What if Taylor had seen something? Or if the killer thought she had?

  Kenny lifted both his hands to his head and pressed them there, tangling his fingers in his hair. “Think, dummy, think,” he told himself, looking on the verge of tears.

  Lexie bit her lip, obviously, hating to see the man torment himself. But she knew as well as Aidan that he might have information that could be the key to solving this. To saving the girls.

  Unfortunately, it appeared that the harder he pushed, the more elusive the memory became. Finally, grunting in frustration, the poor man threw himself into a chair, pounding his fists on his own thighs.

  “It’s okay,” Aidan said, soothing and calm. “It’s all right. Just sit quietly for a minute, okay? Don’t try to talk; don’t tell us what you’re seeing. Just try to let the memories of those younger days when you knew Jed and his brother float free. Don’t try to catch them; just let them go.”

  He glanced at Lexie, who apparently realized what he was doing. She didn’t hesitate, she merely nodded, agreeing that he should do whatever he could to share in this poor, wrecked man’s memories.

  Kenny did as Aidan asked, remaining quiet, his eyes falling closed. Sitting opposite him, Aidan breathed deeply, allowing his body to fall into a familiar, relaxed state. He stared at Kenny’s poor face, not allowing himself to wonder how it had become that way, then focused, hard, on what the other man had looked like when he was younger. Before his accident. When he was twenty. Fifteen. Ten.

  Finally, he closed his eyes as well, falling into Kenny’s past.

  The man held nothing back. He might not be able to grab the hints of memory from the deep recesses of his brain, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Aidan watched as they emerged, taking shape in the foggy mist that appeared behind his closed eyelids.

  Kenny might not be able to verbalize them, but Aidan saw them. Heard them.

  Why don’t you watch where you’re goin’, retard? A cruel voice. A youngster’s voice.

  Kenny, crying. Asking the other boys not to take his lunch money. Not to hide his books. Not to laugh at him in gym class.

  Aidan’s heart twisted, but he didn’t let himself dwell on the wrongs done to this poor man in his childhood, or how unjust it was that he now bore a scarred face inviting even more ridicule. Because through it all, Kenny’s kindheartedness remained clear.

  That kindness included his worry over a classmate who always came to school bruised and sad. Jed, who sat beside Kenny in Mrs. Finkelstein’s first-grade class.

  Stop crying, Jed! The bully’s voice again. Only this time, it wasn’t sneering or vicious; it sounded almost . . . tender. Don’t let anybody see you cry. Not ever. I’ll take care of you.

  He saw the two boys, huddled in a corner near a water fountain in what looked like an old school building. They didn’t know Kenny was lurking nearby, overlooked, ignored, like always.

  Then he heard another voice, softer, weak, from the small, thin child. Jed. You promise, Markie? You won’t ever leave me, will you? You won’t leave me alone with him, down in the dark?

  I won’t. You’re my little brother. Brothers are always there for each other. You believe me, right?

  I believe you, Markie. But what if they make you? If they get a divorce and your mom goes away, you’ll have to go, too, right?

  If they force me, I’ll find a way to come back for you, I swear. Nobody’s gonna hurt you, Jed. If they do, I’ll make them pay.

  I’ll make them pay.

  The memories shifted, more children, loud and cruel, more of Kenny’s quiet stoicism. He was losing himself in more personal memories. Heartbreaking ones.

  Aidan drew back, pulling away from the mist, erecting the wall between his mind and Kenny’s memories. He had what he needed.

  There had been a brother—a stepbrother. His mother had been married to Jed’s father. All they needed to find was a marriage certificate, and then they’d have a name.

  Aidan rubbed a hand over his eyes, then lifted his gaze to Lexie. “Look for marriage and divorce records on Jed’s father. He remarried sometime after his first wife’s death. And his second wife had a son, called Markie.”

  Kenny’s eyes flew open and he snapped his fingers. “Markie! That’s it, Jed’s big brother was named Markie.”

  “Are you sure?” Lexie asked.

  Kenny answered even before Aidan could, as if the memories had solidified in his mind with Aidan’s words. “Sure I’m sure! Jed was my age, we was in the same class. Markie was older, grade three, I think. Him and Jed didn’t have the same last name, though, ’cause he was already born when his mama got married to Jed’s daddy.”

  Aidan nodded once, confirming what Kenny had said.

  Lexie hurried back to the desk, obviously intending to look up more in
formation on Jed White’s mother. Aidan focused on the maintenance man, who was proving to be so vitally important to this case. “Kenny, what happened to Markie, do you remember?”

  He nodded eagerly. “Yeah! Markie’s mama divorced Jed’s daddy and they moved away. Jed was sad, I can tell you. Talked about his brother for years. Anybody was botherin’ him, he’d say, ‘My brother Markie’s gonna come back one day and make you sorry you were ever mean to me!’ ”

  Everything clicked into place with that one sentence, a few words whispered by a little boy over thirty years ago.

  He’ll make you sorry you were ever mean to me.

  Markie had promised to make them pay. And it appeared he had made good on that promise. If Aidan’s suspicions were correct, Jed White’s long-lost stepbrother had been playing a game of cat-and-mouse with the men he held responsible for Jed’s death.

  It was all supposition, guesswork at this point. But somehow, deep inside, Aidan knew he was right.

  “Oh my God,” Lexie whispered. “Is this possible?”

  Aidan jerked his head to look at her, seeing Lexie literally shaking in her chair. Her face was pale, her mouth open in an O, short, tiny gasps coming out of it.

  “What is it?”

  She couldn’t speak, merely pointing to the screen. Aidan rose from his chair and hurried to her, bending over her shoulder to look at the monitor for himself.

  It was a marriage record, detailing the marriage of Jed White’s father, Jedediah, to a woman named Alice, when Jed was about two years old.

  Lexie’s trembling finger was pointed directly at the mother’s name. Her last name.

  Young. Alice Young, who had apparently had a son from a previous marriage. Markie.

  “Markie would be a nickname, of course,” she whispered. “For Mark.”

  He now remembered where he’d heard the name. It had been at the football game, when she’d been pointing out who was who in this town.

  One of whom had been vice principal Mark Young.

  Chapter 17

  Sunday, 7:15 p.m.

  “I hear a car. He’s coming back.”

  Though they had been lying in the dark, waiting for this moment, ready for their chance to put their plan in motion and escape from here, Taylor couldn’t deny a shiver of raw terror ripped through her body at Vonnie’s whispered words.

  The monster was coming. And they thought they could escape him?

  She couldn’t do this. Just couldn’t. “Oh my God.”

  “Calm down,” the other girl ordered. “I can smell your fear from over here. If he knows you’re conscious and waiting for your chance, he’ll come in here ready to put you down like a dog. Just get back over there where you were, and stick to the plan. You hit him, you take his keys, and you run like hell. Get help, and come back for me.”

  “I can’t just leave you . . .”

  “We have one shot,” Vonnie insisted. “You can’t waste time trying to find the keys to the lock on these chains, as well as the one to the door, unless you kill the sonofabitch, which would be just fine by me.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Barring that, the second he goes down, you get outta here and find help. I’ve held out this long, I’ll survive till you get back, and if he gets close enough, I’ll hold him to give you more of a head start.”

  Taylor couldn’t help it, she began to cry. She tried to blink away the tears, then did as Vonnie had told her, getting back into her position on the floor, the damn knife still sticking out of her back. Vonnie hadn’t let her pull it out, saying it could be keeping a wound plugged up and if it came out she could bleed to death. Even if that didn’t happen, it wasn’t worth the risk that their captor would see it was out as soon as he returned. No way would he think it had fallen out on its own, not when it had stuck tight throughout the rest of the ordeal. He’d know she had regained consciousness and would be more wary when he entered.

  “You back where you were?”

  “I think so,” she said, unable to be totally sure in this pitch darkness.

  “Good. Stay still. Remember, don’t listen to him; no matter what he says, try not to react.”

  A car door slammed. Taylor closed her eyes. Jenny, help me. Please help me stay calm.

  You can do this.

  Thinking of how rational and smart her twin had always been, she forced herself to take deep breaths, to try to still her racing heart.

  Breathe. Just breathe. He’s not a monster; he’s only a man.

  The man who had destroyed her family. The man who had killed her sister. The man who intended to torture her to death.

  Her body relaxed, but her mind hardened with resolve.

  Maybe she couldn’t do this. Maybe she wouldn’t escape.

  But she could try.

  Hearing a clink, she figured Vonnie was still frantically trying to work her way out from under the chains. Now that her hands were free of the tape, which Taylor had pulled off bit by bit, working blind in the dark, Vonnie seemed to think she might be able to get herself up without having to wait for someone to rescue her with the key.

  Over the past hour, she’d heard the other girl grunt, then whimper as she maneuvered her arms and shoulders into impossible positions. Vonnie was trying to flatten herself, to twist out from between the cot and the restraining chain looped around her.

  That would be a miracle. With two of them able to leap on the man, surprising him as soon as he came through the door, they might be able to actually do this.

  But Taylor didn’t believe in miracles, not anymore. Not after last night.

  She couldn’t rely on Vonnie’s help, not unless she was lucky enough to knock their attacker out and had time to look for all his keys. Until then, she was entirely on her own.

  No, you’re not.

  Taylor breathed out, slowly, calm again. She couldn’t see Vonnie in the darkness, but she could see Jenny, still lying there on her stomach, just a few feet away. Reaching for her. Smiling.

  Taylor reached, too, pressed the tip of her finger to her sister’s, absorbing her strength and her love.

  Ready?

  “Ready,” she breathed.

  A sound from above made her stiffen. Jenny disappeared, but still, Taylor felt her touch.

  From nearby came a heavy footfall. A clang of metal—the outer door.

  “Stop moving,” she ordered Vonnie. “He’s here.”

  Oh God, help me, he’s here.

  Sunday, 7:15 p.m.

  “I still can’t reach him,” Lexie said as she slammed her cell phone down onto her lap. She leaned forward in her seat, staring out the windshield, silently urging Aidan to drive faster. “Damned dispatcher says he’s interrogating a prisoner and refuses to be disturbed.”

  “Did you tell her why you were calling?”

  “I told her it was about Jenny Kirby’s murder, but she didn’t seem to believe me. The chief might have started taking my side, but to everyone else, I’m still the girl who cried wolf.”

  She should have made the call anonymously. Better yet, they should have just driven to the police station and raised hell until they got into the chief’s office. But once they’d done a bit more research—enough to convince them Mark Young was, indeed, the Granville Ghoul, they’d both been too fearful for the girls and had driven out to the house, not suspecting they wouldn’t even get their calls put through to Dunston.

  “Hell,” Aidan muttered. “We shouldn’t be doing this alone. It’s insane.”

  He was right. They had absolutely no business going to find Young themselves. But who else was there? His friends had gone back to Savannah—though he’d called Julia, they were all still an hour away. The other members of the local police wouldn’t listen to a word Lexie said.

  Aidan had seen in his vision that the girls were going to try to make a break for it the next time their psychopathic captor came into their cell. And what chance did they have? They would probably both die in the effort.

  No, there was no
time to wait. They couldn’t just hang around for Chief Dunston to call them back, nor could they call 911 and have them go to the house where they were now headed, without even knowing if it was the place. For all they knew, Young could be at his own home, which was, revoltingly, in the same neighborhood as the Kirbys’.

  But she didn’t think so. She had the feeling he was at the place in the country, far from any neighbors. The house where Markie Young had lived as a boy, with his mother, his stepfather, and his stepbrother, Jed White.

  The house he now owned.

  She’d gone back to the county tax records site before they’d left the office. Young had been the one who’d bought White’s house at auction almost three years ago, right after Jed’s death. That was only a few months after Young had arrived in Granville to take the job as high school vice principal.

  Before then, he’d been doing the same job at a school in northwest Georgia. Funny, the minute she read the name of the town he’d lived in before, she’d thought of those other missing persons cases, the ones she’d flagged when researching the story. Something told her Mark Young had not developed his taste for killing after he’d arrived here in Granville. He’d simply indulged it more—and enjoyed the side benefit of psychologically tormenting his enemies.

  The urge to return to Granville, to be near his “brother,” must have been a strong one. How the two must have enjoyed the few months of their reunion, when they’d worked together at the same school, no one ever knowing of their decades-old connection. Or their shared tastes.

  But their reunion had been short-lived. Jed had died—sometime after introducing his stepbrother into the Hellfire Club.

  How long had it taken Mark to find out Jed had been murdered by the other club members wanting to cover up his crime?

  That wasn’t hard to figure out—it had probably been around six months. About the same amount of time between Jessie Leonard’s murder and the next one.