Killers Among

by S. E. Green

  Whichever, this person is very smart. Suicides are not investigated like homicides.

  Except my mom was onto the pattern. Yet couldn’t quite piece it together or move fast enough to catch him. Or perhaps she chose not to catch him. She wanted to study his methods.

  Or maybe, just maybe, she was scared of him. Now that’s an intriguing thought.

  Mom was a serial killer, yes, but she also devoted her life to hunting other killers down. I’m sure she looked at them as worthy adversaries, especially these ghosts left un-hunted.

  Every serial killer is a jigsaw puzzle with pieces to assemble, and when all the ends are connected, the picture of motivation perfectly forms.

  The Suicide Killer is a monster, and his path quite possibly crossed my mother’s when she was just a little girl. If she witnessed his crime, why did he let her live? Why was Mom there? What is her connection to the woman who died? I may not know all the answers, but I do know where this killer most likely will be tonight.

  Fort Hunt.

  I put her boxes back in the closet, gather all the information on the suicides, and walk upstairs from the basement. The alarm on my phone beeps with a reminder it’s time to pick up my Jeep. Perfect.

  Family comes first. That thought drove hard into me when Victor had his heart attack and ended up in the hospital. But just because Mom’s degraded DNA was found in a house linked to all of this doesn’t mean it’s the driving force behind finding the Suicide Killer. She might be my family, but she does not come first. Not anymore.

  For some reason, this killer has come back to Alexandria. Serendipity? We’ll go with that for now.

  As I walk outside to wait on my Lyft, another thought filters in: Is this Suicide Killer responsible for the evil my mother became? Did he create her?

  Daisy doesn’t want into my world. She’s not fascinated with killers like I am. I wish I was different, if anything, for her. But I don’t want to be. This part of me, I wouldn’t know who to be without it.

  I would explode.

  The Suicide Killer is a loner, unable to connect emotionally unless it’s a victim. He doesn’t deviate from his pattern, his ritual. November 10, 13, and 15. Single mothers found by a child. Cutting, overdose, hanging. What happened to bring this on?

  Mom chased this person. She tracked his movements. She was fascinated by him. It’s almost poetic—one serial killer chasing another.

  If she were still alive would she be excited to know he was back in Alexandria? Yes, she would.

  Did this killer know my mom was chasing him? Most likely not. If he did, though, would he consider her an obstacle or an admirable opponent?

  An obstacle, for sure. Only someone like my mother would look at another killer as an admirable opponent.

  If only Mom would have used her darkness for good. She could have focused on the killers that she chased and taken her aggression out on them and not so many innocent lives.

  From her detailed spreadsheets, the Suicide Killer was her lifelong project. And now he is mine. I have tonight and two days from now and then that’s it. He’ll be moving on. Another city. Another wave of suicide kills next November.

  He’s the perfect predator camouflaged among society, scoping out the next victim, waiting for her to fit his perfect profile, and then he strikes.

  Yes, if history repeats itself, he’ll be at Fort Hunt tonight.

  Which still leaves me with Mom’s degraded DNA and what put her in that house all those years ago.

  If she were alive, I would come right out and ask her, but that’s not an option.

  Reggie is though.

  24

  I’ve known Reggie since I was a little girl. We met at summer camp and just clicked. It’s a cliché thing to say but it really did happen that way. We simply got each other.

  I’m in my Jeep now on the way to Fort Hunt where I’m 99.9% sure there will be another suicide/murder. As I drive, I prop my phone in the dash mounted holder. I’m about to dial Reggie, but then I stop.

  Asking her for help is what drove a wedge between us the last time. No, that’s not true. Lying to her is what drove a wedge.

  But she is the one person who can worm her way around cyberspace and get the information I need on the degraded DNA and the circumstances surrounding my mom being in that house.

  As long as I’m honest with her, or as honest as I can be, this should be fine. This is about Mom, not me. Reggie loved my mother.

  I send her a quick voice text: CAN YOU FACETIME?

  YES, BUT IT HAS TO BE QUICK. I’M HEADING TO CLASS.

  She answers a second later, and her pretty face fills the screen. The last time we facetimed she had shaved her head and a bit of dark curly hair has grown out since. Snow dots the ground around her as she walks across MIT’s campus.

  With fingerless gloves, she waves at me. “Yo.”

  “Yo, back.”

  “What’s wrong?” She presses an earbud into her right ear. “I can tell by your face that something is wrong.”

  I take a breath. “A few days ago there was a woman found in a house in Alexandria, Virginia. She had committed suicide by slicing her own neck.”

  “Jesus.” Reggie cringes.

  “The techs who cleaned up the area found a degraded DNA sample that belonged to my mom.”

  “What the hell?”

  “As in my mom was just a kid.”

  “But your mom didn’t grow up in that area. Why would her childhood DNA be there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Reggie steps around a clump of students. “Did you talk to Victor?”

  “Not really. There’s other stuff going on that I can fill you in on later. Stuff with Justin and Daisy. Victor’s got a lot on his plate. He knows about the degraded DNA, but I don’t think he has much time to really look into it right now.”

  She nods. “What can I do?”

  “I’m sorry, Reggie, I’m aware this is what caused our fight before.”

  “It’s okay. We’re over that. This is your mom and your family. I care. This isn’t one of your killers that you research.”

  To that, I don’t respond. It’s sort of fifty-fifty, so we’ll call it a half-truth.

  Reggie says, “Let me dig around. Text me the address in Alexandria and anything else you might have.”

  I sigh, so relieved she didn’t shut me out. “You should know that I’ve already been doing my own digging.”

  Her lips twitch. “You wouldn’t be my Lane if you weren’t already investigating.”

  “I discovered there was a similar suicide that happened at that exact house forty years ago.”

  “Weird.” She stops walking. “I’m here and I need to go in. Text me everything and when I get out of class, I’ll start plowing away. But Lane?”

  “Yeah?”

  “No secrets, okay? We’re best friends and best friends don’t have secrets.”

  “No secrets,” I say.

  God, it’s like a family curse. Lying comes way too easy for me.

  25

  As I turn off down the road that borders Fort Hunt, I glance to the left where a row of small houses sits. It didn’t connect in my brain until just now, but the brick home where the suicide occurred is in this neighborhood too.

  WHAT TIME TONIGHT ARE YOU COMING OVER? Tommy texts.

  Crap. I glance at my clock. It’s half past six. I wish I could cancel. Especially if tonight turns out productive. But that’s the last thing I need to do. I voice text back, NINE OKAY?

  YES. SEE YOU THEN…

  To the right runs a chain link fence that borders Fort Hunt. Off in the distance sits the old historic fort and over to the left a pavilion with bathrooms and picnic tables. A biking and jogging path runs the perimeter of the park. It appears to be a safe, family oriented park. I imagine a few hours ago when the sun was still up that this place was busy.

  Now, though, with dusk settled in, the area has a few stragglers—a cyclist, a couple sitting on a blanket, an older
man walking across the dry grass.

  I continue following the road, curving around, and I slow down when cop cars, yellow police tape, and an ambulance come into view.

  I pull way over and park along the edge, staring through the chain link fence. It already happened. The Suicide Killer was here.

  Across the road and over to the left, a few of the homeowners venture out to see. I roll my window down to hear what they’re saying.

  But none of them are talking. I’m not sure they even know.

  I go back to looking at the scene. A young girl sits in the back of a cop car, wrapped in a blanket and staring at the Subaru as the paramedics pull her mother from the driver’s side. She woke up and found her mother dead. Overdose.

  This is a fresh scene, though. It just happened. The killer may still be here.

  I study the park again and the stragglers. In the distance stands the cyclist, one foot on a pedal and one on the ground as he takes in what’s going on. Some yards away from him the couple gets up off the blanket to look as well. I move past them to the man who was walking across the grass. Now he’s up on what’s left of the relic fort, looking down at the parking lot and the scene. He’s an average-sized man with a thick flannel jacket, a beanie, and khaki pants.

  Of the stragglers, he’d be the one. I dig under my seat for my binoculars to get a better look. But by the time I find them and get them focused, the man is gone.

  I go on instinct and follow.

  I’m not entirely sure how to get around the other side of the park, but I put my Jeep in gear and roll forward. About a half mile up sits the entrance, now blocked by a cop car. I keep going, but the road dumps out onto the Parkway.

  I turn right, hoping to circle around the backside of the fort and end up further down the Parkway. Exiting as soon as I can, I backtrack and get a little lost.

  On foot, the mystery man may have easily crossed through Fort Hunt and vanished out the back. He knew exactly the route to disappear.

  Two days from now the last suicide/murder will occur. A woman will be hung. Now I just need to figure out where. Where along the Parkway did it happen forty years ago? Because if his pattern holds, he’ll be there to finish the cycle.

  So will I, and this time in plenty of time to catch him.

  26

  I do a U-Turn, leaving Alexandria and taking the Parkway back toward McLean and my date with Tommy. I’m early, but I don’t think he’ll mind. I’m almost to my exit when a call comes in. It’s Zach, and I consider not answering but do instead.

  “Zach, you should probably know that I have a boy—”

  “I’m the reason why your mother is dead. She never would have been anywhere near this house if it wasn’t for me.”

  Turning on my blinker, I take my exit. “Zach, what happened to my mother is not your fault. You had no control over it. Where are you?”

  “Bad things just happen. Is that the answer to all of this?”

  “Zach, are you at the house where they found you and my mom?”

  “Yes,” he whispers.

  “Stay there. I’m on my way.”

  I pass right by the road to Tommy’s and head toward the interstate. I should call him, but I send him a quick voice text instead. SORRY, GOING TO BE LATE. There’s no way I can make it to Zach and back by nine.

  My mom, The Decapitator, killed Tommy’s sister. She also had Zach strapped to a table, ready to kill him, too. Her actions have forever linked me to these two guys. As happy as I was to see Zach, I wish he would have stayed away. Coming back has thrown a kink into my already twisty life.

  From McLean, it takes me roughly forty-five minutes to reach the house in Gaithersburg. This is the first home Victor and Mom owned. When we moved to McLean, they kept it as a rental property. But after everything that happened here, Victor sold it.

  I don’t know who lives there now. Frankly, with what happened, I wouldn’t have bought the place. But to each their own and all that.

  I find Zach standing on the dimly lit sidewalk staring at an empty lot. I guess the people who bought it, cleared it. Smart. I would have, too. I parallel park on the street, and I wave to a family playing night time football in their front yard. The mom cuts Zach a look, I’m sure leery of him just standing here under a street light and staring. Hopefully, my arrival will alleviate her worry.

  Quietly, I step up beside him. “Hey,” I softly say.

  He doesn’t look at me. “It’s gone. It’s like it never happened.”

  I look at the empty lot with the giant dumpster full of debris. Thank God.

  “You’ve got a family left. A father, a sister, a brother. I hope you realize how lucky you are. Don’t take any of it for granted.”

  “I won’t. I don’t.”

  “I was the messed up one in my family. The drinker. The problem. Why am I the one still alive? It doesn’t make sense.”

  I turn to him. “Don’t say that.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I do. What I choose. There’s something about me that gets it wrong. Every time. I’m the problem. I hurt everyone around me. I’m broken inside.”

  I reach out to touch him, and he steps away. “Zach, what are you talking about?”

  Shaking his head, he grinds the palms of his hands into his eyes. “Dad didn’t want me to come back here.”

  “Why don’t we go somewhere else?” I cast a look across the street to the mom who is getting her family inside. I give her a slight wave to let her know everything is okay. The last thing we need is her calling the cops.

  Zach turns on me with angry eyes. “How can you stand here so calm?” He jabs a finger at the empty lot. “Your mom died there!”

  I try to touch him again, but he steps away.

  “Don’t!” He snaps. “Have you even cried for her loss?”

  Zach is in so much pain, and I can’t do anything about it. He’s lashing out. I get it. “Of course I’ve grieved.”

  “I thought coming here would help me make sense of it all.” He paces away, leaving the glow of the streetlight and stepping into the shadows. With his back to me, he stops.

  I wait, barely breathing, not sure what to do. His head drops. His breath stutters, and my heart breaks. I go to him, wrapping my arms around him, and this time he doesn’t fight my touch.

  His sobs come deep and mournful, and I hold him tight. “I got you.”

  27

  Hours later after I see Zach safely back to campus, I knock on Tommy’s door. It swings inward.

  I open my mouth to apologize for being so late when he holds up his phone.

  “Sorry, going to be late.” He reads me back my text. “Thanks for the impersonal message.”

  “Tommy.”

  He shakes his head. “At first I thought, oh, she’ll be fifteen minutes late. Then thirty. But one hour ticked into another, ticked into another, and nothing. I started thinking, ‘Is she okay?’, ‘Was she in an accident?’, ‘Where is she?’, ‘Who is she with?’

  But I didn’t want to call you because I don’t want to be that type of boyfriend. So I waited for you to call me, but apparently, you’re not that type of girlfriend. I must have gotten on and off of my bike twenty times, talking myself in and out of looking for you. This is not who I am. You have put me in this position. What the hell is the explanation? You were supposed to be here at nine and it is now almost midnight.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I was with Zach.”

  “Of course you were.”

  “It’s not what you think. I’m not hiding anything from you.” Well, except for the fact I stalk and kill bad guys.

  “I’ve been sitting here thinking about you for hours, and I’ve come to a conclusion.”

  I sigh. “What’s that?”

  “The most disturbing thing about you is how good of a liar you really are.”

  “Tommy.”

  He holds his hand up, shaking his head. “I need space.”

  With that, he closes the door in my face, and I turn awa
y. What is wrong with me? Why didn’t I pick up the phone and call him?

  …

  The next morning my phone buzzes with a text from Reggie: NOTHING YET. BUT…THERE IS SOMETHING THERE. IT’S BURIED DEEP.

  I knew it. I thought I had put all of Mom’s secrets to rest, but of course, something else is there.

  28

  I go through my day with classes and my Patch and Paw shift, making extra sure to check and double check the list Dr. O’Neal gave me.

  I don’t see Zach around campus and I don’t see Sabrina either. It’s my last night of freedom. Victor will be back tomorrow with Daisy and Justin and I’ll be back in the dorm with no sleep.

  I spread all of my things out on the dining room table, my focus solely on where the hanging occurred forty years ago. I have the sketch of the tree and the old boat taken from Mom’s file, and I lay it on the table beside my laptop.

  Hours go by as I dig through the internet, searching for anything I can find and coming up with nothing—not even the name of the woman who died or the child who found her. All I have is the sketch. I finally locate the artist who did it. Then I do a little digging on him to find he passed away ten years ago.

  With a sigh, I sit back and close my eyes. Think, Lane, think. The first suicide/murder occurred in that neighborhood near Fort Hunt. The second inside of Fort Hunt. So logic would tell me the hanging will be nearby as well.

  On a new surge, I pull up a map of the Parkway near the fort. According to the sketch, the hanging occurred on the water along the Parkway. I zoom in on a map of that area and carefully study the shoreline.

  Not sure.

  Taking the sketch I hold it up next to my screen as I scroll the map. There are a lot of possibilities.

  The only way I’m going to figure this out is to do a little field trip.

  29