“But it wasn’t,” Quinn said.
“No,” she said. “Her keys were on the table. And the mail was scattered there. I remember I glanced at it to see if there was anything for me. But did I know something was wrong? No. I just shut the door and yelled for Mom again.”
“I heard nothing. But I was a little worried. I started to climb the steps. I thought maybe she was in the bathroom or something and couldn’t hear me. I got to the top and called again and still didn’t hear anything. It was then I thought something was wrong. I can remember the hairs standing up at the back of my neck. But I was twelve and I didn’t listen to my instincts. I called her again.”
“I walked down the hallway to my parents’ bedroom. Then there was a large crash and I turned and ran right to it. It sounded like something had smashed in my room. I was so startled I actually went to look in there and saw that the lamp next to my window had fallen. The window was open and the curtains were swaying in the breeze. The next part I remember in slow motion. I looked out to see a figure run around the side of the house. I think I screamed. I don’t remember.
“But what I saw clearly in my mind was that the front door was still unlocked. I had shut it, but I hadn’t locked it. In my head, I could see it swinging open again and maybe him coming back up the stairs.”
“Jesus,” Quinn said, but Kate did not seem to hear him.
“But he had already done what he came to do,” she said. “I didn’t know that. I actually ran into my parents’ room as comfort. I thought I would be safe in there. It didn’t occur to me…”
She stopped and looked at Quinn.
“At that age, you feel immortal,” she said. “But more than that, your parents seem immortal too. They will always be there to help you, to rescue you. They will know what to do.”
“I know,” he said.
“And I just thought—I’ll be safe in there,” Kate said and looked away again. “I remember I could not move fast enough. In my head, he was coming through the door, on his way up the steps, and my feet were made of concrete. I walked into their room and I saw her…I thought she was alive, Quinn. I didn’t know. She just seemed to be staring at the ceiling. But then I saw the blood and I…”
“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to finish.”
“I think I do,” she said. “I’ve never talked about it. Not with boyfriends, friends, therapists—even my father. I wouldn’t. But the truth is that I don’t remember much else. There was blood everywhere. I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it when I walked in. I know I screamed. I screamed for days, it felt like. He’s coming back, I kept thinking. He’s coming back for you. I went to the phone and somehow there was blood on my hand. I thought it was mine, I didn’t know…”
She stopped and took a long breath.
“I made the call, but didn’t see it,” she said.
“See what?” he asked gently, when she stopped again.
“The note,” she said calmly.
“Lord Halloween’s calling card,” he said, mostly to himself.
“Yes,” she replied. “But I didn’t know that. How could I? My parents had kept any news of the murders as far away from me as they could. I didn’t know what I was looking at. I can still see it in my mind. I’m scared out of my mind, dialing 911 and there’s this post-it note stuck right by the phone. I didn’t even think about it. I was screaming into the phone to the operator and then I read it.”
She stopped again and Quinn felt compelled to ask.
“What did it say?”
She looked at him.
“It said, ‘Happy Halloween. Your father can’t protect you and you are now on my list. Like mother, like daughter. See you soon, Trina.’”
“My God,” he said again.
“He even knew her name for me,” Kate said. “I still don’t know how he knew that. She was the only one who called me that. Everyone else called me Kate, but my full name is Katrina, and she said Trina.”
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I screamed some more,” she said. “The operator had no idea what was going on, but they sent the police. I didn’t wait for them though. I was certain he had come back in, that he had been waiting for me to find the note. Even then, with my mom’s body a few feet away, I started thinking in terms of my own survival. The police found my mother with little difficulty. But it wasn’t until one of them checked the attic later that they found me. When the cop came up, I felt certain it was him. I started screaming as soon as he saw me and it took my father picking me up before I stopped.”
“Jesus,” Quinn said.
“My whole world shattered,” she said. “I sometimes wonder who I would have been if that day had never happened. I see her sometimes—in my mind—this different woman who thinks about a career and a life. But you never know, do you? It wasn’t just my mom’s murder, of course. That would have been enough. ‘See you soon, Trina.’ That was what did it.
“We left town days later. My dad was a cop. He knew the force would be out there trying to avenge his wife. But he had a daughter to protect and I was beyond hysterical. He did not do a large funeral. He was too scared. His wife had been murdered and his daughter threatened—he slept by the side of my bed with his gun every night. By then we were at the Leesburg Hotel, checked in anonymously, of course.”
“You were worried the killer would find you?” Quinn felt like an idiot asking.
“I was not worried, Quinn,” she said. He noticed her clench her fists together and put them on her thighs. “No, I was certain. Certain he would find me. That it was just a matter of time. My father couldn’t convince me I was safe. The police could not convince me I was safe. Nothing could. I just saw the words ‘See you soon, Trina’ in my head. I have ever since.”
“Even when you moved away?”
“It helped,” she said. “It took time, but I felt like it worked. I had dreams of course—the most common of them was him standing behind me as I read the note. I feel his hands around me and then I wake up. But those dreams became fewer and fewer. I thought maybe some day I would be over it.”
“Then why….?”
“Why come back here?” she asked. She shook her head. “In October of last year, the dreams started up again. But they were more intense than ever. And they grew stranger.”
“Stranger?”
“I could hear my Mom calling me,” Kate said. “In the dreams, I would be walking around—at work at the paper even—and I would pick up the phone and she would be at the other end of it. ‘Trina, it’s time to come home,’ she would say. And I would argue with her, tell her I couldn’t go back. But I’d be afraid to tell her why.
‘Why can’t you come back, Trina?’ she would ask, over and over again. But I don’t want to tell her.
‘Is it because of me, Trina? Are you afraid, Trina?’ she’d say.
I tell her, ‘Please, Mom. ‘I’ve got work to do, he’ll find me. He’s waiting for me.’
‘He’s coming for you there, Trina,’ she says. And by then in the dream I’m already home, in her bedroom, and her voice is there, but the body is lying on the bed motionless.
‘He’s coming for you, Trina’ she says again. ‘He’s in the house.’
In the dream, I can see it, Quinn. The door is opening, he is coming through and walking up the steps. And I’m on the phone again, screaming for help. But it’s just my mom on the other end.
‘See you soon, Trina,’ she says.
And then her voice is gone. Another male one, much deeper, takes her place and I hear it and it makes me want to vomit.
‘Your father can’t protect you and I will find you,’ he says. ‘See you soon, Trina,’ And then he’s laughing. And I can see him coming down the hallway at the same time.
And then I wake up.”
Quinn shivered.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’ve had nightmares in my time, but that’s…”
“Horrible?” she asked. “I fought it off last year.
The dreams kept coming, growing worse and more real every single day until Halloween came. I thought I was going crazy.”
“And then?”
“It stopped,” she said. “Just like that. November 1 came and it all ended. And I felt so relieved, like it was gone for good.”
“But it wasn’t….”
“No, it wasn’t,” she said. “It started sooner this time. It was August when it began. And I could feel it building in my brain. I just could not take it.”
“So you came here?” Quinn asked in disbelief.
“I had to, Quinn,” she said. “Something in my brain is telling me I needed to come back here. I don’t think it’s my Mom, but…”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think it’s him either. Because in my dream, she tells me he is coming anyway and I think she is right.”
“That he is coming for you?”
“It doesn’t matter, Quinn,” she said and stood to face him. “I see him everywhere, in everything. Do you know what that is like? To live your whole life waiting for the bogeyman to show up? I have dreams where the post-it note is on my door. Whether he is coming or not, I have let this man shadow me for so long it doesn’t matter. I see him around every corner, in everything. He lives in my mind rent-free. I had to come back.”
“But what if he’s still here?” Quinn asked. “The murder the other day…”
“It wasn’t him,” she said. “Do you know I was actually sorry when he told me it wasn’t Lord Halloween?”
“Why?”
“Because it would mean it is time to face my fears,” she said. “I don’t want to be afraid of him anymore. I want to find him and be done with it.”
“But…”
“I know it’s not sane, but would you do anything different? I can’t keep living like this, or if I do, he’s killed me already. So I actually wanted it to be that bastard’s return. Then I could get busy and find out who he is.”
“And you’re sure it wasn’t?” he asked.
“Aren’t you? You wrote the story.”
“I don’t know, Kate,” Quinn said. “The police confirmed it all, very easily. But…”
She waited for him.
“I felt good about it yesterday,” he said. “But today, it felt wrong. Like they wanted me to write that story. I actually had a voicemail from Brown’s assistant telling me it was a good story. It feels wrong.”
“I don’t think my source would have lied to me,” Kate said, but she looked troubled.
“Are you positive?” he asked. “Because if he…”
“My father was a cop. They were on the force together. He and my parents were friends. I played with Julia, their daughter. Why would he lie to me about this? Of all things…”
“I don’t know,” Quinn said. “Maybe he didn’t.”
She sighed and pulled her jacket closer to her.
“I have to find him,” Kate said.
“If it’s true, and he’s still here, how do you know he won’t find you first?” Quinn asked.
She looked at him.
“Maybe he will,” she said. “But I’ve been looking over my shoulder for so long, I think I have a leg up. I’ll be ready.”
“If you wanted it to be him, and you’ve come back for that, why talk about leaving?” Quinn asked. “You said outside the office you were going to go. Why?”
“Things are so weird, Quinn,” she said.
“They weren’t already?” he responded.
“It’s different now,” she said. “I have dreams, but they aren’t like before. Sometimes my mom is in them, but then there are these symbols and a word that I don’t understand.”
“Maybe your dreams are just catching up with your location.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “And there has been other stuff.”
She paused.
“Like?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you, but only because you can already tell I’m crazy.”
“You aren’t crazy,” he said, and put his hand on hers without thinking about it. “I don’t think that.”
She looked at him.
“Thank you,” she said.
“So what is the other stuff?”
“One of the very first days I was here, when you gave me a tour of the Chronicle, do you remember that?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
“When we were downstairs, near the printing press, I saw something,” she said. “I asked you and Janus about it.”
“I remember you pointing at the floor,” he said.
“But you saw nothing?”
“No, I didn’t see anything,” he replied.
“I saw something, Quinn,” she said. “Something that makes me worry I’m cracking up.”
“What?”
“There was blood,” she said. “There was a pool of blood all over that floor. I looked at my feet and it felt like I was walking in it. I could see it, shiny and deep red, so clearly. And you guys acted like it wasn’t there.”
“I didn’t see anything,” he replied.
“You see? That’s why I wanted to leave. Everything was so screwed up before and now that I’m here, it seems to be getting worse.”
“Did you see it again?”
“I haven’t been down there since,” she said. “I saw it as clear as day and then while I was talking to you, it disappeared. It’s stuff like that. The dreams, the blood, everything… The rational part of my brain keeps telling me to leave before I lose what is left of it.”
“Then why stay?”
“Because I think this guy is close, Quinn,” she said. “I feel it somehow. I know he will return. Maybe now or maybe next year. But he is still here and I have to find him.”
She stopped talking and looked back out across the pond. The wind drifted across it again, blowing her hair back. Her hands clenched the marble bench.
“You have to promise to keep this secret,” she said.
“Of course,” Quinn replied.
“I shouldn’t have even told you.”
“I think it’s about time you told someone,” he said. “You’ve been bottling this up for too long.”
“I know,” she said. “And I’m not going to leave. Whatever is going to happen, it finishes now, here. I’m through waiting for him to jump out of the shadows.”
“Look, I want you to stay, but…” Quinn said. “What if you are right? If this guy is back, this is the last place you should be. Particularly if he figures out who you are. Every bit of research on him shows he is one for the follow-through.”
“That’s why you have to help me, Quinn,” she said and gripped his hand. “You have to help me find him first.”
The stranger watched the two figures talking near the bench. He couldn’t tell if they were arguing or not, but they were certainly animated.
He wished he could hear what they were saying. The stranger sighed. Still, he was glad he had followed them out, if only to know for sure there was something going on between the two. He wondered what it meant.
Quinn and Kate, sitting in a tree, not quite K-I-S-S-I-N-G, he thought. He idly wondered which one he should kill first.
Patience, his brain said. Not too soon. You have to take your time, hone your skills.
But it would be so easy, he thought. He could even take one right now.
Patience, that voice in his head said again. Not too quick or they’ll connect you. The police are dumb, but they aren’t that dumb. Don’t be sloppy. You’ve waited so long.
Kate seemed familiar to him, the stranger thought. She claimed to have never been here before, but there was this strange odor of familiarity to her. It seemed like something on the tip of his tongue—but he couldn’t think of it.
Had he known someone named Kate Tassel? He thought about it a moment. He did not think he did.
Breaking his line of sight with them, he moved back through the cemetery toward the grave where they had been standing.
They had not been there long, but the stranger wanted to see. It might help him.
He found it and recognized the name immediately.
“Sarah Blakely,” he said out loud, just to hear it.
He clapped his hands to his mouth to keep a laugh from coming. No, he didn’t know a Kate. But he did know a Trina, didn’t he? Yes, yes he did.
Everything made sense now. Her familiarity – even as a child, she had been stunning to look at. And her outburst. He should have known it then. But the last name had thrown him.
It will take more than a last name to hide from me, the stranger thought.
She was little Trina—dear Trina—whose Mom thought about her even while she was being gutted. She called out her name so many times.
He moved back into the line of trees at the back and carefully worked his way to see the couple now standing near the bench.
I have old business with you, Trina, he thought.
He watched as the two walked out of the cemetery together. He noticed they were holding hands. Yes, he was very glad he had followed them.
And this so easily solved the question of whom he would kill first.
“See you soon, Trina,” he said out loud as they disappeared around the bend. “See you real soon.”
10
Thursday, Oct. 12
About the only thing that made Madame Zora’s waiting room any different from a doctor’s was the faintest smell of lavender in the air, Kate thought.
It was painted off-white with magazines like People stacked neatly on tables next to moderately uncomfortable couches. And there was no sign of what Kate had expected—scented candles, beads or voodoo dolls—not even new age music.
Instead the place had more of a sterile quality.
She was surprised a little by the number of people there—she counted eight. Apparently a lot of people need a psychic healer, or an “alternative medicine guru” as she styled herself now.
Maybe the crowd should not have been surprising. Madame Zora was one of Loudoun’s oldest business owners and if her establishment did not have much respect (jokes about it were common), it had at least endured long enough to command a loyal clientele.
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