Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  On his way out, he stopped by Kate’s desk. She was busy looking things up on the Internet—Quinn couldn’t immediately tell what. He knelt down beside her.

  “I have to meet Janus out near Rudolph Street,” Quinn said. “You okay here?”

  She turned to him and Quinn momentarily wanted to step back. He felt like he was looking at a stranger. Her face was impassive.

  “I’m okay without you, you know,” she said.

  Quinn held up his hands.

  “I never implied anything else,” he said. “It’s just…”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said.

  Quinn didn’t want to draw attention to them. He looked at her for a moment more and then headed out the door.

  It was about a 10 minute drive to the house of Tony Comizio, a big burly guy who should have a voice like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s, Quinn thought. Instead, his voice was almost too soft.

  “I should have called the police maybe,” Comizio said, and Quinn had to inch closer to hear him. “But I know a couple of guys over there and I didn’t want them making fun of me.”

  Janus pulled up in the driveway behind them.

  Quinn motioned to the car.

  “That’s my photographer. Why would they make fun of you? You said on the phone you found something.”

  “It’s probably nothing,” Comizio said. “You guys can come out and see. I’m probably wasting your time.”

  Janus looked at Quinn quizzically as he walked up and Quinn shrugged. He was beginning to think Mr. Comizio had self-esteem issues.

  They followed Comizio around back. The house was a nice large, brick colonial. It was in a good subdivision but backed up on a forest. In a few years, Quinn knew these beautiful woods would be gone, plowed down to make way for a new subdivision. But for now... it was nice.

  “It’s back here,” Comizio said. They walked to the back of his yard and followed him as he disappeared into a copse of trees.

  Quinn was amazed at how fast civilization seemed to disappear here. One minute he had been driving through a pleasant suburb and now all he could see were trees. Comizio stopped at the top of a hill and looked down a steep slope.

  “It’s down here,” he said. “Watch your step.”

  Janus nearly fell, but grabbed a branch to avoid sliding. The three of them carefully worked their way down the slope.

  “It’s wild back here,” Quinn said.

  “We’re on the old Phillips farm now,” Comizio said.

  “Right,” Quinn said. He knew more than he wanted to about this place.

  “Some developer wants to pay a fortune for it,” Comizio said. “It’s a huge space. About 60 acres of prime Loudoun land.”

  They continued walking for a bit. Normally Quinn might have loved the opportunity for a walk in the woods. But he still felt jumpy from last night and had a strange feeling that someone was watching him.

  “What do you think about the development deal?” Quinn asked. He was not sure he cared that much. But it was a conversation and Janus was being oddly silent.

  “Well, I guess most of us are against it,” he said. “I mean, it’s historical land, isn’t it? That fantastic dirt road, you know? George Washington used it. And they keep that covered bridge in great condition. Well, the Phillips used to at any rate. It’s a little worse for wear now.”

  “Right.” But Quinn didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. The feeling in his stomach had gotten worse. He felt queasy and the sense of being watched was stronger.

  “You know the one, right?” Comizio asked. “People still use it occasionally to get out to Waterford, especially during the craft fair like the one last week. You have to go slow, of course, but people still use it.”

  Quinn now remembered the bridge, but couldn’t remember taking it. He also couldn’t remember the last time he was in Waterford.

  “Right,” he said.

  “We’re almost there,” Comizio said again, as they walked up a short hill.

  “I’m bloody out of shape,” Janus said finally. “I mean, I’m doing okay. I’m pretty sure Bill would have keeled over already. But still…”

  “I started hearing it about a week ago,” Comizio said as they came to a clearing. There was a small, narrow field in front of them.

  “Hearing what?” Quinn asked.

  “Horses,” Comizio said quietly.

  Quinn’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Multiple horses?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Comizio said. “Believe it or not, you can hear a lot from the house. But the first night I thought I was dreaming.”

  “What did you hear?” Quinn asked. He felt like he had to concentrate just to get the words out. Now he knew why he felt so terrible. The field, the woods, everything had a familiar feeling. In his head, he turned over Comizio’s words again. The road. The bridge. He felt like he wanted to run.

  “It would be in the middle of the night,” he said. “I mean—it’s impossible to ride at that speed in the dark, especially through here, you know?”

  “Yeah,” Quinn said.

  “So I thought I was just imagining it,” Comizio continued. “It was the same thing every night. I would hear it at one o’clock one night, then two hours later. It was a little freaky.”

  “I bet,” Janus said.

  “I’m sorry again, guys,” Comizio said and looked down at his shoes. “This probably has nothing to do with what you are working on.”

  “Why did you think it did?” Quinn asked.

  “Because I thought I was crazy, right?” Comizio said. “Then I came down here and started seeing stuff, too.”

  Comizio walked forward a bit and pointed at a patch of mud near the edge of the field. Quinn did not even have to look. There were hoof prints in the mud.

  “That was the first thing,” Comizio said. “Then it was other stuff.”

  “What other stuff?” Janus asked.

  Quinn could not move. He felt his heart pounding. He wanted very much to run or stay immobile. He could not decide.

  Comizio and Janus appeared not to notice.

  “Look up here,” Comizio said. He and Janus walked over to some trees near the edge of the field. Quinn couldn’t hear them anymore.

  “You coming, Quinn?” Janus called back, but without looking.

  Quinn did not know how he could. I won’t be able to take it, he thought. Last night a very real killer had been in the same room with him. He might be watching him even now. And now this guy was seeing Quinn’s phantom. Something that should not be real. I can’t take both of these things, Quinn thought. I’ll lose my mind.

  “Quinn?” Janus called.

  With tremendous effort, Quinn moved forward. He walked stiffly across the distance and could feel his legs wanting to break into a run.

  “What?” he asked. His voice came out as a whisper.

  Janus looked at him for a minute.

  “What?” Quinn asked again.

  “Cuts in the tree,” Janus said. “Look at the limbs on the right side.”

  Quinn looked down the right side of the field. Branches hanging over the right side were broken, as if something rode through them.

  “Someone has been riding up and down the field,” Janus said. “Apparently in the middle of the night. And look at this.”

  Janus pointed to the tree in front of them. There were a series of cuts on it. Quinn knew what kind of instrument had done the cutting: a sword. The Horseman had been here.

  “I think it forms a word,” Comizio finally said.

  “Really?” Janus asked. He looked at the tree harder. “Is that an S?”

  Comizio nodded.

  “It took me a bit,” he said. “But I figured it out. Or at least I think I did.”

  Before he could say it, Quinn knew what the word was. He did not know how or why.

  “Sanheim,” Quinn said.

  Comizio turned in surprise.

  “Yeah,” he said. “But it took me a couple of days to
figure that out. You have to step back. How did you even see it?”

  “Sanheim?” Janus asked. “That’s just another word for Halloween.”

  “What?” Quinn asked, suddenly turning to Janus.

  “He’s right,” said Comizio. “I looked it up on the Net. It’s similar to the spelling of the Celtic word for Halloween. He was the God of Halloween, I think. All these Christian groups are going on about how Halloween is a pagan festival and stuff. They keep using his name. That’s why I thought you guys would want to see it. Because of that killer. I’ve only lived here six years, but I’ve heard the stories. Lord Halloween, right? Isn’t that his name? It wasn’t in the paper, but I thought…”

  “That’s his name,” Quinn said. He stared at the word on the tree. It should mean something to him, but it didn’t. Or it did, but he couldn’t remember it. It was like having something on the tip of your tongue, but not being able to say it. He knew the word, but why? Was it in his dream too? Everything else about this place was so familiar.

  “Right,” Comizio said. “So I thought this was the God of Halloween, right? The killer calls himself Lord Halloween? It can’t be a coincidence, right? Maybe the killer has been out here, riding around. I know I must sound pretty stupid.”

  “Well, it is weird,” Janus said.

  “It doesn’t sound stupid at all,” Quinn said.

  “I’m glad to hear you say it,” Comizio said. “Should I call the police? I mean, I didn’t want to if it was a waste of time. I know those guys are busy.”

  “You might want to,” Quinn said. “They might not get it, but it can’t be a coincidence. I talked to someone else who thought they saw a horseman late at night, too.”

  “Really? Oh, thank God, I thought I was going crazy.” Comizio was visibly relieved. “I thought maybe you guys would laugh at me. It’s just… this place feels weird, you know? I just wanted to tell someone…”

  Quinn stared at the word in the tree. The hunt for Lord Halloween had pushed a lot of what Dee said out of his mind. He had been focusing on something real. But this was something different, he could just feel it.

  “Are you okay?” Comizio asked. “I mean, you don’t look great.”

  “I’m fine,” Quinn said. “Janus, why don’t you take some photos? See if you can get the word in it.”

  “Right,” Janus said. “I actually forgot.”

  “So you think I should call the police then?” Comizio asked. “To be honest, you are kinda weirding me out, too, you know? You keep staring at that thing.”

  Quinn wrenched his attention away for a moment.

  “It’s just unusual,” he said. “Yes, you should call the police. And one other thing.”

  Quinn looked around him. He still felt watched and he felt that every minute pretending to be okay was a tremendous effort.

  “What?” Comizio asked.

  “Move,” Quinn said. “Pack a suitcase, take your stuff and get the hell out of here.”

  Comizio stared at him for a moment.

  “Are you kidding?” he asked. “I mean, it is weird, but I’m okay at handling myself.”

  “Not at handling this,” Quinn said. “If it is Lord Halloween, no one tangles with him and lives. And it could be something different but I don’t think you want to find out. Because if it is, I think that would be just as bad. Honestly, I think it could be worse.”

  17

  “When they found me, I was unconscious. At first they believed I had something to do with it. As if I alone could harm 100 people or make them vanish into thin air. I knew the truth, I told it to them. But they would not believe. They still scour the countryside for those that can never be found. I have been left behind as an emissary. The Prince of Sanheim has come. His time is at hand.”

  Horace Camden, “The Prince of Sanheim”

  Saturday, Oct. 21

  Quinn stared at the clock. If he had fallen asleep at all, in his dreams he had still seen the clock. But he wasn’t sure he had actually fallen asleep. It was too risky. He could not afford to dream about the Horseman anymore.

  He and Kate had barely spoken in the evening. She was still sleeping in his bedroom and he was out on the sofa again. There was an unspoken assumption that his place was somehow safer. Quinn wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was just that his place was better stocked with food.

  But he and Kate didn’t feel like partners anymore. She seemed angry again last night and Quinn was reasonably sure she had barricaded her door before she went to sleep. So either she still didn’t trust Quinn or she didn’t care if the killer got him first.

  He was not sure he blamed her. After going to Comizio’s house, nothing seemed real anymore. He felt like he had gone crazy—like this is what it felt like. He didn’t tell Kate. She had hardly been in a talking mood, for starters, but mostly he just could not bring himself to. What was he supposed to say? She had a real problem—a madman with a penchant for carving his victims was after her.

  And what was his problem? A phantom Horseman from a fictional story? One that has lived in his dreams for years and now appeared to be hounding the citizens of Loudoun and stopping off for a little tree graffiti? If he was trying to convince Kate he could be trusted, somehow he didn’t think that story was the place to start.

  But what was he supposed to do? There was nowhere to run and nothing he could say to anyone. Janus had tried to talk as they walked back from Comizio’s place, but Quinn could not bring himself to say any of this out loud. It was too nuts.

  Quinn’s reverie was interrupted by screaming. Acting without thinking, he was out of the sofa bed and ran toward where Kate was sleeping.

  He collided with the bedroom door with a thud. He started pushing on it as hard as he could and then backed up to launch himself at the door. It worked well enough and Quinn thought wryly that it was not much protection against any real intruder.

  His dresser had been placed behind the door and had now tipped over. He got his door open just far enough and then squeezed his way through.

  The screaming kept coming. Quinn could hardly see. He tried to flip on his light to see what was happening, but missed the switch. He didn’t pause, but kept running to the bed. Other than Kate, though, there was no one there.

  She was screaming in her sleep. He grabbed her arm and her eyes flew open, but she kept screaming for a moment. And then she stopped suddenly.

  “Kate,” he said, as gently as he could. “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t respond, but just stared at him for what felt like several minutes. She looked like a person in shock.

  Quinn instinctively moved closer to her and put his arm around her in a kind of half hug.

  “It was a dream,” he said. “It was just a dream.”

  Her eyes followed him carefully, watching him as if he were about to do something suddenly.

  “It’s okay,” he said, and tried to smile. “It’s okay. You were screaming in your sleep. I came in to wake you up.”

  Her eyes drifted to the door. Enough light was peaking through the doorway that Quinn could now see his dresser on the floor. It flashed through his mind that he was glad he had gotten the furniture for free from an old friend. Otherwise he might have been sorry to see it so abused.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, and sat up looking at her.

  “Yes,” she said finally, with what seemed like a tremendous effort.

  “What were you dreaming about?” he asked.

  She shifted her eyes away from him and back to the door.

  “The door is open,” she said. She sounded like a robot.

  He looked back that way.

  “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I had to break in because you were screaming in your sleep.”

  “Oh,” she replied, still with a strange monotone quality.

  And suddenly it clicked.

  “You’re still sleeping, aren’t you?” he asked. He had heard someone talking about this once. Some people could carry on entire conversations in thei
r sleep. It explained why she had that strange tone of voice and it took so long for her to answer.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Okay,” he said. “I want you to put your head back down on the pillow and close your eyes. Okay?”

  She seemed not to hear him.

  “Kate?” he asked. “You need to go back to sleep. You need to get rest.”

  “You should shut the door,” she said.

  “I promise I will when you go back to sleep,” he said and ran his hand through her hair in the hopes of calming her down.

  “You should shut the door now,” Kate said again, still in the eerie voice. “My mom says he is coming.”

  The hairs on the back of Quinn’s neck stood up. Suddenly the room felt colder and he looked at the door too.

  “She told you that just now?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “She said he has been watching us.”

  “When will he come?”

  “My mom says soon,” Kate said. “You should shut the door.”

  “I will, Kate,” he said. “I’m going to go back over there and shut the door on my way outside. I’ll be outside and I won’t let anyone through. If you need anything, just shout… again.”

  “No,” she said simply. “Stay here. You should stay here in case he gets in.”

  Quinn paused for a moment. He was freaked out now, too, and somehow being in a smaller place with only one small window seemed safer.

  “Okay, Kate,” he replied. “I’ll shut the door and I’ll be right over there.”

  He pointed at the computer chair. He got up and shut the door, then wrestled for a minute with the dresser to right it again in front of the door. He was not taking any chances. It took a minute for his eyes to get used to the dark, but when he looked back at Kate, her eyes were closed. She was sleeping again.

  Quinn sat down in the chair and waited.

  “How did you get in here?” a voice asked.

  Quinn woke up with a start. He felt disoriented and it took him a while to figure out what was going on. He was in his room and he realized that somehow he had fallen asleep.