Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  The manager stood and stared. He looked at Quinn, who just stared back

  “What do you want?” the manager said.

  “The security feed,” Kate said. “Just a copy—same as the police get—we’re not trying to interfere, after all.”

  “To do what with it? Put it in the paper?”

  “We’re going to do you a favor,” Kate said. “If the police don’t mention you, we won’t either. The minute they go public with this, we can’t help you. But if they cover up this incident, you’re home free. We’ll just use the tapes for research and nobody needs to bring this up again.”

  Quinn could see the manager turning it over in his mind. It was a trap and he knew it. If he didn’t cooperate, he would be looking for a new job by the end of the week. If he did, there was no guarantee it would help him much.

  “Your call,” Kate said. “Take a risk and you might get lucky. But if you don’t play along, I assure you this place will be out of business by Christmas.”

  The manager turned and looked at the room.

  “Why do things like this always happen to me?” he said. Without looking back, he turned and walked out of the room. Very quietly, as he passed Quinn, he motioned for them to follow him.

  Twenty minutes later, Kate and Quinn were handed copies of the tapes covering the entire week.

  The manager had regained his officious tone.

  “You breathe a word of this and I will sue you,” he said.

  Kate nodded but waited till they were at the door to respond.

  “The police are going to want to question me,” she said. “Tell them I’m staying with Quinn O’Brion. And one other thing…”

  “Yes,” the manager said. In his head, he was beginning to see a way out. The police would come and they would stay quiet. And these reporters—who were they, really? They would stay quiet or face a lifetime of litigation. Eric Hoffman was back in control again.

  “You missing any personnel?”

  The manager stopped in his tracks. The blood drained slowly from his face.

  “When did she disappear?” Quinn asked.

  The manager didn’t respond. He didn’t have to; his face said it all.

  “You might want to tell the police about that too,” Kate said.

  And with that, the two were out the door. Eric Hoffman went back to his desk a broken man.

  They had gone shopping. That was the thing that Quinn couldn’t believe. They were being chased by a psycho who had come to kill Kate at least twice in the past 12 hours and they had gone shopping. Quinn could see it was necessary. Kate simply hadn’t wanted anything left for her at the hotel and he couldn’t blame her. The police would probably be rifling through her things by now anyway.

  So they had spent two hours in the Leesburg outlet malls just outside of town, jumping from one store to the next. Quinn—who hated shopping above all else—actually found himself enjoying it. For one, it was such a normal activity that it was easy to forget they were under imminent threat of death. The day was bright, the sun was shining and hundreds of people were with them. The night before felt like a bad dream.

  The other thing that was hard to miss was how much Quinn felt like Kate’s boyfriend. He waited outside the dressing room with the other boyfriends and gave a thumbs up or down anytime she came out with something new. Granted, some boyfriends got to go inside the dressing room, but Quinn wasn’t complaining. He just enjoyed being with her.

  And it was then that he finally knew it: he was in love with her. He had only known her a few days, but it felt like forever. She had literally left him to die in his own apartment because of her trust issues and he didn’t care. He looked at her and everything was better. He was with her and everything was right. Had he ever been in love before? Quinn had thought so. He had believed he was. But that felt like a pale imitation of what he was going through now. And he knew it was real because of this: Quinn was in real danger. Kate could very well—almost certainly would—get him killed. And he didn’t care. The thought of abandoning her, of running from her, was unfathomable. He would never do it. He would die for her.

  “What are you smiling about?” Kate asked him as she showed off her latest pick of clothes.

  “Nothing,” he replied, and wiped the smile off his face. He was going to die, but he was in love. He didn’t feel alone anymore.

  Within ten minutes, they were back in the car. If Kate was scared, Quinn had trouble seeing it.

  “He could have followed us out here, you know,” Quinn said.

  “That’s true and he could follow us now,” she replied. “But I don’t think so. He has other plans than just me and he can’t afford to watch us all day. He can’t be everywhere at once. Besides, let him watch me. Let him see me not cowering in front of him. That will frustrate him more than anything else.”

  “So where are we off to?” Quinn said.

  “Same plan as before,” she replied. “Bluemont.”

  “The police are going to want to see us,” Quinn said. “After the hotel and everything.”

  “They can wait,” she said. “Their job will be to cover this whole thing up. I’ll talk to them when we’re ready.”

  They headed out on Route 15, heading south. The drive was less than two hours away, but the further they got away from Leesburg, the better. It felt safer.

  18

  Saturday, Oct. 21

  Bluemont was bigger than Quinn expected. He had thought he would find a small, dusty town. Instead, it was a medium sized town in the shadow of the Appalachian Mountains. The town’s business had clearly once been coal mining, which explained why it had grown so much. Now it looked like it also catered to hikers of the Appalachian Trail and other tourists.

  Kate and Quinn pulled into the biggest hotel and made a reservation. From there, they went to find the Bluemont Gazette. Unsurprisingly, the building was closed because it was a Saturday. It was a small office. Quinn doubted more than five people worked there.

  They hit the streets. They stopped into a bakery, whose owners said they didn’t know anyone at the paper and had never heard of Thomas Fillmore. They dropped by a hardware store where the owner said the same thing. By the time they hit the grocery store, they knew something was up.

  “Never heard of him,” the lady at the customer service desk said. “I know most everyone in town, so maybe you are in the wrong place.”

  “You know anyone at the Bluemont Gazette?”

  “That old rag?” she said. “I’m surprised it hasn’t shut down.”

  Quinn and Kate looked at each other. The woman’s face was beet red, she wasn’t looking them in the eye and she seemed extremely nervous.

  Quinn leaned in conspiratorially.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked the woman. He glanced at her badge. “Ms. Hawkins?”

  “Well sure, honey, but everyone calls me Midge,” the woman said.

  “I don’t want anyone else to find out about this,” said Quinn. “But Katrina here… well… she has a very special reason for finding Mr. Fillmore.”

  “I told you I don’t know any…”

  “I heard you, but I thought if you knew why we needed to find him, you might be a little more sympathetic to our plight,” he said. “Maybe it would jumpstart your memory.”

  Quinn hurried on before she could interrupt.

  “Katrina here used to live in Loudoun County, over in Virginia,” he said, and Midge nodded as if she understood. “Well, her parents went through a nasty divorce when she was just a little kid and she never really knew what broke them up. Her mom, God rest her soul, was recently diagnosed with cancer and told her the truth: Katrina’s birth was the result of an affair. Now she wouldn’t tell her who, but she found these old letters up in the attic and eventually found out that Thomas Fillmore was her father. Apparently, he left Loudoun about 12 years ago. Katrina is desperate to find him before her mother dies. He was the one true love of her life.”

  Kate was looking at Quinn w
ith an expression that mixed awe with disapproval. She was impressed how easily he could lie, but a little disturbed by it as well.

  “Please, Ms. Hawkins,” Quinn paused awkwardly. “Midge, we need your help. I know Mr. Fillmore is a private man.”

  Midge Hawkins looked around the store to see if anyone else could overhear them. She leaned in closer.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” she said. “He is the most paranoid man I ever met. He practically keeps tabs on any stranger that comes into town.”

  “So you know him?” Quinn said. “Fantastic, Ms. Hawkins. Could you help us, please?”

  Quinn took Kate’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “It would mean so much to us,” he said. “We were fixing to get married soon and…”

  Kate squeezed his hand sharply. He was putting it on a little too much for her taste and she worried it would spook Midge Hawkins. Instead, it worked like a charm.

  “Well, I never could be one to stand in the way of love,” she said. She grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled something on it. When she slid it over to Quinn, he saw with relief it was an address.

  “Thank you so much, Ms. Hawkins,” Quinn said. “God bless you. Really. You don’t know what this means to us.”

  He put his arm around Kate and she tried not to look alarmed. How in the world this worked she had no idea. She would have seen it was an act after about five seconds. But Midge Hawkins was beaming from ear to ear.

  “Now don’t tell him I said anything,” she said. “I don’t know what he’ll do, but please keep me out of it.”

  “Mum’s the word,” Quinn said, and made a zipping motion across his lips. “Thank you so much.”

  They turned and walked out of the store, walking quickly back to the car.

  “Don’t you think you laid that on a little thick?” Kate asked when they were safely in the car.

  “Did it work?” he asked.

  “You have a way with people, I’ll give you that,” she said. “Is that your reportorial style—lying?”

  “Not generally, no,” he said. “But the old puppy-dog, I-just-need-some-help works particularly well on a certain kind of female, namely older women who are reminded of their sons or grandsons.”

  “You’re kind of evil, you know that?” Kate said.

  Quinn smiled. “Yeah, but I bet you dig that about me.”

  Kate looked away, but he was right. She did dig that about him. In fact, her feelings toward him had moved 180 degrees in just a day. Now that there were no doubts about whether he was working with Lord Halloween, she kept thinking about him. The Tarot card flashed through her mind again, but she realized now she liked him—a lot. She was very glad he was her partner in all of this.

  After fifteen minutes sorting out directions, they found themselves heading toward what they hoped was Tim Anderson’s house. The house was further out than they suspected and they drove at least 20 minutes before they came to a remote dirt road. There was no mailbox to mark the location and barely any sign anyone lived there at all.

  “I hope this is right,” Quinn said, as he turned down the road.

  Far in front of them they could see a house in the distance. It didn’t look like much. Just a small trailer parked directly at the end of the driveway.

  “He’s paranoid all right,” Kate said. “He’s designed this to make sure he can see whoever is coming. He’s got to be our guy.”

  “I just hope he’s useful,” Quinn said. “If he knew who Lord Halloween was, he probably would have mentioned it by now.”

  “We need more information, more context,” Kate said. “We’ve read the letters, but I feel like there is more there. For some reason, Lord Halloween left this guy alive. I need to know why. If he’s a reporter, he also likely saved some of the good stuff.”

  “The good stuff?”

  “You know, the stuff you can’t print? The stuff that’s half rumor or part speculation. That’s the information we need.”

  They got to the end of the road, parked and got out. That was when the gunfire started.

  Kate and Quinn both dove behind the car as a series of gunshots dug up dust all around them.

  “Get the fuck off my property!” a voice shouted.

  More gunshots rang out. Quinn suddenly felt like he was in a war zone. He heard bullets slam into the ground all around the car. He actually started to laugh and Kate looked at him like he’d gone crazy.

  “What the hell are you laughing about?” Kate asked. She wondered if Quinn was finally cracking due to the stress.

  “I have the best time with you,” he said, smiling. “A madman broke into my home and tried to kill us both, and now I’m getting shot at. Believe it or not, I actually had a normal life before you came along.”

  “Well, it’s not my fault,” she said. “You picked the wrong county to live in, Quinn.”

  It took them a minute for them to realize the gunfire had stopped. They didn’t dare move.

  “He could be moving to get a better position on us,” Quinn said.

  “I don’t think so,” Kate said. “Whoever is shooting at us is an expert marksmen. He didn’t hit the car once from what I can tell and he’s shooting in such a way that there’s little danger of ricochet. He doesn’t want to kill us, just scare us.”

  “Speaking personally,” Quinn said, “It is working.”

  “We just want to talk to you!” Kate yelled.

  The gunfire started again, hitting the ground on both sides of the car.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” Quinn said.

  The gunfire stopped.

  “Just go,” the voice said. “I don’t want to talk to any reporters.”

  So he knows who we are, Quinn thought. He wasn’t surprised. Midge or one of the other people they talked to must have phoned ahead. He probably knew exactly why they were there. Which meant something else: he really was Tim Anderson.

  Kate stood up and walked around the car. Quinn jumped up to stop her.

  “What are you doing?” he said, trying to grab her to drag her back behind the car. She shook herself loose.

  “You aren’t going to kill me,” Kate yelled.

  A single gunshot rang out and a puff of dirt flew from the ground just by her feet.

  “I will if I have to,” the voice called back.

  Quinn tried to look at where the shots were coming from. He could just make out a shape behind an open window and something black, metal and ominous sticking through it.

  “We’re not here for a story about you,” Kate said. “We’re here for what you know.”

  “I don’t know anything about him!” the voice said. “You’re wasting time and putting me in danger.”

  “You’ve always been in danger,” Kate said. “I have to find this guy.”

  There was laughter inside the house. It sounded old and bitter.

  “For what? A story? Because you want to play junior detective? Give me a break. You guys look about twelve.”

  “My mother was Sarah Blakely,” Kate said.

  Quinn stood beside her waiting to see if they would get shot. At least it would be quick—he hoped it would be quick. If Lord Halloween found them, that would undoubtedly be a slow and painful death.

  There was a long pause.

  “I just want to talk to you,” Kate said. “He’s hunting me again. I need to stop him.”

  “You can’t,” the voice called back. “No one can.”

  “Then I’m dead already,” Kate said. “So you can at least talk to me.”

  There was another long pause. They waited for what felt like an eternity. Quinn thought he saw the shape by the window move and then the front door opened. A man walked out, about Quinn’s height with mouse brown hair. He was unshaven and looked older than the early forties that he was. Both Kate and Quinn walked forward.

  The man looked tired. He wore old jeans with holes in them and a white t-shirt that showed off his beer gut. The rifle he carried in his hand added to th
e overall impression that he was little more than stereotypical white trash. But his eyes were a dark brown and he seemed to be looking everywhere at once, his eyes darting this way and that. It was unsettling and Quinn thought it made him look crazy. Which maybe he was.

  The man laid the rifle near the steps and walked towards them. He looked like someone who expected them to try and attack him at any second.

  Kate stuck out her hand and the man almost flinched.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Fillmore,” she said.

  “Please,” the man said. “You already know who I am. The name’s Tim Anderson. And this is the last time I will ever introduce myself this way. Shall we go inside?”

  The inside was cramped and dirty. Kate and Quinn sat in the living room looking at the sole decoration in the house: guns. Every different type of assortment hung on the wall. Quinn wondered if ammo was nearby and wouldn’t have been surprised if it was.

  Anderson sat down.

  “I wasn’t into guns before I met Lord Halloween,” he said. “But afterwards… Well, it seemed like a good idea to be prepared.”

  Kate nodded.

  “I got my first gun as soon as we moved,” she said. “After my Mom died. My Mom had never really wanted me to be trained on a weapon, but after she was gone, well, my Dad thought she would understand.”

  Anderson nodded.

  “How did you find me?” he asked.

  “Tracked your writing style,” Quinn responded. “There’s an internet program…”

  “The one Alexis wrote about?” Anderson said.

  “Yeah. You still read the paper?”

  “Every week,” he said. “I have to.”

  “It would be your first sign that he’s returned,” Kate said.

  Anderson nodded again.

  “I’m going to save you a lot of trouble,” he said. “I don’t know who he is. If I did I would have told the police or died trying to kill him myself.”