Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

Kyle knew he had to go back to his base of operations. There was too much stuff there for someone to find. If he acted now, hopefully Quinn would seem like a lunatic. After all, the DNA test would still confirm his “death.”

  He kept his eye on the rearview mirror. Still nothing.

  He had left the Horseman in the dust.

  He sighed again and slowed down. It wouldn’t do to get a ticket. He should go back to base, pick up his stuff and leave town. Maybe someone would believe Quinn or maybe not. It wouldn’t matter. Kyle Thompson would disappear.

  God, but it was frustrating. He had been so close to finishing up here. And now he was just running away. He checked the clock in the car. It was 11:40 p.m.

  Just 20 more minutes and he wouldn’t have to worry about the Horseman anymore. That part he remembered from Kate’s conversation with Janus. Given what he had seen, he had no choice but to acknowledge some of that shit must be true.

  He just hoped the deadline was one part that was real.

  He pulled off on Mulberry Lane, still constantly keeping one eye out for anything behind him. At an empty post where a mailbox should have been, Kyle turned left, confident that no one had followed him.

  Go in, grab the stuff and go. Deadline or no deadline, it wasn’t worth sticking around to find out. Winding his way down the long driveway, he pulled the car up to the house and stopped.

  For once, he wished that this house had not been his choice for a base of operations. It was rundown, its steps were treacherous, and every creak of the floorboards could be heard throughout the house.

  But that was what had made it perfect. It was Charles Holober’s house, the poor schmo whom police had tapped as Lord Halloween the first time around.

  From the beginning, Kyle had known it was a perfect spot. Nobody wanted to buy the land, even in the days where everything was being plowed down to make way for new luxury townhomes. Not here. A house built in a swamp standing on rotten stilts.

  Kyle could not keep his collection items at his own house. That would have made for easy discoveries by any curious person. So Holober’s it had been. Kyle had befriended him 13 years before, a lonely schizophrenic hermit with a house in the swamp. Kyle had set him up of course—he had wanted a patsy for police to find so they would stop looking for the real killer.

  And Holober’s place remained an excellent hiding spot. No other houses for miles, and the creaky floorboards would easily tell him if anyone else was around. It was like a built-in alarm. Kyle had kept all his trophies there. The news clippings, the stack of post-it notes, mementos.

  But now he wished he hadn’t. Kyle had never been afraid of the house before. After all, he was the thing that other people should fear. He was what went bump in the night.

  Kyle got out of the car and checked his watch. 11:45 p.m.

  But he was growing nervous. Far away, he thought he could hear a sound and it was getting louder.

  “Damn,” he said, and climbed the steps.

  He would be safe in here. He opened the door and went through.

  The air in the place was stale and had a rotten odor. The house still had electricity, thanks to a generator Kyle had maintained in good order.

  Kyle flipped on the light. But nothing happened.

  “Damn,” he said again, and the sound of his own voice made him jumpy. He must not have charged the thing, he thought.

  He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark, which they did only slightly, and moved forward. He banged his leg into the couch as he tried to make his way to his bedroom.

  He crossed the living room and heard the floorboards groan beneath him. He stopped a minute and listened for any other sounds. Kyle shuddered.

  Outside, the sound was unmistakable and getting closer. The pounding of horse hooves. How the hell had it followed him? But, really, was that the most surprising part of the night? He doubted it.

  Kyle knew he did not have much time.

  He went into the bedroom and pulled a duffel bag out of the closet. He could barely see, but he knew where most of the things he needed were. Just the newspaper clips and mementos and he would be on his way. He checked his watch again. 11:48 p.m. In 13 minutes, he would not need to worry about this anymore.

  He reached onto the bed for some of his papers. He couldn’t see them, but he had prepared them just this morning. They were a new identity for himself, so he could move this show to some other town and start over.

  But instead his hand closed around a single small piece of paper.

  In a panic, he reached all over the bed. But all that remained was a note.

  He picked it up—a small yellow post-it note with writing on it. He pulled it close to his face so he could read it.

  “You are not alone, Kyle,” it read.

  Kyle dropped the note in shock. He wheeled around and faced the living room.

  “Who’s here?” he yelled.

  But no sound came back. Just silence.

  Kyle bent down to the duffel bag and pulled out his emergency back-up plan. A gun.

  “I hate using this thing, I really do,” he said out loud. “But don’t think that I don’t know how. I was in the service for a long time, you know.”

  “Oh, I know,” a voice in the darkness came back. It sounded like a woman’s, or was it a man’s voice as well?

  “Quinn? Is that you?” Kyle called out, and held the gun in front of him.

  “He’s here, in a manner of speaking,” the voice came back. “But he is also outside, getting closer. And when he gets here…”

  “Fuck you,” Kyle said. “Fuck you and your parlor games.”

  He held the gun in front of him and walked out of the bedroom door. He left the duffel bag behind. Let the cops find him. He just needed to get out of here.

  “Come on, Kyle, you were always the one who liked parlor games,” the voice said. “You played one with me, remember?”

  “Who are you?” Kyle asked, but he knew. He had known from the moment he found the note on the bed. It made no sense. How could she have known where to come?

  “See you real soon, remember?” Kate’s voice came back.

  Kyle tried to tell where the voice was coming from. He tried to look for her, but he couldn’t see.

  Outside, he could hear the sound of the horse getting louder.

  “Look, Trina,” Kyle said. “I’ll cut you a deal. You call all this shit off and I will go away. I’ll leave you guys alone—I will be out of your hair forever.”

  Nervously, Kyle lit the light on his watch. It was 11:52 p.m.

  “I don’t think so, Kyle,” Kate said.

  Kyle thought now he could hear where the voice was coming from. He turned to the right and fired the gun. The blast was nearly deafening in the small house. He heard the bullet slam into the wood grain.

  “Nice try,” Kate said.

  “You see? There is still something left in me,” Kyle said. “Let me go and I will just walk out of here.”

  “Oh, you are free to leave, Kyle,” Kate said. “But I think you will find a friend waiting for you outside.”

  The sound of horse hooves had stopped. It meant only one thing, Kyle thought.

  “He’s here,” Kate said.

  His knees felt weak and he noticed his hands were shaking.

  “He can’t get me in here,” Kyle said.

  And then he heard a large crashing noise from below. The whole house shook.

  “Think again,” Kate replied. “Actually, he could walk up the steps if he wanted to. But we have a different idea.”

  The large crash came again and again. The whole house felt like it was breaking apart.

  “Not very stable here, is it?” Kate asked.

  “If this house falls in, it will hurt you too,” Kyle said.

  “I doubt it,” she replied. “I think I’m beyond that kind of thing.”

  Kyle looked at his watch again. 11:54 p.m.

  “I’m not going to let the clock run out here, don’t worry,” Kate said. />
  “Then come and get me,” Kyle said. “I’m not moving.”

  A large crash happened again and Kyle felt the floor shake. It was going to fall in.

  But then a figure moved across the floor. He could not believe he hadn’t seen her before. She grabbed the gun out of his hand and punched Kyle in the face.

  He stumbled back and heard the floorboards creak as he landed. There was another crash from below, and the house now tilted on its stilts. Furniture started sliding. Kyle felt the coffee table hit him in the leg.

  Before he could move, something hit him in the stomach. Kyle went sprawling across the floor.

  “Looks like the house of cards is beginning to collapse, Kyle,” Kate said.

  Kyle tried to get up. He got to his knees and was hit in the head from behind, falling forward again.

  A voice was in his ear.

  “I could kill you, you know,” a female voice whispered. “I would even enjoy it, as you did. But I think I would rather see you run.”

  He turned over and tried to throw the figure back.

  But when he looked into the face above him, it was not Kate that he saw. It was her mother.

  “What’s the matter, Kyle?” Sarah asked him. “Seen a ghost?”

  With all his might, he tried to push her backwards and get up. She easily dodged him, but stepped back.

  “This is not real,” he said.

  “I could have taken another form,” Sarah said to him. “I could have been your worst nightmare. But this one felt the most fitting.”

  Kyle stumbled back and looked at her. He blinked hard again.

  “This isn’t happening,” he said again, and nearly lost his balance as another crash caused the floor to tilt even further. “What are you?”

  Sarah crossed the floor and leaned into Kyle’s face before he could block her.

  She whispered in his ear.

  “We are the Lords of Halloween, Kyle,” she said, and pushed Kyle through the front door. “The real Lords of Halloween.”

  Kyle landed on the front stoop and felt intense pain in his back. His arms flailing, Kyle tried to pick himself up. He did not look back into the house. Instead, he tried to make it down the stairs, which were coming apart even as he walked down them.

  He stumbled off them and tried to run to his car. Even from here, he could tell that the tires were slashed. Cut by a sword.

  Kyle heard the pounding of hooves behind him. He did not dare look back. Instead, he ran forward as fast as he could and looked at his watch. 11:58 p.m.

  Just two more minutes. Just two more minutes and he would be safe. I can’t die like this, he thought.

  He heard a blade being unsheathed behind him. He ran faster now, throwing all his energy into it. He had always come out on top. He would again.

  But the Horseman was gaining on him. He looked at his watch again, willing it to go faster. 11:59 p.m. and 30 seconds.

  He felt the horse breathing down his neck and dodged to the right to try and avoid him. Thirty more seconds and he would be free, Kyle thought.

  He jumped now to the left and felt the Horseman slice the air near him as he went by.

  Kyle stopped, dropped back, and watched as the Horseman wheeled around and then halted. Kyle looked from his watch to the Headless Horseman, who stood there impassively.

  10 seconds, he noted.

  The Horse reared back and Kyle backed up some more.

  He glanced at his watch. 5 seconds.

  But the Horseman did not move. Instead the horse held his position in the air and came to ground at exactly midnight on Kyle’s watch.

  Kyle looked up and shouted, waiting for the figure of the Horseman to dissolve in front of him.

  “I won, you stupid fucks,” he shouted, grinning, and looked back at his watch.

  It was ten seconds past midnight.

  But the Headless Horseman still stood there. Kyle felt the smile fade from his face.

  The Horseman surged forward, his sword in the air.

  Kyle looked at the specter with disbelief.

  “But it’s midnight,” he shouted. “It’s midnight. You are supposed to…”

  The Headless Horseman’s blade came sailing through the air and Kyle at the last moment threw up his arm to try and ward off the blow. It didn’t help.

  The Horseman cleanly lopped off Kyle’s head. The look of surprise, terror and confusion was still on it as it sailed through the air and fell to the dust just as Kyle’s body crashed down.

  The Headless Horseman wheeled about and rode up to the figure that had come out of the house.

  Kate, now once again looking like herself, walked over to Kyle’s body. Absentmindedly, she stroked the horse’s mane as it drew up beside her.

  Kate leaned over the body and pulled on Kyle’s watch. She held it up to her own.

  “What do you know?” she said. “It’s three minutes fast. Just like he always taught us.”

  The horse reared up and the Headless Horseman laughed. Kate just smiled.

  Epilogue

  A week later, it was a Loudoun Chronicle exclusive, a double by-line by Kate and Quinn. “Lord Halloween: The Real Story.”

  Police had stayed quiet after the discovery of the Holober house, which they had searched after an anonymous tip. There they collected Kyle’s real body and drew their own conclusions, mostly the right ones.

  However, the police were so concerned about being burned again by announcing that Lord Halloween was finished that they delayed saying anything at all. Instead, they only said that their investigation continued.

  Kate had found Buzz’s papers inside the Holober house and kept them. With Buzz’s portfolio in hand, it was not hard to completely retrace Kyle’s steps over the past few years.

  It was a huge hit when the Chronicle announced who the killer was and that he was dead. What followed was a definitive account of the serial killer. When it had started and even what he had planned. The last bit they attributed to police sources, who had found a paper in the Holober house that was a draft of a note that Kyle had written. In it, he talked about crucifying kids.

  Kate knew much more than what she could say. She had seen into Kyle’s mind, after all, and there was much laid out there that couldn’t come from any portfolio. But Quinn and Kate kept that mostly to themselves.

  As they did their role in any of it. While paying tribute to the losses of Janus and Buzz, they removed any trace they had been involved. The police never knew who called them out to the Holober house and were never certain how Kyle had been killed. It wasn’t until later that Sheriff Brown began to worry about it.

  In those early days, he was still surprised by his good fortune. Once Kate and Quinn’s story broke, he rushed forward to claim credit for stopping the killings.

  Quinn’s greatest satisfaction came the next day. The story in The Washington Post—written by none other than Summer Mandaville—was forced to quote the Loudoun Chronicle. Without access to Buzz’s portfolio themselves, she had precious little else to use for her story. Kate and Quinn’s story simply had too many wonderful details to ignore. And so the great Washington Post gave the Loudoun Chronicle credit. And that was not the only paper. CNN ran a whole story on it, borrowing liberally from the two reporters work, but at least giving them credit. Ethan Holden was on cloud nine for a week.

  For the rest of the paper, it was more bittersweet. The killer, after all, had worked among them for years and been responsible for the deaths of two of their own. And for Quinn, the memory of Janus was ever-present.

  The next staff meeting was mercifully short. Laurence said a prayer for their fallen colleagues and moved on to new business.

  But Kate and Quinn did not attend. Riding on Holden’s good will, they took two weeks off, the first to see Kate’s father.

  After that, they didn’t have set plans. They just wanted to go somewhere quiet for a while, and be by themselves.

  They had lost their abilities at the stroke of midnight, as promi
sed, and no longer had the connection to each other that they had in the previous weeks. That proved to be a problem, because each had become accustomed to knowing what the other felt like at any given time. They knew, though, that their abilities would come back, stronger than ever, eventually. In the meantime, the two were getting used to communicating the conventional way again. It was frustrating.

  “So how long do you think we have to wait?” Quinn asked her on the car ride up to her dad’s.

  “I don’t know,” Kate said in the passenger seat. She was half-dreading trying to explain her actions to her dad, though she was thankful Quinn was along for the ride. “There’s very little literature on it. Not forever though. Maybe February, March?”

  “Shit. That’s a long time.”

  “I know,” she said, and put her hand on his knee. “And we don’t even really know what it will be like. We only had a few minutes as the true Prince of Sanheim. And we were a little focused on revenge at that moment.”

  “I look forward to it,” he said.

  “Me too,” she replied, and leaned back in her chair.

  She thought a minute.

  “What is this going to mean?” she asked. “What do we do with all this stuff when we get it back?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “Band together and fight the evil plots of Lex Luthor?”

  “No, really. I’m serious.”

  “I don’t know,” Quinn said. “And I’m worried.”

  “About?”

  “The man in my dream,” he said. “He wanted something and we gave it to him.”

  “Maybe he was trying to help?”

  “For what purpose? He wants something, and part of that plan was our becoming Prince of Sanheim?”

  “Well, just because we are now doesn’t mean we have to do what he wants,” she said.

  “We don’t really know that, though, do we? The power we had. It felt good, right?”

  “It felt exhilarating,” she said.

  “But it didn’t feel good in the other sense of the word, did it? It didn’t feel right.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said. “It was the best I’ve ever felt. And I saw into you, remember? It’s the best you’ve ever felt too.”