Our Lady Chaos, page 11
part #5 of Bloodletter Series
“Nerd.”
“Brat.”
“Goof.”
“Goober.”
Sean rolled his eyes.
“And I win again. Undisputed heavyweight champion of the world!” Karl crowed.
“I let you.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Don’t lie to a cop, son.”
“I’ll count that as a win.”
Karl twitched his big head to the side. “Fair enough.” After a moment of silence, his expression turned solemn. “Sorry he’s not here, Sean.”
“Who?”
“Your dad. He would have been here if he could. He’d have loved this.”
A crushing, unreasoning sadness wrapped its arms around Sean and squeezed. For a moment, he had to fight for breath, but then it passed. “Yeah,” he murmured. Why does he always do that? he wondered. He glanced at Karl out of the corner of his eye. The gargantuan deputy sheriff was looking at him with a scary intensity—like he wanted to eat him. Sean shuddered, and Karl turned his gaze to the front.
“You want me to walk around with you or wait in the car?”
“I’m not little anymore, Karl,” Sean said.
“Nope, but I don’t mind going around with a big kid. I’m one myself.” His grin was infectious, and despite the dollop of melancholy the comments about his dad had evoked, Sean smiled back.
Sean peered out the window at a gaggle of kids striding down the pavement dressed as various creatures of the night and imagined just running up to them and joining their group. He knew a few of the boys from school, though he never sat with them at lunch or played with them during recess. His mind painted the scene for him—the boys laughing and strolling away from him, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the street.
He turned back to Karl, and for a heartbeat, Karl’s voracious face scared him, but then the shadow left the deputy’s face, and with it, the nasty expression. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe you can get me extra candy.”
Karl laughed and tousled his hair.
14
Halloween 1976
Dennis circled wide around their hideout—his hideout. Neither of the two pussies he was with deserved that place. Not that they would be able to come back after that evening, anyway.
He’d ditched his pack after donning a pair of gloves and wiping the hammer down with care. The gloves felt awesome. In fact, his all-black outfit felt a little…sexy. A broad, aggressive smile had warped his expression since he’d left the others, and his cheeks ached. Even so, he didn’t gentle his expression; he had nothing benign in his heart or mind anymore. Inside, he felt as he imagined a hunting lion felt—powerful, ruthless, murderous.
He slowed to a walk, not wanting to alert Jasper to his presence. Dennis aimed to come up behind the boy and scare him, then smash his head in during Jasper’s moment of shock and fear. The perfect blitzkrieg, he thought. The perfect ambush. And after he’s down…Ari’s turn. The perfect crime, and the perfect patsy.
A shadow moved ahead—Jasper, no doubt—and Dennis slowed even further. His gaze stuck to Jasper’s silhouette as if welded there, and his heart beat so fast he feared it might explode before it was all over. He’d spent many a night practicing this moment, practicing moving through the woods like a stalking cat, and Jasper never heard him.
When he stood within arm’s reach of the other boy, Dennis cocked the hammer over his shoulder and said, “Hey, pussy.” His voice sounded strange, even to himself—deep, resonant, and spine-shivering. Jasper jumped and spun around, creating a hell of a racket.
Dennis swung with every bit of his strength, putting his entire weight behind the majestic hammer, adding the power of his hatred, his anger, his scorn. The short-handled sledgehammer impacted Jasper’s forehead with the tone of splitting rock, and the boy collapsed as though every muscle in his body had turned to jelly. He hadn’t made a sound—no scream, no grunt, no nothing.
Dennis froze at the end of his swing, a powerful emotion, a powerful joy, raping its way through his body and mind. He shivered with the power, the majesty, of the ecstasy, almost to the point that he feared a seizure was about to grip his brain in a tight embrace. In slow motion, the events of the last few minutes replayed in his mind’s eye again and again, and as each hammer blow struck, a jolt of pure electric pleasure struck his mind like lightning. Even so, he didn’t drop the hammer. No, he held it tight.
After a short time, the emotions, the memory of what he’d done, let go, leaving a hole in its place. Dennis wondered if that hole had always existed, and he’d never noticed, or if the potent emotional experience of killing Jasper had burned so bright that it left a cavity in its wake. He shivered as though someone had walked on his grave.
He stood over his former friend, without bothering to check if he was alive or dead, trusting in the hammer’s brutal efficiency. And now I have to give it up. The thought rocked him, and he shifted his gaze to the hammer, smiling a little smile at the blood that coated the head. Maybe I can work this so I can keep it, he thought, but even as he did, he knew the thought was a lie. The plan hinged on Ari’s fingerprints being on the haft. He couldn’t substitute a rock or something for the hammer—the cops would see right through that, and if they did, the whole plot would fall apart.
No, he thought. As much as I love this thing, I have to let it go. This’s the price for tonight. He peered down at Jasper and grunted. A huge dent decorated Jasper’s forehead. I knew it! Even if it does seem more like a moon crater than a dent in a car door.
Again, he looked down at the short-handled sledge with longing. There are other hammers, he told himself.
He shook his head and let his fist drop to his side, the hammer thumping him on the thigh like a goodbye kiss. He had to concentrate on relaxing the fingers of his right hand to allow the haft to slide through them. It hit the ground with a thud, and Dennis turned aside, tears stinging his eyes.
Maybe I won’t be a rock star, he thought. I could do this forever. I could live in New York City and do hits for the Mob. He forced himself to step away from the hammer, to walk toward the hideout’s only entrance. He pulled off the balaclava and shoved it into his jacket pocket.
The next part of the plan was critical, and he did something he never did: he let his tears slide down his cheeks. He stopped outside, gathering himself. It has to look real. He recalled dropping his hammer in the woods. He imagined the police taking it and keeping his sledge locked away forever. He thought about never being able to touch the cold steel again, and a sob escaped him.
He bashed the door open with his shoulder, and inside, Ari shrieked as a little girl might. “Denny! You scared the shit out of me, man!”
Dennis rushed in and grabbed Ari by the shoulders. “HE’S DEAD!” he screamed.
“What? Who? What are you talking about, Dennis?” Ari tried to pull away, but he couldn’t break Dennis’s grip.
“Jasper! Someone killed Jasper!”
“This isn’t funny, Denny,” said Ari in a tremulous voice.
Dennis scoffed and dragged Ari out the door. He shoved him toward Jasper’s body. “See for yourself!”
Ari stumbled to a stop, then looked back at Dennis. “This really isn’t funny, Dennis,” he said in a cold tone. “Me and Jasper will never play with you again after this.”
“JASPER’S DEAD, YOU DUMB FUCK!” Dennis screeched.
Ari gazed at him for a moment, his expression going from one of pique to one of abject terror in a few heartbeats. He spun toward the woods. “Jasper?”
Behind him, Dennis shifted his gaze to the ground, looking for the fist-sized rock he’d brought from the brook on the edge of Thousand Acre Wood earlier in the day.
Ari took three steps toward the tree line, then stopped again. He glanced over his shoulder. “Aren’t you coming?”
Dennis shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t want to see him that way again.” He pretended to shudder.
Ari turned his gaze back toward the dark trees. “What if the murderer is still out here?”
Dennis rolled his eyes and suppressed a sigh. “I was just in there, and I’m alive, so whoever did this isn’t in the woods anymore.” His gaze came to rest on the rock. He must have kicked it as he ran into the clearing. The stone rested three giant steps from Ari, off to his left. “Go on, Ari. The cops won’t believe only me.”
“The police?”
“Yeah, dummy! The police! Do you think we’re just going to leave him to rot in the woods?”
Ari nodded and strode into the trees. Dennis listened to his footfalls for a moment, then swooped toward his rock and swept it up, holding it behind his back. He stepped to the edge of the clearing and stopped.
“Oh, fuck!” said Ari in a whispering, fluttery voice. “Ohmygod, ohmygod!”
Dennis smiled a heartless smile as the sound of puking filtered through the trees. All that remained was for Ari to find the hammer. “Make sure you’re not stomping all over evidence in there, Ari!” he shouted.
“What? No, I’m… Oh my god! Dennis! There’s a… It’s a hammer.” Ari was silent for the space of five breaths, while Dennis held his. “Denny? This looks exactly…”
Fuck! Dennis strode into the woods, hoping Ari had picked the goddamn thing up. “What?” he called.
“Uh… Denny, did you leave your hammer at the hideout?”
“No way. Mine’s in my backpack same as always.”
“I think… Dennis, I’ll go to the police department. To take this hammer to them and tell them about, uh, Jasper. You, uh, you stay here. To, um, to sec—”
With a sickening crunch, Dennis put Ari’s budding fears to rest.
Maybe for good.
15
Halloween 1976
Munnur slid behind the wheel of the Impala and put his key in the ignition. He looked at Sean sidelong, wondering if he should bring up the kid’s dad again. The depth of Sean’s sadness stirred a wave of gluttonous greed in Munnur’s soul. Too soon, he decided. He already suspects something on a subconscious level. I’d better watch it; I don’t want to kill him and his mother. Not yet.
Sean rustled through the sweets in his orange plastic pumpkin, then grinned at Munnur.
“A nice haul?”
“The best I’ve ever gotten! I’ll have candy until Christmas!”
Even this boy knows how to preserve the food he likes most. Surely, I can do as much. Despite the thought, he almost asked the kid if it was better than when his dad took him out on Halloween. Almost. “Ready to go home? Or do you want to hit somewhere else?”
Sean glanced at him, then ducked his head. “Could we run down Main Street? The kids said the shop owners put on big shows and give out whole candy bars.”
Munnur threw back his head and laughed. “Sure we can, Sean. Whatever you want.” He started the Impala’s engine and goosed the accelerator a little to shower the side of the road with twin plumes of dirt and gravel.
When they turned on to Main, it was as festive as the school kids had led Sean to believe.
At least until Dennis Cratchkin ran up the street screaming bloody murder.
Chapter 4
2008
1
“What do you mean you can’t find them?” LaBouche roared. “We’ve bought you every damn thing you’ve asked for. I’ve allocated tens of thousands of dollars for your trips, your investigations! They did not disappear into thin air, Mason. They are out there, right now, putting all of this, all of us, at risk. Don’t waltz in here and tell me you haven’t found them. Don’t sashay in here and say they can’t be found!”
Mason shrugged, doing his best to hide his boredom. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve scrubbed the data on Toby Burton, Drew Reid, Mike Richards, Shannon Bertram, and Benjamin Cartwright.” He rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Toby was a muddy mess even before everything went down last year. His records say he was in Millvale State Hospital, but he wasn’t. And this Drew Reid character?” Mason blew his bangs straight up and rolled his eyes. “How could you have missed that he appeared out of the ether in 1995? Don’t you cops do thorough checks?”
“Don’t turn this back on me, Mason,” said LaBouche with an air of weariness. “We aren’t here to talk about what may or may not have happened before these hunters killed Herlequin.”
“They must’ve split up,” said Mason. “Must’ve had escape plans waiting. Identities, travel arrangements.” He turned his head to the side but glanced at LaBouche out of the corner of his eye. “I mean, maybe I could do a better job with someone helping me.”
LaBouche sneered. “No.”
“This type of investigation gets boring, Lee,” Mason said, leaning forward. “It takes hours and hours and hours of staring at data on a screen. It’s just easier with a partner.”
LaBouche stood and paced behind his desk. “Didn’t we bring you a playmate the other day?”
Mason nodded. “A week ago. But that’s different, though. That scratches another sort of itch.”
“Nicole has other things to do. Besides, she said when she’s there, all you do is put the moves on her.” LaBouche winked at him. “Don’t you know that humans can’t compare to the hammers demons swing? She’s not interested.”
Mason looked away. “Still.”
“Still,” mimicked LaBouche. “Let me tell you about ‘still.’ Brigitta still wants these people found. Brigitta still wants you kept alive, but I sense she’s getting impatient. You are still at her mercy, and if ever she tires of you, your heart will become still.”
Mason wagged his head to the side. “No need to resort to threats, Lee. I’m with you guys. Red, Chaz, and Brigitta have been more like family to me than my own flesh and blood, and now that the State Police has plastered my identity all over the place…” He raised his hands and let them drop. “I’m stuck. I don’t have any ideas of what else to do, where else to look.”
LaBouche stopped pacing and twisted to face him. He opened his mouth but closed it without saying a word. He turned and gazed out the floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk. “Okay,” he said. “But it won’t be Nicole.”
“That’s all right,” said Mason. “I just need someone to bounce ideas off. Someone to talk to.” He smiled at LaBouche’s back. “Besides, I still have those pictures from when Nicole posed for me.”
Lee spun around, eyes blazing, until he saw Mason’s smirk. He scoffed and chuckled. “One day, Mason Harper, you may pull the wrong joke on the wrong demon.”
Mason only grinned at him.
“Now get out of here. I have things to do.”
2
Tom opened the front door and gazed at the nerdy-looking guy standing on his stoop. “Not interested,” he said and started to close the door.
“Wait, Chief Walton. My name is Dan Delo. I’m an intern at the Democrat and Chronicle.”
“Yes?” Tom squinted at the diminutive man, marking his features.
“I’m down here for my editor. She said I need to ask you about the three kids who survived being kidnapped by Owen Gray in the 70s.”
Tom shook his head. “Wrong town. Besides, you weren’t even born then, were you?”
“I’m older than I look.” The nerdy guy smirked. “And anyway, Mrs. Magerite remembers it well.”
“I guess,” said Tom. “But why bring all that up again?”
“Owen Gray comes up for parole next year.”
Tom scoffed. “That asshole? He’s never getting out.”
“I agree, but Mrs. Magerite says it’s better to raise awareness than report a tragedy.”
“She’s right about that, at least.” Tom looked the young man up and down, marking more features. “Might as well come in, I suppose. My wife, Janet, is visiting our grandkids, so the place is a bit of a mess.”
“Doesn’t bother me,” said Dan. “I’m a confirmed bachelor.”
Tom stepped back and waved Dan in. “How can I help you, Mr. Delo?”
“Call me Dan. Mr. Delo reminds me of my father.”
“Okay. Then you’d better call me Tom. I haven’t been chief of police here for years, anyway.”
“Tom, then.” He stuck out his hand.
Tom shook it and got the strangest impression of strength from the skinny man. “What can I tell you, Dan?”
“For starters, I was hoping you might have contact info for Toby Burton, Ben Cartwright, or Shannon Bertram? I need background information about the investigation, but Mrs. Magerite wants an interview from one of the survivors.”
Tom shook his head. “Can’t help you there. They weren’t from Genosgwa. They were from Oneka Falls.”
“Oh, yes, I understand, but with the tragedy that befell the Oneka Falls P.D. at the time, and the disappearance of Chief Richards, information in Oneka Falls is pretty sparse. Plus, I heard from a source in the State Police that you were instrumental in Abaddon’s identification, and that the three survivors had helped you rescue Abaddon’s final—”
“No, you’re wrong, son,” said Tom. “Let me stop you there because you’ve got your facts mixed up. It’s true that I identified Mason Harper as Abaddon, and that I rescued his last intended victim, but it was only me.”
Dan scratched his head and peered at Tom from the corner of his eyes. “I realize that’s the official story, Tom, but my source at the State Police—”
“Doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Dan held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Just passing on what my source told me. Can you tell me anything about the investigation in 1979? I understand that there was a victim from Genosgwa?”
“All of that is ancient news, son. And none of it pertains to Gray’s parole hearing. We never charged him in the Genosgwa kidnapping. No evidence.”
“No, I suppose you are right, but for the story we plan on running in the D and C, it’s germane.”
“Maybe, but an old man’s memories some thirty years later? No, for all of that information, I suggest going through what the papers ran back then.”
“Fair enough,” said Dan Delo. “I would love to speak to the survivors, though. Their experiences are—”
