C. Lawrence - Silent Screams

Kylie had grown very quiet in the backseat, so when he had gone a mile or two, he looked back at her to see if she was all right. She sat staring at him without speaking, her hands clutching the stuffed dinosaur he had bought for her earlier.

"Kylie? Are you okay?" he said.

"What happened to the other car?" she asked. "He hit the tree. Is he going to be all right?"

"I don't know, honey, but I'm going to call the police as soon as I can so they can go rescue him."

"Why did you go off the road like that?"

Because he was trying to kill us.

"Well, I just wanted him to stop following us."

"Why was he following us?"

"I think he must have been drunk or something."

Kylie began to cry. "But what if he died?"

"Don't worry, Kylie-it's going to be all right. The police will take care of him. Everything's going to be all right."

But the more he said the words, the less he believed them. Someone was after him, and he suspected that whoever it was, they wanted him off the case-very, very badly.

Lee drove for a while without looking back, taking side roads and detours. When he was certain that he wasn't being followed, he pulled off the road to call the police. After dialing 911 and reporting the accident, he started the Honda's engine up again. He was worried about his family's safety. The attack had taken place in their backyard this time, and he couldn't be there to protect them constantly.

Kylie had fallen asleep in the backseat again-with the emotional resilience of childhood, she had forgotten her panic, accepting Lee's explanation that the whole thing was just the crazy actions of a drunk driver. He had no intention of telling her the truth.

As the engine turned over, he was seized by an uncontrollable wave of shivering, and had to turn off the car again for a while to calm down. He realized that all he knew about the other car was that it was a dark sedan-any other details were lost in a blur of action and decision making. He couldn't even say how many people were in the car. It could have been more than one, for all he knew, though he didn't think so. Every instinct in his body told him that the pursuer was one man and one man alone.

When he arrived at Fiona's house it was three in the morning. The grandfather clock in the front hall ticked loudly as he tiptoed in through the front door, Kylie in his arms. Surrounded by the familiar smell of apples and old wood, Lee had trouble imagining the threat they had both just survived-here, at his mother's everything felt so familiar, so comfortable, and so safe.

He closed the heavy door behind him quietly and carried Kylie upstairs to her bedroom. She hardly stirred as he laid her on the bed, removing her shoes and socks and tucking her under a thick layer of blankets and quilts. Fiona Campbell kept a watchful eye on the thermostat, and the house was cold at night. "A cool room at night is better for you than a stuffy one," she would say. "A bit of fresh night air never hurt anyone."

Lee was exhausted but wide awake, so he went down to the living room and lit a fire. He then took out his cell phone and dialed the state police headquarters, located in Somerville, about twenty minutes away. He had a feeling that the state troopers would find an empty car down by the stream, but he wanted the car held and checked for evidence: blood, DNA, anything that could help identify his pursuer. He gave his name to the sleepy operator who answered.

"New Jersey State Police. How can I help you?"

"Hello, this is Lee Campbell of the NYPD. May I speak with your shift commander, please?"

"That would be Lieutenant Robinson. Just a minute, please."

"Robinson here." The voice was deep, educated, probably African American. Lee hadn't had much contact with Jersey troopers, but they had a reputation for being fierce and efficient.

Lee explained the situation as calmly as possible, emphasizing to Lieutenant Robinson that he didn't know if the attacker was related to the case he was working on, but that he suspected there was a link. Robinson listened, then asked if Lee and his niece were all right.

"We're fine, thanks-just shaken up a little. I'm at my mother's house, and if it's all right with you I'll come by tomorrow to have a look at that car."

"Fine. I've already spoken with the troopers who found it-it's right where you said it was, but it's empty. There's a trail of footprints in the snow leading away from the car out to the road, but that's where they disappear."

"How many sets of prints?"

"One. A man, by the look of it. Medium-sized feet-about a size nine, Trooper Edwards said. Guess we should take a cast of the prints, if there's a possible connection to a murder suspect."

"I would appreciate that very much."

"And we'll do a trace on the car, of course. Doesn't look like a rental."

"Thanks."

"You're sure you're okay now?"

"Yeah, fine-thanks."

"Okay, then, we'll see you tomorrow."

"Right."

Lee hung up and stared into the fire. The flames licked greedily upward, as if they wanted to fly straight up the chimney and into the night. The pointed tongues of flame reminded him of pitchforks, and, listening to the wind whistling through the house's ancient eaves, he imagined he was hearing the howls of the damned.

The trip to Somerville the next day was disappointing. The car had been reported stolen earlier that day, and the owner, a well-respected local doctor, was beyond suspicion. He also wore a size-eleven shoe.

No blood was found inside the car, at least not in the preliminary search, but it was being sent to the state crime lab for further analysis. Lee doubted they would find anything-the driver, whoever he was, had probably worn gloves.

The first thing Lieutenant Robinson did was to put a twenty-four-hour guard on Fiona's house, much to her disgust. Lee also called Kylie's father, over his mother's protests, and asked him to come stay with them for a while, which he did gladly. Lee tried not to alarm him unduly, but George Callahan was a kind man, and his concern was obvious. He offered to take Fiona and Kylie over to his house, but Fiona was having none of it. She called the whole thing "silly," insisting that Lee had simply had an encounter with a drunk driver.

"It's true what they say about Jersey drivers, you know," she said, both eyebrows lifted in disdain. "They are a dangerous lot."

Lee wasn't interested in his mother's opinion, and insisted on the safety precautions. The state trooper was to accompany Kylie to and from school, at least for a while.

When Lee told Chuck Morton about the attack, he insisted on meeting as soon as Lee was back in the city.

By the time Lee left New Jersey it was nighttime, and a late winter storm was blowing in. Lee returned to the city just as the storm slammed into the coast with a vengeance. He barely made it to the car rental place in the Village. A foot of snow had already fallen by the time he headed out for his apartment on foot.

When he got in, he phoned Chuck on his cell phone to say he would come by first thing in the morning. He wasn't going out again tonight. Chuck was already on his way back to his house. If he delayed his departure from the city any longer, he might end up having to spend the night. Everyone was saying this was going to drop a load of snow on the area-possibly up to three feet.

Lee sat at the piano playing a Bach prelude as he listened to the storm moaning as it swirled around the low-lying buildings of East Seventh Street. The old tenement building creaked and shuddered as the wind whirled around the edges of the windows, gusting and howling like a living thing, a demon in search of souls to capture.

He stopped playing and stared out the window at the trees across the street, which were bending and swaying so violently he thought they might snap. Demons. Lost souls. Lee wasn't sure he believed in the existence of souls, but what was this killer if not a lost soul?