Kevin O'Brien - One Last Scream

He let out a nervous sigh. “Karen, if you could keep digging into Annabelle’s past, maybe you can figure out what the hell she wants, why she’s doing this. You know psychology. Why is she killing everyone close to Amelia? If I could figure out what Annabelle’s after, that would help me when I walk into the house ninety minutes from now.”

Tears stung his eyes, and George felt his throat closing up. “I might be able to bargain with her, give her what she wants, or at least figure out where she’s most vulnerable. Maybe I can get my kids and Jessie out of there alive.”

“I’ll do what I can, George,” she said. “Amelia should be here any minute now. Maybe we can get her to intervene and talk to her sister. Maybe that’s all we’ll need. Whatever this is, it’s between the sisters.”

“I think you’re right,” George murmured.

He suddenly realized he’d just passed a turn sign for the airport. “Karen, listen, thank you. I’ve got to go.”

“Okay, call me when you get to Seattle. Take care, George.”

He clicked off the cell phone, and turned the car around in an Arby’s parking lot. He backtracked and found another sign for the airport. In the distance, he heard police sirens, which seemed to become louder as he got closer to the airport. George saw an intersection ahead, where traffic was at a standstill. Two cop cars with their flashers on sailed through the junction and turned onto the airport drive.

As traffic started up again, George made a left through the intersection, and then took a right to the airport on Aviation Loop. He had a bad feeling in his gut. He could see the two patrol cars, parked in front of the terminal’s main entrance, their flashers still swirling.

He wondered if Tyler had caved and told the sheriff where he was headed.

George pulled into the lot and parked. Overhead, a plane was landing. George’s ears got a blast of the engine’s roar as he climbed out of the car. The night air had a chill to it. He clutched the lapels of his sports jacket up under his chin, and spied the two police vehicles in the distance.

A maroon minivan with RESIDENCE INN written on the side door had pulled up behind the squad cars. The driver, wearing a blazer the same color as the minivan, had gotten out of the car to talk to one of the cops. After a few moments, he stepped away from the cop car, waved, then ducked back into his minivan. He drove through the parking lot toward the main road.

George waved him down. “Are you with the Residence Inn?” he called. It was a stupid question, but still, the guy stopped.

The driver rolled down his window. He was in his early twenties with wavy black hair and a touch of acne. He nodded at George. “Yes, sir, are you headed there?”

“No, I’m meeting someone who needs a room for the night,” George lied. “Do you know if they have any vacancies?”

The driver reached into his maroon blazer and pulled out a card for the Residence Inn. “Call that number, and they’ll take care of you.”

“Much obliged,” George said. Then he nodded toward the police cars. “What’s the hubbub about, do you know?”

The young man nodded. “They got a tip from some guy about a bunch of dead bodies buried at a farm outside of town.”

“A bunch of dead bodies?” George repeated.

He nodded. “Yeah, they’ve dug up three so far, and they think there are a lot more.” With his thumb, he pointed to the patrol cars. “One of those cops is a buddy of mine. He said this is going to be big. So, better book your pal’s room with us pretty quick. Once all the news people get here-and that’ll be soon-all the hotels will fill up.”

“Thanks, I’ll get on that.” George nodded toward the cop cars again. “So what are they doing here? Are they the welcoming committee for the news people?”

The driver shook his head. “No, they’re looking for the dude who tipped off the county police about the stiffs, some Seattle guy. They want to hold him for questioning. They think he’s trying to blow town.”

“Imagine that,” George murmured. He tucked the Residence Inn business card in his pocket. “Well, thanks for the help. Have a nice night.”

The minivan drove off, and George ducked back into his car. He thought he was going to be sick. What the hell was he going to do now? He had to get home to his kids. He didn’t even want to think about how scared Jody and Steffie probably were right now, and what was being done to them.

He couldn’t afford to stick around the airport any longer. No doubt, those cops had a description of his car, maybe even the license plate number.

George backed out of the parking space. He watched the two squad cars in his rearview mirror as he merged onto the airport drive. They didn’t move, thank God.

He started driving, not even sure where he was headed. He just needed to get away from this airport and the police. It would take him an hour to make it to Portland by freeway. But he’d probably be detained at the Portland airport if he tried to book a flight or a charter. He couldn’t drive all the way back to Seattle. That would take at least four hours, and he ran the risk of some cop spotting his car. They’d be looking for him all along I-5.

“Do you even know where the hell you’re going?” he cried out loud. His hands, white-knuckled, gripped the wheel.

He took a few deep, calming breaths. George caught a glimpse of the street name as he went through an intersection: Waverly Drive. He realized he was close to Willamette University. The traffic became heavier as he headed into a commercial area full of bars, restaurants, and coffee shops.

George saw a sign: ATOMIC CYBER CAFE. He also noticed a parking space, and immediately pulled into it.

The Internet cafe was dimly lit and about half full of college kids slouched in front of the computer screens. “Can I get Internet access here?” George asked the barista behind the counter.

The young man had a small square of beard hair under his lower lip, and glasses. He wore a red apron. “You bet,” he nodded. “The first half hour is free with a beverage. All I need is a driver’s license for a deposit.”

“Thanks.” George slapped a five-dollar bill and his license on the counter. “Just a regular coffee, please, or whatever you’ve got that’s quick.”

A few moments later, George tried not to spill his coffee as he hurried over toward the free terminals. There were a few by a nicely dressed, uptight-looking man in his fifties, who gave George a narrow glance. Sitting down near him, George realized the guy was looking at porn. George ignored him. He switched on the terminal, and connected to the Internet. He brought up Google, and then typed in Salem, Oregon, Charter Helicopter.

He got two results: both businesses in Jefferson, Oregon. He pulled out his cell and called the first place, Coupland Aeronautic, Inc. He wasn’t sure if anyone would be answering at 7:20 on a Monday night. His chances of actually chartering a helicopter at the last minute like this were probably nil.

A woman picked up: “Coupland, this is Kate.”

“Hi. I’m in Salem, and I need to get to Seattle as soon as possible. Could I charter a helicopter for tonight?” he asked.

“You’re in Salem, that’s about a half hour away,” the woman said. George could hear her fingers clicking on a keyboard. “If you can get here by eight o’clock, we’ll have you in Seattle at eight-fifty tonight. Does that sound good to you?”

“That sounds great to me,” George replied.

“Hello, Naomi, this is Karen Carlisle calling again….”

Karen sat in her rental, parked across from the Wenatchee library. Though she got clearer phone reception outside, Karen had ducked inside the car to avoid the cold. It had also started drizzling. From the driver’s seat, she had an ideal view of everyone coming and going at the library. She was still waiting for Amelia. It had been well over two hours since they’d last talked, and still no answer on her cell.