Robert Browne - Kill Her Again

Royer went through a round of face roulette before finally settling on a glare. Unable to come up with a clever retort, he resorted to an uninspired, “Bitch,” then turned and walked away.

The paramedic, a fortyish blonde with world-weary eyes, said, “I think you just lost him a few nights’ sleep.”

“It won’t last,” Anna told her. “Third or fourth time he looks in a mirror, he’ll be back to normal.”

The paramedic chuckled, then, finishing her work, gestured to the burn marks. “You’ll be in pain for a few hours, but I think you’ll live.”

Happy day, Anna thought. She’d gladly accept a less promising prognosis if it meant Kimberly Fairweather were still alive.

Missing is always better than dead.

When her mother first passed, Anna made up little scenarios in her head that she’d really been kidnapped by faeries, or had gone to Hollywood to be a movie star. It was okay for her mom to be gone, but not dead. Anything but dead.

And this morning Anna had almost joined her.

She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been, letting that freak get control of her so easily. She had to keep reminding herself that Kimberly had already been butchered by then. There was nothing she could have done to prevent what had happened to the poor girl.

But for some reason that thought didn’t comfort Anna. This night, this morning, had gone from bad to truly devastating in a few short hours.

Watching the scene on the carnival grounds, she wondered if the man in the red baseball cap was watching, too. The house of mirrors had already been thoroughly searched, but there’d been no sign of him, not even a hint that he’d ever been inside. And what was most puzzling was that there had been no back doors, no escape routes.

So where the hell had he gone?

Anna couldn’t tell you why, but she sensed he was still around. Out there somewhere. Waiting.

I’ve come for what is mine, Chavi.

I’ve come to make it right.

The image of Kimmie’s body wouldn’t leave her.

She was a mistake, he’d said. But what exactly did that mean? Was he feeling guilty? Remorseful?

Not a chance. Kimberly’s murder was number four for the night. This asshole didn’t make mistakes and he didn’t feel a thing except bloodlust. And just as he’d had no trouble bringing that stun gun down time after time, Anna knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.

She thought about her vision, the strongest one so far. Red Cap dragging her through the leaves into the center of that clearing, bringing out that knife, crusted with dried blood.

She thought of the tattoo on the back of his neck: a wheel with missing spokes. Its significance was beyond her at the moment, but at least it was something. Some small clue they could cling to, to help them identify the sick fuck. She hadn’t bothered to tell Worthington that she’d only seen it in her vision. That was one small detail he didn’t need to know.

There was no doubt in Anna’s mind now that she was meant to be here. The things she’d seen-no, experienced — so closely echoed what had happened to Kimberly that there could be no mistake that this was where she belonged.

But even if what she’d experienced was a premonition of some kind, an intimate preview of Red Cap’s next victim, Anna wasn’t sure she wanted to be here. The visions had begun to take their toll, and every time she had one now she felt just a little less stable, a little less in control. And how can you stop a madman if you don’t have control?

Anna felt the urge to cry again. Let it all out, her mother used to tell her.

After Mr. Stinky was hit by that bus, she had cried and cried for…

Anna paused, her rapid-fire thought process screaming to a halt.

Mr. Stinky?

“So, how are you holding up?”

Anna snapped out of her reverie and realized she’d been staring intently at her left hand.

It was trembling.

Looking up, she was surprised to find Daniel Pope standing in the same spot Royer had stood just a moment ago.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Long story.”

“Where’s Evan? Did social services come get him?”

She glanced around the grounds, hoping to hell the boy wasn’t out there somewhere, where he might catch a glimpse of his sister in a body bag.

“There was a slight change of plans,” Pope said. “But don’t worry; he’s fine. I took him to Jake’s house.”

“Why there?”

“His wife Ronnie’s a nurse. She’s watching him until they get the whole social services thing worked out. We figured for the time being he’s better off with a real family anyway.”

“I assume you know about Kimberly?”

Pope nodded.

“And Evan?”

“I haven’t told him, but I have a feeling he already knows.”

“He seems like a pretty intuitive kid.”

“More than intuitive.”

There was weight to the statement and Anna frowned. “What do you mean?”

Pope said nothing for a moment. He seemed to be searching for the proper approach.

“Neither of us were here when this all went down,” he said, “but we might as well have been. I got the whole play-by-play from Evan. And this may be hard to believe, but I think he saved your life.”

Anna’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand.”

“Why don’t we go get some coffee.”

They went to the Hungry Spoon, a coffee shop in a strip mall about a block away from the school. The mall itself was relatively new, but the Spoon had been standing for decades and looked it.

It was the high school hangout, but at this time of morning there were only a few local businessmen in attendance, drinking coffee and reading the paper before heading out to the office.

Pope had worked here as a busboy when he was a teenager. Except for the waitstaff and the yellowing linoleum, the place hadn’t changed. He remembered working Friday nights when Jake and their buddies were out getting high and chasing girls.

And then there was the shy schoolgirl who regularly came in for a glass of milk and a slice of French apple pie. She always sat in the back booth, a pile of books around her, scribbling furiously in a notebook between bites.

He and Susan didn’t get together until years later, but after they were married she always joked that she had been stalking him, even back then.

The thought of that made him shudder.

But in his own way, wasn’t he stalking her?

He and McBride found a table away from the counter. They ordered coffee, and as McBride spoke to the waitress, Pope looked again at the scar on her face. The concealer she’d used had fallen victim to sweat and exertion, and the scar stood out in bas-relief, a thin pink blemish on otherwise flawless skin.

McBride, however, didn’t seem at all self-conscious about it. Didn’t seem to even realize it was there. But Pope wondered whose blade had cut her and, for reasons he couldn’t explain, felt the sudden urge to punish the bastard.

“So,” McBride said, after the waitress had gone away. “How exactly did Evan save my life?”

“He’s the reason Jake and Chavez were there. The reason they found you.”

“You’ll have to explain that one.”

“Let me back up a little. I’m getting ahead of myself.” He wasn’t quite sure how to start. He thought about it a moment, then said, “I had a little trouble at the Oasis.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Let’s just say I had problems with some of the personnel and leave it at that. The point is, I needed to get out of there, but the social worker hadn’t shown up yet and I didn’t want to leave Evan alone.”

“So you brought him here.”

He nodded. “Evan was still out when I left, but when I got him to my car, he started talking in his sleep. He kept saying your name.”