Lisa Miscione - Angel Fire

“Yes sir,’’ answered the officer.

“Come up for coffee if you get cold, guys,’’ said Lydia, pulling her cream suede coat around her against the chill.

“Thank you, Ms. Strong.’’

It felt strange to her, as she turned the brushed-chrome knob and entered through the front door, that Bernard Hugo had been in her house. The hand that had murdered and removed the hearts of innocent people had been on the same doorknob that hers rested on now. She had felt invaded last night but now that she knew who he was and what he had done, it bothered her even more.

“I wonder why he didn’t wait for us to come home last night.’’

“Who?’’

“Bernard Hugo.’’

“Well, we’re armed, for one.’’

“How would he know that we’re armed?’’

“It’s a reasonable assumption.’’

“Still, if he was really motivated to kill me…’’

“Maybe he doesn’t want to kill you.’’

“What else could he want?’’

“I don’t know, Lyd,’’ he said, moving close to her and leaning in to kiss her.

In the melee, Lydia had barely had a chance to acknowledge the way their relationship had changed, what had happened between them last night. But it felt so natural, far more natural than pushing him away for years had felt. It was as if they had slipped into the relationship they were meant to have all along and the only difference was an overwhelming sense of release.

“What’s the plan?’’ asked Lydia.

“I’m going to take a shower. You make some coffee and then we’ll head out. It’ll be a romantic first date – we’ll look for the Dodge minivan, horn in on a few stakeouts, check out some possible serial-killer hiding spots.’’

“You sure know how to treat a woman, Mr. Mark. And then we’ll go park in front of where Juno is staying?’’

“Sure.’’

As he turned to walk away, Lydia slapped him on the ass. He spun around and looked at her, totally floored by the playful gesture.

She smiled. “I’ve always wanted to do that.’’

He laughed and walked up the stairs to the shower, feeling light with love for her.

As she stood in the pink glow of the kitchen lights, placing ground coffee beans in the filter, she actually felt a little giddy. Then she immediately felt guilty. You have no business acting like a schoolgirl with five people dead and a serial killer on the loose.

The phone rang as she turned the coffeepot on. “Hello?’’

“So what are you going to call the book?’’

“Excuse me? Who is this?’’

“You know who this is.’’

The room swirled around her as she realized it was Hugo. She internally kicked herself for not having the line tapped. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it.

“What do you want, Bernard?’’ she asked, forcing herself to be calm and rational, hoping that Jeffrey would emerge from the shower so he could pick up the other line.

“I want to know what you are going to call the book you write about me.’’

“What makes you think I would write a book about you?’’ she asked, thinking fast.

“Well, that’s what you do, isn’t it?’’

“What’s that?’’

“Write books about killers. I really should thank you.’’

“Thank me for what?’’

“I have read everything you have ever written and you have taught me everything I needed to know to become God’s warrior.’’

“Is that what you think you are?’’

“My son was the sacrificial lamb. He was taken from me and his innocent life lost so that I might do the Lord’s work.’’

“And the Lord’s work entailed the killing of five innocent people?’’

He laughed and the throaty chuckle made Lydia go cold inside. “‘An oracle is within my heart concerning the sinfulness of the wicked,’’’ he said.

“More Psalms, Bernard?’’

“I’m surprised you recognize it.’’

“Look, why don’t we just end this, Bernard?’’ she said.

“I fully intend to.’’

“Where are you? Let’s get together. You can tell me your side of the story so I have the complete picture for my book. You’ll have a chance to deliver God’s message. Otherwise the whole world is going to think you were just a cold-blooded murderer. Tell me where to meet you.’’

There was a silence on the line and Lydia prayed. Please let him be delusional enough to fall for this ridiculously obvious setup.

“You would come alone?’’

“Of course.’’

“Then come at midnight.’’

“Where?’’

“Pray, and God will give you the answer.’’

The line went dead. She looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly eleven-thirty. She put the phone down in the cradle and before she lifted her hand from the receiver, it rang again.

“Ms. Strong?’’ It was the quavering voice of an elderly woman.

“Yes?’’

“It’s Mrs. Turvey. I’m afraid Juno is gone.’’

“Gone? What do you mean?’’ asked Lydia.

“He’s left, taken his cane and gone. I went in to check on him and didn’t find him in bed. I’m so worried.’’

“What about the police outside?’’

“They said they didn’t see him go.’’

“Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s fine,’’ she lied. “I’ll find him. You stay where you are in case he calls or comes back.’’

“All right.’’

There was a hurricane in her mind, the possibilities floating like debris. Growing frantic, she pounded on the bathroom door.

“What’s wrong?’’ called Jeffrey from the shower.

“I just talked to Bernard Hugo. He called here. I think he has Juno.’’

“Are you crazy? What are you talking about?’’ he asked, throwing a towel around his waist and opening the door.

“Jeffrey, I have to go. There’s no time. Follow me to the church with the cops downstairs,’’ she yelled as she ran down the stairs away from him.

“Lydia, don’t you even think about facing off with this guy on your own…Lydia – Fuck!’’

But she was already gone. Seconds later he heard the Mercedes speed off from the driveway. He was dressed in under five minutes, and after her. If Bernard Hugo didn’t kill her, he was going to do it himself.

Simon Morrow wondered how long it had been since the lights had been turned on in the records tomb of the hospital. He stood at the door with an orderly at his side and flicked the light switch but the fluorescent bulbs didn’t so much as flicker.

“They turned the lights and the temperature control off down here,’’ the orderly said.

Morrow pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shone it over the edge of the file cabinets. The place was covered with a thick film of dust. Which made it easy to see the recent path someone had made to the end of the room, almost the length of a football field at least.

“How long has it been since anyone was down here?’’ Morrow asked the orderly.

“No one ever comes down here. All these records have been computerized.’’

The last happy days Bernard Hugo had known were spent working at this hospital. That had been Morrow’s second hunch today. So far, he was two for two. He followed the trail Hugo had left in the dust, his gun drawn, the beam of his flashlight leading him through a maze of file cabinets, and finally to a small area where he found a sleeping bag, some empty, greasy McDonald’s bags, and a pile of medical textbooks.

“Where are you, Hugo?’’ he whispered as he picked up one of the texts.

He exhaled a slight whistle as he flipped the pages, seeing that every white space had been inked over with insane images of death and gore. There were gnarled hands with claws dripping blood and innards; an image of Christ on the cross, His torso open, revealing an empty chest cavity; a decapitated dog. Over every image, Hugo had written Juno’s name, inked heavily as if he had raked his pen over the same letters again and again. The image on the inside of the back cover of the book, caused Morrow to drop the text to the floor and run, as fast as he could, for the door.