M Sellars - Never Burn A Witch

“So this bastard was right there when we arrived at the Christine Webster scene and we missed ‘im?”

“He’s probably been within sight at every one of the scenes, Ben,” I returned. “Even tonight.”

“It would stand to reason,” Felicity chimed in. “If he truly believes in what he is doing, he will want to see his mission completed. He’ll want to see that the people have gathered ‘in the town square’ so to speak. To know that they have witnessed the wrath of God.”

“Yeah, great,” Ben muttered. “So he could be watchin’ us right now.”

“Not likely,” I shook my head. “He’s not stupid, and like I’ve said before he’s not doing this for the thrill. Once he sees that his work has been witnessed, he will move on. Just like the Cherrywood Trails crime scene. He just drove by. He didn’t stop and mingle with the crowd.”

“So if he just cruised by on Memorial Drive and saw the lights and activity, he woulda been happy?”

“Probably.”

My friend rubbed his large hand across his chin and huffed a misty breath into the fog before giving his watch another glance. “Okay, so look, I’ve gotta go back to the station and kick some ass on this whole DMV thing. I really doubt there’s anything you can do ta’ help, so we might as well get ya’ back home so ya’ can get some sleep.

“Now here’s the deal-Mandalay wasn’t scheduled to come over and relieve me till about five-thirty, so I need ta’ find someone to watch ya’ till she gets there.”

“I think we’ll be fine for a few hours, Ben,” I offered. “He’s already performed an execution tonight.”

“Yeah, so? Last time he went on a rampage, he killed three people in a night, not just one.”

“True, but he held Amanda Stark captive for a week, and we’re pretty sure what was happening to my arm was a good indication of what he was doing to her during that period. It’s not hard to guess what he was after. You can bet that his list of names has grown considerably, and we don’t really know that he’s following a particular order. I may not even be a priority anymore.”

“But ya’ don’t know that for sure,” he chided.

“Well no, I don’t.”

“Then I’m findin’ someone to watch ya’ until Mandalay shows up. End of discussion.”

For the second time in a single night, I was awakened by the sound of urgent pounding on my bedroom door. Also for the second time in that same night, I was fairly certain that I hadn’t been in bed for very long. At least this time, when I rolled over to look at the clock, the insistent pain of an ethereal symbol tattooing itself into my arm didn’t greet me as it had done earlier.

“Mister Gant! Miz O’Brien!” Detective McLaughlin’s urgent voice came from the other side of the door and was followed by another round of rapid knocking.

“Just a sec,” I called out.

Bleary eyed but feeling whole for the first time in almost two weeks, I climbed from the bed and shushed the dogs. After quickly pulling on my jeans I opened the door.

Charlee McLaughlin was possessed of a fresh, farmer’s daughter kind of face that bordered on the quintessential definition of cute. On any given day, her youthful appearance betrayed no indication whatsoever that she had recently turned forty.

Looking at her now, I would have guessed her age far beyond those four decades.

Her face was drawn tight and absent of any color save for a chalky white pallor. Worry creased her brow, and absolute terror filled her eyes. My mind shunted immediately into high gear as it raced through the various scenarios that placed a killer at my door.

“What’s wrong?” I stammered and took a half step back, as the latest of the possibilities flashing in my head had the killer already in the house and forcing her to awaken us.

“Mister Gant, I have to leave,” she told me in a frantic tone as she struggled into her leather jacket. “My husband just called me. Our daughter was in an accident, and they’ve taken her to the hospital.”

“Oh Gods!” Felicity’s voice came from behind me as she roused from the bed. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Charlee answered, her eyes beginning to shine with the first warning of tears. “Scott said something about the fog, a drunk driver, and emergency surgery. I’m supposed to meet him at the hospital.”

She was already starting to shake.

“Go,” I told her. “We’ll be fine.”

“No.” She shook her head and gave me a pleading look. “You have to come with me. Agent Mandalay won’t be here for another three hours, and I can’t leave you alone.”

I started to object, but before I could form the words, the gremlin named “Reason” whispered in my ear. Charlee needed to be with her daughter, and it was a very real possibility that time was not on her side. I instantly realized that arguing the point was the last thing I needed to do right now. Especially when that argument would be with a distraught mother who carried a gun.

My unspoken objection turned inside out to become concession, “Okay. Give us just a minute to get dressed.”

From the time Ben had bestowed upon me the loaded and holstered Glock 17, it had been making its home in my sock drawer. As far as I was concerned it could have stayed that way, and since I really hadn’t left the house for the past seven days, it never presented itself as a problem. Earlier in the evening however, when we had left for the crime scene, my friend had displayed his militant attitude about the weapon and badgered me into wearing it. When we arrived back home, the only thought on my mind was crawling into bed and sleeping until spring. My clothes were a non-concern, and they ended up in a less than neat pile gracing a chair in the corner of our bedroom. Now, due to our haste, the sidearm was still attached to my belt beneath the folds of my jacket, and it was feeling incredibly awkward.

As we exited the house, the full effects of the shifting weather pattern met us immediately. In the matter of a few hours the clammy mist had thickened into a full-blown shroud of wet fog. Distant streetlights had become dim yellow globes of illumination unnaturally suspended in the white emptiness. From our front porch we could barely make out Detective McLaughlin’s sedan sitting in our driveway.

“Which hospital?” I asked as we hurried down the stairs.

“University,” she replied as she shakily fumbled with her car keys and succeeded only in dropping them. Her cool, professional detachment had fled in the face of a family crisis.

Felicity was quick to scoop the key ring from the flagstone sidewalk. “Why don’t you let one of us drive?”

Charlee still maintained enough of her wits to realize that my wife’s offer was the safest bet for all concerned and quickly nodded the affirmative.

I was just preparing to climb into the rear seat of her Taurus when farther up the street, in the near distance, a set of headlights sparked to life. A low, mechanical roar overtook the night, underscored by the high-pitched grind of recalcitrant gears as a dirty black panel van pulled away from the curb and accelerated past us.

I blinked hard as I swiveled my head to follow the dusky red taillights of the old delivery truck. I simply couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. A pair of heartbeats skipped up to my throat before slamming into the pit of my stomach then slowly rising back to my chest.

“No. That couldn’t have been…” Detective McLaughlin stammered at me across the roof of her car.

“Call Ben,” I stated evenly as I pushed the car door closed and started toward the back of the house with my hand digging in my pocket.