Leslie Parrish - Fade To Black

No answer.

Stepping across the creaky wooden planks of the porch, she reached a window, cupped her hands, and peered inside. The living room looked the same as it had since she was a kid. Plastic on the furniture. An old-fashioned upright piano, untouched and unplayed. Fussy and protected and cold, just like Alice Covey.

She returned to the door, knocked again, then walked to the opposite side and looked into the kitchen window. She’d just about decided to give up when she saw movement. A door inside the kitchen was pushed open a few inches, a skeletal hand appearing around the edge of it.

“Seth!” she called, rapping on the glass.

Seth stumbled out from behind that door, shock widening his eyes. His naturally pale face grew one shade paler, which emphasized the harsh red acne scars on his cheeks.

He met her stare through the glass, looking terrified. Jeez, if he was this startled, the kid must have been coming up from his room anyway, not having heard her knock.

“Sorry,” she said, speaking loudly. “I need to talk to you. Open up.”

His eyes shifted. He was thinking about it. Frozen with indecision.

Which was when she realized how wrong this whole situation felt.

She took a step back from the window. Staring straight ahead, she saw the smear her own face had made on the glass. Saw Seth’s dark form move around the kitchen, heading past the window toward the front door. Saw that he was dressed in black from neck to toe, despite the earliness of the hour.

Her heart began to thud, tripping in an unexpected rhythm. Her pulse followed suit, surging through her, really waking her up for what felt like the first time in hours. Her body had gone into instant readiness even though her brain hadn’t yet caught up and told her precisely why.

The front door opened a crack. Forcing herself to stay calm, she stepped over.

“What do you want?” Seth asked, his voice gravelly and filled with sleep.

“I need to talk to you. It’s about your dad.”

He stared, his eyes shifting. Glancing down, he spotted the blood on her khaki uniform pants, which she’d been wearing for twenty-four hours, and his mouth fell open.

“Oh, no, that’s…” She almost said, That’s not his blood , but caught herself in time. “Your dad was involved in an accident, but it looks like he’s going to pull through.”

Silence.

“Seth? Did you hear me?”

“My grandmother left me a note,” he mumbled.

“Yes. She called the station this morning because she hadn’t heard from you.”

Another quick shift of the eyes. Then an explanation. “She didn’t leave any number. I figured she wouldn’t be able to answer her cell phone inside a hospital.”

Plausible. Maybe. But still, how weird that Randy’s only son wouldn’t have gone right down to see his dad.

“Okay. Well, please do give your grandmother a call.” She told the young man the name of the hospital, suggesting he write it down.

“I’ll remember.” He began to push the door closed.

Stacey reached out and touched him before he could shut it all the way. “Seth, is everything okay?”

His brow pulled down over his eyes and he glared at her hand, visible anger appearing, as quick as it was shocking. “Don’t touch me.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin neck. “You… you’re dirty.”

She let go immediately, seeing the stains on her blouse. Yes, she was a mess. But dirty? He’d said the word with such revulsion.

“I’d better go call Grandmother.”

She nodded once, then watched as he shut the door in her face. The loud click of the lock cordially invited her to get the hell off his porch.

Shaking her head in pure confusion, she did so. For some reason, though, as she walked down the steps she found herself unable to face forward; she kept her head turned and edged down sideways.

Something in her didn’t want to present her back to that closed door and all those windows. To Seth.

Her instincts screamed in her brain, demanding that she admit why.

And suddenly she did. The shocking possibility took shape and flashed in her head.

Ridiculous. But not impossible.

Her steps slowed as she walked down the driveway, to Seth’s covered pickup. An American-made one. Late-model.

She didn’t touch it, just peered through the driver’s-side window into the cab. Nothing.

Walking to the back, she looked in that window. And saw something that turned her blood to a river of ice.

It was a backpack. A child’s ninja-warrior backpack, the type a seven- or eight-year-old boy might like, lay on the floor of the truck. A few boyish toys spilled out of it.

“Oh, fuck,” she whispered, slowly backing away from the window, her hand rising to her mouth.

It couldn’t be, could it? Seth Covey? Quiet, unassuming, twenty-year-old Seth?

The wheels turned, the gears clicking into place in her head. That night at Dick’s, his father had feared his son had been there and had left early. Had he, in truth, seen him or his truck lurking around the tavern?

The video and computer equipment-of course Randy would steal it for his son.

Tim had said Seth used to do the ride-alongs with Randy. Perhaps to the very mall where the last victim had been snatched?

He didn’t seem to care about his father’s accident, wanting to stay inside his dark, empty home. Quiet, secretive, secluded. Her father’s house was the only other one for two miles. Nobody would hear anything while his grandmother and father were out.

The pieces continued to fall into place.

The mother who’d walked out. The grandmother who was so bitter, possibly even abusive. She had hated Randy’s teenage wife, Seth’s mom, had called her dirty even in the presence of others. Good God, how many times had Seth heard that growing up?

Dirty .

Quiet, soft-spoken Seth who had always been so incredibly bright as a kid. Smarter than anyone else his age, yet had shown no interest in going to college or doing anything with himself. He just wanted to play… “Video games,” she whispered.

She darted for her car, yanking the door open, grabbing her phone out of her pocket and the handset off her radio at the same time. She punched in Dean’s number, getting his voice mail. “It’s me. Get to the Covey house now. It’s Seth. I think Seth’s the Reaper. And I think he already has a little boy inside the house.”

She cut the call, lifted the handset, and put out a call for backup. The deputy handling dispatch promised to get help out there right away, within fifteen minutes at the most.

Not good enough. Seth knew she was here; he was spooked. That child might not have fifteen minutes.

She checked her Glock, got out of the car, and ducked behind Seth’s truck, trying to keep out of sight of the house. Front door? Back? Maybe even the Bilco access doors for the basement, just visible on the side of the house?

Before she could decide, she heard a car coming up the driveway. No way could her backup be here so fast.

Only it was. The best damn backup she’d ever seen in her life.

“Stacey!” Dean said as he jumped out of the sedan. Darting over, he joined her behind the truck, both of them instinctively taking cover. “I heard on the radio about a little boy who went missing fifty miles south of here last night. Local yokels tried to handle it themselves and didn’t go public for hours.”

“You came back to tell me?” she asked, knowing he had to have been almost here when she’d left the phone message.

“That, and I had a bad feeling. I was calling Wyatt to tell him about the report when you called. Couldn’t click over in time. Jesus, I just heard your voice mail as I pulled into the driveway and almost had a heart attack until I saw you were okay.”