Mike Omer - In the Darkness

Something about her had prodded him into action. What was it? Had she reminded him of someone he knew? Maybe his mother? Or maybe something had attracted him in her appearance—Debra’s father said she looked worse than ever before. Understandably, he didn’t have a picture from that time, but Zoe could make educated guesses. She was probably thin. Bad skin and teeth. Broken fingernails. Nervous tics. Maybe this was what had made the killer act.

She was doing her best to avoid thinking about it from Debra’s perspective. That was a rabbit hole she didn’t want to go down into. Of all the victims, she estimated that Debra had suffered the worst.

Her phone rang, and she let it ring for several seconds, her attention elsewhere. Then she fumbled for it, still reading her notes.

“Hello?”

For a second all she heard was a shuddering breath, and Zoe’s focus sharpened. “Andrea?”

“Zoe . . . I . . . can you please come home?”

“What’s wrong?” She was weightless in a pool of anxiety. “What happened?”

“Glover broke into the apartment. He . . . attacked me.”

“Are you hurt?” Zoe was already off the bed, grabbing her bag, throwing everything at hand inside it. It seemed impossible. Why would he attack now? She was so sure he’d wait for them to lower their guard. He’d always been so patient.

“Yes . . . no. I don’t know. There’s a paramedic here. Marvin shot Glover.”

“ Marvin shot Glover? Where were the police? Is Glover dead?” She needed more information. Where were her damn shoes?

“Please come home. Please. I need you, Zoe. Please just get here. I need you now. Come home. Come home!” Andrea’s voice rose, becoming hysterical. In the background she heard a stranger’s voice saying that he needed a sedative.

“Andrea, I’m on my way, okay? I’m on my way right now.”

Her sister sobbed on the other side, just a series of hiccuping whimpers, each of them tearing at Zoe’s heart like a serrated blade. And then the line went dead.

Zoe’s shoes were in the bathroom. She put them on, mind blank, each action automated, her movements feeling jerky, unreal. She grabbed the bag on her way out, vaguely aware that she’d left some things behind, not caring. She half walked, half ran to the stairs before realizing she couldn’t get home to Andrea by running. Her mind scrambled for answers, came up with the best solution she could think of, and she turned around, hurried to Tatum’s door, and banged on it.

“Tatum, open up!”

He did, wide eyed and confused, gun in hand, as if he expected to shoot someone. Which perhaps made sense, considering her screaming. “What happened?”

“Glover attacked Andrea. I need to fly back. Give me the car keys.”

Tatum frowned at her, and she nearly hit him to get him to move. “Car keys! Now.”

“Is she all right?” he asked, stepping back into his room.

“She’s alive. I don’t know anything else. Marvin shot Glover.”

“ What? Is Marvin okay?” He asked her some other things, words coming out of his mouth; she was unable to connect them into sentences in her mind.

“I don’t know !” she screeched at him. “Give me the fucking keys!”

He located the keys in his jacket’s pocket. Pulled them out. Said something else she didn’t catch. Something about how she intended to get there.

“I’ll drive to Austin. There are planes flying from there all the time,” she said, snatching the keys from his hand. She turned around, bolting for the door. Behind her, Tatum was talking, calling her, but she couldn’t turn back—there was no time. Andrea’s screams were still ringing in her ears, yanking her onward, toward Virginia.

Tatum watched Zoe disappear into the darkness and turned back to his room, shocked. He’d never seen her like this. Her eyes, always so sharp and keen, had been glazed in a look of abject fear. Her face had been wet with tears she hadn’t even seemed to notice.

Shaking himself from his torpor, he lunged for his phone, dialed. Waited impatiently as the phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

Marvin answered. “Tatub?”

“Marvin, are you all right?”

“I shot hib, Tatub. I shot the bastard. He was bessing with the wrong guy!”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“He broke by dose, Tatub. But I shot hib.”

In the background someone said, “Sir, please put that gun down.”

“Like hell I will!” Marvin shouted. “What if he comes back—who’s godda shoot hib? You?”

“Sir, if you don’t put the gun down, I will have to—”

“You stay away frob be!”

“Marvin,” Tatum shouted into the phone. “What’s going on?”

“They want the gun, Tatub. I’m not giving it up.”

“Watch where you’re waving that thing, old man!” someone said sharply.

“Marvin, give the cops your gun.” Tatum gritted his teeth.

“No way, Tatub. Who’s godda look after Adrea if I do that? The fish?”

Tatum massaged his forehead, heart thumping. “Let me talk to the officer.”

“Here. By grandson wadts to have a word. He’s frob the FBI.”

A moment of silence and then another voice on the phone. “Hello?”

“This is Special Agent Gray,” Tatum said. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Officer Collier. Are you this man’s grandson?”

“Yes. What’s going on there, Officer?”

“Listen, Agent, you need to tell your crazy grandfather to put that damn thing down. He nearly shot us when we came inside, and he doesn’t seem too stable.”

“Don’t worry—he won’t shoot anyone.” Tatum fervently hoped he was right. “What about Andrea? Is she all right?”

“She’s in shock but mostly unhurt. The paramedics are looking after her. But if your grandfather won’t put down the gun, he’ll bleed to death.”

“Bleed to death?”

“He was stabbed. The paramedics won’t get near him; he’s acting like a loon. He’s probably in shock.”

“No, that’s his regular behavior,” Tatum said. “Put me on speaker.”

“Uh, okay. Hang on.”

A second later there was a crackle as Tatum was presumably put on speaker.

“Marvin?” he called.

“Yeah, Tatub, what’s up?”

“I need you to give the officer the gun.”

“I don’t think so, Tatub. I need this gun. To shoot that bastard if he comes back.”

How was it that even bleeding to death with a broken nose, this man managed to be so infuriating? Tatum almost screamed at him, but he knew that would only make the old man dig his heels farther into the ground. “Okay, listen. Can you give the gun to Andrea?”

“Baybe,” Marvin said grudgingly.

“Just until they patch you up.”

“I don’t deed patching up. It’s just a scratch.”

“Do it for me, okay, Marvin? Give the gun to Andrea, and let them have a look at you.”

“You’re a paid in the ass, Tatub.”

Tatum sighed in relief, listening to Marvin call Andrea to give her the gun. There was some back and forth, and finally, Officer Collier got back on the line.

“Your grandfather is being taken care of,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“He’s a piece of work.”

“That he is.”

“But from what we could figure out, he saved this girl’s life. He’s one tough son of a bitch.”

“He’s that too.” Tatum sat on the bed, exhausted. “What about Rod Glover? Is he dead?”

“He ran away. He’s currently missing.”

“Missing?” Tatum gritted his teeth. “Weren’t you people watching the damn building? How could he be missing?”

“We’re still looking into that. Don’t worry—we’ll find him in a few hours. He won’t get far. He bled all over the place.”