Heather Graham - The Séance

He squared his shoulders and kept walking.

“Wait!”

He was startled when she ran after him. Her eyes were troubled when she awkwardly touched his arm to get him to turn around. “Why are you here?” she demanded.

He hesitated. “I don’t know, exactly. I guess…I wanted to think. Honestly, I don’t know.”

“Beau was never the killer,” she said.

“How can you be so certain?” he asked.

“He was my brother.”

He let out a soft sigh. “You do know that every homicidal maniac is some mother’s son?”

“I know you investigated when you wrote your book. I know you were a cop. And I know you have a license now as a private investigator. You came here because you’re feeling guilty for what you did to my brother’s reputation. You want absolution? Fine. Prove that’s not just a copycat out there. Prove Beau was innocent.”

He stared at her, unable to think of anything to say.

“I’ll pay you,” she offered suddenly.

He shook his head. “No. No, you won’t pay me.”

“You don’t really believe in Beau’s innocence, do you? Not even now, with the evidence lying in the morgue,” she said.

“I don’t know what I believe right now,” he told her honestly.

She shook her head. “I’ve read every word let out by the police, the newspapers, every single source. No copycat could be so exact.”

“I don’t know yet just how exact he was,” he said.

“I do. And I know that Beau wasn’t a killer, no matter how guilty he looked. And you…you used him.”

“I used a story, a real-life story,” he said quietly. “And I’m going to investigate, but no one owes me anything. I guess that’s why I was here tonight. This one is between the two of us, Beau and me,” he told her.

He nodded and walked away again. When he looked back, she was standing where he had left her, looking bereft and alone.

“I’ll keep you informed—when I can prove something,” he told her.

He thought that she smiled as she lifted a hand to wave goodbye.

There was a low ground fog beginning to rise. Looking up, he saw that the moon was full. Odd night. Most of the time around here, the fog came in the early morning. Between the moon and the fog, the cemetery seemed to be bathed in some kind of eerie glow.

As he headed to his car, he thought about Sherri Mason, lying on the autopsy table. Sherri…tall, slim, with long red hair.

Before he knew it, he was heading back into the cemetery. “Katherine!” he shouted, running.

She was standing by her brother’s monument again. She looked up, startled.

“You need to get out of here,” he told her. She stared at him blankly. “It’s dark, and there’s a killer loose. Where’s your car?”

“Along the street, just past the gate.”

“I’ll see you to it.”

“All right.” She sounded unconvinced, but she didn’t argue.

He walked her to the Honda parked by the curb. She must have arrived after the cemetery had officially closed, as well. She slid behind the driver’s seat and lowered the window. He ducked down to talk to her, but before he could speak, she said, “I know, long red hair. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m twenty-four, but I still live with my folks. I’ll be okay.”

He nodded as she turned her key in the ignition, and he watched the Honda’s lights disappear into the fog.

He stood there for a long moment, feeling a strange sensation of dread grip his spine like an iron claw. Beautiful women with long red hair.

Christina Hardy fell into that category, as well.

He had lost her tonight, thanks to the cop-turned-writer.

But he would prevail. He would behave normally. He was a special person, unique; amazing things went on in his mind. He could walk, talk, smile and act completely normal, and all the while he would be planning his next kill.

But there had been an almost frightening moment when he had felt as if he might combust, the opportunity had been so good.

She had been there, so appetizing.

He made himself breathe, told himself to function. There was his world, his inner world, and then there was the world beyond. Sometimes he could combine them, but it was over now.

Still, there had been those moments when he had almost been able to taste and feel the results of his brilliance. He had come here tonight by happenstance, unable to resist a visit to the grave of the man who had taken the blame for everything he himself had done all those years ago. And then…to see Kidd’s sister…

It was too good.

She was such a pretty thing. All that lovely hair…

Then he’d shown up.

Jed Braden was big and broad-shouldered, clearly capable of holding his own in a fight.

But that didn’t matter. The point lay in his own brilliance, not in something as crass as a physical fight. He loved watching the dumb fucks chase their tails while he went gleefully about his business.

God, he loved the press. The newscasters were so grave when they talked about the latest killing. Then, with the switch of a camera angle, a smile instead of a somber look. Suddenly it was “Lots of fun on tap for Halloween this year.”

But at home, watching their plasma TVs, the viewers would be reeling. No change in camera angle for them. A killer was on the loose….

The experts were all baffled. It would never be like the crime shows. He was far too intelligent. There would be no solving his murders in a one-hour show.

How he loved the attention. His double life. Defying profilers and “behavioralists,” knowing they were more confused than ever now.

And all thanks to his own brilliance.

Breathe. Be ready. Walk, talk, smile, and all while the other world lived on in his mind. The time would come again—and soon—when it would become real once again.

“Quit staring at me. You’re giving me chills,” Christina said to her cousins.

Mike shook his head, looking away. “I just want you to be careful.”

“I am careful. I’ve always been careful. I never go anywhere with strangers. I’m street smart, honest. You guys know that,” she said.

“Just keep your doors locked, okay?” Dan said.

“I told you, I’m always careful. I carry pepper spray, I don’t talk to strangers and I don’t open the door without checking through the peephole,” Christina assured him.

The doorbell rang.

Christina jumped, then flushed in embarrassment.

Mike said, “I’ll get it,” and headed down the hall.

“Remember how much fun we had with this thing?” Ana said, returning to the original subject. Christina wasn’t sure why, but she was sorry she’d kept the damn thing around. Ana seemed way too enamored of it.

“It’s Tony from next door,” Mike said when he returned a minute later, two more people in his wake. “And his fiancée,” he added, stressing the word.

Tony went over to Christina, took her shoulders and gave her a peck on the cheek. He’d been a gaunt, geeky boy, but he’d grown into a tall, well-built man. His eyes were gray, his hair sandy-colored, and his nose and ears were no longer too big for his face.

“Hey, Tony, thanks for coming,” Christina said.

“Nasty fog out there,” he said. “I couldn’t even see your house from mine.”

“Spooky,” Ilona agreed.

“Christina, you remember Ilona, don’t you?” Ana asked.

“We met at the funeral,” Ilona said, stepping forward to take Christina’s hand. She had a warm grip and sympathetic green eyes. She was slim, with long, straight blond hair and a pleasant way about her.

“Yes, of course we met,” Christina said warmly. “Congratulations. I didn’t know the two of you were engaged. When’s the big day?”