A Dark Mind (13 page)

For the next ten minutes, he found himself absorbed in Lizzy’s journals. He pictured her walking into her office right now. If that happened, what would he do to her? He was no Jeffrey Dahmer. He didn’t have a crazed, maniacal side to him. He didn’t eat people and he didn’t want anything to do with little boys. With him, it was more—

A noise coming from downstairs stopped him cold. Had Lizzy forgotten something and returned to the house, or was it her boyfriend? Adrenaline kicked in, making his heart race. Straightening, he headed for the hallway; he wasn’t worried or afraid, he was excited.

Hayley sat at her desk in her bedroom going through a thick pile of case files. She logged in each case number and made a checklist of things that still needed to be done before she could stamp the file: CASE CLOSED.

Thinking she heard the phone, she pulled off her headset. All was quiet as she left her bedroom and made her way to the kitchen to get some cereal. She grabbed a clean bowl and a spoon from the dishwasher and then went to the pantry to see what they had. It looked like someone had picked up some fiber cereal. She
opened the lid, reached inside, pulled out a piece of fiber, and stuck it in her mouth. It tasted like cardboard. Disgusting. She tried the bran next. Not much better.

A weird bumping noise sounded from another part of the house. She put the cereal down and listened for a minute. Leaving the cramped area of the pantry, she stepped quietly into the kitchen, still listening.

Was somebody here?

Leaning over the counter, she grabbed a knife from the butcher block and headed for the front door. Before she reached the coffee table, she saw a booted foot and then another as it hit the landing.

What the fuck?

An unfamiliar man was inside the house. The dark cap on his head covered his ears and eyebrows, but no hat in the world could cover those vibrant blue eyes as their gazes locked.

They both lunged forward. She went for him while he went for the door, but he seemed better prepared for the unexpected. He shoved her to the ground. The knife flew from her hand and hit the wall. He was quick and he had the locks undone and the door opened before she could get to her feet.

Tommy stood on the other side of the door, ready to knock, surprising both Hayley and the burglar.

She scrambled to her feet and ran after the man.

Tommy had fallen into the hydrangea bush, his legs tangled, his feet sticking out. Hayley didn’t stop to see if he was OK; she ran at full speed across the lawn and down the street. The asshole was getting away and he was fast. By the time she made a right on the main cross street, he had disappeared.

Winded, she plunked her hands on her hips and watched closely, eyes narrowed. After a few minutes, she turned and
headed back, pissed at herself for not realizing someone had been inside the house to begin with.

As she approached the house, Tommy greeted her. His face was scratched up pretty badly, his nose bleeding. “Which way did he go?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

He followed her as she limped inside.

Tommy locked the door and grabbed the phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling the police.”

“Call Lizzy first.”

He released a frustrated breath, but then did as she said. While he talked to Lizzy, Hayley headed upstairs. “Hannah,” she called out, suddenly worried about the stupid cat. “Here, kitty, kitty. Come on, kitty.” If that cat got hurt while she was in charge, she would never allow herself to get close to another animal for as long as she lived. This was the very reason that she didn’t like animals. They made people worry and then they died way too soon.

“Come on, kitty,” she said again, her voice angry.

Her shoulders fell at the sight of Lizzy and Jared’s shared office. Papers and files were scattered about, spread across the floor. Hannah’s food and water dishes had been knocked over and Hannah’s bed was upside down.

The carpet near the door leading into Lizzy’s bedroom was covered with bloody little paw prints. Hayley closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and headed that way.

No. No. No.

She followed the prints into Lizzy and Jared’s bedroom. She’d never had any reason to enter their bedroom until now. The prints disappeared under the bed. Swallowing a knot in her throat, she got down on all fours and continued to call Hannah’s name. She could see a little ball of black-and-white fur with big round eyes.
Hannah wasn’t a kitten any longer, but as far as cats went, she was on the small side. “Come here, Hannah. Come on. It’s OK.” Pressing her face against the wood base of the bed, she reached as far as she could until she was finally able to reach the cat and pull her out from under the bed.

“Hannah,” she said as she cradled the animal in her arms. For a moment, she merely held the cat close to her chest. Then she began to look her over.

“That’s not blood, is it?” Hannah didn’t have a single scrape on her. It wasn’t blood. It was ink. With the cat tucked in her arms, she walked into the office. A red pen had been stepped on and crushed, leaving a puddle of red ink on the floor near the desk.

“Meow.”

Hayley looked at the cat and shook her head before setting her on the floor in front of her.

When Tommy appeared, Hayley realized she was actually thankful that he was here with her.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that blood?”

She shook her head. “Red ink.”

“No, I mean on your leg.” He pointed to her calf.

Hayley looked down at her leg. It was bleeding. She must have been cut with the knife when she was pushed to the ground.

“Come on,” he said, ushering her out of the room. “Let’s get your leg cleaned up.”

Lizzy stood inside the house and watched the flurry of activity, relieved that Tommy’s and Hayley’s wounds were only superficial and would not require stitches. Lizzy had already spent an hour
talking to the neighbors, a few of whom still stood outside, huddled in the middle of the street, watching and discussing the burglary and what they could do to protect themselves in the future.

Response to the break-in had been quick. Because their house belonged to a federal agent, Lizzy figured, the break-in was being treated like a homicide investigation. Never mind that there was no body and little blood. One uniformed officer was stationed outside the front door while another was across the street, talking to the woman next door, who had seen the man run down the street. The upstairs had been established as a crime scene. A technician collected evidence: footprints, fingerprints, hairs, fibers, any physical evidence possibly left behind.

In the living room downstairs, Lizzy stood off to the side as an officer questioned Hayley and Tommy. Hayley described the intruder as under six feet tall. A dark cap, she said, covered most of his head, so she had no idea what color his hair was or if he had any hair at all. He was on the thin side. He wore a long-sleeved dark shirt and dark pants. She described him as having a regular nose, thin lips, and big eyes.

Lizzy focused on the dust motes floating about as the ceiling fan twirled above their heads. Her eyes darted to the window above the kitchen sink. Somebody was there, looking in. She couldn’t see anyone, but she could feel it. He was out there, watching. She knew the drill.

She headed that way, reached for the cord on the blinds, and pulled.

Nobody there. She could breathe again.

“Is everything all right?” an officer asked from the other room.

Stay calm
, she told herself.
You can do this.
She turned, planted a smile on her face, and returned to the living room. “Everything’s fine. I thought I saw something, that’s all.”

Tommy continued to answer questions while Hayley stared at her.

The cut on Hayley’s leg had stopped bleeding. Hayley would be fine.

They were all fine.

But something niggled at the back of Lizzy’s mind, reminding her that life could change in an instant. Spiderman was dead, but evil was not; it was alive and well, and it was pointing its thin, crooked finger at her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

John and Rochelle

Sacramento

June 2007

“Why are you doing this?” Rochelle asked.

John woke to the sound of rattling chains and Rochelle’s voice. His neck was stiff and every muscle in his body cried out in pain. Out of the corner of his left eye, he could see two guys hovering over Rochelle. He wasn’t sure whether it was night or day. There were no windows in the place. What little light there was came from the opening at the top of the stairs.

“Fuck!” one guy said, jumping away from Rochelle. “The bitch bit me.”

The other guy laughed so hard he failed to see Rochelle grab onto the length of chain. She wrapped the chain around his neck and yanked as hard as she could. He fell backward on top of her. She was determined and didn’t loosen her hold. Judging from the gasping sounds coming from the guy’s mouth, he wouldn’t last long.

John struggled with the ropes tied around his wrist. He’d been rubbing the ties against a jagged edge on the metal chair
for two days now. The rope was frayed. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it loosening.

The guy who’d been bitten scrambled around in the dark for something to use to protect himself. Whatever he found was long and solid and John couldn’t tell if it was a bat or a two-by-four as the man stalked toward Rochelle with the object raised above his head.

“Watch out!” John shouted.

It was too late. He swung, hitting her in the back of the head. The chain fell limp around the other man’s neck, and he choked and gagged until he was able to breathe again.

“Let her go,” John cried. “I’m begging you to let her go. I have money in my bank account. You can have it all if you let her go. Anything. I’ll sign over my house, my car, whatever you want. Just let her go.”

It was quiet, and for a moment John thought they were considering his offer, but then laughter rang out and bounced off the walls.

John closed his eyes and saw a kaleidoscope of colors. His mouth tightened and a piercing, stabbing pain shot through his skull until the laughter finally subsided. When he opened his eyes again, he felt his stomach turn. “What are you doing to her?”

“What does it look like? The bitch tried to kill me. I’m going to fuck her until she wakes up, and then my friend is going to fuck her until she loses consciousness. And then I’m going to drag her ass upstairs to see if the other guys want a turn. Got a problem with that?”

The beat of his heart spiraled out of control. “Get away from her.”

The man who’d almost been choked to death minutes before hiked up Rochelle’s dress and slid her underwear down to her
knees. Rochelle hadn’t moved or made a sound. John wasn’t sure whether she was alive. “If you touch her, I’ll kill you.”

The threat worried them enough that the other guy came to check his ropes.

John felt a tug on his arms and then his legs.

“He’s secure.”

“Get off her,” John warned, his voice deepening. “If you touch her, you’re going to die.” John angled his head so that he could see the man’s shadow against the concrete wall, the man who had hit Rochelle over the head. “You’re going to die, too. Both of you.”

And the strangest part was that John knew it was true. They were as good as dead. The two men standing before him would not die a natural death. Their deaths would be long and painful and they would spend their last days wishing they had never touched Rochelle.

“Maybe we should take her upstairs,” one of them said.

“No. I want John here to watch. He’s all talk.”

“I know where you live,” John lied. “I know your neighbors and I know where you work. Best of all, I know where your families live: your sisters, your brothers, and your mothers. They’re all as good as dead.”

“Come on,” the guy who’d hit Rochelle said. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“If you want to go, then go, you little pansy-fuck. I’m going to take what I have coming to me.”

As the minutes wore on, the scene before him would not compute. John could only see shadows of the man moving back and forth, grunting and groaning, but he couldn’t see or hear Rochelle, and he couldn’t imagine, or maybe wouldn’t allow himself to imagine, that she was there at all.

John felt his vessels expand, every vein in his body ready to explode. Blood surged, popping and sizzling through him until
the shapes and shadows before him turned a hazy red. He opened his mouth and released a high-pitched guttural cry that pierced the air and made the walls move.

Seconds later, endless footsteps fell on the stairs, booted feet like the low bass beat of a hundred conga drums. John imagined the feet belonging to a dozen military men, coming to save the day. But it wasn’t the military at all. It was the big guy with the massive hands. The same man he and Rochelle had seen leaning against his car days ago…back when they’d still had a chance to get away…back when he’d forced Rochelle to be brave. And she’d been so courageous, too: her spine stiffened, her resolve scrawled across her face for all to see as she followed him unknowingly into Hell.

The massive hands ripped the bat from the other guy’s hold, and before anyone knew what was happening, he turned toward John and swung swiftly and concisely, hitting a home run on the first swing.

I don’t believe in man, God nor Devil. I hate the whole damned human race, including myself…I preyed upon the weak, the harmless and the unsuspecting. This lesson I was taught by others: might makes right.

—Carl Panzram

Sacramento State Prison

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Lizzy was subjected to a thorough search before she was allowed to enter the ten-by-ten room. The room was painted white from floor to ceiling. The wall to her right was completely bare; the wall to her left had a large two-way mirror. A uniformed security guard stood at the door.

Michael Dalton sat at a long rectangular table. His attorney, a big-boned woman with shoulder-length gray hair, sat next to him.