A Soul To Steal (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book One) (16 page)

“What does it mean?” she asked. “What’s Sanheim?”

Zora stared at her.

“Sanheim was the Celtic God of the Dead. It’s also a festival celebrated by thousands every year.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Kate responded.

“Not under that name. But believe me, you know it. It’s the festival the early Christians renamed when they came to convert the Irish. They started calling it All Hallow’s Eve.”

“Halloween,” Kate said under her breath. “Sanheim means Halloween.”

Zora disappeared into the back for a moment and left Kate staring at the card.

“This is about him, isn’t it?”

Zora shook her head.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Come on. I get a death card with the word ‘Halloween’ on it and it isn’t about Lord Halloween? What are the odds of that?”

Why does everything come back to him? Kate fought down an urge to run. She didn’t believe in divination—not really—but this was her worst nightmare in card form. She had always feared she would die at his hand and this appeared to bear that out.

“Only in Loudoun do they connect Halloween automatically with that guy,” Zora said. “It’s a celebration that goes back centuries, far beyond the written history we have of it.”

“You can’t deny it’s a strong coincidence.”

“But it may just be that, Trina,” Zora said, and Kate winced again at the nickname. “I told you before, everything about being a psychic is instinct. When I first called you Trina, I knew from your reaction that there was something about Lord Halloween in your reaction. I still don’t know what, but I just felt it. It’s the same here—this card isn’t about him. His fate may be tied up with yours—I have a hunch it has to be—but nothing here says he’s going to kill you.”

Kate pushed back from the desk.

“I think I’ve seen enough in any case,” she said.

She flipped off the recorder and stood up.

“Don’t leave like this,” Zora said. “I’m sorry.”

Kate didn’t say anything. She was shaken, and badly. Suddenly, nothing seemed too far-fetched. Could Zora be working with Lord Halloween? Is this all a trick to make her more panicked, more afraid?

“I’m not working with him,” Zora said, as if she had read her mind. Maybe she had, but Kate didn’t care.

“You had better not be,” Kate said, and there was venom in her voice. “If I find out you are, God help you.”

Zora held up her hands. “I’m not your enemy,” she said. “I have a feeling that would be a very bad position to be in.”

Kate nodded and turned to walk out.

“There’s one more thing you should know,” Zora said.

“I’m done listening to this,” Kate said.

“The spelling—it’s wrong.”

Kate paused as she began to head for the door. She almost turned around. 

“What spelling?”

“The name on the sword here is Sanheim,” Zora said. “The Celtic God of the Dead is spelled Samhaim, similar sounding, but different.”

“What does that mean? Maybe somebody forgot to spell check.”

“I don’t know what it means, Kate. But everything here means something.”

With that, Kate walked out the door.

Zora sat at her desk after Kate had left. She had seen more than wanted to admit. A dead woman, lying on a bed. While the cards weren’t about Lord Halloween, she had seen something else, too.

“He’s coming for you, Trina,” she said.

But only her kewpie dolls heard her.

LH File: Letter #5

Date Oct. 15, 1994

Investigation Status: Closed

Contents: Classified

Mr. Anderson,

Half of the month is gone and from my point of view, much of it was a waste. Where is the mass panic? Where is the fear? Where is the publicity? I’ve killed seven people. You’ve written about four. You didn’t even mention the cop’s wife! Do you not know about it? You’re supposed to be a reporter, Anderson. I can’t hand you everything on a fucking plate.

I can’t do everything, Mr. Anderson, and I’m growing so tired of waiting. I’ve encouraged you, warned you, even threatened you, and I get no respect. Are some of the articles good? Yes, they are all I could ask for. But it’s not enough. It’s not close to enough.

I want speculation about me. Who am I? Why do I do it? Can the police catch me? All you have are straight-laced stories with no hint of speculation.

How are they supposed to fear me if they never really know who I am? I chose you, Mr. Anderson, because I thought you would give flight to this fantasy of mine. We would be partners. But you are no partner at all. You’re just another parasite, another sign of the problem.

So I’m through treating you gently. Write about me the way I deserve, or victim #8 will be familiar to you. Very familiar.

Signed,

Lord Halloween

Chapter 11

This isn’t a date, Kate thought. She sat having dinner with Quinn and trying to convince herself over and over. She could see he thought it was. After all, he had asked, and she had immediately said yes. She should have thought more about it, with Zora’s predictions still hanging in the air, but she hadn’t. She didn’t want to be left alone to think of those Tarot cards and the false psychic. So here she sat, eating bites of her pasta primavera and wondering if she had slipped from the frying pan to the fire. Hadn’t those predictions been about Quinn? Shouldn’t she be trying to stay away from him? 

“So evidently I’m psychic,” Kate said for lack of something better to say. Quinn had almost appeared content just to sit in silence. Ordinarily, she would have loved that trait. She hated people who had to have conversation every minute of every day. But not today. Today she was worried the silence would strangle her.

“Huh?” Quinn asked, not sure he had heard her right.

“That’s what the great Madame Zora tells me, at any rate," she said and tried not to say it with any bitterness in her voice.

“Someone has to tell you that you’re psychic?” Quinn asked. “I thought the point was that you just knew stuff.”

“Yes, I thought so too,” Kate said. “It’s silly. The woman was... a fraud.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. There are about a million stories about her in this town.”

“She read my fortune,” she said, and was horrified she was talking about this. She hadn’t meant to bring it up, but it had just popped out.

“Riches, romance and fame?” Quinn asked.

 “Truth, sex and death,” Kate said.

“Your death?” Quinn asked, because he didn’t want to ask about sex. Or, rather, he desperately did want to do so, but was worried that was the wrong approach to take on a first date. “And this woman gets repeat business?”

Kate laughed and it sounded forced to both of them.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Like I said, a fraud.”

“You don’t sound too confident of that,” Quinn said.

“Well, it was unnerving,” she acknowledged. “It isn’t every day someone tells me I’m going to die.”

“I hope not,” Quinn said. “That would get awful repetitive.”

Kate laughed at that and this one came out sounding genuine. She liked him. Her mind flashed back to the pack of Tarot cards.

“How about you? What was your assignment?”

 “Terry Jacobsen, the local ghost hunter.”

“That sounds decent, right?”

“It was all right, if you believe in that kind of stuff. To be honest, it got a little technical for me. There’s a whole theory behind ghosts, involving electromagnetic fields and living people as batteries. It felt a little like science class.”

Kate was smiling now. The feeling that she had at Zora’s was starting to fade. Now it felt like a bad dream. Cards don’t tell the future and psychics aren’t real. It’s all just smoke and mirrors. There was no reason to let it get her worked up.

“Are there a lot of haunted houses in Leesburg?” she asked.

“He called it ‘the most haunted town in America,’” Quinn replied. “He and his team have been to nearly every house or business in the main center of town. He even claims the
Chronicle
building is haunted.”

The smile dropped from Kate’s face. She had just been starting to enjoy herself. But now she could think of nothing but the vision she had seen in the printing press room.

“Did he say what part?” she asked.

Quinn looked concerned.

“I wouldn’t take it too seriously. We probably have…”

“Did he say which part?”

“He just said the basement.”

“Where the printing press is.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

Quinn stared at her.

“Your vision,” he said. “I didn’t even think about it when he mentioned it.”

“Well, it feels connected to me.”

“Then there’s one thing else you should hear.”

“What?” she asked, and she hated herself a little for asking. She didn’t want to know anymore. She wanted all of this to go away.

“When I said I had trouble believing that, the guy just smiled at me. He said there have been complaints from some people. People who work there late at night.”

“Complaints about what?”

“I thought maybe people were just hearing the printing press. It can be quite loud and honestly late at night, it’s very creepy.”

“Complaints about what?” she repeated.

“I don’t want to freak you out,” he said.

 “Quinn, today a woman in a gaudy Middle Eastern dress turned up the three worst Tarot cards you can get during a divination, using a pack of cards she didn’t even know she had. I’m having constant nightmares reliving the murder of my mother, I have returned to the town of her death against all sane impulses and am constantly looking over my shoulder for a psychotic killer. Add to that a vision of a pool of blood in the workplace and I’d say I’m pretty freaked out already.”

“Someone screaming,” Quinn said, and looked down. “They hear the sound of someone screaming.”

 “Jesus,” she said. “Then what I saw...”

“I don’t know,” Quinn said and shook his head.

“It’s too weird to be a coincidence,” she said. “I see a pool of blood near where a lot of people hear screaming. Something happened down there.”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Does the building have a history?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never looked into it. I hesitate to ask this, but…”

 “What?” she said.

“Lord Halloween never killed anyone in that building, did he?”

“No,” Kate replied. “I’ve read every case, believe me. There were three other victims around that area, but no body was ever found there.”

“Then maybe it’s not connected,” he said. “The guy could just be making it up.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Maybe it’s unconnected, but I want to look into this a little more. I could use some help. You game?”

“What do you need?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve read the public file on Lord Halloween, but I’ve been thinking there has to be more.”

“Technically, the case is shut.”

“No one seriously believes Holober did it,” Kate responded.

“My point is the case file should be all public,” he said.

“Just my gut: I have a feeling some information was held back,” she said. “Maybe there was another victim, someone who could have died in the
Chronicle
building. Or maybe there’s something else, but we need help.”

“Buzz,” Quinn said. “He’s obsessed with Lord Halloween: always has been. He might be able to help—at least point us in the right direction.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kate said.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Quinn said.

*****

Philip Jackman stubbed his toe on a tree root and let out a brief cry. If the woman he was watching through her bedroom window noticed, she didn’t show it.

Jackman quietly cursed himself and shook his foot to get rid of the pain. But all the while he kept his eyes on the woman in the window. She was just starting to undress. It was not quite a strip tease, but he felt like she was showing off for him just the same.

Jackman would wait until her light was off and then he might be able to get a closer look. Maybe get up real close to her bedroom window. If he was lucky, he could even find a way in.

He had done that a few times before. He had never gone far—usually something happened like a dog barked or a light came on. But it was just a matter of time before he made it all the way. If at first you don’t succeed…

He wanted to watch her sleeping up close. And when she woke up, maybe she would want to do more than sleep. God knows he wanted more. And if she didn’t...

Jackman caught his breath as the woman stood up and dropped her robe to the floor. From this angle—15 feet from the window—he could almost make out her....

And then he heard a voice behind him. 

“So you’re the infamous stalker,” it said.

Philip jumped and whirled around. He grabbed beneath his jacket for his knife. Since he first started these little escapades more than six months ago, he had kept the sharp-edged Kelso knife with him. But he had never needed it before.

“Careful what you pull out there, compadre,” the figure standing before him said.

But Philip didn’t listen. He pulled the knife out and held it in front of him in what he hoped was an intimidating stance.

“Don’t come any closer,” he said. To himself, the voice sounded too high and weak, unsure of itself.

The figure in front of him laughed.

“You sure have a lot of experience with this, don’t you?” he said.

“I’ve killed before,” Philip said, and did his best not to sound nervous.

“Have you? Some little girl you’ve been watching undress through the window, perhaps? No, I doubt you went even that far.”

The figure took a step closer.

“Stay back,” Philip said and he fought down the urge to run. How was this going to end? Was he really going to kill this man? He supposed he had to. The police hadn't caught Philip yet and he had been out spying on people so many times he had lost track. He supposed if he was a murderer he could still escape their clutches.

The figure laughed again.

“You know, it’s funny,” he said. “I’ll bet a lot of people think you are a monster. Someone who watches women in their boudoirs and then grabs himself some. And if they saw you here, waving that knife, they might actually be scared.”

“That’s right, they’d be scared,” Philip said.

“Maybe,” the figure said and his tone sounded almost thoughtful. “Just like most animals are scared of the wolf prowling in the darkness, waiting to prey on the weak. But what if the wolf met a bear? Do you think the bear would be scared?”

“Shut up,” Philip said. “I’ll cut you.”

Philip was working up a plan. He thought just rushing the figure would be too obvious. It seemed better to feint in that direction and then come at him from the side. Or maybe he could still avoid a fight altogether. The guy couldn’t have gotten that good a look at his face.

“I’m the bear, Mr. Stalker-Man,” the figure said. “You might scare some people, but to me you are just more meat.”

Should he move now, Philip wondered? Maybe get him while he was still talking? But he had the uneasy feeling the figure was just waiting for him to do something, like maybe he was goading him.

“And you are a distraction,” the figure said. “I mean, I thought my little trick last week would put me back on the front page, but I have to give the police credit, they actually had a plan and carried it off. Good for them. It just makes things a little more challenging. But I like a challenge. Because killing people is just too damn easy.”