A Soul To Steal (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book One) (41 page)

“So I looked at Buzz and realized it was time for Kyle Thompson to sail out of the picture. It was very liberating, Quinn. I just sliced and diced, and suddenly I didn’t have to worry about how Kyle looked anymore. Kyle was dead. And all I had to do was call Laurence once and talk with a really low voice. He really thought I was Buzz. That man is an idiot.”

“The police identified your body. They even had DNA testing. We couldn’t figure out how you pulled that off,” Quinn said.

“Come on, Quinn, catch up,” Kyle replied. “I mutilated Buzz’s corpse and killed a police courier that was taking the DNA sample for testing.  I replaced the kit with some of my DNA. No one even thought about why I would kill a police courier. That is the benefit of being random all these years. When you do it on purpose, nobody knows.”

Kyle cocked his head to the side and grinned.

“Am I scaring you?”

“How many people have you killed?”

“I’ve lost count,” Kyle said. “I really have. But now it’s my turn to ask questions. You figured me out. How?”

“You just said it yourself. Not all your killings were random over the years.”

“Good. Very good.”

“This whole ‘Lord Halloween’ thing was a shtick, wasn’t it? I mean, you enjoyed killing people, but you could have done that without drawing attention to yourself.”

“I had become quite good at it,” Kyle replied.

“But you invented Lord Halloween. Why?”

“I think you must know,” he replied.

“It was so simple we didn’t see it,” Quinn said. “Tim Anderson said you were always hanging around, that you were obsessed with the paper. You wanted to be a reporter.”

“Not just any reporter, Quinn,” he said. “I wanted to cover crime. I enjoyed it. I reveled in it. Crime was the beat for me.”

“But they already had a crime reporter.”

“And he was good,” Kyle said. “No, he was fantastic. There was no way they would give me that beat as long as he was there.”

“So why not just kill him? Why invent a whole persona?”

“For one, it was a fun challenge,” he said. “I’d been killing for years, but changing patterns, changing methods, ensuring not to draw attention to myself. This was different. This was a direct challenge to God and man to find me. Secondly, I wasn’t even a reporter yet, Quinn. If I had killed Tim, someone else at the paper would have taken his place. Then I would have had to kill them. At what point would someone figure out what I was up to? No, I had to create a disincentive to being the crime reporter. It had to be a job no one wanted 12 years ago. And it worked like a charm. Anderson ran off and… there I was.”

“The girl in the basement? She wasn’t random either, was she?”

“No,” Kyle said. “She wasn’t. I went on three dates with her, did you know that? I thought the whole fireman-thing would really work, you know? But she just wanted to be ‘friends.’ And man, was I cool about it when she told me. But I knew she was into Tim. Everyone was into Tim. So I made sure she was on the list.”

“Why not kill Tim?”

Kyle paused at this.

“Because he’s the only one that truly stood up to me, Quinn,” he said. “His last article was begging for me to kill him. So I didn’t. He wanted death. I thought surviving would be harder for him. And it was.”

“Why now? Why bring Lord Halloween back now?”

“Look around you, Quinn,” Kyle said. “The world is dying. Journalism is dying with it. How long before Ethan sells the paper? The
Chronicle
is struggling and you know it. It’s not the business it once was. Even the mighty
Post
is going to die soon. So I wanted a good story before it all went down. And Lord Halloween was the best story this county ever had.”

Kyle paused and Quinn could see him smiling, even in the darkness.

“Of course, that was before someone tried to hone in on my story,” he said. “Before someone tried to steal it from me.”

“I never did, Kyle.”

“Oh, who could blame you?” Kyle said. “Lord Halloween is a sick, sick fuck. I’ll admit I’m laying it on thick. The theatricality that comes with that persona is addictive once you get started. But it’s not me. Lord Halloween will have his final stand tonight, and I’ll move on. Maybe I’ll get a reporting job in Bluemont, what do you think? You could have joined me, if you hadn’t left that message on my cell phone—a dead man’s cell phone—asking to meet me here. You were a good reporter.”

“I am a good reporter,” Quinn said.

“Yeah, gotta say—I just don’t think of you in the present tense anymore,” Kyle replied.

He laughed. But far from a maniacal laugh, this one was quite casual.

“You know, I’m really enjoying this,” he said. “All the others I wanted to put on a show for. You know? To live up to their expectations. But I’m just chatting with you. It’s very freeing.”

“So glad I could help,” Quinn replied.

“It was more than just the paper, though,” Kyle said. “I did this because it’s what I do. To know that every October, you aren’t
like
the bogeyman, you
are
the bogeyman. You are the thing that keeps people up at night, the bump in the dark, the figure they see out of the corner of their eye. You own these people. Is that enough for you?”

Kyle took a step forward. Quinn backed up.

“Hang on, hang on,” Kyle said. “I wouldn’t want you to go running through those woods again. I thought you were acting all crazy. But I guess you aren’t exactly acting, are you?”

“I’m not the crazy one here,” Quinn said.

“Oh no?” Kyle asked. “What was all that shit about the Prince of something or other? I thought I must have heard your girlfriend wrong, but you must believe some of it. Why else would you be here? Why not call the police and try to set a trap? I assumed that’s what you were doing, but they didn’t know a thing. I checked.”

Kyle checked his watch.

“It’s about 10:30 now, champ,” he said. “I guess you have an hour and a half to take the ‘great power’ and defeat me with it. Right?”

Before Quinn had time to react, Kyle rushed toward him, flashed his knife and cut Quinn on the arm.

Quinn didn’t take any time to respond. Instead, he leapt into the middle of the bridge where it was darkest.

He could still see Kyle closer to the edge of the bridge, but Quinn knew he was well hidden.

“Fuck,” Kyle said. “That was fast. But I still saw blood, my boy. I still saw you bleed. So I guess you don’t have supernatural abilities after all, do you? What was that bullshit, anyway? Something you cooked up for the girl? Was this just a ploy to get into Trina’s pants, Quinn? Her mom would not have approved.”

Kyle’s voice echoed in the bridge.

“Listen, buddy, you can skulk in the shadows all you want,” Kyle said. “But I have all night. Granted, I did have plans, but you know what, this ‘Lord Halloween’ stuff is kinda overblown anyway. I can kill them just as dead on Nov. 1. Oh, but wait. That’s the day you lose your superpowers, right? When you become a real boy?”

Quinn was shocked Kyle knew about any of this. But he must have been close enough to overhear them at some point.

“You aren’t invulnerable either, Kyle,” Quinn said. “How did your face get so messed up? Did Janus give you a taste of your own medicine?”

Kyle stepped into the shadows and Quinn lost sight of him. Slowly, Quinn started moving backwards.

It was pitch black in there. Quinn didn’t know why they built the beams so close together, but there was no light inside. He couldn’t see where Kyle was and he heard nothing.

“So it’s hide and seek, is it?” Kyle’s voice echoed inside the bridge. “I can play that. I’m the one with the knife. What have you got?”

It was impossible to tell Kyle’s position. His voice was bouncing off the walls around them. Slowly, Quinn backed up again and hoped his voice would pull off the same effect.

 “Where are you going to go, Quinn?” Kyle asked. “The minute I see you in the light, I’m going to find you. And believe me, I’ll catch up. You may be younger, but I have had more training, if you know what I mean.”

Quinn said nothing. He worried he could give away his position.

“Where is your girlfriend, anyway?” Kyle asked. “She was supposed to be here, wasn’t she? She left the message, after all, asking for us to meet here. So what’s the deal, Quinn? You hoping to take me down by yourself?”

Quinn had backed now to the other side of the bridge. He was so close to the edge that he worried Kyle could see him. He couldn’t stay here. Eventually Kyle would find him and Quinn had nothing to protect himself.

He had to complete the original plan. He had to get the hell out of here and face the other monster first.

“Come on, Quinn,” Kyle said, and his voice sounded frustrated. “Where are you?”

Quinn knew he had to be quick. He darted out into the moonlight and immediately ran into the woods.

*****

Behind him, he heard Kyle yell something—obviously aware that Quinn had run away. But Quinn thought he had a jump on Kyle, regardless of his “training.”

Quinn didn’t know where to head. He wasn’t sure what was in front of him, but he had very few choices.

Fortunately, the woods on this side of the bank were not as deep, and Quinn quickly came out into a clearing. Ahead of him was a barn—the old Phillips’ place he guessed—and an overgrown pumpkin patch. It was the only place Quinn thought to go. He moved across the field as fast as he could, reached the barn, and collapsed against one wall.

His insides felt like they were burning. Quinn couldn’t tell what was wrong, but he had been feeling it build up even while he was in the bridge. He lay his head against the side of the barn. Maybe Kyle wouldn’t find him.

He wished he could hear Kate in his mind, but the connection still seemed to be blocked. From a distance he heard the sound he had been waiting for. There was precious little time left, and while the trial had evidently been delayed, it was not over.

The sound of horse hooves approached. Quinn didn’t move. He was too tired to face both of them. He had thought he would have some idea of how to defeat the Horseman, but he was just exhausted.

The sound of hooves got closer. Good. At least it will be the Horseman that gets me and not Kyle. The sound was ringing in Quinn’s ears. The Horseman was almost on top of him. He came pounding into view a second later and wheeled to face Quinn.

Quinn stood up, still leaning against the barn, and looked at his opponent for what felt like the first time. Nothing about the horse looked right. Its eyes glowed a deep red and there was blood on the edge of its mouth.

The figure on top of the horse was dressed in black, and now Quinn could tell it was a decayed uniform. Just like the story. A Hessian mercenary hired to make war on the colonists, his head removed during battle by a cannon ball.

The rider did not move. His horse snorted and pawed the ground, but he remained fixed there.

Quinn stepped away from the barn and walked toward him.

“Let’s finish this,” he said.

It was as if the Horseman had been waiting for it. He swung out of the saddle and dropped to the ground. He unsheathed his sword and took a step toward Quinn.

Quinn stood his ground. He had no plans or ideas. He was not even sure he could bring himself to fight back. But he was done running. He was done being afraid.

The Horseman came forward and held out his sword while Quinn stayed motionless. The Horseman raised his arm and prepared to bring down the stroke that Quinn knew would kill him.

He heard it slice through the air, but at the last moment he jumped forward, straight into the Horseman’s chest. The sword went awry, falling to the ground, and the Horseman momentarily fell back.

Quinn didn’t know where the strength had come from—he had no idea he was going to make a move until it happened. He realized he would not just stand there and die meekly.

The Horseman seemed as surprised as Quinn, stopping momentarily. When he bent down to pick up his sword, Quinn jumped for it at the same time, beating him to it.

As Quinn picked up the sword, the Horseman hit him squarely in the chest, a blow that sent Quinn into the air before crashing near the barn door. But Quinn had held on to the sword.

Quinn stood up and waved the weapon uncertainly in front of him as the Horseman strode toward him. Maybe this was a way—if he could slice the Horseman with his own sword, he could finish him.

The Horseman closed the gap between them quickly and Quinn cocked back his arm to swing the sword. But he was too inexperienced and the blow was awkward. The Horseman dodged it easily and then hit Quinn again. This time the blow knocked the sword free from Quinn’s grasp and tossed him against the barn door, which creaked open behind him.

The Horseman strode over to his sword on the ground and picked it up.

So much for the idea of killing him with his own sword, Quinn thought. He backed into the barn. Inside was the smell of mold, decaying hay and gasoline. Quinn thought it had not been used in years. Unlike the bridge, the barn’s wood slats were far apart and moonlight streamed in everywhere.