Killer Career (21 page)

His perfect opportunity to let Julie in on his true feelings had
passed. Nothing more would happen tonight. His revelation would have
to wait.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Idly sipping his coffee at the kitchen table, Tyler glanced at the
newspaper. An article caught his eye, making him frown. For some
reason the story about a luckless prostitute seemed familiar, as if
the reporter had copied it line-for-line from Tyler’s manuscript.

It was his joy and curse to immerse himself in his work. He could
remember each detail of what he’d written the night before as if
he’d been there.

He still smelled the damp urine-soaked hallway. He felt the woman’s
coarse blonde hair brush against his fingertips. He could describe in
intricate detail the sensation of eyeballs parting from their
sockets, as his fingers bore into the woman’s eyes.

A frisson of fear shot through him. He knew too much. This sort of
thing had happened before, but never as bad. This time, had he done
more than write? Impossible. He couldn’t have. There might be
similarities, but the stories weren’t identical. Or, were they?

He groped for the back of his black leather chair and pushed it away
from the glass table.

Don’t be ridiculous. I’m blessed with a tremendous
imagination. This incident is a bizarre coincidence, nothing more.
Grasping the paper, he slowly rose and made his way down the
hallway to his office.

He’d prove it. He’d check every last detail of his manuscript
against that of the newspaper account.

Don’t do it,
a tiny voice inside of him warned.
Coincidence
can only stretch so far. You might not like what you find.

He had to know. He fired up the computer and drummed his fingers as
he waited. The machine buzzed and hummed, going through its
interminable gyrations.

Finally, it was ready. He clicked on the word processing program and
brought up the manuscript.

Don’t look,
the voice warned.

He wasn’t a coward. If he were, he wouldn’t be at the height of
his profession right now. He’d prove nothing was wrong and that
would be that.

His reassurances did nothing to slow the staccato beat of his heart,
as with a deep breath he glanced at the computer screen. He glanced
down at the newspaper account. The contents of the first two
paragraphs were strikingly similar.

A fine sweat broke over his brow. There had to be an explanation.
Okay, the woman’s clothing was a given. Plunging necklines and
short tight skirts were typical gear for prostitutes, not unusual at
all.

The woman’s physical description also gelled, as did the hallway,
the building, the neighborhood. That made sense. Lots of tramps
looked like her and also frequented seedy areas.

The Chicago Police Department held as evidence a silver necklace
containing broken links plus an angel charm which were found on the
vestibule floor. What?

An icy chill raced up and down Tyler’s spine, headed straight to
the nerve endings in his skull. His head pounded. Bile rose from his
esophagus to his mouth.

The angel charm. He could see it in his mind’s eye. He’d
described it in elaborate detail in the manuscript. If he’d not
been there, how could he have known it existed?

He must have done it. No, he couldn’t have. Maybe he’d been a
witness. Nonsense. He’d never step foot in that kind of
neighborhood in the first place. If for some bizarre reason he had,
he’d certainly remember doing so. None of it made sense. How could
he have been there when he’d been here all night writing?

Then again, the Inner City wasn’t far from his own posh
neighborhood. He could have easily made it there and back and still
completed the chapter. It was physically possible.

But unlikely in the extreme.

Groping with the dilemma, Tyler stared at the screen with eyes no
longer registering its contents. His mind whirled, trying to make
sense of the inexplicable.

Why would he, a man with his choice of desirable women, choose to
associate with a lowly prostitute? Further, why would he attack and
blind her?

A vital piece of the puzzle eluded him. The missing link piecing
everything together could mean life or death to him.

The peal of the telephone jolted him from his reverie. He’d ignore
it. It was probably his editor. Right now, he had more important
matters to contend with than dealing with the man. The answering
machine switched on. Sure enough, it was the editor asking how the
book was coming along. Tyler had always known he had “telephone
ESP” and could predict the identity of his callers.

Wait a minute. That was it! The solution leapt out at him, as if
encased in thick bold letters over the computer screen. He’d heard
of such people, but had never believed in them. That was before.

Now he did because he was one of them. He had ESP. Somehow, he’d
delved into a criminal psyche and tapped into its evil source. His
brain, acting as a radio transmitter, had honed onto the criminal’s
wavelength. This may have happened in his other books, but he’d put
it down to imagination.

His ESP had allowed him to witness this recent crime. He’d been
there in his mind, but not his body. He’d listened to the
prostitute’s pleas, he’d tasted her lips, he’d thrust himself
into her warm recesses and vicariously experienced everything.

A feeling of superiority washed over him, making him smile. He wasn’t
a criminal. No, he was much better than that. He was one of the
chosen few. With the realization came a sigh of relief. For a few
moments, he’d doubted himself. He should have known better.

Now that his mind was cleared, he could work on his latest.

Soon he was lost in the story.

* * *

The creak of the floorboard awakened him. She was back. She was
coming for him. His heart pounded so loudly he wondered if she could
hear it.

With his eyelids barely open, he watched her creep across the bedroom
floor and draw closer. In the glow of the nightlight, her blonde hair
shone like an angel’s. How deceptive. She smiled a secret smile,
one that he’d come to dread. Not again.

It had started seven years before when his father had died. Then he’d
been helpless and couldn’t stop her. Now he was older and stronger.

Maybe if he kept still and pretended to be asleep, she’d leave. If
she stayed, this time he’d do something drastic.

As she bent over him, her warm tobacco breath blew across his cheek,
turning his stomach. He lay absolutely still, holding his breath and
counting to thirty. He couldn’t hold it any longer. The room spun.
Still she stayed. She wasn’t leaving. She never did.

His breath escaped in a long hiss.

“Ah, my sweet baby, you’re awake. You want your mama, don’t
you?” she said, cupping his face in her hands.

He shifted away. “Leave me alone.”

“Naughty boy. Don’t you dare turn away from me. I gave you life.
You should be grateful.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Oh yes, you do.” She plunged her hand beneath the covers and
groped for him.

He wiggled away. He would not let it happen again. He hated the
helpless feeling that washed over him when she stroked him and he
ended up dirtying the bed. Other mothers didn’t do that to their
kids. It was filthy and wrong.

“Get out of here.” He pushed her hand away.

He swung out of the bed and stood up. He was level to her five foot
three inches, weighed almost as much as she, and was stronger. In
preparation, every chance he could get, he’d lifted heavy stuff and
punched at the mattress. He could beat her up easy.

He glared at her. “If you touch me again, I’ll kill you.”

Surprise, then anger flared in her eyes. “How dare you speak to
your mother like that, you little bastard.” She slapped his face
hard.

His cheek stung. Tears sprang to his eyes. She was the devil’s
witch, evil incarnate. He grabbed her hand. “I’m not little any
more. And don’t pretend you’re so great. You don’t act like a
mother. You’re just a whore and murderess. I know what you did to
my father. I hate you.”

“You little bastard.”

“You’re a witch-bitch,” he yelled, his pent-up rage exploding.
“I loved my father. You didn’t have to, but you killed him and I
was stuck with you. I’ll make you pay for everything you did.”

The time had come. Before she could react, he’d yanked her hand
behind her back.

“Ouch, you’re hurting me, you brat. Stop that.”

He’d show no mercy. She hadn’t given any to Dad. As a payback,
she’d die in the same place she’d killed him. No one would
suspect. Everyone would think she’d killed herself out of grief.

* * *

“Wow, that was intense,” Tyler said, sighing with satisfaction.

The chapter he’d finished almost marked the completion of his
manuscript about the abused boy who’d killed his mother to get
even. It was a departure from his usual norm, but when inspiration
struck, he never questioned it. The public lapped up such crap. He
predicted another blockbuster for sure.

Had the words welled up out of his creative genius or had he again
tapped into an evildoer’s mind? It didn’t matter. The results
were the same and obviously, no one could take credit without
confessing to the crime. Through default, the experience was his. He
was the gifted one. No other writer could emulate him.

Basking in anticipated glory, Tyler strolled into the living room. He
sank into the folds of the black leather couch, flicked on the
evening news, and flung off his shoes. He’d earned a rest.

The lead story splashed across the screen, evaporating his well
being. He turned up the volume and leaned forward. The damn tramp who
had lost her eyesight was getting extensive coverage on every
channel. There she was, with a white bandage over her eyes,
describing every horrific detail of the atrocities she’d suffered.
A doctor from Stroger Hospital also appeared and regretfully
confirmed the slut would remain blind the rest of her life.

“It serves you right,” he yelled at the incognizant screen.

How could anyone drum up pity for a scum-bitch who offered her
services to the highest bidder? She should have known what she was
getting into.

That would never have happened to a decent woman. Not someone like
Julie McGuire.

Ah, Julie. Wispy golden hair, plump lips begging to be kissed, legs
that could wrap around him tight, emerald eyes that saw more than he
wished she did. Yes, she was a discerning woman who knew her own
worth. Unfortunately, too much so. She’d noticed his imperfections.
She’d understood he was missing something. She didn’t want him.
He hated and loved her for it.

If only he could be the man she wanted. His book characters, whom he
could manipulate, were more real to him than actual people. With
them, he could think and do what he wished. Not so with real people
who had their own minds and emotions.

Sometimes he felt more like an alien than a human. He was clever
enough to get by in the real world, but no miracle worker. He’d
never fit in, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t feel like
others did, but could only guess at their thoughts and emotions.

Aiming the remote, he flicked off the set. The quietness closed in on
him, making him feel more lonely than he’d felt in his life. He’d
had one hope, but she had denied him.

There had to be a way to get to her. Skimming his hand over the
supple texture of the leather couch, he rose and headed toward the
bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

A flick of the switch and the room plunged into darkness. Above him,
the stars twinkled in the blue velvet sky. Below, to one side, the
turbulent waters of Lake Michigan crashed. On the other side,
streetlights and neon signs beckoned. Tyler stood alone in the
middle, not belonging anywhere.

A hunger like he’d never known washed over him. He owned the riches
of the world, yet possessed nothing. Who could he share his triumphs
with? Who would care what happened to him?

It had almost been different, but in a few careless hours, he’d
blown it. He should have known better. He should have pretended to
care the way she did. The reward would have been worth it.

He’d sell his soul to get one more chance. He had to get her back.
She was his lifeline. His sanity depended on it.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The sky was as white as milk. Clouds gathered and thickened, as Julie
pulled up outside of Avery’s Tudor home.

A burst of cold wind almost blew her through the half-open doorway.
Excited cheers and boos from the direction of the family room made
her smile. Garrett no doubt was ensconced in his easy chair, catching
the last quarter of the football game and rooting for his idols.

In the kitchen, Julie discovered Avery, with tell-tale pony tail
askew, bent over the oven.

“My, but that smells delicious,” Julie said, taking in a deep
breath of the aromas of turkey, dressing, and pumpkin pie.

Avery straightened. “Oh, hi, Julie. I didn’t hear you come in.
Everything’s about done. Could you bring your salad out to the
dining room?”

“Sure. Anything else?”

“How about the mashed potatoes? They’re set to go.”

Julie nodded and headed in the direction of the dining room. With the
salad in place, she returned to the kitchen and reached on the
counter for the bowl of mashed potatoes. A warm hand enveloped hers.
A shock rippled through her arm. The bowl almost dropped.

“Steady. Hey, that looks heavy,” Dade said. “Let me carry it.”

She mutely passed it over. She couldn’t say a word if her life
depended on it. This was too much. Why, after all these years, was
she reacting like this?

It was Thanksgiving, one of the many holidays she enjoyed with her
adopted family. It was time to relax. Instead, her face felt hot and
her hands trembled. She needed to act normal, as if nothing out of
the ordinary was happening. Could she do it?