Killer Within (5 page)

Chapter
Ten

THE NEXT MORNING BEFORE I
leave for school, Victor hands me a couple of pictures. “I’ve been going through Mom’s stuff. I found a few photos of your father, Seth. Thought you’d want them.”

I swallow an uncharacteristic and very sudden nervous swell in my throat. It doesn’t do any good and I force another swallow.

Pictures of Seth? No, no I don’t want them. I purged myself of him. Of Mom.

Victor hands me the pictures, obviously not picking up on my hesitancy, and I do the only thing I can. I take them.

He walks off, and I’m left standing in the kitchen staring down at a photo of Mom and Seth, grinning, their arms wrapped
around each other. They look happy. Innocent. Young. I flip it over and note the date. Before I was even born.

I look at the second picture. It must have been taken the same day because they’re wearing identical clothes. But this one has a dark-haired woman in it. She looks young too. About the same age as them. They’re all smiling, hugging each other. Something about her seems familiar. I flip the photo over and see the same date, as I thought.

“What are you looking at?” Daisy asks.

I look up from the photos to see Daisy and Justin ready for school and waiting. “Pictures of my real dad and our mom.”

Daisy and Justin exchange a look. “Can we see?” Daisy asks.

“Sure.” I hand them to her and watch their faces as they study the two pictures.

“You look a lot like your dad,” Daisy tells me.

“And you look just like Mom,” I reply.

“Who do I look like?” Justin asks.

“Dad,” Daisy and I answer in unison, and we all smile at each other.

“Who’s the other woman?” Justin asks.

I shrug. “A friend of theirs, I guess.” I want to ask if she seems familiar but for some reason don’t. “Well, you guys ready?”

They hand the pictures back, and we’re out the door. When we get home, I’ll ask Victor about that other woman and see if
he knows her. Also, I want to know if the two pictures are from Mom’s personal locker at work. And if so, what else is there?

Kyle, science club president, finds me at my school locker. “Hey, Slim.”

I put a couple folders away and grab a few more. “What’s up, Kyle?”

“My younger sister and your little brother both go to the same elementary school.”

I nod. I know.

Kyle leans up against the locker beside me. “Has Justin mentioned anything about someone trying to sell him drugs?”

I turn to fully face him. “No. What are you talking about?”

Kyle puts his backpack down. “I walk my sister and her friend home from school nearly every day. They don’t think I’m listening with my iPod in, but I’ve heard them mention this guy, Bucky. Apparently he’s approached a few of the elementary kids.”

“Why haven’t they reported it?”

“Scared, I guess.” He shrugs. “Probably threatening them not to say anything. I hate bullies.”

I can imagine. I’ve seen Kyle get pushed around a few times.

“Anyway,” he continues, “I just wanted to see if you knew anything. I’m going to talk to my parents tonight.”

And I’m going to talk to Justin.

Which is exactly what I do when Daisy and I pick him up after school. “Who’s Bucky?”

My brother’s eyes go really wide. “How do you know Bucky?”

My inner sense flips to full alert. “Who is he?”

“He’s Annie’s brother.”

“And Annie is?”

“A girl in my class.”

Daisy looks between us. “Are you talking about Annie Holmstead?”

Justin nods. “Yeah, that’s right. She lives in that colorful house.”

By “colorful house” I know my brother means the green-and-purple historical one a few blocks from the elementary campus. Bucky Holmstead. I’m going to find this stupid Bucky, and I’m going to see what his deal is.

I drop Justin off at after-school tutoring and Daisy at her friend Samantha’s house, and I circle back around to the neighborhood where the green-and-purple house sits.

I parallel park and check things out. People come and go from the surrounding homes, but there’s no movement from the colorful one. A few minutes in and I get out my iPhone and type in
Bucky Holmstead, Falls Church, Virginia
.

I get about a dozen hits.

The guy’s eighteen. Most recent arrest was for drug possession and assault with a baseball bat.
Baseball bat.
I pull his picture up. And pause.

Well, hello there. It’s the guy who yanked me out of my Jeep at Aisha’s house. How
lovely
our paths should cross again.

I continue scrolling through links, reading. I’m sure he’s got a juvie record, although that won’t be public knowledge. For the kids not to have reported Bucky, he must really have them scared. Hell, he scared me.

I agree with Kyle; bullies rank right up there with how bad I loathe animal abusers.

I give the house one last look before putting my Jeep in gear and driving off. I’m going to get home, grab my laptop, and really dig in to researching this Bucky guy. Drugs. Baseball bat. Knows Aisha. This just might be my link to figuring out who was watching me the other night.

But when I get home, Victor’s in the office. I’d forgotten this was his work-from-home day. He’s with someone. I hear “Masked Savior” and purposefully hang in the dining room to eavesdrop.

“I appreciate you letting me pick your brain,” the visitor is saying.

“Hey, listen, we made it through fifteen years in the army together. Letting you pick my brain is the least.”

“While we didn’t condone it, this vigilante used to be
harmless. Hell, he did our job for us. But now with the recent bludgeonings, he’s morphed into a danger to society.”

Well, shit.
Does this mean they don’t think Aisha is the Masked Savior?

“What’s the local task force put together so far?” Victor asks.

“We’ve combed the streets, upped surveillance, and come up empty. There’s a website we’ve been keeping tabs on,” the man continues.

“That’s a good strategy,” Victor says.

Well, shit again. I should’ve already thought of that—I would’ve before. If they’re monitoring the site, they can track the IP addresses of those who have posted. I IM’d j_d_l. My IP address is officially traceable now.

“What’s your gut telling you?” Victor asks.

The man chuckles. “Exact reason why I’m here. I want to know if I’m crazy or not before I take this hypothesis to the task force.”

“Go ahead.”

“I think—”

“Hello.”

I spin around to see a girl standing behind me. “Who are you?” I ask.

She sticks her hand out. “I’m Catalina.” She nods to the office. “My dad is in there with your dad.”

I shake her hand. “Where’d you come from?”

“I’ve been sitting over there in the corner reading a magazine.” She grins. “Watching you eavesdrop.”

I don’t bother denying it and in fact admire her boldness. I give her a solid look. Tall like me and even skinnier. Wavy dark hair. Cool gray eyes. I’d say about sixteen.

Our fathers walk from the office, and I squash my irritation. I barely got a chance to hear anything at all.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers, “I won’t tell them you were listening in.”

I don’t respond.

“Oh, hey, Lane, this is an army pal of mine. Mr. Coffey.”

We shake hands.

“I heard you talking about the Masked Savior?” I say.

This earns a laugh from Catalina. She hadn’t expected me to dime out my own eavesdropping self.

“Yes, Mr. Coffey’s on the local task force,” Victor answers. “We were discussing some scenarios.”

What scenarios?
I want to ask, since Catalina annoyingly interrupted me listening in.

Mr. Coffey looks between us. “You girls have heard of this Masked Savior thing, I’m sure.”

We both nod.

“You two be alert and safe when you’re out and about, okay?”

We nod again.

Catalina gives me an amused grin as they leave. What’s so effing funny? The Masked Savior task force is in
my
house talking to
my
stepdad about me. This is so far from funny I don’t even know where to start.

I turn to Victor. “Are you going to be on the task force too?” God, I hope not.

He shakes his head. “No, this isn’t FBI jurisdiction. I was just giving advice. Friend to friend.” He nods to the office. “Sorry, conference call in five. See you later for dinner.”

I nod, grab a Coke from the refrigerator, and head straight up to my room. The first thing I do is go to “my” site, delete the unanswered message I sent j_d_l, and take my registration down. I know they can still pull up a ghost image of my IP address, but at least now I can honestly say I
was
a member, curious like so many others, and then took my registration down after I realized the ridiculousness of the whole thing.

What a mess.

I do some more queries on the task force and basically get what the news has already given. What I heard Mr. Coffey say. Upped surveillance. Combing the streets.

I need to lure j_d_l out and see what his connection is to all this. Plus there’s Bucky. If I’m lucky, they are one and the same and I can officially put this whole copycat thing to rest. Though that still doesn’t explain the woman in the dark car.

Chapter
Eleven

“THERE’S LIKE THIS TINGLING, THIS
nudging inside me, and I can’t seem to satisfy it. It’s like I belong somewhere else, but I don’t know where.” This is what Tommy admits to our grief group.

I am rendered absolutely mute. That’s exactly how I feel.

He gives the group a perplexed look. “I’m starting to do things I’ve never done before, just trying to figure it all out.”

I get that. I totally get that.

“As long as they are healthy things you are trying,” the counselor advises.

Healthy things. Right.

“And that’s all I want to say tonight,” Tommy finishes up.

The rest of the group shares, and I choose not to. I only
halfway listen to them as I play and replay Tommy’s words.
There’s like this tingling, this nudging inside me, and I can’t seem to satisfy it.
It’s like he’s in my head.

I need to find somebody who completely deserves my justice. Like the Decapitator. Someone who deserves to die.

That
will fully salve my core.

“Same time next week,” the counselor says, and we all get up.

I follow Tommy out. I’m not the type who strikes up conversations, but with our similar thoughts, I’m want to know about him.

I almost say his name but stop. His blond head is down, like he doesn’t want to be bothered. I know that avoidance routine. I respect it.

I dig my keys from my pocket and head to my Jeep, glancing around for the BMW and not seeing it.

“Lane?”

I turn to see Tommy jog across the street to me. Guess I misread his avoidance.

“Hi.” His lips twitch and my stomach flutters.

Hmm
.

His blue eyes focus in on me. “We went to middle school together. Do you remember me?”

“Yes. You were a year ahead of me.”

He nods. “Thought so. Guess I just wanted to say hi and welcome you to the group. I know half the time it’s a pain in
the ass and the people sometimes drone on, but it’ll grow on you.”

I nod.

Tommy shoves his hands down inside the front pockets of his jeans and a few awkward seconds pass. I never know what to do in these situations. The other person is obviously waiting for me to say something, but I just don’t know what to say.

“You a senior at McLean?” he asks.

“Yes. How about you?”

“Freshman at Mason.”

I nod. “I’m planning on going to UVA.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah?”

And my stomach flutters again. “Yeah.”

“Well.” He shrugs. “Guess I’ll see you at the next meeting then. Bye.”

“Bye.” I watch him jog back across the street and my eyes go down to his ass. It’s a good ass. Fills out his jeans. He climbs on a motorcycle. Boy’s got balls. I’ll give him that much. It’s thirty-five degrees and he’s on a bike. Crazy.

He gives me a two-finger salute as he rolls past, and I nod.

Maybe this grief group won’t be so bad after all.

On my way home I drive by Bucky’s just to see whatever there might be to see and to watch my rearview for signs of anyone who might be trailing me.

Bucky’s place is all lit up, and I catch sight of a woman sitting in a big chair reading. The rest of the windows have curtains, stopping me from seeing inside. I cruise on by, still watching my rearview, but don’t see anybody behind me.

I head on home and straight to Justin’s room. He’s in his jim-jams, lying in bed, reading some graphic novel.

Jim-jams. That’s what our mother used to call them.

Justin looks up. “Hi.”

I close his door and sit down on his bed. “Tell me everything you know about this Bucky guy.”

My brother swallows, and the gurgle of it fills the air between us. He’s really nervous.

“I . . . I don’t want to,” he mumbles.

I take a patient breath. “Why? Are you scared?”

He nods and looks away.

I feel my jaw tighten and concentrate on not looking pissed. I don’t want to scare him any more than he already is. “Did he threaten you?”

Justin starts to shake his head, and then he swerves his big hazel eyes over to mine and reluctantly nods. “Please don’t tell Dad.”

Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m taking care of this myself.
“What did he do to you?”

“He didn’t touch me, just threatened to beat me up if I told anybody. But don’t worry, I know how to avoid him.”

Anger festers in me. “Where does he hang out?”

“Mostly the trail.”

I know exactly what trail Justin’s talking about. It weaves through neighborhoods and playgrounds. People use it for biking and jogging. Kids use it to walk home. “How long has this been going on?”

“Only a couple of weeks.” Justin fingers his blanket, obviously anxious about the whole subject. “I feel stupid. I thought he was the Masked Savior at first.”

“What? Why?”

“Because of the way he was dressed.” He rolls his eyes. “Stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid, Justin. Tell me, is he trying to sell you drugs?”

“Yeah. He was giving away some too. You promise you won’t tell Dad?”

I concentrate on maintaining a calm expression and not showing the fury boiling through me. Dressing as the Masked Savior and trying to peddle drugs. “You didn’t take any, did you?”

“No! I promise! But . . .” He glances away. “Some of the other kids did.”

“Justin, stay off that trail. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

I kiss the top of his head. “Night. See you tomorrow.”

As I’m leaving Justin’s room, I see Dad in his bedroom looking through photo albums. It reminds me of the two pictures he gave me and that I want to ask him about them.

“Dad?”

With a pleasant smile he glances up, and I find myself smiling back. It’s so good to see him happy.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Those two pictures you gave me. One had a dark-haired woman. Do you know who she is?”

He shrugs. “Probably just someone they knew from the marines.”

“Were they from Mom’s locker at work?”

He heaves a sigh. “No. I still haven’t done that yet.”

“It’s okay.” I nod to the photo album. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.”

I go to my room, get the picture out, and take another long look at the woman. I don’t know . . . I think there’s something about this woman my mother didn’t want known.