Project Cain (21 page)

•  •  •

I was outside.
Huh?
Behind the motel.
Wait!

Reality returning as softly as it’d first snuck away.

Crouched behind a huge dumpster.
No. . . .

Both my hands remained clenched into fists like I was holding something. I thought of sharp steel.

How I got there, I still haven’t a clue.

There was no one else around.

I’d killed no one. (I told myself this anyway . . . not really knowing if it was true or not. I mean, there was no blood on me. I had no weapon. There was no body.)

Worse thought, maybe, I’d only
imagined
the whole thing. Dreamed it.

Spellbound. Sleepwalking.

Lunatic.

I stood up straight and got my bearings. The empty parking lot. The darkened motel. Just past the motel was the freeway, the sounds of passing cars whooshing by all too familiar.

Obviously (or so I told myself) the reality of the nearby freeway had bled into my dream, as sounds sometimes do. What else
could
it have been?

I moved slowly back to the room. The door had been left open. First I thought Castillo might be back, but then I realized I’d just left it that way. But how? Why?

I hadn’t killed anyone, that part was still true. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a dead guy
somewhere
. As much as I wanted to write it all off as some nightmare, I felt in the pit of my mind/body/soul that there was something else going on here. There was, in fact, great suspicion in my mind/body/soul that someone else
had
just killed.
Something
else.

Because, as I crept back into the room, I could still hear all that blood.

And I could tell that Someone Else, whoever/whatever it had been, wanted to hear more.

I could tell this killer was just getting started.

T
he Albaum kid
was
a clone.

His parents, against my father’s instructions, called their new son Bryce, a middle name they’d added in honor of his adoptive mom’s grandfather.

But his legal name, his REAL name, was Edward.

Edward Bryce Albaum.

The clone of Ed Gein.

•  •  •

This was another name I did not know. Castillo says he hadn’t heard of him either but the boy had a folder completely filled with information about Gein. (You know, charts, pictures, biographical data. That old story.) Ed Gein only murdered a couple of people. Small-time killing compared to the other guys DSTI had collected. But he is still a deity in the pantheon of serial killers. His nicknames were: “The Plainfield Ghoul” and “The Mad Butcher.” Mostly, he just dug up graves and did stuff with the bodies. Really disgusting stuff. Again, I won’t go into details here. That’s up to you. But here’s a hint:

Ed Gein was the specific inspiration for Norman Bates (the killer
in
Psycho
who dresses like his dead mother and keeps her corpse in the house).

Ed Gein was the specific inspiration for Buffalo Bill (the killer in
Silence of the Lambs
who abducts overweight women and then uses their skin to make a “woman suit” for himself).

Ed Gein is the specific inspiration for Leatherface (the killer in
The
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
who eats people and keeps bodies hanging on huge hooks in his house, just like dead cows).

That’s three of the most famous serial killer movies EVER made. All from this same guy.

It’s kinda amazing.

The police could simply not believe what they’d found in Gein’s Wisconsin house. In fact, the local sheriff in charge was so traumatized by what he saw that he died of a heart attack less than one month after testifying in court against Gein. This sheriff was just forty-three years old.

Neighbors burned down Gein’s house.

In the early 1980s representatives from DSTI visited Ed Gein at the Mendota Mental Health Institute and took blood and tissue samples with his permission. They told him he’d “live forever.” And though he died a couple of years after, DSTI hadn’t completely lied. There was still a whole lot left of Edward Gein in the world.

Skin, hair, eyes, cells, muscle, brain tissue.

Only now, everyone was calling all that stuff Edward Bryce Albaum.

A rose by any other name . . .

This other-name’s whole family had been murdered.

•  •  •

Castillo found the boy alone in his house. The kid was only eleven.

His family—mom, dad, and an older brother—were dead. Castillo
said the kid had covered their heads with some opened notebooks so he wouldn’t have to see their faces.

The Albaum kid had NOT killed his family.

Some other kids—the kids we were looking for—had done that for him.

•  •  •

They’d come to his house two days before. Four or five teens. Pulled up in two cars and came into his house like it was their own. They bashed his father in the face with a golf club. They did worse to the others. But they left him completely alone.

Because he was ONE OF THEM.

These kids told Edward Bryce Albaum he was a clone. They told him he was the clone of a famous serial killer. Then they gave him a folder. Then they left. Only thing missing here was my dad and a thousand dollars in cash. (They handed him only a handful of twenties.)

The kid’d been too terrified to call the police or leave the house for two days.

Castillo sat with him for hours waiting for Help to arrive. Castillo asked him questions. The boy mostly stared at the television. He’d been in deep shock, Castillo told me later.

The Help that showed up midday were some people DSTI and the United States government sent. The Help then took the boy away.

•  •  •

When Castillo first came back to the motel, I was practically bouncing off the walls. Because (a) he was back, which I admit always relaxed me a great deal because I didn’t want to spend another minute alone in that motel room not knowing if I would fall asleep again or where my mind might take me, and (b) I’d done good. I mean, shit! I’d officially solved
the puzzle, you know. I’d officially figured out what that squiggle was and had led Castillo straight to an actual clone. I was a hero or something. I’d really proved my worth to Castillo and, honestly, to myself.

That all lasted about thirty seconds.

Castillo was in a foul mood as usual. Worse even. When he and I checked out of the motel and grabbed some food at a diner an hour down the road, he didn’t want to talk at all.

He’d stayed up with the Albaum kid all night, and I think he was finally starting to ponder over the same thing I was: WHAT THE HELL WAS GONNA HAPPEN TO THIS KID NOW? What would the government and DSTI do to Edward Bryce Albaum when both thought of him only as the clone of Ed Gein? This kid, if the truth of what had happened were to ever get out, would be a media nightmare. He was proof of terrible experiments. Secret experiments. An embarrassment. A threat to national security. How would the government handle his existence, what he’d been told? How would they handle the three dead bodies in his house? People murdered by teenagers claiming to be clones.

I hardly said one word while we packed, drove, and ate. Now the uneasy silence between us was amplified by the bustling diner. Castillo wasn’t even eating. I asked him if I could have some of his bacon, and he was cool with that. I was starved, so it was, like, the best meal I’d ever had. Castillo kept looking at me all strange, but I figured, why let good food go to waste?

Castillo mostly studied the road map beside his plate. He dropped two fingers onto the map. Eventually he said: Unity, Ohio, and Lovett, Indiana. He said two girls had been found murdered in Unity. One found hacked to bits, apparently. A third girl, Emily Collins, was missing. A suspect. Her mother was also missing. Emily Collins’s sister was
one of the dead girls. He said: In Lovett, Indiana, a couple of teens had been found hanging from a tree. Both bodies had been badly burned.

They’re heading west, Castillo said while running his fingers in a subtle swiggle across the map.

I didn’t want to look. I was tired of his Murder Map. I was tired of not talking about what we should be talking about: the Albaum kid.

Actually I had one more question . . . really
two
more.

Route 50, Castillo was mumbling to himself. From what the Albaum kid had told him, it looked like the original group had picked up some kid named John a couple of weeks before they came for him. And apparently this John kid had been dressed like a clown.

WTF? One of the teens who’d killed the Albaum family had been dressed like a . . .

I was so completely done with all of this. I might have even envied the Albaum kid some. I mean, it
was
completely done for him now, right? He’d vanish back into DSTI and—if my father was right—probably never be seen again.

Then Castillo told me about John Wayne Gacy. Another famous serial killer. This guy tortured and murdered thirty-plus men and kept most of the bodies buried in his crawl space. Mostly he was known for dressing up like a clown sometimes at neighborhood parties and community events and stuff. A clown named Pogo.

This distantly evoked a dream I’d recently had. The one I’d had about the park.

I told Castillo I didn’t want to know any more.

•  •  •

Castillo asked me if I’d ever met a boy named John, a question I completely ignored, so he tried again. Ever in my life? I just kept
staring at my plate. This was NOT the talk I wanted to have. Probably, I told him. This kid on my soccer team two years ago was named John Vincent. Did that count? But if he meant a John connected to DSTI, the clown kid? The
clone
kind of John, then no.

Castillo glanced around the diner. Told me to keep it down and got all pissed and serious about it. Asshole.

My bad, I replied, looked up. Then I whispered: No, I don’t think I ever met a John at the place-that-won’t-be-mentioned, which I often visited with the man-who-won’t-be-mentioned. I already gave you all the names I could remember.

Castillo said the Albaum boy thought the clown was definitely named John but that a guy named Ted had done most of the talking. But the Albaum boy couldn’t really remember any of the other names. He thought he remembered “Al” and “Henry” but wasn’t sure. He was pretty positive he never once heard a “
D
name.”

Castillo said: Maybe David and Dennis aren’t with these other guys anymore.

I told him again that David wouldn’t be. Castillo didn’t seem impressed.

Finally I’d had enough.

Time for QUESTION #1.
Was my dad there?

Castillo said NO. While I thought about this, I absently used the fork to play with the food on my plate. Couldn’t decide which answer would have been worse: (a) that my father
had
been there, had been part of the group that had murdered the Albaum family, OR (b) that my father was still missing, vanished into the world somewhere.

I then asked QUESTION #2: What about Jeff? Did this Albaum kid meet a Jeff?

Castillo looked straight at me. His face looked pained. He greatly preferred the first question, I think. I asked if we were just supposed to pretend Castillo
wasn’t
also looking for a Jeffrey Dahmer clone. Castillo admitted he was. He also said the Albaum kid wasn’t sure if he’d heard that name or not. He’d questioned the kid specifically about each of the six, and the kid hadn’t remembered a tall blond guy.

QUESTION #3. What happens to him now?

Albaum? he said. He’s halfway to Pennsylvania by now. Back to DSTI.

Yeah, I pushed, so what happens to him now?

Castillo said he didn’t know.

They’re just gonna kill him, I said.

Castillo cursed at me. Man, he was angry. He asked: Why the hell would you even say that?

I reminded him that my dad had said they’d kill me if they ever caught me.

Well, Daddy ain’t thinking too clearly these days, is he? he replied. Castillo so wanted to punch me in the face. Instead he added: I’m sure the kid’ll be fine.

Are you? I asked. Didn’t care if he wanted to punch me in the face.

Castillo drank his stupid coffee.

I asked: How long before you turn ME over? I was getting kinda angry too. Castillo had just turned this Albaum kid over to the government. Like he would turn in the others. And eventually me.

Worse, I’d helped him do it. (I was, I think, mostly angry at myself.)

Castillo said: They don’t even know you’re with me.

But they knew I existed. Castillo would need to turn me in eventually.

You’re helping me do my job, he said.

And when I couldn’t, anymore? Or wouldn’t?

Don’t know, he said. Guess I’ll decide then.

I nodded. And just like that, it was over. The questions had been answered—or not answered—but they didn’t matter anymore. Castillo’s matter-of-factness had taken the steam out of my tantrum. There was nothing left to say, really.

Castillo changed the topic. He said: Here’s what I know now. Based on what the Albaum kid says, I think a couple of guys split off, together or alone. Guys like your David, maybe. I think Jacobson . . . I think your father might have been with these guys at the very start but has also gone on alone.