Shadow Creek (24 page)

Interchangeable deaths, she added, smiling at her cleverness.

She thought of the other couples they’d murdered. There’d been nothing remotely exceptional about any of their victims, except the exceptionally violent manner of their deaths.

Yet even under such spectacular circumstances, they’d proved remarkably alike, all dying with the same horrified looks in their pale, watery eyes—as if they couldn’t believe that after having managed to survive this long, this was to be their fate, as if the simple fact of having lived such long, boring, and utterly inconsequential lives entitled them to slip into death’s peaceful embrace with a minimum of fuss and pain.

“Surprise!” the girl shouted gleefully, popping yet another Percodan into her mouth as if it were candy, and letting the photograph slip from her hands to the floor. She began pulling
open the dresser drawers, her hands rummaging thoughtlessly through their contents. The top drawer contained a bunch of ugly rhinestone brooches and gaudy beaded necklaces, the middle one an assortment of delicate undergarments and nightgowns. “Don’t think you’ll be needing any of these things anymore,” she said, retrieving a pale pink silk camisole that fell from the drawer and caught on her big toe. She picked it up and held it against her naked breasts. She went to the closet, examining her image in the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the door. “Why, Grandma, what big tits you have!” She tossed the garment up into the air and watched it float gently back toward the floor, like a parachute. “What other stuff have you got in here?” She rifled through the clothes hanging neatly on the row of dark green plastic hangers. In quick succession she tried on a lilac-colored shift, a royal blue cashmere sweater, and a pair of white Capri pants, all at least several sizes too big for her, and all of which she left lying on the floor. “You’re not the only one who gets to play dress-up,” she said, thinking of Kenny and wondering what he was doing at this precise moment, once again praying he was all right, and hoping there was a good reason he’d chosen to exclude her from his latest kill.

“Please don’t let him be with anyone else,” she whispered, hearing the fear in her voice bounce off the walls. Could that be where he was now? Back at the lodge, where they’d treated themselves to several celebratory dinners, auditioning her replacement?

The thought made her double over, and she fought back the urge to gag. No one had ever made her feel so wanted, so valued, so loved. Surely he would never betray her. And yet, there were times when she caught him checking out other girls, which had made her feel so inadequate. Sometimes she doubted
her ability to hold his interest, times she was afraid he would leave her for someone prettier, smarter, more adventurous.

Still, hadn’t she done everything he’d asked of her, and more? Hadn’t she performed each assigned task to his satisfaction, even the cleanup part she despised? Hadn’t she been instrumental in not only finding their latest victim, but in leading him directly to the slaughterhouse?

“Hi,” she heard herself say, sighing with the memory. She watched herself approach him as he sat off by himself at the far end of the lodge’s Olympic-sized swimming pool, its shiny blue chlorine shimmering in the moonlight. “Can’t sleep?”

“One of those nights.”

“For me, too. Do you mind if I join you?”

The look that said he was intrigued. “Lots of empty chairs.”

“I saw you earlier. In the dining room. David, right? I heard your wife call you David.”

“Among other choice epithets.”

“Yes. She seemed pretty upset.”

“Sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“You are …?”

“Nicole. But you can call me Nikki.”

“Pretty name.”

“Thank you. I’ve always liked the name David.”

He’d shrugged, although she could tell he was flattered. Men are such suckers for a few kind words, she remembered thinking. “Pretty common name,” he said.

“Maybe. But it’s a strong one. And very handsome, I think. You wear it well,” she added for good measure, repeating a line she remembered hearing on one of those Lifetime TV movies.

David chuckled, and for a second she feared she might have gone too far, that her boldness might send him running for
cover. He was on his honeymoon, after all. But after fidgeting for several seconds, he settled back in his chair, not ready to go anywhere. “Aren’t you going to ask me what the fight was about?”

“No need.”

He arched one eyebrow.

“I pretty much heard the whole thing.”

He laughed, and she looked around, wary that the sound might have attracted attention. But there was no one watching, or even close by.

“For what it’s worth, I think you were right.”

“I appreciate that.” Then, “Isn’t it a little late for you to be up?”

“How old do you think I am?” she asked in return.

“I don’t know. Sixteen, seventeen.”

“I’m twenty.”

“No way.”

“All right. You got me. Nineteen and a half.”

“You look younger.”

“You want to see my ID?”

A smile, colored with a hint of relief. “Don’t think that will be necessary.”

“I think you should be able to go fishing,” she told him, “if that’s what you want.”

“What I want doesn’t seem to matter much.”

“It should.”

“It’s not even that important. Just that I made these plans weeks ago, and I told her about them. Really, I did.”

“And I really don’t see the problem. You want to go fishing; she wants to spend time with her family. Why can’t you both have what you want?”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“Maybe she’ll come around.”

“Maybe hell will freeze over.” He made a sound halfway between a laugh and a snort, and she tried to imagine the sound he’d make as she was sliding a long knife between his ribs. “I shouldn’t have called her a bitch,” he said.

“She shouldn’t have called you an asshole,” she reminded him, giving her imaginary knife a nasty twist.

“Maybe that’s what I am.” The tone in David’s voice begged her to disagree.

She obliged him. “You’re not an asshole.”

“You don’t know me very well.”

“I don’t know you at all. But I have good instincts.”

“And your instincts are telling you … what exactly?”

“That you’re a pretty decent guy. That you don’t deserve to be yelled at and embarrassed in public.”

David stiffened with the memory. “You know what my instincts are telling me right now?”

She held her breath, looking up at him through strategically lowered eyes.

“That I should probably get out of here before I do something really stupid.”

“Like what?” she asked provocatively.

He paused, clearly debating with his conscience over what to do next. Then he leaned over and kissed her. “Shit,” he said in the next breath. “I really
am
an asshole. I’m on my fucking honeymoon, for God’s sake.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I’m sorry. I really need to get back upstairs.”

“Of course. This is all my fault.”

“No. Of course it’s not your fault. You were just being nice.”

“I’m not,” she said. “Nice, that is.”

He smiled and turned to leave.

“Can I ask you a favor?” she asked.

He turned back.

“Forget it. It’s too much to ask.”

“What is it?”

A moment’s hesitation. Then, “It’s just that I’m not actually staying at the lodge. I just came here for dinner. I’m staying at a friend’s cottage. Just up the road a bit. And I was wondering … if you wouldn’t mind walking me home. It’s so dark and everything. I promise it won’t take more than a few minutes. You’ve already kissed me good night,” she added softly, playing on his guilt.

It was his turn to hesitate. “Sure. What the hell? What’s another couple of minutes? It’s the least I can do.”

And the last, she thought now, picturing them as they walked beside the creek that ran behind the lodge and up the winding dirt road. “We’re almost there,” she’d said several times. Then, after more than ten minutes had passed, “Sorry. I didn’t realize it was so far.” And when the cottage finally popped into view, “If you could just wait till I’m safely inside …” And finally, “Would you mind coming in for a minute? Just till I get the lights on.”

The knife was in his back almost as soon as his foot crossed the threshold. He’d grunted and lurched forward, the air rushing from his lungs as he spun around, the initial confusion in his face giving way to the recognition of what was happening, and then to fury. He lunged at her, his hands reaching for her throat even as his legs were collapsing under him.

“Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,” she’d teased, ducking out of his reach, watching his fingernails scratch impotently at the air.

And then they were both on him with their knives and machete, joyously severing muscle from bone and skin from cartilage until their clothes were soaked with the sweat of their
exertions and David lay beneath a blanket of blood, virtually unrecognizable. “Hope you’re enjoying your fucking honeymoon as much as we are,” she’d laughed as they’d had sex beside his torn and tattered corpse. Then, suddenly starving, they’d made themselves sandwiches, polishing off the late-night snack with another bottle of expensive Bordeaux from the Laufers’ collection, while discussing the pros and cons of younger versus older prey.

They’d agreed that both young and old presented their own series of risks and rewards. The young ones were stronger and reacted faster, making them more of a challenge. And yet, they simply weren’t as much fun or as deeply satisfying as killing old folks, she thought.

Still, what was that famous saying?
Variety is the spice of life
.

And death, she thought now, smiling as she remembered returning to the lodge the next morning, the place buzzing with the news of David’s disappearance. Later, after going back to the cottage, she saw that the floor had been washed down and David’s body removed, although she spotted tiny bits of his flesh still clinging to the floor, like stubborn specks of dust.

She tugged a floral-print cotton dress off one of the hangers and pulled it over her head, grabbing a big rhinestone bow off the dresser and pinning it to the ample folds between her breasts before leaving the bedroom. “Peekaboo, I see you,” she said, spying a splatter of blood on the far wall of the living room. “I’m bored,” she announced moments later, suddenly aware of the scent of stale blood emanating from the still damp and probably permanent stain on the beige rug.

The trouble with killing was that it was addictive. Like dope, she thought, searching through the cushions of the sofa for the baggie full of freshly rolled joints she’d left lying
around earlier. “There you are, you little devil,” she said with a laugh, pulling the fattest one out with her teeth and walking into the kitchen to light it with one of the front burners of the stove. She inhaled deeply, swallowing most of the smoke before blowing out a succession of perfectly round circles with the little that remained. Her grandfather had taught her that trick, albeit with conventional cigarettes, around the time he stopped bouncing her on his knee and started slipping his hand down her pants.

Or maybe he hadn’t done that at all, she thought. Maybe her grandmother was right, and she was just a stupid little girl who’d made the whole thing up. “There’s something wrong with that child,” she’d overheard her grandmother whispering to her mother one night. “I think she needs professional help.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” she sang out now, smoke rings rising, like miniature halos, around her head. “Honest to God,” she yelled in the next instant, spinning around in frustrated circles, “how can people not have a TV?” They should have brought that one with them that they’d stolen from the Berkshires, instead of pawning it. Although who knew they’d pick the one cottage in the area without a television set? “Who doesn’t own a TV, for fuck’s sake?”

“We have a radio,” she remembered Stuart Laufer saying.

“Yeah, right. Hooray for that.” She puffed furiously on the joint, smoking it down halfway, then grinding the lit end into the kitchen counter, watching a small brown circle form in the laminate as a pleasant buzz settled at the base of her neck, like a warm scarf. Her mother would have a fit if she saw her now, she thought with a smile, wondering absently what her mother was doing at this precise moment, if she even knew she was gone, if the woman had any idea where she was or what she’d been up to these last weeks?

If not, she’d hear about it soon enough.

“I’m getting bored again,” she said to the walls, her voice a singsong as she debated relighting the joint, smoking it all the way down. Kenny would be angry with her for not waiting till he got back. He’d say she was selfish. But what the hell? He was selfish, too, showing up late, then going off by himself again, killing without her. Not to mention that she’d caught him ogling that waitress’s ass at the lodge the other night when he didn’t think she was looking. He’d even hinted that maybe one day they could try a three-way, she recalled, a thought she’d managed to suppress until now.

What did that mean? That he didn’t love her anymore?

Again, she felt tiny bubbles of panic spreading through her bloodstream. She had to stop thinking such thoughts. Of course Kenny loved her. It was the marijuana that was making her paranoid. And the Percodan. They were fogging her brain and filling her head with crazy ideas. She had to find something else to occupy her mind, she thought, suddenly remembering Stuart’s computer. Maybe she could find something to watch on that.

“Okay, let’s see what we have here,” she said, retrieving the laptop from the kitchen counter and carrying it over to the couch. She sat down cross-legged with it on her lap, turned it on, and waited until the machine booted up and the screen turned several pretty shades of blue. She quickly punched in the appropriate keys. “Let’s see what kind of mail you guys get,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t need a password. “Thatta girl, Ellen,” she said, as a frighteningly enthusiastic voice announced cheerfully,
You’ve got mail
. “No silly passwords for you. Probably wouldn’t remember it anyway.” She giggled as she noted only three messages in the inbox. “Not very popular, are you? And one of them is from Saks. They’re having a sale this weekend, which it looks like you’re going to miss. What a
shame. Summer merchandise is thirty percent off on selected items and as much as fifty percent on others. That’s quite the deal. Especially since I noticed your closet is looking a little sparse.” She glanced down at the floral-print dress she was wearing. “I think you could have used a few new things.” She deleted the message and opened up the next one, feeling the buzz at the base of her neck rising to fill her head.