Strange Magic (17 page)

The dagger flew true and deadly, catching Earl in the left eye and sinking at least six inches into his brain. Earl was dead before the blade stopped moving, the knife
switching off his life as fast as flicking a light switch, but his finger didn’t know it yet, spasming and firing the .38 Special twice before his body collapsed backward into the front hallway. The bullets both went high, burying into the plaster walls at the top of the stairs, but the last one came so close the Stranger felt it part through his hair, nearly finding its mark.

The Stranger casually walked down the stairs and tugged his dagger free from Earl’s skull. His eyeball came with it, split down the middle and running onto the Stranger’s hand like an undercooked boiled egg. The dark magician wiped the blood and gore onto his pant leg and was about to go search for the little girl when a ceramic vase hit him in the side of the head, causing him to see tiny dots of light in his vision, nearly bringing him to his knees. Something else banged painfully against his shoulder and he looked down to see a hardcover book lying at his feet.

“What the fuck!” he said, looking up, surprised to see that the old woman, despite her injuries, had somehow managed to climb to the top landing and was throwing everything within reach down on him. She was loading up to throw a cordless telephone at him next, which he easily ducked now that he was onto her.

“Some people just don’t know when to quit,” he said, climbing the stairs to take care of the problem.

Edith screamed and tried to stand up but there was no way she was walking anywhere. Knowing she was about to die, as a last-ditch effort she launched her considerable bulk off the top stair and tried to take the Stranger out too as he made his way toward her.

Surprised for sure, but not unprepared for her trying to defend herself, the Stranger tensed for the inevitable
collision and turned to push Edith’s bulk to the left as they hit. She managed to scratch the side of his face on the way past, drawing blood, but he shoved her body off course just enough to drive her out over the open wooden railing. Edith’s body landed on the banister but flipped out into open air, about to plunge headfirst toward the hardwood floor below. The powerful magician caught her before she fell though, grabbing her by her already grievously injured ankles. With incredible strength and effort, he managed to hold her suspended upside down like that, enjoying the way she shrieked as the severed tendons and muscles in her heels snapped further, blood pouring out her wounds now, gravity causing it to stream down her legs and rain down all around her.

The Stranger’s one hand was slipping, so he let go of her left ankle and held on to her right with both hands, putting more pressure on her damaged foot, digging and twisting his fingers into the massive tear and ripping the meaty gash open even further. He worked his hand in right down to the bone and swung Edith’s flailing body hard against the railing. With a satisfying
snap
sound, her bones shattered, leaving the Stranger holding only a bloody foot as her body plummeted to the unforgiving floor below. She screamed the whole way down and it made the Stranger feel wonderful to hear the solid
thud
her head made when she hit bottom.

“Serves you right, ya stupid whore!” he shouted down at her still form. “Just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could ya?”

He tossed Edith’s severed foot down the stairs as he descended, the grisly trophy bouncing off the wall and coming to rest on her husband’s big fat belly. The Stranger
stepped over Earl without a thought, but he paused at Edith’s tortured body to give it one last good kick—she’d pissed him off that much.
Fuck you
, he thought, and went in search of Wilson’s precious little daughter.

Susan drove like a woman possessed, which was exactly what she’d become—possessed by a bone-chilling fear her baby girl was in big trouble and in dire need of help. Wilson wasn’t much help, slumped over in his seat, white as a beluga whale, and looking like he might vomit at any moment. He’d convinced himself his version of things was the truth and their family was being pursued by a man who’d denied death and somehow returned from the grave. Susan didn’t care if this maniac had risen from hell, came from outer space, or was just a screwball who lived down the street, her only concern was to get back to Billington to help Amanda before it was too late.

Too late for what
? she wondered, but couldn’t bring herself to follow that train of thought any further. She put her right foot down to the mat, pushing the small Honda to the limits with no regard for her own safety or those on the road with her. If they knew what was good for them, they’d get the hell out of her way.

The clock on the dashboard continued to flash, the minutes ticking away far too quickly, precious time draining away that they’d never get back. With every passing second, a little bit of hope drained with it.

Amanda Kemp squeezed her eyes shut as tight as she could, hugged her legs in close to her chest, and tried her best to disappear. She’d wiggled into a small compartment under the kitchen island counter, where Mrs. H stored all of her pots and pans. Normally there would be no room under there, but since they’d been baking all afternoon, most of the big pans were either in the oven, the sink, or waiting to be loaded into the dishwasher. Tears spilled freely down her flour-covered cheeks, but she refused to wipe them away. She tried to remain calm, to stay statue still, but it was hard when she was so frightened.

Please don’t let him find me. Make him go away. Please don’t let him find me. Make him go away…

Amanda had played hide-and-seek with her dad for years now, always enjoying herself, but even at the tender age of seven she was wise enough to understand the rules had now changed and she was no longer playing for fun. There would be no “do-overs,” no second chances this time. If the bad man she’d thought was her father’s friend caught her, she was in big trouble.

Luckily, she hadn’t seen what the Stranger had done to the Hendersons out in the other room, but she’d heard Edith screaming in pain and had squealed herself when Earl’s gun had started firing. Instinctively knowing something had gone horribly wrong, Amanda had immediately tried to get out of the house, but the back door was locked and she couldn’t figure out how to work the dead bolt. That was when she’d decided to find a place to hide and had wiggled under the island countertop as quickly and silently as she could. Now all she could do was sit and wait. If she was lucky, maybe one of
the neighbors had heard the gunshots and called the police. Maybe the tall man had gotten scared and ran away, or maybe Earl had managed to shoot him, or maybe Mrs. H had…

The Stranger walked into the kitchen, his black boots loud on the wooden floor, silencing her thoughts. Amanda listened intently as the footsteps walked around the island and checked the back door, then doubled back to stand by the kitchen closet. She heard the pantry door open and then close and the kitchen was suddenly so quiet she thought the bad man must have walked into the closet and was searching in there. Part of her wanted to run, to use this opportunity to dash for the front door and get outside. She was small but she sure could run. If she got a head start on him, this old guy would never…

Footsteps moving away from the pantry again. Moving toward the island again. Toward her. Amanda held her breath, desperately willing the bad man to go away and leave her alone. When the noise stopped again, the only sound she could hear was of her own racing heart thumping inside her tiny chest and although it was the last thing she really wanted to do, she opened her eyes to have a look around. Bad idea. The tall man was crouched down beside her, smiling at her as he licked blood from his gore-covered fingers.

“Hiya, pretty girl,” the Stranger said.

Amanda screamed then, louder than she probably ever had in her entire life, but it didn’t do her any good. The bad man seemed to like it, in fact. Liked it a lot.

When Susan and Wilson made it back to Billington, a hair-raising, tire-screeching, nail-biting trip covered in
an amazingly short two hours and twenty minutes, they went directly to the Hendersons’ house on Milberry Lane. The two-story house sat dark and quiet, far too closely resembling the dead place they’d just come from for comfort. It was approaching 8:30 P.M. and full dark now, so they failed to see the smashed screen door until Susan had parked the car and they were hurrying up the front walk.

“Oh my God…look!” Susan said when she saw the screen.

“What? Oh…” Wilson gasped, taking off at a run for the steps, his anxiety levels rising by the second and hitting a fever pitch by the time he reached the front door and found it unlocked. Wasting no time, Wilson flung open the door and shouted, “Edith? Earl? Amanda? Anybody home?”

Wilson’s hand found the light switch and when he threw on the power, the scene in front of him was like something out of a slaughterhouse, only there were no animals anywhere in sight. Unfortunately, Edith and Earl Henderson were, their bloody corpses waiting just inside the door. Earl was lying just off to the right at the foot of the stairs, his body unharmed and looking like he might have just been asleep if it weren’t for the gaping bloody hole where his left eye had once been. It took Wilson a moment to realize Earl had a severed foot lying on his belly, twin broken leg bones sticking sharply up a few inches out of the deep red flesh above the ankle.

Edith was in far worse condition, of course, her right leg ending in a ragged stump, her entire lower body painted in dark blood, and her forehead dented in from where she’d crashed to the unforgiving hardwood floor. Her eyes were still wide-open, looking shocked that she
was actually dead. She was though, and it was obvious to Wilson she’d died a ghastly, agonizing death, so he warned Susan to not look at her.

“Stay out of here, Susan. Let me do this.”

Susan was having none of that though, and pushed past Wilson into the house. She screamed when she saw how the sweet old lady and her husband had been violently tortured, but pushed past her fears and moved farther into the house, intent on finding her daughter but dreading they were already too late.
She’s probably dead. Tortured just like Edith and Earl. No no no! Stop it!
She scolded herself.
No one would ever do that to her. She’s only a little girl.
She skirted around Edith’s abused body and moved off deeper into the house, praying she were right.

It wasn’t until after she was gone from sight, moving through the dining room and headed for the kitchen, Wilson first began to wonder if the Hendersons’ killer was still here. Was the Heatseeker still inside the house? Was he hiding somewhere close, listening and waiting for them to walk into his trap?

Oh shit!
“Susan! Get your ass back here.”

There was no reply. Wilson was about to chase into the kitchen after her, but out of the corner of his eye he spotted something black and shiny in Earl Henderson’s hand. Almost unbelievably, he had a gun clutched tightly in his right hand. Wilson didn’t know much about firearms, almost nothing really, but this was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen in his life. He grabbed it like a drowning man would a lifesaving ring tossed to him in a cold, stormy sea, having to pry the older man’s fingers away from the handle to get it. Feeling much more confident now, he wondered where to
start searching first. Upstairs maybe? No, ground floor first. Make sure it was clear.

“Susan! Wait for me, damn it! You’re not going to believe what I just—”

That was when Susan screamed. Loud, shrill, and painful, and the sheer terror in her voice made Wilson actually fumble the gun in his hand, dropping it onto his foot. His nerves were raw and he was lucky he hadn’t shot himself. He quickly gathered it up and leaped across Edith’s broken body, running for the kitchen ready to defend his wife, but in his heart knowing it probably wasn’t her who was in trouble. In his mind, he could already picture bursting into the room and finding Amanda tied across the kitchen table, naked and gutted like an animal from neck to belly, her intestines spilling out onto the slippery floor, still steaming from the fresh kill…

“Susan! I’m coming!”

Wilson kicked open the swinging kitchen door, expecting the worst, but inside he found no bloody mess, no eviscerated little girl, and no killer lying in wait. All he saw was Susan standing ramrod straight, alone over on the other side of the big island in the middle of the room. Her face was as white as a fresh snowfall, and she was staring down at something on the floor, out of Wilson’s view. “What is it Susan? Are you all right?”

She refused to speak, refused to even look up at him and his heart started to break.
Oh my God! It’s Amanda. She’s dead on the floor over there!

Not wanting to, but having no choice, Wilson walked over to his wife on unsteady legs, but was surprised to find there was no body lying at Susan’s feet like he’d feared. “What happened? What made you scream like that?” he asked, somewhat relieved. “Are you okay?”

Susan still wouldn’t answer him, but she lifted her head to look into his eyes and with a shaking finger pointed down at the ground beside the island cabinet. On the ground, Wilson saw two things: a white sheet of paper with several lines of handwriting on it, and beside it, in a small puddle of blood, lay something magically pulled from his darkest dreams.

The Heatseeker had left them another note.

And he had cut off Amanda’s pinky finger.

“That bastard!” Wilson said, a sudden rage overtaking any fear he’d walked into the room with. He hoped the Heatseeker was stupid enough to still be in the house somewhere. Wilson was going to tear him to shreds if he’d killed his little girl. “Read the note, but don’t touch anything else,” Wilson said. “I need to check the house to see if…anyone is still here.” He’d almost said
to see if Amanda’s body is here
, but thankfully he’d bit his tongue. Susan looked ready to scream again at any moment and the last thing he needed right now was her getting hysterical. “Just stay here and…and maybe get some ice. For her…ahh…hell, I’ll be right back.”

Wilson literally ran through the house, upstairs and down, gun ready in hand, the whole time praying Amanda was somehow still alive but not willing to let himself get his hopes up too much. He very nearly shot the full-length mirror in the master bedroom, thinking the Heatseeker was running toward him, but realized it was only his own crazed reflection just in time.

“Wilson!” Susan called out downstairs, her next words breaking down into sobs. “You won’t find anyone. He’s taken her. The son of a bitch has…”

Wilson returned to the kitchen to find Susan holding
the handwritten message from the floor, reading it while tears streamed down both her cheeks. “Here, let me have a look at that.”

Taking the note, Wilson read through it twice, just to be sure he hadn’t missed anything. The Heatseeker had taken Amanda to what must be his hideaway here in town, a house over on Leamon Avenue. The note was brief. It said:

If you want to see Amanda alive, the Iceman will meet me alone at 44 Leamon Ave. at midnight tonight. Don’t be late. Show up and she lives. Call the police and she dies screaming. The choice is yours. I’ll be watching.

“What are we going to do, Wilson?” Susan’s voice was actually quite calm now, cold and distant as if she’d already given up hope of ever seeing her daughter again. “We have to call the cops, right?”

“No way. You have to be kidding me. That’s the last thing we should do. You read the bloody note.”

“We have to take the chance. We have to. You’re going to need help. Please!”

“Absolutely not. You’re not thinking straight. He’ll kill her if we go to the cops.”

“He’s going to kill her anyway. Oh God! I can’t live without her, Wilson. I swear I can’t!”

“You won’t have to. I’ll get her back. I promise.”

“You promise? How can you say that? She’s probably already dead and you know it. He’s probably already—”

“No, he hasn’t,” Wilson cut her off. “It’s me he wants, not her. He’s only using her as bait, so trust me. I know he won’t hurt her.”

“Won’t hurt her!” Susan screamed, slamming Wilson in the chest and knocking him backward in anger. She pointed at the severed finger on the floor. “He’s already started to cut her to fucking pieces! Look what he did to Edith and Earl, for Christ’s sake! Don’t tell me he won’t hurt her…he already has!”

“I know, Susan, sorry. I meant he won’t…he won’t kill her. He needs her alive to lure me into his trap. Don’t you see that?”

“And you’re just going to walk in there and save the day, are you? That’s just fucking great! My daughter’s life is in the hands of a hopeless drunk. That what you’re telling me?” She regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth but there was no way to take them back. The stinging insult hung in the air between them like a poisonous cloud.

“I’m not drunk…and I’m not hopeless! You think that bottle means more to me than my daughter does? Do you? Answer me, damn it!”

“No,” Susan said, crying again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I’m just so afraid. I don’t want to lose you either. I need you, Wilson. I need both of you!”

Her honest words dissipated the poison between them, calmed Wilson down enough that he stopped wanting to fight with the woman he loved, and let him channel his anger where it needed to be. On the Heatseeker—the maniac who dared to stand between him and his family.

“I’ve spent the last three years letting you down, but it stops tonight. I won’t fail this time. I won’t! I’m going to walk in there by myself, but I won’t be alone. I’ll have Amanda and you on my side…and this in my pocket.” He showed Susan the gun he’d picked up out of Earl’s
hand. “I’m gonna send the Heatseeker back to hell where he belongs, and then bring our daughter home to you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Susan said, and ran into her husband’s arms, burying her head in his chest and holding him so tightly he could hardly breath. She looked up into his eyes, saw the determination in them, and said, “I trust you.”

“Thank you. I needed to hear that.” Wilson pulled her close and kissed her. “Let’s get out of here. I have some things to do before midnight.” He bent down and carefully picked up their daughter’s finger and walked over to the big stainless-steel refrigerator. He swung open the freezer compartment and gently placed the bloody digit on top of the ice cube tray. He closed the door and shrugged at his wife, unsure what else they could do with it. If there was ever a hope of the doctors reattaching it, her finger had to be kept as cold as possible. First, they had to rescue Amanda though, or none of it would matter.

“We’ll come back for that…when she’s safe.”

“Shouldn’t we tell someone about the Hendersons? I mean, we can’t just leave Edith and Earl lying here, can we? We should call…somebody, right?” Susan asked.

Wilson considered it, but shook his head no. Tomorrow there might be a hell of a lot of explaining to do, but for tonight only Amanda and the midnight meeting were important. The dead would have to look after themselves.

“Come on. Let’s go.”