The Killing Kind (22 page)

March 27

Rob glanced at the Subaru’s rearview mirror for maybe the hundredth time in the last half hour and again felt that strange delayed shock of self-recognition.

That’s me. It doesn’t look anything like me, but it’s me.

The face was the same, of course, but his hair had been shaved down to the scalp. Roxie had done the job, using scissors and a razor from the old man’s house. He ran a hand over the smooth dome of flesh and again felt a pang of loss. Women had always liked his thick, wavy hair. He felt naked without it. But though it pained him to admit it, the loss of his hair did make him look like someone else, at least at first glance. And right now that was pretty fucking important.

He squinted at the reflection. “I look like a fucking skinhead.”

Roxie laughed and picked at her newly blonde, spiky locks. “Yeah. You do. Sorry, babe.” She twisted in her seat and glanced at Julie in the back. “You, though…you make the bald thing look sort of hot.”

Julie removed her Myrtle Beach souvenir ball cap and rubbed her own shorn scalp. “I guess I do, huh?”

Roxie nodded. “You ever read
Helter Skelter
?”

“Of course. I read all that kinda shit.”

Rob thought,
Why doesn’t that surprise me?

“Remember the pictures of those cute little Manson
chicks gathered outside the courthouse? That’s sort of how you look. Only hotter.”

Julie giggled. “Maybe I should carve a swastika on my forehead. Or have you do it.”

Roxie laughed. “I will if you want. It’d fit right in with Rob’s white-power look.”

“You totally should. We all should. Think of how freaky that’ll be for those preppy fucks when they see us.”

Both girls laughed at that.

Rob experienced that gut-squeezing feeling of encroaching doom again. His companions were completely insane. Earlier in this adventure, he’d derived some comfort in thinking he could ditch them anytime and run back to his old life. But that option was no longer on the table. He was a wanted man. Doom was on the horizon. He was sure he would either be dead or in handcuffs by the time the sun rose tomorrow.

Julie thrust an arm through the gap between the seats, pointing at something ahead in the road. “There it is!”

Rob leaned forward, squinting again because he couldn’t make out what Julie was seeing. Apparently her night vision was much better than his own. They were on a winding seaside road. To their right, beyond the dunes, was a long stretch of beach and the vast ocean. To their left, acres of apparently empty land.

Except that—

Julie jabbed her finger forward again. “Right
there
!”

The road twisted, moved farther inland. Julie’s finger was pointing to the right. Rob craned his neck as far as he could in that direction and the impression of emptiness was revealed as an illusion. Now he could discern the shapes of houses in the darkness, a big cluster of them along the beach. They were almost invisible beneath the dense cloud cover, through which only the faintest glow of moonlight penetrated. There was a scent of rain in the air, the promise of a
storm approaching. He spotted an access road and began to slow the clunky old Subaru. The car’s engine coughed and sputtered, almost died again. He cursed the poorly maintained junker and tried not to think of the corpse in the trunk.

Just a harmless old man, he’d been.

No threat at all.

There’d been no reason to kill him.

And yet they’d done it. The girls, that is. First they’d broken into his shabby home on the outskirts of town. That he understood. They needed a place to hide and lay low. The torture, though, had not been necessary. That had just been fun and games. Rob didn’t want to think about it. It sickened him. Just as all the rest of it sickened him. And yet he was still with them.

Why?

He didn’t know. And he’d like a real answer to that question. Not the crazy one Julie had proffered:
It turns you on when you watch us kill.

It couldn’t possibly be true.

Could it?

No. Hell, no.

He steered the car down the access road and came to a stop. A gate blocked the way into the beach-house community.

Julie swung her arm to the left. “Over there.”

Rob saw it. He backed the Subaru up and pulled up alongside the electronic keypad, which was inset on a metal pole. He cranked the window down and looked at Roxie. She unfolded the sheet of paper she’d dug out of her tote bag earlier.

“The code is…”

Rob punched in the numbers as she read them. Then there was a click and the gate swung open. Rob put the car
in gear, made a sound of frustration as the engine sputtered again, then slammed the gas pedal down as it finally caught. The old car shot through the opening an instant before the gate started to swing shut again. He tapped the brake pedal and slowed back down as they began to navigate their way through a web of very narrow sandy roads. Roxie kept glancing at the scrap of paper in her hand, reading off directions while he drove.

“Stop here.”

Rob pulled to a stop at the side of the road. It was actually a bend in a road between two clusters of houses. He glanced past Roxie and saw the dark ocean. A cold breeze stirred the tall grass on the dune separating road and beach. He’d vacationed with his grandparents in places like this when he was younger. He longed to journey back to those days. Or to any saner phase of his life. He didn’t want to die. Didn’t like this feeling of being swept along by fate. And yet he was powerless to do anything about it.

Roxie flipped open the cell phone she’d taken from the Subaru’s deceased owner. She punched in a number and a brief text message. A silent moment passed. The car’s interior was thick with tension. It was almost choking them.

Don’t answer,
Rob thought.

Please, please don’t answer.

Then the cell phone buzzed and Roxie flipped it open again. She read the message on the screen and smiled at Rob. “Let’s go.”

They got out of the car and set off down the road on foot. Rob’s stomach twisted. He’d seen a lot of people die this last week. Many of them horribly. But this was personal and would be about a thousand times worse.

After a walk of some fifty yards, they arrived at the driveway of a three-story beach house. Roxie moved quickly down the driveway, not quite running but advancing with the long
strides of someone anxious to get somewhere fast. Julie hurried to catch up to her. Though it pained him to do so, Rob picked up his own pace. That urge to turn and run was still there, a mental voice growing more frantic by the moment, but he knew he wouldn’t heed it. It was too late.

They circled the house and then continued around a tall fence surrounding a swimming pool. They entered through an open gate. Rob moved carefully over the cement deck. It was dark out here and the last thing he wanted was to fall into the pool. Though the lights were off, he could make out the shapes of inflatable rafts and beach balls floating in the water, bobbing in the lazy currents like little corpses.

They stepped off the deck onto a wooden patio, where a set of sliding glass doors stood open. A beautiful woman who looked a little like Roxie before the bleach job stepped through the opening and stood on the patio with them.

Roxie smiled. “Hi, Emily.”

The woman looked at Roxie. “Hello, Missy. So glad you could make it. You have no idea how ready I am for this.”

Rob frowned.

Missy?

“Uh…Roxie? What did she just call you?”

“It’s my real name.”

Rob’s frown deepened. “But…how did she know it? And…”

Roxie—Missy—laughed. “Why didn’t I tell you?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugged. “I call myself different things all the time. It’s not real important. Let’s get this party started.”

She clasped hands with Emily and they went on into the house.

Julie started after them, but glanced back at Rob. “You coming?”

Rob felt dizzy. He felt like the whole world was coming undone around him. Roxie wasn’t who she said she was. At
least not completely. And if she’d lied to him about her name, what else had she lied about? He laughed. Did it really matter? None of it changed the essential core truth about her.

She was a killer.

She lived for it. Thrived on it.

Julie went on into the house, leaving him alone on the patio for a moment. And this was it. Finally. His very last chance to turn and run. To maybe turn himself in or summon the cops.

But that was another lie.

That chance was gone forever.

He drew in a deep breath and followed the rest of them inside.

March 22

Missy’s breath came in quick, shuddery gasps. Her face felt hot. Sweat was beading on her brow. The thump of her heart seemed as loud as a drum. Her hands were shaking. Anger bloomed within her again as she watched the tremors. It had been so long since anyone had gotten to her like this. So long since anyone had made her feel so small. So stupid and insignificant.

Four years, to be exact.

Daddy used to make her feel like this. He’d call her stupid and ugly all the time. And though she knew she was neither, it
felt
true when her daddy called her those things. That feeling was worse even than the other things. The beatings. The bad touches. Those things were bad. Horrible. They made her want to kill her daddy. She didn’t because a part of her clung to the need for her daddy’s love and approval. He was a bad man. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that. But she kept loving him anyway, hoping that somehow, just maybe, he would change and become the kind of daddy other girls had. But it never happened. He called her a “mistake,” telling her how one of his biggest regrets was failing to raise the money to have her aborted. And he told her the reason she was so fucked in the head was a result of all the times he’d punched her mother in the stomach in an effort to make her miscarry.

“I scrambled your brains but good, kid,” he liked to say.

She killed him the night she turned sixteen. He came into her room stinking of beer a little before midnight, stumbling around
and cursing in the dark. Then he fell into her bed and reached for her, as usual. But this time she was ready for him and gave him a great big surprise.

The big carving knife penetrated his flabby belly with shocking ease.

He opened his mouth to scream and she slashed his throat, a deep gash that severed his vocal cords and brought forth a great geyser of arterial gore. Then she was on him and attacking him with a savagery worthy of the most ferocious and predatory segments of the animal kingdom. He struggled to no avail as she clung to him and slammed the knife into his body over and over. Dozens upon dozens of times. She kept stabbing him after he was dead. His whole torso was a sticky mass of coagulated blood and exposed organs. She would later guess she’d stabbed him as many as a hundred times, perhaps more. But she didn’t stop there. Next she went to the room Daddy shared with Mom. Then she went to her brother’s room. And then to the “guest” bedroom long inhabited by her deadbeat uncle. She killed them all. Brutally. Then she took a shower to wash away all the blood, gathered a few things, and burned that fucking house to the ground. She left her hometown that night feeling powerful for the first time in her life. She emerged from that nightmare a changed girl and since then not one single person had ever made her feel the way her daddy used to make her feel…

Until now.

She stared at her shaking hands and redoubled the mental effort to still the trembling. Her breathing became more regular. The trembling began to slow.

She reached into her bag and her hand dipped to the bottom, finding the grip of the gun by instinct. No. She was smarter than that. She couldn’t walk into a coffee shop in broad daylight and blow a man’s brains out.

She relaxed her grip on the gun’s handle and groped around the bottom of the bag until her fingers closed around a cellophane-wrapped pack of cigarettes. She kept groping until she found a
lighter. A cigarette would help her think. They always did. She tapped a Marlboro menthol out of the pack, popped it in her mouth, and lit up. As she exhaled smoke, she began to feel more centered, more like herself. And as she grew calmer, she realized something. She could just let this go. Yeah, the guy had upset her, but she’d lived in a state of near normality for months. It was sort of nice. She rented a room on the other side of town and the city’s bus system took her wherever she needed to go, like this funky little strip mall with its pseudo-bohemian vibe. It wasn’t a glamorous life. Nor was it one she could likely maintain for long. But it was a nice break in the madness of life on the run, and she hoped she could hold on to it a little while longer.

“Hello, Missy.”

She jumped at the voice and whirled around. Her eyes got big and her breath caught in her throat. It was one of
them.
“Wh-what?”

The girl was roughly her age. She was gorgeous and looked like a model in her chic clothes and expensive haircut. Everything about her screamed money and privilege. She looked the way Missy often wished she could. Regal and poised. Above it all. As she stared at the goddess, Missy’s feelings were a stormy mix of envy, hatred, and desire.

The girl smiled and looked her over. “You know, you’re way cuter than you were at sixteen. You’re a real stunner now, Missy.”

Missy dropped her cigarette and ground it out beneath her heel. “That’s not my name.”

“Of course it is.”

The girl’s expression was very intent. Missy knew she should be afraid. Somehow this person knew who she was. But something in her demeanor set her at ease. It was crazy. She should be running. Should be on her way out of town right now. Recognition meant danger and an increased chance of apprehension by the law. And she didn’t want to go to jail. She’d rather die. But she wasn’t afraid. Not being afraid made no sense at all, but it was the truth.

“How did you know?”

The girl shrugged. “I saw your
Cold Case Files
episode.”

“Oh. I…sort of forgot about that.”

The girl extended her hand. “Too bad. It’s one of my favorite episodes. I’ve seen it a bunch of times. My name’s Emily, by the way.”

Missy shook her hand. “Um…nice to meet you.”

“What’s it feel like to stab your father a hundred fucking times?”

Missy’s face reddened. “Um…”

Emily laughed. “Never mind. We don’t have time. Any second now my friends will finish their drinks and come outside. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Missy frowned. “Um…”

“It involves killing the fucking asshole who insulted you.” She reached into her little handbag and pulled out a notepad and a ballpoint pen. She flipped the pad open and began to write. “You’re probably wondering why I’d want you to kill him. I should clarify. It’s not just him. I want you to kill them all.”

Emily tore off the sheet of paper and gave it to her.

Missy frowned at the very neat handwriting. The note included a street address, some basic directions, a phone number, and another series of numbers. “I don’t get it. Why would you want me to kill your friends?”

Emily smiled. “Friends. Well, I guess some of them think of me as a friend. But I don’t have friends, Missy. Just people I spend time with because that’s what people do. I want you to kill them all, preferably as violently as possible. When the story hits the media, it’ll be big. Bigger than big. These are sons and daughters of important people. As the only survivor, I’ll be in demand. I’ll be fucking
famous.”
Her smile broadened, becoming almost beatific as her eyes twinkled in the sunlight. “And, Missy, fame is what I want more than anything else.”

Missy grunted. “That’s fucking crazy.”

“Maybe. But it’s what I want.”

“So, what…? You recognized me in there and came up with this insane scheme on the spot?”

“Yes.”

“Like I said…fucking crazy.”

“Will you do it?”

Missy thought about it. Crazy though it was, the scheme did sort of appeal to her. She started to get excited. She hadn’t killed anyone in months and she missed it. What was she doing in this town anyway? The idea that she could live a normal person’s life, at least for a while, had been exposed as a delusion. She was an instigator of chaos, pain, and terror. She’d burned herself out on these things for a time, that’s all.

She shrugged. “Yeah. I’ll do it.”

Emily grinned. “Thank you, Missy. You have no idea how much this means to me. Now get moving before my so-called friends see you talking to me. Take a good look at that big blue and white Chevy van on your way out. That’s our ride.”

Missy heard the coffee shop’s glass door open. She turned away from Emily and set off at a brisk pace across the strip mall’s parking lot. She scanned the lot, looking for something she hadn’t needed in a while—wheels. She noted the Chevrolet Express and kept moving. She saw a few possibilities, but nothing very appealing.

Then she saw the Galaxie parked at a gas pump across the street.

She smiled.

And started moving that way, knowing these were the first steps in a great and wondrous journey.