Outside I sat in my car for 15 minutes, thinking over what I’d heard and trying to work up the nerve to go on to the next house. Or at least call Rachel.
Katia’s story was horrific—something out of a slasher movie. I’ve faced down vampires and murderous plants and even giant killer chickens, but there was something infinitely more terrifying about this. It was true, cold human evil, the kind politicians and pundits talk about all the time, but the form of evil that’s really very rare.
Most people have at least a shard of humanity inside them—pity, empathy, compassion, even if it’s been shoved down deep inside them by a lifetime of pain and fear. Actual evil, not the demonic kind, is hard to find. But also harder to destroy.
I took a sip of water from the bottle next to me and forced my trembling fingers to pick up my phone. But before I could start tapping, I saw movement in the mirror—someone walking down the sidewalk behind me. I froze.
He wore jeans and sneakers and a gray hoodie. I didn’t get a look at his face as he passed the car. I started to tap my phone again when I saw him turn and head up the sidewalk to Katia and Brad’s bungalow.
I ducked down, my eyes just above the dashboard, and watched as the man pressed the bell. The door opened, and Brad immediately let him inside. So, a friend? Probably nothing to worry about.
I sat for a few minutes. I should call Rachel. Or my client. Or just leave. Go on to the next house, or go home. Get away from Strode Prairie. Go back to Rachel and watch whatever Real Housewives she was into right now—
The door flew open. The man in the gray hoodie ran out without closing it. It hung wide to the street as the guy jumped from the porch and dashed down the walk.
His hood dropped back, and I could see his face.
It seemed familiar. Funny-looking. Short salt-and-pepper hair, a nose too long, big ears—
It was my face.
Oh hell. Oh hell . . .
He didn’t see me. He turned and ran through the rain, long loping strides on the wet pavement. I stayed in the car until he disappeared in the darkness, and then forced myself to open the door.
I made my way up the walk, onto the porch, and up to the open door, my heart pounding, my lungs fighting for air. I peered through the doorway.
Katia and Brad lay on the floor covered in blood.
Katia was curled in a fetal position, her lifeless head drooping over her knees. Brad lay on his side, his head tilted at an unnatural angle, as if the killer had tried hacking it clear off.
Dark blood covered Katia’s Strode College sweatshirt. She’d bitten through her lip, dripping blood down her chin, and her eyes were pressed shut like a child trying to wish away a nightmare.
The cat was prodding Katia’s foot, oblivious to the blood, meowing as it tried to wake her up.
I didn’t go in. It was a crime scene. And they didn’t look like they were breathing. Even if they were, there wasn’t much I could do for them, their slashed bodies leaking blood in an ever-widening pool on the shag carpet.
The only thing I could do was the last thing I wanted to do. But I couldn’t just go home now. Not with Meyer on the loose. With two more people to kill.
I ran for the car.
I called the police to report the murder. I told them everything I knew, including the names of the next two people on the list Williams had given me. They seemed confused. It was a small town, and they probably didn’t have a big department—or get serial killers on a rampage very often. The dispatcher told me they’d send a car and to stay put. But I was already driving.
Two names left. I figured Meyer would go for the closest house, three blocks away. He was on foot, but he probably knew shortcuts I couldn’t use in my car. I ignored speed limits and stop signs, my eyes aching from trying to look everywhere at once.
I called Rachel as I made a right turn down the street. “They’re dead,” I told her, my voice shaking. “Two people. Maybe more. He used my face to get inside—”
“Tom!” Rachel’s voice rattled my eardrums. “What are you—I mean, I know you, you have to do something, but for Christ’s sake, don’t get yourself killed! Please!”
“I’m trying not to get anyone else killed.” I knew I sounded crazy.
“You idiot. I love you. Just remember that. I need you here or I don’t know what I’ll do.” Rachel was crying. Rachel never cries. “Just don’t get killed. Okay? Promise?”
“I promise.” I hoped I could keep it. “I love you too.”
“Okay. Call me. Jerk.” She hung up.
I stopped the car.
I was in front of Mindy’s house. Mindy Jara. It was a duplex. She lived in the apartment on the east side of the building. I took a deep breath, checked to make sure I had the pepper spray in my jacket, questioned my career choices again, and climbed out of the car.
The rain fell harder now. I made my way to the door, tense, hoping I’d be able to react quickly if Meyer came through the door. I pressed the buzzer.
No screen door, just a heavy wooden door with a peephole in the center. After a moment it opened as far as a security chain inside would allow, and a sharp voice called, “Hello?”
“Mindy Jara?”
“Yeah. Who are you?”
“My name’s Tom Jurgen. I’m a private detective hired by Meyer Williams’ father. I think he’s coming here—Meyer Williams. He’s already killed Katia Welles and her boyfriend.” Maybe more. Had he gotten Breet Martin and Allison McCoy too? “He might be coming for you.”
I knew how it sounded. But if I scared her enough to protect herself, that was fine with me.
The door closed. I turned to go back, and then it opened again. “What are you talking about?”
Mindy Jara was Asian, with short black hair. She was wearing a thick cotton bathrobe, blue, and her feet were bare. I stepped back, arms wide.
“You shouldn’t open the door to anyone,” I told her. “Call the police. Tell them—” I reached for a business card. “I already called them about Katia Welles. Don’t let anyone in, not even me if I come back here again. I know I sound crazy, but—”
“Yeah, you do sound crazy.” She kept her hand on the doorknob. “I think I am going to call the police.”
“Good.” I got a glimpse of her hallway, with a lightbulb dangling from the ceiling and coats hanging on hooks. “Is anyone else here? Has anyone been here lately?”
She shook her head. Annoyed. “No. I mean, just Josh, but he’s—”
“Josh? Who’s that?”
“He’s my boyfriend. He just came over, but—”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s Meyer. He can change faces. Remember? You’ve got to—”
A shadow rose behind her.
A face I didn’t recognize, long and stubbled, grinned at me, and a long, jagged knife rose up like a snake poised to bite.
“Look out!” I pushed her and yanked the pepper spray from my pocket. Mindy stumbled against the door.
The knife plunged into her shoulder.
She screamed. The knife jerked back, dripping blood, but before it slammed down again I blasted my pepper spray over Mindy’s shoulder, into that blank face. Some of it caught her eyes, and she screamed some more, falling in the doorway.
All I could see was a shadowy figure and that big, bloody knife. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to step over Mindy for another blast. Would the spray be enough to stop a maniac? He was strong, ruthless—and if he could change his face, what else could he do?
I sprayed again, hoping it would at least slow him down long enough for us to run away.
Meyer shrieked in fury.
But instead of charging at me with his knife he turned and ran. I saw him dart past a sofa and through a doorway beyond it, and then a window crashed in the back of the house.
I leaned down, trying not to breathe too hard and inhale the spray. “Are you okay?”
“He stabbed me, you son of a bitch!” Mindy kicked at my ankle. “Get the hell out of here!” She had her phone in her hand. “Get away from me!”
I couldn’t blame her.
Outside I looked in every direction—back and forth, up, down—as I ran through the rain for my car, but didn’t see any sign of Meyer.
At least I’d stopped him from killing Mindy. That had to count for something. Maybe he’d give up, hide somewhere, go back to the sanitarium.
I reached for the door handle. Maybe I could go home to Rachel, have a beer, watch some TV—
He jumped up from behind the trunk, his knife high in the air.
In the rain he looked like a ghost, half invisible. The face of Mnidy’s boyfriend Josh was gone. The eyes were bright, but the rest of his face was white, like a lump of pale clay, flat and expressionless. Dead, except for the gleaming eyes.
Meyer lunged at me.
I staggered back and tripped, tumbling to the wet grass. A Meyer loomed above me I kicked at his knee as hard as I could.
Meyer threw himself down at me.
I twisted my body. The knife sliced through my jacket at the shoulder. I clenched my fist and hurled it up at his face, pounding on his chin and nose. The skin felt like wet paste, soft and squishy as I hit him over and over again, kicking at his legs desperately.
Meyer rolled off my body. The knife was embedded in the ground next to me. I pulled it out and clambered away, my hands slipping on the damp grass.
He gazed down at me, his eyes dark.
“Who—are you?”
“Your father sent me.” My voice was a hoarse croak from a dry throat. “Charles. Stop this, Meyer. Go back. You don’t have to do this.”
Meyer blinked. I tensed for another attack—one that would probably end with me bleeding and dead. I’m not much of a fighter even when ‘m desperate and terrified.
“No.” Meyer’s voice was a harsh whisper. “I’m not going back to him.”
“Then just stop! You don’t have to kill more people. You’ll get locked up again. Worse.” I was saying whatever popped into my head, more to distract him than any hoper I could cure him of his murderous rage. “They’ll kill you. The cops—”
Meyer kicked my ribs. For a moment I was sure he was going to stomp my face in, crush my skull under his heel, or yank the knife up from the dirt and slice my heart out.
I bit my lip, still squirming on the ground. “Meyer, whatever happened, you don’t have to let it—”
“Shut up!” He kicked me again. “I’m never going back! I’ll never—”
He took a deep, hoarse breath, gazing down at me. I braced myself to fight. Any way I could.
But then he turned and ran.
Damn it. I stood up, my legs weak, gasping for breath. I checked my shoulder. A trickle of blood under the jacket, nothing deadly. I almost wished it was worse. Bad enough to give me an excuse to stay here.
Would the police believe me if I stayed here and told them what I knew? They were on their way from Mindy Jara’s call. Maybe they were already tracking Meyer’s attacks around town.
But it was a small town. A small force. And if they wasted time with too many questions—
Damn it. I shook my head, trying to clear the fears racing through my brain, and made my way to the car. Maybe I wouldn’t be too late this time.
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