A Soul To Steal (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book One) (12 page)

“It’s just a Halloween section, with ghost stories and a couple pumpkin carving tips, where is the harm?” Laurence asked.

“I happen to agree that it isn’t a good idea,” Rebecca said, still looking at Kate. “But he is the publisher of this paper. If the man wants a special section, he’ll get one.”

“Fine,” Kate said.

Everyone else sat in stunned silence.

“In fact, I can tell you right now who is going to write it up,” Rebecca said. “I think we will start with Kate and Quinn. Mostly because they interrupted what should have been a private conversation between Mr. Holden, Laurence and me.”

“I don’t think you’re being fair,” Quinn said.

“Newsflash, Mr. O’Brion: Life is not fair,” Rebecca said. “I’ll cut Kate some slack because she is new, but I don’t want to hear another word from you. Laurence and I will brainstorm assignments and hand them out today. You will both get your stories done. That’s all there is to it.”

“But…”

“Don’t test me,” Rebecca said and Quinn shivered involuntarily.

And that was that. The rest of the meeting occurred in near silence. When Rebecca dismissed them, everyone rushed to leave the room.

*****

By the time Quinn got out, he could already see Kate exiting by the side door. He hurried to catch up with her and got to her outside in the parking lot.

“Kate?” he asked her.

She wheeled on him.

“Don’t follow me,” she said.

“Whoa,” Quinn put up his hands. “What did I do?”

“I don’t need your help,” she said. “That man was an idiot. A goddamned idiot.”

“Are you mad at me or at him?” Quinn asked.

Kate glared at him and then paused. She sighed.

“I should leave,” she said.

“Well, I’d stay out of Rebecca’s way,” he said. “She is not exactly peaches and cream when she is pissed off.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she said, shaking her head. “I should leave for good. I should have never come back.”

“Hang on,” Quinn said, and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Look, it’s just a little fight. It will blow over. Come on.”

“That’s not why. I don’t know why I’m here, Quinn. I was just begging for that kind of outburst. Everything is so…”

She clenched her fists into balls. She wanted to scream or hit something. But instead she let her fingers slowly curl back out again.

“Let’s go somewhere,” Quinn said. “Let’s go talk this out.”

“I don’t think…”

“Come on,” he said. “Please. You’re upset. I’d like to help.”

“You can’t,” she said. “You can’t.”

“How do you know?” he responded. “I don’t think I can make it any worse.”

She paused before finally sighing. “Okay, let’s talk. God knows I need to talk to somebody.”

“Where are we going?” she asked him when they were in the car. They had been driving in silence for 10 minutes.

“You haven’t guessed?” he asked.

And it was then she knew. They were heading back to the cemetery.

“Okay,” she said. “Perfect, actually.”

They rode the rest of the way quietly. He parked by the front gate and they both got out.

“This is as peaceful a place as there is,” he said. “And private to boot.”

“It is,” she said. “I should come here more often.”

“Yeah…”

“Not for the reasons you think,” she said and started to walk briskly. “Follow me. Remember how you said I had been here before?”

Quinn nodded, as he and Kate walked down the cemetery’s main road.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Just a vibe,” he said.

“Like you had seen me before?”

“No, although I’ve felt like I do know you from somewhere,” he said. “But I knew I had never seen you before. I would have remembered.”

“Well your guess was right,” she said.

“I gathered that from your reaction,” Quinn replied.

She stopped in front of a grave. It took a moment for Quinn to realize this had been done on purpose.

He looked at it. It was a simple marble slab with the inscription, “Here lies Sarah Blakely.” There were some dates below.

He looked at Kate quizzically.

“The name doesn’t mean anything to you?” she asked quietly.

“Should it?” he asked.

“I’m surprised you haven’t come across it in your research,” she replied as she stared at the headpiece. “Sarah Blakely was killed 12 years ago. She was the Loudoun serial killer’s fifth victim.”

There was a pause before Kate said anything more. But Quinn had begun to feel a sense of dread.

“She was also my mother,” Kate said simply and turned away from the headstone.

She started to walk down the path.  Quinn hurried to keep up with her.

“Jesus,” he said and wondered what more he could say. “I’m so sorry...”

“I was born here, Quinn,” Kate said. “I even attended Leesburg Middle School.”

“Why didn’t you tell Laurence that?” he asked.

She stopped.

“Would you?” she asked. “If I had mentioned that I had lived here, there would have been more questions. There are always more questions when you are a reporter. Where did you live? Why did you leave? Do you know Joe Smith, or Judy Doe, or whoever? Sooner or later, it would have been clear who my mother was. And I didn’t want that out there.”

“Kate, I have no idea what to say,” Quinn said. “I lost my parents, so I know what it feels like.”

“No offense,” she replied and looked back in the direction of her mother’s grave. “But it’s not exactly the same. Your parents died and it’s a tragedy. They were young, you grieve, but you can tell people about it. They can help you. But who helps you when your mother is murdered and the killer is still out there? You can lie, certainly, but that feels like a betrayal. You can tell the truth, but then you can’t just leave it at ‘murdered’ really. It is something that begs for more background.

“So you push it away, because it isn’t something you want to talk about. And pretty soon your mother isn’t dead anymore, she has been systemically erased. I saw photos of you with your Mom and Dad at your apartment. I have almost none. She died when I was 12 years old—late enough that I can still remember her, but it’s fading. If you don’t talk about someone, they fade away like an old photograph."

“I’m sorry,” Quinn said again.

“So you can see why I was a little upset with the Holden plan,” Kate said and laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

“I can,” he said.

“I’m not the only one who will be,” she said. “There are more people than me who would just as soon the entire affair stay buried. And that’s the real thing. Because Loudoun associates that stupid holiday with the sick bastard who killed people, they can’t help but think of him when you start trying to get them to celebrate it.”

Quinn was not so sure. Maybe she was right, or maybe it was time for people to move on. For them to see that Halloween didn’t equal a literal bogeyman. But he did not think now was the right time to debate this.

They had walked to the edge of the graveyard, where they had sat nearly a week before. It felt like longer ago, Quinn thought. A breeze came across the pond and made him shiver.

“My dad and I left not long after,” she said, looking at the pond as well. “And I really never thought I would be back. My life felt like it began at age thirteen and that was that. Some people asked about my Mom, of course. But nobody knew. It was easier to let them think that maybe she had abandoned us. Of course, it never occurred to me I would head back here.”

“Then why are you here?” Quinn asked.

She laughed again and turned to look Quinn in the eye.

“That’s the thing, Quinn,” she said. “I really don’t know.”

She walked forward and found the bench to sit down.

“I was there, you know,” she said.

“Where?” he asked and sat down next to her.

“I was in the house when he murdered my mother,” she said calmly.

“My God,” Quinn said.

“I didn’t know it, of course,” she said. “But he did. He knew I was there.”

“How?” Quinn started.

“I remember the whole day,” she said and her eyes had a distant look. “It was a Thursday and Mom was supposed to be home. The front door was wide open. I yelled upstairs for her, but she didn’t respond. In fact, I thought maybe she was out, that the door had just been accidentally left open.”

“But it wasn’t,” Quinn said.

“No,” she said. “Her keys were on the table. And the mail was scattered there. I remember I glanced at it to see if there was anything for me. But did I know something was wrong? No. I just shut the door and yelled for Mom again.”

“I heard nothing. But I was a little worried. I started to climb the steps. I thought maybe she was in the bathroom or something and couldn’t hear me. I got to the top and called again and still didn’t hear anything. It was then I thought something was wrong. I can remember the hairs standing up at the back of my neck. But I was twelve and I didn’t listen to my instincts. I called her again.”

“I walked down the hallway to my parents’ bedroom. Then there was a large crash and I turned and ran right to it. It sounded like something had smashed in my room. I was so startled I actually went to look in there and saw that the lamp next to my window had fallen. The window was open and the curtains were swaying in the breeze. The next part I remember in slow motion. I looked out to see a figure run around the side of the house. I think I screamed. I don’t remember.

“But what I saw clearly in my mind was that the front door was still unlocked. I had shut it, but I hadn’t locked it. In my head, I could see it swinging open again and maybe him coming back up the stairs.”

“Jesus,” Quinn said, but Kate did not seem to hear him.

“But he had already done what he came to do,” she said. “I didn’t know that. I actually ran into my parents’ room as comfort. I thought I would be safe in there. It didn’t occur to me…”

She stopped and looked at Quinn.

“At that age, you feel immortal,” she said. “But more than that, your parents seem immortal too. They will always be there to help you, to rescue you. They will know what to do.”

“I know,” he said.

“And I just thought—I’ll be safe in there,” Kate said and looked away again. “I remember I could not move fast enough. In my head, he was coming through the door, on his way up the steps, and my feet were made of concrete. I walked into their room and I saw her…I thought she was alive, Quinn. I didn’t know. She just seemed to be staring at the ceiling. But then I saw the blood and I…”

“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to finish.”

“I think I do,” she said. “I’ve never talked about it. Not with boyfriends, friends, therapists—even my father. I wouldn’t. But the truth is that I don’t remember much else. There was blood everywhere. I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it when I walked in. I know I screamed. I screamed for days, it felt like. He’s coming back, I kept thinking. He’s coming back for you. I went to the phone and somehow there was blood on my hand. I thought it was mine, I didn’t know…”