All Hallow's Eve (6 page)

Just as she exited the building, the warning bell rang. Across the quad, Sister Switzler knitted her very bushy eyebrows together tightly enough to make a Neanderthal proud. Cecilia tucked her head down and made for the gym.

If Switzler was on the prowl, she definitely didn’t have Jeremy, either. And if Sister Morgan did not keep him for detention, that meant only one thing. He had skipped school.
Again.

She should have just left her mom sprawled out in the shower. Except for the fact that they could barely afford their water bill now, let alone after a day’s worth of “showering.” Cecilia put her hand out to open the gym door, when another hand covered hers. She had been so deep in the shame and blame game that she hadn’t even noticed John coming up from the breezeway.

“Just the girl I was looking for,” John announced, nearly caressing her hand.

Cecilia pulled her hand out from under his. “I’m late.”

“Don’t worry,” the wide-shouldered defensive lineman shrugged. “I’ll talk to Coach if he gives you any hassle.”

“I’d rather not get any hassle, whether you talk to him or not,” Cecilia answered as she tried to walk around John, but he blocked her way.

“How about you go out with the guys and me tonight?”

“You and the guys? Yeah, great way to make a girl feel special,” Cecilia retorted, but knew it was a mistake.

“Oh, I can make you feel special.”

Before John could lean any farther into her, Cecilia ducked out of the way.

“Thanks, but no.”

John’s stance stiffened as his hands balled up into fists. He did it so frequently that Cecilia didn’t even think that the guy realized he was doing it.

“I don’t like the word, ‘no.’ ”

Cecilia really needed to get around the football player without making a scene. “Sorry, then. How about ‘Gosh, not really’? ”

John slammed his hand into the brick wall. Cecilia jumped back a step, pulling her binders closer to her chest.

“I don’t like anything negative in my life, ” John said.

Mad at herself for letting John’s show of aggression get to her, Cecilia shrugged. “Wow. You must be disappointed a lot, then.”

Rage passed over John’s face, contorting his features into a crumpled mask. His cheeks blotched red as he breathed through his teeth. Sure, John was known for his temper and had done his fair share of locker-room trashing after losing a game, but Cecilia had never seen him like this. He didn’t even seem to recognize her as a person anymore. She felt more like a target. Was it some kind of  ’roid rage? He looked ready to hit her as hard as he had just hit that wall.

Cecilia wasn’t sure what to do. She glanced over her shoulder, but Switzler had already gone back into her office.

“I’ll show you disappointment,” John growled.

“Hey,” a new voice said. “This mama’s boy giving you trouble?”

Cecilia turned to find Michael walking up to them. He seemed casual—except for the baseball bat in his hand. She could nearly see the wheels turning in John’s head. He clearly wanted someone or something to vent his rage upon, but the way Michael twirled the baseball bat in his hand gave the distinct impression that he knew how to use it. Cecilia had never been happier for their national pastime.

Regaining her composure, Cecilia answered, “No, Michael, not at all.”

Even though she could feel the red-hot anger radiating from John, Cecilia walked past him toward the gym door. He didn’t move. The jock just glared at that baseball bat.

Michael, however, seemed oblivious to John’s balled-up rage. His smile was warm as he asked her, “Walk you to class?”

“No, thanks. I can take care of myself.”

But as she entered the gym, with her hands shaking and her breath coming in starts, Cecilia wasn’t quite sure how true that was.

* * *

Ruth pushed yet another cross away from her face. They were on display. They were on stands. They were even hanging from the ceiling. She could see why Darby liked the place.

“Is this where all crosses come to die?” Paxton asked as he finished checking the last of the aisles.

“My ex was a theologist, and even we didn’t have this many crosses,” Ruth said as she joined her partner.

“Hello?” she called out, but again no answer.

Something was off. Even though the sign said, “Open,” and the front door was locked, the store appeared deserted. And in her line of work if something looked off, it usually was off.

A loud crash came from the back of the store. Paxton’s gun was out and up faster than Ruth could track it. She too drew her weapon as, step by step, they made their way to the storeroom door.

Paxton set up to enter the storeroom. He was all attention and focus. Gone was the man who stumbled out of his car with half a wrapper stuck to his shoe. Ruth knew the scuttlebutt around the bull pen. How Paxton was past his prime. The half-cop, half-bum jokes. But when it counted, like right now with a possible serial killer on the other side of the door, Paxton was the best she had ever seen.

He gave a nod and she jerked the door open. In a single swift move, Paxton was in the door, announcing their presence. “Police!”

She came in behind him, flanking his right. “Who’s there?”

The sight gave her pause.

“It’s like Cross-a-palooza.”

Ruth did not chide her partner—mainly because he was right. If the front of the store had been filled with crosses, this storeroom was crammed to the hilt. They were stacked everywhere.

That sound again. Paxton’s gun was back up. “Identify yourself.”

A figure came from the back of the storeroom. A curtain separated them, so it was hard to tell, but the person seemed to be carrying something over his shoulder. The closer the figure came, the more it became clear that it wasn’t just “something” over his shoulder, but a
body
. And were those bloodstains?

Paxton must have already come to the same conclusion as he took a step forward. “Stop right there! Hands up!”

Instead, the figure moved off to the right, making his way toward Ruth.

“Halt!”

She couldn’t see the figure’s face, since the body was hiding his features. All she knew was that he was
not
halting. Then he sped up, lurching toward her.

“Police! Last warning!”

Her finger tensed on the trigger as he advanced. She had seen what this guy did to a priest. Ruth could only imagine what he would do to them. Luckily, she had a Glock 9mm. Each step he moved forward, the closer she was to using it.

Please stop,
she pleaded in her mind.
Please don’t make me shoot.

But he just kept coming.

Suddenly, the figure swung toward her. This was it.

Her hand tensed, ready to fire, but Paxton called out, “Don’t!”

Still, she almost did, and then Ruth saw the raw fear in the man’s face as he let out a high-pitched scream and fell to the floor. The object he was carrying crashed down, fracturing into a dozen pieces. A hand rolled to her feet.

That wasn’t a body on his shoulder—it was a statue. And from the stigmata on the palm, a statue of Christ.

The man caught sight of the badge on Ruth’s belt, and rapidly began signing.

“He’s deaf,” Paxton said, as he gently pushed on her hands. She didn’t even realize that she was still aiming at the poor man, who was doing nothing more illegal than carrying a statue of Jesus.

“Oh, God! I almost… I almost…” Ruth couldn’t even bring herself to say the words.

“But you didn’t, Ruth.” Paxton squeezed her wrist as her arm trembled. “You didn’t.”

How close she had come, though. Too close.

It was so easy to link unrelated facts together. A serial killer on the loose. A deserted bookstore. A man who couldn’t respond. To think that she could have added all of those things together—and shot an unarmed man because of them.

Paxton kept his hand on hers as he called the station. Usually she would have shrugged off the intimacy, but she feared how badly her arm would shake if he weren’t holding it still. Vaguely, she heard Paxton request a sign language interpreter as she stared down at the statue’s bloody hand.

How close she had come to having blood on hers as well.

CHAPTER 3

Cecilia sighed in relief as she left trig class. The day was
finally
over. And not a single sighting of Jeremy. She barely heard her friends chattering beside her. As they made their way to the parking lot, several radios blared that stupid KMNY concert contest.

“Oh, we have
got
to score some tickets!” Helen exclaimed.

Cecilia rolled her eyes. “Have you even noticed the ick factor?”

“But think about it, Cec,” Francesca encouraged. “Going to a secret mansion on Halloween for a concert!”

“I have thought about it,” Cecilia stated, scanning the students flooding out of the school and into the parking lot. “And I think you should actually be a little worried about how creepy it all sounds.”

Helen snorted, though. “That’s the whole freaking point! It’s Halloween!”

“Fine, but you do the math. A bunch of teenagers, getting scared and probably high, at some secret location. Just guess how many arrests are going to be made.”

Cecilia shook her head. She had heard the stories from her uncle. This Diana
Dahmer
concert would probably fill the juvenile court docket for months to come.

Helen hurried in front of Cecilia, then turned around, walking backward as she spoke, using her hands to emphasize her point. “We’re
teens,
Cecilia! We’re supposed to feel invulnerable. We’re supposed to act crazy and do stupid stuff that could end up with us on the front page! It’s what youth is all about!”

It was Cecilia’s turn to snort. “No. Youth is trying to make it to adulthood alive.”

Helen moaned and threw her head back in dramatic fashion, but Francesca patted Cecilia on the shoulder. “Isn’t there somewhere in-between?”

Tears sprang to Cecilia’s eyes before she even realized that she felt sad. But she did feel sad. Sad that no, she didn’t think there was anywhere in-between. She needed to get home, find out where Jeremy was, and probably go to the store to get her mom some ginger ale and aspirin.

But Francesca seemed equally unwilling to let it go. “When’s the last time you dressed up for Halloween?”

Cecilia was barely keeping the tears at bay when Michael caught up with them.

“You guys talking about the All Hallow’s Eve concert?”

Luckily, Helen was more than happy to answer Michael as Cecilia tried to stop her tears. She stifled a sniffle as Helen gushed.

“Oh, yeah! We’re trying to figure out how to snag some passes!”

“Well…” Michael said, uncharacteristically slowly. “I just happen to have a cousin who knows a cousin of Diana Dahmer’s.”

Cecilia feared that Helen was going to have a coronary right then and there. “Oh, my Gawd! You are kidding! You’ve got to be kidding!”

“No, I would never kid about something so awesome.”

Helen grabbed Michael’s arm with both hands. “Tell him I will sacrifice small stuffed animals to curry his favor.”

As the group continued through the parking lot, Michael gently extracted himself from Helen.

“That won’t be necessary.” He looked over at Cecilia. “However, I do have six tickets burning a hole in my pocket.”

Even Francesca was beside herself. “Oh, we’ll be your bestest of friends!”

“So, are you girls interested in going?”

“Yes!” Helen and Francesca yelled.

Horrified, Cecilia countered, “No!”

Michael frowned, but Helen threw her arm over Cecilia’s shoulder and pulled her in tightly. “Don’t you worry, Michael. We’ll get her to come around.”

Normally, Cecilia appreciated Helen’s jubilance. It helped to counteract Cecilia’s distinct lack of jubilance. However, in this her friend had gone too far.

“Well, I certainly hope you can,” Michael responded.

Abruptly, Cecilia removed Helen’s arm from her shoulder and said, “Don’t hold your breath, or anything else that might give you a headache while waiting.” She knew that she had been too harsh, but all Cecilia wanted to do was get out of there and get home.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, slightly less angered, and headed off.

“Hold on,” Michael said as he trotted up next to her. “How about I drive everyone home?”

Helen and Francesca clapped their hands with joy. They really were easy to please.

“I really need to find Jeremy and walk home with him.”

Helen rolled her eyes rather theatrically. “
Please!
He hasn’t shown up to walk with you since elementary school.”

Cecilia was about to argue when John drove up in his convertible. “How about a ride home?”

What was it with John? She thought he had accepted her thousandth “no.” But looking over at the dark-haired Michael, Cecilia was pretty sure what had stoked John’s renewed enthusiasm. Jealousy.

While she really did
not
want a ride home with Michael, the thought of walking home and having John trail her the whole time kind of spooked Cecilia in a way it never had. John’s earlier outburst had lingered throughout the day.

With all the stress at home, she really did not need any more now.

To everyone’s surprise, and particularly her own, Cecilia said to John, “Sorry, but Michael’s already offered.”

There was the slightest delay, and then Helen and Francesca whooped.

Cecilia was glad someone was happy about it.

* * *

As the car skidded around the corner, Paxton noticed that Ruth grabbed the door handle. At their speed, he wasn’t surprised. However, it seemed that her hand still shook. The aftermath of adrenaline from the near miss back at the bookstore. She hid it well, but not from him. He had felt her sigh of relief when the owner of the store had agreed not to lodge a complaint. Of course, Paxton doubted that the guy knew exactly how close he had come to getting shot. How could he?

But Paxton had seen Ruth’s stance change. Her arm had stiffened, and her back leg was ready to take the kick of the recoil—all those subtle movements one’s body makes right before firing. Paxton hadn’t even been sure that the guy wasn’t Darby. Sure, he had told Ruth that he realized the body over the store owner’s shoulder was a statue, and therefore couldn’t be Darby, but he had flat-out lied to his partner.

He no more knew that the bookstore owner was innocent than Ruth had. Paxton simply did not want Ruth to have to be the one to pull the trigger. In another split second, Paxton would have done it for her. It wasn’t that he wanted the glory of taking out a serial killer. No, he wanted to be the one to fire in case it wasn’t.

Paxton knew of Ruth’s last partner. How she had left Cincinnati under a cloud of suspicion. Not for any of her actions, but for her partner’s. Everyone felt she was covering for the guy. That she had torpedoed her own career for a dirty cop.

Paxton never, ever wanted to put Ruth in that position. If anyone was going to go down for something on his watch, he would. Which, given his current state of disarray, would be a pretty easy sell.

Luckily, no shots had been fired, and if anything, the owner
, Mr. Howard,
had turned out to be completely
helpful to the investigation. Not only did the guy know their suspect, he too thought that Darby was≠ a bit “off.” The guy had volunteered that Darby often went to the YMCA to shower, since he thought Satan stalked the bathroom at the halfway house. Which
seemed pretty much on par with Darby’s mental state.

Siren blaring, they streaked down the road as cars pulled to the side, giving them a nearly empty street. They were making great time, which actually concerned Paxton. What would they find at the YMCA? If Darby was their guy and they did corner him, how would Ruth react?

Would she hold back, not willing to commit herself to firing out of fear of another mistake, like the deaf man? Or would she be trying to
prove
she wasn’t affected and be a little too trigger-happy? He had seen officers go either way.

Paxton had been slightly disappointed that the bookstore owner hadn’t filed a complaint. He had no doubt that Ruth would have been cleared. Nearly firing upon a deaf man carrying a life-size statue while on the hunt for a serial killer was about as solid extenuating circumstances as you could get. But the complaint would have invoked paid leave for Ruth and given her the time to regroup.

Unfortunately, the bookstore owner seemed to understand completely how it had looked, and had even shaken Ruth’s hand in thanks. Which appeared to unnerve Ruth even more. Sometimes having someone yell and scream gave you something to push back against. While proving your case, you actually began to accept your own innocence. Now, Paxton could feel Ruth pulling inward, replaying the event over and over again. She hadn’t even argued with the decision to take his car. Fast food wrappers and all.

Despite their breakneck speed, Ruth stared out the window blankly, her eyes flickering back and forth, rewinding the tape of what went down in the dingy storeroom. Paxton had to do something to pull her out of it before they arrived.

“Are you sure we are heading to the right YMCA? The store owner wasn’t sure which one Darby went to.”

Ruth seemed as if she were waking up from a nap. “Oh, here.” She consulted the map on her phone. She seemed her steadiest with a task at hand. “This west-side location is on his route between the halfway house and the bookstore.”

Paxton pretended to look at the map, but she pulled it away.

“But you already knew why we were going to this particular YMCA,” Ruth said, with a halfhearted smile. “Look. I’m fine, really.”

Well, she’d best be, because they were at the YMCA. Paxton hit the brakes as they careered into the parking lot. He pulled them to a stop across two handicapped parking spaces. One of the few perks of the job. You got to flout parking placards.

Ruth exited the car first—wanting to put as much physical distance between herself and the bookstore incident as she could. They were through the door and to the check-in counter within steps.

Ruth flashed her badge, all the shakes gone. “Detectives Matte and Prover. Do you have a sign-in roster?”

The skinny guy behind the counter froze, his eyes darting left and right, like a mouse trying to plan an escape from a cat.

“We’re not here for you, dude,” Paxton tried to reassure him. “The sooner we are on to someone else, the less time we will have to look at you.”

That seemed to break through the guy’s panic. “Yeah, sure. Here it is.”

He pushed a plant out of the way to reveal a clipboard with a pen tied to a string. Very classy. Ruth’s finger went down the page until she tapped a name.

Darby’s name.

“Has he left yet?” she asked.

The guy looked down at the name. “You mean the fat guy with all the crosses?”

“Yep, that pretty much describes him,” Paxton replied.

“I saw him hit the showers a few minutes ago.”

“Where are the showers?” Ruth asked.

The guy pointed down a long corridor. “The locker room is down that way and the showers are all the way in the back.”

Without a word, Paxton and Ruth broke into a run.

Hopefully, there weren’t any deaf guys looking to take a shower this morning.

* * *

Leaving the hustle and bustle of the locker room,
Arnie
felt the steam hit him in the face as he entered the dry sauna. Yet, it wasn’t hot enough for him. He crossed over to the bed of heated rocks and poured more water over them. The moisture crackled and popped, dancing along the black surface. A loud
hiss
filled the foggy room.

Dipping the ladle into the water, he scooped more onto the rocks. He wanted the humidity to last. His workout had kicked his ass, and he wanted to sweat it out. Otherwise, he would be as rickety as his old man in the morning.

Pulling the towel from around his waist, he laid it out onto the wooden bench, then followed suit. Closing his eyes,
Arnie
let the heat soak into him. He really shouldn’t have done a third set, but that cute chick in the tight unitard had set up shop right next to him. What could he do but show off for her?

Suddenly, the light went out.

“Damn it! Who did that?”

He hadn’t heard the door open. It must be bad wiring. He really needed to get a raise from the pizza place so he could afford to go to a real gym.

Arnie
contemplated just leaving the lights out, but he really didn’t want another guy coming and tripping into him. He wasn’t a homophobe, but come on—he really didn’t want another naked dude on top of him.

In the dim light leaking under the door,
Arnie
swung his legs over the bench, got up, and groped for the light switch. He finally felt the cool plastic of the switch, but before he could flip it, he felt a sharp pain.

Gasping, he jerked his hand back. He couldn’t believe what he saw. Or didn’t see. His pinkie was missing. It was
gone
!
Blood spurted from the wound, splattering and hissing on the rocks.