Slice (37 page)

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
S
IX

M
onica was taking longer to drink her second bottle of wine, but she figured she'd be done with this one, too, by the time the sun had set.

She sat at her bedroom window watching Chief Walters make her way down the hill. She wondered what she and Jessie had talked about. She wished she'd seen the chief escorting her sister to her car in handcuffs.

Down deep, Monica knew she was the one at fault. Not Jessie. Not even Todd. It was her lie that had caused all of this. Her multitude of lies, in fact. Her jealousies. Her resentments.

But she'd never admit that in so many words. Not even to herself.

“Fuck 'em all,” she slurred, lifting her glass to her lips.

Her vision was getting blurry. Part of it was the lowering of the sun, and the lengthening of the shadows, and the fact that Monica felt too dizzy to stand up and turn on the light. But most of it, she knew, was the wine.

“Good,” she said out loud. “I want to get drunk and just pass out.”

She heard a sound. She looked around.

Nothing.

She took another sip of wine. She couldn't believe her marriage was over. She just would not accept the fact. There had to be a way to get Todd back. She'd won him once against all odds. Maybe now she could think of another plan that would get him back.

Another sound.

Monica looked toward the door of her room.

Another sound. Someone on the stairs.

“Todd!” she called out.

But as a figure appeared in the doorway, she could see it wasn't Todd. It was hard to make out just who it was. But it was too small—far too small—to be Todd.

“Hello, Aunt Monica,” came a voice.

It was that kid. Aaron.

“What are you doing here?” Monica asked, aware of how slurry her words were.

The boy just stood in the doorway, staring at her.

“How'd you get in here? And don't be calling me Aunt Monica. I'm not your fuckin' aunt.”

The boy said nothing. He just kept standing there, staring at Monica in the dim light of dusk.

And suddenly, as Monica attempted to focus on him, his face changed.

Twisted.

Became something else.

Something horrible.

A crazed, evil expression. Eyes that glowed like a demon's.

Monica screamed.

She stood abruptly from her chair, knocking it over.

The boy's face was normal again, looking up at her in wonder.

“Why are you looking at me that way, Aunt Monica?” he asked.

She was backing away.
I imagined what I saw. I'm drunk. And the light's bad. It's getting so dark. . . .

“If only you hadn't lied to Mommy,” Aaron said. “Do you know how unhappy you made her? I don't like it when people make Mommy unhappy.”

He began to walk toward her.

“Get out of here,” Monica whispered.

“We could have had a happy family reunion today. You and me and Mommy and Abby and Aunt Paulette.” He paused. “Daddy, too.”

“No,” Monica muttered.

“You don't like me, do you, Aunt Paulette?” Aaron asked, getting closer. “You want to keep me away from Mommy, don't you?”

“Get out of here!” Monica screamed.

The boy's face changed again.

This time, so close, she could see it was no illusion.

Monica screamed, running into the bathroom, where a door opened onto a guest room. She ran as fast as she could, sensing that the boy was close behind her. She ran down the hall to Todd's home office and slammed the door behind her, locking it. The boy—that thing!—couldn't get her in here. She was safe.

“You should never have hurt Mommy,” came Aaron's voice, suddenly behind her.

Monica spun around. She felt the pain in her abdomen before she looked down and saw the child standing there, grinning up at her like a jack-o'-lantern. She watched in mute horror as he pulled the long razor out of her belly. Monica tried to run, but she was suddenly too weak, or too drunk, or too scared, and she collapsed at Aaron's feet. The boy stood over her, waving the bloody razor in his hand. Then he growled like a dog, baring very sharp teeth, and reached down and sliced open Monica's throat.

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
S
EVEN

“
W
here's Aaron?” Jessie asked, coming out onto the deck.

Abby sat at the table by herself, tying little rolls of straw together with orange twine. She seemed not to hear Jessie's question.

“Abby, I asked where Aaron was,” she repeated herself.

“I don't know,” said the little girl, seeming mesmerized by the task at hand.

“Aaron?” Jessie called in the yard.

She looked around. It was getting very dark.

“Aaron!” she called again, more loudly this time.

She felt terror rise up in her gut.

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
E
IGHT

G
ert was sure she'd heard a scream.

She tiptoed up Monica's front porch, noticing the front door was ajar.

“Helloooo?” she called inside.

The sun was sinking below the trees. She really needed to get back to the house. Trick-or-treaters would be arriving soon, and Arthur didn't want to hand out the cupcakes himself. Besides, Gert was scared. She couldn't deny it. If that really was a scream she heard over here, maybe she was better off not knowing where it came from.

But her nosiness—Gert preferred to call it her “intellectual curiosity”—always seemed to win out over her fear.

And here was the Bennetts' door open. . . . What a chance to snoop!

Gert stepped inside.

The house was quiet. Dark and quiet.

“Helloooo?” she called again.

No answer.

She didn't see anything out of the ordinary. She'd hoped maybe to find evidence of all the sexual goings-on that she felt certain were taking place in every house on the street—except for hers, of course, and maybe Mr. Thayer's, although even him she wondered about. What had that Mexican houseman been to Thayer anyway?

Gert paused at the foot of the stairs and looked up into the dark second floor of the house. She supposed this would be as far as she went. Even Gert Gorin's nosiness had its limits.

She turned to leave and noticed a figure in the dark, sitting on the couch. Gert let out a small gasp.

“Who's that?” she asked. “I heard a scream. I came to check. Is that you, Monica?”

But as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw it wasn't Monica. It was a child. It was that dark-eyed boy.

“Oh, it's
you
,” Gert said, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

The boy sat calmly on the couch, his hands in his lap, his feet not even touching the floor. He didn't reply.

“Why are you always around, little boy?” Gert asked derisively as she headed for the door.

Behind her the boy suddenly spoke.

“You were mean to my mommy,” he said.

Gert turned around to tell him that she didn't know his mommy, and that besides, children should mind their own business. But as she did so, she saw his sweet little face change.

Gert didn't have time to scream. Aaron leapt at her, his fangs and claws bared.

He tore out her throat.

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
N
INE

A
s soon as she spotted John walking up the front steps, Jessie bolted out of the house. “Stay with Abby,” she said. “I'll be back. I've got to look for Aaron!”

“You'll do no such thing,” John said, gently but forcefully easing her back through the door. Behind him, Caleb was lugging a large chocolate cake up the steps. “We're here for the party and that's where you'll stay.”

But Jessie was no longer in the mood for parties. “He can't be out there by himself!” Jessie argued. “It's dark out!”

John gripped her by the shoulders. “Aaron has apparently been living on his own out there for months now. He seems to know how to take care of himself.”

“He's five years old!”

“Listen to me, Jessie. Sit down!”

She didn't want to obey, but she did. Caleb stepped by with the cake, much to Abby's delight. The two of them moved into the kitchen as John stood lecturing Jessie.

“I had a long conversation with the FBI today. They believe now for certain that Emil has come back. He is definitely out there. They're certain he has committed these killings and that you could be next.” He sat down next to her on the couch. “After the party, you and Abby are going to a hotel until Emil is apprehended.”

“And leave Aaron all alone? I won't, John. I told him I'd never leave him again.”

“Excuse me,” Caleb said awkwardly, returning from the kitchen. “I've got to head out. Did you want me to make that hotel reservation, Mr. Manning?”

“Not if it's for me,” Jessie said.

John sighed. “Apparently that will be all, Caleb. Thanks for getting the cake.”

“Well, have a happy Halloween, both of you,” the young assistant said. “And stay safe.”

“I'm not hiding out anymore,” Jessie said. “I've lived too long in fear. And I'm not leaving Aaron,
especially
if Emil is out there!”

John said nothing more until Caleb had left. Then he turned to Jessie, an angry look on his face.

“What's gotten into you, Jessie?” he asked. “How can you go on believing that boy is your son—a son you
miscarried
?”

“We've been over this, John. I can't explain it. But I know it's so. I know it in my heart and my soul.”

“Whether it's true or not, Jessie, you have a daughter to think about. A real, living daughter who's been with you these past five years. And you aren't taking
her
safety into consideration.”

“We have a security system installed here—”

“Like that would stop Emil if he has revenge on his mind!”

“Why the urgency tonight? Why the sense that Emil is out there tonight?”

John looked at Jessie with stern eyes. “The FBI has gotten a description of a man they think might be him. A man who was seen on the road beyond the woods, out near the gorge. There's a team of agents right now searching the woods and the area around the gorge.”

Jessie shuddered. “Emil . . .” she muttered.

“Let's get out of here right now. Go get Abby and we'll take the cake and all the party favors and get a room at a hotel. We'll have a great party away from all of this.”

“I can't.”

“Jessie—”

“It's not just Aaron. It's also Aunt Paulette.”

John looked at her oddly. “Paulette?”

“She's been gone all day. Her car is here, but she isn't. I've looked everywhere. She's not at her cottage, not anywhere on the grounds.”

“Maybe she's with Monica.”

“She wasn't earlier.”

“We can check with Monica before we leave.”

Jessie wrapped her arms around herself. “She would've called me. Something's happened. I fear something has happened to both Aunt Paulette and Aaron.”

“Let's call Monica. . . .”

“I've tried. She doesn't pick up. She probably sees it's me and doesn't want to speak to me.”

“All right,” John said. “Stay here. Keep the doors locked. I'll go down to Monica's and see if she's heard from Paulette. And I'll take a look around. But after that, we're leaving. All right, Jessie?”

She didn't reply.

“All right, Jessie?” he asked again.

Emil . . . he was out there.

You have a daughter to think about
.

“All right,” Jessie replied.

“Good,” John said. “Go pack a bag for each of you. I'll be right back.”

He headed off into the night.

Jessie didn't move from the couch. She just sat there, hugging herself.

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
T
EN

A
aron scrambled back up his tree. From high above, he saw the figure moving below, making its way through the trees.

It was him.

John Manning.

Aaron leapt. He came down hard on the man's back, knocking him facedown into the leaves. He produced the razor from his sleeve and sliced Manning's neck with such force that the blade got stuck in the spinal cord. With a yank, Aaron pulled the razor free. He stood up, looking down at the twitching, bleeding body at his feet.

That was when he realized the man's hair was blond. It was not John Manning. It was the younger man they called Caleb.

“Stay right where you are!” came a voice.

Aaron looked around. Another man stepped out of the shadows toward him.

Manning this time?

No. It was the one they called Patrick Castile.

“Dear God,” Castile said. “It's just a boy.”

Aaron leapt.

And Castile's Adam's apple was torn out of his throat.

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
E
LEVEN

T
he sky was awash in reds and golds as the sun set behind the trees. The street was rapidly filling up with trick-or-treaters, nearly all of them teenagers drawn to the dare of being on the “murder street” after dark. Chief Walters had expected this, so she'd posted four cars, with two officers each, on the street. She was there herself as well, her intuition telling her that Hickory Dell was going to be dangerous tonight.

In fact, it was more than intuition: Patrick Castile had admitted that his agents had a report of a man matching Emil Deetz's description being spotted on the other side of the woods, over near the gorge that the locals called Suicide Leap. A massive manhunt had been undertaken, but no trace of him had been found.

Moments ago, Walters had asked Castile if his men had checked the shack in the woods that Paulette Drew had told her about. He'd replied that he was unaware of such a place. His agents had not encountered any shack in the woods. In that superior, monotone voice of his, he seemed to imply that all of Chief Walters's theories and suggestions were irrelevant and absurd.

Damn, he bugged her. Last Walters had seen of Castile, he'd been wandering off in the direction of the trees near John Manning's house. She hoped she wouldn't have to encounter him for the rest of the night.

What was absurd was that the agents hadn't found the shack. How could they not stumble over the place if they'd been all through the woods? The chief remembered the shack from ages ago, when she was a girl and she'd hike through the woods with her friends to Suicide Leap. She and the girls would sit on the edge of the gorge, dangling their feet over the side. It was a risky thing to do—the drop was more than fifty feet—but as a kid, Walters had felt invincible. On the way there and on the way back, they'd always passed the old shack. She was surprised to learn from Paulette that it was still standing. There was no way that the agents could have missed it. In the morning, no matter what Castile was telling her, the chief planned to send some of her own officers out there to check it out.

Walters walked the periphery of the street, keeping an eye on the kids in their Freddy Krueger masks and zombie makeup. She'd positioned a couple of cops in front of the dark, empty Pierce house, so that no overeager teen tried to get inside and get a picture of himself in the murder house for his Facebook page. Most of the kids just stood in the street talking and snapping photographs, but a good number of devil girls and boys in hockey masks were traipsing up front walks and ringing doorbells. They couldn't get past the gate at John Manning's house, of course, but Walters observed Mr. Thayer handing out what looked like Hershey bars and a harried Arthur Gorin bestowing cupcakes. The chief had to wonder why Gert wasn't doing the honors. She couldn't imagine Arthur willingly getting out of his chair and leaving his television.

Walters noticed that no one answered the door when the trick-or-treaters rang Monica Bennett's bell. The lights were all off at the house. A few trotted up the hill to Jessie's house, and the chief saw Jessie handing out something, though she was too far away to have a very good view. But then the chief noticed John Manning emerging from the shadows, heading up to Monica's door.

“No one seems to be home,” Walters called over to him.

“We're concerned about Paulette,” Manning told her. “We were hoping she might be with Monica.”

“She still hasn't come back?” Walters asked. “I've told my officers to be on the lookout for her.”

“We're really beginning to worry now,” Manning replied.

“Hey, Chief Walters!”

She turned. It was Arthur Gorin, yelling from across the street.

“How about finding my wife while you're at it?” Kids were grabbing cupcakes off his tray as he spoke. “She's supposed to be doing this! She went out about an hour ago and hasn't come back!”

The chief's mind began to race. Paulette Drew missing. Now Gert Gorin.

Her intuition had been right.

Hickory Dell would be dangerous tonight.

Walters hurried over to one of her men standing at his cruiser at the far end of the cul-de-sac. “I want you to get all these kids off the street,” she ordered.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said.

“Immediately!”

Behind her, she could hear John Manning banging on Monica's door.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.