The Angel of Death (24 page)

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Authors: Alane Ferguson

BOOK: The Angel of Death
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Cameryn’s tongue felt too thick for her mouth, or maybe it was her throat tightening so that she could hardly breathe. Her heart, her thoughts, pounded inside her. “Is that why you killed Mr. Oakes?” she croaked. “Because he knew what you were?”
“Ah, the million-dollar question. Why. It’s not what you think.” He walked over and pushed the klystron tube to the edge of the workbench, directly in front of Cameryn. Slowly, deliberately, he plugged the cables into the tube, as though he had all the time in the world. “Have you ever heard of Leopold and Loeb? Thomas Koskovich and Jayson Vreeland? Or maybe Jon Venables and Robert Thompson, who killed a little boy when the two of them were only ten years old. It’s amazing, when you think about it. They started killing at
ten
years of age. Why? For what reason? They just wanted to see what it felt like to take a life.”
"Kyle—”
“Maybe you’ve heard of Gary Hirte. He’s another Eagle Scout like me, who killed just to see if he could do it and get away with it. We are a group of very special human beings. A small,
exclusive
group.”
"You think being able to kill makes you
special
? ”
Kyle looked at her, his hazel eyes impassive. “I’m in control. Of who lives, who dies. That kind of power is addictive. I hinted that Brad and Dwayne were, how shall I put it, closer than friends, and watched everyone scramble after my lead. It’s the ultimate high.” He paused, then said, “Could you do it? Could you kill someone, Cameryn? ”
“Of course not!”
That smile again, curling up the corner of his lip. “If you could get free, I imagine you’d try to kill me. I’m trying to explain this to you. We, those who are like me, we kill because we want to. It’s the ultimate game, really. Can I commit the perfect murder and not get caught? Eagle Scout Gary Hirte made a fatal mistake—he kept the knife he used for the kill inside its still-bloody sheath. The victim’s DNA was right there, in Gary’s own bedroom, linking him directly to his crime. Stupid, and sloppy.” Kyle shook his head. “An Eagle Scout ought to be smarter than that.”
He was intent now, absorbed in the fifteen-inch glass tube. “So in my research on microwaves, I stumbled on the ultimate killing machine. A klystron is used in high-power, high-frequency radio transmitters.” Shrugging, he said, “The terminology’s not important. I want you to understand—
no one
has ever used a klystron to commit a murder before this.
I
put it all together. Me. Kyle O’Neil. You found the bones of our pig. I put him in the dog carrier and practiced training the beam on him. I was amazed when it worked. He squealed a lot, though. Fortunately, no one could hear him way up here. I dissected him to examine the results.” Kyle paused. “Do you know what makes this method so special?”
Cameryn sat like stone.
“I killed Brad Oakes from the
outside
of his house. That’s the pure genius of it. I didn’t leave a trace inside the crime scene. Not a hair. Not a fiber. I plugged the klystron into an outside outlet, aimed it, and”—he snapped his fingers—“that was the end of the man.”
Barely squeezing out the words, she asked, “Why Mr. Oakes?”
“Because I’m merciful. I picked him because his last living relative died. He had no family. I chose someone who would hardly be missed.” He turned to look at her. Reaching out, he stroked her hair. Cameryn jerked away. “I want you to know, you made the experience more special, Cammie. I want to thank you for that.”
Behind her, she pulled her wrists as hard as she could, but the duct tape held like handcuffs. Her flesh ripped against it, pain shot up her arms, and the tape held fast.
“You’ll never break the tape, Cammie, but good for you for trying. Yes, you made it even better. You were like a bonus, like extra credit points. Part of the fun is watching the police and the forensic team trying to figure out what happened. I mean, they were
idiots
! They had
no idea
! ” He laughed, hollowly. “You were my conduit, my eyes into what they were thinking. It was awesome, talking to you about the case. I got to relive it over and over.” He closed his eyes, a look of pure pleasure on his face.
Cameryn understood a terrible fact: to destroy the single witness, he would have to destroy her. There was nothing she could do. The books said a victim should keep the perpetrator talking in order to personalize themselves, but even as the strategy raced through her mind she knew how futile it was. Kyle had known Brad Oakes well. He killed him, just the same.
“Kyle,” she said, pleading, “I don’t think you really want to hurt me. I think you don’t really want to do this.”
Not seeming to hear, he took the plug and pushed it into the outlet. “You want to know why people like me do what we do? That answer is simple. We kill,” he said, “because we can. Besides, murder isn’t that bad. We all gotta die sometime. Mortality stands at one hundred percent.”
“Please!” she cried.
He turned back to the tube, his hand on more cables.
“I know about your mother!”
Kyle whipped around. The smile, so obvious before, melted from his face. Anger rose in its place, coloring his cheeks, igniting his eyes.
“I know what happened to her! I saw the death certificate! Did you kill her? I actually thought it might have been your dad, but now I think it was you! You killed her, didn’t you? ”
He stood, frozen. The cables slipped through his hands as he hissed, “Shut up.”
But Cameryn couldn’t stop. She’d managed to penetrate his shield, to puncture his veneer. “Why did you do it?”
“I said, shut
up
! ” With the back of his hand he smacked her on the side of the head, and for a moment her vision exploded in stars. “I would never hurt my mother,” he cried. “
She
left
me!
I would never,
ever
hurt her. Shut up, shut up, shut
up
! ”
Quietly, Cameryn said, “She left you by putting a bullet in her brain.”
Kyle raised his arm to strike again, but then, thinking better of it, he clenched his fist and lowered it to his side. He was breathing rapidly, panting.
“My mom left me, too, Kyle,” Cameryn said. “But she came back. And she’s out there, waiting for me.” Tears blurred her vision, but she could see him standing there, riveted by her words. “They already know I was with you tonight. If you hurt me they’ll know it’s you. You’ve got nothing to gain anymore.”
“You don’t know anything! ”
“I know that you’re a human being. I saw inside you, Kyle. Let me have a chance with
my
mother. Let me have a chance to live. Please, Kyle.
Anam cara
.”
Kyle looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. How much real time went by was hard to say, but to Cameryn it had suspended into another dimension. The pounding of her heart and the throbbing from the prick of the knife were her only clues that it was seconds, not hours, that passed. When she saw him reach for the tube she knew she had lost. But he didn’t turn it on. Instead, he skimmed past it to grab the roll of duct tape. Ripping a smaller piece, cutting it with his teeth, he pressed it over her mouth. Then he turned and walked toward the door.
“I’m an Eagle Scout. I can survive in the wilderness or wherever I choose. I’m going to give you two guarantees: One, they’ll never, ever find me. And two”—he held up his middle and index fingers, pressed together in a salute— “one day, when you least expect it, I’ll be back.” He looked around the barn, his hand on the light switch. “You’re like me, Cameryn. More than you know.” Opening the door, he pulled his collar tight, looking at the sky. “Wow, it’s cold out here—freezing, actually—and you’ve got no coat. But still, I’m giving you a chance. If it’s meant to be, you’ll live. If you live, you can tell my story.
Anam cara
.”
With that, he flicked off the light and slammed the door shut, leaving her in total darkness. She heard the latch slide in place. And then he was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
IT WAS DARK inside the chicken coop, and the cold was beginning to seep into Cameryn’s bones. If she turned her head and strained, she could see bits of starlight through the corner of the window, could hear the trees moaning in lament, could feel the shiver of a breeze as it pushed through the small opening where the chickens, when they were alive, must have pecked and scratched. This remote mountain lay blanketed in a silence like nothing she’d ever experienced before. As her terror over Kyle subsided, a new fear took its place. She realized she was completely and utterly alone.
Her neck throbbed. She could tell the bleeding had stopped, because the dried blood tugged against her skin whenever she moved her head. In the bit of light, she made out the shape of the pig ribs, curved and grinning, lying near the base of the klystron tube. A mentality that could murder animals and humans for sport was totally twisted and abhorrent: Kyle said he killed because he was special, as if emotion was a weakness he was blessed to live without.
Something scraped against the metal roof, the noise magnified in the stillness. Fear stabbed her heart—was Kyle still out there, hovering in the woods, playing an insane game with her? There was no doubt he could change his mind and return to finish the job. Leave no witness. Strip the flesh off her bones like he had the pig. Her pulse pounded in her neck as she strained to see.
More scraping, then a sound of fingers drumming against metal.
Kyle!
Adrenaline shot through her until she realized that it was only branches chafing against the roof.
Stay calm,
she commanded.
You’re hyperventilating. You’ll lose body heat too fast. That’s it—nice and easy.
Time slowed to a nauseating crawl as her fingers began to quiver and then finally go numb. Straining against the tape was futile, but she did it anyway until her muscles burned. It was hard to control her emotions. Every night sound became sinister: The squeak of a gate might be Kyle at the door, sliding back the lock; the howl of the wind was Kyle at the window, watching her. Inanimate objects were suddenly malevolent and alive. To cope, she forced herself to make lists of people who would miss her, of steps they would take to find her. But it was possible that no one would begin to put the pieces together until morning, and by then it could be too late.
Her father didn’t know where she was. No one did, except . . . one person. And she might be driving back to New York by now, certain her daughter didn’t want her. Cameryn wept at the thought of it. She tried to scream in fear and frustration, but the sound was muffled, high-pitched, and thin, and what was the point of it? No one would hear her.
Think, don’t panic!
she commanded herself. There
had
to be a way out. With all her strength she pitched forward, but the cabinet Kyle had tied her to tipped against her back, threatening to crush her. The cabinet was freestanding and heavy. She wondered if she could manage the weight and pull it, and herself, to the door. Heaving forward again, she heard something inside slam against the metal doors, then felt the weight of it push her chest against her thighs, trapping her, squeezing the air out of her lungs. It couldn’t work! Fighting for breath, she heaved backward with every bit of her strength, her neck pulsing and probably bleeding again, until the cabinet finally righted itself against the wall with a bang. Kyle had known exactly what he was doing. She was helpless.
Think!
she ordered herself again
. Assess the facts. I can make it without water, but the mountains at night are freezing. Bodies can only cool off a few degrees before going into hypothermia. In this temperature I could lose a degree every couple of hours, so if I’m here all night . . .
She longed for her coat—why hadn’t she worn it? Then her mind shifted once again to Hannah, driving away, and she grieved for what her mother must be thinking: that her only daughter hadn’t cared, an abandonment in reverse. And her father . . .
As the darkness pressed in and the coldness wrapped around Cameryn’s flesh, she came to realize something more. The sins of her father seemed so much smaller now. There was a clarity that hadn’t been there before, as though she could see her life on a screen. Her father had tried to protect her—wrongly, maybe—but he only wanted to shield her from hurt, and in return she’d hidden from him. When she got out of here,
if
she got out, things would be different. With her mammaw, too. Her mammaw, who’d sought to replace her mother.
I’m sorry,
she thought.
I’m so sorry.
As time passed, Cameryn felt her extremities slowly turn to wood. The moon’s pale light pulled away from the window, and every minute became colder and darker, inside as well as out. How long had she been here? Two, maybe three hours. She guessed it was past ten o’clock, but she had no way to know for sure. Her father wouldn’t even realize she was gone, not yet. She was shivering, and she couldn’t stop it, her body’s futile way of generating heat.
Suddenly she saw a light bouncing off the scaffolding of the branches, and she felt a surge of joy. Followed by fear. Joy, that someone was coming for her; fear that the someone was Kyle. Had he returned? He was smart, and killing her was the intelligent thing to do. Yet, inexplicably, he had spared her. Until now. Panic welled inside as she realized that the car door slamming like a gunshot could be Kyle’s, that the feet scuffing up the steps might be . . .

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