The Gift of Illusion: A Thriller (12 page)

When she turned around, she swore she saw
something rush past the dining room window. It moved too fast to be
identified, but Amy was sure she had seen something. She walked
over to the windowsill and looked out upon the backyard. Nobody
appeared to be roaming about in the storm. She waited a minute for
the
something
to reappear, gave up, turned to walk away, and
then jumped in terror as a hand smashed through the window and
grabbed her arm.

She screamed and struggled to free her arm
from the clutch of the bleeding hand. With each outburst, the power
of her voice weakened. Would anyone be able to hear her over the
tumultuous storm? Another arm came through the window and cupped a
hand over her mouth. Her legs wobbled. In the dark room, the
shadows danced faster. Blood rushed to her head. Her lungs needed
oxygen. She had just about given up the fight, when the intruder
slammed the side of her head into the windowsill, knocking her
unconscious.

3

Isaac circled the body of ash in the center
aisle of the gas station. A pair of handcuffs lay in the middle
with a partially burnt hand still locked within each cuff. He
stopped near the checkout counter and glanced down at the sawed-off
shotgun. Three shells were scattered across the floor nearby. He
carefully examined the shotgun, then the handcuffs.

For the past two days, Isaac had been
certain that James Ackerman was responsible for the trail of ash,
and he still believed it, but with James dead, there was no
reasonable logic to suggest that he could have committed this most
recent crime. Could there be a copycat killer?

“Who do you think the gun belongs to?”

Isaac pointed down at the body of ash and
then at the handcuffs. “More importantly, who do you think the
cuffs belong to?”

“I don't know,” Simmons murmured.

“Think harder.”

“I guess they could belong to a police
officer."

"Or a dominatrix."

"But wouldn't we have heard something?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Stevens said nothing of a
rogue officer. But I have someone in mind."

Isaac pulled out his cell phone and dialed
Chief Stevens. "Hey, question for you. Yeah, we're here. Of course.
I want you to know you're officially on my shit list.
Why?
Why do you think? This is getting ridiculous. Anyway, I need to
know if anyone didn't check in or out today. Call it a hunch."

Simmons seemed shocked that Isaac would even
suggest that a member of their team could have anything to do with
this carnage. He didn't know everyone personally. He hadn't been at
this precinct that long. Those he did know, however, seemed to
maintain a high level of moral integrity that was far more rare in
a large, bustling metropolis. These were good, honest, small town
people.

Isaac thanked the chief and ended the call.
"Deputy Howers."

"The new guy? What about him?"

"We saw him earlier. He even told us he was
going to come here and get gas. From the look of things, he did a
little more than that."

“No," said Simmons. “Why would he?”

“I don’t know the answer to that question,”
Isaac said. “But Stevens said he was supposed to be off duty over
an hour ago and they haven't been able to get a hold of him. If he
doesn't respond soon they'll do a search for his vehicle."

"Jesus. What in the hell is going on. I'm so
confused by all of this."

"Okay, let's consider what we know so far.
How many bodies?”

Simmons counted on his fingers. “Four,
right?”

“Right. Now who was the first on the
list?”

“The little girl. Lori.”

“Okay, so Lori burns to death in her room
roughly forty-eight hours ago. Her parents go off to a motel where
her mother burns not even eight or nine hours later. Then James
disappears and puts a big target on his back. The next morning we
discover James was a passenger in a deadly car wreck, and more
importantly, burned up just like his wife and daughter. And that is
where my head starts to go haywire. Did James really kill off his
family? Did he commit suicide? And if so, how in the world did he
do it from the passenger seat of a semi? Was this Dante character
involved? We still can't identify how any of these fires even
began. They defy all logic and reason. And now we find this guy
here in the gas station. Deputy Howers is missing. These definitely
aren't just random coincidences. There's a trail connecting them.
It's the
how's
and
why's
that got me going fucking
crazy. It’s almost like we’re tracking a parasite that’s somehow
intelligent enough to choose a new host whenever it wants.”

Simmons shrugged. “But who is responsible
then, if not James?”

“I’m not saying James didn’t kill his wife
and daughter, but we had a chat with Eddie after James had already
bit the dust. So how do you pin a dead man to a murder?”

Simmons shook his head. “We can’t.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you think James could’ve had an
accomplice?”

“Anything is possible. But I doubt it. If
James is one hundred percent responsible, if he was the ultimate
mastermind behind this horror, which I am seriously beginning to
doubt, then it is my belief he would have gone at it alone. Until
now, it was a family affair. I can’t imagine someone else aiding
him in his efforts, and even so, who would this person be?
Who?
We have nothing. No leads. No witnesses. Just piles and
piles of ash.”

“So, what does all of this mean?”

“It means there's nothing we can do but wait
for the next victim.” Isaac looked down at the burnt body of the
store clerk, the shells strewn across the floor, the silver cuffs
locking a pair of sallow, bodiless hands, and then looked back up
at Simmons. “We’re either dealing with a copycat killer.” He paused
for a second to summon an illogical thought. “Or something of which
neither of us have the knowledge to explain.”

“You mean, like something paranormal?”

“Let’s just hope it’s the first.”

4

It took Amy a minute to remember what had
happened.

How did she end up on the ground?

Why did her head throb?

Why was there glass all over the floor?

She looked up at the broken window and
recalled the bloody arm clutching her wrist. She wasn’t sure how
long she had been out, maybe a minute, maybe an hour. In the
meantime, the storm hadn’t moved on to torture anyone else. A
fierce wind carried the cold rain through the broken window.

She nearly passed out again when she touched
the small, pulsating knot on the side of her head. She tried to
stand up but was too disorientated to maintain any reasonable sense
of balance, even more so after a loud crashing sound unsettled
her.

Something heavy had fallen somewhere in the
house. Whoever had grabbed her was still here. Fearful tears ran
down her face as she crawled toward the coffee table, and the red
cellular phone. She tried not to imagine where the intruder was
hiding, she would rather not know. All she could think about was
getting to the phone and calling for help.

She sobbed as she crawled across the carpet.
Fear was the only motivating factor keeping her moving. Fear that
the intruder was close by, and if she didn’t hurry, things could
get a lot worse than they already were. What Amy didn’t realize,
however, was that the intruder was closer than she thought, and
watched her struggle with a rather curious delight.

When she reached the coffee table, Amy
rested her left arm (the one with the sore wrist) on the side of
the table and reached with her other arm for the cell phone. She
picked it up off the coffee table, hand shaking. She punched in 911
and hit the send button, but before the first ring could finish,
there were three quick beeps, then silence. She took the phone off
her ear, unsure if the beeps were in her head or not, and glanced
down at the digital panel. The screen was blank.

The phone had died at the worst possible
time.

Amy unclipped the battery from the back of
the phone and then returned it into place. Maybe it had a little
juice left. Thirty seconds was all she needed. She pressed the
power button and waited for the menu screen to light up. A part of
her expected the words WELCOME TO THE END to flash across the
screen as a premonition of things to come. Instead, the phone
beeped once, and WARNING: BATTERY LOW lit up on the screen. She
hurried to dial the number, but again three loud beeps cried in her
ear and the screen blanked out.

She bowed her head.

Lightning struck dangerously close to the
house waking Amy from her bereavement. She turned around and stared
at the broken window in the dining room. Rain soaked the carpet and
the white curtains around the window. A few large pieces of glass
still hung from the shattered windowsill.

Maybe he wasn’t in the house.

That thought (as hopeful as it was) took the
first plane to nowhere when she glanced out of the corner of her
eye and saw the stranger with the bloody arm standing in the
doorway to her father's office. He stood tall, slim, and
motionless. His face hid behind the shadow produced by a black
cowboy hat atop his head.

Amy crawled backwards toward the couch. She
wanted to make a run for the door but knew that he would catch her
before she could get there. For once, she felt too afraid to cry.
She nestled up against the corner of the couch and crossed her arms
over her knees.

In an instant the intruder closed the
distance between them, and stood over Amy peering down with a
wicked grin across his face.

“Leave me alone,”
she cried, balling
up tighter.

The intruder had something in his left hand.
He must have taken it from the office, though Amy didn’t recognize
what it was. It looked like a small piece of stone.

“Leave me alone,”
she cried
again.

But the intruder remained motionless. His
face now leaked no expression, no smile. Amy was just about to
repeat herself for the third time, when he finally spoke.

“Tell your father to stay out of my way.
This is the only warning he's going to get.”

Then, to Amy’s surprise, the stranger left
through the front door, and took the small piece of stone with him.
Less than a minute later, the power returned.

5

The Charger made a loud grinding sound as
Isaac jammed the stick into fifth gear and sped down Kingsley
Avenue. The thick of the storm had passed over, though the hard
rain left great portions of the road flooded. This, however, did
not stop Isaac from zooming by at eighty mph, two times the posted
speed limit. It wasn’t the smartest thing to do; the car
practically skipped along the water, but his own safety was the
last thing on his mind.

He pulled on to Hampton Lane. From the end
of the block, he could see a couple of police cars, along with an
ambulance, parked outside his house. He imagined Amy laying on a
stretcher in the back of the ambulance crying for him, the way he
had cried for her mother sixteen years earlier.

How could he have let it happen again?
How?

The thought was enough to break his
heart.

An officer outside hurried over to greet
Isaac as he pulled into the driveway.

“Where is she?”
he asked the officer.
“I want to see her!"

“She’s inside,” the officer said.

Isaac hurried inside the house, passing
Randy in the doorway, and stopped suddenly when he noticed the
broken window in the dining room.

He gasped.

The chattering voices hushed. The room
froze. Isaac felt his chest begin to ache, the skin burn. He
reached up and massaged the scar on his left shoulder. Then he saw
Amy sitting at the bottom of the stairs and rushed over to her.

“Dad,” she cried.

Isaac leaned down next to her. “Thank God
you’re all right. I was so worried about you.” He noticed the blood
on her nightgown. “You’re bleeding.”

Amy shook her head. “No, it’s not my
blood.”

Isaac threw his arms around her and kissed
the top of her head. “Tell me what happened? Who grabbed you?”

“I don’t know who he was.” Isaac wiped the
tears from her face. “He broke through the window and grabbed my
wrist. There was blood all over his arm. I thought he was going to
kill me.”

“It's okay,” said Isaac, hugging her
tighter. He looked over and saw that Simmons had arrived. “I’m here
now.”

“After that I don’t remember what happened,”
Amy murmured. “I woke up next to the window with this bump on my
head.” Isaac looked up at the small knot no bigger than a dime.
“Then I crawled over to the table and tried to call 911 but my cell
phone died.”

“What happened to the man who grabbed
you?”

“He was in your office.”

Isaac sat up and turned his head toward the
office door. “Hold on a minute,” he said.

He hurried into the office and stood over
the mess scattered across the floor. His computer monitor was
destroyed. It had been thrown off the desk and landed halfway
across the room. There were papers from the filing cabinets thrown
all about, along with broken glass from his desk lamp. An old
miniature grandfather clock given to him by his father rested near
his feet, dead. He walked behind the desk and saw the drawers
emptied on to the floor. Little Lori Ackerman’s painting was still
there (all five pieces of it crammed underneath the drawer), but
something else was missing. He walked out of his office and
returned to Amy at the bottom of the staircase.

“Was this person wearing a police
uniform?”

Amy seemed surprised that her father could
have guessed. “Yeah, actually he was, now that I think about
it.”

Isaac took a deep breath and looked up at
Simmons eyeing him.