The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted: A Psychological Thriller (24 page)

“You should have told me sooner. Much sooner. And the only reason you did it now was because the note forced your hand.” She walked to the vanity area, placed both hands flat on the counter, locked her elbows, and stared at her angry reflection in the mirror.

The silence that stretched between us only added to the pressure I was feeling. I threw my hands up. “Okay. I apologize. I was wrong. I should have told you. You’re right.”

She spun around to look at me. “I’m about this close to making you a memory. As in,
history
. As in
see ya’
. Do you get what I’m saying here?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”

I didn’t have one.

“God!” she said. “You’ve got walls around you that are stronger than steel.”

I looked away, shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, yes, you do. You know exactly what I mean. It’s not even anything that you say, more what you don’t…like some unspoken language. I can’t even describe it…like you carry a wound so deep it’ll never heal. What the hell happened to you?”

It was brutal, it was honest, and it was truthful. It made me feel exposed and vulnerable and raw. The pressure inside me was almost too much to bear. I said in a choked voice, “Look, I’m sorry. I mean it. It won’t happen again. I promise. It’s just…I’m not used to working with other people. I’m used to going at it alone, and I get scared sometimes. But I’m trying, I really am, and believe it or not, I’ve shared more with you about this story than I’ve done with anyone else. Ever.”

“All I’m asking is that you—”

My phone rang.

I looked down at the caller I.D. “It’s Sully. I’ve got to take this call.”

Grudgingly, she nodded her approval.

I cleared my throat, tried to act unaffected. “Hey, Sully.”

CJ got up and moved slowly across the room. She took a seat on a chair. Sully’s voice pulled my attention away from her.

“Think I got a location on your boy Bill Williams,” he said.

“Talk to me.” I put the phone on speaker so CJ could hear.

“Now this isn’t confirmed, so you’re going to have to do some legwork here. Write this down.”

I grabbed the pen and paper from the nightstand. “Go ahead.”

“Telethon, Texas.”

“Say what?”

“Exactly. Near the Mexican border. Population 455 at last count about six years ago, but I can’t imagine they’ve had a baby boom since then. We’re talking the middle of nowhere.”

“What makes you think he’s there?”

“Couple things. He has a cousin there by the name of Nancy Skinner. And believe me, Skinner’s a real winner. She’s a tweaker, and her rap sheet reads like a never-ending story. According to the police report, your boy Bill was at her place when she got popped for a probation violation.”

“When was this?”

“June of last year. That’s why you’ll need to do some legwork. He may be long gone by now.”

I said to CJ, “How far is Telethon from here?”

“About seventy miles,” she replied. “A little over an hour’s drive.”

“Thanks, Sull,” I said. “Anything else?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“Shoot.”

His voice got deeper. “This Bill guy is one nasty son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, we’ve heard …”

“No, I mean bad.
Real
bad. If you do find he’s there, do not approach him. Call the cops. Or call me.”

I started writing the word
shelter
down repeatedly. “He have priors or something?”

“Negative. He’s too smart for that. But he’d just as soon kill you as look at you, and you’d never know what hit you. Neither would anyone else. He’s that bad.”

I glanced at CJ. Her eyes were wide and blinking fast. Back to Sully: “How do you know all this?”

“I got people.”

“I need details, Sull.”

He paused and then, “The bureau’s been following the guy for years but can’t get him on anything. He’s a suspect in several murders.”

“How many?”

“A lot.”

“What about—”

“Nothing with the Kingsley case. I checked. But I’m telling you, he’s dangerous as hell, one bad-assed bastard.”

“Sully. The details,
please
.”

“Okay, okay…one of the stories goes like this: a couple of agents came looking for him at his mother’s house one evening, and she made the mistake of telling them he was at the local bar. When they walked into the place, he darted inside the John, escaped through the window.”

“And this makes him dangerous?”

“Hell no. It was what he did after that.”

“Which was?”

“Put it this way. It was the last mistake his mother ever made. They found her the next day, floating in a lake. When they pulled her up, her larynx had been cut out. His way of telling her to shut up, I guess. Permanently.”

“Jeeze.”

“At first they thought he’d taken it with him. But the M.E. found it during the autopsy.”

“Where was it?’

Sully paused. “Shoved up her ass.”

Chapter Forty-One

Up and down. Up and down. My life had turned into a sickness seesaw, one episode following on the heels of another. I was tired, depressed, and fed up. Fed up with my mother, fed up with my life.

Fed up with everything.

During the spring semester of my senior year, another round of symptoms hit, this time so severe that I ended up missing school for several days. But being at home wasn’t exactly restorative, so I went back to class as soon as I could; although, I was hardly up for it.

It was my first day back. On my way out of the building, I stopped in the bathroom, gazed in the mirror, and barely recognized myself: dark circles under dull and lifeless eyes, pale skin surrounding them. I looked like the walking dead.

Out of the building and through the courtyard.

“Patrick?”

Without turning around, I recognized Tracy Gallagher’s voice. If there had been a rock to crawl under, I would have been there in a heartbeat. Of all the times for her to see me. I pretended not to hear her, kept my eyes ahead, kept walking.

“
Patrick.
”

I turned around and saw the shock register on her face, but I was equally bewildered. It had been years since she’d spoken so much as a word to me—not since the social order had shifted.

“Patrick?” she said once more, head jutted forward now, as if trying to see if it was really me. “What happened? You look horrible.”

“Thanks.” I looked at the ground.

“No, I…” A bashful smile, pushing her hair behind one ear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. Really. It’s just…are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said, and then after my lie, “Why?”

She moved closer, still staring at me. “You don’t look like it.”

I started feeling dizzy and nauseous, stumbled to catch my balance. Tracy lunged forward and caught me just in time.

“Patrick,” she said, “
what’s going on?”

I turned my head away, tears filling my eyes.

She placed a soft, gentle hand on my shoulder; still, I couldn’t look at her.

“Patrick?”

“I’m fine.” But my voice broke, despite my attempts to sound strong.

She leaned in. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Eyes back toward the ground now, I shook my head, saw a lone tear splash onto my shoe.

She placed her hand under my chin and gently pulled my head up so we were face to face, then looked into my eyes; hers were so gentle, so worried… and in a soft, low voice, said, “What is she doing to you?”

It was the first time in so long that someone had showed concern, actually cared, let alone touched me with a loving hand.

And it was her.

I lost it.

She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me in close, her shoulder muffling my sobs, neither of us saying anything for a long time. It felt warm, like coming home, and in that instant, there was no social order, no division, no time that had passed between us. Just her and me. I wanted to tell her everything. I felt like I could.

The sound of screeching tires startled us both.

A car came driving up, kids screaming and laughing, horn honking. I looked inside and saw a cluster of letterman’s jackets and bright, attractive faces.

“C’mon, Trace, we don’t have all day!” one of the Jackets yelled to her.

She glanced at me, then at him. “In a minute, Rob. I’m in the middle of something.”

“You can pick up with Pasty Face later,” he said. “Not like he’s got anywhere to go except home to his loony tunes mother.”

Laughter all around from the Jackets, the dagger hitting me square in the chest.

“Shut the hell up, Rob!” she said, then turned back to me.

“Jeeze!” he said. “Sorry, babe! Didn’t mean to interrupt your
charity
work.”

Dagger.

More laughter.

I looked at the Jackets, looked at her. Saw white and felt another wave of nausea sweep through me. Then panic. Something inside told me to run as fast and far as I could.

And that’s just what I did.

I made it as far as the shrubs about twenty yards away before I threw up. Heard a roar of hysterical laughter from the Jackets.

“Check it out! Pasty Face is bush-barfing!” One of them said.

More laughter.

“What’s the matter, Pasty? Get a look at yourself in the mirror?”

Laughter again.

Then, they all starting singing, “
Tracy and Pasty sitting in a tree!”

The laughter grew louder; it struck me like wicked thunder. I bowed my head and squeezed my eyes shut, forcing tears to roll down my cheek. Wanting it all to go away.

Then I heard tires squealing, looked up, and they were all gone.