A Soul To Steal (6 page)

“He won’t help you, my dear,” he said. “Anyway, I put a stop to kids coming out here. Do you have any kids, Ms. Soon-to-be-very-dead? They could have told you how. Twelve years ago—on this very night—I gutted two of them. I mean, I really went to work. Not the way I will on you. No, I was younger then, and didn’t have enough artistry.”

Mary was sobbing now, unable to help herself.

“Anyway, just one couple. That was all it took. And in 12 years, they never came back. I know because I waited to see. But they were smart enough to stay away. Too bad for you though.”

“Please,” she said. “Please don’t do this.”

She took another step backward.

“If you don’t put up a fight, I’ll make it quick,” he said. “I promise.”

“No, no, no, no,” she stammered out, and she felt another emotion now. She felt a kind of raw anger coming out of her. These men, she thought. For how many years had she put up with Donald? And now she was finally free of him and this guy comes along? It was unfair. It wasn’t right. She wasn’t supposed to die like this. She was supposed to go quietly in her bed, surrounded by grandchildren.

She felt the anger wash over her and was surprised by how good it felt. Anything that broke through the fear.

“If you do fight, well…” he said. “I’m out of practice, but I remember well enough how to inflict pain.”

She heard his words and felt a click in the back of her head. She wasn’t going to give in to the urge to run away. If she did, he would be on her in seconds.

Mary stopped moving back. The fear that had so flooded her had given way. Dim memories of her best friend, Gladys, teaching her a move from a self-defense class, flickered to life. And as she watched this man advance, a plan formed in her mind.

She had stopped crying. She was through crying. Instead, she quickly bent down on the ground and felt along the side of the road.

“Just what the hell do you think you are doing?” he asked, and he was moving, faster than she anticipated.

But not quite fast enough. Grabbing hold of gravel she had felt along the road, she threw it at his face as he approached. He cried out and stumbled back, putting his right hand to his head.

It was a good start, but not enough. Still feeling the anger bubbling inside her, she moved toward him. Remembering what Gladys had told her, she put her hands across him on his shoulder and drove her knee deep into his groin.

He doubled over and fell to the floor, dropping something in his left hand as he did so. She looked to see a long, curved knife—a machete.

“You bitch,” he said.

She stood back, surprised at what she had done. As suddenly as it had come, the anger she felt left her and the fear came running back. She had to get away—get away before he recovered.

Turning on her heels, she ran into the forest, hoping to put distance between them. Sooner than she had anticipated, she heard him cry out.

“I’ll find you, you know that?” he screamed, his words echoing through the forest all around her. “There isn’t anything for miles. I’ll find you. Do you know what I will do then?”

She ran faster, cursing herself for her pumps.

“You won’t get far,” he shouted after her.

She ran for her life. She ran faster than she ever had.

But ultimately, the man was right.

Mary Kilgore did not get far.

Friday, Oct. 6

The only thing that Quinn could remember was that he had been running for his life. Somewhere the Horseman had been behind him, laughing at him and swinging his almighty sword. Quinn knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up.

He woke drenched in sweat and immediately jumped out of bed. The urgency in his dream was still with him and he fought down the urge to run. Where would he run to?

He paced through his apartment and then got in the shower. As the water poured over him, he attempted to sort through what he felt but it was impossible. He kept hearing noises outside his door and despite telling himself it was nothing, he could not bring himself to believe it.

He’s here. The Horseman is here. And he’s waiting for you.

He felt the bile in his throat rise up and Quinn closed his eyes and leaned into the water stream. The Horseman is not out there. The Horseman is not real. He is not even a myth or a legend. He is a fictional creation of Washington Irving. That is all he ever was or is.

No, a voice in his head said. He’s real and he’s waiting for you.

Quinn looked down at his hands, which were shaking. He clenched his eyes closed as he washed his hair, willing himself not to see the nightmares in his head.

Wasn’t there the sound of someone pacing outside his door? Was that the sound of the door opening? He was sure he could hear it.

But when he opened his eyes and pushed aside the shower curtain, there was nothing.

There is nothing here, Quinn told himself. But why didn’t he believe it?

He sat down on the porcelain edge of the tub and let the water continue to hit him. What is wrong with me? How long am I going to feel the effects of this childish nightmare?

He had to think of something else, but found it hard to do. Every time his mind latched on to something, he could hear the hoof beats again in his ears. He could feel the blade approaching his neck, the branches tearing through his flesh.

“Enough,” he cried, and said it out loud for good measure.

It was then that he thought of her, and from the moment he did, the sound of the chasing horse seemed to recede. Kate. He thought of how she looked the first time he saw her. He remembered the sound of her voice. The memories calmed him, and for the first time since he woke up, the feelings of his dream receded.

He should call her, ask her out. But as soon as that thought appeared in his head, the ridiculousness of it came right after. He didn’t know her number or where she lived. And how dumb would he look asking her out after knowing her for exactly two days?

He stood up and finished soaping himself. As he did, he processed the past two days. He had barely seen Kate on Thursday, since Laurence had her out tracking a story in the far northern part of the county.

Quinn knew he had been single too long. He stepped out of the bathtub and dried himself. Maybe that was all it meant. That she was the first potential girlfriend he had met in a long time. He could just be lonely.

All he knew was that she seemed like the only good, tangible thing in his life. And he didn’t even know if she was aware of his existence. Did it matter? Sometimes the hope for something was better than the real thing. It was something to focus on, something to distract you.

He sighed as he threw on clothes. Nightmares and dreams. Those were the only things that felt real.

*****

Across town at the Leesburg Inn, Kate was awake, lost in thought. She felt unsettled. She had felt that way from the moment she crossed the border from
Maryland
.

But her dreams the night before had been worse than normal. She was back at her childhood home, of course—it was too much to hope for some variety there. But it had seemed different, more intense.

She went onto her balcony as she had two days before. There was a reason she was here, she felt sure of it. She placed her hands on the railing and stared at the treetops.

But she couldn’t just wait around. Today she had to start taking some kind of action. Starting with Mom, she thought. It was time to go see her mother.

*****

Quinn practically jumped out of his chair when Buzz said hello behind him. He didn’t think anyone else was in the office yet.

“Sorry to startle you,” Buzz said, although he didn’t look very apologetic. Quinn thought he looked smug. The old man enjoyed sneaking up on people. He felt it gave him an “edge.”

“Yeah, Buzz,” Quinn said, dismissively.

Quinn leaned back in his chair to look at Buzz again. The guy looked haggard and unshaven. Quinn thought it odd that he somehow always looked this way. He never had a full beard, but constantly seemed like someone who had stayed at a party too long, perhaps having a little too much to drink. Buzz’s clothes were loose fitting over his wiry frame. You could almost say he looked homeless, except Quinn thought he looked more like the proto-typical reporter—the kind of guy that shows up with a fedora hat and a pencil over his ear. Those guys never looked neat. They always looked rumpled.

Buzz had first become a reporter in
Vietnam
. Maybe in those days it didn’t matter what you looked like because you were just as likely to end up dead.

“You need to listen more carefully, Quinn,” Buzz said. “It could save your life.”

Jesus, I’m surrounded by psychos, Quinn thought.

“I’ll remember that,” he said.

“I’m serious, my boy,” Buzz said again. “In the jungle, you had to listen at all times.”

“We’re not in the jungle, Buzz,” he replied.

“We’re always in the jungle, Quinn. Don’t forget that.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Quinn said, and felt frustrated. He had come here for peace and quiet, not one of Buzz’s exceedingly bizarre lectures.

“No, you don’t,” Buzz said, and looked at him strangely. “But you might, real soon.”

“I don’t follow you,” Quinn said.

“The Lord is back in his manor,” Buzz said, looking around him carefully. He said it in a whisper even though there was no one to be seen in the office.

“The who is back where?” Quinn asked, hardly believing he was having this conversation.

“The Lord is back,” Buzz said.

“What are you talking about? And why are we whispering?” Quinn asked.

“Lord Halloween has returned,” Buzz said.

“Oh,” he replied, relieved. He had thought it was something serious. Instead, he fought off a chuckle. “Gotcha. Back in the manor. Right-o.”

“You don’t believe me?” Buzz asked, notching his eyebrows together in an expression of repressed anger.

“Buzz, it isn’t like this is the first time you’ve warned me,” Quinn said, only to receive a blank look. “Last year? You warned me not to cover the ‘Harvest Celebration’ protest down in
Sterling
. You told me he would be there.”

“Oh, I’m sure he was, my boy,” Buzz said, looking intently at Quinn. “Just like I’m sure he is around now.”

“Then why hasn’t he done anything?” Quinn asked. “I mean, I know he was a big deal back in the day,  but if he was here, why not make his presence known? They caught him, Buzz. Remember?”

“Pah,” Buzz replied, and waved his hand in disgust. “Holober was a patsy.”

“Just like Oswald, right?”

“Don’t get me started on Oswald,” Buzz said.

Quinn tried to contain his laugh, but let it out anyway.

“I know, I know,” Quinn said. “It was the CIA in it with the Mob…”

“You listen to me,” Buzz said, and jabbed his finger in Quinn’s chest. “You should pay attention when I say Lord Halloween has returned. He’s here. I can feel it.”

“Then where are the dead bodies, Buzz?” Quinn replied, and pushed Buzz’s hand out of his way. “We should have seen at least one by now, right?”

“You wait,” Buzz said. “You wait.”

Quinn knew there was no use arguing with Buzz. There was no point in even trying to reason with a man so buried in his own conspiracy theories.

“Okay,” Quinn said.

It appeared to suffice.

“He’s out there,” Buzz said again, almost to himself. “In the jungle, you have a sense for these things.”

Quinn felt an urge to ask if that was where Buzz left his sanity—back in the jungle. He put his hand to his head.

“Sorry to doubt you, Buzz,” he said. “But it’s been a long morning.”

Buzz leaned back and eyed him for a minute.

“I only tell you because the rest of these guys would think I’m crazy,” he said.

Now why would they think that? Quinn thought.

“Laurence only wants an excuse to fire me,” Buzz said. “He’d say I was trying to panic the staff.”

“Laurence does not want to fire you,” Quinn said.

Buzz snorted in patent disbelief.

“You wait,” he said. “He’s just biding his time.”

“He just wants you to come to staff meetings again.”

“Right,” Buzz said. “So they can mock me to my face? So they can tell me how to do my job better? So Rebecca can start complaining again?”

“It isn’t like that,” Quinn said.

“Maybe not to you,” Buzz said, pointing again, this time thankfully away from Quinn’s personal space. “But you don’t remember. No, I won’t go to them. He can fire me for not attending staff meetings if he wants. But I won’t go.”

Quinn looked at Buzz and it was hard not to be taken in with his earnestness. There was no doubt he believed it all. Why he trusted Quinn was beyond his understanding.