Cain's Blood (16 page)

lbert McCarty didn’t really know what to do.
he was at a rest stop somewhere halfway up the New
york turnpike. After Mrs. Nolan, he’d taken his mom’s car
and driven to Mike Gaffney’s house to shoot him and his

parents. But they weren’t home. he’d waited for almost an hour, but
he’d gotten bored and left. he didn’t know where Adrienne haller
lived. And he sure as fuck hadn’t felt like waiting for school the next day.

So he got on the highway and drove. North. he figured he’d go to
Boston. home of his father, the “Boston Strangler.” except Dr. Jacobson said the Boston Strangler guy wasn’t his father at all. The Boston
Strangler was him.
Him
him. It didn’t make any sense really. No more
sense than what he’d done to Mrs. Nolan, he supposed. Or what those
kids Jacobson brought over had done to his mother. To his fake mother.
Whatever.

Getting to Boston somehow
did
make sense. The question now was
hOW. he wasn’t stupid. The police would be looking for his mom’s car
eventually. There’d be, like, announcements up on the highway signs
any minute. MISSING TeeN. DeLAWAre LICeNSe. Tre542.
kILLeD The NOLANS. GOT freAky WITh The MILf TOO!

he needed another car. A car the police wouldn’t be looking for.
he’d never hitched a ride before. Seemed like it’d be easy enough. But
he didn’t want some pervert trucker picking him up. Making him suck
dick or something weird. he had fifty-five dollars for gas and food and
the gun with seven bullets.
Should be enough to get anywhere,
he figured.
But who to approach?
A family was probably best. his mom told him if he
ever got lost, he should go to a family. It was safest. The irony was really
fucking funny.
But which one?

Albert sat atop one of the picnic tables, his feet up on the seat. The
rest stop lights fully lit the night. he had a cold Mountain Dew and a
half-eaten package of peanut M&M’s he’d bought from the vending
machines. everyone assumed he was with one of the other families. everywhere he looked was another to choose from. All afternoon and into
the night, they kept coming in. every shape and size. Some with babies. Some with a couple of teens who looked no different than he did.
People on their summer vacations. Driving to the shore, or Grandma’s,
or whatever.
Now all I have to do is pick the right one and
 . . . and what? Ask
for a ride? Say I’m lost? Ask for help? Take the car at gunpoint? Wait for
a single mom and stick the gun in her right tit and say
Drive, bitch, or I
shoot your ugly kids
? Then he could do to her what he’d done with Mrs.
Nolan. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

he gulped down the rest of his Dew and tucked the rest of the
candy in his pocket for later. he needed to drop a deuce. Or take a piss.
Or something. Something
not
this. Albert trudged to the bathrooms
again. he’d been trying to take a dump all day, couldn’t. ended up just
beating the bishop every time. he looked over the other travelers again
as he crossed the picnic area. By the time he got out, there’d be a whole
new batch to pick from. he’d find a good one then.
This time, for sure.
he’d figure it all out then. he passed an old guy on his way into the
bathroom. even held the door open for him to let him pass by. “Thank
you, sir,” the old guy said. “Sure,” Albert smiled. he wanted to bust out
laughing so bad. Inside, there were two guys taking a piss. They were
talking like they knew each other, and Albert went past them to the
second stall.

down. he hadn’t taken a shit in almost three days. Too nervous or
something. Or maybe too fucking pumped.
Whatever
. he listened as the
other guys cleaned up outside by the sink, started the hand dryer, and
laughed about something. he heard the bathroom door open and close
again. The dryer kept going. Then silence. Peace and quiet. he tried to
relax. Thought about jacking off again.

Then Albert saw the feet. The toes of two black boots in the space
beneath the door, standing directly in front of his stall. Just stood there,
still, lifeless. They could have been empty, like someone placed them
there as a joke. . . .
A pair of pale green boots with no one inside them!
Like
that Seuss book one of his daycare teachers had always read. he wondered if—

Albert unfurled a handful of toilet paper and shifted in the seat to
let the guy know someone was inside. Still the boots did not move.
The stall door rattled.
“Busy,” Albert cried out.
Nothing. The boots did not move. And the door was shaking again.
And now the bolt on the inside was clattering against the latch.
“Busy!
Occupado
!” Albert said more loudly. “Sorry, man.”
freaky. he could hear the guy breathing. Sniffing, almost. Like he
had a cold or something. Like he was trying to smell what was inside.
Albert felt for the gun in his jacket pocket. “Look, sorry man,” he said.
“There are like three more stalls . . .” he’d decided to shoot the guy if
he shook the door one more fucking time.
Still the black boots did not move. Albert fumbled in his jacket to
free the gun.
The boots were gone.
he hadn’t even seen them leave. he’d looked away for a second to
mess with his jacket, and by the time he’d looked back, nothing.
Albert pulled his hand away from his jacket. Leaned back in the
toilet seat. his eyes scanned the floor for the boots. he didn’t see them
anywhere. Didn’t hear the guy moving around either. Didn’t hear that
weird breathing. “Screw this,” he mumbled. reached down to grab his
pants.
That’s when he noticed the shadow against the inside of the
bathroom stall. And, only then, recognized the sensation of someone
standing close to him.
Albert looked up and had half a moment to figure out Who or Why
or how someone was suddenly hovering at the top of the stall
above
him.
his bowels emptied quite easily then.

eff ate steadily but quietly, the uneasy silence between them
amplified by the bustling diner. “you gonna eat your bacon?” he
asked, eventually breaking the quiet.

Castillo looked up, collected himself. “No, go ahead.”
The boy reached over to his plate and took the two slabs of halfcooked bacon. Castillo looked away as Jeff started stuffing the greasy
meat into his mouth. he couldn’t help but wonder what other slippery
meats had once passed over those same lips. What gristle those sharp
teeth had once chewed into. The same tongue savoring the taste of dead
human flesh.

It wasn’t fair, Castillo knew. This kid was not The Jeffrey Dahmer.
Not technically.
Nature/nurture, right? Hell, the rest of the world knew the
boy only as Jeff Jacobson. This kid had never done a damn thing.
he stopped
staring, stopped trying to think about it, and looked down at the road
map beside his plate. he dropped a finger onto the map. “unity, Ohio,
and Lovett, Indiana.”

Missing persons in Ohio, a couple of women. In Lovett, Indiana, two
teens had been found hanging by chains from a tree. Both bodies soaked
with gasoline and then burned. On CNN, the Lovett sheriff said he
thought it was related to drug trafficking. Castillo didn’t see it that way.
he saw only the fresh blood. A fresh trail looking more and more like
a straight line. “They’re heading west,” he said. he ran his fingers in a
subtle squiggle across the map. Jeff didn’t look up from his plate. “route
50,” Castillo added. “from what the Albaum kid could tell me, it looks
like the original group picked up someone named John a couple of weeks
before they came for him. John, he said, had been dressed like a clown.”

“What?” Jeff asked.
“That’s what he said.”
Jeff retreated to his food.
“you know,” Castillo pressed, “John Wayne Gacy was infamous for

dressing up like a clown sometimes. A character named Pogo.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t know who that is.”
“John Wayne Gacy?”
Jeff shook his head.
“Did you ever meet a boy named John?”
Jeff ignored the question. Seemed not to have heard it.
Castillo tried again. “Did you ever meet a John?”
“ever in my life?” Jeff stared at his plate. “Sure. Probably. A kid

on my soccer team two years ago was named John Vincent. Does that
count? But if you mean a John connected to Massey or DSTI. . . . The
clown kid? The
clone
kind? Then no.”

Castillo glanced around their booth. “Let’s keep it down a bit,” he
said. “Got it?”
“My bad,” Jeff replied, then looked up and added in a whisper, “no, I
don’t think I ever met a John at Massey. I already gave you all the names
I could remember.”
“fair enough. The Albaum boy said the clown was definitely named
John and that a guy named Ted did most of the talking. But he couldn’t
remember the other names. When I tossed some names at him, he
thought he remembered Al and henry but wasn’t sure. he was pretty
positive he never once heard a
D
name.”
“David and Dennis.”
“Might not be with these guys.”
“David wouldn’t be.”
“So you’ve said,” Castillo replied.
“And my . . . . Dr. Jacobson wasn’t there, was he?”
“he was not with them.”
Jeff used his fork to knock a piece of pancake back and forth on his
plate. “What about Jeff?” he asked. “Did this kid run into a Jeff?”
Castillo looked straight at the boy. he wished they were both quiet
again.
“Or,” Jeff laid the fork aside and looked up, noting Castillo’s discomfort. “Are we just supposed to pretend you’re not looking for a Jeffrey Dahmer clone?”
“I am,” Castillo said. “The boy wasn’t sure if he’d heard that name
or not. he did, since you ask, remember a tall blonde guy.”
Jeff thought about this. “So, what happens to him now?”
“Albaum? he’s halfway to Pennsylvania. Back to DSTI.”
“What happens to him now?”
“I don’t know.”
“They’re just gonna kill him.”
“fuck off. Why the hell would you even say that?”
“I told you. My dad said they’d kill me if they ever caught me. Now
they have this kid.”
“Well, Daddy ain’t thinking too clearly these days, is he? I’m sure
the kid’ll be fine.”
“Are you?”
Castillo sipped his coffee. It had grown cold.
“how long before you turn me over to them?” the boy asked.
“They don’t even know you’re with me.”
“But they know I exist. you’ll need to turn me in eventually.”
“you’re helping me do my job.”
“And when I can’t? Or won’t?”
“Don’t know. Guess I’ll decide then.”
Jeff nodded again. Castillo’s matter-of-factness had taken the steam
out of his growing anger. There was nothing left to say, really.
“here’s what I know,” Castillo said to change the topic. “Based on
what the Albaum kid says, I think a couple guys split off, together or
alone. Guys like David, maybe. I think Jacobson . . . I think your father
has also gone on alone.”
“I think that, too,” said Jeff.
“It’s this group heading west I’m most worried about.” Castillo ran
his finger along route 50. “There are murders and disappearances all
over the country, but if I wanted to draw a straight line down route 50
today, I finally could.
This,
” he tapped the map, “this is the fresh game
trail. you ever gone hunting?”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”
Castillo made a noise that sounded like a laugh but wasn’t. he
reached for his cold coffee. “you figure out any more of your dad’s
notes?”
“Maybe. I think the two birds might be hitchcock, Indiana.”
“
The Birds
. Like the hitchcock movie?”
“One of his biggies. My father and I watched it together one night.
he said it was a classic I should probably know. he made popcorn.”
“Go on.”
“I think the monkey is Salem, Illinois.”
“What monkey?” Castillo pulled out his phone to thumb through
the images.
“The monkey with the graduation cap.”
“Is that what this thing is? And Salem? Why isn’t he wearing, like, a
witch’s hat?”
“Salem, Illinois is a small town where Scopes went to high school.”
“Scopes.”
“The Scopes Monkey Trial.”
“uh-huh. And how the hell would you know that?”
“The guy who prosecuted Scopes in court, the William-JennerBryan guy, he spoke at Scopes’s high school graduation. This was, like,
ten years before the trial. Just coincidence. Still, Bryan claimed later he
remembered Scopes in the audience and that he was all laughing and
being a jerk and stuff.”
Castillo leaned back. “I repeat . . .”
Jeff shrugged. “My dad was a scientist. What ‘the hell’ do you think
we talked about?”
“your dad’s still a scientist. you think these picturess might be clues
just for you?”
The boy shrugged again, and Castillo mirrored the move perfectly.
Jeff smiled.
“What about the other pics?” Castillo asked.
“Nothing.” The boy shook his head. “I need more time and . . . and
maybe it would help if you update the, um . . .”
“The ‘Murder Map’? As soon as we get back to the car. We’ll follow
it west. hitchcock. Worst case, we’re wrong and can cross off one more
town. On the way, I wanna stop at that park outside McArthur. Maybe
find something. killers sometimes return to the site of their crime. Nice
job, man.”
Jeff looked up again. The question he wanted to ask next suddenly
became clear to both of them.
What about my dad? What about going after my dad instead?
he didn’t ask. And Castillo was glad.
“hey,” Jeff said instead. “Is it Ok if I order a slice of pie or . . . ?”
his face was already wet and shiny with bacon grease.
for a moment, Castillo thought it was blood.
“Sure,” Castillo said, looking away.