Forgive Me, Alex (32 page)

I told him the whole story, starting with watching Norton's house from the woods and ending with confronting him at the shed by the gravel pits. I said nothing of the special garb or weapons.

He listened without emotion, his face cut from stone, concealing every thought.

When I finished the tale, he said, "So if you hadn't done what you did, Diana would be dead."

"Yes."

"You're lucky he didn't kill you along with her, you know."

I shrugged.

"And what's this
beast
? Is it a dog or something?"

"He didn't say. He just said that Dan and Jacque would never be found, and somehow I believed him."

"Damn. And you say Bobby is at the bottom of the lake in the quarry?"

"Yeah, in his car."

"All right, I suppose that leaves us with the obvious question. Where's Norton? Did you kill him?"

"Let's take a little walk."

I led him through the front doors and into the parking lot. As we approached the rear of Frank's Cadillac, Norton's muffled voice shouted and cursed. I pulled the keys from my pocket and popped the trunk.

"Get me out of this fuckin' trunk! Are you trying to suffocate me, Hooper? Shit! It's not as though I cut your girlfriend up, for Christ's sake. I don't see— Oh, howdy Chief, and how are you doing?"

Chief Radlon looked at me, shook his head and sighed, and turned back to Norton. "Super. You want to tell me what you've done?"

"Hey, hey, hey, wait a minute. I just did what the Reaper and his buddy demons told me to. If you want to blame someone, blame them."

"Great."

"Will you get me out of here, Chief? I've been— Hey, Hooper, what happened to your spiffy ninja stuff?"

"Ninja stuff?" The chief turned to me with a quizzical, almost comical look.

I shrugged. "Beats me. I can't make out half of what he's saying. Maybe you'll have better luck. I'm going back inside to check on Diana. Here you go." I handed Frank's keys to him and turned to leave.

"By the way, Tony, Special Agent Jackson walked into the hospital a few seconds ago. Send him out, will you?"

I approached the doors as another car pulled up and stopper right out front. Two hysterical parents emerged and rushed in.

"Where is she?" Mr. Gregario's voice dripped with anger, but also a hint of relief. "Where is my daughter?"

"Mr. and Mrs. G., come on, I'll show you."

Mrs. G. grabbed my arm gently. "Tony, did you do this? Did you find Diana? You didn't quite make that clear on the phone."

I nodded and looked down at my feet.

She reached out and lifted up my chin. "Thank you, Honey. Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," Mr. G. practically spit. "We wouldn't be in this mess in the first place if not for him."

He charged in ahead of us while Mrs. G. smiled sadly and silently mouthed the words again—
thank you
—before rushing in after him.

I stayed a few feet behind and listened as they spoke to the doctor. I didn't know what else to do, until the doctor came to me again with his questions. This time I must tell him everything if he was to help Diana. The full story devastated the now silent Gregarios.

The doctor said he understood, and explained his thoughts to us, quick to call them preliminary and to remind us that he still had much more to do.

When he finished, I returned to Frank's car and two weary cops. Norton yammered on and on about some reaper, about being the king of pain and misery, about the realm of pure delight, and about plenty of other nonsensical stuff, all of which about drove the chief right over the edge.

Jackson led me a few yards away. "The chief has filled me in, and Norton won't shut the hell up. He claims you're a
ninja assassin
, by the way. What's that about?"

I smirk—the best I can manage given the circumstances. "The guy is nuts. What can I say?"

"Yeah, he's already confessed to killing all four people, and he's rambling incessantly and incoherently. That could be a problem, but at least we know the killer is in custody. And your girlfriend is still alive. Amazing. How's she doing, by the way?"

"She's in some sort of shock according to the doctor, and dehydrated. Her arm needed stitching and she needed antibiotics for the infection, but otherwise she'll be all right. He thinks the damage is more psychological than physical. No wonder, given what that monster made her witness."

"I gathered that much from his ranting. She saw him torture two people to death. Dear God, he
made
her watch. That will be difficult to overcome. You know that, right? You must give her some time."

"Yeah, I can wait. Whatever it takes."

"You know, officially speaking, I have some real problems with what you did."

I said nothing, and a smile snuck to his face.

"But, off the record—and I'll deny this if you ever mention it—you did one hell of a job."

I shook the hand he extended. "Thanks."

"However, next time I'll arrest you." He smiled.

Agent Monroe pulled up in another car, with a local cop in the passenger side. She gave me a frustrated glance as she walked toward the Cadillac. She exchanged a few words with the chief, and then walked over and told Jackson that the chief needed to see him. She stayed behind and looked at me without her customary smile, and her sharp emerald eyes glistened in the moonlight.

"I'm sorry, Agent Monroe, but I have to ask you a question." I laughed a little nervously. "Do you ever speak?"

Slow to respond, she gradually chuckled right along with me.

"Occasionally I do, when I must." Her voice dripped with Boston, or somewhere in the Northeast. "Since I'm the rookie around here, I usually shut up and listen, but I make the necessary contributions when called upon."

She paused and sized me up as though deciding whether she should be upset with me. She had a right to be, since she'd been on surveillance at Norton's house and missed him.

"I think we'll probably be talking a lot," she continued, "over the next few days. There are reports to be drawn up, a case to be made, that sort of thing. You've done the hard stuff, since you beat us to the punch, but now we get to handle the boring stuff."

She loosened up and smiled again, and I found it contagious.

The stress rolled off me and fatigue hit me like a sledgehammer, but with my nerves still tightly wound, sleep would be difficult. "I think I'll go back in and see how Diana's doing."

"Good idea. You know, she's lucky. Few girls find their knight-in-shining-armor."

"Yeah, right. Maybe you could tell that to her father."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Never mind, it's nothing. Thanks."

I headed back inside with the desperate hope that I'd be able to speak with Diana. All I'd have to do was get through Mr. G.

Friday morning arrived with a reversal of circumstances for me, back in the police station for yet another round of questions. At least I wouldn't be a suspect this time. Chief Radlon, Special Agent Jackson and Agent Monroe appeared rested and refreshed, whereas I could barely stand up.

"Tony, you look terrible," the chief said. "Have you slept?"

"About an hour. Maybe. Too stressed-out. Too scared."

"Why would you be scared? Norton's in custody and Diana is.... Oh no, is it Diana? What's happened? I haven't had any updates."

"Physically, she'll be fine, but she hasn't spoken, is unresponsive, and doesn't even seem to recognize me or her parents. The doctor says she endured such an unimaginable psychological trauma that the only way she could cope was to
check out
. She suffered a psychotic break."

"Damn! I'm sorry, Tony. What's the prognosis?"

I shrugged. "Nobody knows."

Jackson stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. "You know, this is not unheard of. The good news is that it's always temporary—well, ninety-nine percent of the time, it is. She'll come around. Give her some time. What she requires is your patience and understanding."

"That's what the doctor said, but it's awfully difficult."

"You'll get through it. Chief, do you suppose we could get this young man some coffee before we get started?"

"You bet. Cream only, Tony?"

"Yes sir. Thanks."

"Agent Monroe," Jackson said, "while we're waiting on Chief Radlon, would you please read through our notes to bring Tony up to speed on the situation with Norton?"

A few minutes later, the chief returned with my coffee—strong and bitter. Perfect.

I provided the timelines to go along with their notes, and they confirmed them with Norton's account, where he'd answered intelligibly. I added commentary where my time overlapped with his, and provided them with the full details of my efforts.

Well...
most
of the details.

Time crawled, interrupted occasionally for more coffee or a bathroom break.

At noon, a knock on the door preceded the entry of two officers. They carried bags of food and a box of soft drinks. As we ate, Jackson confirmed some important points that required only a simple yes or no.

After a half-hour break, we resumed the serious discussions. Every forty-five minutes they flipped over the cassette tape or put in a new one. A little before two o'clock, another knock on the door, and Sergeant Harker once again poked her head inside.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Chief," she said, "but Deputy Ricks from the sheriff's department is here and he needs to see you."

"Now? Did you tell him I'm busy?" He made no attempt to hide his frustration.

"Yes sir, but I'm quite certain you'll want to speak with him."

The sergeant's serious demeanor defeated the chief's irritation.

"You guys go ahead without me," he said. "I'll be back as soon as possible."

A lot of work went into these reports; they must record every minor and seemingly insignificant detail. My lunch settled and the coffee, which I'd stopped drinking, wore off. My exhaustion grew. Although my mind whirled in a storm of memories and thought, my body was failing me. Stiff and sore, I was about to ask for a break to stand and walk around, when the chief returned looking as though his beloved dog had died.

He leaned toward Jackson and said in a quiet voice, "How much longer will you be?"

Jackson hesitated and gazed directly into the chief's eyes, and tension filled the room. "We can take a break for a while."

"Good," the chief said. "You mind turning off the tape?"

Jackson nodded at Monroe and she clicked off the tape recorder.

The chief sat next to me, spinning his chair around to face me directly from a couple feet away. He leaned in, and the smell of his aftershave mingled with his morning supply of coffee.

Suddenly frightened, my thoughts shifted immediately to Diana. Something terrible had happened. I could feel it.

"Tony, I don't know how to say this except to just say it. I'm afraid there's been an accident."

What? How? She was safe in the hospital and they said they would keep her there for several days, at least. What could have happened? Diana! Dear God, what has happened to my Diana!

"Your dad hit a bridge abutment while driving."

What?

"We don't know everything yet—how it happened—but.... Tony, I'm so sorry. Your dad died."

I couldn't say anything. My eyes watered but I didn't cry.

Why is the world ending?

"If we had to tolerate in others all that we permit in ourselves, life would become completely unbearable." – Georges Courteline

~~~~~

Norton is a solid minute ahead of me. He'll be inside soon, if he isn't already.

I sprint toward Ethel's house. I know she sleeps in one of the smaller bedrooms downstairs, and leaves the upstairs master bedroom available for guests, like her kids or grandkids. She started this arrangement after she strained her knee last year. Assuming Norton doesn't know this, it may give me the extra minute I need to catch up with him.

One thing is clear: the identity of the killer is no longer in question. Norton once again terrorizes Algonquin's residents.

How will he gain entry into the house? Does he have lock-picks that he's learned to use, or does he require an open window or an unlocked door? Whatever his method, I may have an opportunity to catch up to him while he addresses it.

Why did he choose Ethel's house? Was it intentional, or does he choose them at random? She's a widow, elderly and living alone, which must have entered into his thinking.

I reach her front hedges, pause a beat to prepare myself, and peer around the edge. Nothing. Norton must be going in through the back.

I dash down the driveway, less cautious now that Ethel's safety is the only concern. I'll have my
katana
out and drawn across his chest in a flash, if necessary. That doesn't mean I'll be reckless, just quick.

I clear the rear corner ready to act.

Shit! He's inside.

I unsheathe one of the
ninjaken
and run to the open rear door. Once inside, I move through the mudroom and into the kitchen, toward the front hall. I look in the dark for any sign of Norton, and listen for a telltale sound. Ethel's dog—Rex, I think—lies on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood.

Damn! You're working quickly, Norton, but I know how much you like to play with your victims.

He must prepare Ethel for his rituals, which should give me the time I need.

I do my walking-on-air thing—not a sound—and flash through the hall and into the small downstairs bedroom. There's nobody here! The bed is unruffled, still made up.

She must have decided to go back to her room upstairs.

I take them two at a time and continue down the hall, when a shrill voice cuts the night.

Ethel screams, "Oh no! My God, who are you? Don't!"

I lean around the corner of the doorway. Norton hovers at the bed and looks down at Ethel with a knife in his right hand, ready to strike.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"What?" I say. "You're
sorry
?"

He jerks his head in my direction, and I bolt into the room. His body still faces partly toward Ethel, which puts him at an awkward angle.

My plan, as conceived prior to this, has always been to use Norton's own weapon against him, if possible. It has nothing to do with irony or justice or any such thing. It's a simple matter of leaving no evidence the police can link to me.

I'll use my weapons only if I must—if there's no other way to save Ethel.

Shocked by my appearance, he freezes.

That's all the time I need. When I get within reach of him, he spins away from Ethel and slashes at me with the knife.
Perfect!
As long as he comes after me, Ethel is safe. He slashes back and forth wildly, and each time I jump back to avoid the knife.

I need only one brief opportunity, but it's not as easy as I'd imagined. The darkness makes it difficult to focus.

That changes when a light flashes on.

Good girl, Ethel!

She screams again and Norton stumbles to a halt. He then lunges for Ethel, but I catch his wrist and twist it up and over, which throws him off-balance and spins him into the wall. He grunts and swings the knife. Perfect again!

I slip my left arm inside his elbow and my right hand onto his wrist. In one swift motion, I use my left arm as a lever and my right hand as both a vice-grip, sealing the knife in his hand, and a plunger, driving the blade into his chest.

The sudden silence is marred by a single gurgle. Every horrible thing he's ever done—the people he's destroyed and the lives he's ruined—it ends here.

I can't pull my eyes from him, mesmerized as
the devil
chokes on his own blood.

With his free hand, he grabs my hand to remove it from the knife, but he has no strength. His arm drops limp to his sides.

I release him and take two steps back.

Norton's killing hand drops from his weapon, and he stares at me, his eyes pools of disbelief. He tries to say something, but chokes and spits a gob of blood out onto his chest. He slides down the wall to his knees, then topples over onto his right side.

I step forward and lean over him.

The knife in his chest rises and falls, rises and falls, with each dying gasp. He stares up at me blankly—won't be alive much longer. The knife is too deep, probably in a lung, and the blood flow too profuse.

He's crying.

"Your tears don't move me, Norton," I say. "If you weren't such an animal, or if you weren't
the devil
, it might be different, but this is
exactly
what you deserve."

He labors to breathe as blood runs from the corner of his mouth. He can't speak, but his eyes convey utter confusion.

"They never should have released you from the prison hospital. Seventeen years ago, you destroyed the life I had. Now I've destroyed yours, and you know what? I'll sleep fine. What do you think of that?"

"Tony?" Ethel's intrusion startles me. "Is that you, dear?"

"One minute, Ethel. It's almost over."

"What is that you're wearing?
You
scared me as much as
he
did. What are you doing here?" She shuffles closer and looks down at Norton. With barely a whisper, more terrified than uncertain, she says, "Would he have killed me?"

"Yes. This is the serial killer who's been terrorizing Algonquin."

"Dear God! How did you find him?" She pulls her nightgown tight. "Did... did you know he would come for me?"

"We'll talk about that later, Ethel."

Norton gasps and struggles to inhale. He tries to reach out for me, stronger than I'd given him credit for, but he can barely raise his arm. One last gasp wracks his body and his hand drops to the floor. The knife protruding from his chest quivers, then is still.

Mitchell Norton,
the devil
, is dead.

Ethel stumbles back and flops onto the edge of her bed.

I check the bedclothes and her nightgown for signs of blood or injury, but they're clean and white. "Are you okay, Ethel? Did he hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine." She stammers and her hands shake. "You stopped him in the nick of time. A few more seconds and.... Dear God."

"Good."

"Is he dead?" Her eyes are wide with fear.

"Yes, he's gone." I draw a deep, satisfied breath. "He won't hurt you or anyone else, ever again."

"Thank you so much, dear. How can I ever repay you for this? I'd be dead if not for you." A few tears trickle as the emotion hits her.

"You want to thank me?"

"Of course."

"Then here's what I need you to tell the police."

I spell it out for her and have her repeat the critical parts. She knows that if the police find out I killed him, they'll throw me in jail. My future hangs on what she tells them. It will be uncomfortable for her, perhaps embarrassing, but she says she understands and will do as I say.

"You're sure your conscience will be okay with this, Ethel?"

"My conscience will be fine. I'm only alive because of you."

"All right, give me five minutes and then call the police. Can you wait that long?"

"I don't much like having him there—just lying there. It's kind of creepy, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, I know what you mean, but it's only five minutes and he
is
dead. He can't hurt you."

"I know. It's spooky, but I can wait. You hurry on, dear."

I look again at Norton. The temptation to remove his mask is strong, the urge to see his face etched in terror and pain. Yet what's the point? Besides, I should leave everything for the police.

"Five minutes, Ethel, and remember, call me tomorrow when they're done with you. Okay?"

"All right." She recovers her composure, at least a little. "Maybe I'll stop over to Frank's and cook us a nice dinner. How does that sound?"

"That sounds fine, Ethel."

I turn to leave, but.... I can't resist. I
must
see his face.

I stoop down, careful to leave no marks, and raise the mask above his eyes. The eyes... they're the same as I remember—the same angle, the same color and texture. The rest, however—

Oh no! No, no, no, no, no. It can't be Tommy. Not Tommy Norton. It's supposed to be Mitchell! Goddammit!

I drop to a knee, clench my fists into furious balls, and press them against my forehead. My breath catches in my throat and everything grinds to a stop.

Until Ethel responds to my reaction. "What is it, dear? Who is that man?"

"It's the killer." I stand and stare at the wall, still struggling to find my breath. "That's all that matters."

Someday I may believe that.

I choke the raw emotion out of my throat. "Remember, give me five minutes."