The Last Victim (43 page)

“That’s the way to do it, Doc. Keep him talking. They’re looking for you all over the place.” Garland was back, radiating aggression and fear. Looking solid as a rock, he stood balanced on the balls of his feet in the space between the beds, close enough so that she could have touched him if there had actually been anything physical there for her to touch. “They’re going to find you. Play for time.”

“How do you know she didn’t love you?” Allowing herself to be distracted could prove to be a fatal error, Charlie knew. She had to keep Kingston engaged. Instead of looking at Garland, at Bayley, Charlie kept her eyes fixed on his face.

He said, “I didn’t want to kill her. I gave her a chance. I was good to her, got her pretty things, made sure she had what she needed. She kept saying she loved me, and for a little while I was stupid and believed her. Then I asked her if she wanted to go home, and she said she did. After all I’d done for her, she wanted to leave me and go home! I knew then that the bitch had been lying, I knew then that she was just like the others, that she didn’t love me, so I killed her.”

His face twisted, and the terrifying intensity returned to his eyes. Charlie shivered, and immediately tried to get a grip. She only hoped he didn’t notice the trembling that she couldn’t quite control.

“You took away my life,” Bayley screamed at him. “I
was
lying the whole time. You made me sick every time you came near me. I hope you burn in hell for what you did!”

“Bayley is upset that you killed her,” Charlie said steadily. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Hannah’s eyes were open now. Glassy with horror, they were fixed on Terry Kingston’s knife.

“You’re full of shit,” Kingston growled. His fingers flexed around the knife, but at least he hadn’t sprung at her yet.

“No, I’m not.” Charlie was sweating bullets. Her pulse pounded. Her heart raced. She felt shaky, jittery, scared to death, but she didn’t dare let any of it show, just like she didn’t dare to pull her eyes away from his face. “Bayley, did he get you a pretty dress like Hannah is wearing? What color was it?”

“Blue,” Bayley said. Her tears were gone now. She looked at Kingston with loathing. “Only it wasn’t pretty. It was ugly and I hated it.”

“Bayley’s dress was blue,” Charlie said. Kingston’s eyes flickered. He cast a quick, apprehensive look around the room. Then his gaze returned to Charlie. There was an ugly expression on his face. He was breathing hard, his hand was tight around the knife, and he once again looked on the verge of jumping at her. Charlie’s throat threatened to close up.

“How do you know that?” he demanded.

“I told you. Bayley is right here with us. Right in front of you. She told me.”

“You’re lying!”

“Two other girls are here. They say he killed them, too.” Garland’s voice was hoarse. Being unable to do anything physical to help her was causing him to practically vibrate with tension. Charlie could feel it coming off him in waves. “Caroline Clark and Danielle Breyer. Caroline says the dress he got her was red with a big full skirt.”

“Caroline says the dress you got her was red with a big full skirt,” Charlie repeated. Of course she couldn’t see the other two girls—they had been dead too long. Thank God Garland could! If she could just keep Kingston off balance …

“Caroline’s here, too?” Casting another harried glance around the space, Kingston took a step back. He actually looked a little afraid.

“Her ghost,” Charlie said, knowing the terrifying connotation the word had for most people. If she could scare him enough, maybe he’d … What? Turn tail and run? Her heart pounded so hard it hurt as she realized that rescue was her and Hannah’s only hope.
Keep talking
. “The ghosts of Caroline and Danielle and Bayley are all here.”

“You’re lying!”

“Danielle says her dress was yellow and had a big bow in back.” Garland’s hands were clenched into fists. From the corner of her eye, Charlie could see the bunching of the muscles in his arms and shoulders. She could feel the violence in him. “She says she cut her hand and this little punk-ass bastard put a Band-Aid on it.”

“Danielle says her dress was yellow with a bow in the back. She cut her hand and you put a Band-Aid on it,” Charlie said.

“How are you doing this?” Kingston was breathing hard. For the moment at least it seemed he had forgotten the knife in his hand.

Bayley stood right in front of Kingston now. Charlie could only see her back. It was straight as a poker. Her long blond hair hung down her back in an Alice-in-Wonderland fall.

“You killed my mom and my brother. You want me to prove I’m here? You took Trevor’s video game. You were playing it, at your house.” Fury seethed through Bayley’s every word. “You had an argument with some guy right before you killed me. Then you came and asked me if I wanted to go home, and when I said I did you told me
to close my eyes and pray”—Bayley’s voice broke; it was shaking as she finished—“and you cut my throat.”

“Bayley says you took her little brother’s video game. She says you were playing it at your house,” Charlie told him. “She says you had an argument with another man, and you told her to close her eyes and pray before you cut her throat.”

Kingston’s head snapped back as if she’d hit him. “This is some kind of trick, isn’t it? It’s a setup.” He looked wildly around. “You’re playing me. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“Doc, your friend is here. Holly. She’s telling me this piece of shit watched when she was killed. She says he was a little kid, and he watched.”

Charlie’s eyes jerked toward Garland at that. “What?”

“Jesus, keep your attention on him!” The harshness of his tone sprang from fear for her, Charlie knew. “Holly says that he was hiding in a closet and he watched.”

“Who the hell are you talking to?” A nerve near Kingston’s eye jumped. His voice was louder now, and shriller. The knife moved threateningly, and it was all Charlie could do not to focus on it instead of his face. “And don’t you go telling me it’s some damned ghost.”

“It is a ghost. This one is named Holly. She was murdered a long time ago, fifteen years. She says you watched as she was killed. She says you hid in a closet.”

Kingston’s mouth fell open. His face whitened. He visibly shuddered. As his eyes darted around again, Charlie saw that he was starting to sweat.
“Who’s telling you this?”

“The killer was his dad,” Garland supplied.

“Holly’s telling me. She says it was your father who killed her.”

“What the
fuck
?” He wet his lips as he shot a fearful glance in Garland’s direction. Charlie guessed he’d been able to tell that whatever she was purportedly talking to was about right there. Then his eyes fixed on Charlie again. They brimmed with rage and fear. “You’re not doing this to me. I’m not buying it, you bitch,” he snarled, and Charlie saw in the flash of his eyes that time was up: he meant to spring at her.

“Goddamn
it
.” Garland made an abortive movement that brought
him closer to her as Charlie’s heart leaped into her throat and Kingston seemed to gather himself.

Bayley screamed out, “No!”

With a loud
thud
, someone kicked open the van’s door. The flimsy-looking metal panel crashed back on its hinges.

“What the fuck?” Kingston whirled, still holding the knife.

A gun blasted, just as quick as that. Charlie screamed like a steam whistle as the sound of the explosion blasted her eardrums and the back of Kingston’s head blew off. Blood sprayed the small compartment. She felt the warmth of the splatter hitting her as Kingston’s body dropped like a felled tree. The impact as it hit the floor shook the van.

“Is everybody all right in here?” Haney asked. Never in her life had Charlie expected to be glad to see him, but she absolutely was.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Garland growled as he dropped down into a crouch beside her. She could feel the intensity of his relief. “You ever think that messing with serial killers might not be the smartest move, Doc?”

“F-fine.” She ignored Garland in favor of replying to Haney, only to discover that her teeth were chattering and it was an effort to get even that one word out. Bayley was gone. Charlie could only suppose it was because her killer was now dead. Hannah’s body was tense and her eyes were screwed tightly shut. Charlie experienced a quiver of fellow feeling for what she knew must be the terror the girl was experiencing. Her own body was shaking with fright and reaction, and she would have turned into Garland’s arms except, oh, wait, that wasn’t possible. As the realization that it was over—that she and Hannah were safe—started to sink in, she took a deep breath and sagged a bit, still trapped by that damned chain. Haney filled the little area between the counter and closet, looking from Charlie to Hannah, a pistol in his hand, a grim expression on his face.

Then he tucked his pistol away in his shoulder holster, stepped over Kingston’s corpse, bent, and picked up his knife.

“Should’ve killed that little pissant long ago,” Haney said. “Just like I should have come after you fifteen years ago once I found out you were there in the Palmers’ house that night.” Then he lunged at Charlie with the knife.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Charlie shrieked and threw herself back against the wall.

“Son of a bitch,”
Garland roared, flinging himself between her and Haney. She could feel him, she realized, feel his weight and the heat of his body and the solid steely strength of him just as if he were alive, and she guessed that the extremity of her need must have triggered him to materialize physically. His hands wrapped around the chain holding her, and he yanked the ring it was fastened to right out of the wall.

“Who the hell?” Haney yelled as Garland grabbed him and threw him down on the bed.

“Run,”
Garland bellowed at Charlie, who did, leaping over the pair of them like a gazelle and darting for the door because she realized that she only had seconds before Garland was mist again and Haney was free to come after her. Leaving Hannah was wrenching, but her escape was the only hope either of them had. As she burst out into what she saw in that first instantaneous glance was a clearing in the midst of a piney woods, the image that was busy branding itself into her mind was what she had seen as she had jumped over Garland and Haney entwined: the handle of that wicked-looking knife sticking out of Garland’s broad back.

He’d taken the killing blow that had been meant for her.

You can’t kill a dead man
, Charlie reminded herself savagely, and ran like her life depended on it, which it did. Hannah’s, too. Charlie had no doubt whatsoever that once he had finished with her, Haney would turn back and slaughter the girl.

A string of curses made Charlie glance behind her. Haney leaped from the van, looked around for her. He no longer had Kingston’s knife in his hand. He had his gun instead.

Charlie’s heart exploded with terror. Every tiny hair on her body catapulted upright. She wanted to scream her lungs out. But she swallowed the urge, knowing it would only serve to pinpoint her location for him, and instead ran like a rabbit with the hounds after it.

You really think you can outrun a gun?

Kingston had driven up a dirt track, which he’d clearly turned onto from the road. Keeping to the track would be suicide, no cover there. Charlie had realized that in an instant, as soon as she’d escaped the van, so she was already plunging through the woods. The scent of pine filled her nostrils as she barreled past low-hanging limbs. Even this early in the morning, the heat was intense. Luckily it was summer, though, and the mulch underfoot was green and didn’t crack and snap with her every desperate footfall. The sounds of birds and insects and rustling branches would mask the noise of her flight to some degree, she hoped. The pines were thick with needles, which might keep Haney from spotting her right away. But there was no point in trying to fool herself: it wouldn’t take him long.

Charlie fled, racing through the woods parallel to the track, knowing that her only hope was to get to the road, flag down a car, get to some other human being who could help her before Haney got a clear shot at her.

He means to make it look like Kingston killed Hannah and me
.

That much was clear. Horror took over at the realization, clouding her thought processes, causing her to go all light-headed and fuzzy-brained. Haney was the man who’d slit Diane Palmer’s throat, the man who’d murdered Holly, the original Boardwalk Killer. It had been
him
whom she’d sensed at Jockey’s Ridge. She hadn’t recognized him—just like she’d been afraid all along she wouldn’t recognize him when he came.

And he had come. It was her worst nightmare:
He’s come back for me
.

Garland must have been kicked back into Spookville, or he would be with her now. It was doubly terrifying to know she was completely on her own.

Please, God, help.…

“There you are,” Haney called with satisfaction, and knowing that she was close enough that she could hear him sent a fresh jolt of terror through her. Glancing fearfully back as she ran, she saw that he’d plunged into the woods about a hundred yards behind her, and that he could indeed see her, just as she could see him.

It took maybe another split second for her to realize he wasn’t chasing her.

He was standing still and snapping up his gun.

To shoot her.

Terror sent goose bumps racing over her skin. Dread slid like ice down her spine.

With all need for subterfuge past, Charlie screamed like a siren and threw herself to the left and kept running. A bullet smacked into a tree trunk just a few feet in front of where she had been.

Please, God, please …

Now Haney was chasing her. She could hear him, cursing and crashing through the branches behind her. How long would it be before he had the chance at another clear shot?

Her skin tingled. She could almost feel a bullet burying itself in her back. Oh, God, would it hurt?

Please …