Vicious (15 page)

Contorted in that awkward position inside the small trunk, Allen Meeker could only respond with a confused, pathetic whimper. He seemed to be choking on the rolled-up handkerchief in his mouth.

Jordan reached for the gag. “Go ahead and scream all you want,” he said. “There’s no one around to hear you.”

He carefully pried the handkerchief from his captive’s mouth.

Allen Meeker let out a raspy sigh. “I won’t scream,” he whispered. “I—” But he couldn’t finish. He started coughing. His face became even redder. Every time he tried to take a breath or talk, he choked and began hacking all over again.

Jordan gave the rope around his wrists a tug, just to make sure it was still tight. Then he went around to the driver’s door and found a half-full bottle of Evian on the floor of the backseat. Returning to his captive, Jordan tossed the bottle into the trunk and helped him turn around to a sitting position. He kept the gun on him the whole time, but the man didn’t seem to notice. He was still coughing uncontrollably.

Jordan stepped back to unscrew the water bottle cap. That took two hands, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near his prisoner—not even for a few seconds—unless he had the gun ready. Once he opened the bottle, he came in closer again with the gun trained on Meeker. He put the bottle to the choking man’s lips. Meeker gagged on the first gulp, but then drank greedily. Jordan had recently seen someone lift their dog up to a drinking fountain in the park, and that was how Allen Meeker guzzled this water. It dripped from his mouth and cascaded along his neck, but he kept swigging it down.

Meeker finally turned his head slightly, and Jordan pulled the bottle away. “Please,” he gasped. “Could you—could you splash some on my face? I’m burning up.”

“I can’t, you drank it all,” Jordan replied, frowning.

“Listen, if you want money, you can—you can take my wallet,” the man said, still trying to catch his breath without coughing. His voice was hoarse and gravelly. “There’s only—only about a hundred bucks—”

“I already have your wallet,” Jordan interrupted. He was thinking about his mother, begging the man to take her purse.

“You can have my car,” Meeker said, closing his eyes in a pained way. “It’s a BMW; it’s nice. The keys are in my pocket.”

“No, they’re not. I took them and drove your car into a swamp.”

Meeker gaped at him. “Are you fucking crazy? Good God, what’s wrong with you? Why are you doing this?”

“Why did you kill my mother?” Jordan quickly retorted. He stuck the end of the gun barrel under the man’s chin, then grabbed him by the arm and hoisted him toward the edge of the trunk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Meeker protested. “If you—if you really think I’ve killed someone, why don’t you call the police? I mean it, please, take me to the police station! I have people worried about me, my fiancée and her little boy.” Even with Jordan pulling him, he had difficultly climbing out of the trunk. “What you’re doing here is insane,” he continued. “You’re just getting yourself into a lot of trouble. Believe me—you’re making a horrible mistake.”

“Is that a threat?”

“God, no,” he replied. “Listen, I’m sorry about your mother, but—but I don’t even know who she is….” He faltered once his feet hit the driveway. “Jesus, my legs are cramped up,” he sniveled, leaning against Jordan. “I’m sorry….”

Meeker staggered back like he was about to fall, but then all at once, he slammed his body into Jordan’s, full force.

The gun flew out of Jordan’s hand. He reeled back and landed on the paved driveway. He fell on his ass, and it hurt. But he’d encountered much worse during a normal lacrosse practice. Jordan sprung back to his feet and leapt for the gun.

Allen Meeker obviously had no use for it right now. He scurried up the driveway—in the other direction. “HELP ME!” he screamed. “SOMEBODY HELP ME! GET THE POLICE….”

He must not have been completely lying about his legs, because he hobbled as he ran. Then his feet suddenly seemed to give out from under him. He slid to one side. With his hands tied behind him, there was no way to break his fall. He went crashing down into some bushes along the driveway. He cried out in pain and tried to roll over.

Jordan slowly walked over to him, the gun drawn.

Defeated, Allen Meeker gazed up at him from amid the crushed bushes. Scratch marks and the bloody gash on his cheek from the earlier fall marred his handsome face. Tears mingled with the sweat running down from his brow. “Please…” he whispered.

“You say you don’t know who my mother was?” Jordan asked, standing over him. “Haven’t you figured it out by now,
Mama’s Boy
? My mother was Stella Syms, your seventh victim. And you killed her less than a mile from here.”

“Leo, please, quit following me!” she announced. “I mean it, give it a rest. I just need to be alone for a while.”

Moira had paused along the narrow path she’d been taking through the woods. It had become more and more difficult to navigate the crude trail snaking though all the trees, rocks, and foliage. Moira was afraid if she went any farther she’d get lost on her way back.

For the last ten minutes, she was almost certain Leo had been following her—at least, she hoped it was Leo. She could hear bushes rustling behind her. Yet whenever she glanced back, she didn’t see anyone. A few times, she saw a shrub or a tree’s low-hanging branches moving. She would call out his name, but never get an answer.

She’d hurt his feelings earlier. But Leo wouldn’t get even by scaring her now. He didn’t operate that way. He was a wiseass at times, but he was also one of the nicest, most dependable guys she knew. She often thought if he weren’t so available, so anxious to please her, she’d be more attracted to him. When Moira had thoughts like that, she wondered if she’d ever have a normal relationship.

It would be just like Leo to trail after her and give her a bit of space—to make certain she was okay. Despite his frequent clumsy attempts to make a pass at her, he was still a gentleman. That was one reason her mother was so gaga about him. He never dropped her off; he always walked her to the door. And he always let her have the last available seat if they got on a crowded bus. So he wouldn’t leave her alone in the woods, no matter how mad he was at her. But this was the fourth time she’d stopped to call out to him, and he still hadn’t replied.

“Leo, I mean it,” she said. “Please, go back to the cabin. It’s been a while since you’ve had anything to eat. You don’t want to have another episode like last night….”

She studied the rustling bushes. It appeared as if someone or something was ducking just beneath the tops of those leaves, slowly moving toward her. She heard twigs snapping.

Maybe it wasn’t him after all. Maybe it was some forest creature.

“Leo, is that you?” she asked loudly.

Whatever it was, it stopped moving.

A chill raced through her. Moira remembered last night, when she’d thought an intruder had snuck into the house—and this morning, when she’d caught someone spying on her in the shower. Maybe she wasn’t so paranoid after all.

“Who’s there?” she asked. There was no response, but she saw some branches shift ever so slightly in that same spot.

“LEO?” she screamed. “LEO, CAN YOU HEAR ME? LEO!”

Moira hoped to hear him call back to her in the distance. But there was nothing. She started to back away. Glancing down around her feet, she found a rock about the size of a baseball. It was covered with dirt and worms. But she snatched it up and quickly brushed it off. She kept walking backward, feeling her way along the path with her free hand. She didn’t dare turn around at this point. She clutched the rock and watched as something just below the tops of the shrubs made its way toward her.

“Get out of here!” she yelled. Moira held onto the rock to defend herself. But she grabbed some smaller rocks along the path and hurled them in the general direction of the disturbance. If an animal was in the brush, she didn’t want to hurt it; she just wanted to scare it away.

Then again, maybe she was provoking the damn thing. She wasn’t sure. She’d heard that these Pacific Northwest woodlands had everything from bears to cougars to wolves. Any minute now, that creature could emerge from those bushes and come charging at her.

Worse, it could be a two-legged creature preying upon her.

“Shit,” she murmured. She finally turned and started running, but the path seemed to disappear—until she was randomly zigzagging around trees and shrubs, going wherever she could find even the narrowest pathway. Moira had no idea where she was headed, but she kept moving. And she kept the rock clutched in her hand.

She finally came to a clearing and realized she was at the summit of a slope. She looked down at the tops of trees. In the distance below, she noticed a gap, a long, narrow channel that wove through the woods. At first, Moira thought it was a stream. But then, through the foliage, she glimpsed a blessed sight: a blue SUV sped along that trail. She was looking down on its roof. That wasn’t just a clearing down there. It was a road—
civilization, at last.

“Thank you, God,” she murmured. She was fed up with these woods, sick of feeling so lost and scared. On top of that, she was hungry.

Moira guessed that wonderful, paved road was about two or three blocks away, which through this thicket would seem like a mile. But at least she knew where she was headed now—and it was all downhill. There would be other cars after that SUV. She might even be able to catch a ride back to the cabin.

Moira held on to the rock as she started running again. She thought about how she might square things with Leo. Maybe they’d actually have a nice time tonight celebrating his birthday. Jordan had made reservations at some ritzy waterfront restaurant in downtown Cullen—probably the
only
ritzy place in Cullen. She’d brought along a knockout, sleeveless black dress for the occasion, beaded around the neckline, very sophisticated and adult.

She discovered a wider trail easier to navigate and realized she must be close to the road by now. She let the rock slip out of her hands. Moira started giggling as she thought about how freaked out she’d been by that thing in the woods back there. It was probably just a fawn or a squirrel, for God’s sake.

Following a curve in the path, she stepped through a pile of leaves, and suddenly, the ground seemed to drop out from under her. Moira heard this loud crackling and splintering sound. All at once, she was falling. She let out a scream and tried to grab at something. But there was nothing to stop her from tumbling into the chasm below. Moira hit the bottom of the trench, feetfirst. A searing pain shot through her left foot. She heard something snap, then she collapsed. Leaves, dirt, twigs, and broken branches crashed down on top of her.

Moira got the wind knocked out of her. Struggling for a breath, she tried to wipe the dirt out of her eyes. It was in her mouth, too. Coughing, she sat at the bottom of the pit. It took her another few moments to realize what had happened. The cloud of dust and grit finally cleared above her, and she looked up at the patch of sky. She felt like she was in an empty grave in a cemetery plot, only much deeper, maybe eight or ten feet down.

The top part of the pit was lined with wood supports that had turned black from years of underground moisture. Moss grew between the beams. Below that, the walls to the rest of the hole were just dirt and rock. Moira was cold, and with every breath she took, she could taste dirt. The place smelled like moist, decaying leaves and mud. She guessed someone had meant to dig a well here decades ago, but they’d given up after a while.

At first, Moira thought a bush had taken root and grown at the very top of the hole. That was why she’d mistaken it for a pile of leaves. But as she squinted at the splintered limbs hovering above her, she saw all their leaves were dead. Someone had stuck branches between the cracks of those wood supports along the top—to cover the hole.

Moira was still stunned and catching her breath at the bottom of the deep trench. She hadn’t tried to move yet. She lay there and wondered why in God’s name someone would camouflage a pit that way. Didn’t they realize a person could easily fall into this concealed hole—and be trapped here? Didn’t they know something like this might happen?

Then it dawned on her.

Of course they knew.

Leo thought about turning back to make sure Moira was okay.

With a long, thin branch he’d found, he tapped the trees along the trail. Just up ahead was the hot spring where he and Jordan had gone skinny-dipping last night. They’d had a blast—until his stupid diabetic episode. It was probably just as well Moira hadn’t come along with them. Truth be told, she’d been right. The main reason he’d wanted her to join them had been so he could catch a glimpse of her naked. But when he thought about it now, it would have been a drag with her there—even if he hadn’t had his diabetic meltdown. She probably would have kept her bra and panties on—and made a big deal out of that.

He still couldn’t believe she’d accused him of peeking at her while she was showering this morning. Did she really think he was that desperate and creepy?

He wasn’t going back there. She’d told him, “Leave me the fuck alone.” How much clearer could she have been?

Frowning, Leo lumbered along the forest trail, occasionally kicking at a rock in his path.
Some birthday so far
, he thought. He was eighteen and still felt like a skinny, inexperienced kid. He was graduating this year, too. What was it going to say under his picture in the yearbook? Not much. Because of his diabetes and his work schedule busing tables at the country club, he couldn’t go out for any sports. So he wasn’t a jock. He couldn’t drink and be a party boy—even if he wanted that. And he wasn’t part of the theater crowd either. If not for his friendship with Jordan, he’d be a total nobody. So what the hell would it say under his name in the yearbook anyway?

CHARLES LEO FORESTER

“Leo”

Social Club Vice President,
Garfield Big Brothers, Spanish Club
Pathetic Virgin

Sometimes, he got really sick of being the “nice guy” all the hot girls’
mothers
adored. He had to go to another school to find a girl who actually liked him and made him feel important. Moira Dancey was smart, pretty, and funny—and not like anyone else he knew. But every time he tried to get romantic with her—even just a coy, suggestive remark or a hand on her knee or shoulder—Moira’s response was something along the lines of “Oh, God, gross, cut it out, Leo!” or “I don’t think of you that way!” And he’d feel like an asexual reject-loser. More than anyone, she knew how to humiliate him. It was awful getting that kind of treatment from someone he really liked and felt so comfortable with.

Before crossing over some rocks in the narrowest part of the spring, Leo turned back and glanced at the trail behind him. He thought he had heard Moira yell out his name. He started to backtrack—to get away from the babbling stream and listen for her voice again.

“MOIRA!” he hollered. “MOIRA, ARE YOU OKAY? I JUST WANT TO MAKE SURE YOU’RE ALL RIGHT!”

He retraced his steps along the trail, hoping to hear her answer him. He had a gut instinct that something was wrong. Plus he felt pretty lousy for making her cry earlier. But what had upset her most was the revelation that Jordan wasn’t interested in her and that he was embarrassed by her flirting.

Yeah, he was being hurtful when he’d told her what Jordan had said. Jordan had actually said those things, too—but coming from him, it hadn’t seemed so critical and cruel.

Jordan had also said that he was wasting his time with Moira: “I think she’s pretty and nice and all. But you ought to find yourself a girlfriend who doesn’t act like she’s about to hurl every time you try to kiss her.”

He had a point.

Still, Leo couldn’t help worrying about her right now. She was unfamiliar with these woods. Of course, he wasn’t exactly Daniel Boone. He didn’t know the area very well himself. He’d stayed at the Prewitts’ Cullen cabin only twice before.

The first time had been when he was twelve, shortly after Jordan’s family moved down from Bellingham. He was Jordan’s first friend in Seattle. They went everywhere together on their Schwinns. Leo was in awe of the Prewitts’ big-screen TV and the
Penthouse
collection Mr. Prewitt had hidden in a drawer in his walk-in closet. But they spent most of their time at Leo’s house, where his dad helped them organize weekend softball games in the park with some of the other neighborhood kids and their dads. Mr. Prewitt never came. That first trip to Cullen was an overnight with Jordan and Mr. Prewitt. It was just about the only time Jordan’s dad ever did anything with them, and he was nice enough, but not exactly Mr. Personality.

The second trip had been almost two years ago, a weekend with just Jordan and him. Leo had recently been diagnosed with diabetes, and later that same month his dad had been killed in Iraq. “We’re taking the Cullen Cure-All,” Jordan had promised him. And he was right, that weekend was the first bit of fun Leo had experienced since finding out his dad had died in the jeep accident. They had some good laughs—and they’d cried, too. It was the only time Leo had seen Jordan cry. “Your dad was really cool, man,” Jordan explained. “I liked him a lot.”

On that trip, he also talked briefly about his dead mother, and how much he missed her. Leo figured they had something else in common now, both having lost a parent in an automobile smash-up. But when he pressed Jordan for details about the accident—how it had happened exactly—he hit a wall. “I really don’t remember the specifics,” Jordan told him. “I was eight at the time. I’ve asked my dad for more information, but he doesn’t like to talk about it. Guess I don’t like talking about it either….”

They’d spent a lot of time hiking that weekend, too.

Leo had been able to refresh his memory hoofing to the hot spring last night. So while no expert on the terrain, at least he knew his way around better than Moira.

He was near where they’d parted company earlier. This spot with the three tall evergreens in a row looked familiar. He saw some movement in a clump of bushes off the pathway ahead. Leaves rustled.

“Moira?” he called. “Is that you?”

A deer suddenly scurried across the trail in front of him. It gave him a scare, but he caught his breath and scoped the area again. “MOIRA!” he yelled. “ARE YOU THERE? MOIRA, ANSWER ME!”

There was no response.

Leo started to feel a bit light-headed. He’d brought along a small, Halloween-size Nestlé Crunch bar in case of an emergency. But he needed something more substantial to keep his levels right.

Leo called to Moira several more times before turning back. He didn’t want to leave her alone there, but figured he wouldn’t do her much good passed out in these woods. He’d go back to the cabin, wolf down some food, and then return with Jordan. The two of them would find her—if she was indeed lost.