Or maybe she wasn’t unaware. Maybe we were all the same. None of us believed.
It wasn’t fine. Life had never been fine. I’d once watched as my father hit my mother so hard she crashed into the counter and went down like a load of wet sand. There was something wrong with him—and with her—for letting it be that way. For as sure as the sun was going to come up the next morning, that was not the last time he would raise his hand to her. She stayed, he went on with the abuse, and it was never going to change.
Unless someone did something about it.
I don’t think I really wanted to kill them. Maybe a little. Maybe I wanted to kill them a little—no, him for sure, but her too in a way—but mostly what I wanted was to eradicate the place of my childhood. Desecrate it. Wipe it from the face of the earth.
And I’d liked doing it, watching the flames begin to feed as I watched in fascination, their hunger gnawing at the dry, old siding, swallowing the roof, roaring in pleasure. By the time the fire trucks arrived, it had been hopeless, an inferno.
It had changed my life.
Marjorie had been in her kitchen and I’d knocked on the door. She opened it, and I think she might even have recognized me after a few seconds when I introduced myself and produced my credentials. She let me in. Even offered coffee. In this blistering heat.
Gracious of her.
But she didn’t know the creature.
I’m not all that convinced I know the creature either. It is possible he’s got the best of me.
* * *
The air felt
like a moist, hot lick.
That was what his father always called it and it somehow stuck in his brain.
Jason wanted the lead but Ellie was ahead of him already, Glock drawn, both of them walking through the crisp grass, knee deep in places. At least the snakes were probably down their holes or near water of some kind, or he sure hoped so. He knew there were copperheads and moccasins around and he couldn’t see just what he might be stepping on.
What they were stalking was a lot more deadly anyway.
The fire was in the remains of what must have been the basement of the house, the flames casting a lurid light on the dirt walls, the open square dark otherwise. It was a little like seeing a human sacrifice and Jason heard Ellie make a muffled sound at just the same moment he spotted the platform and the shape on it down deep in the hole.
Human sacrifice.
It felt wrong to not rush to put out the flames, but no one could survive that conflagration, and if the pattern held, that unmoving form represented someone who was already dead anyway.
“My God,” Ellie said, her voice holding a hint of horror, edging down beneath a bush.
He didn’t disagree with her muttered sentiment, crouching behind her. “Where is he?”
“I’m sure he heard the car as we drove up the lane.”
That was probably true. “Look, let me go in front.”
“Why? Because you’re male?”
“Exactly.”
“Makes you a bigger target.” Ellie’s hair reflected the reddish light of the flames but otherwise it was pretty dead black around them from his angle. No streetlights here, no help coming anytime soon if the local officer was an indication, and Grasso was in Milwaukee, as was most everyone else they could call. State police response maybe, county sheriff’s department if necessary, but someone needed to tell them just what they were dealing with, and finding them was going to be a bitch. They’d missed the turn twice.
And as for him being male, absurdly enough, that
was
it. She was half a foot shorter and in the garish light, her slender frame looked even less substantial, especially when she crouched by the edge of the foundation to peer into the cave of the old cellar. But she held the Glock with the businesslike comfort of someone who knew how to handle it.
Woman or not, he was glad of Ellie MacIntosh because he sure as hell had never been in this position before and she had. As a police officer when he was on patrol, he’d chased his share of suspects into some questionable places, and drawn his weapon more than once. But he’d never hunted a serial killer with a burning body just a few feet away.
To make matters worse there was a full moon rising now, cresting the tree line, flooding light everywhere, distorting the shadows.
Not helpful.
“Fine, go first,” he said in a barely audible voice. “Prove you have a bigger dick than I do.”
She ignored him—it
had
been pretty crude, even for him. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Fucking Reubens,” he murmured, inching forward, stepping through the long grass with an inward prayer. “By the way, he drives a black Mercedes, not new, but not that old either, so that fits like a glove right there. Where is he?”
A now familiar unsettling smell wafted upward with the smoke and it looked to Jason like someone had piled timber of some kind under the table, like a funeral pyre, because the flames shot up over the grotesque suggestion of a human form. Paramedics would definitely be a waste of the taxpayers’ dollars.
“On the way to his tropical vacation? I wonder if we have extradition where he’s headed.” Her whisper was quiet, but so close he caught it.
Jason swore softly but vehemently. “I forgot about that. Son of a bitch. He warned us. Told us flat out he was leaving the country.”
“Let’s go check the barn,” she said.
“I’ll go, you call this in. Get Grasso on that angle so Reubens doesn’t get away. They can check the airports. He can’t be gone yet. Look at the fire. He’s got maybe an hour on us at the most. We need backup, and for all we know he’s checking his bags right now and about to board his flight.”
“Good point.” Her features washed to bleached bone by the moonlight, she already had out her phone and was punching in numbers, her hair a pale halo around her face.
The yard had long since disappeared under the invasion of weeds and Jason barely avoided catastrophe as he came across an old cistern, the cover askew and broken. If he’d gone down into it he might have easily broken a leg, which didn’t sound like a whole lot of fun, and besides, who knew what form of animal life might hide there, and he wasn’t anxious to find out either.
The barn was dilapidated, listing sideways like a broken old man on a cane, part of the roof gone, the doors completely torn off either by storms or for wood, and even the smell of manure was faint after so many years of disuse.
However, he knew Reubens had driven up here because he could smell crushed vegetation, earthy and fresh, and sure enough, when he stepped carefully over the tracks through the weeds, it did look like a car had been through very recently and might have been parked on the other side of the structure.
An owl called close by, probably from the rafters; he jumped and then swore softly.
Then he caught a gleam of something around the corner … metal?
Correction. The car was
still
parked there.
Black, solid in the moonlight, but definitely Reubens’ vehicle.
Holy shit. Not at the airport, but right here and he would have heard them …
Something moved inside the barn. He only caught it out of the corner of his eye and swiveled on the pads of his feet.
Motherfuck
…
The first bullet hit him in the chest. Solid. He felt the penetration, the tearing flesh, the crush of bone. The second got him lower, but he was already going down, down, weapon half raised …
Down.
* * *
The gunshot reports
echoed and it was as if the night stopped dead.
What just happened?
Ellie almost fell into the dark pit of the basement with the burning corpse and she could think of nothing she would like less. On the other end of the line, Grasso said, “What was that?”
“Forget the airports, we’ve got shots fired here.” She crouched down, desperately clutching her phone, sweat prickling over her body, searching for cover, but the weeds were about the best she could do. “I need backup right now.”
“I heard it. It’s fifty miles for me, but I’ll call the locals.”
She flipped her phone shut and tried to figure out how to approach the barn without running in the open. The moonlight wasn’t helpful, pouring down with an almost surreal brilliance.
Where are you?
Her first impulse was to call out, but she knew better. A June bug blundered past her face, the startling sound loud, making her jerk backward. Her heart was going about a hundred miles an hour.
Barn. Santiago had been checking out the barn … but there wasn’t a good direct approach, and if she had to call it, given that Jason hadn’t yelled out to her, he was either trying to stay undercover, or maybe he just couldn’t yell at all.
The old orchard on one side of the drive might provide a way to approach, but getting there was still a problem and she scanned the perimeter, not seeing any movement, but not liking the silence.
Fine, she’d break it.
“Dr. Reubens!” she shouted, still crouched down, sweat trickling down her back. “This is the end of it. There are sheriff’s deputies on their way and I’ve alerted the MPD. Why not surrender?”
Now he would know exactly where she was, but she wasn’t certain he didn’t already. Luckily, the waist-high vegetation provided some measure of obscurity, but unfortunately no protection, and she was pretty sure what she’d heard was rifle fire, not her partner’s .45.
The fact that Santiago wasn’t communicating was ominous.
He was profane, opinionated, and a pain in her ass, but still her stomach twisted in apprehension and concern.
Something rustled. She swiveled, on her haunches, her weapon steady, the safety off.
Nothing but the eerie moonlit outline of the barn, the barest brush of a breeze, and then suddenly she caught it. A small flare of light from the corner of the back and she realized the hissing sound was a blow torch.
She sprinted toward the growing flame. All she could think of was that he was burning his last victim and that might just be Jason Santiago.…
* * *
It hurt like hell.
Jason never lost consciousness completely but he was stunned, gasping, trying to take it in. He knew he was bleeding, and he levered up on an elbow, was grateful he wasn’t coughing up blood, registered he might have hit his head when he fell because his face was wet, and then slowly got to his feet.
Not as easy as it sounded.
First of all he was soaked in blood, and unfortunately, all of it was his. He took a moment and tried to assess, and it wasn’t a gushing wound, but it was definitely dripping everywhere, off his sleeve, off the hem of his shirt, and there was a slight haze of smoke in the air, and when he wiped his temple, his hand came away dark.
You know, he was getting tired of the theme. Blood. Fire. Death.
MacIntosh was out there, hunting Reubens, and when she heard the shots, he was sure she’d kept a cool head and called for help. He told himself that as calmly as possible, because panic right now was the enemy of a good outcome.
Shot, not dead. Look at the bright side. No more shots. Ellie still alive was a good thing.
He wasn’t sure he was glad Metzger stuck them together, but he was positive he wasn’t getting left out to dry. She was out there, but so was Reubens.
Gun? Where the hell was his gun? He tried to walk, staggered a little, and then heard a noise. It brought him around but it wasn’t anything … a crackle, and there was a curl of flame in the corner …
The barn was on fire.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” he muttered and headed for the door, though his progress was hampered by the fact he was shot in the leg and chest, and
shit
.
It hurt
.
If there was one thing that was not going to happen tonight, he was not going to get roasted by The Burner.
He limped outside, coughed again, happy it seemed to just be because of the smoke, and caught a glimpse of his weapon, lying where he must have fallen. Picking it up was a lesson in torture he didn’t care to repeat, but he felt much better with it in his hand.
He eased himself around the edge of the structure, using it for support, his bloody fingers slippery against the old, rough wood.
There was one thing about fire. It was not a secret. The moonlit night showcased the growing inferno at the corner of the barn and it didn’t exactly hide Ellie either, crouched by the side of the building, gun extended, her hair pale in the growing illumination from the flames.
“Put your weapon down and come forward,” she called. “You know there’s no walking out of here.”
The hell there wasn’t. Trees were everywhere for plenty of cover and while escaping on foot and leaving his car behind might not be ideal, it was possible.
Reubens wasn’t going to surrender. Jason knew it. More than that, he understood it. He’d learned it young too, learned how to take care of himself.
To take care of obstacles.
He also knew how to be out of control. But he’d never killed anyone to prove it.
A shadow moved at the edge of the growing flames. It was almost nothing. Ellie, crouched down, didn’t see it, and from where she was, he doubted she would, but from his vantage point, upright and behind her, he did.
He might be more old-fashioned than he thought he was because he tensed there as he rested bleeding against that old barn, and that same stupid protective male instinct surfaced.
The shadow moved again on the periphery. From her position Ellie still didn’t see it, the fire sending up flickers as it caught and grew.
“Dr. Reubens?” she called. “Come out.”
He was coming out all right, with a rifle against her pistol and he wasn’t doing it to give himself up. Not this man who burned bodies. Not The Burner.
“MacIntosh, down!” Jason ordered in a rasp.
She turned at the sound of his voice, but stayed low.
The shadow shifted.
But he still saw it. He was swaying on his feet. Infuriating, but true. He stepped out, and there was a sharp blast as Reubens fired and Jason honed in on the flash, took two rapid shots, and then started to fade, the knees going first, in slow motion, and then his shoulder hitting the ground, a grunt making his breath go out.