In the Dead of Night (33 page)

A weird association, I know, but the easiest way for me to deal with being uncomfortable as well as with my growing fear. When I tried to move my arms from my sides, I couldn’t. Just my hands. One-inch thick nylon rope held me fast, and my legs were similarly bound. Sitting in one of the kitchen chairs Fiona admired earlier for the hand carved loops and leaves in a Black Forest motif. Only now, the chiseled designs served to secure the ropes that held me fast.

Similarly bound, the love of my life sat ten feet away. Thick mascara trails from Fiona’s eyes to her cheeks told me she’d been crying for some time.

Darkness outside the windows
...
twilight fading. How long have I been out?

Disheveled, a red welt alongside her mouth revealed the physical assault she’d suffered since our conversation had been abruptly interrupted. Before or after being rope-strapped to her chair? That didn’t matter. Primal alarm and protective rage ripped through my entire being.

“I’m going to kick your scrawny ass, you sorry sack of shit!” I hissed, trying to raise my head. It made me want to scream, but the instinctive urge to sacrifice comfort in order to come to my wife’s rescue spurred me on. “Only a pussy attacks a man from behind…and for whatever you’ve done to her, it’s gonna be a helluva lot worse for you now, asshole!”

Maybe under different circumstances, I would’ve worded my response more carefully. It only took a moment for our assailant to respond.

Gloved fingers grabbed my chin and thrust my gaze upward. More agony, and the intense ‘white light’ I remembered from the last time I
did
have a migraine came rushing through.

I howled in pain…maybe even a bit shrill like a little girl. I don’t remember, just that it hurt like a mother.

Fiona burst into tears, and I desperately wanted to comfort her…rescue her. Instead I thought my head would snap from my spine.

Dude’s body doesn’t look like much, but he’s got a grip. Sucker’s real strong!

A muffled chuckle erupted above me, and I forced my eyes to focus on the guy. Dressed completely in black, his silken body suit glistened under the glow from one of the carpenter’s barren lamps hanging from a dormant brass chandelier. His face lay hidden behind a black mesh mask. The same ninja-looking outfit he wore when he stalked us back at Charlain’s place, right after Candi, Johnny, and Brenda were murdered.

Ah, Shit!! Double-damn turkey-sucking shit!!!

The chuckle grew louder and higher pitched, and he walked away…more like strutting like a queen. A real flamer, this one. At least it gave me a moment to scan our current surroundings. More plastic drop sheets hung from the ceiling, and the windows were partially covered up with shipping paper and masking tape. An icy chill traveled along my spine as I recalled how Johnny’s kitchen windows had been similarly covered when Fiona first discovered his corpse, along with Brenda, and Candi.

He now moved over to Fiona, who cowered, her eyes terrified.

What’d he do to her while I was out cold??

Not sure what this guy could’ve done, or would do now, sizing her up with one hand positioned on his hip and the other looked like it’d be most comfortable holding a martini. Come to think of it, dude’s got a female looking ass. I won’t linger too long on that image.... I ain’t a guy to swing both ways, man—just chicks, and devoted to one lady in particular.

Fiona once told me that when my thoughts get real intense, sometimes other people—even those without second sight or acute intuition—can sense my musings. It must’ve happened right then, as our attacker with a feminine flair suddenly looked over at me again. I could tell this miscreant eyed me curiously, cocking his blank, featureless face in apparent puzzlement.

Dude’s got lumps on his chest, too…good-sized man-boobs, and with pointy nipples…

Hey, wait a minute—what in the hell??

He sauntered over toward me, the chuckle erupting into cackled laughter muffled by the mask.

Sure as shit sounds like a girl—

“Well, it took you long enough!” said the voice, removing the mask and revealing a full head of thick blonde hair. “Ready for your prize, Cracker Jack?”

“No
frigging
way!!”

Fiona gasped while I shook my head, completely bewildered why Angie stood before us, wearing a black ninja suit. ‘What a mean, sick joke, you thoughtless bitch!’ I berated her silently. Hard to reconcile the image of our limping compadre’ with the limber assassin strutting between us. But the gleaming meat cleaver Angie suddenly produced in her right hand to go along with the 9mm Glock she pulled from her suit took care of any further misunderstandings. If she wasn’t the killer, she did a damned good job of imitating one.

The injuries to Fiona’s face and my throbbing skull pleaded for me to quit deciding if we were in danger or not and start thinking of a way out—even if our realistic chances were slim to none at best.

“Too late for that, you stupid jackass!” taunted Angie, as if she could now read my mind, like Fiona. She moved over to me, smiling naughtily. Her large green eyes that normally looked mirthful were now cold, devoid of any emotion other than a slight hint of amusement. “How about a small taste of what’s to come for you in a few minutes?”

I suppose the question was more rhetorical than direct as she moved over to me. Before I could react she sliced the back of my right hand open with the front edge of the cleaver. An immediate river of blood appeared, flowing downward across my fingers and dripping down to the floor. I uttered a gasp more in surprise than pain, as the razor-sharp edge didn’t register the injury to my brain until the blood-drip began to form a puddle.

“Why in the hell are you doing this?”
My shocked response came out shrill, as I watched the blood flow from my hand in disbelief, fearing where the next geyser would erupt.

“Why? Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe this will help clear things up for you, Jimmy Boy!”

She paused to look over her shoulder at Fiona, who sobbed terribly while pleading for her to stop…to take her anger out on her instead of me.

“Your turn’s coming soon, sister,” Angie warned, and then turned her attention back to me. “But first it’s time to educate your piece of shit husband!”

Her smile broadened while she dug her fingers just above her forehead, into the edge of her hairline. I watched in horror as her thick blonde hair fell from her head and dropped onto the floor, revealing a butch haircut. Butch and fiery red.

Oh, my God! Here’s the redheaded bastard we’ve been looking for! But he’s a frigging SHE!!

“How about that, huh?” she giggled. “The big bad serial killer has been under your ignorant noses the
entire
time!”

“What did we ever do to you to deserve this?!”
Fiona blurted out between sobs.
“We took you in as one of our own…we are your friends!!”

I suddenly remembered my wife saying something last October about Angie’s aura being closed, which made it impossible to read her psychically. But despite that fact, both of us valued her charms enough to overlook what at the time seemed like a slight flaw—especially after she aided Jackie in getting us into several of Nashville’s most exclusive haunts. It’s obviously too late to revoke her membership now, but how I wish to God we could rewind our lives nine months and get a do-over.

“You befriended someone you
thought
was like you,” Angie retorted, looking over her shoulder while she absently twirled the meat cleaver tainted with my red corpuscles. “You should’ve been more careful—all of you, you bunch of frigging
freaks!”

She laughed and returned her attention to me.

“We’re
freaks?”
I asked incredulously, bringing an instantaneous look of horror from my better half. Fiona probably thought I’d completely lost my mind, and maybe she’s right. It could be the surest way to Angie’s butcher block, unless I somehow befuddled this cocksure psycho. “We’re not the ones pretending to be somebody we’re not.
You’re
nothing but an
empty
vessel…a soulless bitch that’ll never come close to any form of lasting happiness!”

Not sure where that came from, and as soon as it rolled out of my mouth like some Obama campaign rhetoric, I was a dead man. Probably very soon.

“Soulless??”

It was her turn to express disbelief.

I nodded deliberately. Hell, I was about to die anyway, so why cower like some sprite-sized pixie?

“Maybe if you had
my
life and not some Pleasantville shit, you’d understand what a moron you are for saying that!” she seethed. Her hand holding the cleaver began to tremble from anger, and she brought it dangerously close to the edge of my nose.

“Soul-l-l-less-s-s!” I hissed, lifting my head slightly to dare her to cut me.

Goodbye cruel world…or so I assumed. But she hesitated, stepping back to study me. I may not have long, but something in her plans just got messed up.

Stay alive. Find a way to keep her thoughts distracted from her plan…

“Jackie so loved you, Angie…she
still
does. What’ve you done to her—to
all
of them?”

Fiona cried even harder as I said this, so scared and for the moment terribly fragile. Her guides can make her wise, but unfortunately not much more than that. There’s no super hero magic—not even a way to glamour somebody with some hocus-pocus.

We’re definitely screwed! Unless…

“They’re sleeping.”

“Where?”

Me again, though she looked at me like she forgot I sat directly in front of her. For the life of me, I can’t recall any hints of the psychosis on display here tonight.

“Down in the cellar,” she said, her tone absent of any emotion. Ditto for her face. “They’ll sleep forever there.”

More tears and anguished sobs erupted from my wife, while a terribly hollow feeling washed over me. I’m about to lose those closest to me, and maybe more to come. Maybe two young boys orphaned.

“But, again, why are you doing this?”

Now I sounded a little like her, voicing a thought stripped of emotion.

“Because you know
her!
”

No, she didn’t point to Fiona. I believe my wife understood the same thing I did. Candi Starr. Angie’s talking about her now.

“So we’re all guilty by association?” I asked, knowing Fiona was in no condition to try and out-psyche her. It was all up to me. “And did you know her husband, Vito Travini, back east someplace?”

She regarded me as if these last words caught her totally off guard. She snickered, nervous.

“Okay. Not bad, Cracker Jack,” she said. “Not bad at all.”

“Why don’t you tell us about it?” I suggested, my tone calm, compassionate, trying to remember the recent training I received at the office, new techniques to de-escalate irate customers. “It’s the least you can do for us, since you’re planning to kill us anyway.”

I couldn’t tell if Fiona had given up yet or not, but she looked over at me after I said this last part. Maybe she’s starting to sense where I’m headed with this....

“I’ll give you the five minute Cliff Notes version, and then I’ll need to dispatch you both,” said Angie, moving over to the closest kitchen countertop to us. “I don’t want your boyfriend, Eddie, showing up before I’m ready for him.”

Angie winked at me before glancing at Fiona again, as if somehow this tidbit would cut through me. Maybe if I didn’t trust Fiona as much as I do—despite my obvious discomfort having Ed around—her words might’ve had some effect. They didn’t.

Angie frowned. But instead of menacing me again, she leaned back against the counter, setting the gun and meat cleaver next to her

“All right,” she said. “Vito was my man.”

“Your lover?” I sought to confirm

“Yes.” She glanced over at Fiona, as did I. She still wept, but her eyes peered up at me through her curls, listening intently. “He planned to leave her, you know.”

Actually, I didn’t.

“But, Candice sent him up,” she continued, her voice shaking a little. “So I waited for him to get out…waited and kept an eye on her, since he planned to slit her throat from ear to ear once he got out. He used to talk about it all of the time, and how we’d be together forever once he did that. Her getting to taste the good life while we suffered, it
isn’t
fair. She ruined his life. She ruined
mine!”

“It’s understandable why you wouldn’t want her in the picture…but how did she ruin your life?”

Man this was dicey. Playing it like her friend, since her bloodlust really wasn’t understandable. Sounds more like diva jealousy to me.

“She took the money he saved, and then she hid it.”

“Candi?” asked Fiona, her voice hoarse from tears.

“Yes!” Angie replied, snickering coldly. “So, I came out here to watch her…to keep an eye on her, like I said. That’s when I met Jackie, who happened to know some card-reading freak who knew Candice personally. It was the perfect chance to get close to her, since she’d never met me before.”