Layne touched his heart as if wounded. “I’m hurt that you even have to ask.”
As a cool autumn gale blew across the football field where they met each other for lunch, a small smile passed over Amy’s face. It was the first Layne had a chance to see since sitting down on the bleachers, and he was happy to see it.
The wind picked up, pushing gray clouds across a silver-blue sky. Amy faced the western gale, sadness weighing heavily on her face. She sighed.
Layne wished he knew how to cheer her up. It pained him to see her so unhappy, so depressed. He had an idea though of how to get her mind off her troubles. “You know, it’s not too late to buy tickets to the Homecoming dance, if you want to go.”
Amy looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Are you serious?”
With a shrug, Layne took a bite of his turkey sandwich and chewed. “Why not?”
Dropping her eyes, Amy pushed back a strand of hair from her face and bit her lip. “Layne, I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea after I… kissed you yesterday. When I said I love you I meant it, but… only as a friend.”
Hearing this, Layne choked on his sandwich. With eyes wide in panic, he chased the food down with a sip of Dr. Pepper. His heart plummeted to his stomach. It shattered.
Amy patted him rapidly on the back. “Shit, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Layne said, trying to catch his breath. “Food went down the wrong pipe.” He fought back the tears in his eyes.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full? I hope you’re not mad at me. I didn’t mean to lead you on.”
Layne looked away from her, a dull aching in his chest. “No, you didn’t.” He hoped she didn’t hear the quiver in his voice. “I know you meant it as just friends. I did, too.”
“Are you sure?” Amy didn’t sound convinced.
A cold knot twisted in his gut as a chilling stream of liquid metal coursed painfully down his spine. He shivered. “Y-yeah. I just thought you might want to go to the dance.”
Awkward silence followed. Feeling like an idiot, Layne couldn’t bring himself to look at Amy.
“Let me think about it, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Wishing to numb his pain, Layne crossed his arms against the growing chill where his heart once beat and closed his eyes, yearning for a drink.
Chapter 70
It took Hank a moment to fully absorb the implications of what the county detectives standing in front of his desk told him. “His throat was slit?”
“It’s a strange coincidence,” Joe MacCallum said. “Don’t you think?”
Patrick Keene cleared his throat. “Hank, what did you do after finding out Barrett made contact with your daughter?”
Hank sat back in his chair, shaking his head in disbelief. “Went home and had a talk with Amy.”
“And what did ya’ll talk about?”
“None of your goddamn business.” He glared at Patrick. “And no, I didn’t kill the old fart; just like I didn’t kill my wife. You hear me, junior deputy?”
Joe stepped in. “You can see our dilemma, can’t you, Hank?”
Still glaring at Patrick, Hank said, “All I know is I had nothin’ to do with it. Was probably your run-of-the-mill carjacking gone wrong.”
“You don’t seem all that upset about it,” Patrick said.
“You’re right.” Hank smirked. “I’m not.”
Patrick’s face lit up with frustration. “Did you hunt Barrett down, kill him, and make it look like a carjacking gone wrong?”
Anger burned in Hank’s chest. He rose from his chair. “Get the hell out of here you little prick, before I tear your fuckin’ head off!”
“Calm down,” Joe demanded. “We had to ask.”
“Bullshit. I know what this is about. It’s about settling an old score. You want to go, Pat?” Hank cracked his knuckles. “Let’s go.”
Patrick made an angry move forward. Fists clenched, Hank stepped around his desk, thinking,
long time comin’, asshole!
Joe stood between them, hands raised. “No one’s settling any scores!” He looked up at Hank, making a point of reaching for his handcuffs. “Hear me? Now we have a few questions that need answering. We can talk about them here or at the station. You pick.”
Hank felt his blood pressure skyrocket. His pulse hammered at his temples. “Don’t have time for ‘em.”
“Well, that’s too damn bad. Now sit back down!” Joe pointed Patrick to one of the two metal folding-chairs in front of Hank’s desk. “Sit.”
Still glowering at Patrick, Hank eased back into his chair. He had to restrain himself from reaching into his desk for his bottle of Southern Comfort and his loaded .38.
When all three men were seated and calm, Joe started with the questions. “Okay, you have anything other than speculation that Bubba Ray Busby is responsible for these murders?”
“I don’t,” Hank admitted sourly.
“And we have no way of knowing for sure if he’s even still alive. So we dump that theory.”
“Wait. Have you had any contact with Busby in the last few weeks?” Patrick asked. “In the last few month?”
Fighting not to lose his temper again, Hank said, “No. Haven’t seen that son bitch since I was fifteen. If I had, I would’ve killed him a long time ago.”
“So we’re back at the copycat theory,” Patrick said. “Any reason why we should rule you out as the killer?”
“Oh for fuck-sake,” Joe growled. “Enough with that shit already.”
“Well, if not Bubba Ray Busby, if not Hank, then who? There’s something he’s not telling us. You know that.”
Ignoring them, Hank flashed back to pictures he’d seen of a slaughter house; of dead women, some even little girls, hanging from chains in a chapel of depravity where words like whore and succubus were scribbled in blood over its unholy walls.
He remembered seeing a picture of his sister tied to a pine tree, her throat slit from ear to ear, her naked body splattered in her own blood. It had been her punishment for trying to save her only son from a life of hatred, violence, and insanity.
But could the son really be saved from a curse that had tainted his blood? Or is he…
His father’s child.
Shit, why haven’t I thought of it before.
“I have to call my daughter,” he said, reaching for the phone.
Joe glanced at him curiously. “What’s on your mind, Hank?”
A blood debt.
Hank hoped he was wrong.
Chapter 71
“So do you have anything planned for Halloween?” asked Catherine as she followed Amy out into the parking lot.
“No. Just homework. I may read a V. C. Andrews novel. I don’t know. I’m so over this holiday. It’s so stupid,” Amy said, still feeling guilty about what happened between her and Layne at lunch.
“Well if you change your mind, when he gets off work, Michael and I are just gonna drive around, get high, maybe egg a few houses. Good times, good times. And I think Steve Matranga’s throwing a party. Hm. What do you think?”
“Sounds like fun.” But Amy was only half listening. She spotted Layne leaning against the hood of his Pathfinder, smoking a cigarette, looking glum.
She grimaced.
How could I do that to him?
She knew he had lied when he told her she hadn’t led him on. She saw it in his eyes, the hurt. And she knew he was only putting on a brave face when he told her he too loved her as a friend. She knew there was more to his feelings. There had been all along.
How could I have been so blind?
As Amy approached, Layne’s expression turned blank. The gloom in his eyes dissipated. His frown straightened like a taut fishing line.
Amy didn’t know what to say. Despite his denials, she knew she’d broken his heart. Apologies would just ring hollow, as they did when they parted at lunch.
She could tell he hadn’t heard a word she uttered after leaving the football field. He was in his own little world, turned upside down.
Because of me.
She knew they needed some time apart from each other, some distance. So she asked Catherine for a ride home. It seemed the wise thing to do.
Amy felt her cheeks turn red as she tore her gaze from his emotionless eyes and bit her lower lip. She felt him watching her as she passed, and felt his sorrow weigh down on her back like a tombstone.
Following Catherine to her car, Amy wrapped her arms around herself and tried to soothe her tortured conscience.
I did the right thing.
“You guys going to be okay?” Catherine asked once they settled in the car.
“I don’t know,” she said. Her stomach ached.
Catherine started the engine. “Ever going to tell me what went on between you two?”
“No.” Amy turned her head away.
Chapter 72
So many teenagers filled the parking lot, but Adam knew Eve the moment her saw her.
Her long blond hair shone brilliantly in the afternoon sun. The hem of her skirt fluttered around her knees in the soft breeze.
She was short but buxom. His erection throbbed painfully as he watched her breasts bob in her blouse.
Adam pushed his urges aside. He would not be tempted by the allure of her fruit. Not today.
Abandoning the Cadillac, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he rushed across the street. Horns blared and tires screeched as cars avoided striking him.
“Crazy asshole,” someone shouted as he hurried across the street to the old, yellow Mercedes Benz into which his prey slipped.
“You’re mine,” Adam hissed.
He swung open the back passenger-side door and slid into the seat behind Eve.
The dark-haired girl behind the steering wheel whipped her little head around. Her bright green eyes grew wide in her pink heart-shaped face.
Adam grabbed a thick fistful of Eve’s hair and wrenched her head back. He heard her squeal. The smell of her fear turned him on like a blast furnace, but he wouldn’t be tempted.
He had to stay strong for the mission.
“Serpent’s whore,” he snarled, pressing the steel teeth of his buck knife against her throat. “You can’t pull your seductress tricks on me.”
Adam glared at the other girl and winced in disgust.
He smelled urine. That girl’s fear wasn’t at all pleasing.
But that didn’t matter, she had a purpose to serve.
“Drive,” he ordered. “Do anything other than what I tell you, and your friend dies right here. Understand?”
“Y-yes,” she said, the fear in her eyes magnified. Tears streamed from her eyes as she looked at Eve.
Someone’s cell phone rang but no one made a move to answer it. Adam smiled. He was in complete control.
All is going according to His plan, His will. And soon—
Paradise will be restored.
Chapter 73
Layne broke his self-induced trance the moment his saw what looked like a homeless man slip into the back of Catherine’s Mercedes and pull a knife on Amy.
Fear gripped his heart. The chains of his misery slipped from his shoulders, quickly forgotten.
Who the fuck is that?
He could tell this wasn’t some Halloween prank. Whoever was in that car meant the girls harm.
Layne could see it in their faces, through the windshield. Their terror was authentic. The man with the knife was no joke.
He remembered reading the recent news stories about those girls who had gone missing, and turned up dead.
“Shit.” Stunned by the realization of what was happening before his eyes, he let his smoldering cigarette slip from his fingers.
The guy’s going to kill them.
Layne’s breath hitched in his chest. His heart raced wildly.
He’s going to kill Amy.
No, he couldn’t let that happen. Not to the girl he loved.
As the Mercedes pulled out of its parking space and turned toward Main Street, he jumped into his Pathfinder.
Chapter 74
“She’s not answering her phone. She always turns on her cell phone after school, and she always answers when I call.” Hank trembled. His worst fear opened its jagged jaws to devour him whole. He put down the receiver. “Something ain’t right.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Joe said. “She’s probably all right. Try the house phone.”
Hank did, and received the same results. An intense dread struck him like a fist to the gut. The ulcer in his stomach burned. “Something’s wrong.” He said. “I feel it.”
He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “Wish I had that damn boy’s cell number. Christ. I’m gonna run by the house, see if she’s there. We done here?”
Joe looked at Patrick, who shrugged regretfully.