“ The hour is at hand. How long have we waited, brothers and sisters, for the feast of Sanheim to arrive? But it is coming, and we will receive our long awaited reward. Come to St. Bede’s chapel by the morning of Oct. 31. You will not be disappointed.”
— Letter from Robert Crowley, Oct. 5, 1873.
Wednesday, Oct. 11
By the morning staff meeting, Quinn had already basked in the glow of a thousand congratulations. Everyone but Kyle had told him how great the story turned out, even advertising employees he barely knew.
But it all felt hollow.
It wasn’t the play the story got or even how it turned out that bothered him. First, Kate had not looked him in the eye since Monday, and it was apparent to him that something was bothering her.
But something else gnawed at Quinn. The story had gone off without a hitch yesterday. By mid-morning, he had confirmed the victim’s name with three others connected with the police department. By the afternoon, the department itself confirmed the victim, her address and that her husband had been taken into custody.
One police officer whom Quinn had never spoken to had called to confirm details of past arrests with Don Kilgore and explained that he had a longstanding abusive relationship with his wife.
In short, by Tuesday evening, he had a perfect story-good sources, a great lead and hardly any revisions from the editor.
But it was his very success that bothered him. It felt too easy.
Everything had simply fallen into place-confirmations from a police department that on a normal day would barely confirm that the sky was blue, an official arrest in the evening and even an unsolicited call from a brand new source.
It fit too well. Quinn’s unease increased every time he thought about it. The reporting instinct he had counted on for years-what he jokingly called his “Spidey sense”-was tingling.
He thought he had been on the story of a lifetime. But now he had the distinct feeling he had been used. The story was so right it felt wrong.
It was unnerving and the more congratulations he received, the worse he felt.
What was it Buzz said? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they are not out to get you. Quinn thought Buzz was more than a little crazy, but maybe he was right on that one.
He leaned forward and stared at his keyboard. From a distance it looked fine, but when he examined it closely, it had crumbs and small hairs between the keys. It looked nasty. It seemed an apt metaphor.
Almost everyone else appeared happy. Rebecca actually seemed in a good mood, an unusual state for her. And Laurence had already told him twice what an excellent story it was. He acted like some kind of proud father, probably because he knew the paper would sell well today. Murders were more common than they once were-and God knows this town had its own brand of serial killer a dozen years back-but they were rare enough to attract attention.
But Kate appeared more withdrawn than ever. She complimented him briefly in the morning, but hadn’t said much of anything else. And she had reason to be happy apart from his story. Quinn noticed Kate’s first by-line had ended up on the front page, an exclusive from Martin Heller offering a compromise with the conservationists at Phillips Farm. On any other week, it would have been the lead story. But he could not imagine that Kate would hold that against him.
Rebecca interrupted Quinn’s reverie when she started rounding everyone up for the staff meeting. Quinn left his keyboard and followed her into the conference room.
The meeting was already out of Laurence’s control by the time Ethan Holden walked in. Kyle had spent 15 minutes discussing the poor quality of the photos with his story, which had touched off a fight with Josh, the head photographer, while Alexis complained bitterly about last minute changes made to her story on the new science lab at Park View High School.
At least two people audibly groaned when they saw Holden open the door and stroll in. He looked at the motley group around the table, smiled briefly, and then walked to the far side of the room.
“Please continue,” he said in a deep gravelly voice. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
Janus snorted and when Holden looked at him, acted like he had a coughing fit.
Laurence placed his palms on the table and began for a third time.
“I think we had a good paper,” he said. “Quinn, I want to make sure we keep a close eye on your story. They may have arrested the husband, but if we have new details by next week, we should make sure to stay on top of that.”
This was the part of the staff meeting Quinn despised. Laurence did not have a clue what to say now that Holden-his boss-had shown up. He kept glancing in his direction waiting for the inevitable interruption.
Quinn also hated being told to follow the story. Did Laurence really think he wouldn’t? That he would just walk away? No, he doubted Laurence did. But he had to say something.
He glanced at Kate, who was the only one not darting glances in Holden’s direction. Instead, she seemed to be staring at the wall.
Quinn realized with alarm that Laurence had asked him something.
“Yeah,” he said, hoping it was a yes or no question he had been asked.
Laurence nodded.
“I also want to stay on the kindergarten fire,” Laurence said.
Kyle groaned quietly.
“What more do you want me to say?” he asked Laurence.
“Interview the parents,” Laurence said. “Talk to other kindergartens.”
“I don’t think there will be a rash of kindergarten fires, Laurence,” he said.
“Laurence is right,” boomed Holden, and Helen and Alexis both jumped in their chairs.
Laurence looked surprised to have Holden supporting him.
“Kids,” Holden said. “It is always about kids. Remember that.”
Kyle nodded. The comment had made little sense to anybody but it was safer to nod around Holden.
“Kids,” he said again, gravely. “And animals. People love animals.”
Here it went. The semi-monthly everybody-loves-animals story.
“We need to put more on the front page,” Holden continued. “People connect with animals. Just the other week, Paul Gibson and I went hunting. He told me how important it was that the local paper emphasize this county’s wildlife. That way people can appreciate it more.”
“By killing it?” Janus asked.
Laurence glared at him, but Holden didn’t appear to notice.
“It’s important we tell people what is unique about this county, particularly the wildlife,” Holden said. “I was hoping we would have a few shots of animals in our special Halloween section, Laurence. Maybe a horse-drawn carriage ride in a pumpkin patch. Don’t you think that would be a good idea?”
Heads swiveled sharply in Holden’s direction and there was an audible gasp from Alexis. People had been beginning to nod off, but that comment got their attention.
“What Halloween section?” Rebecca asked, looking at Laurence.
“Uh yes, Mr. Holden, I was going to talk with you about that,” Laurence replied, and looked away from everyone.
“Yes?” Holden said and looked at Laurence expectantly.
“Well, I thought, maybe in private we could discuss it.”
“No time like the present,” Holden replied gruffly. “Let’s all talk about it. This is going to be a big deal.”
“Well, sir, I just wasn’t sure that the county is quite ready for this,” Laurence said.
“Ready? I would say it’s overdue,” Holden replied. “We’ve been doing it in the Fairfax papers for five years. It sells well every time. We need to expand it to Loudoun. None of the other papers even mention…”
“That’s precisely my point, Mr. Holden,” Laurence replied. “Halloween here is a little different.”
“I know, I know, the killer,” Holden said. “But that was more than a decade ago.”
“Loudoun isn’t like other places, Mr. Holden,” Rebecca said. “Since 1994, Leesburg has banned any public celebration of Halloween. Shopkeepers are generally discouraged from painting even a pumpkin in the window, much less a ghost. This is not something we want to celebrate here.”
“Well, I think it is time people got over it,” Holden said.
“With all due respect, I don’t think you can just…” Laurence started.
“The paper needs to take a stand,” Holden said. “I’ll write an editorial. It is time to move on, and…”
“Why, so you can sell a few more papers?” someone said bitterly.
Helen gasped and the entire staff looked toward the origin of the voice. Kate sat there, glaring straight ahead at Holden.
Holden coughed abruptly. He was not used to outright defiance.
“No, of course not,” Holden said.
“Then why? Why do they need to get over it?” she asked.
“Kate, I think maybe you should let Rebecca and I handle it,” Laurence said gently.
Quinn was too surprised to jump in to help her.
“We can’t live in the past, young woman,” Holden said. “Banning a public celebration of Halloween is poppycock. It’s nonsense. There is no sense tying together the murders with the damn holiday…”
“Why not?” she asked. “He did. I’d say he connected them together pretty well.”
“Well, it’s time to let that madman go,” Holden said. “They caught him. He’s dead. People should just move on. What’s done is done.”
“What about the families of the victims?” Kate asked. “Should they just move on? Forget about it?”
“Look, I’m just saying…”
“I know what you are saying,” she said. Holden seemed afraid to look her in the face. “It’s over, let’s just all forget about it. Well not everyone can do that. Do you want to be the one to remind them? To force it down their throats?”
“Kate…” Laurence said.
“Young lady, I don’t know who you are or why you care so much about this, but I’m the publisher of this paper and I don’t appreciate your tone,” he said.
“She’s just trying to say that people haven’t forgotten, Mr. Holden,” Quinn said, and Laurence and Rebecca both glared at him. “She doesn’t mean any disrespect.”
But Kate had a look of pure disgust on her face. Disrespect appeared to be exactly what she intended.
“Well,” Holden said. “I’m just saying, I think it is about time to put together a section like this.”
“I don’t know if that is a good idea,” Rebecca said.
“Well, I do,” Holden said, and banged his hand on the table. “I do think it is about time. We need to move on from this. I want a special Halloween section on my desk by next week. That’s it. No more debate.”
“Mr. Holden…” Laurence began.
But Holden stood up.
“I bid you all good day,” he said stiffly, and walked out.
Laurence put his head in his hands, and Rebecca glared at Kate.
“Kate, you are new here, so maybe you didn’t know,” Rebecca said. “That was Ethan Holden, our publisher. Don’t talk to him that way. Ever.”
“Why not? His idea is going to bring up a lot of pain for everybody,” Kate said.
“It’s just a Halloween section, with ghost stories and a couple pumpkin carving tips, where is the harm?” Laurence asked.
“I happen to agree that it isn’t a good idea,” Rebecca said, still looking at Kate. “But he is the publisher of this paper. If the man wants a special section, he’ll get one.”
“Fine,” Kate said.
Everyone else sat in stunned silence.
“In fact, I can tell you right now who is going to write it up,” Rebecca said. “I think we will start with Kate and Quinn. Mostly because they interrupted what should have been a private conversation between Mr. Holden, Laurence and me.”
“I don’t think you’re being fair,” Quinn said.
“Newsflash, Mr. O’Brion: Life is not fair,” Rebecca said. “I’ll cut Kate some slack because she is new, but I don’t want to hear another word from you. Laurence and I will brainstorm assignments and hand them out today. You will both get your stories done. That’s all there is to it.”
“But…”
“Don’t test me,” Rebecca said and Quinn shivered involuntarily.
And that was that. The rest of the meeting occurred in near silence. When Rebecca dismissed them, everyone rushed to leave the room.
By the time Quinn got out, he could already see Kate exiting by the side door. He hurried to catch up with her and got to her outside in the parking lot.
“Kate?” he asked her.
She wheeled on him.
“Don’t follow me,” she said.
“Whoa,” Quinn put up his hands. “What did I do?”
“I don’t need your help,” she said. “That man was an idiot. A goddamned idiot.”
“Are you mad at me or at him?” Quinn asked.
Kate glared at him and then paused. She sighed.
“I should leave,” she said.
“Well, I’d stay out of Rebecca’s way,” he said. “She is not exactly peaches and cream when she is pissed off.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she said, shaking her head. “I should leave for good. I should have never come back.”
“Hang on,” Quinn said, and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Look, it’s just a little fight. It will blow over. Come on.”
“That’s not why. I don’t know why I’m here, Quinn. I was just begging for that kind of outburst. Everything is so…”
She clenched her fists into balls. She wanted to scream or hit something. But instead she let her fingers slowly curl back out again.
“Let’s go somewhere,” Quinn said. “Let’s go talk this out.”
“I don’t think…”
“Come on,” he said. “Please. You’re upset. I’d like to help.”
“You can’t,” she said. “You can’t.”
“How do you know?” he responded. “I don’t think I can make it any worse.”
She paused before finally sighing. “Okay, let’s talk. God knows I need to talk to somebody.”
“Where are we going?” she asked him when they were in the car. They had been driving in silence for 10 minutes.
“You haven’t guessed?” he asked.
And it was then she knew. They were heading back to the cemetery.
“Okay,” she said. “Perfect, actually.”
They rode the rest of the way quietly. He parked by the front gate and they both got out.
“This is as peaceful a place as there is,” he said. “And private to boot.”
“It is,” she said. “I should come here more often.”
“Yeah…”
“Not for the reasons you think,” she said and started to walk briskly. “Follow me. Remember how you said I had been here before?”
Quinn nodded, as he and Kate walked down the cemetery’s main road.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“Just a vibe,” he said.
“Like you had seen me before?”
“No, although I’ve felt like I do know you from somewhere,” he said. “But I knew I had never seen you before. I would have remembered.”
“Well your guess was right,” she said.
“I gathered that from your reaction,” Quinn replied.
She stopped in front of a grave. It took a moment for Quinn to realize this had been done on purpose.
He looked at it. It was a simple marble slab with the inscription, “Here lies Sarah Blakely.” There were some dates below.
He looked at Kate quizzically.
“The name doesn’t mean anything to you?” she asked quietly.
“Should it?” he asked.
“I’m surprised you haven’t come across it in your research,” she replied as she stared at the headpiece. “Sarah Blakely was killed 12 years ago. She was the Loudoun serial killer’s fifth victim.”
There was a pause before Kate said anything more. But Quinn had begun to feel a sense of dread.
“She was also my mother,” Kate said simply and turned away from the headstone.
She started to walk down the path. Quinn hurried to keep up with her.
“Jesus,” he said and wondered what more he could say. “I’m so sorry…”
“I was born here, Quinn,” Kate said. “I even attended Leesburg Middle School.”
“Why didn’t you tell Laurence that?” he asked.
She stopped.
“Would you?” she asked. “If I had mentioned that I had lived here, there would have been more questions. There are always more questions when you are a reporter. Where did you live? Why did you leave? Do you know Joe Smith, or Judy Doe, or whoever? Sooner or later, it would have been clear who my mother was. And I didn’t want that out there.”
“Kate, I have no idea what to say,” Quinn said. “I lost my parents, so I know what it feels like.”
“No offense,” she replied and looked back in the direction of her mother’s grave. “But it’s not exactly the same. Your parents died and it’s a tragedy. They were young, you grieve, but you can tell people about it. They can help you. But who helps you when your mother is murdered and the killer is still out there? You can lie, certainly, but that feels like a betrayal. You can tell the truth, but then you can’t just leave it at ‘murdered’ really. It is something that begs for more background.
“So you push it away, because it isn’t something you want to talk about. And pretty soon your mother isn’t dead anymore, she has been systemically erased. I saw photos of you with your Mom and Dad at your apartment. I have almost none. She died when I was 12 years old-late enough that I can still remember her, but it’s fading. If you don’t talk about someone, they fade away like an old photograph."
“I’m sorry,” Quinn said again.
“So you can see why I was a little upset with the Holden plan,” Kate said and laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.
“I can,” he said.
“I’m not the only one who will be,” she said. “There are more people than me who would just as soon the entire affair stay buried. And that’s the real thing. Because Loudoun associates that stupid holiday with the sick bastard who killed people, they can’t help but think of him when you start trying to get them to celebrate it.”
Quinn was not so sure. Maybe she was right, or maybe it was time for people to move on. For them to see that Halloween didn’t equal a literal bogeyman. But he did not think now was the right time to debate this.
They had walked to the edge of the graveyard, where they had sat nearly a week before. It felt like longer ago, Quinn thought. A breeze came across the pond and made him shiver.
“My dad and I left not long after,” she said, looking at the pond as well. “And I really never thought I would be back. My life felt like it began at age thirteen and that was that. Some people asked about my Mom, of course. But nobody knew. It was easier to let them think that maybe she had abandoned us. Of course, it never occurred to me I would head back here.”
“Then why are you here?” Quinn asked.
She laughed again and turned to look Quinn in the eye.
“That’s the thing, Quinn,” she said. “I really don’t know.”
She walked forward and found the bench to sit down.
“I was there, you know,” she said.
“Where?” he asked and sat down next to her.
“I was in the house when he murdered my mother,” she said calmly.
“My God,” Quinn said.
“I didn’t know it, of course,” she said. “But he did. He knew I was there.”
“How?” Quinn started.
“I remember the whole day,” she said and her eyes had a distant look. “It was a Thursday and Mom was supposed to be home. The front door was wide open. I yelled upstairs for her, but she didn’t respond. In fact, I thought maybe she was out, that the door had just been accidentally left open.”
“But it wasn’t,” Quinn said.
“No,” she said. “Her keys were on the table. And the mail was scattered there. I remember I glanced at it to see if there was anything for me. But did I know something was wrong? No. I just shut the door and yelled for Mom again.”
“I heard nothing. But I was a little worried. I started to climb the steps. I thought maybe she was in the bathroom or something and couldn’t hear me. I got to the top and called again and still didn’t hear anything. It was then I thought something was wrong. I can remember the hairs standing up at the back of my neck. But I was twelve and I didn’t listen to my instincts. I called her again.”
“I walked down the hallway to my parents’ bedroom. Then there was a large crash and I turned and ran right to it. It sounded like something had smashed in my room. I was so startled I actually went to look in there and saw that the lamp next to my window had fallen. The window was open and the curtains were swaying in the breeze. The next part I remember in slow motion. I looked out to see a figure run around the side of the house. I think I screamed. I don’t remember.
“But what I saw clearly in my mind was that the front door was still unlocked. I had shut it, but I hadn’t locked it. In my head, I could see it swinging open again and maybe him coming back up the stairs.”
“Jesus,” Quinn said, but Kate did not seem to hear him.
“But he had already done what he came to do,” she said. “I didn’t know that. I actually ran into my parents’ room as comfort. I thought I would be safe in there. It didn’t occur to me…”
She stopped and looked at Quinn.
“At that age, you feel immortal,” she said. “But more than that, your parents seem immortal too. They will always be there to help you, to rescue you. They will know what to do.”
“I know,” he said.
“And I just thought-I’ll be safe in there,” Kate said and looked away again. “I remember I could not move fast enough. In my head, he was coming through the door, on his way up the steps, and my feet were made of concrete. I walked into their room and I saw her…I thought she was alive, Quinn. I didn’t know. She just seemed to be staring at the ceiling. But then I saw the blood and I…”
“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to finish.”
“I think I do,” she said. “I’ve never talked about it. Not with boyfriends, friends, therapists-even my father. I wouldn’t. But the truth is that I don’t remember much else. There was blood everywhere. I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it when I walked in. I know I screamed. I screamed for days, it felt like. He’s coming back, I kept thinking. He’s coming back for you. I went to the phone and somehow there was blood on my hand. I thought it was mine, I didn’t know…”
She stopped and took a long breath.
“I made the call, but didn’t see it,” she said.
“See what?” he asked gently, when she stopped again.
“The note,” she said calmly.
“Lord Halloween’s calling card,” he said, mostly to himself.
“Yes,” she replied. “But I didn’t know that. How could I? My parents had kept any news of the murders as far away from me as they could. I didn’t know what I was looking at. I can still see it in my mind. I’m scared out of my mind, dialing 911 and there’s this post-it note stuck right by the phone. I didn’t even think about it. I was screaming into the phone to the operator and then I read it.”
She stopped again and Quinn felt compelled to ask.
“What did it say?”
She looked at him.
“It said, ‘ Happy Halloween. Your father can’t protect you and you are now on my list. Like mother, like daughter. See you soon, Trina.’”
“My God,” he said again.
“He even knew her name for me,” Kate said. “I still don’t know how he knew that. She was the only one who called me that. Everyone else called me Kate, but my full name is Katrina, and she said Trina.”
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I screamed some more,” she said. “The operator had no idea what was going on, but they sent the police. I didn’t wait for them though. I was certain he had come back in, that he had been waiting for me to find the note. Even then, with my mom’s body a few feet away, I started thinking in terms of my own survival. The police found my mother with little difficulty. But it wasn’t until one of them checked the attic later that they found me. When the cop came up, I felt certain it was him. I started screaming as soon as he saw me and it took my father picking me up before I stopped.”
“Jesus,” Quinn said.
“My whole world shattered,” she said. “I sometimes wonder who I would have been if that day had never happened. I see her sometimes-in my mind-this different woman who thinks about a career and a life. But you never know, do you? It wasn’t just my mom’s murder, of course. That would have been enough. ‘See you soon, Trina.’ That was what did it.
“We left town days later. My dad was a cop. He knew the force would be out there trying to avenge his wife. But he had a daughter to protect and I was beyond hysterical. He did not do a large funeral. He was too scared. His wife had been murdered and his daughter threatened-he slept by the side of my bed with his gun every night. By then we were at the Leesburg Hotel, checked in anonymously, of course.”
“You were worried the killer would find you?” Quinn felt like an idiot asking.
“I was not worried, Quinn,” she said. He noticed her clench her fists together and put them on her thighs. “No, I was certain. Certain he would find me. That it was just a matter of time. My father couldn’t convince me I was safe. The police could not convince me I was safe. Nothing could. I just saw the words ‘See you soon, Trina’ in my head. I have ever since.”
“Even when you moved away?”
“It helped,” she said. “It took time, but I felt like it worked. I had dreams of course-the most common of them was him standing behind me as I read the note. I feel his hands around me and then I wake up. But those dreams became fewer and fewer. I thought maybe some day I would be over it.”
“Then why…?”
“Why come back here?” she asked. She shook her head. “In October of last year, the dreams started up again. But they were more intense than ever. And they grew stranger.”
“Stranger?”
“I could hear my Mom calling me,” Kate said. “In the dreams, I would be walking around-at work at the paper even-and I would pick up the phone and she would be at the other end of it. ‘Trina, it’s time to come home,’ she would say. And I would argue with her, tell her I couldn’t go back. But I’d be afraid to tell her why.
‘Why can’t you come back, Trina?’ she would ask, over and over again. But I don’t want to tell her.
‘Is it because of me, Trina? Are you afraid, Trina?’ she’d say.
I tell her, ‘Please, Mom. ‘I’ve got work to do, he’ll find me. He’s waiting for me.’
‘He’s coming for you there, Trina,’ she says. And by then in the dream I’m already home, in her bedroom, and her voice is there, but the body is lying on the bed motionless.
‘He’s coming for you, Trina’ she says again. ‘He’s in the house.’
In the dream, I can see it, Quinn. The door is opening, he is coming through and walking up the steps. And I’m on the phone again, screaming for help. But it’s just my mom on the other end.
‘See you soon, Trina,’ she says.
And then her voice is gone. Another male one, much deeper, takes her place and I hear it and it makes me want to vomit.
‘Your father can’t protect you and I will find you,’ he says. ‘See you soon, Trina,’ And then he’s laughing. And I can see him coming down the hallway at the same time.
And then I wake up.”
Quinn shivered.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’ve had nightmares in my time, but that’s…”
“Horrible?” she asked. “I fought it off last year. The dreams kept coming, growing worse and more real every single day until Halloween came. I thought I was going crazy.”
“And then?”
“It stopped,” she said. “Just like that. November 1 came and it all ended. And I felt so relieved, like it was gone for good.”
“But it wasn’t…”
“No, it wasn’t,” she said. “It started sooner this time. It was August when it began. And I could feel it building in my brain. I just could not take it.”
“So you came here?” Quinn asked in disbelief.
“I had to, Quinn,” she said. “Something in my brain is telling me I needed to come back here. I don’t think it’s my Mom, but…”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think it’s him either. Because in my dream, she tells me he is coming anyway and I think she is right.”
“That he is coming for you?”
“It doesn’t matter, Quinn,” she said and stood to face him. “I see him everywhere, in everything. Do you know what that is like? To live your whole life waiting for the bogeyman to show up? I have dreams where the post-it note is on my door. Whether he is coming or not, I have let this man shadow me for so long it doesn’t matter. I see him around every corner, in everything. He lives in my mind rent-free. I had to come back.”
“But what if he’s still here?” Quinn asked. “The murder the other day…”
“It wasn’t him,” she said. “Do you know I was actually sorry when he told me it wasn’t Lord Halloween?”
“Why?”
“Because it would mean it is time to face my fears,” she said. “I don’t want to be afraid of him anymore. I want to find him and be done with it.”
“But…”
“I know it’s not sane, but would you do anything different? I can’t keep living like this, or if I do, he’s killed me already. So I actually wanted it to be that bastard’s return. Then I could get busy and find out who he is.”
“And you’re sure it wasn’t?” he asked.
“Aren’t you? You wrote the story.”
“I don’t know, Kate,” Quinn said. “The police confirmed it all, very easily. But…”
She waited for him.
“I felt good about it yesterday,” he said. “But today, it felt wrong. Like they wanted me to write that story. I actually had a voicemail from Brown’s assistant telling me it was a good story. It feels wrong.”
“I don’t think my source would have lied to me,” Kate said, but she looked troubled.
“Are you positive?” he asked. “Because if he…”
“My father was a cop. They were on the force together. He and my parents were friends. I played with Julia, their daughter. Why would he lie to me about this? Of all things…”
“I don’t know,” Quinn said. “Maybe he didn’t.”
She sighed and pulled her jacket closer to her.
“I have to find him,” Kate said.
“If it’s true, and he’s still here, how do you know he won’t find you first?” Quinn asked.
She looked at him.
“Maybe he will,” she said. “But I’ve been looking over my shoulder for so long, I think I have a leg up. I’ll be ready.”
“If you wanted it to be him, and you’ve come back for that, why talk about leaving?” Quinn asked. “You said outside the office you were going to go. Why?”
“Things are so weird, Quinn,” she said.
“They weren’t already?” he responded.
“It’s different now,” she said. “I have dreams, but they aren’t like before. Sometimes my mom is in them, but then there are these symbols and a word that I don’t understand.”
“Maybe your dreams are just catching up with your location.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “And there has been other stuff.”
She paused.
“Like?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you, but only because you can already tell I’m crazy.”
“You aren’t crazy,” he said, and put his hand on hers without thinking about it. “I don’t think that.”
She looked at him.
“Thank you,” she said.
“So what is the other stuff?”
“One of the very first days I was here, when you gave me a tour of the Chronicle, do you remember that?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
“When we were downstairs, near the printing press, I saw something,” she said. “I asked you and Janus about it.”
“I remember you pointing at the floor,” he said.
“But you saw nothing?”
“No, I didn’t see anything,” he replied.
“I saw something, Quinn,” she said. “Something that makes me worry I’m cracking up.”
“What?”
“There was blood,” she said. “There was a pool of blood all over that floor. I looked at my feet and it felt like I was walking in it. I could see it, shiny and deep red, so clearly. And you guys acted like it wasn’t there.”
“I didn’t see anything,” he replied.
“You see? That’s why I wanted to leave. Everything was so screwed up before and now that I’m here, it seems to be getting worse.”
“Did you see it again?”
“I haven’t been down there since,” she said. “I saw it as clear as day and then while I was talking to you, it disappeared. It’s stuff like that. The dreams, the blood, everything… The rational part of my brain keeps telling me to leave before I lose what is left of it.”
“Then why stay?”
“Because I think this guy is close, Quinn,” she said. “I feel it somehow. I know he will return. Maybe now or maybe next year. But he is still here and I have to find him.”
She stopped talking and looked back out across the pond. The wind drifted across it again, blowing her hair back. Her hands clenched the marble bench.
“You have to promise to keep this secret,” she said.
“Of course,” Quinn replied.
“I shouldn’t have even told you.”
“I think it’s about time you told someone,” he said. “You’ve been bottling this up for too long.”
“I know,” she said. “And I’m not going to leave. Whatever is going to happen, it finishes now, here. I’m through waiting for him to jump out of the shadows.”
“Look, I want you to stay, but…” Quinn said. “What if you are right? If this guy is back, this is the last place you should be. Particularly if he figures out who you are. Every bit of research on him shows he is one for the follow-through.”
“That’s why you have to help me, Quinn,” she said and gripped his hand. “You have to help me find him first.”
The stranger watched the two figures talking near the bench. He couldn’t tell if they were arguing or not, but they were certainly animated.
He wished he could hear what they were saying. The stranger sighed. Still, he was glad he had followed them out, if only to know for sure there was something going on between the two. He wondered what it meant.
Quinn and Kate, sitting in a tree, not quite K-I-S-S-I-N-G, he thought. He idly wondered which one he should kill first.
Patience, his brain said. Not too soon. You have to take your time, hone your skills.
But it would be so easy, he thought. He could even take one right now.
Patience, that voice in his head said again. Not too quick or they’ll connect you. The police are dumb, but they aren’t that dumb. Don’t be sloppy. You’ve waited so long.
Kate seemed familiar to him, the stranger thought. She claimed to have never been here before, but there was this strange odor of familiarity to her. It seemed like something on the tip of his tongue-but he couldn’t think of it.
Had he known someone named Kate Tassel? He thought about it a moment. He did not think he did.
Breaking his line of sight with them, he moved back through the cemetery toward the grave where they had been standing. They had not been there long, but the stranger wanted to see. It might help him.
He found it and recognized the name immediately.
“Sarah Blakely,” he said out loud, just to hear it.
He clapped his hands to his mouth to keep a laugh from coming. No, he didn’t know a Kate. But he did know a Trina, didn’t he? Yes, yes he did.
Everything made sense now. Her familiarity — even as a child, she had been stunning to look at. And her outburst. He should have known it then. But the last name had thrown him.
It will take more than a last name to hide from me, the stranger thought.
She was little Trina-dear Trina-whose Mom thought about her even while she was being gutted. She called out her name so many times.
He moved back into the line of trees at the back and carefully worked his way to see the couple now standing near the bench.
I have old business with you, Trina, he thought.
He watched as the two walked out of the cemetery together. He noticed they were holding hands. Yes, he was very glad he had followed them.
And this so easily solved the question of whom he would kill first.
“See you soon, Trina,” he said out loud as they disappeared around the bend. “See you real soon.”