“ The debate over the future of Phillips Farm continued to rage last week, with conservationists threatening to file a lawsuit to block any development of the land. Martha Paletta, director of Protect Loudoun’s Heritage, said on Tuesday the group had received a large anonymous donation to continue its quest to stop development by Heller Brothers of the 100-acre property. ‘It just proves that people everywhere do not want to see this property destroyed,’ she said. Martin Heller, the co-founder of the development firm, said the group’s opposition would not deter the company from moving forward. A public meeting with county officials is scheduled Friday.”
Friday, Oct. 6
Quinn moved through the crush of people to the front of the room. He did not see Kate anywhere. He just hoped she knew where to come. He had gone into Laurence’s office for a quick discussion, but when he came out he found a note on his desk that said she had run out for a bite to eat and would see him at the meeting.
Quinn had been disappointed, hoping that maybe they could have dinner together. And when he arrived at the meeting, he didn’t see her anywhere.
He moved to the front of the room to see a row of chairs reserved for reporters. They didn’t often get front row seats. Reporters as a rule tended to prefer the back where they could slip out if events were boring.
“So are you going to give me credit this time?” a voice asked behind him.
Quinn rolled his eyes. He did not turn around.
“Summer, what a pleasure to talk to you again,” he said.
A petite brunette with curly hair walked in front of him.
“I’m serious, Quinn,” she said.
“Give you credit for what?”
Summer snorted. “For this,” she said, and spread her hand out at the room.
“You called all these people here?” Quinn asked. “That’s funny, I thought the county did that.”
“You know what I mean,” she replied.
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him dramatically. On the surface, Summer could be considered pretty. She had a graceful figure, dark brown eyes and an attractive face. But there was an intangible quality below that-everything about her, the way she talked and moved, felt calculated. And beyond the pretty eyes there was something in her stare that reminded Quinn of the dull sheen of a boulder.
“What do you want me to say? It was a great story. You found out about the plan and I didn’t. Super job. Way to go, Tiger.”
“Thanks, but are you going to give me credit?” she said.
“Maybe,” he said and shrugged.
The move appeared to infuriate her, as Quinn knew perfectly well it would.
“Oh, come on. You have to. We reported it first and I’m so tired of everybody…”
“I don’t have to do anything,” Quinn said. “Remember a month ago? Who had the story about the Leesburg First State Bank getting slapped with a fine by the federal government for losing all those files? Last I checked, I exclusively reported that with a document leaked to me from a source. But when the Post’s Extra ran the story, with your by-line as I recall, I don’t remember getting any credit.”
“That was different,” Summer said. “I told you that I already had that document. If I had relied on your reporting in any way, I would have…”
“Oh, you had the document, did you?” Quinn said. “Is that the rule now? I thought reporters generally gave credit when they got beat to a story, not just when they didn’t already know about it.”
“Listen, this is totally different…”
“Am I interrupting something?”
Quinn had been so focused on his debate with Summer he hadn’t noticed Kate standing right by him.
Summer’s attention instantly shifted away from Quinn.
“Hi, I’m Summer Mandaville,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m with The Washington Post.”
“The Loudoun Extra to be exact,” Quinn said.
Summer shot a dirty look in his direction and extended her hand. Kate shook it.
“I’m Kate Tassel,” she said. “I’m new with the Loudoun Chronicle.”
Quinn could almost see Summer stop the handshake. The smile stayed on the rival reporters’ face, but it appeared suspiciously plastic in nature.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, that’s great. The Chronicle could use a fresh face. It’s a good little paper. A great place to start.”
While Quinn silently fumed at the condescending words “good little paper,” Kate jumped to the rescue.
“Actually, I have several years experience already,” she said. “I chose the Chronicle. I wanted to join a paper that would really dive deeper into local issues. A lot of the larger papers don’t have the time or energy to do that.”
Summer’s smile slipped a little.
“Well, at the Extra…”
“Oh, I think it’s a great idea,” Kate said. “A free supplement buried in a big paper like that. It’s a great little handout.”
Quinn watched with glee as Summer struggled to find something to say.
“It was nice meeting you,” Summer finally said, in a tone that indicated it was anything but.
“Nice meeting you too,” Kate said cheerfully, as if nothing was amiss. “I’m really looking forward to getting to know you better. I’ll be covering the Phillips Farm case, so I’m sure we will see each other around.”
Summer nodded and walked to the end of the row before sitting down.
Quinn turned to Kate.
“That was fucking awesome,” Quinn said. “I have never seen anyone leave her speechless before.”
Kate grinned and she seemed to positively glow. She leaned in closer to Quinn and talked softly.
“Her article wasn’t that good,” she said. “I’ve just been handed the plan for the farm, and she got a couple facts wrong and missed the most important part. So we already have a good way to come back on this story. Also, your article did a better job than hers of really laying out the situation.”
Quinn looked at her to see if he could find a trace of flattery there. But Kate’s gaze held no dishonesty in it. She really thinks my story is better, he thought.
“Believe me, I will give her a run for her money on this story,” Kate said with a smile that on a competitor would have frozen Quinn in his tracks. “I so look forward to kicking her ass.”
Quinn thought he had never heard someone say anything so sexy in his life.
From there the meeting was a blur. While Kate took notes as citizen after citizen spoke about protecting their local heritage, Quinn found it hard to concentrate. He was nominally there as back up, but one look in her direction and he knew he wasn’t needed. She knew what she was doing.
After the meeting was over, it was no different. Quinn watched as Kate made the rounds easily with everyone important in the room. Martha Paletta appeared to be practically eating out of her hand as Quinn stood nearby.
“We’ve got great plans for the place,” Martha was telling her. “We have a Christmas tree farm all set up for winter. In the meantime, we’ve just been planting a large vegetable garden. I know the folks around here aren’t much for pumpkins-for obvious reasons-but there’s still no reason not to grow some and sell a bundle in FairfaxCounty. Course I don’t think we have the manpower to pick everything out there, but it’s a start at paying some of the bills and the Phillips were incredibly kind to…”
Quinn lost interest. No wonder Summer had beat him on this story. A reporter was no good unless his story interested him. You do what you must to fill a paper, but you are never going to really own a story unless it owns you a little too.
Maybe I can take up an interest in dog shit, he thought. I can be the go-to guy for pooper scooper stories. He sighed. Quinn thought he should just be happy with what he had.
Quinn saw that he was not the only one to notice Kate’s easy access to the powers-that-be. While Kate sat down briefly with Martin Heller, local developer bogeyman, Quinn saw Summer staring in disgust.
Just because he could, Quinn decided to needle her a little.
“Looks like Kate is fitting in just fine,” he said as casually as he could.
“Martin chases anything in a skirt,” Summer replied.
Quinn leered at Summer for dramatic effect.
“Last I checked, you were wearing one too,” he said.
Summer waved him away.
“The guy won’t talk to me since I ran that profile of him,” she said.
Quinn thought back to the story three months ago. It hadn’t been his beat then-but he was forced internally to acknowledge it had been a good profile. Very tough, but not unfair. Just because Summer was a pain didn’t make her a bad reporter.
Of course, he was not about to tell her that. Instead he just grunted and Summer wandered away, casting dirty looks in Kate’s direction.
When most of the room had cleared, and Martin had walked away looking pleased with himself, Kate finally turned in Quinn’s direction.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” she said.
“Well, it was so clear you needed my help.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I’m quite shy, I’m sure you noticed,” she replied.
“Also, I thought I could give you a lift. I didn’t think you had a car.”
“I do, although I walk a lot,” she said. “But it’s getting late. That would be nice.”
They walked outside and Quinn took a deep breath. There was a smell in the air. He could never place it, but it reminded him of leaves blowing in the wind, night coming quicker-fall, in other words.
“It smells nice, doesn’t it?” Kate asked.
“Nothing like it,” he said. “Leesburg’s small enough so there isn’t much pollution. The air is nice and clean.”
He walked her to the car and opened the door for her before getting back in the driver’s side.
“So where’s home?”
“Leesburg Inn,” she said.
“I hope the company is paying for some of that until you find a place.”
“What do you think?”
“My guess would be no because they are cheap bastards.”
“Good guess,” she said.
It was not a far drive. Quinn was more than a little disappointed about that.
“So what’s up with you and Summer?” Kate asked.
Quinn practically choked and had to will himself not to stray from the road.
“I deeply hope I misunderstood that question,” Quinn replied.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. If I hit a nerve or something.”
“Well… I… No… I… just.”
Quinn looked over at her to see her smiling slyly back at him.
“You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?” he asked.
“If you mean making fun of you, yes,” she replied.
“Sorry-I’ve been around Janus too long. For the record, there is nothing between Summer and I, nor has there ever been, nor will there ever be.”
“Don’t worry, it seemed pretty obvious she wasn’t your favorite person.”
“Kate, I’ve met many people in my life,” he said melodramatically. “A lot of politicians, lobbyists, heads of trade groups. Some are great, but others are the most self-important people you could ever meet. And Summer beats them all with room to spare. She is the most effortlessly self-involved person I’ve ever met.”
“Sounds charming.”
“Also, she has a persecution complex a mile wide. She thinks everybody is out to get her.”
“Is she right?”
“Well, some of the time. In terms of her reporting though, Summer’s intense and definitely no slouch. She’s desperate to make it to The Washington Post — absolutely consumed by the idea.”
“She already works there,” Kate said.
“Yes and no. The Loudoun Extra is very segregated from the main paper. So around here she can say she works for the Post, but it isn’t like she can escape Loudoun exactly. They view her as belonging to a satellite-and slightly inferior-office. So she works her butt off to try and get stories into the main paper. Something that will help her prove to them she’s ready for the big time.”
“Hard to do, I’ll bet.”
“Sure. My point is she’s tough. If you want to beat her, believe me when I tell you I would like nothing better. But she’ll give you a run for your money. You might be able to charm people to tell you the truth, but she will beat them over the head with a stick until they give her what she wants.”
“Don’t worry, I can be plenty aggressive when I need to be,” Kate said.
Quinn looked at her. For a moment, she looked so serious that he was worried he had offended her. But she smiled back at him.
“Here we are,” she said.
They pulled into the Leesburg Inn. Quinn pulled up to the door hoping she might stay in the car a while longer, but she thanked him for the ride and was almost out of earshot before he thought to stop her.
“Hey wait,” he called.
She turned around.
“I meant to tell you this earlier. Some of us go to this bar on Saturday nights. It would be cool if you could join us.”
Kate paused and appeared to consider the offer. Quinn hurried on as if he wasn’t nervous, but casual.
“It’s the Leesburg Tavern-right off Market Street.”
“All right,” she replied. “What time?”
“Around seven. We have dinner and there is usually a good band there for an hour or two.”
Kate nodded. “Sounds good,” she said. And she was through the lobby doors before he could say another word.
Quinn saw her stride through the lobby and lost sight of her.
He felt strangely pleased with himself. He hadn’t asked her out, but it was a beginning. Things are looking up, he thought.
He enjoyed the moment, not knowing just how short it would be.
Saturday, Oct. 7
Kate walked over to the Leesburg Tavern with some measure of dread. A part of her wanted to stay inside. Since she had been back, she had fought the urge many times to just pack her bags and head home. In her anonymous hotel room, she could convince herself she was safe. But out in the night air like this, a terrible thought kept popping up.
I’m going to die in this town.
She shook her head. It was nonsense. Understandable, given her history, but stupid. Besides, faced with another night watching terrible cable in a hotel room, what choice did she have? If she was going to live in this town, she would have to put aside her fears and at least try to be social. Otherwise, she worried she would go crazy.
When she pushed open the door and stepped inside, she was immediately hit by a gigantic waft of smoke and the smell of stale beer. Despite the dim lights, she could see the place was outfitted like a kind of hillbilly version of T.G.I. Friday’s-there were signs, photos and knick-knacks covering the wall. Most of them, Kate noted, were off-color in taste. “Big Butts welcome, so sit your ass down,” said one near the door.
She sighed. Maybe this was not such a good idea.
It took her only a moment to see Quinn, Bill and Janus sitting at a table near the front. Bill waved frantically at her and she moved toward them through the haze of smoke.
“Hey Kate,” Janus and Quinn both said when she sat down.
“How are you?” Quinn asked right after.
“Good,” she said, and smiled at him.
She didn’t know quite what to make of Quinn. The first time she had seen him she had wondered if he was some type of stalker-staring at her from across the Starbucks like that. But by now, he seemed like one of the few people she really knew in the town. She had thought about their conversation in the graveyard and at the Phillips Farm meeting a lot during the day. She didn’t know quite what to make of him yet, but she liked him. That much she knew.
“You got here just in time,” Quinn said. “The band is just about to show up. As soon as they do, they’ll be a line out front.”
She nodded. “What band is it?”
“A group called Eddie from Ohio,” he answered. “They’re local-well, sort of local, at any rate.”
“They’re brilliant,” Janus said, and looked around the table as if daring anyone to disagree. “Kind of a folk-rock thing, like a mix of Janis Joplin and Pearl Jam.”
“Pearl Jam?” Bill asked, and snorted. “Did you pull that out of a hat? More like a cross between Janis Joplin and Sheryl Crow.”
“Yes, guys, let’s do have this debate again,” Quinn said, and glared at them.
“Anyway,” Janus said, pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it with a silver lighter he fished out of his jacket. “They are one of the best bands that plays here. Second only to the Urban Hillbilly Quartet. Now that’s an incredible band. Like a mixture of Bob Dylan and Pink Floyd.”
“Okay, now you are just trying to piss me off,” Bill said. “Neither one of those is right. They’re more free form than that, like a mix of…”
“Please drop this,” Quinn said. “Kate has been here for five minutes and you guys are already degenerating into the same argument you have all the time. They’re like a bitter married couple.”
“Fuck off,” the two said in unison.
Kate laughed.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s been awhile since I've had a debate about music.”
Janus shot Quinn an “I told you so” look.
“Believe me, this is less of a debate and becomes more of a soapbox tourney,” Quinn said.
“It’s a pissing match,” Janus replied, and took a drag on his cigarette, holding it a moment before blowing a puff of smoke in Bill’s direction. “One I always win.”
“Get bent,” Bill said, using one of Janus’ favorite expressions.
“It’s easy to win a pissing match when you are as large as I am.”
Bill rolled his eyes.
“Rebecca is right-you really are a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen,” Quinn said.
“Americans are so uptight,” Janus said.
“How long have you lived here?” Kate asked him.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Quinn said. “He’s been here long enough that he drinks coffee, not tea, and he makes fun of British people too.”
“I make fun of English people,” Janus said. “There is a difference, you know. The English are prats.”
“My Dad is English,” Kate said. The conversation stopped, as everyone stared at Janus.
“Well, I guess… maybe not your…” Janus sputtered.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I was only kidding.”
It took a minute for that to sink in. Quinn and Bill started to laugh. Janus waited a second before joining in.
“Well, look at you,” he said. “Here only a few days and already making fun of me.”
Kate smiled at them. “When in Rome…” she said, and spread her hands.
“You’re all right,” Janus said. “Now Bill, why don’t you get off your rather large exterior and get us a drink?”
“Charming, just charming,” Quinn mumbled.
“Why do I have to get the drinks?” Bill asked. “I got them last time.”
“Do Quinn and I look daft to you, ya wanker?” Janus asked. “We remember perfectly well last week. We bought rounds and you didn’t.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Bill retorted. “I did so.”
“You’re embarrassing the lady,” Janus said.
“Actually, I…” Kate began, but Janus cut her off.
“See?” Janus said. “Look. She’s beet red. Now be a good photographer and get us some drinks.”
Bill sighed deeply.
“Okay,” he said gloomily. He took the drink orders and went off to the bar.
“You know, he really did buy the round last time,” Janus told Kate. He absentmindedly crushed his finished cigarette in the ashtray at the table.
Quinn rolled his eyes again, but chuckled.
“Don’t feel too bad for Bill, Kate,” he said. “Janus may have tricked him this time, but he does have a habit of sneaking out on paying for drinks.”
By the time Bill returned, the band had taken the stage and begun.
To her surprise, Kate found herself enjoying the whole evening. It was true that neither Bill nor Janus were exactly gentlemen, but they were fun guys. A half dozen times during the evening they started arguing, with topics ranging from which country had the best soccer team to the best restaurants in Leesburg.
Quinn, meanwhile, took turns occasionally joining in and then mocking them to Kate right afterward.
For a moment, she felt like she had always been there, sitting at the table, watching the three of them make jokes. It was a remarkably warm feeling, like she belonged here. Like she had never left. She smiled to herself. Maybe this had been why she came back-to escape the ghosts of the past.
But the feeling receded like a wave and she shivered in the hot, smoky room. What had happened she wasn’t sure, but suddenly, Kate didn’t want to be there anymore.
“Want another round?” Janus asked when the band had finished its set. “Numb-nuts here will buy.”
“I swear to almighty God if you call me that again, you short little…” Bill said.
“You’ll what? Come on, you’ll what?”
Quinn sighed and looked at Kate.
“Seriously, do you want anything?” he asked.
She shook her head and looked at her watch.
“Actually, I should get going,” she said.
“See what you did,” Janus said, and looked accusingly at Bill.
“Well, if you hadn’t been acting like a jerk, I’m sure she would have stayed,” Bill replied.
“It’s been a great night, guys, it really has,” Kate said, and stood up. She lifted her jacket off the chair back.
“Well, I was thinking of leaving, too, you mind if I walk with you?” Quinn asked.
Janus nudged Bill in the stomach and both men chuckled. In a not-so-subtle move, Quinn extended his middle finger and scratched his eye with it. They took the hint, but chose to ignore it.
“Sure,” she said, and glanced only briefly at Quinn.
“See you guys later,” she said. Quinn waved and the two walked out the door.
Kate pulled her jacket closer to her and shivered in the night air.
“God, it got cold,” she said.
“Yeah,” he responded.
“You don’t need to walk me home,” Kate said, though in truth she felt like some company.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I could use the exercise.”
He paused a minute.
“So I hope you had a good time tonight,” he said.
“I did,” she replied. “I really did.”
She opened her mouth to say something more, then shut it. She liked Quinn, but what did she really know of him? It was unwise to say too much. It would raise questions she did not want to answer.
“Good. It’s tough when you join up with a new paper. New editors, new beats. But we’re a nice bunch. At least some of us are, at any rate.”
Kate laughed. “Who isn’t very nice?” she asked.
“You don’t want to hear me gossip, do you?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said. “I’m dying for some good gossip.”
“Well, Helen you know about,” he said.
“Rebecca seems kind of controlling too,” Kate said.
“She is that, but she is also good at her job,” he said. “Helen… well… Helen is good at coming up with ideas for other people. And Ethan thinks she just walks on water.”
“Who’s Ethan?” she asked.
“Ethan Holden-the owner of Holden Inc.,” Quinn said and laughed. “You’ll meet him soon enough. He is a piece of work. He pays us shit, then demands at every meeting that we need to work harder-with substandard equipment and crappy benefits.”
“Seems like a great guy,” Kate said.
“He also doesn’t have a backbone,” Quinn continued as they walked. “Last year, I had a great story about Paul Gibson, who is now the chairman of the board of supervisors. I had sources who told me he had taken money from developers on the side, all the while promising that he would stop development in the county. But Ethan wouldn’t let Laurence run it. Or at least that is what Laurence claims…”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Paul and Ethan are friends, of course. Ethan is friends with all the local politicians. Hell, he knows Senators Mark Warner and George Allen personally. He is one of the wealthiest guys in the state and gave pretty decently to their campaigns.”
“And Laurence didn’t stand up to him?”
“One thing I should warn you-in this job, don’t expect much support from Laurence,” he said. “Rebecca will fight for you, but Laurence would lose a boxing match against a one-legged man in a wheelchair. I’ve only seen him angry a few times, and even then, he didn’t do anything about it.”
“My editor at the Gazette was a great guy,” Kate said. “I saw him yell at just about everybody-from advertising guys he felt had crossed the line by approaching reporters, to the publisher for interfering.”
“Well, Laurence isn’t that,” Quinn said.
“Why did you come out here?” she said. “People would kill for a job at the Congressional Quarterly. You didn’t say why you left the other day.”
He paused before launching into the whole sordid story.
“My parents died,” he said. “They had moved down here from Pennsylvania and just loved it. But some drunk guy from Hillsboro hit them one night and they were gone.”
“God, I’m sorry,” Kate said.
“I moved into their house for awhile while I sorted everything out and I suddenly felt I couldn’t go back. I didn’t want to be in D.C. It was too self-involved and politics suddenly lost its appeal. It just didn’t seem to mean that much anymore.”
“I can understand that,” she said.
“So I sold their place and bought an apartment,” he said. “I couldn’t think of where to go and this just seemed right. So I stayed.”
They were approaching the Leesburg Inn.
“That must have been hard,” she said, “to lose both your parents.”
“It’s one of those things that every time I think I’ve moved on, I get pulled back. I’m not sure I’ll ever really move on.”
Kate nodded.
They stopped in front of the hotel.
“Well,” Quinn said self-consciously, and looked down at his shoes. “Here we are.”
Kate stopped and looked at him. “Thanks for walking me home.”
She wanted to say something more-about her own mother maybe-but she couldn’t. She felt overwhelmed by fatigue and didn’t want to think about it anymore.
“Sure,” he said. “I hope you’ll join us again.”
“Anytime,” she said.
And then she did something unexpected for both of them. Without thinking about it, she leaned in and kissed Quinn on the cheek. Startled by her own action, she pulled back a little, so that their faces were only inches apart. It felt like something electrical crackled in the air and she pulled away as suddenly as she had started.
“Thanks again,” she said.
And then she was through the door and out of sight.
Quinn stood outside looking up. He touched his cheek reflexively. Despite the cool October air, he felt warm inside, like he had drunk a gallon of hot coffee.
He walked home in a kind of daze, not really sure what had happened. There had been something, he thought. And whatever it was, it was powerful. Something had seemed to move between them and only time would tell what.
Across the county, Dee glanced at the waving branches around him and pulled his jacket closer to him. This place gave him the creeps. It had been Jacob’s idea, of course, and you couldn’t argue with him about something like this.
He twitched reflexively and rocked back and forth on his heels. It was cold, it was dark and he was tired. He wished again for a cigarette and reached in his jacket pocket out of habit.
But there was nothing there, and if Denise had her way, there would never be cigarettes for Dee again.
“Fuck,” he swore, and nervously watched as the wind blew through the trees again.
He didn’t like it, mostly because the way the branches blew out, it was as if some invisible giant was pushing them aside. It gave him the impression that things were happening all around him and he had no idea what.
“Fuckin-A, Jacob. Where the hell are you?”
As if on cue, he saw headlights appear around the curve on the side of the road. Why they had to come all the way out to Purcellville only God knew. Why they had to come out to the darkest, most isolated place in the goddamn county he was even less sure.
The cops here don’t care, Dee thought. They never have and they never will. Maybe they were dumb to it, or maybe they just didn’t give a damn. What did he care? Either way, there was no damn reason to come out here.
Dee watched as the car slowed down and pulled up next to his. He continued rocking back and forth on his heels.
Jacob practically threw open the door to his old Volkswagen Jetta and stepped out.
That was Jacob, Dee thought. Never does anything half way.
“What’s up, gee?”
It bugged Dee that some skinny white kid would throw around lingo like he was a brother or something, but he was used to it. His friends called Jacob a live wire and though Dee was confident he could kick Jacob’s ass, he also knew any victory would be short-lived. Jacob had friends and given who his father was, the temporary satisfaction of putting him down wouldn’t be worth it.
“Not much,” Dee replied.
Jacob came around the car and pulled a pack of cigarettes out. He held one out.
“Want a smoke?” he asked.
“Shit, man, you know I can’t,” Dee replied.
“Right, right,” Jacob replied. “That bitch Denise got you wound around her little finger, doesn’t she?”
“Don’t call her that, J,” Dee replied.
J is what Jacob liked to be called. Dee thought it sounded stupid, although he recognized the irony in that.
“Whoa, my brother,” Jacob said, and raised his hands in mock surrender. “No need to get angry.”
“I’m not your brother,” Dee said under his breath.
“What did you say?” Jacob asked, his tone shifting slightly to one more menacing.
But Dee was not afraid. Careful, but not scared.
“Nothing,” he said. “You got it, or not?”
“Well, well, why don’t we cut right to the chase?” Jacob said. “I might have it, but just one question. If she won’t let you smoke, how does she allow you to do this stuff?”
“That’s not your concern, man,” Dee said, and left it at that. He would meet Jacob on his terms, but he would be damned if he would let the little shit into his business.
“You aren’t sounding too friendly, Dee,” Jacob replied. “I can always take my wares someplace else.”
“We don’t need to go through this every time, J,” he said.
“Don’t treat me like your bitch, then,” Jacob said evenly. “If you keep on doing it, you could find yourself in trouble.”
“I meant nothing,” Dee said, but the words caught in his throat on the way out.
Jacob stared at him for a moment, apparently weighing whether or not to do anything.
“All right,” he said finally, and reached into his pocket.
It was then that Dee first heard the rumbling. It was low at first, a kind of rhythmic beating that he couldn't place.
Jacob glanced nervously about.
“You invite somebody?” he asked, glaring at Dee.
“Hell no,” he replied.
They both looked down the road near them. As far as either of them knew, there was never any reason to come out here. It wasn’t even a spot people picked as a make out place. It was too damned creepy.
The rumbling turned into a pounding and grew steadily louder, enough so that Dee could recognize it for what it was.
“Who the hell would be riding a horse at this hour?” he asked out loud.
Jacob shook his head.
It was then that Dee noticed the air had become completely still. A few minutes ago, it had been active, and now-everything was silent. He didn’t like it.
“The cops?” Dee asked.
“No fucking way, man,” Jacob said. “They don’t ride horses around here. Probably some rich dude out for a ride.”
Dee glanced at his watch.
“How many fucking rich dudes you know that go riding at 11:00?”
Jacob didn’t answer. The sound was now getting steadily louder-almost too loud, Dee thought. Should it echo like this?
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“Don’t be such a pussy,” Jacob said. “We’ll just let them pass by. If he stops, we’ll deal.”
But Dee, already nervous here, didn’t care about the jibe.
“You stay if you want to,” he said. “No weed is worth this.”
Dee turned to go to his car.
And then he saw it, tearing down the road in front of them. The sound seemed to come from all around them and Dee found it hard to take his eyes off him.
The horseman was riding incredibly fast, his black cape swinging out behind him.
“Holy shit,” Jacob said, but Dee didn’t look at him. He couldn’t look anywhere else.
The galloping grew louder and the wind that had vanished came back with a vengeance. Dee felt blown backward, as if it was moving ahead of the rider in a wave. The branches on the trees above him bent backward and he had trouble breathing.
“Shit, shit,” Jacob said.
For a second, Dee tore his eyes away to look at Jacob standing on the road. It appeared he could not move either. He just stood there, almost directly in the horseman's path.
Dee looked back at the rider. He had crossed the distance in remarkable time. Dee clenched his hands and felt sweat gathering on his forehead. He felt the urge to run but was rooted to the ground.
“Holy shit,” Jacob said.
Dee looked at Jacob to see what was the matter, but could see nothing.
Looking back at the rider, he knew.
The horseman coming at them-his cape billowing-had unsheathed a sword. And there was a second, much more urgent problem-the rider had no head.
Both boys started screaming then.
The Headless Horseman came full tilt at Jacob, never slowing or pausing. As Dee watched, the Horseman moved to his left side, letting his blade down on a perfect level for Jacob’s neck.
Dee wanted to scream or run, but could do nothing.
Instead, time seemed to slow down and he watched as the Horseman blew by them both, his sword clearly going through Jacob’s neck.
And then he was gone, riding off into the distance. Dee watched him go, still yelling at the top of his lungs.
When he looked at his friend, he wasn’t sure what he expected. But whatever it was, he was in for a shock.
Jacob stood there, in the center of the road-his head still firmly attached to his body-screaming.
Dee moved over to him and was immediately hit with a foul smell. Looking down, he could see that the other boy had wet himself, or maybe something worse.
“What was that?” Dee asked.
But Jacob didn’t respond, his lungs gasping for air and then screaming again. Dee looked for a sign of the blade, some cut or scratch.
But instead there was nothing.
All around them, everything had returned to its former shape.
It seemed like the horseman had never been there at all.
Dee ran to his car and got moving. He didn’t care about Jacob. He just wanted to get very far away.
Blackwell| Rob
A Soul To Steal
LH File: Letter #3
Date: Oct. 8, 1994
Investigation Status: Closed
Contents: Classified
Mr. Anderson,
The article on Weissman was a vast improvement. Even I wanted to cry after reading it. Such promise! Such talent! Such a tragedy!
Your article made his death sing, it really did. ‘Bob Weissman stares at a photo of his son, who will now be 16 forever.’ Have you been saving that one up? ‘All they want to know is why.’ Well, you could have told them that, couldn’t you? Their son died because he is a sign of the rot that is eating this county from the inside.
Bob Weissman should never have moved here. He’s not a farmer, he’s not even working class, like most of the Sterling residents. No, he’s just another suburbanite.
They will take over LoudounCounty, I promise you that. They will overrun us like a plague of locusts, tearing down everything in their path so they can put up rows and rows of shiny, metal boxes with no artistry and less personality than a concrete block. I know them, Mr. Anderson. They did it to FairfaxCounty already. Falls Church was once a small little town. Now, what is it? Just rows of street lights with tacky stores and sub-par restaurants.
Can you imagine what Leesburg will look like in 10 years, or 20? It will be just another suburb of Washington, D.C., a lifeless carbon copy of Fairfax or Reston. Think of all the history that will be destroyed. Union troops marched through this town, did you know that? They fought with their Confederate enemies at Ball’s Bluff. Over in Waterford, there was actually a Union regiment from Virginia. Many of them died, holed up in WaterfordBaptistChurch yelling for their mothers as their Virginia brothers shot lead into the building.
Weissman and his ilk will destroy this. They won’t mean to and that just makes it worse. They’ll come because they want a bigger house, and they won’t care about the added commute, or the acres of farm land that are plowed over to make their new dwelling space. Did Bob Weissman see his son much? Of course he didn’t. He had a 35-minute commute to RBS Industries in Rosslyn.
That’s the tragedy here. He grieves for a son he barely knew. He worked so hard to “provide” for his family, he never truly had one at all. Did his son think of that, as he bled to death, slowly dragging himself away from me? He didn’t say much, I can tell you that. He just stared at me, whimpering.
Will I stop the Bob Weissmans of the world? I can’t. I’m one person and the battle to save this land has not been joined. By the time others figure out what is happening, it will be far, far too late. But I will exact a price to pay. There are real ghosts here, specters that lurk just beyond the streetlight. I am their voice.
Here I am ranting again, I’m afraid. I’m giving your police handlers lots to think about. Maybe I’ve joined a preservationist organization? I could even be a Civil War reenactor! What do you think?
I’m glad you finally thought to use my name this time. I would have been so very displeased if you hadn’t. Of course, no mention of the letters-are you planning to save them? Maybe write a book when this is all over? And your description of me is so dry, so impersonal. “Police attribute the murders to a serial killer who calls himself ‘Lord Halloween.’” That’s it?
But I shouldn’t complain. It’s a start and we have some time left. I promise this will be a month that no one around here ever forgets.
Yours Sincerely,
Lord Halloween
P.S. The next body? Just look around. I made sure even the idiots at the police force could find it quickly.