“When I walked away from Cass, I told myself that I was through with her. I wanted her to know she was there because of what she did to David. To understand what a bitch she was and to suffer in that box. To go out of her mind with fear. But I ended up spilling my guts. I left because I knew she was getting to me. But now it's like a lightbulb going off in my head. Her dad is a version of my mom. Both snakes, but Mom has venom; he's a constrictor.”
I rubbed my face again.
Hmmmm, I wonder if her mother is a doormat like my dad?
“The craziest part of this entire thing is…as much as I still hate her, even if she had all the reason in the world to hate me, Cass, she gave me all the answers.
“I know it sounds weird, but…I kind of liked talking to her.”
I wanted to scream; I wanted to come out of that box just to slap his stupid, stupid face. But I was too tired to raise my voice above a croak. The disco lights that danced on my eyelids were fading and I was sleepy. My head was as cottony as my mouth, but one thing was clear—I was in here for all the wrong reasons.
Kyle wasn't even mad at me.
“When you figure this out, you're…well, I don't know how you'll feel about it,” I said.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you've got it all wrong. You don't want
me
in this box. I'm not the problem. If you want to feel better, feel like you've avenged your brother, then torture the person who tortured your brother—go get your
mother
and put her in this box. That woman shit on your brother every day of his life. She wouldn't even feed her kid. Her own child. Did you really understand that note? If David blamed me, he would have pinned my note to his body too. Right?”
Nothing.
I had to keep talking. The buzz in my head was piercing. A band saw chewing up my skull. I had to get this out now because I knew I didn't have any time left.
“David's note was aimed straight for your mother. Her words are teeth. He wants her to feed on his corpse. He hung himself in your
front
yard. He wanted people to know, to
know
what she did to him.”
Still nothing.
“If I die and she lives—how does that make you feel better? She wins even bigger that way.”
More nothing.
And then the radio clicked off. I heard a long, anguished howl. Loud enough to vibrate through the earth.
And then he was gone.
I knew he was gone. I could feel it.
This was all—backward or sideways or…I couldn't think, my head hurt and this fading in and out kept me from focusing. What did I do wrong? I had it all figured out…I knew what I…
Oh shit.
I'd done part of it right. I'd convinced him that burying me was covering up the problem. And covering up the problem, never letting it come to light, was how his mother got away with wounding David with her words until she bled him dry.
But I was supposed to make Kyle see that his mother always made sure someone else paid the price for her shortcomings, for her mistakes. Kyle was supposed to dig me up so I wouldn't die for what his mother had done to David.
I was supposed to convince him that his mother murdered David.
And she couldn't make Kyle responsible for murdering me.
He was supposed to get me out
first.
Now he was gone.
I wasn't supposed to…I didn't think he'd self-destruct…I…didn't…
I signed my own death certificate.
My eyes are closed. I own the dark now. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears and it's got a flutter or maybe I mean a stutter. I'm too weak to bang my heels, my breath kind of rattles, and my tongue has gotten thick again. The things that should hurt, my shredded fingers and toes and heels, don't. The places where I've bitten through my lips and where they've cracked and bled, none of that hurts. But I'm cold and I shiver and jerk and that makes my joints feel like they are grinding. And my head. Pounding, buzzing, the whirling lights.
Ben sat at his desk, fingers laced behind his head, feet on the desk, concentrating on the crime board, staring at the names, the facts, trying to make sense or order, trying to will something to jump out at him.
“First forty-eight are over. I hate to lose and our chances of winning are…” He didn't want to say it.
“We keep looking,” Roger said. He printed NEW DRUG on the board in green ink. “The lab said the sheets did show drug traces, but it's a mix they aren't familiar with. They're talking to people to see what's new out there. If it's new, we have a better chance of seeing who has access.”
“I'm tired.” Ben kneaded the back of his neck and pulled his feet down. “I haven't slept since who-knows-how long and all the pistons aren't firing. I know I'm missing something.” He stared at the board again.
Scott drummed the desktop. “Ben?”
“Scott, stop with the noise. I hate repetitive noises. You know I hate—”
Roger grinned, thinking of Ben's own finger-drumming habit.
“Ben.” Scott still drummed, seeming not to hear Ben's complaint.
“What, Scott?”
“Who has access to new drugs on the market?”
“I dunno, docs, pharmacists? Roger, do you—oh, that's it!”
Scott rose and headed for the board. “Pharmaceutical reps get the new stuff that's out and they peddle it to the docs. Right? That's what they do?”
“And the Kirby kid's father is a rep,” Roger said. “But David died before Cass was snatched.”
Scott drew a red line from Kyle's name to Cass's.
“The brother,” Ben said. “But we checked his shoes. Right size, no tread match, no glass cuts.”
“We didn't check the ones he was wearing,” Scott said.
“And he's been out more than in,” Ben added. “Let's get back to the Kirby house and shake something loose.”
“I got in my truck and floored it all the way home. I grabbed some rope from the back; there's always stuff like that in my truck. I didn't want to bury her. I wanted to hang her from that tree, let the neighbors see her out there. Dad was gone, of course, and I slammed in through the front door and went into the kitchen and grabbed one of the big knives out of the block on the counter.
“Mom was already yelling. Calling out, asking if that was me. Screaming that she had a headache and couldn't I be a little considerate.” I stopped.
I dug my nails into my thumbs again. This time I didn't care if they saw me bleed. “You know what, a real killer would have heard her voice and turned around and run away. He'd figure he couldn't kill something that sounded like that without a silver bullet and a stake to the heart.”
I looked at the big cop. “I know how that sounds. Blame the gene pool.”
“Keep going, Kyle. You're almost done.”
I stormed up the stairs and jerked her out of bed.
“What the hell do you think you're—
”
I shoved the tip of the knife under her chin. “Shut your mouth. Just shut up before I kill you or I'll cut your tongue out.
”
She clamped her mouth shut. I didn't think I'd ever see it. Mom alive and not talking. David and I were certain she even talked in her sleep. I pushed the tip of the knife a little harder so it pierced the skin just under her chin and a dot of blood appeared.
“So you can bleed? I wasn't sure you were human. You know what I just figured out, Mom? You murdered David.” She opened her mouth and I pushed the knife harder; the spot turned into a trickle. She gulped out a little scream of pain. Tears ran down her cheeks.
“Yes, you talked him to death. You ranted and screamed and bullied him until he had no hope left. And you know what? Dad let you. And even worse, I let you. You killed him and we watched. You tore hunks out of him day after day until there was nothing left.
”
She sagged, so I cranked her arm around behind her and pulled up, putting the knife across her throat. “And why? Not because you hated him. Because you're a mean, horrible woman and you don't know how to do anything. You don't even know how to be decent.
”
I stopped a minute as a phrase floated into my head. “You chop other people up so you can feel whole.
”
I shoved her back with my shoulder. “Now we're going outside. And the whole world is going to see what a rotten piece of shit you are.
”
I tried to force her down the stairs. She was screaming and fighting me. She kicked me and jerked back and went tumbling down the steps.
“That's when you guys came in.”
I dropped my head. Chin to chest. Exhausted. “I don't know what else you want me to say. But I want a trial. I want it all real public. You cheated me out of hanging my mother out for people to see, but I still want it to happen.
“I'm done talking. Until the trial.”
Is he coming back?
He has to come back.
My only way out is through him.
He has to let me out of here.
Kyle, he's the only one…
Kyle has to…
Kyle…
I can't get out if Kyle doesn't…
I can't if Kyle doesn't…
Ben pulled into the Kirby driveway. His headlights flooded the front of the house. He pointed to the front door. Not ajar. Wide open. Almost midnight; the only light on was upstairs and the door was wide open. Not good.
Ben picked up the radio and called for backup, turned off the car, and glanced at Scott.
Scott nodded and unholstered his weapon. A .357. The young ones always carried a cannon.
Ben motioned Scott to the back and approached the open door from the side.
Standing between the door and a window, Ben eased over to check the front room. Nothing. Where was backup?
A scream sounded from the house. Ben braced his gun hand and stuck his Glock around the door-jamb to draw fire.
None.
“No!” A thud. More screaming. More thuds. Like someone falling down the stairs.
Ben stepped into the house, gun up and braced; he heard the back door open. Scott.
“One more scream and I'll slit your throat.” Male voice. Young.
Ben sidestepped down the entry hall. The hall turned and opened out to the stairs.
A young man stood over Mrs. Kirby, who lay in a tangled heap at the foot of the stairs. Her body was stiff but her eyes were wild with terror. The young man held a large kitchen knife to her throat. A nylon rope was on the floor beside her.
“Police. Drop your weapon.”
The young man looked up, his eyes glazed with fatigue, and blind rage and disgust.
“Don't stop me. You can shoot me after if you want to. But don't stop me. I have to do this. I have to.”
“Drop your weapon, son,” Ben said.
“I don't want to just slit her throat. Don't make me do that. It's not enough.”
“Calm down,” Ben said. He wanted the boy to look at him. He needed him to turn his head a little. Scott should be coming in from the back, easing through the kitchen.
“Let's see what's happening here,” Ben said.
The kid looked at him. “Go away. Either shoot me or get out.”
Scott moved in. Ben shifted. The kid shifted with him. Holding his mother's hair in one hand, her head tipped back, the knife resting across the jugular, he kept his eyes on Ben's gun.
“I don't like those options.” Ben shifted again, pulling the young man around, his back more to Scott. “I've met Mrs. Kirby. I'm thinking you're Kyle. You look a lot like your mother. I'm guessing you don't want to hear that right now, though.
“She's not worth the trouble you're going to put yourself in. Drop your weapon and let's work something out.” He shifted again.
And quicker than a snake strike, Scott's foot was under Kyle's elbow, kicking up and out, the knife flying toward the wall. Ben's gun was against Kyle's temple.
“Let go of your mother's hair.”
Kyle released his mother. She scrambled to her feet, almost spitting. “What the fuck do you—” Before she could kick her son, Scott grabbed Mrs. Kirby. Roger and Tyrell pounded in.
Ben cuffed Kyle and pulled him to a sitting position. “Put her somewhere. Take a statement. Take her to the hospital if she needs it. But keep her away from here,” Ben said.
He turned back to Kyle, did a full Miranda, and then squatted down to get eye to eye.
“You're in a world of trouble.”
“Why did you come here?” Kyle asked. “You were here before she screamed. The neighbors couldn't have called.”
“I think you have something to do with Cass McBride's disappearance.”
The kid dropped his head. Ben was amazed. There was no show of anger or defiance or even a try at innocence.
“Yeah, I took her,” Kyle said.
“What did you do with her?” Ben asked.
“I buried her. When I left her she was alive. But I doubt she is now.”
How much time?
Have I been asleep?
My tongue is thicker than before.
It's so hard to breathe.
But the pounding
in my head…
is not so loud
anymore.
And
the whirling lights are
getting
dimmer.
It took fifteen minutes of tire-squealing, limit-busting driving to reach the greenhouse. But the kid's directions were precise. An ambulance and a van with shovels and people to use them were on the way.
Ben was out of the car before it was completely still. It was dark, but he had aimed the headlights at the door. He found the switch, and row upon row of fluorescent or grow lights buzzed into life.
“There!” Scott shouted, pointing at a rectangle of disturbed dirt.
Grave-sized.
Scott whirled around, caught sight of a small hand spade. He grabbed it and began digging at the loose earth. Ben saw a shovel leaning against the back wall, but heard the van roar up. He waved the shovel—carrying cops into the greenhouse. They headed to Scott and dug. Hard and efficient.
Ben found what appeared to be a vacuum cleaner hose protruding from the disturbed earth. He knelt down and picked it up. Snapped off the filter cap. “Cass, can you hear me?”
“Cass?”