First Night of Summer (16 page)

As soon as she said the word, a sentence from the letter flashed in her memory.
I noticed this little music prodigy and immediately wanted to see how special she really was
.

Again, Charlie’s hand passed over his chubby, balding head. “I’m not saying that as an absolute,” he clarified. “Only, as I see it, there is a high probability that public recognition is part of his selection process.”

Sarah’s eyes began to tear, and she sat down on the couch. Bad things were not supposed to happen to good people, especially kids. But all over the world, they do. The fact that the good deeds themselves—good deeds that her little girls did—were the cause for all this hurt and chaos felt unbearable.
When Josie is old enough and we tell her that a man tried to take her and Caroline to do bad things with them, how will I explain it was because they saved Jason’s life? I can’t tell her to stop doing good for others. I won’t
.

“If that
is
why he chooses them, why mention it?” Isaac wanted to know. It didn’t make sense to him.
Maybe it takes one to know one
.

Charlie pulled up his utility belt and put the other hand to his mouth. He put one finger across his upper lip like a mustache. “I want to clarify that all of this is unofficial and just my opinion. The Bureau may have a similar one, but if they do, they haven’t shared it with me. I think our man is trying to level the playing field. For himself, I mean. Maybe he has a particular taste, like some men prefer blondes to brunettes. If that’s the case though, why not simply go after the most convenient, pretty blonde girl he can find? Why drive halfway across the country to take someone who looks like the girl next door? Why New Mexico? Why Kansas? Why West Virginia? I think
destination
is coincidence and
selection
is calculated.”

“Do people really do that?” Sarah asked, incredulous.

“Sure. Everybody wants something out of life. Just because you want nice, common things for yourself doesn’t mean everyone else does. This guy wants little girls, particular ones. Why? I don’t know. But I’d bet my life that it has something to do with the way it makes him feel on the inside, not the outside. It could be a misgiving from childhood, and these girls’ accomplishments help him feel more important. The old saying, “You’re known by the company you keep,” applies to criminals more often than most care to know. Maybe he feels like he’s never amounted to much and fulfills that desire by feeding off the achievements of others. Sure, it’s a sick way of doing it, but it is possible. He picks rare victims and then gets off by rubbing it in everyone’s faces. It’s a roundabout way of making oneself feel important, but if he were like the rest of us—”

“What could possibly be in his past to justify his actions?” Sarah shook her head. “Even to himself?”

“Who knows? Maybe something terrible, perhaps a traumatic event or traumatic several years made him this way. Most of us experience times in our lives we wish differently. In odd ways, we even try to return there and fix it. And since we never can go back in time, we spend our future trying to balance the scales.” He shrugged. “And maybe nothing at all happened to make him this way. Lots of people do bad things because, simply, it makes them feel good. Whatever it is, though, all people—I don’t care who they are, where they’re from, or how they go about it—have the same desire.”

Charlie looked them in the eye and paused to make sure they digested this little piece of clairvoyant gold. “We all want to be seen. We all want to be heard. We all want validation.”

After a silent moment of contemplation, Isaac asked, “In every letter he asks, ‘Do you like red?’ What does that mean?”

Charlie let out a long sigh. “No idea.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

T
he abode sat beneath towering fir trees, tucked a hundred yards off a remote, forest road. Ricky’s fifteen-hundred-square-foot log home was his pride and joy. It took him a year of hard searching to find the secluded gem outside the suburbs of Denver. The wait, however, was little consequence to the reward of total privacy. A national forest bordered his two-acre spread on three sides.

The allure of Rocky Mountain weather was his original attraction to Colorado, as it is to thousands of college graduates looking to make their way in life. A sales job for a big-box electronics retailer came easy enough, and he went to work. There was definitely something special about life in the mountains. Something fresh, new, and invigorating. But before long, he grew bored with the daily grind. Answering to a boss, day in and day out, put a damper on extracurricular activity. He needed out.

A skilled hand with electronics could easily find work on a private, per job basis. He started soliciting home stereo, surround sound, movie room installations, computer, and car stereo jobs to customers at a fraction of the price the store charged. As a store employee, he also had the benefit of purchasing discounted equipment and selling to customers for a markup, a win-win for everyone. The customer saved, and he made money. In a few months, Ricky had enough business through word of mouth to quit the day job. He lived frugally, controlled his work schedule, and finally had time to pursue other more exciting interests.

Now, several years later and in the middle of the most intense summer of his life, Ricky still wanted more. If he couldn’t have Josie, another had to take her place.
Someone pretty. Someone special
.

Of course, Josie remained the ultimate goal, and he couldn’t stop himself from sending the letters to inform the most important person in his life what he was up to. But even the quest for her would eventually come to an end like so many before. At this moment in the infinite span of time, though, she was his huckleberry, his luscious little peach, ripe for the taking. He wanted her more than he knew how to handle. The buildup felt like nothing else before, not since the first time he actually placed his hands on live, warm flesh. If he sat still and concentrated on the memory in enough detail, sensations of her fresh-out-of-the-sun skin stimulated the corpuscles of his hungry fingers once again. Her sun-bleached hair tickled the bottom of his nostrils. The taste of salty hair from the seawater lingered on his lips. He thought of the clamminess of her damp skin beneath the elastic fabric of her swimsuit as he greedily searched her body with his spindly paws.

* * *

He found her at the local beach on a memorably hot day, not far from where the homeless man used to buy the dirty magazines for him. Over time, pictures and even video lost their luster. The monotony of watching slowly festered into a rancid poison in his mind and bred the desire for a new corruption, touch.

The target-rich environment of a local snow cone stand made an ideal place to stalk his prey. And after all these years, he could see the girl like it was yesterday. She had her hands wrapped around a white, Styrofoam cup, a towering dome of blue coconut shaved ice on top.

From twenty yards away, he ran his eyes over every inch of her elementary body. Another girl, a few years older, approached and stood with the younger one amongst a scattered floor of picnic tables. He instantly knew the newcomer was his target’s older sister.

“Olivia, I’m walking back to the house,” she said. “Are you ready to go?”

Olivia
, he mused with satisfaction. A name made it much more personal.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Olivia replied without looking away from her treat. She took a bite off the top of her monstrous snow cone. “It’s too big to walk right now.”

The older sister let out a huff and put a hand on her hip. “Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Just don’t take long. I’m not supposed to leave you.”

Little Olivia nodded her eight—to nine-year-old head. Her lips were already stained blue. The older one walked away.

Five minutes later, the snow cone chewed down to a manageable mass, Olivia went in the same direction as her sister. She walked, only paying attention to her rapidly melting ice. Ricky followed at a distance until he discovered her destination, a row of bungalows along the beach about a quarter-mile up a deserted sidewalk. The houses were popular with families who spent summer vacations on the beach.

As he followed along the palm tree-shaded path, halfway between him and the houses, a landscaped bed of overgrown bushes and shrubs caught his attention. The sidewalk passed directly beside it. And in the middle of the blistering afternoon heat, not a soul was in sight. Everyone around was either in the water, laying out, or relaxing in an air-conditioned space.

Ricky sped to a jog and ran past Olivia like any teenage boy in a hurry. He sniffed as he passed, trying to catch a whiff of her sunscreen lotion. When he reached the flowerbed, he looked back and saw her spooning out slush from the cup. He quickly ducked into the bushes and hid.

Her yellow bikini grew brighter in the shade of the palms as she came nearer. She hummed a sweet tune, some song stuck in her head, not a care in the world. Then, at precisely the right instant, a hand slipped over her mouth and an arm around her tummy before she could react.

Ricky’s spontaneous plan succeeded, but the reality of it felt very different from how he imagined it might. Wild, perverse fantasies that previously occupied his thoughts swirled into fear as seconds on the clock ticked away. He decided to get down to business and get the hell out.

With one hand still clasped over her mouth, pulling Olivia’s head tightly against his chest, he used his free hand to explore her body. His sweaty palm roved over her suit in a medley of rushed motions. Time went into overdrive.

She squirmed, not sure what had just happened and no idea who had her. What was left of her blue coconut snow cone pooled on the cement. A few dribbles ran down her bare legs. She reached with both hands to the one clamped over her mouth and pulled at it. A barely audible scream escaped. It wasn’t enough to alert anyone, but one of the strange, bony fingers slid between her teeth. She seized the opportunity, bit down hard, and held it.

Ricky’s fantasy abruptly ended as pain shot into his finger. Reflexes took over, and his hand flew away from her face. An ear-busting scream pierced the air before he could regain control. As suddenly as he had taken her, it ended. He leapt from the bushes in a mad panic and ran for his life, a throbbing, bloody finger clenched tightly in a fist.

It had taken so long to catch his breath after running away, even after sitting on his bed at home for fifteen minutes. He remembered the palpating thump of his heart sending blood to his shaking limbs. But it had been worth it. Olivia had been worth it. From that point on, society at large—at least the young, female population—was at his disposal, food for his sick addiction, minor obsessions. He put a Band-Aid over the bloody teeth marks where Olivia broke the skin on his finger and abstained from washing his hands for a week.

* * *

That was so long ago, almost two decades since his shortsighted youthfulness, but the desire remained strong. He needed someone again. The computer screen at his desk glowed with life from a touch of the mouse, and the hunt began. News station websites were good places to start.

Chapter Thirty-Five

U
nlike Ruidoso, Hiawatha, and Shepherdstown, he did not have to go far this time to stalk his prize. Ricky sat leisurely but aware in his van. A gentle Colorado breeze sifted through the open window and into cab. The drive to Woodland Park had taken less than two hours from his home-in-the-woods hideout.

Once a small, alpine town outside of Colorado Springs, the neighborhoods of Woodland Park were only accessible by jeep trail. Now paved roads lead very near the peaks of granite spires. The town is picturesque, full of residents who seek serenity and an outdoor lifestyle. People who live there love it, and people who visit wish they lived there.

The gorgeous mountain summers inspire local residents to do one thing above all else, enjoy an array of outdoor activities. Mindy Kessler and her mom were no different.

Each day after lunch, they would pack a snack basket, walk from their house to the park, and lay for an hour on the green, outfield grass of the softball field. Mindy’s mom liked to roll up the sleeves of her T-shirt and tan while her daughter played with other kids. They had done this three days in a row now, and Ricky followed each time. Their simplistic routine obvious, he devised a plan that might work famously. But if he didn’t get lucky today, no skin came off his back. He was guilt-free until the actual second that he grabbed her.

Once again, he watched from down the block as Karen, Mindy’s mom, strolled along the sidewalk toward the park. Mindy skipped happily beside her. When they turned the corner and disappeared, Ricky circled around to enter the park from a different street.

Dozens of people were scattered about the recreational area. A few junior high and high school kids shot hoops on the ball courts. A handful of elementary-aged kids played on the swing sets and monkey bars. Another group kicked a soccer ball back and forth. Even with all the people, the conditions were perfect. Sounds of life and action were ideal camouflage to hide a stalker in plain sight. Besides, the noisier the atmosphere, the longer Mindy’s mother would take to realize the sound of her own daughter was missing.

Parked in the lot next to where the walking trail connected with the parking area, Ricky stepped out of his white utility van. He wore a set of thin, navy blue coveralls with “Joe” written in block letters on a white nametag. On top, a grungy, neon orange vest, the bright ones seen on road workers or city maintenance crews, hung over the bogus uniform. A dirty, old cap and a pair of soiled leather gloves completed the disguise.

As he strode into the park to find Mindy, he pulled a rolling trashcan behind him. The container was the same type used by professional janitors, a big, industrial gray, cylindrical tub on wheels. An extendable grabber hung from his other hand to give the appearance of a cleanup worker. Inside the container, several candy wrappers, empty soda cans, crumpled papers, and plastic bottles partly filled a black liner. It had to look authentic. Not to mention, a certain satisfaction over cleaning the environment made him feel good. He hated how people littered, filthy people who drank from disposable water bottles and discarded them after one use. It had taken him less than ten minutes to gather two fistfuls of candy wrappers from a highway median. It pissed him off how so many cared so little about the health of nature. And the irony of cleaning the earth while hunting was not lost. A smirk crossed his lips as he reached out with the grabber and disposed of another piece of loose trash.