He picked another daisy. I reached one chubby hand for the flower.
"Uh!" I said.
"Nope, gotta use your words, sweetheart."
"Uhhh!"
He smiled. "Louder doesn't count. Come on, now. You know the word. It's your favorite."
"Want!"
Another laugh. "And there it is."
"Want. Dada. Want."
He handed me the flower and picked another one, plucking petals onto me. "What will I be? Lady, baby, gypsy, queen." He paused. "Is that how it goes? Your mom's so much better at these."
"Sounds fine to me," a woman's voice said.
Todd sat up fast.
"What a pretty little girl. She has your hair and smile. Is Daddy babysitting today, honey?"
"No." A chill crept into Todd's voice. "I'm taking care of my child."
The woman laughed. "That's what I meant. Oh, she's so sweet." The woman bent beside me, but the sun blocked her face so all I could see was shadow. Her voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Todd didn't seem to know her.
"We should probably--" he began.
"This is such a lovely park. I'll have to bring my husband by."
Todd relaxed at the mention of a husband. He was a good-looking, doting young daddy. Biological catnip, and he was probably accustomed to ducking female attention. He picked me up, his hands under my armpits, and dandled me, my feet touching the ground. He let me dance the only way I could, supported where my legs failed. I shrieked and wriggled with excitement.
"Edie dance!" I crowed. "Edie dance!"
He chuckled. "Yes, Eden is an awesome dancer."
"She's such a sweetie," the woman said. "It's too bad about her legs."
He tensed, and I swore I felt a chilly comeback rise, but he swallowed it and said, "It's spina bifida."
"Such a shame. A beautiful, broken baby."
Todd scooped me up, ignoring my flailing protests as he held me against his chest, and rose to his feet.
"My daughter is dealing with a physical challenge," he said. "She is otherwise healthy and happy, and she will be fine, thank you very much."
"But she'll never live up to her potential. What if she could be a dancer? A prima ballerina? You think about that. I know you must."
Her voice faded as Todd grabbed the diaper bag and walked away. I tried to see her over his shoulder, but he held me too tight, shielding me.
"What if I said she could be fixed?" The woman's voice came clear again as she caught up. "What would you give to fix her?"
"I'm not interested in whatever you're selling."
"What I'm selling is hope."
He snorted, the sound rippling through him. "For a hundred bucks an ounce, I'm sure. Some cream to rub on her back. Some herbal drops for her to take each night. Is this what you do? Lurk around parks trying to drum up business with desperate parents? If my daughter wasn't here, I'd--"
"You'd let me know what you think of me." The woman chuckled. "You have a bit of a temper, don't you, Todd?"
He stiffened, still walking. "How do you know my--?"
"What do you know of the Wild Hunt, Todd?"
He picked up speed.
"You're familiar with the stories, aren't you?" she continued. "Because in your family, they aren't stories. They're history. Like having the phone number of a third cousin in the White House, who might be able to help if you really need it, but you have to really need it, or you don't dare call. The difference? You have no way of getting in touch with the Hunt. You know they exist. You know their blood runs in your veins. You know they have power--the power to do things like heal a broken baby."
Todd kept walking, but he had slowed, listening.
"What if I gave you that phone number?" she asked.
I felt Todd's heart beat faster. Then his arms tightened around me. "Sure. Just sign over the deed on my house, and you'll give me a number to a pay phone in Milwaukee."
"Don't be cynical, Todd. It doesn't suit you. I don't have an actual number. Even if I did, they'd never answer. You need to get their attention. I'm here to tell you how."
"And why would you do that?"
"Because the Huntsmen will appreciate me putting you in touch with them. I can say no more than that. They will be pleased, and they will owe me for the introduction. Speaking of introductions, I believe you know a man named Gregory Kirkman?"
"Who?"
A rustle of paper, and when I craned my neck, I saw the woman show Todd a photo.
"Sure. I worked a job with him, building cabinets for a house his crew was renovating."
"Good with a saw, I take it?"
"Huh?"
"He's good with a saw."
Another rustle of paper. Todd looked at whatever she held, and then staggered away, his hand going to the back of my head, nearly crushing my face to his chest.
"Jesus, what kind of sick--"
"Yes, that's the question. What kind of sick fuck does that?"
"Don't swear--"
"In front of Eden?" The woman laughed. "She's too young to understand, just as she's too young to comprehend that photograph. It is graphic. I should have warned you. But I wanted you to see what your friend Mr. Kirkman does in his spare time."
"He's not my friend. I worked one job with the guy."
"Sorry, I was being facetious, and this isn't the time."
"I don't know if this is some really sick prank or you are actually telling me Kirkman did...did that. If he did, I'm not the person you need to show it to. That goes to the police."
"Or the Wild Hunt."
"You want me to take that to them? But the point is that I can't make contact."
"They'd come if you killed him."
"What?"
"If you kill Greg Kirkman, following my instructions, the Hunt will come. He is on their list. They haven't been able to take him. If you do that for them, they will come and--"
"And what? Grant me a fucking wish?" Todd patted the back of my head, bouncing me, whispering, "Sorry, sorry." Then, to the woman, "I don't know what this is, but I'm walking away, and I would strongly suggest you don't follow me."
He set out.
She kept talking. "The proof is in this folder, Todd. The police files on two dead girls. There's a third victim the police haven't found. Three dead young women. Someone's daughters. Imagine if it was--"
He wheeled. "Don't say it. Don't you dare say it."
"I don't need to. I'm going to put this folder down right here. Take it. See the files. Read the proof I assembled. Conduct your own research--I don't expect you to execute a killer on a stranger's say-so. Draw your own conclusions. Then see the proof with your own eyes. I mentioned a third girl. He goes to visit her body every Friday. He can't help himself. That file shows where to find her. Go there, wait for him, confront him, and end his miserable life. If you do that, the Hunt will come."
Todd got as far as the parking lot. Then he sat me on the hood of the car and dangled a toy, whispering to me, "It's okay, it's okay. We'll go home. Mommy will be there and everything will be fine. Just..."
I whimpered, picking up on his anxiety.
His gaze swiveled to the park. A long pause. Then, with a kiss on my forehead, he scooped me up, strode back, and grabbed the folder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
That whirlwind hit again, memories whipping past. Then I was walking through a forest. It was night, and I had a flashlight in my pocket, but I didn't take it out. I could see well enough, even if it was only a quarter moon above. I could always see fine, and even when the clouds hid that moon, my feet instinctively stayed on the path.
A rustle sounded as I pulled something from my pocket, unwrapping it and popping it into my mouth. A mint, despite the fact my mouth already tasted of mint. My stomach twisted, and I chewed as I walked, knowing I should let the candy last, but I needed something to do, something to focus on. Swallow the mint. Unwrap another.
I remembered when I'd first gone to see Todd, making my way through a whole
pack of spearmint gum, one stick after another, both to give me something to do and to calm my queasy stomach. This felt the same, anxiety making my stomach churn, breath coming hard.
"Stupid. Fucking stupid. I shouldn't be here."
I muttered the words, but the voice I heard was Todd's.
I should be at home, with Pam and Eden. No, I should be out with Pam. It's date night.
I'd had to make an excuse, and I'd seen the worry on Pam's face.
"If you want to go out for a drink with the guys, you can just tell me that," she'd said.
"No, course not. It's work."
She'd been quiet for a moment. Then, "You're happy, right?"
"What? Sure. Of course."
"I know it's tough on you, working two jobs, worrying about Eden, the medical bills, the mortgage. I worry..."
"You worry what? I'm going to get fed up and walk out? Jesus, Pam. If you can even think that, I'm doing something wrong."
"It's just...the last couple of weeks. You've seemed...stressed."
I'd hugged her and told her it was just a tough job--demanding client--and everything was fine.
I hated lying to her. Hated it. Sucked at it, too. But I'd been careful, setting up my alibi, going to the shop and doing some work before slipping out the back and riding my old bicycle the ten miles to the forest.
I finally reached the spot. I knew she was here--the third victim. I'd come out two days ago and found her hidden under a tree fall. I didn't check again. Didn't ever want to see that again. My stomach lurched, and I chewed another mint, wishing I'd brought antacids instead.
I should take this to the police. Take the file and my own research and anonymously submit it.
But that wouldn't help Eden.
Shit, did I really think this could help Eden?
I swallowed and hunkered down to wait. Twice I thought I heard a sound and jumped back into the shadows. But no one came. The third time, I almost didn't bother, chalking it up to paranoia. Then the sound turned into the clomping of boots.
A moment later, Kirkman appeared. Sweat poured off him, and he stank of booze. He swayed as he walked, grabbing trees for support.
"Shouldn't be out here," Kirkman muttered. "Shouldn't, shouldn't, shouldn't."
I stifled a humorless laugh. Yeah, you and me both, asshole.
Kirkman walked straight to the tree fall. He took a deep breath, shaking so hard I could see it. Then he pulled back a branch, and when he exhaled, it was almost orgasmic, and I pulled the hunting knife from its sheath without even realizing what I was doing, rage filling me, a rage that wasn't hot and blind but cold and focused, like nothing I'd ever felt before.
Up until this moment, I'd made excuses for him. Not for the murders--nothing could excuse those horrors. But I'd told myself it wasn't him. Despite all the evidence, it wasn't Kirkman, but just some fae trick.
I'd heard enough stories growing up to understand that fae weren't innocent little creatures with wings and pixie dust. They were amoral, unethical, cruel, sometimes even what we'd call evil in their complete disregard for others. This might be some fae's idea of a joke--promise me the one thing I wanted most and force me to kill an innocent man.
Even when Kirkman pulled back the branch, I still hoped. I knew him. Not well. Not at all well. But the idea that I could have met and worked alongside a monster, might have shown him pictures of Pam, of Eden...
I wanted to think if I ever met someone capable of doing this to another person, I'd see it in his eyes. But then I heard Kirkman's deep sigh of pleasure, and that rage filled me, and I started forward, gripping the knife.
A twig cracked behind me. I spun. So did Kirkman, stumbling, drunk, then falling and saying, "Who's there?" in a shrill voice.
I scanned the dark forest but saw no one. An animal, I supposed.
I turned back to Kirkman, still on the ground. I slid the knife into its sheath, my hand still on it, under my jacket. Then I eased forward.
"Greg," I said.
He blinked hard, struggling to focus. "T-Todd? You're...the carpentry guy, right? No." A sharp shake of his head. "Too much to drink. Too fucking much to drink."
"It's me, Greg. It's Todd. I know what's under that tree. I know about the other two. I know everything."
His jaw worked. Then his eyes rounded. "You. It was you. How--how--" He pushed to his feet and looked around. "Where is it?"
"Where's what?"
"The dog. The huge dog."
"You mean the hound?" I took a guess. "A big black hound with red eyes?"
He swallowed and nodded. "Every time I come in the forest, it's here. I live in the fucking forest. How am I supposed to stay out of it? But I did." A high-pitched giggle. "I figured out that the dog only follows me in here. So I stayed out."
I looked at the surrounding woods. "Yeah..."
He ran his tongue over his lips. "It's my day. My time to visit her. I thought maybe if I hung out with some guys, had a few drinks, I wouldn't need to come here. But I did."
"Why?" I asked, and I knew now the question was pointless. It was like asking the theoretical background to a quantum physics tenet when I'd barely gotten my high school diploma. No answer Kirkman could give would make any sense to me. It couldn't.
"Why not?"
That was what he said, and I blinked, sure I'd misheard.
"I mean that," I said, waving at the deadfall, not even able to look at the poor girl's body. "Why?"
"And that was my answer. Why not?" Kirkman rose, his sweat drying in the cold night air. "You've thought of it. I know you have. Everyone does. We just don't like to admit it. It isn't right." A derisive twist and lip curl to the last word.
I couldn't answer. I didn't even know the words to answer.
Kirkman leaned against a tree. "You think about it. In school, that pretty girl who let you put your hand up her shirt and then said no. The one on the street wearing the shirt that shows off her tits and then she scowls when she catches you staring. Even that pretty wife of yours, when she pisses you off. You think about it."
"Think about...what?"
I knew what he seemed to mean. But I thought I must be wrong. I glanced toward the deadfall, felt my stomach clench at the memory of what I'd seen in there.
"That?" I said, barely able to get the word out. "You honestly believe normal people think about..." I couldn't finish.
"Don't be coy, Todd. That's why you're here instead of calling the police. You're curious. You want validation. Someone to say it's okay if you feel the same way. If you want to do the same thing. If you look at her"--a chin jerk toward the deadfall--"and you like what you see."
"You sick fuck."
Kirkman's face hardened. "You're the one who came out here. Tell me you didn't like looking at her. Tell me it didn't excite you, just a little. Tell me you didn't, for one second, imagine your wife there."
Yes, I had. I'd seen that girl--what had once been a girl--and thought of her life. Thought of her family. Thought, What if it was Pamela? What if it was Eden? How would I ever sleep again, when every time I closed my eyes, I'd think of what they'd suffered?
"Yes," I said slowly, feeling that cold rage seep through my veins. "I thought of my wife under those branches. I thought of what I'd want to do to the man who put her there."
I saw the blade slash without even realizing I'd pulled it from its sheath. Saw blood spurt. Saw Kirkman fall backward. Then I fell on him. I stabbed him over and over until he stopped moving. Until he completely stopped moving.
I stood there, and I wasn't heaving breath, wasn't shaking, wasn't doing anything I should be doing. That rage slid away, and even to call it rage felt like an excuse. I'd known what I was doing. I'd done it intentionally, deliberately. Gregory Kirkman deserved to die, so I killed him.
When that ice in my gut thawed, I looked down at the bloody mess of his chest, the blood splattered over me, over the bushes, over everything. I saw that, and I pictured the body in the deadfall.
What mak
es me any different?
I threw up. Vomited, crouched on all fours, dry heaving when nothing more would come. I caught my breath, leaves crackled behind me, and I didn't jump up. Didn't even think to run.
I'd been caught. I deserved that. Whatever happened now, I deserved it.
But the woods fell silent again. Finally, I rose, wiping my mouth and looking down on the body of Gregory Kirkman.
I need to summon the Hunt.
I shook my head. I couldn't. Just couldn't.
Then what had I done this for? To stop him, yes, but I still needed to do what I came for, and if I'd made a mistake, I had to let the Hunt punish me and pray it would be an invisible death, that I would vanish and my daughter would never know what I'd done. Yes, that was cowardice, but it was all I could hope for. That if I deserved to die for this, Eden could keep her memories of her father untarnished.
I started following the instructions the woman had given me. Mark the body like this. Carve a tree like this. Draw a symbol in the dirt like this.
I hadn't even finished before I heard the thunder of hooves and baying of hounds. I backed away from the body and my vomit, and I sat on the path with my knees pulled up.
Then I stopped. Was I going to huddle on the ground in fear? No. I'd made a choice. There was no denying that.
I rose, and then I stood there and waited. Finally, through the trees, I saw the dark shapes of the hounds, the red glow of their eyes. The beasts stayed in the shadows. Waiting for their Huntsmen.
Hooves pounded, and horses snorted, and fire flickered through the trees. That was all I saw: dancing flames. Then a giant black stallion charged down the path. A stallion with red eyes and a flaming mane and burning hooves.
I stood my ground and waited for those hooves to trample me. To run me down where I stood. But at the last moment, the hooded rider yanked the reins and pulled the horse up short.
I couldn't see the man's eyes. Couldn't see his face at all. Just the hood and blackness below.
That hood turned from me to Gregory's body and back again. The Huntsman dismounted. He walked to the deadfall and reached to pull a branch aside.
"Don't--!" I began. Then I realized that was a stupid thing to say. These were men who'd seen such things before. But the Huntsman still recoiled and let out a snort, not unlike his horse's as the huge beast stamped the ground inches from Kirkman's head.
The Huntsman returned to the path. He looked at Kirkman's body and then at the symbol on the tree and the half-drawn one in the dirt. Finally, he looked at me, and while I still couldn't see his eyes, I could feel them boring into mine.