I Don't Want to Kill You

  I remembered her crying, remembered how sad she was, and tried to force myself to empathise through pure force of will. Nothing came. Instead I fell back on my old standby: faking it. What would a normal person say to a sad friend?

  ‘Are you okay?’ I asked. It sounded clumsy, too loud and direct. I watched her carefully for a response, and she nodded.

  ‘Yeah. You?’ She looked up, catching my eyes with hers. They were red from crying. She hadn’t been in school all day, and I wondered if she’d been crying straight through since last night.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said. What would a normal person say next? I was no good at this. Just like before, the first time I’d sat down and talked in her kitchen, I knew I couldn’t pretend with her. I couldn’t be somebody else. I took a deep breath.

  ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I’m not very good with people. I don’t know how to talk, and I don’t know how to react, and I definitely don’t know how to comfort anyone. I know you were really sad last night, and I wish I’d been able to do something about it, but I couldn’t. Sorry.’

  She started crying again. ‘No, no,’ she said, and I braced myself for the worst. ‘I was such a mess last night, I was hysterical, it’s not your fault at all.’ She paused. ‘After the way I treated you, I didn’t think you’d ever come back.’

  That was not what I had expected.

  She put a hand on the screen. ‘You want to come in?’

  I hesitated just a fraction of a second. ‘Sure.’

  She pushed open the screen and I started to step in, but she caught me mid-step and drew me into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around me, burying her face in my neck. Her tears were wet against my skin, and I could feel her chest against mine, her heart pumping steadily.

  ‘I don’t hate you at all,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry you would ever think that.’

  Slowly I put my arms up around her, touching her uncertainly. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d hugged someone in the last eight years – I had no idea what to do. I patted her a couple of times before letting my arms fall still and simply hold her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sniffing and pulling away. ‘I’m gonna get snot all over you. Come on in.’

  The phone rang twice before Father Erikson picked up.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Don’t call the police.’ I was on the payphone by the truck stop; I hadn’t bothered to disguise my voice.

  ‘Is this John?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We made a deal, John. You talk to my friend, or I call the police. I can’t just let this slide.’

  I’d worked this out beforehand, planning my moves carefully to throw him off my trail. ‘Do you think I’m crazy?’

  He paused. ‘It’s just a therapist, John, not a psychiatrist. She’ll just help you work some things out.’

  She. I’d looked up every therapist and psychological counsellor in town, and of the three I found, two were female: Mary Adams, a recovery counsellor at the hospital, and Pat Richardson, the high-school counsellor. Which one was his friend?

  ‘I’m not trying to back out of the deal,’ I said. ‘I’m just . . . I don’t want anyone to think I’m crazy. You know?’ I tried to sound embarrassed and sincere, but I was never good at faking emotion. Was he buying it? ‘I’ve never had therapy before. I’m scared.’ ‘It’s nothing to be afraid of,’ he said, and I tried to read his voice. Reassuring? Impatient? I really hated talking on the phone, but sometimes it was the only safe way. He couldn’t see me or touch me, and had no idea where I was. ‘She’s completely discreet; no one you know will even see you talking to her.’

  I smiled. That means it’s not the school counsellor. Dr Adams at the hospital was an odd choice, given her specialty, but I could make this work.

  ‘Please,’ I said. ‘I know it’s not our deal, but I already took your advice, and I got an appointment with a counsellor at the hospital. It’s the only place I could think of to go. Please, just let me talk to her – don’t call the police.’

  He said nothing, and I knew he was thinking it over. He knew I was potentially volatile, and now he thought I was already seeing the counsellor he wanted to introduce me to, so why force the issue any further? It wouldn’t hold him off forever, but it would give me more time. A week, at least.

  If he bought it.

  ‘Are you there?’

  ‘Yes, John, yes, I think that will be fine.’

  I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘If you need anything else,’ he said, ‘if you ever want to talk again, I’m always available.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’

  I hung up.

  Sociopath or not, I knew it was stupid to bring up the Handyman in my first few days back with Marci. Instead we sat on the couch and watched TV silently together, while I bit my tongue and tried not to talk about killers and corpses and holy avengers. Finally, playing poker in her room on a rainy Saturday, I couldn’t take it any longer. I set down my hand of cards.

  ‘We haven’t talked about the Handyman all week.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ she said, and pointed at my cards. ‘Call or fold?’

  ‘I’m serious,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve cracked it.’

  She frowned. ‘You know who it is?’

  ‘No, but I think I know why she’s killing. And I think we can figure out who’s next.’

  She stared at her cards, silent for a long time. Finally she shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want to.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t want to get back into it. It’s too much – it’s too close. I don’t want to be responsible for another death.’

  ‘That’s exactly why we need to do this,’ I said, ‘so there won’t be any more deaths.’

  ‘But there will be,’ she said. ‘We’re just two kids – we’re sixteen. We can’t stop a killer. We shouldn’t stop a killer. We should let the police do their job, and we should do ours. This isn’t a game.’

  ‘Do you want to know why Mr Coleman was our fault?’

  ‘For the love of all that’s holy, no.’

  ‘Because the Handyman is punishing sinners,’ I said, ‘and we exposed one, which made him a target. It’s not just any sinners, but sinners in positions of authority. Leaders in the community, like pastors and teachers and government officials.’

  ‘John . . .’

  ‘Every attack is getting worse,’ I said. ‘Remember how Mayor Robinson had thirty-seven stab wounds in his back? Well, Coleman had sixty-four.’

  ‘Please stop.’

  ‘Sixty-four,’ I repeated. ‘And in a week and a half our time will be up, and she’ll purge another sinner – someone important, and someone in the public eye to make sure that everyone gets the message. But now we’ve figured it out, and we can find the next victim before she kills him.’ I stared ay Marci, holding her gaze intensely. She stared back. ‘Please, Marci – you’ve got to help me.’

  She stared back, her eyes hard. I tried to guess what she was thinking. Would she go along, or refuse?

  ‘It’s impossible,’ she said. ‘There’s no way we can guess one specific person this creep thinks is a sinner.’

  That means she’s considering it, I thought. She’s thinking about it. I have to feed the fire.

  ‘It could be another pastor, or a teacher,’ I said. ‘Maybe the Principal at school.’

  Her face went white. ‘It could be a cop.’

  I nodded. ‘Anyone who’s in a position of authority is game, but only if they have some kind of shady background - not a secret, but something everyone knows about. Your dad should be totally safe.’

  She continued staring, her mouth a thin pink line. Her eyes were shadowed by her brow, and she looked out darkly. ‘Sheriff Meier should be safe,’ she said. ‘Mick Herrman, Craig Moore; they should all be fine.’ I stayed silent, and she squinted her eyes. ‘This is why I didn’t want to do this. I don’t want to think about all the bad things people have
done, and I don’t want to feel guilty when I forget about some terrible thing that gets somebody killed.’

  ‘What about—’

  ‘Ellingford,’ she said suddenly, opening her eyes. ‘Larry Ellingford. He was an officer that got called under review two years ago for abuse of power. He was writing fraudulent speeding tickets to people he didn’t like. I don’t even know if he’s still in town; I haven’t heard anything about him in ages.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘Can you think of anyone else?’

  ‘Why am I doing all the work?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, nodding. ‘How about Ms Troyer, the Vice Principal? There was that whole thing last year about her fudging the results of the student body election.’

  ‘You think that’s enough?’ she asked. ‘If the Handyman’ll kill someone for that, none of us are safe.’

  ‘I’m just brainstorming,’ I said. ‘I’m trying to think of anyone I can.’

  She paused, then said slowly, ‘How about Curt Halsey?’

  A host of thoughts rushed to my mind, crowding each other out. If ever anyone deserved to be killed by a demon . . . ‘You mean the guy that burned down Forman’s house?’

  ‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘He’s currently under suspicion of homicide – that’s a pretty big sin.’

  ‘He’s also in police custody,’ I said. ‘She couldn’t get to him. Besides, it’s stretching the requirements quite a bit to call him a community leader.’

  ‘People think he killed Forman,’ she said. ‘He’s getting all the hero credit that you’d be getting if the truth came out.’

  ‘True,’ I said. ‘That gives us three leads: one who might have moved, one who’s only a sinner by the widest definition, and one who’s in jail. Not a very good list.’

  ‘But good enough for tonight,’ she said, pointedly picking up her cards and fanning them out. ‘I’m not thinking about this any more for now. Call or fold.’

  I looked at her and she looked back, cocking her head with an expression that said, ‘Just try to disagree with me.’ I picked up my cards and fanned them out. ‘Give me all your fours.’

  ‘Wrong game,’ she said sternly, then slowly broke into a smile and laughed. ‘I count that as a fold, though. I win.’ She scraped the pile of M&Ms across the carpet and into the much bigger pile by her legs. ‘You still have a few left. Shuffle up and I’ll take them off your hands.’

  ‘You’ll just share them with me anyway.’

  ‘Try me, punk.’

  I gathered the cards and shuffled, all the while running through lists of possible victims in my head.

  Chapter 13

  On Monday night the phone rang during dinner. The caller ID said Jensen.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘John,’ said Marci quickly, ‘are you watching the news?’

  ‘Not at the moment.’

  ‘That’s fine, I don’t even know if it’s on yet.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can you get over here?’

  ‘Slow down, you’re talking in circles.’

  ‘William Astrup was arrested,’ she said. ‘My dad’s radio just went off, and I heard it from the hall. He was arrested in Springdale for soliciting prostitution.’

  I frowned. Springdale, despite its fancy name, was the poorest neighbourhood of Clayton County – a massive string of apartments that sprawled through the heart of town. It was exactly the kind of place someone would go to solicit a prostitute, but not the kind of place anyone would expect to find a community leader.

  ‘Who’s William Astrup?’ I asked. ‘Is that another cop?’

  ‘You’re kidding me,’ she said. ‘He’s the owner of the wood plant – he’s the richest man in the county, and the biggest employer. No one else even comes close. How can you not know that?’

  ‘I’m kind of amazed that you do know it,’ I said. ‘How do you know the guy who owns the wood plant?’

  ‘Just get over here,’ she said. ‘This is our next victim – it’s got to be – and I’m not telling Dad about this without you.’

  She was right. This sounded like the ideal victim for the Handyman, and there were only a few days left. But as ridiculous as it sounded, I still couldn’t shake the idea that Officer Jensen might be the demon. Did I dare go and spill my whole plan to him? I paused, trying to study the situation: if he was the demon, then he had a much bigger plan I hadn’t begun to grasp yet; embedding myself in his life was the best way to discover it. And if he wasn’t the demon, then he could save the victim while I slipped by in the dark and took the demon out.

  For just a moment I considered not telling him at all, to make absolutely sure that no one interfered with my trap for Nobody. This William Astrup would be perfect bait if he suspected nothing, and if the police stayed far away. But it was too late now. By bringing Marci into this, I’d brought in her ethics as well. She wanted the victim protected, and she would make sure it happened whether I was the one to say it or not.

  ‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ I said.

  ‘See ya.’ We hung up, and I turned to leave.

  ‘Something happened to William Astrup?’ Mom asked.

  ‘How does everybody know this guy but me?’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I just need to run over to Marci’s.’

  ‘Can’t you finish your dinner first?’

  ‘No.’ I ran down the stairs and out the side door, then drove quickly to Marci’s house. Her father was walking out to his squad car right as I pulled up, with Marci close on his heels.

  ‘Here he is,’ she was saying as I stepped out of the car. ‘Just listen to him.’

  ‘Make it quick,’ he said, turning to look at me. ‘Apparently you’ve got something to tell me about the Handyman?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, stumbling over my own thoughts as I tried to get them in order. ‘You need to . . . I mean . . .’ I wasn’t ready to explain all of this yet. I liked to take my time and plan things, not rush into them blindly. ‘She’s going to try to kill William Astrup.’

  Officer Jensen narrowed his eyes. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Because she’s targeting community leaders she thinks have done wrong,’ I told him. ‘The Handyman is a holy avenger - it’s not a very common serial-killer profile but I promise you it’s true in this case. She’s trying to save us, or teach us, or cleanse us, or whatever, and a rich, powerful guy like Astrup getting arrested is exactly what she’s looking for.’

  ‘Wait – how did you know about . . .’ He studied me for a second, then growled under his breath and turned to Marci. ‘Marci Elizabeth Jensen. Have you been eavesdropping again?’

  ‘I didn’t try to hear it, it’s just loud.’

  ‘I have told you a hundred times that you are not allowed to interfere with my job. This is very serious. If word of this arrest gets out—’

  ‘Word is going to get out, no matter what you do,’ I interrupted. ‘Astrup is too important, and people will find out, and then the Handyman will try to kill him. Late Wednesday night, if he sticks to his pattern – and that’s only two days away. You have to trust me. He fits the profile exactly.’

  ‘If he fits a profile,’ Officer Jensen said, ‘the FBI will already know about it.’

  ‘Then no one will think you’re weird when you suggest protecting him,’ I said. ‘Listen, the Handyman probably lies awake at night praying for someone as important as William Astrup to make a mistake this big. Killing him is exactly the message she is trying to send, and if she cut out Coleman’s eyes for porn I don’t have to tell you what she’ll cut off of Astrup for solicitation.’

  ‘Ew,’ said Marci.

  ‘You know about the eyes too?’ said Jensen sternly, whirling on Marci again.

  ‘You told me that one yourself!’ she snapped.

  ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I know you have no reason to trust us, but—’ I stopped suddenly, unsure of what to say next. If he leaves Astrup defenceless I’ll be able to see
exactly what the demon does to him, and how. If I’m lucky I’ll spot a weakness and find a way to kill Nobody right there, on the spot, with no more waiting and no more speculation. But I didn’t want Marci to think I was backing down.

  ‘You know he’s probably going to post bail right away, so you won’t be able to hold him anyway,’ I went on, ‘but you could send him some guards or something. Maybe – I don’t know.’ What am I really doing here? I have to learn more about Nobody, and yet I’m sabotaging my best chance, just to save one criminal’s life. Or am I doing it because I’m afraid of what Marci will think of me?