A Soul To Steal (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book One) (17 page)

“What the hell are you talking about?” Philip asked, feeling even more anxious. This guy wasn’t right. Why wasn’t he calling the police on a cell phone? Or shouting to the houses around him? Was he trying to act crazy? What was he waiting for?

“Just making talk,” the figure said and laughed again.

It made Philip shiver.

“You’ve been in the papers too long,” the figure said. “So I’m going to do you a favor. I'm going to put you in the papers one last time. The obituary column, to be sure, but maybe the police are smarter now. I didn’t think so, but...”

Philip made his move. He tried to feint forward, but halfway through the move, his body seemed to go all the way forward. He just rushed the figure, slicing through the air in front of him and hoping to connect with something.

But then everything went wrong. He felt a fist connect with his face and then his knife was out of his hand. His arm was in blinding pain and Philip went down on the ground still firmly in the man’s grip.

“God, you are pathetic,” the figure said. “The weak preying on the weak. And now it’s time to take you out of business altogether. But I’m a nice guy and since you have been so good in providing copy, I’m going to give you one final treat. That woman you’ve been watching in the window? How about if I introduce you?”

“You’re hurting me,” Philip said. He felt like his arm was broken. His eyes searched the ground for the knife. He had to do something.

“And you were what? Going to just pop me on the head with that little toy of yours?”

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry,” Philip said.

“You really are an insult to any person who was ever branded the Stalker. I actually had high hopes for you, you know. I looked for you for two days and I thought you would be a little more worthy of the attention people paid to you. But you are not even a wolf. You’re just a sheep. A pathetic perverted little sheep.”

*****

Mary Louise Fanton wrapped her robe around her tightly and wondered if she should answer the door.

Who rings your doorbell at quarter to 11 at night? But whoever it was seemed quite insistent. She wished she had an intercom.

She quickly picked up the phone and dialed Sally, one of her best friends (she still hesitated to think of her that way after what she had said about Martha, but it was true).

“Hello?” Sally said at the other end.

“Hi, it’s me,” Mary Louise said.

The doorbell rang again.

“Why are you calling so late, Mary, it’s nearly...”

“I know,” Mary Louise said. “But the doorbell is ringing.”

“Who is it?”

“How should I know?” she asked. “I’m afraid to answer it. I thought I should call somebody...”

“Why?”

“In case, you know, it’s that stalker or somebody,” Mary Louise said.

“I don’t think someone like that rings your front doorbell,” Sally said.

Mary Louise was annoyed. She was feeling heightened anxiety and Sally sounded nothing more than bored.

“Go to the door and look outside,” Sally said.

Mary Louise did, as the doorbell rang again, then sighed in relief.

“It’s the police,” Mary Louise said.

She opened the door.

“Ma’am, I need to use your phone,” the policeman said.

“Sure,” she said, and nearly dropped the phone when she saw that he was practically dragging a man in with him. “Oh my God.”

“What is it, what happened?” Sally asked.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” the policeman said. “I found this gentleman outside your premises spying on you. Unfortunately, he broke my radio when I detained him. I’ll need that phone.”

“I’ve got to go, Sally,” Mary Louise said.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Is that a friend of yours?” the policeman asked.

“Yeah,” Mary Louise asked, and the policeman reached for the phone.

She handed it to him.

“Hello,” he said into it. “Yes, ma’am, she’s fine. This is Officer Kaulbach of the Leesburg Police Force. Your friend will be fine, I just need to use her phone. Then we are going to pay to put her into a motel until we make sure the area is safe. Our suspect might have been working with a partner.”

He nodded and listened for a minute.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said and hung up the phone.

He practically threw the detained man into the house and then shut the door behind him. And locked it.

“Is this the stalker the paper has been talking about?” Mary Louise asked. The man on the floor appeared to be whimpering and cradling his arm.

“Yes, Ma’am, I think so,” the policeman replied.

“And he was looking at me?”

“I found him right near your bedroom window,” the cop said.

Mary Louise pulled her robe even tighter around her.

“Do you have a knife I can borrow?” the cop asked. “The suspect here dropped his.”

“Sure,” Mary Louise said, and then her voice faltered. “But why would you need a knife? Don’t you just want to call for back-up?”

The cop started to laugh. All at once Mary Louise became uncomfortable. She looked carefully at his clothes and was disturbed that what she had taken for a uniform just appeared to be regular blue pants. And he was wearing gloves. She didn’t think that was normal. But she had seen a badge…

“What’s so funny?” Mary Louise asked.

“You,” the cop said and pulled out the badge again. “Take a good look.”

He tossed it to her.

Mounted on a nice looking leather case was a simple star. Above, in large letters, it said “To Protect and Serve.” But the star itself looked plastic. And when she looked closely, she could see that letters had been scraped off. She read them closely.

“Does this say ‘Deadwood Deputy’?” she asked.

“You can still see that, can you?” the cop asked.

“But why would you have a deadwood deputy badge if you were a real…”

Her voice dropped off.

“God, lady, how long did that take you?”  the cop asked. He started to laugh again.

Mary Louise looked for the phone and saw it still in his hand.

She backed up.

“Don’t run,” the cop said.

Mary Louise turned and fled, intending to head for the kitchen and through to the back door. But she tripped over the other guy’s body as she ran and fell to the floor.

She was grabbed from behind by a rough hand, who dragged her to her feet.

“What do you say, Ma’am?” the fake cop said. “Want to make the papers?”

*****

Quinn felt nervous as he walked Kate back to the hotel. It wasn’t thoughts of serial killers or phantom horsemen that bothered him, however.

The last time he had walked her home, it had ended in a kiss. A brief one, yes, but that didn’t matter. It had still been fantastic.

He felt more than a little stupid actually. In the midst of all this weird shit going on, what was foremost on his mind was still getting the girl.

Maybe it is always like this, he wondered. Life never really stops and waits for you. Or maybe he needed something to look forward to other than the grim prospect of angry bosses and psychotic murderers. Maybe.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Kate said to him.

“I thought you were the psychic,” Quinn replied.

She laughed.

“Let me see,” she said. “You were thinking about your piece on the ghost hunter.”

“Not quite,” he said.

“Well, why else were you smiling?”

“I don’t know,” Quinn said. “Was I smiling?”

“A little. It made you look a little mischievous. It was cute.”

“Well, cute is good,” Quinn said.

They neared the hotel and walked in silence up to the door.

“You don’t always need to walk me back,” Kate said. “I can handle myself. Remember, my dad was a cop.”

“I know,” Quinn replied. “But the way I look at it, you and I are in this together, whatever the hell is going on. And it doesn’t hurt to travel in numbers.”

“Well, maybe I should be walking you home then,” she said and smiled.

“Maybe next time,” he said.

“Sure. And thanks.”

“Anytime,” he said.

The agony of the moment was nearly killing Quinn. A voice in his head was shouting for him to kiss her. Just move closer in and kiss her.

But he couldn’t. A thousand what-if scenarios played in his head. What if she rejected it? What if she gave him the “Let’s just be friends” speech? Or maybe he was most frightened by the prospect of her kissing him back.

You are not in high school anymore, Quinn O’Brion, the voice said. You are damn near 30 years old. It isn't like you haven’t done this before.

And maybe that was it. He had done it before and look how it had ended. Sharon, the very old-fashioned Geraldine, and Meredith. All had started well and ended up...

“Goodnight, Quinn,” Kate said, as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

“Goodnight,” he said.

She walked to the door.

Quinn walked home thinking dark thoughts about himself. Fortune favors the bold and he had run scared. She liked him, right? He liked her, right? It was a simple thing then to kiss her and see what happened.

But he wondered if the weight of the past was too much. Or was it something else? Was it that he felt so damned unstable lately—the nightmares, hearing horse-hoofs and constantly fearing what was around the corner?

I’m going crazy
, he thought.
That can’t be good for a relationship
. Quinn laughed out loud. That seemed to be a gigantic understatement.

It wasn’t like he was the only one with baggage either. Her mom had been killed and she was out for revenge on a person who might or might not still be around. Granted, compared to him she appeared stable enough.

But what was he supposed to do? Just pretend he did not feel an attraction because he did not think this was a good time? Maybe that would be a smart thing to do, but it was not what he wanted to do. He needed some kind of positive sign on the horizon to keep him from giving up altogether—maybe that was true for her too.

We are afraid to be alone and scared of what happens if we’re not. Hadn’t he read that somewhere? Some English poet? Crowley—that was it. He only vaguely recalled the whole poem, but that line had stuck with him.

As he walked up to his own door, it came to him again:

We are afraid to be alone and scared of what happens when we’re not.