Killer's Diary Page 17

  “Scheme?” she said. “What are you talking about?”

  He studied her, as if examining her response for authenticity. The vagueness of his accusation filled her with anxiety. She said, “Charles, tell me, what is it?”

  “Your little co-worker friend, the one with the freckles.”

  “Peg?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did Peg do?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, I don’t. I swear.”

  “It doesn’t make sense that she would act on her own. How would she even know?”

  “Know what?”

  “She tried to take my notebook this morning at Pacific Coast Coffee. She spilled coffee in my lap and then when I was distracted, getting cleaned up, she took my notebook. She tried exchanging it for a blank one so I wouldn’t notice until she was gone.”

  Ellen brought her hands up to her face. “Oh, my God.”

  Charles took a step toward Ellen. “What did you tell her?”

  Ellen felt a trembling ripple across her body. “I just—”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “Okay, okay,” said Ellen, on the verge of tears, fighting them back. “I told her about the notebook. I know I shouldn’t have. But these murders are happening in our neighborhood, and I was afraid. I told her about your notebooks, and that there was a new one. She wanted me to take your notebook so we could read it, and I said no. She must have done it on her own. I’m not a part of this. Does she still have it? I’ll make her return it.”

  “I got it back. I had to chase her down the street. It was ridiculous.”

  “Charles,” said Ellen. “I am so sorry.”

  “What did you tell her? Whatever you told her must have been pretty strong for her to want to steal my writing.”

  “You have to admit…” she said.

  “Admit what?”

  “There are coincidences.”

  “What coincidences? What are you talking about?”

  “The murders!” Ellen raised her voice. “You wrote about committing murder while there are people being killed in this neighborhood.”

  He threw his hands in the air. “We’ve already talked about this. It’s not real. Can’t you tell the difference between fact and fiction? Jesus, Ellen, you work in a bookstore!”

  “But why are these killings happening now?”

  “I don’t know! A full moon? This is crazy. You don’t trust me. How can we have a relationship without trust?”

  Ellen swallowed hard and said, “It’s hard to trust you when you’ve been lying to me.”

  He looked her over. “I’ve been lying to you? About what?”

  “Your job. Where you live. I tried calling you at work—”

  “Stop,” he said. He held up a hand. He started pacing again, looking at the floor, avoiding eye contact. Finally he sat down on the couch.

  She remained standing in the middle of the room, watching him.

  “I have not been totally honest with you about certain things,” he said, speaking slowly. “I only did it…because I really like you. I was afraid that if I told you the truth on our first date, there wouldn’t be a second date. I was going to come clean about it, but then all this crazy stuff about the notebook got in the way. Ellen, I don’t have a manager position at Technor. I don’t have a fancy condo on the Gold Coast. I’m unemployed.”

  He looked up at her.

  “I want to be a writer,” he said. “But I can’t sell anything. I’ve been looking for work. My last job was custodian at an office building. My apartment is a few blocks away from here, basically one room, above a dry cleaners. It has cockroaches, an old sofa bed, a radiator that barely works and windows that leak. I’m still putting my life together and I didn’t want you to see how incomplete everything is right now. It’s not going to stay this way. I’m going to take night classes in the spring. I have plans. But I’m not a prize. I’m sure you could do better.”

  She walked over to him.

  “No,” she said. “You don’t understand me then. I don’t care about those things.”

  “Then you’re a first.”

  “I’m a bookstore clerk living in a basement. Look around you. What’s the difference?”

  “Believe me, this is a palace compared with what I’ve got.”

  She sat next to him on the couch. She placed her arm around him. He continued to stare forward.

  “They’re going to be opening a new Book Shelf store downtown in the Loop,” Ellen said. “They’re already filling positions. I could talk to my boss, Terri, and get more information, a contact. You could work there. They’re looking for people. You’d be surrounded by books all day long.”

  He turned and looked at her. “How’s the employee discount?”

  She smiled. “Twenty percent.”

  He leaned in and kissed her. She tightened her hold around him. He brought his hand up into her hair. She shut her eyes and moved her mouth along his lips, losing herself in the rush of adrenalin.

  The phone rang.

  “I’mnotgoingtoanswerit,” she said, muffled in the kissing.

  The ringing continued until the answering machine picked up. After Ellen’s greeting, there was a beep and then Peg’s voiced filled the room. She shouted to be heard over a din of dance music and voices.

  “Ellen! It’s Peg! We’re at O’Dell’s. Where are you? Pete is here! Say hi to Pete!”

  “Hi, Ellen!” shouted Pete.

  They sounded drunk.

  “You were going to come join us! Get over here now!” Peg giggled. “Pete wants to hang with you! Hurry before his tan wears off!”

  “Ellen, there’s a beer waiting with your name on it!” said Pete.

  “He likes your butt!”

  “Don’t tell her that!”

  “Come find us! We’ll be here! Try to get here by nine! Hurry! Bye!”

  “Bye, Ellen!” said Pete.

  “Bye, Ellen,” said another male voice, probably Kevin.

  At the click, Charles stood up.

  “Wait,” said Ellen.

  “Obviously you’ve got somewhere else to go,” said Charles.

  “I already told her I wasn’t coming.”

  Charles headed to the door. “This day isn’t getting any better. I’d really like to leave.”

  “Please don’t.” Ellen followed, tears in her eyes.

  Charles opened the door, then turned to face her.

  “I can’t be with you right now,” he said. His voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”

  “Charles…”

  “This just isn’t going to work out,” he said with finality.

  Charles left, and Ellen faced a shut door.

  Ellen wanted to smash the answering machine. She wanted to smash Peg.

  Her apartment felt cold and empty, drained of the energy and promise of the last few hours.

  She looked at the pillows on the sofa. She could hear soft strains of the light jazz she had chosen. It played easy and romantic, a cruel counterpoint to the paralyzing misery she felt inside.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  He followed his prey.

  She was drunk, an excellent bonus. Her footsteps landed in asymmetrical patterns, like a toddler, weaving to one side then the other as she moved down the sidewalk.

  It was dark and late, another item on the checklist. He could follow her while staying in the shadows. Nobody watched him watch her. Most reasonable people were home asleep.

  And most importantly, she was alone.

  In the beginning, she had had young men on either side of her, also drunk, and they had talked in loud voices that bounced off the pavement. They had emerged from a Lakeview drinking hole, sensibilities watered down, showcasing their sloppy behavior and vulgarity. When they reached the corner of Ashland and Addison, the threesome stopped for more inane chatter, then said their goodbyes with lopsided bear hugs. They staggered off in three directions.

  There would be action tonight.

&
nbsp; He followed the girl with the happy, round, freckled face. She wore a pink coat and striped leggings. She hummed something to herself as she headed down a silent street of apartment buildings. She was surrounded by windows, a few of the squares lit up, but most of them dark and blank.

  She headed up the walk of a brownstone, then did something that surprised him, and he almost got caught.

  She stopped halfway and turned, looking away from her destination and into the night.

  He ducked behind a parked car.

  What the hell? He hadn’t even put on his ski mask yet.

  He cautiously peeked through the dirty windows of the car and saw her still standing there, looking around.

  Was she suspicious? Could she sense his presence? Had he made a noise?

  Then he saw someone approaching her from the other side of the street. It looked like a young man. In fact, it looked like one of the men she had just left.

  “Pete,” she said.

  “Hey, Peg.” The young man, blond-haired and wearing a ski jacket, walked up to her. They joined in a kiss.

  “Kevin went home?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I think he was disappointed that you didn’t ask him to stay the night.”

  “Things change.”

  “Yes, they do.” He kissed her again, this time for an extended period. Their jaws moved up and down as if they were chewing on one another. Then his hand went inside her coat for a little grope action until she shoved him away, giggling.

  “Aw, come on,” he said. “No one’s watching.”

  “I’m out of beer. The fridge is on empty. We need more beer.”

  “Shit, really?”

  “Can you go to the convenient mart? It’s called Sandy’s. It’s like a block and a half away.”

  “I know where Sandy’s is.”

  “You get the beer. I want Sam Adams in bottles. Then when you return, we’ll have our own little party.” She felt the crotch of his pants. “And you can bring Little Petie.”

  “This is so bad. If Kevin knew…”

  “Screw Kevin. You saw how he was ignoring me tonight. So what? I have a better time with you. We’ll tell him one day.” Her voice was slurring all over the place. “Hurry up. If you take too long, maybe I will call Kevin.”

  “You’re such a bad girl.”

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  Pete headed back down the sidewalk, returning the direction from which he had come.

  Peg entered the foyer, illuminated for a moment in white light. She took a key chain out of her purse, unlocked the inner door, and stepped inside. The door closed behind her with a loud thud.

  From behind the parked car he watched her enter the building. He turned to look at Pete. Pete was near the end of the block. Then Pete turned and disappeared from view, probably not due to return for several more minutes.

  He could still do this.

  He had his knife and he had his brand-new handheld digital voice recorder. He was excited to begin his scream collection.

  He remained crouched alongside the car. He stared up at her building. He saw a light go on in a window on the second floor. He could see Peg peeling off her coat. She had a blue sweater underneath, tight to accentuate her breasts.

  She walked out of the frame, and then another window lit up, where she reappeared. He watched her move across the apartment through a series of squares like a cartoon strip.

  Cartoon strip was apt. He could see that she was taking off her clothes. She was too drunk to care that someone could catch glimpses from the street.

  Or maybe alcohol had nothing to do with it. It was just the way she was.

  When she reached the last panel of the cartoon, the bedroom no doubt, she was down to her bra and panties. She came close to the window, a perfect view, and then disappeared altogether as a shade came rolling down.

  He moved away from the parked car and headed up her walkway. He entered the building’s foyer.

  The names on the buzzers included a P. Shore on the second floor.

  He figured that must be Peg. She lived alone.

  Dynamite.

  He pressed the buzzer.

  After a moment, she came on the intercom and said, “That was fast.” She buzzed to unlock the door.

  He stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind him.

  As he walked up the stairs, one step at a time in steady thumps, he reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out the wool face mask. On the second floor, he slipped the mask over his head and positioned the holes over his eyes, nose and mouth. He stepped up to the door of her apartment.

  He placed his thumb over the peek hole.

  He used his other hand to knock.

  “It’s unlocked,” she sang out to him. “Did you bring Sam with you?”

  Pete buzzed the intercom in the building’s foyer, cradling a brown sack containing the six-pack of Sam Adams in bottles, just as she had requested.

  He had a hard-on pressing against his jeans.

  Granted, Peg belonged to Kevin and Kevin was a friend. Pete and Kevin had known each other since the seventh grade. Their bonds ran deep, which made tonight all the more awkward, but damn it…

  Peg was horny for him and she was deliciously hot, and it wasn’t the first time in human history that a chick had fallen for her boyfriend’s best friend. These things just sort of happened in life. You couldn’t deny that.

  And anyway, Kevin had only been seeing her for what—six weeks? And Kev was a good-looking guy, pumped with personality, who had no trouble moving on to the next appetizer on his plate. From his behavior tonight, it was entirely possible that Kevin wasn’t even all that interested in Peg anymore. He had been scoping out all sorts of chicks at O’Dell’s tonight, jamming Pete with his elbow and murmuring comments that Peg couldn’t hear. Or maybe she could? Check out that ass… Ooh, cleavage… Sweet legs…

  So Kevin would be okay with all this, wouldn’t he? If not, Pete would chalk it up to a drunken misadventure. Blame the booze. Or blame Peg for coming on to him.

  Hell, blame Kevin for bragging about Peg’s exquisite blowjobs. A guy just can’t dangle that kind of temptation, like teasing a hungry dog with a slab of steak. You just don’t…

  Kevin really did use the word “exquisite,” too

  When Peg’s intercom failed to reply, Pete buzzed it a second time.

  He imagined she was slipping into something slinky, getting the apartment ready, maybe lighting some candles. God, he couldn’t wait to see those tits, round and perfect, as she lay back on the bed sheets…

  Bzzzzzzt.

  He grabbed for the door and caught it in mid-buzz. He entered the staircase and headed for the second floor. He moved up the stairs quickly, every second one second too many in the distance between now and devouring every inch of her body.

  He knocked on her apartment door, then noticed it was already cracked open. He stepped inside.

  “I got the beer,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

  He was met by silence.

  The shades had been closed, the lights dimmed. He grinned. “Peg, where are you? Beers are cold. I guess I better check the bedroom…”

  He took one step forward and then stopped upon hearing a strange, high-pitched noise. It sounded like a dog whimper. But Peg didn’t have a dog.

  He listened, then heard it again, coming from another part of the apartment. It wasn’t exactly a sexy come-on noise or a greeting. What the hell was she doing?

  “Peg, you okay?”

  He placed the beers down on the sofa. He headed for her bedroom. She was already pretty drunk, maybe she had fallen and hurt herself?

  “Peg—”

  Pete rounded a corner and then shouted. Something horrific and bloody staggered toward him—a distortion of Peg—her eyes replaced by raw, red holes. Her jaw moved but she was unable to speak, emitting squeaks. A sharp red line stretched across her neck, oozing multiple streams of blood that soaked the upper half of a white n
ightgown.

  “Holy fuck!” Pete stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet, and then he felt a solid blow to his back, followed by a fiery, piercing pain.

  He spun around, swinging his fists at the source of the blow, but not close enough to make contact, flailing at air.

  A man in a green ski mask faced him, two fierce eyes, lips parted, teeth bared like some kind of animal.

  The pain spread fast. Pete reached back and felt the shaft of a knife jammed in his back. He stumbled madly, clawing for it, trying to get a firm grasp on the handle. He crashed into Peg and they became entangled, falling together to the floor.

  The man in the ski mask came forward and retrieved the knife, pulling it out of Pete’s back, and for a split second Pete was grateful, but then he knew there was nothing to be grateful about, absolutely nothing, because the blade was coming at him again—

  It struck Pete in the chest.

  Pete gasped for air. Blood filled his lungs. He pulled away from Peg, who thrashed on the floor, grabbing blindly at him as if he was the attacker, scratching at him with her fingernails, kicking with her feet.

  Forcing back the exploding pain, pulling together every ounce of his strength, Pete plowed into his attacker. The attacker punched at him with his fist, striking Pete’s face before falling off balance and crashing into a chair.

  Pete kept going at him. The attacker shoved him away. The two men faced each other, panting heavily, arms outstretched, about equal in size—

  However, there was nothing equal about this battle. The attacker had a knife. Pete knew he had to tackle this man and get the weapon away if he was going to survive the next few minutes. He was losing a lot of blood and his head filled with a swarm of bees…

  Pete charged the attacker. The two men grabbed at each other, staggering around the room, landing and missing punches, until Pete felt the blade hit for the third time, the worst of the three, the most painful, and at that moment he envisioned faces, the people he would never see again, his parents and brothers. He filled his mind with them, a final image before darkness took over.

  Sputtering on the floor, blood and strength draining fast, Pete curled up and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for death, but the attacker had another plan. He grabbed Pete by the hair and lifted his face from the carpet.