Dillon grinned and said, “But you didn’t know her at twelve. As a matter of fact, you knew nothing of the family until you stumbled into us.”
“Put the gun down. We can talk this out. No more need for violence.”
“God often saw the need for violence. It’s in our genes, inbred in us by the competing forces of nature, of good and evil. The human race is a race of disgrace — a lineage of mongrels.”
“Just let Courtney, our niece, go. If there’s something you feel that needs to be said, to be settled between us brothers, we can settle it.”
“Our niece? You didn’t know the girl existed until recently. Brothers? What does that really mean? We had the same mother. Quite different fathers. That’s one of the reasons I’m standing here with a gun pointed at you. I spawned from a superior gene pool, directly linked to ancestors who were some of Ireland’s most feared and respected leaders. We fought, killed, and ate the flesh of Roman soldiers. Caesar feared us.”
“What do you want, Dillon?”
“Want? Nothing from you … or her. I do want the property in South Carolina and Ireland. I’m thinking of taking my extended family to the coast of Ireland. We’ll live life as it was intended. But to do that, I have to eliminate you two. I’d then be the sole heir to dear mother’s estate.”
I noticed movement over his shoulder, under the tree where I’d found the ax. I didn’t know if it was one of Dillon’s followers, one of Senator Logan’s hired guns, or somebody else. I had to keep Dillon distracted, keep him talking. I said, “It seems odd that you’re actually holding a weapon. You’re good at getting others to kill for you. You must have really wanted Courtney dead to use hypnosis to have her murdered by a deranged Army veteran with PTS.” I glanced at the gold torc bracelet he wore on the wrist of the hand that held the .44 magnum. “Is it because you wanted to keep the torc you stole from our mother, or the fact that there’s no statute of limitations for statutory rape and murder in South Carolina?”
“You flatter me. Do you really think I could hypnotize someone, to get him to kill, if it’s against his nature?” Lightning streaked through the sky and his eyes burned with hate. “Of course I did it. Why? Let me enlighten you, Brother. It’s the nature of us all. I just know how to dig deep enough to connect the tap root from the heart to the mind. The key to kill lies within us. I just help them unlock the hidden desire.”
Courtney said, “You … you sick bastard, you put me in that coffin and tried to drown me. I know who and what you really are, you narcissistic, evil little man.”
“Quiet! Brother, Sean, as the first born son, one who never was in favor with your father, one who was hated by his own mother, it’s time I took you aside. We’ll go into the woods, as Cain took Abel, and there we will split the brotherhood.” He raised the pistol.
“No!” shouted Courtney.
“Follow me, Brother, or I’ll shoot her in the face in three seconds. One … two … thr—”
The rifle round tore through Dillon’s neck. He collapsed backwards onto the coffin. I looked over to the old oak tree. Beneath the tree, holding my rifle, was the man in the red baseball cap, the man I’d saved earlier. He stood and nodded, moving his hands in the military tactical “all clear,” signal.
Courtney looked down at Dillon. “Is he dead?”
“Yeah, he’s dead.”
“Sean, please take the torc off his wrist.”
At that moment we heard a loud noise — a noise that was growing louder. It sounded like a waterfall somewhere in the canyon. I turned to Courtney. “Run! Flashflood. It’ll drown us.”
“My grandmother’s torc!”
She bent down to remove it from Dillon’s wrist. I saw his left hand move, in and out of his pocket in a second. He gripped an ice pick. I shoved Courtney aside and grabbed his wrist. He was strong, pushing the ice pick closer to my neck. My hand and arm shook as I slowly overpowered him, turning the ice pick toward his chest. Two seconds later, I plunged the length of the pick into his heart.
He smiled and looked at me. It was the same sardonic grin I’d seen on his father’s face before he committed suicide. Dillon said, “It won’t end here. Not now … not ever … I am the son of Cain.” He stopped breathing, a trickle of blood coming from the left corner of his mouth.
I looked up. The water was rushing down the canyon. Moving like a freight train. Less than five hundred feet from us. I pushed Courtney and yelled, “Go to high ground! Climb the big oak! Now!”
Her eyes were hot, enraged. “Don’t let them bury him with my grandmother’s … your mother’s torc. Your father gave it to her!”
I turned around and tried to pull the torc from his wrist. It was similar to a near wrap-around bracelet. I wasn’t sure how he got it on his wrist. There was less than a two-inch space between each end. I tried again. It wasn’t coming off unless it was cut off. Dillon’s body lay on its back, the arm with the torc supported against the coffin.
I looked up. The wall of water was rushing toward us, pushing trees, logs, and debris. I grabbed the ax, swinging it high above my head, slamming the blade hard through the wrist, directly behind the torc. It was a clean cut, severing the arm from the hand. I lifted up the torc, grabbed Courtney by the arm, and ran through waist-deep water to the other side of the ravine.
We scrambled up a steep hill, the sound of the rushing water like an approaching tornado. There was an outcropping of rock, a cliff just above us. “Up there!” I yelled to Courtney. “Climb!”
The man with the red cap leaned over the edge and shouted, “Give me your hand!”
Courtney clutched his hand and he pulled her up and over the cliff. I knew I was too big, too much dead weight for him. I squatted and jumped as high as I could, my hands grappling the edge of the rock. There were two-inch fissures in the boulders, and I had a good handhold. I pulled myself up, and swung my legs over the cliff as a deluge of churning white water slammed into the side of the canyon wall just below me.
I lay on my back for a second, breathing hard. I looked up in the sky, the dark storm clouds parting, and the light of a full moon illuminating the Blue Ridge Mountains in an ethereal midnight splendor.
101
Three days after returning to Florida, there was a news media feeding frenzy on the steps of the Volusia County Courthouse. Courtney and I watched it live on television at my river cabin, where we’d been staying in relative seclusion pending the release of the DNA testing.
Over a long dinner, I managed to get her to tell me what she’d endured the last few weeks before I found her held prisoner at Dillon’s compound. And now we stared at the television, at the live news conference, which was tantamount to looking at her future.
Detective Dan Grant, Volusia County Sheriff, Robert Nelson, members of the DA’s office, and a half dozen other law enforcement personnel stood with the courthouse in the background and began their news conference. A wide angle shot showed dozens of satellite news trucks and a small army of reporters.
Sheriff Nelson, a broad-shouldered man with an American flag button pinned on his lapel stepped up to the podium and read from a prepared statement. “Today the investigation into what has been termed the carnival killings has officially ended with regard to Courtney Burke. There has been an arrest made, and the individual, Samuel Edward Nolan, has confessed to the murders of three carnival workers, one here in the county, two others elsewhere. Prior to their deaths, all of the workers had been employed by Bandini Brothers Amusements. Another man, said to be the mastermind behind the killings, Dillon Flanagan, has been killed. Previous to Mr. Flanagan’s death, he admitted his involvement using hypnosis or mind-control to manipulate Mr. Nolan, who was, at the time, being treated for post traumatic syndrome as an out-patient at Veterans Hospital in Orlando.