“DROP THE DAMN KNIFE!!”
“TONY! DON’T SHOOT!” Vince shouted.
Zahn stood there, looking stunned, looking like he didn’t know where he was or who he was or who they were. He looked at the knife in his hand, his arm still cocked at the elbow, ready.
“Zander!” Vince said. “Zander! It’s me, Vince. Put the knife down.”
Zahn stared at the knife in his hand, fascinated. He stared at the knife and at his arm as if it weren’t attached to his body.
Mendez had taken the stance to fire, his arms straight out in front of him, his finger on the trigger of the weapon. Everything about him was pulled as taut as a string on a bow. His dark eyes were as bright and hard looking as polished onyx.
“Zander, put the knife down,” Vince said, lowering the tone and volume of his voice. “You need to put the knife down. Isn’t your arm getting tired?”
Zahn looked uncertain. His fingers flexed on the handle of the knife.
“Aren’t you tired, Zander?” Vince asked. “You’ve had a rough day.”
He let the quiet hang, imagining his words trying to find a way into Zahn’s brain and, once there, struggling to be routed and processed.
“I’m very tired, Vince,” he said in his small, soft voice. The look in his wide eyes was still glassy and far away. He seemed to be staring into another dimension. “I’m very tired. Terribly tired.”
“So let’s put the knife down,” Vince said, moving slowly down to the foot of the bed. “You don’t need that thing. Put it down and we’ll sit down and you can rest.”
“I’m so very sorry,” Zahn said.
“It’s okay. Everything’s okay. No harm, no foul, right?”
He took a slow step toward Zahn, keeping one arm stretched out in front of him, just in case.
“No,” Zander murmured.
“Did you come here to see Marissa?” Vince asked quietly.
“Marissa. Marissa is gone.”
“You miss her, don’t you,” Vince said. “She was a very special person, wasn’t she? She accepted you for exactly who you are, didn’t she?”
“Marissa,” Zahn murmured. “Marissa is gone.”
“I’m sorry for that, Zander. She was special to you and now she’s gone. That’s a scary place to be, isn’t it? She left you alone, and you don’t feel safe. But you’re safe with us. So why don’t you put the knife down?”
“I’m sorry,” Zahn said, his hand flexing on the handle of the knife. “I’m so sorry.”
“What are you sorry for, Zander?”
“I’m so sorry. Very sorry. Terribly sorry.”
“Why are you sorry, Zander?” Vince asked. “Did you do something wrong? Did you do a bad thing, Zander?”
He began to rock slightly with his upper body, a sign of agitation.
“Very bad,” he said. “I’m very bad. Terribly bad. Bad, bad.”
“I don’t think so, Zander,” Vince said. “Why don’t you put the knife down and we’ll talk about it. Your arm must be very tired by now.”
Zahn rocked a little harder.
“So tired,” he said. “Very tired. I’m sorry.”
“Did you hurt Marissa, Zander? Is that why you’re sorry? Did you hurt Marissa?”
“Marissa, Marissa. Mommy, mommy. I’m so sorry.”
“Did you hurt Marissa, Zander?”
“Very tired. Terribly tired. Have to go now.”
With that Zander Zahn brought the knife down and plunged it into his own stomach.
74
Oakwoods Park held special memories for Dennis. He had grown up playing in the woods away from the playground and picnic area where everything was neat and tidy. The wooded, wild part of the park was way more fun. He had spent hours in there playing war, and Indians, and pirates, and pretending he was a kidnapper. That was his favorite. He would kidnap some other kid and tie them up and scare the crap out of them. That was fun.
Out in these woods was where they had found the dead lady last year. Him and Cody had been chasing Tommy Crane and Wendy Morgan, and they had gone tumbling down a bank. Tommy had practically landed right on her. She was mostly buried, but her head was sticking out of the ground, and one hand with a finger almost chewed off by a dog.
When nobody was looking Dennis had snapped the finger off and stuck it in his pocket.
He walked through the woods now, looking for, and finding, a good spot to stash his stuff. He would camp there tonight, but he was going to have to steal a blanket because it was fucking cold and the ground and all the dead leaves on it were wet. He wouldn’t complain, though. He was a man now. He would suck it up.
The next thing he needed was a disguise. His picture was going to be all over the news, and the cops were going to be looking for him. With his red hair, he was going to be easy to spot.
He picked his way through the woods to the edge of the playground where a couple of kids were kicking a soccer ball back and forth. They looked like they were maybe fifth graders. Both of them were smaller than he was. The one was wearing a black baseball cap with the Raiders logo on the front.
“Hey!” he said, walking up to the boys. “Can I play?”
The kid with the cap looked up at him. “Who are you?”
“I’m the guy that’s gonna kick your ass. Gimme the ball.”
The other kid snatched the ball up off the ground and held it, ready to run.
“You better gimme the ball,” Dennis said. “I killed someone last night. I can kill you too, you little dick.”
The kid’s eyes got big and he took off running.
Dennis grabbed the other one by the arm with one hand and smacked him upside the head with the other.
The kid screamed like a girl. Dennis took his ball cap and knocked him to the ground, then turned and ran for the woods before somebody’s parents showed up.
That had been easy. But of course it was. He was a badass stone-cold killer now. Taking a hat off a kid was nothing.
With his new prize shoved down on his head, he went walking. He needed a weapon. He wished he could get a gun, but nobody was going to sell a gun to a twelve-year-old boy, even if he had killed somebody.
Knives were better anyway. He had really liked the way it felt when he had stuck his pocketknife into Cody’s guts. He had relived that moment over and over in the year since. It made him get excited thinking about it, and thinking about how it would feel when he stuck it in Miss Navarre.
It was kind of like fucking, he thought. If he was fucking her, he would stick his thing in her over and over and make her scream. When he stabbed her, he would stick his knife in her over and over, and she would scream.
Cool.
He cut through the alleys in the neighborhood near his old school. The houses here were old and most of them had garages that weren’t attached, which was good because no one inside the house would hear him looking around. And a garage would be a good place to find a weapon. People left all kinds of shit in their garages.
He picked a garage that had a small side door that wasn’t locked, and let himself in. There was all kinds of cool stuff hanging on the walls and piled on a workbench. Power tools, garden tools, regular tools.
A screwdriver might be good, he thought. He picked one up and felt the weight of it in his hand, and practiced stabbing with it. Not bad.
Among the garden tools was a machete, which was the coolest thing, but it was too big. He couldn’t go around town carrying a machete and not have people notice.
Then he found it. Hanging on a pegboard at the back of the workbench were some woodworking tools—chisels and gouges and stuff. Most of them were four to six inches of blade with a curvy wooden handle that would feel really good in the hand.
Dennis stood on a cooler to reach them and selected two—one for each hand. One was thin and sharp and had a groove running down the center of the blade. The other one was straight and pointed.