It was there the whole time.
And when Jake drove away from the convenience store to take Kristen home, it followed them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Raymond Slater did the only thing he could think of after stuffing Cindy’s mangled body in the trunk of his Lexus.
He went home.
The journey back through the familiar streets was hellish. He kept to a few careful miles over the posted speed limit the whole way, but he spent every moment convinced some bored Rockville cop would pull him over to fill his ticket quota. One big problem was the shattered passenger-side window. There was a spray of glittering safety glass on the leather seat and floorboard. Some of it was tinged crimson with Cindy’s blood. A fragile wedge of glass remained at the bottom of the window frame. Raymond had been sure some busybody cop would see that as a red flag and use it as an excuse to stick his nose in his business. So he stopped at a little strip mall for a quick clean-up job. He knocked the remaining glass out of the frame. Then he used a rolled-up newspaper to sweep the safety glass to the floor and under the seat. The biggest bloodstain was on the floorboard. He unfolded the newspaper and placed it over the stain. He surveyed his work and judged it passable. Not perfect by any means, but good enough not to arouse any immediate suspicion.
So he got back in the car and resumed the journey home. The next half mile passed without incident and he began to relax. In another few minutes he would be home and safe. He would be able to decompress and take some time to consider his next move.
Then he heard it.
A noise in the trunk.
He might have missed it had the radio been on, it was so soft. But he’d turned off the radio after leaving the alley, finding the sound of music grating under these circumstances. When he heard the noise, he wished he’d left the radio on. His ears perked up and he listened intently while his heart raced. A few moments of silence allowed him the brief illusion that he’d been hearing things.
Then he heard it again.
And there could be no mistake.
The bitch is alive!
The whimper coming from the trunk was low and weak, but it was clearly the sound of a person in unbearable agony. Raymond gripped the steering wheel tighter and let out a whimper of his own.
“Fuck me running.”
Then there was the sound of something shifting in the trunk, followed by a louder whimper.
“Jesus Christ!” Raymond punched the steering wheel. “Die already!”
Raymond replayed the words in his head. He had never felt lower in his life. He felt like a monster. A badly injured young girl was trapped in the trunk of his car. It wasn’t her fault she’d fallen under the spell of Lamia. She was just a child. This was the truth. And yet it didn’t matter. He couldn’t change what had happened. He couldn’t take her to a hospital. So he was left with a grim reality-if she didn’t die on her own soon, he would have to speed the inevitable along.
By the time he arrived at last at his large estate in the wealthiest part of town, he was a trembling, mewling wreck. He pulled up to one of the garage doors, fumbled with the automatic opener clipped to the visor above him for a moment, then watched through a veil of tears as the maroon door rolled up on its tracks. He pulled the Lexus into the open space, fumbled with the opener again, and rested his forehead against the steering wheel for several minutes in the gloom of the garage. His sobs only masked the intermittent cries still emanating from the trunk.
His hands at last came away from the steering wheel. He curled them into fists, dug the nails deep into his flesh, instinctively knowing he needed the pain to cut through the whirlwind of emotions engulfing him. He desperately needed something real and immediate to center him. He bore down harder. His hands shook. Then he let out a big breath and opened them, saw blood leaking out of the deep grooves. And there was pain, yes, enough to make him grit his teeth, but he felt focused again. In this case, instinct had served him well. Maybe that was the key. He shouldn’t overthink any of this. It would be hard. He was an educator. Thinking things out and reaching logical conclusions was the backbone of his life. He nonetheless knew he would have to reach beyond that now. Silence that coldly analytical side of himself and trust his gut.
He sat back in the seat and thought of nothing for a time. Blanked his mind as thoroughly as possible given the circumstances. He saw a workbench with tools on it through the windshield. To the left a door led to a small anteroom. His eyes saw these things but his mind was elsewhere. Simply gone for a time. His eyes glazed and his breathing evened out. His heart was no longer racing. He remained in the trancelike state for more than ten minutes. Then something-maybe his newfound friend Instinct-told him it was time to wake up and start dealing with the mess.
He almost smiled. A small twinge of that aching desperation returned.
Such a fine euphemism. So delicate. So thoroughly removed from the truth of the situation.
The “mess” moaned again.
Raymond popped open the trunk and got out of the car. There was no conscious decision involved with this. Instinct was guiding him. Instinct would enable him to do what needed doing without having to think about it. And that was good. Better than good. It was like a gift from the gods. Because what needed doing was so overwhelmingly awful. It was vile and despicable, an act normally committed only by the most depraved. What could be worse than the cold-blooded murder of a helpless human being?
Shit.
He was thinking again and that would only get him in trouble. It would slow him down, and the sooner this terrible thing was done, the better. So much was at stake. Cindy was just one girl. The fates of hundreds more young people hung in the balance.
The first thing to do was shed some light on the situation. It was full daylight outside, but the garage-door windows were small and dusty. He didn’t want to see Cindy’s twisted and broken limbs again, but there was nothing for it. He would need to see clearly to get this done fast and with some degree of mercy. So he found the light switch and flipped it. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered and came on, bathing the interior of the garage in a harsh glare. Patricia’s sleek black Jaguar gleamed in the space next to his Lexus. Patricia, whose body was moldering in the hole Penelope had forced him to dig out back during the night. He felt another sharp pang of loss, but pushed the emotion away, into a remote corner of his psyche. One day he might let it out again. And on that day he would allow himself to experience the full spectrum of pain, regret, and loss.
If, of course, he lived long enough.
He moved to the rear of the Lexus and lifted open the trunk lid.
Cindy’s face was pressed against the trunk floor. She flinched at the sudden light and lifted her head to look at him. Her face was red and shiny with sweat. Her legs looked as if they had been worked over by a couple of especially sadistic mafia enforcers. No, that was a movie thing. Mere fancy. Allowing instinct to guide him was all well and good, but he would not turn away from truth. Her legs were broken bones sheathed in trembling flesh. And this had happened because he’d been careless with the window. Because he’d driven her at high speed straight into a fucking telephone pole.
She lifted a shaking hand toward him. Her class ring glittered as the light struck it.
“Please…” she said. “Please…help me…it…hurts…”
Raymond sighed.
I can do this.
Cindy moaned some more and sobbed softly.
Raymond again gave himself a mental prod. This needed doing. And now, not later. In theory, it could be done easily enough. He could find something from the workbench to finish her off. It was filled with a number of things that could accomplish the grim task efficiently enough. But he didn’t move. He stood there and stared at the girl. Memories from the last few years taunted him. Cindy had been a star at Rockville, existing at a rarefied level of popularity known only to a tiny elite. Girls like her didn’t come along every year. Maybe once or twice a decade a student with that special combination of beauty, brains, and personality graced the halls of Rockville High. She’d really been something special. What he had to do was a crime in more ways than one.