Mayor Elliott couldn’t get a hold of Mrs. Feeney or the Thompsons. He’d watched the two deputies run hell bent out of the sheriff’s office only minutes before. One of them cradled Jeannie carefully and got her in his car. Both had burned rubber getting out of the parking lot.
Now no one was answering their phone.
His secretary hadn’t shown up to work.
The post office across the street remained closed.
Had Olivier begun his endgame?
Mayor Elliott decided that he had. He moved quickly, out the door and down the stairs. Straight to his vehicle and over to the house Olivier normally used when he was in town.
For some reason, he hadn’t used it this time.
Elliott swung into the driveway, noting that the big truck Levi normally drove was not there. How stupid was that son of a bitch that he was staying on the same property Olivier had made all his plans on? Elliott enjoyed quite a laugh about those circumstances over his whiskey every night.
He squelched the thought that he had been the one to bring Levi here. If only Olivier had told him that he knew about the murders out in the desert, well, he wouldn’t have called in the cavalry, so to speak.
Olivier was a crafty fellow. But the mayor didn’t need him. Not for this.
The mayor had grown up here in Magnolia. His parents, the Feeneys, and the original Thompsons moved here from Mississippi. The land had been cheap since the area was so hot and dry and the three families had snapped up as much of the land as they could. Before the mayor had been born, other families from Mississippi had joined them and the little community of Magnolia began to flourish.
Until Olivier came to town.
Elliott got out of his car and slammed the door. Most times he didn’t blame Olivier for what this town had become, but today…well, today he did blame him. He pulled out his keys and went into the small, three bedroom ranch.
The place stunk of stagnant air. Elliott didn’t know where Olivier was staying while here in Magnolia. Honestly he didn’t care. Now that the end of the plan, and this town, was near, the mayor just wanted it over.
Olivier showed up when the mayor was still in short pants. He remembered the day the tall, handsome stranger strolled into town. There’d been a picnic and Lester Thompson and him had been playing tag. Lester Thompson was now mourning his heathen son, but that was neither here nor there.
The adults and Olivier had talked well into the night. The mayor’s father had helped the kids pitch a tent and they all found their way there to sleep in a huge pile. But Elliott had stayed awake, keeping one eye on the adults and the new, strange man.
The new, strange man could do new, strange things.
The town changed.
All the kids were pulled out of school. At that time, something like that was unheard of. Quietly, more families from Mississippi arrived and marriages between teenagers were arranged. If someone local tried to move into Magnolia, well, they were sent on their way.
Mayor Elliott, who was only known as Charlie at the time, didn’t understand what was happening in his town, but he did know that Olivier was the catalyst. And even back then, at six years old, Charlie wanted in on the action.
He was eight when he first saw Olivier take off his face.
He was ten when he first saw Olivier kill a man.
He was thirteen when Olivier found out.
The mayor moved through the kitchen, stark and empty, and into the hall to the bedrooms. There was the chirp of crickets and the hum of wings beating, but other than that, the house was silent. All three bedroom doors were closed. The mayor paused before the first one. He took a deep, steadying breath and twisted the knob.
No one ever wondered why there were no cemeteries in Magnolia.
Then again, there was no one new to wonder.
Bernard Charles Elliott stood in the doorway and took another deep breath. Seeing your kin lined up along the walls always did take you down a notch. He moved in slowly, so as not to alarm any of them, and smiled around the room. Eyeballs spun in their sockets to watch his movements so he was sure to remain where they all could see.
“Surprised to see you all here,” he said conversationally.
Which was true, actually. If Olivier had begun the final piece of the puzzle, none of these corpses should be here.
“Surprised to see you here,” came a deep voice behind him.
Elliott clutched at his chest and spun around. Olivier stood in the doorway, bloody and disheveled. He even had on a face.
“You scared me,” Elliott said quickly.
Olivier looked around the room, the murder in his eyes apparent. “Didn’t intend to.” Now he returned his glare to the mayor. “We need to talk.”
Elliott watched this strange, mysterious man walk out of the room, expecting him to follow. A shiver of fear passed through him and he met the eyes of the man closest to the door. A man he’d loved and feared. His father. Still alive. Decrepit and old, his hands gnarled and his legs twisted. But still his father.
“Charlie!”
The mayor jumped, startled. Very rarely did Olivier call him that. He scuttled out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Elliott found Olivier in the living room, tying a tourniquet around his thigh. “Olivier?”
“What were you doing in there?”
When the mayor had been thirteen, Olivier had caught him in a bedroom, too. Only then, Charlie had been traumatized by the sight of a corpse, still alive, but not breathing. Even though he’d been thirteen, Olivier had recognized someone to help him in his quest. So he’d explained, and shown, Charlie what he was and what he was doing.
But this was a decidedly different Olivier and a decidedly different Charlie.
“I thought you’d begun—”
“I told you,” Olivier cut him off harshly. “I’ll begin when I begin. Don’t ever go in there again.”
The mayor said nothing, just watched as the tourniquet was pulled tighter and tighter. Finally the blood stopped trickling and Olivier slumped back against the wall. The face shimmered and nearly winked out, but it stayed in place.
“The sheriff—”
“He’s dead and I took care of the fallen angel and the detective. You’re welcome,” Olivier hissed.
The mayor bit his lip.
“What?”
“Nothing, I just…”
“What?” Olivier demanded again.
The mayor cleared his throat. “My secretary didn’t come in to work today.”
Olivier looked at him calmly, still leaning leisurely against the wall.
“And-and Jeannie went home. The post office didn’t open either.”
Olivier blinked.
“So I thought…,” Elliott trailed off.
“I see,” Olivier said softly.
“That’s why I came here…”
The mayor stood there, fidgeting slightly because ultimately he was still that thirteen year old that was nervous about being alone with Olivier. Especially when Olivier stared at him like that.
Olivier pushed off the wall and limped over to the mayor. “What do you think the endgame is, Charlie?”
“Um…”
“Come on, Charlie. What do you think it is?”
The mayor’s heart thumped in his chest. He was never normally nervous around Olivier. Not like this anyway. He didn’t know what to say. Olivier had dead people in his house, after all. He didn’t want to be one of them.
“Unleash those?” Elliott whispered.
“Those?”
“Those,” he confirmed.
Olivier leaned back a bit. “What do you think is back there?”
The mayor swallowed hard. He’d been watching Olivier collecting corpses for years. What else was back there?
When Elliott didn’t answer, Olivier shoved his face back into the mayor’s. He slapped a hand to the back of Elliott’s neck and put his forehead on Elliott’s.
“Come on, Charlie.”
“Olivier, no, I just…”
The mayor tried to dig his heels in, but Olivier was too strong. He dragged him down the hallway, Elliott grappling with the drywall to stop himself. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by three doors, Olivier laughed.
“Charlie, you’ve never grown up.”
Elliott clapped his hand over his eyes as Olivier threw open all three doors.
“Open your eyes, Charlie.”
Olivier’s deep voice tumbled against Elliott’s ear. All he could hear was the chirp of crickets and his own breath sawing in and out of his lungs. He was better than this. He was so much better than this. He was the mayor of this town for God’s sake. Olivier was nothing…a drifter. A no one.
He lowered his hand but didn’t open his eyes. He took a deep breath and flicked open his eyelids. He knew what would be there. Those bodies always were.
The first room, the one he’d been in before, was filled with black file cabinets.
The second room, more file cabinets.
The third, a bed and chest of drawers.
The mayor’s mouth dropped open.
“Here’s the thing, Charlie, when I need you to fall in line, it’s important that you see what I need you to see. If you’re scared of me, even a tiny bit, I’ve done my job.”
The mayor’s heart painfully thumped. “I don’t understand…”
“I’m not here for you,” Olivier whispered. “I wasn’t here for your parents. I couldn’t give a shit about you. No, I’m here for money, Charlie. All that you’ve got.”
Elliott remembered the late nights his parents had spent with Olivier. All the paperwork. And when the mayor’s parents had “passed on,” he’d quickly learned that he only owned the old Victorian they lived in. All the money had passed to Olivier. Which is why he’d left in a fit of rage. Gone to college in California. But he’d come back when Lester called him. Told him about the apartments. The new mayor trying to bring new blood into the town. Elliott had come back, met with Olivier, tried to clean the rabble out.
“Because the rabble has no money,” Olivier whispered.
Elliott jerked around. “What?”
“The rabble has no money,” Olivier repeated. “And that’s all I care about.”
The money. The land beneath his feet was valuable. The old money his parents had was astronomical. And Lester’s family. And Mrs. Feeney’s family…
“You milked us dry,” the mayor said, astounded.
“Bled you dry,” Olivier corrected.
Elliott glanced back at the bedrooms. No bodies. “They were never there.”
“They were there,” Olivier responded. “You thought they were there, so they were.”
The mayor turned back. “When I saw you, that first time…”
“Yes?”
“You killed someone…”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t keep him here.”
“Why would I? There’s plenty of desert out there to swallow a body up.”
“But I saw…”
Olivier put his arm around the mayor’s shoulders. “Charlie. Fear is a great deterrent and a fabulous motivator. And now my endgame begins.”
The mayor felt a punch to his chest. Light-headed, he looked down. Olivier’s fist was gone, caught up in his own chest. He felt fingers worm their way inside of him, squeeze down on his heart. He tried to catch his breath.
Olivier leaned forward and put his mouth to the mayor’s ear. “Son, this land is expensive. All I needed were a bunch of rich idiots to believe in me so I could take their money and their land. Tomorrow I plan on selling this piece of shit town. You’ve been played like a fiddle, Charlie. What was the first thing I had you do when you came back?”
Elliott opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out.
“That’s right. I had you sign some papers, didn’t I? Well, you signed your death warrant, son. I got life insurance on you and all your townspeople. I had you make your wills out to me as the only heir. I had you sign deeds so that all this land was mine. I’ve been living off you and your family for years. Now it’s time to cash in, Charlie. Because all I care about is money. Not you. Not a one of you.”
Elliott felt a coldness swipe through him, starting at his feet. He gurgled, but couldn’t speak.
“That’s right. You just live your last seconds knowing that your whole life has been a lie. That all that money you made in the stock market went into an account with my name on it. And when I put you down like the dog you are, you’ll go straight to hell because I also took your soul. Deal with that, Mayor.”
Elliott choked, blood burbling into his throat.
Olivier pulled his fist out, covered in blood. He held Elliott up for a moment, looking down into his face.
“Let’s lay you down, Mayor. You look peaked.”
Olivier let him go and Elliott crashed to the floor, unable to stop himself. He watched Olivier’s boots walk around him, the file cabinets opening and closing. He heard whistling, but how could Olivier whistle with no lips? His eyesight fogged and his head throbbed. Was he dying?
Olivier crouched down next to him. “Sorry about all this, old man. You seemed to have gotten into the wrong crowd. Be sure to say hello to the devil for me.”
Elliott watched as Olivier struck a match and waved it in front of his face. A grin, first normal and then becoming more and more grotesque, arched up Olivier’s cheeks until finally the face winked out. Darkness crowded Elliott’s vision. The match flicked down to the floor beside him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything.
Money. This had all been about money.
Charlie watched his hero leave for the last time.
*****
Olivier watched from the shadows as Charlie breathed his last. Charlie had always been easy to fool. The young boy Charlie once had been lived with a fantastical imagination and the man he’d become still enjoyed that imagination. It wasn’t hard for Olivier to pick through the mayor’s brain and find the images Charlie feared most. Olivier wasn’t the best at projecting, but Charlie was willing to see whatever Olivier put out there.
So Olivier didn’t have to punch his fist into Charlie’s chest so he didn’t. But he pretended. And Charlie went with it. Sad, really.
One time, a long time ago, Olivier would have felt bad about the whole situation. Taking this town under his wing. Fleecing them of all their money. Destroying all their dreams.
But his heart had withered and died a long time ago.
Now Olivier did pull out a match. Now he did scrape it along the wall, the flame leaping to life. He looked into it, saw the beauty of it, and the sadness that fire could bring.
He had everything he needed from here.
He flicked the match onto the carpet where the flame immediately whooshed to life.
Olivier walked out without looking back.