After breakfast, Tamara decided to get the kids out of the house and to the park for a bit to give herself time to think.
She knew she was clutching at some sense of normalcy, as comical as that might seem, but she sensed the kids needed it. Things were happening that must’ve seemed like nightmares come to life through the eyes of a child, and they had to have something that offered them an escape. What better escape was there for Seth than his favorite alligator seesaw at the park, or the climbing tower in the adjacent play structure for Janie?
At first it worked. The kids seemed desperate for play, and the forgetfulness that it offered. For an hour they forgot that their father was a missing fugitive, that they still hadn’t gone back to school, that their family had been reported on television for five days, and yes, towards the end of that hour, it even appeared to Tamara like they’d forgotten about that thing under Janie’s bed.
But then the spell was broken by the woman in the trees.
Tamara noticed her first. She was standing at a distance, across the vast green lawn of the park and just to the left of a compact white wooden gazebo with a green roof, which the city often rented out for weddings. She was wearing a pink dress that hung down to her heels that was inappropriate for the time of day, the weather or even the era.
The outfit looked to be from the 1920s or so, and so did she. Her hair was pulled up and back from her thin face, her small cheekbones so severe that they almost seemed to protrude from her skin, and her eyes were pinned in tight just above her nose, which was pointy and hung over tightly pressed lips. She was all harsh angles, but nothing was more off-putting than her stare: she looked at Tamara, then from Janie to Seth, and then back around again, over and over, like a vulture trying to choose between carrion.
There were at least a dozen other people in the park, but it didn’t matter—it seemed that none of them could see the woman. Tamara’s anger rose, but so did her sense of resolution. This was how it was going to be, then; in the house, out of the house, it didn’t matter. Her family was no longer safe. Anywhere.
Church. Maybe church would be safe.
But she’d already thought through this idea. Besides, how long was she supposed to stay there? Were they to sleep there? Bathe there? Watch television there?
How could all this be happening? Kyle was gone. She had thought that would be the end of it. She cursed herself for being a fool.
The woman in the pink dress was not a direct threat. At least not yet. She just stood there. Staring. She made no effort to advance across the grass or attack them; she only made an odd, ominous gesture with her fisted hands, one on top of the other, clenching and twisting at the air as if she were gently breaking the neck of a chicken.
Seth, thankfully, remained oblivious to her presence, lost as he was in the joy of the seesaw and the company of a new friend he’d met, a boy wearing a San Francisco Giants jersey.
But Janie had noticed the woman almost instantly. She walked swiftly to Tamara with her head down and waited until she could clutch Tamara’s hand before she asked the simplest of questions: “Mommy. Are we going to call the police?”
The police? Tamara thought of Detective Villa, and then Detective Parker, and almost laughed. Still, for a moment, out of desperation, she wondered if maybe she should phone the police. But then, what exactly were they supposed to do against the thing beneath the bed? Arrest it? Or how about this woman with the beady-eyed stare? Were they supposed to question her? Write her a damned ticket? And besides, she’d seen this movie before: they would show up and find nothing under the bed and, like everyone else here in the park, be unable to see the crazy old woman too, and after that the only one who they’d see as crazy would be…
“No, honey,” she said, pulling Janie close. “We can’t.”
“Why?” Janie asked. “I’m scared.”
“I know, baby. I am too. But the police can’t… won’t… really be able to help us.”
“Why not? They can arrest them, right? They’re not allowed to come into our home like that. You said they’re people, just like us. So call the police.”
Tamara winced. She had said that, last night, through the tears and terror talk of monsters and evil creatures. She’d tried to get them to calm down as best she could, even if that meant lying, and now here she was again, hemmed in by an untruth.
“Janie. Look, they’re people, yes… but… not like us.”
Her daughter’s eyes grew wet as she wrapped her arms around Tamara’s waist and buried her head in her blouse before asking, “They can’t hurt us, right, Mommy?”
Without thinking Tamara answered. “No, baby.”
A sharp, high-pitched laugh swiftly echoed through the park. Tamara looked up to see a slight smile on the woman’s face. She was shaking her head gently from side to side, as if she were saying “Tsk, tsk. Liar, liar.”
The dress was pink but there was a large red spot blooming across her abdomen.
Janie saw it too because she let out a small scream before burying her face back in Tamara’s blouse.
That’s when Seth looked up and followed his mother’s gaze across the lawn. He jumped off the seesaw and ran full speed to Tamara, a look of horror and confusion on his face.
“Mommy! Mommy!” he screamed before barreling into Janie’s rib cage and forcing his way past her to a spot against his mother’s legs. There he stayed, crouched, his little hand gripping at her.
Tamara looked again at the woman, one last time, and their eyes met. The woman’s eyes were red.
Grabbing both of her children, Tamara fled the park. Once in the car, not knowing what else to do, she took them both through a Foster’s drive-thru for ice cream cones that neither one of them really wanted nor had the appetite to eat.
Trying to buy time, to decide what to do or whether they should run, she took them to the market, grabbed a basket and wandered the aisles.
At the market it was only worse: two more demons were in the bread section, one in the frozen foods aisle and a fourth in the dairy section.
The two in the bread section were an older couple, dressed in late fifties clothes, the woman with a shock of white hair and the man with a face that was partially melted. They had the same eyes as the woman in the park, red orbs.
In the frozen food section was an old woman in a peach dress and sweater who was slumped in a wheelchair, a dead cat in her lap, it’s head flopping loosely over her thigh as she held it tight with one hand, her other hand scratching at her forehead, which was raw with cuts. This one spoke. “They left me to die alone in my house,” she said. “I’ve come back and watched each one of them die since.”
Seth, seated in the cart, had jumped and cried openly at her words, his eyes wide. But Janie barely moved. She simply stood next to the cart, staring straight ahead, one hand gripping the metal edge as she made no effort to acknowledge her surroundings at all.
She’s in shock, Tamara thought. My God.
The fourth and final straw was the man in the dairy section. Standing well over six feet tall, he wore blue jeans and a plaid shirt. His hair was thick, black and combed straight back, but his face was all crooked. His lips were out of alignment and his nose was like that of a boxer who’d taken far too many hits; it was bent at an odd angle, the cartilage having healed in a sort of “s” shape. His eyes were even more piercing and foreboding, as if he were anxious. As if to confirm this fact, he looked at Tamara and said grimly, “Someday. Someday I’ll get to rip you apart.”
And that was that.
They fled the market and made their way to the car, Tamara barely keeping her panic in check while Janie asked silly questions about the weather with a frozen face and Seth cried and cried.
Nobody was waiting for them in the parking lot, or in any of the cars next to them on the drive home. Frantic, Tamara decided to go back home.
Because the only thing worse than being stalked by evil was being stalked by evil in an unfamiliar place, and at least at home she knew where the butcher knives were.
Conch had called Parker at just after ten and asked him to come back to the station, so now here he was.
“So?” Conch said with a sigh. “What’d your captain say?”
“To stay out of the way and keep my nose clean,” Parker lied. His buzz was still lingering from the night before, despite the burger and fries he’d crammed down at the bar right after he’d left and the Danish he’d snagged from his hotel lobby on the way to his car.
“Well, I’m not sure it’s exactly ‘staying out of the way,’” Conch replied with a stifled burp, “but I could use your help right about now.”
“What’ve you got?”
Kendall jumped in, “Maybe nothing.”
“Maybe something,” Conch said with a nod. “Delivery guy. Bread man. Hazel called me to say he rattled loose in her head when she couldn’t sleep.”
“And?” Parker pressed.
“He seemed to take a shine to Ashley, even though she was much younger than him. Creeped her out a little, I guess.”
“Enough so that she mentioned it to Hazel at least.”
“Yep. So I asked Kendall to get me the work history on the girls in town who might be attached to the case.”
“Let me guess—”
“Nope. No guessing needed. We were able to reach three of the four families. All three worked at a convenience store in town at one time or another.”
Kendall leaned against the desk, his feet crossed and his arms folded. “That’s not including Ashley.”
“So,” Parker said, raising his eyebrows, “that’s four of five if we count Ashley and the liquor store.”
“Four of six, actually,” Conch replied. “Jasmine doesn’t fit the MO.”
Parker nodded. “Denny’s.”
“Yep. First and only job. Been there three years.”
“Hmm. Still…”
“Yeah. We gotta check him out.”
“We get a name yet?”
Conch rubbed the back of his neck. “No. I called Ashley’s uncle for the name of the bread company though: Lolo’s.”
“They got a bakery and delivery center on the edge of town,” Kendall explained.
“We going there?” Parker asked.
“No. I’ll swing by,” Conch said.
Parker questioned him with a squint.
“You guys should head north a bit,” Conch said. “Check in on the O’Connells, Melissa’s family. They were the one local family that I was unable to reach by phone, and then, time allowing, there’s a home out off Highway 15, for a one Jennifer Clark, mother of Amber Clark. That’s just over the border of Kings County, but Sheriff Couch won’t mind. We’ll be doin’ him a favor. She’s one of the girls from his area that went missing and her home is a good thirty miles closer to us than to the Kings County station.”
Parker nodded. “Stupid question, but I have to ask: this many girls, possibly linked, you thought of calling the Feds yet?”
“Already have. But until they get here it’s still our investigation. I got a preliminary phone interview with a Special Agent Yeung to get through later today.”
“Okay. We heading out now?” Parker asked, lifting his chin to Kendall.
Kendall nodded.
“Good luck, and let me know what you find out,” Conch said, glancing at the notebook on his desk. His desk seemed like more of a mess now. It was obvious: Conch was pulling long hours. If the desk didn’t show it, the double bags under his eyes did.
“You sure you want us both to go?” Parker asked Conch.
“Yeah,” Conch said. Burping again, he reached into his desk drawer, broke out an Alka-Seltzer packet and released the two white disks into a glass of water near his phone, the trademark fizz sounding like a lit fuse. “Appreciate your help, Parker, but can’t have you freelancing. Especially with the Feds coming into town. You know the gig. And besides, I only got one guy to interview. Kendall’s got four.”
Parker nodded.
“We’ll take my car,” Kendall said.
“Sure thing.”
“Yeah. It’s a haul out that way. You might want to take a nap.”
“Fair enough,” Parker said, not really knowing what Kendall meant by that comment.
Conch sighed heavily. “We got a lot of missing girls across five counties.”
“Shit,” Parker replied.
“Yes,” Conch said before taking a swig of his water. “Shit… indeed.”
“What if this guy’s not the guy?” Kendall asked.
“Odds are he’s not, Kendall, but we gotta try. And at the rate this guy’s moving now? We better figure out real quick who he is. I’m hoping you and Parker can chase up a few more leads in your interviews. Jenny at The Breeze already called this morning.”
“Great,” Kendall said, shaking his head.
“The Breeze?” Parker asked no one in particular.
“Our version of the LA Times,” Conch answered.
“Jenny’s the editor-in-chief. Used to be a journalist in Kansas City,” Kendall added.
“And has never let it go,” Conch said wryly. He guzzled the rest of his drink, a white powder circle forming around his lips before he wiped it off with his sleeve.
“This is a big story for her,” Kendall said, scratching his chin.
“Pft! A double abduction? It’s like Pearl Harbor for her.”
“You gonna call her back?” Parker asked.
“Eventually. After I speak to the Feds.”
Parker looked grimly at them both. “Don’t wanna speak outta turn, right?”
“They’ll no doubt tell me what to say and how to say it.” Conch sighed.
“Which may be a blessing, Sheriff,” Kendall said, concern in his voice. “Especially with Jenny trying to get all up your ass.”
A moment of quiet fell over the room as Parker noticed his head was finally done spinning. What was he thinking going to the bar to get lit? Stupid.
The silence was split by the shrill cry of the phone, which rang on all the lines in the office at once, momentarily surrounding them in a cocoon of rings.
“Your call from the special agent already?” Parker asked.
Conch glanced at the phone. “Maybe.”
Kendall looked at Parker. “Let’s hit it, then.”
“Good luck,” Parker said over his shoulder as they were leaving.
“Yeah,” Conch replied with a chuckle that almost sounded bitter.
Out on the parking lot, beneath a looming sky, Kendall caught him off guard. “Hey, Parker. Do me a favor, will ya?”
“What’s that?” Parker asked.
“If you’re going to have a meltdown, drive back to LA and have it on your own time.”
Parker was stunned. “What?”
The two of them stopped just short of the curb and faced one another. “You heard me.”
“You got something to say, say it,” Parker said firmly, still confused but becoming offended.
“You go over to Smokey Joe’s and tip a few back? Or more than a few?”
It took a second for the name of the bar to register, and—no doubt due to the residual effects of the alcohol that Kendall was referring to—it took a few more seconds for Parker to put it all together.
“What?” Parker said, shaking his head. “You’re having me watched?”
“By a few people, yeah,” Kendall replied, hooking his thumbs into the edges of his gun belt.
“Uh-huh,” Parker said. “Like the front desk of the hotel and—”
“The bar next door. And the gas station across the street.”
Parker was incensed. “What the fuck for, Kendall?”
“Look. No offense. But you’d do the same fucking thing if it was me.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Give me a break. The sheriff likes you. So do I. But he’s got a bit of a blind spot sometimes. You gonna tell me your antennae wouldn’t be up when the girl you and your partner interviewed suddenly ups and disappears?”
Parker said nothing, so Kendall kept going. “With your partner still missing and, oh yeah, the perp you were chasing, this Fasano guy, still at large too?”
“C’mon, Kendall, I had nothing to do with—”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“But you’re keeping tabs on me.”
“Just in case.”
Parker was about to become indignant, but he reined it in, mainly because Kendall was right, but also because for Parker, violence and alcohol were frequent dance partners. Instead he looked at the ground, counted to five and then looked up and nodded. “Fair enough, Kendall.”
“Good. Because, like I said, if our roles were reversed, I gotta believe you’d be doing the same. Now, with that loveliness out of the way, let’s make sure we’re clear: I respect you, regardless of my t-crossing and i-dotting, but if you’re going to get sauced and fuck up this investigation somehow, especially with the Feds now getting involved, just go home, man.”
A calmness came over Parker, or maybe it was acceptance. He stuck his hand out to shake Kendall’s. For a second it floated out there, all by itself, between the two men, before Kendall grabbed it. “I apologize,” Parker half-grunted. “I shouldn’t have gone drinking last night. You’re right. Everything’s getting heavy lately, but I’ll put it aside, all of it, out of respect for both of you.”
“Fair enough,” Kendall said, his lips drawn tight. “Now let’s go digging.”
As they walked to Kendall’s cruiser, Parker kept counting. Five to ten. Ten to twenty. His therapist when he first shipped home told him to always try to get to sixty, one full minute, to help keep from exploding.
As he grabbed the car door handle, Parker shook his head in disgust.
Kendall was a good guy.
The sheriff was a good man.
Parker wished he could count himself in their company.
But he couldn’t.
There’d been a teenage boy in the Afghan desert—who had probably taken a day or more to die, wanting for water, wanting for his mother—who could attest to that.