The street was busy, bodies constantly buffeting her. Her right foot had been stamped on, a stray elbow had connected with her ribs, but Kassie barely noticed. She had to keep going. She had to find him.
A week ago, she would not have been able to keep up this pace. Her experience at Lake Calumet had taken its toll – her throat and lungs had been damaged by the smoke and she’d suffered mild concussion as a result of the blow to her head. She’d felt utterly washed out as she slotted back into the routine at the Juvenile Detention Center. Guilt over her failure to save Madelaine and deep sadness at Faith’s needless death mingled with a sickening certainty that she would become the scapegoat for the brutal murders. But a day passed without her being charged, and on the eve of her second full day of custody, she had suddenly been released.
This unexpected development had revived her, and though she’d returned to an empty house, she nevertheless sensed a change in the tide. Her possessions were still at Adam’s, so she’d had to use the spare key, hidden beneath a plant pot for emergencies, but having entered and dug out the few remaining dollars she had to her name, she’d made a dash to the grocery store. She blew forty dollars there and then and having eaten too much and drunk a six-pack of beers, she’d crashed out, enjoying her first decent night’s sleep in weeks. When she awoke the next morning, she felt refreshed. The question was what, if anything, should she do next?
Initially, she’d wondered if it would be safer to do nothing, to concentrate on her own predicament and yet … he was still out there. This simple fact haunted her. Briefly, she’d had a hold on him, but he’d shrugged her off and escaped. Thanks to her, Chicago was still at his mercy. So, despite her reservations, despite the gnawing fear growing inside her, she’d decided to act.
Sidestepping a young businessman who was heading directly for her, Kassie came to a halt outside a large laundromat. She had already visited a diner, a hardware store and a nail salon on this street and was beginning to feel dispirited, but she pushed inside nevertheless. Immediately, eight pairs of eyes swivelled towards her, the bored customers wresting their attention away from the hypnotic cycle of the washing machines. Kassie met their gaze, flitting swiftly from one to the next, barely pausing to take in the details. A heart attack, a brain haemorrhage, a drowning, a workplace accident, another heart attack … Kassie stumbled slightly as these visceral images punched into her, but she managed to maintain her composure, until the last person present had been checked. They were looking at her strangely – why was this girl hanging around in the doorway, staring at them? – so, turning, she retreated. There was no point drawing attention to herself – there was nothing for her here.
On she went, pounding the street, her eyes examining the shoppers and workers who hurried past. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the killer’s choice of victim, except the neighbourhood they all lived in. So Kassie had decided to start her search here, haunting West Town’s coffee shops, sandwich bars, restaurants, parks and cinemas, hoping to winkle out the killer by seeking out his next victim. She knew it was a hopeless task – thousands of people passed through this neighbourhood every day – but she had to try.
She’d trekked down West Grand Avenue, up West Chicago Avenue, through the Ukrainian Village, as far east as Noble Square, as far west as North Sacramento Boulevard. She had investigated most of the popular community spaces, scrutinizing the visitors at the Talcott Museum and the Met West Community Garden, even causing a stir among the suspicious parishioners at St Columbkille’s church, who’d taken exception to her invasive presence. The irony was not lost on Kassie. She had run from her visions most of her life, but now she actively sought them out, drowning daily in a hideous kaleidoscope of death. And all to no avail. The identity of the killer’s next victim remained as opaque as ever.
Dodging a gaggle of chattering women, Kassie paused to catch her breath, leaning her head against the window of a dog-grooming store. As she did so, she caught sight of a young female jogger in the reflection, bending down to tie up her laces on the opposite side of the road. No doubt the other undercover officer – whom she’d labelled ‘skater boy’ because of his failed attempt at youth wear – was also close by. They, and others like them, had been on her tail ever since she’d been released from the Detention Center. Clearly she was not out of the woods yet.
Their presence did not disturb Kassie, however. In fact, she was glad of it. Time was running out and if she was to stumble on to the killer’s trail, unmask him even in the short time she had left, then she would need their help.
Today of all days, she welcomed their dogged presence.