“That’s why I remember.” Pride surged through Grayson. “Yup. That’s why we send the people to houses like that.”
“Uh-huh,” Alex agreed, opening the box.
Grayson couldn’t see what was in it, but he shivered as uneasiness twisted his stomach into a hard knot. “Did I send a team to the house?”
“You did,” the boy confirmed.
Grayson smiled with relief. “Oh, good.”
“No, kind of bad,” Alex corrected.
“Bad? Why?”
“Because I don’t want Shane Ryan to know what I’m doing,” Alex answered, and a note of anger crept into his voice. But there was something more, too. A hint of madness. “If he knows what I’m doing, he’s going to try and stop me.”
“Um, well, he can’t, right?” Grayson asked, his gaze darting from the boy to the dead man.
“Oh, he can,” Timmy answered. “He’s a hard man. He’ll come up to the Village if he thinks he needs to.”
“Well, nothing happened, right?” Grayson asked. “I mean, the team must have stopped him.”
“You don’t understand him,” Alex whispered, his eyes down on whatever was in the box. “You can’t understand him. I can’t, and I’m a hundred times smarter than you.”
Alex looked at Grayson, and the depths of hatred in the child’s eyes caused Grayson to swallow dryly. Stories of the boy’s anger flashed through his mind, the images hidden behind a haze of alcohol.
The boy reached into the box and pulled out a knife. It was the most frightening weapon Grayson had ever seen. The blade was short, only six or seven inches, but there was an edge on it. What was truly terrifying was the weapon’s hilt, which was made in the shape of brass knuckles, each knuckle capped with a spike.
“The team didn’t stop him.” Alex’s voice was flat, emotionless. “Shane Ryan killed four of them. I have to assume he learned the name of the team leader, which means I have to have him killed before Shane can get his hands on him. That’s if the leader hasn’t figured this out and doesn’t disappear. You’ve been bad, Grayson. You’ve upset everything because you’re too stupid to do what you’re told.”
“I can do better, I promise!” Grayson howled, trying to get to his feet.
Sergeant Anderson pushed him down, pinning him in place with her hands on his shoulders. His arms were grabbed by the security team members and stretched out to either side.
Squealing and screaming, Grayson tried to kick at the boy as Alex stood.
Alex sidestepped each futile, weak kick until he was standing directly over Grayson.
“Please, I’m sorry,” Grayson sobbed.
“I know.”
The boy slammed the brass knuckles into Grayson’s face, and Grayson Breen was held in place as Alex Kallistos beat and stabbed the life from him.
Chapter 33: Different
Monday, 6:50 AM
Jody Crispin knew she was a walking stereotype, and she loved it.
She stood a few feet off from the other students at the bus stop, the only senior on Bus 427 who didn’t have her own car, or who rode in with friends.
None of her friends drove.
She adjusted her headphones, took out her compact instead of her phone, and checked her makeup. Her black lipstick, which was accentuated by the pale foundation she used, was perfect. She blinked several times, making sure the lashes were still elongated and heavy with mascara. Her eyebrows were plucked into arches and then thickened. Jody’s hair, dyed a deep purple, hung in large curls to her jawline.
Everything was perfect.
She snapped the compact closed and put it away in the battered, metal Addams Family lunchbox she used as a purse.
Turning away from the other students, Jody looked up the street. Five houses away on the right was the murder scene, and Jody was tempted to skip school entirely to see if she could explore the yard.
Maybe I could even get into the house, she thought. She mulled the idea over for a moment. There were no tests. No incomplete assignments. She knew she could skip. Her mother wouldn’t complain, not since she knew Jody was straight edge and didn’t touch alcohol or narcotics.
And Mom’s not home. Jody smiled. She’s working out of Concord today. Plenty of time for me to get a closer look. When am I going to get another chance to see a murder scene? I wonder if the blood’s still there.
Jody’s smile broadened as she walked away from the bus stop. She didn’t need to look behind her to know the others were watching her, commenting to one another, or sending texts to friends about the weird girl walking away.
It made her stand up straighter, proud of who she was.
The bus passed her as she moved along the sidewalk, the driver, Celio, laughing and shaking his head at her. She waved to the old man, and he waved back.
When she reached the murder house, Jody paused and glanced around to make sure there was no one on the street. She knew she was trespassing, and more than likely, someone would call the police, but she would have more time if there wasn’t anyone vigilantly keeping an eye on the house.
Jody didn’t see anyone in their cars or windows, no one was out in their yards. The street was quiet, and Jody hurried up the driveway. She hesitated for a moment as she came to a gate in the fence around the property. Then, with a small smile, she let herself into the backyard, leaving the gate open a few inches for a quick exit if she needed one.
Jody scanned the yard, saw a small deck, and went to it. Her heartbeat quickened as she climbed the stairs and then opened the screen door, wincing at the squeal of the hinges. She reached out, took hold of the doorknob, and twisted.
It was locked.
She pushed a little, hoping the door might open.
It did not.
Her shoulders sagged, and she let go of the doorknob. I’ll peek in the windows, try and see if there’s anything I can take a picture of. Love to post it to my Snapchat.
Jody eased the screen door closed, descended the stairs, and froze as a groan reached her ears.
The sound had come from behind her, and when she looked, she saw the back door had opened almost a foot.
Jody shook her head, unsure as to whether or not it had actually occurred.
No, that’s open, she thought. Then, with a shudder, she asked herself, Did a ghost open it? Is one of the victims in there? Do they want to communicate?
The idea sent a thrill of excitement through her, and she hurried back up the steps. She pulled the screen door open, not worrying about the complaints of the hinges or the fact that she was breaking and entering.
The door to the house was open.
Jody stepped over the threshold and shivered with delight as she closed the door behind her. No reason to leave it open.
She was in a large room dominated by a flatscreen television mounted over a brick-faced fireplace and long, wooden mantle. The room was chilly, and Jody glanced up to see if the chintzy overhead fan that hung from the ceiling was on. When she saw the blades of it were still, Jody cast her eye across the overstuffed furniture arranged in a U-shape in front of the television. There was a rectangular coffee table covered with various magazines, all of which seemed to focus on how best to decorate in a country style. A glance at the room’s walls showed that whoever had read the magazines took their recommendations as gospel.