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  You never knew what was prowling around just out of sight.

  41

  Eric arrived late for the briefing. He snuck into the conference room and listened to Provo bring the new agents up to date. He already knew that he would be working 16th Street Marketplace with Provo and Jay Will. JW and Eric would serve as the spotters and Provo would be the bait. They had to keep their eyes open for a black van and a white male 20- 35 who might approach Provo. They also had to make sure that no one was following her. That was the problem, there were still too many holes in what they knew about their killer and how he operated.

  Eric let his eyes wander over Provo’s slight frame, wiry and muscular. Today, she let her blonde hair fall into her eyes. The crystal blue pupils shining out from behind the light strands. She had a long neck that melted into her angular jaw line. Eric thought about last night, about how his hand had worked her strong thigh, about how her body had quivered when he did.

  Provo caught his gaze on her body and shifted uncomfortably as she addressed the room. Eric's eyes wandered over her chest, tight stomach and then cascaded over her hips and legs. He wanted her badly, perhaps tonight they would not be interrupted. Eric scolded himself, Emily’s life had been in danger and they had lost a good cop last night! But his libido would hear none of it, he wanted Provo so badly he could taste her.

  Provo finished by answering a few questions, mostly about the BZ gas. That had caught Eric’s attention momentarily. How dangerous was it? Would he be at risk? Would Provo? They’d have to keep a close eye on her and be ready to have paramedics on the scene quickly. He didn’t like the fact that she was putting herself out there like that, so vulnerable. Then, Eric rose from his seat, the meeting was breaking up. He wanted to get to Provo and get the hell out of there for a little while.

  Emily stepped into his way.

  "Hey Em, how are you?" He managed with one eye still on Provo.

  "Been better," she said without much conviction. "How is Officer Connolly’s wife doing?"

  "Still very quiet, I think it's still sinking in. I think she expects the whole thing to be some horrible mistake. She kept watching the door, waiting for Mike to come through."

  "God, poor thing. Do you think I should call her?"

  "Couldn’t hurt."

  "Are you okay, Eric?"

  "Yeah, its just been a long day. I didn’t sleep at all last night. I’ve been up for almost 40 hours straight now."

  "Oh, Eric. Listen, why don’t you drive me home. You can stay over and get a good night's rest."

  "I don’t know, Em..."

  "Hey you two," Provo said coming up from behind Eric.

  "Hey Provo," Eric answered, wheeling around.

  "Hi, Mary," Emily responded quietly.

  "Am I interrupting anything?"

  "No, nothing at all," Eric smiled.

  "Good. Emily, I’ll give you a ride home okay?"

  "Well...," Emily mumbled, her eyes searching Eric.

  "Oh, uh...," Eric muttered, probing Provo’s face.

  "Great, I’ll see you tomorrow, Detective DeJesus. 6am sharp. You ready, Emily?"

  "Yeah, I guess," Emily frowned, turning away from Eric.

  Provo wrapped her arm around Emily and they began to leave.

  "Provo?" Eric called out.

  "Yeah," she said, not slowing down.

  "Your first name is Mary?"

  "Sure is," she answered, happily walking out the door. "There is a lot you of things don’t know about me, Detective."

  42

  Damn, it was getting late. It had taken longer than expected to land a new generator. And of course, Furman had gotten carried away toying with his website. Officer Ronald Jones, Jonsey, as his compatriot had referred to him, had indeed written an e-mail.

  "My son and I spent the afternoon browsing your website and he would love one of your custom skull masks for Halloween."

  Furman chuckled to himself. I have just the one, donated by that delicious screamer, Tony.

  But now it was getting dark and that blasted generator was slowing him down. There was no way he was going to make it back before nightfall.

  "Fuck!" Furman cursed at the rearview mirror. He slammed his fist down on the old hearse’s dashboard, cracking it in three places. He gripped the steering wheel and tried to keep himself from hyperventilating. Furman tried to let his mind wander, he tried to think of anything other than what awaited him at home.

  Tomorrow would be time to start hunting, somewhere in Virginia again? There would be lots of people at the malls, gearing up for All Hollow's Eve. Next to Christmas, it was most kids’ favorite time of year, but not Furman. Halloween marked the day that his mother had made too much noise walking through the house. In fact, Halloween also marked the day that Furman repaid his father and sister.

  At first, Phoebe had seemed as distraught and angry with their father as Furman had been. Then over the course of the following year, Furman began to pay close attention to dear old Dad, letting his anger and hate boil. He watched as Phoebe assumed the role of their mother. Cleaning, cooking, sleeping in the same bed with their father. The nightly visits to his room had ceased. There were no more creaks in the middle of the night, save the squeaky springs from Phoebe and Dad’s room. Furman felt his rage triple. He could not let what had happened to his mother, happen again to Phoebe.

  Halloween Day, Phoebe was in the outhouse and Furman joined her. They had done as much ever since Furman was small and Phoebe had been but a young teen. They adjourned there whenever they wanted to talk, away from eavesdropping parents.

  "Do you miss, Mother?" Furman asked rather blankly.

  "Miss, well, yes of course I miss her."

  "Aren’t you still angry?" Furman could feel the rage rumbling up from his bowels, "Aren’t you still furious with him?"

  "For what, Furman?" Phoebe asked perplexed.

  "For what?!" Furman stammered incredulously. "For killing our Mother!"

  "Keep your voice down!" She hissed.

  Furman rocked back on his seat. That had been the eerie reincarnation of his mother’s voice.

  "What’s done is done. Now you let things be!"

  Furman stared, dumbfounded at her. Phoebe’s face was chubbier, her belly more pronounced.

  "Isn’t everything better now? He doesn’t raise his voice anymore. He doesn’t throw things or beat us. He doesn’t come in the middle of the night anymore, does he?"

  "No," Furman whispered. "But I hear you... I hear things in the middle of the night."

  "I love him, Furman! Mother did not. She didn’t love any of us! But I do, can’t you see that? I love him and I love you more than she ever did and its made our lives better."

  Phoebe got up from her seat and wiped. She stepped out of the jeans around her ankles and walked over to were Furman sat. He reached down to pull up his pants but Phoebe caught his hands in hers. She got on top of him straddling his lap. Furman felt her warm breath in his ear.

  "But you just won’t let things be will you. Why can’t you love him, why won’t you love me?" She whispered.

  Furman felt himself getting excited. He didn’t want to be, but it had a mind of its own. Phoebe felt him and smiled, "Love me, Furman."

  "Your not my Mother!" Furman shouted in her face. It was the only thing he could think of. It was what had plagued his thoughts for almost a year, avenging her death.

  "I am your Mother, Furman," Phoebe said quietly.

  Furman’s whole body shook under her weight.

  "At first I didn’t like it, being with him. I was very young at it always hurt, you know? It never felt good. But eventually I learned to like it. I learned that I liked making him happy. We would find each other, find some out of the way place and be together, away from her."

  "The Indian tunnel," Furman said without knowing the words had left his mouth.

  "Yes, we often went there. When I became pregnant with you, mother was furious. That’s when the fights began."

 
; "I remember," Furman choked. "They were always fighting about you."

  "Yes, she just couldn’t let us be happy. And then, she tried to kill me..."

  "The stairs. She pushed you down the stairs."

  "Yes, Furman. I always wanted to get her back but I didn’t know how. I wasn’t as strong as her, but father was. He loved me more than her. So he did it. He did it for me. He did it for us, Furman."

  Phoebe kissed Furman’s lips and slid him into her. He had a far away look in his eyes. Phoebe felt his hands on her hips and she began to move. They slid up her torso and across her breasts. She moaned. His big paws found her delicate collar bones. She exhaled softly. Then he broke her neck like a dry twig.

  Furman tried not to think of that day, the day he became Death. It was an awful, pain-filled birth. But it had been worth it. Now Furman was finally enjoying his life, enjoying the hunt and feasting on the prize. But there was always a price to pay for happiness. True enough, Furman thought as he pulled onto Old Snake Mountain Road, Route 13. There was a reason Furman tested his best speed during daylight hours on this dusty stretch of road.

  The reason, Furman thought as he glanced at the milky moon peaking at him through the trees, was for times like now. He slammed down on the accelerator. The engine protested under the weight of the generator in the back of the hearse. Furman prayed that he had not signed his own death warrant and sped the old vehicle into the darkness of the swamp.

  The engine of the hearse whined. Furman flipped on the cars brights and hunkered down over the steering wheel. In the darkness, the thick cypress had become two oppressive walls on either side of the road. One miscue and... Furman shuddered at the thought.

  The moon was well hidden behind the trees and the bright headlights were casting crazy shadows behind the cypress. The black spaces between the trees seemed to squirm, as if something were alive inside them, itching to get out. And even if they were, they couldn’t catch him, he was going much too fast.

  But not as fast as he’d like considering that blasted generator was slowing him down. Yes, slower still, the hearse was giving up on him. He slammed the console with his fist but the temperature gauge did not change, it only continued to rise. Furman wailed as the car slowed to a crawl, Alligator Bridge and the little town of Crusoe still in the distance.

  The shadows were rippling with a hungry frenzy now and eyes were beginning to appear. Hundreds of glowing eyes. Furman slammed his palms on the steering wheel and screamed. The glowing spheres only came nearer. The hearse died. Furman dove down into the passenger seat and retrieved his scythe. He stumbled out of the vehicle and squinted in the darkness. The eyes converged on him. They swarmed over Furman Frye, their weight bearing him down, their voices rising in the darkness. He never had a chance.

  43

  Emily buckled her seatbelt as Provo pulled out of the lot. She closed her eyes and thought about her apartment, the blood on the carpet, the image of Kevin at the top of the stairs, the muzzle of his gun pressed firmly against her temple.

  "Mary?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I don’t want to go home."

  "I’ll stay with you if you want."

  "No, its not that."

  "You wanted Eric to stay with tonight, didn’t you?"

  Emily exhaled, "Yes but no, not now. Not after I’ve had a chance to..."

  "What?"

  "Not after I’ve thought about last night."

  "Kevin?"

  "And the blood, the gun, all of it. I don’t know if I can bring myself to go back there again, let alone live there anymore."

  "Well, I tell you what. Why don’t you stay with me tonight, recharge your batteries. We have a full week ahead of us, you know."

  "Oh, Mary. I couldn’t."

  Provo smirked. "You can and you will." The automatic doors locked. "Besides, you’re my prisoner and now you don’t have a choice."

  44

  Emily and Provo stopped by a Da Vinci’s Pizza and picked up dinner. The warm box in Emily’s lap made her feel better than she had all day. Provo’s stomach growled and they giggled like school girls.

  Emily wandered through Provo’s apartment saying how much she loved this or that. The colors, the movement, the subtle touches here and there.

  "You should be an interior design artist."

  "Shut up, you think so?" Provo called from the kitchen.

  "Yeah, forget chasing bad guys for a living, girl."

  "What’s your favorite part?"

  "Of your apartment?"

  "Yeah."

  "It’s gotta be all of these beautiful candles. I love how they smell."

  "Yeah me too! I’m a sucker for a scented candle."

  They sat in the middle of the floor and ate the pizza greedily, chasing it with soda. Provo belched so loud it echoed in the small apartment. Emily laughed harder than she ever had and rolled around on the rug trying to catch her breath.

  Provo laughed at Emily and beamed her with a throw pillow.

  "Ow, you bitch," Emily giggled. She threw it back and Provo knocked it out of the air.

  "That’s it!" Provo yelled, jumping on top of Emily. She started tickling her and Emily squealed.

  "Stop. Stop it," she panted.

  "I don’t think so," Provo countered. "Not until you tell me who is the master of the universe!" More tickling and laughing erupted.

  Emily bucked Provo off and began to tickle her.

  "No fair!" Provo shouted.

  The women collapsed in a heap, breathing hard and giggling intermittently.

  "I’m glad you came over," Provo whispered.

  "Me too," Emily said and began to cry a little.

  "Oh Em, what is it?"

  "Nothing just thinking about..."

  "Eric?"

  "Yeah, we used to do stuff like this."

  "I’m sorry."

  "No, it's alright. He’s moved on and I need to do the same."

  "Good for you, Em," Provo pauseed. "I’ve been meaning to ask you something."

  "Sure."

  "Well, why are you working this case for the Bureau if you and Eric are on the outs. I mean, you are only volunteering. Why don’t you go back to Chesterfield and have them send back one of the other analysts, why torture yourself?"

  "A lot of reasons, we were hoping you guys could give us a hand with a nut we have wandering the back woods and killing girls for sport."

  "A serial killer?"

  "Yeah."

  "Done and done. I’ll talk to the ADIC, Assistant Director in Charge of the Bureau, he owes me a favor or two. I’ll tell him how instrumental you guys in Chesterfield were in helping us nab the I-95 killer."

  "But, we haven’t gotten him yet."

  "Not to worry, we will... You were saying."

  Emily shrugged, not finding the words.

  "Because you still want to be with Eric?" Provo asked.

  "Yeah, I’m hopeless..."

  The women were silent for a long moment until Emily said, "Eric’s had a rough life. His Dad died early and his Mom abused him. Eric hated women for the longest time. Until he met me, something happened, changed, I don’t know. And now I almost feel guilty about ending things, he’s come so far. I don’t want to be the reason he never tries to be happy with another woman again."

  Emily was quiet for a long time. Provo stroked her hair and lets the silence settle in.

  "Look," Emily finally whispered. "I don’t want to talk about him anymore, tell me more about you, do you have a boyfriend?"

  "No, not anymore. If you ask me, babe. Men are only good for one thing."

  "Really, you think so?"

  "I know so. Do you think you could lay here and talk to a man without him wanting something from you in the end."

  Emily sighed.

  "That’s what I mean. It's all their good for, sweetie. And the sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be. Trust me."

  "So you're not interested in Eric?"

  "I thought you didn’t want t
o talk about him anymore?"

  Emily shrugged.

  Provo smiled assuredly, "Oh God no, Emily. I mean I’d fuck him if I didn’t know you. But that’s not the case is it?"

  A tear slid down Emily’s face, "I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

  "You stick with me kid and everything will be alright."

  "I’ve never really had a girlfriend before."

  "Well now you do, okay?"

  "Okay."

  Provo wrapped her arms around Emily and spooned in behind her.

  "Mary?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Thanks."

  "For what?"

  "Everything."

  45

  Agent Franks looked blankly in the half off DVD bin in Freedom Mall. It was amazing how much of the United States looked exactly alike. Everything was a franchise and anything you ever wanted was everywhere. Want a Big Mac in New Haven? No problem. Want to tool around in an Ace Hardware in St Louis? Be my guest. Want to paw through a bunch of crappy movies in a DVD bin in Charlotte? Well, here you go pal. Knock yourself out. But even so, it did sort of make him feel at home even when so far away.

  It was Wednesday and there had been no sign of the I-95 killer, no strange white men following him or even the vaguest interest of anyone even remotely near him. Except for that pretty blonde on Monday...

  "We’ve got a runner coming your way, Brandon!"

  Franks winced and loosened his earpiece, "Jesus Christ! Be a little louder next time!" He hissed into the hidden mike in his lapel.

  "Mall Security said it’s a shoplifter!"

  "Well, let him go, we can’t risk blowing our cover!"

  "It's obvious that psycho isn’t gonna show up here, besides..."

  The shoplifter barreled into deep cover agent Brandon Franks. The two men spilled onto the marble floor. The shoplifter stared at Franks in wide eyed confusion. Brandon’s 9mm was hanging out for all the world to see.

  Screw it, Franks thought. "Federal Agent, get your ass on the ground now!"

  Realization settled over the shoplifter's face and he sprinted away through a mob of disoriented shoppers.