All Hallow's Eve (13 page)

“Michael, we can’t. The yacht isn’t leaving until after the concert.”

Michael, though, shrugged. “There were several boathouses by the dock. We’ll grab some drinks, a few more breadsticks, and head out there.”

“But the concert … I can’t ask you to give up—”

Michael stopped and turned to her. “What have I been trying to tell you? Yes, you can. You can ask
anything
of me.”

Cecilia looked into his eyes. They seemed sincere. But so did her mother’s eyes when she swore off vodka, until the next time that she passed a liquor store. Would Michael be the same? Would they arrive at the boathouse, only to have him pine for the concert and resent her? Would that be her fault, too?

“But you are the biggest Diana Dahmer fan,” she said halfheartedly.

Michael put a finger to her lips. “I’ll buy a bootleg copy. No big deal. Getting you comfortable is the priority.”

Gently he removed his finger, and instantly she missed the connection. He leaned in. Would she really let him kiss her? Had he not proven himself far more a gentleman than any guy she had ever dated?

The air between them stirred. She could smell the apricot in his hair gel. Surprisingly, she liked it. Their lips closed in. Cecilia tilted her head, wondering what his lips would taste like.

“Hey! You kids aren’t supposed to be back here!” an usher dressed as a mummy yelled, his gauze strips flapping in the air.

The moment shattered by the agitated Egyptian, Cecilia quickly stepped back. What had she been thinking? But Michael put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

“No prob. We were just leaving, anyway.”

*
*
*

Helen strained to scream, but the killer had his gloved hand over her mouth. She fought and kicked and bit as she watched the shadows pass by under the door. Helen had heard Cecilia. And Michael. And an usher. A real usher.

Couldn’t they smell the burnt flesh?

Hear her strangled cries for help?

“Cecilia!” she screamed in her mind, but it didn’t matter. The figures left and did not come back.

Sagging, she felt all hope drain from her. “Please,” she begged. “Please don’t kill me.”

The mechanized voice sounded amused. “Oh, I am not going to kill you, Helen.” Then he put his hand around her throat, choking her. “At least not until after midnight.”

Helen didn’t even struggle as her world went black.

* * *

Paxton paced behind Ruth as she argued with the Coast Guard commander. Rain beat at the office windows. The wind whipped the water into a torrent, only accentuating the commander’s concerns.

“I am sorry, ma’am, but I simply cannot authorize any craft leaving until the storm breaks.”

He could tell that Ruth was attempting to keep her anger in check, but her jaw was clenched. “But you allowed the
High Jinx
to cross earlier this evening.”

“That was before the storm broke, ma’am. They are going to have to hole up on the island until it blows over.”

“Then at the least rouse them so we can warn them of the danger.”

It was the commander’s turn to take a deep breath before answering. “As I explained, there is no cell phone coverage, and all radio communications are sporadic at best. You are just going to have to sit this storm out like the rest of us.”

Ruth’s concern rose to the surface as her words bit. “Do I have to remind you of Oslo, Commander? That maniac gained an extra hour, a full sixty minutes of slaughter, because the police couldn’t figure out how to cross a lake. Are you prepared to make the same mistake?”

But this wasn’t some lowlife perp Ruth was trying to convince. It was a commander in the Coast Guard who kept his tone level. “I know how to cross, ma’am. I am just telling you that there is no safe way to do so. I am sincerely sorry if any come to injury on the island. Our mission is to save lives. However, I cannot put any at undue risk.”

He pointed out the window as lightning made the sky as bright as day, revealing a roiling sea with at least ten-foot swells. The commander truly wasn’t exaggerating. That didn’t mean they didn’t need to cross, though.

“I am telling you, only a desperate pirate would attempt a crossing tonight.”

Ruth opened her mouth to argue, but Paxton urged her to the door.

“Thank you so much, Commander,” Paxton said, as Ruth fought him. “You have been very helpful.”

The man did not seem to know what to make of Paxton’s sudden change of heart, but he inclined his head. “I will call the department as soon as we lift the severe storm warning.”

“Great. Fantastic. Can’t wait,” Paxton answered, as he got Ruth out of the office. Once out into the hallway, Ruth threw off his hand.

“What do you think you are doing? Your nephew and my son are over there with a mad—”

“Which is why we need to haul ass over there.”

Ruth pointed to the door. “What do you think I was doing in there?”

But Paxton just smiled. He liked being ahead of the curve.

“You heard the man. We need a pirate. A desperate pirate.”

At first, Ruth’s forehead furrowed in anger, and then confusion. Suddenly, though, it smoothed out as she nodded. “Gimpy Gomer.”

“Yep. Gimpy Gomer.”

They both took off down the hallway at a run.

CHAPTER 7

Jeremy watched Evan sneak down the dark hallway. The lights flickered, casting shadows across his friend’s face.

So he finally grew a pair.

He waited until Evan almost passed him, then he jumped out, catching him from behind and covering his mouth. For such a scrawny guy, Evan put up a fuss, but Jeremy held tight.

“You are such a wuss!” Jeremy whispered into Evan’s ear. “Keep it down.”

Evan’s eyes, so wide that the whites glistened in the low light, looked back at Jeremy. Finally, he stopped struggling. Jeremy released his hand.

“Where have you been?”

“Getting more done in a few hours than most people get done in a lifetime.”

Evan looked at him suspiciously. If only he knew the full truth. He wanted his friend to share in everything, but could he trust Evan not to freak out? Most couldn’t follow the path he was headed.

“Are you in?” he asked Evan.

The boy shrank back, clinging to his backpack. “I don’t know. What are you going to do?”

There was no way Jeremy could let Evan in on his whole plan. That would simply blow his friend’s mind… and possibly get him arrested. But maybe he could share just a sliver of his goal for the night.

“I’ve found a secret passage to Dahmer’s dressing room. Want to crash a party?”

“Are you insane? They are about to go onstage!”

“Which makes it perfect. What does Dahmer say about the witching hour?”

Evan shuffled his feet, looking downward. “I just … I don’t know.”

Anger flared. Did no one understand the genius of all this? “You said you wanted to be something, Evan. That you wanted to make your mark. When else are you going to do it but now?”

His friend’s nostrils flared as he gritted his teeth. “Let’s do it.”

“That’s more like it!” Jeremy patted his friend on the back.

Rapidly, he led Evan up a staircase, down a hall, and through a small room. After all that he had done this evening, he knew this mansion like the back of his hand. They came to a door clearly labeled: “Restricted. Do Not Enter.”

“Jeremy…”

“Buck up, dude. Life isn’t about following the rules.”

With time running out, Jeremy couldn’t wait any longer, so he opened the door, which led to a series of catwalks. They were high above the stage.

“We just need to cross here, drop down beneath the stage, and hang two lefts.”

Evan put his pack on, and then buckled the straps.

Jeremy made his way across the metal walkway as thunder rumbled in the distance. This high up, they could hear the rain beating down upon the roof. It sounded as if the storm cast sheets of water against the island. It was all the better for what he had planned.

Lightning struck, illuminating them through the windows. Then thunder boomed right on top of them, shaking the railing. Evan lost his footing.

Nearly in slow motion Jeremy watched his friend flail, then tip, over the side. Jeremy rushed forward, but missed his friend. Luckily, Evan fell onto the catwalk ten feet beneath them. The metal clanged loudly, but no one below seemed to notice as thunder cracked again and again.

Jeremy leaned over the railing. “I’ll come down.”

But Evan shook his head as he nursed his ankle. “No, my ankle’s blown. Go on.”

Jeremy hesitated. He really wanted his friend to see the spectacle he had planned. Unfortunately, it required precise execution. He simply couldn’t have Evan slow him down.

“All right. But head down to the ballroom so you get a great view.”

Evan waved him off. “Go, then!” His friend then mumbled, “At least I’ll stay out of trouble this way …”

“I heard that!” Jeremy whispered, as he rushed across the catwalk to meet his destiny.

* * *

Cecilia walked hand in hand with Michael as they approached the front door to the mansion. This was kind of nice. She could get used it. Well, used to the Michael part, not the sick-mansion-in-the-middle-of-nowhere part.

An usher, dressed as a werewolf, guarded the door. Absentmindedly, he groomed the fur on his face. “Where do you think you two are going?”

“She needs some fresh air,” Michael stated.

“No one leaves until the concert is over.”

Cecilia gulped as if trying to hold back vomiting. Unfortunately, it wasn’t all an act. Even just thinking about the yacht ride home made her queasy.

She thought the usher was going to give them more hassle, but the wolfman just shrugged. “Have fun, then.”

Michael opened the mansion door to find a wall of water outside. Wind-driven rain pelted their cheeks, and they weren’t even outside yet. Michael quickly shut the door.

“Like I said,” the usher said, picking a bit of food from the hair on his chin. “no one leaves.”

Michael looked at Cecilia, but she sighed. “I guess we did find one thing worse than Diana Dahmer music.” He cocked an eyebrow as she answered, “Pneumonia.”

“Let’s get you something to eat, then we will find a quiet place, and maybe watch the storm from an upstairs landing?” Michael suggested.

Cecilia gave his hand a squeeze. If KMNY gave out awards for best date ever, Michael would be hard to beat. “That sounds great.”

They entered the ballroom as a huge clock lowered from the ceiling. Cecilia was impressed, until she realized that two tortured bodies represented the hands on the clock.

Gross.

The curtains parted as the crowd rushed forward. Which gave Michael and her plenty of room to make their way toward the buffet table. Maybe Francesca was right, and they did have chicken wings. Her stomach seemed decidedly hungry now.

The undertaker emcee took to the stage with a flourish. The crowd screamed in anticipation.

“And now the moment approaches! Midnight,” the emcee said low, stalking the stage, looking down upon the audience. “The witching hour. When everything evil lifts its head from the mud—”

But a girl, dress ripped and bloody, burst onto the stage. Was this some kind of publicity stunt?

“Help!” she screamed.

Did Cecilia recognize the voice? It was hard to tell. Cecilia tried to get up on her tiptoes to see over the crowd as the emcee turned to the girl.

“Looks like someone’s started the party early!”

“He’s going to kill us all!” the girl screeched.

Despite her stomach complaining, Cecilia hopped up, trying to clear the heads of all those in front of her. Was that red hair she saw? It was hard to tell, as security pulled the girl to the side of the stage.

“What some people won’t do to get close to Diana Dahmer!” The emcee opened his arms wide. “What would you do?”

Cecilia couldn’t hear the girl’s response over the screaming crowd. It appeared that they, too, would do anything to get on that stage.

“I can’t hear you!” the emcee egged them on.

How the crowd could get any louder, Cecilia did not know. All she knew was that the sound nearly popped her eardrums.

The clock’s hands aligned at midnight as a loud gong sounded. Tombstones rose from the stage floor as fog spread across the stage. Cecilia couldn’t care less about any of that. She needed to know if that was Helen being dragged away.

But if Cecilia thought that the teenage crowd had been whipped into a frenzy with the emcee, she had no idea of the response once the band hit the stage. The crowd rushed forward, nearly crushing themselves against the wooden barrier.

Diana Dahmer, dressed in black skintight pants and no shirt, rushed out, screaming, a bloody handprint on his chest. If he was saying anything intelligible, Cecilia couldn’t make it out, but the crowd ate it up—screaming with him and trying to climb onstage.

Off to the side, she saw that usher again.

The one with the Inquisition costume.

Weird. What was he doing up there?

* * *

Helen screamed as the hawk mask came toward her. She grabbed onto the security guard, clutching at his uniform.

“It’s him! He’s the killer,” she pointed at the usher.

But the guard pulled her hand away. “Damn! Keep your hands to yourself.”

No one was listening. Could they not see the blood splatter on his cape? The wounds on her face? As the usher approached, it didn’t matter. She just needed to get away.

“Arrest me! Arrest me now!”

“Look, chick, I’m paid minimum wage.”

As the usher stepped forward, Helen begged. “Fine, then get me to your supervisor. Now!”

“All right. All right,” the security guard grumbled. The usher took a step back.

That’s right, bastard. You will pay.

Then, Dahmer screamed into the microphone. “Who wants to hitch a ride to hell?”

The crowd slammed into the barrier. Dozens of teens jumped the partition and climbed onto the stage.

“Need some help here!” one of the guards yelled from the stage.

The security guard leaned in that direction. Helen clutched at his shirtsleeve. “No!”

But then the usher was there, at her side. How did he move so quickly?

“I’ve got her,” the mechanized voice said.

“No! It’s him!” she screamed, but the security guard shrugged her off.

“Fine by me,” he said. “She’s a handful.”

The usher grabbed Helen around the waist and lifted her from her feet.

“Help!” she screamed, but the crowd, the music, and her own tears drowned her out.

“You’ve been a very bad girl,” the usher whispered.

Sobbing, Helen knew exactly what the punishment would be.

* * *

“Do you mind?” Cecilia asked Michael, as she put her hands on his shoulder.

“Not at all.”

Cecilia jumped up, using Michael as a bracing, but the girl was gone from the stage, as well as the creepy usher.

“Crashing the stage doesn’t seem like Helen,” Michael said.

She glanced down at him. “Hello. Goat and golf cart.”

This was exactly something that Helen would get herself entangled in. Not that her friend would have actually thought it through, of course. No, Helen was more the type to stumble into trouble rather than to create it.

Taking one last look at the stage, Cecilia still wasn’t sure if it had been her friend.

“Well?” Michael asked, as she hopped down.

Cecilia couldn’t immediately answer him. Between all the jostling, the hot bodies surging around her, and the flashing strobe lights, Cecilia’s stomach protested, and she felt the nausea rise again
.

“Here,” Michael said, guiding her past the buffet, where he snatched a couple of crackers. He then escorted her to the stairs. “You stay here.”

“But Helen—”

“While you eat those, I am going to go find security to see if that was Helen. And if it was…” Michael smiled. “I’ll try to break her out of whatever lockup they’ve got.”

Cecilia nibbled at the cracker, willing her stomach to behave.

“But if I deliver Helen, you will agree to have one dance—only one, just with me,”
Michael said as he stood up.

“To this?” Cecilia asked, scrunching up her nose.

“Even knights in shining armor need some reward.”

Cecilia studied Michael’s face. He had done so much already, and had asked for very little in return. “Okay. One dance.”

He clapped his hands and gave a thumbs-up as he backed away and turned toward the door.

If only her stomach were so happy.

* * *

The wheels hydroplaned on the slick road as Paxton turned into the parking lot. The slip seemed dark and lonely, except for one little light down in a fishing boat’s hold. Slamming on the brakes, the car slid more than stopped at the curb.

His partner didn’t even wait until he put the car in park before hauling ass out the door and drawing her weapon. Paxton followed suit, making his way to the other side of the boat. “Gimpy” Gomer was a rather pathetic career criminal and an even worse informant. He usually gave them the tip
after
the crime was committed. But the one thing Gimpy had in his corner was some serious sailing skills.

And what better night to put them to use? With the Coast Guard locked down, no one would be patrolling the waters—a perfect time to move some seriously contraband product. But the boat looked as derelict as its owner. The paint, once a nice blue, had dulled to a cracked gray. That is, what you could see of the side that wasn’t covered in barnacles.

As the rain beat down, Paxton leveled his weapon at the would-be pirate.

“Gimpy, you wouldn’t be thinking of doing anything illegal, would you?”
Ruth called out from the other side of the boat.