Wonderland (29 page)

Vanessa was trying to process it all. “And you found out about this when?”

“She called me right after it happened.” Oscar’s voice grew distant as he remembered. “She was in Nicky’s apartment inside the park, and she called me, said he was badly hurt, and I rushed over. All I remember is seeing the blood. It was everywhere. She didn’t just hit him once.”

“And what did she expect you to do?”

“She wanted me to help her get rid of the body. She was so calm, I assumed she was in shock. She told me no one could ever know what she had done, that the park wouldn’t survive the bad publicity if they knew the owner’s niece had killed him.”

“And you helped her move the body?”

“I bent down.” Oscar’s eyes began to water. “There was blood all over his face. He looked . . . smaller somehow, and I almost couldn’t bring myself to touch him at first. I couldn’t believe what Bianca had done. Nicky was her only family. He was my friend. I wanted to call nine-one-one, but we both knew if I did, we’d lose the park, and she’d go to prison. I wrapped him in a blanket and got a wheelbarrow from the maintenance shed. I moved him.”

“Where did you put the body?”

“In the underground tunnel. In the dungeon. Under the Clown Museum.”

Vanessa heard a gasp, and realized it had come from Jane.

“I thought that was an urban myth,” the lawyer said. “Danny Moskowitz, Pete Allred . . . what they said all those years ago about Jack Shaw, it was actually true?”

Oscar nodded. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and Jane handed him a tissue she’d pulled from her purse. Looking at Oz now, Vanessa could only feel sorry for him. All these years, keeping a secret like that.

The body count at Wonderland was continuing to pile up, and it made Vanessa’s head spin to think of all the victims. Jack Shaw, Nick Bishop, and Aiden Cole, that they knew of. Tyler Wilkins, Kyle Grimmie, and Blake Dozier, who were likely dead as well. Would their bodies be in the dungeon, too, alongside Nick Bishop’s? It would not be the ending the boys’ families had prayed for, but it would be closure.

Who had killed them? Was it Glenn Hovey? Was it Bianca? Was it Oscar? All three? At this point, Vanessa didn’t trust Oscar at all. Whatever spark had been between them was gone.

“I’ll send out a search team first thing in the morning,” Vanessa said softly. “Oz . . . I have to ask, why didn’t you tell anybody eight years ago? How could you have kept the secret for so long? And how could you ever have been involved with Bianca after that, knowing what she’d done?”

A sob escaped from his chest. When Jane Cartwright put an arm around her old friend to comfort him, he didn’t pull away.

“I loved her.” Oscar’s voice was broken. “We were all we had after Nicky died, and god help me, I loved her.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

T
he door would not budge. Not even a little bit.

“If this is a prank, it isn’t funny,” Ava called through the door for the dozenth time. “Let me out right now, or I’ll report you.”

Not that she could report anyone, since she was locked in, and her phone had no signal. The door was heavy, and she wasn’t sure anyone could hear her pounding. She wasn’t even sure anyone was out there.

Who had locked her in? No way was it an accident, because the door had never been locked before, not to Ava’s knowledge, anyway. Was it Carlos Jones? Was it because she’d been bitchy to him? Was he trying to teach her a lesson? He was a janitor; he’d have the key to every door in the place.

Her useless cell phone confirmed that it was 9:45 p.m. Hopefully Xander was still coming to meet her, assuming that Anne-Marie had passed along her message. At the very least, the ticket booth girls had to know she was still back here, and when Ava didn’t come out in the next ten minutes, one of them would come looking for her. All she had to do was be patient and keep banging on the door until they did.

She pounded on the door with all her might, yelling at the top of her lungs. After two minutes, she gave it a rest, her hands red and sore. Then two minutes later, she banged again. Then yelled. Then banged. Then yelled.

Looking around the small dressing room, Ava sighed. It would be a long night if she got stuck in here, especially since she’d told her mother she was sleeping over at Katya’s, and Katya thought she was hanging out with Xander. If this was karma for lying, Ava had no intention of doing it ever again. The dressing room was cold, and there were no pillows, no blankets, and nowhere to sit or lie down except for the hard concrete floor. All she could do was pile a bunch of old costumes together into a makeshift bed.

Checking the time again, she saw that it was now 10 p.m. All over the park, attractions were shutting down, guests were being ushered out, and Wonder Workers were beginning cleanup duties. By ten thirty, the park would be empty, save for a security guard or two, and maybe someone from the maintenance crew.

Like Carlos Jones, for instance. If he’d locked her in here on purpose, then he was probably intending to come back for her. Maybe he was Wonderland’s serial killer after all. Just because he didn’t have a police record didn’t mean he didn’t get away with crimes all the time. Ava had seen on
Criminal Minds
that there were as many as one hundred active serial killers in the United States at any given point. Assuming this was true, and that four or five of them were operating in Washington—which seemed to be the hotbed state for serial murderers—there was no reason to believe that Carlos Jones wasn’t one of them.

A dead body had already turned up at Wonderland, after all. Another boy had gone missing. Or was it three missing boys? Ava had overheard her mom talking about it with Jerry the other day, and wished she had paid closer attention.

Oh my god
, she thought.
I’m going to die.

Then again, she didn’t fit the victim profile. They were all male. Eighteen. Blond.

Holy shit. Xander.

What if Xander was out there right now, and Carlos Jones was about to kill him? Ava couldn’t believe she hadn’t put that together before now.

With renewed vigor, she banged on the door with both fists, yelling as loud as she could. Maybe the reason she was locked in here was because Carlos Jones had seen her with Xander before, and he had locked Ava in the supply closet as a way to lure Xander into the museum. If that was the case, her friend was as good as dead, and so was Ava. . . .

“Stop it.” She spoke to herself out loud, mimicking the tone her mother would have used, had she been here. “You stop it right now, Ava. You’re inventing stories in your head. You stop it right now.”

She needed to calm the hell down. She was getting herself all worked up about things she didn’t even know would happen, and she needed to chill out before she gave herself an anxiety attack.

Karma was a bitch, there was no doubt about that. This is what she got for watching too many horror movies and being addicted to those crime shows. And this is what she got for lying to her mom. Her smart, capable, deputy police chief mom who’d have dropped everything in a heartbeat if she suspected Ava was trapped somewhere for even five minutes.

Yup. Karma.

She pounded on the door again, yelling some more, but her hands were throbbing and her voice was getting hoarse. Taking a break, she went and stood in front of the full-length mirror where she’d applied her makeup earlier. Other than the wig, which she’d removed as soon as she’d walked in, she was still in full costume. With the yellow dress, her hair all askew, and her cracked white porcelain doll face, Ava had to admit this was exactly the look she’d been going for. She looked just like an old, discarded doll.

Pulling out her phone, she snapped a selfie in the mirror. She would upload it to Instagram tomorrow, because surely by tomorrow, this would be hilarious.

The dress was still itchy, but she didn’t want to take it off because she was only wearing shorts and a tank top underneath. It had been hot when she’d arrived at the park earlier that day, and all she had in her backpack was a light hoodie. She pulled it on over her doll dress. Now she looked extra ridiculous. She snapped another selfie.

She went back and pounded on the door for as long as her hands could take it, then finally stopped. There was no point. It was after 11 p.m. now. Nobody was coming.

Slumping against the full-length mirror, Ava couldn’t help but feel sorry for herself. How could Xander not come looking for her? How could the ticket booth girls not have realized she was still back here?

The mirror seemed very cold on the back of her head, and as she sat against it for a minute, she soon realized why. A cold draft of air was coming from somewhere behind it. Which didn’t make any sense, as none of the walls inside the supply closet were part of the Clown Museum’s exterior.

Before she had a chance to investigate, she heard the door unlock. In a flash, she was on her feet again. Wildly, she looked around for some kind of weapon, in case it was Carlos Jones coming to kill her. But all that was within reach was an old aerosol can of L’Oréal Elnett hairspray sitting on the vanity table. It wouldn’t do much damage, though she supposed she could always spray it into the janitor’s eyes. The stuff did smell disgusting.

The door opened, and as she feared, it was Carlos Jones. Ava planted her feet and held up the hairspray, bracing herself for whatever was about to happen next.

“What are you doing?” The janitor seemed genuinely surprised to see her. “Park’s been closed for an hour. Everybody’s gone home. You’re not supposed to be here after hours without permission.”

Ava let out a sigh of relief. So he wasn’t going to kill her after all, and it had all been some kind of unfortunate accident. Feeling stupid for being so paranoid, she lowered the can of hairspray. “I got locked in. Thank god you’re here. I’ve been pounding on the door and nobody heard me.”

“I was next door, cleaning the House of Horrors. It must have been me who locked you in. I assumed you left early with the other girls. I’m so sorry about that. Hope you weren’t too scared.” He was staring at her intently, but Ava was beginning to realize that it was just his way. Like Anne-Marie said, he was harmless.

“I’m fine now,” Ava said. “I’m glad you came back. I really should get going.”

She checked her phone, and it was now eleven thirty. It was too late for the bonfire, but she could still potentially meet up with Xander at the beach. They could hang out for a bit, and then maybe he could drive her to Katya’s, where her friend would let her in through her back bedroom window whenever she got there. She reached for her backpack.

“By the way, your friend was here earlier,” the janitor said. “The tall one. He came by at eight o’clock looking for you.”

“He did?” Ava was confused. “Then why didn’t he come back?”

“Because I told him you went home.”

“Why would you do—” She stopped.

And then Ava knew. It was the light in his eyes, which had just changed from dull to sharp. It was the line of his posture, which had straightened, making him seem taller, somehow. And it was the way he was moving ever so slowly toward her in the tiny dressing room, when there was already nowhere to go.

“You know why,” Carlos Jones said. Even his voice sounded different than it had a moment ago. It was richer, smoother, more confident. “I know you like me. I see the way you watch me when I’m working. That’s good. I like you, too. I like you a lot.”

Instinctively, Ava backed up. “My mom’s waiting to pick me up,” she said, her tone firm. “She just got off work, and she’s waiting for me outside the main entrance, and she’s probably freaking out—”

“Your mom’s not here,” the janitor said. “Because you lied to her, didn’t you? You didn’t tell her about the bonfire, or your plans to hang out with your boyfriend. She thinks you’re somewhere else. Somewhere safe.” He smiled. “She’s not coming for you. Nobody is.” He took another step toward her.

“You stay away from me.” She backed up as far as she could. She was still holding the can of hairspray, and she held it up again.

“You’re very pretty, you know,” Carlos Jones said. His grin widened. “I don’t even mind the cracks in your face. You look like a dead little girl, and it’s kind of exciting, actually.” His hand went to his crotch, and he began massaging his penis through his coveralls. “Come on, take off that hoodie so I can see your tits. Then I want you to pull down your panties and spread your legs with your dress still on. I want you to lie still. Very still. Pretend like you’re dead.” His breath was coming faster, and his hand was moving in a solid rhythm, his erection clearly visible through the thick cloth. “Oh yeah. Oh yeah, this is turning me on. This is going to be fun.”

Opening her mouth, Ava screamed louder and longer than she ever had in her life. He reached for her, and she aimed the hairspray can and pressed the nozzle as hard as she could. But nothing happened. The nozzle was clogged and wouldn’t depress.

Carlos Jones grabbed her by the arm and they wrestled. The screams coming out of Ava were a new sound—on some level she was aware that she was the one screaming, but at the same time, it didn’t sound like her at all. She managed to yank her arm away, but he bumped up against her roughly, pinning her against the full-length mirror. She dropped the can of hairspray and it clattered onto the concrete floor.

“Why are you wriggling so much, baby girl?” His hot breath was in her ear. “You’re supposed to be playing dead, remember?”

“No.” It was all she could think to say. “No.”

“Shhhh.” The length of his body was pressed against her, and she couldn’t move. He wasn’t tall, but he was thick and muscular, and his body felt like a rock. He had both her wrists in one hand, and they were pinned above her head. “It’s better if you relax. It hurts more if you fight it. If you ask me nice, I’ll be gentle. This is your first time, isn’t it? Or do you let your boyfriend touch you wherever he wants, you dirty little girl?”

Ava had never felt so small or so helpless. She continued to writhe, but the more she did, the more he seemed to like it. His erection was right in the middle of her stomach, hard and terrible. “No,” she said in a smaller voice. “No.”

“Shhhh now.” He ran a long, wet tongue up the side of her neck to her earlobe, and then she felt it exploring the inside of her ear. “Just relax. It’ll feel so good if you relax.”

She screamed again, right into his ear, as loud as she could.

“Argh!” He pulled back, clapping one hand over the side of his head. “You fucking bitch!”

She tried to move past him, but he slammed her against the mirror, and it cracked against the back of her head. The world spun out, her vision narrowing into a small hole, and then her legs went out from under her. She slumped forward, the mirror crashing down around her. The wood frame came loose from the screws and it dropped to the floor behind her with a thud. She sat on the floor, dazed.

Carlos Jones was rubbing his ear. “You stupid little slut. Now you’ve made me angry. You like it rough, little girl? I can be rough. Oh, I can be very rough.”

She blindly grabbed for a shard of glass, her fingers closing around a jagged edge. It cut her thumb, but she barely felt it. “Don’t come near me,” she gasped, holding the shard out. “I’ll cut you, I swear I’ll cut you.” She made a wild slashing motion.

He looked down at her in contempt. “You’d cut your hand even worse than you’d cut me,” he said, but he stayed back.

He was probably right about that, but it was a chance she might just take. The hairspray can was in reach and she grabbed it again with her other hand, getting to her feet again. “You get out of my way. You get out of my way right now.”

A breeze hit her from behind, and she almost didn’t notice it, except it was very, very cold. It ruffled the bottom of her doll dress, and she chanced a quick look around. There was a door behind her. What the hell? The mirror had been covering a door this whole time? From the cold draft that was coming out of it—which explained why the dressing room was always so chilly—there had to be something behind it.