A Perfect Evil (Maggie O'Dell Novels) Read online

“I’m trying to quit.”

  “Me, too.” She smiled at him. See, they did have something in common. She could do this, couldn’t she? By now her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she could see him. She wondered if it would have been easier if she hadn’t been able to see him. He looked so cool and calm, his arm stretched out over the cracked seat. She needed to stay cool and calm, too. Maybe she could, at least, keep the situation from getting violent. “Do you really know where Timmy is?”

  “Maybe,” he answered in a puff of smoke. “What are you willing to do to find out?” He moved his arm across the seat until his stubby fingers brushed her hair, then wandered across her cheek, swooping down to her neck.

  “How do I know this isn’t just some trick?”

  “You don’t.”

  His fingers slid under her coat collar, unbuttoning and pulling the coat open until he could see her blouse and skirt. Her skin crawled under his touch. It was difficult not to grimace. Even the nicotine couldn’t help.

  “That’s not really fair, Eddie. There has to be something in it for me.”

  He pretended to look hurt. “I would hope your incredible orgasm would be enough.”

  His fingertips brushed across her breasts. It was all she could do to stop from slamming her body against the side of the car, bolting from his reach. Instead, she sat perfectly still. Don’t think, she told herself. Shut off. But she wanted to scream when his hand fondled her breast, squeezing her nipple, watching and smiling at it growing hard and erect under his touch.

  He put out his cigarette and scooted closer so that his other hand could assault her thigh. The stubby fingers slithered up, and she watched as they disappeared under her skirt. She refused to part her thighs for him, and this time he laughed, his breath sour in her face.

  “Come on, Christine, relax.”

  “I’m just nervous.” Her voice quivered, and he seemed pleased. “Do you have protection?”

  “Don’t you use anything?” He shoved his hand between her thighs.

  “I haven’t…” It was hard to think with his rough gropes. She wanted to throw up. “I haven’t been with anyone since Bruce.”

  “Really?” His fingers poked at her, pulling at her underwear to allow him access. “Well, I don’t use condoms.”

  She couldn’t breathe. “I’m afraid we can’t do this if you don’t.”

  He obviously mistook her breathlessness for excitement.

  “That’s okay,” he said, running the fingertips of his other hand over her lips and pushing his thumb into her mouth. “There’s other things we can do.”

  Her stomach lurched. Would she throw up? She couldn’t…couldn’t afford to make him angry. He reached down, unzipped his trousers and pulled out his erect penis. It snaked out of his pants, long and thick. He took her hand. She snatched it away. He smiled and took it again, wrapping her fingers around him and squeezing his hand over hers until she could feel the bulging vein throbbing alongside it. He groaned and leaned back.

  She couldn’t do this. There was no way she could put her mouth on him.

  “Do you really know where Timmy is?” she asked one more time, trying to remind herself of her mission.

  He closed his eyes and his breathing rasped. “Oh baby, squeeze and suck me real good, and I’ll tell you anything you want to hear.”

  At least his hands were off her. Then she remembered the cigarette in her other hand, the long ash lingering at the end. She took another draw until the end glowed red-hot. She squeezed him, digging her nails into the hard thickness.

  “What the fuck!”

  His eyes flew open. He grabbed for her hand. She shoved the flaming cigarette into his face. He howled, reeling against the door and swatting at his scorched cheek. She reached around him, grabbing the door handle. His hands snapped around her wrists, immediately letting go when she slammed her knee up into his erect penis. He sucked in for air. She scooped up the beer bottle, and when he grabbed for her again, she cracked it across his head. Another howl, a high-pitched, inhuman screech. She scooted to her side of the seat, anchored her back against her impenetrable door. She brought her knees up, and with all the strength she could gather, slammed her high-heeled feet into his chest. Eddie flew out the door.

  He sprawled in the snow and dirt, but was getting to his feet when she pulled his door shut, locking it and checking the other doors. He pounded on the glass as her fingers fumbled with the keys in the ignition. The Chevy sputtered to life with one try.

  Eddie climbed onto the hood, screaming at her and kicking at the windshield. A small crack raced across, spreading into a spiderweb. She threw the car into reverse and slammed on the accelerator, sending the car careening backward, almost into the ditch. Eddie flew from the hood. He scrambled to his feet as she shifted into Drive and floored it, skidding recklessly from ditch to ditch, sending gravel spitting.

  Then the car plunged down the winding road into a hole of black. The headlights. She grabbed at knobs, sending the wipers swishing and the radio blaring. She looked down for only a second, found the knob and lit up the road, just in time to see the sharp curve. Even with both hands twisting the steering wheel, it wasn’t enough. Both her feet slammed on the brake, and the car screeched as it flew across the snow-filled ditch, through the barbed-wire fence and into a tree.

  CHAPTER 81

  Nick watched the dark church in the rearview mirror as the Jeep bounced over the deep tire tracks, the only things identifying the deserted road.

  “You sure you didn’t see a light?”

  Maggie glanced over the back of the seat. “Maybe it was a reflection. There is a moon out tonight.”

  The wood-framed church looked dark and gray, disappearing from the rearview mirror as he took the sharp turn up into the graveyard. Now to his left, he stared at the church again. It was set in the middle of a snow-covered field with tall, brown grass stabbing through the white. The paint had peeled away years ago, leaving raw and rotting wood. All the stained-glass windows had been removed or broken and boarded up. Even the huge front door deteriorated behind thick boards that were haphazardly pounded in at odd diagonals.

  “It looked like a light,” Nick said. “In one of the basement windows.”

  “Why don’t you check it out. I can wander around here for a while.”

  “I only have one flashlight.” He leaned over, careful not to touch her, snapping open the glove compartment.

  “That’s okay, I have this.” She shined the tiny penlight into his eyes.

  “Oh, yeah. That should show you a lot.”

  She smiled, and suddenly he realized how close his hand was to her thigh. He grabbed the flashlight and made a hasty retreat.

  “I can leave the headlights on.” Though at this angle they shot into the trees, over the rows of headstones.

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t understand why they always build graveyards on hills,” he said, switching off the headlights. They both sat still, neither making an effort to leave the Jeep. There was something more she was thinking about. He’d sensed it ever since they left his office. Was it Albert Stucky? Did this place—this dark—remind her of him?

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said too quickly, continuing to stare straight ahead. “Just waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark.”

  A fence surrounded the graveyard, twisted wire held up by bent and leaning steel rods. The gate hung on one hinge, swinging and clicking back and forth though there was no wind. A chill slithered down Nick’s back. He’d hated this place, ever since he was a kid and Jimmy Montgomery dared him to run up and touch the black angel.

  It was impossible not to notice the angel, even in the black of night. At this angle, looking up the hill, the tall stone figure hovered above the other tombstones. Its chipped wings only made it more menacing. His memory was of Halloween, almost twenty-five years ago. Then suddenly, he remembered that tomorrow was Halloween. And, although it was silly, he s
wore he could hear the ghostly groans again. The pained, hollow moans rumored to seep from the tomb the angel guarded.

  “Did you hear that?” His eyes darted over the rows. He flashed on the headlights, realized he was being ridiculous and snapped them off. “Sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding Maggie’s eyes, though he could feel them studying him now. Another bubbleheaded move like that and she’d be wondering why she’d invited him along. Thankfully, she said nothing.

  As if reading each other’s minds, they reached for the door handles at the same time. Again, hers clicked.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “I’ve got to get that fixed. Hold on.”

  He jumped out and hurried around to open the door for her. Then he stood silently by her side, mesmerized by the spot of moonlight caught on the angel’s face, radiating a glow almost as if from within.

  “Nick, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” How could she not see that? He pulled his eyes away. “I’ll just go…I’ll check out the church.”

  “You’re starting to spook me.”

  “Sorry. It’s just…the angel.” He waved a hand at it, streaking its surface with the light from his flashlight.

  “It doesn’t come to life at midnight, does it?”

  She was making fun. He glanced at her. Her face was serious, only adding to the sarcasm. He started walking away, heading down the road to the church. Without looking over his shoulder, he said, “Just remember, tomorrow is Halloween.”

  “I thought we canceled that,” she yelled back.

  He didn’t let her see his smile. Instead, he kept to his path, following the tunnel of light he created. Without the wind it was unbearably quiet. Somewhere in the distance a hoot owl tested its voice, receiving no reply.

  Nick tried to stay focused, to ignore the blackness pressing against him, swallowing him with each step. It was ridiculous to let those old childhood fears creep into his gut. After all, he had crossed the dark cemetery that night. He had touched the angel while his friends watched, none of them attempting to follow. He had been reckless and stupid even back then, more afraid of what others would think than the consequences of his actions. Yet, if he remembered correctly, the earth hadn’t opened up and swallowed him, though it had felt as if it would at the time. There had been that ghostly moan. And he wasn’t the only one who had heard it.

  On this side of the church, the side that faced the old pasture road, there were no footprints. Which meant Adam and Lloyd hadn’t even bothered to get out of their vehicle. They simply had driven by, so they could honestly say they had checked. He wondered if they’d even stopped. He didn’t blame Adam. The kid was young, wanted to make a good impression, be a part of the group. But Lloyd…damn it. Lloyd was just lazy.

  Nick kicked at the snow and plodded through the unbroken drifts. He crouched at one of the basement windows and shined light through the rotted slats. There were crates stacked on crates. Movement in the corner. His light caught a huge rat escaping into a hole in the wall. Rats. Jesus, he hated rats.

  He made his way to the next window and suddenly heard the crack of wood. It cut through the black silence. He shot light at the plugged windows ahead of him. He expected to see something or someone smashing through the rotted wood.

  Another crack, then splintering of more wood and the tinkle of broken glass. It must be around the corner. He tried running. The snow slowed his feet. He extinguished the flashlight. His hand pulled at his gun—once, twice, three times—before he unsnapped the restraint. The noises continued. His heart drummed against his rib cage. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t see. He slowed as he approached the corner. Should he call out? He held his breath. Then he rushed the corner, pointing his gun into the blackness. Nothing. He snapped on the flashlight. Wood and glass lay scattered in the snow. The opening was no bigger than a foot wide and high.

  Then he heard bursts of crunching snow. His light caught movement disappearing into the trees—a small, black figure and a flash of orange.

  CHAPTER 82

  Maggie concentrated on the ground, looking for any breaks in the snow or freshly dug holes. Timmy had disappeared after the snowfall. If he was here, the snow would be disturbed. If a tunnel existed, where in the world would the entrance be?

  She glanced up at the black angel perched on what looked like an above-ground tomb. Weather had chipped at the facade, leaving white wounds. It stood high above everything else, four to five feet tall. The wings spread out, protecting the tomb beneath, an ominous creature exuding power simply with its presence.

  Maggie’s penlight searched the engraving: In memory of our beloved son, Nathan, 1906-1916. A child, of course, that was the reason for the guardian angel. Her fingers dug deep into her jeans pocket until she felt the chain and found the medallion at the end. Her own guardian angel, which she kept tucked out of sight. Did the same power exist for skeptics? Yet, how much of a skeptic was she if she still carried the thing?

  A breeze swirled up out of the trees that lined the back of the graveyard. The huge maples were the beginnings of the thick woods that led down to the river. She tried to imagine frightened runaway slaves navigating the steep decline without the aid of flashlights or lanterns. Even with the sliver of moonlight and sprinkling of stars, the black overwhelmed.

  A flapping sound came from behind her. Maggie spun around. Something moved. The tiny penlight picked out a black shadow sprawled on the ground at the end of the rows. Was it a body? She approached slowly. Her hand crawled inside her jacket and rested on the butt of her revolver. She recognized the black tarp, the kind used to cover freshly dug graves. She sighed, then remembered the graveyard hadn’t been used in years. Wasn’t that what Adam had told her? The adrenaline started pumping.

  The tarp was down the hill, close to the tree line. Only a few headstones existed on this side. Here, she could no longer see the Jeep or the road, only a piece of the church roof in the distance.

  The tarp looked new, no cracks or worn patches. Rocks and snow anchored the corners, but one corner flapped free, its rock set aside. Set aside, not blown aside, not by tonight’s slight breeze.

  She realized her hands were sweating, despite the cold. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, too fast, too hard. She should wait for Nick, head back to the Jeep and wait. Instead, she pulled the loose corner and whipped the tarp aside. She didn’t need extra light to see. Underneath was a door, narrow and long, thick wood rotting around the hinges and caving in slightly in the middle.

  Again, she stopped and glanced up the hill. She should wait. Remember Stucky, she scolded herself. Then, suddenly, she remembered the note, “I know about Stucky.” Was this another trap? No, the killer couldn’t possibly know she’d come here.

  She paced, staring at the door. Another quick glance. Her heart pounded too loudly for her to think. She needed to calm herself. She could do this.

  She grabbed the edge of the door. There was no handle. She pulled and yanked until it gave way, but it was heavy, straining her muscles, splinters threatening her fingers. She dropped the door, got a better grip and tried again. This time she swung it open. The musty odor slapped her in the face. It was filled with decay, wet earth and mold.

  She searched the black hole but couldn’t see beyond the third step with her penlight. It would be ridiculous to go down with such poor lighting. The pounding of her heart continued. She pulled out her revolver and was annoyed by the tremor in her hand. She glanced back up the hill one more time. Silence. No sign of Nick. She descended slowly into the narrow, black hole.

  CHAPTER 83

  Timmy skidded down into a prickly bush. He had heard the stranger close behind, felt the flash of light on his back. He didn’t dare stop or look back. He kept a hold of the sled, no matter how awkward. His breathing came in spastic gasps. Branches grabbed at him. Twigs slapped him in the face. He stumbled, did a little dance and kept from falling. He tried to keep quiet, but the snaps and cracks were explosions he couldn’t prevent. He couldn’t see his feet in the
black. Even the sky had disappeared.

  He stopped to catch his breath, leaned against a tree and realized in his rush he hadn’t put on his coat. He couldn’t breathe. His teeth chattered. His heart exploded against his chest. He wiped at his face and discovered more blood, as well as tears.

  “Stop crying,” he scolded himself. Han Solo never cried.

  Then he heard it. In the black silence he heard branches snapping, snow crunching. The sounds came from behind him, close and getting closer. Could he hide, hope the stranger would pass right by? No, the stranger would surely hear the massive pounding of his heart.

  He ran recklessly, tripping over stumps and smashing through the thicket. A twig swiped at his cheek and ripped at his ear. The sting brought fresh tears. Then suddenly he felt the ground slip out from under him. A steep decline forced him to grab on to a branch, a rock, anything to keep from sliding down. Below, he saw the glitter of water. He’d never make it. The woods were too thick, the ridge too steep. The cracking of branches was even closer now.

  He noticed a clearing to his right. He climbed over the rocks that blocked his path, hanging on to tree roots with one hand while clutching his sled with the other.

  It wasn’t much of a clearing. Instead, it looked like an old horse trail, a path worn into the woods but now overgrown with spindly branches, alien arms with long, thin fingers waving to him. As far as Timmy could see, the path went all the way down to the river, with a few sharp turns. It looked like something from one of his video games, narrow and dangerous and clogged with heaps of snow. The snow made it impossible to climb without sliding. It was perfect. Of course, it was also reckless and crazy. His mom would have a fit.

  A crack close behind made him jump. He crouched in the snow and grass. Even in the dark he saw the shadow crawling down, clinging to the ridge, his back to Timmy. He looked like a giant insect, tentacles outstretched gripping roots and jutted rocks.