Kill Her Again

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By the time she reached the arcade tents, he was nowhere in sight.

Pausing near the patch of ground where he had been standing, Anna noted two crushed cigarette butts in the dirt. If they were his, it meant he’d been standing there for quite a while.

Had he been waiting for her?

Continuing on, she moved between two tents and emerged at the far end of the football field. More tents, about a half dozen of them, were lined up along the right side of the field with a wide aisle between them, flaps closed and tied down for the night.

Anna had been to enough carnivals to know exactly what was behind those flaps. Ring toss, balloon darts, shooting galleries, milk bottles-games all designed to take your money and give you nothing in return.

When she was a teenager, one of her boyfriends had known how to beat them all and she’d had a room full of cheap stuffed animals to prove it.

Moving down the aisle, she searched the grounds, but saw no sign of the man in the red baseball cap, wondering now if she had only imagined him. At the rate she was going, that certainly wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.

But assuming he wasn’t a figment of her imagination, who, then, was he? Could he be the same man from her visions? The one who was terrorizing the little girl?

And, if so, how was he connected to this case?

Down the center of the field were the food booths. Smaller canvas tents and gaudily painted trailers that promised caramel apples, snow cones, hot dogs, and cotton candy. A few of the tents were sponsored by local businesses and the PTA.

As a young child, Anna had spent a weekend working in a carnival food booth, alongside her mother, who had been the leader of Anna’s Bluebird troop. They’d worn matching blue and yellow uniforms, selling hamburgers and chili fries to Anna’s classmates and their families.

Two years later, her mother was dead.

Turning now, Anna moved into the adjacent aisle, searching the shadows for any sign of movement.

The left side of the field held the carnival rides, all eerily dormant in the early-morning darkness. Ferris wheel, carousel, Tilt-A-Whirl, miniature roller coaster, and a couple of newer rides she’d never seen before. All were painted in vibrant reds and yellows and oranges-although some of that paint had faded over time and no one had bothered to slap on a new coat.

Once again feeling the sensation that she was being watched, Anna swiveled her head toward the carousel, about fifteen yards away. All she could see were the painted ponies, half-hidden in darkness.

Yet the feeling persisted.

Stopping in her tracks, she kept her gaze steady, waiting. The world seemed to have gotten very quiet. The commotion behind her, the carny encampment under siege, was little more than a faint murmur now.

Then, after a long moment, something inside the carousel moved. A subtle shift in the waning darkness.

Was he in there?

Reaching to her side, Anna pulled her Glock free from its holster and raised it, pointing it toward the shadows. “You,” she said. “Lock your hands on top of your head and come out.”

No response. No movement. Nothing.

“FBI. Lock your hands on top of your head and come out. Now. ”

Still nothing.

Anna inched closer, about to chalk all of this up to her overworked imagination, when she spotted something in the dirt just three yards away. A small object, made of plastic.

Checking the carousel shadows for movement again-and seeing nothing-she holstered her Glock and stepped over to the object, crouching down to take it in her hands.

A pink My Little Pony.

Just like the ones on Kimberly’s bedspread.

Anna knew it could have been dropped by almost anyone over the last several days, but she didn’t think so-and a renewed sense of dread washed through her as she thought about the significance of the toy.

Had it been placed here for her to discover?

Was the man in the red baseball cap telling her that he had “Chavi?”

The voice rose from the shadows behind her.

Startled, Anna jumped to her feet and spun, ripping her Glock from its holster again, pointing it toward a patch of darkness near one of the food booths.

Was he in there?

“FBI,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Come out. Slowly. Hands raised.”

“Is it you, Chavi?”

The voice had a vaguely European lilt. English was not his first language.

“I’m not gonna ask again,” Anna told him. “You’re interfering with a federal investigation. Show yourself.”

No response. Not even a hint of movement.

Then, from off to her right: “I’ve made mistakes, Chavi. Many mistakes. More than I can count.”

Anna jerked toward sound of the voice, pointing her weapon at the Tilt-A-Whirl. It seemed to be coming from one of the cars now.

“But in the end, I always find you. I always will.”

Suddenly feeling very vulnerable, she stepped backwards, retreating into the shadows near the carousel.

“Who are you?”

“You don’t know me? You don’t remember?”

“Cut the bullshit. Where’s Kimmie? What did you do with her?”

“Ahhh,” the voice said. “She was another mistake. And after all the trouble I went through to find her. All the blood I shed. That poor mother fought quite hard to protect her child.”

Anna stepped forward again, straining to see him, her finger brushing the trigger.

“But not to worry. Each mistake I make brings me closer to the one I seek.” A pause. “Am I closer now?”

“Just tell me what you did with Kimmie, you freak. Where is she?”

“Where they all are, of course. With the angels.”

The voice came from the left this time, near the Ferris wheel. Disoriented, Anna turned again, trying to pin him down. “What are you telling me? You killed her, too?”

“Freed her,” he said. “I freed them all.” Another pause. “But what about you, Chavi? Are you a mistake?”

“Why do you keep calling me that? Who’s Chavi?”

There was a long moment of silence. Then:

“The girl who stole my soul.”

The voice was directly behind her now. Something touched the left side of Anna’s rib cage and a jolt of pain ripped through her. Losing her grip on the Glock, she fell to the ground, her body spasming violently.

Stun gun. She’d been hit by a stun gun.

The man in the red baseball cap stepped out of the shadows and stood over her, his face obscured by the bill of the cap.

Crouching beside her, he reached out and touched her head. Smoothed her hair.

His breath stank of cigarettes.

“Is it really you, Chavi? Have I found you again?”

And all Anna could see was his crooked yellow smile.