Vicious

CHAPTER TEN

Outside the sliding glass door, the handsome, husky blond deputy held his hands up in the air. Wearing the deputy’s cap—which came down almost over his eyes—Mattie stood in front of him on the porch. He pointed his finger at the deputy and kept his thumb extended. “You’re under a dress!” he proclaimed.

The deputy got a big kick out of this, but kept his hands above his head and played the part of the crook to the hilt.

Barely cracking a smile, the sheriff ignored the skit going on outside. He was a tall, paunchy man in his early fifties, with a thin grey mustache that had turned brownish-yellow at one corner—maybe from smoking a cigar or something. Hairy arms akimbo, he stood near the sliding glass door in the sunroom, beside a chair that had a basket of dirty laundry in it. At the top of the heap were Susan’s bra and a pair of panties. She might have been a bit embarrassed if she weren’t so worried right now about Allen’s disappearance—and that creepy man in the army fatigues who had paid them a visit earlier.

Sheriff Fischer seemed to think she was overreacting about Allen. After all, her fiancé had been gone less than two hours. “Ordinarily, he would have phoned you by now, right?” Fischer said. “You know, it’s too bad they yanked the landline phones out of this house when they converted it into a rental. And I’m sorry about the cell phone reception around these parts. But in some ways, it’s a blessing. Just imagine how many accidents we’d have around here with kids trying to maneuver these winding roads while yakking away on their cell phones and texting and Twittering and what have you.”

Sitting in one of the dining room chairs, Susan nodded. At Rosie’s earlier, she’d already given the sheriff a description of Allen, what he was wearing, and his car. He’d jotted it down and told her not to worry. They’d keep a lookout for him. “I’m sure he’s fine,” the sheriff had said back at the store.

He was saying it again now: “I bet, any minute, your fiancé will be pulling into the driveway in that fancy black BMW of his. In the meantime, I wouldn’t let this Peeping Tom business upset you, Ms. Blanchette.” He put a strange emphasis on the Ms.—as if after forty years he still hadn’t gotten accustomed to saying it. “I doubt it’s this fella you say followed you down from that McDonald’s in Mount Vernon—”

“Ah, it was an Arby’s,” Susan gently corrected him. “Why do you think—”

“Arby’s, right,” he nodded, interrupting her. “Nevertheless, we will keep our eyes peeled for this—” he consulted the notes he’d scribbled down at the store earlier, “Ah, red MINI Cooper you told me about.”

“Thank you,” Susan said. “But why do you think it couldn’t be this man who followed me from Mount Vernon? As I told you, he was awfully familiar and pushy….”

Sheriff Fischer tucked his little notebook in his back pocket, then cleared his throat. “Well, Deputy Shaffer and I had a good look around here, and there’s no sign of an attempted break-in. It’s obvious someone has recently been in the woods surrounding this house. But I don’t think he’s after you or your little boy. And I don’t think it’s this fella you’re worried about. Let me show you what I mean.” The sheriff turned and called over his shoulder. “Corey, would you like to come in here and join the adults? Bring in what you found.”

The blond deputy took the police cap off Mattie and put it on his own head. He reached for something on the porch step and lugged it into the sunroom. It was a big rock, at least ten pounds. The bottom of it was covered with dirt.

“What is that?” Susan asked, getting up from the dining room chair.

“It’s a mineral rock, a salt lick,” the deputy explained, setting it down on the sunroom floor—dirt side up. “Some hunters use them as bait to lure deer or antelope. I found this in the woods over there….” He pointed in the general direction of the forest bordering the driveway. “There was another one just like it about a hundred feet away.” Stepping toward the sliding door, he nodded at the forest on the other side of the house. “And if you check those woods south of here, you’ll find one just beyond that first set of trees near the water there….”

But Susan wasn’t looking toward the trees. She noticed the sheriff, staring at the basket of dirty laundry. His stubby fingers casually brushed against the top of the load, touching her bra and panties. He didn’t seem too conscious or sneaky about what he was doing—just curious.

Her mouth open, Susan numbly gazed at him. She thought about saying something, but just then he took his hand away and hooked his thumb in his pants pocket. He turned to gaze out at the section of forest bordering the bay.

“You see, ma’am,” the deputy was saying. “This guy’s obviously been using these woods as his own little hunting ground, and he—”

“What we have here, Ms. Blanchette,” Sheriff Fischer interrupted, “isn’t a stalker or a Peeping Tom. We have some amateur hunter who’s using this land unlawfully. And that’s a serious offense around these parts. But I don’t think you or your son are in any real danger.” He frowned at the mineral rock on the floor, then turned to his deputy. “Get rid of that thing. And then you can go, Corey.”

The younger cop seemed a bit perplexed. “Well, I can get around Ms. Blanchette’s car, but your prowler is blocking me in.”

With an impatient sigh, Sheriff Fischer dug into his pocket and tossed the keys at him. “Then move it, and park it back where it was after you’ve backed out.”

“Yessir,” the deputy muttered. He shoved the keys in his pocket and then hauled the rock out to the back porch. “Hey, want to help me carry this back into the woods, partner?” he asked Mattie. “Then you can ride in a police car….”

“Cool!” Mattie exclaimed, chasing after him.

Outside, Mattie let out a labored grunt as he put his hands under the rock, though it was clear the deputy was toting all the weight. “We’ll need to wash our hands after this,” the handsome cop was telling him as they moved down the porch steps together.

“Anyway, I doubt this hunter character will be back,” the sheriff said. “I saw what was left of that barrel you shot with the flare. If this joker was anywhere near there, he’s not about to make a return appearance. It’s kind of ironic, but most hunters I know don’t like being shot at.” He laughed at his own remark.

Susan tried to work up a smile.

“Anyway, you probably scared him more than he scared you.” Sheriff Fischer chuckled. “I’ll tell you who got the biggest fright. It was Chris over at Bayside Rentals. You really had him going with that e-mail you sent. He thought for sure you were a goner.”

“So did I for a while there,” Susan said. “I’m very grateful he called you.”

The sheriff nodded. “Well, you got to us first. In the meantime, Ms. Blanchette, I wouldn’t worry about your fiancé too much. I’m sure he’s close by. If he’s not in town, maybe he swung by the winery to surprise you with a bottle of wine. I know I wouldn’t stray too far if I had such an attractive lady waiting for me at home.”

“Well, thank you,” she said coolly. She might have been flattered if he hadn’t been touching her under-things two minutes ago.

“So—do me a favor,” Sheriff Fischer said. “Once your fiancé turns up, I’d appreciate it if you’d pop on over to Rosie’s and give us a call. Let us know he’s okay. If I don’t hear from you in a couple of hours, I’ll be sure to check in.”

Susan nodded. “I’ll do that, thank you again.”

“Can I ask for another favor?” He smiled and licked his lips. “You wouldn’t happen to have something cool to drink for a thirsty policeman, would you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Where are my manners?” Susan started backing toward the kitchen. “Would you like bottled water? I also have some Coke—Coca-Cola, I mean, and root beer.”

“A Coke would hit the spot nicely, thank you.”

She ducked into the kitchen and retrieved two cans of Coke from the refrigerator.

By the time she brought them into the sunroom, Mattie and Deputy Shaffer were back, shaking off their wet hands. “I rode in a police car!” Mattie announced excitedly. He wrapped himself around Susan’s leg.

“We rinsed off our hands with the garden hose, but you better give him the soap and hot water treatment,” the deputy recommended, grinning at her. “You don’t know what kind of cooties get on those salt licks.” The smile faded as he turned to his boss and gave him a set of keys. “The prowler’s back just where you parked it.”

Sheriff Fischer wordlessly took the keys and put them in his pocket.

“Um, here’s a cold drink for the road,” Susan said, handing them each a can of soda.

The deputy thanked her. Sheriff Fischer opened his Coke can, took a sip, and smiled at her. “Y’know, I can stick around—if you’re still a bit uneasy and lonely.”

Susan held Mattie against her. “Oh, I think we’ll be all right. I’d feel better if I knew you were out there looking for Allen. Besides, I’ve already taken up enough of your time. Thanks.”

They left by the back porch. Susan was glad to be rid of that sleazy sheriff, who made her skin crawl. She’d been so afraid he would insist on staying.

She led Mattie into the kitchen, propped him on a step-stool by the sink, and washed his hands thoroughly. “I think we’ll go ahead and have our lunch,” she said, with a glance out the window.

The deputy’s car pulled out of the driveway. But the sheriff’s car remained.

“Is Allen under a dress?” Mattie asked.

“What?” she asked, distracted for a moment. “Um, it’s under arrest, honey. And no, the police are just going to look for Allen, and tell him to hurry home, because we’re worried about him.” She dried off Mattie’s hands with a dish towel. “Will you be a good boy and wait for me on the back porch while I go down to the boat? I left our lunch in the little fridge there.”

Mattie nodded.

Susan looked out the window again.

The sheriff’s patrol car was still in the driveway. She couldn’t see if anyone was actually inside the vehicle. Why didn’t he go already? she thought.

Taking Mattie by the hand, she walked him out the sliding glass door to the back porch. He sat down on the bottom step, grabbed a long stick, and poked at the ground with it.

As she started down toward the dock, Susan turned back to wave at him. She saw the sheriff’s car was still parked beside the house. She noticed something else—the red Coke can sitting on the corner of the porch railing. It was odd that the sheriff would just leave it there.

Hesitating, Susan headed back toward the house—and the driveway.

The cop car finally backed out of the drive, just as she was about twenty feet away. Susan watched him use the turnaround and then continue out the driveway. She retreated toward the house.

“Bizarre,” she murmured. She glanced over at the Coke can on the railing again. “What a pig.” She reached up for the empty can, and felt it was near full. Baffled, she poured it out and then pitched the can in the recycling bin by the side of the house.

Susan shrugged it off and hurried down toward the boat. Stepping around the life vests they’d abandoned on the dock earlier, she climbed aboard, unlocked the cabin door, and went below. She’d shut off the power before, so the lights didn’t work. But the mini refrigerator was still slightly cold, so their lunch hadn’t spoiled. Susan stashed the Tupperware container of food and the Tuscan bread into the bin with Mattie’s toys. She managed to lug the bin up the stepladder to the deck and then locked the cabin door behind her. She glanced over toward the house.

For a second, her heart seemed to stop.

Mattie was gone. She didn’t see him on the back porch.

“MATTIE!” she screamed, dropping the bin. She almost tripped scurrying off the boat. It rocked back and forth, and the side banged against the dock. But Susan barely noticed. She raced up toward the house. “MATTIE, WHERE ARE YOU?” she cried. “MATTIE!”

“I’m here, Mommy!” he called, coming around from the side yard. He still had the stick in his hand, and he waved it at her.

Susan stopped and caught her breath. “Honey, I told you to stay on the porch!” she called wearily. “Now, wait right there….” Slump-shouldered, she returned to the boat to pick up the bin. She wished right now Allen would pull into that driveway “in that fancy black BMW of his.” And then, after the hugs, and screaming at him, and listening to his explanations, and more hugs, she could tell him, My God, what an afternoon I’ve had….

Susan carried the bin up to the house. Mattie was telling her how he’d seen a “reindeer” in the woods, and he’d gotten up to “look at it better.” But the animal had apparently run away when it had seen him coming. Susan figured with all the deer, elk, and antelope bait in those woods, there would be plenty more “reindeer” around, which was just fine by her—as long as she didn’t encounter that creepy hunter again.

She set the bin on the dining room table. “You can eat your lunch in front of the TV for a change, sweetie,” she announced. “So go pick out a DVD, okay?”

While Mattie ran into the sunroom to pick through the collection of Disney and Pixar DVDs she’d packed, Susan shut the sliding door. She locked it—just to be on the safe side.

Passing by the laundry basket, she noticed something. Her bra and panties had been at the top of that pile of dirty laundry. The bra was still there, but the panties were gone. Susan examined the heap of clothes, just to make sure the panties hadn’t somehow, miraculously, shifted among the rest of the things.

She thought about Sheriff Fischer touching them earlier, and how he’d asked for something to drink. But it turned out, he hadn’t really been thirsty.

He’d just needed for her to turn her back on him for a few moments—so he could take what he wanted.

“I’m opening the trunk now,” Jordan announced.

He stood in back of his Honda Civic, parked in the driveway by the cabin on Cedar Crest Way. Fortunately, Leo and Moira hadn’t come back yet. Jordan had already ducked inside the house and quickly found what he’d needed—a sharp knife, some rope, and a roll of duct tape, all of which he’d taken down to the basement. He’d been in and out of the cabin in less than five minutes.

Meeker banged on the inside of the trunk’s lid again. No one was likely to come by and hear him. The nearest neighbor was the woman Meeker claimed was his fiancée, staying at Jordan’s old family summer home a mile and a half away.

Jordan didn’t want Moira and Leo involved in this. Once he had Meeker in a secure location, he planned to pack their bags and set them out by the car. When Leo and Moira returned from their woodland walk, he’d insist they take his car and drive home. He’d claim he needed to be alone or pretend he was pissed off at them. Whatever it took, he’d get rid of them.

The skies had turned slightly overcast again. Jordan felt a chilly wind against his back as he stood by the car. In one hand, he had the car keys with the automatic opening device for the door and trunk. In the other hand he held Allen Meeker’s gun.

“I’m the only one around for about a mile,” Jordan announced over the incessant banging. Meeker wouldn’t stop hammering and kicking the inside of the trunk’s lid. “No one else can hear you, so you might as well stop all that noise and shit. Here, in case you don’t believe me…” Jordan yelled out: “I’VE GOT A MAN BOUND AND GAGGED IN THE TRUNK OF MY CAR! WON’T SOMEONE PLEASE COME HELP HIM?”

The banging and pounding stopped.

“See what I mean?” Jordan asked, staring down at the small trunk. “So like I told you, I’m going to pop the trunk now, and I don’t want you making any sudden movements.”

He paused a moment to let that sink in.

“I have your gun,” he continued. “And I won’t hesitate to shoot you or hit you over the head with it if you try anything. Got that? You want to get hit over the head again? I’m figuring you don’t. Tap once if you understand me.”

Jordan waited. A solitary thump came from the trunk.

“Okay, I’m going to open her up now,” he said. He pressed the button on the key-ring device. The trunk popped open a few inches—and stayed there.

Jordan shoved the keys in his pocket. His palm was sweating against the gun handle in his other hand. With a cautious step toward the back of the car, he pushed open the trunk’s lid all the way.

Curled up in the cramped space, Allen Meeker lay on his side. His face was crimson, and wet with perspiration and tears. The gag still filled his mouth, and his eyes seemed to plead with Jordan. Shifting a bit, he let out a sad, sickly moan. The jacket Jordan had used to tie his ankles together had come unraveled. Jordan couldn’t see if Meeker’s hands were still tied in back of him.

“Roll over on your other side,” he said, pointing the gun at him. “I see you freed your legs. I need to check if you managed to untie your hands, too.”

Nonplussed, Allen Meeker just stared back at him and blinked.

“Roll over!” Jordan barked.

Meeker nodded obediently, then turned to one side, contorting his body within the confines of the small trunk. He was trembling and looked so vulnerable in that awkward position. Jordan could see the twine, still taut around his wrists. His hands were red and slightly swollen.

Jordan put the gun to his head. “The last time I saw you was ten years ago,” he said quietly. “Remember, you said you had car trouble? Funny, isn’t it? That’s how I got to you today. I gave you car trouble. Do you remember, Allen? Do you recall waving at my mother and me?”

Jordan remembered all of it. His mother hadn’t slept well the night before, and her attempt to make pancakes in the shape of bunny heads was an utter disaster. She had never been much of a cook, and now kept burning the pancakes or screwing up the rabbit’s profile. She was trying so hard to make this mother-son weekend something special. Jordan ate her fourth attempt at a pancake and pretended it was scrumptious, even though it was a bit runny inside and one of the bunny ears had fallen off going from the spatula to his plate.

After breakfast, it was kayaking time—finally. Jordan had been looking forward to this since talking to his mother last week, when she’d said she’d bought a junior-size kayak for him. Jordan had been on sailboats and canoes before, but he’d never taken to the water on a kayak all by himself. This had promised to be a real adventure. The previous day, before their hike in the woods, she’d let him climb inside the small, yellow craft with the bucket seat—just to get the feel of it. He’d been disappointed he couldn’t take the kayak out on the bay, but—at least in his mother’s opinion—the water was too choppy.

The bay didn’t look much better that morning. The grey sky gave the water a dull slate color—except for the ripples of small, whitecapped waves. Roped to the dock, the yellow kayak teetered on the water. His mother made him put on the orange helmet and life vest, which was okay. But he was disappointed when she insisted he practice paddling while still roped to the dock. He couldn’t wait to take the kayak out on his own—on the open water. But she told him, “Just a little practice, kiddo, a few more minutes so you get the feel of it.”

He remembered her standing on that dock, in a pale blue pullover and khakis. Her blond hair was all windblown. When she took off her sunglasses, Jordan could see from her eyes that indeed she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Yet she still looked beautiful—especially when she smiled at him.

“Okay, kiddo, I’m letting you go,” she said, at last. She moved toward the rope securing the kayak and started to untie it from the dock cleats. “Stay close to the dock. And the minute I wave you in, you paddle back. Understand?”

“Yeah, Mom, I will,” he said. He would have agreed to anything at that moment. He just wanted to be out on the water.

Once he was on his own, it was a bit scary. The current quickly carried him away from the dock, and the small boat rocked back and forth. Biting his lip, he worked the paddle from side to side until he got a rhythm going and the craft moved more steadily.

“That’s it, kiddo! You’re doing great!” his mother cheered him on.

He risked taking one hand off the paddle to wave at her. The kayak teetered for just a few seconds, but he got it balanced again. Gliding farther away from the dock, Jordan watched his mom become smaller and smaller in the distance. Again, he took one hand off the paddle, just so he could look at his mother and pretend to hold her between his finger and his thumb. He had done that before, looking at people in the distance; and he often pretended to squish them. But he didn’t squish his mom. He just laughed, then starting working the paddle with both hands once more.

The cool wind whipped at him, and Jordan loved it. He glanced over his shoulder at the open bay. Out on his own like this, he felt so grown-up and powerful.

“You’re getting too far out now, kiddo!” his mother called. “Come on back a little….”

Jordan turned to look at her. That was when he saw the dark-haired man coming around from the driveway side of the house. He wore sunglasses, a black V-neck sweater, and jeans. He walked very quickly—as if at any minute, he might break into a sprint.

Jordan immediately thought of the elusive stranger who had been spying on them the previous afternoon and all through the night. Jordan had never really seen him, but his mother had. At first, she’d been so sure their stalker was a spy for his dad, and she’d been angry about it. But later, she’d just seemed scared.

“Mom!” he screamed, “Behind you!” He took one hand off the paddle again—so he could point to the stranger. He kept stabbing his finger in the air, but she didn’t seem to understand. She didn’t turn around.

“Come on in, Jordan! That’s too far!” She waved him in.

All the while, her back was to the man. Jordan could see him, heading down the sloped yard with that strange, determined, brisk gate. He moved so fast, his face was just a blur.

Waves jostled the kayak, and Jordan started paddling again—toward his mother. “Mom, look out behind you!” he yelled.

She must have heard him that time, because she suddenly swiveled around.

The man waved at her—and then at Jordan, out on the water. “Sorry to bother you folks!” he called in a friendly tone, advancing toward the dock. “Maybe you could help me. I have some car trouble….”

Even from a distance, Jordan could see his mother’s body become rigid and tense. She took a step back as the stranger approached her. He was saying something to her, but Jordan couldn’t hear it. But he saw the man’s charming smile, and the way his mother seemed to relax a little. Jordan kept paddling toward them. “Mom?” he called. “Mom, what’s going on?”

She turned to look at him, a smile on her face.

Jordan noticed something in the man’s hand, but he was too far away to see what it was. The man hauled back—almost like a pitcher about to throw a fastball.

“Mom!” Jordan screamed.

She spun around in time to ward off the blow. But he hit her arm with that thing he had. It might have been a blackjack, Jordan wasn’t sure. His mom let out a stunned cry.

For a moment, Jordan couldn’t move. Trembling, he gripped the paddle, but held it against his lap. The brisk, cool wind kicked up around him, and the kayak started to teeter. But he was paralyzed—until he felt the front of his pants grow warm and wet. Then he was like a little kid, suddenly waking up once he’d wet the bed. Jordan started screaming, and he paddled furiously toward the dock. “Mom, hold on!”

But she was so far away. “Please, no, wait—wait,” she cried, recoiling from the man. She was holding on to her arm. Jordan could tell she was hurt. “If you want money,” she said. “My purse is in the house—please—”

Tears in his eyes, Jordan kept paddling. The kayak rocked violently as it surged toward the dock. Cold water from the bay splashed him and sluiced inside the craft’s bucket seat. But he was still too far away.

Helplessly, he watched his mother struggle with her attacker. The man knocked her down with one blow. Her sunglasses flew off her face. Jordan heard a thud as she collapsed on the dock. But she got up again and began to pummel the man with her fists.

“Goddamn it, bitch, that’s enough!” the man yelled. He grabbed her by the injured arm and yanked her toward him. She shrieked in pain.

Jordan continued to paddle frantically—though his shoulders and back ached from all the effort. The dock seemed just out of reach. He was still too far away to save his mother. All he could do was scream as loudly as possible—anything to distract or delay this stranger who now had his mother in a choke hold. He raised the blackjack above his head again.

“Jordan, help—”

Those were the last words he heard his mother say. The man brought the bludgeon down on Jordan’s mother’s skull, and she suddenly went limp. He caught her before she crashed down on the dock’s wooden planks.

“No, no, no, no!” Jordan shouted. But the man didn’t even glance his way. He pulled something out from the back of his sweater and casually tossed it on the dock. Then he lifted Jordan’s mother in his arms, turned, and carried her up the back lawn toward the driveway at the side of the house. He looked like a groom, carrying his limp bride toward a threshold. They disappeared behind the hedges bordering the driveway.

Jordan was crying. He was so close to the dock, but not quite there yet.

By the time the kayak rammed into the dock pilings, he heard a car revving up and tires screeching. There was no time to secure the small craft. The kayak almost tipped over as Jordan jumped out of it. Staggering onto the dock, he shed the helmet and life vest. He spotted his mother’s sunglasses on the wooden planks and, beside them, something the man had left: a rubbery old Kewpie doll of a smiling sailor boy.

Jordan snatched up his mother’s sunglasses. There was something inside him that thought he might be able to give them back to her.

He ran up the sloped backyard as fast as he could, toward the driveway at the side of the house. But the only car he saw there was his mother’s.

Racing inside the house, he went for the phone in the kitchen, the same one his mother had used the night before to call the police. But when he took the receiver off its cradle, there was no dial tone. He cried out in frustration, then bolted upstairs to her bedroom and tried the phone on her nightstand. It was dead, too.

Panic-stricken, Jordan scurried back down the stairs and flung the front door open. Rushing outside, he saw the phone line at the side of the house was cut.

The cabin on Cedar Crest Way had no phone. Their neighbor on the bay was actually closer, but not by any paved road or path. It was a mile through a muddy, overgrown forest on the water’s edge. Jordan didn’t even know if they had a phone. But he had to try.

He plunged into the thicket, hoping to find a path, but it was as if no one had ever ventured through those dense woods before. Jordan kept looking through the trees at the bay to get his sense of direction. He tried to run along the water’s edge, but it was just sludge that swallowed up his feet—up to his ankles. Racing through those impenetrable, muddy woods, he thought he might never find the neighbor’s house. All the while, he couldn’t stop crying. He couldn’t stop thinking about what that horrible man might be doing to his mother.

It seemed like forever, but eventually, the ground beneath his feet became harder, and the forest thinned out. Jordan stumbled upon a gravel road and followed it to a frame-style house with big picture windows and a deck across the second floor. Sitting on a hill, surrounded by trees, it looked out at the bay. Jordan didn’t see a car in the carport by the house. Staggering up to the front door, he banged on it. His face and hands were riddled with scratches. Bay water, mud, and his own urine soiled his pants.

No one came to the door. He started screaming and pounding harder and harder.

The rest was a blur. Jordan didn’t remember cutting his hand when he broke a window in the back of the house and climbed inside. He had no recollection of phoning the police. And he could only take their word for it when they said they found him on the front stoop of the empty house. They said he was sobbing, half-covered in mud, and in his bleeding hand he held a pair of sunglasses.

They found his mother thirty-six hours later.

The casket remained closed at her wake. So Jordan’s last glimpse of his mother had been from a distance, when he’d watched her executioner carrying her away.

And despite some false alarms, he never saw that man again—until today.

“Do you remember my mother, Allen?” Jordan asked, pressing the gun against his silver-grey temple. “Or have you forgotten her, after all the others you’ve killed?”

Contorted in that awkward position inside the small trunk, Allen Meeker could only respond with a confused, pathetic whimper. He seemed to be choking on the rolled-up handkerchief in his mouth.

Jordan reached for the gag. “Go ahead and scream all you want,” he said. “There’s no one around to hear you.”

He carefully pried the handkerchief from his captive’s mouth.

Allen Meeker let out a raspy sigh. “I won’t scream,” he whispered. “I—” But he couldn’t finish. He started coughing. His face became even redder. Every time he tried to take a breath or talk, he choked and began hacking all over again.

Jordan gave the rope around his wrists a tug, just to make sure it was still tight. Then he went around to the driver’s door and found a half-full bottle of Evian on the floor of the backseat. Returning to his captive, Jordan tossed the bottle into the trunk and helped him turn around to a sitting position. He kept the gun on him the whole time, but the man didn’t seem to notice. He was still coughing uncontrollably.

Jordan stepped back to unscrew the water bottle cap. That took two hands, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near his prisoner—not even for a few seconds—unless he had the gun ready. Once he opened the bottle, he came in closer again with the gun trained on Meeker. He put the bottle to the choking man’s lips. Meeker gagged on the first gulp, but then drank greedily. Jordan had recently seen someone lift their dog up to a drinking fountain in the park, and that was how Allen Meeker guzzled this water. It dripped from his mouth and cascaded along his neck, but he kept swigging it down.

Meeker finally turned his head slightly, and Jordan pulled the bottle away. “Please,” he gasped. “Could you—could you splash some on my face? I’m burning up.”

“I can’t, you drank it all,” Jordan replied, frowning.

“Listen, if you want money, you can—you can take my wallet,” the man said, still trying to catch his breath without coughing. His voice was hoarse and gravelly. “There’s only—only about a hundred bucks—”

“I already have your wallet,” Jordan interrupted. He was thinking about his mother, begging the man to take her purse.

“You can have my car,” Meeker said, closing his eyes in a pained way. “It’s a BMW; it’s nice. The keys are in my pocket.”

“No, they’re not. I took them and drove your car into a swamp.”

Meeker gaped at him. “Are you fucking crazy? Good God, what’s wrong with you? Why are you doing this?”

“Why did you kill my mother?” Jordan quickly retorted. He stuck the end of the gun barrel under the man’s chin, then grabbed him by the arm and hoisted him toward the edge of the trunk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Meeker protested. “If you—if you really think I’ve killed someone, why don’t you call the police? I mean it, please, take me to the police station! I have people worried about me, my fiancée and her little boy.” Even with Jordan pulling him, he had difficultly climbing out of the trunk. “What you’re doing here is insane,” he continued. “You’re just getting yourself into a lot of trouble. Believe me—you’re making a horrible mistake.”

“Is that a threat?”

“God, no,” he replied. “Listen, I’m sorry about your mother, but—but I don’t even know who she is….” He faltered once his feet hit the driveway. “Jesus, my legs are cramped up,” he sniveled, leaning against Jordan. “I’m sorry….”

Meeker staggered back like he was about to fall, but then all at once, he slammed his body into Jordan’s, full force.

The gun flew out of Jordan’s hand. He reeled back and landed on the paved driveway. He fell on his ass, and it hurt. But he’d encountered much worse during a normal lacrosse practice. Jordan sprung back to his feet and leapt for the gun.

Allen Meeker obviously had no use for it right now. He scurried up the driveway—in the other direction. “HELP ME!” he screamed. “SOMEBODY HELP ME! GET THE POLICE….”

He must not have been completely lying about his legs, because he hobbled as he ran. Then his feet suddenly seemed to give out from under him. He slid to one side. With his hands tied behind him, there was no way to break his fall. He went crashing down into some bushes along the driveway. He cried out in pain and tried to roll over.

Jordan slowly walked over to him, the gun drawn.

Defeated, Allen Meeker gazed up at him from amid the crushed bushes. Scratch marks and the bloody gash on his cheek from the earlier fall marred his handsome face. Tears mingled with the sweat running down from his brow. “Please…” he whispered.

“You say you don’t know who my mother was?” Jordan asked, standing over him. “Haven’t you figured it out by now, Mama’s Boy? My mother was Stella Syms, your seventh victim. And you killed her less than a mile from here.”