They kill, p.26
They Kill, page 26
She continued like this, thoughts going around and around, mind like a dog chasing its own tail, catching nothing and getting nowhere. There was no good decision to be made here. She had only two choices, both of them bad. So she chose the one that would do the least bad for the most people, and god help her.
“I’ll do it.”
Corliss displayed no outward reaction to her decision. He stood, walked to a corner of the kitchen, and raised one of his hands. His fingers lengthened into ebon claws, and he slashed the air close to the wall. A line appeared, as if he’d made an incision in reality itself. He inserted his hands into the rift and pulled it open until it was wide enough for a person to step through. When she looked inside the rift, she saw the kitchen, only the view was opposite, like she was looking in a mirror, only one that didn’t reflect her or Corliss.
“I placed the rift here so it would be out of the way. If you succeed and restore your parents to life, they won’t accidentally blunder into the rift scar over here. Touching one can cause…unfortunate aftereffects.”
He looked at her expectantly, and she realized he was waiting for her to thank him. Well, he would have to wait until the goddamned sun burned itself to cold ashes.
Corliss scowled, but he didn’t make her lack of gratitude an issue.
“You have one shot at this,” he said, “and while this may sound like a joke, I assure you it isn’t: time is not on your side.”
She nodded to him, rose from the table, took a deep breath, and stepped through the rift.
* * *
When she was gone, Corliss sealed the rift and returned to the breakfast nook to finish his coffee. His own test, which had taken place so long ago he didn’t like to count the years, had been equally as cruel as the one Sierra was facing. He’d succeeded, although not without difficulty, and had become one of the Multitude. He’d never regretted the dark path he’d chosen, and he was rooting for Sierra. He believed she had what it would take to pass the last part of her test, provided she found a way to break through her façade of humanity and access the monster that everyone harbored inside them. She’d killed Mandy, which was strong evidence that his faith in her wasn’t misplaced, but she’d resisted violating the woman’s body at the end. That aversion to giving in completely to her darkest self troubled him. If she couldn’t give herself over to the monster inside her, she would fail.
No use in brooding on it, he decided. He’d know the outcome soon enough.
He sat back and sipped his coffee.
* * *
Sierra stepped into her parents’ kitchen and was momentarily disoriented. It was as if she’d walked toward the wall and had been turned around without realizing it. She looked behind her and saw the rift close. It didn’t disappear entirely, though. If she looked closely, she could see a slight shimmer in the air where it had been. That must be the rift scar, she thought. She didn’t go any nearer to it, mindful of Corliss’s warning about it causing unpleasant aftereffects.
At first the kitchen didn’t look any different than the one she’d left, and she wondered if Corliss was playing a trick on her. But then she noticed some things weren’t the same. Some of the items on the counters were different, most notably the microwave. Dad had gotten Mom a new one for Christmas last year, one that he’d purchased from Electronics Emporium at Stuart’s recommendation. It had all the latest technological bells and whistles, most of which her mom never used. But that microwave wasn’t here. The old one, a square white thing that looked like it was made in the Eighties, was still in its place. And the clock on it said it was 4:03 p.m. She hadn’t checked the time before she’d left the future, but that sounded about right. Corliss had said he’d send her exactly a year into the past, and he had – which meant she had little time to prevent Jeffrey’s accident.
Time is not on your side, Corliss had said. Talk about an understatement.
There were other signs she was in the past. The sky outside the kitchen window was dark, heralding the approach of what would turn out to be one hell of a storm. The house felt different too. There was a calmness to it, a placidity, and Sierra knew this was because this version of her parents’ home had yet to know violence and death. And if she succeeded, it never would.
She experienced an impulse to race through the house and check the family room, her parents’ bedroom, the stairs, and confirm for herself that there were no bodies or piles of gray dust. She almost did it, but then she heard the garage door opening. It was Mom and Dad. They’d gone out somewhere – maybe to pick up groceries for dinner – and had returned home. She figured it likely they were both in the car. Her parents liked to do things together, even running everyday errands. We enjoy each other’s company, her mother had once said. Sierra doubted her parents would enjoy entering their kitchen and seeing their daughter standing there, blood all over her. She wouldn’t be able to explain her presence, let alone all the blood, and she couldn’t afford to waste time.
She hurried to the front door – which was of course unlocked – opened it and stepped outside. A strong wind was already blowing, tearing leaves off the trees and tumbling them away, and the first drops of rain began to fall. Randall’s Town Car wasn’t on the lawn, and Stuart’s Camaro wasn’t parked at the curb. In a sense, they were, she supposed, just a year in the future.
She closed the door and started across the lawn. She glanced back in time to see the garage door close. Good. With any luck her parents would never know she’d been there. She walked straight across the street to the Kovachs’ house. She tried not to think about what she intended to do once she got there, tried not to think at all. Corliss had said her deepest self was cold and emotionless, and she intended to let it take the wheel for a while – if she could.
The rain was coming down steadily by the time she stepped onto the Kovachs’ porch. She appreciated the rain. Not only did it feel refreshing on her skin, it washed most of the blood from her face and hands. It was no help for the stains on her clothes, but she supposed you couldn’t have everything.
She stepped up to the front door and rang the bell. It was September, but she had an absurd impulse to shout Trick or treat! when the door opened to reveal Mrs. Kovach. She wore a white sweatshirt with a cardinal on the front, along with a pair of gray leggings.
“Sierra? What you doing out in the rain? Is something wrong?”
You mean aside from your husband murdering a lot of people – including my mom and dad – a year from now? she thought. Out loud, she said, “It’s important I speak to Mr. Kovach. Is he home?”
Erika frowned, not only because the request was so odd, Sierra thought, but because of how she looked. But Erika opened the door wider and stepped back to allow Sierra to enter her home. Sierra smiled gratefully and walked inside. Erika shut the door then turned to Sierra.
“He’s down in the basement.” She paused, and then added with an edge of distaste, “Working on his Chucks.”
Sierra could almost hear Erika mentally add goddamned before Chucks.
Sierra had never realized it before, but Erika didn’t like her husband’s hobby any more than the rest of Bishop Hill did.
“You can wait in the kitchen, and I’ll go down and get him, all right?”
“Thank you.”
Sierra followed Erika to the Kovachs’ kitchen, and she stood next to one of the counters while Erika went to the basement door, opened it, and started downstairs.
Now that she was here, Sierra didn’t know if she could go through with it. For one thing, she hadn’t counted on Erika being here. How could she kill Randall without also harming Erika, maybe even having to kill her too?
I should leave, she thought. I should run out of here and go to Jeffrey, beg him not to have dinner with Marc tonight, make him stay with me all night long so he won’t go driving in the storm. He’ll never encounter Courtney Marsh, never swerve into the ditch and launch his truck into the air like a fucking flying coffin.
But Corliss had told her if she attempted to contact Jeffrey, it wouldn’t work. He’d still get into his pickup, still drive out of town, still meet Courtney Marsh, still crash, still die.
You only have his word on that, she thought.
Corliss was running this whole show, this fucking test. He made the rules, and if he said the only way to save her brother was to kill Randall and the others, then that was it. She either did it or she didn’t, saved Jeffrey or allowed him – and all the people Randall, Mandy, Grace, and Stuart would kill in the future – to die.
There was a butcher’s block on the counter next to the stove. She gripped the handle of the butcher knife and slid it free. It might not be copper or have a Chuck on the handle, but she thought it would do the job. She hid the knife behind her back, faced the open basement door, and waited.
She heard shoes clomping up the basement steps, and then Randall emerged into the kitchen. He smiled broadly – of course – when he saw Sierra. He wore a brown flannel shirt and jeans, but otherwise looked the same as he would a year from now. Erika followed him out of the basement.
“It’s good to see you, Sierra!” Randall said as he approached her. “It’s been too long. You should’ve brought an umbrella with you, though. You’re soaked.” He turned to Erika. “Can we get her a towel?”
Erika’s smile was strained, probably by the way he said we when he clearly meant her.
“Sure.”
Erika left the kitchen, and Sierra was so grateful she could’ve cheered. Now that Erika was momentarily out of the way, she could do what she had to.
“So what brings you to our humble home on this stormy Monday?” Randall asked. He noticed her clothes for the first time, and he frowned. “Did something happen?”
Corliss had said the seeds of the monsters Randall and the others would become were already in them, but when she looked at Randall, she didn’t see a smiley-faced killer. She saw a well-meaning, if eccentric, older man who simply wanted to make the world a nicer place. How could she kill a man like that?
“Did Erika tell you what I was up to down in my secret workshop?”
He spoke brightly, his previous concern for her gone, as if it had never existed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Chuck.
“This is the first one of a new batch, fresh off the production line. I want you to have it.” He held it out to her. “Chuck says good girls don’t visit neighbors wearing dirty clothes.”
She brought the knife around and rammed it into his stomach. He let out an oof of air, and the Chuck fell from his fingers and clattered to the floor.
Sierra stabbed him three more times in quick succession before he collapsed. Then she knelt, put the blade to his throat, and set about carving him a second smile, this one permanent.
She was so intent on her work that she didn’t realize Erika had returned until she heard the woman scream.
Sierra rose and turned toward Erika, who stood staring at her husband’s dead body in horror, a neatly folded towel held in her hands.
“It’s all right,” Sierra said, gripping the blood-slick blade. “I know you won’t believe me, but I just saved a lot of lives.”
Erika gaped at her, then she dropped the towel, turned, and ran. Sierra pursued her without thinking, and she wasn’t thinking when she brought her down in the living room and did the same thing to her as she’d done to Randall. She was breathing heavily by the time she was finished, and when she stood, she looked down at Erika. The woman lay on her back, the cardinal on her sweatshirt now just one more splotch of red on the white.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kovach. But I couldn’t let you call the police. I couldn’t take the chance that they’d stop me before I can save my brother.”
Erika didn’t answer her, of course, but Sierra thought she might’ve understood if she knew the full story behind what was happening. Funny, she thought she’d feel…well, something after killing two people. Three if you counted future Mandy. But she felt no more than she did on that long-ago day when she’d hurled the toad high into the air. Maybe it would hit her later, but right now, she had more work to do. She needed a car, and she’d seen a wall mount for keys on the kitchen wall near the Kovachs’ refrigerator. She’d have preferred driving her Ladybug to using Randall’s Town Car, but she’d make do.
She hurried back to the kitchen.
* * *
Sierra’s apartment building was the next closest stop, and she drove there as fast as she thought she could without drawing a cop’s attention. If she got pulled over, she’d have a difficult time explaining the blood on her face, hands, and clothes, some of it Mandy’s, some of it Randall’s and Erika’s. The rain was coming down harder now, and she had the Town Car’s wipers running at high speed. Wind buffeted the car, and she had to fight to keep it from swerving.
Grace’s Lexus was in its usual parking place, but Sierra’s Beetle wasn’t there. Where had she been a year ago? Cleaning up after an afternoon class at ArtWorks? Maybe. She’d been in her apartment when she’d spoken to Jeffrey on the phone. When they’d argued. That she’d never forget. It was trippy to think that there was another her out there somewhere, one who was a year younger and didn’t know her brother was going to die this night. She envied that woman and wished she could go back to being her, if only for a little while. But you couldn’t go back – her current foray into the past excluded. You could only go forward.
She parked Randall’s car next to Grace’s, grabbed the butcher knife off the passenger seat, and got out. Again, the rain washed her face, hands, and weapon clean, but it did nothing for her soul. She knew that part of her would never be clean again.
She went inside the building, walked to Grace’s door, and knocked. After a moment, she heard Grace’s muffled voice.
“Who is it?”
Sierra concealed the knife behind her back and kept her face turned away from Grace’s peephole.
“Liquor delivery,” she said. “I’ve got two bottles of Maker’s Mark for you.”
A moment’s hesitation as Grace likely tried to remember if she’d placed an order for booze, but then she unlocked the door and opened it. She was smiling, but her smile faded when she saw who it was.
“Sierra?”
A year had made a real difference in Grace’s appearance. This Grace was an alcoholic, but she was still employed, still had her shit together, more or less. She was thin, but at a much healthier weight than the last time Sierra had seen her, and her face didn’t have the sallow complexion it would in a year’s time. Grace wore professional attire – a gray suit jacket, white blouse, gray slacks – and Sierra figured she’d just gotten home from work. Sometimes she left the bank a little early so she could get a head start on the night’s drinking.
This Grace had listened to Sierra complain about Jeffrey’s boyfriend from time to time, but she’d yet to comfort a Sierra who was grieving the loss of her brother. At this point, Sierra didn’t come over often, so Grace looked at her with a certain amount of puzzlement.
“Is something wrong?” she said.
“Everyone keeps asking me that,” Sierra said.
She brought the knife forward and stepped toward Grace.
* * *
When she was finished, she found Grace’s phone – which, ironically enough, was in her purse – and Sierra took it with her when she departed. She left bloody fingerprints on the doorknob, and probably inside the apartment too, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have time to clean up the scene. She had two more people to kill and not a lot of time to do it.
As she drove away from the building, she used Grace’s phone to call Stuart. He answered after the fifth ring.
“Hello? Who is this?” Stuart sounded guarded, suspicious.
“It’s Sierra.”
“Hey! I didn’t recognize the number you’re calling from.”
“Yeah, my phone’s on the fritz, so I had to borrow a friend’s.”
“Come on by the store, and I’ll set you up with a new phone, top of the line. I’ll even give you my employee discount.”
At this point in time, they’d only been dating for a couple months, and Stuart was still careful to conceal his need to control her. But she knew it was there, and she could detect a hint of it in his tone now. He wasn’t asking her to come by. He was telling her.
“Sounds good. I need to drop by the college first, so I might be a little while.”
“No problem. I’m not going anywhere. And after we get you set up with a new phone, you want to go have dinner or something?”
To Stuart, or something always meant fuck.
“I’d love to,” Sierra said. “See you soon.”
She disconnected and kept driving toward Riverbank Community College.
* * *
Sierra couldn’t remember what Mandy’s teaching schedule had been a year ago, but since she didn’t know where the woman lived, she thought the school was her best bet to find her. She had one thing going for her. She knew that Mandy had a tendency to stay late in her office on campus, grading homework and tests, answering emails, meeting with students, attending committee meetings. She was one of those people who believed in not going home until they’d completed the day’s work, all of it.
