kept thinking about him. The Tarot card flashed through her mind again, but she realized now she liked him-a lot. She was very glad he was her partner in all of this.
After fifteen minutes sorting out directions, they found themselves heading toward what they hoped was Tim Anderson’s house. The house was further out than they suspected and they drove at least 20 minutes before they came to a remote dirt road. There was no mailbox to mark the location and barely any sign anyone lived there at all.
“I hope this is right,” Quinn said, as he turned down the road.
Far in front of them they could see a house in the distance. It didn’t look like much. Just a small trailer parked directly at the end of the driveway.
“He’s paranoid all right,” Kate said. “He’s designed this to make sure he can see whoever is coming. He’s got to be our guy.”
“I just hope he’s useful,” Quinn said. “If he knew who Lord Halloween was, he probably would have mentioned it by now.”
“We need more information, more context,” Kate said. “We’ve read the letters, but I feel like there is more there. For some reason, Lord Halloween left this guy alive. I need to know why. If he’s a reporter, he also likely saved some of the good stuff.”
“The good stuff?”
“You know, the stuff you can’t print? The stuff that’s half rumor or part speculation. That’s the information we need.”
They got to the end of the road, parked and got out. That was when the gunfire started.
Kate and Quinn both dove behind the car as a series of gunshots dug up dust all around them.
“Get the fuck off my property!” a voice shouted.
More gunshots rang out. Quinn suddenly felt like he was in a war zone. He heard bullets slam into the ground all around the car. He actually started to laugh and Kate looked at him like he’d gone crazy.
“What the hell are you laughing about?” Kate asked. She wondered if Quinn was finally cracking due to the stress.
“I have the best time with you,” he said, smiling. “A madman broke into my home and tried to kill us both, and now I’m getting shot at. Believe it or not, I actually had a normal life before you came along.”
“Well, it’s not my fault,” she said. “You picked the wrong county to live in, Quinn.”
It took them a minute for them to realize the gunfire had stopped. They didn’t dare move.
“He could be moving to get a better position on us,” Quinn said.
“I don’t think so,” Kate said. “Whoever is shooting at us is an expert marksmen. He didn’t hit the car once from what I can tell and he’s shooting in such a way that there’s little danger of ricochet. He doesn’t want to kill us, just scare us.”
“Speaking personally,” Quinn said, “It is working.”
“We just want to talk to you!” Kate yelled.
The gunfire started again, hitting the ground on both sides of the car.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” Quinn said.
The gunfire stopped.
“Just go,” the voice said. “I don’t want to talk to any reporters.”
So he knows who we are, Quinn thought. He wasn’t surprised. Midge or one of the other people they talked to must have phoned ahead. He probably knew exactly why they were there. Which meant something else: he really was Tim Anderson.
Kate stood up and walked around the car. Quinn jumped up to stop her.
“What are you doing?” he said, trying to grab her to drag her back behind the car. She shook herself loose.
“You aren’t going to kill me,” Kate yelled.
A single gunshot rang out and a puff of dirt flew from the ground just by her feet.
“I will if I have to,” the voice called back.
Quinn tried to look at where the shots were coming from. He could just make out a shape behind an open window and something black, metal and ominous sticking through it.
“We’re not here for a story about you,” Kate said. “We’re here for what you know.”
“I don’t know anything about him!” the voice said. “You’re wasting time and putting me in danger.”
“You’ve always been in danger,” Kate said. “I have to find this guy.”
There was laughter inside the house. It sounded old and bitter.
“For what? A story? Because you want to play junior detective? Give me a break. You guys look about twelve.”
“My mother was Sarah Blakely,” Kate said.
Quinn stood beside her waiting to see if they would get shot. At least it would be quick-he hoped it would be quick. If Lord Halloween found them, that would undoubtedly be a slow and painful death.
There was a long pause.
“I just want to talk to you,” Kate said. “He’s hunting me again. I need to stop him.”
“You can’t,” the voice called back. “No one can.”
“Then I’m dead already,” Kate said. “So you can at least talk to me.”
There was another long pause. They waited for what felt like an eternity. Quinn thought he saw the shape by the window move and then the front door opened. A man walked out, about Quinn’s height with mouse brown hair. He was unshaven and looked older than the early forties that he was. Both Kate and Quinn walked forward.
The man looked tired. He wore old jeans with holes in them and a white t-shirt that showed off his beer gut. The rifle he carried in his hand added to the overall impression that he was little more than stereotypical white trash. But his eyes were a dark brown and he seemed to be looking everywhere at once, his eyes darting this way and that. It was unsettling and Quinn thought it made him look crazy. Which maybe he was.
The man laid the rifle near the steps and walked towards them. He looked like someone who expected them to try and attack him at any second.
Kate stuck out her hand and the man almost flinched.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Fillmore,” she said.
“Please,” the man said. “You already know who I am. The name’s Tim Anderson. And this is the last time I will ever introduce myself this way. Shall we go inside?”
The inside was cramped and dirty. Kate and Quinn sat in the living room looking at the sole decoration in the house: guns. Every different type of assortment hung on the wall. Quinn wondered if ammo was nearby and wouldn’t have been surprised if it was.
Anderson sat down.
“I wasn’t into guns before I met Lord Halloween,” he said. “But afterwards… Well, it seemed like a good idea to be prepared.”
Kate nodded.
“I got my first gun as soon as we moved,” she said. “After my Mom died. My Mom had never really wanted me to be trained on a weapon, but after she was gone, well, my Dad thought she would understand.”
Anderson nodded.
“How did you find me?” he asked.
“Tracked your writing style,” Quinn responded. “There’s an internet program…”
“The one Alexis wrote about?” Anderson said.
“Yeah. You still read the paper?”
“Every week,” he said. “I have to.”
“It would be your first sign that he’s returned,” Kate said.
Anderson nodded again.
“I’m going to save you a lot of trouble,” he said. “I don’t know who he is. If I did I would have told the police or died trying to kill him myself.”
“I know,” Kate said. “But I think his interaction with you is critical. The letters tell a part of the story, but not
