Halloween is back. After a 12-year absence, Virginia’s most-wanted serial killer had returned, from the dead no less, as the man police had pinned the murders on had long since died.
None of this was news to Quinn, of course. But journalism is a pack business and the pack followed the major news outlets. The Loudoun Chronicle could have reported a month ago that the killer had returned, but it wouldn’t matter until the bigger papers got a hold of it. Once they did, only then would the story exist.
(I wonder why the press conference hasn’t started yet?) Kate asked.
(Not sure,) he replied. (Maybe Brown wants to make a grand entrance?)
(Could be,) the voice came back. (But I’m not sure it is needed here.)
Kate was not at the press conference-she was in fact sitting across town at her computer trying to read something on the Internet. If Quinn closed his eyes and concentrated he could see it, as she could do likewise. That this now seemed natural was the weirdest part. In just two days, Quinn almost could not remember what it had been like before. Kate was just always there, in his head, and if that might seem scary to some, it was immensely comforting to them both.
It was as if you constantly had your best friend on a cell line with you. But better. He did not need to say anything out loud, but could just think it. And the speed with which they could communicate was unbelievable. Better still was that they did not need to find words to describe how they were feeling.
The other just knew. They felt it too.
In fact, the only really odd moment had come the first time one of them went to the bathroom. But they had solved that problem quickly. It turned out that they could block the other one out-have a private thought in other words-if they wanted to. But aside from bathroom time, neither had found any reason, or desire, to do that.
(Laurence wants you to ask him about Kyle,) Kate’s voice came in his head.
(Yeah, I heard him tell you to call me,) Quinn replied.
(I didn’t think you were paying attention. You were thinking about sex again.)
(I can multitask, you know.)
(I know. This is just different. I think multiple thoughts in my own head all the time. But it’s kind of strange when I’m hearing someone else’s.)
(I understand completely.)
(I thought we agreed we aren’t going to think about sex anymore.)
(Yes, we did. But I’m a guy. It is a hard thing to shut off.)
(I know, but we agreed for a reason. No sex for fear of scary guy riding horse. That clearly triggered it last time.)
(I’m down with the plan, honey. I’m just saying: if you are going to listen to my thoughts, you have to know that I will think about sex a lot. It’s just there.)
(I know. The problem is then it gets me thinking about it, too. Damn. This will be a vicious cycle.)
(I know, I know. We will figure this out. We will figure out how to beat this. We’ll beat the trial and take it from there.)
(What if there is no there? What if we lose?) Kate asked.
(We won’t lose.)
(How can this feel so natural? Why doesn’t this feel more invasive?)
(I guess for the Prince of Sanheim thing to work the two of us have to be able to function comfortably together.)
(You talk about it-okay, think about it-like it is some design. Like somebody really thought this through before creating it.)
Quinn thought of the man standing on the hill, the one from his dream.
(You think he designed it?) Kate asked.
(I’m not sure. I’m not sure he really is who he wants me to think he is.)
(Why is he helping us?)
(He wants something.)
(What?)
(I really don’t know.)
It had been a hellish few days. They had practically had to force their way out of Bluemont hospital. Doctors had insisted they wanted to keep him under observation. The local police had questions about how a horse had attacked the local hotel, but Quinn and Kate had claimed total ignorance. They had arrived back in Loudoun County to find another reception of police, who wanted to know where they had been, when they had been attacked and why they hadn’t reported it any earlier. Quinn had been disturbed to find that while the rest of the reporters had checked in, Kyle had not. They feared the worst. In fact, Quinn expected it.
Sheriff Brown walked into the room. He looked pale, haggard and approximately 20 years older than when Kate and Quinn had seen him just a few days before.
(He looks like shit.) Kate said.
Quinn just nodded and watched the man slowly walk to the podium. He clearly didn’t want to be there. Which was odd in a way, Quinn reflected. This was a guy who loved attention, who savored the moment when Loudoun was big time news. But Quinn supposed even Brown had his limits.
(There is something more to it than that, Quinn. Look at the way he is moving. I wonder…)
But Brown had now ascended the platform. Flashbulbs went off. Quinn could hear the distinct whir of the TV cameras recording every second of it. For a moment, Quinn felt bad for Brown, who faced what must have appeared like a pack of wolves waiting to eat him alive.
“Thank you all for coming,” Brown began. “I apologize for being late. We at the Loudoun County Sheriff’s department are very reluctant to communicate with suspects in the following fashion, but we have been asked, and I have reluctantly agreed, to make an exception. I wish to make the following statement: Lord Halloween has returned. Please take all precautions necessary to guard your loved ones. No one is safe.”
For a second, you could hear a pin drop. Then more flashbulbs went off and there was a bustle of activity as reporters started scribbling on paper.
“That is all I have to say for now,” Brown said. “I wish to make it clear that we made the preceding statement at the request of an individual who has said this is the only manner in which he will communicate with us. We do not wish to start any kind of panic. The department is doing everything it can to make this county safe for everyone. We are working around the clock. We urge everyone to be cautious and to report anything out of the ordinary to the police.”
Before he could even finish, the questions started.
“Did Lord Halloween leave you a note or has he contacted you by phone?” Summer asked. Quinn had not even noticed she was there.
“All communication with this individual has been through notes,” Brown replied. “I’m sorry, but I cannot take more questions…”
But the dam had been broken.
“Is it the same murderer that terrorized the county 12 years ago?” she asked.
“How many people has he killed so far, Sheriff?” another reporter said.
“How are you assuring the safety of the county, Sheriff?”
But it was Quinn who stood up and raised his hand. Brown, who clearly wanted to leave and had already started to walk out, paused when he saw Quinn’s hand in the air.
(He knows what you are going to ask him.)
Slowly, Brown nodded.
“Sheriff, I recognize that you are normally reluctant to comment on on-going cases,” Quinn began. He licked his lips before continuing, acutely aware that he did not want to know the answer to the question he was going to ask. “But on behalf of his colleagues, we wondered if you believe Kyle Thompson’s disappearance is connected to this case?”
One of the other reporters gasped. Quinn knew without looking it was Summer.
Brown paused and seemed to draw a large breath.
“Quinn, it is very difficult to answer that question without commenting on other cases,” Brown began. “But I’ve just spoken with your editor. It’s the reason I was late.
“For those of you who don’t know, Kyle Thompson was a reporter for the local paper here. He covered the
