She cruised along, watching for the man. There. Up ahead. The unmistakable trench coat. He ran towards the end of the block. Beyond that was some woods and then the creek bed that would eventually lead to a sewer drain. She had to be quick.
She accelerated, gunning the engine.
She zeroed in on him; shooting him again would be useless. The bumper caught him and he rolled up on the hood. Hit the windshield and it shattered. She swerved right and sideswiped a parked minivan.
Maria stopped the car and hopped out.
The man was sprawled on the ground, flat on his belly. He didn’t appear to be breathing, but that didn’t mean much. He’d taken multiple gunshots and it hadn’t slowed him down. She didn’t know if he was alive to begin with.
She approached him, the Glock trained on him.
It was no surprise when he got to his hands and knees. Jesus, what was it going to take to kill this guy? He got to his feet and picked the knife up off the ground. He staggered toward Maria, quicker that she would’ve liked.
She fired. Didn’t slow him. He tried to drive the knife into her chest. It dug into the vest, but didn’t penetrate. She pointed the barrel of the Glock under his chin; she pulled the trigger. Something rotten and black exploded out of the top of his skull. He slumped forward against her, the stink of him making her gag.
She backed up and let him fall to the ground.
Maria watched him. She radioed in her location. This time, he didn’t stir. After a few minutes, two patrol cars came screaming onto the scene.
Chris’ funeral had been the worst day of her life. That had been a week ago, and her eyes were still raw from crying. Now, she was sitting on her bed and listening to Metallica’s “Fade to Black.” Chris had loved that song, and listening to it was like rubbing lemon juice in a cut.
Dad popped in her doorway. He was between meetings. He was leaving for Dallas in the morning. “How you doing?”
She took her earbuds out. “Lousy.”
“First loves are tough to lose.”
“Really?”
“What?” he said.
“We didn’t break up dad, he’s dead. You were at the funeral.”
“Just saying, it’s awful, but there’ll be other guys.”
“You really kinda suck at this,” she said.
“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m your father.”
Hope said, “You don’t act like one. Don’t you have a flight to get ready for?”
“I’m just trying to help and you’re being pissy,” he said.
“I’m fine. Please go.”
“Let’s talk,” he said.
“Don’t want to. Thanks.”
“I’m here if you need me,” he said.
“I’ll just lock the house up, don’t worry.”
He shook his head as he walked away. “I just don’t get you sometimes.”
She cranked the music louder.
Even though the killer was dead, she didn’t feel that great about being alone in the house. It still felt creepy. They never found those two missing boys, or the rest of the jogger that had been killed. She’d definitely be sleeping on the couch with the television on while her father was gone.
Maybe she’d keep a knife nearby, just in case.
It was officially one week to go before school started. Dad was on his flight to Dallas and Hope was washing the egg-crusted plate he’d left behind.
The doorbell rang. She grabbed a dish towel and dried her hands. Went to the front door and saw the detectives standing on the porch. She’d had enough of answering questions; she’d gone over the attack at Chris’ house tons of times.
Hope opened the door. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Good to see you Hope,” Detective Greco said.
“Can we come in?” Martz said. She had a sutured scar on her wrist that would look at home on Frankenstein’s monster.
“More questions?”
“You’re off the hot seat, I promise,” Greco said.
“Cool. C’mon in.”
“Is your mom or dad home?” Martz said.
“I just have dad. He’s in the air somewhere over the southwest,” Hope said.
“When’s he coming home?” Greco said.
“He’s gone for three days.”
“He leave you alone a lot?” Martz said.
“I watch a lot of Netflix,” Hope said. “I have to do the dishes. What did you need to tell me?”
The detectives exchanged a look. They both looked nervous. Not a look you wanted to see from cops.
“What is it?” Hope said.
“The man who killed Chris – some people are calling him The Walking Man – his body disappeared from the morgue,” Greco said.
“So? Some sicko probably took it.”
“Normally I would think what I’m about to say is crazy, but I think he left on his own power,” Greco said.
“Do you believe that, Detective Martz?” Hope said.
“I put multiple rounds in him. So did Detective Greco. Didn’t hurt him. That wasn’t natural,” Martz said.
“There were murders back in 1968. I talked to one of the detective’s kids. His father, Rogowski, passed away in 2014, but he went to his grave swearing he saw evidence of a corpse walking out of the morgue.”
It didn’t seem so crazy. In fact, it was sending a chill through her. “That’s kinda creepy.”
“It might be nothing, but there was a mark on your house. Ours too,” Greco said.
“Do you have family that can stay with you for a few days?”
“Just my dad,” Hope said.
“You want company?” Greco said.
“I don’t really want to stay alone.”
“I’ll come keep an eye on the place until your dad gets home if that’s okay. I can talk to your father about it. Keep you safe,” Maria said.
“You’d do that?”
“Sure. Just until this blows over.”
As the sun began to set, Hope went around and double-checked the locks. The house gave an assortment of creaks and groans,
