Angel Fire - Lisa Unger [79]
She heard Jeffrey’s voice but couldn’t make out what he was saying. He had his professional voice on—the one that made everyone jump, the one that accepted no excuses and no hesitation. She always envied him that. It seemed to come so naturally to him, as if he were born with an authority that no one questioned.
She was not afraid. It was more like every atom in her body was buzzing with electricity. She scanned her memory for strange faces, things that had caught her attention fleetingly but were dismissed, a car she’d seen more than once. Anything that could have been a warning. But there was nothing. She would not have missed something like that. She knew it. He was watching her from the periphery of her life, just out of sight but close enough to touch. And she hadn’t even known it.
She thought about the name again. It had been bothering her—there was something about it. She grabbed a pen and paper from the drawer in the coffee table beside her and wrote the name again; she started rearranging the letters. When she realized, it was so simple, she almost laughed. “Vince A. Gemiennes” was an anagram for “Vengeance is mine.”
“Unbelievable,” she muttered.
What were the odds? Her mother had died at the hands of a serial killer and now she was being stalked by one. Maybe there was some genetic coding that marked her as a victim. The thought made her shudder. Jed McIntyre had chosen his victims because they were so valuable to the people who loved them—their children, specifically. This bastard chooses them … why?
Shawna, Maria, Christine, and Harold were strangers, ghosts in this world. Unconnected. Disposable. But there was some reason the killer had wanted vengeance on them. They were religious people, though. They went to church. But there was something she was missing. Something so obvious. “O Righteous God, who searches minds and hearts …”
The fact that he had taken such a risk in coming to her house was an indicator that he was losing control of his desires. He would start making mistakes now. And she was there—waiting for him, like he’d waited for his victims. And he’d pay, the way she’d always wanted to make Jed McIntyre pay. I am nobody’s fucking victim.
But she was so tired. It was too much … the anniversary of her mother’s death, a second house call from a serial killer, and now Jeffrey. She felt as if her head and her heart were going to explode.
One by one they left, the cops, the technicians, the photographer. Everyone had hoped that the killer had jacked off in the bedroom, leaving behind some good DNA, but no such luck. Lydia remained on the couch in the dark, staring out the window into the black night sky. Finally, when they were alone, Jeffrey joined her. He sat down beside her and opened his arms to her and she slid into their protective fold. She told him about the name.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said.
“About …”
“What they have in common.”
“And …?”
“Well, they were religious to a degree, right? But they all committed actions that could be considered sins. All of them could have been considered sinful people.”
“O Righteous God, who searches minds and hearts, bring to an end the violence of the wicked and make the righteous secure …” Jeffrey recited the message on her mirror.
“Yes.”
“God forgives sins.”
“But maybe our killer doesn’t.”
“And he takes their hearts because …”
“Because their hearts are false, because they are untrue to God.”
“Jesus.”
“Does he think I am untrue to God? Has he seen me at the church but thinks I write of godless things? That I’ve done sinful things?”
“I don’t know.”
“I have, you know.”
“It’s all right.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. As long as I’m alive no one will ever hurt you. I promise you that. I swear to God.”
She didn’t want to tell him about the things she’d done, the faceless men she’d sought to bring some ridiculous semblance of love into her life. She didn’t want to tell him how alone she’d finally realized she was and how much she needed him. And how she still missed her mother