talk about it.”
“You were so young. And I thought that I was crazy,” Vickie said.
“I tried to tell my dad once and then I heard him talking to my mom and they were both worried that I was still troubled subconsciously by all the stuff that happened when I was a toddler. They wanted to have me like picked apart at some institute—and I was never a dumb kid, Vickie. They meant a loony bin. I never told anybody after that. Not my friends, not my teachers...not the priest. I didn’t tell anybody. I didn’t want to get locked up. And I knew that nobody else saw what I saw. But I did know that you saw him, too, because Dylan told me that he had a good time ‘haunting’ you, though he hitched a ride back up here on the train a lot.”
Vickie looked at him and nodded and actually managed a slight smile. She’d gotten Dylan to knock—mind over matter, he’d told her. He hadn’t been so good at first, but he’d learned to make noise rapping at the door. She’d always had a bad time when he thought that she was dating the wrong guy. He had no problem telling her, and—she was quick to discover—Dylan tended to be right in his character assessments.
“I see Dylan, yes, and he’s still my friend, and way back when, you really can’t possibly remember, but... Dylan kept us both from being killed.”
“I do remember,” he said. “Odd, huh? They say you can’t possibly remember when you were so little. But I guess, maybe... I always saw Dylan.”
“I didn’t, until that day. And then...after a while of seeing him, I realized that sometimes, I saw other ghosts as well. I think I realized it first when I was walking by a cemetery. Not that I’ve found that the dead really want to hang out in graveyards all the time.”
Noah looked at her somberly.
“Right—like, I mean, really, who would? I’m sure there are more fun places to be. But, you know, Agent Pryce sees him, too,” he said. “I know Griffin sees Dylan. He just can’t say anything. Maybe Agent Crow sees him, too. But I know for sure that Griffin does. And you know what?”
“What?”
“You need to ask him about it. Because it’s important. I know I’m a kid, and people don’t listen to kids, but... I think it’s going to matter. I think Dylan is going to help again. And I think you’re going to have to tell Griffin that you see Dylan. Because I know...”
“You know what?”
“I know this isn’t over.”
“Noah, your mom is fine, she’s going to be fine, and—”
“My mom will be fine. That’s not it, Vickie.”
“What is it, then?”
“Vickie, I’m afraid that it’s not over for you.”
* * *
Taker watched the news. He really hadn’t given a damn that a few of the women had been found alive. Why bother taunting the police and sending the clues if they didn’t want them to have some hope?
But this...
They’d found Chrissy Ballantine so damned quickly. How the hell...?
For a moment, he felt a rush of unease—almost bordering on fear.
Had he really learned his lessons well? Yes, always be on the lookout. Take care of cameras, know the lay of the land, know the victim, know timing, always wear gloves, never let the thrill—the rush of pleasure over a kill—get in the way of a controlled crime scene.
His unease suddenly turned to anger; his anger to raw fury.
He stared at the television screen.
Control. Care. Organization.
He waited until the rush of fury was gone, and then he dialed Under.
“The party is alive and swinging,” Under said.
“Yep, so... I think we need to find another cool party, huh? Have you checked out any?” he asked.
“I know just the place. You ready?”
“Hell, yeah. Time to dance!” Taker said.
Was he ready?
Absolutely. Oh, yes, absolutely. And this time...
This time, well, he’d just have to tighten up his “party” package.
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