It seemed obvious to Lee there was a lot more to it than that.

  “We need to talk to him again.”

  He turned in the chair and glanced out the window at the gray-tinged sky. The sun was still visible above the horizon, but night was definitely beginning to fall in Willow Springs. Not for the first time, he was regretting his early departure from the second crime scene, if “crime scene” was even the correct terminology in this instance. There had been no obvious signs of forced entry, nor had the Everlys reported anything stolen. Lee wasn’t fooling himself on that count, though. There was no mistaking the sinister intent in the placement of those pumpkins, nor was there any point in ignoring the likely connection to Lloyd McAfee’s murder.

  But his irritable bowels had started acting up partway through the interview with Chuck Everly and he’d been forced to excuse himself and hightail it back to the department building. Times like that, the occasionally entertained notion of early retirement became a more tempting prospect than usual. Though it pained him to admit it, he was on the verge of no longer being fit for the job.

  One thing he would absolutely not do, however, was bail on the department and his town before apprehending the madman behind McAfee’s murder. Capturing that sick fuck would at least be a decent capper to his legacy.

  “Fuck it. I’ll swing by there on the way home.” Lee smiled. “Maybe I’ll even check in on that looker across the street, see what I can shake loose there.”

  Acker shook his head. “They’re not gonna be there. The Everlys, I mean.”

  Lee frowned. “Well, shit, where will they be?”

  “Hotel in town. They’re all too spooked to spend the night in their own house. Can’t blame them, really.”

  Lee sat forward in the chair, making it creak again as he leaned his bulk against the edge of the desk. “He tell you which hotel?”

  “He did not, but I’ve got his cell number right here.”

  Acker flipped open his notepad again.

  Lee took his phone out of his shirt pocket. “Let me have it.”

  Acker read off the number.

  Lee punched it in and put the phone to his ear.

  9.

  Six days until Halloween

  Hooperville, TN

  When Sally Ann Wilson regained consciousness, she was tied to a chair in Brad Oliver’s living room and had a strip of duct tape stretched across her mouth. At first she was deeply confused about her situation. The last thing she remembered was sitting in a darkened movie theater with Brad, the two of them groping each other and making out in their seats at the back of the theater while intermittently laughing at the vapid movie playing on the screen. If not for Brad’s prudish attitude about sex in public places, she would have gone down on him right there in the mostly empty auditorium.

  The thought triggered an associated memory, one from after the movie. Recalling her failure to goad Brad into having sex with her in his car, she experienced a fresh flicker of the anger she’d felt then, but it faded rapidly, overwhelmed by the severe ache in her head. A side of her head felt wet with something sticky. It kind of felt like a clump of slowly coagulating blood in her hair.

  But why—

  The thought cut off as her vision began to sharpen. As her surroundings came into focus, she was gripped by a sudden burst of panic, which in short order blossomed into full-blown terror. The transition began when her brain belatedly registered the sight of a man sitting in a straight-backed chair directly across from her. It was the same kind of chair in which she was sitting. Both had been taken from the dining table. The man was wearing the clothes Brad had worn for their movie date, but now the front of the white shirt was stained a dark crimson. She couldn’t see the man’s face because a jack-o’-lantern had been wedged down atop it. The man wasn’t moving. His head was slumped forward. He looked like he might slide off the chair at any moment.

  More memories cut through what remained of Sally Ann’s post-concussion fog. Her eyes widened and she screamed behind the strip of duct tape as those moments of sudden violence and terror replayed in her head. She tried to rise from the chair, but she was unable to do so. She could scarcely budge a muscle. But maybe she could topple the chair over by rocking side to side. The wood frame might splinter on impact. This seemed unlikely, but if it happened, she might be able to kick her way free of the debris and her bonds and try to escape.

  She was on the verge of attempting to do just that when a tall, slender man clad all in black entered her field of vision from her right and moved into the space between the chairs. He had something in his hands. It was dark and glossy. At first this only deepened her confusion. She thought some kind of small animal was cradled in his palms. The idea of a murderous maniac bringing a pet with him to the scene of a crime made no sense to her. Not that any of what was happening made sense. She couldn’t think of anyone who hated her—or Brad—enough to do something like this. The only explanation was that they were random targets, which only made it worse. This wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything to warrant this. Nor had Brad, despite his general lameness.

  The killer had taken off his ski mask. He had dark, haunted eyes, pale skin, and sharp-angled features, with a long, narrow nose that looked like it had been broken once and set badly. He had a wavy shock of black hair styled in a sort of neo-pompadour.

  He smiled thinly as she met his gaze. “Hello, Susan. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  Sally Ann just stared at him.

  Either this guy was even crazier than she’d imagined or she was the victim of the worst case of mistaken identity in recorded history. In the event of the latter, however, it really didn’t matter at this point. Even if she could convince this lunatic he had the wrong girl, he couldn’t let her live after what she’d seen him do to Brad.

  This thought sparked a moment of sickening awareness.

  Oh, shit. This is it. I’m about to die. This is the last day of my life. Oh, shit.

  Tears rimmed her eyes and she began to plead with the man from behind the gag. A part of her knew begging would do no good, but not trying it wasn’t an option. Still smiling, the man shook his head and made shushing noises. He stepped closer and spread his hands slightly. A piece of the glossy object he was holding drooped downward. Finally, she saw it for what it was. The thing in his hands was a jet-black woman’s wig, Bettie Paige style with short bangs in front.

  Once again, confusion briefly cut through her terror, distracting her.

  A wig? What the actual fuck?

  The man came closer still and began to lift the wig above her head. Sally Ann held her breath as he leaned over her, settled the wig atop her head, and wedged it awkwardly into place. It didn’t seem to fit her head well, but the rapturous look on the killer’s face when he stepped back to appraise his work strongly suggested he didn’t care. The effect was good enough to suit his purposes, whatever those actually were. Sally Ann experienced a passing desire to check herself out in a mirror and see how she looked. She had occasionally toyed with the idea of dyeing her blonde hair black. A guy had once told her she’d be a dead ringer for Megan Fox if she did it. But then the crazy man started talking again and the ridiculous notion went away.

  “I’ve missed you, Susan. You have no idea. You’re still all I can think about sometimes, even after what you did to me. You’re still the prettiest girl I ever saw, you know. And I’ll always love you, no matter what. I just want you to know that.”

  Sally Ann had no doubt this sad sack psycho’s love for the true object of his desires had been of the unrequited variety. She had no idea who this Susan person was, but right now she kind of hated her. If the bitch had ever at least thrown the guy a mercy fuck, this psychotic breakdown he was having might not be happening. The thought was perhaps slightly hypocritical of her. After all, she’d spurned the affections of numerous creepy losers in her time. One particularly pathetic guy had even stalked her for a while, but he’d been too much of a cowering little shit to ever present a real threat.

  Or so she’d believed.

  Maybe this scary asshole was what ultimately became of that kind of guy after a lot of years of disappointment and things generally not working out. Sally Ann studied the killer’s face a little more closely and decided he was probably somewhere in his late thirties. Not really old yet, but entering middle age. His bent nose and sharp-angled features were too severe to qualify as anything close to traditionally handsome. Putting herself outside the context of the current murder and weirdness scenario, Sally Ann knew she never would have given him the time of day, not even if they’d been closer in age. But she thought there were probably girls out there who might have been receptive to overtures from this guy, at least in his younger days. It was possible, though, that he’d spent his undoubtedly wretched life shooting for something out of his league.

  So maybe he was still a virgin.

  Sure, it seemed unlikely at his age, but it wasn’t entirely out of the question, especially if he’d never lowered his expectations and settled for a homelier girl than this Susan he was so fixated on. Sally Ann tried to imagine going her whole life without ever getting laid. Not just at her current age, but deep into a hypothetical future when she was pushing forty. The idea chilled her, an austere, joyless life of never knowing the pleasures of the flesh. Something like that might well fuck up a person enough to do crazy things. She figured there were probably other factors that had pushed this man beyond the breaking point, but she had a strong feeling intimacy deprivation was a big part of the equation.

  As she continued to study his face for clues as to his mental state, she abruptly realized he was doing much the same with her. He was watching her very closely, perhaps searching for something in her that reminded him of Susan, something that might imbue the fantasy playing out in his head with a deeper sense of reality.

  The man smiled. There was a tinge of sadness in the expression. “I know what you’re thinking. Some of it, anyway. And I know you’re not Susan. I’ll see her for real before the end of the week, though. The thing with the wig is pretty weird, I admit, but there’s a reason behind it. I’m practicing for the real thing. I want to feel steady in heart and mind when I talk to her again and I thought a bit of roleplaying might help. My former therapist was a big fan of the technique. If I remove the duct tape from your mouth, will you promise not to scream?”

  Sally Ann nodded.

  The man smiled again as he stepped closer. “Good. This will hurt a little, but I’ll try to be gentle.”

  He was true to his word as he slowly, carefully peeled the strip of tape from her mouth. When he was done, he let it flutter to the blood-spattered floor.

  Sally Ann coughed and cleared her throat. “I can pretend to be Susan if you want. What’s your name? I need to know what to call you. It’ll make the roleplaying better. More realistic.”

  The man shook his head. “You don’t need to know my name.”

  Sally Ann felt a small flicker of hope at this statement. Maybe he didn’t want to tell her his name because he planned to let her live. It seemed unlikely. She could easily identify him, after all, thanks to his distinctive features. But it was something to hold on to, at least.

  She made herself smile, investing it with a hint of sultry playfulness. “You know, if you cut me loose from this chair, we could have some fun together.”

  “Are you saying you’d have sex with me?”

  Sally Ann nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. And I’ll make it good, the best you’ve ever had.”

  He swept a hand in the direction of Brad’s slumped-over body, which looked even closer to sliding out of the chair now. “And you’d really do that, even after what I did to your friend?”

  Sally Ann’s fear returned as she stared at the limp form in the chair. She had felt contempt for Brad in some ways while he was alive, but she’d had sex with him often during their brief time together. She’d enjoyed that aspect of their relationship very much. His prudishness aside, he’d been a decent if sometimes boring guy. A normal guy, more importantly.

  Pretty much the exact opposite of this freak, in other words.

  Sally Ann started crying again.

  The man nodded. “That’s what I thought. No, we won’t be having sex. Besides, I’m saving myself for Susan.” He glanced again at Brad before directing another smile at Sally Ann. “Do you like his mask, by the way? I bet you’re wondering why I put that on him.”

  Sally Ann sobbed. She was momentarily unable to speak.

  “I’ve got one for you, too. I’m sure you noticed before I killed your lover.”

  Sally Ann struggled to find her voice again and at last succeeded. She stared up at him, her vision rendered blurry with tears. “Why are you doing this? Are you crazy?”

  The man laughed softly. “I’m glad you asked. As it happens, I am a little crazy. I’ve been diagnosed with multiple mental disorders over the years. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice to say I’m a bit of a broken person. But it’s not entirely my fault. Something bad happened to me a long time ago. Right around this time of year, actually. I’ve never gotten over it, as you’ve probably guessed. I hate Halloween.” The first hint of real anger came into his voice with that last sentence. “To show how much I hate it, I’ve decided to kill thirty-one people this week. I’ve got a lot of work yet to do, work I’m spreading over a wide area to hopefully reduce the risk of premature apprehension. I don’t want to be caught before reaching my goal, after all. Your boyfriend was just my second victim. And you, you filthy little whore, you’re number three.”

  Sally Ann unleashed an agonized moan at this pronouncement. “No. Please. Please. Don’t. You don’t have to hurt me.”

  “I’m afraid I do.”

  The killer moved out of her field of vision.

  Sally Ann sucked in a big breath and unleashed a piercing scream. The killer clamped a gloved hand over her mouth seconds later, stifling the sound. She moaned in misery again as she felt a press of cold, hard steel against her throat.

  Then a low voice was speaking in her ear, warm breath tickling her flesh. “Be quiet and maybe I’ll change my mind.”

  Sally Ann struggled to swallow a painful lump in her throat. Finally, she managed a nod.

  The low voice whispered, “Good. Good girl.”

  The killer moved back into her field of vision.

  Clutched in his right hand was a big carving knife.

  Sally Ann heaved a big breath. “You don’t have to hurt me. I’ll do anything. I’ll help you kill all those people.”

  The killer stared at her a long moment, his face blank.

  Then he said, “You know how I said I might change my mind if you stopped screaming?”

  Sally Ann nodded. “Yes.”

  He pressed the tip of the big blade against her throat. “Well, I lied.”

  More tears spilled down Sally Ann’s already wet face. “No, please. Don’t. Don’t. I’ll do anything.”

  The killer began to push the blade forward. The point of it pierced her flesh, drawing a trickle of blood. “You’ll die. That’s what you’ll do. You’re number three.”

  Sally Ann tilted her head back and the tip of the blade came away from her flesh briefly. “Don’t. Don’t. This can’t happen. God, don’t let this happen. Please. You don’t have to do this.”

  The killer shook his head. “Yes, I do.”

  He rammed the blade into her flesh and Sally Ann choked on the steel in her throat.

  10.

  Twenty-five years ago

  Willow Springs, TN

  Lloyd and his gang of miscreants taunted and tortured Elliot for hours, from late afternoon into the early evening. The extended exercise in sadism and humiliation featured the use of many items from, Ricky Bennet’s lockbox, including a pair of pliers, a carton of earthworms purchased from a bait shop that very day, a large plastic zipper bag filled with fresh dog feces, a spray bottle filled with a mixture of water and vinegar, and a cat-o’-nine-tails whip Ricky had stolen from his parents’ bedroom closet.

  The first thing they did after tying him to the tree was cut away his shirt. This left him shivering in the late October chill. Each of the boys took turns torturing him with the pliers, twisting his nipples and crushing each of his fingers between the metal jaws to a point just shy of pulverizing bone. Elliot’s resolve to remain stoic throughout the ordeal dissolved after enduring the first few minutes of searing pain. He sobbed and cried out inside the suffocating jack-o’-lantern that encased his head. When Lloyd threatened to use the pliers on his penis, Elliot pissed his pants. The boys evidently thought this was the funniest thing that had ever happened. They fell down in the clearing and rolled around on the ground, gasping for air as they laughed hysterically and pointed at him.

  It got worse from there.

  When they recovered from their collective laughing fit, the boys decided it was time to take a break from physical torture and focus on humiliation. A paint brush was used to smear the dog shit all over Elliot’s torso. It was wet and runny and, even with the pumpkin covering his face, smelled awful. He was then forced to eat some of the earthworms. Initially he wouldn’t cooperate, resolutely keeping his mouth shut when the first worms were pushed through the jagged teeth of the jack-o’-lantern. Again, however, his resistance came to nothing in short order, this time ending when Lloyd McAfee sprayed a bit of the water and vinegar solution through an eye of the pumpkin. He screamed when the mix hit his eyes and the worms were pushed into his mouth. When he attempted to spit them out, he got another squirt of the vinegar spray and was told this would continue to happen until he gulped down each and every earthworm fed to him.

  His eyes stinging and dripping with constant tears, Elliot surrendered and ate the earthworms. He was fed about a third of the carton, the boys giggling at the gagging sounds he made and his pleas for mercy. The rest of the earthworms were dumped down the front of his pants. He felt them slithering around inside his underwear and crawling around his genitals.