Chapter 36
Bianca got up late the next morning. She hadn’t slept well the night before, not
after her nightmare anyway. She had lain
awake for hours, frightened, thinking of Kevin and his rental car, telling
herself that there was no way Kevin could have been driving the other car that
day. But if it wasn’t him, who was
it? And why? That was the question that had been haunting
her – why? Why had he chased her? Why he had tried to run her off the
road? Why had he tried to hurt her?
These questions had gone unanswered, for finally, Bianca had
drifted off into a restless sleep. Now
it was past eleven in the morning, and she had just awoken. She stumbled downstairs, wondering if AJ was
around, wanting to tell him about the dream and the car and Kevin, wanting him
to assure her that Kevin would never do such a thing, that it was just some
random person with road rage, that it was nothing personal. That it was not some psychopath out to kill
her.
Out to kill her… out to kill her… The phrase was tossed around in Bianca’s
brain, giving her chills. And that was
when something clicked, and a horrible realization came over her…
“Bianca!” AJ blurted suddenly, startling her.
“What?” she asked, looking at him strangely.
AJ blushed and continued less vigorously, “You don’t have to go
down there. Let me go. Krystle and I get along better than you two
do. I can talk to her. We talked a couple nights ago, in fact, after
that argument I had with you. You just
go to bed, and I’ll handle it.”
“Are you sure? She sounded
like she wanted another girl to talk to.
You know, girls stick together through this kind of stuff.”
AJ looked at her doubtfully.
“You want to ‘stick together’ with Krystle?” he asked.
Bianca grinned sheepishly.
“No,” she admitted. “Are you sure
you want to go down there? I’m sure
she’ll still be blubbering about it. Do you really want her sobbing on your
shoulder?”
AJ chuckled. “It’ll be
fine,” he said confidently. “You just go
to bed. I’ll be back later, alright?”
Bianca smiled gratefully.
“Alright. Love you.” She leaned
over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Love you too,” AJ replied, standing up. He was dressed in only his boxers. He found his jeans lying on the floor and
pulled them on, then looked quickly around for a shirt.
“My sweatshirt’s by the door,” Bianca said. “Just wear that.”
“Thanks,” AJ said, slipping on a pair of soccer sandals over his
bare feet and grabbing her gray hooded sweatshirt, which had actually once been
his. It was just something Bianca had
worn around so much that he had given it to her. He pulled the sweatshirt over his head and
pulled up the hood, just in case there was anyone else in the hall. He didn’t want any fans to recognize him and
cause a scene.
“Bye!” he called to Bianca, grabbing his room key and slipping out
the door…
“Oh my God,” whispered Bianca now, standing in the middle of her
kitchen in her pajamas, still bleary-eyed from sleep. “He wasn’t after AJ at all. He was after me. He was out to kill me!”
It all made perfect sense – AJ had been wearing her sweatshirt,
with the hood up. The halls were dimly
lit, making it hard to see. The killer
had attacked AJ, thinking he was her.
He had killed the wrong person.
***
“You think it’s Kevin?” AJ asked in
disbelief, later that day. As soon as he
had shown up in the house, Bianca had blurted out everything she had discovered
since the night before – how she had been chased by a green rental car and
forced off the road into the guardrail, how Kevin had been driving a green
rental car the night before, how AJ had worn her sweatshirt the night he had died,
how he had had the hood up and it had been hard to see, and how it all added up
to one conclusion: AJ’s killer – possibly Kevin – was after her.
“I don’t know, Aje, but it was his car!” Bianca cried.
“Are you sure it just wasn’t some other green rental car?”
“Well, maybe, I dunno. I
don’t know what kind the car in the dream was, and I don’t know either of the
license plates. But…”
“But what? Bean, it can’t
be Kevin! What’s his motive? Why would he want to kill you?”
“I don’t know…” That was the big question now – it had always
been, really – WHY? Bianca had always
considered herself to be a reasonably nice person. Sure, she had had her share of disagreements
and conflicts with others, but nothing serious.
She didn’t have any enemies, as far as she knew – though that obviously
wasn’t the case. She got along with most
people, she thought. She had never done
anything so horrible that someone would want to kill her for it. So why?
“Well, what if it’s not Kevin,” said Bianca.
“Who else could it be? Who
would have a good motive?”
“How should I know? I can’t
think of anyone who would have a reason to kill you!” AJ said firmly, defensively. But someone obviously did have one. Bianca’s reasoning made sense, and he
believed it – his murderer had been after her, not him. And the murderer had already tried to kill
her again, it seemed, when he ran her off the road. So most likely, he would try a third time.
That meant one thing - Bianca was in grave danger.
***
Around noon, Krystle Moore was just pulling up in front of the
large home she and Howie lived in, the trunk of her purple Mustang filled with
bags of groceries. She parked the car in
the circular driveway, right in front of the house, and climbed out. She went around, open the trunk, and grabbed
three of the plastic grocery bags.
Leaving the trunk open so Howie could come get the rest, she struggled
into the house.
“Hey, babe,” she greeted Howie.
“There’s more groceries in the trunk; could you go get them?”
“Sure,” replied Howie. He
went outside and got the rest of the bags from the trunk, then slammed the
trunk shut, and went into the house. He
closed the front door just as a green car made its way slowly up the driveway.
“I bought some turkey from the deli. I thought I could fry up some bacon, and we
could have turkey clubs for lunch. Sound
okay, babe?” Krystle asked as Howie carried the groceries into the kitchen and
set them down on one of the counters.
“Sure, that’s fine, Krys,” said Howie. He began to help her unpack the groceries and
put them away. The two were so busy
walking back and forth across the kitchen, clanking bottles, rustling plastic
bags, and slamming cupboard doors, they did not hear the green car lurch to a
stop in the driveway, nor did they notice the front door opening.
Howie picked up a gallon of milk and carried it over to the
refrigerator. He opened it up and
frowned in dismay when he saw how full it was.
Leaning inside the fridge, he started moving things around one-handed,
trying to make room for the milk he grasped in his other hand.
He did not realize there was someone else in the house with them
until he felt something big and sharp stab into his back. The first thing Howie felt was shock. And then pain, terrible crushing pain. He gasped, and the milk carton slipped from
his fingers. It hit the floor with a
thud and burst open, milk puddling onto the shiny tiles. Howie hit the floor too, his knees giving out
on him. He managed to turn around, to
try to see his attacker. All he could
see was a tall figure clothed in all black, including a black ski mask. And that masked person was going for Krystle.
He saw her backed up against the counter, her eyes wide with
horror. He heard her scream as the
attacker advanced on her. “No!” he
cried, as the figure grabbed Krystle roughly and slammed her back against the
counter. Krystle cried out in pain. The attacker grabbed her again and hit her. This time, Krystle crumpled to the ground.
“Krys!” Howie gasped out through his own pain. He struggled to get to his feet, to get to
her, to protect her from this masked villain.
But then, the attacker came back for him. The attacker pushed Howie back down so that
he was lying on his stomach… and then yanked something out of his back. More pain erupted inside Howie’s body. He screamed out in agony, despite
himself. He thought the attacker would
stab him again, but instead, he lifted his head and craned his neck around to
watch the attacker lunge at Krystle again, who was sprawled out on the floor,
half hidden from Howie’s sight by the island in the middle of the kitchen.
Howie watched in horror as the attacker lifted the weapon – a
large, sharp, gleaming, bloody knife – into the air and brought in down with a
whoosh… right into Krystle’s body. He
heard her blood-curdling scream, and then… nothing. The scream was suddenly cut short, and there
was silence, except for the sound of the blood-coated knife clanging to the
floor.
“Krystle!” Howie cried in panic.
“Krystle, no!”
Krystle said nothing. A
moment later, he watched as the person in black bent over and, with a struggle,
hoisted Krystle up. Howie gasped as he
caught a brief glimpse of her. Her chest
was already covered in blood from an apparent stab wound… right over her heart. Her eyes were closed, and her body lay limply
in the attacker’s arms.
“You bastard!” Howie screamed, tears of rage and horror and pain
filling his eyes. “You killed her! Oh God, you killed her!”
The attacker said nothing, did not even look at him, just carried
the lifeless Krystle on past Howie and out of the kitchen. Howie tried in vain to get up, but his body
was weak and shaky and coursing with pain.
With one trembling hand, he reached behind him and felt the back of his
shirt. It felt warm, wet, and
sticky. Pulling his hand back, he
inspected his fingers. They were stained
red.
As he lay there, unable to get to his feet, sobbing in physical
and emotional agony, blood poured from the knife wound in his back, puddling
onto the shiny tiles with the spilled milk.
***
