Death Alarm Read online

  The man stood next to him and watched stoically as Billy died. The old lady's screams faded into the background.

  And with the life oozing from his body, Billy smirked at the single word carved into his chest.

  It read, "PEDOPHILE"

  2

  Two hours earlier.

  Thomas stood next to the counter as the carnival worker explained how he could win a humongous teddy bear for his daughter. All he had to do was make three baskets with ten chances. He knew the basketball rim was likely the same size as the ball itself, but, if there was anyone who could make it, it was him. You don't get to be his size without someone convincing you to play basketball at some point in your life. He was pretty good when he was younger.

  Ten tosses later and he hadn't made a single shot. He cursed his luck as the carnie handed him a green rubber lizard for consolation.

  "I'm sorry, honey," he said as he turned to where his daughter had been standing. His heart sank into his gut. His daughter wasn't there. Frantic, he scanned the crowd and grabbed the first person who passed. "I'm sorry," he said to the lady while pointing at the empty space against the tent post of another vendor. "Did you see the 5-year-old little girl who was standing right here?"

  The lady shook her head that she hadn't. He ran to the next person he saw and she, too, answered that she hadn't seen his daughter. He felt his panic grow and tried unsuccessfully to calm himself. A group of teenagers stood with their bikes next to the Lemon Shake stand and he ran to them. They shook their heads that they hadn't seen her, either, blowing him off to go back to doing whatever teenagers do.

  Though he was a grown man, he wanted to cry. She was so good—she would never leave his side. " Chloe," he shouted, his voice quivering. " Chloe." People stared at him, but he didn't care.

  As he searched the crowd, a struggle near the entrance gates caught his eye. A man pushed people out of his way as he carried something toward the parking lot. No, not something. Someone. Oh, my God. Chloe.

  "Hey," Thomas shouted and ran toward the gates. "Stop him. Stop that man." He pushed his way through crowd and the single-file gates, while screaming for someone to help. The people stared instead, seemingly stunned, unsure of what he wanted. The man disappeared in the parking lot.

  No, no. Please, no. Thomas shouted, "Someone, help me. Please."

  As he pushed toward the parking lot, a young man stepped in front of him, obviously trying to help. "What is it, sir?" he asked.

  Thomas shoved him aside. More people crowded around as he watched the parking lot for some kind of movement out of the ordinary.

  Someone in the crowd asked, "Is everything alright?"

  Another person, a woman, put her hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong, mister?"

  "My daughter …" he whispered. "Someone took my daughter."

  She shoved her hand over her mouth. "Oh, heavens."

  Thomas pressed his hands against his temples. His world was crumbling and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

  The woman asked if he called the police.

  The police! He fumbled through his pants pocket until he found his flip phone and pressed "9-1-1-Send."

  A female operator answered, "9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

  He blurted into the phone, "Someone just took my daughter. Please hurry. I'm at the carnival on 6th Street."

  "We'll send someone right over. I need some information before you hang up."

  Thomas couldn't say anymore without crying so he shoved his phone to the helpful lady at his side. "Can you talk for me?" he asked, barely able to get out the words.

  She nodded and took the phone.

  As she started to talk to the 911 operator, a car engine revved and the sunlight flashed across a car hood out of the corner of his eye. At the parking lot entrance, a parking attendant shouted and dove out of the way of a speeding, rusted-out Gremlin. Thomas ran toward the attendant as the Gremlin sped off down the road. Thomas collapsed to his knees.

  The attendant stood up and dusted himself off while cursing under his breath. He turned toward the road, gave a middle finger, and shouted, "Slow down, Billy, you asshole.

  Thomas stood up. "Hey," he shouted. The attendant turned toward him. "What did you just say?"

  The attendant looked at him like he'd asked the square root of a million. "I said ‘asshole.'"

  "No. Before that."

  "I said, ‘Goddamn Billy. He needs to slow down.'"

  Thomas ran to him and grabbed his shirt. "You know that man? The man in the Gremlin?"

  "Hey man, let go." The kid pulled away and Thomas let loose of his shirt.

  "Come on, kid. Do you know him?"

  "I don't know him. I know who he is. He comes here every year and talks to all the kids as they come in. Sometimes he dresses as a cartoon character. If you ask me, I think he's a creep."

  Oh my god. "What's his name?"

  "Billy. I already told you that."

  "No, his whole name."

  "I'm not sure. Hurd ... Holder ... something like that. Why do you want to know?”

  “He just drove away with my little girl. Where's he live?"

  "Oh shit. They say he lives on the farm at the end of Skelwaller Lane, but I wouldn't know for sure. I've never been there."

  Thomas sprinted across the parking lot to his car and fumbled for his keys before cramming them into the lock. He knew Skelwaller Lane crossed Interstate 95 but that was it. He had no idea how to get there from the carnival. With his engine rumbling, he yanked his GPS from his center armrest compartment. Come on, come on. The machine seemed like it took forever to power up. He typed in the two streets and, voila, there it was. Seventeen miles away.

  He slammed his car into gear and floored it, sending dirt and gravel against the other cars in the lot. As he gunned the engine toward the interstate, he fished through his pocket for his phone and realized he’d left it with the lady at the gate.

  While he drove, his eyes blurred behind tears as he imagined all of the horrible things that could happen or could already be happening at that very moment. His car reached 90 MPH and he hoped for the flashing lights of a Highway Patrol cruiser to appear in his rearview mirror.

  None did.

  3

  Thomas turned off his headlights as he crept down Skelwaller Lane, careful to stay on the dark, narrow dirt road. There were no houses, no signs of life whatsoever, aside from a broken-down tractor in the ditch to his side. As he coasted farther, what little light that shone from the crescent moon highlighted the outline of a distant house.

  That had to be it. He worried he might be wrong, that his missing daughter and the speeding Gremlin were just a coincidence. No. He couldn't think about that right now; he had to have faith that he was right because his hope was the only thing that kept him from despair.

  As he crept closer to the house in the darkness, a set of taillights in the driveway turned on, followed by a pair of reverse lights. Slowly, the car backed down the driveway toward Skelwaller Lane. The bastard's leaving already. Oh God, I hope she isn't hurt. Thomas sped up. The car backed into the road and faced him. Thomas knew his cars from the 70's and the headlights were the unmistakable headlights of a Gremlin.

  Anger, unlike any he had ever felt in his life, overwhelmed him. He gritted his teeth until his jaw throbbed. He flipped on his headlights and tromped on the gas, no longer concerned with stealth. The driver of the Gremlin had no time to react before he was upon him.

  Metal crashed against metal. Glass shattered and flew through the air. Thomas' chest slammed against his steering wheel; his head whipped forward and then violently stopped before he flopped back into his seat, stunned, wondering if he was too injured to move. He slowly lifted his arm toward the door handle, surprised he was even able.

  He shook his head and cleared his eyes before looking toward the Gremlin. The driver's door flung open, glass from its window raining to the ground. The driver dropped one foot out onto the road, followed by the other. He stood up,
wobbled, and caught himself against his open door. It was the same man running at the carnival. His nose bled profusely onto his white button-down shirt. He looked dazed.

  This was Thomas' chance. He leaped from his car, be damned the pain. His shoulder throbbed, his chest ached, and his neck hurt, but he didn't care. He'd heard of people seeing red with rage but never believed it. Until now. His vision blurred, maybe from the accident, but more likely from the hate building inside.

  He ran to the stunned man, grabbed his shirt, and screamed, "Where's my daughter?"

  Wobbly, the man shoved his bloody face against Thomas' shirt. Thomas shoved him away. He screamed again, "Where is she?" before crashing his fist into the man's face again and again.

  He let up long enough to let Billy point weakly to the hatch on his car. Thomas tossed him to the ground and raced to the rear of the Gremlin. Through the hatch window, he saw a blanket wrapped around something that didn't move.

  Please, God. No.

  He ran to the driver's door, reached in, and yanked the keys from the ignition. A turn of the lock opened the hatch. Thomas tore through the blanket, only to find shovels and duct tape. His knees went weak; he almost fell.

  "You son of a bitch," he shouted and slammed the hatch shut.

  He turned back to Billy who had started running along the lane. The bastard was smart; he knew if he ran toward the house, Thomas would have seen him and caught him. As Thomas passed his car, he reached into his passenger door, grabbed a flashlight from the glovebox, and gave chase.

  4

  Now.

  Billy lay bleeding on the linoleum floor at Thomas' feet. He looked down at the carvings in his chest and smirked even as the life slowly oozed from the wound on his side.

  Thomas bent over and grabbed his hair. "What are you laughing at?"

  Billy gagged and choked before blood drooled from the corner of his mouth. He whispered something, though Thomas couldn't hear. Thomas leaned closer. "What did you say?" he growled.

  "I said," blood spit from his mouth onto Thomas' cheek as he tried to speak. "I said you'll never find her in time. My brother will be home soon. And he has plans for our little friend. In fact, he should already be there."

  Thomas felt as though he'd been kicked in his gut. He collapsed to his rear. The realization was more than he could stand. The shovels in Billy's trunk were for later. She was at the house, of course, and he had left her there. He rubbed his eyes. Billy's breathing slowed until he sighed and breathed no more.

  Thomas wasn't ready to give up. He dug deep and found the hope he needed to propel himself further. "Call the police," he shouted to the old lady at the counter. "Tell them this bastard kidnapped my daughter and has her at his house at the end of Skelwaller Lane." He crammed his hand into Billy's pocket and yanked out the old lady's truck keys.

  The heap of a truck stuttered and started, thank the gods. He sped along the lane until he neared the house where his totaled car sat against the Gremlin. Not a single light shone from any of the many windows of the decrepit, two-story home. In the driveway sat another car with its engine running and its trunk open.

  His heart sank.

  He parked the truck behind his smashed car, hopped out, and sprinted down the driveway. He prayed Chloe wasn't in the trunk and almost didn't have the strength to look.

  She wasn't. Thank God, she wasn't.

  He sprang onto the front porch and rattled the door handle. He was shocked that it was unlocked and creaked open. The foyer was empty. The walls were bare of anything that would portray warmth. He waited, listening for any signs of life, but all he heard was his own heart pounding at his chest.

  And then he heard something. It was a whimper from up the stairs.

  He didn't think, he just reacted and tore up the staircase into a dimly-lit hallway. The whimpers grew louder from beyond a door at the end of the hall. Thomas plowed through, splintering the frame.

  The room was void of furniture or pictures or even carpet, instead wearing plastic over the walls and wood floor. A little girl stood facing the corner like a child being punished. The little girl was Chloe. Thomas almost threw up.

  " Chloe," he whispered. "Honey, are you OK?"

  The moment it took for her to answer was a lifetime and more than he could bear. She shook her head that she was, though she still didn't turn away from the corner. Her voice was like a miracle when she said, "He was going to give me candy."

  Thomas ran to her and swept her into his arms. She felt like an angel. He squeezed her until he feared he might hurt her.

  "We have to leave, honey. Stay with me." He started for the door but a sickening sound from the stairwell stopped him cold. That sound, the sound of boots clomping on each stair step, was enough to send his heart into fibrillation. But it was the sound after each of those clomps that sent shivers up his spine.

  Clomp.

  Clomp.

  Thump.

  Whoever was coming dragged something behind.

  Clomp.

  Clomp.

  Thump.

  Thomas pushed the plastic-covered door until only a crack was left open. He watched as the sound continued up the stairs until he saw the balding top of a man's head beyond the open railing.

  "Honey," Thomas whispered. "Get into the closet." He gently nudged her from behind and crammed into the closet behind her. He pulled the door closed. The closet was tight and dark and escape-proof.

  " Chloe?" the man called from the hallway as he creaked the plastic door open. "I have your candy. We have to hurry. Someone might be coming and we don't want them to see what you've done."

  Chloe squeezed Thomas' hand. She was brave, not letting her fear escape. He squeezed back to assure her that she was alright. The footsteps and the horrible dragging that followed moved across the room toward them. Thomas felt Chloe struggle in his grip and realized that he squeezed too hard. He let her hand go.

  The footsteps stopped just beyond the door. The room was silent. Chloe's breath stuttered from her quivering lips. Thomas was so proud of her.

  As Thomas waited, his breathing grew quicker.

  Still, no sounds came from the room.

  He gently brushed Chloe's cheek with his finger. Even in the darkness, he could feel her staring up at him. He had always been her hero and he'd be damned if that was going to change on this night. He made a fist.

  Before he grabbed the handle, the head of a sledge hammer crashed through the door next to his face. Chloe let out a shriek. Thomas reacted without thought, slamming the door open against their attacker.

  The man stumbled backward. He was shirtless and fat with his saggy gut hanging over his belt. His eyes went wide—he hadn't expected Thomas to be there. Thomas lunged forward. The man surprised him with his speed and swung the hammer with all of his might.

  Thomas threw his arm up in defense. He heard his forearm snap long before he felt it. The momentum sent him and the man to the floor. Thomas gritted his teeth, careful not to show how injured he was.

  "Run, Chloe," he screamed. She burst from the closet, past the lunging killer, and through the open door.

  The man scrambled to his feet and chased behind. Thomas pushed from the floor, his deformed left arm hanging useless at his side. Chloe screamed from the hall. Thomas recklessly shot through the doorway and fell against the banister. He froze. His stomach turned. His knees momentarily went limp.

  The man stood facing him at the top of the stairs. He held one sweaty hand around Chloe's chest. Thomas followed his other arm with his eyes as his hand hung next to his hip and held a knife. He trembled, seemingly more afraid of Thomas than Chloe was of him.

  Thomas's arm throbbed with each movement as shattered bone painfully grinded against shattered bone. He held his good hand out in front of his chest in a nonthreatening way. "It's alright, buddy," he said, surprised at how calm he was able to sound. "I won't hurt you if you let her go. Please, just let her go."

  At first the man was quiet, a string of dro
ol dangling from the corner of his lips. Then he whispered, "You promise you won't hurt me?"

  Thomas saw a chance. He wanted to kill the man, but to save his daughter he would give the devil himself a pass. "Oh, God, yes, I promise. Please just let her go."

  "Only if you promise to let me leave."

  "Anything." Thomas cautiously stepped forward.