Peril from the Past
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Dana Mentink
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37
ONE
Penelope McGregor shivered at the distant creak from the back of the house. Goose bumps erupted along her spine. Just the aged floorboards swelling from the falling October temperatures. It was as if the old Brooklyn home struggled under the weight of a new day. Penny knew the feeling.
She forced her attention back to her phone screen, scanning the party supplies. An image appeared and her lungs constricted, overcome by the crushing weight of terror. It was as if she’d fallen into a pit of ice that was freezing her breath away, one gasp at a time. The picture of the blue-haired clown mask leered at her, the mouth agape like a crimson wound.
It’s just a picture. It’s not real.
But it was as if she was four years old again, standing in the dingy kitchen, watching the blood pooling around the bodies of her parents while a man in a blue-haired clown mask stared down at her.
He’d leaned close, all those years ago, close enough for her to smell the tobacco on his breath. His voice was strange and muffled through the mask as he handed her a stuffed monkey. And in her childish confusion, she’d taken it, stunned at the sight of the blood and the terrible stillness of her mother and father. Too frightened to speak, too terrified to scream.
Annoyed with herself, she clicked the website closed. She’d been looking for inspiration for the October open house at the station. She wanted to make it a fun event for the police families at the Brooklyn K-9 Unit, the NYPD offshoot in Bay Ridge where she proudly served as the desk clerk and self-appointed morale officer. The muscles in her stomach remained tight, her ears still straining against the quiet of the Sheepshead Bay home she shared with her cop brother, Bradley, and his K-9 partner, King.
Lately she had been double-checking door locks, troubled by noises at night that kept her awake. She wanted to believe it was paranoia, but deep down she knew that the nightmare was coming to life again. She’d known it since she’d received the text from the man who’d slaughtered her parents. The text had been anonymous, sent from an untraceable number, but that hardly mattered. Even though the tech gurus at headquarters hadn’t been able to pinpoint where the message had originated, she knew exactly who’d sent it last month, twenty years and six months after the murders.
Randall Gage, the killer clown.
She pictured him typing out the message, face hidden behind that horrible mask, except for his green eyes.
It was a mistake to let you live.
You first, then your brother, his text had promised.
Thanks to US Marshal Emmett Gage, Randall’s cousin, there was finally DNA evidence proving Randall had killed Penny and Bradley’s parents. The information had hit the news and caused a media sensation. Officers in the Brooklyn K-9 Unit, including Bradley, all reassured her that it was only a matter of time before Randall Gage was captured. He would never get close enough to hurt her family again, they said, and she tried hard to believe it. The text told her otherwise. For some reason she could not fathom, he was not going to give up until she was dead.
Peering out the window, she was relieved to see a police car driving slowly by for its hourly check. It had taken all her force of will to dissuade her brother from having a cop camped out in the house with her. For twenty years she’d struggled to prove to herself that she was not a helpless victim. She had to try to believe she was safe, in order to refuse Gage any more power over her.
But there was a second person’s life hanging in the balance now, as well. Six months earlier, on the twentieth anniversary of the crime, another little girl was given a stuffed monkey by a man in a clown mask. She pictured Lucy Emery, the painfully shy child. How had she felt when she’d seen her own parents lying dead on the floor? Her heart constricted when she thought about Lucy. The two cases were eerily similar—the mask, and the fact that the girl had been neglected by her parents, just as Penny had.
Had Randall Gage made Lucy an orphan, too? Or was a copycat killer at work? As if one deranged clown wasn’t enough. The thought of young Lucy just starting the terrible journey that Penny had been walking for the past two decades caused a churning in her stomach. At least Lucy been taken in by her aunt and K-9 cop Nate Slater after the two had married. It was another strange parallel to her own life, since she and Bradley had been adopted by a retired NYPD detective and his darling wife.
Would Lucy get a chance to live free from the shadow of fear? Not until the case was solved and Randall Gage or the copycat killer was behind bars.
The creaking noise whispered from the back of the house, louder now. She willed herself to be still. Seconds ticked by. Nothing but the typical sounds of the two-story house they rented that was tucked between two other family homes. The aging fixtures and the charming wood were part of the reason she and Bradley had chosen the home. The small yard was perfect for King to stretch his legs, too.
Her cell phone rang. She jumped, then answered.
“Hello, Penny. I’m on my way to drive you to work.” Detective Tyler Walker’s tone was all business. She could picture the serious blond-haired, blue-eyed cop with his tracking dog, Dusty, by his side. A blush rose to her cheeks. The detective was seven years older than Penelope’s twenty-four, but somehow she always felt like he saw her as not much more than a child. That man was six-feet-three inches of no-nonsense grit, emphasis on the no-nonsense. His smiles were rare, at least when she was around.
“No need for you to drive me. I can take the train,” she said.
“It’s no problem. Better for you to ride with me. Bradley is stuck on a case, and he doesn’t want you traveling to work alone.”
She knew it would do no good to argue. “All right. I’ll be ready. I...” She stopped. Had she heard something inside the house? Or was it the wind in the trees outside? She’d already stewed in embarrassed silence when Tyler had scoured the house and yard the day before to find the source of a scratching she’d heard.
“It sounds like someone is trying to break in,” she’d told him.
He’d insisted she wait in his squad car while he searched the house. Finally, he’d announced, “You’ve got a squirrel on your roof, doing his best to store a pile of acorns in your gutter.”
She’d gone red-hot with mortification.
“Penelope?” Tyler’s voice jerked her back to the present. “Everything okay?”
Should she tell him about the sound? But it was just the normal house noises, certainly. No way did she want to embarrass herself a second time in front of him. “Yes. Everything is fine. I’ll be ready when you get here.”
“All right. See you in fifteen minutes or so.” He disconnected.
She’d be safe, with her babysitter Tyler en route. It was embarrassing, humiliating even, to be forced back into the helpless-child role. It was 180 degrees from the person she’d tried be.
Again, a sound in the rear of the old home made her tense. Bradley had told her the swiftly cooling October temperatures wreaked havoc on the ancient pipes. Tyler was on his way. She could call him back and ask him to come inside and check when he arrived, but the thought made her cringe.
Sticking her chin up and squaring her shoulders, she checked each room on the ground floor, Bradley’s tiny study, his bedroom, the bathroom and even the hall closet. Her search ended in her bedroom—empty, as she’d known it would be. You see, you worrywort? Perfectly secure. Cool autumn air fluttered the blinds.
She stopped dead.
The window was open, the one she’d left closed tight and locked.
The shadow emerging from the closet was all too real.
A long-buried nightmare come back to life.
Randall Gage’s expression was something between a smile and a frown. “It’s been a long time, Penny.”
Her blood turned to ice, the shock hitting her with the force of a physical blow.
She wanted to shout, to shriek at the murderer standing right before her eyes. Instead her voice came out hardly above a squeak. “Don’t touch me.”
Randall twirled a length of rope in his hands. His thick hair was disheveled, graying clumps standing up in spiky disarray. He was much thinner than she’d pictured, gaunt, and his cheekbones protruded from sallow skin. The green eyes burned as brightly as they had the day he’d shot her parents. Pure fright almost rendered her unable to move. Oddly, he smiled.
Her nerves shrilled an alarm. Get out. However you can.
She lunged for the bedroom door. Randall got there first, knocking her to the floor with a fist to her shoulder. He slammed the door and slid the bolt home—the bolt her brother had installed as an extra precaution.
On her back, she crab-walked away, scrambling upright, almost tumbling when her legs butted up against the bed. She should scream and try to alert a neighbor, but she could hardly force her lungs to breathe, let alone yell. Terror rippled through her in torrents that prickled her body in gooseflesh. She was too scared to think. Randall Gage could not be here, in her home, in her bedroom. It had to be another horrible dream.
Randall stared at her, head cocked slightly. “You turned into a pretty lady. You still have some freckles like you did when you were a kid. Same red hair. Looks nice with your brown eyes.”
“What do you want? Why did you come here?”
He appeared not to hear the questions. “Penelope McGregor, desk-and-records clerk at the fancy new Brooklyn K-9 Unit.” He shook his head. He was still smiling. “And you never even thanked me.”
Her heart was thundering so loudly she wondered if she had heard him right. “What are you talking about?”
“I gave you a chance at a great life. You’re a success now. Got yourself a respectable job...” He scanned the tidy bedroom. “And a nice place to live in a good neighborhood. I gave you all that.” His reptilian gaze slid back to her. “You owe me, but lately I’m not sure about your loyalty.”
She could only stare at him.
He frowned. “Your parents were terrible. They didn’t care about you. Left you and your brother in dirty clothes, without regular meals, and they forgot about you at day care. Who forgets about their own child?” He shook his head. “I never would.” He sighed. “They didn’t love you, Penny.”
They didn’t love you. The very thought that was at the core of her deepest insecurity. They didn’t love you because you weren’t lovable. She clamped her jaw together as he continued.
“They were bad people. We were planning to rob the deli and they got cold feet. Did you know they intended to tip the police off and pin the blame on me? Scum, you see? No loyalty, no concern for others.” He looked at her closer and his brow furrowed. “Or maybe you didn’t know that. That’s why you said what you did to the reporters. You didn’t understand what I saved you and your brother from.” He smiled, relaxing. “That’s it. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
What she’d said to the reporters? What was he talking about?
“My parents didn’t deserve to be murdered,” she blurted.
His jaw clenched. “Yes, they did. They were ruining your life and your brother’s. They cost me everything, and they’re gonna cost me my freedom, too.”
She scooted a step back toward the window. If she could bang on it...
“Close it,” he said.
“I...”
Now his voice was an angry bark. “I said close it. And lock it for good measure.”
He came closer, so close she could smell cigarettes on his breath. She spiraled back to the bloody day when her world had spun out of control like a runaway carousel. Her parents lying murdered... Randall in his awful clown mask... The glittering green of his eyes staring at her.
“I won’t.”
“Cooperate and maybe I’ll let you and your brother live.”
He was lying, had to be, but all she could do was buy time. With shaking hands she slid the window closed and locked it.
“Even my own kin’s against me now. My cousin, the hotshot US Marshal, got my DNA.” Randall started to pace. “He invited me to a diner, and I got wise and bolted, but I figure he got my prints or DNA from my water glass, so now they got me dead to rights for the murders. It’s been on the news. I’m a wanted fugitive, and it’s only a matter of time before they get me.”
She couldn’t tear her gaze from the rope as he twirled it around. “So what are you doing here then?” she whispered. “Why did you come back?”
His eyes narrowed to slits, and he thrust a crumpled newspaper forward so it was inches from her face. “Because you told them I was a monster.”
Ah, now she knew what he’d been talking about. She remembered the reporter on the phone, pressing her, grilling her, demanding she provide her thoughts on Randall Gage in light of the probable copycat murder that was dominating the headlines. “He’s a monster,” she’d said, before slamming down the phone.
Randall was watching her closely. “I know it was a misquote. These reporters are always lying to juice up their headlines. Tell me you didn’t say that, Penny.”
She should lie, placate him, anything to buy time, but her self-control disintegrated against the onslaught of her fear and long pent-up rage.
“I did say it,” she shouted. “I said it because it’s true. You are a monster.” Tears she hadn’t felt coming rolled down her face. “You shot my parents in the back, and you took away my childhood and my brother’s. You’re not some sort of hero, you’re a murderer and you belong in prison.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath and she knew she’d made a grave mistake by telling the truth. His nostrils quivered. A vein in his temple jumped.
“So it’s true then.”
Her legs trembled. Was there something she could grab to fight him off? But her fastidiously uncluttered room offered nothing she could use to save herself. There was only a neat side table with her tattered Bible, next to a bed with a teddy-bear pillow given to her by her brother on her sixteenth birthday.
Randall stepped forward with the rope, mouth caught in a grimace. Moisture gleamed in his eyes. “After everything I did for you, you turn out to be a backstabbing double-crosser just like your parents. I’m going to kill you and your brother, like I should have done all those years ago.”
“No,” she said, forcing out the word. “You’re going to prison. Like you said, it’s just a matter of time. They know it was you, and they’re closing in.”
A slow, thin-lipped smile formed. There was no warmth in it, no humor—only the promise of death. “Then I’m going to make sure you both die before they put me away.”
She screamed and lunged again for the door, but he loomed over her, holding the rope and reaching for her throat.
