CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The midday sun beat down on Yamhill like an unforgiving spotlight as Ella and Luca pulled up to the assisted housing units on Maple Grove. Ella thought the place was a study in uniformity; a series of squat, grey buildings lined up like dominos waiting to fall. Each unit was identical to the last, as if some cosmic copy-paste function had gone haywire.

‘Last one on the left,' Luca muttered. ‘That's what Redmond said.'

Ella steered their sedan down the narrow street. They rolled to a stop in front of the unit in question. It was as unremarkable as its neighbors – a gray box with a door and two windows. No Halloween decorations, no macabre lawn ornaments. Nothing to suggest that a man who made his living scaring people lived here.

‘Well, this is anticlimactic,' Luca said as they climbed out of the car.

‘Stay frosty, Hawkins. Just because it looks bland doesn't mean it is.'

‘That's what I said about Catcher in the Rye.'

At the door, Ella knocked. Her hand flew to her Glock out of instinct. In her experience, it was the unremarkable places that often housed the most remarkable horrors.

The seconds ticked by. No response. No signs of life from inside.

‘Maybe he's out trick or treating,' Luca said. ‘Kick it down?'

‘No. We can't damage the place, not without probable cause.'

‘Sneak inside?'

‘Jesus, Hawkins. You read the manual recently?'

‘No. You?'

‘We can't wreck the place. If we can get in without causing a scene, then maybe…'

Ella was racking her brain for an alternative when a voice called out from behind them. 'Excuse me, folks. Can I help you?'

They turned to see a man in a navy blue uniform approaching. He had ‘MAINTENANCE' emblazoned across his chest and a tool belt that looked like it weighed more than he did. His nametag read ‘Carl.'

Ella flashed her badge. ‘FBI. We need to speak with Roland Pierce. This is his unit, correct?'

Carl's eyebrows shot up, disappearing under the brim of his baseball cap. ‘FBI? Well, I'll be. Yeah, this is Roland's place alright. But I'm afraid you just missed him.'

Ella's heart sank. ‘Missed him? When did he leave?'

‘About an hour ago,' Carl said, scratching his stubbled chin. ‘Saw him heading out with a duffel bag. Looked like he was in a hurry.'

Luca stepped forward. ‘Any idea where he was headed?'

‘Nah, sorry. Roland keeps to himself. Weird guy, you know? Always muttering.'

Ella's mind raced. Pierce was in the wind, but there had to be something in his apartment that could point them in the right direction. Her eyes fell on the ring of keys hanging from Carl's belt.

‘We need to get inside,' she said. ‘Can you let us in?'

Carl took a step back, his hands raised as if to ward her off. 'Now, hold on a minute. I can't just go letting people into tenants' homes. That's against every privacy rule in the book.'

Ella leaned in. Given that news of the murders were all over this town by now, she opted for truth. ‘Sir, Roland Pierce is a person of interest in a series of homicides. We need to speak with him urgently.'

The color drained from Carl's face faster than water down a storm drain. 'Homicides? You mean the murders I heard about on the news?' He took a step back and eyed the apartment door like it might burst open and swallow him whole. 'You don't think... Roland couldn't have done that, could he?'

‘That's what we need to find out,' Luca said. ‘And for all we know, there could be another murder in the works now.'

Ella could see the fear warring with Carl's ingrained sense of duty. She decided to push a little harder. ‘Look, we get it. You're just trying to do your job. But it's perfectly legal for us to enter a person of interest's residence. It's all above board.'

Carl chewed his lip. He flicked from Ella to Luca, then back to the nondescript door of Roland's unit. ‘You sure about that?'

‘Positive. We'll file all the necessary paperwork once we're done.'

Finally, with a sigh, Carl nodded. ‘Alright, but I'll open the door, nothing more.'

‘That's all we're asking,' Luca assured him.

Carl fumbled for his keys. He unlocked the door and he pushed it ajar. ‘I'll lock up after you leave.'

‘Thank you. Truly,' Ella said.

The maintenance guy turned away and left the agents alone. Then Ella and Luca stepped over the threshold into Roland Pierce's home. His living room was their first point of entry. For some reason, it felt to Ella like she was wading into a crime scene. Which, given what she knew about the man, wasn't far off the mark.

At first glance, the place was almost disappointingly normal. Beige walls, beige carpet, beige furniture. It was like stepping into a sepia photograph from the 1970s. Even the air smelled stale, like the ghosts of a thousand TV dinners.

‘House of horrors or what?' Luca said.

‘Eyes up, Hawkins.' Ella had seen enough serial killer dens to know that the craziest ones often hid behind the blandest facades. Like a wolf in a poodle's fur.

She scanned the room and picked out the noticeable elements. Nondescript sofa, floral curtains that looked like they'd been pilfered from Grandma's house.

But... there. By the threadbare recliner. Tufts of stuffing littered the floor like the aftermath of a teddy bear massacre.

Ella crouched down for a closer look. ‘Our boy Roland's been doing… something.'

Luca joined her, squinting at the carnage. ‘You're not kidding.

Ella prodded a bit of stuffing with the tip of her shoe. She had a feeling they hadn't seen anything yet.

They moved to the next room, a tiny galley kitchen that smelled like old coffee. The counters were bare except for a few chipped mugs and a half-empty bottle of cheap bourbon. Ella was about to write the room off when something caught her eye. A door, slightly ajar, tucked away in the corner.

Pulse quickening, she crossed the room in two strides and yanked the door open.

It was a maintenance closet, but not like any she'd seen before.

The smell hit her first. Musty, like an old attic, but with an undertone of... what was that? Copper? She took a step forward, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom.

Then she saw them.

Teddy bears. Dozens of them. Lining the shelves, piled in the corners.

But these weren't your average cuddly toys. They looked more like the rejects from Satan's assembly line. Mismatched eyes glared out from lopsided faces. Extra limbs jutted from overstuffed torsos. Entire heads had been swapped, stitched together like some kind of plushie Frankenstein.

‘Yeah, he's definitely been doing something alright,' Luca said.

Ella peered closer, unable to look away from the twisted menagerie. Some of the bears had been disemboweled, their fluffy guts spilling out like cotton candy entrails. Others had needles and pins stuck in them like some kind of voodoo hex.

‘Looks like our buddy Roland has some serious issues,' Ella said. It was an understatement, but what else was there to say in the face of such madness?

Luca picked up a bear that looked like it had gone ten rounds with a lawnmower. ‘You think this is what he does to relax?'

Ella didn't answer. Her mind was racing, trying to piece together the jagged edges of Roland Pierce's psyche. They backed out of the closet, careful not to disturb the macabre display. Ella's skin crawled like it was trying to distance itself from the insanity inside.

But they weren't done yet. There was still one room left to search. Roland's bedroom.

The door was ajar. A sliver of sickly green light spilled out into the hall. Ella exchanged a glance with Luca, then pushed it open with the muzzle of her gun.

At first, it looked like an average bachelor pad. Unmade bed, clothes strewn across the floor, a funkbuster pong of dirty laundry.

But she noticed something else.

The walls were covered in photographs, taped up haphazardly like a deranged collage.

Ella moved closer as her breath caught in her throat. The details came into focus.

They were candid shots taken from a distance.

And they were all of people in various haunted house attractions.

Mostly women. Punters in garish makeup, caught mid-scare. Patrons screaming in delighted terror.

But there, in the center of the macabre display, was a face Ella recognized. Gregory Van Allen, owner of the Screamatorium. The man whose murder had kicked off this whole nightmare.

Luca caught it, too. 'God damn. Looks like Roland was doing more than working these haunts. He was perving on the women.'

‘Or scouting for victims,' Ella said.

A chill raced down her spine as she imagined Roland lurking in the shadows, camera in hand, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

‘Uh... Ell?' Luca said.

But why Van Allen? What had made him a target? She scanned the other photos, looking for a connection, a pattern. But there was nothing obvious, just a sea of terrified faces staring back at her.

Ella looked through them one by one, trying to identify any other familiar faces. If Natasha Langston was amongst them, then they'd have enough circumstantial evidence to charge this guy today.

But nothing jumped out at her. No sign of Natasha. Some of the shots were close-ups, others from a distance.

‘Earth to Ella,' Luca said from behind. Ella spun around.

‘What you got?'

Luca pointed to the back of the door. Ella followed his gaze, and her blood turned to ice water in her veins.

There, crucified on the closet door, was another teddy bear. But this one was different. Worse, somehow. Its button eyes had been gouged out, leaving dark, gaping sockets. Rusty nails pinned its paws to the wood, like a fuzzy Christ figure in a children's toy version of the Rapture.

But it was the sign around its neck that made Ella's heart lurch into a panicked gallop. A chalkboard hung from a frayed string, and scrawled across it in the unstable handwriting was a message:

‘DON'T FORGET – NOCTURNE HOUSE AT 2PM'

Then, beneath that, a crudely drawn smiley face with Xs for eyes.

Ella's blood flash-froze. Nocturne House. She'd heard that name before, seen it on the list of Yamhill's haunted attractions.

‘Nocturne House,' Luca repeated. ‘That's where Roland is.'

Ella checked the time on her phone. One-fifty PM.

‘Get the address, Hawkins. Quick. We need to get there right now.'