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Maggie O Connell s life-less body lay sprawled across the ground a few feet away, blood oozing to
form dark puddles underneath. Vincente glowed with trace satisfaction of the kill.
Striding over to inspect the remainder his handy-work, he found Patrick O Connell struggling to
breath under the weight of the steering column forced into his ribs. What a gruesome treat. Just like rats
in a cage, these puny humans, completely at the will of their master.
Patrick s eyes fell upon his executioner, pleading for mercy and aid. Reaching his hands to
encroach the wounded man s head, Vincente bent down and drew the last breath of life from Patrick
Anne Leland 114
O Connell lips. The pale blue eyes would lie forever frozen now with a last gleam of horror reflected
there.
The enormous rush of satisfaction from the completion of his mission engulfed Vincente in an
erotic spasm.
Wailing sirens drew nearer, foretelling the impending arrival of law enforcement and medical
services. Several vehicles had stalled already, containing gaping on-lookers viewing the grisly scene.
Vincente quickly cast a small charm to cloak himself in the shadows of anonymity. All who
looked upon him would remain unable to give an accurate description. He drank in one last glorious
vision of the destruction and vengeance brought down upon the remaining house of Connacht. Then, he
simply turned and strode away, seemingly disappearing into the thin night air.
Time was drawing near; now there only remained one last pawn in the game Alexandria
O Connell.
At long last, his retribution would be complete.
*****
December 6, 1996 - Northfield, MN
The day grew late but the Gale Street Police Station still hummed with unrelenting activity.
Inside, you couldn t tell whether the set or rose; the chaos of the city didn t know how to tell time. Kyle
tried to drown out the deafening noises and concentrate on the information he d pulled up on Vince
Balan, or rather, the lack of information he d pulled up.
He ran searches using every possible variation on the first and last name that he could think of.
The man had to be using an alias. The only name on the book that remotely made a match was a
Vincente Balan with a registered birth certificate with a date of July 1st, 1879. No way that the man he d
met at Lisa Coty s apartment was one hundred and seventeen years old. Another dead end, or was it?
Maybe Balan had found the name in the public records and, figuring the original holder was deceased,
used it for his own gain?
Turning his attention back to the computer, Kyle ran another search, this time searching credit
information files. Bingo! Indeed, Vincente Balan was alive and kicking according to the master credit
banks. Interestingly enough, Mr. Balan had leased a downtown loft recently.
If anything, at least he had the prick on identity theft. Though, being that the real Vince Balan
Donegal 115
would be six feet under by now, more than likely the charge would be false impersonation. Didn t
matter, it was enough to bring Balan in for questioning at the very least.
Could this be a gang related incident? Was Balan a contract killer? He sure fit the M.O. It was
common practice for hit men to live outside the radar, utilizing alias personas. He would have also had
the connections to factory a false identification. Time to pull in Vince Balan for a little chat.
Before he went knocking on Vince s door though, he needed to speak with Alex and find out
exactly how much she new about the mystery boy and his involvement with her family.
From the very start, Kyle knew Alex O Connell was hiding something; now he felt fairly certain
that something had to do with Vince Balan.
*****
The police escorted her to a small Hampton hotel somewhere on Devon Avenue. Alex sat there,
quiet as a mouse, on the bed of the cramped little hotel room. She felt no different than a mouse right
now a laboratory mouse caught in a maze, running in circles and getting absolutely nowhere. Images
and feelings were swirling through her mind, none making much sense, and none of them getting her
anywhere.
A patrol officer was stationed outside of her room. Every few minutes or so she could hear the
steady tapping of his heel on and off against the frame of the door. Earlier she had tried to make
conversation with him, but she was brushed off and asked to remain in the room. So there she sat.
Alone, afraid, and plagued with insistent nausea and a roar of confusion in her brain.
Detective Southworth hadn t exactly come out and say it in so many words, but she was certain
that he suspected Vince was behind Lisa s murder and the recent events that had happened to Alex, too.
But how could that be? He hadn t even been in Minnesota when she was accosted. So that was
impossible.
Scott and Vince were not co-conspirators, of that she was fairly certain, or was she? How much
did she really know about Vince anyway? How much had she really known about Scott? Scott s [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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