Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection

by Adam Nicholls

  Evie stared at him, disbelieving, then got out and leaned in close. “Keep me in the loop,” she whispered in his ear on her tiptoes, and then she was gone, leaving Mason to regret his overreaction.

  With the weight of the world on his shoulders, he drove back to the office he barely used these days—the study at home made just as good an office. Inside it was cold and musty, and dust motes swirled around beneath the single dim bulb.

  “What a dump,” he said to himself, looking around the room. It felt like it belonged to a different man now. He approached his liquor cabinet, took the bottle of Jack Daniels, and slumped into the clients’ armchair.

  Six glasses and two hours later, Mason drifted into an uncomfortable sleep, in which he saw nothing but the tears of Missy Daniels’s mother and the message made from the arrangement of rocks.

  None for the dame.

  Chapter Seven

  Mason woke up in the afternoon to a severe case of cottonmouth and a series of missed calls from Bill. I know exactly what he’s after.

  Noting the time, he sprang up and washed in the bathroom sink, then headed out of the office. For a minute he’d considered taking his car, but despite the heavy rain, he knew it was a bad idea. The alcohol was still rattling his brain.

  When he arrived at the school, he waited by the buses. He probably looked suspicious, but he really didn’t care. There was one thing Mason wanted, and he was going to get it.

  “Dad?” Amy stepped away from the bus line, her eyes widening. She was a beautiful girl, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Short and thin—especially for a thirteen-year-old—but not worryingly. She’d inherited none of her father’s rugged features—luckily, Mason knew—nor her mom’s dark-haired Mediterranean complexion.

  “Hey, honey. I thought I’d walk you home. Maybe get some pizza?” He took her in his arms and waved to his daughter’s friends, who’d been around for sleepovers many times in the past few years.

  “Sure, Dad. Here.” She popped open an umbrella and handed it to Mason, who held her close and sheltered them both as best he could.

  At the pizza parlor they took a seat by the window and watched the rain hammering down. It was one of his favorite things to do.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Amy asked with the same enthusiasm she’d always had. She was growing up to be so bright, and Mason couldn’t be more thankful she hadn’t turned out like most teenagers. Not yet, at least.

  “It is.”

  “So… pizza?” Amy asked, gesturing at the menu. “Though that’s not really why you’re here. Are you coming home today?”

  Mason didn’t know how to respond. The truth was brutal. “I should. It is my house, after all. Don’t you think?”

  Amy nodded, watching him, as if expecting something more.

  Mason studied her expression. “You know something.”

  “No more than you,” Amy replied. “I was on the stairs last night. I heard every word you both said. You know, it’s okay to tell Mom to take a chill pill. I’ll love you no matter what, Dad.”

  One of the things Mason loved most about his daughter was that she always saw the more simple side of things, the type of person to look past the metaphor and cut straight to the point. “Thanks. So, has she mentioned me?”

  “Who?”

  “Your mom.”

  “Oh, no. Well…”

  Mason’s ears pricked up. “What?”

  Amy held her temples with stiffened fingers. “She wanted to tell you in her own time.”

  “What?”

  “Joshua is moving in already. That’s why I want you there.” She stared down at her lap. “I don’t like that she’s replacing you already, Dad. I don’t want this.”

  “Wait, slow down… Joshua is moving in?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “The fucking Pilates instructor?”

  “Language, Dad.” Amy had been trying to wean him out of his bad language habit lately, but it was hard to keep a lid on it right now.

  “Sorry.” The last thing he’d expected from today was to find out his wife had been having an affair. For now, he could try to stifle his anger, in spite of everything in his body urging him to throw a fit.

  Chapter Eight

  Ignoring the rain, Sandra strode down the driveway with the phone to her ear. “She’s just returned. Thanks for your time.” As soon as she hung up, she checked Amy was okay and sent her inside the house.

  “She was with me,” Mason said.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “What am I doing?” he yelled. “What are you doing, moving a new goddamn boyfriend in already? It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours!”

  Sandra went red in the face as the rain matted her hair to her forehead. Her voice lowered. “I’ve been wanting to end this for a while.”

  Mason pushed past her and headed up the drive, overtaking Amy. “Is he here now?”

  “Mason. No, Mason,” Sandra pleaded, but with no effect.

  Determined to find the guy and do him some real damage, Mason stormed inside the house and searched from room to room while Sandra screamed at him.

  “Get out or I’ll call the police!”

  “Sure,” Mason said. “Call my ex-colleagues and tell them I’ve stepped foot inside my own house. Good move.”

  He continued scanning the rooms, but deep inside he didn’t really want to find Joshua, as finding him would confirm his wife’s infidelity. On the other hand, seeing him would remove all doubt, and he could no longer be played for a fool.

  “He isn’t here, Mason. For God’s sake!” Sandra yelled at him and edged him out of the house as much as she could manage.

  “Whatever.” Mason was just beginning to believe her when he heard the grumble of a car’s engine. A quick peek through the window revealed it to be Joshua’s car. He stormed outside and marched toward it, his fists clenched into tight balls.

  “Joshua!” Sandra called—a warning call that did nothing.

  From the corner of his eye, Mason saw another car pull up, but he only had eyes for Joshua. Before the new boyfriend knew what was happening Mason opened the door and dragged him out. He pinned him against the side of the car and planted a fist into the guy’s stomach.

  Joshua let out a little oof.

  “Stop it!” Amy yelled from somewhere behind him, but it wasn’t enough.

  Mason mashed the guy in the face once, twice. Each delicious punch painted his knuckles red with nasal blood, and he felt the rage consuming him. After the fifth punch landed, he felt a strong grip around his arms as somebody pulled him back.

  “Calm down, buddy. Cool it.”

  Joshua slumped to the floor, cowering down and holding his bloodied face.

  Mason wrangled out of the grip and spun around to see Bill, realizing it must have been his car he saw pull up. “Get off me!”

  “Mason. Mason! Calm down. Look at the girl.”

  Mason glanced at Amy and felt a wave of shame. Tears welled in her eyes, and she was shaking, drenched in the rain and embarrassed at the spectacle she’d just witnessed. He’d always tried to remain the more stable parent and couldn’t imagine how helpless she must have felt right then.

  “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” Bill showed him to the car.

  As they moved, Mason turned and got one last look at Sandra. She hadn’t run to Mason, nor to their daughter, but to the bleeding coward on the ground who had broken up a family.

  Chapter Nine

  It was a bad time for the car to break down.

  Although the rain had stopped for the first time in days, Susan Chance could see another thick cloud scudding their way. Desperately seeking help, she stepped out of the vehicle and tried to hail down one of the only cars she’d seen in the past hour.

  “Please stop,” she whispered to herself, thrusting her thumb out as the car sped past and splashed a puddle up at her. “Damn!”

  “Mommy, I’m hungry.” Tommy, her six-year-old, had cracked
the window to lodge his complaint. It was as if it were the first time he’d announced it, although he’d been whining since they’d hit the road.

  “I’m working on it, Tommy. Roll the window up, and wait for Mommy.”

  In the distance Susan spotted an RV heading their way. Please be kind. She waved frantically, and thanked God when the driver slowed to a stop. The rainwater on the windshield obscured her view of the driver, but she was so grateful for the help and ran to the side as the window slid down.

  “Thanks so much for stopping,” she said, flashing her best smile.

  “No problem. You heading into the city?” The man was strange-looking, with bad teeth and thin, greasy strands of hair falling over his eyes. It wasn’t an especially trustworthy face, but it was the only one around for miles.

  “Yes. And… I have a young boy. I hope that’s okay?”

  The man stuck his head out of the window and looked over at the car.

  Something didn’t seem right. He looked lost in the moment, his eyes glazing over, but just as suddenly he snapped out of it. “Of course,” he said. “Climb in.”

  Susan grabbed Tommy and left the car with the hazard lights on, hoping she could return to it soon. Thunder cracked above them as they ran back to the RV and climbed in—Tommy in the middle, as he had a totally irrational fear of sitting next to the door.

  “That’s it. I’ll get you there safely,” the man said as they drove farther down the empty road toward San Francisco.

  “Thank you so much for the ride,” Susan said, looking around the cab of the RV. Clipped to the rearview mirror was a photo of a young black girl. “Is she your daughter?”

  The driver looked at it. “Oh. Yeah. She got her looks from her mother. Skin color, too.” He laughed. “She was black as well.”

  “Was?” Susan asked and could have slapped herself for doing so. She’d always had better manners than that. The desperation to avoid uneasy silences had taken over at that point. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

  The man smiled that black-and-yellow grin. “It’s all right. My wife died a few years back. She got the cancer, you see. It happens.” His voice lacked emotion, and he wore the same offbeat expression he’d had back when he’d glanced at her car.

  “Sorry to hear that,” Susan said, and she could feel Tommy edging slightly over to her side. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t tell what. “Would you be so kind as to drop us off at the nearest gas station?”

  “Sure,” the man said. “Sure. So who’s this little fella?”

  Lightning cracked and thunder rolled across the sky; then the rain started up again in a heavy shower. It would have been cozy if they’d been at home rather than in a stranger’s RV. “This is Tommy. Say hi, Tommy.”

  But Tommy was too shy—or too scared—to answer, and it was hard to tell which. He only buried his face into his mother’s sweater.

  “Well, don’t be shy, boy,” the driver told him. “I ain’t gonna bite ya.”

  “Hello.” Tommy croaked it rather than said it, but it was better than no attempt at all.

  “You like the rain, boy?”

  “Not really.” Tommy giggled awkwardly.

  “Me neither. Makes everything squidgy.” The driver fell silent then, like he was focusing on the road.

  Trying to figure out how far along the route they were, Susan peered through the glass to catch a look at the signs, but it was impossible with the storm blurring the scenery.

  “What’s this?” Tommy picked up a small jade hairclip from between the seats.

  “That?” The driver snatched it from him and threw it onto the dashboard. “That’s nothing. My damn wife keeps leaving things lying around.”

  Susan’s eyes widened with alarm. “You said your wife had passed.”

  “Hmm? Oh, she did. I meant she kept leaving things lying around. I don’t have too many people ride up front with me, so nobody tends to tell me about the mess.”

  Susan could hear the engine revving up and the needle on the speedometer flicking over. “Could you slow down, please? I think there’s a gas station if you turn right here.”

  “Sure,” the driver said, but he didn’t slow down at all.

  Susan watched as he sped toward the crossroad, which led down into the city to the right. The left fork, however, led up into the woods.

  Ignoring her directions, the driver turned left.

  Chapter Ten

  “Sir, I think we’re going the wrong way.”

  The driver said nothing but kept on driving toward the forest, where a number of horror stories had supplied the citizens of San Francisco with endless rumors and campfire stories.

  “Sir, I—”

  “Just shut your damn hole, will ya?” the man snapped, and he pulled out a pistol.

  Susan recoiled, and Tommy leaned into her. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen a gun, but it was certainly the first time one had been pointed at her. “Please, don’t hurt us. We just want our car working again. If you let us out now, we won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

  “Stop your moaning, woman. Have some backbone.”

  “But—”

  “Another word and I’ll shoot you dead, you hear?”

  He drove them farther into the hills, where he eventually stopped on a dark stretch of road that split the forest. There was an undeniable feeling of loneliness and seclusion up here. And rightfully so; they were completely alone.

  “Please…”

  The driver shut off the engine and aimed the gun at Susan’s face. “Get out.”

  She hesitated. “W-What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Susan fumbled for the door handle and almost fell out as she opened it. The rain hit her hard and fast, instantly soaking her through. Trembling, she held her hands out toward her son, helping him out of the RV.

  “No.” The driver pulled back on the hammer of the gun. “Leave the boy.”

  Susan couldn’t help crying. She’d always dreaded the thought of somebody taking her boy away, and she wouldn’t let him go. “Please, I need my son.”

  “I need him more, bitch. Now close the door, or I’ll shoot the pair of you.”

  Susan shook her head slowly, looking at Tommy’s terrified expression. “Please.”

  “Last chance,” the driver said, clutching Tommy’s raincoat.

  “Mommy,” Tommy whined.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” Susan said, and she closed the door.

  The RV’s wheels spun and flicked up dirt and gravel as they pulled away, leaving Susan Chance alone in the darkness while her son was taken away by the stranger.

  If Robert were around, she thought, this never would have happened.

  Susan despised herself, crying and shaking in the rain.

  Alone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mason had accepted their meal with grace, but it still felt like a bribe. Bill’s wife, Christine, had been kind enough to cook dinner, while Bill made small talk until they were done.

  “I’ll just clear these up.” Christine collected the empty plates and headed for the kitchen.

  “Allow me,” Mason said, but Bill demanded that he sit.

  When they were alone, Bill leaned back in his chair and retrieved a key from a nearby drawer. He threw it to Mason, who caught it with one deft flick of the hand. “That’s yours.”

  “For what?”

  “You’re staying with us,” Bill said, as if it weren’t a choice. “And you’ll be working the case whether you like it or not.”

  “Bill, I—”

  “The Lullaby Killer is back, Mason. There’s no running from it anymore. Now, you can sit around all day and mope about losing your wife to that asshole Joshua, or you can get to work. You’re more familiar with this guy than anyone at the station.”

  “So? Read the file and you’ll know everything I know.” Mason felt like an ungrateful son of a bitch, and it wasn’t how he’d intended to sound. Regardless, he wouldn’t be pushed int
o a corner.

  “You owe us, Mason. You owe me.”

  “I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

  Bill shoved back his chair and stormed into another room. Moments later he returned with a photo frame, dumping it into Mason’s lap. “Look at it.”

  Mason knew exactly what it was, and he knew it would win him over. Still, he couldn’t help but look. In his lap was the photograph of Michael—Bill and Christine’s son. He was sitting on Bill’s shoulders with a big, cheesy grin on his face.

  “It’s two years since that psychopath took our son, but we still feel it every day. I suppose I don’t need to remind you who was working the case.”

  Mason lowered the photo, then looked up at Bill.

  “My son—your godson—died because of him. So what if he’s been quiet ever since? What difference does time make? The fact is he’s still out there, and you’re sitting here whining about how your family is falling apart. Now, I can put you up here, Mason. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. That one comes for free, whatever you do. But you and I both know you need to take this case.”

  The room fell silent, the only sound the rhythmic tick-tock of a clock adding to the tension. Christine could no longer be heard clattering dishes in the kitchen: it was obvious she’d been listening to all the yelling.

  “Please, Mason.”

  Mason took a deep breath. He thought of Amy. There were other kids out there, he knew, who were just like her. And for as long as this killer was on the streets, those kids would be in danger.

  “Let me sleep on it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It was barely sunrise, and Bill had practically dragged Mason to the police station on the basis that it was “an emergency.” Mason soon believed it, especially when he was shown into the viewers’ booth behind the interview room.

  Susan Chance sat at the table, a perfectly average woman in most ways aside from being drenched and caked in mud and with nothing but a towel over her shoulders. Her makeup had run down her pale cheeks, and she looked a mess. Mason didn’t need a PhD in psychology to know the woman had been through hell and back.