Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection

by Adam Nicholls

  Knowing he would regret it, Mason answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Black, how nice to hear from you. You’re doing all right, I hope?” The killer’s voice sounded odd, his relaxed tone very unlike his mother’s. Something about it gave Mason the sense he’d truly fallen off the sanity wagon.

  Mason put the phone on speaker and sat it on the table. “Keep your filthy fucking hands away from my daughter. You hear me?”

  “Aw, don’t be like that. Stay positive and you might be able to help her.”

  That must mean she’s still alive. Mason looked at Bill, who was taking notes and snapping his fingers at a nearby techie. It looked like he was trying to get the call traced, but Mason knew they wouldn’t get time. “What do you want?”

  “You.”

  There was a dreadful silence, but it spoke volumes. Evie stood at the back of the room and nibbled on her nails.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re a pain in the ass. So, I’m gonna offer you a deal. Your life in exchange for hers.” There was a long pause. “What do you say?”

  Mason didn’t even have to think about it. The only question was whether the killer would stay loyal to his proposal. Somehow, Mason didn’t think so. “You’re bluffing.”

  Marvin Wendell laughed. “Only one way to find out, huh? You have exactly ten minutes to get to Cliffside Hill. A second later, she dies. Come alone, or she dies. The clock’s ticking, Mr. Black.”

  Mason knew the place—you couldn’t go any farther before you plummeted to the rocks below. It was a common place for teenagers to hang out, but never late at night.

  “I’ll be waiting,” Wendell said.

  The call ended, and Mason stuffed the phone into his pocket.

  “What’re you going to do?” Evie asked, still chewing the polish from her nails.

  But Mason didn’t hear her.

  He was already halfway out the door.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Amy had tried banging and screaming, but it was hopeless. Nobody was around to help her, and even if they were, they wouldn’t be able to hear her. The killer had made her well aware of that when he’d slid open the mailbox-sized slot.

  “It’s soundproof,” he’d said. “Try all you want, but nobody will hear you.”

  With this in mind, she became silent in the darkness. The cool metal pressed against her cheek, while her eyes were sore with streams of hot, stinging tears. She would let them out now, while the killer wasn’t looking—her father had taught her to be strong, so that was the only side of herself she would let show.

  As much as she wanted to beg for her life, Amy sat in silence. If she could just get a moment to talk with the man, she might be able to manipulate him a little. So total silence was probably her best bet.

  After a while, he must have noticed she’d been mute. He opened up the slide and peered through, looking over his shoulder instead of at the road.

  “Where are you taking me?” Amy asked, leveling her voice to sound calm.

  The killer crooked an eyebrow and closed the slide, inviting darkness.

  Amy was left alone again, if only for a few seconds.

  The slide came open once more. “Away.”

  She knew he hadn’t been taking her home. Why would he? He had everything he’d ever wanted now, and even her father might not be able to stop him.

  But that didn’t keep her from praying.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Mason blasted through the dark with nothing but the Mustang’s headlights to guide him.

  Cliffside Hill. That was where he had to go. It was lucky he knew the place. He’d taken Sandra to the restaurant for their proposal dinner all those years ago. Mason didn’t think the killer knew that, so it was a hell of a coincidence.

  The cell phone jingled in his lap.

  Another text.

  Mason steered with one hand and read it with the other: Time is running out.

  He was damn right about that. With only four minutes left on the clock, he had to punch the gas. Maybe he could make it if he cut a corner or two, but this would have to be the best driving of his life.

  He eased on the brake and swung the rear end of the Mustang around the bend. It was a heavy machine, not built for this kind of precision driving. It roared as it gripped the road, belching out smoke from beneath the screeching tires.

  Not far to go.

  The phone went off again. A picture of Amy. She was crying now, sending Mason into a blind rage. Nobody lays a hand on my little girl. By the looks of it, she had a cliff and the moonlit sky not far behind her. There was another message attached.

  Two minutes.

  Mason couldn’t check his phone again. Every second was vital.

  With the clock ticking and his adrenaline at an all-time high, he pushed the car to its limit and pierced through the darkness.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  The wind howled as spatters of rain assaulted his face, numbing his cheeks and ears. It was unbearably cold, but worth it just to prove a point.

  “Sit quiet,” Wendell said, setting up his climactic display. Nothing had ever been more exhilarating than this. Sure, he’d hurt and killed the real little shits. This girl didn’t seem like one of them. She seemed smart but not enough to grow up and become a bitchy manipulator. A tease. She was pretty but didn’t seem to know it. She was… normal.

  But she still has to die.

  The girl was sobbing, too—trying to hide it, but definitely sobbing.

  “Stop that stupid noise,” he demanded, tightening the rope. It was difficult enough to get ready in time. Mr. Black would soon be at the target location, and he hadn’t even finished up here yet.

  “My dad will come for me,” the girl protested, feigning toughness.

  “He’d better.” This was everything the killer wanted. This would be the last time anyone tried to fuck with him. Why did anyone even try to stop me? I was doing a good thing, for crying out loud. Why should these little bastards get to enjoy their childhoods?

  “He’s going to kick your ass.”

  Wendell was losing patience. He went to his tool bag and retrieved the pliers. “I was going to do this last, but since it’s the only way to shut you up…” He stepped forward and pulled her from the side of the van. She was surprisingly heavy for a girl her age, and the kicking around didn’t help. Halfway to the edge of the cliff, he gave up and hurled her to the rocky ground.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, scrambling backward. The tears came again.

  “Little girls need to be punished.” He lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, forcing her hand into a steady position while she screamed and thrashed, trying to hit him.

  She wasn’t strong enough to stop him.

  “Please!” Desperation laced her screams.

  The killer placed the metal ridges on either side of her pinkie finger and squeezed until she cried. He held still, letting the fear and pain linger as he marveled at how much control he had. Never had he felt so powerful, so godlike and in control.

  “Ah, you ain’t worth it, sweetheart,” he said and shoved her into the dirt.

  The girl rolled to her side and spewed into a puddle, clutching her hand.

  “Now, shut the hell up. I got work to do.”

  “You’re a monster,” the girl said, weeping.

  “Oh, honey. No, no. I’m the product of a monster.” Wendell thought about his home being invaded by Mason Black. “The real criminal is trying to stop me.”

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Bill was driving as fast as he could while Evie kept lookout beside him. “He’s getting farther away,” he said, shifting gears with a stern look.

  “Just do what you can.”

  They’d jumped into the car as soon as Mason had left the house. Marvin Wendell had told him to come alone, but they couldn’t allow it. If only they could hang back and out of view, Amy might remain unharmed. But if Mason was in a tight spot, Evie would never
forgive herself for refusing to act.

  “We’re going to lose him if we don’t go faster.” Bill protested that they should catch up, but Evie remained firm.

  “Stay steady.”

  Although Bill was right, and they did in fact lose sight of Mason’s taillights in the distance, they at least knew they weren’t far behind.

  They drove farther up the hill, where strong gusts of wind buffeted the car. Evie knew they were near Cliffside now, and they would locate her brother in no time at all. “Switch off your lights.”

  “What? It’s pitch-black out here, are you cra—”

  “Just do it.” As soon as she spotted the stationary Mustang on the hill, she pointed up at it, which motivated Bill to obey her. “Stop the car.” They screeched to a halt and she climbed out, running up the hill in the dark toward Mason’s car.

  Please be inside, please be inside.

  Mason was good at taking care of himself, and Evie wouldn’t have to worry there. But when Amy was involved, someone was going to get hurt. Evie only hoped it would be the Lullaby Killer.

  It took a few minutes to reach the car, trudging uphill against the wind and in the heavy shower. After clawing her way to the top, she could see the door was open and the engine was shut off. Only the dome light lent any illumination to the vacant interior.

  “Shit!” she said, getting drenched in the rain. She looked back down the hill, where Bill was watching her from the dry safety of his own car.

  Evie turned back around, and a light on the car seat caught her eye. She leaned in, reached for it, and gripped the cell phone in her hand. There was a picture on the screen. It was Amy, and she stood on the edge of the cliff. Her lip was curved in as if she was crying.

  “Son of a bitch,” Evie muttered.

  Mason was lost to her, and Amy was in big trouble. It was clear to her now: in spite of her efforts, the Lullaby Killer was going to win.

  Chapter Eighty

  Mason’s hands were up in surrender as he stared at the end of the gun.

  “Take off your coat,” Wendell instructed. “I want to see that gun of yours.”

  After all these years, it felt surreal to see the infamous Lullaby Killer in the flesh. Mason had expected nothing more than the ordinary-looking man he’d seen in the photographs, but over time he had built up an image of a demon in his mind. Seeing him in person now, standing face-to-face, he did indeed look just like a regular man—save for the missing finger on his left hand.

  “If you insist.” Mason slid off his trench coat, and it flumped to the wet ground. His black T-shirt was soaked through and clung to his skin. He had to fight not to shiver or show any weakness.

  Wendell looked at the revolver in the holster, and his eyes widened. “I’ll take that. Damn risky of you, Mr. Black.” Keeping the gun trained on him, Wendell took out the revolver and threw it into the bushes behind him.

  While he had his back turned, Mason saw a fleeting opportunity to rush the killer. It was perfectly possible to tackle him and knock the gun from his hand. But if he did that he knew he would never see Amy again. Instead, and with difficulty, he bided his time. “Where is my daughter?”

  Wendell offered a sly grin, then nodded at the RV.

  “Inside?”

  “Go on.”

  Mason doubted Amy would be tucked away inside the RV, but he couldn’t take the risk of not checking. Grunting, he walked toward the door with his hands in the air, still resisting the urge to fight this son of a bitch.

  “Open it.” The killer waved the pistol around.

  With caution, Mason pried open the side door. He hadn’t truly expected to see her inside, and it came as no surprise when faced with only the metal backing he’d seen once before.

  “Get in.”

  Mason sighed, lowered his hands, and turned to face the killer. “Why don’t you just kill me and let her go? You’ll still go free when all is said and done.”

  “You’d let me go that easily?” He chuckled. “I’m disappointed.”

  “If it gets my daughter out of harm’s way, sure.” Mason wondered about the future victims this guy would take. It felt wrong to be sacrificing himself for his daughter, thus letting the elusive Lullaby Killer carry on his nefarious business. “Makes sense, right?”

  For a passing moment, Wendell lowered his eyes. It was like he was considering taking Mason’s advice. But then a light returned to his expression, and he stepped forward with the gun still trained on Mason. “I need you alive. At least, until that little girl has watched you suffer in agony before your death. After that, maybe I’ll give her a swift end. Then again, she seems as if she could take a little torture.” Wendell grinned and shoved him toward the door.

  Against his better judgment, Mason climbed into the back of the RV, hoping—praying—that he’d be able to get Amy to safety. At any cost.

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Although Bill was approaching, Evie needed to run. There was just no time to wait for him, no matter how much she needed his help.

  Down at the bottom of the slope was the killer’s RV. Mason was climbing into it while Marvin Wendell took sanctuary behind the trigger of a gun. It wasn’t looking good for her brother or her niece, but she had to try to do something.

  The slope was steep—too steep to make it down unscathed. But as Wendell was closing the side door of the RV, it looked as though timing was everything.

  Bill finally caught her up, panting. “Shit, Evie! Where’s he taking him?”

  Evie peered over the edge, judging her chances. She estimated an 80 percent chance of survival, but only a 2 percent chance of it not hurting like hell.

  But I have to try.

  Reluctant, she took a deep breath and stepped back.

  “What’re you doing?” Bill asked, but there was no time to let him talk her out of it.

  It was now or never.

  Evie took a run-up and threw herself down the slope. She landed on her ass and shuffled her feet, trying to break her descent into a set of smaller falls. The main risk was that if her foot caught, she’d flip over, ending her crazy rescue attempt in a barreling mess of broken bones.

  She picked up speed and caught a hazy blur of the killer climbing into the RV. Hopefully he wouldn’t see her, and if God was on her side, she would make it in time.

  But as the rocks tore at her skin, flipping and rolling her, she heard the hum of the engine below her. The headlights came on, and she was nowhere even close to stopping him.

  More debris caught her as she tumbled, tearing up her arms. She was vaguely aware of Bill calling after her. The idiot is going to give me away. Evie dug in her heel and managed to slow herself as she approached the bottom of the slope.

  And then the RV moved.

  No.

  Evie was thrown chest-first into the dirt as she hit the bottom. Glancing up, she spotted the ladder on the back of the RV and stumbled forward, turning her combat roll into a dash. She was getting closer.

  The RV was moving faster.

  She was fifteen feet from reaching the ladder.

  Ten feet.

  Seven.

  Five.

  With everything she had left in the tank, Evie darted forward, planted her right foot down, and leapt as far as she could with an outstretched arm. It was a final, desperate grope for the ladder as it moved away.

  Please slow down, she thought as it moved out of reach.

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Mason felt the cold discomfort of the steel and wondered how many children had been kept here before meeting their grisly, premature end. How many had been locked away, scared and alone? How many of them knew they were going to die, and how many cried? The thoughts disgusted him as the RV traveled, with any luck, toward Amy.

  Finally, a rough bump and a screeching grind of the gears. The engine died and a door slammed; then the side door was dragged open by a smiling Wendell.

  Mason looked at the gun in his hand, glad it was pointed at him instead of Amy.


  “Here it is, Mr. Black. Your final stop.”

  Mason climbed out and a strong ocean breeze rushed at his face as violent rain thrashed against his skin in a flurry. In all his life, he’d never been so damn freezing.

  “Dad!”

  Desperately relieved to hear her voice, Mason looked around to where his daughter stood, twenty feet from the edge of the cliff. A thick rope was tied around her leg, and the other end trailed off into the trees. She looked far enough from the edge that she couldn’t slip and fall off the cliff. At least that went in their favor.

  “Did he hurt you, honey?” He went for her, stopping short as the killer rocketed a punch into his gut. It winded him, sending him to his knees. He’s stronger than he looks. Mason wanted to hit back—to beat him black and blue—but Wendell was the man with the gun.

  “One thing at a time,” Wendell told him through gritted teeth. He stepped back, keeping the gun aimed at Mason, and moved toward the trees. Once there, he untied the rope from the trunk, returned, and threw it at Mason. “Tie it around yourself.”

  What exactly is he planning? “Why?”

  Wendell took a quick step forward and pulled back the hammer of the gun. “Just do it.”

  Mason tied a knot around his waist. With an idea of where this might be heading, he formed a secure loop around his thigh to protect his spine if he fell. “There. You happy? Now let my daughter go.”

  “All in good time, Mr. Black.” He used the gun’s barrel to guide Mason to the edge of the cliff, where a strong gust of wind roared at them.

  Mason approached and peered over at the drop. It was a hundred feet down, at least, with a rocky bottom. He couldn’t help but shiver. If this is what it takes, then so be it. But it was then that he noticed it—the one horrific detail that slotted everything into place.