by Elle Gray
“To you, Delia,” I say, and take another drink.
As I look out at the water, watch the boats that cross the Sound, leaving trails of white in their wake, my mind turns outward again, and I focus on what’s before me. Paxton’s discovery of the surveillance equipment I’d planted in his office was an inconvenience, to be sure. But it also raised the esteem I hold him in even higher. I have no idea how he figured it out, but it is exciting. It shows me that I’m right about him.
But it left me with a blind spot. I needed to know what they know and what they’re seeing. So as much as I do not like to kill so close to home, I was forced to. I knew that marking a body I’ve cleansed with the symbol they would recognize would bring them running. And sure enough, it did. Just as I knew it would.
I used the opportunity while they were distracted to plant another mic in Agent Wilder’s satchel. I knew they would return to Paxton’s office, and so they did. And I listened in on their entire conversation about me, impressed with just how thorough and insightful Paxton is. His profile of me, though difficult to listen to at certain points, is more or less dead on. It shows me that I am right. He is truly meant to build upon my legacy.
All I must do is get Agent Wilder out of the way so he can see that. She keeps undoing all the work I’ve been doing to prepare him for his own becoming. I have been working hard to lay the groundwork for his metamorphosis, only to have that woman interfere and undo everything I’ve done.
She has become a distraction. A nuisance to be dealt with. And fortunately, she may also be the key Paxton needs to unlock that door inside of him. The door that leads to his own becoming.
Twenty-Two
Paxton
Arrington Investigations; Downtown Seattle
“Jesus, that’s a lot of names,” Brody gasps.
I nod. “Sure is.”
“And you’re absolutely sure that one guy did all this?”
I nod again. “As sure as I am that your name is Brody.”
I sit at the table in the conference room, going over all of my notes and the case files I do have. It’s been a few days since the Melanie Woods murder, and Blake hasn’t heard word one from Schreiber. Not that either of us are surprised. I’m tempted to give Deputy Chief Torres a call and have him come down here to look at my whiteboard, but he’ll tell me what Blake’s superiors keep telling her— the evidence is flimsy, and they won’t use resources they don’t have on what could be a wild goose chase.
And after some introspection and careful thought, I suppose I can’t really blame them all too much. I hate that I can’t, but I really can’t. Other than the flaming cross, there is no direct evidence linking all of these murders together. Hayes is amazingly good at covering his tracks and using forensic countermeasures to keep people guessing. He varies his methods just slightly enough so that patterns can’t be established, and he chooses victims with exacting specifications. He has honed his craft over the past two decades to be nearly unpredictable.
And it’s my job to predict where he’ll strike next. Before it’s too late.
Torres won’t take my word that I’ve spoken to the killer and that he’s claimed credit for all forty bodies— and more if we ever find them. And rather than bite the bullet, take some heat, and open a full and public investigation into the killer, both the SPD and the Bureau are simply tucking their heads into the sand and playing the cover-your-butt game. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
But evil will continue slaughtering innocents until it’s stopped.
“Jesus,” Brody mutters again, his voice tinged with awe.
“And nobody is looking for this guy, let alone trying to stop him,” I say, my voice thick with frustration.
“And this guy was in this office?” Brody asks, a nervous tremor in his voice.
“He was,” I reply.
“I may need to work from home for a while. I’m not built to deal well with genocidal maniacs.”
I give him a wry smile. “I think he needs to kill several thousand more before he qualifies as genocidal.”
Brody shrugs. “You said you don’t know how many this guy has killed,” he points out. “For all you know, there’s a giant pit out there somewhere with fifty thousand bodies in it. I think that would surely qualify.”
A grim laugh escapes me. It’s melodramatic and unlikely, but he’s not entirely wrong. We just don’t know how many bodies are out there, and we won’t until we have Hayes in our custody. Once we do though, I think we’ll find out the full scope of his monstrous life. Knowing him as I do, I’m sure he won’t be able to resist telling me how many people he’s killed.
He’ll tell me not only as a point of pride but also because he thinks he’ll be showing me the full breadth of his good works in this world. He’ll want to show me how much of a difference he’s made in cleansing the world of the impure and sinful. He’ll try to convince me once more that his work is necessary, and that because we are so similar, I should be the one to pick up his mantle and carry on with his work.
But as I stare at the faces on the whiteboard, I’m struck once more by how much I’m not like him. And I can’t believe I ever entertained the notion. I realize the darkness that exists within me is born not of a homicidal urge, but something else. Something far more mundane and personal. Although I once toyed with the idea of whether or not I could do what Hayes is doing, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt now, that I could not. And those were the thoughts of an immature, selfish, self-absorbed mind.
The change Veronica wrought in me was not pulling me from the edge of that darkness, but in showing me that light exists within me. She opened my eyes to the world around me. She showed me that for far too long, I lived inside my own mind, never feeling at home in high society and the Arrington way of life, but never being a part of the ‘common folk’ either.
She showed me that I existed between two worlds, with a foot in neither, so I retreated inward. And if you exist in that in-between space in your own mind for too long, of course, your thoughts will turn dark. You will become bitter and angry. My darkness was simply a product of my own retreat inward and self-absorption.
It’s why I cling so hard to a life of service. Of helping others. It has brought me out of that darkness and into the light. And the years I spent sharing that light with Veronica were the best of my life. So in keeping her memory alive, I’m also keeping myself alive. As long as I’m living a life I know Veronica would be proud of, I can keep myself in the light. Living a life of service and keeping her alive in my heart is as much about me as it is her.
Call that selfish if you want. I call it necessary. I don’t want to go back to being the person I was before I met Veronica. That’s what my family—my parents in particular—don’t understand. And I don’t even think Blake fully gets it either. But I do and I know Veronica does, and in the end, that’s all that matters.
“You all right, man?” Brody asks.
I nod. “I was just thinking about how all of this has helped me understand myself in ways I haven’t since Veronica died.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that I enjoy living in the light rather than in the darkness.”
“Vague and ominous-sounding, but okay.”
I laugh. “It makes sense to me.”
“And that’s all that matters.”
“Just what I was thinking.”
We share a moment of companionable silence, and Brody lays his hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“You’re gonna catch this guy, Pax. I know you can. And I’m with you every step of the way.”
I look up at him and hold his gaze. “Thanks.”
Twenty-Three
Reuben Hayes
Nelson’s Supermarket; Downtown Seattle
“Thank you very much,” I say. “And have yourself a very pleasant evening.”
“You too, sir,” the cashier replies.
I catch sight of her from the corner of my eyes as I push
my cart away from the register and head for the door, making a show of my limping and near immobility. I’m just another octogenarian out buying groceries at eight at night, don’t mind me.
Thanks to the tracker I placed under the rear bumper of Special Agent Wilder’s car the same day I dropped the bug into her satchel, I am able to find her at a moment’s notice. I followed her from the FBI field office to Pike Place, and now into a supermarket for a few things.
Judging by her groceries, it looks like she is planning on making dinner for somebody. I can’t help but wonder if it’s Paxton. Perhaps I was wrong, and she’s not the Irene Adler in his life after all. The mutual respect is definitely there between them, but perhaps it’s not platonic, and she’s actually his paramour.
If that’s the case, I must say they hide it very well. I see the chemistry between them, but to me, it seems as if they really are nothing more than friends. That gives me even more reason to take Special Agent Wilder off the board. I do not want, nor need, Paxton to be distracted. I want him laser focused and… well, if I’m being honest, I want him vulnerable.
I’ve found that people who are vulnerable and going through a crisis are so much more malleable. It will be far easier to mold and shape him, to help him see his true potential and what he is capable of being, if Special Agent Wilder is no longer in the way, twisting his mind in ways that run counter to my instruction and guidance.
But to get him to do what I want him to do, to help open his eyes to what he’s truly capable of being, I need to give him the one thing he wants above all else. Answers about his wife. I know he’s been digging into her death ever since she died. I know he doubts the official story. And I know he’s not getting the answers he so desperately wants.
It’s the one thing I can offer him that will get him to do what I want and need him to do, which is to open his eyes and see himself for what he truly is. It’s the one thing that will bring him to my way of thinking and let him see that, like me, he can ascend. Transform. And join me in my work to cleanse this world.
I’ve parked two cars down from Agent Wilder’s car and am still fumbling with my keys when she comes out of the store. By the time she reaches her car, I have my trunk open and put the first bag in. But then I stumble and drop my second bag, falling to the ground heavily in the process. I groan loudly like it’s the worst pain I’ve felt in my life.
Agent Wilder is there in the blink of an eye, hovering over me, a look of genuine compassion and concern in her face.
“Very Johnny on the spot of you, Special Agent Wilder.”
As I smile, I see her expression changing from one of concern to one of fear tinged with anger as the realization that she’s been had dawns on her. She reaches for the holster on her hip, but she’s too late. I bring out the stun gun I’d concealed in my sweater and press it to her skin. And as I pull the trigger and watch her start to twitch, I smile.
I quickly get to my feet and zap her again just to be sure. As she lies on the ground, groaning and writhing, I look around but am gratified to see there’s nobody out at this hour. I pick her up and drop her into my trunk; then, after taking her service weapon, I bind her wrists and ankles with zip ties. With her secured, I inject her with a sedative that should ensure she remains out cold until we return home.
I watch her for a moment as the sedative begins to take hold. Her eyes flutter, and her body starts to grow limp. It’s not long before her eyes close, and she starts the deep, even breaths of sleep. That done, I close the trunk lid.
“That was disappointingly easy, Special Agent Wilder,” I muse. “Paxton would not have made such a clumsy error.”
Grinning to myself, I get behind the wheel and drive off into the night with my prize. And my test for Paxton. If he passes, he will come through it a changed man. He’ll have proved his worth to build upon my legacy, and we can begin doing great things together. We can begin cleansing the stains of humanity off the fabric of this world.
But, if he fails, I’ll have to kill him. Which would be truly disappointing.
Twenty-Four
Paxton
Arrington Investigations; Downtown Seattle
When I get Blake’s voicemail— again— I disconnect the call and drop the phone onto my desk, the slight concern that had blossomed yesterday, blooming into outright worry today. It’s been two days since I last spoke with Blake. She’s not returning my calls or text messages. I’ve even left several messages at her office. All to no avail.
I know she’s got a lot going on. In addition to the Hayes case, she’s been assigned to look into several other cases at the same time. I imagine her superiors are trying to bury her in other work to divide her attention with the hope she’ll drop it entirely to focus on current cases instead.
But they obviously don’t know Blake like I do. She’s a bulldog. Once she gets her teeth into something, she does not let it go. And her teeth are fully sunk into the Hayes case. She is one hundred percent engaged with it, and knowing her as I do, she would never simply walk away. Especially without mentioning something to me about it first. She would have at least given me a heads up.
Which makes her sudden radio silence all the more worrisome. The only reason I can think of for her going dark like this is that she’s been thrown into some undercover assignment and can’t contact me. But I can’t imagine some deep undercover case popping up this quickly. They would not just throw her in unprepared for something like that. Not even the idiots over at SPD would do that. Undercover work takes some time and prep work.
Brody comes through my office door with his tablet and a grim look on his face. It sends a cold chill slithering down my spine. The thought of anything happening to Blake makes my stomach churn, and my heart threatens to stop dead in my chest.
“What is it?” I ask. “What did you find?”
“It’s not what I found, man. It’s what the SPD found,” he says. “And they found Blake’s car outside Nelson’s. It’s been in the parking lot of a couple of days.”
I’m on my feet before I’m even aware I’ve moved. A greasy, nauseous feeling wells up in my gut, and my heart starts to beat harder than if I’d just run a marathon. I take the tablet from Brody and scan through what he’s found. Which is nothing other than Blake’s car. The groceries were in the back seat along with her satchel, and they found a tracking device under the rear bumper. There’s only one person who could have done this... Hayes. He’s been stalking her. On the positive side though, they thankfully found no blood and most importantly, no body.
There’s no question in my mind about who did this. Who took her. The fact that he’d flaunted that he’d known about her should have tipped me off. I should have known. He wouldn’t have mentioned that he knew about Blake unless he wanted me to know. And the only reason he’d want me to know is that he planned to use her to draw me into his stupid game.
Brody looks at me, his expression as sober as I’ve ever seen it. “You don’t think—”
“No,” I cut him off and shake my head. “No. She’s alive. If Hayes was going to kill her, we’d have found the body by now.”
“Then why did he take her?”
“It’s all part of his game,” I say softly. “She has some part to play in all of this. He’s using her to get to me.”
Just saying the words, knowing how true they are, hits me like a sledgehammer to the gut. I have to sit down again. My legs suddenly feel weak, and I’m having a hard time catching my breath. Knowing that Blake is in danger because of me— because of this freak’s fascination with me— turns my stomach.
But it also makes me angry. I’m filled with a seething rage that lights up every cell in my body. He’s crossed a line. This just makes me more determined than ever to find this man and put a stop to his madness. I don’t care if I have to kill him myself to do it. This sick psycho is going down. For good.
My mind is spinning. I’m trying to figure out what my next move is going to be when my phone rings. Brody and I exchan
ge a look, then I snatch up my phone, see it’s from a blocked number, and connect the call.
“Where is she?” I roar.
“Tsk tsk,” he says. “You really should learn proper phone etiquette.”
“Where— is— she?” I growl. “What have you done with her?”
“Imagine if I had been a telemarketer. Or a client,” he replies, a laugh in his voice. “That might have been embarrassing for you.”
“Screw you, Hayes,” I spit. “Tell me where she is.”
“You of all people should know how seriously I take manners, Paxton,” he says. “I abhor boorish behavior.”
“I swear to God, if you don’t—”
“I also do not tolerate threats,” he cuts me off, his voice suddenly cold. “Now, if you cannot control yourself and show me some proper courtesy and respect, I will hang up now and you will never see Special Agent Wilder again. At least, not until she turns up in the city morgue. Are we clear?”
I draw a deep breath and swallow down the anger coursing through every vein in my body. I want nothing more than to crush this man’s skull, but he’s right. I need to control myself. I know better than anybody that he demands manners and courtesy. If I have any hope of getting Blake out of this mess, I’m going to have to play by his rules. I cut a glance at Brody, who gives me an encouraging nod.
“We’re clear,” I sigh, injecting as much civility into my tone as possible. Which, at the moment, is not much.
“That will do, I suppose.”
“Where is she, and why have you taken her?” I ask.
“To answer your first question, all in due time,” he says. “As to the second, it is to help you become who you were meant to be.”