“Wait.” Zac said, holding his hand up for Romeo to stop.
“Why…”
The DI cleared his throat. “We searched around the cottage, the wooded areas, the fields, and we found a car we believe Chad has been using.”
“A car.” Romeo said, looking at each of them. “So what?”
“We believe the killer has Chad.”
Romeo stopped breathing. He held his breath and searched each of their eyes in turn. They weren’t lying, they looked as if they’d already given up, Chad was as good as dead.
Romeo’s head got hotter, felt stuffier, muffled, full of cotton wool, and he was pretty sure he was about to pass out, then someone grabbed his hand.
The most unexpected person out of the three of them. Gareth had reached across the table and took hold of Romeo’s hand. The unexpectedness cleared Romeo’s head, and he got himself under control.
“Help us find him, please.”
Romeo looked at Gareth, the desperation in his eyes, the twitching of his brow, the nod of his head. Romeo exhaled hard, then gulped for breath. Gareth seemed to come to his senses too, he looked down at his hand on Romeo’s then quickly snatched it back.
“You found the car he’d been using,” Romeo said. “That doesn’t mean the killer’s got Chad.”
“On the driver’s seat there was a rock with Chad’s blood on it… The car looked as if it had been placed, not abandoned.”
Romeo closed his eyes. He’d knocked Chad out with a rock, that was common knowledge.
“And there was a note.”
“What note?”
Gareth reached down for something, then placed an evidence bag in front of Romeo. He hesitated, flexed his fingers, then reached for it. Printed in the middle of an A4 piece of paper were the words; The one that got away.
“He’s got Chad.” Romeo said.
It hit him harder when it came from his mouth. He was struck dumb, unable to say anything else, unable to think beyond that thought.
Someone had Chad.
Another monster.
“We seized Holly’s laptop.” The DI said. “We’ve got her files and notes. We’ve got techs going through it, seeing if the laptop was used on the day of the break in, seeing if the documents had been saved to an external hard drive.”
Romeo nodded. “The killer must be someone who knew Holly was writing about me. It must be someone at the Canster Times.”
“Holly’s been very open about writing an article on you. She’s posted about it on her social media accounts for months.”
Zac opened a folder, flashing Romeo a glimpse of Holly’s social media pages. She wanted everyone to know she was visiting him, had marked her territory over the internet.
“The break ins, whoever did it knew about the break ins, knew to use them as a cover.”
“The break ins are local news. The whole town knows about them.”
“Okay,” Romeo said, bracing his hands on the table. “The copycat’s eager, he doesn’t wait two months like me, but one. That means we’ve got a month to find Chad.”
Gareth and the DI shared an uneasy look. Romeo frowned, even Zac didn’t understand the look by his puzzled expression.
“What?” Romeo asked.
Gareth unwound the string on the file in front of him, took a deep breath, then opened the folder. He slid a photograph across the table to Romeo.
“We need to show you something.” The DI said.
Gareth pointed at the photograph he’d just revealed. “Steven Vole, also known as the man who electrocuted himself in the bedroom. We saw the five on his chest, didn’t want the public to descend into mad panic.”
Romeo looked at the picture of Steven on the bed, eyes closed, arms and legs spread out, dark purple bruise on his neck. Neat number five burned into his skin. It didn’t look too different to how he left his victims. Gareth slid another photograph on top.
“James Clerk, number four.”
He was spread out on the bed, four on his chest, dark bruise around his neck, but that wasn’t the only bruise. He had them on his abdomen, ranging from green, to reddish brown.
“You said you thought the killer was angry … frustrated … he was taking it out on their bodies before he killed them.”
No one answered, Gareth slid Romeo another picture. “Cassy Price.”
She was on the bed, a three burned on her chest. Bruising around her neck, bruises on her body, but also, blood. There were cuts, slices, nicks, small, but many.
Romeo looked up at the DI. “What’s he using?”
“Something small, sharp, precise, something designed to cut flesh. Most likely a scalpel.”
Gareth took a deep breath, then handed Romeo the final photograph. One that must’ve been taken that morning.
Number two.
She’d been laid out on the bed, her number clear to see. No bruises, lots of slices, cuts, nicks, they looked fresh, some of them looked deep, but most shocking of all was her throat. She hadn’t been strangled; her throat had been slit.
“We don’t class him as a copycat.” The DI said. “He’s been inspired by you, idolizes you, but he’s been experimenting, finding his own style. He does this to them while they’re helpless, over the course of a few hours, then he kills them.”
Gareth swallowed. “He’s favored the scalpel over his hands.”
“He’s got Chad…” Romeo whispered. “And if he waits a month…it’s a month for him to do this to Chad. To torture him. Then he’s gonna…”
He couldn’t say it, he shook his head. He’d never been bothered by blood, the smell, the sight, even the taste. He wasn’t affected by the pictures in front of him, the victims bruised, burned, and bloody, but when he thought of Chad like that.
When he thought of him drugged, sliced, then slit, he got up, moved, braced his hand on his knees, and panted at the ground. He was not going to pass out, and he was not going to be sick. He repeated both in his head until he started to believe it.
When he finally got himself together, he looked up, and saw Zac, Gareth and the DI all on their feet. They’d all backed away, Zac holding a can of what Romeo suspected was pepper-spray, Gareth with his baton, and the DI clutching his radio, ready to demand back up.
“Relax.” Romeo said. “My need is on hold. You’re the only chance of saving Chad. I’m not gonna kill you.”
His words were meant to be reassuring, but they didn’t sit back down. They stayed on their feet and waited until Romeo staggered back to his chair. He spread all the photographs out. The progression of the killer’s style. From strangling, to throat slitting. From a quick death, to a tortured one.
“He’s enjoying it.” Romeo said.
The DI, Zac, and Gareth slowly took their seats.
“Serial killers all enjoy it.” Gareth said, “You enjoy it.”
Romeo snorted. “Yes. Its pleasurable, powerful, euphoric, doing what my brain tells me it wants me to do, giving in to the monster’s demands. It’s a release for me. It feels good. It feels right.”
Gareth shook his head. “Jesus.”
“Listen to him,” Zac said.
“But this killer makes them helpless. He makes sure they feel what he does to them. He cuts, and slices, they’re small, he wants to do many, like he’s making art. The killing is the quick bit at the end, but the cutting, that’s what he enjoys, that’s what he makes last.”
The DI shoved Gareth’s arm. “Take this down.”
Romeo stopped, waited for Gareth to scribble some notes, then continued.
“He’s using a scalpel now, but at first it was his fists … blunt objects to make bruises. He didn’t like that, he couldn’t control what the bruises were gonna look like. Some dark green, others reddish. The scalpel shows he wanted to be in control, to make the bodies look how he wants them to.”
Romeo slid the photographs of five, four, and three back to the DI. He kept hold of two, the most recent and tapped his finger on the image.
“Thi
s is how he wants people to see the body.”
Zac grimaced, then looked away. “But it’s messy.”
“The cuts are exact, deeper in some places. He favors the sides, likes the blood to run down in lines. Perfect curves, and straight lines, he’s practicing drawing with the blade. The killer likes blood, and he likes an open, gory wound. He wants it to be horrific.”
“It is horrific.” Gareth said.
“It’s someone inspired by me. Someone who likes to be in control, perhaps even feels like they’ve lost it, and this—this is somehow giving it back. Someone who likes the sight, the smell,” Romeo tapped the photo. “He could probably even taste it if he was close enough.”
“What?”
“Blood.” Romeo said. “Gore, the gruesome. He celebrates it.”
“Since when were you a criminal profiler?” Gareth said.
Romeo leaned back in his chair. “I had an interest in serial killers when I was growing up.”
They all stared at him.
“An interest in serial killers?” Zac whispered.
“I know what you think of me, that I’m sick, twisted, evil, and I think the same. I always felt it, I felt wrong, so very wrong, but I knew there must’ve been others that felt like me, too. A family of my own.”
“Family? What do you mean?”
“My mother used to be so proud when I went to the library. Her son, going above and beyond for his education. Most teenagers would’ve been in the park, smoking weed, drinking, but not me. I went to the library to study … but she didn’t know what I was studying. Didn’t know I spent all my time in the real crime section. Reading up on killers. The only people I could relate to.”
“Is that why…”
“No. It’s not why. My brain isn’t wired right, that’s why. I went to the library to read about killers because I always knew one day I was gonna be one. It was in my biology, but reading about them didn’t make me one. I just found my team … my side. My family.”
“Your family?”
“The bad vs the good. It was a relief there were others like me. Not killing because of jealousy, or money, or hatred, but killing because they were born with a need to do it.”
“But this guy,” the DI said, “whoever he is. Reading about you could’ve made him do this, pushed him firmly onto the bad side, made him take action, and he’s got Chad.”
Romeo looked down at number two. “I know, and I’m rooting for you over him. I need you to find this killer to save Chad.”
The DI narrowed his eyes. “But why?”
“I need Chad to live.”
Chapter Fourteen
The killer had Chad.
That was all he could think.
The only thought in his head days after the DI had visited.
Romeo was trapped behind bars, doors, locks, endless obstacles separating him from finding Chad. Boredom and despair festered in his mind. He couldn’t eat, or sleep, or do anything but think the same tormenting thought.
The killer had Chad.
He’d had him for a week. Seven days. 168 hours.
The DI hadn’t contacted him. He’d been locked away, forced to watch the case unfold on the TV. Most of the time he avoided watching the news—it made him feel helpless, trapped, useless.
Romeo imagined that was how Chad felt in the farmhouse.
He’d stopped watching news in the end, and filled his time with cartoons, quiz shows, and god-awful sci-fi movies, but it made his chest feel tight.
“Psst…”
A killer that had found his own style, his own passion. A killer that wasn’t going to toy with Chad’s mind like Romeo had, but going to play with his body, cut it, hurt it, make it bleed. Then after a month, when he’d had his fun, he would drag his scalpel over Chad’s throat, then burn the number one into his flesh.
“Hey,” Will hissed.
“What?”
“If Fred and Paul ask, can you tell them I’ve been complaining of stomach pains?”
Romeo sat leaning against the bars of his cell. His knuckles ached from taking his frustrations out on the wall.
“They won’t ask.”
“Tell them anyway.”
“Why?”
“Escape plan remember. I’m coming down with meningitis.”
He’d slid his A-Z medical dictionary to Will days before and meningitis was the best he’d managed to come up with. Romeo rolled his eyes at his efforts.
“I don’t have time for this.”
“Just tell them.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m working on my own plan right now, and you’ll discredit it.”
“You’ve been trashing your cell like an enraged beast day after day.”
“I prefer the term monster.”
The monster inside him was beyond infuriated. Another killer had encroached on his territory, taken what didn’t belong to them. Chad was his to kill, and his to let live, no one else would decide but him.
“Still, how is that an escape plan? They’ll think you’re crazy and put you in a straitjacket.”
Romeo looked down at his swollen hand. The flesh had purpled, and he prodded it, wanting the hiss of pain.
“Sometimes you’ve got to risk it all. One mad idea that might end in complete disaster.”
“What—what kind of disaster?”
“Death.”
“You’re making no sense.”
“I am, you just don’t speak the language of monsters.”
“I get it you’re cut up about Chad.”
Romeo winced. “That’s not a nice choice of words…”
Fred and Paul appeared at his gate, then gestured for him to back off. He did so obediently, then held his wrists through the bars for the cuffs. Will started coughing, retching, but Fred told him to shut up rather than offering any concern.
“Romeo … this way.”
He stepped into the corridor, then walked to the first door.
“Slow down.” Paul told him.
“I’m just eager to see Holly.”
“Why is she even bothering to visit you, she was done with you.”
“I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”
With his visits, phone calls, and letter ban lifted, he’d written to her.
Romeo told her that he missed her, and their conversations, hadn’t realized how much their relationship meant to him before it ended.
He had no interest in seeing her, he just needed to get to the next corridor. The only time he ever walked that way was when he had a visitor.
Fred unlocked the door, but rather than wait like he was supposed to, Romeo rushed by. Paul called out for him to slow his pace, but he didn’t, he walked straight up to Justin Steel’s cell, and stood there, grinning.
“Hello, beautiful.”
Justin’s eyes lit up, like he’d just been presented the world, then his clenched fist came through the bars, and in a split second, Romeo’s world went black.
****
It was the same dream, always the same dream. Romeo tired of how simple his mind was being, it was too rattled to even come up with a complex narrative.
There was the magpie, strong, fit, healthy, at least it appeared that way. It refused to leave Romeo, perched in each tree he passed under, then swooped to the next, chattering for his attention. It had followed him back from the park, chirping to him like it was greeting him, or laughing at him. He wasn’t sure which. It sounded more like laughing.
He stopped outside his house, he could smell something cooking, a sweetness filled the air, coming from the kitchen. Romeo’s mother was cooking, no doubt his favorite, she loved spoiling him for being so good.
The magpie landed by his feet, and he went to kick it, but it skipped away, laughing. He ran towards it, but it was faster, got out the way with ease, with a flair and a flash of its white feathers. Romeo growled threats at the bird, getting angrier, getting louder. He could hear music from the kitchen,
classical music that covered the sound of his shouts from his mother.
He yelled at the magpie, and when that didn’t work, he reached down, and threw the first stone. Then another, and another, until the anger made him release the stone in his grip too soon. It landed on the roof, a tile slipped, and it fell towards the magpie.
It moved at the last second, but unlike the first time Romeo had experienced this dream, he didn’t feel any relief, or triumph, or happiness.
He knew what happened next.
The magpie flew away from him, and then he heard them. The angry machine guns in the trees. He ran around his house and headed towards the sound. He saw them swooping, clawing, pecking, and he yelled at them to stop, he yelled at them to go away, and they did, but not because of him.
They flew away because there was someone else.
Romeo couldn’t see his face, the figure walked up to the broken magpie on the ground, then lifted it up.
He held the magpie so Romeo could see it, then snapped its wing. The crunch spiked nausea in Romeo’s gut. He staggered, bracing himself. The figure snapped the other wing, then the magpie’s legs. Each crunch weakened Romeo, slowed him, prevented him from getting closer, until the magpie was dropped, discarded on the ground with a gushing wound to its neck.
When Romeo finally got close enough to reach for the magpie, it turned into Chad. Chad with his eyes open, but lost forever. Chad with his skin pale, his body broken, and neck gushing blood.
When the blood stopped flowing, Romeo screamed.
****
Romeo flung himself forward when he woke. He immediately regretted it when his head pounded. A bucket was swiftly put in front of his face, and he retched up nothing. The pain in his head didn’t lessen after the dream, it grew, and as he looked around the room, he realized he was having trouble seeing. He touched his face, testing the mass of swollen flesh that was his cheek.
Justin had punched him in the face, that had been part of his plan, but he wasn’t in the city hospital like he wanted. There were bars and gates—he was in the prison hospital. When he tried to move his other hand, it clunked, and he glared at the cuff attaching him to the bed.
The man that gave him the bucket pushed him back down on the bed. “Easy, Romeo.”
Two for Joy Page 13