by S. T. Abby
“They turned me into this,” I tell her softly. “They stripped away my soul and left me devoid of any empathy toward the monsters in the world. I’m not a psychopath. I know the truth from the lies. I know the reality from the delusions. In fact, there are no delusions.”
“We’ve found nothing in that town to point to this level of violence.”
I lean forward, but this time she doesn’t react. “Dig deeper.”
“Just tell me. I’m not deciding what to do until you tell me what could turn someone into a killer so cold that you didn’t flinch when you killed Plemmons. You wanted to torture him.”
“Just like he tortured those women. Don’t you think death was simply too easy?”
She stares at me with the eyes of an unscarred soul, despite the scars I know she bears.
“Fine. You want the story; I’ll tell you. But you can’t tell your team. They have to learn for themselves,” I bite out.
“Why?” she asks. “Why don’t you want them knowing?”
“Because I want the town to confess to the sins they covered up,” I say bitterly.
“Prove to me you’re not going to hurt someone innocent, and I’ll make that deal. Tell me the story.”
“I could have killed you several times, Hadley. From the day you walked into my house and called me out for stealing Kennedy’s identity.”
“Why did you steal her identity?”
“To survive,” I say quietly.
Her lips tighten, but she gestures at me, meaning she wants to hear what I have to say. Needs to know I’m not suffering a psychotic break. Needs to know that despite the brutal way I kill, that I’m in control of my mind.
So I tell her. I start at the beginning, telling her about my father. Tell her about how he died. Tell her about how small town justice works. I tell her every sick, twisted, demented detail until she’s pale and grabs the garbage can, heaving into it as her stomach loses the battle of control.
The vomit doesn’t bother me, so I keep talking as she retches. I tell her about Marcus, about his beauty, and how they stole it all away. About how they destroyed him in the last few hours of his life.
About how he was so desperate to save my life that he sacrificed his own by driving so far away from Delaney Grove while trying to keep pressure on his wound.
I tell her about Jake, and how his father was my father’s lawyer and best friend. We proved over and over that Dad couldn’t be the serial killer they charged him to be. I tell her about how they ran Christopher Denver out of town for trying to save an innocent man’s life.
I tell her about how Jake left before the town could turn against him, because he needed to be innocent for my sake. For the sake of justice—not just revenge.
I tell her about Lindy, and what Kyle did to her. About how even her husband believed a rapist over his own, terrified wife. I tell her about Diana, and the threats they made toward her son to keep her quiet. I tell her every dark detail that town covered up. Every dirty secret finally gets aired.
And though I feel free, knowing another person now knows the truth, Hadley looks like she may never recover.
At least I spared her one detail.
The name of the man who will die the most painfully.
The man who started the dominoes back then.
We sit silently for several long minutes, and I check my phone, knowing Logan is showing patience, even though he’s in a hurry. No texts.
“How did you survive?” she asks in a rasp whisper, tears streaming from her eyes when I look back at her. I have no tears left for this. I’ve cried them all already.
“No one knows,” I say honestly. “But my mother always believed in avenging angels. Marcus’s last words to me were that we’d come back as avenging angels, and we’d make them pay. We’d do it together. But he didn’t come back.”
My voice breaks on that last bit, but I force the emotion back. “Jake took his place. He loved my brother as more than just a friend, but was always too worried what the town would say or do if they came out about their relationship. It’s his deepest regret.”
She wipes away more tears, and she runs a hand through her hair.
“I won’t tell the team,” she finally says. “Unless someone innocent gets caught in the crosshairs, I owe you my silence. You saved the lives of countless children by ending a monster I let go free. You saved women all over, possibly even Logan, and saved me from Plemmons. Until you have that psychotic break, I’ll hold my tongue.”
That’s more than I expected. My entire chest feels like an anvil is being lifted off it.
“I’ve trained against the psychotic break. They turned me into a shell of a person. Now I use it against them. But my mind? My mind is whole, even if my soul is not.”
“How?” she asks, confused. “How do you train against the break?”
“Every form of martial arts I could squeeze in. From Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, to American Karate, to Colombian Grima, to Taekwando, to Bokator, to Krav Maga… You get the idea. I’ve gotten various black belts in an array of martial arts. Not to mention the weapons’ training I’ve mastered—knife throwing being one. You learn discipline over your mind with each new form of fighting or training. You learn control. It made me stronger mentally, physically, and emotionally.”
She wipes away another tear, then sucks in a sharp breath.
“Then let’s hope it keeps you sane enough to finish without hurting anyone who doesn’t deserve to be hurt. I don’t know if I can handle more guilt.”
I start to leave, then turn back to face her. “You tried to tell people when you were a child. Those people failed you. They failed those kids, and they warped your young, impressionable mind into believing you made it all up. Everything that has happened since then is not your fault. It’s on them. They may not deserve to die for their failures the way he deserved worse than death, but they do deserve to bear that guilt. Call your mother. Give her the burden to bear. Call that therapist, give her all the nasty details of his sins. Call the police station that ignored the cries of a child in pain. Only they deserve the weight of that failure. Not you.”
She sucks in a breath as I turn to leave.
“How’d you get that big bastard out of the basement and up that big-ass hill?”
The question is so random that it makes me smile. “I’m stronger than I look,” I say, looking over my shoulder. “But it wasn’t fucking easy.”
Her brittle smile toward the morbid humor is almost like a peace treaty. We’re not going to be besties or anything, but we have an understanding.
“Tell Logan I’ll be there in five,” she says as I walk out.
As soon as I’m out the door, I text Jake.
ME: Calling in twenty. We need to adjust our timeframes. I have some catching up to do.
Chapter 6
To do a great right, do a little wrong.
—William Shakespeare
LOGAN
We can barely stay in the cellar, because the air is perfumed with the scent of two rotting corpses.
“He’s getting bolder by killing them two at a time,” Elise says, gagging even as she soaks in the clean air from above. “Escalating his torture by making them watch each other.”
The bodies are already gone, since they cut them down from the chains once we arrived and saw the scene. But it’s still toxic down there. Hadley is with the coroner, possibly carrying around a garbage can to puke in.
The stench is overwhelming.
“All the other’s he’s left in their homes to be discovered quickly. Why the shift? It’s a risk to kidnap one and drive them all the way from New York to West Virginia,” Leonard says, battling his own nausea.
It’s hard to take in the scene down there, considering it needs to air out for several days before it’s tolerable.
“He’s chasing his endgame, but it’s obvious these two really pissed him off. Yet there were still no signs of rage,” I say absently.
Hadley’s name flashes o
n my screen, and I answer the phone, putting it on speaker.
“What do you have?” I ask her.
“Well, their mouths were sewed shut, as you know, but when we opened them, we found the missing penises.”
Leonard gags and turns away, and my stomach roils as well.
“That’s…definitely an escalation,” Elise says, her leg in a brace and her arm in a sling as she struggles with the crutches, still refusing a wheelchair.
“That’s not the worst part,” Hadley goes on. “I took blood samples from their mouths, and…Tyler was O positive. Lawrence was AB positive. I found O positive blood in Lawrence’s mouth, and AB positive blood in Tyler’s.”
“Wait, hold up, are you telling me he sewed Tyler’s dick into Lawrence’s mouth, and vice versa?” Donny asks, turning an alarming shade of pale.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I can’t tell if he’s evolving or devolving,” Elise gripes.
“He’s definitely suffering a psychotic break if he’s getting more stuck on the torture,” Leonard says with a grimace.
“No,” I say thoughtfully. “These two did something together that pissed the unsub off recently. We couldn’t find any footage of the unsub, but Tyler’s credit card showed a trip to New York recently. Maybe they met to discuss the deaths of the others, even though it hadn’t made the news. If the unsub followed them, maybe heard their conversation, it could have led to this double kill and extra layer of torture.”
“That’s still a psychotic break,” Donny argues.
“No, it’s not. There has yet to be any rage found with the overkill. The torture is punishment. It’s to prolong the deaths. This unsub is targeting the ones who wronged him, and he’s punishing them accordingly, at least in his mind. If they crossed a line, he’d punish them more severely than he’s been punishing the others.”
I pause, letting them soak that in as I get lost in my own thoughts.
“We need more info on that serial killer—Robert Evans,” I tell Donny.
Hadley makes a strangled sound, reminding me she’s still on the phone.
“You okay, Had?”
“Yep. Yep. Fine,” she says quickly.
“See what else you can get from the bodies. Email me the final report, but call me immediately if something else stands out.”
“Will do.”
She hangs up, and Donny frowns. “She’s acting weird.”
“Her stepfather abused her as a child, she was convinced it was all in her head, and other kids died after she ran away. Couple that with the fact she was almost a victim of Plemmons, and she has every right to be weird,” I remind him.
“How’s Lana holding up?” Craig asks me as I start typing a message into my phone.
“Much better than I could have hoped. She’s a hell of a lot tougher than I gave her credit for being.”
“That’s good. I was actually worried. I remember the first time I had to shoot someone. It’s the reason I went into this field—less need for violence.”
I nod, understanding. It was hard on me the first two times, even though I saved many by taking down those two monsters. Didn’t alleviate the nightmares. Fortunately, Lana’s dreams don’t seem to be haunted by those memories. She’s fucking incredibly strong.
And it makes me love her even more.
“Plan a trip to Delaney Grove. This unsub would be remembered if we painted a picture of the two Evans kids who were killed.”
“There was nothing about that ever mentioned in their police reports,” Craig says quietly. “This town is trying to act like the Evans family never even existed. The coroner who wrote that bullshit report on Robert Evans is either dead or playing dead. No phone calls have been returned.”
“All the more reason to pay a visit in person.”
He nods.
“And deliver the profile to the media. Mention there was something traumatic that might have happened to the Evans kids that didn’t sit well with a close friend or family member.”
“No family left. It was just the three of them. And the only friends were the lawyer dad and his son,” Donny points out.
“We’ll pay them a visit, but keep looking. Lindy May was a friend. I’m sure there were others we just don’t know about.”
He nods, and I walk toward my car, texting Lana as I go.
ME: May be late before I get back tonight.
LANA: I may have to take a business trip today. I’ve been putting it off and piling it all on my partner. Boogeyman is gone, and now so is the threat to my life.
ME: What about the reporters?
LANA: They don’t know about the hotel, and my business is in Kentucky. I’m driving there in a rental car just to be safe.
ME: Then I’ll miss you. :(
LANA: I’ll be back first thing tomorrow. <3
I put my phone away, hating how possessive I feel. I want to keep her locked away and under me every chance I get. It’s selfish. It’s ridiculous. It’s also a little criminal.
“Just got another body from our night stalking killer,” Donny says, sighing harshly. “I think these guys get together to kill at the same time just to stretch our resources thin.”
He hands me the iPad with the photos, and something catches my eye. It’s not the picture, but the notes. Traces of Siberian tiger fur. “I know who the killer is,” I tell him, grabbing my phone. “Call the local PD and tell them to pick up the brother of the first victim. I profiled it to be him, but they ruled him out. Now I know it’s him. He’s a taxidermist for exotic animals.”
“Holy shit,” Donny hisses, grabbing his phone as I jog to my SUV.
I love it when they make it easy, and I’m one step closer to catching my Delaney Grove killer too.
Hadley calls back just as I reach the SUV, and I answer, wedging the phone between my shoulder and cheek as I crank the car and let Donny get in the passenger seat.
“You found something?”
“Sort of. The coroner found a nail in Lawrence’s stomach. I’m not sure what that’s about, but I thought it was worth mentioning,” she says.
“Yeah, though I don’t understand the significance yet, either. We just figured out the night stalking killer, and we’re on our way to Pennsylvania right now.”
“You remember how you said you met Lana at a coffee shop you don’t normally visit?” she asks randomly.
Weird shift in conversation. “Yeah. Why?”
“Tell me again how all that went down.”
I snort derisively. “Okay… Craig went to hit on her and she shot him down. I paid for her food and coffee without her knowledge, and then gave her my card when she acted all pissed off that I was doing something nice for no reason other than the fact she amused me. I wasn’t looking for more than that, but I still told her to call me, because after spending those five minutes with her, I wanted to know more. When she finally called, she was…everything I didn’t realize I wanted.”
“So you approached her, and you sort of chased her.”
“It was all me,” I tell her, confused where she’s going with this.
“And the case…You told her Boogeyman details. Do you always share case details?”
“The first share was an accident, but she helped us identify him. I kept her in the loop later because she was a target, same as we’d do for any target. She doesn’t want me sharing details of cases because she doesn’t like me breaking the rules for her. She respects my position, and doesn’t want me getting in trouble.”
“So she never asks for any other case details?” she asks, still dragging me on a confusing trail.
“No. What’s this about?”
“Nothing,” she says on a heavy sigh. “You know I’m suspicious of every girl you date and their motives. Lisa used your name to get a promotion. I still don’t like her.”
That’s hard not to laugh about.
“Look, Lana is great, Hadley. She’s compassionate, understanding, thoughtful, and she really fuc
king cares. It’s more than I ever thought I’d have with this career choice. She’s also insanely independent and smart. But if she was using me, I’d be aware of it. She has zero interest in the FBI as a career path, even though I think she’d be one hell of a profiler.”
“Right. You’re right. Sorry. I need to go over some more lab stuff. Talk later?”
“Yeah. Let me know if you find anything else weird like a nail in the stomach contents.”
“Nail in the stomach?” Donny asks from beside me.
“Lawrence Martin had one. Why?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Sounds familiar is all. Just can’t remember where I’ve heard it.”
Donny, like me, was recruited straight out of college. He’s only been in our unit for six years, but he’s been with the FBI for eleven total years.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I tell Hadley.
“Peace out.”
Rolling my eyes, I hang up my phone. At least she’s starting to sound more like herself. Meddling and quirky.
Donny looks lost in thought, and keeps drawing a nail over and over, confusing me. But it’s his thought process when he’s trying to resurrect a memory.
“You think he’s killed before?” I ask him.
“No,” he says immediately. “I think I’ve heard that before though. Nails in the stomach. It’s actually a brutal torture technique. It tears you up as you swallow them, then punctures your stomach lining. Not to mention what happens if you manage to pass them. But just one nail? It means something.”
“Lawrence was the son of a cop in Delaney Grove. But he left that place right around our ten year time frame. Several of them did. They went on to be successful. They never showed any signs of violence in their lives, and all had a healthy conscience, it seems. Never the self-destructive spiral of guilt-wrenched minds.”
“So you think they are being targeted, but didn’t play a part in what happened that night?” he muses.
“I don’t know. I’m just profiling them. It’s what I do.”
He looks down, drawing the nail again, tracing the lines over and over.