by Cross, Amy
“Come on,” she muttered, checking her watch for the hundredth time. “Where the hell are you?”
“Kill them all,” a voice whispered.
She froze.
“Cut off their heads,” the voice continued. “You could, you know. There's a store just off the town square that sells replica swords, except they're not really replicas at all. They're sharp enough to do the job. Think about it. You could buy one of those, no-one would suspect you, and then you could just go on a rampage. Cut off their heads, all of them.”
She looked around, but no-one was close enough to be whispering the words.
“How many do you think you could kill before the cops stopped you?” the voice asked. “Twenty, minimum, if you really went at it. Hell, if you really planned ahead and chose the right moment, I reckon you could get close to a hundred.”
“Where are you?” she whispered, looking around again.
“See that guy in the corner booth?” the voice continued. “Wouldn't it be fun to cut his balls off and shove them up his nose. One testicle up each nostril, and then smash the front of his face in with a baseball bat.”
She stared at the man for a moment, before he happened to glance at her. She immediately looked down at her plate.
“Or the woman in the next booth along,” the voice added. “Cut a star into her crotch, then boil her alive.”
“Stop!” she hissed.
With a trembling hand, she picked up her cup of coffee and took a sip, hoping against hope that the voice would go away.
“You know what'd be really fun?” the voice asked finally. “Go to the school and slaughter them all. Cut their little heads off and -”
“No!” she hissed, before looking around to make sure no-one was watching her. After a moment, she saw that the guy in the far booth seemed to have noticed she was talking to herself, so she flashed him a quick smile before looking at her plate again.
“Go to the school,” the voice continued, “and skin all the children. I mean peel away their -”
“No,” she whispered, starting to feel a little sweaty and breathless. “Who are you?”
“Stab them in the face.”
She shook her head.
“Make 'em beg for mercy and then cut their heads off anyway.”
“Please,” she whispered, with tears in her eyes, “what do you want from me?”
“I told you. I want you to go to the school and butcher the kids. I want you to spill so much blood, you'll be soaked in the stuff when the cops finally arrive. Imagine that. Imagine dumb old Alex Gordon and your sister-in-law Jane finding you in the playground, covered in blood and surrounded by the limbs of dead children. They'd be pretty shocked, huh? And imagine Bob's reaction.”
“Go away,” she hissed.
“And little Lucy. Imagine what it'd be like for her to find out that you'd done something so awful. Assuming she wasn't another of your victims, that is -”
“Stop!” she shouted, getting to her feet. Looking around, she saw that everyone in the diner was now looking at her. “Sorry,” she muttered, grabbing her bag and coat and hurrying to the door.
Glad of the interruption, Katie watched as Beth raced out into the parking lot. After a moment, once Beth was out of sight, she looked back down at her coffee and then realized that she had to make eye contact with Simon again. She took a deep breath, psyching herself up, before looking at him, only to find that he was still staring at his cup.
“So...” She paused, trying to think of something to say that might break the tension. “She seemed kind of crazy, huh? What do you think her problem is?”
***
“Double insurance claim,” Bob muttered, reading from the screen while simultaneously making some notes on a pad, “with a premium carried over from...”
He switched tabs.
“From the fourth...”
“Don't masturbate in the next few hours.”
Freezing, Bob continued to stare at the screen, while trying to work out if the voice he'd just heard had been real.
“I'm serious,” Tom Lanegan said, making his way around the desk and then sitting in the chair opposite, his face dominated by a broad grin. “I know I told you that masturbation is the key to any successful decision-making process, but keep it in for once, okay?”
“Uh...” Bob paused. “Okay.”
“I need you to have a clear head when I present you to the board members,” Tom continued. “These are the guys who'll decide whether or not to let you into the club, and I hope you understand the need to be impressive, Bob.”
“Sure.”
“Can you be impressive?”
Bob nodded.
“Go on. Practice now. Impress me.”
“With... what, exactly?”
“Your wits. Your personality. Any way you like.”
“I...” Bob paused. “Well, I haven't really had time to think about it yet.”
“You need to prepare,” Tom continued, getting to his feet and heading to the door. “I understand. Don't take too long, though. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and there'll be no second chance to audition. You need to land a knockout punch on your first go.”
“Punch?”
“Impression.”
“Oh.”
“So keep the soldiers in their barracks,” Tom added with a knowing wink. “Don't send them out, not under any circumstances. Do you read me?”
Although he didn't really know what his boss was talking about, Bob felt it would be best to just go with the flow. “Absolutely,” he said, nodding a little in an attempt to add extra weight to his words. “Absolutely, Sir, I dig you.”
“Huh.” Tom paused. “You dig me? That's a weird way to put it. Anyway, meet me later, just like we discussed. And don't tell anyone about this meeting.”
“Sure,” Bob muttered, but Tom was already gone. Turning back to his computer, Bob sat in silence for a moment, running through the conversation with Tom and trying to work out what, exactly, he was getting himself into. Part of him wanted to duck out entirely and forget the whole thing, and maybe spend a quiet evening with his wife or with Candy. At the same time, the thought of joining Tom's world was enticing, and he knew he'd regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't at least try.
A moment later, he heard his phone ringing, and when he looked at the screen he saw that Beth was trying to get in touch.
“Hey,” he said as he answered, “what -”
“You're an idiot,” she said firmly, before hanging up.
Still holding the phone, he sat completely still for a moment. Finally, he set the phone down and got back to work.
V
“Do you have any idea,” Ben whispered, still leaning close to Jane's ear, “what it was like to kill those bitches? What it was like to slice out their hearts? They were still alive when they died, you know. Whimpering, begging for mercy, trying everything they could think of to make me not kill them.”
“Ben -”
Without letting her finish, he pulled her back and moved the blade down to her chest, pressing it against the fabric of her uniform just above her heart. She gasped, holding her breath as if she expected him to strike, but after a moment she slowly exhaled, even though her whole body was trembling with fear.
“I don't really remember the details of the earlier ones,” he continued. “Caitlin Somers, I remember her. She was the hottest by far. I'm particularly proud of the way I arranged her body in that tree, I thought there was something kind of artistic about it. Shame I can't put my victims on show, isn't it? In a proper gallery, I mean. Imagine that... A big white gallery with various murdered girls all arranged naked on little podiums, with price tags so rich assholes could buy their corpses and take them home to...”
“Please,” she whispered, “Ben...”
“To what?” he asked, raising both eyebrows. “What would they do with them? I never touched them in an intimate way, Jane, you know that from the autopsy reports. But there ar
e definitely people who'd take a pre-murdered girl if they could, so they could have their way. I guess you wouldn't bother going after those monsters, though, not if what they were doing was technically not against any laws. Morally indefensible, sure, but not illegal, so... Fair game.”
“Ben -”
“Mel Armitage was an entirely different kettle of fish,” he continued. “Rougher, quicker, artless. I didn't have much time, so I just cut her heart out and dumped her body behind the bar. Then that Hayley girl, I'd seen her around a few times and I figured she might be like Caitlin. You know, soft and beautiful with a nice, memorable way of sobbing as she died. To be honest, she was a little disappointing. She was begging and begging, pleading with me not to kill her and I gave her just enough hope that -”
Suddenly Jane elbowed him hard in the belly, knocking him back just enough for her to get loose. Grabbing a broken timber from next to the counter, she swung at him but missed, instead hitting the wall and allowing him to lunge at her. They fell together to the floor, and she let out a cry of pain as she landed hard, banging the back of her head in the process. Before she could even try to get up again, she felt the knife's tip pressing against her breast, hard enough to start ripping through her uniform.
“You,” Ben continued, a little out of breath now, “put up a good fight. Better than the rest of them. When I killed Caitlin all those years ago -”
“Liar,” she spat back at him.
He frowned.
“You didn't kill anyone,” she continued, wincing slightly as she tried to force the knife away. “Carry on with this little charade if it amuses you, Ben, but I know damn well that you're just trying to prove some stupid point.”
He paused for a moment, with the blade still pressed against her, before finally pulling back and tossing the knife away. Leaning against the wall, he watched as she sat up and brushed dust from the front of her uniform.
“I hope I didn't hurt you too badly,” he said with a faint smile. “I had to be convincing, that's all.”
“You're an asshole,” she spat back at him. “You know that, right?”
“Answer a question for me,” he replied, still getting his breath back. “How is it that I can tell my dear brother that I'm innocent until I'm blue in the face, and he still thinks I'm guilty. And I can attack you, Jane, and give you a big confession, and you still know deep down that I didn't kill anyone.”
“I guess I'm just not as blind as Jack,” she muttered, taking hold of the counter's edge and hauling herself up, before reaching a hand out to help Ben. “He's too close to it all. He's been brainwashed by your father.”
“It's more than that,” Ben replied, accepting her offer and slowly getting to his feet with a little pain. “Are you sure I didn't hurt you?”
“I could tell you were specifically avoiding mentioning too many details,” she continued. “I realized you were trying to make sure you wouldn't trip yourself up, seeing as you probably don't know much about the scenes of the crimes. Plus, I know you. I know you're not a murderer.”
“I pulled the same stunt with Jack a few days ago,” he told her. “He believed every word I was saying.”
“He wants to believe you're the killer.”
“And you don't?”
“I want to know who's responsible, but I don't want to lock up the wrong person.”
“Do you really not know who it is?”
“I'm working on some leads.”
Smiling, he limped toward the door. “So you don't have a clue.”
“I know it's not you,” she replied, turning to watch as he headed back out to the yard, “and I know it's not someone from the Border. That doesn't leave too many other options.”
“Must be one of Bowley's fine, upstanding citizens, then,” Ben muttered. “One of the normal folk.”
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I figure I'll walk home. Should take a couple of hours and I can clear my head a little. Fake confessions can be a little tiring.” He smiled. “I wasn't kidding, though. You really do put up a good fight. Jack's a lucky man, the way you twisted your body around and tried to squeeze me between your thighs to hold me down, that almost worked. I'm surprised the two of you have only got two kids.”
“You're such a charmer,” she said dryly.
“This stag-headed man,” he continued, stepping out onto the porch and then turning to her. “You got any idea what's going on with him?”
“I've heard him mentioned. I figure it's nothing, just some dumb superstition.”
“Huh.” He paused. “I'm not so sure. I'm going to do some digging, if I come up with anything I'll let you know.”
She watched as he turned and headed away.
“Actual digging?” she called after him. She waited for a reply, before sighing and making her way to the door. Looking out across the yard, she saw that he'd almost reached the road already, and she figured there was no point going after him. Ben was the kind of guy who tended to talk in circles, and she'd had enough of that for one day. Looking down at her uniform, she saw that it was filthy after the fight with Ben, so she took a moment to brush it down before stepping out into the yard.
“He's a character, isn't he?” a familiar voice asked.
Sighing, she knew without looking that Caitlin was standing behind her.
“A little weird,” the dead girl continued, “and maybe not entirely balanced in the head, but he's certainly not a murderer, no matter what your husband thinks.”
“I know,” Jane continued, watching as Ben got further away. “He's had a tough time.”
“Who hasn't?”
Turning, Jane saw that Caitlin was standing a few steps back inside the abandoned farmhouse, partly in the gloom. Despite the low light, however, the girl's sallow, haggard features were visible, along with the crimson hole in her chest where her heart had been removed.
“You're running out of time,” Caitlin said after a moment.
“That doesn't help.”
“I'm just your subconscious mind, remember?”
“Yes, but -”
“Or am I?”
Jane sighed. “If you don't have anything useful to tell me...”
“Here's something. Right now, the man who killed Mel Armitage and Hayley Maitland is admiring their hearts, and I mean that's what he's doing right now, at this exact second. He's thinking that he needs a third soon, and I don't think it'll be long before he makes his move. To have one girl die on your watch is unfortunate, to have two die is awful, but three?” She paused. “At this very moment, he's holding one of the hearts in his hand. He hasn't kept it refrigerated, so it's kind of old and manky now, it's falling apart and turning into soup, but he thinks it's beautiful. He thinks he's doing something important.”
Jane stared at her for a moment. “You're an expression of my subconscious mind, so you can only tell me things I already know, even if I don't know that I know them.”
“Are you sure about that?” Caitlin asked, taking a step forward. As she did so, the floorboards creaked slightly. “Isn't there a part of you that still thinks I'm a ghost?”
“Ghosts aren't real.”
“You believe that, huh?”
Jane swallowed hard.
“Fine,” Caitlin continued, “to each her own. I'm right though. He's looking at one of the hearts right now, and he's thinking about when he's going to take the next, and...” She paused, and finally she frowned. “Oh, if you could see him now, you'd have to agree that he's a magnificent specimen. There's real beauty in death, you know, but I guess it's hard for the living to appreciate that.”
“I'll find him,” Jane said firmly. “I know you doubt me, but I swear to God I'll find the killer.”
***
“Damn you,” Ben whispered, sitting by the side of the road and staring at the edge of town. Just a couple of hundred meters away, glistening in the sunlight, Bowley seemed strangely peaceful and serene, the kind of place where nothing bad ever happened.
>
He squinted slightly.
“Damn you to hell,” he muttered finally, with a sigh.
“How many people live in Bowley again?” a voice asked.
He didn't have to turn and look at her. He already knew it could only be one person.
“Few thousand,” he replied.
“And how many of them think you're a serial killer with multiple victims?”
He paused. “Few thousand.”
“Including most of your family.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What about Beth?”
“Nah,” he drawled, “I don't think...” He paused again, mulling the idea over in his mind for a moment. “Nah,” he continued finally, “Beth's cool, Beth knows I'm good.”
“And Jane?”
He considered the matter for a few seconds. “Reckon I gave her a good fright back there, but no, she's got her head screwed on right, she knows I'm not a killer.”
“She knows a lot.”
He turned to her. “Are you bugging other people, or is it just me?”
Caitlin smiled. “Depends. Do you think I'm a ghost, or a figment of your imagination?”
“Both.”
She laughed. “Then I suppose I'd be appearing to anyone who feels a little guilt over the deaths. My death, the others too.”
“So who'd that be, exactly?” he asked, holding out a hand so he could count on his fingers. “Me, obviously. Jane. I'd say old Mac Crutchlow, but I don't think he's really into guilt, is he?” He tried to think of some more. “Alex Gordon. That weasel Simon who runs operations, assuming he's still there. Hell, I guess you might be appearing to anyone who even knows that the Border exists.”
“Doesn't everyone know that it exists?”
“Everyone suspects it, unless they'd dumb. But I mean people who know it exists.”
“Fair point.”
“So was my little list pretty close to the truth? Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
“Hypothetically speaking, it was spot on. Well done.” She paused. “Why did you take Jane Freeman to the Packer farm?”