Blind: Killer Instincts

by Sidney Bristol

  Max Fischer, however, would not.

  She slipped on a backpack she had prepared for this little outing and got out of the rental car. There was no more Iron now. She had to start thinking of him as Max. A member on his way out.

  If Max stuck to his schedule, he would have a triple homicide to carry through tonight. That would give her time to explore his hidey-hole and lay in wait for him. She liked to take time to acclimate herself to herself to her victim’s homes, learn a little about them, but she already knew all there was about Max Fischer.

  The people in her club thought it was all anonymous, that their identities were hidden behind handles and bounced IP addresses. There were a few smart cookies in the lot, like Mercy and Joker, but most didn’t think through their choices. All they saw were others who wanted to kill, like they did. So she spoon-fed them the lines, gave them a virtual home, and reeled them in.

  Eventually she’d kill them all, but it was fun to see their work and know that without her none of it would have happened. They’d all be petty little children masturbating to their murder fantasies. Only a few would have ever risen to the level at which they were now.

  The foreclosed home Max had appropriated sat on a street of empty lots. She’d parked a couple blocks away and walked under the cover of night to the little, unassuming house at the end of the street.

  She went in through the back door. Locks had never kept her out. She stood in the living room, listening to the utter silence.

  Garbage bags were taped over the windows, and several full-length mirrors leaned against the panes. More mirrors hung on the walls, stood propped up on the floor. They were everywhere. She caught her movements out of the corner of her eye, reflected again and again.

  It was enough to drive a person more than a little crazy.

  There was a pallet set up on one side of the room, while an electric cord ran from the garage to a table that was no doubt Max’s work station. The laptop and other equipment was nowhere to be seen. There was, however, a small mini fridge.

  She opened it, and seven sets of eyes stared back at her.

  Seven?

  He’d only reported four victims. Who were five, six, and seven?

  Later, when she cleaned house, she’d have to dispose of them. For now, it was time to dig deeper into Max Fischer’s life, because in a few hours, he was going to die.

  Jacob scrubbed a hand over his face. Emma had her head on the coffee table, looking at another set of lists through the glass surface. They were a sorry pair.

  He wanted to whisk her away from here. Maybe down to Florida or California. Someplace warm, with a beach and waves. She’d wear an itty bitty bikini, and they’d drink beer, or maybe one of those fruity drinks with an umbrella in it. Somewhere she wouldn’t feel so much responsibility. If he could take the weight off her shoulders for a few minutes, he’d do anything.

  “Come on.” He dropped the legal pad on the table.

  Emma lifted her head, blinking at him.

  “Let’s grab something to eat. We aren’t going to see anything standing here and staring at this stuff anymore.

  She didn’t respond, but she did get to her feet and shuffle off to the bedroom. While she freshened up, he checked his phone for the hundredth time. He hadn’t heard anything since a second call from Brooks to touch base. Being off the case was trying his nerves, but he wouldn’t change a thing.

  Instead, he sent the cop stationed outside a warning they were about to leave.

  In a matter of minutes Emma emerged, fresh-faced, her hair brushed, clothes changed, and even a little make-up hiding the dark circles under her eyes. He guided her out to his Jeep, glancing at the unmarked police car across the street. The officer waved at him, and he nodded back.

  As he pulled out onto the street, Emma reached for his hand. He brought her knuckles to his lips and squeezed her fingers.

  He’d refused to think about what he would have done had it been Emma tonight in Rachel’s place. He could only hope that there was something at the scene of the crime that would help them figure out who the hell TBKiller was.

  They chose an IHOP near the highway. Barely past sunrise, it wasn’t yet busy, and they got a table in the corner, where he could watch the comings and goings of people.

  Now that TBKiller’s ritual was disrupted, there was a chance the stress of not being able to complete his so-called mission might push him to do something extreme. Jacob didn’t think the guy would escalate to approaching Emma in a public place, but his kills could become a thing of convenience instead of the well-planned imitations. All thoughts he kept to himself.

  “Know what you want?” He flipped through the menu, though he didn’t need to.

  “Not really.”

  “Want me to pick for you?”

  “Yes.” She shoved her menu at him and crossed her arms on the table top.

  He chuckled and flagged down the waitress. He doubled his order and asked for an extra pot of coffee. They were going to burn through that in no time.

  “If you could go anywhere at all, right now, where would it be?” He reached across and took her hand in his once more.

  “Somewhere remote. Far away. Like, a mountain cabin in Colorado or something.” She smiled and rubbed her thumb over his knuckles.

  “The mountains? Not the beach?”

  “You said right now.” She chuckled. “Right now I don’t want to see anyone.”

  “Even me?”

  “Okay, anyone except you. I could even settle for a decent hotel, room service, and a box of condoms.”

  “Hey, I got my own this time.”

  She smiled for the first time in hours.

  “Is that a blush I see?” He ducked his head to glimpse her face when she tried to look away.

  “Shut up.” She twisted in her seat, but he held fast to her hands.

  “No way. Miss this? Never.”

  “I’m going to the beach without you then.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  She peeked at him through her lashes.

  At some point, she’d dropped the tough girl routine with him. The Emma he saw now was someone she hid from the world.

  He took her other hand and held them between his own.

  “Let’s go to Colorado this weekend.”

  “What?” That got her attention. She searched his face, disbelief etched between her brows in the little lines on her forehead. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.” It was crazy and totally out of character for him, but it wasn’t like he’d been all that happy. Maybe what he needed was her. To shake up his life. To show him what he was missing.

  “Can we do that?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well if they catch,” she glanced over her shoulder, “you-know-who, won’t we have to answer questions or something?”

  He grimaced.

  “Okay, so maybe in two weeks.”

  “Okay. All right. I’m in.”

  “Fantastic.” He pulled her hands across the table once more and kissed the first knuckle on each.

  He’d never gone on trips with women before. He’d never wanted to. They were only ever distractions from his work. A way to fill his off hours. Emma was different. He wanted to spend time with her, peeling back the layers, and be with her. There would be bumps in the road. Inevitably they’d butt heads or want different things, but she was worth working through that.

  “And you should bring your bikes. Maybe you could teach me how to ride?”

  “That would be awesome.” Her smile nearly split her face. She was beautiful when she smiled. Radiant.

  He smiled back and they laced their fingers together, staring at each other. That he’d found her during an investigation was crazy. There was nothing about how they’d begun that was normal. Which meant there weren’t any rules. Hell, he didn’t think Emma was suffering from hero syndrome for a second. She wasn’t exactly the damsel in distress to need a hero anyways, and that was actually fine by him. They could lea
n on each other, instead of him carrying them both.

  “Excuse me, Emma Ration?” A woman in a royal blue suit approached their table, one of those news microphones in hand and a camera man following her. “I’m from KOCO and we wanted to ask you a few questions about the TBKiller. Do you have a moment?”

  Emma’s eyes widened, and she glanced at him.

  Shit.

  Jacob slid out of the booth and put himself between Emma and the camera.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Ration will not be answering any questions at this time,” he said.

  “How do you feel about a copycat murderer, Ms. Ration?” The persistent reporter tried to lean around him.

  “Emma, go to the Jeep.” He shoved his keys at her, hating that for a few brief moments she’d be alone.

  “We want to ask a few questions.” The reporter tried to follow Emma when she darted around the crew, bolting for the door, but a pair of patrol officers were there to cut them off.

  Jacob blew out a relieved breath and circled around the tables of staring patrons. Bet they didn’t expect a side of drama with their morning coffee.

  “Emma,” he called out. She hadn’t yet made it to the doors. A pair of men in sports coats had stopped her, and one had a recorder in her face. “Fuck me,” he grumbled and dug out his badge.

  “I’m not answering any of your fucking questions,” Emma snapped at the men.

  Jacob flashed his badge and grabbed Emma by the elbow. “Excuse us, gentlemen.”

  The badge distracted them for the half-second they needed to side-step them and get out the door. He was incredibly glad he’d managed a close parking spot.

  “This isn’t fair.” Emma flopped into the passenger seat as he buckled his seat belt.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect that.”

  “No, I wanted coffee. And food.”

  He chuckled as he reversed out of the spot.

  “That I can fix.”

  Jacob pulled out his phone and did a quick search for the IHOP while he drove around behind the building. The hostess picked up after two rings, and once he’d given her a short explanation, was assured their meals could be boxed up and brought out the back.

  “What now?” Emma asked. “Is it too late to drive to Colorado now?”

  “Nope, but I think it’s time we pitched our theories to the FBI.”

  “Do you think they’ll listen to us?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  He hoped they could figure the puzzle out before TBKiller struck for what might be the last time.

  10.

  M

  ax’s fingers dripped with blood. If he had his choice, he’d savor this moment. There was nothing like the warm, sticky sensation of it between his palms, but the time for savoring his kills was gone. He needed to move, now. Time was of the essence. But first, he had to get the others. Those souls he’d saved from living the pattern over again. He couldn’t split without them.

  The sun rose slowly on the horizon, bathing it in a pale, gray light. His time was growing short. He couldn’t hide this body, so he’d have to leave it and get out before anyone noticed.

  The man shouldn’t have come out to check the noise. Then Max wouldn’t have had to kill him. He’d at least gouged the man’s eyes out. Now there would be nothing to carry forward into the next life, and no way the spirit would recognize him.

  It was a necessity. He didn’t like to destroy the previous lives the eyes would carry with them, but it couldn’t be helped. When he was reborn, he couldn’t have someone coming after him for a crime he’d committed in this life.

  He wiped his fingers on the man’s shirt. Time to get home.

  Usually Max parked several blocks away from the house, but since he needed to move so much stuff he’d made do with one street over. It wasn’t ideal, but it would be okay. No one suspected him yet.

  He stuck to the shadows, going from yard to yard until he reached the end of the street. His lonely little house sat all by itself. An oasis. But not for long.

  For several moments he watched the brick facade. No change. No disturbance. His haven was still there.

  He peered up and down the road, but there was no one out yet. It was safe for the moment, so he struck out across the street, hands in his pockets, trying for casual.

  The skin between his shoulder blades began to crawl, and a heavy sense of foreboding settled in his stomach. He stood on the sidewalk and stared at the house. The front windows were covered with plastic, but he could see in through the kitchen at this angle. The mirrors caught the morning light and reflected through the house.

  A shadow passed through the light. The movement was slow, or his light-dazzled eyes might have missed it.

  Someone was in his haven.

  He turned and walked away from the house, his pulse pounding.

  There was only one person who could have found him so fast.

  Black Widow.

  His body went cold and then hot, goosebumps breaking out all over his arms. The only reason she’d be in Oklahoma City was to kill him. He’d known she’d come for him, but he hoped to have more time. To be able to finish what he’d started. There was a way to make up for last night. He could do it. But not with her here.

  There’d been whispers, when he’d joined the club, that she’d killed one of their members. He’d watched several others disappear since. He had no doubt she’d kill him for breaking her precious rules.

  He had to finish his mission before she killed him. Or before he killed her. He could skip the next few targets. There was really only one that mattered. Two that he wanted. And wasn’t it his luck those two had taken up together?

  Jacob held the door for Emma.

  “Are you sure we should be here?” she asked for the third time. She’d squirmed in her seat the second he’d said they were taking their theories to the FBI.

  “Yes. It’ll be fine.”

  “But you’re off the case.”

  “I am. But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped thinking about it.” He carried the box that now contained the precious folders of lists they’d compiled.

  After signing her in, he escorted her back to his department, which appeared more like a busy call center than the orderly detective unit he was used to.

  “Payton, what are you doing here?” Mullins sipped from a cup of coffee, looking worse for having probably not slept in at least a day.

  “We’ve got some ideas. Where is everyone?” He glanced around for the other agents.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding her?” Mullins thumbed at Emma.

  “’Her’ is standing right here. Do you want to hear the ideas or not?”

  “Lady’s got some fire in her. Go in the war room. I’ll grab Brooks.” Mullins chuckled.

  Jacob led Emma into the conference room. Days ago, he’d had a table and two boards. Now, there were pages taped to walls and several rolling boards arranged in a time line with the TBK details below and the TBKiller copies above.

  “Wow, this makes me look like the minor league.” Emma went to the first board and examined the TBK notes.

  He couldn’t help but notice she completely ignored the TBKilling line.

  “Payton. Ms. Ration.” Brooks led Mullins and his partner into the room. “Didn’t expect to see either of you here today.”

  “Thanks for giving us a few minutes, Agent.” Jacob shook the man’s hand.

  “Forgive me if I ask you to get to the point.” Brooks crossed his arms over his chest while the other two agents took seats.

  “No, not at all.” Jacob cleared his throat. “I had a theory from the very beginning that was a gut feeling. I couldn’t prove it, so I didn’t come out and say it, but I was certain these murders were somehow connected to Emma and perhaps myself. To our knowledge, I was the first person to receive letters. We don’t know when Harold or Laura got theirs, but we do know when Emma received her first letter. I think a copycat would find value in including Emma in their plans.”


  “Really? You’re just now springing this on me?” Brooks shook his head, his face going a little red.

  “I wasn’t certain, and you didn’t have time to listen to me. I didn’t put it together until you laid out the victim’s connections to Emma, which you withheld from me.” That still burned. The agents hadn’t told anyone they were bringing Emma in to interrogate her. “I’m guessing everyone except your agents knew until you accused Emma to her face. How was I supposed to know that was the direction you were going if you aren’t sharing information? I couldn’t. After last night’s botched murder, I think my theory is solid. Emma factors into the killer’s plans, and if he’s disrupted now, he might accelerate and come after her next instead of waiting.”

  Brooks’ glare was enough to make Jacob rethink his word choice, though he still would have said exactly what he thought. Brooks shook his head a little and leaned forward, gaze still pinned on Jacob.

  “You should have come to me before this and made me listen. You do good work, Detective. But you’re a one-man team. You don’t play well with others, and that’s a problem for any department or team like mine.”

  Wasn’t the agent listening?

  Emma’s hand wrapped around his fist, her fingers feathering over his knuckles.

  “Okay guys, why don’t we take a deep breath.” She did as she asked them. “We all want the same thing, so why don’t we calm down?”

  Jacob glanced at Emma. “I thought it was strange when you had met the first victim, but when Brooks pointed out the connection with Laura, and then Amanda and Derrick were killed, that’s what got me thinking. Last night Emma and I compiled lists of traits, common knowledge things about every TBK victim. Show them.”

  “Tell them about the other list.” Emma set the box on the table and began unpacking their proof.

  “Other list?” Brooks prompted.

  “If my theory about the copycat is valid, that means he’s someone Emma has come into contact with. A real fanatic about killers. Now, she meets with people on occasion to talk about the history of TBK. She’s about the most proficient expert on the subject, apart from a few scholars. Last night we went back through her emails and made a list of everyone who has contacted her about TBK.”