by Ellis, Tara
Moving with purpose, Russell removed Tim’s shirt and then slowly, methodically stripped his own off and put it on. He made a special effort to smooth out the nametag, his hand lingering over it as he took a deep breath that to anyone else might have sounded like a moan. Tim Ridgeway. He’d always thought he looked like a Tim.
Russell never killed the same way twice so it was the first time he’d strangled someone. It wasn’t the first time he’d killed a grown man, but Tim was the largest of his victims. It had been surprisingly easy and if he was honest with himself, he was a little disappointed.
Brushing his hands off on his slacks, Russell took one last look around the room. He would keep his own pants and shoes because of the size difference, but that wouldn’t matter. He had a sneaking suspicion that no one would be paying that much attention to detail…if there was even anyone else left at the facility.
Without another look at the man he’d befriended for the past two months, Russell picked up the candle and stepped out into the hallway. Eddie hadn’t made any noise from his cell since the night before and based on the new smell mingling with the septic, he wouldn’t be an issue. Russell turned in the other direction and headed for the exit.
Outside, night was falling and there was an odd glow in the sky. Curious, he looked up and immediately recognized the northern lights. He’d spent some time in Alaska for a few years and although he’d had plenty of opportunity to see them there, he knew this was something else. Something…unnatural.
With only a slight pause in his step, Russell walked across the empty campus. There were no lights coming from any of the windows of the dozen or so buildings that comprised the facility, confirming what Tim had told him before opening his door. Everyone else had left. They’d released all the regular psychiatric patients but planned on leaving the criminals to rot.
Russell’s teeth flashed white in the odd twilight. He headed for the administration building.
A half-hour later, he was walking through the open, wrought-iron gate, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He hadn’t found much, just enough to keep him going for a couple of days, until he found more.
The institute was located near a small town in Wyoming, pretty much in the middle of nowhere, but that didn’t concern Russell. Beyond the gates, he looked to the east and saw a glow that had to be an immense fire some miles away. To the south, the freeway stretched into darkness, several vehicles visible and apparently empty and abandoned. Again, Tim had been telling the truth.
Russell grunted. He had to give the kid credit for being honest, and he probably actually had good instincts. His problem was that he didn’t listen to them.
Russell did, and what they told him now was that he already knew where he was going to go. It was all part of his reinvention. He could be whoever he wanted, wherever he wanted. He turned to the north.
Tim Ridgeway had spent hours telling Russell about his idyllic hometown. The mountains, rivers, lakes, and animal life. After the flashpoint, he’d gone on about how it was the perfect place to be when the power went out.
“Yes,” Russell murmured as he began walking. “Perfect.”
Even the name was perfect, and although Russell didn’t believe in fate or luck, he did believe in creating his own destiny and, for him, that destiny was a place called Mercy.
FLASHPOINT Book 2
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