The Collector (Emergence Book 1)

by Kelly Lynn Colby

“Where’s her car?” I interrupted Flores’s questioning.

  Both men turned to me in slow motion. Ron’s face deformed into a scowl and Flores’s opened in query.

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have called the cops.” Ron didn’t look happy with the lack of urgency in Flores’s apparent inaction.

  “Are you sure she didn’t stay out last night?” Flores asked.

  “She didn’t.” I walked to the street to take in the parked cars. “One of these must be his or hers.”

  Flores jogged to keep up with me as I moved down the row. I touched the first car’s handle and got nothing.

  “What do you mean?”

  I pointed to the bush. “He was here. The killer. He left an impression that showed him addressing Debra as she opened the door of her car. She did make it home last night, just not in her door.” The next car had no impression. Hell, I didn’t even know if cars held impressions.

  With a smooth slide in front of me, Flores blocked me from going any further. “Talk.”

  “While we were distracted by douchebag child molester, the empath killer must have followed her from the meeting. If Debra’s car isn’t here, then he took her in it.” With a sweep of my arms, I indicated the car-lined street. “Which means—”

  “That one of these cars is probably his.” Flores dialed a number on his phone. “I’ll have Collins compare these plates to the ones at the meeting. He’s going to be really happy that I’m bothering him when it hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet.” He smiled for the first time since I’d met him. His face crinkled as he stared at his screen. “Huh, I missed a call.”

  With his phone to his face, Flores said, “Collins, I need the list of—” Flores’s face flushed and he turned away from me, walking back to his car. He mumbled under his breath.

  Annoyed that I couldn’t hear him, I jogged to catch up, and cut him off like he’d done me. His face showed no emotion, but he couldn’t hide from me. My bare hand gripped his wrist.

  My body dragged as the heaviness of grief weighed me down. “No.”

  I sat on the curb hard, the pain to my pelvis a welcome sensation while the rest of my body grew numb. “We’re too late.”

  After hanging up the phone, Flores joined me on the curb. “I have to tell her husband. But I’m getting you a ride home. You don’t need to go to this scene.”

  For once, I didn’t argue. I failed. I couldn’t save anyone.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The emotional impressions from Walter washed over me as I slammed my door shut.

  I couldn’t believe Debra was gone. I had just met her. I discovered the Collector, another with the same gift who told me to find him, but he was murdered. I found a group of empaths who welcomed me into their fold with Debra as the matriarch. A few hours later, she was sacrificed to this vicious killer who found true joy in tormenting his victims.

  The mutilated body of Amethyst invaded my mind, but her terrified face was replaced with Debra’s. The anger dripping from that house, from a frustrated psychopath, mixed with the memory’s swirling around my apartment.

  Curse. I was right the whole time. This stupid ability was a curse.

  “Dammit!” I yelled. “Leave me alone. What do you want from me?”

  Wine was my preferred lubricant at home. This time, I needed something quicker. I reached into the cabinet over the stove for the bourbon. Without bothering with a glass, I took a sip right from the bottle. The part-honey part-fire elixir burned all the way down.

  At that moment, I knew I had to get rid of that automaton Walter. I might have been alone before, but my life was peaceful and predictable until that stupid statue came into my life. I grabbed the base and tried to lift it.

  My mind ducked into ice water as my body temperature dropped. Splinters drove into my hands as I gripped the pier, but I couldn’t see a thing in the dark. I was going to drown.

  I ripped my hands from the base. “Fuck you, Collector. You’re just as evil as the man who took you. You were supposed to protect those people. Instead you led a murderer to their door.”

  The beast of a thing wasn’t going to win that easily. Another deep drag of bourbon didn’t make me any stronger, but it would numb the emotional attacks. I kicked the impression-laden monstrosity. It slammed to my hardwood floor and gouged the shiny surface. I didn’t care. It had to go. Nothing else mattered.

  The waves in the air tried to speak to me, but I ignored them. Those people were dead, or moved on, or were beyond help one way or another. Why did I need to be tormented by all of their old experiences?

  Beyond one piece of an ear, the statue was still in perfect condition. My floor was damaged worse than the ugly thing.

  More bourbon numbed the waves no one else could see, as I worked through the problem. “I need a bigger tool.”

  The kitchen seemed the most logical place to find a weapon. I scoured my drawers for something more damaging than gravity. The best I could come up with was a metal meat tenderizer.

  After one more heavy sip, I confronted the offending statue. “I’ve got you this time. I have no idea if an impression will survive if I destroy it. Let’s find out.”

  No sex, no drink, no night with my girls compared to the satisfaction of bashing the globe head. The piece that was supposed to be my salvation became my affliction. My hands vibrated with the repeated impact of metal on wood. I’d only used the kitchen gadget once or twice. The violence with which chips of people’s past flew about my ears was tame compared to the murders I’d witnessed this week.

  Either mutilating the piece quieted the combined strength of the signals or the bourbon was working to numb my empathy. One way or another, the room quieted but my arm didn’t slow, even as my shoulder started to ache. I gripped the handle with both hands as sweat made my hold slippery. An arm fell off, then the music box twanged as its mechanism was crushed. One ferocious blow broke the head of the tenderizer from the handle. The jagged surface flew at me, though I managed to hit the ground just under its arc.

  My elbow grazed a piece of metal bent out from the mutilated body of Walter. Pain blossomed from the cut. It felt refreshing, a bit of my own pain for a change. The statue, however, was not falling apart quickly enough for me.

  By half-rolling, half-shoving the piece, I managed to maneuver it to the front door. I wanted it to scream and protest and then grow silent. The noise of all the voices was just too much. I needed Walter to die.

  While holding my bleeding elbow with my other hand, I opened my front door and kicked the cursed thing down the outside set of stairs. Wood shards and random tinking sounds filled the air as the concrete finished tearing the offending statue apart. The remnants of what was a human-like automaton smashed into the gate at the bottom of the entrance steps and collapsed into a pile of rubble.

  The shards of ex-statue threatened to trip me in revenge as I took one step at a time to witness the results of my violence. I imagined blood instead of debris spreading out from the point of impact like the Collector sprawled on his kitchen floor. The air still vibrated with impressions, but they were muddled, more whispering than a clamoring. Being united like that must have amplified their signal.

  My ire and frustration somehow drained, I crouched by the crushed art. His once carefully assembled body lay in divided pieces again, much like the carved and mutilated corpse of Amethyst.

  My vision clouded as the horror of the last couple days transformed into heartache. With the handle of the tenderizer still in my grasp, I released my elbow and sorted through the debris. The knife that was the nose on the globe head clunked to the ground. Attached to the handle was a tag with a number on it.

  It must have been tucked into the globe all along. All I remembered was a violent murder of a young girl. That’s why I hadn’t dared touch it again. Now there was a connection. Knowing Albert had tagged certain pieces to use as blackmail, why would he place a valuable piece inside a random art project and send it off into the world? Maybe he never d
iscovered the offender? Maybe the guy died? Whatever the reason, I was much too sick of trying to figure out Albert’s motivations to give a damn about why.

  As I moved to push the knife aside with the tenderizer handle, my blood-slicked hand slipped and fell on the knife.

  Unprepared as I was, the pain, though not even mine, took my breath away. The man holding the knife drove it into the girl’s chest as she instinctively grasped at the weapon. This time I tried to push the terror aside. At this point, the bourbon numbing my sensing was a blessing. It helped me separate the experience as not mine.

  My instincts screamed at me to just let go, but something about this remnant ticked in the back of my mind. Something I should recognize.

  Splattered with his victim’s blood, the killer leaned close to the girl’s face, a grimace marred his chiseled features, and his eyes glowed the most stunning shade of blue.

  Holy shit. Was this the empath killer? The only true emotion I felt was the victim’s, likely left from her grasping the knife. With any fear drowned in bourbon, I explored deeper into the remnant. Something else floated behind the girl’s terror and panic. It took me a minute to identify, but when I did, I knew for certain this was the same man I searched for. The emotion was joy. I’d never forget that signature.

  His deep voice sounded distant through the girl’s fading strength. “No one threatens me.”

  Unwilling to let go until I witnessed everything I could, anything to help me identify this man. I memorized his sleek jawline, his high cheek bones, the way his lip curled up slightly on the left side. I was sure I could describe him to a sketch artist now, but I held on to the end just in case there was more. The girl’s gaze drifted to her hands around the knife handle, just above his perfectly manicured nails. A masculine silver ring with a large ruby in the center flashed in the fluorescent light. His shirt sleeves were shredded, and long gashes streaked red on his arms. This was where he got those scars.

  Before the scene repeated itself, I dropped the knife. With a deep breath, I took a moment to compose his image in my head. The bourbon made it difficult, but I’d be damned if I was going to lose it now. I tucked my arms around my head, and squeezed my eyes shut, drowning out the neighbor’s mewling cat and the searing sun overhead.

  His blue eyes floated before me, disembodied. Stop it, brain. I knew more of what he looked like now. A tall, handsome man with the same high cheekbones streaked through my memory. He wore an expensive suit with no tie. I could see him putting on designer sunglasses with long fingers and a ruby ring.

  It all came back to me in a tsunami of images. I saw that man at the precinct Monday morning. I gagged as I remembered how attracted to him I was. His sunglasses had covered up his eyes. I never even suspected I’d already seen the killer.

  My numb fingers reached for my phone in my back pocket. I snapped a picture of the knife with the tag numbers showing and sent it to Flores. Then I dialed his number.

  I jumped to my feet, shaking. This was going to be over. This monster would never do this to another empath. “Damn voicemail. I found another remnant from a murder and it’s him, the same guy that killed Albert. We’ve got him. He was at the precinct Monday morning and the gallery Tuesday night. Get me that sketch artist one more time.”

  Pain throbbed through my injured elbow as someone grabbed me. Anticipation mixed with anger overrode any of my own emotions. My phone slipped through my fingers as the man dragged me into the alley between my building and the next. He slammed me against the brick wall. I welcomed the pain over the sick feelings of this man invading my soul.

  “Get off me.” I kicked up, hitting his thigh, instead of my main target.

  He released my elbow but held me against the wall with his body weight. His eyes practically glowed blue in the filtered light of the alleyway.

  My muscles liquefied as abject horror shook me to my core. The empath killer had me.

  He practically licked his lips as he said, “I knew you were one. I saw your face when I touched you.”

  The voice that had haunted my thoughts since I’d first heard it on the Collector’s kitchen floor reverberated in my actual ears. This wasn’t an impression or someone else’s memory. He was physically here and he knew what I was.

  And he was hungry for more.

  That realization reignited my flight instinct. I pushed him back with a force born of panic. In a way, he’d killed me four times already. Once through Albert. Once through George. Once through Amethyst. And, finally, through the unknown girl from the knife remnant. He wasn’t going to get another chance.

  He was so much stronger than me, though. He grabbed both sides of my head and rammed me into the jagged brick. My thoughts jumbled, and I couldn’t remember what I’d been trying to do. He bashed my head again, harder, and the world around me faded.

  Chapter Thirty

  When I blinked myself back to consciousness, my first thought was relief that I was alive. A white ceiling I didn’t recognize came into focus. I tried to roll over, but my arms and legs were caught on something. I pulled and tried to sit up, but couldn’t. Rope dug into my wrists and my ankles as I struggled to free myself. My eyes watered and my stomach lurched at the fetid smell of unwashed sheets.

  My heart jumped as the blue-eyed killer sat down on the side of the bed. Adrenaline fired through my muscles, and I struggled to free myself.

  He must have been confident with his knot tying, because he made no move to stop me. With a flip of his wrist, he opened my wallet. “Fauna Young. Such a unique name. My parents had no imagination.”

  As he reached across my body to shake my opposite hand, I pushed myself as far into the mattress as I could.

  “I’m Phil Tanner. We should get to know each other since you’ll be here for a while.”

  My stomach clenched with his deep seeded anger. Missing was the joy floating on top. This was the guy. Why was his signature different in person than on the impressions?

  “What do you mean for a while? What do you want with me?” I knew what he wanted with me, but I didn’t know why. If I was going to die right after I found my tribe, then I wanted to know why.

  He ran a finger down my side and along my thigh. This time I felt his anticipation. There was no sexual component in his other attacks, but I got a definite lust vibe from him. What the fuck was going on?

  “You know, before that scumbag of an artist, I had never felt joy. Not once in my entire life.” He dumped my wallet in a metal trash can and picked up something from the floor. The sharp stench of lighter fluid wafted from the can before a bright orange flash flared from the top.

  I stared at the flames of my incinerated identity. He was erasing me. I had to get out of here. Gathering what little I knew about him, I decided to start at the beginning. “Not even when you murdered your lover?” I took an educated guess and hoped for the best.

  Phil’s eyes focused on me. “How did you know? Did the Collector tell you? That asshole was blackmailing me for that murder. But Sarah asked for it. She threatened to tell my wife and I couldn’t have that, now could I.”

  Holy shit, this madman was married. I prayed to god he didn’t have any children.

  “But to answer your question, I did find joy in Sarah’s demise. There is a certain level of satisfaction that comes from complete and utter control of a person until the very moment of death. Though, at the time, I didn’t know that was what I was feeling.”

  He paced to the other side of the room to peer out of the dingy blinds of a modest window. As he moved, he kicked aside bits of trash and decay piled up along the walls. It looked like a drug den without all of the nasty mattresses piled on the floors.

  A bit of light reflected off a set of knives on a side table by the window. George’s dissected body flashed into my mind.

  “Help!” I screamed with all the energy I could muster.

  Phil crossed his arms over his chest and laughed. As if to prove his point, there was no joy in the sound, only knowledge t
hat he knew what I didn’t.

  “You can scream all you want. No one will hear you. This place has been condemned and the police all but ignore it. I don’t know why I didn’t think to use it earlier.” He picked up an amber-colored bottle and some cotton swaps. “I had it all set up for the psychiatrist. She would have entertained me for days. Sadly, before I got a single cut into her unblemished skin, she simply died.”

  “Her heart. Her husband said she could die if she was stressed.” My heart hurt from beating so hard. I tried to distract him from what seemed inevitable to me now.

  “Ah, well that explains it. I assume you’re much healthier, aren’t you?”

  “If I say I’m not, would that make a difference?”

  Phil pulled up my shirt. “No. No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” He dabbed the cotton swab with liquid from the bottle across my stomach.

  The cold of the brownish fluid sent goose bumps through my skin. “Iodine? What are you—”

  “You see, I’ve learned a few things and was eager to test them on that woman. We would have had a wonderful time together. Such a waste.”

  As soon as Phil turned his back, I twisted my right hand back and forth in the tight rope. Maybe I could loosen it.

  “I’d stuck around to see if the husband was equally gifted, but that annoying cop showed up before I could make a move. How lucky was I to see you leave Debra’s with your gloves? I knew you had to be one.” He dipped the knife in a clear liquid that smelled strongly of alcohol, then flashed the surface over a lighter.

  He moved toward the bed, the knife still glowed slightly from the flame. “A sterilized blade and a clean surface area keep infection down so we can play longer.”

  “No, no, no.” Nothing else in the world existed beyond the blade as it approached my brown-stained stomach. My body squirmed unable to hold still, no matter how pointless the action was. My instincts screamed to get away.

  The point pierced my skin. A sharp pain spread out from the wound just ahead of the oozing blood. I bit my lip and closed my eyes as the pain intensified. Though I didn’t look, I could feel the knife slicing through my skin in a shallow cut. The nerves of my abdomen all fired at once.