No longer laughing, the killer uncrosses his arms and I see the knife he holds in his right hand glisten in the light. It’s the same knife I’ve seen many times in his memories, a part of him that is never far from his side. I shiver involuntarily, a complete contrast to my confident words. My reaction pleases him and he laughs sinisterly.
“You have no idea what true pleasure is my dear Aimee, but I promise you that before this night is over, you will,” he warns before taking a step forward into the light.
The second his face is illuminated I back away from him in shock. I know him. All pretense of strength is lost as I panic and try my best to crawl away from him. It’s no use though as Logan’s still form stops me just a few short feet away. The boy I love, the killer’s accomplice. I almost forgot about Logan in the midst of finally meeting the killer. Defeated, I turn back to my stalker and stare up into the face of the boy whose memories have haunted and sickened me. So many times I have wondered what his face looked like, exactly how evil it would be. But never in a million years, would I have guessed this face.
“Tyler?” I breathe, desperate to understand. This isn’t the face of evil; this is the face of an angel. It’s the kind of face that mesmerizes you, that makes you want to trust every word that comes out of his mouth. I’m just about to ask him how he could possibly be so evil, but I never get the chance. A heavy object hits me on the head from behind and I see stars as the world fades and I crumple at Logan’s feet.
Chapter Thirty-Two
~ Portrait of a Killer ~
I awake in a dark, cold room that smells heavily of mildew. My mouth is dry and all I can taste is the bitterness of old blood. I must have bitten my tongue when Logan hit me from behind. I open my eyes and look around, doing my best to ascertain my surrounding despite the lack of light. I see four walls surrounding me, the familiar dark bricks stained from age and mold. There is a staircase about ten feet in front of me that curves and extends up to a door at the top of the room. This is where the only sliver of light in the entire room originates. There is no furniture in the room save the bed that I am currently bound to. The sheets under me are bleached white and are a stark contrast to the dark bricks that surround me. My hands are bound to each end of the metal headboard with handcuffs welded to the posts. I look down and see that my feet are also spread out and tied to each end of the footboard with more handcuffs. I pull my foot, fighting at the bindings, measuring to see if I could get it out, but it’s no use. I look at my body and am not surprised to see that I only have on my bra and underwear. My skin is chilled from the dampness of the air in the cellar. I would know this cellar anywhere; I have been here many times, though not in physical form. I am in the killer’s torture room and from the looks of it; I’m to share the same fate as all the other girls from his memories. Well screw that. Tyler may have surprised me before, but now it’s my turn to surprise him. I won’t go down without a fight.
My mind scrambles to find some way out. Even though it’s probably futile, I try to pull my hands and feet through the handcuffs. The sharp edges cut into my skin. I ignore the pain as I try to wiggle my right foot free. Sadly, all I accomplish is a bleeding foot. I decide to save my strength and give up futile means of escape. I look around, desperate to find anything that can help me, but the room is barren, clear of anything and everything that one could use to free themselves. This is by design of course; Tyler is very thorough and doesn’t leave anything to chance. It still feels weird to call the killer Tyler. Not in a million years would I have guessed him. He is always so charismatic and charming. He gives off an aura of kindness and trust. I guess I’m not the only one who hides themselves from the world.
My intense focus on escaping helps me to not be afraid, helps me to not think of all the horrible things that Tyler is capable of doing; things that I have experienced firsthand. Though Logan and his involvement with this psycho try to force itself to the front of my mind, I choose to ignore it. I can’t bear to think of Logan as a conspirator in killing; it just doesn’t mesh with what I know in my heart. But hearts have been deceived all throughout history, just look at Romeo and Juliet. I guess it’s true, some loves are just not meant to be.
Suddenly from above, I hear the door creek open and Tyler emerges, his form haloed within the light that floods the room from behind him. He descends the steps slowly, twirling his faithful knife in his right hand and smiling at me as he approaches. I fight my bindings involuntarily, not so much fear guiding my actions as anger. I want to punch that smile off his face and see him bleed. He needs to pay for Leah and for all the other girls he so callously killed. I force myself to calm down, knowing that my fear and anger is part of what fuels him, part of what he craves the most when he kills. I lie still in the bed, the only movement is my chest rising and falling as I breathe. I stare at him defiantly as he approaches, ready to do battle despite my precarious position. Tyler stops at the end of the old wrought iron bed and faces me. He is decked out in all black, even down to his socks and shoes. The only color in this room is the green glow of his eyes.
Tyler stands there staring at me, soaking up every inch of my body. I see him lick his lips and I almost vomit from disgust. Why does he wait? There’s nothing I can do to free myself; he must know that. Then I realize that he must be waiting for me. It’s just like in every mystery movie created: the killer has to boast before he kills. I don’t want to give him what he desires, but there is something that I am dying to know. I can only hope that Tyler is in the answering kind of mood.
“Why, Tyler?” I ask his still form. “What’s so wrong with you that you feel the need to do this? You have your pick of girls at school. Why do you kidnap and torture them?”
Tyler shakes his head in exasperation. He speaks as he’s talking to a small child. “My dear Aimee, why must there be a reason?” he states nonchalantly.
Confusion renders me momentarily speechless. How can there be no reason? Killing for the pleasure of it just seems too foreign a concept for my brain to process. Tyler could have any girl in the school that he wanted, so why take what would be freely given? I am about to push him further, when up above at the door, I see Logan come into view. Like Tyler, he too is wearing all black. He must have changed clothes, because the last time I saw him, he was in his usual ensemble of a t-shirt and jeans. I guess he had to dress the part if he wanted to participate in killing me. My heart burns from the truth. Though I can see it with my own eyes, my mind stubbornly refuses to believe that Logan could be responsible for helping Tyler. But in a lot of ways, it makes sense. They are both on the same baseball and basketball team. If they share that common interest, it isn’t a far jump to other, more sinister, extracurricular activities. It wouldn’t be hard to find alibis if they play sports together all the time. I turn my head to the side, sick with heartache, but this time I actually do throw up. I get no small amount of satisfaction when a bit of it lands on Tyler’s shoes.
“Bitch!” he yells. “These are expensive shoes. You’re going to pay for that,” he warns seconds before his hand connects with my face and my cheek feels like it just exploded.
The pain is so intense that my eyes tear up and I momentarily can’t move. He slapped me so hard that my head still vibrates from the motion. I’m slow to move my head back to center, the dizziness, and pain immobilizing me. Since my hands are bound, I can’t rub away the sting so I open and close my mouth, willing the pain to subside. I refuse to give Tyler the satisfaction of knowing how much that slap had affected me.
“That all you got Tyler?” I goad. “A five year old could slap harder than you.”
Red in the face from anger, Tyler rears back his fist, preparing to punch me when Logan’s voice interrupts him.
“Enough,” bellows Logan. “Leave her be for now.”
To my surprise, Tyler stops, his fist shaking from the unnatural restraint and backs down. His face is flushed with anger, but he makes no move to argue with Logan.
Who is in charge here? All this time I had
thought the killer was the alpha, the clear leader in charge, but now I see that someone more sinister lurks from behind. Someone more patient and infinitely more dangerous: Logan. Looking into those hazel eyes I used to adore, something inside me snaps.
“Leave me for what Logan? Why bother not damaging the merchandise when you’re only going to kill me later?” I ask furious.
Logan makes no move to explain, he simply crosses his arms in front of his chest and smiles at me.
“Damn you for making me love you Logan. Just let him kill me already! Nothing matters anymore, don’t you see? There’s nothing left inside me. You’ve already taken care of killing the parts that matter so who cares about the rest? Just do it already!” I scream at him, my whole body upright and ridged as I fight my bindings.
Beside me, Tyler starts to laugh, a deep sarcastic sound that fills room. I turn to him, certain that some kind of ‘you’re crazy’ look adorns my face. Nothing I said was funny. He’s just doing it to mock me.
Tyler turns to Logan and elbows him jovially. “She really doesn’t know does she?” he asks between laughs. “Such a stupid bitch, just like all the rest of them.”
My head reels from confusion. What don’t I understand? I see them both in front of me, co-conspirators in killing and it’s clear as day. Or is it? What am I missing? Furthermore, do I care? I turn to both of them, my face flushed with unshed anger.
“What don’t I know Tyler?” I ask sick of his games. “Just spit it out already so you can kill me and be done with it. I’m done waiting on your sick ass.” My sarcasm seems to hit a nerve, because Tyler stops laughing immediately.
Quicker than I could have imagined, Tyler jumps on the bed and climbs on top of me. He straddles me as he sticks his knife to my throat. I can feel his breath on my face. It’s sweet, not rancid as I would have thought coming from someone so evil. He presses the tip of the knife into the thin skin of my neck and pricks me, causing a small amount of blood to trickle down.
“Curb your tongue or I’ll cut it out for you and make you eat it piece by piece,” he warns, his eyes unfocused and wild.
“You don’t scare me. I’ve seen everything you’ve ever done and I know all of your secrets, remember? I know better than anyone does exactly what you are capable of and I won’t give you what you desire the most: my fear. There’s nothing you can do to hurt me anymore. Logan here has already killed me for you. My heart is broken and my soul is dead. All that he left for you is my flesh. So do your worst.”
Again Tyler laughs, such a sadistic sound that is completely contrary to his angelic face. I watch as he and Logan share a knowing look and I wonder what secret Tyler harbors that I’m not privy to. I have absorbed them all so there should be nothing about him that I don’t already know. Or is there? Could there be a memory I missed? Some part of him that he was able to hold back to protect Logan? I search my mind for clues, but nothing relevant surfaces. I know that Tyler is the killer, his memories swimming in my mind, are buzzing from our closeness. I try to think of what Tyler could know that I don’t, but it’s no use, I can’t think of anything. It doesn’t really matter anyway, I’m dead whether I remember or not. My silence seems to have given Logan permission to enter our conversation.
“You poor, misguided, fool of a girl,” begins Logan. “He really never told you did he?” Logan asks genuinely perplexed. I’m saved from saying anything when he answers his own question. “No, of course he never told you. I’m a horrible family secret that my parents tried very hard to hide. But they failed to realize that I can’t be hidden. Destiny has plans for me that won’t be denied.”
“What in the world are you talking about Logan? Are you nuts? Wait, don’t answer that, I know you’re nuts. You have to be to work with this psycho,” I say pointing to Tyler with my head. “So now that your mental status has been settled, can we please just get on with it and someone give me a clear answer?” I say, exasperated that we’re having such a stupid conversation in the center of a torture room while I’m half-naked and bound.
Logan laughs. I’m getting really sick of all this laughing. It’s as if I’m not privy to some really good joke.
Logan approaches the bed, leans over me, and smiles. “My dear Aimee,” he says shaking his head, his tone reproachful. “I’m not nuts. In fact, I’m not Logan at all. My name is Alex. I’m Logan’s twin brother.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
~ Standoff ~
“What?” I breathe, at a loss to say anything more elaborate. What kind of sick joke is this? Was Logan schizophrenic all along and no one ever noticed? Damn, just when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder, they throw a twin brother into the mix. That is so cliché; like something out of a scary movie from ten years ago. I am not amused. Logan/Alex snickers at me; a patronizing look adorns his face. He crosses the room and approaches a blocked off corner. I lift my head to try to see where he’s going and I can just make out a black curtain extending down from ceiling. Since it’s black, it blends in very well with the décor—or let’s just face it, lack of decor. Logan/Alex licks his lips in eagerness before he reaches up and fiercely pulls the curtain back. His eyes never leave mine; they’re hungry, eager to soak up my reaction. It sure as hell isn’t long in coming.
I scream and try to jump off the bed, but I’m stopped by my bindings. I struggle, desperate to get to the bloody heap crumpled in the corner. He’s wearing the same white shirt and jeans I saw him in at my house earlier tonight: Logan, the real one. His arms are tied together, the rope threaded through a loop, nailed to the wall. His head is down and I can tell that he’s unconscious. My eyes, now adjusted to the dark, can see his brown hair matted with blood and his cheek facing me is a dark red color. It seems that he was hit over the head, just like I was. Desperate to get to him, I fight my bindings, but that only seems to entertain my captors more.
Alex laughs beside Logan’s crumpled body and it hits me all at once; what he said was true. Alex and Logan are twin brothers. Even with different clothing I can see the same circular face, the same brown hair and hazel eyes, even the same smile; though admittedly I feel Alex’s is more sinister. Twins! Wow, I did not see that one coming. Confusion gives way to happiness as my heart catches up to my head. The boy I love never betrayed me; he fought for me and risked his life to save me, again. Logan isn’t evil; he’s alive and a sight for sore eyes. I stare at him until I’m sure that his shoulders move up and down in the comforting motion of breathing. He’s alive! And sadly, in grave danger because of me. Never before in my life did I have anything to lose. Now that I do, I have to find a way to save him. I can’t lose him.
I scramble to find a way to get us both out of here, the newfound knowledge that Logan isn’t evil feeding my brain. There has to be a way to convince the dynamic duo to unbind me. I have a purpose now, a reason to fight. I have to fight for the one person who saw past the shroud and brought me into the light. I have to give Logan a chance to live, even if it means I can’t. In the time I spend thinking of a way to get us out of here, the duo has not been idle. Alex left the unconscious Logan and is now standing over me at the head of the bed.
“How’s this possible?” I ask Alex, trying my best to buy time to figure out an escape plan. “He never mentioned you at all.”
Alex sneers at me, clearly upset, but doing his best to hide it. “Of course your precious Logan wouldn’t have said anything. Our parents hid me away in a mental hospital when we were only six years old. I was the obedient one. Logan was always the one who never listened. I did everything right. I was respectful, kind to others, never whined about anything, and was the smartest student in my classes. They had to scream at Logan constantly to even do his homework. But as soon as Logan picked up a ball and threw it, they knew he was going to be a star. From that point on, they ignored me, when I needed them most they turned their backs on me. All I ever did was love them. I tried so hard to be the perfect son, but nothing I did was ever good enough, because I couldn’t hit a home r
un. They loved the attention their little league star afforded them. From that point on, they only had time for my worthless, pathetic, twin brother. Then one day they found out I had killed a cat, well, only one they know of, and the psychiatrists labeled me a sociopath with sadistic tendencies. It was the perfect reason to get rid of me. My parents told me that they were so ashamed of me, they had to lock me away. I became someone else’s problem. Ten years I rotted in that place, visited once a year by our worthless parents. They told me they used some new age therapy to help alter Logan’s memory. They convinced him, somehow, that the flesh and blood brother he played with for six years was imaginary.”
Tyler emerges from the foot of the bed and comes to stand beside Alex. He puts his elbow on top of his shoulder in a brotherly gesture and smiles at Alex, who returns it with obvious affection. “About two years ago I found Tyler here in a chat room during an internet session the therapist gave me for good behavior. Luckily, the asylum only monitors the truly insane patients, so I was able to speak to Tyler freely, without anyone suspecting anything. Tyler helped me plan and execute an escape. He showed me this cabin and told me I could live here as long as I brought him the girls he needed to feed his needs, his obsession. With this gorgeous face, luring girls here was an easy enough task to do and I have to say, I got the better end of the deal. I get this cabin all to myself in a place no one will ever find. Tyler gave me back my life and we have been a team ever since.”
“Touching story, really,” I begin, sarcasm practically dripping from my mouth. “You’re the victim; the world doesn’t get you, fine. But, you still haven’t told me why. Why do you help Tyler? What’s in it for you besides the thrilling accommodations?”
Smirking again, Alex stares at me with those deadpan eyes so strikingly familiar, it’s haunting. “You really have to ask? I thought you were smart. I get to watch, you silly girl. If I bring Tyler the girls, I get to watch Tyler work. He’s acting out my fantasies now, not his.”
The Haunting of Secrets Page 15