by Holly Hunt
"You're still upset?" Lisa stared at her. "For God's sake, it's been two years and you're still pissed that Phil and I are together? I thought you got over that when you let him keep the house."
"I'm not pissed you stole him, I'm pissed that you married him." Liz wheeled around and stalked back down the corridor. "Forget it, I'll find another way home."
Lisa grabbed her hand, escorting the woman down the corridor. "Grow up, Liz. You're going to have to learn to function in the real world."
Liz pulled her arm out of Lisa's grip, but walked along a few steps in front of her former partner. They stepped out of the hospital and walked toward the car, hidden under a few inches of snow. Lisa brushed the snow off as Liz climbed in, pulling on her seatbelt.
"You really can be a fucking bitch when you want to, Liz," Lisa said, climbing in the car and slamming the door against the cold winter air. "How many times do I have to extend an olive branch until you actually forgive me?"
The ride to Bill's place was stone cold, and not just because the heater in the cruiser had broken. Liz spent her time actively ignoring Lisa and staring out the window. But the space between them kept calling for conversation, and Liz finally broke, asking the question she'd been dying to ask since she found them in bed together.
"Why did you do it, Lisa?" she asked. "Why did you sleep with him?"
Lisa sighed, looking at her ex-partner. "There're a lot of things that happened when Jamie died, Liz. Phil needed comforting over the months that followed, and you couldn't provide it for him—not when you were out at all hours of the night, patrolling the streets for the serial killer that took your son. Look, Liz, you're going to have to grow up and understand that your husband needed you and you weren't there. I was. That's how it happened."
Liz was quiet, her hand straying to the door handle. Her thoughts were confused, but mostly she felt guilt and sadness, tears welling in her eyes, despite her efforts to blink them back. She'd lost her husband when she lost her son, she just didn't understand what was happening at the time, and the consequences she'd face, making the choices she did.
When Lisa stopped at the traffic light, she opened the door and climbed out into the snow, heading quickly into the blizzard rocking the town. Her thin clothes did little to keep the cold off her skin, but she was less than a block from Bill's house.
I can't do this anymore, I can't. I've spent so long hating her, but I should have been blaming myself. Yes, she had her part to play, but I should have been there. I should have been there for Phil, should have offered him the comfort he sought.
Like Bill said that night Jamie was found, without our son, we realized how little we actually knew about each other. The stress split us, keeping us snappish, stopped us from enjoying life and moving on. I looked at him and saw Jamie. I couldn't do it anymore.
It wasn't Lisa's fault Phil left. It was mine. The tears leaked down her cheeks, freezing on her skin in the snow.
Suddenly Lisa's car swerved to the side of the road, and Lisa jumped out and followed her.
"Liz, stop being a dumbass and get back in the car." Lisa was pulling on a large coat.
"Just go away!" Liz snarled into the wind, ignoring the cold, which was rapidly turning her fingers numb. She stumbled in the snow, slipping on a patch of ice under the flurries and Lisa helped her up, dusting the snow off her.
"Look, I'm not sorry for what happened, Liz," Lisa said, throwing a second jacket over the woman and leading her back to the car, Liz shivering too much to resist. "But you're going to have to learn to live with the fact that you were so focused on the Holiday Killer that you forgot about your family—even when he ripped part of it away."
She helped Liz back into the car and climbed in behind the wheel again, then let them just sit in the relative warmth for a while. "Liz—"
"No, it's alright." Liz sat back in her seat, pressing her fingers into the corners of her eyes to stem the tears she could feel there. "I let work destroy my relationship. If I hadn't been so focused on catching the Holiday Killer, if I'd only taken the easy way out, stepped down when I was offered—" She broke into sobs, even as she tried to suppress them.
Lisa rubbed her shoulder and sighed in understanding. "It's his fault, Liz, in the end. But don't worry, we'll get him this time. You'll see. He'll face everything he's done, and you'll have your chance to get back at him."
Liz sniffled, and Lisa offered her a tissue.
"Thanks."
"It's okay. Come on, let's get you back to Bill's before you fall apart on me completely."
14
The slow and gentle strum of Liz's alarm woke her up the next morning and she cursed, rolling off the couch. She'd waited up as long as she could the night before for news on Phil, but had fallen asleep sometime after 2.
She tapped the screen of the phone to turn off the alarm, and pulled herself up off the floor. It took her a few seconds to realize that she wasn't in her house and that someone had covered her with a blanket.
Bill must have come home at some point in the night.
She stretched and headed to the kitchen in search of coffee. She still had a few hours before she had to get to work, so she had time for the indulgence. Then her cell began to ring. She raced over in case it was news from the hospital.
"Hello, Elizabeth."
Liz froze, the kettle behind her beginning to whistle. "Who is this?"
"You don't recognize me? I am very disappointed." The voice on the end of the phone sniffed, clearly faking being upset. "It's only been three years."
A cold chill spread up her back and Liz found herself inching toward the window.
"Don't move, Liz. I can see you there, and unless you want something to happen to your old father-in-law…"
Liz searched the room. How the hell is he alive? I shot him through the goddamn brain, there's no recovering from that! This has to be some kind of sick, twisted joke. It has to be. And how did he get Bill? How does he know where I am? Jesus, he's been stalking me!
The curtains were drawn, but there was a small gap between them, letting in the sunlight. She hurriedly pulled it shut, but the voice on the other end of the phone laughed.
"That's not how I'm watching you, Liz," he said, something in the background giving off a loud toot, like a boat. "But tell you what, I'll meet you where you killed me with a pair of very special guests. And when you get here, I'll tell you how I was watching you. Deal?"
"Listen here—"
The phone went dead and she stared at it.
"You arrogant little bastard," she swore, shoving the phone in her pocket. She thought about calling Bill at work to find out if he was safe, but didn't want to tip the killer off that she was looking. She thought about stopping by the station to see if the guys in IT could do anything to find out where the phone call had come from, but with a sigh of frustration, realized that she would need more than a private number to track the little shit down.
With a start, she realized that she knew where the killer was going to be, and when. At that, she dialed another number.
"Jenny? Elizabeth. I have a location on the Holiday Killer. No, not yet. Fine, put me through to Charles, or whoever's in charge of the investigation."
15
The Docklands looked quiet when Liz pulled up, the engine running as she looked around. There was no sign of movement except for the gulls wheeling around the place. She couldn't see any backup, but that didn't mean there weren't police officers out there, watching.
She got out of the car and stepped away from it, scanning the warehouses in front of her for any sign of movement.
The warehouses managed to look even more haunting than they had the night she gunned down Mark Windsor. Chains creaked as they swung in the wind, sending chills up and down her back, and she shrank down inside her jacket against the icy winter wind and headed for the nearest warehouse.
She realized with a start that it was where she had discovered Tiffany Heart, the Holiday Killer's eleventh victim. S
he'd interrupted that mutilation then, and hoped she wasn't about to stumble across another one.
"You know, the idea was for you to come alone," a voice called out, echoing off the rafters. She couldn't pinpoint its source, and the tin of the building did nothing more than make the noise echo ominously.
"I didn't realize I was in a horror movie and had to make the stupidest decision possible," she snapped back, lowering the fur-lined hood from her face and looking up at the rafters, searching for the Holiday Killer's silhouette in the gloom.
"You're in a horror movie, alright," the man said, shifting in Liz's peripheral vision. By the time she looked around, he'd gone. "The question is, which of us is the victim, and which the predator?"
Liz pulled out her gun, making sure it was loaded. "Well, I have the gun. So I'd say you're going to be the victim."
"Oh, don't worry, I've been there, done that." He moved into her peripheral on the other side and she spun around to aim the gun. But he'd vanished again. "Really didn't care for it, to be honest."
There's no way this is him. Mark Windsor is dead, buried and decomposed by now, she thought, keeping her gun up, watching for movement. This is someone playing a sick game. How they managed to sound exactly like him, I don't know. But I will find out.
Liz was getting tired of the cat-and-mouse game he was playing with her eyes, so she kept the gun trailed on the rafters, ready to fire. She kept seeing him moving out of the corner of her eye, though, and she swore under her breath. Is this bastard part ape? He's running and leaping like he's been doing this for years.
"Why don't you come down here and face me like a man, instead of hanging around like the monkey you are?" she demanded, her hands shaking a little. If she couldn't stop shaking and aim long enough to get off a shot, how was she going to avoid a knife in the back—or worse?
The man laughed, and suddenly a heavy weight landed behind her. She spun around, jumping out of the way as a barrel rolled toward her, spewing what smelt like gasoline onto the cement floor. It thudded against the leg of an old bench and stopped, the split in its side facing the roof.
"What would the fun be in that?" the man asked from over her shoulder.
Liz reacted instinctively, reaching back to grab the man's shirt and drag him over her shoulder, to the ground at her feet.
"You!" she snarled, leveling the barrel of the gun between the man's eyes. "How the fuck are you still breathing?"
"Life's amazing when you're an identical twin," the man said, looking past the gun to stare at her. "You'd be amazed at how easy it is for other people to confuse you both, so they don't actually know which one they're gunning down like a dog. Especially in the heat of battle, when the adrenaline's pumping. Good job obliterating his face and dental records, by the way. They only had fingerprints and DNA to go on, and they're the same in identical twins. I've been hiding out pretty well the last three years in his place, defending criminals as the fine, upstanding lawyer he liked to pretend he was. It's a good life, but without any real … thrills."
Liz's fist tightened on the gun's grip, the trigger pulling back a hair's breath. "Give me a reason, you sick fuck. Any reason, I'll take it. I don't have anything to lose."
"Didn't think of that." The man laughed, swatting at something invisible in front of his face, as though a fly were annoying him. "Say, is it just me, or is it getting crowded in here?"
Liz opened her mouth to demand he talk straight when someone grabbed her shoulders and threw her against the wall, his forearm to her throat. She gagged, letting go of her weapon, as the figure slowly crushed the breath out of her.
She stared in shock, recognizing the man in front of her.
"Phil?"
"Not quite." He smiled. "Try again."
While he now wore a bushy beard, Liz could tell it was her ex-husband. He pressed harder on her throat, and she reacted instinctively, managing to kick him in the stomach and knock him back momentarily. She slid down the wall, then scrambled for the gun as Phil pulled her hair, managing to grab hold of it at the last second. She spun, aimed between her ex-husband's eyes, and pulled the trigger.
The man's head snapped back and she drew in large gulps of air as Phil's body hit the ground. The other man stopped smiling, climbing to his feet and melting into the shadows.
"This isn't the end, Liz. Not by a long shot."
"Go to Hell," she wheezed, climbing to her feet as police broke down the doors to the warehouse, clearing it with their handguns before heading over to her.
"I believe you will get there first," the Holiday Killer said, and a match struck above them, lighting a streak of petrol down the wall.
A dozen police aimed at the flames, not realizing the significance. Liz stared at the streak of fire, then the barrels, and swore.
"Gas!" she yelled, causing the police to stampede for the door, some of them sloshing fuel up their legs in their haste to get away from the danger.
The flames spread quickly across the floor, but before she could escape, Liz felt something grab her around the ankle and pull. She screamed as she landed in a small puddle of liquid, the flames racing across the fluid, catching fire to her hair and clothes.
She breathed in the fumes and the flames, and screamed as officers picked her up under the arms to drag her outside, yelling for help. Then someone came at her with a blanket, and the pain of the pressure on her burns caused her to black out.
16
The steady beep of the pulse monitor woke Liz from her sleep and she rolled over, swatting as though to turn off the alarm. She hissed in pain and sat up slowly, the bandages on her arms, stomach, and face sticking to the skin beneath.
"Easy," Lisa said, climbing from her seat and resting her hand gently on Liz's back, as though trying to steady her without touching anything painful. "You got pretty burned, Liz. Your body needs to lie still for a while."
Lisa was covered in a suit, like a hazmat suit, with a mask covering her face and a net over her hair, as though the people operating the burn ward were afraid she'd catch something.
"What happened?" Liz asked, her voice little more than a wheeze. She needed a drink.
Lisa helped her with a glass of water, then eased her back down onto the mattress. "What do you remember?"
Liz thought for a second, trying to ignore the pain in her head. "I remember the fire and the shooting and—" She froze, looking at Lisa. "Phil."
"Phil? He's at home, getting some rest. He and Bill have been here constantly for the last three days, I had to send them home for rest, under the promise that I would let them know as soon as you woke up. What has he got to do with this?"
Liz tried shaking her head, but it pulled the skin on her face, so she decided it was best not to move for the time being. "No, he's not, Lisa. I shot him between the eyes."
Lisa's eyes bulged, but she stood up and hit a buzzer by the side of the bed. "I told them they were giving you too much morphine. You're hallucinating."
"No, I'm not, I'm—"
She was interrupted by one of the nurses bustling into the ward. She marched quickly over to the bed and smiled tiredly at Lisa.
"What's the problem this time?"
"She's making no sense. You need to drop the dose."
"I'm sorry, but I can't drop the dose without a doctor's order. And the only doctor on call tonight is a crotchety old bastard. You're better off waiting until tomorrow, with the new shift, and getting one of them to do it. It won't do her any harm to wait a few hours." The nurse gave Lisa a look.
Lisa threw up her hands. "How are we meant to get any breakthroughs with this investigation if you're all standing in the way of it?" she demanded of the woman. "First the burns kept her out, and now you're keeping her high!"
"That's enough!" the nurse snapped, her patience gone. "You can either try to make your way through her confusion tonight, or you can go home and wait for tomorrow. It's up to you."
Lisa glared at the woman, then sat down heavily next to Liz. Liz smiled he
sitantly through the gauze at her ex-partner, who was glaring angrily at the nurse.
"It's okay, Lisa," Liz said, her eyelids dropping; between the drugs, the pain, and the argument, she was exhausted, unable to remember why she even hated Lisa. "You'll see I'm right when you go home. You'll see…"
17
Liz's eyes fluttered open to the same fluorescent light to which she'd fallen asleep. She didn't know whether it was morning, afternoon, or night—only that the nurses that walked past her were different.
"Hello again, sleepy head."
Liz's eyes widened and she turned her head to look at the man beside her. He was covered in the same gown, mask, and net that Lisa had been wearing the last time Liz awoke. And she'd recognize his voice anywhere. "How did you get in here?"
"They let me in. Amazing what you can do when you're the ex-husband of the patient." Phil put his feet up on the bed and leaned back in his chair. "I heard you had a little run-in with my doppelganger?"
"You could say that." Liz eyed the man warily, then noticed the cast on his right arm.
It hadn't been there in the warehouse, and that confused her. He'd broken bones falling down her stairs, and she'd shot him between the eyes. Was she hallucinating, or was there another copycat out there, who looked similar to Phil?
An uneasy feeling crept up her neck, and she wasn't sure if it was the drugs, if it was real, or even if she'd actually been there. Maybe there'd been a fire at home, and she'd been hurt there?
"Heard you gave my doppelganger the same treatment you did Mark Windsor." He smiled. "Or, at least, you tried to."
Liz pressed the buzzer, feeling sick. "He was going to kill me. I had no choice."
"And that's what you'll keep telling the police when they investigate, and it's what you'll tell yourself at night to help you sleep. But we both know it's not the truth." Phil dropped his feet, leaning in close to whisper in her ear and ignoring the nurses who appeared, asking what was wrong. "And only the truth shall set you free. Just like it will me."