Deadly Potential

by Jennifer Carole Lewis

  She’d been watching him for a least a minute still couldn’t retain what he looked like. An old piece of advice came to mind. When overwhelmed, break the problem down into smaller parts. Just find one detail to remember. “From the reports, you kill them either way.”

  “I make their dreams come true,” he corrected. “And I ensure those dreams last for the rest of their lives. My subjects must die, but I’m not a monster who enjoys killing.”

  “It’s not a dream if they have to die.” Katie frowned in concentration, using the memory-boosting techniques she used for crowded industry events. His suit is blue, pale blue, almost a turquoise.

  “I’m glad to see you’ve relaxed enough to confront me. I appreciate the honesty, but you’re mistaken in your assumption. I’ve let others go before. Sometimes they’ve begged for their lives, and convinced me they were capable of transforming themselves. Or I discovered they were truly happy in their lives, not struggling as I initially believed. I wouldn’t rob anyone of a joyful life.”

  “I’m happy. Why pick me?” He’s wearing a pale blue suit, and his hair is sandy blond.

  His smile vanished. “Don’t lie to me. You aren’t happy. You’ve subsumed your life into your stepsister’s. Your work for her consumes every waking moment. You fill the emptiness with casual sex, but the longing for more pervades every note you write.”

  “You assume I’m not happy because I work hard and have casual lovers? That’s judgmental.” Repeating details to herself made it hard to concentrate on the conversation. Pale blue suit and sandy blond hair, cut short.

  “Don’t mistake me. I’m no neo-conservative, pushing an agenda of hearth and home. Has Special Agent Orlund told you about Ashley yet?”

  “No.” Katie surreptitiously checked her phone, but the camera had been disabled. It didn’t surprise her, which made her think it wasn’t the first time she’d done it. I have to remember. Pale blue suit.

  “A beautiful young woman who wanted to become a model. She wanted to be paid to play pretend. She rather liked pretending, and spent a great deal of other people’s money on costumes and accessories.” Walter shifted on the couch. “I considered letting her live . . . allowing her and Orlund to be together.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Pale blue suit. Ashley, a model who fell in love with Orlund.

  “Because they weren’t committed to each other. She was addicted to the easy life, stealing credit card information rather than pursuing her craft. He cared more about catching me than protecting her. If he had truly loved her, I would have let them go.” He sighed. “Much as I considered letting you go. Investigator Morgan loves you. But you don’t feel the same way, do you? Your work is your first love.”

  That is such bullshit. Katie’s anger snapped her memory mantra, causing Walter’s image to revert to blankness. But his words remained. I’ll always fail his expectations, and I sure as hell don’t deserve to be murdered for it. His arrogance in judging her choices infuriated her. Even if I was having sex with a dozen different guys a night, he doesn’t have the right to attack me because of it.

  “We’re alike, you know. My work means everything to me as well. I vanish from people’s awareness and memories, but there are others who leave a disproportionate mark on the lives around them. Their presence is noted, and their actions remembered, even by casual acquaintances. Vivian was my first.” His gaze clouded over in memory. “Her name suited her, from the Latin vivus, meaning alive. She imbued every moment with an energy that I never could. I would have worshipped her if she could have shared it with me.”

  Vivian. And Ashley. Katie held tightly to the names, determined not to forget again. “What happened?”

  “She took drugs. They made her brittle and paranoid. She lost what made her special. I tried to counsel her, but she couldn’t remember me, or what I’d said. We argued, and she ran from me. When I found her, it was too late. She’d taken too much.” He seemed genuinely remorseful. “All of her light darkened forever.”

  Ashley. Stole money. Vivian. Took drugs and overdosed. Ben and Ray could use this information.

  She had to remember, and keep him talking. “You didn’t want her light to disappear.”

  “Exactly.” His pleased smile gave her the creeps. “I didn’t want her to be found like a discarded doll, or worse, rotted like a piece of forgotten meat. I brought her home, and bathed her. I dressed her in a green sundress from her closet. Her hair was so silky, it glowed like rubies. I placed her on the couch with a book, something meaningful. Then I called the police.”

  Ashley. Stole money. Vivian. Overdose. Staged the body. Katie dug her nails into her palms, hoping the pain would aid her memory.

  “I watched as they found her. They were respectful, handling her with care. They wouldn’t have done with who she was before. She would have been a junkie, another piece of human garbage. What I did changed how they saw her. They might not remember me, but they remembered her always.” He stood up, smoothing his suit jacket.

  Ashley. Stole money. Vivian. Overdose. Staged the body. He’s wearing a pale blue suit. The sting of her nails digging into her flesh helped, but the litany was losing cohesion.

  “I’m afraid I must go. This has been a most pleasant conversation. I think we understand one another better.” He stepped toward her, and tsked. “You shouldn’t injure yourself.”

  “I don’t want to forget.” Ashley. Stole money. Vivian. Overdose. Staged. Blue suit. Sweat trickled down her forehead and the back of her neck.

  “That isn’t how it works, I’m afraid. Investigator Morgan has explained how I’m not like other men?” He grabbed her hand, and forced her stiff fingers to uncurl.

  She nodded. His dry, papery skin was repulsive against her own, like the flicker of a fly’s wings. She repeated her mantra about Vivian and Ashley.

  He stroked her hand, smearing a bead of blood where her nails had pierced the skin.

  “I’m glad you know the truth, because it will make it easier for you to understand what you must do.”

  “What do you want from me?” Her voice was dry and hoarse. More than anything, she wanted to run. But she clung tightly to her courage and her memories. This is how I fight. Ashley. Stole. Vivian. Overdose. Staged. Blue suit.

  “I want a song.” He lifted her rigid hand to his lips, kissing the knuckle. “Something poignant to capture the tragedy of my existence, and what it’s driven me to do.”

  A psychopath’s commission. “How can I do that if I can’t remember this conversation? I can’t create music out of nothing.”

  “You can begin by writing down the key points you’ve been struggling to remember for the last few minutes.” He released her, and gestured to the desk.

  Katie grabbed her notebook and pen. He was here. We talked. He killed a woman named Ashley because she stole money. Vivian was his first kill. She died of an overdose, and he staged the body. He wore a blue suit. Her pen faltered. There was more, wasn’t there? It seemed like a pitiful list for the effort required.

  “He wants a song about his life,” he prompted gently. “Write it down.”

  She wrote the words.

  “Very good. We’ll speak again another time. For now, I have some other business to attend to before we can finish our work.” He walked swiftly to the door. “Don’t worry, I can show myself out.”

  The door closed. Katie snatched the paper, and scribbled as fast as she could. Pain helped remember. Creepy feeling when he’s here.

  “Know . . .” She shook her head. Why am I so tired? The pen in her hand hurt. Katie opened her fingers, and frowned at the bloody circles in her palm. How could that have happened?

  Then she noticed the words in her notebook. Her heart pounded, and air rasped in in shallow breaths. She checked the door to the hall. No vase. Which meant the words in front of her were true. Sh
e’d had a conversation with a serial killer.

  Picking up her phone, she hesitated before touching the icon. Why do I think it won’t work? The phone app opened easily under her trembling finger. Who do I call?

  Orlund was the one in charge. But calling him meant facing his abrasive attitude.

  She could call Aggi or Patrick. Either would support her.

  She could call Ray.

  Her fingers were already dialing the one person she wanted and trusted more than any other.

  Chapter 32

  “If you experience nausea, or a bad headache—”

  “I’ll go to the hospital, I promise,” Ben grumbled. “It’s been an hour and a half. I’m fine. I don’t have a concussion.”

  He pushed aside the EMT’s gloved hands before they touched the swollen lump on the back of Ben’s skull again. The slender man had already poked and prodded him enough for one day.

  The EMT exchanged a commiserating glance with the muscular policeman taking Ben’s statement.

  The officer shook his head. “The FBI is insisting on filing charges.”

  Ben restrained himself from rolling his eyes or snarling. Orlund had been loudly demanding his arrest when the ambulance and police arrived. Local police moved out the paparazzi, though plenty of photographers were snapping pictures at a distance. Luckily someone had taken Orlund away before Ben lost his temper for a second time today.

  He repeated his statement. “I did not obstruct his investigation, nor do I have any plans to do so. I only want to protect a young woman from becoming the ninth victim of a serial killer.”

  “You and your partner were here as consultants for Special Investigations, right?” The policeman’s lips vanished briefly into a thin line when he mentioned the agency’s name.

  “That’s right.” Ben had already answered these questions, but he’d gladly do it a dozen more times if it avoided the back of a squad car.

  “You think this killer, the Director, is one of the occulata?” The policeman tapped his notebook with his pen. “And you want me to let you go, so you can stop him. Does that cover it?”

  “I want to keep her safe.” Ben lifted his chin. If it came to a choice between stopping the killer or saving her, he knew which one he’d make.

  “Special Investigations doesn’t have a reputation of keeping people safe,” the EMT muttered as he stripped off his latex gloves.

  “I know.” Ben met the other man’s eyes. “I don’t like what happened at Woodpine. Those decisions were horrific. The public has every right not to trust us. But without someone to separate speculation from fact when it comes to the occulata, both sides are in danger. Too many people are turning a profit from fear. Special Investigations is the best tool we have to stop them, and protect both the public, and the occulata.”

  “Lalassu.” The EMT straightened. “Not occulata.”

  Ben frowned.

  “What did you say?” the policeman demanded.

  The EMT’s bare hand touched the other man’s hand. “You should let him go. A public fist fight isn’t worth an arrest.”

  The policeman blinked, and nodded. “You’re right. But if he causes any more trouble, I’ll lock him up myself.”

  The EMT lifted his hand, and met Ben’s eyes, standing defiantly with his chin raised.

  He’s one of them. A siren. They could influence people’s thoughts and decisions through physical touch. There was debate about how much they could truly affect those decisions. It could be telepathic coercion, or more like hypnosis, where a person could be persuaded but not forced.

  Ben cleared his throat. “Thank you, officer.”

  “Don’t cause any more trouble, okay? I’d hate to look stupid.” The policeman walked away, leaving Ben and the EMT alone.

  “You didn’t need to do that,” Ben said quietly.

  “He would have let you go,” the EMT replied. “I only hurried things along.”

  “Why expose yourself?” Ben asked cautiously. Things were better than before, but any number of Investigators would arrest anyone showing evidence of supernatural powers. Taking the risk to help an Investigator didn’t make sense.

  “Because I don’t just influence people, I can also tell if they’re telling the truth. Or at least, what they believe is the truth.” The EMT checked to make sure no one could overhear. “You meant what you said, which makes you the sort of person I want in Special Investigations. Someone who sees us as people instead of automatically assuming we’re criminals or worse. And if this Director is one of us, I want him to face consequences. A bad apple like him is the last thing we need.”

  His words held a certain logic. Ben wasn’t happy with the idea of benefiting from a supernatural tilting of the odds. But he appreciated the show of support. “Thank you.”

  “Save the girl, and stay out of fights. Deal?” A hint of a smile crossed the man’s narrow face. “I’d offer a handshake, but I doubt you’d be willing.”

  Ben stuck out his hand. “Don’t be too sure.”

  There was only a moment of hesitation before their hands clasped.

  Ben met the other man’s surprised gaze. “It’s a deal.”

  The EMT withdrew his hand. “You’re not what I expected. Good luck.”

  Ray appeared as the EMT left the hotel.

  His partner’s dark eyebrows lifted high. “I expected to post bail.”

  “I guess I made a convincing case.” Ben put the incident aside for later thought. There were higher priorities. “Is Katie okay?”

  “Physically, emotionally, or do you just want to know if she’s mad at you?” Ray asked. “Never mind, I know, all three. Physically, she’s exhausted and stressed, but she’s not at risk of collapse. Emotionally, she’ll fill a couple of albums with angsty lyrics. And I don’t think she was ever mad at you. Frustrated at you and the situation, certainly, but not angry. She sent me to check on you.”

  “You should have stayed with her,” Ben said. “He was here.”

  “Your tendency to bossiness might be one of the reasons why you’re facing romantic challenges.” Ray exhaled sharply. “He left another letter. To be clear, a little gratitude wouldn’t detract from your big bad protector vibe.”

  “I’m sorry. And I’m thankful. But I’d be happier if we knew the Director wasn’t still lurking around.” Ben’s instincts wouldn’t let him settle. His subconscious screamed at him, telling him he’d missed something critical.

  Ray paused as several guests stepped out of the lobby elevator. “Let’s get out of sight before Orlund starts howling for your head.”

  Ben’s phone rang. He ran for the elevator before the doors could close. “Katie?”

  “I’m okay.” Her voice cracked, turning the words into a lie. “I think he talked to me again.”

  He braced against the wall, wishing the blasted machine would hurry. “I’m on my way.”

  “It’s all right. He’s gone.” The ragged half-laugh, half-sob following her statement cracked his heart. “I’m not used to asking for help.”

  The doors finally opened on the top floor, and he hurried to her door. “I’m coming in. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He eased the door open, and scanned the room. Katie sat at her desk, her phone clutched in one hand, and her notebook in the other. There was no sign of anyone else. Ben hurried to her side, kneeling in front of her. He smoothed her hair away from her pale cheeks.

  “I took notes,” she said softly, holding out the notebook.

  If the Director noticed, he might have killed her. Ben bit back his worry before he said it out loud. She didn’t need to bear the brunt of his fear.

  The notebook only held a few lines. He focused on the two names. “Ashley Gilpin was the Director’s sixth victim, and the first case Orlund
investigated.”

  “He liked her, didn’t he?” Katie asked.

  “They had a relationship. How did you know that?” Ben frowned. They hadn’t discussed their theory in front of her.

  “I’m not sure.” The top of her nose wrinkled as her brows pulled together. “It came into my head when you mentioned Orlund. I don’t know where I heard it.”

  Insight flashed into Ben’s mind. “He must have told you.”

  “I’m not close enough with Orlund to discuss relationships—”

  “Not Orlund. The unsub.” Ben recalled his training in witness memory. “Human memory works by association. It usually needs a prompt to retrieve details. Even with your long term memory suppressed, some bits and facts could be retained if you already had an association.”

  “Maybe we can trigger more.” Katie exhaled and inhaled slowly, closing her eyes. “Tell me what you know.”

  Ben recited the few facts he knew. “Ashley Gilpin served time for credit card fraud. She completed a rehab program in prison. We found evidence she was back to her old tricks. She wanted to be a model—”

  “She liked to pretend,” Katie said softly, eyes still closed.

  “The letters worried her, so she brought them to the police. Sometime after Orlund started working the case, they became involved with one another.” Like you and me. If the Director kills you, will I become like Orlund? Obsessed and not caring who gets hurt as long as I get my revenge?

  “I’m sorry. I’m not getting anything else.” She opened her eyes.

  Ben stroked her cheek, using the contact to reassure himself that she was still unharmed. “You’re doing fine.”

  “I think the name Vivian is important.” She cupped his hand with hers, holding it against her face. “I think she was his first victim.”

  “I’ll ask Lucy to search for her. There’s no one named Vivian on the list of known victims.” Ben drew in a ragged breath. “I don’t want you to become one of those names. I couldn’t live with myself. I know I’m being difficult and bossy, and I’m trying not to, but the idea of him hurting you rips me up inside.”