Denouement (The Darkness Series Book 3) (2 page)

“Who are you?” she croaked out, her throat drying up in fear. Her gaze darted around the room, looking for any signs of a weapon or escape. Her eyes narrowed on the single door in the warehouse, it was only a short distance away but with her hands and feet bound it may as well have been miles. There had to be another way out of there.

“Forgot me already, did you? We met not that long ago.” His voice was clear and confident as he regained her attention. He seemed to have no qualms at all about having abducted her and holding her hostage.

“Wh—why am I here? What do you want?” she stuttered, she had no enemies that she could think of. Had never done anything to harm anyone. Why would this man choose her to prey on? Drawing in a shaky breath, she closed her eyes for a brief moment to get her bearings. If she lost it now, there would be no chance at outwitting him and getting free.

“Why?” he repeated as he began advancing on her. Serena’s heartbeat sped up to an impossible rate, threatening to burst out of her chest.

Stopping in front of her, he crouched down. His thumb captured a tear at the corner of her eye that she didn’t know had formed.

“You’re here for my amusement, pet,” he explained in a friendly tone. He pulled a matchstick from the box and struck the flame, his eyes staying glued to the orange ember until it burned out. He met her stare dead on, ignoring the way her body trembled at his close presence.

The air turned thick, strangling her and it became harder to suck in a breath. Serena started gasping, choking on the tears that were crawling up her throat.

“Oh dear, I think you’re starting to panic a bit,” he said with a frown. He raised a hand and pushed her hair back, loosening her ponytail in the process. “Shhhh, pet. Calm down and take a deep breath,” he instructed, still stroking her hair. She recoiled from his touch, leaning back as far as she could without ending up flat on her back. His eyes hardened behind the mask at her actions.

“Don’t want my kindness, you ungrateful bitch?” he snapped. From a hidden pouch at his waist he withdrew a menacing looking knife, flashing it in front of her face. Her eyes widened as she sucked in a breath.

“No! Please—” she broke off when he swiped the blade through the rope, freeing her hands. Hope burst in her veins as she frantically reached for the binding at her feet, desperate to loosen the bonds.

He shoved her hands away and grabbed the rope. Standing, he dragged her across the cold cement floor. She shrieked and bucked trying to get free of his grasp, her hoodie and thin tank riding up exposing the vulnerable flesh of her back. More tears leaked from her eyes as layers of skin were ripped away on the unforgiving floor of the warehouse.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take another second of the unbearable pain, he came to a sudden stop dropping her bound feet back to the ground. The pain in her back prevented her from once again trying to untie her feet.

“Please,” she begged. Her voice cracked on another sob. “Please stop this. Let me go and I’ll keep quiet. I—I’ll say I fell…I fell on my run,” she babbled. He ignored her and bent over the fireplace, opening the steel door and feeding more wood to the crackling flames.

Terror gripped her. What the fuck was he doing? She rolled over onto her stomach and attempted to draw her knees up to crawl away. She made it a few feet before he was on her. His hands gripped her shoulders as he flipped her onto her back.

Serena couldn’t keep her scream contained as he once again dragged her, her tattered skin tearing open even further.

“Have you ever held anything over an open flame, pet? Watched skin blacken and shrivel? You’ve probably seen paper or wood burn—but skin? There’s nothing comparable to it. The sound, the smell. You see, it sucks in the embers, allows it to transform and mar it until there’s nothing left but dust. It’s fascinating,” he carried on with his explanation, acting like a teacher instructing his pupil.

She shook her head back and forth, knowing where he was headed with his little lesson. “No, no, no. Please, don’t. Please!” she cried out, twisting her body to get out of his clutches. He ignored her, baring his teeth in a maniacal grin.

“Let’s see how you glow, pet.” He grabbed her hands and yanked her forward. She fell hard onto her knees, yelping at the painful impact. She immediately leaned back, trying like hell to get as far away from the fire as possible. One big hand encircled both of her wrists and before she could blink, he thrust them into the opening of the fireplace.

The pain was instantaneous. The flames licked over her skin, consuming every inch. A blood-curdling scream escaped her as she thrashed, desperately trying to yank her hands free. Her head spun and bile clawed its way up her throat at a sickeningly fast pace. Serena’s eyes were locked on the fire, her hands morphed into an orange ball of flame, completely engulfed.

“Beautiful,” the man whispered in a soft tone. “Fucking beautiful.”

“Stoooop! Pl—please, please,” she cried. Black dots danced in front of her eyes, no matter how hard she fought to hang on, she knew she was about to pass out and there was no telling what the sick fuck would do to her while she was unconscious. Fighting to hold on, her head whipped to the side as she involuntarily vomited. The pain was too much, too much to handle and her body rebelled against it.

He surprised her by pulling her back and releasing her hands from the flames. Sobbing, she collapsed on the floor in a heap, unable to focus on anything but the excruciating torture she’d endured. Her hands had only been in the fire less than a minute, but it’d felt like a lifetime. Her body shook, her limbs pulsed and every part of her felt like it’d been burned. This man, this psychotic lunatic had stolen a piece of her, a piece of her goodness had shriveled up and died. Crushed into dust in the heat of the flame. Taking a deep breath, Serena closed her eyes and fought for control. She had to think past the pain, past the horrific memory of what had happened and remain clear-headed. It was the only chance she had at staying alive and getting free.

Forcing herself to sit up, she faced him head on. His eyes stared back at her through the round holes of the black ski mask. Such vibrant colour was a mocking contrast, an anomaly of the evil lurking behind the faceless man’s attempt to hide himself.

“You’re perfect. Your skin captured and held the flame so flawlessly. We’re going to have a lot of fun, you and me.” His words were a chilling premonition of what was to come. He meant it, he was going to put her through that hell over and over if she didn’t do something.

He approached her with calm precision, not caring that she was scooting backwards on the concrete floor as fast as her injured hands would allow. They were trapped in a deadly game of cat and mouse, his footwork was as graceful as a dancers and she knew the odds were not in favour of outsmarting him and gaining her freedom.

Feeling the burned skin tear from the palms of her hands, she let out a muffled scream and stopped her feeble attempt at escape. Forgetting her precarious position for a moment, she glanced down at her palm, disgusted when she saw the tattered mess her hand was in.

The man crouched in front of her and tsked.

“Bet that hurts, huh?” His voice was raspy, as though he had smoked one too many cigarettes.

“Of course it fucking hurts, you psycho. But you like that don’t you? You like burning holes in people and torturing them. It gets you off. You prob—” she cut herself off when he raised a cylindrical object from the floor. She hadn’t even seen it there.

He tilted his head to the side, his mouth twisting into a grin. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her body along the floor until she was laying under him, ignoring her screams of protest and flailing limbs. With a quick flick of his thumb, the blow torch came to life. He was momentarily mesmerized by the orange and red flames, the life dancing behind the fire pumped his blood faster, sped up his breathing and shot lust through his veins. The bitch was right about one thing, he did get off on it.

“I want to play a game. I get ten chances, and you get ten chances. If you can last ten minutes without screaming, I’ll give you a ten second head start to make it out the door. What do you say, girl? Think you can beat me?” Without giving her a chance to answer he lowered the flame to her skin.

L
ieutenant Weston Hunt
let the screen door of his two-story house slam closed behind him as he walked out onto the porch. With a mug of steaming coffee in one hand and the morning paper tucked under his arm, he took a seat in his old wooden rocker, smiling when the ancient piece of furniture groaned under his weight. The rocker was a hand-me-down from his grandfather, one of his favorite pieces of furniture that he’d inherited when his grandparents passed away, aside from his country style home.

Early mornings were the only time he felt at peace. When the demons of his past weren’t floating in front of his face reminding him that he wasn’t worthy of a peaceful, happy existence. He deserved every moment of misery, every molecule of despair that plagued him.

Thick, black swirling smoke.

Orange, red and yellow flames dancing up the wall to the ceiling.

The deafening crash as the roof caved in.

The tortured screams for help fading into silence. “West!”

West shook his head to clear away the unwanted memories. The recollection of his brother screaming out for help haunted him on a daily basis. He could still feel the smoke choking him, the burn of the fire tearing up his arm as he’d fought to get to his brother. His chief had been the one to pull him from the burning building, otherwise he probably would have died right along with his brother that day. A fact that still infuriated him. They should have fought harder to get Bennett out and not him. He should have been the one left him behind. It should have been him that died, not his little brother. The survivor’s guilt he felt was like a thick black tar coating his lungs, it consumed his every thought, controlled every emotion. He’d failed his brother; his parents in the worst possible way. It was his job to protect Bennett and he’d let them all down. He’d never forgive himself for not saving his brother’s life.

Ever since the fire that claimed Bennett’s life five years earlier, he’d become known as the town recluse. With the exception of leaving the house for his job as a firefighter, he kept to himself. His brother had been his last living relative leaving him completely alone when he died. He’d grown used to the long stares and loud whispers from the citizens of Stockton Crossing when he ventured into town for supplies. He wasn’t alone in blaming himself for Bennett’s death. The only time he remotely felt like himself was when he was at work. He’d been unable to give up his job as a firefighter, no matter how much the painful memories haunted him. It was the last connection he had to his brother and he refused to let it go.

The only one that had remained friendly to him was the little red-headed librarian, Aubrey Sinclair. She was a local, like him, although their paths had never crossed seeing as he was five years her senior at thirty-two. He’d always been intrigued by her and her twin sister, Autumn. Being identical meant nothing—the two were as different as night and day. Autumn had always been known as the town’s wild child, whereas Aubrey was much more reserved; timid to a fault.

During his self-inflicted seclusion, he’d taken to reading biographies. It passed the time during the endless hours of his days off from the station and getting lost in someone else’s life helped him forget the shambles that his own was in. Lately, during his weekly visits to the library, he’d taken a lot more notice of the shy Aubrey. She’d been more visible at the front desk checking out the books than usual and he’d overheard that the library was running short on resources and couldn’t afford to staff extra help, which was likely the reason for the increase in Aubrey’s duties. Not that he was complaining, with her long curly red hair and bright green eyes; she was a much better view than the pimple faced kid that usually checked out his books. A definite improvement in his opinion. Especially when their eyes met and a delightful blush stained her cheeks. West found himself fantasizing about what other parts of her body turned that pretty shade of pink.

Opening the paper, the headline caught his eye, “The Matchstick Man Strikes Again.” Skimming through the article, his blood ran cold. Another body had been discovered in what was becoming a serious problem in their small town. Whoever this “Matchstick Man” was, he was a damned psychopath. Three people had been killed in the last six weeks. Each tortured beyond recognition through various stages of burning. The report stated that the coroner had confirmed that this latest victim was the same MO as the previous two. The Sheriff’s department was quoted as saying that they had the situation “under control” and their first priority was to apprehend the person responsible as quickly as possible. West’s eyes tracked down the page to the black and white photo of the pretty young girl who had been the most recent victim. Serena Collins. At twenty-three, she was way too young to have lost her life in what the report described to be a gruesome end. Evidence of severe burns over ninety percent of her body proved that she had truly suffered before succumbing to her injuries.