Killer Within (14 page)

Chapter
Thirty-Four

ON FRIDAY EVENING I SAY,
“Dad, can I go to the movies tonight?” It’s the weekend so curfew’s not until one.

“Who are you going with?”

“Myself.”

“Tysons?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, be back by one.”

I give him a quick hug, not overdoing it, grab my things, and head out.

Marji, here I come.

I hop on the interstate, and with every mile that I drive south, eagerness, anticipation, and excitement builds in me. I wonder if Marji can
feel
that I’m coming. I hope so. I want her
good and aware that
I’m
the one who is stopping her.

I know exactly what I’m going to do. I’ll ask her to go for a drive. I know she will. She wants to play with me as much as I want to play with her. When we’re out of the city, I’ll find a secluded spot and lure her from the Jeep to go for a walk and “talk.” I’ll taser her, zip-tie her, and find out if she’s M.

Then, after I do what I have planned, I’ll just leave her in the woods. Whatever happens to her, happens to her. I’ll take my ties and the Taser cartridge with me. I don’t want any evidence linked to the Masked Savior.

If she doesn’t get the hint to stay out of my and my family’s life, then I’ll come back.
I’m
the one making the threats tonight, not her. After tonight she’ll realize the things I’m really capable of.

When I get into Richmond, I drive straight to her townhome. I park several blocks down and take a few seconds to methodically check all my supplies. Taser, zip ties, gloves, and my new addition—one very sharp butcher knife. It only seems fitting as she was intimately involved in the decapitations.

I close my eyes and breathe out, imagining the knife sliding across her skin. Every cell in my body twitches with just the thought.

I check everything one last time, grab the handle on my Jeep, and catch sight of a dark blue BMW coming from the opposite direction. I shrink back a little and watch as it passes
by me and the entrance to Marji’s townhome community, and then merges with traffic and takes the on-ramp north.

Well, damn. I wasn’t expecting that.

I crank my Jeep, whip the wheel around, and gun my engine. I cut straight across three lanes, ignore the honks, and follow her onto the on-ramp.

I don’t immediately see her BMW, and I whip around a semi, floor the gas, and keep heading north.

A couple miles up I finally catch sight of her.

She’s driving in the fast lane, and I keep up. There’s tons of traffic, it’s dark, and with everyone’s headlights I highly doubt she notices me.

Seconds tick into minutes tick into an hour and finally she exits and heads west.

Highway gives way to country, and eventually I shut my headlights off and follow as far behind as I can, with confidence she doesn’t see me.

She takes a couple of switchback dirt roads and eventually comes to a stop at a run-down mobile home on a huge piece of empty, wooded land.

I tuck my Jeep in the woods and watch as she climbs out, grabs bags from her trunk, and heads inside the front door. A few lights go on, and I see her shadow as she moves through the trailer.

I’m not even going to wear my mask. I want her looking
right at me when I execute my game plan. Marji will know she is suffering for all those innocent people she participated in torturing and murdering.

In my secure spot I look around. Frozen trees. Snow. Bushes with twigs for limbs. From the sound, a river bubbles somewhere nearby. The last house I saw sat several miles back. Marji’s out here alone. She’s been playing me, taunting me. Is this a trap?

She comes back out the front of the mobile home, opens the back door of her car, tosses a blanket aside, and brings out a . . .
body
?

Oh no.

I squint my eyes. The body is slender, and I assume from the build that it is a young woman or possibly a teenager. I make out duct tape around the arms and legs and a hood over the head.

My heart speeds up as I watch Marji drag the body across the yard and into the mobile home. I cover my face with my hands.
Oh. My. God.

Okay. Focus. Obviously, Marji is here to do something to this person. Likely torture and kill. Just like my mother and father had. Trying to carry on the Decapitator’s legend or vision or whatever sick thing is going through her mind.

I shake my head. No. This can’t be happening.

She’s probably going to do the same thing that my parents
did. Strip the woman naked, strap her to a table, and slice her head and appendages right off.

I clench my jaw. This stops tonight.

I grab my binoculars and quickly take in the structure. I don’t see outside security cameras anywhere, which doesn’t surprise me. We’re so far out in the country, nobody probably knows this place is here. There’s got to be a back door. I’ll head there.

I triple-check my supplies, pull my ski mask on because I don’t want the captive to identify me, and climb from my Jeep.

I jog through the woods and come up on the rear and notice, as I’d hoped, there is a back door. Good. Carefully I approach it. Stop. Listen. Creepy merry-go-round music can be heard through the flimsy walls.

The back door swings inward, and Marji points a gun at me. I take a shocked step back.

She grins. “I
knew
you were following me!”

Her excitement brings a focus, a stillness over me that I welcome.

She rakes her disgusting gaze down my body. “
Love
the Masked Savior getup.”

I don’t respond, and my finger twitches on my Taser.

She motions me in with the gun. “I have a surprise. You get to sit and watch.” She shrugs. “Or you can pitch in if you’re so inclined.”

My mom had wanted that. To do Zach together.
We’ll go down in history as the most infamous serial killers never caught.

I shove her voice from my head and concentrate on the here. The now. I play this creepy-ass plot the only way I can. I make nice. “Mom wanted that too.”

Marji’s smile fades, just a little.

I inhale a deep breath, and as I blow it out, I close my eyes. “I miss her, Marji. So very much. I didn’t want to admit it at first, but you remind me of her.” I open my eyes and show her sincerity I do not feel. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

Marji’s face gentles into a loving curve. It disgusts me.

I look down at the ground, humble, submissive. “That’s why I followed you tonight. I was hoping we could talk”—I lift my face—“or something. You’re the only person who understands me.”

She tilts her head—“Oh, Lane”—and lowers the gun.

I jerk my Taser straight up and shoot. Marji’s gun clanks to the floor. She lets out a high-pitched wail as the barbs pierce her skin and she falls forward from the back door. I jump back to give her twitching room in the dirt.

I slide the butcher knife from its case, and with two hands I bring it straight up . . . a quick flash of my Mom doing this exact same thing goes through my brain.

I give my head a shake, grip the knife even tighter, and
stop. Wait, what am I doing? This wasn’t part of my plan. I was going to torture her, not kill her.

If I kill her, I’ll become my parents.
This echoes through my head, and I give it another shake.

Marji twitches a few last times, and then her body slowly calms. She focuses on me through the cold darkness and lets out an evil giggle that ricochets through the night. “You can’t do it, can you?”

My grip tightens.

“I’ll kill you,” she sneers. “I’ll go after Victor and Daisy and I’ll save Justin for the very end. I’ll peel the skin right off of him, just like I did those cats. Just like I did that other little boy last year.”

Other little boy?

She grits her teeth and pries one of the Taser barbs from her stomach. I give it a quick glance to see it glistening with blood and torn skin.

“Oh, you didn’t know about that. Little Gary Streeter.” She lets out another evil laugh. “I burned his body right on this property. No one even knew.”

Why is she taunting me? Does she
want
to die?

“Just like no one will know about Justin.”

Rage surges through me, boiling my blood. My grip tightens even more, sure and steady, and I let out a deep scream as I plunge the knife straight down into her chest.

Skin gives. Muscle tears. Bone crunches. Blood spews. I draw in a sharp breath. My heart hammers in my chest cavity as I stare down into Marji’s wide, cloudy eyes as life rushes from her soul. My entire body flashes hot, then goes ice cold. Bile rises, and I swallow it down.

My gaze goes to my two hands, twitching on the handle.

I fall back on the ground and scoot away from her body, gasping now for breath.

I just killed her. Oh my God. I just killed her!

I swallow again and focus on some deep breaths in followed by slow exhalations out.

Time passes, I have no clue how much, but my heart gradually slows to a controllable pulse.

I want to do it again
reverberates around in my head. I want to feel that blade going into her body. The crushing bone. The tearing muscle. The coppery scent of blood. Yes. Again.

I reach for the handle. And freeze.

No. Stop. This craving. This desire to do it again. Like a drug. An addiction. I can’t. I won’t. This is what drew my mom, my real dad, Marji into the darkness. I can’t let it have me, too.

This is not my fault.

I’ll peel the skin right off of him.

Oh God . . . I stumble away, tear the mask off my head, and dry heave.

Carnival music slowly filters into my consciousness, and
I jerk straight up. The person inside! Shit, I forgot about her!

I tug my mask back down, step over Marji’s body, and head inside the mobile home.

I catch quick glimpses of candles, hanging straps, and chains. What was Marji going to do?

I find the iPod docking station and turn the music off.

More candles flicker from a back room, and I follow their glow to find a cage with the woman inside. She’s still unconscious with a hood and duct-taped limbs. Other than that she doesn’t appear to be harmed, and I can tell from her rising and falling chest that she’s breathing.

I try to pick the lock on the cage and can’t.

I look around for a phone, find Marji’s purse back out in the kitchen, and dig around inside.

I get her cell out, and stop.

I should look around first, before I call for help, see if there’s anything in here linking my parents to Marji.

I open every cabinet, every drawer, every anything I can find. For the most part the place is empty. Just some canned tuna and bottled water. And of course her torturing devices. This would be the place to keep something, though. Not at her townhome.

I take Marji’s cell back to the cage to see the woman starting to stir. An old-fashioned jewelry box catches my attention, and I lift the lid to see it crammed with pictures. I thumb through
them in disgust. They were taken right here in this room as she held captive and tortured a little boy who I assume is Gary Streeter. Others are of a teenage girl put through the same cruelty. The rest are of Marji and my parents.

I take the ones of my parents, dial 911, put the phone down, and get the hell out of the place. As I step from the trailer, Marji’s lifeless body draws my focus, and I walk over to it. I no longer feel sick or panicky; now it’s pure repulsion.

What a heartless bitch.

As I sprint to my Jeep, I hear the woman inside scream. The complete terror in her voice makes my gut clench, and I ignore my instinct to want to go back and help her.

Emergency services will be here soon.

When I’m back on the highway, I pull over and wait. Eventually sirens blare in the distance, and I watch as one cop, then two, then several more, and then an ambulance turn onto the dirt road.

I take the first true breath that I’ve had since arriving at that hell.

Marji will
never
hurt anyone again.

But I didn’t find out if she’s M or even linked to the site and the copycat.

Chapter
Thirty-Five

I ARRIVE HOME A LITTLE
after curfew and quietly ascend the stairs. Victor peeks his head out of his bedroom, gives me a quick survey, and says, “You’re ten minutes late.”

I do
not
feel like dealing with this right now, but I draw on every patient fiber I can find in me. “I apologize. Traffic.” Traffic is always a good excuse in this area.

If Mom were still alive, this wouldn’t even
be
an issue. Hell, if Mom were still alive, I would’ve never found out about Marji. I wouldn’t have just
killed
her sister.

An image of me puncturing Marji’s chest flashes through my brain, and I flinch. God damn.

“Lane?”

I blink. “Yeah?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Not a good night,” I honestly tell him.

His face gentles with concern. “Need to talk?”

“No.” Yes. No. I stare at him a second, my mind reeling. What would he do if he found out about me? He’d be disgusted. He would
not
understand. I’m not entirely sure why, but my gramps pops into my mind, and I ask, “Why doesn’t Gramps like me?”

Victor studies me for a couple of long seconds like he’s trying to formulate his response. “It’s not so much that he doesn’t like you, it’s more about your mother. He never did warm to her. In all fairness, she never liked him as well. Your gramps didn’t want me to marry her, and he was very vocal about it.”

So Gramps picked up on her creepiness when no one else did. “Do I remind him of Mom?”

“You do. But you should take that as a compliment, Lane. Your mother was a respected and loved woman.”

I nod, even though I don’t take it as a compliment at all. “So I’ve never specifically done anything to cause Gramps not to like me?”

Victor takes a few seconds again, and I get the impression he’s not going to tell me the truth.

“Please don’t hide anything from me,” I implore. “I can take it.”

He sighs. “When you were really young, he caught you on several occasions pulling legs off spiders, burning ticks, and doing various other things with insects. You also found a dead squirrel, dissected it, and put it in a jar. It worried him.”

I change my mind. I don’t want to hear this. I thought I did, but I don’t. I don’t want to know I tortured any innocent thing. I don’t want to know I kept dead animals in jars.

“Lane.” Victor’s voice softens to match his expression. “It’s perfectly natural for kids to go through stages. That’s all it was. A stage. Look how wonderful and caring you’ve become.”

I nod, because I know that’s what he needs to see, but I in no way feel wonderful and caring. I grant him a tiny smile, ready to just go to bed. “Good night, Dad.”

“Good night.”

He closes his door, and I stand in the hall for a moment, thinking. Tortured insects. Tortured cats. Animals in jars. I wonder if that’s all. God, I hope so.

Shame, guilt, and repulsiveness have me closing my eyes against memories I can’t seem to recall. I’m fitting those serial-killer profiles more and more each day, and unfortunately, I don’t think there’s any stopping it. Which is why I have to channel it in the right direction. It’s my only hope at not going insane.

I head to my bedroom, step inside, and immediately sense someone’s been here.

My gaze darts from my bed to my closet, my desk, the
window, then over to the dresser. I go straight there and open the underwear drawer.

My box is gone.

Shit.

Victor . . .
No
. . . I go back across the hall to his room, raise my hand to knock, and stop. Wait. When was the last time I saw the box? Two days ago. That excludes Gramps. Unless Gramps told Victor about it, and then he went into my room to see. . . .

No, I don’t think so. If Gramps had told Victor, he would’ve ratted me out publicly.

I change directions and tiptoe downstairs straight to the office. I look through every drawer and cabinet not locked and find nothing. I head down to the basement and open our storage closet. I rifle through, come up empty, turn, and freeze.

“What are you doing?” Daisy asks.

“Why are you up?” I counter.

“Thirsty. Saw the basement light on.”

I shut the storage door. “Were you here tonight?”

“Yes. Hammond came over for a while.”

“You didn’t go in my room, did you?”

“No.”

“Justin? Dad?”

Daisy shakes her head. “Not that I know of. Why, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. Go back to bed.” I push past her and race back up the stairs.

In my room I look out the window, and sure enough my fire-escape ladder is unhooked and hanging down the side of the house.

Son of a bitch. Someone broke into my room.