Twisted (6 page)

He knew that couldn't be right. It was Heather who had come in at the last second to save Sam and give him the insulin he so desperately needed. Not Gaia. Still, there was something about the events that
scratched at the insides of his skull
.

The path Gaia was walking angled away from Sam. If he stood there for another ten seconds, she would be out of sight To keep up with her, all he had to do was take ten fast steps. Another ten steps and
he would catch her
.

All he had to do was forget Heather, forget everything, and follow Gaia. All he had to do was give in to insanity.

Sam took the first step.

HEATHER LOOKED AGAIN AT THE
watch on her wrist. Time. Time and then some.

She stretched her neck, looking around for Sam. Heather wished he hadn't asked her to meet him at the entrance of the park. She didn't have to go inside, but even the sidewalk was still way too close.

Heather didn't like the park.
She had been cut
there
, almost killed by some maniac. Since then she had looked at the clumps of trees and clutter of equipment as hiding places for thieves, murderers, and worse. It didn't surprise Heather that some brainless girl had gotten herself killed there. She was only surprised that it didn't happen more often.

The park held monsters
. She was sure of it.

Heather checked her watch again. Ten minutes late. If it had been anyone but Sam, she would have left. She was beginning to wonder if she had the place or time wrong when Sam suddenly stepped into view. Heather put on her best smile and raised her hand in a little wave.

Sam didn't respond. He was walking right toward Heather, but he didn't even seem to see her. There was a distant, distracted look on his face. His curly, ginger-colored hair seemed a little more mussed than usual. Even his normally crisp tweed jacket looked wrinkled. Heather didn't appreciate the change.

Sam had been ill, and of course, there was the whole
kidnapping thing
, but still. He needed to take better care of himself. After all, appearance was very important. Sam knew that.

Sam took two more steps, stopped, and looked into the park.

For a moment Heather worried that Sam might really be sick again. Or maybe he had been attacked. There was a confused, stunned expression on his face.
Maybe some lunatic in the park had hit him on the head. Maybe he was hurt.

Heather started walking toward him quickly. She was almost close enough to touch him when Sam moved again. But he didn't come toward Heather. He stepped off the path and into the grass.

Heather frowned. “Sam?”

Sam jumped. He whipped around and stared at Heather with wide eyes.

“Um. Uh.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Heather.”

The way he said it made it seem like he was surprised to see her. Heather couldn't put her finger on it,
but something about his expression irritated her
. A slight blush tinted her cheeks. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“What's wrong, Sam? Are you okay?” She tried to sound concerned and earnest. It came out as defensive and accusatory. Luckily, Mr. Oblivious didn't seem to notice.

Sam nodded quickly. “Yeah, sure. I just . . .” His face suddenly flushed an incredible bright red. “I just got lost in thought.”

Heather's eyebrows scrunched together. She tried to smile again, but it was more difficult this time. “Oookay,” she said. “C'mon. Let's get out of here.”

Lacing her fingers with Sam's, Heather started to lead him out of the park. He was coming out of the
bizarre stupor—walking like a normal person instead of shuffling like he had moments before. In fact, within seconds he was practically
pulling her arm out of its socket
.

What was with him? He was acting like something had him spooked. Heather glanced back in the direction Sam had been looking when he'd stopped in place. For a fraction of a second,
a moment so short it might have been imagination
, Heather thought she saw someone stepping behind a group of trees—someone with pale blond hair.

Heather's blood went cold and hot at the same time. It had only been the barest glimpse, but she knew who that blond hair belonged to. Gaia Moore. And Sam didn't want Heather to see her.

“Sam? What's the rush?” Heather said,
just to see if he would tell her the truth
.

“Nothing,” he said, still pulling.

Heather felt a familiar feeling of humiliation, mixed with anger and tinged with fear, slip through her veins. God, she hated Gaia. Heather hated Gaia more than she had ever hated anyone in her whole life. More than everyone she had ever hated in her life put together.
Times ten
.

Sam stopped pulling when they reached the far corner, but Heather kept her hand locked together with his as they strolled down the sidewalk. Sam was saying something to her, making suggestions about where
they might go, what they might do. Heather gave vague, one-word answers to his questions without really hearing them. It was her turn to be distracted.

Since her first encounter with Gaia, Heather had been burned, humiliated, stabbed, hospitalized, ego bruised, deprived of her boyfriend on various occasions, and detained by the NYU security force.

None of that came close to the reason Heather hated Gaia.
It was the way Sam acted around Gaia. Like he couldn't think or breathe. Like he'd never seen anything like her.

And then there was the fact that Gaia was beautiful. She was beautiful without even trying. And that brought Heather to the real heart of it. Not the beauty. Heather hated Gaia because she didn't seem to try, didn't seem to care what others thought of her. Gaia dressed like a refugee. She said whatever she wanted. She never even seemed to notice how guys turned around to watch her when she went by. Gaia acted like she didn't think she was pretty, but Heather knew better than that.
Gaia had to know
. She just didn't care.

It was driving Heather mad—in every sense of the word.

Sam suddenly stopped walking. His grip on Heather's hand tightened to painful intensity.

Heather came out of her daze and struggled against his tight grip. “Sam? Sam, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied in a harsh whisper. He
stopped again and shook his head. “Nothing. Don't worry about it.”

Heather stared at him. For a moment she had a terrible premonition that everything between them was over. Ice went down her spine, trickling slowly over every lump in her backbone. He's going to tell me he's dumping me. Dumping me for Gaia Moore.

But Sam wasn't even looking at Heather. She followed the direction of his gaze and saw a newspaper stand. Right away Heather spotted the thing that had captured Sam's attention.

Splashed across the front page of the
Post
was a color photo of a young blond girl. Under the picture was the caption K
ILLER
T
AKES
6
TH
V
ICTIM
.

Heather untangled her fingers from Sam's and went in for a closer look. From a distance, the girl in the picture looked a lot like Gaia. A tabloid twin. This had to be the girl that the serial killer had murdered the night before, the one that everyone had been talking about at school.

It wasn't Gaia. Still, Heather felt a little thrill go through her. As sick as she knew the thought was, the idea of Gaia and murder just seemed
so right
.

 

NEW YORK POST

ANOTHER BLOND BEAUTY DEAD

G
ENTLEMAN
K
ILLER
P
LANTS
B
LOODY
K
NIFE IN
H
EART OF
NYC

After a killing spree that has left victims scattered from Connecticut to New Jersey, the serial killer known only as the “Gentleman” has taken his act off Broadway—slicing up an NYU coed just a block from the school's campus.

Carolyn Mosley, 20, a freshman at NYU, was found dead this morning by maintenance workers at Washington Square Park, say city officials. The manner of death points to a connection with the string of killings committed by the infamous serial killer, the Gentleman, according to officials.

Police have been reluctant to share details of the killer's technique, but sources have confirmed that this Gentleman is no gentleman. Death in the Gentleman's victims has been brought about by numerous knife wounds, according to information released by New Jersey police. Victims have received multiple stab wounds and have suffered “extreme violence and extensive damage,” according to reports on the previous victims.

“Their throats were cut so badly, they were nearly decapitated,” said Stanley G. Norster, a detective who investigated the Gentleman's killings in Connecticut. “There's an incredible amount of anger in these killings. A rage.”

Police have admitted to withholding some details of the Gentleman's actions in previous crimes. The FBI has been involved in this investigation for several weeks, and a psychological profile of the killer has been prepared, but this profile has not been made available to the public. Sources inside the coroner's office indicate that the bodies show evidence of torture. The killer apparently administered dozens of cuts and other injuries before the killing blow. The killer didn't stop with death. Other signs

Continued on
page 12

 

New York Times, Morning Edition

NYU Student Killed in
Washington Square Park

NYU—A New York University student was found dead early this morning only two blocks from the university campus, according to police. Carolyn Mosley, 20, a freshman at NYU, died as a direct result of blunt trauma and numerous stab wounds, officials say.

The body was discovered in the southwestern part of Washington Square Park by maintenance workers responding to a report of a gas leak. No leak was found, but Ms. Moser's body was found at the location of the alleged leak. Police spokesmen refused comment when asked about the possibility that the gas leak was reported by someone involved in the murder.

Mosley was last seen leaving a restaurant on MacDougal Street around 11
P.M
., according to officials. The student worked part-time at the restaurant and worked her regular shift there the evening of her death.

No suspects have been named; however, the condition of the body has led to speculation that the case may be related to a series of killings in Connecticut.

Police have scheduled a press conference for 3
P.M.
to discuss the case. Case files from the possibly related murders in other states have been requested, according to police.

 

From
: E.


To:
L.


Last night's events confirm Delta presence. High probability of encounter with primary subject and subsequent risk. Advise.


 

From:
L.


To:
E.


Continue to monitor activity. Do not intercede at this time. Will personally visit site within twenty-four hours.


I want to see what happens.


They had nothing in common at all-nothing except a general similarity of features and the fact that they were all dead.

ONE AFTER ANOTHER, THE FACES
and names of the Gentleman's victims appeared on the computer monitor.

Debra Lemasters—more cute than beautiful, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and wide blue eyes that stared out from a yearbook photo.

Amanda Loring—older, taller. Holding a track trophy aloft while teammates cheered.

Susan Creek—eyes more gray than blue, thinner than the rest. She looked so sad,
it was almost as if she knew what was coming.

Clarissa Richardson—very pretty but looking awfully uncomfortable in a tight, off-the-shoulder formal gown and a paper crown that proclaimed her queen of the junior prom.

Paulina Dree—sitting on horseback, her father standing beside her, both smiling. She had a great smile.

And finally, poor Carolyn Mosley, posing in cap and gown, a high school diploma rolled in her hand. Valedictorian of her class.
Her family's pride and joy
.

The youngest of them was fifteen, the oldest, twenty. They were six young women from three different states. None of them had known one another. Most but not all were good students. Most but not all had participated in some sort of organized athletics. They shared no common hobbies. They didn't read the same books, or like the same music, or share the same dreams.

They had nothing in common at all—nothing except a general similarity of features and the fact that they were all dead. And blond hair.

Gaia's hair, thought Tom Moore. He scrolled through the pictures again.

If he looked closely,
he could see a little of Gaia in each of the dead girls
. It was far more than the hair. The dead girls weren't identical, but they shared a similar bone structure—wide eyes, strong cheekbones, high forehead. Pretty girls, all of them. Of course, Tom was sure that none of them was as pretty as Gaia. But then again, Tom might be more than a little prejudiced—he thought his daughter was the most beautiful young woman in the world.

Six dead girls who all looked a little like Gaia Moore.

“What have they done?” Tom whispered to the empty room. He leaned back from the monitor and stared into the shadows. “What have
we
done?”