The kid was smiling for the camera and standing close—closer thanjust colleagueswould—beside another man with several years on him. Frank Newell, I presumed. He had an arm over Daniel’s shoulders. A hefty college ring was on one finger. Fuzzy out-of-focus dinosaur displays filled the backdrop of the picture.
“Jesus.” I frowned and gently set the photo back where I’d found it. “Poor kid.”
I’d honestly agreed with Neil that Daniel was likely dead, that the reality of our situation didn’t leave room for the possibility of him being on winter break in Michigan… but still….
I took a step back and opened the closet door. Half a dozen hangers were empty, but I couldn’t find a laundry basket to suggest they were simply in need of a wash. Absent clothes, missing computer, uncollected mail—why had Daniel tried to run?
The house still stank of death. I checked the bathroom last, half expecting a chemical soup in the tub eating away at human remains. But no. It even appeared as if Daniel had recently scrubbed the porcelain. I walked out of the room, down the short hall, and toward the refrigerator. I tugged the door open and studied the contents. Take-out containers, soda and cheap beer in cans, and a whole pot of macaroni and cheese.
A fly buzzed in front of me as I shut the door. I swatted it away.
Another flew past.
Then a third.
What the…?
I looked to the right. A cardboard box with the top open sat on the table. More flies buzzed around the contents. I walked forward, tilted the box to look inside, and a cloud of insects vacated. What remained were two rotting human hands, cut at the wrist. One of the fingers wore a gaudy class ring.
Well… now I knew why the kid attempted hightailing it out of New York. I wasn’t sure where Daniel’s second package would be, but it didn’t really matter. He hadn’t tried to find and deliver the Cope skull in return for his life. He’d run instead. Tried, anyway. Tried and failed.
The first victim—the one sent to Frank—was still an unknown. But otherwise, the routine Calvin had initially established was adding up. Frank was likely dead by Friday night and used as a threat to Daniel. Daniel was dead by Sunday night, and delivered to me bright and early Monday morning. I’m sure if I cared to look a bit longer, I’d have found the note that accompanied his lover’s severed hands. The only variation in this gruesome game was that I’d received three packages and messages, when the others had only gotten two. And that was because of the sudden change in the Collector’s plan—which assured me I had until Thursday morning.
Roughly thirty-nine hours to go.
I raised my arm, coughing and breathing into the fabric of my coat when the odor of decay became too much. With my other hand, I folded the tops of the box down to study the postage. Or lack thereof. I wondered if this, like Frank’s first package, and mine, had been delivered by courier.
I stepped away and took out my phone. I opened a text with Quinn and sent:MAybe 4th suspct is courier. Confirm DH is ded head at Emporium.
She answered almost immediately.Copy. I will follow up.
I added:Confrm Frank dead too.
Understood.
Dnt enrage courier. No cops.
I rolled my eyes and corrected the last message with:engage.
The assortment of items kept on the funky, old-world-charm, bronze end table near the door fell to the floor. I quickly spun on one heel—in time to see a stranger grip the stand like a baseball bat and take a swing at me. The side of the rounded tabletop grazed my face, enough to throw me to the floor, but not enough to knock the teeth from my mouth, which told me it was a cheap, aluminum metal, probably fabricated in China. I’d never been more thankful for crappy student-affordable décor in all my life.
“W-wait!” I protested, looking up and rolling to the side when the stranger brought the table down.
The metal dented inward upon kitting the floor, and the sound reverberated off the walls.
“What’d you do to Dan?” the stranger shouted.
“Hold on! Put that down!” I scrambled backward like a crab, managed to stand, and skidded down the hall when the table came at my head again, only to hit the wall directly where I’d been standing half a second prior.
“Where’s Dan?” the man shouted again.
I grabbed the wooden chair at the desk and used it as if I were an animal tamer trying to keep back a wild tiger or lion. “Stop!” I protested. “Or I’m calling the cops!”
“You’recalling the cops?” he said. “You’re the one fuckin’ breakin’ and enterin’!”
The guy was actually a kid—a college student. I’d guess the same age as Daniel. Probably a classmate, although he was a lot less put-together-looking in a pair of Levi’s, a baggy sweatshirt with the hood pulled up around his face, and hair hanging nearly to his shoulders in limp, stringy strands.
I held a hand out, slowly lowering the chair with the other. “I came looking for Daniel,” I said carefully. “I know he’s been missing.”
