Ella thought about the figurine with the giant key in its hand.
A key.A scuffed lock.
What did it mean?
Ella didn’t know, but she didn’t have long to figure it out.
CHAPTER TWENTY
His room was a far cry from home sweet home.All he had was a mattress shoved against the wall, a mirror leaning drunkenly in the corner and a few random pieces of junk that had been gifted his way when he’d rejoined the world.
But none of that mattered because tonight, he was king of the world for the second night in a row.He’d been nervous about number three, because there were plenty of chances for things to go awry.A neighbor could have spotted him, the door could have been deadbolted, Eddie Foxall could have landed a lucky blow.
No.Everything had gone to plan.Better than expected, even.And now, three bodies deep, he’d finally realized what his mentor had been talking about.This mission had restored his confidence and assured him that yes, he had a place in this world.He could still navigate the trials and tribulations of life without spiraling into oblivion again.He might have been chewed up and spat out once, but he’d risen from the ashes and transformed into something greater than before.
Of course, he missed the old life.He vaguely remembered the day he’d lost it all.He’d been sitting his basement-turned-arcade, watching the news on the sixty-incher on the wall.There’d been an advert for a bank – the one with the black horses running through fields, as though that had anything to do with savings and mortgages and all that crap.He couldn’t remember the name of the bank and had no desire to learn it, but he remembered the ad saying ‘To all our customers - we’re here for you.’
Yes, he thought.Here for you until you miss three mortgage payments, then we will take everything you own, leave you homeless and won’t even send a card to your family if you end up dead.
But now all that seemed eons ago.This was a new life, a brave new world – and he owed it all to the good mentor.
He fished his burner cell out of his pocket and hit the only number he had saved in there.His heart was still rabbiting in his chest, all sped up like he’d railed a few lines.The mentor had to know how he felt, had to understand just how transcendent it was to snuff out a life and know you were the one pulling the strings.
Then a niggling thought wormed its way in: If he told the mentor what he’d done, would the mentor then have a duty to report him to police?Surely they’d know exactly which murders he was talking about, given how they were already all over the news.
All things considered, he doubted it.From the stories they’d swapped, the mentor wasn’t exactly Gandhi when it came to morality.
The line rang.Rang and rang and rang, until he was about three seconds from screaming.‘Pick up, pick up, pick up.’
Then the automated voice kicked in.‘You have reached the voicemail of… Please leave a message after the tone.’
The mentor hadn’t even recorded their name in the voicemail prompt.Unbelievable.Hearing the mentor’s voice even on a tape might have made him feel better, but now he felt at a loose end.
One redial.Another.But the mentor remained stubbornly out of reach.The one time they weren’t perched on the other end of the line, ready with some bit of nihilistic wisdom.The mentor had always said to call anytime, day or night.And they certainly meant it, because the mentor was the most nocturnal person he’d ever met.
He planted himself on his mattress, looked over and saw a spider scurrying across the wall.A house-spider; a beefy soldier to keep the flies out.He thought about crushing the thing with his fist, but decided to let it live.Now, he could play God with bigger, more interesting species.He doubted he’d ever want to kill an insect ever again.
His phone vibrated in his hand, and for a split second, he thought the mentor had finally deigned to return his call.But it wasn't a call at all.It was a notification through Cryptalk – the messenger app the mentor insisted they use for anything sensitive, anything that couldn't be trusted to regular apps.
Do not call me anymore.Finish it.You know where.
What the hell?
He blinked at the screen, sure he must have read it wrong.But no, there it remained.Then a little timer appeared under the message saying:Message will erase in thirty seconds.Screenshots currently disabled.
What in God’s name was going on?The mentor had never sent self-destructing messages before.
He threw the phone onto the mattress and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes.This made no goddamn sense.The mentor had been the one to set this whole thing in motion, the one who’d planted the seeds and nurtured his rage until it was ripe and ready to harvest.
And now what?He was being cut off?
Uh uh.No way.
He snatched up the phone again and fired off a volley of texts, not caring that he sounded like a jilted prom date.
What the hell does that mean?
You can’t just shut me out like this.
