Russell rubbed his nose. ‘On his first night down here, as he pleaded for mercy, screaming in pain, he told me that he knew that he had a problem… that he was trying to get better… and that he was attending support-group meetings. I hadn’t thought of that by then, but it was so logical. I didn’t have to go looking for them. They would come to me. All I needed to do was sit and wait… pay attention to what they were saying andta-da– the practice subjects would, as if by magic, show themselves. It was perfect because we’re talking about people who want to stay anonymous. They use fake names at the meetings, which doesn’t actually matter because these types of support groups don’t keep arecord of who has attended their meetings. We are as anonymous as anonymous can be, and members tend to be the loner type too, just like my parents were – no friends… no real family that could give a fuck. They really aren’t the type of people who are dearly missed, if you know what I’m saying.’ Russell’s face twisted into a new expression but, without eyebrows, Garcia couldn’t quite decipher it. ‘Plus, disguising their deaths as accidental is a genius move, wouldn’t you agree, Detective? I could hurt them in every imaginable way and still get away with it.’
The woman in the animal cage coughed again and Garcia’s eyes moved hard right, but to no avail.
Russell used her cough as a cue. ‘Take her, for example.’ He nodded at the cage. ‘Real name – Jennifer Mendoza – a fucking worthless junkie who kept her four-year-old daughter locked in a cage in her living room, while she fucked men for drug-money in the bedroom. Once she got high, she wouldn’t feed her daughter for days. And for some fuck-knows-why reason, she would also smack her daughter on the soles of her feet. She wasfour years old.’ He turned to address Jennifer in the cage. ‘How does all that feel now, Jennifer? Good?’
‘I… love… my… daughter.’ It sounded like it had taken Jennifer the strength of gods to utter those four words.
‘But of course you do,’ Russell said in reply. ‘I lovemyparents.’
‘How many?’ Garcia asked, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end because he dreaded the answer. ‘You just told me that you claimed your first victim at the age of twenty-three – that’s twelve years ago. How many have you killed in those twelve years?’
There it was again – the eyebrow movement without any eyebrows. ‘I prefer the wordpunished.’
‘How many have you punished?’ Garcia rephrased the question.
A careless shrug. ‘I don’t do what I do for numbers, Detective. I do it because these people deserve a dose of their own medicine.The things that they do to their own sons and daughters… you wouldn’t believe.’ Russell, once again, indicated the scars on his torso. ‘From scarring, to disfigurement, to breaking bones, to death. And I’m not even going to mention the mental health destruction that it causes. They bring a kid into this world, ideally, through an act of love. But that’s not what they give out… that’s not what we get. What we get is hate… and anger… and whiskey breaths… and mood swings… and punishment, for the simple fact that we exist… for the simple fact that we arehere. But guess what, Mom and Dad?’ With his arms opened wide, Russell turned to face his parents again. The next sentence was delivered through gritted teeth. ‘I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t ask to look like a freak. I didn’t ask for all this hurt… all this pain.’ He smiled at them. ‘But you did.’
‘How many have you punished?’ Garcia asked again, interrupting Russell’s outburst at his parents.
‘Sixty-three.’
The reply caught everyone by surprise because it didn’t come from Russell.
It came from his mother.
Fifty-Nine
Despite being frail, Russell’s mother’s voice echoed throughout the room that they were in like a gunshot, dragging Garcia’s and Russell’s eyes straight to her.
‘Is that so, Mom?’ Russell asked, his tone firm.
‘Sixty-three,’ she repeated. Her eyes didn’t meet her son’s. ‘Twelve years.’
Her husband slowly looked at her and nodded his confirmation.
There was something that went beyond chilling in the way that Russell’s mother had replied, and in the way that her husband had agreed. It was as if they were both proud of their son’s achievements.
Garcia’s stomach knotted inside of him. He was looking at a serial killer who’d been operating under the radar and in their own backyard for twelve years. A killer who had possibly claimed sixty-three victims – certainly one of the most prolific serial killers that he and Hunter had ever come across – and they knew nothing about it. How was that even possible? It had to be a mistake.
‘How do they know?’ Garcia asked. ‘How do your parents know that there were sixty-three victims?’
‘Because he makes us watch.’ Once again, Russell’s mother beat him to the punch. Her voice was just a little steadier than moments ago. ‘If we refuse, he uses an eye speculum to force our eyes open.’
Garcia breathed out. That was the reason for the odd scratches around their eyes.
‘Watch this,’she continued. ‘That’s the command he uses when he wants us to watch –watch this.’
Garcia’s surprised and questioning eyes shot to her before rolling over to Russell. ‘You… force them to watch, while you torture and kill people?’
Russell looked back at him sideways. ‘It’s only fair, don’t you think, Detective? Give them back at least some of the psychological damage they gave me?’
Garcia’s stare intensified.
‘Like I told you.’ Russell made it sound trivial. ‘I’m a made monster. I am what I am because of what they were. Don’t you think that it’s only fair for them to see what they created? To watch what I’m capable of simply because I’m their son?’ He finally picked up an instrument from the table – a surgical scalpel. ‘I’m their own artwork, Detective – darkness sculpted out of deeper darkness, if you like. I’m their own flesh… their own blood… their own DNA. I’m their legacy, so I think that it’s only fair that I allow them to witness the fruits of their labor of love.’ He pointed at himself.‘Me.’
Garcia saw tears roll down Russell’s father’s cheeks, but he didn’t move. Instead, his wife leaned over and used the tips of her fingers to wipe them from his cheeks.
Russell saw it too, but all he did was snort before walking over to Garcia again. ‘Now that the sad stories are over, Detective, I’d like to finally go back to my question.’ He grabbed Garcia by the shirt.
