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Bang. The door shot open first time, smashing against a coat rack, and sending the whole thing toppling over. They were in. Ella led the way, navigating through the dim hallway into a kitchen area. There was only one path through, eventually bringing them to a dim living room illuminated by candlelight.
Inside, sitting in front of three huge computer monitors, was the man who called himself the Sinister Minister. He shot up out of his chair, reached beside his computer and grabbed a hunting knife.
She drew her Glock and trained the sight on his shoulder.
“Tyler Allen?” Ella asked.
Tyler began waving the knife like some kind of wannabe samurai.
“Put that down before you hurt yourself,” Ripley said. “Now I suggest you close your little video feed there and come with us.”
The suspect assumed a defensive position, as though his knife might somehow protect him against bullets. The most pathetic part was that he stayed in full view of his webcam.
“Who are you? Why are you in my house?”
“We’re the FBI, and I suggest you do what my partner says.”
“FBI? Wow, awesome! I’m famous.”
“You’ll be more famous when we lock you up for life,” said Ripley.
“Me? I always knew I’d end up in a prison cell. But I’m not going anywhere. Can’t you see I’m talking to my followers?”
The term brought back memories of Tobias Campbell, but Ella shook them away. As she scanned the man’s bizarre setup, something on his dining table her caught eye. At the edge of the table were his computers, and behind that were a circle of candles around a Baphomet statue.
And next to that was a small plastic bag with something inside.
“Keep a shot on him Ripley,” Ella said.
She lowered her gun, reached out to the table, and plucked up the item. It was airtight. Re-sealable.
“Don’t touch that,” Tyler screamed, swinging his knife but keeping his distance. “You want me to come with you? Fight me like a man.”
Ella ignored him. She held the bag to the light and saw something light, microscopic, invisible from a few feet away.
“Dark? Is that…?”
Ella popped open the bag and sniffed it.
Inside was a strand of human hair.
“Smells like motor oil to me,” Ella said.
This was it. Here was the copycat. Ripley had been right.
“You want to do the honors?” Ella asked her partner. “Could be your last.”
Tyler backed himself against a far window, swinging his knife around in a frenzy. Ella noted he was obviously untrained in any kind of martial arts discipline because he nearly stabbed himself a few times.
Ripley said, “Probably best you do it. I’m scared I might kill him.”
“You want to fight like a man?” Ella asked. She pocketed the new piece of evidence and lay her gun down on the table. “Come on then.”
She charged towards him, dodging his lame attack efforts, and clutched him by the wrist. She looked him dead in the eye – the man that had taken three lives – and dropped her forehead against his nose. The knife fell from his grip and Ella kicked it beneath the dining table. She twisted his arm behind his back, stretching the shoulder muscles as far as they’d go, then pushed him face-first into the window. Tyler tried to screech but the glass muted his screams.
“Cuffs,” she called.
Ripley hurried over and chained Tyler up in seconds, then Ella spun him around and began marching him away.
