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Colder.
She turned and started walking toward another pile of rails covered in plastic sheeting. The killer continued to rant. “You think I’m stupid? Well, I’m not. I might be crazy, but I’m not a fool.”
Colder.
Stifling frustration, Faith changed directions again as the killer continued to rant.
“You won’t call me a hero. You won’tunderstand,” he sneered, “and neither will anyone else. Once you have me locked away and stifled, you’ll just call me a crazed killer like every other crazed killer.”
Well, he’s not wrong. He’s also growing farther away.
Faith’s annoyance rose, but she forced herself to stay calm. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you could think that killing innocent people will make a damned bit of difference. Do you think people who read about your crimes will learn some lesson about being considerate of others?”
“Of course not!” he said. “I’m notdoingit for other people! I’m doing it forme!As far as making a difference—well, in the scheme of things, I suppose Iwon’tmake a difference. What’s a few insignificant deaths in an entire herd of people who think only of themselves?”
Still colder.
Faith looked around, wondering where else the killer could possibly be. Her eyes moved toward the abandoned railroad cars. She stopped and turned toward them, slowly walking closer, handgun trained in front of her.
“No difference, FBI! No difference at all! But a few assholes got what they deserved, and you know what? That’s enough for me.”
Warmer!
Faith stifled a smile as she approached the cars. “Pathetic!” she called, her voice dripping with contempt. “That’s really the legacy of the Subway Vampire?” She whined dramatically as she continued, “Oh no! People are so mean to me, so I poisoned some of them like a coward to get back at them for ignoring the poor, little janitor!”
More laughter. Faith was close enough now that she could tell for sure that it was coming from behind the furthest of the abandoned cars. She walked slowly, keeping the killer talking so he wouldn’t hear her approach.
“You’re not a vampire,” she said. “You’re a snake. You hide in the grass and strike, then run away and hide.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m not a vampire.”
He was so close she could almost feel his presence next to her. She stepped behind the first of the cars and continued to slowly work her way toward the back.
“I’m more than that,” he continued. “A vampire is nothing more than a mindless killing machine. Vampires weren’t cultured gentleman like the movies portray. They were little more than zombies who ate blood instead of brains. They were truly non-discriminating. They made a mess too. I don’t make a mess. I don’t even leave a wound. Just a little prick, so small you could barely see it.”
Faith stepped behind the second car, heart pounding. “Oh yeah,” she said, “you’re an artist.”
“Oh, I’m no artist,” he said, his voice nearly on top of her. “I’m an angel.Theangel. Of death!”
He shrieked, and Faith caught movement out of the corner of her eye just as she stepped behind the third car. She whirled around, but the killer hit her before she could bring her weapon to bear. He knocked her to the ground, sending her gun skittering away underneath the car.
She rolled to her feet and came up just in time to see the killer’s snarling face as he swung something toward her. She blocked his swing, catching his bicep with her palm. As she did, she saw the gleam of the needle in his hand. Her eyes widened, and she chopped at his wrist. He pulled back and swung again.
She leaned back, the needle slicing the air inches from her face. When the killer’s arm passed her, she rushed forward, driving him back to the wall. She pinned his arm to his chest and gouged at his eyes, hoping to distract him long enough to wrestle the syringe from his grasp.
He growled and snapped at her fingers like an animal. She narrowly avoided having the tips of her fingers bitten off. Her recoil allowed him to regain his balance, and with a cry, he shoved her backwards to the ground.
She fell with a grunt and started to stand, but he leapt onto her and drove the needle downward toward her neck. She caught his wrist with both of hers, crossing them like an X and pushing upwards with all of her might.
The killer grinned and forced his weight down onto her, slowly driving the needle toward her neck. Faith tried to trap his ankle with her foot, but the killer either had experience with jiu-jitsu or just happened to know what she was trying, because he spread his legs over hers and pinned her.
“Time to go to sleep, FBI,” he said, grinning maniacally at her.
She could smell the acrid stench of his breath as he leaned slowly closer. Images flashed in her mind of Trammell, grinning the same evil grin as he sliced her open, cutting her and laughing as he said, “Let’s see how you bleed, little girl.”
A burst of rage traveled through her. With a yell, she pushed him off of her. His eyes widened in surprise at her strength, and before he could recover, she kicked him hard. Her shoe impacted his nose, and she heard a satisfying crunch as the bone shattered.
He cried out and fell backward. She jumped on top of him and grabbed the arm holding the needle in both of hers. With a cry, she spun around and extended the arm across her chest, wrenching it at the elbow.
