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Fallon and Rob put in their orders—burger specials for both—and I ask for two of the same to go.
She takes off and the dog bounces over to my side of the table before hopping up and licking my face.
“Down,” Rob growls, but the smart pooch goes on undeterred. He knows a good thing when he sees it, and it’s not his owner.
“That’s okay, Buddy,” I say, offering him a hearty scratch on his stomach. “I like you, too.” I glance back at the man in blue. “So you hear about the bodies?”
“I heard first,” he says, forcing a smile to come and go. “I’m on it. In fact, I’m expecting a full report from the coroner come morning.”
“The other seven were branded,” Fallon tells him before whipping out her phone and showing him a picture.
“Who’s this?” He looks both amused and concerned. And seeing that it’s a half-dressed stripper, I get it.
“Scarlett Blaze in all her glory.” Fallon stretches the picture until her torso is on display. “Looks like a mountain and maybe a rough sketch of a tree underneath.”
“Geez.” Rob winces. “Looks brutal. Why anyone would do that is beyond me.”
“You’d be surprised by the things people can talk themselves into,” Fallon says. “Or more to the point, let others talk them into.”
“I guess so.” He ticks his head to the side. “That’s the world we live in.” His eyes linger on the photo for another moment. “People are forever searching for meaning, and unfortunately, they’re looking in all sorts of places—always thinking they’re on the edge of an event horizon ready to take them to the next level. Teetering on the brink of something profound—and nine times out of ten, it’s just profoundly dangerous.”
“The serial killer we’re dealing with is the dangerous one,” she tells him.
“Maybe so, but you don’t want to spook him. Or he might just want to kill everyone around.”
A waitress comes by and drops off our meals, two plates full of grilled perfection and enough fries to build a ladder to the moon, and a giant paper bag for me.
I wish the two of them a pleasant rest of the day before paying and taking off.
I feel as if I’m teetering on something profound myself—the heels of a killer.
22
Evil
Greed.
It’s often the endgame for most people. I’ve seen it play out thousands of times in thousands of different ways. The temptation starts small, you want something better for yourself, you just need that special edge. And for some, that edge is riding on the border of illegal.
I meant to shut them down. Heck, I should have. But I wanted something for myself, too. Something that could fill that dark void in my soul, something that might actually make me happy. But nothing ever could, nor will.
My first kill was out of necessity. After that, it was part necessity, part pleasure. But had any one of those people lived, it would have flushed my entire world right down the toilet, been my undoing in the most humiliating way.
It’s not my fault they entangled themselves in this situation. They’re the ones that swore allegiance—until death do we part. Or whatever other crap they bought into.
It was them or me. A simple game of survival.
There were only seven.
I let so many others slide.
I’m their god.
I get to decide who stays and who goes.
That’s what they want. And that’s what I’m determined to give them.
I head to the shed out back and brush the camping and fishing gear from the top shelf until I find what I’m looking for. A small plastic container no bigger than a liter. I hold it in my hand a moment and then sift the powder inside by giving it a shake.
