“Mason?” her voice came from the kitchen.
Mason followed the sound until he entered the room. Diane was sat at the table, hands resting by the keyboard of her laptop, a pair of headphones hanging around her neck. “I’ve been shouting your name.”
“I was listening to music.”
“Where’s Amy?”
“In the spare bedroom, watching a movie.”
“All right.” Mason crossed the room, kissed her on the cheek, and took a seat across from her. He wasn’t exactly sure how to say this, but it was necessary. “I think you should both leave town.”
Diane’s eyebrows rose with concern. “What’s going on?”
“It’s a long story, but I think you might not be safe—”
“No.” Diane shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Mason got up to stand by her side, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t understand. Anarchy’s—he’s been looking into me. If he’s going to come after me, you and Amy are at risk, too. Please, just go.”
Diane scraped her chair back across the tiles, stood, and held a palm at each of his cheeks. “I’m not running away. Too often you get involved with the wrong types of people.”
“But—”
“No, listen.” She gazed deep into his eyes. “I’m not going to flee just because some sicko has his sights on you. If he wants to get to you, he’s going to have to go through all of us. We’re family, Mason, whether you like it or not.”
Mason had the brief flicker of an image: him living here permanently, watching Amy go off to college, redecorating the house together. It was a normal life. Everything he’d ever wanted.
“And you know what else?” Diane continued.
“What?”
“I think you should take this bastard down.”
You and me both. Mason pulled away and went for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to warn Evie.”
“No, Mason—”
‘She has a right to know. Even if she hates me for it.” He opened the door and took one step outside before he was stopped in his tracks.
“Wait. You don’t understand!”
Mason turned. “What?”
“She’s gone.”
Fists clenched, sweat rushing to his forehead, Mason ground his teeth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Evie called me this morning from the airport. She said she’s headed to New York to make something better of herself, and asked that I pass on the message to you.”
Mason fought to find his words. He’d known a change of location was on the cards but had never suspected it would be so soon. “She didn’t even say goodbye.”
Diane shook her head, lowering her eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Anarchy was more than pleased with what he’d just done. It was somewhere between the setup and the execution that always satisfied him the most, and right now, he was riding the fence between the two.
Shooting a brief but very thorough look over his shoulder, he crossed the road and continued down the street where he could watch from a safe distance. Of course, there was always a chance things would go sideways, but even that had its uses. At the end of the day, any of the possible outcomes caused an exciting amount of chaos.
“Here, kids,” he said, stealing the attention of two boys who’d been playing ball in the street. “You want to see something amazing?”
The tall redheaded one looked at his Hispanic friend, who shrugged. They were both about eight years old, give or take. “We’re not allowed to talk to strangers,” the redhead said.
“Ahh, good for you, son.” Anarchy flipped a cigarette into his mouth, sparked up his lighter in one swift movement, and let the flame kiss the end. “However,” he muffled, “you don’t need to talk to me. You have a cell phone?”
“Maybe. But you can’t use it.”
The Hispanic boy glanced up and down the empty street.
“No problemo. I don’t need to,” Anarchy said, wiggling his finger. “Use the video recorder on that building over there, will you?”
While the boy carried out his orders with confused hesitation, Anarchy sat on the curb and enjoyed his cigarette, sucking up puffs of delightful gray smoke and breathing it out through his nose.
This should be fun. And the thought that these kids would be exposed to it was all the more exciting of all.
Good, good fun.
Chapter Thirty-Four
As unlikely as he was to admit it, he was already missing Evie. But what could he do about it? Call her and whine? Cloud her mind with even more drama than she’d already suffered? No, Mason wouldn’t put her though that. All he could do was wait it out and hope she found a way to become her usual self.
On the bright side, his schedule had now freed up a little. As he didn’t feel like working, at least he could write that relationship off as “on hold” and concentrate on the next case. And although he’d found Lucy Healy, he was all the more determined to find Anarchy. With that very intention, Mason stopped the car, then stomped toward his office.
Wait.
The door, which he was sure he’d locked, swung open. On closer examination, the brass lock hanging from the wood looked like it’d given up. Mason drew his revolver and stepped inside.
“Hello?” he called to the dark room. “I don’t want any surprises, so if you’re in there and don’t announce yourself now, I will shoot you.”
He was met with nothing but silence. It made him feel dumb, talking to an empty room. He stowed the gun away, flicked on the lights, and checked each room just in case. Satisfied with the isolation, but pissed off and worried about the broken lock, he sat at his desk and went over what few notes he had on Anarchy.
You elusive bastard. I’m going to get you. I will get you.
Seventeen pages of similar murder cases later, Mason was at a loss. He found nothing that linked him to any previous killings. Even if the guy was from San Francisco—which nobody knew for sure—who was to say he’d even used the name Anarchy before? What if it was new to him? Why start signing that name now?
Outside, a sudden noise startled him. It was metal, crashing to the ground. Mason spun around, associating the sound with a falling trash can. But he was on edge—the broken door had seen to that—so he reached for his gun on instinct and went to the back door, where he counted to three and yanked it open. He took aim.
But there was nothing to aim at.
Mason stepped outside and saw the trash can rolling over the ground. It smelled disgusting out here—a haven for cats, rats, and anything else that might carry disease. Regardless of what had caused it, he picked it up and set it back in its rightful place.
“Goddamn animals,” he said, heading back inside.
That’s when he saw it.
Just inside the door, a wire clung to the wall with tape. It ran up to the ceiling and into the main office room. “What the…” Mason followed it through to where it disappeared behind a filing cabinet.
Taking great caution, he pulled open the top drawer and heard a click.
Everything after that happened in the blink of an eye.
The drawer was heavier than usual, and inside was a large black box. Dials and buttons lay across the top, and a digital timer showed off an old-fashioned LED. More noticeable was the countdown from ten that flashed before him.
It was instinctual, but Mason ran. As fast as his legs could carry him, he made his way back outside. He was barely out the door when he felt the blast of air on his back, crushing his insides. It felt like his spine was on fire as he was propelled across the backyard, landing on top of a dumpster.
Everything stung, ached, and burned. His vision blurred, his energy gone. Mason writhed in pain, and as his eyes began to close, only one thought stood out…
Anarchy.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Diane rushed to the hospital, escorting Amy through the
crowd of reporters. Somehow, they’d gotten wind that Mason had been attacked by Anarchy, and it was all she could hear about as they made their way past.
They’re monsters. The lot of them.
When they finally got through to the waiting room, they found an empty row of seats, and Diane encouraged Amy to lie down. It’d been a long day for both of them, but somebody had to be up for when Mason came around.
As time went on and the reporters became more and more impatient, Diane checked her watch. It was getting late now—they’d already been here for six hours, and there hadn’t been a single word about Mason.
“Excuse me,” Diane said, brushing at the arm of a passing nurse.
The nurse was young, with dazzling blue eyes and blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. “You okay?”
Amy snored, adjusting her position across the uncomfortable chairs.
“We’re here for Mason Black,” Diane shouted over the journalists, glaring at them with ire. “Has there been any word on his progress?”
“He’s awake.”
Diane let out a breath of relief.
“But you can’t go in there yet,” the nurse continued. “He’s with one of the doctors at the moment. But he’s going to be fine. In the meantime…” She stormed over to the press crowd and raised her voice. “I’m going to have to ask you all to leave immediately! You’re disrupting the patients.”
“We have a right to know what happened,” one of the older journalists complained.
“Then you can wait in the parking lot until that time comes.”
As they began shuffling out, some groaning louder than the others, the nurse turned and winked at Diane, before disappearing behind the counter and into a small office.
“She was nice,” Amy mumbled.
“I didn’t know you were awake.” It was quieter now and a lot easier to relax. But Diane still felt a surge of nervous tension flowing through her, and there seemed to be no way of calming herself.
“Only just awake.”
“Then go back to sleep.”
“You too.” Amy rolled over and began to snooze immediately.
It seemed impossible, but Diane saw no harm in trying. She let her head relax over the back of the chair and slipped in and out of sleep for the next couple of hours. When she finally awoke, the hospital felt vacant.
Careful not to wake Amy, she got up and went to the reception desk, but nobody was there. Diane was stood peering up and down the corridor when a doctor wearing a face mask came out of one of the rooms and walked her way.
“Excuse me,” she said, stepping into his path. “Where can I find—”
To her surprise, the doctor barged past, knocking her back and almost sending her tumbling to the floor.
“What the hell?” Diane yelled.
Before she knew it, the doctor had vanished around the corner, storming out of sight.
Something wasn’t right about him, but whatever it was, she didn’t have time to investigate. I need to find a doctor, she thought and started to wander the hospital.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Mason’s eyes fluttered open, but he felt weak and lifeless.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” came a voice from his side.
Am I in the hospital? The beeping machine beside him suggested as much, and the man in front of him wore hospital scrubs. It was just as well, really—his back was causing him so much pain, and his ribs felt like they’d been trampled by stampeding buffalo. The pain in his leg was something else entirely.
“I really didn’t think you were going to survive,” the doctor said. “But I’m glad you did. See, I find you kind of interesting.”
Mason tried hard to focus on the doctor, but his vision was blurred. It was like looking through bubbling water. “What— Who are you?”
“You don’t recognize my voice?”
Of course he did—he just didn’t want to believe it. He even hoped this was some kind of dream, but it didn’t seem so. At some point he would have to face facts; he was in a room alone with Anarchy, and unable to defend himself.
“Hmm. Not very talkative.” Anarchy stood and paced the room. “You’re very lucky, you know. Even from across the street, I saw your body flung toward that dumpster. You looked like a rag doll, despite your size.”
“What do you want?” Mason wheezed.
Anarchy returned to his side, pulling the mask over his mouth. Only his piercing eyes were visible now. “What do I want? Why, I want to compliment you, of course! See—” He leaned on Mason’s chest, elbows digging into his ribs and making him groan. “—you give me purpose. I’ve hidden from you, shot at you, even planted a bomb in your office. But somehow, you’re still here.”
“You’re twisted.” Mason winced.
“Mm-hmm. Well, if you’re going to be rude about it.” Anarchy pushed down harder.
It felt like Mason’s chest was about to crush in on him, impaling his heart on a broken rib. He tensed up but refused to give this man the satisfaction of hearing him beg.
“I could kill you right now.” Anarchy stood up straight, letting him go. “But I won’t. The thing is, everyone I meet is weak, vulnerable, impulsive, and so, so selfish. You, on the other hand… I don’t know. There’s something about you. You’re goddamn unbreakable!”
Mason strained to look around, searching for a button to call a nurse.
“Give up. I disconnected it.” Anarchy walked round the bed to Mason’s other side. “You may not know it yet, but you’re perfect—loyal, determined, caring. I just wonder what your downfall is. Or maybe that is your downfall? Either way,” he droned, rolling down his sleeves and stepping back toward the door, “I intend to test your durability. Good luck.”
As the door swung open, Mason opened his mouth to protest, but his body betrayed him. Instead, he was left grinding his teeth at the immense pain.
But then something else caught his eye.
As Anarchy was leaving, hidden beneath his disguise, he passed right by Diane, shoving her aside. The door closed then, leaving Mason in silent darkness, and worried both for himself and his family.
I intend to test your durability, the maniac had said. Mason wondered what exactly he meant, and just how frightened he should be.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It was four days before they let him leave the hospital under supervised care. Battered and bruised, they’d pleaded with him to take it easy. Unfortunately, Mason didn’t see that as an option.
With Diane helping him up the steps to her house, and Bill under his left arm offering support, he began to appreciate just what tremendous pain he’d been left in. He was lucky to be alive, but he didn’t feel lucky.
“I have something to tell you,” Bill said, stopping him at the top of the steps.
Mason rested against the wall, with Diane’s loving arms around him. “What is it?”
“I don’t want you to get all Robocop on me. Promise.”
“Just tell me.”
Bill sighed. “We put that video footage on TV and had a phone call right away. It was someone saying they know who Anarchy is.”
Mason’s pulse quickened. “And? What’s been done about it?”
“Nothing at all. It’s odd; the police are treating it like a hoax.”
“That’s insane. Why?”
“You tell me.” Bill scratched his neck, raising his chin in the air. “The call came from Arizona. We’ve contacted the police out there, but even they don’t seem interested. They said it wasn’t their problem. Can you believe that?”
Mason stared hard at the ground, deep in thought. Could he make the drive himself? It was a long way, and his leg was in a shitty condition. “I’ll look into it.”
“No.” Bill stood up straight. “No, you won’t. Diane, tell him not to.”
“You think he listens to me?”
“I just thought you should know,” Bill went on. “But for the love of God, be careful.” He hurried down the steps and into his car, driving off
without another word.
“Come on.” Diane led Mason inside, easing him onto the couch.
It felt good to be back, but Mason couldn’t quite shake the feeling they were all unsafe. He put it down to paranoia and tried his best to relax. That was, as much as anyone could relax after surviving an explosion and a death threat.
“What will you do without an office?” Diane asked, sitting beside him.
Mason shrugged. “It wasn’t as useful as you’d think. I’ll just make a claim on the insurance and start fresh.”
“Can you afford it?”
“I can’t afford not to. I need money, which means I need work. All I know for sure is I won’t be able to focus until Anarchy is stopped.”
Diane was quiet then, as she usually was when assessing her options. Mason had always known her to be supportive, even if she disagreed with the situation.
“Do you want me to drive you to Arizona?”
Mason shook his head. “I’ll take a bus. You stay put and make sure Amy is safe.”
For the rest of the day, they ate, rested, and further discussed the idea of them living together. It was beginning to make a little more sense, but by morning it was still undecided.
After all, Mason had bigger things on his mind, starting with his trip to Arizona.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
He’d left early in the morning, after a grumpy exchange with Bill.
Mason had the address of the Arizona contact now and had begged Bill to keep an eye on Diane while he was out of town. Thankfully, he agreed.
Stiff and cramped, Mason finally got off the bus and took a long-distance cab to the provided address. He wasn’t really sure what to expect but was surprised to be greeted at the door by a kind, elderly lady.
“A private investigation?” At first she seemed worried, creasing up her already wrinkled forehead. When Mason explained the situation to her, she was very grateful to be taken seriously. “Come on in, dear.”
Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 39
