Two for Joy

by Louise Collins

  “He’d already gone—”

  “You didn’t know that. You thought he was coming back. He probably would’ve if he hadn’t been so stupid and went off without back up.”

  Romeo walked away, stopping by the sideboard when he saw car keys glinting.

  “You can’t leave me like this.”

  “You’re one of the lucky ones, most people on their own I leave dead.”

  “Where are you even going?”

  He took the keys. If the police were on his tail, he needed to be able to get away fast. He’d enjoyed driving Neil’s Porsche the first time and wanted a repeat.

  “I’m gonna find him. Thanks for lending me the car. I’ll take care of her.”

  “The car … wait—leave my Porsche alone.”

  “You care more about that car than Chad. Did you buy it with the money you made on him?”

  Neil didn’t answer.

  “Well, now you can go running to Marc Wilson again and sell him this story, how the countdown killer broke into your house, tied you up, threatened you.”

  “Not likely.”

  Romeo stopped by the doorway. “Why, you got a conscience now?”

  “Marc doesn’t work for the Canster Times anymore.”

  Romeo froze, a sinking feeling settled in his gut, and with it brought a coldness beneath his skin. He walked back towards Neil on the floor. “Why not?”

  “They fired him six months ago.”

  A memory of the farmhouse came back to Romeo, the articles pinned to his wall, he told Chad he thought Marc Wilson was a fan, but Chad got angry, replied Marc was just like him, messed up in the head.

  Marc Wilson, his champion, his glorifier, his memento maker.

  Neil tried to wriggle away. “You said you’d let me live.”

  “Shut up. Why did Marc lose his job?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Romeo glared as much as he could with one eye.

  “The rumor is he got fired, something about drugs.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Yeah, I hear he was taking all sorts. When I first met him in the hotel, I was nervous, tense—”

  “Because you were about to betray Chad.”

  “Marc kept offering me stuff … something to take the edge off, get me to relax. I didn’t know what any of it was, I didn’t take it. I think he got worse, using drugs to influence people in interviews … it’s even said that he was the one that gave James Clerk his fix that night he got photographed.”

  “He set him up…”

  “His eyes used to light up when I told him secrets about the case. I could literally see him mentally counting all the money he was going to make.”

  “More likely the details excited him…” Romeo muttered under his breath.

  “Then after Chad found out, I told Marc I wasn’t going to give up any more information on the case. He got angry, real angry, then like a switch, he was charming, offering me more—drugs, money, whatever I wanted, so much I couldn’t refuse. He’s got a dark side, and the Canster Times finally took notice.”

  “And fired him.”

  “Yeah.”

  “He can’t have been happy about that … maybe he felt like he’d lost all control.”

  “Probably. He definitely seemed uptight, ordered, if a little strange. Then the Canster Times rubbed salt into the wound…”

  “How?”

  “They let Holly Stevenson take over from him. He’d been her mentor, they’d been dating, engaged at one point, but overnight he lost his girlfriend and his job.”

  “Holly…” Romeo whispered.

  “Yeah. I don’t know why, but she seems to have a personal vendetta against Chad—

  Romeo held his hand up, a clear signal that Neil should stop talking. “I’m aware of her hatred towards Chad. Where does Marc live?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  Romeo pressed his foot down on Neil’s stomach, moving most of his weight to it as Neil struggled for breath.

  “Okay, okay, I’ve never been there, but it’s on the outskirts of Histon. Hollytree House. There’s a load of big properties, lots of land between them, all fancy names instead of numbers. I couldn’t afford a place there, but that was the dream.”

  “Wait, that sounds familiar…”

  “Familiar?”

  Romeo snapped his fingers. “Number three lived around there.”

  “Number three?”

  “Georgie Porter.” Romeo said. “I think I’ll pay Marc a visit.”

  “What, why? You don’t think he’s the killer?”

  “I’m gonna go find out … oh, and I almost forgot.”

  Romeo waved the duct tape roll in front of Neil, then cut off a strip. He leaned down, applied it to Neil’s mouth, then patted him on the head.

  “Now you stay here, and stay quiet, or I’ll have to come back and silence you for good.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Romeo slowed the Porsche and stared as he drove past Hollytree house. It looked almost futuristic with its sharp angles, and huge glass windows. Romeo spotted two cameras on the front gate, he thought he could see more attached to the house. It reminded him of the prison he’d been kept in—the huge gate, the spiked wall, the cameras everywhere.

  Romeo drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then carried on up the road. He mounted the verge, scraping the bottom of the Porsche on the mound of grass, then kept going till half of it was covered by a thorn bush. He didn’t have time to conceal the car any better, and as he jogged away, he cursed when he could see its glowing license plate.

  It was inevitable he was going to be spotted on camera. He stalked along the gate, then pressed the intercom with no real clue of what he was about to say. If the killer really was Marc, Romeo thought he might be able to flatter him, get entry into the house by playing the “we’re brothers” card.

  No one answered, and looking up at the house, Romeo realized there were no lights on in any of the rooms.

  He’d fantasized about escaping bars for so long, and now all he wanted to do was get inside another set, be trapped in another cage. Romeo walked around the property, looking for an entry point. He found it behind the house, a tree had come down, bending the spikes at the top of the wall.

  He heaved himself up using the tree, carefully avoided the twisted spikes, then dropped down the other side. No alarms blared, the dogs weren’t released, but one of the cameras was trained directly at him. He didn’t hide his face, or stoop as he moved, there was no hiding. He walked confidently towards the door, used a rock to smash the glass, then unlocked it from the inside.

  Romeo stepped into the entrance hall and listened. He could hear muffled voices, a few of them, then realized when the voices changed to music, it was the radio. The radio was set on the classical channel, the one he liked to listen to while waiting between victims.

  The music he used to sway to with his mother.

  He approached the sound of the music, pushed the door, patted the wall for a light switch, then looked around the huge kitchen. Double the size of Neil’s with three ovens, three sinks, a kitchen to entertain the masses. Next to the radio was a box of cigars, the same brand he’d used when marking his victims.

  The same ones his father had smoked when he was a kid.

  There was a set of keys on the table, they looked as if they’d been tossed there in a hurry. Romeo took them, studied them, then put them in his pocket. He went back into the entrance hall, then froze when he saw the photograph framed on the wall.

  Holly and Marc together, smiling brightly at the camera, his smile genuine, but hers not. He had his arm over her shoulder, and there was a huge diamond glinting on her ring finger.

  Romeo slowly lifted his head to look up the stairs. A grand staircase, wide enough for a car to drive up. Romeo saw the news articles on the walls, not scruffy and tacked on like in the farmhouse. The front covers detailing his spree were in huge glass frames, vibrant, well kept. Marc was proud of the articles
he’d written, and Romeo looked at each one as he climbed the stairs. They continued on the landing, a progression of his crime, leading to the one at the end of the corridor. The same one he’d had in his cell, except in mint condition.

  The One That Got Away.

  He paused by the door, hand curled around the handle, unable to breathe. He didn’t know if he could cope with what lay the other side, but it was like the car-crash conundrum. He knew he wouldn’t like what he saw, but he had to see it. He took a deep breath, then opened the door.

  It took a few seconds for him to adjust to the dark, the curtains were drawn, and before he saw blood, he smelled the irony scent in the air.

  A figure lay on the bed, completely still, eyes closed. The cuts looked black with the lack of light, dark on his skin. Romeo could see the patches where it had run down the side of his body and soaked into the white sheet beneath.

  Romeo approached, skimming his gaze along the torso, not to see the extent of his wounds, but to make sure he was still breathing. There was no slash across his throat, no spill of dark color, but that didn’t mean he was still alive. Romeo had almost killed him twice when they were in the farmhouse.

  He was pretty certain his heart had stopped in his chest, but he had to see, had to know.

  “Chad?”

  His nose twitched, and that was all the confirmation Romeo needed. His body remembered how to breathe again, and he took two heaves, then rushed towards Chad. His eyes fluttered, Romeo gripped his face, hand on both cheeks.

  “Fancy seeing you here.” Romeo whispered.

  Chad opened his eyes. It was too dark in the room to see them clearly, and Romeo let go of him to turn on the light. He staggered back when he saw the slices and cuts decorating Chad’s body, the numbers 5, 4, 3, and 2 scratched into his flesh. Some looked old, some looked fresh, some looked deep, some faint, some had scabbed, others oozed. The most shocking were the numbers that had been cut out, like Chad’s flesh was a piece of pastry.

  He knew Chad was hurt, could even smell the blood, sweat, and fear in the air, but it had been easier to handle in the dark. With the light on he could see the damage, the horrific red marks on Chad’s chest, the darker dried blood on the bed. He could see how pale Chad’s face was, how matted with sweat his hair looked, how cold his skin felt.

  “Romeo?” Chad croaked.

  He forced his shock aside, and went back to Chad, holding his face, and looking deep into his pained brown eyes. “I’m here.”

  “You look like shit.” Chad mumbled.

  “Me?” Romeo laughed softly. “If only you could see yourself.”

  Chad’s eyebrows twitched, then he scrunched his eyes shut, and his body started to shake. Him in distress sent Romeo’s mind into a confused spiral. He didn’t know what to do, how to help, could only hold Chad’s face as he broke down and feel as his own pit of despair widened and deepen in his chest.

  “Listen to me.” He said, wiping Chad’s tears away with his thumbs. Chad’s face continued to twitch and shake as he tried to withhold his anguish.

  “You listening?”

  “Ye—yeah I’m listening.”

  Romeo nodded, half to himself, half to Chad. “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?”

  “I’m—I’m really thirsty.”

  “Okay,” Romeo said, looking around the room. He spotted a jug of water and a glass on a dresser, but when he took a step towards it, Chad spoke in a hurry.

  “No, not that water.”

  Romeo hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Be quick.”

  Romeo opened the doors along the corridor, until he found the bathroom. He filled up the glass, then hurried back to the bedroom. Chad struggled to sit up, then Romeo steadied him as he drank the lot. He was shaking so much his teeth knocked on the glass, making Romeo wince. He put the empty glass on the floor, then reached for Chad again.

  Chad moved his arm, and a cuff clunked against the bedframe. “He cuffed me.”

  “That’s okay.” Romeo said, releasing Chad’s face, and searching his pocket. “I found this downstairs.”

  Romeo leaned over Chad, and unlocked his cuff, before he’d even moved back, Chad had his arms around Romeo, clinging onto him hard. Romeo leaned back till he was on the edge of the bed, and Chad went with him, keeping a tight hold, burying his face in Romeo’s neck.

  “Are you actually here?”

  “Yes.” Romeo said.

  He went to hug Chad in return, but hesitated. He didn’t want to aggravate his wounds, didn’t want to cause him any more pain. But the longer he didn’t wrap his arms around Chad, the harder Chad pressed into him, the tighter his arms became until he was squeezing Romeo. Romeo slipped his hands up Chad’s bare back, held him close, and that seemed to be what Chad desired, he relaxed into Romeo’s arms with a shaky sigh, still sobbing, still making aborted gasps, still shaking with some emotional overload.

  Romeo’s mind went back to a funeral. Not the first with his nanny when he learned he felt nothing, not his mother’s, the last one he’d been to, but his father’s.

  He’d never seen his mother cry that hard. Never seen someone’s eyes fog over forever. Never seen her shake, or her voice wobble. She’d walked to the front of the church, piece of paper in hand, about to speak about her husband, Romeo’s father. She’d struggled, the beginning had been indecipherable, and Romeo had stood up, prepared to read to spare her any further upset. She’d held up her hand to stop him, then asked him to sit down, said she needed to do it.

  She dabbed her eyes, then spoke about love. The love she felt for her husband, Romeo’s father.

  Love was different for everyone, indescribable, unmeasurable, alien to define, alien to understand, but special, powerful, a force greater than life and death, and even though Romeo knew at an early age, he’d never understand it how everyone else did, he saw it, and he protected it despite what his brain told him.

  He’d seen his mother’s and father’s love for each other. No manipulation, no ulterior motive, a true love, and rather than destroy their happiness and love by admitting what he was, and giving in to the darkness in his head, he kept his demons at bay to preserve it, an emotion he didn’t understand, but knew was special. He’d promised his mother if he found it, he’d never let it go, not believing for one second, he would, but with Chad burrowing into his chest, he realized he had.

  His messed up, twisted version of it anyway.

  He kissed Chad’s hair and let out a content hum.

  “What—what are you thinking about?” Chad asked.

  “Love.”

  “Love?”

  “Yeah, and how utterly ridiculous and confusing it is, but no less precious.”

  “Shouldn’t I be the one who’s lost his mind?”

  Romeo snorted. “I always hated my name. Romeo, named after a character from some tragic romance, but here I am, starring in my own version. We’ve fallen for each other despite being from different sides of the track, and for one heart-stopping second, I thought you were dead.”

  Chad leaned back, then touched Romeo’s swollen cheek. “Would you have joined me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess I’m your Juliet then…” he smiled, despite his trembling lip, “O Romeo, Romeo—”

  “Please don’t say I make you foam-eo.”

  Chad scrunched his face and started to laugh. It was more a splutter than a laugh, but it reached his eyes, and through the tears, and redness, Romeo saw them brighten. He pulled his gaze from Chad’s face, and looked at his chest, the numbers, big and small, all different angles, some of them were dripping. His whole torso looked red raw sore, all apart from a patch in front of his heart. The place where a number one was to be branded.

  “Marc Wilson.” He mumbled.

  Chad shuddered. “It was a gut feeling. The articles he wrote about you, it was more than shock and horror to sell newspapers, there was obsession, envy, excitement. He had offered Neil all sorts to ge
t information on the case. Neil told me he had a Jekyll and Hyde personality. He’d been at the first crime scene, sniffing out a story he said, but the DI told him it was a tragic accident, a live wire in the wall. He’d set up James with the drugs months ago, knew he’d fallen on bad times, knew his electricity had been cut and those cameras weren’t operational. I know it was stupid to confront him.”

  “More than stupid, moronic. Hadn’t you learned from the first time?”

  “No one would’ve believed me. I didn’t have any real evidence, just my gut. They’d all turned on me, everyone turned on me.”

  “I know.” Romeo said, raking his hand up into Chad’s hair and pulling him into a firm hug.

  “I drove here, the place was empty, and I thought I’d have a look around, see if I could find any evidence. The articles, the cigars. Next thing I know, a needle’s being shoved in my neck, and I woke up in the garage, chained to the bed.”

  “I tried to fight him, but I think he’s been drugging the water. I feel so weak.”

  Romeo glanced at the glass on the bedside table. He wasn’t sure the water was responsible for the weakness, he’d seen the bed, the red stains Chad’s body had hidden. His grip on Romeo was softening, his eyelids were drooping. Chad needed to be in the hospital, the place he’d just escaped from.

  “You’re okay now, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

  “I thought you’d been sharing secrets with the killer. I thought you told them about the magpie—about you. How did he know?”

  “He read the article Holly Stevenson was writing on me. I told her extra details.”

  “Even the magpie?”

  “No. that was curtesy of Will in the neighboring cell listening in on my dreams.”

  “You dream about magpies?”

  “Nearly all the time, apart from when I was with you. They stopped.”

  “What did you dream when you were with me?”

  “Nothing. It was like my mind was clear. It was peaceful.”

  Chad sighed against his neck. “You’re actually here?”

  “Yep.”

  “How?”