Syrah and Swingers

by Sandra Woffington

  “And then what?”

  “Then I go away with Draven.”

  “Draven only loves power, Asia. As soon as you do this, as soon as you prove you are in his power, you’re no longer useful. He’ll choke you and leave you dead.”

  “No, he won’t. He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty that way. He’s smarter than the rest of us.”

  “Oh, I see. Then he’ll make sure someone else does it for him. Either way, once you prove your loyalty, he’s no longer the great all-knowing teacher.”

  “I can’t believe he ever wasted his time on you!” Asia leaned over and put her face so close to Joy’s that Joy pulled her head back. “You are stupid. So stupid! Do you think Draven goes to all of the trouble to train us how to kill and not be caught just so he can kill us?”

  Joy’s eyes widened in stark horror. “Then it’s true. I didn’t believe it could be. He’s training serial killers. He sets you loose on society.”

  Asia stuck out her tongue and licked the side of Joy’s face. “He freed us. He taught us to take back the power we’d lost, the power that others had taken from us. I’m free, Joy.”

  Asia’s smile was eerily at peace.

  Joy struggled to conceptualize Draven’s madness. He created monsters. Smart, well-trained monsters who fed his need by supplying him with video feeds of their accomplishments. And these soldiers also killed at Draven’s command. Draven’s sister must have begun to suspect the truth, so Evan killed her family. Hoffman too. But Sam—oh god!—did Evan kill her father at Blackmoor’s command? Draven had said he thought Sam held her back.

  Joy’s head spun. She leaned to the side as her stomach convulsed in a dry heave of nausea. Something inside of her snapped. The beast broke its leash.

  Draven—she would kill him!

  Steele poked his head into the interrogation room. “Got it, Max. Riggs triangulated Asia’s phone.”

  Blackmoor checked his watch. “It’s too late!”

  “You’d better hope not.” Max slammed the door. He and Steele raced to their cars along with backup officers. A multitude of sirens blared as the cars formed a line of flashing lights that hit the freeway and raced to the outskirts of Wine Valley.

  Asia waved at the camera and then used two hands to lift the burlap bag.

  “Asia, use your brain! You’re not Draven Blackmoor’s puppet! Don’t do what he tells you—I’ll help you, I promise!”

  Asia lowered the bag toward the water. “You feel pain. Don’t you? I don’t. I stopped feeling anything a long time ago.” The bottom of the bag touched the water and wicked up the burlap.

  “You can feel again! I know, because I was numb once like you.”

  Asia froze. “I don’t want to feel ever again.” She lowered the bag.

  “Then kill me—not Monty. Monty won’t feel it like we feel it. She’s just a dumb reptile!”

  Asia grinned. “He said you’d say that. I didn’t believe it. I’m like no way is she going to offer her life for an ugly snake.”

  Asia let go of the bag. It slid under the water.

  Joy ripped her hand out of the rope so hard it gouged her wrist. Blood oozed from the wound. Joy shot forward.

  Asia turned to grab the knife from the table.

  By the time Joy reached the tub, Asia began to turn. The blade glinted in the light.

  Joy didn’t have time to pull Monty from the water. Instead, she grabbed the side of the tub and heaved it over as gently but as quickly as she dared. The sack with Monty slid out. Water washed over the sack.

  Asia’s face grew dark and menacing. With a grunt, she lunged at Monty. The blade stabbed downward.

  Joy flipped the tub over Monty just as the blade struck the bottom of it, piercing the tub an inch or so, but it did not drive through it.

  Joy leaped at Asia, knocked her to the ground, and the two struggled for control of the knife.

  Asia had the advantage. She’d killed before—gotten her jitters out. Ted was a practice run—maybe even Ted’s parents. She’d gotten rid of any hesitation, so the next time, her enemies faced an uninhibited killer intent on unleashing pure evil.

  Asia rolled Joy on to her back. With the hilt of the knife against her chest, she pressed the blade toward Joy’s throat. It hovered at the notch of Joy’s neck.

  Asia’s nostrils flared like a bull about to charge.

  It was all Joy could do to hold her hands over Asia’s hands and push her back. She didn’t have the strength to hold on much longer. Joy kicked her right leg and rolled her hip at the same time. It threw Asia off balance.

  But with renewed energy, intent on ending the battle, Asia pressed with full fury on the hilt to drive it into Joy’s flesh.

  Joy thought of Sam falling toward her with a bullet hole in his forehead. Fury ignited within her. She grunted. She shoved the blade an inch left. It sliced the air beside her left ear and bit into the ground. Joy threw Asia off of her.

  Asia rolled away, grabbed the knife, and faced-off in an attack stance.

  “Bring it on, Asia! Kill or be killed.”

  Asia’s face twisted with anger. She charged at Joy.

  Joy leaped out of the blade’s path.

  With wild unbridled fury, Asia stabbed again and again, but each time, Joy evaded the blade. The galvanized tub stood between them. They danced around it.

  Asia lunged this way and thrust the blade that way at Joy.

  Out of her peripheral vision, Joy spotted the pitchfork.

  Asia followed her eyes. “Go for it, Joy.”

  Sirens blared outside.

  “It’s over, Asia. I’m sorry for what Blackmoor did to you. He used you. He taught you to kill. Put down the knife and I’ll help you.”

  “You can’t help me!”

  Joy dove for the pitchfork, figuring Asia would come after her, but Asia kicked the galvanized tub off of Monty instead. She stabbed downward at the burlap bag.

  Joy tucked up into a kneeling position and rammed the pitchfork forward. One tine pierced Asia’s wrist and poked through the other side of her forearm.

  Asia bellowed, more in anger at failing to kill Monty than in pain. The knife fell from her hand and stabbed the ground inches away from the burlap sack.

  Blood dribbled down Asia’s wrist to her fingertips and dripped onto the hay at her feet.

  The sires neared. Brakes locked and slid in the dirt.

  Joy heard shouts. “Police!”

  Asia ran for the chair with long athletic strides.

  Joy shouted, “Asia! No!”

  Max and Steele rushed into the barn, weapons aimed.

  Asia leaped onto the chair, yanked the noose over her neck, and kicked the chair away. Her body jerked to a stop and dangled in the air.

  Max holstered his weapon, raced to the dangling girl, grabbed the chair, set it upright and jumped onto it. He tried to grab hold of Asia’s legs, but she kicked him. She kicked and swung like a marionette shaken by a puppeteer.

  Only when she stopped kicking and jerking could Max get ahold of her legs. He wrapped his arms around Asia’s thighs and lifted her up to loosen the slack on the rope.

  Joy grabbed the knife and rushed to help.

  Steele grabbed the table, ignoring the tablet and the phone, which fell off as he dragged it beside the chair. He jumped atop the table.

  Joy handed Steele the knife.

  Steele sawed back and forth until the knife cut through the rope.

  Max and Steele lowered Asia down to Joy, who guided her to the ground.

  Joy flopped to her knees, loosened the rope around Asia’s throat, tilted her head back, and breathed into her mouth.

  Steele hopped down from the table and knelt beside Joy. He set his palms against Asia’s chest and compressed, stopping only for Joy to refill her lungs again.

  The moment Max yelled, “Clear!” the ambulance crew rushed in and took over.

  Joy ran to the burlap sack. She opened the ties around the neck of the bag.

  Steele
rushed to her side. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s agitated,” said Joy. “But she’s moving. I have to get her home.”

  “I’ll drive you,” said Steele. “Max, we’re rescuing Monty. We’ll meet you back at the station.”

  “Go! I got this,” said Max.

  Steele and Joy gently loaded the burlap bag into the back of the police car.

  “Lights but no sirens, if we can,” said Joy.

  Steele flipped on the lights. At times, he gave the siren a short burst at intersections to keep everyone safe.

  In no time, he pulled through the gate, raced up the drive, and parked before Joy’s house. “Get the door. I’ll get Monty.”

  Joy opened the door. Steele slid past her and headed to the bedroom carrying the sack. Joy opened the enclosure. Steele set the bag on the floor of the enclosure and stepped back out of Joy’s way.

  Joy untied the bag, stretched the mouth wide, and slid it down to the ground so that Monty could crawl out.

  Monty hissed and coiled and flicked her tongue to smell the air. The familiar scent of her enclosure seemed to calm her. Monty slithered to the back of the enclosure and slid under a hiding structure.

  “I didn’t see any wounds. I think she’s okay,” said Joy. “Physically at least. She might stay hidden for a while. That was a lot of trauma. The only good thing is that the bag might have made her feel secure—minus the dunking part—and she didn’t see the crazy girl trying to stab her.”

  “Can snakes really love? I mean, is she fond of you?”

  “We are what we are, Steele. They are what they are—she’s a cold-blooded reptile, but she recognizes me. She knows I feed her. I guess it doesn’t matter how much she loves me. Because I love her. Let’s go. I have a present for Draven Blackmoor.”

  26

  As soon as they entered the station, Joy turned to Steele. “I need to speak to Draven alone.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Max strolled down the hallway. “What’s not a good idea?”

  “I’m going to interview him, Max. Alone,” said Joy. “I know him better than anyone else here.”

  Max balked. “And he knows you, Joy.”

  Joy’s eyes could not have been more dark and cold. “Back me up, Max. You know I can do this.”

  Max stared into Joy’s eyes. He’d seen her confident before, but something had changed. Her expression almost looked past him in some way. Where was her head? All he knew for sure was that he could not exclude her from the party. He’d been that mad before—when Chief Goldsby had tried to trip him up and scuttle his career. Something inside of him snapped. He saw a change in Joy as well. Blackmoor had pushed her beyond boundaries a few times. Today, he did it again. “Asia didn’t make it. Maybe you can use that against him.”

  “Thanks, Max.” Joy stepped into the interrogation room and closed the door behind her.

  Blackmoor stood facing the wall, as if in contemplation. When he turned, he’d expected to see Max not Joy. His smile fell. His eyes narrowed. His posture stiffened.

  “Sit down, Draven.” Joy took a seat, and Draven sat opposite her. He moved slowly as if he needed time to regain composure.

  “What an unexpected pleasure.”

  “Unexpected—yes. A pleasure—I doubt it—since you had wanted to take pleasure in my death. Thus, you’re a very unhappy man right now. You lost control.”

  Draven clenched his lips.

  Joy knew he’d use his intelligence to taunt her as much as he could to extricate himself. Intelligent serial killers enjoyed the game of cat-and-mouse, or killer-and-cop, hoping to win every time. Draven wanted answers, like was Asia dead or alive, but she would give him squat.

  “How many more are there, Draven? I presume you’ve had some failures.”

  “More what?”

  “More Blackmoor-trained serial killers. Asia told me all about it.” Even though she had barely told her enough to piece it together, Draven could not tolerate disloyalty. To think that Asia spoke of his organization would rattle his nerves.

  In the observation room, Max and Steele exchanged looks. Max said, “Did she just suggest what I think?”

  “It’s pretty far out there—but if it’s true, we’re in for a wild ride,” said Steele.

  Draven smirked. “Is this where I’m supposed to tell you about some diabolical scheme? How about you tell me what you think you know?” Draven locked his fingers together and set them on the desk. “Trust me. You’re not smart enough, Joy.”

  Joy rose from the table and paced the floor, walking close to Draven to taunt him with her presence and scent. She’d divulge enough for him to think Asia had spilled her guts. “You set up the criteria to identify youths at risk of turning into serial killers. As soon as you set up your foundation, you offered the courts an outreach program that would offer counseling and guide the misguided youths toward constructive futures. The courts eagerly sent you the flagged youths. And you analyzed each one.” Joy leaned over the table, brushing her arm up against Blackmoor’s. “You identified which ones were intelligent and organized—those make the best serial killers. They’re harder to catch. You identified which ones you could control—psychopaths are psychopaths, driven by urges they can’t control. They are born killers. No, you needed sociopaths. Damaged children with violent tendencies. And you became their hero, their father figure.” Joy stepped around the table and sat opposite Draven. She folded her hands to copy his posture. The more she matched him, the more it proved she was his equal.

  Blackmoor unlocked his hands and folded them over his chest.

  Joy did the same.

  Blackmoor put his hands in his lap.

  Joy did the same. “Your plan is flawed.”

  Draven jumped to his feet. “Never!”

  Joy remained calm. She locked her fingers together, Blackmoor’s first posture, which meant it was the one he felt gave him the best control. “Sit down and I’ll tell you how.”

  Draven sank back into his seat, but his cheeks flushed red at obeying her command. His thirst for knowing what she knew and what she didn’t drove him to it, and he hated Joy for putting him in his place, evident by his seething scowl.

  Joy knew she had him right where she wanted him. She was in control. He had failures all right. She was one of them. “Intelligent and organized. That means habitual to a fault and…predictable.”

  “I haven’t killed anyone—that’s a fact.”

  “You killed Asia over and over, but you brought her back.”

  “Do you know what that poor girl has suffered? Her mother let boyfriends have their way with her for money or drugs. Bo, her brother, abused her too, but let’s face it—the pair of them didn’t stand a chance with any kind of a normal relationship. I tried to help Bo after he threatened to kill Ted’s family. And I insisted on the restraining order to keep Bo away from Asia, so he wouldn’t abuse her anymore.”

  Joy leaned in. “No, Draven. You kept Bo away from Asia, because even if he abused her, he had tried to protect her too. The pair of them killed their mother by mixing stronger drugs in with her own. They watched her die. And Bo figured she would be better off in foster care. He did that much for her. But Ted’s father was a drunk, and he abused Asia too, and you knew it. Ted looked the other way, and for that, she killed him. But Asia never saw that you have manipulated her far more than anyone else. You needed her as damaged as possible. You never said a word to social services to get her out of the home.”

  “I have an alibi for anything Asia has done—I was here. And when she killed Ted, as you suggest, I was having dinner in the bar.” Blackmoor let his shoulders drop. He leaned back in quiet confidence. He’d planned his alibis meticulously.

  Joy leaned back, still matching his every posture. She kept an equal footing. “An alibi won’t help you, Draven. Accessory to a felony. You taught your charges to kill. Ted was Asia’s practice run, or, more likely, Ted’s parents came first.”

  Blackmoor
tilted his neck right and then left, as if giving his mind a good stretch for the final lap on the track. He folded his hands before him and leaned in. “Here’s what is predictable, Joy. I work with troubled youths who are risk, even marked as possible serial killers. I tried to help them, and sometimes, I failed, and they killed. To presume it’s at my command is insane. That’s what a jury will think—that you are insane.”

  “The truth is often insane, Draven.”

  Blackmoor laughed. He leaned in as far as possible, as if excited to share some great news. “Saying something is true is not proof. And here’s the best part, Joy. The crime you are suggesting would be an ‘accessory before the fact’ of a felony. Your prosecutor would have to prove, beyond reasonable doubt, that I coerced them into killing. I gave them weapons or helped them make the plans. I did nothing of the sort. Not to mention that the penalty for such an act is miniscule. Half the penalty of the conviction—if there is a conviction.”

  “You and Asia are in town at the same time. She killed Ted. She tried to kill me!”

  Draven slapped the table like he’d heard a good joke. “A coincidence. I’m here for a book tour and lectures. No one stayed in my hotel room but me.”

  “She streamed her crimes to you through the dark web!”

  “I don’t know anything about the dark web. If she streamed something, prove it!”

  “As soon as Riggs pulls apart the tablet and phone—I will!”

  “And even if you do, I wasn’t there! And you can’t isolate the viewer’s IP address. I was here in police custody! Prove I saw what she sent!”

  “We’ll find them, Draven. All of your serial killers. And we’ll stop them!” Joy jumped up from her seat. “I have their names. That’s your flaw—the court sent them to you, and we know who they are.”

  “The courts weren’t the only ones who sent me troubled youth. Parents signed their misfit children up, placing them in my hands. Disciplinary boot camps did the same.”

  Joy paced. He had it all figured out. He’d played every angle.