I never knew the scent of someone could make me feel safe.
The thought made me still. My heart began to pound erratically, and my hands began to tremble. Nausea hit me like a tidal wave, making me clutch tighter to Nick.
“Zo?” He started to pull back, concern dripping from his voice.
I followed, clutching harder, just wanting to be against him.
“Okay,” he whispered, folding himself around me. “It’s okay.”
My whole body was trembling now, and it was an effort to keep my teeth from chattering.
Sweeping me off my feet, Nick carried me through the house into my bedroom, sitting down on the bed with me in his lap, and I remained stuck to him like an octopus.
“I’m getting in your bag,” he said, his voice seemingly far away.
The distance I heard panicked me more, and a sob vibrated my throat. Curling a hand around the back of his neck, I pressed even closer, assuring myself he was actually still right here.
With his palm against the back of my head, he gently nudged me back. I looked up at him, eyes drinking in his face like I was dehydrated.
“Open your mouth,” he instructed. His fingers brushed against my lips, and I opened for him. My anxiety medication slid across my tongue, leaving that nasty flavor all melting pills created.
I made a face but swallowed it down.
Nick produced a glass of water from the nightstand, but when I reached up to take it, he made a tsking sound and held it to my lips himself.
After a few swallows, I collapsed against his chest again, utterly drained.
Moving us back on the bed, Nick settled against the headboard and pillows, tucking me along his side. Draped partly over him, I let my eyes drift closed, focusing on the feel of his fingers dragging up and down my back.
I don’t know how long he held me like that, but eventually, the worst of the panic faded away and rational thought returned. My body no longer shuddered and trembled, and the storm in my stomach was calm.
“I had a panic attack,” I told him, keeping my arm tucked tightly around his middle.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve brought a lot of trouble to your life. A lot of baggage.”
His fingers pulled through the length of my hair. “You’ve brought more happiness than anything.”
“We can’t be happy until Callie is safe. Until this is over.”
“The police—”
“They didn’t catch him when he killed your grandmother. They didn’t catch him as the Bloodlust Killer... They aren’t going to be able to catch him now.”
“They have a lot more to go on now.”
“Callie doesn’t have that kind of time. Neither do I.”
He paused. “What are you thinking?”
Taking a deep breath, I sat up. “The police said they already checked the school where he’d kept me before.”
Nick nodded. “No one is there. The fire destroyed a lot of the building. You can’t even get down into that old basement where the original pool was now.”
“Why there?” I murmured. “Why would he take his victims to an abandoned underground pool at a high school?”
“Because it was abandoned and forgotten about. Because it was perfectly covered by the brand-new pool and gym on the floor above it and all the classrooms above that. No one would ever think a serial killer was keeping his victims literally underneath a bunch of kids.”
“But there has to be a reason, right? A personal connection or something.”
“The police are already searching every pool, open and closed down, within a hundred-mile radius. If he’s using another pool, they’ll find him.”
I shook my head. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to use the same kind of pool again.
Think!
“It all started with Deborah, though... with Moth to a Flame,” I murmured.
Nick made a sound of agreement. “On the set of the sequel.”
I jerked back. “The movie was never released.”
He shook his head. “Of course not.”
“Her murder was filmed, right?”
Nodding, he said, “They thought she was acting, that they had gone off script... until it was too late.”
“Does your family have a copy of that movie? Of what happened?”
Nick frowned. “Yes. They made a cut with my grandmother’s death as the actual end of the sequel. But my family prevented it from being released.”
“That DVD you had last night at your mom’s...”
He nodded. “That was it. I was going to show you, but I don’t think—”
I grabbed his forearm, cutting off his words. “Show me!”
Concern darkened his features. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I need to see it, Nick! It might have some clues.”
“Then the police—”
“I know him!” I yelled. “I know how his mind works. I might see something that could help Callie.”
“You just had a panic attack.” His voice was gentle, as was the hand cupping the side of my face.
“I’ll keep having them as long as he’s out there. And they’ll only get worse if Callie dies because of me.”
The gentleness left his tone. “This is not your fault.”
“Do you have the DVD?”
His eyes cut away.
“Nick!”
“I brought it last night.”
Scrambling off the bed, I held out my hand for him. “I need to watch it. Right now.”
Reluctantly, he nodded. “If it’s too much,” he said, grabbing my shoulders, “you’ll tell me?”
I agreed readily, tugging him from the room so he could fetch the movie. Pacing in front of the large, thin flat-screen mounted on the wall, I waited impatiently for him to appear.
The second he did, all my attention went to the slim case in his hand, and my mind began to reel. The calm I’d managed to regain thanks to Nick’s arms and my medication was being endangered by what I was about to see.
It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.
All that mattered was getting Callie back.
I paced more while Nick slid the DVD into the side of the flat-screen and picked up a thin remote. My quick movements were a direct contrast to his stillness as he called up the picture.
“Skip to the end,” I told him.
Once he was there, the picture paused, and he turned, stepping into my line of vision and blocking out everything else.
“Play it,” I urged, trying to go around him.
Catching my hand, he guided me to the couch, pulling me down beside him. “Are you sure about this? We already know there are similarities between his killings. This could...”
My eyes met his when he faltered.
He sighed. “I miss your blue eyes,” he murmured.
“This could trigger another panic attack. Is that what you’re worried about?”
He nodded.
“But if it helps, then that’s all that matters.”
“You matter.”
“Then do this for me,” I pleaded.
One of his hands lifted mine, linking our fingers together, and the other raised the remote and hit play.
My melodic whistling was interrupted by the sound of pathetic whimpering. I would have been angry at the ruination of my song, but I’d been waiting for this. For her.
She was weaker than my flame, her resolve more like a spark. The hit on the head knocked her out the entire night, which made it hard to play.
I looked forward to the lead of this movie showing up because this stand-in was rather lame.
But finally, she was awake.
This movie could begin.
“Hello?” she called out, her voice timid and afraid.
My whistling continued because the song wasn’t finished. She started crying, her pathetic, meek whining disturbing the song I was singing just for her.
“Shut up!” I screamed, burying the toe of my boot in her side to punctua
te the command.
“Ungh.” She gasped, falling over and curling in on herself.
I continued to whistle, finishing out the melody. When the song was over, I stared down at the quaking woman who was crying silently.
No fight in this one.
Not many had the kind of fight inside them strong enough to ignite a flame. Only few were enough to draw in The Moth and make him dance by the fire, risking his wings.
Horror movies were only good when the killer had a worthy opponent, someone who was capable of matching his wickedness with their own.
In the end, evil wicked would always win out over the pure hearted because death always won over life.
Grabbing a fistful of the blond hair on my captive’s head, I yanked her up. She cried out, grabbing at the hand pulling at her roots, smacking my wrists.
Ignoring her lowly attempts, I ripped the covering off her eyes. She cried out, her hand moving to her bleeding skull. Head wounds always bled so much, but plastic was good at keeping things tidy.
“I already picked out your spot,” I told her, pointing at a length of chain suspended from the ceiling.
Her eyes were shell-shocked and slightly foggy, but her blue stare followed my direction.
She stared as if she didn’t understand, so I kicked the plastic she was sitting on, giving her a clue.
The stand-in looked down, horrified at the blood smeared around and soaking her clothes. Adrenaline must have made it through her veins because she perked up, looking back at the chain and then near it to a chain that was not empty.
Covering her hand with her mouth, she screamed as she flung backward, forcing me to rip out some of her hair as she went. Her eyes were wide like saucers, and the fear permeating the air around us was a beautiful perfume.
Her stare bounced between all the cocoons hanging from the ceiling before looking back down at the plastic I would use to create hers.
“Your turn is coming.”
She started to scream, scrambling up to run away. Tilting my head, I watched as the chain shackled around her ankle halted her retreat.
Horrified, she grabbed at the metal, tugging and screaming.
“Let me go!” she begged. “Please!”
I stared at her. She would look better in a white gown that wasn’t stained with blood.
When I started to walk away, she called out, “Wait!”
I stopped. No one had ever asked me to stay with them before. I turned back.
“Please, don’t leave me here.”
The spark I saw in her grew a little brighter.
“Please,” she pleaded. “Tell me what you want.”
The sound of her calling me back made me hurry. The second I came into view, she fell back on her butt, weeping.
“Thank you for coming back.” Her voice was desperate. Like she needed me. “Why are you doing this?” she whimpered.
Tossing the folded gown beside her, I pointed to it.
When she reached for it with red-stained hands, I lunged, smacking them away. Cringing back, she folded in on herself. I snatched her hand, she screamed, but I held it out, showing her how filthy she was.
Staring between me and her hand, eventually, she nodded.
I let go, and she used the end of her dress to wipe off the blood. This time, when she reached for the gown, I didn’t stop her.
When I didn’t move or turn away, she peered up at me. “My head hurts.”
The chain slapped against the floor when I dragged her over. Her shouts and cries of pain echoed around the room as I ripped off the filthy clothing covering her body.
“No!” she cried, fighting. “No!”
I backhanded her across the face, making her fall silent.
After that, I dressed her in the nightgown, allowing it to fall into place over her legs.
When I was done, she scuttled back, wrapping her hands around her knees. “Th-thank y-you,” she said, not looking at me.
My head tilted. No one had ever thanked me before either.
Her eyes strayed to the hanging bundles of plastic around the room. Then she winced, putting a hand to her forehead.
Squatting, in front of her, I stared at the wound on her head.
Her movements stilled. Slowly, her hand lowered from her head, and her eyes met mine. She stared directly at my mask, not shrinking away, eyes traveling down to the hoodie, then back up again to my face. “Why do you seem so familiar? Why did you put on that mask? I’ve already seen your face.”
She gasped.
“Moth to a Flame,” she whispered, glancing down at the gown and then back up. “You killed Deborah Ascott... You killed Nick’s grandmother!”
Jolting upright, I paced away. Nick’s grandmother? Nick Preston... the same Nick who was keeping me from my flame?
“Who?” I demanded.
Cowering, she shook her head. “Nothing. I-it was just a g-guess.”
I pulled my leg back to kick her, and she fell over onto the floor. “No, please!”
“Explain!” I demanded again, holding my foot poised for attack.
“That’s why you’re doing this, right? Because I’m Nick’s assistant? I don’t know what kind of vendetta you have against his family, but haven’t they suffered enough? You killed his grandmother, his grandfather killed himself, and his mother has never had peace!”
My heart sped up, beating excitedly.
How poetic. I was drawn back to my flame because she was fatefully connected to my very first kill.
A horror film connected through decades... a sequel that was actually a saga. The opportunity for an epic conclusion.
She screamed and called out to me as I left the room, desperately trying to call me back. At first, I was slightly charmed that she wanted my company, but now I was busy.
If I made the connection, then my flame would too.
It wouldn’t be long now. She would be here soon.
Her nightgown brushed against her ankles, either urging her on or warning her to run away.
She couldn’t run anymore.
Out in the hallway, the creaking of the stairs proved she was right. Her heart accelerated to the point of pain. Her feet quickened farther into the bedroom until she bounced off one of the hanging bundles.
“He made me wear a nightgown like that,” Zoey whispered, eyes fastened to the screen, hand gripping mine like we might be ripped apart. “Long, white... the fabric was so heavy when it got wet, when he hosed me down. It felt like I was wearing a weighted vest, like my weak legs and injured body couldn’t possibly withhold the burden.”
My stomach flipped. The breakfast I’d eaten earlier sloshed around, but that wasn’t what made me queasy. It was the sound of her voice. The hollow way she spoke like she was possessed by demonic memories that no exorcism could purge.
“There were bodies like that where I was. Wrapped up in plastic, not opaque enough to hide the majority of his victims. Some of them had been cocooned for so long the state of their bodies was only contained by the material he wrapped them in.”
I didn’t look at the screen, and she didn’t look away. She was imprisoned by the horror in front of her, just as I was by the woman beside me.
Her feet pounded over the sound of her whimper as she weaved through the other dead bodies, rushing for the door. Out in the hall, she stopped, coming face to face with the killer who was obsessively drawn to her.
“It was just like that,” she murmured, hand squeezing me even tighter. “I ran through the bodies... but he was there.”
On the screen, my grandmother screamed as the knife drove into her body. It was a sound that haunted my nightmares. Even though I’d never known her, it didn’t matter. Her murder haunted me like a ghost with unfinished business, and now I understood why.
Zoey made a sound, her hand going to her shoulder where she had been stabbed.
“That’s enough,” I said, lifting the remote to shut off the TV.
“Wait!” she insisted, pushing my hand down.
“I need to see.”
Bloodcurdling screams filled the room, and Zoey cowered into my side, her body shaking like a newborn calf.
Enough.
Muting the sound instantly, the shrieks of murder cut off, but the clingy feeling of death permeated the room anyway.
Curling my arm around her, I tugged Zoey into my lap, pushing her head against my chest. She let me hold her, but her eyes strained to still see the TV.
“He just jumped right through the window,” she echoed, watching as he crashed through the glass. “That was for real?”
I made a sound of agreement.
Finally, her eyes came to me. “What happened after that?”
Gesturing, we both watched the final moments of Moth to a Flame’s sequel.
Red and blue lights flashed around a darkened yard. Broken glass glittered under the moonlight, and emergency responders milled around.
The camera focused from above, spanning down over the empty, bloodstained place where a body should have been. The murder weapon’s silvery blade was darkened with blood and abandoned amongst shards of glass.
Zooming in farther, a moth with irregular-shaped wings in tan and brown fluttered down, landing in the thick, sticky blood.
The echo of sirens and a fruitless search for a killer punctuated every flap of its dirty wings.
Then up it flew, dipping and rising against the dark sky, red staining it’s body as it escaped into the night just like the illusive killer.
“It was the same. But different,” she echoed, collapsing into me.
“Different how?” I murmured, stroking the side of her head and all the way down the length of her hair.
Zoey leaned her head against my chest and breathed deep. “In the movie, he stabbed her to death and then escaped into thin air. In real life, he stabbed me, knocked me out, then lit the place on fire, leaving me to burn to death.”
I made a sound. The picture she painted was horrifying. And it made the murder my grandmother suffered seem preferable.
“Why do you think he did that?” I murmured, trying to be solid and reasonable when I really wanted to be unstable and irrational.
“One of the school janitors grew suspicious of a van they often saw around the campus. He would drive around but never drop off or pick up a child. So the janitor wrote down the plate number and called it in. The van was registered to a man who coincidentally went to the high school many years before.”
Moth to a Flame Page 29
