“Yeah, good call,” he says, but I can tell he doesn’t like it. “I’ll be right here.”
I pop the recorder out of the package and fiddle with the batteries, fighting to get them in. After performing a couple of tests, making sure it’s working, I flash Levi what I’m sure is a scary smile. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck. Dude, you are Alexa Cross, Grim Reaper extraordinaire. You’ve got this.”
Taking a deep breath, I clutch my clipboard tightly, and bail out of the car. I still have no idea how I’m going to get into the building. Unfortunately, Death’s handy unlocking magic only works when there’s a soon to be dead person inside. Maybe I can just buzz all the apartments. Undoubtedly one of them will let me in.
It takes thirty-eight steps to reach the front door from my car. I know, I count each and every one. Nerves are jumping in my belly like grasshoppers, and it takes everything in me to not turn around.
I’m not sure why I’m so nervous. What’s the worst that can happen?
You can mess it up, and he’ll get away.
You can end up pissing off Death so much he sends you to Purgatory.
No. I can’t think like that. I. Just. Can’t. Because if I do, I’ll back out, and I’ve worked too damn hard to get this far.
I take another deep breath, lift my head up high, and open the first door.
Now what? I glance at the intercom system, spotting the killer’s name. Maybe I can buzz him directly?
As luck would have it, I don’t have to worry about it. A young girl, not more than twelve, bursts through the door. I move quickly, catching it just before it shuts, and slip in, passing who I assume is her mother, running out after her. She gives me a frazzled look, mouths, ‘sorry,’ and darts out the door.
In the elevator, I turn on the recorder, sticking it into the pocket of my jacket, hoping that the leather isn’t too thick, and it’ll pick up his voice. When the door opens on the killer’s floor, I clutch my clipboard tighter and step off.
This is it. I’m going to do it. I’m going to catch a serial killer.
I reach his apartment door and pause.
I take a calming breath.
And I take another.
And then, I knock.
SIXTEEN
THE DOOR OPENS, INCH by slow inch. P. Maxwell looks different, not as put together, wearing baggy gray sweatpants and a grungy white tee that’s damp around the collar. His light brown hair is wet, and beads of sweat cling to his forehead. He looks at me, his bright blue eyes roaming my length before settling on my face, as he leans against the doorframe. “What?”
“Hi,” I say, shooting him what I hope is a bright, friendly smile. It feels wrong and forced, though, and maybe a little scary. “My name’s Sam. Sam Smith.”
He sucks in a deep breath and meets my eyes squarely. “Do I know you?”
“No, sir,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t think so.”
“What do you want?” he asks, but his tone says he really doesn’t care.
“I’m conducting a survey on perception for a college assignment,” I say, glancing down at my clipboard. “I was hoping you’d be able to spare a few minutes.”
P. Maxwell hesitates, once again scanning me over, eyes narrowing. After a moment, he shakes his head. “I don’t really—”
“Please,” I say before he has a chance to finish. “It’ll take five minutes. Ten tops.”
Silence.
He stares at my face. There’s a flicker of recognition, so small and so quick that I wonder if I just imagine it. It was dark this morning. He probably didn’t get that good of a look at me.
It’s just nerves. Relax, Alexa. You’ve got this.
“Fine,” he says, and steps back from the door, motioning for me to come in. “Five minutes. That’s it.
“Thank you,” I say, and slip past him. “Thank you so much. I haven’t had many takers on this, and I was getting worried I wouldn’t finish the assignment.”
The apartment is large, and the décor screams man cave. Black leather furniture, vintage signs on the walls. The dining area has been transformed into a workout room, with weights and a treadmill. I guess that explains the sweatiness.
He leads me over to the couch, motioning for me to take a seat. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Water would be great,” I say, sitting down. “Thank you.”
P. Maxwell disappears into the kitchen, and suddenly, sitting alone in a serial killer’s living room, I almost wish I hadn’t asked Levi to wait outside because everything looks so... normal and it’s, well, creepy.
I’m not sure what exactly I expected to find, but interrupting his workout wasn’t it.
“Here you go,” P. Maxwell says. He sets a glass of water on the coffee table in front of me, and then takes a seat in the loveseat across from me, leaning back and draping an arm over the back. “I’m all yours. Ask away.”
“Okay, here we go...” I glance at my clipboard and poise my pen, and then I wing it. “Your name?”
“Perry Maxwell,” he says.
I jot it down and ask the next question that pops into my head. “How long have you lived in this area?”
“Ten years.”
“Married? Divorced? Single?”
“Divorced,” he says. “How does this have anything to do with perception?”
“It doesn’t,” I say and smile. “These questions are just to help categorize your answers. We’ll get to the good stuff in just a minute.”
“Fine,” he says and rolls his hand. “Clocks ticking.”
“Age?”
“Forty-two.”
“Any children?”
“No.”
“Okay, that’s it for those,” I say, as I scribble down the last answer, trying to make it believable. “Now the good stuff. How do you feel about clowns?”
Perry makes a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a grunt. I tear my eyes away from the clipboard just in time to see him pull a knife from behind his back.
In a shockingly fast move, he’s out of his chair. I jump up, scrambling around the couch, trying to get something in between us, but it doesn’t help. In no time, he has me backed up against the wall, one hand pressed beside my head, and the other, holding a knife against my throat. I can feel the cruel edge biting into my skin. As ridiculous as it is, because I can’t die again, the sensation sends a prickle of fear through me.
How didn’t I notice the weapon? He must have grabbed it while getting me the glass of water. I should have been more aware. I should have...
You’re fine. Calm down. You can’t die. He can’t hurt you.
“I knew I recognized you,” he says, his sharp breath puffing against my face. “You’re the girl who followed me this morning, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I say, figuring there’s really no point in denying it.
He laughs, the same cold and heartless sound that I heard just hours before when he killed Levi. “Curious. You know who I am, what I am, and you still risk coming here. Why?”
“Because I want to know why you did it,” I say. “I want to know why you’re killing people.”
Another cold laugh. “Curious.”
We stare at each other. He’s watching me with a guarded expression, and I fight hard not to move when he presses the blade harder against my throat. I need to get a confession before he tries to kill me because I’m pretty sure he’ll have a heart attack when he slits my throat and I don’t die.
“Why did you do it?” I ask again. “Tell me why.”
He takes a little too long to answer. It might be caution, but it might also indicate he’s lying. It’s hard to tell. “Because I could.”
“No, that’s not good enough,” I counter. “Why did you end their lives?”
He leans into me, and whispers in my ear, “Because I wanted to. Just like I want to kill you now. No reason. Just a want.”
I stare at him for a long few seconds, and then very quietly, I say
, “You’re sick, you know that, right?”
There’s a flicker in his expression, a bit of shock, and he releases some of the pressure at my throat, but he doesn’t pull the knife away. “I like clowns,” he says, and for a moment, I’m not sure why he’s telling me this. He must see the confusion on my face, because he adds, “You asked how I feel about clowns. Well, they make me happy. My parents were clowns. In a circus.” He stalls, his eyes suddenly taking on a faraway look. “They were the best.”
“So, these killings...” I stall, grasping at my words. My throat feels tight, my mouth, dry. There’s something wrong with this man. Something very, very wrong. “They have something to do with your parents?”
“No,” he snaps, and his eyes flash with anger. “My parents have nothing to do with anything. I don’t think they’d be too happy about it, actually. But they aren’t here anymore. They can’t judge me anymore.”
“Then why the clown masks?” I ask. “What’s the point?”
He gives me a look that clearly says he doesn’t think I’m too smart. “Because they make me happy. Clowns. They make me laugh.”
I start to fire back another question, but I can’t find the words. He’s serious. I can see it in his eyes.
It’s sick.
He’s sick. Twisted. Wrong.
I swallow hard. “Why are you killing people?”
“I already told you that, little girl, because I can. Because I want to.”
“So, you admit it then,” I say. “You killed Levi and Greg and Chris?”
“I did,” he says, and a twisted smile splits his lips. “And I’m going to kill you, too.”
Cold creeps up my spine, and a chill shivers down my arms. There’s something in that smile that makes me want to throw up.
His smile grows, and he leans in impossibly closer.
And then, someone pounds on the door, and Perry jumps. The knife cuts into my skin, and I gasp at the sharp pain.
“Police! Open up!”
Cameron. He got my note.
“Cameron,” I shout. “Cameron, I’m in here. He has a knife!”
SEVENTEEN
EVERYTHING HAPPENS in a blur.
The door flies open, and then Cameron is there, a gun in his hands. And Kristin is there, too. I can see her bright hair, poking out from behind Cameron. What is she doing here?
The knife cuts deeper, and I gasp.
“Drop it,” Cameron shouts. “Drop the knife. Let her go.”
“Get out,” Perry says. “I’ll kill her. I’ll do it.”
And then, there’s a gunshot.
Perry slumps forward, and I quickly push him off of me. He hits the ground with a thud, and Kristin is there, hovering over him.
I open my mouth, to say... I don’t even know what, but she shakes her head. “Cloaking spell, babe. You okay?”
I nod, just a slight dip of my chin, and then I’m in Cameron’s arms. He’s saying something. His hands move to my face, forcing me to look at him. I blink. I see his lips moving, but my ears are ringing and he sounds very far away.
Cameron pulls me away from Perry, and officers swarm in. There’s so much noise. People shouting. Commands being issued. Absolute chaos.
And then, I’m in the hallway, and Kristin is there, too, with a very confused looking spirit. She winks at me, and takes off, with Perry’s ghost following behind her.
“Alexa!” Cameron shouts, and I startle, jumping back. “Are you okay?”
I study him for a second, my racing heart finally slowing, and I nod. “I’m fine. But why did you do that? Why did you shoot him?”
“He was going to kill you,” Cameron says, cupping my face in his hands once again. “I had to. He was going to kill you.”
Kill me? I nearly blurt out how impossible that is, but thankfully, I catch myself. “I had it under control.”
“He had a knife to your throat,” Cameron counters. “Dammit, Alexa! What the hell were you thinking?”
“You needed proof,” I say, fishing my recorder out of my pocket. I press the stop button and hand it to him. “Here it is.”
He blinks. “You came here to get a confession?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I know I should have—”
He captures my lips with his, stopping me midsentence. I tense for a heartbeat, but it doesn’t last. Cameron’s lips are both hard and soft—desperate. I melt into him, and when he finally breaks away, I’m gasping for breath.
“That was incredibly stupid,” he says. “I should be furious with you.”
“Maybe,” I agree, stunned by the kiss and how extremely right it felt. “But it worked, didn’t it?”
He stares at me, searching my eyes as he combs his fingers through my hair, brushing it away from my face. I don’t know what he’s looking for, and I’m not sure I like the intensity of his stare.
Whatever’s happening, though, it’s something. Something good. I feel it right down to my dead bones.
“You’re bleeding,” he whispers, his eyes stuck on my throat.
“It’s not mine,” I lie because the cut healed seconds after it happened. I swipe at the blood, though, most likely smearing it all over the place, just to show I’m not hurt. “See? I’m fine.”
“Kelley,” an officer says, and clears his throat. We both look at him. “You know the drill. Got to stay away from her until the reports are done.”
Cameron lifts his chin to the officer, and then says to me, “This isn’t over, yeah?”
I nod. “Okay.”
THE NEXT HOUR IS MORE of a blur. Cameron and I are split up, and I’m questioned, and then questioned again and again. Why was I here? How did I know? The same things over and over. I stick to my psychic story, telling the officers I saw it all in a vision.
Not a single one believes me.
I get checked out by a paramedic, and for the first time since I died, I realize why Death uses magic to make sure his Reapers hearts still beat. It’s all an illusion, but I’d be in an even bigger pickle at the moment without it. They give me the all clear and hand me a card with a counselor’s information just in case.
I’m starting to get antsy when another officer tries to question me. I haven’t seen Levi yet, but I can still feel him. He’s out there, waiting for me.
“Look,” I say. “I’ve already answered all your questions. Do we really need to go through this again?”
The woman gives me a sympathetic look and glances at her notes. “No, you’re right. You can go, but don’t leave town. We might have more questions for you.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Can I see Cameron?”
She shakes her head. “Not yet. Best you two don’t talk until he’s all cleared.”
Right. I nod. “Tell him I’m okay, will you?”
“I will,” she says. “Go home. Grab a shower and get some rest. You’ll be feeling better in no time.”
The officer gives me a small smile before turning away, and I start toward my car, wondering where Levi has gotten off to. I don’t make it very far though, stalling after just a few steps, because Death is waiting for me, leaning against my car.
EIGHTEEN
I DON’T WALK VERY FAST, even though it’s still raining. It’s slowed to just a light drizzle, but the weather seems... fitting somehow. Gloomy and cold. Perfect for my walk of doom.
“Please tell me you’re visible to everyone,” I say when I finally reach him. “I’m kind of getting sick of the way people have been looking at me.”
Death chuckles. That’s a good sign, right? “Yes, Alexa,” he says. “I’m visible.”
“Okay, good,” I ask and glance around. Where the heck is Levi? It takes a second, but I finally spot him, lying down in the back seat of my car. Taking a nap? I sigh, looking back at Death. “What are you doing here? Please tell me you’re not here to give me another lecture. It’s been a long day, and I’m really not in the mood.”
Death shakes his head. “No lecture, Alexa. I’m simply concerned you’re not adjus
ting to your new life.”
I raise my eyebrows and stare at him. “I’m adjusting just fine.”
“I’m not sure I’d call everything you’ve done in the last twenty-four hours adjusting,” he says. “You have too much compassion.”
That makes me laugh—hard. It’s probably just the after effects of confronting that psycho, shock settling, but still, I laugh and laugh, not stopping until my belly hurts.
Death says nothing, but he stares at me like I might have gone mad.
It’s entirely possible. I’m feeling a little crazy right now.
I pull in a breath, and another small laugh comes out. “I’m sorry,” I say. “But that’s why you wanted me in the violent deaths sector, wasn’t it? My compassion, my empathy... If I recall correctly, you thought this was the perfect fit for me.”
“Perhaps I was wrong.”
I can’t even say he’s not wrong. I never really thought I was suited for violent deaths, and I’ve told him as much on numerous occasions.
“That’s entirely possible,” I agree, “but I suspect if you actually believed that, I wouldn’t be standing here right now talking to you about it.”
I’m almost sure that’s true. I can’t see Death wasting his time on a heart-to-heart when he is really about to banish me.
At least I hope he wouldn’t because that would be seriously cruel. He may be Death, but he’s never struck me as mean.
“I’m putting you on suspension while I consider how to handle this.”
Suspended? He cannot be serious.
“You’re kidding me,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air. “What is there to consider? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
He lets a few seconds go by, and then he says, “You can’t possibly have thought you could sneak around without consulting me and there not be consequences.”
I knew it. He’s a big old teddy bear.
I smirk. “You’re worried what other Reapers will think.”
Death doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to. His smile gives him away.
“So, this is more like a vacation.”
Going Rogue Page 8
