by Jane Blythe
So Isabella had come up with this plan.
She had always known that Logan was evil, but it had been Sofia’s dreams that had given her the first insight into just what a monster he really was. After listening to Sofia talk in her sleep about the terrifying things she’d seen in the basement, Isabella had begun to investigate. She’d set up cameras and microphones down there and managed to get tangible proof of what Logan was up to. That was when she knew she had to act. If the others wouldn’t take care of Logan, then she would. She would take care of all of them.
Still, having this place crawling with police was worrying. They now knew that Logan had been kidnapping, raping and killing women, then burying their bodies in the basement.
That could end up being a good thing. It would keep the focus of their investigation firmly on Logan. Which should mean they would have no need to look elsewhere. They would just assume Logan was wiping out his family because they knew what he had been doing.
The flip side was that Isabella didn’t know just how much Sofia would remember. Her sister might know more than she thought, something that could divert the police’s attention away from Logan. She was going to have to get Sofia alone at some point and find out the specifics of what was going on.
She was so close now. There was only the judge left to kill. And then Logan would be lucky last. Then she would disappear forever. She was so close to finishing that it would be devastating for anything to happen that would derail her plan.
Isabella wasn’t going to let that happen.
She’d go check on Logan, whom she was positive the police would never stumble upon, even if they searched the entire house. Next, she’d take out the judge once the estate quieted down for the night. Then she’d go and speak with her sister and make sure that Logan was still the number one suspect.
Right now she still had her options open as to how to end things. She could kill Logan and make it look like suicide, like he’d killed himself because the police were closing in on him. Or she could kill him and hide the body, make it look like he had fled the country. Or she could kill him openly, take all the credit, say that he had come back to try and kill her again, and she had killed him first in self-defense.
However, the police might somehow get suspicious of her or they might lose interest in Logan and move on to someone else, maybe revive their theory that it was someone with a grudge against the family. Whatever they thought, if Logan was no longer a suspect, then Isabella would have to make him look like another victim, then make herself disappear.
First things first; she’d go back to Logan.
She slipped unnoticed up the stairs and back to the attic. Inside the hidden room Logan was still unconscious. Perhaps she had gone a little overboard earlier. But he had made her mad when he’d said that she hadn't done anything to stop him either. She had done something. She’d done what needed to be done. And it was working.
Taking a glass of ice water, she threw it over his face. “Wakey, wakey, Logan,” she sing-songed.
He groaned.
Impatient now, Isabella slapped at his cheeks. “Come on, Logan, wake up now. I don’t have all day; I have things to do.”
Another groan, but his eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus on her. “I was hoping you were just a nightmare,” he muttered weakly.
“Well too bad for you,” she snarled, “because I'm real. Probably all too real for you.” She studied him closely, wondering whether he would finally own the truth after all these years.
Brow furrowed, “What do you mean? I wish you'd stop talking in riddles.”
“Still can't say it out loud?” she mocked. “Want me to help? I'm your daughter.”
Shock flashed across his face. “How... how did you find out?”
Shrugging, “I got curious as to who our mothers were, did some DNA testing. Imagine my surprise to find out that the judge isn’t my father, but you are. You and Brooke,” she spat out the woman’s name. “Your father’s mistress. Disgusting.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Logan stammered.
“What I don’t understand,” Isabella plowed on, ignoring Logan, “is why she was different than your other victims. Was it because she was too old? I mean, you liked girls, right? Young women my age. You lured them here, probably with the promise of money, and then you tied them up in the basement, raped them repeatedly, and then made them beg you for their lives. But Brooke, my mother, you let her live. Why?”
“Because he told me to,” Logan answered simply.
“The judge?”
“Who else?” Logan snapped.
“Always gotta do what daddy tells you to?” she mocked.
“He said Brooke knew too much. That she was too smart. That too many people knew she was obsessed with our family. That killing her would draw attention to me, to us. He said if I was going to kill, then it had to be girls who no one would ever link to me. So that’s what I did,” Logan’s face grew dreamy, as he presumably reminisced about the time he’d spent with his victims. Then his face grew sharp, “With them, it was the only time I was ever in control.”
“Boohoo to you,” she scoffed. “Your daddy was controlling, so you had to kill women. I don’t care why you did it, I only care about making you stop. Which I have. You won't ever kill another girl again.”
“But you,” he met her eye and held her gaze, “you will. You think you can stop after I'm dead? You think you won't ever be tempted to kill again? You're even more delusional than I thought. Don’t forget, I'm your father.”
“We are not the same,” Isabella returned confidently.
“I'm a killer and your mother used you to get rich, sold you to my father. You think murder and selfishness aren’t in your genes?” his tone was condescending now.
Rage bubbled inside her. She wasn’t going to be ridiculed by the father who had never acknowledged her. Before she even knew what she was doing, her hand had whipped out and slapped his face. “Brooke begged, you know. Begged for her life. Offered me money. That’s how stupid she was. Offered me money, when the only money she had came from blackmailing the judge.”
“She didn’t know what I was doing, Isabella,” Logan grew serious. “Why did you kill her?”
“Because she deserved it,” Isabella spat out. “She dumped me like I was garbage.”
“See,” Logan raised a pointed red brow. “It was personal. You killed her because you wanted to. She’s your mother and you murdered her, not because of me and what I did, but because you didn’t like her.”
“Brooke Mariano was not my mother,” she ranted. “She was nothing more than the woman who gave birth to me.”
“She was pregnant,” Logan was reproachful now.
“The baby wasn’t yours,” she informed him. “The police said it was the judge’s; that’s why they arrested him for her murder.”
“Still to kill a pregnant woman...”
“You actually care,” Isabella was shocked, hadn't thought her biological father was capable of loving or even caring about someone else. “You actually liked her.”
“We were a lot alike. If the judge had let me, I would have married Brooke.”
“Then you could have murdered together,” she said snidely. “The police know. They know everything. They found your room in the basement. That’s why they now think you’re the killer. So I can do whatever I want without having to worry about them suspecting me. I get to finish off the judge, then take care of you, and disappear forever, and no one will be any the wiser.”
So far Logan had remained fairly calm, probably thinking he could somehow bond with her and convince her to let him go, but when she took a menacing step toward him, fear flashed through his eyes.
“You don’t have to kill me, Isabella,” his voice was laced with terror. “We can run away together. Father and daughter, together at last. Please, please don’t kill me. I'm begging you, please,” tears began to seep out, tumbling down his cheeks.
“Begging, just like your vi
ctims,” she grinned, enjoying her father’s horror. “You know it’s not really me you should be worried about, but Sofia.”
“Why?” he managed to choke out past a sob.
“Because Sofia knows things. Even if the police found us before I kill you, you’ll only be going straight off to jail.”
“How... how does Sofia know?”
“Because she was your first.”
* * * * *
10:58 P.M.
He was enjoying the cool night air.
It had been a long week. A long, unpleasant week.
These last few days had been the worst.
Being arrested, taken to a police station, going through booking like a common criminal. It had been humiliating, and Judge Logan Everette was furious about it. Having to disclose what he had been doing while Brooke Mariano was killed had been the most mortifying of all. Knowing that people had seen him and Mary-Anne in their most intimate of moments was simply appalling.
All he’d wanted upon leaving the police station was the peace and quiet of being left alone in his own home, and even that had been denied him. His house had been crawling with police officers and crime scene techs basically the entire time. The killer had invaded his estate once again to make an attempt on Isabella’s life. The girl had survived, apparently because Sofia had interrupted the killer, and some pathetically inept young officers had woken him up to inquire whether he wanted to accompany his daughters to the hospital. Of course he had not. His girls were used to taking care of themselves.
Then Sofia must have remembered what she’d seen in the basement as a child because her cop boyfriend and his partner had taken her down there, following which, once again, the house had been filled to the brim with what seemed like half the police department. Looking back, Logan supposed it had always been inevitable that eventually the truth would come out. Perhaps he should have handled things differently back then.
Now it seemed that even if he managed to survive this brutal killer’s scheme to annihilate his family, his life was ruined anyway. No longer would he be a respected and feared judge. Now he would forever be the man whose family had been murdered. The man whose son was a violent psychopath. The man who had been questioned for murder.
Logan was wondering whether his life was even worth living.
Everything he’d worked so hard to control had all fallen apart.
He had always prided himself on knowing his wife and his children so well. Knowing the way their minds worked and what they were likely to do in any situation, so that he knew how to best manipulate them. And despite what they sometimes thought, there was very little he didn’t know about each and every member of his family.
Gloria, his weak and pathetic wife, Logan was not at all sad about her death. He had picked her for those very qualities. He needed a wife who wasn’t going to be independent, who was going to be able to be pressured into complying with his every whim. It hadn't taken him long to squash a young Gloria’s spirit. Until the suicide attempt that led to her affair and subsequent pregnancy. Despite what he’d told the detectives, he had indeed engineered Gloria’s young son’s demise. It hadn't been hard to coerce the young maid into complying with his plan, a scandalous romp in the bedroom where he had snapped some photos of her naked and the girl had been so terrified that he’d show them to her devoutly religious family that she had been putty in his hands. He hadn't wanted to kill the child, but it had become evident that Gloria was never going to be interested in procuring him an heir while she had a child of her own. Needless to say, he was surprised that she had managed to figure out he was behind the little boy’s death.
Isabella, that girl was an odd one. She was quiet and shy and studious. She never said much, but she was always watching everything with those somber gray eyes. He probably should have paid more attention to her. She always seemed to be at the right place at the right time to see and overhear things she shouldn’t. If he was honest, he had probably neglected putting the time and energy into her that he had the others, because she wasn’t his. Although he was starting to think that was a mistake. If both he and the girl survived, then he would keep much closer tabs on her in the future.
Sofia, the only member of the family that he hadn't had to worry about. The girl was a relentless do-gooder. Working tirelessly for charities, helping those less fortunate whenever she could, honestly loving and caring for others. She hadn't even cared when he’d threatened to cut her off financially. If he hadn't known for a fact that she was an Everette, then he would never have believed it. The only thing she had ever done to truly frustrate him was refusing to marry Edmund Kendall. And this taking up with a police detective was out of the question. Again, if both of them survived this killing spree, then he was going to have to put an end to this infatuation with the policeman and marry her off to a suitable young man as soon as possible.
Lincoln, the gambler. For some reason his youngest son seemed to think that he was unaware of his huge gambling debts. If it wasn’t for him, then Lincoln would be missing a few fingers or limbs or possibly even his life. Whenever Lincoln racked up debts too high he could never manage to pay them off, then he would step in, and wipe out some of the debt so Lincoln’s loan sharks didn’t come after him. He should have pushed harder to marry that one off, too. A bit of responsibility to tie him down would have been good for Lincoln. Should have nipped the affair with Brooke in the bud, too. Now that he knew Brooke was writing a book about the family, he was pretty sure that Lincoln would have been the source of her insider information. Too bad the boy was dead, or he would have taught him a lesson for betraying his family in such a way.
Lewis, the pathetic one. Probably the most obedient of the children he had raised. The only one who had never really caused him any trouble. He was weak-willed; it never took much to pressure him into doing something. He had married the woman chosen for him, worked in the family businesses as a reliable, although unremarkable, employee. If all of his children had been as easy to manage as Lewis, he probably could have had another ten.
Logan Everette IV. His namesake. He should have suspected from the beginning that his firstborn was the killer. But it was one thing for his son to kill strangers—random girls. But to kill his own family, the thought had never occurred to him until it was too late. He should have taken care of that boy years ago when he first found out that he was a killer. Logan had been just a child. Only eight years old. He had walked in on the boy beating a cat with a hammer. The hammer swinging down on the cat’s already lifeless body again and again and again. He had known then that the boy was trouble. He had tried to at least turn his son’s murderous impulses in a direction that would bring the family the least amount of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t allow the family name to be tarnished, so he had covered up Logan’s crimes. If it wasn’t for him, the police would have found out what Logan had been up to years ago.
Brooke Mariano, while she may not be a member of his family, she was certainly well entrenched in it. He was pleased that she was dead. And that she had suffered. She had caused him enormous amounts of aggravation and cost him hundreds of thousands of dollars. What was worse is that he could blame no one but himself for inflicting her on his family. At first she had seemed like all the other young bimbos he bedded. But she had been different. Smart and calculating. Then Logan had become interested in her, tried to make her one of his victims. He had stopped Logan from killing her, only to have her come back at them with demands for money in exchange for Logan’s baby and her silence. Then she had come back years later, and unable to escape the allure of being in bed with her, he had once again begun an affair with her. As had Logan and Lincoln. And once again the witch had turned up pregnant and demanded more money for the baby and to keep his family’s secrets. She had deserved what she had gotten.
What a mess of a family he had created. If he had known all the pain and trouble his children were going to cause him, he may not have been as enthusiastic to have heirs as he had been as a youn
g man. Even as he thought it, though, he knew it could never have been so. Logan couldn’t explain the burning desire inside him to produce children. It was like it took him over, it was all he could think about, all he could …
Something whizzed past him. And then fire erupted in his shoulder and he clutched at it, his brain refusing to comprehend what was happening. Bringing his hand away from his shoulder, he was surprised to find it sticky with blood.
His own blood.
Someone was shooting at him.
Snapping back into the moment, he spun to face the direction the shot had been fired from, expecting to see Logan standing there, but instead it was …
“Isabella?”
“Surprise,” she grinned at him.
“It was you?”
“Yep,” she nodded agreeably.
“You killed them all?”
“Yes.”
“You killed Brooke?”
“Uh huh.”
“And Gloria?”
“Yep.”
“Lincoln and Lewis?”
Looking at him impatiently, “We can keep going like this or you can just accept that I was telling the truth when I said I killed them all.”
“Wh…why?” he stammered, still unable to process that his sixteen-year-old granddaughter was the killer.
“I think we both know the answer to that…grandfather,” she replied snidely.
“You know,” he said flatly, the reality that he wasn’t as good at keeping things hidden as he thought he was sinking in. Isabella knew and Sofia knew, and Gloria, too, of course. Lewis and Lincoln had known only that their brother was a rapist, but he supposed that was enough. Simone knew it all too, although she was too afraid of what Logan would do to her if she ever told anyone.
“Of course I know, and thanks to Sofia, the police know now, too. They have proof, so you can't just go painting Sofia as sick and delusional,” she raised a reproachful red eyebrow.
