Killer Within

by S. E. Green

  She’s got to be kidding.

  She taps her spoon and sets it aside.

  “Did you have any interaction with Daisy?” I ask.

  Marji smiles again. I hate her smile. “Yes. It was all very sweet.”

  I don’t believe her. “Did you think me and you skinning a cat was sweet, too?”

  She chuckles and says, “Oh, Lane,” and takes a sip of her coffee.

  I want to grab her cup and smash it into her face.

  “How did your mom really die?” she asks.

  I choose to answer that question with one of my own. “How many of the killings were you there for?”

  “About half of them.”

  “Did you participate or did you just watch?”

  Her eyes brighten. “Oh, I definitely participated. I was even there for that one you witnessed too.” She gets this faraway look on her face like she’s remembering, and that look, almost one of fondness, sickens me. “Who knew all those animals we tortured when we were kids would transform into the greatness your mom became.”

  I stand up. I’ve heard enough. “You make me sick. What do you think this is? A friendly visit?” If only she knew what I’m capable of doing to her.

  Marji reaches out and tenderly takes my hand. “Your mom was so quick to embrace things when we were kids. Just like you did.”

  I yank my hand from her creepy grasp. “I am nothing like my mother.”

  “Oh, but you really are.”

  I get right in her face. “You’re part of this. You helped make me into who I am. I hate you.”

  “I don’t care who you are. I fully accept you.” Marji closes the one-inch gap between us, and she kisses me on the cheek.

  I rear back and punch her in the face.

  My cell rings and it startles me. I don’t know why, but I pull it out of my pocket and look. It’s Dr. Issa. “What?” I snap into the phone.

  “I heard you took the day off. Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  He doesn’t immediately respond, then, “Where are you?”

  I look straight across the kitchen at Marji, my aunt, as she stares right back at me, smiling again.

  Ugh.

  “I’m fine.” I click my phone off. “Are you JDL?”

  She blinks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t.” I shove my phone in my pocket and walk straight past her out the front door. She’s either lying or there are two people following me.

  “See ya later,” she yells after me, and I ignore her and whatever game she thinks she’s playing.

  As I peel out of her parking lot, I glance up to see her waving from her doorway.

  I’m coming back for you, bitch.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I DRIVE LIKE A DEMON on fire back up I-95. I don’t care if I get stopped. Bring it on. I weave in and out of traffic, get honked at, floor the gas, and push my Jeep to ninety. If I could, I’d drive off the end of the earth right now.

  Mom and Marji are sisters. Deranged sisters. Victor has to know. Why wouldn’t he have told me I have an aunt? Mom and Marji. Me and Daisy. Sisters.

  Hell no, Daisy and I are nothing like them.

  Marji said they stayed in contact. Did they meet in secret to what, talk about old times? Teach me to be like them? Teach Daisy?

  Oh God.

  I don’t get it. None of this makes sense.

  Why—why—WHY lead this life with kids and Victor? Was it some master plan—all for a cover so she could live this other crazy existence?

  Did Mom intend for me to find those pictures? She intended for me to be the next Decapitator, this I know. But what were her intentions with Daisy? What, she had two daughters and thought, Let me see which one is the darkest ?

  So if she and Marji had been hurting animals and doing their evil stuff way before they met my real dad, then she’d been planning on this for years. Her first kill hadn’t been a crime of passion, like she claimed. Who’s to say my preschool teacher was her first kill? She and Marji could’ve very well butchered a person before that. She and Marji could’ve practiced on several people for all I know.

  Panic ricochets through me as I grip my steering wheel and do something I never do. I scream.

  A semi driver blares his horn. I yank my Jeep right in front of him and slam on my brakes. He slams on his and skids, and I gun my engine to take the Falls Church exit. Horns echo after me, and I clench my teeth in need. If I could kill someone right now, I would.

  I totally get why Tommy comes out here on his bike and drives the way he does. It’s reckless and stupid. I’m fully aware of this. But it’s an out for the anger scorching my insides.

  I can’t go home. I need something . . . now.

  I drive the back roads to—I’m not sure where. Find myself in Seven Corners, then in the parking lot of an apartment complex I know of but have never actually been to.

  I climb from my Jeep, slam my door, and take the outside steps two at a time. I find the apartment I’m looking for and bang on the door.

  It swings open and I don’t wait for a welcome; I just charge right on in.

  “Lane, what are you doing here?” Dr. Issa cautiously asks. “How did you know where I live?”

  “Zach told me.” I turn on him. “Who am I?”

  “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “I just found out . . .”

  He waits.

  My mind reels with the enormity of it all, and I want to tell him. I need to tell him. “I just found out my mom has a sister and was hiding a lot of secrets from me.”

  Dr. Issa doesn’t even blink. “What secrets?”

  I stare into his dark eyes, sink into them, really. What am I doing? I have to get in control. I can’t tell him who I am. Who my mom was. Marji. My real dad. The pictures. What am I doing? I grab my head. I have to stop thinking. I have to focus.

  I close my eyes. Aarrgghh . . .

  “Lane?”

  My eyes snap open, and whatever he sees in them makes him step back.

  “You need to leav—”

  I launch myself at him, cover his mouth with my own, press my body to his. Somewhere in the far depths of my brain I’m aware he’s resisting, but I don’t stop.

  He turns and pushes me against the wall, and everywhere in my brain it now registers he’s no longer resisting.

  I wrap my legs around him and he grinds against me. I dig my fingers into his hair and he rips my coat open. I shove him back onto the couch, straddle him, and ride his erection right into climax. I cry out. Then he does. And we both fall limply against each other.

  I swallow, my eyes closed, every cell in my body vibrating in numb pulses.

  I don’t know how much time passes, but I finally open my eyes to see him gently pushing me off him.

  He scrubs his hands down his face. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

  I slowly, carefully, get to my feet. I tune in to myself and realize my brain is completely, blessedly, empty. “I needed that.”

  He looks up at me from the couch. “That can’t happen again.”

  “I know.” He’s twenty-five. I’m seventeen. I know.

  Dr. Issa glances at the open door. And sighs. “God, I didn’t realize that was open.”

  I look down at my clothes, only now realizing that other than my jacket neither one of us unbuttoned, unzipped, un-nothinged. Both of our jeans are fully intact.

  “I’m going to go.” I don’t wait for a response and instead walk right out the open door, down to my Jeep, and climb back inside.

  My phone rings. Zach. Talk about a shitty coincidence. “Hey.”

  “I wasn’t sure you’d answer.”

  I put my key in and crank my engine.

  “What are you doing?
” he asks.

  Humping your brother. “On my way home. Did you need something?”

  Zach doesn’t respond. So much time goes by that I check my phone, see we’re still connected, and prompt, “Zach?”

  He sighs. “No, I guess not. Sorry. Bye.”

  He clicks off and I consider calling back but dial Dr. Issa instead. He doesn’t pick up, which doesn’t surprise me. It rolls to voice mail and I simply say, “Zach just called me. He doesn’t sound good. Check on him.”

  I drive straight home, and despite the call from Zach, my brain still stays pleasantly empty. No spinning thoughts. No urges to curb. It seems orgasms from the Issa brothers might be the key to maintaining my sanity.

  This thought has me smiling to myself as I walk the sidewalk to our front door.

  “Hey.”

  I glance up to see Tommy sitting on his motorcycle. I immediately think of that kiss on my cheek. His whiskers. And get turned on imagining what would’ve happened if I’d visited him instead of Dr. Issa.

  He studies me for a second. “I’ve never seen you smile before.”

  “Nor I you.”

  Tommy nods at that. “Point taken.”

  “How did you know where I live?”

  “Went to Patch and Paw and asked. They told me.”

  “They’re not to supposed to tell you that information.”

  Tommy shrugs. “I know. I was surprised. Anyway, I wanted to apologize.”

  “For?”

  “Last time. I feel like I might have accused you or blamed you or something.”

  “You didn’t. We’re good.”

  He glances at my front door, and I get the distinct impression he didn’t come to apologize. “I get it,” I decide to tell him. “The crazy driving. I did it today. It makes sense now.”

  “No it doesn’t. It’s stupid.”

  “True. It is. But I get it.” I’m fully aware I don’t have to tell him this, but something inside me says he needs to hear it.

  “Thanks.”

  Our front door opens and Gramps steps out. He looks down the steps at us. First me, then Tommy. “Dinner’s on. Who’s your friend?”

  My gramps really does annoy me. “Tommy. He’s in my grief group.”

  This seems to appease him. “Five minutes.”

  I want to tell him to get started without me, but I know this’ll press my luck. “Okay.”

  Gramps closes the door, and a VW Bug pulls up. It double parks and Catalina steps out. Marji, Dr. Issa, Zach, Tommy, and now Catalina all in one day. Suddenly my blessedly calm brain isn’t so tranquil.

  She waves—“Lane”—then glances at Tommy. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

  I look between them. “You two know each other?”

  He doesn’t answer and instead cranks his engine and drives off.

  O-kay. That was rude.

  Catalina steps onto the sidewalk. “Yeah, we know each other. He used to be a pretty active member on the Masked Savior site.”

  Isn’t this interesting? “He’s not on anymore?”

  She shakes her head. “Not for a while now.”

  Huh. Tommy used to be a member of “my” site. Why would he have stopped posting?

  “But anyway, I was driving past your neighborhood and thought I’d stop in and tell you something.”

  I raise my brows, waiting.

  “I heard my dad talking on the phone. Someone’s come forward claiming the Masked Savior abducted him, but he escaped, and he saw who the Savior really is.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “WHICH ONE?” I ASK. “THE real or the copycat?”

  She scrunches her nose up. “I don’t know. But—”

  Gramps comes back out the door. “Dinner,” he annoyingly reminds me.

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

  “Listen, I’ll call you later,” Catalina promises.

  Reluctantly I go inside and sit through dinner, but all I can think about is what Catalina said. Someone’s come forward and can identify the Masked Savior. Or rather my copycat. Because I certainly didn’t abduct anybody.

  By eleven p.m. she still irritatingly has not called, and I’m not about to dial her. That would come across as too needy.

  I get my laptop instead and do a general search on Masked Savior and come up with a zillion links for people who want to hire me.

  Bizarre.

  I lie awake most of the night going through the time line. Who I used to be, where I started, what I came from, where I am now. I cycle through this over and over and decide, at this point, I just need to know who this person is who claims he escaped and can identify “me.” He’s the only viable link to my copycat.

  My natural inclination is to text Reggie, as Catalina has proven to be unreliable, but of course I don’t.

  The entire next day goes by, and I finally hear from Catalina via text right before dinner. GUY THAT CAME FWD IS MICHAEL MASON. DON’T KNOW WHO HE IDENTIFIED AS SAVIOR.

  Michael Mason? Doesn’t sound familiar. THANKS. I text her back, and immediately plug his name into a search engine. ­Ex-military, been in jail a couple of times for petty theft, but nothing huge. He was questioned and released and doesn’t appear to be a hardened criminal.

  Definitely not my type.

  I copy his address down anyway and make a plan for a visit. I’m going to see what he does and doesn’t know.

  Our doorbell rings and Daisy runs to get it. “Hammond!” She pulls him inside. “We’re just sitting down to dinner.” She glances over her shoulder. “Dad, can Hammond stay?”

  “Sure,” he agrees. “It’s just spaghetti, but there’s plenty.”

  We all sit down, the perfect family we are, and I can’t help but get a little soft at Daisy and Hammond. They really are sweet.

  “So”—Gramps gazes right at me—“where were you yesterday? You didn’t go to your Patch and Paw shift.”

  My entire family glances up. I’ve never missed a shift.

  “You’re right. I took the day off. I wanted to be by myself.” I look my grandfather dead in the eyes. “How is it, exactly, that you know I didn’t do my shift?”

  “I just happened to be driving by and stopped in to say hi.”

  Yeah, right.

  Gramps narrows his eyes, ever so slightly. “So where were you?”

  I turn from him to Victor, because, well, I answer to him, not my grandfather. “I drove around, Dad. Got a little lost. Took some time to think. Saw a friend. That’s it.”

  Victor’s expression softens. “That’s okay. Better now?”

  “Yes.” I want to look back at my grandfather but don’t. He won’t come between me and my family.

  A few quiet seconds tick by, then Daisy whispers something to Hammond, he laughs, and things seem back to normal. I still don’t look at Gramps. But I know he’s staring at me.

  “I heard,” Gramps starts in again, “that the FBI will take over this Masked Savior business if the local task force can’t figure things out. Something about vigilante terrorism?”

  Victor glances around the table, clearly uncomfortable talking business in front of us kids. “At this point there’re way too many things up in the air. So, Justin . . .” And with that ­Victor expertly diverts the conversation.

  Vigilante terrorism. FBI stepping in. Yes, I need to get this figured out. Because the last thing I need is the FBI on my ass. This local task force is pain enough.

  As I’m doing dishes, I get a call from Zach. “Hey,” I answer.

  “Hey, you.”

  I smile.

  “Sorry about the call. Everything’s okay, in case you were worried or something.”

  “I was,” I say, realizing I honestly am and wishing I would’ve thought to check in with him before now.

  “My brother ca
lled me and, well, all is fine.”

  So Dr. Issa got my message. Good.

  “Anyway, that’s all.”

  I want to keep him on the phone but really don’t know what to say, so I decide on “Bye, Zach,” and truly hope he’s okay.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THE NEXT NIGHT GRAMPS IS out with some friend, so it’s easy for me to say to Victor, “Off to the coffee shop to study.”

  “Be back by midnight.” He gives his obligatory comment, to which I nod.

  I keep a careful eye on my rearview and am certain I’m not being trailed. By seven thirty I’m sitting outside Michael Mason’s apartment complex several blocks from the Reston Town Center.

  People come and go, and no one notices me in the packed parking lot. Just the way I like it. Michael lives on the first floor, and a little before nine his front door opens and he steps out dressed in all black. I know from what I looked up that he’s thirty-one, divorced, and has no children. I give him a good, long study, and, no, I definitely don’t know this guy.

  He zips up his dark jacket, climbs onto a bicycle, and pedals out of the complex.

  I follow.

  He goes down the road about a mile and pulls into a nearby park. I give my surroundings another long look, still certain no one is trailing me, and park my Jeep near a few other cars. Michael doesn’t even glance up as he locks his bike to a rack and enters a trail.

  It’s near black out, and I give myself a second to take in the area. Over in the far field there’s a group of guys playing moonlight football. Maybe Michael is here for the game.

  I climb from my Jeep, and as I enter the path Michael took, I pull my ski mask down.

  He strolls along, oblivious, and I come right up on him.

  He turns at the exact same second, clearly sensing me, and then fully faces me.

  I pause. O-kay. Not expecting that.

  His eyes go wide. “It’s you!”

  I don’t respond.

  “You’re the real Masked Savior, aren’t you?”

  I concentrate on keeping my voice low and manly. “You claim to have been held and released by the Masked Savior. Claim to have seen him. Describe him.” Describe my copycat.