Killer Within

by S. E. Green

  “I have been researching the Decapitator nonstop since I found out you were his niece,” he begins, with no niceties at all. “Nowhere in that research did I find any mention of you witnessing the first killing.”

  I don’t respond. I don’t know what he expects me to say. Everything surrounding the Decapitator is hidden deep. Very few people know, in an official capacity, that I was found at three years old in the same room where my preschool teacher had been violently murdered.

  “I suppose it has everything to do with your parents working for the FBI.”

  He supposes right.

  “What I want to know is, how disturbed did it make you?”

  My heart pauses midbeat at his question, but I don’t answer.

  “My guess is it made you question your whole existence.”

  I don’t like how close he’s getting. He’s reading me a little too well. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even I can hear the defensiveness in my tone.

  “Oh, I think I do.”

  I swallow, and he follows the nervous movement with his eyes. It pisses me off.

  “I said before, I think you’re hiding something.” He cranks his engine. “I still do.” With that he pulls off.

  What the hell was that, and how exactly does he expect me to respond? He thinks he can come and go, be confrontational, be cryptic, and challenge me. How wrong he is. Tommy needs to take a step back out of my business.

  That night I get home from my Patch and Paw shift to find Gramps and Justin working on a model.

  “Justin, you’re not doing it right. Are you not listening to me?” Gramps demands.

  “I’m sorry,” my brother mumbles. “I’m trying.”

  Gramps sighs. “I don’t know why you asked me to help if you planned on doing it your own way.”

  Justin ducks his head and sniffs and I lose it. “Leave him alone.”

  Gramps swerves his head toward me. “Young lady, you do not talk to me that way.”

  “And you don’t talk to my brother that way.”

  “Your half brother.”

  I take a step toward him and Gramps stands up.

  “It’s okay,” Justin intercedes.

  The old man and I stare each other down for a few long seconds, and he turns away first. I grab my stuff and charge upstairs.

  “Hey,” Victor greets me from his room. “Time to talk?”

  “Sure.”

  “Let’s go for a walk.”

  Oh . . . strange. Why would Victor want to go for a walk? This isn’t like him. At all. It kind of freaks me out.

  We pass Gramps on the way back out, and I don’t even glance in his direction.

  Outside and down the dark sidewalk, Victor speaks. “I feel like we never get any time together. How are you doing?”

  I give my standard response. “Fine.”

  Victor wraps his arm around me, and the warmth feels so good in the cold night. “Lane, you can talk to me.”

  He needs something, I realize this, and so I conjure up enough truth for meaning. “I . . . feel like my life is a lie. That our family is the only thing keeping me sane.” I pause a second to formulate what I want to say next. “I don’t know what I would do if it went away. Some days I seem like myself, and others I don’t recognize me.”

  He smiles gently. “I feel the same way,” he quietly admits. “Some days I walk around in a daze wondering where things go from here. I really miss your mom.”

  I want so badly to tell him Mom wasn’t the woman he loved, but that’s a burden only I’ll carry. Justin, Daisy, and ­Victor will remember the fictitious version of her.

  We round the block and continue in silence. Then Victor goes on, “I know you need an ‘out’ for your anger, your confusion, your questions. . . .”

  I stop walking and turn to him. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know you’ve been on that Masked Savior website.”

  What? How does he know that?

  “I’m asking you, no, telling you, to stay off of it. This vigilante thing has gotten out of hand. The task force is on that site, routinely cruising the feeds, keeping records on everything. Just stay off of it, okay?”

  Has Catalina’s father had this same talk with her?

  “Dad, how do you know I’ve been on the site?”

  “Quite by accident, I assure you. Your brother was using my laptop, so I grabbed yours and stumbled across it.”

  I believe him. He’s always respected my privacy. He’s never been the type to snoop. Now if it were Gramps . . . “Thank you,” I honestly tell him. “And I will. No more website. I promise.”

  Victor hugs me. “Exactly what I wanted to hear. Also”—he starts walking me back to our house—“how well have you gotten to know Catalina?”

  “A little well. Why?”

  Victor takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say. “Catalina’s father shared something with me that I think you need to know.”

  This doesn’t sound good. “When Catalina was a little girl, she fell down their stairs and was in a coma for a while. She sustained frontal-lobe damage from that fall.”

  I stop walking. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “According to her father, it affected her processing, her moods, impulsivity, and her behaviors. She does things and doesn’t think they’re wrong. That’s why she’s been homeschooled. She used to have a lot of problems with other kids. You’ve heard the term ‘doesn’t play well with others.’ Well, that’s how he described Catalina.”

  Interesting.

  “I’m telling you because I want you to be careful with her. She’s intelligent, astute, and, as I just mentioned, struggles with processing and impulsivity issues. Her dad says she’s really developed over the years, made progress with her doctors, but still, be alert. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  We walk back to our house, and all I can puzzle about is Catalina. Processing. Impulsivity. Moody. Save for the intelligence, I haven’t seen any of those other things in her. I know I’ve been a little off, but not so much that I would’ve misread her, right?

  Chapter Thirty

  THAT NIGHT AS I GO to sleep, my mind shifts to Tommy. What does he know about this leader, M, and what has he discovered in his research of the Decapitator? Honestly, if Reggie really put her mind to it, she could likely dig up things I never want dug up again. If I had Reggie’s skills, I would find everything I could and permanently delete it.

  What I can try to do is figure out Tommy’s level of expertise. . . .

  In the morning I head downstairs and hear Victor and Gramps already up and in the kitchen.

  “She was disrespectful to me,” Gramps harshly whispers.

  I pause to listen.

  Victor sighs. “You have always ridden Lane harder than the other two. Ease up on my daughter.”

  “She’s not your daughter,” Gramps snaps.

  That comment pierces straight through me like a hot, sad knife.

  “Yes. She. Is,” Victor defends me.

  “I’ve noticed Justin is starting to get out of hand. You’ve lost control of your kids.”

  I hear Victor pace away, pause, then walk back. “We haven’t been doing great, but we’re doing okay. We’re getting there as a family. The kids were obviously happy to see you, but it’s come to enough. When you make my son cry, it’s enough.”

  “Did Lane tell you that?” Gramps retorts.

  “No, Dad, Daisy did. Listen, I appreciate you coming, but it’s best if you go back home now.”

  Gramps doesn’t immediately respond. “You mark my words, that daughter of yours . . . she’s going to cause you nothing but trouble.”

  Even though I’ve heard him say this before, it still hurts.

  “No, she
’s not. She’s perfect in her own unique way. I want you gone by the end of the day.”

  As quietly as I can, I tiptoe back up the stairs to my room. I close my door, lie down on my bed, and think about my grandfather. Maybe he shares that inner sense that I do. He knows something’s not right with me.

  A note on my desk catches my attention. I glance over and see it’s from Justin.

  Will you come to the art fair?

  My model will be on display.

  It’s today after school.

  Daisy said she’d come.

  I smile and grab a pen. YES! I write back and go tape it on his door. Gramps is out of here. Victor loves me. Daisy really is a sister. And Justin wants me to come to his art fair.

  My family. My sanity. As long as I have them, my world will be all right.

  After school I look up Tommy and find his name connected to his sister, of course, the Decapitator’s victim. I also find him buried in several links throughout middle and high school. I select a few of them. He went to Longfellow Middle and then on to Thomas Jefferson High. I click through more links to awards he received in . . . computer science.

  Great.

  I think you’re hiding something.

  Why would he say that to me? Just to taunt?

  I sit for a second and consider what story I might be able to tell Reggie so she’ll help me find out if Tommy knows more than I think he does. I come up with several and decide on none. I’m falling into old patterns, and this isn’t how I want to become friends with Reggie again.

  I’m just going to have to break into Tommy’s apartment and do some digging.

  “Ready?” Daisy asks.

  I close down the library’s computer and dig my Jeep keys out, and we head to Justin’s art fair. This is something my mom would’ve gone to. It occurs to me—this is the first school thing Justin’s done without her.

  Daisy must think this too, because she hugs Justin and says, “Mom would be very proud.”

  I hug him too. “She would.”

  He grins. “Thanks.”

  That grin is all I need to promise myself I’ll go to every one of his things after this.

  While the judges walk around, I hang along the back wall and watch it all. To the left I spy Kyle near his sister’s display, standing, glaring across the room. I follow that glare to see I-want-to-break-his-legs Junior.

  Holy goddamn hell—he’s on crutches with a cast covering his entire left leg.

  I glance back to Kyle to see him staring right at me. His glare softens, like he’s trying to hide it, and he turns to his sister.

  What did he do to Junior?

  I walk right toward Kyle and pull him aside. I don’t bother telling him I saw his post on the site. I don’t bother telling him the cops are monitoring said site. I merely say, “Tell me you’re not responsible for that.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He feigns innocence. “I heard Junior fell down some stairs.”

  Yeah, right. I know this isn’t my fight, and yes, Junior’s a dick, but a broken leg? Jesus. “I trust Junior won’t be falling down any more stairs?” I venture.

  Kyle shrugs. “Depends on how clumsy he is.”

  Oh, no, this isn’t going to work for me. But I started all this. I inadvertently gave a green light to my “fan club” to go out and wreak havoc. Now I have to clean up their mess, stop them, redirect them, something. . . .

  Plus, I know that look in Kyle’s eyes. Now that he’s had a taste of violence, he’s ready for a little more. I’ve created a monster of a problem.

  This is why I value my solitude. Fan clubs, gangs, followings—it’s too many people. Too much everything.

  The thing is, I’ve spent my whole life the way I am. I’m used to it. It’s me. It’s my innate being. The rest of these fools are taking risks. They’re careless, thoughtless, and lack direction, and hopefully will screw up and get caught.

  Hopefully.

  A honking horn has me glancing past Kyle, through the bank of windows and out into the parking lot, where a dark blue BMW sits.

  Marji smiles and waves, and I narrow my eyes. What is she doing?

  “Who’s that?” Daisy asks, and I spin to block her line of sight. I didn’t realize she walked up.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. “Probably a parent, someone Mom knew.”

  I take Daisy’s arm and steer her away. When we’re back near Justin, I glance over my shoulder to see Marji gone.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  MARJI’S TAUNTING ME. I WILL deal with her. But first I want to see if Tommy knows more than I think he does about the Decapitator, and how, if at all, he is still connected to this M person.

  Through my cyber digging I discover he lives alone in the basement apartment of someone’s house. He attends afternoon classes and works at Whole Foods at night.

  I drive by Whole Foods to make sure his bike is there and then head to his apartment.

  I pull my mask down, slip my gloves on, and give the area one last look. All clear.

  Victor taught me how to pick a lock. All for fun of course, but I use the skill to let myself into Tommy’s place.

  I have one hour until he gets home from work.

  His stove light is on, and I stand in the doorway to orient myself. Clean. Smells like Clorox wipes. Sparsely decorated. Studio. One TV. One bed. An oversize chair. Small kitchen. A few other things here and there.

  Exactly the type of place I can see myself in someday.

  I spy his laptop on the bed, go straight to it, and take it. Beside his chair sits a backpack. I unzip, dig around, find a few thumb drives, and take those, too. Then I start at his closet and make my way through his entire apartment. I open boxes, go through drawers, riffle through files and papers. I find only one large envelope full of clippings about the Decapitator and take that as well.

  I check my watch. Fifteen minutes.

  I grab it all up, head out the door, walk down the block, climb in my Jeep, and am gone. He’ll probably assume it’s a robbery and call the cops. That’s fine. I’ll have his stuff dumped in no time.

  I pull over in an empty parking lot and crank up his laptop. It’s not password protected, and I go straight to Search and type in DECAPITATOR. About a zillion documents pop up. I’m no computer science expert, but I do know enough to understand that even if I wipe these, there are still ways to retrieve them. Plus, he’s already read them all.

  I also do a quick search of his files on Marji’s full name and get nothing. I do the Masked Savior next and get nothing on that as well. If he’s been lying and he is still connected to the group, he’s wiped the files that link his participation.

  I find everything I can regarding his university classwork and personal things like pictures, and I transfer it all to an empty flash drive of my own.

  I drive straight to Patch and Paw, let myself in, go to the crematorium room, and burn it all: his laptop, the file, the drives, the Decapitator. . . . I know metal doesn’t burn all the way down, but his stuff will be charred enough.

  The room fills with the pungent scent of burning plastic, and I wrinkle my nose.

  I’ll use my savings to buy him a new laptop, and send it to him along with the personal stuff I transferred.

  I empty the crematory, and as I head from Patch and Paw, my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

  “Do you know where I live?”

  It’s Tommy. How did he get my number? “Yes.” I don’t bother lying.

  “How do you know that?”

  I followed you. I googled you. “I just do.”

  “Get over here. Now.”

  “Excuse me?” I don’t take commands.

  He doesn’t respond and instead hangs up.

  That pisses me off and has me driving straight to his pla
ce. He knows I took his stuff. Otherwise why call me? But he’s not stupid. Neither am I. Obviously, there’s going to be a confrontation. A confrontation he’s inviting. Fine by me. I’m not scared of him. Why should I be?

  I knock. He opens. I step inside. He closes and locks the door. My stomach muscles contract at the click.

  He grabs the front of my jacket and shoves me up against the wall. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  I narrow my eyes. “I suggest you release me.”

  Instead Tommy steps closer and I feel his breath on my face. “I ask myself, who would benefit from looking through my place, taking my laptop, my drives, my file of the Decapitator. Your name is the only one that comes to mind. The niece of the Decapitator. A girl, who at three, saw the first kill. A girl, who I’m positive, is still hiding more.”

  “Back. Off,” I warn him, feeling equal parts guilty I took his stuff, cautious at his temper—albeit justified—and turned on at his roughness, his nearness.

  “Where’s my stuff?” he demands.

  I bring my knee up so he can feel it against his balls. “You want me to follow through with this, I will.”

  Tommy doesn’t move, and I inch my knee a fraction higher. Neither one of us speaks for a tense few seconds, and my mind reels with how to handle this. Finally I come up with, “I should’ve never trusted you with that information.”

  Throwing out the word “trust” hits its mark, and I can see his brain reanalyzing things.

  I don’t wait and forge on. “We had a deal. I told you something huge about myself, and you were supposed to tell me what you know about the Masked Savior following and M. You have yet to come through with your part.”

  “Because you’re lying. You know it. I know it. Until I’m sure you’re not lying, I’m not telling you shit.”

  “Lying, Tommy? Really?” I shove him away. “This is what you’re going to hold over me? Please. My business is my business and that’s all I have to say.” I turn, unlock his door, and open it. “If you ever get rough with me again, you will most definitely regret it.”

  “Bring it,” he challenges, and I shut the door right in his face.