Killer Within

by S. E. Green

  At this point I just need to watch her. Be there for her. Point her in positive, light directions. And hope beyond all hope she keeps buried whatever might be simmering in her.

  Zach sits down across from me. “You look even more deep in thought than usual.”

  I take in his too-healthy salad and curl my lip. “I’d give anything to see you eat a big juicy double-decker.”

  He laughs. “I want to puke just hearing that.”

  We both go back to eating, and a few seconds later Zach speaks. “I told my brother you and I are friends again.”

  “Oh?”

  “He was happy for me. For us.”

  I nod, even though I’m not entirely sure I like Dr. Issa and Zach discussing me.

  Zach shoves a mouthful of salad in. “He also cautioned me to take it slow. That you’re not a typical girl.”

  Not a typical girl? Well, he is right about that, but I do need to make things clear. “Zach, I love being your friend, but you know that’s all we can be right now, right? Friends?” I can’t be anything else.

  Zach laughs. “I know, Lane. Don’t worry. I’m not going to confess my undying love for you.”

  I laugh too, feeling just a little stupid. “Okay.”

  On Saturday I go to my Patch and Paw shift. I grab Corn Chip and a few others and head outside for a much-needed play session. But I’m completely preoccupied with tonight. Nine p.m., 2000 Ford Circle. It can go so many different ways.

  My copycat might be there ready to take someone down.

  Or my copycat could be there waiting for me.

  Or M might be there expecting to meet with my copycat and gets me instead.

  Either way I’m going to be early, scope things out. Wait. And I’m taking a weapon I’ve used for years in aikido and know better than anything—a bokken. As a wooden practice sword, it’s not sharp, but it’s deadly if used correctly.

  I needed something new. I needed me. I’m not tranquilizer and knives. I’m aikido studied and trained. That is how I will bring my victims down. That is me. You need to come to terms with who you are.

  Catalina said that to me. What she doesn’t realize is that I have.

  “Lane?”

  I turn to see Dr. Issa stepping outside. I give Corn Chip a good rub and throw the ball. He scrambles away.

  “Heard you and my brother are friends again.”

  Nothing like getting right to the point. “Yes.”

  “It’s interesting; I go back and forth with you.”

  “Meaning?”

  “When I first met you, I was intrigued by you. Not in a weird way,” he quickly clarifies. “You were fifteen and so quiet and extremely intelligent and focused. I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

  He’s said as much before.

  “There’s something about you I can’t figure out. You’ve got an old soul, and I truly believe you have the best of intentions. But—”

  “Why are you saying all this to me?”

  He pauses. “See—and that right there. You don’t like a lot of conversation. You’ve always been a blunt girl. You are the epitome of black-and-white. Right and wrong. You’re not afraid to just say it as it is. You’re very unique. But . . . I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you and Zach being friends.”

  My heart pauses a beat. Am I that awful?

  Dr. Issa shifts a little, making it obvious he’s uncomfortable with this conversation. “The thing is, Zach is about the sweetest kid I know, and he has so many feelings for you. I don’t think you realize that.”

  I turn to fully face him. “Are you saying I’m not sweet? That I’m not good enough to be Zach’s friend?”

  “I don’t know what you are. But in the long run, no, I’m beginning to think you won’t be the right thing for Zach.”

  Tears unexpectedly press my eyes, and I force them to stay dry. His words hurt, but I won’t let him see it. “You feel that way, then you tell Zach. I won’t.” With that I walk off.

  “Lane?” he calls.

  “Go to hell.”

  I don’t avoid Dr. Issa the rest of the day. In fact, I get right in his way. Let him be uncomfortable with what he said. I’m not.

  Although . . . I really am.

  I thought Dr. Issa and I had a connection, if only a little one; it was there. I’m sure of it. Maybe he’s ashamed of what he and I did, and he’s lashing out at me. Or maybe he’s seen something in me that he previously didn’t, and it scares him.

  Either way, I’m not avoiding Zach. We’re friends again. I need his friendship.

  I sign out of work and head straight to my Jeep. It’s six o’clock. I have three hours before I meet whoever I’m supposed to meet at 2000 Ford Circle.

  I slip my key into my lock and immediately recognize my door is already open. I never forget to lock my door. Someone’s been in my Jeep.

  I search the front, the back, under the seats, the glove compartment. I go around the rear and open it. Just my aikido duffel, as usual.

  I pick the carpet up, and right beneath, snuggled in its usual spot, is my old kit. The one I threw away. Complete with Taser, zip ties, cargo pants, ski mask, and tranquilizer gun.

  Son of a bitch. Not only did someone see me throw this away, but they retrieved it, kept it, and have now planted it back in my Jeep for some reason.

  To mess with my head or to play a joke or to frame me . . .

  That’s laughable. Framing me for basically being me.

  I look around but don’t see signs of anybody. Catalina’s admittedly been following me, but after my run-in with her, I’m still not sure what I think about her. What I am sure of is that this is the work of my copycat or M. At this point they are the only two who would want to mess with me.

  I truck it back into Patch and Paw and to the cremation room. I crank up the furnace and throw everything in. In the back under the ashes I see a chunk of Tommy’s charred laptop that I must have missed. On my next shift I’ll empty this thing out and clean it.

  Yes, my copycat and/or M is definitely going down. Tonight. One way or another it’s going to happen.

  I still have hours, and I’ve already done recon via Google maps, but I drive on over to 2000 Ford Circle and scope things out in person. It’s a deserted convenience store. Boarded up. Graffiti. Kind of out in the middle of nowhere. Not a bad part of town, or a good one, just out there. Works for me.

  I drive around in circles, crossing neighborhoods, all the while keeping an eye on my rearview. I don’t see any cars trailing me.

  At eight p.m. I park a half mile down the road and get myself together. I slip into my new cargo pants and long-sleeve tee, bigger than the old ones and meant to mask how skinny I am. My new ski mask is lighter, made of neoprene, and easier to breathe through. I slide my bokken into its strap along my bare back and down inside my shirt, hiding it from view. The new zip ties and pepper spray I bought I tuck into my cargo pockets.

  I wedge my fingers into my gloves, climb from the Jeep, and jog the half mile to the abandoned convenience store. Slipping the ski mask down over my head, I find a spot in the shadows behind an empty Dumpster and wait.

  A dog barks. A chilly breeze flows past. One car zooms by.

  Still I wait.

  8:45. Nothing. Not even the dog barking.

  8:55. Still nothing.

  9:05. A car pulls in, sits idle for a few seconds, and then the dome light goes on. It’s a couple, and they’re looking at their GPS.

  Seconds later they turn around and head back the other way.

  9:15. Nothing. Maybe this was all a hoax. Or whoever sent the text realized it went to the wrong person and aborted whatever meet-up they had.

  9:25. Nothing. Five more minutes and I’ll—

  A prick stings my side. I jump and whip around, see another ski mask. And then my whole w
orld goes blurry to black.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  MY EYELIDS SLOWLY LIFT. MY brain goes from knocked out to gradual conscious alertness. My head hurts. But not like I’ve-been-hit hurt, more like drug hurt.

  I’m sitting on a metal chair with my wrists zip-tied behind me and to the chair.

  I run my tongue around my mouth, work up a little bit of saliva, and swallow. I’m thirsty. How long have I been here?

  I look around. Dark. Dusty. Empty metal shelves. A counter. An old cash register. I’m inside the deserted convenience store.

  I crane my neck, look at the watch on my left wrist, and read 10:46 in the faint Indiglo. I’ve been out a little over an hour.

  My heart kicks in with delayed nerves, fear, anxiety. I resist my natural urge to call out Help! and instead close my eyes, center myself, and concentrate on calm breaths.

  It does me no good to be freaked right now. To resist the restraint. I need to channel balance, wisdom, stability, and alertness.

  I tune in to my hearing and make out . . . silence. Whoever brought me in here is gone now.

  I turn my head as far to the right as I can . . . and then the left. More dark, dust, and empty metal shelves. The only light in the place comes from one single bulb hanging above the counter and register.

  In that second I see them, lined up on the counter: a Taser, zip ties, a tranq gun, my bokken, the knife I stabbed Marji with, and something I’ve never used—a baseball bat.

  The others—they’d been beaten with a bat.

  Every muscle in my body tightens. Are they going to torture me with these things?

  I yank at the zip ties . . . and cringe. I yank some more—God, they hurt—and the slickness tells me I’ve cut my skin.

  How long are they going to make me stay here tied to this chair? I could topple it over, but what good will that do? Then I’d be down on the dirty floor waiting for whoever is supposed to come.

  I throw my body weight up, hoping to hop the chair, but the weight of it teeters me right back down.

  My curfew is at one a.m. Maybe Victor will realize I’m not home and come out looking for me. But then, how would he find me? I didn’t tell him where I was going. How would I explain this? Dad . . . I don’t even know where to start.

  I tug at my wrists, gritting against the slivering pain, and feel my left zip tie give way just a little. My nostrils flare on a scent of new blood. I wish I knew how to pop my thumb out of joint and slide my hand free. I try and grit my teeth even more. Ow!

  The back door opens then, sending in a shot of fresh winter air and a quick flash of moonlight, and spiking my pulse.

  “I’ve got her,” someone says. “The one who has been beating up all those innocent people.”

  The door closes and I straighten. There’s no way I’ll show fear.

  Catalina walks from the back door, looks straight at me, and grins. Grins. I narrow my eyes and I give her a quick once-over. She’s dressed exactly like me. No deviation at all.

  The person behind her steps into view and—

  “Lane?” Dr. Issa says.

  I feel my eyes go wide as I look from Catalina to Dr. Issa. What the . . . ?

  He shakes his head. “Wait a minute. You?”

  Catalina nods over to the counter. “Lane had all those things on her when I found her.”

  “You’re a liar.” I finally find my voice.

  Catalina honestly looks offended. “Oh, I think we all know who the real liar here is.” She looks over to Dr. Issa. “She doesn’t get what we’re doing. All we wanted to do was bring the drug dealers to justice, and she took off on her own. Beating innocent people. I’ve been following her for a while. I knew she had to be stopped. But I didn’t want to call the cops until I could talk about it with you, M.”

  Dr. Issa just stares at me.

  I don’t speak. I don’t think I can. Dr. Issa is M?

  Dr. Issa?

  “Michael.” I use his name for the first time ever. “She is lying to you. Can’t you see that? How long have you known me? How long have you known her? Do you really think me capable of beating innocent people?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t understand. How are you even involved?”

  “Because it’s me. I started all this. Your website is my fan club.”

  “You’re saying you’re the Masked Savior?”

  “Yes, but I don’t touch innocent people. Ever.”

  “Well, we didn’t either,” Catalina interrupts, “until you came along.”

  I don’t take my eyes off Dr. Issa, “Michael, she is lying to you. She’s the one branching out on her own and copycatting me.”

  “Drug dealers,” Dr. Issa clarifies. “Those are the only ­people I wanted to target.” He paces away. “This has all spiraled out of control. I should’ve never gotten other people involved.”

  Catalina slowly moves toward the counter, and I watch her as I say to Dr. Issa, “Why did you start all this?”

  “Because I wanted to avenge my mother’s death. I wanted to tackle the drug problem that the cops can’t seem to get a handle on. Then I met a few other like-minded people, and when the Masked Savior, you, popped onto the scene, it all seemed to make sense. Vigilante justice. Christ! But now . . .”

  “Avenge your mother’s death? I thought she died of cancer.”

  “No,” Dr. Issa croaks, grabbing his head. “No. No. No. She overdosed. Our father wanted us to tell everyone it was cancer.”

  My heart breaks. “Michael, I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh, you guys are driving me nuts,” Catalina spits.

  Dr. Issa brings his confused eyes to hers. “You? You’re the one who’s been doing all those horrible things?”

  Catalina rolls her eyes. “Don’t take it personal. At first I was completely down with the vigilante thing and cleaning the streets of drugs. But then I realized there are also hookers and homeless people. . . . That’s a lot to clean up.”

  Dr. Issa points at me. “Why is Lane tied up?” he demands. “What are you going to do to her?” He takes a panicked step forward. “Catalina, untie her. Now.”

  She snorts, “Yeah, like that’s going to happen. See the thing is, I’m ready to take over this whole operation.” She picks the Taser up and shoots.

  “No!” I scream.

  Dr. Issa drops to the dirty floor.

  “Stop it!” I holler at her.

  She presses the trigger again, and Dr. Issa arches off the ground with a howl.

  I tug at my restraints. “Stop it!”

  She drops the Taser, grabs the knife, and stalks over to him. “Ever since I saw what you did to that woman, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  My heart stops. “Catalina. No. Please. What are you doing? Stop!”

  She rolls Dr. Issa onto his back and raises the knife high above her head. “I’ve never actually killed anybody.”

  “Doonn’t . . . ,” Dr. Issa slurs right as Catalina plunges the knife straight down into his chest.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  12:01. TEARS STREAM DOWN MY face as I stare at Dr. Issa’s lifeless, bloody form. Catalina stabbed him four more times. She counted . . .

  One. Again in the chest.

  Two. In the stomach.

  Three. The leg.

  Four. In the neck. Where she left the knife sticking out.

  Of Dr. Issa . . .

  This is all my fault. All of it. Dr. Issa, Catalina, all those people beaten to near death. My actions developed a following that twisted into this horrific ending.

  The room closes in on me. My chest tightens. I’m in a darker place now than the night I killed my mother.

  “Why so sad?” Catalina pouts. “You can admit that was thrilling to watch.” She throws her head back and laughs. “Oh. My. God that was great! So much better than
beating people with a bat.”

  It is my destiny to be surrounded by deranged people. It is not a destiny I want. But nonetheless it is mine. I stare at Catalina in disgust. Misery and craziness have found each other in her.

  When did she become this person? Did she get so turned on by all the beatings and the empowerment it gave her that something flipped inside her, or was she this way all along and merely waiting for the time to develop?

  Moods, impulsivity, behavior. It’s all very clear now.

  “So, what?” I ask. “I’m next?”

  She brings her eyes down to mine. “Actually, I didn’t plan any of this. M already told me he was done. That he didn’t want anything to do with all the violence. I was going to set you up to take the fall. But, well, now he’s dead. So I guess you’ll take the fall for that, too.”

  Catalina walks back over to the counter, and I watch her as I use the few seconds to work at my slick wrists a little more.

  She picks up my bokken. “This is new. What kind of damage did you think you’d do with this?”

  Why don’t I show you?

  She slaps the bokken against her palm. “Way I figure, there’s law and then there’s life.” She sweeps her hand over toward Dr. Issa. “He was trying to balance the two when really you have to pick one.”

  I pick life. My life. Not Catalina’s.

  I concentrate on no more tears. No more weakness. Only focus, and more important, revenge. “So let me get this right. You met Dr. Issa through the Masked Savior site. You said you wanted to ‘fight crime’ when really you just wanted to beat ­people up. You encouraged people like Kyle and Michael Mason to do the same. You posed as M, the leader, and Dr. Issa had no idea. At the same time you’re following me, playing me, going behind my back, lying to me. Sound about right?”

  She flashes me a grin that I used to think made her look happy, but now I clearly see the malice in it. “Yep, I pretty much lied to you about everything.”