by James Hunt
The killer leaned up against a desk, the only other piece of furniture in the basement. He lifted his hands in the air, shrugging off the accusation. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective.”
“No more games!” Cooper aggressively sprinted forward, shoving the pistol’s barrel into the killer’s chest, resisting the urge to squeeze the trigger. “Where is Hart?”
The killer smiled, then stepped aside from the desk and revealed a small television screen, which was turned off. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them excitedly. “Well, here we are!” He circled Cooper, who kept the revolver aimed at him the entire time. He wagged a finger at the display, shaking his head. “Now, I know you have a lot of questions, but I thought now would be a good time for us to spend some quality time.”
Cooper felt the hot tears form in the corners of her eyes but refused to let them fall. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction, not now. “You killed my sister, you fucking bastard.” Her arms trembled with rage, and her mind raced with all of the different ways she wanted to torture him. “All that’s left for me to do is watch you burn.”
The killer kept his hands in the air and his eyes locked on Cooper. “I never broke my word with you, Detective.” He glanced down at the revolver. “I only shot her. It was the medical team at the cabin that failed to save her life, and besides, you tried to snuff your end of the deal. I was allowed to get away, and I needed insurance to make that happen.”
“Fuck you!” She jammed the barrel’s tip into his cheek, and the killer’s head was flung back as she forced his gaze away from hers.
“I can see that’s still a sore spot for you, though, but that’s why I did it. That’s why you’re here.” He slowly backed away, his hands still in the air, and moved toward the bookcase. “You’re my magnum opus, Detective. I’ve searched for an ending to my story for years, and you’re here to finally give me one.” He ran his hands along the spines of each cover, caressing them gently. “All of these stories, all of the tales I’ve heard. All recorded here.”
Cooper lowered the revolver, taking in the size and number of the books that lined the shelves. There were hundreds of them. Her jaw dropped in horror. “Those are all… murders?”
“No! No, Detective. Not murders, liberations! These people are now immortal!” The killer snatched a book from the shelf and clutched it firmly in his hands. “In here they live on forever! Look.” He opened the novel, flipping to a page, showing her the text. “This was one of my favorites. A man who’d just lost his wife and son in a car accident was about to kill himself on a bridge. He was distraught, tormented, his life had no meaning. A woman nearby watched the man step onto the banister in preparation for his jump. She sprinted over, hoping to save him before he plunged into the dark unknown, the river consuming him in the night. But slowly, she talked him down. She gave him a reason to live, to carry the torch that was his family’s memory in this world, instead of extinguishing both in the river below. They fell in love, a complicated, painful, wonderful, inexhaustible love.” He snapped the book shut, smiling. “He was just one of hundreds, Detective. Billions of people walk this earth, and hardly anyone will ever know their names. But I gave each of these people a story. And after today, every single one of them will be remembered forever. Because of us.”
Cooper watched him slowly slide the book back into place then gently run his fingers across the same row until he reached the end. “You think that man’s wife wants a story?” Cooper raised the revolver once more, her finger on the trigger. “You think children would rather read about their mother than have her hold them in her arms?”
The killer scoffed. “Mothers.” He raised his arms, gesturing to the ceiling and the business above. “This store was all that my mother left me. And I had to fight her tooth and nail to get even that. But in the end, she received her own story as well. Though I have to admit that I may have stolen a bit from Hamlet on that one.” He tapped one of the books, a half smile curving up his right cheek. “But today is about you, Detective! Today is about your story and how it connects with mine.”
The killer grabbed a stepladder and climbed it to the very top of the bookshelf, plucking one of his stories from the middle of the row and waving it in the air. “This! This is why you’re here, Detective. This is what brought you into my life.”
Cooper shifted the sight on the revolver from the killer’s head to the cover of the book, then slowly lowered the weapon. Even from that distance, she was able to read the name on the cover. Henry Miller.
“Yes.” The killer inched closer, and Cooper recoiled, dropping the revolver. “I know you’re curious. Take a look.” His words left his lips like an intoxicating whisper, numbing her senses. “The man was your father. The father who left your mother and sister and you. The father who I slew.”
Cooper reached for the book, trembling as she ran her fingers over the cover. Her knees buckled, and it took every ounce of strength she had left to not collapse on the floor then and there. She opened the cover, her father’s name the title, and turned to the first page, which began with Miller meeting her mother.
A tear landed on the page, and Cooper quickly flipped through the text, glazing over some parts while homing in on others. But it was the last few pages that caught her eye, one passage in particular:
The coated pills were scattered on the glass table like dying stars in a night sky. The clouds of cocaine filtered between them and he sensed the end. It was the easy way out, but he’d taken that route his entire life and he didn’t see any reason to stop now. He pressed his nose into the pile of white powder and inhaled, the sudden rush so overwhelming and paralyzing that he was barely able to reach for the pills and whiskey to chase it down. He clustered a handful and dumped them into his mouth, swallowing them whole as the liquor burned his gut.
Exhausted and alert at the same time, he collapsed back onto the couch, the cushions devouring him like the coke and pills he’d just inhaled. There wasn’t anything else he could do besides wait. His heart pounded irregularly, quick, then slow, then skipping a few beats. His fingers twitched and he lolled his head to the side, his whole body suddenly weightless. He curled himself into a ball and closed his eyes.
And that’s when he saw the two of them. They couldn’t have been older than four and two. Their ponytails swaying in the breeze as they played on the swings in the park. He couldn’t see their faces, but he heard their laughter. A pain suddenly hit his gut, and he felt his head spin, losing the memory to the drugs. He clutched his head tightly and tried to bring the image back.
When it did return, both of the girls turned around, the laughter gone from their voices and their smiles turned to frowns. They called out to him, screaming for their father, but in his memory he sprinted from them, running away in a frenzied panic.
“No.” He shook his head back and forth, sweat pouring from his face. “No, I can’t.” The coke and pills had done their work, providing a hallucination that felt too real. “I’m sorry.” He cried, tears mixing with the sweat oozing from his pores. “I’m so sorry.” He rolled off the couch and onto the floor, his body numb to the pain of impact.
For the first time in his life he felt the regret of the father he never was, the pain and shame he passed on to the daughters he never knew, and all of the moments he should have shared with them.
A slow tremor started to overtake his body, which morphed into violent spasms. Frothy vomit foamed at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes rolled back into his head. The last few moments of life were full of nothing but pain and loss, and the two faces of his daughters were imprinted on his mind, never knowing the women they grew to become and them never knowing the pathetic trash of the man that was their father.
Cooper stared at the last few paragraphs, rereading them a few times before she slowly shut the book and stumbled backward until she felt the sturdy concrete of the wall.
“When I spoke to your father, he told me a lot of things
, mostly about how pathetic his life was, but he did speak of one shining moment, which was that memory of you and your sister at the park.” The killer watched Cooper from across the room, staying close to the bookcase. “Now, I did take some creative license with the rest of the story, but the core of that character is your father. Of course, the pills and coke weren’t how he really died. Though I did kill him with chemicals. It was a time in my life where I had grown bored with guns and knives, though I found the lives I’d taken with poison weren’t nearly as satisfying as more traditional methods.”
Cooper locked eyes with the killer. A smile graced his lips, and he took a step forward. Cooper dropped the book from her hands, and it smacked against the floor. “You killed him?”
“He was such a vile man, Detective.” The killer touched the tips of his fingers together as he walked forward. “A waste of a human life, but he had one redeeming quality. You.” He returned a loving gaze to the books on the shelf. “Every story I’ve ever written from the lives I’ve taken is here. It’s my life’s work, but there was always something missing, something that didn’t feel right, and it wasn’t until I realized who you were that I understood what that missing piece was.” He turned around. “Every story, no matter who is in it or how it’s told, is balance. Every villain needs a hero, a force to equal their own, to test them, to push them, to help them ascend to the next level of evolution. I’ve been killing for thirty years, and no one has ever been able to catch me, not even when I’ve tried to be caught. I searched everywhere for someone to match me, but I didn’t think the day would ever come.” He took the book from Cooper’s hands and smiled at the cover. “But three years ago I saw you on the news during the investigation into your former partner. And when I did, I saw an opportunity. And when I discovered that you were the daughter of one of the people I’d killed? Ha! It was all too perfect! I couldn’t have found a better ending!”
The room started to spin, and Cooper flattened her palms against the wall to help steady herself. “You used me for…” She swallowed, her mouth dry of spit. “For a story?”
“Not just any story, Detective. My last story, my destined ending, my final act!” The killer thrust his hands into the air and twirled in circles around the basement floor. “I put everything into motion that day, researching you, learning about your past. You had such a thirst for justice. And I knew you couldn’t turn down the opportunity to expose Quentin Farnes, but you needed a push to get it done. I helped you, Detective. And when we’re done here, there won’t be a single person that doesn’t know our names. We’ve worked this city into a frenzy. Your name is national news!” He hunched over, his fists curled into tight balls close to his chest. “This is everything we’ve been waiting for. And now, finally, it’s here.” The killer caressed the television, which was still blank, and his demeanor calmed.
It was all too much, but Cooper forced her mind to concentrate, searching for something solid, something to bring her back to the present. “Hart. Where is he?”
The killer pressed the power button, and the television pinged to life. The screen was fuzzy at first, but slowly the picture sharpened, and Cooper saw Hart trapped in a Plexiglas box, pounding and screaming, though no sound emanated from the picture. “There he is.” The killer waved his hands around the television like Vanna White. “Now, I know what he did to you, betraying you, spying on you for Farnes. Tsk tsk.” He thumped the top of the television hard, twice. “But then again, he does have a child on the way, a little girl if I’m not mistaken.” He drummed his fingers on top of the box.
“I kill you, and he dies,” Cooper said robotically.
“Ding, ding, ding! Very good, Detective. Very good.” The killer sat on the table next to the television and then removed a clock from behind it and set it on top. It counted down from three minutes, the seconds ticking away. “This is how much time your partner has left for breathable air. Once it hits zero, he suffocates.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a smartphone, encrypted with a lock. “I type in the code here and it gives him an extra minute of air.”
The clock had wound down to two minutes now, and Cooper couldn’t take her eyes off the screen. “What do you want?”
“What I want, Detective, is for you to redeem yourself.” The killer jumped off the table and circled the room. “You’ve become lost on your journey to me, and I want to help you return to the person you were before. Saving the second partner to betray you, letting his child grow up with a father instead of without one like you, letting him live instead of killing the man who murdered your sister. What better way to cleanse yourself of all of the blood you’ve spilled?” The killer had moved behind her now, and Cooper felt his hot breath on the back of her neck. “But of course, you could finally make that final move into the shadows with me.” He reached for the revolver in her hand and lifted it to his chin, placing her finger on the trigger. “Either way, I win.”
Cooper stared into the crazed, beady eyes that had haunted her ever since their meeting in the cabin. There was nothing she wanted more than to kill him, and she felt her finger tremble over the trigger. All she had to do was squeeze. She could avenge Beth, protect the girls. It was for them. She raised the revolver and pressed it against the killer’s forehead, his expression stoic. The gun trembled with her arm, and the curved metal of the trigger grew hot against her skin from the prolonged pause. It’s for Beth. For the girls. She repeated the mantra, trying to drown out Katie’s face and the unborn child in her womb. He killed my sister. It’s for her. For her. For her.
The anger boiled over and Cooper screamed, her face reddening. And then breathless, her body trembling, she lowered the revolver and walked backward until she hit the wall. No. It’s for me. She shifted her gaze to the clock that had dwindled to ninety seconds. “Hart lives and you turn yourself in?”
“Right after I take one more life.” The killer smiled, and she knew what life he meant.
“What do you want?”
The killer laughed. “To know more about you!” He hopped back up on the table, resting his arm on top of the television’s screen. “I’ll need something to fill in the last few pages, and I’d like for it to be authentic.” The clock dipped below sixty seconds, and he leaned forward, his eyes wide with curiosity.
“Why did you join the police force?”
Cooper watched Hart struggle in his cage, the clock ticking lower. “Because I wanted to find my father. And when I found out he was dead, I moved into homicide to make sure there wouldn’t be more children that would become fatherless.”
The timer jumped up sixty seconds, and the killer continued. “How did it make you feel when you found out that your father was dead?”
Cooper clinched her fists. “Angry. I’d wanted the pleasure of doing it myself.”
The killer laughed, tacking on more time for Hart’s airflow. “After the miscarriage, how did you feel?”
Cooper’s eyes grew glassy and red. “I wanted to die.” Subconsciously she grabbed her wrists. “It was Beth who found me in the bathroom with the razor blades. I just wanted to be with her.”
“Her?” The killer asked, smiling, and adding more time to Hart’s life. “So it was a girl. And what were you going to name her?”
Cooper trembled, tears streaming unabashedly down her face. The ugly pain of grief was etched in the downturned frown and lines of her face. “Emily.” She choked out a cry. “I was going to name her Emily.” She collapsed to her knees, burying her face in her hands. She could still feel the warmth from the stillborn in her hands. In all her life she’d never felt more alone, until now.
The killer paused until the clock wound below thirty seconds. “Now, what happens at the end of our story?”
Cooper lifted her tear-soaked face, her gaze shifting from Hart on the screen to the killer’s beady eyes. Hate and rage burned the grief from her mind, and she pushed herself off the floor. The clock ticked below ten seconds, and Cooper felt her mind swirl between panic and frus
tration. She wanted him dead, she wanted to watch him suffer, but if she got what she wanted, then Hart’s wife and his unborn daughter would have the same life that she’d had growing up. And that deep hurt could turn that young girl into Cooper, and she wasn’t going to let something so innocent wind up like her. “I die.”
The clock stopped at three seconds, and Cooper watched Hart breathe in a gulp of air as he coughed and hacked on all fours. Cooper gripped the edge of the table for support, and when she turned from the television to face the killer, he had her revolver in hand.
“A noble end, Detective.” All of the laughter and smiles the killer had shown before disappeared as he took a step forward. “But I have to say it’s bittersweet. It’s the ending I wanted, but I hate that our story together is over.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a red crayon, pinching it between his fingers and dangling it in the air between them. “Take it.”
Cooper reached for the crayon slowly and was soon handed a piece of paper. The killer gestured over to the table, and Cooper walked over and set both of them down. “I’ve already given you the ending. What more do you want?”
“Fifty-two Bellevue Street,” the killer said. “The officers will find Hart there, alive and well. The air supply in his box is unrestricted now.”
Cooper did as she was told, carving the address onto the paper. When she was done, she looked back at the killer, the revolver still aimed at her stomach. Sirens echoed above, and she heard the slam of car doors.
The killer looked up to the ceiling. “Right on time.” When he returned his gaze to Cooper, he smiled, shaking his head. “For all of the failures in your past, my capture will redeem your legacy. I’ll tell them everything. How I used you. How I orchestrated all of this. The killing of Captain Farnes. All of it. I have it written down. Proof. You should find some peace in that.”
