by Jack Kilborn
Lucy dug the pair of scissors out of the waistband of her scrubs and handed them over to Donaldson.
“He looks familiar,” she said.
“You sure you killed twenty-nine? Maybe it was twenty-eight, and the last one is just pissed off.”
She let out a trembling breath. “No way. This can’t be him.”
The man was ten feet from the front bumper, and neither Donaldson nor Lucy could take their eyes off of him.
“Now would be a good time to fill me in,” Donaldson said.
“When I was fifteen, I ran away from home to a mystery book convention in Indianapolis to see my favorite author, Andrew Z. Thomas. While I was there, I killed for the first time. It was messy. I didn’t know what I was doing. I would’ve gotten myself caught, but these two guys…the ones I was telling you about earlier? They found me out. They came into the hotel room and-”
The man stopped at Donaldson’s window and rapped hard against the glass.
“Just tell me…is he a friend or foe?” Donaldson whispered.
“I’m not sure.”
Keeping the scissors palmed, Donaldson pressed the button on his door.
The window lowered halfway.
“Can I help you, buddy?” Donaldson said.
The man ducked down to look inside.
When his face appeared, Lucy said, “Holy shit, you’re-”
“Luther. Luther Kite. That you, little Lucy? Last time I saw you, you didn’t even have a driver’s license. Now look at you, on the TV, getting yourself into all sorts of trouble.”
Lucy’s face scrunched up. “Luther?”
Luther stuck the barrel of a gun into the car. When he pulled the trigger, it sounded like a hard blast of air.
Both Lucy and Donaldson stared down at the dart sticking out of Lucy’s chest.
She took a deep, sucking breath, like the wind had been knocked out of her.
Lucy rasped, “Why are you…” but never finished her sentence. She fell back into the passenger-side door, eyes closed, mouth yawning open.
Donaldson reached for the gun, but Luther jerked it back outside.
“Look… Luther is it?… there’s no love lost between me and this one. If you want some private time with the lady, she’s all yours.”
“Seems like you two are a package deal.” He jutted his chin toward their wrists. “What’s that all about?”
“Crazy bitch handcuffed us together.”
“Well, are you joined for life or do you have the key?”
“She’s got the key.”
Luther leveled the dart gun on Donaldson’s head. “Maybe you should find it.”
Donaldson leaned over and clumsily groped Lucy’s scrubs, checking various pockets. He came up empty.
“It’s not here,” he said. “She wouldn’t tell me where-”
Luther reached into the car with his other hand and grabbed Donaldson’s good ear. His only ear.
“Get out of the car.”
“I want to obey you. Really. But my arm and my legs are fucked up, and I’m chained to this psycho here. Did you know she’s a serial killer?”
“She do this to you?”
“Yeah. Hell, you can do whatever you want to her. I’ll even take pictures if you want.”
“You were on the news.”
“Really?”
“They said you were a monster. Maybe the most prolific killer since Green River.”
“They got it wrong. She’s the monster. I’m just a victim.”
“That so?”
“Look, buddy. I don’t know who you are, or what you want. But-”
“Shut the fuck up!” Luther twisted the ear. “Answer when spoken to. You a killer or not?”
“No! I’m fucking innocent!”
“Well, I’m relieved to hear that, Mr…?”
“Donaldson. Gregory Donaldson.”
“Do you want to know why I’m after Lucy here?”
“No,” Donaldson grunted. “It’s none of my business.”
“Do you want to know how we met?”
“I want to do whatever you want me to do.”
“That’s good, Mr. Donaldson. Because I want you to… get. Out. Of. The. Car.”
At the word car, Luther tugged, yanking Donaldson’s head into the window so hard the glass fractured.
But the ear stayed attached.
It took three more yanks to rip it off.
Donaldson screamed, and dropped the scissors.
“Can you hear me now?” Luther spoke into the severed ear. He took two steps back from the car. “Can you hear me now?” He raised it up over his head. “How about now?”
Tossing the ear across the road, Luther opened the car door and seized Donaldson’s swollen wrist. He gave it a sudden twist, and there was a sound like bubble wrap popping as all of Donaldson’s broken parts ground against one another.
Donaldson tumbled onto the ground, his knees sinking into the soft earth, the sounds coming from his throat scarcely human.
His good arm still stretched back into the Honda, cuffed to Lucy who’d been dragged across the central console.
“What if I were to tell you, Mr. Donaldson, that I wasn’t here for Lucy at all?”
Donaldson whimpered something incoherent.
“What if I were to tell you that I travelled a very long way just to have a chat with you?”
Luther gave the arm another terrible yank.
Donaldson screamed, the loudest scream yet, and passed out.
Donaldson returned to consciousness with Luther right in his face.
“Were you having a nice dream?”
Donaldson roared, staring at the skin bubbling under the flame on his ruined arm.
Luther snapped the Zippo shut.
“Welcome back,” he said. “Now get the fuck up.”
He strained to drag Donaldson onto his feet.
“My God, you’re fat,” he said.
Donaldson whimpered, struggling to catch his breath. Luther got him onto his knees, which prompted more screaming.
“Loud, too,” Luther said. He reached over Donaldson and grasped Lucy’s outstretched arm. “Help me get her out, Fat Man, or I’m going to play with your arm some more.”
Sobbing, Donaldson managed to pull Lucy free of the Honda.
Luther jammed the airgun into his belt, heaved her over his shoulder, and ordered Donaldson to follow.
The trio trudged up the dirt road. Earth sucked at Donaldson’s bare feet.
“You’re seriously still crying?” Luther asked. “Pathetic.”
Cows groaned in the adjacent field.
Snowfields glowed on the slopes of a mountain range twenty miles away.
The barn loomed fifty yards ahead.
“What do you want?” Donaldson asked, his voice cracking.
“Keep walking, Fat Man.”
The barn stood silhouetted against the night sky, a massive structure with a steeply-pitched roof. Across a winter-killed field, at least a half-mile away, there was a farmhouse. Dark. No lights. No cars out front. It looked abandoned.
Luther said, “The cop. Jack Daniels. You’ve met her.”
“What?” Donaldson’s voice continued to quaver. “Sorry, but you gotta speak up.”
“Jack Daniels. You know her? I saw her talking about you on the news.”
“Met her at a truck stop, few weeks ago.”
“Tell me. Tell me everything.”
So he did. Donaldson told Luther about meeting Taylor, their plans for Jack, and how the bitch had gotten the upper hand. The story took them up until they got into the barn through a giant, sliding door that creaked with rust as Luther dragged it open. Inside, it was pitch black and smelled like moldering hay. Luther led them to one of the support posts for the loft.
“What was she like?” he said, bending down and dropping Lucy.
“What?”
Luther glanced back at Donaldson, saw the blood draining out of the hole where his ear used to be. H
e turned around and stuck his finger in the hole, holding Donaldson’s head while he screamed. Blood rushed out, and then the flow eased.
“That better?” Luther asked. “I’m kind of tired of repeating myself.”
Donaldson fell to his knees, and then rolled onto the ground. Luther raised up a boot over Donaldson’s bad arm, and the fat man began to blabber.
“She’s a cop,” Donaldson moaned. “Busted a bunch of serial killers. In person, she’s cute. But strong. And smart. I really wished I’d had a chance to dip my wick. Been thinking about going back and looking her up, after I heal.”
Donaldson squinted at Luther, who had found a rusty kerosene lamp with a little gas left hanging from the rafters. He used his Zippo to fire it up and hung it on a rusty nail. A soft, orange glow filled the barn.
“You think you’re going to get that chance now?”
“That depends on you. I’m at your mercy.”
“Yes, you are. You know how this little game usually turns out, don’t you?”
“I know. Can’t say I really care all that much at this point, either.”
“You’re not afraid of death?”
“Brother, I AM death.”
Luther seemed to consider it. Then he walked over and kicked Donaldson in the arm.
“And I am PAIN,” Luther said. “I’m a lot worse than death.”
Donaldson grabbed his swollen appendage and whimpered through the pain until he found his voice again. “Why so interested in that cop? Got a thing for women in uniform? Or… wait a sec… you’re going to make a run at her, aren’t you?”
“I know you think you’re the best at what you do. Obviously, the fact that I’m here, healthy and comfortable, refutes that. There is no one like me in the world. I need a challenge.”
“I can help you.”
“I don’t need your help. Clearly.”
“You could use someone to watch your back. This one isn’t easy. Trust me. She’s a tough nut to crack. We could… hunt her together.”
Luther knelt down and looked Donaldson in the eyes.
“Two more questions and then we can move on to other things. I want your opinion. Is Jack Daniels lucky? Or is she really better than you are?”
“Bitch got lucky.”
“How about me? Did I get lucky, too?”
“Every dog has his day,” Donaldson said, then spat in Luther’s face.
Luther wiped the trail of saliva away with one finger and touched his tongue to it.
“How about Lucy? Looks like she did quite a number on you. Did she get lucky? Or maybe it isn’t luck. Maybe you’re just a used-up, fat piece of shit, and that’s why Lieutenant Daniels beat you. Why Lucy beat you. And why I’m about to beat you. To death.”
Luther kicked Donaldson in the chest, and then began to stomp on the man, using his boot heel.
At first, Donaldson tried to cover up, protect himself.
Eventually he stopped trying.
“That’s just a taste,” Luther said, delivering one final kick and wiping the blood off his boot and onto Donaldson’s heaving chest. “I’ll be back when I move the cars. Stick around, make yourself at home.”
Luther strolled out of the barn and disappeared.
Donaldson struggled to sit up.
“Lucy!” he whispered.
He rolled over and took her tiny face in his hands. Shook her head.
“Wake up!”
He smacked her face three times, and she stirred, her eyes fluttering opening.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“He’s gone.”
“Who?”
“Luther, you dumb bitch. He shot you with a tranq dart. Something short-acting.”
Lucy sat up, moaning. “The nerve block has almost worn off. My legs are on fucking fire.”
“Take a number and join the club.”
“Where are we? It stinks in here.”
“A barn. Your friend, Luther, is not a nice man. I can’t walk and carry you. You can’t walk at all. Where are the keys to these handcuffs?”
Lucy rubbed her eyes. “What?”
“The keys, you stupid-”
“Oh.” She grinned. “It’s like…kind of embarrassing.”
“Look, if we can get these cuffs off, I can surprise him when he comes back. Then we can take his car. But I can’t do that if we’re fucking chained together.”
“Why should I help you? That man… Luther… is my friend.”
“That man ain’t anybody’s friend.”
“People would say the same about you, D.”
Donaldson let out a slow breath. He met Lucy’s eyes.
“Believe it or not, I’ve been thinking about what you said, while your friend was kicking the fuck out of me. About killing together or dying alone. I’m starting to like that idea.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“ Really really?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake-”
“Okay. If you want out of the cuffs, the key is up my ass. But you have to get it.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m serious.”
“Why in the hell would you stick the key up your ass?”
“I knew you’d frisk me. I didn’t have any other place to put it.”
“Well, why do I have to get it?”
“You’ve killed a hundred and thirty people, and you’re getting squeamish at sticking your finger up a girl’s ass? Some people pay to do it.”
Donaldson just glared at her.
“Tick, tock,” Lucy said. “My friend will be back any minute.”
“Roll over.”
Lucy shifted onto her side. Donaldson stuck his hand down the back of her scrubs.
“Donaldson?”
“What?”
“Be gentle.”
“How do I know you don’t have a fucking rat trap up there? I don’t want to lose a finger.”
“The rat trap is in front, in case you tried to rape me.”
Donaldson grunted, running his hand over bandages, slipping it underneath and inside.
“How far up is it?”
“I don’t know. An inch or two? I lost fifteen percent of my ass in the car wreck. You’ll probably know you’ve found it when your fingers touch a key.”
“Goddamn it.”
“Wouldn’t it be funny if there was no key, D?”
“Asshole. And I mean that in every sense of the word. Wait…okay…I think I got it.”
He retrieved his hand, pinching a not-so-shiny handcuff key. “Explain to me why I had to do this, and not you?”
“I don’t want to get shit all over my hand.”
Swearing, Donaldson moved to unlock the cuffs just as Luther returned.
“Look who’s awake,” Luther said.
Donaldson hid the key under a pile of moldy hay.
Luther walked over and squatted down in front of Lucy and Donaldson. He smiled at Lucy.
Horrifying.
“Is it really you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I never thought I’d see you again.”
Luther reached out, touched the side of her face. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman.”
“Thank you.”
Luther glanced at Donaldson, and then came to his feet. He lifted the kerosene lantern off the nail and carried it with him across the barn. The firelight splashed across a wall covered in ancient farm tools. Scythes of every size. Bill hooks. Sheep shears. Hay rakes. Axes. Hatchets. Sledgehammers. Drill spuds. Tail-docking shears. Yokes. Spades. Long-handled slashers. Hooks. Pruners. Pitchforks.
“I have my toolbox in the car,” Luther said, selecting the bill hook, “but I always like to make use of what’s around. You guys ever do that?”
“Can you pick a different one?” Lucy asked. “That one looks rusty. I wouldn’t want Donaldson to get tetanus.”
Luther chuckled.
“What exactly, darling, do you think is about to happen
here? We tag team Fat Man and then I rush you back to the hospital?”
“Yeah, that sounds great.”
Luther returned the bill hook to the shelf and pulled down the pair of sheep shears. He started toward them, opening and closing the blades to dislodge the clumps of accumulated rust.
“I’m going to start with you, Lucy. Show me those pretty little feet.”
Lucy reached her hand down into her pants.
“What?” Luther grinned. “This getting you hot? Wow, you are a little firecracker.”
He sat down on the floor in front of her and set the kerosene lamp next to him.
Grunting, Lucy extended her foot. The one Donaldson had shot three toes off of.
“Not quite as pretty as I was imagining.”
“You won’t do it,” she said. “We have a connection.”
“Think so?” He opened the shears. “Stick your big toe between the blades and find out.”
Lucy groaned, her hand still down her pants.
She set her big toe on the bottom blade.
Luther looked up, said, “Watch-”
His face dropped, and then a smile stretched his lips.
The blast of pepper spray hit him dead between the eyes, Lucy leaning forward, squirting it into his mouth and nose, and when the spray ended, Donaldson kicked Luther in the chest.
Luther fell back and dropped the shears, his hands clutching his face.
“You fucking bitch!” He pawed at his eyes.
Donaldson laughed. “Tell me, Luther, did she get lucky just now?”
Luther clambered onto his feet, one hand outstretched, his face buried in the side of his jacket.
“I can’t fucking see!” he screamed. “It burns!”
Luther stumbled like a drunk toward the opening of the barn.
Donaldson stuck his hand into the old hay, becoming frantic because he couldn’t find the key. After ten seconds of desperate groping, his fingers locked onto it.
“Grab the pitchfork,” Lucy said as he undid the cuffs. “Wait behind the door for him to come back.”
Donaldson heaved himself up to his feet and took a staggering step toward the wall of rusted farm implements. He grabbed the pitchfork, and then paused.
“Hurry!” Lucy said. “Hide before he comes back!”
“I’ve been maced before. Hurts like hell. Even if he washes off, he’s not coming back for at least ten minutes.”
“You going to sneak up on him, get him by his car?”
Donaldson shook his head slowly.
