Paint It All Red (Mindf*ck Series Book 5)

by S. T. Abby

  He continues to study me, unable to speak, and I know it’s killing him. A man who loves power is now confined to a bed, living in agonizing pain and never-ending helplessness. Even now, he can’t form words with that tube down his throat that is keeping him alive, and all he can do is listen.

  “You can’t even piss without a catheter right now, can you?” I ask, then notice the sheets are wet.

  “I guess Olivia decided to remove it for your final moments.”

  My eyes pop back up to his, and I see the fury washing around in his gaze.

  “You want to write a note?” I ask him, putting a pen in his dominant hand.

  His left hand weakly tries to clamp around it, but can’t, and it topples to the ground. I grin like the sadistic asshole I feel like right now. His suffering actually pleases me.

  “I’d rather do all the talking anyway,” I say with a shrug. “Olivia was the final piece of the puzzle. I wondered why Lana—Did I mention Victoria is Lana?—and Jake hadn’t bothered to strike out against the man who started the domino effect. But I was looking for a torture-and-kill like all the others.”

  The monitor beeps grow stronger and stronger.

  “But they had figured it out. And they started your torture long before anyone else’s. Olivia was sister to Caroline—one of the original victims. Unlike Caroline, Olivia looks nothing like the beautiful Jasmine Evans. Her red hair and lighter complexion did nothing for the killer who wanted to kill the same woman over and over. Olivia spoke out for Robert Evans, said there was no way he was capable of such monstrosities. She knew Robert, and he’d been alone with her sister countless times, always lending a hand to fix anything in their house that was messed up because Olivia was in school, and neither of them could afford a real handyman.”

  I sigh long and hard, thinking about how life can be so cruel to such a good man.

  “Robert never charged them. He was just a damn good guy. Which is probably what made Jasmine fall in love with him and leave behind a man who was only capable of loving himself. And let’s face it, that man moved on to another woman, but the only person to ever sting him with rejection was the one who loved a man so beneath him that it was disgusting. You hated Robert Evans, but you hid it well.”

  I study his eyes as they continue to burn with hatred for me while I unravel his masterful disguise.

  “You hated him so much, but you pretended to be his best friend even as you led the investigation in the direction of him—to punish him for taking a woman from you. From a man like you. How dare he, right? Am I missing anything, Christopher Denver?”

  The monitor beeps faster and faster, letting me know his anger continues to rise.

  “I should have noticed the way you put all your accolades up higher on the walls than your son’s. I should have paid attention to all the videos you had readily available of the trial. And all the numerous videos you had of Jasmine Evans. You knew her voice immediately.”

  I pull out a copy of the same file I prepared for Collins. “Your wife died after running her car off a bridge. She died when your son was small. No one questioned the suspicious bruising she had. They all chalked it up to the accident. But it wasn’t an accident, was it? You punished her regularly for Jasmine choosing Robert over you, and she finally ended the pain the only way she knew how.”

  I flip the page.

  “Your first murder was on the anniversary of your breakup with Jasmine. It was the same day of her first date with Robert, something the profile had suggested to be his trigger instead of yours.”

  I flip the page again, and I start reading off the facts I’ve gathered since piecing together Olivia’s involvement.

  “You mentioned your son had to be forced to show up on holidays, but I didn’t do the math until later. After all, family squabbles are not uncommon. I just didn’t realize his depth of hatred toward you until I finally pieced it all together. Jake stayed with the Evans family more than he stayed at home, because even back then, he hated you. But he didn’t know for certain you were a monster until last year. When he finally figured it all out around last Christmas.”

  I hold up the file, and his eyes try to read into what I’m saying. He thought he was too brilliant to ever be discovered.

  He’s clueless. His hubris is his own downfall.

  “You see, you thought you were smarter than everyone. After all, you’d gotten away with countless murders. You didn’t stop after Evans went to jail for the murders you’d committed. After that, you killed another girl, almost as though you were taunting the sheriff, using your same MO. But then you borrowed from other serial killers across the country after that, stealing their style and linking those kills to their names. Anyone who had a similar victimology to yours. You still wanted to punish Jasmine Evans even after all this time.”

  I turn the page again, flipping through the countless credit card hits that put Jake in this town for two solid weeks, right about the time the first phone call was made to Olivia from this very house.

  “But you never realized your son was smarter than you,” I say, taunting the man who grows more furious by the moment. “You never realized he crafted an even more elaborate, masterful plan than yours had ever been.”

  He still hasn’t figured out the best part yet.

  “Olivia was a microbiologist for a prestigious lab last year when your son gave her a call. It was right about the time he spent two solid weeks in your home, probably finding every bit of proof he needed to solidify his resolve. I’m sure he called Lana—she hates being called Victoria these days.”

  His eyes shift as he starts trying to assemble the pieces I’m laying down.

  “You suspected Victoria had survived, didn’t you? You even hinted as much to us. But you didn’t know for certain. Even before Jake found out the truth, he never trusted you with that secret. His loyalty was to her and her alone,” I go on, watching the utter fury continue to build.

  “You assumed Olivia was a sweet girl who loved you for trying to ‘save’ Robert Evans. After all, you defended him. Very poorly, I might add. A man as smart as you should have worked a little harder to get his best friend out of the murders he didn’t commit. But you weren’t really his friend, were you? I’m sure Jake learned the same thing when he watched that trial footage all over again with a clear head and from a distance.”

  I flip the page once more.

  “But why would Olivia quit her coveted place at the lab—something she’d worked so damn hard to achieve—to come play nursemaid to you when you got a strange sickness? Weekly deposits started going into her account from your son when she came to help you. Weekly deposits also came from you. Why get paid twice?”

  I smirk as I lean forward, watching the realization spread over his paling face.

  “Microbiology… It’s a fascinating field. You learn all about parasites. The right person could use that knowledge to slowly kill a man. To strip away all his power over a year. To make him gradually sicker in a way the doctors—who aren’t specialists in that field—could never understand. Especially if someone used an exotic parasite or something. I’m not saying that’s what she did, but she’s brilliant enough to have figured out a way to kill you slowly without anyone detecting the cause, all while taking care of you when the doctors gave up and just handed you half the drug store.”

  I gesture to the tray of drugs near the wall. The number of bottles have multiplied since my last visit.

  “But the endgame was coming, so Olivia bumped up her regimen, tipping you over the edge faster, reaping revenge for her sister and all those other women. And your son funded her. Lana conceded her own revenge for someone who needed it more. And here you are: impotent, weak, powerless, utterly helpless and literally pissing yourself.”

  The tears start gathering in his eyes; angry tears lined with pure, unadulterated hatred.

  “She did her part, and left this note for me. Somehow she knew I was coming,” I say, lifting the note, and I read it aloud. “It’s to
o late for him. I drew out his agony as long as I could. But you can’t save him now. Good luck finding me.”

  I lower the note and smirk at him.

  “She thinks I want to save you and find her so I can lock her up. She doesn’t understand why I’m really here.”

  I pull out my gun, cocking it as I stand and push the note back into my pocket.

  “You should know, your son was twice the mastermind you ever were, because he didn’t kill just to be powerful. He killed for revenge. And his own father helped aide in the murder of the boy he loved.”

  I point the gun at his groin, even though I almost grimace at what’s to come. But Lana needs to know I’m not going away once I find her. One irredeemable act will mean I can never come back.

  “As much as I want you to die slowly, I need to show my girl how serious I am about staying with her. Originally, I was content to watch you die slowly. But something changed today. Something I’m still too scared to fully embrace until I put my eyes on the physical promise of it. For the first time ever, I have hope.”

  I put the earplugs in, cracking my neck to the side as I finish. He makes a sound, his eyes widening as I put my finger on the trigger.

  “Have fun in hell, Christopher.”

  With that, I fire the gun into his groin until it’s empty. The monitors go crazy as he crashes, and his body starts to convulse as blood plumes form across the sheet and blankets.

  They played the longest game of torture for the worst offender. As I said, I underestimated the true genius of dark minds.

  As I put my gun away, I pull out the earplugs and pick up my phone. I have limited time before this body is discovered. Collins and my team will know it’s me the second they find out who it is.

  I labeled him the original killer.

  He ends up shot in the groin over and over.

  It’s not rocket science to piece it together.

  Dialing Hadley, I walk out of the house, leaving behind the last piece of the intricate puzzle.

  “You ready?” she asks.

  “I’ll be there in fifteen. Did you find them?”

  “Not yet. But I will.”

  Chapter 19

  Wherever you go, go with all your heart.

  —Confucius

  LANA

  Three months ago, I thought I was going to die.

  But once again, I was saved by a brother, though not the same one.

  Jake walked in, firing rapidly, and threw in a smoke bomb. I wish I’d thought of a smoke bomb. I was too busy thinking I was invincible.

  I’d thought I saw Marcus, but it wasn’t him. It was the other brother. The one who had stood by me through hell and high water, and dragged me out of the pit one last time, saving me just barely in time.

  And we made it out before the fire caught up. Before the building exploded. Before anyone ever knew he’d saved me.

  He’d already paid off a hospital staff who closed off a wing like I was royalty, and they patched me up enough to travel by sea—on the yacht Jake also bought, since flight plans had to be changed to avoid anyone noticing my condition.

  From time to time, I check in on Logan—or try to. He’s been on leave, but Jake won’t hack the FBI data base to find out more than that.

  We know we have to let Logan and Hadley go. It’s what’s safest for them.

  We can’t condemn corruption then drag more souls into our own damnation without facing our own hypocrisy.

  I pick up Jake’s underwear and groan as I toss them into the laundry basket he can never seem to find. I still have a small limp, but I’m getting stronger with each passing day.

  My hand has healed up much quicker than my leg, but the doctor swears I’ll make a full recovery with just a scar as a reminder. At least I won’t mind my new scars. They tell a better story of survival than the others.

  We’re both a little lost right now, trying to find a new purpose to channel all our energy into. Jake has gotten good at fishing—weirdly enough. We’ve both gotten really good at being drunk half the day.

  The pain in my leg is barely even there anymore. I’ll be glad when it’s gone completely.

  My wax apple is proudly stationed next to a portrait of the ashy remnants of Delaney Grove, and I smirk at all the nails sticking out of it. The last one was added over a month ago. There’s only one more nail to go before the apple art is complete.

  Something falls, and I whirl around, a knife in my hand, just in time to see a black blur of fur as it dives behind my couch. I see the coaster that has been knocked off the table, and I curse Bennett.

  “Bennett,” I hiss at the fur ball.

  A small meow follows the scolding as Bennett pokes his head out from behind the couch and peers at me with innocent eyes. Damn cat.

  I fill up his food bowl, and he slides across the slick, tile floor when he tries to tackle it. Then I kick on some sandals and head out for my daily walk, making my leg stronger and stronger.

  At least I’m good at rehabilitation.

  Per the usual, I plug in my earbuds and start playing my music, while also internet searching for any news from the states that might pertain to the FBI finally fessing up to the truth.

  I know it’s doubtful, despite the mounds of evidence, but I keep hoping they’ll eventually exonerate my father’s memory.

  Delaney Grove has started rebuilding, according to one article. The people are trying to piece their town together, and the dorky but sweet deputy has been named the new county sheriff. It might have helped that we spared his life, along with two others who weren’t involved.

  The rest of the world may forget us and the legacy we left behind, but Delaney Grove will forever be changed. No one there will forget.

  And maybe Jake and I took a long trip back to the states just to kill Jason for the purpose of letting Logan know I was alive.

  Jake had to help me subdue him, considering I’m still not as fast, given the leg injury.

  But I don’t know if Logan ever figured it out. It took them longer to recover the body than I expected. Sheesh. That house must have the lowest interest in the market.

  However, it was discovered over two weeks ago, and nothing suspicious has happened. Jake is too busy fishing and still too mad at me to hack anything for me, so I’m stuck with the regular articles everyone sees.

  Most of the buzz is still going, and weird conspiracy theories have formed, overshadowing the actual conspiracy theory.

  But one article has me almost tripping over myself when I’m right in front of my house. My eyes read over it quickly, trying to understand the words.

  The same day Jason’s body was discovered, another man died, though his body was just recovered yesterday afternoon.

  It’s the man’s name that has my skin prickling.

  Christopher Denver.

  Olivia hasn’t called to tell us anything. At least Jake hasn’t mentioned it. Then again, he’s still pissed at me for almost dying, so prying information about following events has been difficult, since that’s part of my punishment.

  I turn and look at the beach where Jake is lying down, a pole between his legs as he sleeps and fishes at the same time. I trudge through the sand, wincing when I try to run. Then I kick the jerk.

  A loud oomph leaves his lips as I kneel beside him.

  “What the hell?” he snaps, rubbing his side as he glares at me.

  “When did Olivia call? And don’t tell me she hasn’t.”

  He looks genuinely confused.

  “I haven’t felt it safe enough to contact her with a new number yet, considering there was some federal activity on her name. I set her phone up for alerts to notify her if anyone got wind of her trail, and had her a new identity ready and waiting. If she has to leave, she’ll go to the safe house, and I’ll get an alert when she does.”

  He holds up his phone and I sink to the sand a little more as I hand him my phone to read.

  He skims the article at first, then bolts upright to a seated position
.

  “Olivia wouldn’t have shot him,” he says, shaking his head. “She was content with drawing it out as long as possible once his organs started failing.”

  “Apparently something happened. I never pictured her as a crotch shooter, but that’s where he bled out from.”

  “Maybe she spent too much time with you,” he quips, still reading it.

  I remember the day Jake figured it out. I’d already been suspicious, but couldn’t bring myself to fully believe it. Not until Jake walked in and we both confirmed the worst case scenario together.

  He had all the copies of his father’s DVDs in his hands, and tears were in his eyes. We watched the trial again together, saw the occasional slip up when Christopher would smirk as my father sobbed.

  It became overtly obvious during one home video when his father couldn’t look away from my mother at a birthday party. And his jaw was grinding when my father came up and kissed her, causing her to giggle in his arms.

  It was the most painful realization.

  My father’s best friend.

  My best friend’s father.

  The same man who had sat at our table for holidays when we were growing up, was the same man who’d sentenced my father to the worst death imaginable.

  That’s when we called Olivia.

  Jake didn’t even hesitate. He hated him already, but he said his father was dead to him after that.

  He started the regimen Olivia concocted—a new synthetic parasite she’d been working on in her lab—and so it began. The first thing to leave him was his sex drive. Not even a little blue pill could fix that.

  The second thing to go was his energy.

  From there, things just slowly, agonizingly, started getting worse and worse. She assured us the pain would grow to be unbearable, and she was all too happy to make it happen.

  Jake helped her get the synthetic parasite off the lab property and even hacked the files that held the information about it. She also took a few extras for later on—the endgame.