Victoria's Destiny

by L. J. Garland

  The killer moved into the dining room doorway.

  Or a coroner’s assistant.

  River’s jaw clenched, his molars grinding together. Holy shit. The coroner’s assistant? The new kid who fainted, dropping Kent’s dead body?

  A cruel smile twisted Jamie Bennett’s lips. “You’re awake.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A thick, greasy chill crawled up River’s spine. Jamie Bennett gazed at him with the eyes of a cold-blooded, psychopathic killer. Eyes that said he marked his time on Earth by the number of torturous deaths he racked up.

  River glanced toward the dining table, the waitress’s feet in plain view. His stomach twisted.

  Cocking his eyebrow, the madman jerked his thumb toward the redhead. “Caught me in the middle of it. We’ll reminisce in a bit, Riv.”

  Jamie reached down, pulled a hunting knife from the sheath at his waist. The sight of the enormous blade glinting in the light sent anger spiking through River. Arrogant son of a bitch is gonna do it. Right here. Right now. Right in front of me. He yanked against the ropes holding him captive. The chair beneath him creaked and moaned but didn’t give. With a growl, he jerked his entire body in an attempt to break free and almost toppled over.

  Latin words flowed from Jamie’s mouth, the cadence smooth and entrancing. “Licentia.” He lifted the knife, held it in front of his face, and kissed the blade. “Meus vita. Meus diligo. Meus deus. Thurisaz meus deus. Per is vitualamen largior in mihi vita eternus. Meus Thurisaz.”

  River stopped struggling. Oh, shit. What the hell is he saying? He’d picked up a few words over the past few days, and damn if he didn’t just hear some of them.

  Licentia. Vita eternus. Freedom. Life eternal.

  They’d been scrawled in the notes left by the killer. By Jamie.

  Thurisaz? Ice ran through his veins. For all of his outlandish ideas, did Lenny hit the nail on the head? Is Jamie killing, sacrificing women to some evil demon known as Thurisaz?

  The copycat killer raised the knife above his head and stepped behind the wall.

  “No!” River fought against the damnable ropes but to no avail. He was trapped. Abject horror consumed him as the redhead’s feet jerked, fresh blood spattering the painted toenails.

  Vomit shoved up his throat, and he choked. Damn. The bastard did it. Oh God. He cut her open. Shoved his hands into her chest. Yanked out her heart.

  The redhead’s feet stilled. Jamie continued to chant, his words blurring in River’s mind. Vicki…. His gaze shot to her. Thank goodness she remained unconscious. Witnessing the brutal murder of the woman she’d had a vision about might have sent her over the edge.

  The shadows on the dining room wall intensified as though the candles engorged. He squinted at the bank of windows lining the rear of the house. What was the insane bastard up to?

  A flash of light engulfed the dining room. The brilliant reflection off the back windows stabbed River’s retinas, forcing him to squeeze his eyes closed. He turned his head just as a wave of blistering air rushed over him. White-hot fire scraped across his skin, pushed through his hair, tugged at his clothes, and then receded.

  He sucked in a breath. Coughed. “Shit.”

  He lifted his eyes toward the dining room. Wispy curls of black smoke slithered through the doorway. Long swirling tendrils crawled into the great room, twisting around Vicki’s ankles, snaking up her calves.

  As though a living being, the smoke crept toward River, seeming to sense his presence, searching. Smoky fingers caressed his shoes, coiled around his legs. He jerked, the foul stench of sulfur assaulting his nose. How could smoke feel so…oily?

  Jamie stepped into the doorway. Blood streaked his pants and stained his shirt, the long sleeves drenched to the elbows. He stared at River, not seeming to notice or care that red droplets spattered his face. His dark gaze demanded attention.

  “All done.” A satisfied, cocky grin twisted his lips. “Let’s have us a talk.”

  Blurred sounds trickled through Vicki’s head. She concentrated, tried to make sense of it. Two people spoke. One sounded familiar. Damn, it was like a sledgehammer pounded the back of her head.

  She forced her eyes open. Lights. Shapes. Voices.

  River. Vicki lifted her head, blinked, narrowed her eyes. He sat tied to a chair across the room.

  She moved to go to him but couldn’t. Oh my God. Thick ropes held her arms and waist bound to a chair as well. Her ankles were tied together. She glanced at River then at who he spoke with. When she saw the wavy dark hair, the wiry build, adrenaline dumped into her veins, clearing the haze from her mind.

  She’d seen him before—the night she’d met Becca at the pub before dinner. He’d been their waiter. Brought them wine. She racked her brain for his name. Brad? No, Brent.

  Her stomach clenched. I encouraged her to go out with him. The guy who’d kidnapped the waitress. A shiver tumbled down her spine. She’d almost sent her best friend into the arms of a psychotic killer.

  “What’s wrong, River?” A bold grin curved Brent’s lips. “Don’t you recognize me?”

  She stared. All the blood. It streaked his pants, drenched his shirt, spattered his face. She looked to the floor where she’d last seen the waitress, and her breath caught. Gone. The redhead, she’s gone. She shifted her gaze back to the waiter. His wrists and hands appeared to have been dipped in red paint. She gritted her molars, trying not to choke on the acid in her throat. He’s taken her heart. Just like all the others.

  Her stomach heaved, and she coughed. God, now is not the time to throw up. She gulped air. Swallowed hard.

  Brent’s eyes cut toward her. “Well, well. Look at the hottie that just woke up. How ya feeling, hon? Headache?”

  She glared at him but said nothing.

  “You leave her alone,” River growled. “This is between you and me, Bennett.”

  The killer turned toward him. “So, you do remember.”

  “I remember a weak-ass punk who couldn’t even lift a dead body.” He strained to lean forward, a sneer on his face, the ropes across his chest digging into his shirt. “It was your job, Jamie. But you couldn’t take it. Fainted like the pussy you are.”

  Vicki frowned. Jamie? I thought his name was Brent.

  The guy threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah. That’s what happened all right.” He sauntered into the kitchen, at ease, in control. “You’ll excuse me while I take a moment to get cleaned up. I’m afraid my appearance offends your girlfriend.” Flashing a smile at her, he undid the top two buttons on his shirt.

  Vicki twisted away toward River instead. In his eyes, she found a mix of concern and anger. “Not your fault,” she mouthed.

  He grimaced in response, and her heart ached. He blamed himself for their predicament. He didn’t understand it would’ve happened anyway. She’d had a vision, seen the symbols.

  When the sound of water came from the kitchen, she glanced back toward the bar. Bloodied shirt removed and head bent, the guy washed his hands and arms in the sink. Why did it even matter whether he cleaned up or not? It wasn’t like he would let them go.

  Then her gaze dipped to what lay on the granite countertop in front of him. Oh, no! A stocky black pistol sat inches from the killer. That’s the gun I saw in my vision for myself. Minutes had passed, and already she’d seen two symbols. Only a large knife and a golden circle remained for her before…the damned pointed D. How much time did she have left? Her stomach churned. Wasn’t there anything she could do to stop this?

  Her attention moved to the far end of the bar, landing on a huge yellow flower vase. Her heart skipped a beat. Crap. Yellow oval. Has River seen it? She turned back, noted his solemn nod.

  The water shut off, and Brent or Jamie—whoever the hell he was—exited the kitchen. The sullied long-sleeved shirt gone, the blood washed from his arms, he strode into the vaulted living area while he dried his face with a dishtowel. He dropped his hands to his sides, turned toward them.

  “Better?” T
eeth gleaming, the smile on his face didn’t reach his dark, evil eyes.

  Vicki’s focus moved from his face to the T-shirt he’d worn beneath the discarded long-sleeved button-down work shirt. In a few places, red spots marred the white tee where it’d soaked through. The sight sent her mind spinning as dread clawed at her lungs.

  “Shit,” River muttered.

  Vicki’s head dipped, eyelids fluttered. Is she going to pass out? Hell, it might be better if she did.

  “What?” Jamie took a step toward him.

  “I said you look like shit.” He stared at the shirt the kid wore. Damn. He squinted, read the words again. At the top was printed, “You’re getting very sleepy.” At the bottom, “Now take off all your clothes.” And in between sat the biggest fucking black spiral he’d ever seen. Shit. Mark another off for me. Just a gray circle stands between me and death.

  Jamie glanced down, laughed. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers. Had to take what was clean at the time.”

  He fisted his hands, molten anger rolling in his gut, but he forced his voice to remain calm. “Yeah. I guess.”

  “But this isn’t about my clothing options.” He grinned, giving him a meaningful stare. “This is about you and me, Riv. Always has been.”

  He shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I suspect on the surface, you don’t.” The killer tilted his head, ran a long finger over his lower lip. “But somewhere deep inside, you can hear something whispering the truth. Though you’ve probably drowned it out with all of your evidence and reality checks. Just listen. You know who I am, whether you want to admit it or not.”

  “You’re Jamie Bennett, coroner’s assistant from Austin, Texas, and all-around piece of shit.”

  “Oh, come on, Riv. Dig deep.” After a moment, he sighed. “No? Well, what if I said Polo?”

  He swallowed hard. “Yeah, I was wondering how you’d explain that one.”

  Jamie angled toward Vicki. “You see, my blonde beauty, River and I go way back. He just refuses to admit the truth. Polo was a conversation we had one night after working a crime scene for the infamous Valentine Killer out in Austin. It was like a game with the killer. We’d call out Marco, he’d answer Polo with a dead body, and then he’d disappear. Poof. We missed him every time.” He turned back to him. “That how you remember it, Riv?”

  The knot in his gut tightened until it hurt. The little voice Jamie had spoken of grew louder, but he’d be damned if he would give it credence. “Yeah. Pretty much. But anyone could’ve figured it out.”

  “I suppose.” Jamie nodded. “But only your partner would know how the idea came about.”

  River shrugged. “Just means you collaborated with my dead partner, planned the whole thing out together.”

  “You’re not getting it.” He shook his head, rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. With an exasperated sigh, the madman met his gaze. “I am your dead partner.”

  The words jolted through him, and River gripped the chair arms. “Oh, hell no.”

  “Oh, hell yes.” The killer snickered, a hint of satisfaction glinting in his eyes. “I’m Kent Rowton, your dead partner…the infamous Valentine Killer.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Icy sweat trickled down River’s neck. Lies. Kent’s dead. Cremated.

  Turning to Vicki, the imposter jerked his thumb toward River. “Out in Texas, we were partners on the force for five years. You’d think he’d know me regardless of what I looked like now. Figured he’d, you know…sense me or something, sense that I’m Kent.” He gestured at himself. “Okay, so I’m in a different body, I get that. But seriously, after five years of being practically joined at the hip day in and day out….” He sat on the edge of the coffee table. “We worked well together, too. I remember when he came crying to me. His wife, Betsy, had left him. Did you know he’d been married?” He shifted his focus to River. “Remember? At the time, I wanted to tell you what a bitch she was, but settled with ‘you’re better off without her.’ But really, she just got bored. By the time she left, she’d screwed half the force.”

  “Don’t talk about my ex-wife.” River jerked against the ropes holding him. He’d suspected Betsy had stepped out on him a couple times. The furtive glances at his coworkers, how she never quite met his gaze. But he wasn’t about to admit anything to this bastard. “It was the job. She left because she couldn’t take the hours I had to keep.”

  “Just keep telling yourself whatever you have to.” With a shrug, the killer leaned toward Vicki in a gesture of intimate conspirators. “Really? There just wasn’t anybody left who wanted a piece of her ass.”

  “Bastard,” River growled.

  “Afterward, we got piss-assed drunk. Shared all kinds of secrets. Didn’t tell him about all the girls I’d killed, though.” He winked, held a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

  “So, you and Kent talked. He told you stuff about me.” He glared, desperate to take the maniac’s focus off Vicki. “Nothing you’ve told me proves a damn thing.”

  Jamie’s head swung around. “Ask me anything. We worked together, all but joined at the hip for five years. The last eighteen months the most intense, I might add. Damn, you had some good plans cooked up to catch me, but none of them ever panned out, did they? Kept me on my toes though, for sure. ’Course, that’s what made it so much fun. Cat and mouse. Marco and Polo. So, ask me, River. Something inconsequential, something only the real Kent Rowton would know.”

  “Okay.” River smirked. The bastard’s arrogance had trapped him. “Where did we go for lunch our first day as partners?”

  Jamie smiled. “Ah, a trick question. We started to go to Kelli’s Deli but got a call. We didn’t get to eat anything until dinnertime. We ended up at a little Chinese place called The Great Dragon.” He rubbed a finger across his chin, eyes rolling up and to the left. “Burned to the ground a month later, I believe.”

  Shock rattled him. Damn. How did he know that?

  “Is he right, River?” Vicki whispered.

  “Yes.” But damned if he knew how.

  She blinked, squeezed her eyes closed tight for a moment. When she opened them, she shifted her gaze from him to the floor near her feet. “How did he know?”

  River stared at her, and her focus darted to the floor again. “I have no idea.” He looked at the hardwood and found a circle with a couple lines inside drawn in blood. Did she do it?

  She tilted her shoes, revealing a thick red coating on the soles. She did draw it. Though her ankles were bound together, she had enough freedom of movement to create the design.

  “Do you think it could be him…your dead partner?” Her lips thinned, anger burned within those gray eyes of hers.

  River smirked in astonishment. She’s not scared. She’s pissed off.

  Jamie laughed. “It’s me, and he knows it. He’s just locked in his little box of facts and evidence, too scared to step outside and see the real world.”

  River gave her a slight nod. He would distract the killer, so she could finish the pentagram with the pointed capital D on the floor. Maybe mixing up the order will give us a chance. Maybe not. Either way, what the hell will it hurt?

  “So, for the sake of argument,” he said, turning back to Jamie, drawing his focus, “let’s say you are Kent. How did you end up in Jamie Bennett’s body?”

  “Funny story. Remember the trip I took to South America about two years ago? Found a Latina hottie who rocked my world.” He growled, a lascivious smile twisting his mouth. “Let’s just say she showed me more than a good time. Oh, so much more. She explained the path to me.”

  River frowned. “The path?”

  “La Trayectoria a la Vita Eterna. The Path to Eternal Life. She told me I could live forever. I’ll tell you, I thought it was bullshit.” A gruff laugh erupted from his mouth. “It was all about the hot Latin pussy. You know?”

  “Yeah.” He just bet it was.

  Jamie stilled, his gaze pinned on River. “But then
stuff happened. Strange shit. Instantaneous fires. Not like the candles igniting shit, but full-blown bonfires, bursting to life, green and blue flames lapping the stacked wood. People fell into unexplained comas or spoke in another language. Levitation—damn if people didn’t just lift right off the floor. Shit like I’ve never seen. And let me tell you, there was more than one time I wished you’d been there, too. Seeing all the craziness right along with me.”

  “They could’ve rigged it,” River countered, playing against him, keeping him engaged. Using his peripheral, he noted Vicki had managed another line inside the circle. “How much money did they get from you?”

  “Not a dime.” Jamie leaned forward, put his forearms on his knees. “Every follower had more than they needed. Big houses, fancy cars, planes, yachts. What did they want me for? That’s what finally convinced me to give it a try. A taste of the good life after living on a cop’s salary, why the fuck not?”

  “So what’d it start with?” River tilted his head, snorted. “Kill a few chickens, stand around naked, and chant?”

  “No. My god demands sacrifice of the Mayan variety. Beating hearts, dedication, belief. The first two were easy.” He licked his lips, rubbed his palms together. “Snatching those girls, offering those hearts to Thurisaz. Gotta say, not as difficult as I’d thought it would be.”

  River jerked. “Thur…?”

  “Thurisaz. A high demon. Creates chaos. Loves sacrifices.” The guy’s eyes turned glassy as though he was remembering something.

  Pure adrenaline pumped through River’s veins. Holy shit. Lenny was right. The dogged reporter had discovered the truth and shared it with him, but River had been so sure he’d veered off the road of sanity.

  “Of course….” Jamie’s focus sharpened on River. “It was strange at first. I’d take out the heart, perform the ritual, and turn my back. Then there’d be this flash of light, and when I turned around, it was gone. Damn if that still-warm, bloody, beating heart hadn’t just disappeared.”