by V. F. Mason
“Actually, forget I said anything.”
He meets my murmur with a sarcastic comeback. “Apparently, ‘forget it, Kierian’ are your favorite words thrown my way.”
“Do you harass all your one-night stands?” Not that I ever want to think about him with other women, as it creates a deep, red rage inside me.
“I’m hardly harassing you, Ella. And it wasn’t a one-night stand.”
Oh my God. He’s impossible!
He threatens my sanity, and no person should do that. I want to sacrifice my life to catch serial killers, and I won’t be able to form any kind of relationship with someone if my head is busy worrying about them.
In normal circumstances, I wouldn’t bother explaining or justifying my actions, but I feel like Kierian deserves that. It’s not his fault I’m fucked up. “My family was killed by Benjamin Donovan.”
He freezes, muttering quietly, “Fuck.”
Talking about my family always brings me pain, but it needs to be said so he can put all this crap to rest. So I continue. “It changed my whole life, okay? I don’t ever want to come home to find my family dead… again. I don’t do relationships. Frankly, I have no clue why I’m telling you all this, considering we had a one-night stand, but there you go. Please drop the subject, Kierian.”
“You are the only living victim of his crimes.”
“Right. The lucky one.” Sarcasm laces my voice. “Someone even offered me a contract to write a book.” I shut the door in their face and got a restraining order. How stupid can someone be to be so insensitive to a tragedy?
I expect him to reassure me or tell me he’s sorry; that’s what people usually do and why I hate to share this tidbit of information.
Instead, he turns the radio louder and continues our ride in silence while I’m slightly taken aback by this attitude. Shouldn’t he have additional questions for me? Anything to break the silence that’s fallen over us.
And while my initial plan was for him to step back, I can’t help the disappointment deep in the pit of my stomach that my fucked-up teenage trauma changed his mind.
Go figure.
Finally, my building comes into the view and he pulls over to the side, the engine running as he gets out, and my brows furrow.
What is he doing?
I follow suit, only to be immediately pressed to the closed door behind me without even an inch between us.
“What are you—” My words die on my lips as he covers my mouth with his, and I gasp in surprise, giving him the perfect opening to push his tongue inside. One hand fists my hair while the other locks tightly around my waist.
All common sense flies from my mind, and instead of freeing myself, I angle my head, giving him deeper access, and we both groan. I can’t help but grab his jacket, bringing us closer, although closer is impossible at this point.
No one in this world in my memory kisses as good as Kierian McAvoy. With him, I don’t have to think about anything, because only we exist in the cocoon he creates.
He dominates my mouth in a way that makes a promise and stakes a claim, and even though I know it’s not meant to be, I give all of myself to this kiss.
My lungs burn, and with a moan I tear my mouth away as we both breathe heavily, gulping air. He runs his nose along the crook of my neck, breathing me in, as I whisper, “Thanks for the goodbye kiss.” He bites a little on my skin, sending a hot flash straight through me, and thank God he parked in a secluded area, so no one will see this public display of affection.
He leans back and our gazes clash; his heated one drills into me as if he wants to know my darkest secrets, but I don’t have any. “At work, we work. But when we’re outside it? We’ll explore this. Understood?”
The haze of the kiss doesn’t overshadow my determination as I pull away, and surprisingly, he lets me. “Kierian, you don’t get to order me around.”
“No, but I get to push you out of those chains you’ve placed on yourself.” With that, he gives me one last peck, and murmurs, “Goodnight, Ella.”
I stand there speechless as he hops in the car and drives away, leaving me alone while confusing emotions swirl in my mind.
Placing my fingers on my burning lips, I wonder just how determined Kierian can be.
Chapter Six
Richmond, Virginia
July 2007
Ella
“This is insane,” Agent Jordan screams in my face, but I don't budge under his harsh voice. He looks in the direction of Agent Bates, gesturing with his hand to do something with me.
The agent turns to me, and we hold each other’s stare for a short while. He must read my stubbornness, because with a heavy sigh he nods.
“She needs it,” he says as if he knows what I’m going through, but I doubt it.
To understand my nightmare, you have to live it.
Agent Jordan presses the button on the door, and we step into the prison hall where each move echoes through the space filled with dangerous energy. Goose bumps break out on my skin as the prison officer greets us and motions to the long hall studded with gated doors.
He takes us deeper inside, where we pass several rooms with inmates.
Agent Jordan’s hand on my arm tightens as he pushes me forward, not letting me sink into despair, fear, and doom.
After a few more steps, we reach the guarded interrogation room, and with the press of another button, the door slides open while two more officers meet us there.
“He’s already inside,” one of them says, turning on the screen. My breath hitches as I see Ben for the first time since my graduation.
The room has only one metal table along with two chairs with a two-way glass mirror. He wears an orange jumpsuit. His normally long hair is buzz-cut almost bald. Anticipation is written all over his features. His fingers drum impatiently while he jiggles his legs, clearly barely containing his excitement.
“He is handcuffed to the table, so there is no way he can get to you. However, we will be here the entire time, and if he even attempts to stand or try to hurt you, we’ll be by your side,” Agent Bates promises while pressing one more button so the doors next to him slide open.
His reassurance does little to soothe me, but I have no one else but myself to blame for this situation.
With fear, though, comes determination. Chloe’s father is to be executed in a few days, and I can’t let him go without getting an answer to my question.
Just one fucking question, and he can go rot in hell.
Taking a deep breath, I stop there while Ben’s attention immediately focuses on me and his mouth spreads in a wide grin.
He tries to stand, but the chains won’t let him, clanging against the metal as he angrily pulls on them.
Then he calms down, and says with wonder and joy lacing his voice, “Ella.”
Sitting down opposite him, I hold his stare while different thoughts run through my mind.
I’ve been preparing for this meeting for the last two months, playing it over in my mind hundreds of times, imagining spitting in his face and demanding answers. I cut off everyone from my life, even Chloe, who suffers her own pain. This man destroyed my life and then pretended to be a good guy, when in fact he was the evil one.
But as I sit here, I can’t muster an ounce of emotion except deep regret. And before I can stop myself, I ask the one question that doesn't let me sleep at night and wrecks my soul every day. “Why?”
He frowns. “Why did I kill your parents?” he asks so easily, so carelessly, barely curious. Like we are discussing the weather or the latest gossip. A little grin kicks up the corner of his mouth, reminding me of Chloe when something brings her joy. How can I ever stay friends with her? She shares the same face with him. I used to be jealous of the connection she had with her father, their camping trips and soccer games. My father hadn't let me play or do anything dangerous while he constantly preached to me about the future.
How I wish I could hear his nagging voice one more time; I’d give anything
for it.
“It brought me pleasure,” Ben says, and it snaps me back. I try to understand what he’s talking about. “My victims. How their pulse stops once I slice their throats, the fear in their eyes, and the power high it brought me. I wasn't just a dad or a loser husband there. I was the fucking king and their life belonged to me.”
Bile rises in my throat from his description, but he doesn't stop. His gaze is faraway, while he almost zones out of everything but his sensations.
Then it hits me.
He is reliving them all over again. “But the little girls… the little girls and their cries while I showed them how much I loved them were the best. Those were the moments worth living for.”
My fists clench, barely containing myself from throwing myself at him and beating the shit out of this sick fucker.
Serial killer and pedophile, I fucking hate him. So many destroyed lives because he was chasing some high none of us could understand.
“You were the most beautiful one of them all.” What? “When your parents moved into our neighborhood, you were so pretty. Running around in your yellow dress with your dark pigtails, a careless six-year-old.” He licks his lips and almost whimpers, while I turn away as if protecting myself from his words. “I couldn't wait to sink my hands into you and strip you of your childlike innocence. But your father always stuck around, and they became great friends with my wife, so I had to back down and find other people.” The minute the meaning of his words registers, I gasp in shock as he chuckles. “Getting all those other families? They satisfied my desire to kill. Conquering the dragons who kept me away from the princesses, I won them fair and square.” This man is sick; what else can explain his fucked-up way of thinking? “But Sarah… she was too beautiful to resist. I couldn’t help myself.” He tugs his chains and screams in frustration when they don't budge. “She begged me not to do it. Nothing compares to the little cries and whimpers of a small girl. Nothing.” He digs his fingers onto the table, his eyes sparkling.
My poor baby sister, how could we have never seen this insanity right under our noses?
Death is too easy a sentence for him. He deserves to rot in prison for life. But even then, I don't think he’d ever regret his actions or feel remorse.
How is it possible to live without remorse? And how good a manipulator do you have to be to live in constant deception, a wolf in sheep’s clothes? Although calling this piece of shit a wolf, such a beautiful animal, was an insult to the wild creature itself.
“Why?” I repeat my question, and add, “Why didn't you kill me too?” He blinks in surprise while I await his reply, because that’s the only question that interests me.
He is so arrogant and narcissistic he thought I’d come to talk about him or the killings. But as much as it might be futile for police and agents or other families, it’s not for me.
I only need to know why he left me to live in this world all alone while he took my loved ones away. He wasn't this cruel to other families, but I had to be the only living victim of all his crimes.
He stays silent, and I can’t take it anymore. I rise and slam my fist on the table, ignoring the shot of pain that travels from my knuckles to my shoulder. “Fucking why?” I scream in his face while he just rubs his chin.
“I was in the house when you came back from driving with Chloe. I heard you in the shower. It would have been so easy to come and slide the knife over your artery. Your pale skin is made for blood.” A droplet of sweat appears on his forehead, so I bang my hand down again, not allowing him to go into some kind of nirvana only he understands. “But there is something about you, Ella… it brings more pleasure to watch you suffer than to kill you.”
“You bastard!” I shout, throwing the chair to the wall and dashing toward him, but strong arms grab me from behind.
Agent Jordan locks me in his embrace while he barks an order. “Take him out of here.”
Sobs escape my mouth, as I weep for the life I’ve lost because of one sick, twisted mind who thought it would be interesting to watch me suffer.
My knees wobble and I sit back down, covering my face with my hands while my shoulders shake from crying and the desperation running through me.
Although I got my answer, it hadn't brought me peace or relief.
If anything, it made my suffering even greater.
He leaves, but not before turning back to me with his final blow. “Maybe if you understood the likes of me, you could relate.” After that, he leaves, but his words echo in my brain.
No one can understand monsters.
No one can explain this evil.
No one can ever justify them.
But there are people who can catch them.
New York, New York
May 2018
Psychopath
“Please let me go,” the man begs, and I barely restrain myself from rolling my eyes, because all their pleadings consist of the same things. None of them takes it like a real man or tries to.
But then again, cowards don’t show bravery.
“I have a family—” The tightly placed tape over his mouth shuts him up before I can snap and kill him in a rage, losing all my control.
He pushes at the restraints that chain him tight to the metal chair located right in the middle of my basement. Sweat drips from his forehead down his nose and to his chin; his shirt is soaking wet. He shakes his head, silently pleading again.
Lately, torture isn’t bringing me a high, and I do minimal stuff to make them suffer and then kill. But Ella and her interest… it’s brought something back.
Something I thought died with all the years of experience.
A desire to make an art of the process.
Her mind works in a different way; she needs more challenge and interest. More hints and clues without answers, so she can dig deeper.
Understand me better so she can finally find me, and in turn, fall right into my trap.
Trailing my fingers through the various blades and ropes displayed on my shelves, an idea forms in my head as a sinister smile spreads on my mouth.
Perfect.
Putting on brass knuckles, I walk to him slowly, building his anticipation. Nothing drives the mind more than uncertainty.
He shifts to the side, not that it helps his position one bit. Grazing it over his shoulder, I pause. “How does it start?” I ask the fucker, and he freezes, tentatively listening to me, probably thinking it will bring him an escape. “A fist here and there. Tripping. Then comes the belt, right?” His eyes widen, as he mumbles something through the tape, but I don’t care to hear it.
I know the answers anyway. Oddly enough, all those assholes have the same signature signs, as if they all formed a fucking club where they exchange their experience.
So I punch him hard in the back, causing him to groan in pain, but I don’t give him time to catch his breath and deliver another blow to his stomach. All the places where the shirt will cover everything.
So no one will know.
No one will notice.
No one will care.
Unlocking the chains behind him, I give him a little room to move, and he dashes forward, only to fall on his knees with a loud scream when I kick him hard. “Get up.” He does, and I repeat my action, while giving him more blows here and there.
The blood is dripping on the floor, his raspy breath echoing through the space as he starts crying, muffled by tape. “Stop, please stop.” I walk across to him, wrapping the end of the leather belt tight around my hand as the buckle clicks against my shoes.
“Would you?” He meets my question with a whimper and frantically rips the tape from his mouth, gulping as much air as possible, and I let him, because he’ll sure amuse me with his explanation.
“That’s not—” I whip the belt at him, hitting him across the back, and he falls back down, barely staying on his knees. “Sometimes—” He continues to justify his actions.
Hitting his other sides with the belt, I continue to kick him in the sto
mach.
Groans and pants erupt from him as he crawls back to the chair, holding his hands up. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just please let me go. I won’t do it again.”
Right, and the sky is pink.
They always promise and never keep their word, and no matter how many chances a person gives them, they will continue to do whatever the fuck they please.
Memories of the past assault me, my head bursting in agonizing pain as I do my best to block all the screams and blows, but I fail.
Once again, it reminds me why I’ve stopped the art and focused only on teaching them a lesson.
Throwing the belt to the side, I pick him up and slam him on the table with a loud thud as he thrashes on it, but my punch to his nose stops him real quick. I inject the serum in his system and strap him down to the table.
With gloves on and blade in my hand, I proceed to do what I always do, but this time my mind doesn’t have the clarity it usually has during those moments.
Instead, Ella appears, and I dwell on her reaction once she sees his dead body.
My ‘welcome to the team’ gift.
Ella
An annoying sound penetrates through the haze of my sleep, and I dig deeper into the pillow, hoping to escape it.
I’ve barely gotten any sleep, still conflicted about my new job and Kierian’s kiss. I paced the room from one side to the other, practicing a speech to give him so he’ll finally stop being an idiot and insisting on something that is never going to be.
And chopped bodies brought back nightmares, reminding me of those pictures I’d seen by accident. I had to take a pill to get some shut-eye; otherwise, I’d have looked like a walking zombie at work. I need a clear head for the case, or I won’t be able to help much, and that’s out of the question.
Maybe people are right—be afraid of what you wish for.
The sound doesn’t stop, and with an annoyed huff, I throw aside the blanket, sitting up and turning on the bedside lamp.
