by Angela Kay
The light poured over the room. Aidan shielded his eyes, imagining staring directly into the sun.
Shaun flicked it off with a curse. White and black circles swam in front of Aidan's eyes. He blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden change in his vision.
“It's a wonder he didn't completely blind her,” Aidan stated.
“Nothing's here,” Shaun noted.
“Agent O'Reilly. Over here.”
Aidan moved toward the agent that had called for his attention. He pointed to the table, his flashlight glaring off the surface.
Aidan looked at what the agent wanted to show him.
“Not nothing,” Aidan told Shaun.
When Shaun appeared by Aidan's side, he cursed again.
Carved in the table was a message.
FBI Special Agent O'Reilly—
Sorry, we missed each other. But don't worry, I'll catch you soon.
Your friend, The Carnations Killer
56
WHEN JORDAN FINISHED reporting his story about an event the Humane Society would be running next month, he tossed his microphone onto the table and scowled at Kent.
“I'm sick of running these stupid stories,” Jordan complained, “I can't believe my uncle's punishing me like this.”
Kent began breaking down his camera so he could place the piece in the case. “I don't see it as punishing. Not much seems to be newsworthy around here these days.”
“When did The Carnations Killer stop being newsworthy?” Jordan snapped.
Kent raised his eyebrow. “You know something about him I don't? Please share.”
The reporter frowned. “I want cutting edge stories. Not...cutesy.”
“Well,” Kent said as he snapped his case shut, “just be thankful your uncle is letting you report anything.”
“I’m not a Good Samaritan reporter,” Jordan insisted.
“Haven’t we gone over this?” Kent asked. “You’re worse than a woman. You change your mind from it’s okay to lay low to you want cutting edge. Let’s go over this again—you went on the air before you were authorize—”
“The FBI was hiding that we had a serial killer roaming around. The people had a right to know.”
“And you lied to the feds,” Kent reminded him.
“How do you think it'd look if I told them I knew Maya Gibson?”
“And you baited Agent O'Reilly,” Kent finished. He heaved his camera case from the table and began carting it toward the van.
“He baited me first,” Jordan replied, trailing after him.
“He was doing his job,” Kent cornered.
Jordan frowned. “And I was doing mine. I'm a reporter. I report news as I see fit. I'm sorry if no one likes it.” He jabbed his index finger at Kent’s shoulder. “You went along with me, by the way.”
“Because you point, and I shoot. I need a job and don't want you having me fired over my unwillingness to help you on your way to glorified fame.”
Jordan rolled his eyes.
“You have nothing to prove,” Kent added.
“I'm not trying to prove anything,” Jordan spat as he fished his cell phone from the passenger's seat.
“Hello?” Kent said, waving his hand in the air. “All you've been trying to do is prove...”
Jordan tuned the cameraman out as he stared with interest at his phone. He'd received another text message.
It's time for you to report real news again. Get in front of the camera and tell them The Carnations Killer kidnapped a woman. She was a lucky one. She'd managed to escape. But tell them it’s not going to stop me from going after another.
“...Are you even listening to me?”
Kent shook Jordan's shoulder.
“You okay, man? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“Look.” Jordan showed Kent the message. “Have you heard anything about another woman being kidnapped?”
Frowning, Kent said he hadn't. “But he says she got away, right? So that's good.”
“But he's going to go after someone else.”
“I think you should tell the FBI and be done with it,” Kent replied.
Jordan considered his options. If he went on the air, he could inform the people The Carnations Killer was still lurking around the city. In the process, it may boost his career as a reporter, showing the people that he wanted nothing more but to share the truth. But it'd make the FBI and his uncle angry that he went with it. He’d already been threatened once by O’Reilly that he’d be detained if he went over the agent's head again.
On the other hand, if he told the FBI about the text, they'd force him to keep quiet. And the public had the right to know a serial killer was still in town.
Right?
He looked at Kent, sitting on the hood of the news van.
“Get your camera.”
57
AIDAN OPTED TO go home for a late lunch in order to attempt to rest. It had been a long day since he'd been at the hospital waiting on Carol Rider to be aware enough to answer questions. Sleeping in the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room didn't provide a restful sleep.
Then they'd raided the warehouse with the blood in his body thumping as though his veins were going to burst. After documenting what they could of the old building, including the note the killer left him, they had returned to the office to hold another quick briefing.
With a yawn, Aidan stepped inside the quiet house around noon. He followed the muted sounds of the television into the living room.
Cheyenne was snoring on the couch, her workout clothes clinging to her sweaty skin. Aidan figured she must have been working through her aggression, most likely still upset with him for disappearing the night before and not returning her frantic calls immediately.
He grabbed the quilt from the back of the sofa and covered her before returning to the kitchen for a Coke. What he really wanted was a beer, but since he was still on duty, Aidan decided to bypass it.
Maybe later tonight.
Aidan went upstairs to lie down, but he tossed and turned until he finally turned to his back to stare at the ceiling.
Since sleep didn't seem to be an option, he rose, making a decision to call his sister. With all that had been going on, he hadn't checked in to see how married life was faring.
Aidan took his Coke and returned downstairs to sit outside on the deck.
It was nearing a hundred degrees and seemed hotter due to the humidity. The sky was a crisp blue with few thick clouds. Aidan felt a few brief wisps of cool air against his skin, but it didn't hang around long enough to cool him down.
Nevertheless, on the outside looking in, it was a perfect day.
But it wasn't perfect. Not for him, anyway. Memories haunted him, and he couldn't seem to shake them free. Even if they did catch The Carnations Killer, the memories were now a part of him. He'd become so used to waking in a sweat, he thought he would become nothing without it.
As Aidan listened to the dial tone on the line, he considered what life would be like if he were someone else. What life would be like if he wasn't an agent and he didn't deal with the dangers slinking around every corner.
“Aidan!”
He heard his sister's chirpy voice, and as usual, it brought a smile to his face. The lilt of Irish brought a sense of home to him. And Mairead had dealt with so much in her life—it was good to hear happy.
“Hey, beautiful,” Aidan said. “How are you?”
“Never better. We got back in town from our honeymoon last month,” Mairead said. “I really wished we didn't have to leave.”
She began to talk about the things she saw while on the African Safari honeymoon. Aidan hung onto every detail, letting her story take him away to the jungle seeing zoo animals in the wild.
“I'm glad you had a great time, Mairead,” he told her.
“How are you guys?”
A pause filled the air. Aidan wondered if she heard about the latest murders he'd been investigating and decided it was possible she hadn't s
ince she and her new husband spent the past month in another country.
“We’re good,” Aidan answered.
“I miss you,” she said. “I wish you'd move back home.”
“Two weeks was long enough for me, Mairead,” Aidan replied with a pause. “You know, you could move here.”
He could almost see his sister’s frown on the other end of the line.
“This is home,” Mairead said quietly.
Aidan let the silence take over the lines again.
“He's back,” he said, finally. “I wasn't sure if you've heard.”
She didn't respond, but he heard the sniffling over the line.
“I'm going to get him. I promise.”
“Come back home, Aidan,” Mairead pleaded. “Bring Cheyenne. I'd love to get to know her better. We could be a family again.”
“I can't,” Aidan insisted. “I went only for you and your wedding. But I can't go back.”
“Can't you see I need you here? I don't want you to keep searching for him!” Mairead's voice echoed through the phone, and Aidan could tell she'd begun crying. “Please. Candace was my oldest and closest friend. But it's not going to change anything. It's not going to bring her back.”
Tears burned in Aidan’s eyes and he blinked them away.
“He's got to be stopped. Don't you get it?” Aidan said with a hiss. “I have to find him! I promised I wouldn't rest until I did.”
His body burned with rage, and he gripped his phone tight.
“I love you, Aidan, I do,” Mairead whispered. “But I can't watch as you destroy yourself.”
Why did everyone have to keep saying that?
Aidan knew frustration was on the verge of exploding, but he forced it down.
“Mairead—”
She didn't hear because she was already gone. Aidan set the phone on the table and began to pace the deck, trying to calm his nerves, but it wouldn't happen.
The next thing he knew, he tossed the table on its side and kicked the chairs around the deck. Laura's potted plants shattered, fragments of clay slinging across the ground.
Aidan fell to his knees and grasped the back of his head with an agitated groan. He cursed, then released another one.
“What in the world is happening out here?”
Aidan rested against the overturned table, unable to focus on Cheyenne's voice. He shook his head and rubbed the corners of his eyes. All he could remember was the pain he saw in his sister’s eyes at losing her best friend to a sadistic killer. No matter how hard he tried—and he did try—he couldn't erase his sister's hurt. He longed to find relief from the memory, but Aidan knew only the capture of The Carnations Killer would make it happen.
Aidan glanced around the deck and his eyes rested on Laura’s shattered pots.
He cursed softly and apologized, promising Cheyenne he'd buy her sister new plants.
“Aidan, I'm not worried about the flowers.” He looked at her. Cheyenne had her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed out of concern, rather than anger. “What happened?”
“I'm fine,” he told her. Aidan pulled himself to his feet and started cleaning the mess he made, beginning with the glass table. Thankfully it hadn't broken. “I talked to Mairead and we had an argument. That's all.”
“Are you sure that's all?”
Aidan rested his palms on the table and pulled in a few heavy breaths before he turned to envelop her in his arms.
She smelt of sunflower and sweat.
“I'm fine,” he whispered in her hair. “I can handle it. I'm sorry I worried you.”
“Do you want me to make you lunch?”
Aidan pulled away from her. “No, I'm not hungry. I'm going to finish cleaning this mess, then head back to the office.”
“I'll get it, honey,” Cheyenne said, her voice lowering an octave. “Okay? Do what you need to do to end this.”
Aidan regarded her, seeing the change in her eyes.
She was no longer worried or concerned.
It wasn't fear he saw in her anymore.
It was faith.
Before returning to the office, Aidan took a cool shower to refresh his mind. He became rejuvenated as the shower head spit the water against his back. It seemed to make everything go away, even if only for a few minutes.
After he looked around to see the mess he'd created only moments before, he'd begun to realize the murders had already begun to destroy his psyche.
He had become obsessed with a ghost. He was losing sense of who he was.
Aidan knew he owed it to himself to make a change.
He knew if he didn't, if he continued to allow himself to slip into a world filled with demons and pain, everything would have been for nothing, and everything he loved would be lost.
Aidan wouldn't exist any longer.
That's what the offender was preying on.
Now Aidan knew.
He had friends over the years that committed suicide or changed careers because of the things they’d seen.
Or because of the things they’d had to do in order to bring justice.
Aidan contemplated a time when a friend of his, an agent with many commendations in his twenty years of service, killed a suspect in cold blood because of the man’s involvement in child pornography. Once, when Aidan visited him in prison, he told him that killing the suspect was the one good thing he’d done in his life.
He didn't think about his family. He didn't think about his son and daughter.
Or maybe he was thinking of them.
Maybe killing the man who made a career out of exploiting children much like his own was a way of protecting them.
Aidan had wondered over the years if he could ever go that far.
Could he take a life without blinking an eye because he’d murdered more than fifty people including his sister's closest friend?
Or would he start contemplating suicide because he couldn't handle the suffering in the world anymore?
He was raised to believe suicide was a sin. After all, murder is a sin, so it made sense suicide fell under the same category.
The Carnations Killer knew how to unravel him. He was breaking him.
Aidan imagined him laughing.
Laughing at the dedicated agent who had a good life, but was trying to figure out how far he’d go to get the murders out of his mind.
Aidan turned off the shower, opened the curtains and grabbed his towel. Drying off, he stepped out of the tub.
Looking into the mirror, he stared at his reflection.
It reminded him of one of the dreams he recently had. The one when the offender got in the car and looked into the mirror.
And it had been Aidan instead.
He saw his reflection but didn't recognize himself.
Was this what everyone was seeing lately? A stranger residing in the body of their friend? Their colleague?
Had he really arrived at his melting point?
He closed his eyes, then reopened them to gaze back into the mirror. He drew in a deep breath, held it, then slowly pushed it out.
“You won't break me,” Aidan said through his teeth. “You won’t.”
“Aidan?” Cheyenne knocked on the door. “I made you a quick lunch for you to take. I want you to eat.”
Aidan opened the door and thanked her, then rummaged in the closet for fresh clothes. After he dressed, he kissed her, allowing it to linger. Then he told her he loved her and grabbed the sandwich she made.
On his way out, Aidan called Shaun to find out where he was. He told him he’d gone to the office, so Aidan headed his way.
Then Shaun informed him that their favorite reporter had once again gotten in front of the camera and started running his mouth to announce they had a victim from The Carnations Killer escaped.
Aidan slammed his palm against the steering wheel and let out a round of curses.
He had gone way too far now.
58
SHAUN HAD INSTRUCTED agents to arrest Jordan and take him into the
interview room. Aidan stood with him and Monroe, watching Jordan through the two-way glass.
The reporter sat back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the edge of the table. He appeared relaxed despite his being brought in for questioning once again. Aidan had hoped to see the last of him, but obviously, that didn’t work out.
“What do you want to do with him?” Shaun asked.
“Lock him up and throw away the key,” Aidan answered.
“Hmm,” Shaun replied, “I think I better go in by myself.”
Though Shaun didn’t look at him, Aidan nodded, and Shaun opened the door to enter the interview room.
“Mr. Blake,” he began as he shut the door.
The reporter smirked and snapped a finger at Shaun. “Henderson, right?”
“Well, there doesn't seem to be a need to reintroduce ourselves,” Shaun said dryly as he sat in the gray folding chair. “So why don't we skip the pleasantries and get right to business.”
Jordan scoffed. “So professional. Where’s your partner? The one that looks like an extra from The Walking Dead half the time.”
Aidan scowled. “I don’t look like that.” Although he said it mostly to himself, he heard a soft chuckle from Monroe.
“We’re not here to discuss Agent O’Reilly,” Shaun said with an edge to his words. “Now for the purpose of this interview, you’re going to be recorded so you’ll be on record. Got any problem with that?”
Jordan let his shoulders rise and fall carelessly.
Shaun reached over and pressed the button on the recorder.
“This is Special Agent Shaun Henderson on July fourth two thousand and seventeen. The subject of interest is Jordan Blake.” He regarded Jordan. “What is your age and occupation?”
“I am thirty-five and a reporter for WJFX News.”
“Mr. Blake, you recently received a text from the man who the media refers to as The Carnations Killer. When did it come through?”
“About two hours ago,” Jordan stated. “I’d filmed a segment and was talking about wanting real news. It was like he read my mind.”
