by Hamel, B. B.
The guy stared at me for a second, and I thought he was finally hearing reason. Instead, two other cops came over.
“You need to leave, sir,” the sergeant said.
“Fucking assholes.” I stepped forward and cracked the sergeant in the nose. His head snapped back and I saw blood.
I was on the ground in half a second.
I felt more than one boot hit me in the stomach as the cops piled on me.
The office was a fucking madhouse. I doubted anyone had ever had the balls to punch the desk sergeant in the face, much less break his nose. But they didn’t know me.
Soon enough, I was up on a bench, aching from a ton of different blows and in cuffs.
“You dumb fucks,” I yelled. “She could be dead right now.”
The cops just eyed me. The sergeant flipped me off, holding an ice pack to his face. His eyes were already turning black.
They held me there for fifteen agonizing minutes before Sloan finally came out of his office.
“Easton,” he said. “Come on back.”
The desk sergeant helped me up and walked me back. I gave him a big smile and he just ignored me.
“These cuffs?” I asked.
“Take them off yourself,” the sergeant said and then walked away.
I grunted and walked into Sloan’s office, sitting down in front of his desk.
Sloan stared at me, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot.”
“He has her, Sloan. He has her.”
“Slow down now. We don’t know he has anybody.”
“Can you take these cuffs off?”
“No. You punched a cop. Why didn’t you just call me?”
I shrugged. “I needed to see you now.”
“Well, here I am. You think the killer has her?”
“I know he does.”
“Tell me why.” He held up his hands as soon as he saw the frustration on my face. “Please understand me, Easton. You come in here yelling and punching people. You need to give me a reason to help you. I want to, but you seem a little unhinged.”
I took a deep breath, getting myself together. “Okay. Listen.”
And then I told him about the badge. I told him about my office being tossed over, and I told him about the missing pictures. I told him that I had made sure Laney wouldn’t leave the house, and how the front door was left ajar when I had gotten home. I told him about her phone going to voicemail.
“You have to see,” I said. “It’s all been a personal message to me. And now he took her.”
Sloan nodded slowly. “I see what you’re saying.”
“So then help.”
“Why the badge?” he asked.
“The badge? Fuck the badge, Sloan.”
He just leaned back in his chair. “The badge seems odd. How did the killer even get it?”
I narrowed my eyes. I hadn’t thought of that before. It was odd that the killer had the badge; as far as I knew, only Martin’s family had it.
The realization jolted me physically. I was suddenly both elated and incredibly sad as I realized who I was hunting and why it was all happening.
“Easton, we don’t know he has her,” Sloan was saying, but I barely heard. “She could have left on her own, decided she didn’t want to be involved with a murder investigation.”
My mind was spinning, moving through the possibilities.
“Why not tell her parents then?” I asked, halfhearted.
Sloan just shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You’re kidding me.” I felt like I was in a nightmare.
“Sorry, kid. We need more time before we know if she’s really gone or not.”
“She’ll be dead by then.”
“I doubt it.”
I stared at him for half a minute, too surprised to feel anger. Finally, I held out my hands. Sloan sighed. “Rick,” he yelled.
The desk sergeant came in.
“Take off the cuffs,” Sloan said.
Rick walked over and unlocked the cuffs. “Asshole,” he muttered.
I smiled nicely at him and stood. “Please change your mind, Sloan. You’re going to have another body in your hands soon.”
“Maybe we will. But come back when you have something more concrete.”
I turned and left the station without looking back.
The cops had let me down. The fucking police had failed. They were too slow, too unwieldy.
But not me. I was going to find her. I wasn’t going to let some psychopath fucking hurt Laney.
I finally knew who I was hunting. The whole time it had been staring me right in the face. Someone close, but not too close. Someone that hated me personally. It was so clear it hurt.
Nobody was going to get hurt because of me ever again.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Laney
My head is swimming when I finally regained consciousness.
At first I thought I was blind. The room was pitch black, and it took me a second to understand that I couldn’t see because there was no light.
No light. Anywhere.
Groggy, I began to mentally check my body. I wasn’t in pain, or at least not bad pain. My whole self felt achy and my head was pounding, but it was nothing life-threatening.
I tried to move but couldn’t. I reached up with my fingers and found that I was chained, wrists together, hands above my head. My back was leaning up against a cold wall, maybe stone, but I wasn’t sure.
I tried to call out, but nothing came. My voice was a scratchy croak, barely a whisper, certainly not my own.
The fear hadn’t hit me yet, fortunately. I was still thinking very analytically, very seriously. I couldn’t see and my hands were chained, but my legs felt like they were free. I tried shifting my weight and pushing my legs forward, but they hit what felt like metal bars only a foot away.
So I was in some kind of cage, chained to a wall.
The fear came then, fast and heavy.
The killer had me. I’d gotten a glimpse of his face, but he’d hit me hard enough to knock me over. I thought I recognized him, but he was young, so young. I began to struggle, trying to wrench my arms free, but the cuffs bit into my wrists and held me tight.
I made some noise but didn’t move an inch.
What was happening? Why wasn’t I dead yet like all the other girls? I still had my fingers, which was good.
When did he take them?
I tried to make more noise and only succeeded in rattling the chains and kicking the cage. Otherwise, there was total silence all around me.
Easton. Did he know where I was? I shifted my weight but couldn’t feel my phone anymore. It had been in my pocket, but clearly the killer had taken it.
I felt the fear and panic well up through my chest and wash over me. I wanted to scream but couldn’t, and I knew that it wouldn’t help. I had to trust that Easton would know what to do.
Easton was still out there. He knew I was home, and he knew the killer was coming after him. Easton would come for me.
He had to come for me.
I didn’t know how long I was left down there. I could smell something musty and damp, and so I figured I was in a basement. But without light or sound, I was completely lost, floating in space.
Hours passed, maybe minutes, maybe days. I fell asleep at one point and woke up with a start, dreams of fingerless people parading through my mind. I kept telling myself that Easton was coming, he would come, but the fear was almost too much.
And then suddenly, light.
I squinted, surprised at the harsh brightness. I heard someone descending stairs. The original light disappeared, replaced by a single, dimmer source.
It came toward me, illuminating the space.
I was in a basement, that was for sure. Junk was piled up all around. Rotting wood, cinderblocks, mossy stone, and more. I was in a cage with my back up against a concrete wall, my chains attached to a ring a few feet above my head, outside the cage’s roof.
I was like a dog in his crate.
>
“Hi, Laney.”
The voice cut through my mind.
“Where am I?” I tried to say, but it came out a raspy wisp instead.
The light crouched down in front of me, and I finally figured out what it was.
A single gas lantern.
Held by a young man, almost handsome. His hair was dark, and he looked so damn familiar. I squinted at him, trying to understand, but my mind was a mess.
“Here,” he said, opening my cage. “Drink.”
He reached in and held out a water bottle. I didn’t want to, but my body needed the water. I drank it greedily.
“There you go.” He stopped and pulled it away. Water dribbled down my shirt. “Better. Can you talk?”
I tried again. “Where am I?”
“Good.” He smiled. “You’re in my basement, Laney.”
“Who are you?”
His smile got larger. “Ah, there’s the big question. Haven’t you figured it out? Or is Easton not the golden boy we all thought he was?”
I shook my head. I had no clue who he was, although he looked familiar. So damn familiar. Like a young version of a picture I’d seen a hundred times.
He leaned forward, smiling. “Come on, Laney, say it.”
“Jean Rodriguez,” I blurted out as it hit me all at once.
“Very good!” he said, clapping his hands.
Jean Rodriguez, Martin Rodriguez’s son. Easton’s partner’s son. He was nineteen, maybe twenty, just a year or two younger than me.
I shook my head, unable to believe it. Why would Jean be killing people? His father hated killers, had spent his whole life hunting them down and locking them up. And now Jean had become the monster his father had so hated.
“Surprised?” he asked. “I’m sure that you are.”
“Why?” I croaked.
“Why,” he said softly, “is a good question.” He sat down cross-legged and looked at me intently. “It’s very simple actually. Do you really want to know?”
“Yes,” I said, although part of me didn’t.
“It’s because of Easton. It’s always been because of him.” Jean laughed again. “After Easton got my father murdered, my family fell apart. Do you know what that’s like, losing a father like that?”
I shook my head no. “He hated killers,” I managed to say.
“I know. Ironic, right?” Jean seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. “I thought to myself, what would be the best way to get back at Easton? And it hit me all at once: revive the killer that had so destroyed everything about my life and had taken my father’s. Become Lester Seed and get revenge on Easton Wright.”
“That’s crazy,” I said.
His smile disappeared. “Maybe,” he said, “but it’s almost over. You’re the last victim before I destroy Easton.”
“How?”
He cackled wickedly, the smile coming back. “You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you? Are you just trying to keep me talking so that you don’t have to go through it?”
He was right, but I just stared at him silently.
“Either way, it’s just a delay.” Jean looked at his nails absently. “My father had a wealth of information, you see. Case files, books, basically a how-to guide for any up-and-coming serial killer. I simply studied and practiced.”
“All those dead girls,” I said softly. “All of them innocent.”
“Maybe, but death comes eventually anyway, doesn’t it?”
I could see the madness in his eyes. Whatever had happened to Jean after his father’s death had pushed him well beyond the limits of a normal person. He wasn’t human anymore, not after all the killings. Maybe at one time he could have been saved, but the more he spoke, the more I knew that he was way beyond coming back.
“Not like this,” I said. “Please.”
“Sorry, Laney.” He began to unbuckle his belt, the wicked, twisted smile never leaving his face. “I like you, you know. You seem smart and kind. Easton likes you too.” He pulled his pants down. “He had a file on you. Described you as ‘sexy and brilliant,’ I believe. Plus those pictures were about as intimate as you can get.”
He began to reach toward me, and I knew what was coming. I had read the case files, over and over and over, and now I was becoming one of them. I was becoming one of those poor, murdered girls.
He reached up and unlocked my wrists. I tried to struggle, but I was so weak, he simple pinned me back against the wall.
“I like you, Laney,” he said softly. “So I’ll tell you this. If you struggle, it will be worse, so much worse.”
I began to cry.
Suddenly there was a loud boom. It was almost deafening in its explosive force. Jean instantly stopped what he was doing, his face clouding over.
“Fuck,” he said.
Hope filled my chest.
He moved back out of the cage and slammed the door shut. “Stay,” he said. “I’ll be back in a second.”
He grabbed the lantern and left.
My heart was beating like mad in my chest, but he hadn’t locked my hands back up.
I waited half a second for him to disappear upstairs, and then I shifted around, my face toward the cage door. I pushed against it as hard as I could, but it was locked.
I pushed and pushed and smashed with all my weight and strength, but it was making too much noise and doing absolutely nothing. I heard Jean stomping around upstairs.
Then I remembered his pants. He hadn’t put them back on as he’d left.
I reached out between the bars, groping blindly. My heart was hammering and sweat jumped up along my body.
Nothing but concrete floor. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
And then a cuff.
I grabbed it, pulling it slowly toward me.
It slipped through the bars and I quickly felt at the pockets.
I almost wanted to scream. There was a phone in the pocket. I pulled it out quickly and powered it up. As the lock screen appeared, I began to cry again.
It was my phone.
Quickly, I unlocked it. I went into the map program and found my location. I dropped a pin and then quickly scrolled through the options to share my location.
The door opened and the light returned.
Frantic, I found the share option. I scrolled through the names, quickly, quickly.
“Laney,” Jean’s voice came.
Easton. I found Easton’s name, hit send.
“I have a little problem up here,” Jean called. “But I will be with you very shortly.”
I went into the text program, found Easton. I’m here. Come get me. It’s Jean Rodriguez, he’s the killer. I hit send.
I heard Jean’s feet on the steps. I put the phone back into the pocket and slid the pants out of my cage.
Jean turned the corner and stopped in front of my cage. “Have you ever made meth?” he asked.
I shook my head, eyes wide.
“It’s a pain in the ass.” He grabbed his pants and pulled them on. “Don’t worry, I should be finished cleaning up soon. Then we can get back to it, okay?”
I backed up against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest.
He smiled and waved as he walked away, plunging the room into darkness.
It was just me again. Just me, floating in an empty space. Alone, terrified, and completely blind.
But Easton knew where I was.
Hope blazed up in my stomach.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Easton
I was almost too deep into my own research to notice the text.
It had hit me like a flash in Sloan’s office. And the more I read, the more it made sense.
Jean Rodriguez would be about Laney’s age, maybe a year younger. He had behavioral problems even as a young kid and had been diagnosed with severe emotional instability. The file didn’t actually call him a sociopath, but it definitely implied it.
Martin had protected Jean his whole life. When Jean began to act out, Martin used most of his money to pay for top c
are for Jean. Martin’s wife, Melissa, tried to help the best she could, and between the two of them they managed to keep Jean in check.
Around Jean’s fifteenth birthday, he caught and murdered a neighbor’s cat. He did some time in juvenile detention for that, but only a month. Martin got him out early.
Two years later, he got into an incident at school. Apparently, he had savagely attacked and brutally beaten another school boy over a girl. The details were pretty weak, but he managed to avoid jail time.
After that Martin put Jean in a special school for kids with emotional problems.
Martin did an amazing job protecting his son. I barely knew much about Jean, and I had never bothered to research him before. I knew he had issues, but I didn’t know the extent of his problems. Martin never talked about him, and he clearly went out of his way to try to keep Jean out of anyone’s mind.
Martin was Jean’s biggest advocate and most powerful protector.
When Martin died, Jean graduated from the school. Without Martin’s steady hand to guide him and the money he brought in, Jean was left in Melissa’s care. And Melissa simply wasn’t equipped like Martin was to handle him. Plus, she was working full time to support her other, younger children.
Jean didn’t stand a damn chance.
It was a tragic story. It was a story I should have been more familiar with. I should have known what was happening, should have been there. Martin had buried it so well that it took murders to dredge Jean’s story up. Plus, I was too busy wallowing in my own fucking self-pity to notice that shit. I vowed to help take care of Martin’s family as best I could.
But I was going to catch and put Jean away for a very, very long time.
I only noticed the phone buzz because I was thinking about calling Melissa and checking to see if she knew where Jean was.
Of course, once I saw the message from Laney, I didn’t need to make that call anymore.
It hit me like a knife in the chest. I’m here. Come get me. It’s Jean Rodriguez, he’s the killer. And the location was right there.
I opened it up in my maps app. She was just outside town, surprisingly near where Luisa had been found.
I stood, rage flowing through me, and grabbed my gun. I was out and in the car, my engine revving, before I even realized what I was doing.
