Serial Escape

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  Her foot lowered a little more, and a glance down told her that she was already cruising well past the speed limit. She didn’t care. The drive had taken her off the highway, away from the city traffic and into a surprising pocket of wilderness. The winding road was blissfully empty. The time and the weather weren’t exactly conducive to the hiking crowd that normally frequented the area. So she didn’t slow at all. Not until a billboard came into view just ahead. Then, she eased her foot up just enough to peruse the advertisement.

  In faded lettering, the sign announced the grand opening of a state-of-the-art aquatic center. Greenview Waterpark. It promised the best experience right in the heart of a natural setting. A smiling boy in retro swim trunks stood beside a picture of the facility in question, and tall trees dotted the background. Below that, a date—thirty years in the past and punctuated with three exclamation points—stood out. And across the whole thing was a red banner with the words NOW CLOSED in bold black. But even that was somewhat washed out.

  Raven had been a teenager when the popular destination had shut down, and she remembered the news coverage quite well. The privately owned facility had suffered a blow when an elderly man drowned in one of its pools. A lawsuit had followed. The owners had never recovered, and the place had simply been abandoned. Raven hadn’t thought of it in years. But that didn’t stop her from being convinced that Hanes would have chosen it.

  A few hundred feet ahead, another sign came into view. It beckoned with a green arrow and announced that the waterpark could be found by taking the next left.

  Almost there now.

  Anticipation mixing with fear, Raven flicked on her turn signal and guided the car onto the narrower road. It was still paved, but also cracked and uneven, forcing her to reduce her speed again. But when she rounded the corner, she was glad she wasn’t going terribly fast. If she had, she might’ve missed the strange, dawning moments of realization. As it was, she felt like she was watching a slow-motion movie reel.

  First came a broken-down sign that has an ominous drunk-driving message about taking lives. It was out of place, and even though it was overgrown and looked like it’d been there a while, it’d obviously never been intended for the space it now occupied. But it wasn’t that which caught and held Raven’s attention. It was the words in the ad.

  Taking lives. Would you give yours?

  They were eerily similar to the message that Hanes had left at the scene of the caretaker’s abduction, and Raven couldn’t help but see the crimson lettering flash through her mind.

  A LIFE IS OWED TO ME. SO I’LL TAKE ONE EVERY DAY UNTIL YOU GIVE ME YOURS. And as she moved past the sign, it happened again. A small but very vibrant patch of yellow flowers demanded to be seen. And the hint in chalk—the one left where Jim was found—jumped up.

  PRETTY YELLOW FLOWERS, ALL IN A ROW. I’D GO BACK, IF THEY’D LET ME.

  A moving-underwater feeling hit Raven. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Not where Hanes was concerned.

  Fear made her shiver, and her foot wanted to lift off the gas pedal completely. But she forced herself to push on. And for a few seconds, there was nothing further. She started to relax. To question her paranoia. But as she reached the large gravel parking lot and came to a stop, she noted—back in underwater mode—that the nearest building was decorated with a mural. It had been painted with a row of cartoon kids, each one a little bigger than the last. And there was no denying that it matched up with Hanes’s third clue.

  SHORTEST TO TALLEST, SIDE BY SIDE. TAKING ONE IS THE ONLY CHOICE. Raven put the SUV into Park, cut the engine and sat there staring at it. Hanes had been leading up to this place. Maybe even to this moment. But knowing it provided no relief. And on top of that, there was the final clue to consider. The one that the evil man had written in bleach before taking Lucien.

  CHILDHOOD IS SWEET. ALL FUN AND GAMES. AN EYE FOR AN EYE. An eye for an eye couldn’t lead to anything good.

  Raven exhaled, counted to ten and swung open her door. She stepped over the gravel, averting her eyes from the row of cartoon children, and bypassed the smaller building completely. She ducked under the turnstile that led into the main area, then moved past the remnants of waterslides and splash pads. She had her sights set directly on the large structure at the very back of the park. She knew what was inside. Two indoor, year-round pools. Both of which had been home to a swim club when Lucien was a teenager.

  Outside the building, she paused to decide how best to enter. The glass doors at the front seemed too obvious. Yet she didn’t relish the idea of trying to find another way in. Scanning for a side entrance, she moved along the outside of the pool. But halfway up the cement path, she froze. Because from one of the large, very cracked windows, a familiar, terror-inducing voice carried out.

  Georges Hanes.

  It sent Raven spiraling back three years. All the healing she’d done on her own, all the healing she’d helped others achieve...it was gone in that instant. She was helpless all over again. Bound by the killer’s words, clinging to them because they were the only human contact she had. But hating them, too, because she was so sure they’d be the last thing she ever heard.

  And now she was stuck again. Equally bound. Equally hateful. All she could do was stand there and listen as he spoke.

  Chapter 22

  Hanes had been rambling for minutes. How many, Lucien didn’t know, but the water had climbed over his belt, and was halfway up his chest. The other man seemed to want to rehash every moment of his trial. The details of his kills. The elaborate plans. Far, far more details than he’d given near the end of his trial. He sounded almost giddy—almost drunk, almost nonsensical—with the revelations.

  Truthfully, Lucien would’ve gladly done without it all. The man was already convicted. His victims were all found, all laid to rest. There was no need for further detail. But Hanes had something Lucien didn’t. A gun. And the solitary interruption that Lucien had made had earned him a barrel in the face.

  This was how it had ended for Hanes’s other victims. The time limit expired, and the murderous man ended their lives with a single shot to the head. So Lucien didn’t try again to hurry things along. He let Hanes slosh around, wave the weapon and go on. At last, though, the other man seemed to be winding down. Coming to some conclusion. He whipped toward Lucien, his eyes glittering, a pleased smile on his face.

  “So now...” he said. “Now we get to Sally Rickson’s brother. And you see why, don’t you? You—and I mean that in a general, police sense, not in a Lucien Match sense—always assumed that it was a contest of wits. And at first, I thought so, too. You—” He paused to chuckle. “You, you, this time, I mean—you outsmarted me. I was pretty damned pleased about it, when you found the girl. There was an ‘at last’ moment. But somehow the great, cosmic karma bungled things. That rookie found me and I was stuck in that cell for three years. And then...” He stopped again, and gestured to Lucien. “Well. You fill in the blanks.”

  Lucien proceeded cautiously, wary of the other man’s gusto. “And then...the DNA test.”

  “Exactly!” Hanes crowed. “Damn, was I not expecting those results. Though really, maybe I should’ve. Because cosmic karma did have something to answer for.”

  “But what now?” Lucien asked.

  The other man blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “How do you win this one, Hanes?”

  “By killing you.”

  Lucien didn’t know what response he’d been expecting, but for some reason, it wasn’t that. He blinked up at Hanes, his mind more puzzled than chilled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  The serial killer’s expression grew equally confused. “What do you mean? You put the pieces of the puzzle together yourself, Detective, so you should know just how much sense it makes.”

  Lucien shook his head. “It doesn’t fit your pattern. And I know that matters to you. A lot. You just spent all
that time explaining it to me.”

  Hanes lifted his gun-free hand and ticked off the words like they were a grocery list rather than people’s lives. “Father. Mother. Sister. Brother.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Exactly?”

  Under any other circumstances, the exchange might’ve been comical. But Lucien was far from amused. And he was seeing a way out. A tiny bit of potential light.

  “So...” he said slowly. “By that calculation...you should be aiming that weapon at your own head.”

  Hanes’s brow creased. “My own head?”

  “Not only did I win your game by putting all the pieces together—to quote you—but you should’ve been the target in the first place.”

  “Me? I—oh, I see where you’re going with this.” The other man’s expression cleared for a second, then darkened. “I’m actually disappointed. I really did think you were cleverer than that.”

  With no further explanation, the barrel of the gun came up. As visions of Raven’s face filled his mind, Lucien refused to look away from imminent death. If he was going to go, he was going to do it with eyes open and the woman he loved at the forefront of his thoughts.

  Long, dark hair.

  Beautiful blue eyes.

  Her skin.

  Her voice.

  But then—like he’d conjured it—her voice came to life for real, in a single-word scream.

  “No!”

  Hanes jerked his attention up, the weapon wavering. But Lucien couldn’t find even a sliver of relief in the fact the gun was no longer pointed his way. Up above, staring down at them, was Raven. Seeing her made his heart tighten. The dark, beautiful hair he’d just envisioned was a mess. Even in the poor lighting, he could see the mix of fear and determination on her face. He was desperately glad to see her. But also desperately wished she weren’t there. He suspected she knew it, too, because she directed her gaze toward Hanes rather than toward him.

  “I know,” she told the other man, her voice surer than her expression.

  The other man’s arm lowered, just a little more. “Do you?”

  Raven nodded. “Yes. Can I come down?”

  Hanes sighed. “No. But if you do a little spin, lift your shirt and convince me that you’re not armed, I’ll let you sit on the edge and tell me what it is you think you know.”

  Lucien bit down to keep from snarling that Raven didn’t have to do a thing the other man said. He knew that whatever she had to say, it was buying them time—something they direly needed. He still didn’t like it, though, when she complied. White-hot anger built up under the surface as he watched her turn in a circle, shirt lifted up to expose her sports bra. Hanes, however, seemed satisfied.

  “Good girl,” he said with a nod toward the edge. “Have a seat.”

  Raven took a visible breath, then sank down, her feet dangling over the mostly empty pool.

  “Lucien thinks it’s you,” she said.

  Hanes nodded again. “Yes. It would appear that he does.”

  Lucien frowned, but kept his mouth shut.

  Time, he reminded himself.

  But a second later, thoughts of coming up with any kind of plan completely flew away.

  “It’s him, though, isn’t it?” Raven said.

  Two sets of eyes turned his way. The water under him seemed to be making the whole room sway, and he could barely manage to get out the obvious question.

  “What are you saying?” he asked.

  “You’re Juanita Rickson’s son.” Raven said it softly—kindly.

  But the air still went out of Lucien’s lungs so fast that he had to draw in a gasping breath that burned in his chest. Juanita Rickson’s son? It was impossible.

  “My mother died when I was born,” he said.

  “No,” said Hanes. “Your mother gave you up to a lovely couple named Robert and Daphne Match. And six months later, Daphne died.”

  “I would’ve known.”

  “Would you? Think about it. Your father abruptly moved from Saskatchewan to BC. He cut himself off from every bit of family her ever had.”

  Lucien still shook his head, but he couldn’t deny that what Hanes said was true. Lucien’s father had isolated himself. He didn’t keep a single photograph around. He never sent or received a Christmas card.

  Hanes smiled. “Don’t worry, Detective. People did die the night you were born. But your biological mother wasn’t one of them.”

  “Back it up,” Lucien growled. “Tell it from the beginning.”

  Hanes shrugged. “Have it your way. I’ll even start the story with a dark and stormy night. I was seven, and I remember it perfectly, because it was one of those rainy days where even if you wanted to, you couldn’t go outside. I was driving my mom crazy, and my older sister was having some kind of emotional crisis like only twelve-year-old girls can. My dad was home from work with the flu.” He paused. “You might not remember the day, Detective. But the date will stand out. September nineteenth. Sound familiar?”

  Lucien’s throat was dry as he replied, “I think you know already that it’s my birthday.”

  “That’s right. I do.” The other man smiled. “And the place might mean something to you, too. Waterville, Saskatchewan. Your dad ever mention that little town to you?”

  This time, Lucien said nothing. He was more than aware of the existence of the postage-stamp-sized community. His father—for all his failings—had spoken fondly of it, because his only son had been born there.

  On a very dark, very stormy night, said a little voice in Lucien’s head. He tried to slough off the thought; another one crept in right behind it. And coincidentally close to the place Juanita Rickson grew up.

  It still seemed too incredible to be true. Yet wasn’t that just what made it more believable?

  As the other man went on, Lucien listened and his mind was open just enough to not dismiss the story as absurdity.

  “It wasn’t me, who started the fire,” Hanes told him. “So we might as well just get that out of the way. If it had been, I’d take responsibility. I don’t want it to come back to me, or to make that part more than it is.” He paused to scratch at his chin with the gun, then gave his head a small shake. “But the fire was just the first thing, anyway. It lit up the house, blocked the exits, and we were stuck on the second floor. The sirens came, and the smoke was so bad...but my dad said the engines were on their way. That it would be okay. Except he didn’t know that the road was mostly washed out. He didn’t know that the ambulance had come in before and was trying to get back. And he didn’t know about you.” He stopped again, this time to shoot a dark look toward Lucien, and then he started pacing, his words coming faster. “Two emergency vehicles headed straight for each other at full speed. On one very narrow road. Someone had to swerve. And the fire-truck driver made the choice. Neither he nor the truck could be saved. They told me later about the baby. How he’d lived. How that, at least was a miracle. They didn’t seem to care that the baby had murdered my family, just with his very existence.” He laughed a bitter, unamused laugh. “When I was a kid, I heard the term second-degree murder, and I was sure that was what it meant.”

  As Hanes ceased in his sloshing walk, Lucien realized that his own incredulity had already faded into a grudging acceptance. The other man had no reason to lie. No reason to fabricate such an unbelievable chain of events. Even if he had, his story could easily be verified or refuted by the DNA results in question, and Lucien’s rarely wrong gut assured him that it would be the former. And really, it explained a few other things, too. His father’s constant anger. His rabid bitterness toward Lucien himself.

  “Want to know how I figured it out?” Hanes asked, then didn’t wait for a reply before explaining, “I was curious about you. I wanted to know what made you smart enough to solve my riddle when no one else could. So I thought...why not become Lucien Ma
tch? The DNA website isn’t flagged in prison. So I got myself in using your name. And lo and behold, there you were. And there was your perfect family. Jim. Juanita. Sally. An exact replica of the one that should’ve been mine.” Hanes’s voice dropped low with a dangerous-sounding awe. “Imagine. Just imagine. Learning that the person who was chasing you down was the very one who’d made you into the monster you are.” He stopped yet again, and lifted his eyes to Raven. “I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to be here for this. And I really meant for you to live.”

  The meaning of Hanes’s words slammed into Lucien like gale-force wind, and he pulled uselessly at the zip-ties as the other man took aim.

  * * *

  Raven heard the change in Hanes’s tone. She saw the sudden flash. And a heartbeat before the shot rang out, she jumped. Forward and down. At the same time, she dipped a hand into the center of her sports bra and drew out the small cylinder she’d hidden there. Her landing sent a cascade of water up, soaking her. She ignored it in favor of finding Hanes. He stood directly in front of her, visibly stunned. Raven took advantage of the brief surprise Her hand shot out, her finger pressed down and the hiss of bear spray filled the air. More important, it filled Hanes’s face.

  With a thick stream of curses leaving his mouth, Hanes stumbled back. His hands came up to his face, the gun dropped to the water, and Raven jumped again. Forward and down again. And her fingers found immediate purchase. Metal—warmer than the water that surrounded it—filled her palm, and for a second, triumph reined. But it was ripped away as Hanes lunged toward her.

  Reflexively, Raven dived to the side. The evasive maneuver made her lose her footing. She toppled sideways. Her elbow plunged into the water, then slammed against the hard, pebbled bottom of the pool. And both the gun and the bear spray slid from her grasp.

  No. No, no, no!

  She flailed her hand around under the water, searching for either of her weapons. She came up blank.