by Ellie Marney
Emma straightens. “I don’t know if I ‘understand my emotions.’ It shouldn’t be about that. It’s about following the evidence, being methodical—”
“Oh, come on, Emma—you’re no plodding FBI sleuth. You’re a teenager! Teenagers feel things. If you’d just let go of guilt, you could feel things, too. If nothing else, you’d have a proper awareness of what it was about these teenagers that made them so appealing to our Butcher friend.… Ah, you’ve been trying to figure that out, haven’t you?”
“Yes. It’s… difficult to hold on to.”
“Do you know why you can’t see through the eyes of the victims, Emma? I mean, you should have total understanding. You’ve been a victim—it makes no sense at all that you’re blocked.”
Emma wets her lips. “Why am I blocked, then?”
“It’s obvious, really. It’s because you can’t stand to look at yourself.”
She startles. “No. I’m recovering from—”
“You’re not recovering from Huxton, Emma.” Simon waves a hand. “Oh, you tell yourself you’re making progress, returning to normal, but you know in your heart it’s not true. You’re still that scared, wretched girl in the basement—the one you don’t like very much. The one you hate to see in the mirror.”
“That’s not—”
“The one who ran.” His blue eyes arrow to their target, unerring. “Ran away from all the horror and the fear, and left Huxton and the other girls behind. Ran to the police and became a hero by accident.”
Her throat is thick. “I’m not a hero. I never said—”
“You’ve tried to bury her with drugs, and therapy, but it doesn’t work. That’s why you can’t see the victims. Because you refuse to see yourself. To acknowledge who you’ve become.”
“I haven’t…” Her breath stutters. “I know I’ve changed, parts of me have—”
“Parts of you?” Simon grips the bars of his cell. “Emma, it’s all of you. You’ve been inextricably altered by what you experienced in Huxton’s basement. Like a chemical reaction, from the inside out. The sooner you accept it, the more free you’ll feel.”
She doesn’t feel free. She feels like she’s choking on bile. “That’s a lie.”
Simon’s expression is kindly. “I’ve never lied to you, Emma. Not like the FBI. I’ve only ever told you the truth. If you want to catch the Butcher, you’ll have to embrace your past. That scared little girl who you keep pushing away.”
Her eyes are hot with shameful tears. “I’m not… I can’t…”
“Of course you can—you can embrace anything, if you’re desperate enough. I’ve embraced my own darkness. Don’t you think I know what I am? But I’m one with the darkness now, not apart from it. Only Kristin is my light.” His voice has changed, no longer mocking but serious. “Emma, listen to me. The girl you were is dead.”
“No.”
“Yes. But you can dig into her grave and draw strength from her still. She gave you a lot of things you’re going to need. The anger, for one, and the instinctual fear, and the ruthlessness you used to escape. You’re going to rely on all those things when he comes.”
“The Butcher?” Emma latches on to his meaning. “You’re sure he’s coming?”
“Of course. I’ve been sure for months. I’ve just been waiting for the day to arrive.”
And suddenly the insight is there before her, glittering like a diamond. “You know who he is, don’t you?”
There’s a knock on the oak door. Pradeep moves from his chair to attend to it.
Simon holds her eyes. “I believe we have another visitor.”
“Simon. Tell me.”
He angles himself away. “Do you know the story of Turandot at all? She has to discover the prince’s name before dawn. The lyrics of the aria are particularly apt. Il nome suo nessun saprà, e noi dovrem, ahimè, morir, morir.… I think we should listen to Pavarotti sing one more time.”
“Simon?” Into the beat of silence, Kristin Gutmunsson’s voice quavers out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Simon’s sister is standing near the desk, with Bell standing close behind.
Emma catches the movement as Simon looks up. In the same moment, she realizes that he never expected Raymond to keep his promise, to allow his twin to come.
“Kristin.” Simon’s whisper travels the length of the room. His surprise leaves him almost tenderly vulnerable.
Emma sees Kristin gasp and press her midriff. Dressed in the same costume she wore to Quantico, she looks like a glowing star in the chapel: complexion radiant with two high dots of color, white hair flowing loose. Then Simon’s sister moves, faster than Bell or Pradeep can catch her, bolting forward and slipping between the sawhorses, reaching for the bars.
Emma jerks forward. “Kristin!”
But Kristin is pressing herself against the metal, clasping her brother’s hands, touching his face, as Simon strains forward to kiss her cheek, press his forehead to hers. Kristin is crying. Simon’s eyes are glistening. Their matched coloring makes them hard to distinguish from each other.
They really are one flesh, Emma thinks numbly. Two people connected at the most basic level, through blood and breath shared in the womb, skin and muscle and hair and nails formed from the same material.
But the division was imperfect: Instead of two mirror images, they are one being split apart—Kristin the repository of the single soul, and Simon the beneficiary of pure mind. Between them, one beating heart.
Kristin laughs through tears and Simon wipes them away, kissing her. They can’t embrace but their arms are tangled through the bars.
Only Kristin is my light. After a shocked few moments of noting Simon’s expression, how different it looks from normal, watching the couple feels voyeuristic. Emma ducks her head, turns to see a chagrined Pradeep, and beside him, Travis Bell.
Bell is by the desk, his face drawn tight with tension. In his black suit in the golden room, he seems as out of place as a crow in a field of daisies. His eyes are glued to Kristin and Simon, but primarily to Simon. Emma doesn’t know if Bell has seen Simon Gutmunsson in person before.
Emma walks to him, her legs unsteady. “Bell.”
“Yeah.” Replying but not replying, utterly distracted.
“Travis, look at me.” She squeezes his arm and he drags his gaze to hers. There’s nothing she can say to make this better, but she can offer him relief. “You don’t have to stay in the room. I can keep an eye out for Kristin.”
“I… I wanted…” Bell’s gaze drifts back to the Gutmunssons like his eyes are magnetized. “I should be here.” His voice is husky, though, and pain vibrates from him in waves.
“No,” Emma says. “Not if it hurts this much.”
“Do you think he knows what he’s done?” Bell whispers. “How many people he’s destroyed?”
Emma’s first reaction is to say, Yes—he just doesn’t care. But that would probably be too much for Bell right now.
He wrenches himself sideways. “I think you’re right—I should step out.”
Which, of course, is the perfect time for Simon to call through the bars. “Excuse me? Are you Mr. Bell? My sister has instructed me to thank you.”
Bell stops but doesn’t turn around. Standing near enough to touch, Emma feels his body shudder as he speaks over his shoulder. “No thanks necessary.”
“On the contrary,” Simon says brightly. “You’ve reunited me with my twin—that surely deserves some acknowledgment.” His voice changes. “Do we know each other?”
“Get out,” Emma whispers sharply to Bell. “Now.”
“Mr. Bell…” Simon draws the syllables out. “I remember the names that were included on my charge sheet when I was prosecuted. You’re his son, aren’t you.”
Bell turns slowly to face his father’s murderer. “Yes.”
“Simon.” Kristin pulls on her brother’s arm.
Simon makes a grimace. “Well, this is a pickle. I was preparing to be effusive, which I’m
sure would be unwelcome now. You don’t look anything like him, you know.”
“I know.” Bell’s voice is a rasp.
“Ah,” Simon says, “you hate me. That’s understandable. But you’ve done me a great service by bringing me my sister, so let’s call it water under the bridge.” He cocks his head. “It’s disappointing, isn’t it, when you realize that the terms of judicial punishment don’t adequately align with one’s need for personal retribution. What should I have gotten from the court, do you think? Firing squad? Hanging?”
Bell wets his lips. “Death by torture.”
Emma’s head turns fast. Bell’s face is completely impassive.
Simon only smiles. “And you’d be the first to carry the hot pincers from the fire.” He releases a short laugh. “I like you, Mr. Bell. Let’s not make a habit of meeting like this—it’s socially awkward.”
“Simon, stop,” Kristin whispers. Even from this distance, Emma can hear her perfectly because of the room’s excellent acoustics.
Her brother’s gaze is indulgent. “How many times have you said that to me, do you think? You know it’s impossible.”
Kristin shakes the bars between them. “I wish you weren’t in this cage.”
“The last time I saw a tree was more than a year ago.” He cups her cheek. “You’re a balm to the soul, you know.”
“I miss you so much.” Kristin’s voice is breaking.
“Listen to opera with me? We can imagine we’re curled up on the lawn at home.” Simon’s eyes are bright and his hand on Kristin’s face trembles. Before Emma has a chance to reconcile this softer side of him with the side she knows, he shakes it off and lifts his head. “Pradeep can work the record player. He’ll succumb to apoplexy if we don’t give him something to do—look at him there, wringing his hands. It’s already a huge distress to him that you’re inside the barricade.”
“It’s too late for me to step back now.”
“And you never would.” He kisses Kristin’s soft cheek. “It’s one of the reasons I love you.”
Emma feels compelled to look away, and the nearest diversion is Bell. “What’s happening outside?”
Bell seems relieved for the chance to focus on something else. “Raymond’s arrived with the SWAT team. Martino’s here, too.” He lifts his chin at the Gutmunssons. “I don’t think they have much time.”
Emma remembers what’s more important. “Listen. There’s something else you need to know—”
But now another knock on the door interrupts, this time a booming pound. Pradeep is looking increasingly irritated. When the door is opened, Dr. Scott stands beside Agent Martino in the entryway.
“Uh, I’ve been told it’s time to clear the room,” Martino says, speaking loudly for everyone’s benefit. “Miss Lewis, Mr. Bell, Miss Gutmunsson, time to go.”
“Let the twins say goodbye, at least,” Dr. Scott admonishes. She lifts her eyes to Emma’s. “Miss Lewis, walk with me?”
Emma’s torn: reluctant to leave Simon and his tantalizing information, reluctant to leave Bell alone. But Scott is wearing an urgent look, and Pradeep and Martino should have enough combined muscle to hold Bell back if anything happens. She steps out of the room, keeps pace with Scott’s clicking strides in the great hall.
“I have a SWAT team in my courtyard, Miss Lewis, and I don’t like it. How did Simon seem to you?”
Emma considers saying, He’s as much of an asshole as always, but it probably wouldn’t go down well. “He’s angry that the FBI is using him.”
“I know how he feels.” Scott’s lips purse as they walk through the rolling steel gate. “Raymond is being argumentative. I had to draw a hard line about keeping essential staff in the building, and as my presence is not considered essential, he refuses to let me supervise.”
Two black-clad personnel—Emma recognizes the SWAT markings and gear—have been deployed to supervise exiting staff near the foyer door beneath the stairs. Through that door, Emma can see straight out to the main entrance, where the sunlight is starting to weaken and ebb.
As Scott stares at the SWAT men, her mouth gets tighter. “Miss Lewis, I have the impression that no one is actually looking out for Simon. That he’s expendable. I have a duty of care, and I’m worried that the entire focus of this stakeout is on catching the Butcher, and if Simon’s personal safety is compromised, then that’s just too bad.”
It’s the break Emma’s been waiting for.
“I can help you.” She allows the words she’s been holding in to spill out. “Let me back into the building—me and Bell. We can take up a concealed position nearby, somewhere out of the action, and keep an eye on Simon.”
Scott blinks in response. “That’s… Do you know what you’re suggesting?”
“Yes.” Emma holds the line doggedly. “You trusted Cooper, now I’m asking you to trust me. Let me be your ally—if Raymond won’t let you stay, I can look out for Simon. Put me somewhere out of sight, put me in a side room, I don’t care. But someone needs to be here. It’s the only way to hold Raymond accountable.” And to get the information about the Butcher’s identity out of Simon.
There’s a pause. Scott presses her lips. “You’d stay out of sight?”
“Yes.” Emma keeps her voice firm.
“How are you going to get past FBI personnel? They’re closing off the side entrances to everybody. You can’t just walk in the front door.”
“This is a big facility, Dr. Scott. And you know it better than anyone.”
Emma leaves the comment hanging and Scott bites. After a quick perusal of eyes in the hall, she turns sideways to retrieve a heavy lanyard from inside the vee of her jacket. She unhooks two small keys from the ring on the lanyard, tucks the rest away.
“Take these.” Scott slips the keys into Emma’s nearest hand. “On the far west side of the complex is an outside alley that leads to the superintendent’s residence—my residence. Go through the house and the back gate, and you’ll be inside the walls. The rear door of the wing adjacent to this center building is painted brown. I’ll arrange for someone to meet you there.”
Emma grips Scott’s free hand. “Thank you.”
“You care for Simon, don’t you? As a friend?” Scott’s gaze is searching.
Emma fights her immediate reaction, which is to jerk back in horror. Yes, Scott has a duty of care. But she seems so invested in Simon… too invested, in Emma’s opinion.
The way Simon has influenced even someone as intelligent as Scott makes Emma doubt the wisdom of her plan for a moment—until she remembers it’s their only option.
“Simon’s… complicated,” she says finally. “But I don’t like the way the FBI is running this operation.” And I want to make sure Simon stays in his cage, where he belongs.
“There are a lot of damaged people within these walls, Miss Lewis, and it’s my job to look after every one of them—even the complicated ones.” Scott gives her a nod. “Good luck.”
Scott walks off, and the SWAT team waves Emma forward, toward sundown.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Mike Martino finds Donald Raymond unpleasant to be around. He thinks the man looks like a bulldog walking on its hind legs, and Raymond’s manner does nothing but exacerbate that impression. Martino doesn’t mind taking orders—he’s used to taking orders—but the way Raymond has steamrolled through this operation, his treatment of Scott and of Cooper’s students, doesn’t fill Martino with confidence.
Raymond is currently strong-arming Scott over personnel access. “Dr. Scott, forget the keys business—you’ve got no reason to worry about your patients. This center building is like a goddamn fortress. We have SWAT—all trained in emergency first aid—stationed inside, in the old kitchen, and more outside the building. Our agent in the front foyer is protected with Kevlar. Your man in the control booth is locked down in his room. Gutmunsson is locked in his cage. The way I see it, the Butcher comes in, SWAT takes him down, problem solved.”
“I may not be consider
ed essential supervisory staff, but I’m legally required to have medical and control systems staff on-site in order to operate—and they need keys.” Scott appeals to Martino. “Even if they have no cause to use them, there are some things my remaining staff needs just to be able to function, and that’s one of them.”
Martino hesitates. The fact that he doesn’t actually like Raymond makes his decision easier. “Sir, I think we should just give the paramedic a set of keys. He’s gonna be stuck in the control booth with the technician most of the night anyway. And if there’s an issue and he needs to attend to someone, it might come in useful if he doesn’t need to be escorted—”
“Oh goddammit. Fine, then.” Raymond expands like an air bladder. “But this is my last concession, Dr. Scott.”
“It’s the last concession I’ll ask for,” she replies coolly. She unhooks a large keychain from the lanyard around her neck, detaches a set of keys on a ring, and hands them to Martino. “Contact me if there are any problems—you have my phone number. I’ll be monitoring the situation from the east wing. I sincerely hope you know what you’re doing.”
She walks off. Raymond grinds his teeth as he turns Martino’s way. “Where’s the paramedic? I want him locked into the control booth.”
“I’ll find him, sir.”
“And are those damn kids off the site?”
“Yes, sir.” Martino consults his clipboard. “They should be taking Kristin Gutmunsson back to her facility right now.”
“Thank fuck. That’s three less inconveniences I have to deal with.”
“Yes, sir. Ah, the paramedic is right over there, sir. I’ll go speak to him.”
Martino pats the lapel of his jacket as he walks toward the building entrance. The list of MTs that Travis Bell faxed over is sitting in his inside pocket. He gave a copy to Jack Kirby in Behavioral Science, for follow-up, and he’s been waiting for a spare moment to examine it himself, but no spare moments have come: He’s been bustling after Raymond for nearly thirty straight hours. It might prove unnecessary anyway, if everything goes well tonight.
