Kill Me Once (39 page)

He hadn’t left his cap behind at the Night Stalker murder scene. He hadn’t slipped up with the floppy disk as Dennis Rader had. He hadn’t forgotten the Asian girl under the bed as had Richard Speck, and a parking ticket hadn’t stopped him as it had the Son of Sam. As John Wayne Gacy, he’d had sense enough to kill his victim – Dana’s sweet, sweet Eric – outside the comfort of his, the killer’s, own home.

He was fixing their mistakes
.

He smiled as he watched the pieces connect in her brain.

‘Exactly, Dana. Those assholes were stupid, incompetent idiots. Sadly, I too was stupid once upon a time. I didn’t kill you when I had the chance the first time around, but now I’m going to make up for that. You see, my dear, I don’t make mistakes. I
correct
them. You know me as the Cleveland Slasher, but I’ve always preferred to think of myself as The Editor. Sounds much classier, wouldn’t you agree? Then again, what the hell’s in a name, anyway?’

‘What does any of that have to do with me?’ Dana breathed. ‘I don’t even
know
you.’

Anger flashed across his face. ‘Jesus Christ, Dana, are you really
that
fucking stupid? You should be dead right now. You never should have survived that night in the first place. You didn’t
deserve
the life you were given. You
stole
it from me. You stole it from me, and now I’m taking it back.’

Nathan Stiedowe stepped forward quickly and smacked her violently across the forehead with the heavy butt of a gun. Dana’s brain convulsed in waves of deep purple for a split second before her world plunged into total darkness once again.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

The needle in the brain again. More fog.

When her world finally limped into existence again several minutes later, Dana’s hands were still tied, but now she was lying on the replica single bed of her childhood.

Everything was positioned exactly as it had been on that terrible night in 1976, right down to the Wonder Woman night light over in the corner.

Her brother’s eyes glittered madly as he stood over her bed with a long knife in his hand. Bright red drops of blood slid down the silver blade, clinging to the sharp tip for the briefest of moments. One by one the droplets plopped down onto her face like rust-coloured water from a leaking faucet.

Wincing, she realised she’d been slashed across the stomach.

‘Nothing too serious, sis,’ her brother said, idly placing the bloody knife on the bedside table next to the gun whose butt he’d used to shut off her lights. ‘It’s just a simple flesh wound. Ten stitches at most will close it up. But that’s not something you really need to worry about right now, is it? For what? So you can be a good-looking corpse?’

He shook his head. ‘Besides, everything has to be completely authentic if the unforgivable mistake is to be corrected properly, no? I needed your blood since our mother, God rest her soul, isn’t here with us any more.’

Dana frantically worked the knots on her wrists behind her back. She knew what the bastard was doing – trying to bait her into doing or saying something stupid – but she wasn’t falling for it. The knots were starting to loosen, and she needed to buy herself just a little more time. Adrenalin was helping to keep her focused.

Her brother took a step back and cracked his knuckles. ‘Tell me, dear sister, how exactly would you like to die? Shall I slice you up into little pieces like Albert Fish sliced up young Gracie Budd before he roasted her flesh in the oven and ate it, or is there some other storybook ending you’d prefer to emulate?’

He stepped forward again and leaned his face down into hers. The overpowering scent of liquorice on his breath made Dana’s stomach churn.

‘How exactly would you like to die, Dana? Just tell me and I promise I’ll do my very best to accommodate your wishes.’

He straightened back up and reached for the knife on the table just as the knots on Dana’s wrists suddenly fell away. She thrust out her right hand and reached the gun a split second before his fingers curled around the wooden handle of the steel blade.

Heart in her throat, she tumbled onto the floor past him in a shooter’s roll and knelt on one knee. She levelled the gun directly at his head. ‘Freeze!’ she screamed in a raw voice.

The look on her brother’s face was inhuman as he lifted the knife over his head and took a step toward her, his dark brown eyes glazing over. His deep voice was flat, emotionless, as he spoke. ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil.’

Dana lowered the gun and shot him once in the left kneecap.

No good. He kept advancing, not even the slightest hint of pain crossing his face. She squeezed the trigger twice more just as the sharp silver knife came flashing down on her head.

Two more bullets in his right kneecap finally sent him stumbling backward onto the bed. A huge lungful of air exploded from his mouth in a loud
whoosh
as Dana scrambled to her feet and watched as he stared up at her in utter disbelief.

And then he
smiled
.

‘What’s so funny?’ she demanded.

He was still smiling as she felt in the front pocket of her jeans for her cellphone. She slipped it out and flipped it open. No reception.

Dana tossed the phone to the side in frustration. ‘You’re through,’ she said, breathing hard. ‘You’ll never hurt anybody ever again. You’re going to prison and I’m going to make sure they execute you for this.’

The tight-lipped smile on her brother’s face never wavered. ‘Oh, I’m not
going
to prison, Dana. And the state’s not going to execute me, either. I leave that job up to you. Hell, one out of two of us ain’t bad. Still, I was hoping we’d go together.’

She glared down at him, confused. ‘What are you talking about?’

In the very next instant he was off the bed and flying through the air at her again, his shattered kneecaps somehow functioning as good as new. He yanked the sharp knife over his head. Dana’s finger slipped once on the trigger before she finally squeezed it hard.

Her brother’s breath exploded from his mouth in another loud
whoosh
as the bullet slammed into his lower gut. He fell backward onto the bed and finally dropped the bloody knife.

‘I told you so,’ he gasped.

Dana’s mind clouded over. The hot rush of adrenalin coursing through her veins was making it impossible for her to think clearly. ‘You told me
what?’

Rivers of blood spilled through his fingers as he pressed his hands into his stomach. ‘I told you that you would be my executioner. But unlike the victims that my brethren and I shared, you can only kill me once. Pity, isn’t it?’

He laughed, grimacing from the pain. ‘You didn’t really think I’d be stupid enough to leave that gun so close to you unless it was
on purpose
, did you?’

He threw his head back and laughed again. ‘Anyway, now I can finally be reunited with my murdered wife and daughter. You’ve done me a favour here, Dana. You’ve done me a favour and I thank you for it.’

Dana’s mouth went dry. Her ears rang. She immediately knew that he was telling her the truth. She’d played right into his hands again, just like she’d been doing the entire time. But what choice had she had?

Her brother jerked a ragged breath into his lungs and relished the expression on her face as though it was a fine wine. Their stares locked briefly, communicating what they both already knew.

He had
won
.

The blood draining out of his cheeks turned his handsome face a ghostly white. ‘I know what you’re thinking, Dana, but don’t worry. I kept our little secret safe. You and I are the only two people left on Earth who know that we share the same blood running through our veins. Soon you’ll be the only one.’

He winked up at her and grinned, revealing a set of remarkably white teeth that were now stained bright red with blood. ‘See you in hell, Dana. I’ll make sure I keep a seat warm for you.’

And with that, Jeremiah Michael Quigley simply ceased to exist in this world.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

An hour later, dozens of law-enforcement personnel flooded into the clearing in the deep north-east Ohio woods where the serial killer known only to himself as The Editor had taken his last ragged breath.

The steady whir of helicopter blades flattened the frozen grass all around Dana as they wheeled her out on a gurney and into the back of a waiting ambulance.

Before they could take off, however, Bill Krugman stepped into the back of the vehicle and pulled the doors shut behind him.

‘I’m sorry, Agent Whitestone,’ he said. His left arm was encased in a sling. ‘We should’ve protected you earlier. It’s my fault.’

Dana swallowed hard. ‘Can we talk about it later, sir? I’m really not feeling up to it at the moment.’

Krugman looked down at her. ‘That sick son of a bitch pulled the old “suicide-by-cop” routine, didn’t he? He left you no choice.’

Krugman stared intently into her eyes. ‘That
was
what happened, wasn’t it?’

Dana looked up at him and nodded slowly. ‘Yes, sir, it was.’ It was the truth. Even if he’d
wanted
her to pull the trigger, he’d wanted her to die too. He’d said so.

The Director let out a deep breath.

‘Good. That’s exactly how it will appear in the official report.’

He paused as a look of sorrow passed across the folds of his face. ‘Crawford Bell was my closest friend, Dana. He always thought of you as a daughter. I just thought you should know that.’

And with that Bill Krugman patted her left knee and left the ambulance to go deal with the colossal mess that Dana and her brother had created in the snowy Ohio woods.

EPILOGUE

Dana lay in her hospital bed three days later, recovering. The doctor had insisted that this time she should stay where she was until
he
decided she was well enough to leave.

The most she’d been able to accomplish over the past three days was to arrange for her landlord to take care of Oreo. Everything else was just too hard for her to deal with right now. She’d lost just about everyone she’d ever cared for in her life and everyone who’d cared for her. That would take longer, much longer, to recover from – if she ever could.

A tray of uneaten food lay in front of her. On an extended leave of absence now from the FBI, she doubted she’d ever go back. The time had probably come for her to consider a different career – one where everyone around her didn’t wind up dead.

Over the classical musical channel on the radio in the corner, the velvety-voiced DJ announced the next song.

‘Next we’ll hear from Irish concert-pianist Ashley Ball playing Ernesto Lecuona’s “Crisantemo”.’

When the phone rang on her bedside table, Dana leaned over gingerly and picked it up, being very careful not to disturb the long row of stitches in her belly.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey there, good-lookin’. I hear you’re holed up in bed too. Can you believe the taxpayers are actually
paying
us for this?’

‘Jeremy,’ Dana said softly, ‘how are you doing?’

Brown sighed. ‘I’m still alive. You didn’t really think someone with a face as ugly as mine was going to die
that
easily, did you?’

Hot tears sprang up into the corners of Dana’s pale blue eyes. He was the one bright, shining spot on the horizon and she wanted to hold onto it. It was all she had. ‘Hey,’ she said sternly, ‘I happen to love that face of yours very much, so you’d better bring it up here just as soon as you possibly can. You still owe me that bite to eat, you know.’

‘It’s a date, Dana.’

And with that Dana knew she’d be OK. She’d have to be.