The Haunting of Secrets (20 page)

Chapter
Thirty-Two

~ Portrait of a Killer ~

I awake in a dark, cold room that smells
heavily of mildew. My mouth is dry and all I can taste is the
bitterness of old blood. I must have bitten my tongue when Logan
hit me from behind. I open my eyes and look around, doing my best
to ascertain my surrounding despite the lack of light. I see four
walls surrounding me, the familiar dark bricks stained from age and
mold. There is a staircase about ten feet in front of me that
curves and extends up to a door at the top of the room. This is
where the only sliver of light in the entire room originates. There
is no furniture in the room save the bed that I am currently bound
to. The sheets under me are bleached white and are a stark contrast
to the dark bricks that surround me. My hands are bound to each end
of the metal headboard with handcuffs welded to the posts. I look
down and see that my feet are also spread out and tied to each end
of the footboard with more handcuffs. I pull my foot, fighting at
the bindings, measuring to see if I could get it out, but it’s no
use. I look at my body and am not surprised to see that I only have
on my bra and underwear. My skin is chilled from the dampness of
the air in the cellar. I would know this cellar anywhere; I have
been here many times, though not in physical form. I am in the
killer’s torture room and from the looks of it; I’m to share the
same fate as all the other girls from his memories. Well screw
that. Tyler may have surprised me before, but now it’s my turn to
surprise him. I won’t go down without a fight.

My mind scrambles to find some way out. Even
though it’s probably futile, I try to pull my hands and feet
through the handcuffs. The sharp edges cut into my skin. I ignore
the pain as I try to wiggle my right foot free. Sadly, all I
accomplish is a bleeding foot. I decide to save my strength and
give up futile means of escape. I look around, desperate to find
anything that can help me, but the room is barren, clear of
anything and everything that one could use to free themselves. This
is by design of course; Tyler is very thorough and doesn’t leave
anything to chance. It still feels weird to call the killer Tyler.
Not in a million years would I have guessed him. He is always so
charismatic and charming. He gives off an aura of kindness and
trust. I guess I’m not the only one who hides themselves from the
world.

My intense focus on escaping helps me to not
be afraid, helps me to not think of all the horrible things that
Tyler is capable of doing; things that I have experienced
firsthand. Though Logan and his involvement with this psycho try to
force itself to the front of my mind, I choose to ignore it. I
can’t bear to think of Logan as a conspirator in killing; it just
doesn’t mesh with what I know in my heart. But hearts have been
deceived all throughout history, just look at Romeo and Juliet. I
guess it’s true, some loves are just not meant to be.

Suddenly from above, I hear the door creek
open and Tyler emerges, his form haloed within the light that
floods the room from behind him. He descends the steps slowly,
twirling his faithful knife in his right hand and smiling at me as
he approaches. I fight my bindings involuntarily, not so much fear
guiding my actions as anger. I want to punch that smile off his
face and see him bleed. He needs to pay for Leah and for all the
other girls he so callously killed. I force myself to calm down,
knowing that my fear and anger is part of what fuels him, part of
what he craves the most when he kills. I lie still in the bed, the
only movement is my chest rising and falling as I breathe. I stare
at him defiantly as he approaches, ready to do battle despite my
precarious position. Tyler stops at the end of the old wrought iron
bed and faces me. He is decked out in all black, even down to his
socks and shoes. The only color in this room is the green glow of
his eyes.

Tyler stands there staring at me, soaking up
every inch of my body. I see him lick his lips and I almost vomit
from disgust. Why does he wait? There’s nothing I can do to free
myself; he must know that. Then I realize that he must be waiting
for me. It’s just like in every mystery movie created: the killer
has to boast before he kills. I don’t want to give him what he
desires, but there is something that I am dying to know. I can only
hope that Tyler is in the answering kind of mood.

“Why, Tyler?” I ask his still form. “What’s
so wrong with you that you feel the need to do this? You have your
pick of girls at school. Why do you kidnap and torture them?”

Tyler shakes his head in exasperation. He
speaks as he’s talking to a small child. “My dear Aimee, why must
there be a reason?” he states nonchalantly.

Confusion renders me momentarily speechless.
How can there be no reason? Killing for the pleasure of it just
seems too foreign a concept for my brain to process. Tyler could
have any girl in the school that he wanted, so why take what would
be freely given? I am about to push him further, when up above at
the door, I see Logan come into view. Like Tyler, he too is wearing
all black. He must have changed clothes, because the last time I
saw him, he was in his usual ensemble of a t-shirt and jeans. I
guess he had to dress the part if he wanted to participate in
killing me. My heart burns from the truth. Though I can see it with
my own eyes, my mind stubbornly refuses to believe that Logan could
be responsible for helping Tyler. But in a lot of ways, it makes
sense. They are both on the same baseball and basketball team. If
they share that common interest, it isn’t a far jump to other, more
sinister, extracurricular activities. It wouldn’t be hard to find
alibis if they play sports together all the time. I turn my head to
the side, sick with heartache, but this time I actually do throw
up. I get no small amount of satisfaction when a bit of it lands on
Tyler’s shoes.

“Bitch!” he yells. “These are expensive
shoes. You’re going to pay for that,” he warns seconds before his
hand connects with my face and my cheek feels like it just
exploded.

The pain is so intense that my eyes tear up
and I momentarily can’t move. He slapped me so hard that my head
still vibrates from the motion. I’m slow to move my head back to
center, the dizziness, and pain immobilizing me. Since my hands are
bound, I can’t rub away the sting so I open and close my mouth,
willing the pain to subside. I refuse to give Tyler the
satisfaction of knowing how much that slap had affected me.

“That all you got Tyler?” I goad. “A five
year old could slap harder than you.”

Red in the face from anger, Tyler rears back
his fist, preparing to punch me when Logan’s voice interrupts
him.

“Enough,” bellows Logan. “Leave her be for
now.”

To my surprise, Tyler stops, his fist shaking
from the unnatural restraint and backs down. His face is flushed
with anger, but he makes no move to argue with Logan.

Who is in charge here?
All this time I
had thought the killer was the alpha, the clear leader in charge,
but now I see that someone more sinister lurks from behind. Someone
more patient and infinitely more dangerous: Logan. Looking into
those hazel eyes I used to adore, something inside me snaps.

“Leave me for what Logan? Why bother not
damaging the merchandise when you’re only going to kill me later?”
I ask furious.

Logan makes no move to explain, he simply
crosses his arms in front of his chest and smiles at me.

“
Damn you for making me love you Logan.
Just let him kill me already! Nothing matters anymore, don’t you
see? There’s nothing left inside me. You’ve already taken care of
killing the parts that matter so who cares about the rest? Just do
it already!” I scream at him, my whole body upright and ridged as I
fight my bindings.

Beside me, Tyler starts to laugh, a deep
sarcastic sound that fills room. I turn to him, certain that some
kind of ‘
you’re crazy
’ look adorns my face. Nothing I said
was funny. He’s just doing it to mock me.

Tyler turns to Logan and elbows him jovially.
“She really doesn’t know does she?” he asks between laughs. “Such a
stupid bitch, just like all the rest of them.”

My head reels from confusion.
What don’t I
understand?
I see them both in front of me, co-conspirators in
killing and it’s clear as day. Or is it?
What am I missing?
Furthermore, do I care?
I turn to both of them, my face flushed
with unshed anger.

“What don’t I know Tyler?” I ask sick of his
games. “Just spit it out already so you can kill me and be done
with it. I’m done waiting on your sick ass.” My sarcasm seems to
hit a nerve, because Tyler stops laughing immediately.

Quicker than I could have imagined, Tyler
jumps on the bed and climbs on top of me. He straddles me as he
sticks his knife to my throat. I can feel his breath on my face.
It’s sweet, not rancid as I would have thought coming from someone
so evil. He presses the tip of the knife into the thin skin of my
neck and pricks me, causing a small amount of blood to trickle
down.

“Curb your tongue or I’ll cut it out for you
and make you eat it piece by piece,” he warns, his eyes unfocused
and wild.

“You don’t scare me. I’ve seen everything
you’ve ever done and I know all of your secrets, remember? I know
better than anyone does exactly what you are capable of and I won’t
give you what you desire the most: my fear. There’s nothing you can
do to hurt me anymore. Logan here has already killed me for you. My
heart is broken and my soul is dead. All that he left for you is my
flesh. So do your worst.”

Again Tyler laughs, such a sadistic sound
that is completely contrary to his angelic face. I watch as he and
Logan share a knowing look and I wonder what secret Tyler harbors
that I’m not privy to. I have absorbed them all so there should be
nothing about him that I don’t already know. Or is there? Could
there be a memory I missed? Some part of him that he was able to
hold back to protect Logan? I search my mind for clues, but nothing
relevant surfaces. I know that Tyler is the killer, his memories
swimming in my mind, are buzzing from our closeness. I try to think
of what Tyler could know that I don’t, but it’s no use, I can’t
think of anything. It doesn’t really matter anyway, I’m dead
whether I remember or not. My silence seems to have given Logan
permission to enter our conversation.

“You poor, misguided, fool of a girl,” begins
Logan. “He really never told you did he?” Logan asks genuinely
perplexed. I’m saved from saying anything when he answers his own
question. “No, of course he never told you. I’m a horrible family
secret that my parents tried very hard to hide. But they failed to
realize that I can’t be hidden. Destiny has plans for me that won’t
be denied.”

“What in the world are you talking about
Logan? Are you nuts? Wait, don’t answer that, I
know
you’re
nuts. You have to be to work with this psycho,” I say pointing to
Tyler with my head. “So now that your mental status has been
settled, can we please just get on with it and someone give me a
clear answer?” I say, exasperated that we’re having such a stupid
conversation in the center of a torture room while I’m half-naked
and bound.

Logan laughs. I’m getting really sick of all
this laughing. It’s as if I’m not privy to some really good
joke.

Logan approaches the bed, leans over me, and
smiles. “My dear Aimee,” he says shaking his head, his tone
reproachful. “I’m not nuts. In fact, I’m not Logan at all. My name
is Alex. I’m Logan’s twin brother.”

Chapter
Thirty-Three

~ Standoff ~

“What?”
I breathe, at a loss to say
anything more elaborate.
What kind of sick joke is this?
Was
Logan schizophrenic all along and no one ever noticed? Damn, just
when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder, they throw a twin
brother into the mix. That is
so
cliché; like something out
of a scary movie from ten years ago. I am not amused. Logan/Alex
snickers at me; a patronizing look adorns his face. He crosses the
room and approaches a blocked off corner. I lift my head to try to
see where he’s going and I can just make out a black curtain
extending down from ceiling. Since it’s black, it blends in very
well with the décor—or let’s just face it,
lack
of decor.
Logan/Alex licks his lips in eagerness before he reaches up and
fiercely pulls the curtain back. His eyes never leave mine; they’re
hungry, eager to soak up my reaction. It sure as hell isn’t long in
coming.

I scream and try to jump off the bed, but I’m
stopped by my bindings. I struggle, desperate to get to the bloody
heap crumpled in the corner. He’s wearing the same white shirt and
jeans I saw him in at my house earlier tonight: Logan, the real
one. His arms are tied together, the rope threaded through a loop,
nailed to the wall. His head is down and I can tell that he’s
unconscious. My eyes, now adjusted to the dark, can see his brown
hair matted with blood and his cheek facing me is a dark red color.
It seems that he was hit over the head, just like I was. Desperate
to get to him, I fight my bindings, but that only seems to
entertain my captors more.

Alex laughs beside Logan’s crumpled body and
it hits me all at once; what he said was true. Alex and Logan are
twin brothers. Even with different clothing I can see the same
circular face, the same brown hair and hazel eyes, even the same
smile; though admittedly I feel Alex’s is more sinister. Twins!
Wow, I did not see that one coming. Confusion gives way to
happiness as my heart catches up to my head. The boy I love never
betrayed me; he fought for me and risked his life to save me,
again. Logan isn’t evil; he’s alive and a sight for sore eyes. I
stare at him until I’m sure that his shoulders move up and down in
the comforting motion of breathing. He’s alive! And sadly, in grave
danger because of me. Never before in my life did I have anything
to lose. Now that I do, I have to find a way to save him. I can’t
lose him.