Killer Within (17 page)

Chapter
Forty-One

THAT NIGHT VICTOR GETS HOME
late, and I’m on the couch watching TV. “Hey,” I tell him.

He blinks tiredly and looks around. “Daisy and Justin are in bed?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you guys do for dinner?”

“Breakfast.”

He gives me an exhausted smile. “That sounds good.” He slides in beside me on the couch, lays his head back, and closes his eyes. I take in his frown lines, the gray that seems to be more prevalent now, and his stubble. He looks ten years older than he did just a few months ago.

There’re so many questions I want to ask him. Like why
did he marry Mom, was he happy with her, did he ever pick up on anything different about her, did he suspect anything about Marji, and did he know Daisy’s not his?

But of course none of these questions come out.

“What are you doing down here all alone?” he asks on a yawn.

“Thinking,” I honestly tell him.

“About?”

“You and Mom,” I venture.

Victor opens his bloodshot eyes, and the tenderness in them has me sliding over and laying my head on his chest, just like I used to do when I was younger. I inhale the faint scent of familiar cologne, and it comforts me.

“Why did you marry Mom?” I quietly ask.

“Well, for one, I fell in love with an adorable red-haired toddler.” He tugs my hair and I smile. “But your mom was . . . fascinating. She was so driven and strong and unlike any other woman I had dated. Honestly, she got pregnant with Daisy and that’s what nudged us both into marriage.” He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Best decision I ever made.”

How dare my mom lie to him about so many things. She knew Daisy was Seth’s and yet moved forward with marrying Victor. Moved forward with having a “normal” life. She knew Seth couldn’t give her what she wanted. What a manipulative bitch.

Victor strokes my hair as if sensing my tension, and it feels
so good, so loving, so gentle, and it calms me back down. “I hope you know I never once thought of you as Seth’s. You’re mine. Plain and simple,” he tells me.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

A few quiet minutes go by, and I listen to his heartbeat as I get lulled by the sensation of my head rising and falling with his breaths.

“I love all of you kids. More than anything.”

He didn’t say he loved Mom.

Zach sits with me with at lunch. “So how’s little man?”

I smile. “He’s good.”

“Daisy and Hammond seem the couple.” He nods across the cafeteria to where my sister sits giggling and snuggling with her boyfriend.

“Hammond’s good for her,” I say, using Daisy’s terminology. It’s people like him who will keep her normal.

Zach cuts his brown eyes over to me. “
You’re
good for her.”

Hmm. No one’s ever told me that before.

“You’re good for
me
, too,” he stresses.

I roll my eyes in a very un-Lane-like way. “Please. You’re making me blush.”

Zach laughs at that. I like that I can make him laugh.

We continue eating in silence for a few seconds, chewing, looking around.

“You notice anything going on with my brother?” he asks.

“No. Why?” Other than our mutual orgasm and the temper flare he doesn’t know I witnessed.

Zach shrugs. “I don’t know. He seems so in and out. You know?”

“No, actually I don’t know.”

“It’s like one minute he’s the best brother in the world and the next I can barely find him. I just . . . Sometimes I wish the clock could rewind.”

“Yeah, that I do know.”

We keep eating, and my thoughts drift to Dr. Issa and the few heart-to-heart talks we’ve had. “Know that he’s trying, Zach. Losing a parent is not easy.”

“I hate that you know that.”

No one’s quite put it that way before. But how true that is.

Zach wipes his mouth and stands. “Nice to be friends again. See you around.”

“Yep.” I watch him weave his way through the cafeteria, and glance over to Daisy again. She’s looking back at me with a little smile that I return.

She turns to leave, and Kyle is standing behind her, propped against the wall and staring right at me. My smile slides away as I take in his perplexing gaze.

Inside my backpack Catalina’s phone vibrates, and I glance
away to dig it out. When I look back up, Kyle is gone. What was
that
about?

I slide the phone open, see it’s from the mystery number, read
2000 FORD CIRCLE, FAIRFAX. SAT. 9PM
, and my stomach muscles clench in anticipation. Finally!

Saturday at nine. I’ll be there, and I’ll be ready.

Chapter
Forty-Two

I DECIDE TO GO TO
an extra grief group meeting, thinking Tommy might show. He doesn’t, and I find myself completely preoccupied by that one single fact.

How is he?

Maybe I should go to his apartment and just . . . see.

As I’m fitting my key into my Jeep door to go home, I sense more than see someone behind me. I turn. It’s Catalina. She grins. Why is she always so happy?

“What do you want?” I ask.

“To say hi,” she says.

I don’t respond.

“So, I’ve been thinking about something, and I knew you could appreciate it.”

I still don’t respond, but I do wait. How is she going to broach the subject of j_d_l and the Masked Savior?

“My life has really been one big tragic mistake. I could be such a different person right now if certain things hadn’t happened when I was younger.”

Not what I expected her to say. By “certain things” I assume she means the accident that caused her brain damage.

“Even though you probably won’t admit it, I think the same holds true for you.”

She’s right about that.

Catalina pauses, glances out through the night, and then finally brings her gray eyes back to mine.

“The thing is,” she goes on, “I think you and I could be the best of friends if we wanted. Yin and yang and all that. We’re more alike than you think. Yet so very different. There’s something unique about you, and I’m extremely intrigued to find out what caused it. Will you tell me?”

“No,” I finally speak.

She cocks her head. “Despite what you think, I’m not the bad guy. I have no plans to give the police my records.”

There it is. Verbally out in the open. Her admittance of what we both know. “You don’t have any records,” I remind her.

She smiles. “That’s right.
You
have them. That took balls, by the way—”

“I don’t have balls.”

“—and honestly if it had been anybody else, I would’ve already retaliated. The fact that I haven’t is a show of respect.”

She needs to get to the point. “I don’t want your respect.”

She finally moves and takes a step closer to me, but it’s not a threatening closeness. It’s more of a comforting closeness. “Lane, it’s okay. I admire you. I would never do anything to mess with who you are.”

I take a deep, bored breath in and exhale loudly through my nose. “Yeah, and here’s my thing. I have a little thing called cognitive processing and impulsivity restraint. Which I understand some of us don’t.”

Her brows lift. “Ouch. I guess I deserved that.”

I almost smile at the unexpected idea that comes out next. “I’m seriously considering going to the cops. Just turning myself in. Coming clean.”

I haven’t been, of course. But saying the words is oddly . . . liberating. Peaceful even.

Catalina shakes her head. “You don’t want to do that.”

As long as we’re having this little heart-to-heart . . . “So where’d you get j_d_l from?”

She shrugs. “Justin-Daisy-Lane.”

I’m sure she thinks she’s incredibly clever with that one. “So are you going to go ahead and tell me you’re M, too, and my copycat?”

She chuckles. “Sadly, I’m only j_d_l. I really have no clue who M is or the copycat.”

I curl my fingers into my palm so I don’t throw a punch, and glance at my watch, making it more than obvious I’m both done and tired with this conversation.

She reaches for me. “I know you’re mad at me for lying to you. I promise to keep your secret. Please don’t worry. I accept you fully for who you are. There’s no judgment from me.”

I just look at her.

She sighs. “You need to come to terms with who you are, Lane.”

Her gentle voice makes my teeth start to clench, and I concentrate on not showing her a reaction.

She doesn’t move as I turn, unlock my Jeep, and climb inside. She still doesn’t move as I crank my engine, put it in first, and drive off. And she still doesn’t move as I turn the corner out of sight.

Right now if I could get rid of Catalina, I would. This is where
not
having a conscience would be a fabulous thing. I could merely end her life, dispose of her body, and call it a day. Then there would be no witness to the things I’ve done.

Sadly, I’m only j_d_l. I really have no clue who M is or the copycat.

She sounded sincere. She looked sincere. But she’s done nothing but lie to me. How can I believe her now?

I promise to keep your secret.

I can trail her, sure. But with her already following me, it’s the proverbial cat-and-mouse chase.

Yeah, ending her life would be an obvious solution, and that thought just pisses me off. I’ve had more lack-of-conscience contemplations in the past few months than I have ever.

I am my parents’ daughter. I know this. But there is a fine line between good and evil that separates us. I will not cross it. I will not harm an innocent person.

I accept you fully for who you are.

I hate even more how great that sounds. When did I ever need that kind of acceptance and validation?

As I’m pulling up to my house, my cell rings. It’s Tommy. What do you know?

“Hey, Tommy,” I greet him, like there’s been nothing awkward between us.

He chuckles at my tone and it makes me smile. I like his chuckle. It’s deep.

“Listen, my bike’s broken down on the parkway straight across from Georgetown University. Can you come get me?”

I’m glad he’s called me. “Does this mean we’re friends again?”

“It means I need a ride.”

Tit for tat. “Be there in a bit.” I text Victor and he texts back,
YOU’RE A GOOD FRIEND. BE HOME BY MIDNIGHT.

I head off, definitely anticipating, not dreading, seeing Tommy. I’m not sure what to think about that. Why did he call me?

Dr. Issa, Zach, Tommy. It seems I’m surrounded by those who have lost people close to them. But then again I suppose grief attracts grief. We all “get” each other.

Just like disturbed attracts disturbed. Mom, Marji, my real father . . . me.

The parkway at night is beautiful. All twinkling house lights, the Potomac rolling peacefully, and the road gradually flowing with curves. It’s not often I pause to think about those visually stimulating things. I should do it more often. It’s . . . nice.

I see Tommy along the side, propped on his bike, just staring off at the same scenery I’ve been admiring. My stomach dances a little bit, and for a change I don’t push the female reactions away. I just enjoy it.

They’re what a typical girl would feel when looking at a hot guy. It’s nice to be typical, if only for a second in time.

He climbs into my Jeep with his book bag. “Hey, thanks for this. Triple A’s going to tow it.”

“Sure.” I pull out, and we ride a few minutes in silence. “So why me?”

Tommy sighs. “I wanted some alone time with you.”

“Oh?”

“You stole my computer and all my Decapitator research. Why?”

“I was scared,” I honestly tell him. “That’s my past and it hurts and I don’t want people dredging it up.”

Tommy nods. “I was wrong to do so. Things got out of hand between me and you.”

“They did,” I agree, so happy he’s putting words to my previous thoughts. “I apologize. Will you keep that new laptop now?”

“Yes.” He unzips his backpack and pulls out my journals. “I’m sorry for breaking into your room and taking these. I was trying to retaliate and hurt you in return. Except . . . this shit’s creepy.”

Creepy.
He’s right; it is. I hate that he knows this part of me.

“Will you tell me about them?” he asks.

I glance over at my journals. They both lighten and darken my heart. I’m glad to see them, but they’re a reminder of who I really am. “Thank you for not destroying them.”

Tommy nods and places them on my backseat, and as he does, I catch the scent of leather just like before. “You know, Lane, it’s good to have one person you can be one hundred percent honest with. A person you don’t have to lie to. A person you can trust.”

This is sounding a little too uncomfortably like the conversation I just had with Catalina. Plus . . . I lie to everyone. I can’t imagine not. “Are you saying I’m lying?”

“I’m saying you haven’t been completely honest with anyone probably ever. Except right now. I sense an honesty between us that’s probably new to you.”

Hearing him say that gives me courage. “Have
you
always been honest?”

He chuckles, and it resonates deeply in the small space of my Jeep. “Of course not. But I do want someone I can be my absolute self with. Someone I’m not scared around.”

I think about the similar words Catalina said, and the thing is, that
would
bring me a sense of rightness too. Complete acceptance by someone for who I truly am. Someone who wouldn’t manipulate me for their own desires. “Are you saying you want me to be that person for you?”

“I’m not sure yet. But I do know it’s got to be a two-way street. All I’m asking is that you think about it. And let me know your thoughts, okay?”

“Okay.”

Tommy reaches forward to turn my heater down, and his fingers brush mine, which are resting on the stick shift. “Mind?”

I shake my head and glance down at his hand as he pulls it back. He has a new tattoo spreading out over the top of his hand and disappearing up under his leather jacket. “What’s up with all the tats?”

He smiles a little. “My sister. She was an artist. I’ve been
getting parts of her paintings put on me. My way to remember her.”

“That’s a great way to remember someone.” Makes perfect sense, actually. “I’d love to see your arms sometime.”

“Okay.” He glances back to the journals. “Now that I’ve shared a chunk of me, will you tell me about those?”

I don’t immediately. He reaches over, gently puts his hand on top of mine, and gives it a warm squeeze.

I want to turn my hand over and link fingers with him, but I don’t.

His phone rings, and he slides his hand away to look at it. Whoever’s name he sees makes him sigh, and he hits ignore before shoving it into his back pocket.

“Everything okay?” I venture.

A muscle flexes in his jaw. “Fine.”

Some edgy seconds go by as he turns to stare out his window, and with each one the space between us grows.

I want the closeness back so I say, “Serial killers intrigue me. Just like they intrigued my mother. Perhaps it’s because my mom hunted them that it took hold in me, too.”

He turns to look at me. “Do you think you want to make it your life’s work like your mom did?”

“No,” I answer. “I don’t want to be anything like my mother.”