Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
There. I threw the chum out into the water; now to see if the shark took a bite.
“Ah, damn, I’m not home.”
“That’s fine. I can meet you wherever you’re at.”
A brief pause. Shit. Had I overextended myself?
“Wait, shouldn’t you be at the Hamilton show right now?”
I looked up at the blinking marquee, the streets empty now that everyone was seated and enjoying the show inside.
“I stepped out. Had to take a call and figured since you live nearby, I could get your signature and be back before the first act is over.”
Another pause. This one wasn’t as brief, but I didn’t try to fill in the silence. Not when that meant stepping directly onto another landmine.
“Cut the shit, Gabriel. You know, don’t you?”
That took me like a surprise uppercut to the jaw. I immediately realized that playing dumb wouldn’t get me anywhere. He dropped the friendly singsongy voice he usually spoke in, his words blunt and direct like a hammer to the skull.
“I do.”
“I was hoping I’d have longer. Damn.”
A confession. I had him. Now I just had to make sure I didn’t lose him.
“Steven—Marlin—we can make this easy. You can agree to turn yourself in, and we can put an end to this saga. We can go that route—”
“Or you can get in the car.”
Just as Steven spoke, a dark black Honda with midnight-tinted windows pulled up right in front of me. The window lowered, and Steven appeared, leaning over an empty passenger seat, phone against his ear.
I should have known he wasn’t far.
“I’m not getting in there,” I said, every one of my professional instincts shouting at me to shoot at the tires. If I blew even just one of them out, then he’d have a very difficult time escaping. But the attention gunshots would draw could be detrimental. The theatre would surely get evacuated, which would mean hundreds and hundreds of people pouring out into the street. It would make it easy for him to slip into the crowd and disappear.
“If you do, then I’ll come clean.”
“You can come clean once you step out of the vehicle,” I said.
“What are you so scared of, Gabriel? You’re twice my size. I don’t have any weapons. I don’t have any plan. I just want this all to be over with.” He lifted his shirt, patted down the pockets of his khaki shorts. “See, I’ve got nothing.”
“Steven, I’m not getting in that car. Get out now before I have to pull you out.” I was getting tired of the games. It had gone on long enough.
“Fine,” he said, but instead of getting out of the car, he put it in park and jumped over to the passenger seat. “You drive. Take me to the police station, then. Take out your gun, too. Go ahead.”
This felt wrong. What was this guy’s angle here?
“Drive me to the police station,” Steven said. “I can’t do it myself. Please.”
He didn’t wear makeup tonight. His face looked thin, paler than usual. And the scar on his face was clearly visible. A dark mark against his pallid complexion, just underneath his left eye.
This monster had taken so many lives, had come close to taking Tristan’s. I couldn’t let him escape. This had to end tonight.
I unholstered my gun and kept it in my hand as I walked around the car, getting into the driver’s seat. I took a glance into the back seat, just in case. The Midnight Chemist was known to work alone, but maybe he had picked up a bloodthirsty guard dog I didn’t know about. All that was back there were a couple black t-shirts and a sea of black, cracked leather. No growling mutt or masked assailant.
It was just me and Steven.
“I’m sorry,” Steven said. I couldn’t tell if he was apologizing to me or to himself. He was looking out the window as I slammed on the gas. The police station was only a couple of streets away. I kept one hand tight on the steering wheel and the other holding my gun, the barrel aimed at Steven.
I asked the one question I always did when this moment came. “Why?”
He didn’t answer. I reached a red light and wanted to blow right through it but stopped with a screech of the tires.
“Why did you kill those innocent people? Why did you stalk Tristan? Break into his house? Kidnap him? Why?” I asked again, firmer this time.
That seemed to do it. The floodgates opened. Steven started to speak in a manic sort of way. The words fell out of him like an uncontrolled leak from a roof sitting underneath a torrential downpour.
“Because I’m broken. I’m fucked-up. I’m twisted, inhuman, snapped. Do you know what it’s like being locked in a closet for weeks on end? Pissing and shitting in a cup? I should have been worried about pimples and first kisses and school dances, but instead, my father found out I was gay and made me pay for it. He was raging. A big macho conservative politician now had his worst nightmare sleeping in the room next to him. My stepmom didn’t care about anything besides the pain pills my dad fed her.