Chapter 28 #2
“And I don’t know about you,” the UNSUB continued, his voice dropping and growing gruffer.
“But I would consider Darcy the literal Hart of your team. A cyberspace warrior who spends her days stalking the scum of the earth through the dark web, reading their depraved confessions and deranged fantasies. Yet she never flinches away, does she? Never gives in to that urge to clap her hands over her eyes and preserve that last shred of faith and hope in humanity. Someone really should help her, save her from a lifetime of witnessing such horrors. Perhaps a spoon, pressed into the corner of her eye at just the right angle. Not too much pressure, just a little nudge and a twist, and the entire thing will just pop out like a cork.”
Mateo pushed himself back up to his feet, his breaths coming out in harsh pants, his fist trembling at his side. The overwhelming urge to tear the walls down around himself clutched him tight, and he trembled with the will it took to resist.
“This has nothing to do with any of them,” he ground out from between teeth clenched so tight his jaw ached. “You want to come for me? I’m right here. I’m not hiding or cowering from you, you pathetic, limp-dick little freak!”
The UNSUB laughed again, a low, menacing chuckle that sent a shiver down Mateo’s spine. “When are you going to realize that this isn’t about you, Agent? This is about blood and breath.”
Mateo roared, those fucking words thrusting through his gut and giving a savage twist, making him burn from the inside. “I swear to fucking God—”
“I am your god!” the UNSUB screamed, the careful control in his voice slipping away in an instant.
His voice stabbed through the phone now like a knife, piercing and guttural.
“I am your alpha and your omega, your beginning and your end. I am your reckoning, Agent, and I will tear apart everything you hold dear and lay it all at your feet, my priceless offering. You think what I did to Mari was depraved? She was only another sacrifice, a vessel to the will of Azrael. But Angelica …” The UNSUB dragged in a ragged breath and then let it off on a wistful sigh. “She will be my masterpiece.”
Mateo tore the phone away from his ear and put it on speaker, slamming it onto the desk before he could hurl it across the room. He smashed his palms into the desk and leaned in, as if staring the UNSUB in the eye.
“I will find you,” he snarled. “I will hunt you down and drag you out of whatever dark hole you’ve slithered into and drain the life out of you with my bare hands!”
The UNSUB went on as if he hadn’t heard Mateo. “Such tender, soft skin children have. So supple. So unblemished. How delightfully they bleed. So pure and sweet. The smell of it … like copper and sugar.”
“You’ll be the first UNSUB I bring in in pieces,” Mateo growled, curling his fingers and scraping the wood.
It splintered and stabbed beneath his fingernails, drawing blood.
“By the time I’m done with you, they’ll be cleaning up your remains with a mop and picking up your teeth with a pair of tweezers! ”
“Do you think she’ll cry out for you? Mari did.”
“I will cut you open from your throat to your groin and make you eat your own intestines!”
“She screamed so beautifully for me, Agent, the most soul-stirring notes I’ve ever heard. Like the soprano’s aria of an opera. I nearly came just from the sound of it.”
Mateo lowered his head, choking down bile. His stomach heaved and burned as he was methodically ripped apart and strewn into the wind. He could hear Mari’s screams echoing in his mind, as real as if he’d been there to hear them. As real as they had been in his nightmares.
“Angelica won’t scream,” the UNSUB taunted, his voice now taking on a slow, hypnotizing quality. “Not for long. I rather fancy the sound of her gasping and choking, fighting so valiantly for that very last breath as I strangle her from a garrote made of a pretty pink ribbon.”
Something within Mateo ignited, and he lashed out at the first thing he got his hands on. The phone went flying across the room, crashing into the wall.
“The blade is not punishment, but invocation,” the UNSUB went on, his voice dropping back to that soft, soothing tone.
“The first cut is sacred; a hymn sung in red. Pain is the chorus by which the soul remembers its origin. For it is through rupture that the vessel is made ready. And what a beautiful, perfect vessel your little girl will be.”
With an animalistic howl scorching his throat, Mateo flipped the desk, denting the wall, then battered it with a flurry of kicks.
“No!” he bellowed. “No, no, no!”
He stumbled blindly through the room, fists swinging, fury and helplessness unfurling from his middle in a torrent.
He tore a lamp from the wall and threw it through the window in a shattering of glass.
The wall trembled under his fists, apple-sized holes appearing everywhere he struck, sending up bits of plaster and flecks of blood.
A mirror showed him his reflection, demented and tortured, mocking.
He drove his fist into it, shattering it, then snatched it off the wall and beat it to pieces against the nightstand.
He roared like a beast, pouring out every ounce of his anger and grief.
He fell against the dresser, sweeping out one arm to send the T.V.
crashing to the floor. He gulped mouthfuls of precious air, his throat raw and his chest on fire.
He trembled, sinking toward the floor, hands grappling for purchase.
His knees hit the carpet, and he fell forward, resting his forehead against the drawer he had abused until it hung crooked on its track.
He raised a fist and let it fall weakly, sobbing out another ragged, “No.”
A knock sounded on his door and a raised voice came at him, muffled.
He blinked, registered the first hot splash of tears.
There were more of them, wetting his face and dampening the collar of his shirt.
His shoulders heaved from the sobs he fought to contain, certain that once he let them out, he might never stop weeping.
His eyes fell to the phone, lying near the wall it had crashed against. The screen was shattered, marred by pixelated lines and dots of color.
Mateo went down on his hands and knees, too weak to even lift his head, and he shuffled through splinters of wood and broken glass.
Blood trickled from his knuckles to stain the carpet.
The tears that fell from his eyes stung the cuts and abrasions there with their salt.
He nearly went facedown on the carpet, but managed to turn and prop himself against the wall, lifting the phone with a shaking hand.
Through the ruined screen, he could see that the call was still active.
For a long moment, only breathing came from the other end of the long. Soft and slow. Eerie.
Then, a series of twenty-four clicks before the UNSUB spoke again.
“Let the Seal be opened in blood. The Silence be sung. Let the vessel break. Now you understand what game we’re playing, Agent. Up to now, I’ve been three steps ahead of you. This is your only warning—forfeit or be destroyed. It is the only offer you’re going to get.”
Mateo rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His breaths had begun to slow, even as the strength continued to leech out of him. Every fiber of his being focused itself on keeping him alive, drawing breath, in and out.
“I’ve got a counteroffer for you,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.
Yet he knew the UNSUB heard every single word.
“Run, you motherfucker. Run and keep running until you reach the end of the fucking world, and even then it won’t be far enough to put you out of my reach.
I will not rest until we’re eye to eye while I break you open, rib by rib, and cut your heart out. ”
The UNSUB chuckled again. Another three clicks. And then, “Have it your way, Agent. Good luck.”