Chapter 23 #2
“That’s what makes it so confusing. If you’re a killer for hire, and you have a knife, why go to those lengths? Why initiate sex? Why choke them and then stab them? Why not be waiting in the trees with a gun and—” He copied Jem’s word from a moment before. “Boom.”
“Yeah,” Jem said after a moment. “Why wouldn’t you do that?”
“Exactly.”
“But why choke him? I thought serial killers wanted to, I don’t know, peel people’s skin off.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know a lot about serial killers.
But I do know that for many of them, the killing isn’t a choice.
No, that’s not the right way to say it. Of course they choose to do it.
But it’s a…compulsion. And it satisfies something inside them.
They’re not all sex killers, of course, but even the ones who aren’t are trying to meet some kind of need. ”
“Jesus. Like scratching an itch?”
“That’s a good comparison, actually, because when they can’t scratch that itch, they feel more pressure. More need. And even when they can, the relief is only temporary.”
“Like a mosquito bite. It’s actually worse after you scratch it.”
“For many of them, from what I understand.” Tean stopped. “Jem, I’m not an expert on any of this.”
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.” But Jem frowned. “That’s why he went after Daniel.”
Tean hesitated. “I think so.”
“He didn’t get to scratch his itch with Brennon because Brennon started to get away, and he stabbed him. But he didn’t want to stab him. He wanted to choke him. He did choke him, I guess, but Brennon fucked up his fun.”
Tean nodded.
“So, he was looking for somebody else. That’s why he fell for it when Daniel started messaging him: he was feeling more pressure.”
“If he’s a serial killer. If any of this is correct and not just my weird brain being…weird.”
“I love your weird brain,” Jem said absently. “Be nice to your weird brain.” After a moment, he said, “Do you think he’s killed other people?”
Tean thought about not answering, but that would have been an answer in itself. “There’s a lot of empty land out there.”
“God.” Jem scratched his beard as he stood. “That is really fucked up.”
“Yes.”
Jem started up the gully again, sneakers scuffing rocks, twigs snapping underfoot. The day was getting brighter, but the cloud cover left everything gray and muted. A flutter of bluish-gray, the whir of rounded wings—a Cooper’s hawk arced out of sight behind a leaning pine.
When Jem spoke again, his voice was considering. “Daniel said his family kicked him out, right?”
“No. Ammon and Lucy would never kick him out.”
“No, in the message. When he was trying to catch this guy.”
“You told me he said something like that.”
Jem nodded as though that had been confirmation. “And he said Brennon had said something similar. No, not exactly. He said— I think he said he’d just moved here.”
“Transients,” Tean said.
“And young,” Jem said.
Tean pushed his hands through his hair and tried not to think too much about that.
“If he was careful who he chose,” Jem said, “and if he did what you said—bringing the bodies out here, hiding them in places no one looks—he could have been doing this for a long time.”
“Let’s hope not. Let’s hope Brennon was his first.”
Jem stopped, hands on hips. The wind pulled at his jacket, nylon rustling, and it lifted some of his still somehow neatly combed hair so that it seemed to float for a moment. Then Jem pointed with one sneaker.
A tire track showed in the soft ground. And fresh, too. The imprint was still clear, not blurred by rain, without any other tracks crossing it, without any of the natural detritus that might have accumulated over time—fallen leaves, grass seed, dislodged stones.
“We should call the police,” Tean said.
Jem scratched his beard again.
“What?” Tean said.
“Do you think that’s going to help?”
“Someone tried to kill us last night, Jem. It’s their job to help.”
“Yeah, well, how well have they been doing their job so far? They’re half convinced you did it.”
“I’m not talking about the SBI. I’m talking about local—”
“The minute we say anything about Brennon, they’re going to call the SBI. And look how that’s gone for us.”
Tean took off his glasses and cleaned them. It gave his hands something to do. “And what you’re not saying is that the police are local. And if someone local did this, the police might not be interested in helping us figure it out. They might even be part of the problem.”
“Okay, well, when you say it, it sounds crazy.” But Jem’s hint of a smile only lasted a moment.
“What do you want to do?”
“See where the tracks go.”
“And then?”
“If they take us where I think they will, well, we’ll have some answers.”
“Back to the campground.”
“Something happened there, Tean.”
“Yeah,” Tean said. “I messed up.”
“You didn’t mess up, babe.”
An old pine creaked, needles rippling. A faint, resinous smell floated on the air, and somewhere up the gully, stone clicked against stone.
“We need water,” Tean said. “And food.”
“One hour. If we don’t find anything, we turn back and call the police.”
Tean put his glasses back on. “One hour.”