Chapter Fourteen
It's been a few days since the lunch date disaster with my parents. I haven't called them and probably won't for a while. It's one thing to attack me, but the fact that she was trying every way possible to find fault in them and turn them against me with what she said should always be our little secret. I don't know at what point she lost her mind, but it's happened. Maybe at the same time she had to accept that her son is a serial killer.
I've been staying at the pack house, having abandoned my tiny home for the time being since the current killer hasn't been caught yet. The girl he kidnapped last time still hasn't been found, and she's been in my thoughts daily. I want to try to help her in any way possible. The best way that I know how is my podcast. Unfortunately, I left my microphone at the tiny house.
Knowing I'm breaking the rules, I decide to not wait the hour for Lawrence to get out of class. I'm just going to swing by the tiny house to grab a few things and get back over here before he notices that I'm missing. Hopping in my car, I make the couple minute drive over to the house, humming along with the music. As I pull into the driveway, I see that everything looks the same as it always has. Nothing is out of place, and there's no one hiding in the bushes.
Releasing a small sigh, I don't bother turning my car off as I make a quick dash inside. Grabbing up my microphone and some clothes, I stuff them in one of my duffel bags. I'm headed back to the door when I hear the crunch of the gravel in the driveway. My stomach drops into my butt, knowing I'm busted and am about to be in serious trouble.
I prepare to beg for forgiveness when I open the door and see that it's not any of my pack's cars. A familiar brown head of hair steps out, and walks up to the edge of the porch.
"Morton?" I ask. "What are you doing here?"
He smiles, and the sight unsettles me. "You quit coming to the cafe. I was worried about you. Especially after I saw you out drunk with that pack. I just wanted to check and make sure you were okay."
"Yeah," I tell him, ready to escape this conversation. "I'm good. Just packing some clothes to stay with a friend for a couple days."
"That friend?" he asks, pointing at the mark on my neck.
There's barely half a second where my body can't choose fight or flight. As quick as possible, I step back, moving to slam the door so that I can lock it between us. He catches it before it can swing shut, shoving it hard. So hard that it's enough to force me backwards onto my back on the floor. My phone slips out of my pocket and slides across the fake hardwood. I make a scramble for it, but he's quicker, snatching it up and waggling a finger in front of my face.
"Nuh uh uh," he says. "Can't have you calling in the calvary just yet. Especially before I give you your surprise. I'm going to tell you this once and once only. If you move before I get back, you will be the cause of someone's death."
I feel like I'm going to be sick. As much as I want to take off running the moment the door closes behind him, what if he's got one of my pack out there. I look around for anything that I can use as a weapon. There's a knife block on the counter, but it won't do me any good. I can already hear his and someone else's feet on the gravel coming back. If I move to get it, he might kill them. When the door swings back open, he forces a young girl inside to her knees before he closes the door behind him and locks it.
"Now, let's get this party started," he says, brandishing a huge knife.
The girl is the one that's been missing. She looks worse for wear with bruises all over her and too weak to stand, but at least she's breathing.
Glancing up to Morton, I use my Dylan voice on him, calm and collected. "What do you want with me, Morton?"
He props his ass on my tiny breakfast table and gives the knife a whirl. "Technically, I don't want anything with you, Levine. I want you to do something for someone I used to love."
"What's that?" I ask, slowly sitting up.
"Don't get any ideas," he says, walking over to the girl and kicking her in the stomach. "I wasn't kidding. I will kill her right here in front of you if you don't do what I say."
"Why don't you let her go?" I suggest. "I'll do whatever you want, and you'll still have me."
He's already shaking his head before I finish. "Nope. I know you, Levine. I've had plenty of time to study you. You are compassionate to a fault. You care more for others than you do yourself. How many sleepless nights have you had staying up late to do your podcasts?"
The only way he could know that is if he's been spying on me through my windows. I've never once told anyone that I stayed up late making them.
"See," he says. "I know you."
"Tell me what I can do," I say again. "I'll do anything."
He laughs. "You're damn right you will. Since I can't get to your brother, trust me, I've tried, you're just going to have to do. I'm going to give you back your phone, and you're going to go on a first ever live podcast to tell a story that's super close to you. Your brother's. My sisters."
My throat clogs as my stomach revolts. "Who was your sister, Morton?"
"Your brother's third victim," he replies like I should already know this. "Maybe we should be asking ourselves why we've never covered that particular story in our podcast. Possibly because of the shame that you feel having a murderer for a brother. Doesn't my sister deserve the same justice that you're giving other families?"
"But why are you killing people?" I ask him in my calm voice.
He snorts and looks at the huge knife in surprise. "Your brother was onto something, honestly. It's fun, and they don't put up much of a fight or reject you when they're dead."
The girl starts loud crying, and he kicks her again.
"Okay," I tell him, drawing the attention back to me. "Give me my phone, and I'll do it."
He holds it out to me, but snatches it back quickly. "No funny business or her blood is on your hands."
I nod, reaching for it again. It goes off right before he hands it to me, and he reads the text. "Tell your boyfriend that you felt sick and went home."
As he puts it in my hand, I unlock it, and do as he says. Nothing more, nothing less.
"I'm going to set it up on the table," I tell him, getting approval before I move.
Pulling out the chair, I prop the phone on the table and take a seat. Clicking on my video app, I start a live feed.
"Hey guys, so we're going to do something a little differently today, because I have a story to tell you that hits close to home. I'm here with my friend Mor---"
My words are cut off as he reaches into the frame, grabbing me by the neck and yanking me out of the chair. He pulls back and punches me right in the eye, making me see stars. The pain that blossoms is like nothing I've ever felt before. The force of it knocked me back to the floor.
He jumps on top of me and puts the knife against my cheek, letting it dig in a little. "Do not use my name."
I nod, making the knife cut my cheek even more. "Got it."
Backing off, he lets me stand. Careful not to let my voice waver, I retake the seat and start again. "Sorry guys. Technical difficulties. Fell off my chair."
Comments are flying by asking if I'm okay and what's going on. I'd love to give them some kind of sign to have them running for help, but a life isn't worth it. For the next thirty minutes, I go into every miniscule detail of my brother's case. Even using his name so that Morton knows that I'm serious about telling the story. The graphic details I share has the possibility to get me banned on the app, but I don't care at this point. I just want to keep me and the girl alive. As I come to the end of the story, I realize that I may have just fucked up because he's going to kill us both either way. I should've drug it out longer.
He's been pacing and not paying attention to the screen, so I pretend to sign off and lay my phone down. The whole time keeping the video going. I'm sure one of them is screen recording at this point.
Morton taps the side of his head with the knife as he stops pacing to glare at me. "I thought that would make me feel better. That it would stop these urges to kill things. They never started happening until she died. Why isn't it working?"
"I don't know," I tell him calmly. "We can get you help, Morton. Just like my brother."
His face contorts into fury as he starts to yell, spittle flying everywhere, "Do not talk to me about your brother! It's his fault! All of it is his fault! If they could guarantee me that I'd be thrown in there with him so I could give him a taste of his own medicine, I'd slit your throat right now and call the cops myself."
He seemingly calms down, turning to the girl. "I still am going to kill you, but I'm going to make you watch me kill her first."
The girl starts crying again loudly. He yells at her to shut up, and I use the noise to make my move. Jerking up, I race the two steps to him, jumping on his back. I've got the element of surprise, but he's got the knife. He's stabbing backwards but only catching air. Getting the bright idea to stab my leg wrapped around him, he merely grazes me and stabs himself in the stomach.
Grunting in pain, he falls to one knee. Obviously not pulling the knife out himself, I reach down and do it for him. He screams in pain, bucking me off of him. I slam into the ground hard enough for it to knock the breath out of me, but I've now got the knife and he doesn't. When he charges me, slipping in his own blood, all I do is hold onto the hilt of the knife for dear life. He falls right onto it, stabbing himself right in the throat. He rolls off onto his back, reaching for it, but the pain must be too much. Either that or it's cut off his air, because all I can hear are wet gurgling noises. When they stop, his arms flop to the floor and he's left open staring at the ceiling.
Blood covers every part of my body, but I'm completely drenched on the top half.
I crawl over to where the girl lays to ask if she's okay but she flinches away from me like I killed him on purpose.
The fear in her eyes is enough to send me into an episode. I scoot until my back hits the wall and stare at the man that used to be Morton. I'm a murderer. Just like my parents always worried I would be. I killed him. His blood is on my hands. I stare at them, covered in the congealing red substance.
Sirens sound in the distance, slowly getting closer.
The door bursts off its hinges.
There's a cop with his gun drawn.
A person in white is bent over the girl, checking her.
They come over to me, shining a light in my eyes.
Moving to Morton, they feel for a pulse.
A voice a recognize is arguing with someone outside.
Someone is fighting.
I'm being placed in handcuffs.
So many people have gathered outside.
Faces that I'm supposed to know.
In the back of the police car.
Pictures and more pictures.
An officer asking me questions.
A room with three grey walls and a window.
My bloody hands.