Chapter 19 Reed #2
“He’s a flawed specimen, Cooper. Rotten from the inside out. We’re not executing anyone tonight, we’re executing mercy. We’re excising a tumor before it metastasizes further."
The crowd erupts in a roar as Father Sol steps forward, raising his arms toward the sky. “Good evening my followers of the New Dawn and prospective souls to be saved!” Father Sol’s voice booms, slick and unctuous.
“Prospective souls,” I mutter, under my breath. “Look at that. Pupils are dilated. Even from here. Amphetamines. He’s riding a chemical high to sell them a spiritual one before he snatches their organs.”
Cooper leans in, whispering. “So what’s the play? We have to suffer through his whole sermon?”
“Until a moment of opportunity presents itself.”
Then an elderly man presents himself on stage with a cane. “Yes, here is James, a testament to the New Dawn,” Father Sol announces, his voice a saccharine mockery of compassion. “Stricken with a yellow sickness that doctors said would never improve! But through our faith… through my intercession…”
I feel Cooper tense beside me. “Yellow sickness?” he whispers.
“Jaundice. He gave this man a new liver, so he’d be a prop for his new testament,” I mutter with disgust.
“Who here is struck with an illness that they said is incurable? That would take a miracle to fix?” Father Sol asks, his eyes gleaming like a maniac’s.
A flurry of hands rise in the crowd. From the elderly down to a woman with an infant in her arms. Father Sol’s hands flutter with excitement as he peruses for his next victim until his gaze stops at a young girl, no older than six.
“Hello, darling. Why don’t you come up to the stage and tell us what’s wrong. ”
The air leaves my lungs in a rapid rush. It’s horrifying to watch this young child being nudged toward the stage, by her parents’ desperation.
“No,” I breathe, watching her climb the stage.
This is a desecration. Using a child. Manufacturing hope before ripping her from her parent’s grasp.
Cooper’s hand finds my arm, his grip tight. “Reed—”
“He just signed his own death certificate,” I seethe. “Follow me.”
My eyes scan for the control center—the lights. Our little drive by will only take a few seconds. In and out, just like Santa Claus.
The security guards on the side are distracted on their phones, oblivious to the chaos that is about to unleash.
“He touches her,” I breathe like fire, “and I walk onto that stage and separate his brain stem from his spinal cord with my bare hands. I will give this crowd a miracle they can never unsee.”
The little girl reaches the center of the stage, blinking under the harsh lights. Father Sol kneels, his creepy smile stretching toward her.
“Let’s go,” I say, moving through the crowd with Cooper at my tail.
“Honey, what’s your name,” Father Sol asks, his voice oozing false warmth, his hand reaching for her shoulder.
That’s the trigger.
“Now,” I snap at Cooper. We break from the crowd, pivoting to the side of the stage. I spot the main power conduit running to the speaker and lights—a thick, black cable snaking into a junction box.
“Cover me.”
Cooper approaches the security guards, muttering something about their social media handles. I skirt to the side of them as they show him their QR codes.
I yank the main cable from the junction box. There’s a violent POP, a shower of sparks, and the entire stage plunges into darkness. The speakers die. Only the light of the Ferris Wheel and the streetlamps glow in the distance.
Screams erupt, confused and panicked.
In the sudden chaos, Cooper and I move. We are two shadows amongst the darkness, vaulting onto the stage. We each have a scalpel in hand. We don’t need light to gut this bastard. Just a second of mass confusion.
I catch him by his robe as he tries to sprint off the other side of the stage, his mouth erupting in sputtering protest. “What are you doing? I’m the true prophet. The new messiah.”
“The messiah?” I hiss, thrusting him onto the ground, slicing the robe from neck to hip. “Messiahs are supposed to sacrifice themselves for their flock. Let’s see if you’re a quick study, you narcissist.”
I rest the cold steel of the blade against his throat. In the darkness, his eyes are wide, milky pools of terror. “You want to admit your monstrosities to me now? Or in your afterlife?”
“We have to hurry,” Cooper hisses, his voice taut with urgency.
“Time’s up,” I snarl. With a flick of my wrist, the scalpel traces a deep cut from his sternum to his navel. A second flick, a horizontal slash just below the ribs. A third, completing the crude, bloody “I” on his torso.
I am a fraud.
He screams, high and desperate, the sound swallowed by the chaos of the crowd.
“That’s your scripture now,” I growl, leaning down so only he can hear. “Read it to your followers.”
The sight of his blood and gashed, steaming organs makes me smirk.
Good luck, buddy.
Cooper pulls me back from the beautiful sight. “Reed, we have to go!”
We rush off the stage, into the writhing darkness of the crowd. Panic is the default setting of the crowd. Then the lights come on.
The stage floods with a harsh, unforgiving light. A brutal and pristine spotlight.
It illuminates everything.
The crumpled, blood-soaked white robes. The glistening, intricate mess of scarlet carved into his abdomen, his liver popping out. His hands flail desperately, trying to stop the blood that oozes from his I.
For one frozen second, there is silence. The entire crowd sees their messiah not as a divine being, but as a butchered piece of meat. The screaming reaches a new, visceral decibel.
“Exquisite,” I mutter, pulling Cooper’s arm. “Couldn’t have timed it better myself.”
We slow our stride down to a casual walk as ambulances and police respond. The first responders are storming toward the stage.
A woman points a trembling finger at us, her mouth open in silent horror. I meet her gaze, my expression flat, innocent of any emotion that would flag me as an assailant. I am just another man to her, leaving like everybody else. She looks away, confused, the narrative collapsing in her skull.
“Next time,” Cooper pants, as he releases a wild laugh. “Can we just do a rifle from a distance?”
“Where’s the beauty in that?” I reply with a genuine smirk plastered across my face. “Besides you need the hands-on experience. How else would I sign you off on your serial killer checklist?”
We round a corner, the scene vanishing behind us. The cold breeze dries the sweat on my temple.
“Serial killer checklist?” Cooper repeats, his voice giddy with adrenaline. “Is that Nationally Certified? Or state by state?”
“Internationally recognized, if you’re doing it right,” I deadpan, sliding into the driver’s seat of the Mercedes. “But the continuing education credits are a nightmare. Lots of field work.”
He buckles his seatbelt. “What’s the final exam? Are there brownie points for creativity?”
“The final exam is staying out of federal prison,” I say pulling onto the road. I reach over, my hand landing on his thigh, giving him a firm and possessive squeeze. “Now let’s check into our hotel room. You deserve a thorough debriefing.”
The hotel room door clicks shut, sealing us in a world enclosed by curtains and the buzz of the air conditioner. The adrenaline surges between us like sparks of lightning.
Before he can say another word, I shove him against the door, my body pinning his, my hands caging his ass.
The scent of his sweat, ruined innocence, and a faint, coppery hint of what we've done clings to him.
It's intoxicating. I want to devour every bit of him. From his whimpers to his filthy moans.
"The debriefing starts now," I growl against his delicate ear. My lips find the frantic pulse at the base of his throat. I nibble my teeth against his carotid, feeling the wild, rabbit-fast beat of his heart. The proof of his life, his vitality, after we so casually ended another's.
My hand slides from his ass down to his quivering thigh, gripping him hard enough to bruise and mark his skin. I nip at his jaw, leaving a tender bite of my teeth.
I pull back just enough to see his face—his dilated pupils, his parted lips, the flush riding high on his cheeks. He's utterly wrecked, and he's mine.
I’ll break him in again. Just like the first night in the snow. And the cave. I’ll do it again, rough, gentle. However, he wants it.
"So, Cooper," I breathe, my thumb stroking his hip bone. "Tell me. How do you feel?"
He shudders, a full-body tremor that is brimming with lust. "Alive," he gasps, his head falling back against the door with a soft thud. "I feel... fucking alive."
"Good," I growl, the word crawling up his ear. "That's the only acceptable answer. Anything different and you might end up in a dumpster like biological waste."
“Really?” Cooper moans.
“Yes,” I purr, the vibration pulsing against his skin. “And you, my little mouse, are far too exquisite to be discarded like a used needle.”
My hand slips under his shirt, spreading across the radiating heat of his taut stomach.
I can feel the frantic beat of his heart against my palm, as if it might explode from my touch.
“I wish I could feel it in my hands,” I say, slapping his chest. “Just to feel it stutter and stop for a second.” I breathe against his neck, my voice a raspy whisper.
“To hold the very rhythm of your life in my hands and know I have the power to end it. But don’t worry, I’d resuscitate you in a heartbeat. ”
I pull back to see the dizzying onslaught of terror and raw desire in his pupils. It’s the most feral and savage thing I’ve ever seen. A perfect, distressing masterpiece of contradiction.
“Now,” I command, walking him backward toward the bed. “Let’s see how many times I can make that heart of yours stop and start for me tonight.”