Chapter 88 Luca
LUCA
SIX DAYS LATER
The List
“Last one,” Cain utters. And I feel the fatigue. But it’s almost over for good.
“This guy is a joke,” Garrett laughs. “A cabin in the woods. Could he be any more stereotypical?”
“He thought he could hide.” But I’ve had eyes on him since we started picking off his board member buddies, knowing the coward would run and hide. They all sat by, watching and enjoying the show as we played Mercy. Now, they’re playing a game of their own with only one end result—death.
Cain checks his burner phone then informs me, “Keeper 12 was just found. It’s all over the news. Let’s get this done.”
We sit in the car for a few seconds as Garrett asks, “How do we go back to normal after this?”
“There was no such thing as normal the moment one of these bastards came up with Mercy.”
From my research, I’ve found it dates back to 1913, about ten years after Belgrave was founded.
Every year since they picked a winner to join the society.
And that person ran the next year’s game.
Eventually, they formed a committee of thirteen who remain until their passing when a successor is appointed in their place.
It’s all decided by whomever has the highest rank (i.e.
longest tenure). There’s no election or group decision, it’s only a dictatorship.
However, the first death associated with Mercy was reported forty years ago.
It was the year after Harold Huxley won and assumed authority over the game.
“Harold’s time is up,” I declare as we exit the vehicle.
The cabin is dark and noiseless as we approach. But I can feel him watching us. He was always watching somehow.
As I slowly make my way through the doorway, the wood planks creak beneath my feet. The sound of a gun cocking fills the air around us.
“You stepped inside the wrong house, boy,” Harold seethes.
I hold my hands in the air like I’m surrendering as I slowly turn to face him.
The bastard has the shotgun pointed square between my eyes.
But I can see the fear written all over his face.
The way his movements are shaky and hesitant.
He’s not skilled or tactical. He’s scared and pathetic.
A man who’s used to calling the shots but not having to be in the mix.
He shouts at Cain and Garrett, “Show your hands. All of you, get on your knees.”
When I don’t move, he jabs the barrel into my chest. I swiftly grab the barrel, shoving it to the side as I shift in the opposite direction. Bringing the shotgun up, it’s now pointed at Harold. His arms are in the air as I say, “Get on your knees.”
“I’m an old man. Are you really going to take out a helpless, worn fellow?” Harold asks.
“Sixty-three years old. Never married. Never had children. Started a lending firm that profits off people’s hardships,” I recite what I know about him on paper.
He slowly steps back and sits on the couch like we’re going to have a friendly chat, but I can hear the quiver in his voice. “Well, you’ve done your research, so you know the associates I have.”
“There’s no one coming to help you. You just killed your lifelong best friend in cold blood, along with eleven other alumni you’re connected to. And you’re about to be overcome with guilt and take yourself out.”
Garrett states, “I love when the trash takes itself out.”
Harold says, “They’ll never believe it.”
Cain holds up his phone, “You’re already wanted for questioning with murders two, four, and seven. Maybe we concealed the evidence too much at the other scenes. But I’m sure the clues will be connected once you’re found.”
“Is it money you’re after? I can pay up,” Harold offers.
“There is no price that will save your life. I intentionally kept you for last. I wanted you to see your allies picked off one by one; recognize it was only a matter of time before I got to your name. Because you needed to experience the fear of not knowing when and if your world was about to come to an end.” That moment for me was when Ivy almost fell to her death.
When Remy did. The second I hit the car.
Seeing Ivy for the first time, broken and fading.
All of it was brutal. But when this bastard tormented her with a fake recording of her mother’s cries for help, he sealed his fate.
“Your greatest mistake was hurting her.”
“There’s something we can do. I can apologize to Ivy. All of you can take the entire damn empire and do whatever the hell you want with it. Just don’t kill me. I’ll step down. You’ll never hear from me again. Form your own committee and run it however you’d like.”
I lower the shotgun, dropping it on the floor.
“See, here’s the problem with that, I don’t want Mercy to ever take another life.
And as long as that damn tradition is around, people will get hurt.
Plus, I have some trust issues. There’s nothing you say that would make me believe you feel any remorse or would step down.
You enjoyed the power, didn’t you? How’s it feel to have it stripped away? ”
His anger surfaces, his fingers gripping the arm of the couch. “Boy, we’ve dealt with punks scarier than you. The Keepers of Mercy has been established for over a century. There’s no way you’ll infiltrate and collapse the system that we have in place. Many have tried—”
Lifting the dagger, I stab it into his temple.
“I just did.” And if any of the other motherfuckers ever try to restart the game.
They’ll be added to my list. Certainly, the significance should be clear by now, we’ve written it at every scene.
Mercy = No mercy. But this one is different.
The finger has to be pointed at Harold for the murders and the guilt that led to taking his life.
I still want to make my intentions clear, so I write the message in blood on the wall.
Mercy ends with me.
“It’s over,” Cain sighs.
I’d planned to drag out his suffering, extend his misery longer. But my anger wouldn’t allow me to let him exist another second in the same universe as Ivy. He’ll never hurt her again.
We quickly but carefully set up the scene before we drive away. There’s not a part of me that feels better. I’d hoped some weight would be lifted. But it’s not. I know Mercy is done. But the damage is also done.