Killer Within (18 page)

Chapter
Forty-Three

AS I PICK MY WAY
through cafeteria spaghetti, my conversations with Catalina and Tommy are all I can think about. Catalina thinks she and I can be best friends, and Tommy wants a partner to come clean to.

Why, though, are they both coming to me? I exude anything
but
self-help.

However, Tommy’s words do have an appeal. It would be refreshing to have one person to connect with, to share all my obscurity, and to know it comes with no judgment, only acceptance.

“Judgment.” That’s the word Catalina used.

I look across the cafeteria to Zach at the salad line and then over to Daisy sitting beside Hammond.

Zach and I have made a connection for sure. But somehow when I play things out in my mind, I don’t see him handling my dark side. Although he’d hide it well—I don’t see him walking away, but I do see him being repulsed. I’m sure he would urge me to “get help.” And he would constantly check in on me to make sure I’m “okay.”

It would be annoying.

Then there’s Daisy, who six months ago I would’ve never even contemplated but now find myself pondering. I think my sister’s hiding something, even if she doesn’t know what yet. Me opening up to her would perhaps unveil her own hidden desires that I most certainly don’t want surfaced. But me
not
talking to her might lead her down a path that she keeps hidden from me.

At this point I just need to watch her. Be there for her. Point her in positive, light directions. And hope beyond all hope she keeps buried whatever might be simmering in her.

Zach sits down across from me. “You look even more deep in thought than usual.”

I take in his too-healthy salad and curl my lip. “I’d give anything to see you eat a big juicy double-decker.”

He laughs. “I want to puke just hearing that.”

We both go back to eating, and a few seconds later Zach speaks. “I told my brother you and I are friends again.”

“Oh?”

“He was happy for me. For us.”

I nod, even though I’m not entirely sure I like Dr. Issa and Zach discussing me.

Zach shoves a mouthful of salad in. “He also cautioned me to take it slow. That you’re not a typical girl.”

Not a typical girl? Well, he is right about that, but I do need to make things clear. “Zach, I love being your friend, but you know that’s all we can be right now, right? Friends?” I can’t be anything else.

Zach laughs. “I know, Lane. Don’t worry. I’m not going to confess my undying love for you.”

I laugh too, feeling just a little stupid. “Okay.”

On Saturday I go to my Patch and Paw shift. I grab Corn Chip and a few others and head outside for a much-needed play session. But I’m completely preoccupied with tonight. Nine p.m., 2000 Ford Circle. It can go so many different ways.

My copycat might be there ready to take someone down.

Or my copycat could be there waiting for me.

Or M might be there expecting to meet with my copycat and gets me instead.

Either way I’m going to be early, scope things out. Wait. And I’m taking a weapon I’ve used for years in aikido and know better than anything—a bokken. As a wooden practice sword, it’s not sharp, but it’s deadly if used correctly.

I needed something new. I needed
me
. I’m not tranquilizer and knives. I’m aikido studied and trained. That is how I will bring my victims down.
That
is me.
You need to come to terms with who you are.

Catalina said that to me. What she doesn’t realize is that I have.

“Lane?”

I turn to see Dr. Issa stepping outside. I give Corn Chip a good rub and throw the ball. He scrambles away.

“Heard you and my brother are
friends
again.”

Nothing like getting right to the point. “Yes.”

“It’s interesting; I go back and forth with you.”

“Meaning?”

“When I first met you, I was intrigued by you. Not in a weird way,” he quickly clarifies. “You were fifteen and so quiet and extremely intelligent and focused. I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

He’s said as much before.

“There’s something about you I can’t figure out. You’ve got an old soul, and I truly believe you have the best of intentions. But—”

“Why are you saying all this to me?”

He pauses. “See—and that right there. You don’t like a lot of conversation. You’ve always been a blunt girl. You are the epitome of black-and-white. Right and wrong. You’re not afraid
to just say it as it is. You’re very unique. But . . . I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you and Zach being friends.”

My heart pauses a beat. Am I that awful?

Dr. Issa shifts a little, making it obvious he’s uncomfortable with this conversation. “The thing is, Zach is about the sweetest kid I know, and he has so many feelings for you. I don’t think you realize that.”

I turn to fully face him. “Are you saying I’m not sweet? That I’m not good enough to be Zach’s friend?”

“I don’t know what you are. But in the long run, no, I’m beginning to think you won’t be the right thing for Zach.”

Tears unexpectedly press my eyes, and I force them to stay dry. His words hurt, but I won’t let him see it. “You feel that way, then you tell Zach. I won’t.” With that I walk off.

“Lane?” he calls.

“Go to hell.”

I don’t avoid Dr. Issa the rest of the day. In fact, I get right in his way. Let
him
be uncomfortable with what he said. I’m not.

Although . . . I really am.

I thought Dr. Issa and I had a connection, if only a little one; it
was
there. I’m sure of it. Maybe he’s ashamed of what he and I did, and he’s lashing out at me. Or maybe he’s seen something in me that he previously didn’t, and it scares him.

Either way, I’m not avoiding Zach. We’re friends again. I
need
his friendship.

I sign out of work and head straight to my Jeep. It’s six o’clock. I have three hours before I meet whoever I’m supposed to meet at 2000 Ford Circle.

I slip my key into my lock and immediately recognize my door is already open. I never forget to lock my door. Someone’s been in my Jeep.

I search the front, the back, under the seats, the glove compartment. I go around the rear and open it. Just my aikido duffel, as usual.

I pick the carpet up, and right beneath, snuggled in its usual spot, is my old kit. The one I threw away. Complete with Taser, zip ties, cargo pants, ski mask, and tranquilizer gun.

Son of a bitch. Not only did someone see me throw this away, but they retrieved it, kept it, and have now planted it back in my Jeep for some reason.

To mess with my head or to play a joke or to frame me . . .

That’s laughable. Framing me for basically being me.

I look around but don’t see signs of anybody. Catalina’s admittedly been following me, but after my run-in with her, I’m still not sure what I think about her. What I am sure of is that this is the work of my copycat or M. At this point they are the only two who would want to mess with me.

I truck it back into Patch and Paw and to the cremation room. I crank up the furnace and throw everything in. In the back under the ashes I see a chunk of Tommy’s charred laptop
that I must have missed. On my next shift I’ll empty this thing out and clean it.

Yes, my copycat and/or M is definitely going down. Tonight. One way or another it’s going to happen.

I still have hours, and I’ve already done recon via Google maps, but I drive on over to 2000 Ford Circle and scope things out in person. It’s a deserted convenience store. Boarded up. Graffiti. Kind of out in the middle of nowhere. Not a bad part of town, or a good one, just out there. Works for me.

I drive around in circles, crossing neighborhoods, all the while keeping an eye on my rearview. I don’t see any cars trailing me.

At eight p.m. I park a half mile down the road and get myself together. I slip into my new cargo pants and long-sleeve tee, bigger than the old ones and meant to mask how skinny I am. My new ski mask is lighter, made of neoprene, and easier to breathe through. I slide my bokken into its strap along my bare back and down inside my shirt, hiding it from view. The new zip ties and pepper spray I bought I tuck into my cargo pockets.

I wedge my fingers into my gloves, climb from the Jeep, and jog the half mile to the abandoned convenience store. Slipping the ski mask down over my head, I find a spot in the shadows behind an empty Dumpster and wait.

A dog barks. A chilly breeze flows past. One car zooms by.

Still I wait.

8:45. Nothing. Not even the dog barking.

8:55. Still nothing.

9:05. A car pulls in, sits idle for a few seconds, and then the dome light goes on. It’s a couple, and they’re looking at their GPS.

Seconds later they turn around and head back the other way.

9:15. Nothing. Maybe this was all a hoax. Or whoever sent the text realized it went to the wrong person and aborted whatever meet-up they had.

9:25. Nothing. Five more minutes and I’ll—

A prick stings my side. I jump and whip around, see another ski mask. And then my whole world goes blurry to black.

Chapter
Forty-Four

MY EYELIDS SLOWLY LIFT. MY
brain goes from knocked out to gradual conscious alertness. My head hurts. But not like I’ve-been-hit hurt, more like drug hurt.

I’m sitting on a metal chair with my wrists zip-tied behind me and to the chair.

I run my tongue around my mouth, work up a little bit of saliva, and swallow. I’m thirsty. How long have I been here?

I look around. Dark. Dusty. Empty metal shelves. A counter. An old cash register. I’m inside the deserted convenience store.

I crane my neck, look at the watch on my left wrist, and read 10:46 in the faint Indiglo. I’ve been out a little over an hour.

My heart kicks in with delayed nerves, fear, anxiety. I resist
my natural urge to call out
Help!
and instead close my eyes, center myself, and concentrate on calm breaths.

It does me no good to be freaked right now. To resist the restraint. I need to channel balance, wisdom, stability, and alertness.

I tune in to my hearing and make out . . . silence. Whoever brought me in here is gone now.

I turn my head as far to the right as I can . . . and then the left. More dark, dust, and empty metal shelves. The only light in the place comes from one single bulb hanging above the counter and register.

In that second I see them, lined up on the counter: a Taser, zip ties, a tranq gun, my bokken, the knife I stabbed Marji with, and something I’ve never used—a baseball bat.

The others—they’d been beaten with a bat.

Every muscle in my body tightens. Are they going to torture me with these things?

I yank at the zip ties . . . and cringe. I yank some more—God, they hurt—and the slickness tells me I’ve cut my skin.

How long are they going to make me stay here tied to this chair? I could topple it over, but what good will that do? Then I’d be down on the dirty floor waiting for whoever is supposed to come.

I throw my body weight up, hoping to hop the chair, but the weight of it teeters me right back down.

My curfew is at one a.m. Maybe Victor will realize I’m not home and come out looking for me. But then, how would he find me? I didn’t tell him where I was going. How would I explain this?
Dad . . . I don’t even know where to start.

I tug at my wrists, gritting against the slivering pain, and feel my left zip tie give way just a little. My nostrils flare on a scent of new blood. I wish I knew how to pop my thumb out of joint and slide my hand free. I try and grit my teeth even more. Ow!

The back door opens then, sending in a shot of fresh winter air and a quick flash of moonlight, and spiking my pulse.

“I’ve got her,” someone says. “The one who has been beating up all those innocent people.”

The door closes and I straighten. There’s no way I’ll show fear.

Catalina walks from the back door, looks straight at me, and grins.
Grins.
I narrow my eyes and I give her a quick once-over. She’s dressed exactly like me. No deviation at all.

The person behind her steps into view and—

“Lane?” Dr. Issa says.

I feel my eyes go wide as I look from Catalina to Dr. Issa. What the . . . ?

He shakes his head. “Wait a minute.
You?
”

Catalina nods over to the counter. “Lane had all those things on her when I found her.”

“You’re a liar.” I finally find my voice.

Catalina honestly looks offended. “Oh, I think we all know who the real liar here is.” She looks over to Dr. Issa. “She doesn’t get what we’re doing. All we wanted to do was bring the drug dealers to justice, and she took off on her own. Beating innocent people. I’ve been following her for a while. I knew she had to be stopped. But I didn’t want to call the cops until I could talk about it with you, M.”

Dr. Issa just stares at me.

I don’t speak. I don’t think I can. Dr. Issa is M?

Dr. Issa?

“Michael.” I use his name for the first time ever. “She is lying to you. Can’t you see that? How long have you known me? How long have you known
her
? Do you really think me capable of beating innocent people?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t understand. How are you even involved?”

“Because it’s me. I started all this. Your website is
my
fan club.”

“You’re saying
you’re
the Masked Savior?”

“Yes, but I don’t touch innocent people. Ever.”

“Well, we didn’t either,” Catalina interrupts, “until you came along.”

I don’t take my eyes off Dr. Issa, “Michael, she is lying to you. She’s the one branching out on her own and copycatting me.”

“Drug dealers,” Dr. Issa clarifies. “Those are the only people I wanted to target.” He paces away. “This has all spiraled out of control. I should’ve never gotten other people involved.”

Catalina slowly moves toward the counter, and I watch her as I say to Dr. Issa, “Why
did
you start all this?”

“Because I wanted to avenge my mother’s death. I wanted to tackle the drug problem that the cops can’t seem to get a handle on. Then I met a few other like-minded people, and when the Masked Savior,
you
, popped onto the scene, it all seemed to make sense. Vigilante justice. Christ! But now . . .”

“Avenge your mother’s death? I thought she died of cancer.”

“No,” Dr. Issa croaks, grabbing his head. “No. No. No. She overdosed. Our father wanted us to tell everyone it was cancer.”

My heart breaks. “Michael, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, you guys are driving me nuts,” Catalina spits.

Dr. Issa brings his confused eyes to hers. “
You?
You’re the one who’s been doing all those horrible things?”

Catalina rolls her eyes. “Don’t take it personal. At first I was completely down with the vigilante thing and cleaning the streets of drugs. But then I realized there are also hookers and homeless people. . . . That’s a lot to clean up.”

Dr. Issa points at me. “Why is Lane tied up?” he demands. “What are you going to do to her?” He takes a panicked step forward. “Catalina, untie her. Now.”

She snorts, “Yeah, like that’s going to happen. See the thing
is, I’m ready to take over this whole operation.” She picks the Taser up and shoots.

“No!”
I scream.

Dr. Issa drops to the dirty floor.

“Stop it!” I holler at her.

She presses the trigger again, and Dr. Issa arches off the ground with a howl.

I tug at my restraints. “Stop it!”

She drops the Taser, grabs the knife, and stalks over to him. “Ever since I saw what you did to that woman, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

My heart stops. “Catalina. No. Please. What are you doing? Stop!”

She rolls Dr. Issa onto his back and raises the knife high above her head. “I’ve never actually killed anybody.”

“Doonn’t . . . ,” Dr. Issa slurs right as Catalina plunges the knife straight down into his chest.