Killer Within (19 page)

Chapter
Forty-Five

12:01. TEARS STREAM DOWN MY
face as I stare at Dr. Issa’s lifeless, bloody form. Catalina stabbed him four more times. She counted . . .

One.
Again in the chest.

Two.
In the stomach.

Three.
The leg.

Four.
In the neck. Where she left the knife sticking out.

Of Dr. Issa . . .

This is all my fault. All of it. Dr. Issa, Catalina, all those people beaten to near death. My actions developed a following that twisted into this horrific ending.

The room closes in on me. My chest tightens. I’m in a darker place now than the night I killed my mother.

“Why so sad?” Catalina pouts. “You can admit that was thrilling to watch.” She throws her head back and laughs. “Oh. My.
God
that was great! So much better than beating people with a bat.”

It is my destiny to be surrounded by deranged people. It is not a destiny I want. But nonetheless it is mine. I stare at Catalina in disgust. Misery and craziness have found each other in her.

When did she become this person? Did she get so turned on by all the beatings and the empowerment it gave her that something flipped inside her, or was she this way all along and merely waiting for the time to develop?

Moods, impulsivity, behavior.
It’s all very clear now.

“So, what?” I ask. “I’m next?”

She brings her eyes down to mine. “Actually, I didn’t plan any of this. M already told me he was done. That he didn’t want anything to do with all the violence. I was going to set you up to take the fall. But, well, now he’s dead. So I guess you’ll take the fall for that, too.”

Catalina walks back over to the counter, and I watch her as I use the few seconds to work at my slick wrists a little more.

She picks up my bokken. “This is new. What kind of damage did you think you’d do with this?”

Why don’t I show you?

She slaps the bokken against her palm. “Way I figure, there’s
law and then there’s life.” She sweeps her hand over toward Dr. Issa. “He was trying to balance the two when really you have to pick one.”

I pick life. My life. Not Catalina’s.

I concentrate on no more tears. No more weakness. Only focus, and more important, revenge. “So let me get this right. You met Dr. Issa through the Masked Savior site. You said you wanted to ‘fight crime’ when really you just wanted to beat people up. You encouraged people like Kyle and Michael Mason to do the same. You posed as M, the leader, and Dr. Issa had no idea. At the same time you’re following me, playing me, going behind my back,
lying
to me. Sound about right?”

She flashes me a grin that I used to think made her look happy, but now I clearly see the malice in it. “Yep, I pretty much lied to you about everything.”

I twist my wrists a little more. “You’re something else.”

“Thanks.”

“Brilliant, in fact.” God, I hate her.

Her grin gets bigger. “Thanks.”

I turn, and even though I don’t want to, I make myself look at Dr. Issa. My throat swells, and I concentrate on not swallowing, on
not
showing my emotion. “You’re right. I
did
enjoy watching that.” I tell her what I know she wants to hear.

“I know, right?”

I tear my gaze away from his blood-soaked body and focus
back on Catalina. “You know my uncle was the Decapitator. It’s in my blood.”

She gives me a long study. “So why the tears just now? You don’t seem like a crier.”

“I know. I surprised myself.” Sure I’ve gotten misty eyed, but the last time I actually cried big tears, my mom was in the hospital supposedly stabbed by the Decapitator. Just one of her many lies.

Catalina. My mother. Both experts at deceiving me. Something I will
never
allow to happen again. No one will ever control me like they have. Never again.

“I used to cry all the time,” she tells me, then narrows her eyes. “Not anymore. I’m done being weak.”

Catalina doesn’t strike me as ever having been weak.

She turns away and strolls around the room, studying Dr. Issa and the rest of the area. “So now I have to figure out how to frame you for everything.”

My left wrist slides free, and feverishly I begin working on my right as I keep her talking. “So why target the people you did?” She’s already said as much, but it’s all I can think of at the moment.

She curls her lip. “Prostitutes, homeless people, drug addicts. They’re awful. I hate seeing them on the streets. I’m just trying to clean things up for everyone. Surely, you get that.”

“I do,” I go along.

She gives Dr. Issa’s body another look. “I did
love
watching you stab that woman.”

“That did feel good,” I admit. At least afterward it did. “And you? Aren’t you clever, following me, keeping me guessing, pretending to be my friend.”

She breathes on her fingernails and cockily wipes them on her shirt.

“So who’s next in your grand scheme?”

She turns to me, a little twinkle in her eye. “I’ve got some stuff on Tommy I’m going to threaten to take to the cops if he doesn’t join forces with me.”

My stomach muscles clench. “Tommy?”

“He’s not so innocent. He’s done a few things that he won’t admit. But I know all about him. Actually, I’d love to beat the hell out of him first. Just to teach him a lesson.”

She turns away to finger the items on the table. I yank my right wrist one last time, and the slickness from the blood allows it to slide free.

I keep my wrists behind my back as she turns around and then heads over to Dr. Issa. She slides the knife from his neck. “Now to frame you for all this and get out of here.”

Quietly and quickly I get to my feet and snatch the bokken off the counter.

Catalina whirls around and narrows her eyes.

I lift the bokken, ready.

“Just because I don’t have martial arts training doesn’t mean I’m at a disadvantage. I did a little light aikido reading once I found out who you really were. ‘One must respond to an attack and absorb it.’ What kind of bullshit is that?”

If only she knew.

She wipes the blade on her cargo pants. “You. Will. Die.”

We’ll see about that.

I firm my grip on the bokken.
Breathe silently. Don’t raise shoulders. Don’t alert opponent.

She pricks her skin with the blade—“Ooh, nice and sharp”—and charges me.

I move as one with her attack. Swerving back and to the left. Slashing the bokken down onto her wrists and propelling her forward.

She stumbles to catch her feet.

I control from the rear, bringing the bokken around, and slapping her in the ribs.

She inhales a sharp breath.

Good. Hopefully, I’ve broken one. Or maybe two.

Snarling, Catalina turns on me. She lunges, sweeping the large knife sideways through the air.

I block it with a downward cut. Recede. And maintain my focus on her.

She repositions the knife in front of her. Her grip tightening. Staring at me. Studying me.

I look into her eyes. Reading their disturbed depths.

She lurches to the left. Then quickly back to the right.

I drop to the ground. Roll. And sweep her ankles with the bokken.

Catalina falls hard on her ass. I rear back and pop her in the mouth.

She groans. Kicks. And her heel lands solidly against my shin.
Shit!
I grit my teeth as I bring the bokken up and crack her in the forearm right against the radial bone.

Catalina yelps and releases the knife.

I kick it. She scrambles for it. Grabs it. And turns to look at me.

I take a step back. Gauging her.

Craziness flashes through her eyes, and she licks the blood off her lip. “It is apparent to me that you’re not going to die.”

I loosen the grip on my bokken, rotate my wrist, and re-firm. “You are correct.”

She yells and charges me.

I toss my bokken into my left hand, sweep-block her knife from the outside, and strike her in the voice box with the blade of my right hand.

She gags but maintains a death grip on her knife.

I grab her head, bend it downward and under, and throw her.

Catalina grunts, and all the air in her body rushes out as she lands on the knife.

I go completely still.

Slowly, she rolls to her back and sucks in a long, raspy breath. “Help me. . . .”

I don’t move. I’m not going to help her. I want her to die. She’s hurt too many people. She killed Dr. Issa. She deserves this.

Not taking her eyes off me, she grabs the handle of the knife, and with trembling hands tries to pull it out. Blood oozes and soaks her black T-shirt, and she gurgles. I remain where I am, listening to her raspy breaths and her gurgles, and watching the life slowly leave her as my heart seemingly beats in deep rhythm with it all.

It only takes a few minutes, and then she loses the battle with death and is gone.

Gradually her blood seeps out, spreading beneath her, widening until it almost touches Dr. Issa’s blood.

I don’t want their blood touching. But there’s nothing I can do about it.

I don’t know how much time passes as I stare at their blood, but eventually I move, taking my first step, slipping the bokken into its strap along my back.

I look around the place. The Taser, the tranq gun, the zip ties, the knife, the bat. Everything is here to frame Catalina for it all. Masked Savior, copycat, everything I’ve ever done, everything she’s done. The cops find all this and they’ll close the case.

I’ll be free.

But what about Dr. Issa? How will his presence here be explained? I don’t want his name tarnished. But I have no clue what to do.

I haven’t touched anything but my bokken, so my fingerprints are nowhere. My ski mask is rolled on top of my head, so my hair is secure. No fibers anywhere. The chair, the zip ties she secured me with, the blood from my wrists—that’s the only evidence I’ve been here.

I pick the chair up and lug it to the back door. I’ll take it with me and dispose of it somewhere away from here.

At the back door I stop and give the room one last glance, and my gaze falls on Dr. Issa. I want to go over to him, look at him, and say good-bye, but I know I shouldn’t. I can’t risk any more evidence.

“Bye, Michael,” I whisper. “I’ll miss you.”

Epilogue

THE WHOLE THING IS INVESTIGATED,
and a version of the truth comes out. Dr. Issa is thought to be the real Masked Savior and Catalina the copycat.

The task force concludes that Dr. Issa confronted her, they fought, and Catalina killed Dr. Issa and accidentally fell on the knife.

For the most part it’s true. Dr. Issa is thought to be responsible for all the good acts done, and Catalina the vile bludgeonings.

One week later is Dr. Issa’s memorial service. They cremate him and put his ashes in an urn. I don’t hear a single thing said during the service, as focused on the urn as I am. It is truly
incomprehensible that Dr. Issa’s wonderful, handsome, intelligent self is now in that vase.

Victor and Daisy come with me to the service. Victor stands off to the side talking with a person he knows, and Daisy stands beside me.

“Do you ever just feel off?” my sister whispers.

“All the time,” I tell her.

“What do you do about it?”

“Focus on what’s right and good and normal.”

She nods as if she’s really digesting my response, and I ask, “Anything you want to talk about?”

She shakes her head—“Not now”—and wanders off to be with Victor.

My sister is definitely hiding something. I’ll do exactly what I said. I’ll be here, I’ll be supportive, and I’ll make sure she knows I
am
her ally.

Through the crowd I catch sight of Zach at the exact second he catches sight of me. At my mom’s funeral I didn’t want a bunch of hugs and attention, and so I give a small smile, just to let him know I’m thinking of him.

He takes that as his cue to walk to me, but I have no clue what to say.

Up close his eyes are red and swollen. “Thank you for coming,” he whispers.

“Sure.”

He swallows. His lip quivers. To hell with the no-hug thing. I step up and wrap my arms tightly around him, willing his agony into me. I’ll take it. Gladly.

“This place,” he mumbles into my hair, “it’s a cancer to my family.”

I nod. I know. I really know.

He pulls back and searches my eyes. I let him see every ounce of pain I feel for him. I don’t hold anything back.

“We’re moving,” he murmurs.

Somehow the news doesn’t surprise me.

He kisses me on the cheek. “See you around, Lane.”

My heart clenches into one tight, sad muscle. “Yep, see ya.”

Later when we all get home, Tommy is sitting in front of our house on his bike.

He’s not so innocent. He’s done a few things that he won’t admit. But I know all about him.

Catalina’s words come back and I shove them away. She did nothing but lie and play with me. That comment’s just another manipulation. Plus, I’m not innocent. I’ve done things I won’t admit.

“Want to get out of here?” he asks. “I’m thinking you and me need to bungee.”

I nod, climb on his bike, and let him take me away.