The cops were on them all like a swarm of locusts.
But that didn’t matter. He wouldn’t let it matter. Because, all in all—as he had often imagined, as well—the cops were all idiots. Cops! That included the FBI agents—and that PI. They were all the same. They thought they knew people. They thought that they had forensics on their side and that they’d figure it all out.
Sometimes...
You just didn’t get any evidence.
He smiled.
Hell, the Zodiac Killer was still out there.
He wondered to himself if—when it was all over—he’d want to keep going. Strange how this had started with one obsession and escalated into another.
He had discovered that he loved killing. The way it made him feel...better than alcohol, better than any drug. Better than sex. But kind of like sex or the best sex in the world combined with alcohol and the most amazing drugs.
Still, there was an agenda.
And tomorrow...
He sighed softly. He’d originally planned for the set... Yes, what a fitting place for beautiful Marnie to die—right over a tombstone.
But that wasn’t going to work.
There was another place that would be just fine.
Oh! The anticipation was too much!
Tomorrow it would all be over.
*
It might have been said that the stage was set.
They were back at Horror-palooza. Malcolm still had his own booth across the room, but when the time was right, he’d be joining the cast at the Dark Harbor table.
Bryan didn’t think that it would be possible to have more protection. Security officers lined the convention hall; police presence was doubled.
The FBI had plainclothes people walking the floor.
Angela and Jackson were positioned on either side of the Dark Harbor table. He was behind Marnie.
Sean and Madison were out on the floor near the Dark Harbor table, watching people, watching for anything strange. Bridget was staying close to them but wandering off now and then.
Madison followed Bridget. She would be safe. Madison hadn’t gone through the academy, but she was with Sean—and she had learned to be savvy when she’d nearly died herself, during the murders at the Black Box Theater.
The morning brought more people than anyone might have ever imagined.
They had barely begun the day, however, when Sophie Manning came back to where Bryan was standing, looking grim.
“He’s out,” she said.
“What?”
“David Neal is out. I don’t know what the hell happened exactly, but once he lawyered up, we had no proof. His confession, according to his attorney, was coerced. By a nonpolice officer.”
“Me.”
“I’ve warned the convention staff. His picture has been given to security at every entrance.”
Bryan swore.
Sophie apologized again.
“We will catch him, if he so much as steps a toe in here,” she vowed.
Bryan gritted his teeth and prayed that she was right. But while he’d considered the man a scumbag, he didn’t think that he’d committed the murders.
Nothing to do but get through the day.
The organizers had been true to their word—the purpose was to honor Cara Barton and Jeremy Highsmith, and those in power were doing so. Giant screens throughout the lofty convention center showed scenes from Dark Harbor. Jeremy searching the dark woods and the cemetery for his children. Cara being the mom, demanding that they finish dinner before heading out to slay a vampire clan.
Fans thronged the cast.
Grayson Adair, on Marnie’s left, turned to Bryan, beaming.
Thank you, he mouthed.
Bryan nodded. He’d like the man if he hadn’t been such an ass just the day before.
Right at noon there was an announcement over the PA system. Bryan, up on the dais where the Dark Harbor table had been set, could see over the crowd that Malcolm Dangerfield was speaking. He asked that there be a moment of silence for Cara Barton, whose killer was still at large, and for Jeremy Highsmith, who they had just lost.
Someone came running toward the Dark Harbor table.
Bryan almost tackled the person—he hadn’t expected the running.
It was just one of the show people bringing Marnie a microphone.
She took it and stood, asking the crowd to remember Cara and Jeremy for their contributions to entertainment. She went on to tell everyone that in their later years, the two had discovered that they were in love with one another. They were, at least, together.
The crowd wildly applauded.
Marnie thanked them all.
It was then that Bryan saw Cara Barton’s ghost. She wasn’t alone. She was with Jeremy. It was the first time he’d seen Jeremy, but watching him with Cara, he knew that what Jeremy and Cara had told Marnie had been the truth. In the end, they’d been in love.
The two were delighted with the tribute.
Cara blew kisses to Marnie.
She and Jeremy both turned to the crowd and bowed low, again and again, as if they could be seen by the horde of people at the show.
And then the applause died.
And people moved on.
Right after noon, Roberta yawned and complained that she was hungry.
“But I’m afraid to eat,” she said. Their line hadn’t diminished once throughout the day.
“That’s fine. We’ll get you lunch, stop the line and bring it here!” the young man who was one of their convention reps said.
“I’m not eating anything from here,” Grayson murmured.
“We’re covered,” Bryan told him. “The cops will bring you food.” He raised a hand and caught Jackson’s attention. The FBI field director nodded and found one of the uniforms on the floor.
Lunch had been prearranged.
“Can’t wait!” Roberta said.
She drew a protein bar from her bag and proceeded to munch on it.
Their food came; the line was duly stopped for thirty minutes. Marnie looked back at Bryan.
“Aren’t you tired of standing?” she whispered.
He smiled. “Nope,” he said. It was a lie, of course. He could stand all day—didn’t mean he wasn’t getting one hell of a crick in his neck.
Finally, the closing of the day was announced. People lingered in the Dark Harbor line. They had been waiting patiently, and they weren’t leaving.
They had almost reached the last person when Roberta Alan suddenly stood, letting out a fierce cry of pain. She toppled over onto the table.
Bryan immediately sprang into action, drawing Marnie from her chair and shielding her with his own body. Jackson was at Roberta’s side, shouting for 9-1-1.
“No!” Marnie cried, trying to reach Roberta. Bryan held her tight.
“Jackson has this. The cops have it. Help is coming.”
“How, Bryan? How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Poisoned! She was poisoned. Oh, my God! The cops poisoned her!” Grayson cried.
Those who had been in line were now panicking, running out.
They became a mob—terrified of the police.
Grayson Adair was screaming and gasping that he had to get out.
“I’ll get him!” Angela said.
“Don’t touch me!” Grayson shouted. “The cops are dirty—the cops are dirty! Oh, God, I might be poisoned, too!”
Chaos was reigning.
There was a plan for an escape, if necessary. Bryan already knew where he was going.
“Come on,” he told Marnie.
“Bridget!” she said. “Where’s Bridget?”
The question was quickly answered. “There’s an exit to the far left. We can get out that way!” Bridget cried, rushing over to Marnie.
“We go this way!” he commanded.
He led them both behind their table and to the back of the convention center, racing along the wall to the exit.
The door—and a host of police—was just about a hundred feet away.
What the hell had happened? The police had brought the food. He just couldn’t believe that they were involved in any way—logic didn’t allow for it; the things that had happened didn’t fit.
They were almost to the exit.
And then...he saw him.
Blood-bone.
And then there was another one. And another... Three, four Blood-bones. More...
He caught hold of Marnie and stopped her, thrusting her behind him. “Go! Get the hell out, go!” he said.
Drawing his gun, he headed toward the Blood-bones, shouting, “Drop it! Drop your swords right now!”
To his amazement, the Blood-bones did so.