I’ve been keeping Katy on ice for three days, and thawing her slowly for two. She has another purpose for me, more than my kill, more than my revenge. She’s a prop in an experiment I want to unleash. An extra cast member in my grand finale. Punishment will be gained against those who’ve robbed me, and Katy is the perfect diversion in my Game of Life with Morgan.
A smooth-cut tree stump rests by Katy’s blackened feet. I lower my body until I relax on the log, and slide my eyes up and down her naked spread legs. She’s more beautiful in death than she ever was in life. I admire every gash tainted to her flesh and the blotches of black covering her skin from where her blood pooled at her death. My artistry is outstanding. I’m in awe.
Breaking my kill sequencing brought initial anxiety. After all, I had perfected a polished murder, which fulfilled all my desires. I like to watch bodies deteriorate. They never follow the same path because so many factors come into play. Environment, weather, injuries sustained before and during death, and also the attacks from wildlife in the area at the time. But now, I realise I didn’t have a reason to worry about my after-death rituals. Red number twelve may not be decomposing in the bush, supplying the smells of rotting flesh I crave, and acting as compost to my vast graveyard … but she’s whole. As intact as the day I saved her from herself and crossed her name from my list of bitches. And I like it.
I’ve never envisioned this situation in dream or imagination. And this has me asking a question of myself. Do I freeze Morgan? Do I want to admire her in the same light I am Katy right now? Days after her flame’s burned out? Days after I’ve gotten my release?
I think I’d like to view Morgan this way.
What feels like hours only equates to a total of forty-five minutes. That’s how long I spend looking at Katy laid out on the wooden floor of the hidden compartment alongside the cabin. I’d like to stay with her longer, so I can bask in my achievements, but a long drive awaits me, and an unfinished game must still be completed.
The alarm on my watch sounds, alerting me to the fact that I have a life to lead outside of my game and my need to kill. I must maintain a balancing act. Keep all my balls in the air and make appearances.
How fast time flies when you’re having fun.
Red will have to wait until I get back. One quick public display is all it will take to keep my cover intact and allow me to hunt again. Who knows, I might find my next victim. That would be rewarding.
When a killer walks among society, do you think you could pick him out of the crowd?
Reid
Three hours. That’s how long it is until I’ll be sitting in front of cameras and completing a press conference from my loungeroom, pleading to those responsible for the disappearance of Morgan to let her come home. A lump forms in the back of my throat, causing me to swallow excessively in an attempt to dislodge it. A press conference isn’t going to work, so what’s the point of this?
Running my finger around the rim of the empty glass has my mind bogged down. How? Why? Where? When? I go over every memory I have from the moment Morgan left me that morning until now. How the fuck did this happen? Why is this happening to us? Where is she? When will I hold her again? Will I get to hold her again?
“Reid, honey. How are you doing?” Her hand rests on my shoulder, her tone low and nurturing.
“Kylee.” I shift in my seat until her eyes find mine.
“I’m sorry.” Her hand brushes my hair. “I know I’ve not been here for you … I … well, I’ve … It’s a shock, you know?”
I bob my head.
“I’m here now. We’re going to get through this; I promise we will.” Kylee’s eyes gleam with tears. Her chin quivers, but she smiles. A mother’s false smile. I’ve seen Morgan do this when concern is plaguing her, yet reassurance is necessary for the children.
“There’s nothing to worry about. Mumma’s here. I promise you everything will be okay.”
Morgan’s voice. I miss the sound of her voice.
“Morgan,” I call out. Her words are as clear as if she were standing beside me.
Kylee wraps her arms around my head and pulls me against her shirt. “I know. Shhh. I know.”
I don’t allow myself to shed a tear even though I want to rid myself of bucket loads. I don’t grant my panic a chance to consume me because it’s a pointless act. I’ve been there and done those things already. Last night, Maloney walked me through it; he got me to breathe again when it felt impossible to do so. Stay in control, Reid.
I squeeze my eyelids together tightly and pray for relief. I pray I won’t play horrible images in my head like a nightmare on repeat.
“Reid, it’s going to be okay. It will all be okay. I promise.” Kylee repeats this over and over. Her grip is tight. Her words echoing through her chest. Her heartbeat races in between them.
“Are you ready?” Ronald’s deep voice has Kylee pulling away. She runs her hand over the top of my head once more and then brushes my cheek with her fingertips.
“We’re family, Reid. Nobody gets left behind. We will find her.” And there’s that smile again. That fake-as-fuck smile. The one which shows she doesn’t believe this to be true; she just wills it to be.
“I know,” I mouth these words because sound doesn’t press them out.
“We’re going to see our grandbabies. Detective West said we can now, and John and Shirley are waiting. The kids are awake.”
Shit! John. I forgot to message him.
“I didn’t reply to John’s—”
“It’s okay. We’ve filled him in. He understands,” Ronald says this calmly.
What happened upstairs in Aleeha's bedroom to make them so focused and in control of the situation? Did they just need time to digest and process their shock?
“Hug them for me. Tell the kids I …” My throat strains, causing me to clear it. “Tell Brax and Aleeha—”
“We will.” Kylee’s eyes are soft, yet circled by black rings. Her hair is brushed, and her clothes are changed. She’s exhausted. Broken. Hurting. But living. One minute at a time. One hour at a time. One day at a time.
It’s how we will do this.
It’s how we will bring Morgan home.
“You're doing all you can, Reid. Don’t doubt yourself. Don’t think of the what ifs. Instead, turn to the right now, okay? Picture Morgan walking through the front door and she will.”
I nod.
“We’ll be back soon.”
“Okay.” It’s all I manage to reply.
Detective Dyson has a glint of pity in her eyes as she bobs her head just once in my direction. She has a computer bag slung from her shoulder and a set of car keys hanging from her finger. Lynette doesn’t say a word, nor does she glance back after she steps through the threshold of our home. Will I see her again? Or is her involvement now complete?
Gleaton is wearing jeans and a collared navy shirt when he arrives in a rush, entering the moment Dyson exits. “Reid.” He nods as he lays a folder on the kitchen counter I’m standing not far from.
I offer a half-hearted wave in response.
“One hour. I’ll be back in one hour. Constable Stratt is en route to the house; don’t let him leave before I get back.” West marches past Gleaton, leaving only those words behind in his haste. Prospect is hot on West’s heels.
I don’t have a chance to speak or ask questions before West is a flash of denim now gone. Why do I feel like I’m standing still, but the world is blurring and spinning around me?
“What’s going on?” I need answers.
Silence. Complete silence. Not even the hand on the clock recording the seconds can be heard.
“We’re doing our job. We’re going to find your wife.” Gleaton stands close to me when he finally answers. The smell of burning woodfire fills my nose. His cologne is strong. His expression is relaxed. His eyes are bright; he’s bushy-tailed. Did he sleep?
“Max.” I hear Gleaton say as he strolls towards the lounge room.
“He’s asleep on the chair.”
“Good. Max will need it. He’s stationed with you until the end.” Gleaton peeks at a thick gold watch secured to his wrist, and then to the mobile phone cupped in his hand. “Coffee, Reid?”
“Nope.” The thought of food or drink turns my stomach. Why is Max with me until the end? And when will this end?