Page 7 of Mutual Prey

3

When people think of serial killers, they often think about the more glamorous parts. The killer stalking their prey, then their victim’s last moments alive, the death itself—and the chase after, the hiding, the trial if they get caught.

But they don’t often think about how it feels like to lug 200 pounds of deadweight to a car in 80 degrees heat.

It sucks.

I grab my victim’s keys before dragging him all the way to the garage. It’s the kind that opens straight into the living room, but there’s no air conditioning, and it’s stifling hot. Still, the important thing is that there are no witnesses, no one to see his unconscious body, his last moments alive. Some people justmake it too damn easy.

I press the button to unlock the car and shove him into the trunk, gasping with the effort of it. He’s twice my weight, and I feel the burn in my arms. But though I’m slim, I’m made of solid muscle, and after a quick stretch, I’m as good as new.

I drive the car deep into the woods, parking as close to the shack as I can. Which isn’t all that close, and I grunt with the effort of pulling the unconscious form of my next victim inside. But at last he’s lying on the saran-wrapped floor. I use masking tape to immobilize his hands and legs, taping them down to two areas I didn’t cover with plastic. There’s no way he’ll move.

I’m definitely wishing for a frozen matcha by the time I’m finished. I lean back, cracking my neck and knuckles, and wait.

I don’t have to wait long. Just a few minutes later, a groan slips out of his lips and his eyelids flutter up. The groan turns into a terrified scream when he sees me bending over him with a knife in my hands.

“Oh, fuck, fuck… fuck!”

Another thing Daddy used to say:don’t talk. Just kill.

I’m not very good at that part. Had I not spent twenty minutes talking seven years ago, my wrists would never have been broken. But if they hadn’t, I wouldn’t have realized I needed more training. I wouldn’t have spent years in the tundra. Something else might have taken me down. Maybe those broken wrists were for the best.

Besides, I didn’t go through all this effort to kill a guy without him even knowing why.

“Fuck! I’m sorry, Cass. I didn’t do it!”

“If you didn’t do it, why are you apologizing?”

“Uh, fuck… fuck… fuck!”

“Take a deep breath,” I soothe him. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“It… is?” He swallows nervously, allowing my words to calmhim just a bit.

“Yeah. For me. Not for you.” I grin at my joke, but he doesn’t look all that amused. “You know the first thing I laid eyes on when I was born?”

He shakes his head, beads of sweat mingling with his tears.

“My mom’s dead body. She was shot shortly before I was born. Maybe that’s why I’m so hyper-fixated on killing every last person who’s responsible.”

“I… I didn’t kill her. I swear!”

“You’re a little liar,” I say sweetly. “You gave her research over to Mr. Campbell, didn’t you? It was exactly what Devil was looking for. They spent years perfecting it. But they never paid a dime to my mom. They used it against her. Maybe your actions didn’t kill her directly. But they led to her dying, all the same.”

“I, uhm… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stop lying!” For the first time, I lose my cool. I raise my voice, but just as quickly take a few deep breaths, covering my temper outburst with another sweet smile. “It’s better if you don’t lie, Jud.”

“Is it?” He looks beside himself with panic. “If I don’t… you won’t kill me?”

“I won’t make it hurt.” I give him another smile. “That is, not too much.”

“Oh, fuck… fuck…”

By now, he’s crying loudly, great big sobs wracking his body. “I’m sorry, Cass. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. I knew Devil was looking for that kind of thing, back then. They were looking to get into the science stuff, and they knew it would be useful. They’re a big, evil, corrupt organization. What the hell can I do against them? I didn’t have any power. They’ve got all of Astley under their control. I’m sorry, Cass. I’m just… so… sorry.”

“I believe you,” I tell him.