Page 61 of So Bleak

That was the reason for the smell too. She counted eight fish tanks down here, with more than a dozen pufferfish in each tank. They were reasonably clean, but there was only so much you could do about the odor of over a hundred fish in an enclosed space.

Most shocking, however, was the sight of a young woman tied to a water pipe near the back of the basement. She was shaking and weeping, whether with fear or relief, Faith couldn’t tell.

The answer to that question became clear when Turk growled at a shadow in the corner. That shadow stepped forward, brandishing a syringe. Tyler Grant glared at the two agents and snarled. “Damn it! I’m not finished yet!”

Faith and Michael turned their weapons to Tyler, but he quickly closed the distance to the woman bound to the wall and pressed the syringe to her neck.

“I’ll kill her!” he shrieked. “I swear to God, I’ll kill her!”

“You do that, and you’re dead,” Michael assured him. “You know that.”

Tears streamed down the young killer’s face. “Damn it! Not yet! I’m not ready yet!”

Misunderstanding his meaning, Michael said, “You don’t have to go yet. We’re not here to kill you. You put that needle down and come quietly, and I promise you we won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t give a fuck about that,” Tyler spat. “I’m not done! I’m not ready!”

“Tell us why,” Faith interjected, trying to keep him talking. The police would arrive within two minutes. She just needed to keep him occupied until then. “Tell us why you’re doing this.”

“Because they deserve it!” Tyler shouted. He was nearly sobbing now.

“Why do they deserve it? What did they do?”

“They didn’t have to do anything,” Tyler said. “It’s this whole fucking industry. All of them. All of it. It’s stupid. It used to be about food, but it’s not anymore. Now it’s about trends and popularity and cutthroat politics. They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.”

Faith frowned. “Tyler, I don’t understand. You’re saying they don’t know food? They’re not cooks, Tyler. They just write about food.”

“Yes! And they write bullshit about food. That kind of shit… it weighs on people, you know? They’re murderers just as much as I am!”

“Holy shit,” Michael breathed. “You’re Elijah Grant’s son.”

Tyler nodded.

Faith looked at Michael. He had a strangely sympathetic look on his face. “Okay, Tyler,” he said.

He lowered his weapon and slowly set it on the counter next to one of the fish tanks. Faith frowned, but Michael lifted a hand for calm. “Look, man, I get it. What those critics did to your father was awful. But this woman isn’t one of them.”

“They’re all one of them!”

Michael slowly approached Tyler. Faith bit back the epithet she wanted to release and steadied her aim. Now she understood why Michael got so upset at her whenever she tried something like this. If she didn’t react quickly enough, Tyler could kill Michael. If Michael said the wrong thing, he might kill Gina.

I hope you know what you’re doing, she thought.

“No, they aren’t. Some chefs are hacks and some chefs, like your father, are brilliant. Some writers are evil and others aren’t. This woman didn’t write anything about your father. She didn’t drive him to kill himself. She’s not the one you want.”

“I want all of them!” Tyler insisted. His hands were beginning to shake.

“You can’t have all of them,” Michael said softly. “It’s not right. It’s not what Elijah would want.”

“Fuck you! Don’t say his name! He’s dead! He’s fucking dead!”

“I know,” Michael said. “I know.”

Faith heard shouting, then footfalls as the police rushed down the stairs. Tyler’s eyes flicked up toward the sound and Michael bolted forward. His hands moved like a blur, pushing the syringe up to the ceiling and pinning Tyler against the wall.

Tyler didn’t resist. He went limp in Michael’s arms and dropped the syringe, weeping profusely.

Faith slowly holstered her weapon while the police officers rushed to free the would-be victim. Faith met Michael’s eyes and saw a pained look in them.

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