Page 31 of The Butterfly Killer

He rubbed at his eyes as he ran to the end of the street. His vision blurred for a second as another bright beam of sunlight shined into his eyes.

He hissed and groaned as the pain bloomed in every inch of his body. He shook his head as if that would make the pulsing in his head go away. It didn’t. It made it worse.

He clenched his teeth and stepped out into the road. Even with his vision blurry, he was able to see a car coming his way. He flagged them down and to his luck they actually stopped.

The driver stepped out. Their tall figure moved slowly toward Marcus.

“I need your help,” he gasped through the pain. “Call 911. A man?—”

He pointed to the shed. “—he attacked me.”

He let out a yelp as another sharp jolt of pain went through his side. His hand fell onto the hood of the car.

So there was someone there. It confused him that they weren’t reacting at all.

His body went stone cold when they placed their hand on the back of his neck. They had moved closer than he’d realized, standing directly behind him. Their body heat filled him with asense of dread. He was caught in his flight or flight instincts. Like a bird with its winds clipped—there was only one dooming choice for him.

They slammed his head into the hood of the car and everything went black.

Agent Mercer stepped around the pile of blood slowly trailing down the driveway. He snapped on the latex gloves given to him by one of the forensics team members. He crouched to get a better look at the dead man on the ground. He was in his late mid-to-late sixties, gray hair, and completely not the TBK victim profile. His chest had been ripped open in a haste—not at all like the beautiful work of the Butterfly Killer or the supposed copycat.

Agent Burns came jogging over. “I just spoke with one of the neighbors. They saw Marcus being moved into the back of a blue Toyota. I’ve already put a APB on it.”

Mercer stood up. “Did they see who the person was?”

Burns shook his head. “They didn’t see their face, but the woman described them as being tall with long dark hair. Could be a woman or a man—neighbor said they were slender.”

Mercer stared at the man’s body for a hard long seconds, taking his time to memorize all the details of the kill. He looked at it in a calculative way. He saw all the mistakes the killer had made, each time the jerk of the knife had been harsh, ripping the skin instead of cutting it, and the blatant disregard for the kill.

Burns watched his partner. His eyes avoided the body though he should be doing his own observation. “What is it?”

Mercer moved around the body. “Palmer was right. This is a copycat.”

Burns forced himself to look at the body. Somehow, this one was worse. There was anger in this kill. More so than the others. It was like a rabid animal had gotten ahold of the man.

“Why do you say that now?”

“All that Palmer said about the new murders being more methodical were correct, but there was no definite way to prove the killer hadn’t just improved.”

Burns frowned. “But what do you see that makes it definite?”

“Because—” Mercer pointed to the man. “There is no pleasure in this. The killer did the signature because he needs to keep up the ruse. He doesn’t care about the signature—it means nothing to him.”

Burns slowly nodded. “And what do you think he’s going to do now that he has Marcus?”

Mercer shrugged as he pulled the gloves off. “He wanted to lure Palmer out here. I’m guessing he didn’t know there was another serial killer so close. He was probably surprised. I doubt he’s going to kill Palmer so soon.”

Burns turned away as his stomach rolled. He winced as he had to focus on not throwing up. “He’s losing control though. What’s to say he can’t even go through with his own plans?”

Mercer threw the gloves into a dedicated biohazard bin and started walking back to where they’d parked. Burns followed close behind.

“If that’s the case, we need to find Palmer before the copycat loses control completely.”

They got in, Mercer in the driver’s seat and Burns in the passenger.

Burns sighed. “Is it bad that I hope the killer wants to mess with Marcus a little longer?”

Mercer turned to look at Burns. It was hard for Burns to understand what his partner was thinking—it was always hardsince Mercer was cold and serious about everything. If he had any human emotions at all, he was good at masking them.

---