Page 88 of Natural-Born Cullers

“Four?” Simon came in so quickly to Reeves and Gray.

“Technically only one tonight.” Reeves waved someone over and took his notepad off him. “From what the pathologist is saying, the father and mother have been dead over a year, rib cages ripped out. The girl… Cara Bishop.” He looked through the notepad. “She’s been missing for two years. Bob put her death at about two months ago from decomposition. No rib cage ripped out, but stomach torn open.” He winced. “She had all the signs of being pregnant. There’s no trace of the foetus, but… a note had been placed inside the open cavity, saying the boyfriend was terrified of damage to the baby due to Bishop smoking.” He looked at Gray. “She’s been dressed head-to-toe in leather since her death. The BDSM kind, I think.” He paled. “It’s helped mask the mess of death, but not the smell. There’s also enough semen in her to show rape long after death.”

“Christ,” mumbled Simon. “Hehadkilled before. And the fourth?”

Gray tensed.

Reeves frowned, then took a phone in an evidence bag off the man who had handed him the notepad. “Best I show you. Time of death was placed over three hours ago.” He held it out for Gray. “This has your name on it, sir.”

Gray took it, and he shot Simon a look before turning the phone over. Shop-bought, no contract, no pin needed, and he frowned. No note was attached on the screen, so he flicked it on.

Raoulcame up on the start-up screen.

“Has anyone else seen this?” he said quietly.

Reeves looked at Simon. “Just me. I was first on scene at Brennan’s request.”

Gray nodded, then looked around. “Out.” A few looks came his way, but Reeves nodded at the officers in general. “I want all notes too, written or not,” said Gray. “That goes for the pathology reports. Pass them to Andrews. Anyone breaches confidentially to the press, they won’t break it again, are we clear?”

Reeves stopped by the exit. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That was clear before you got here, sir.” He was left alone with Simon a moment later, Reeves taking guard by the entrance to the tent.

Gray listened for a moment, making sure they were alone, then he pressed play.

The phone sat perched high enough on the table to get a view of most of the right side of the kitchen. A flashlight on the phone stole away some of the darkness, leaving behind a mass of violence and blood pooled on the floor.

Simon had given the Blood Eagle killer a name: Seth Greene, but the knife jammed into the base of his throat, piercing his tongue and piking his mouth shut… that gave Seth and his dying moments brutal presence.

Or it should have done.

Rope tethered to the foot of the washing machine pinned Seth facedown to the floor by the wrists. The machine had been pulled out of place, telling tales on how he’d been alive when skin had been cut and shaped into wings by a knife. He’d been alive and struggling as the skinned flaps were folded neatly into the middle. And he’d been damn well alive as ribs had been broken by his own tool to break bone, and then shaped into bloodied wings held into place by the same jute rope. Then lungs were laid to rest over the rope, and—

“Fuck,” mumbled Simon before he wiped a hand over his face. “Jesus fucking Christ. That would have taken hours to do. He….”

Light had had over three to sit here, skinning Seth’s back.

Hooded, Light sat on the floor, clothes slick, soaked in so many places as a sliver of silver hair stayed tainted at the tip with the same dark wetness. Huddled against a unit, he shook so badly, but it was there, written in the blood, and it only hit Gray then.

Zak and burning out his throat with chemicals…

Cath and taping a bomb between her thighs…

Seth and death by Blood Eagle….

Light hadn’t just killed Zak, Cath, and Seth, he’d taken their signature marks, all their techniques—and fed them back into them on their last draw of breath.

And knowingly or otherwise, he fashioned his own unique brand of signature mark through it. True to any talented guitarist, he played to many a different style, many a different tune. But it came at a price. One that played out so quietly in the kitchen now.

The shaking raking Light’s body wouldn’t stop. An occasional look went Seth’s way, and each one cried out so much fear over who he was, how it was etched out in full colour just feet away from him.

He was still caught between seeing what he’d done and not wanting to see what he’d done, and it settled such a rage in Gray, that his kid had been forced into the corner of the kitchen, hugging his knees over not seeing any other waybutto facewho he was.

He’d been right.

They both had failed tonight because they’d been unable to stop… this.

Silence ticked through the kitchen, and Light pulled his guitar close and unzipped it in the next breath before he eased back against the unit, all life draining from him.

The pull on guitar string came so quietly, and Gray tried to chase each one, just listen to how Light spoke, because the last time he’d played, it had been honest and raw, the grief over losing a brother, but now?

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