Page 58 of Ricochet

Instead, I enter Stone’s address into Jesse’s GPS.

It’s not a long drive, and I’m pulling into the parking lot of his apartment complex about ten minutes later. His Charger is easy to spot. I park Jesse’s inconspicuous Nissan a couple rows back where the lights don’t hit it and kill the engine.

I’m aware I could be wrong. Maybe Stone isn’t going to leave his apartment at all tonight. Maybe he won’t kill anyone again for a long time.

One thing I’m almost certain of is that the kill that night wasn’t his first.

It was all in his body language. The way every ounce of tension left his body as that man’s spirit left his. The way he turned into pure tranquility out on that dock. I recognized it because I felt it too.

Leaning the driver’s seat back, I settle in. After only a few minutes, I start getting bored. I don’t regret not bringing any schoolwork with me. It’s too dark anyway. But I can’t even use my phone at the risk of the light catching Stone’s attention.

As five minutes of waiting turns into twenty, I grow increasingly aware that what I’m doing could be considered stalking. Okay, it definitelyisstalking.

But, hey, Stone’s a killer. What I’m doing is nothing in comparison.

When forty minutes have passed, I consider heading back home. Maybe I was wrong after all.

Two minutes later, I see Stone heading across the lot toward his car.

I was right.

I’ve never followed anyone before, so I have no idea what I’m doing. If Stone is some kind of serial murderer, then hedoesknow whathe’sdoing.

Instead of following him right out of the lot, I turn the opposite way, keeping him in sight in the rearview mirror. When he turns down another street, I double back. There are a few other cars on the road despite the late hour, so I make sure to drive alongside them instead of right behind Stone.

My hands start sweating around the steering wheel as we head out of town. There’s one car between us on the highway, so I can only hope I have enough cover.

After fifteen minutes, that car is gone, and we’re entering the next town. When Stone makes a turn, I’m forced to keep going to keep him from suspecting anything. However, once again, I backtrack. But by then, I’ve lost him.

“Fuck.”

I spend ten minutes getting stopped by red lights and driving around side streets. Finally, I spot his Charger in the parking lot of an old, rundown apartment complex. There are tarps over many of the windows. Litter fills the lot. The façade is full of crumbling bricks. I wouldn’t be surprised if the place is packed with squatters.

Stone’s car is empty. I park Jesse’s a few spots away and peer around in the dark, wondering what I should do now.

A light turns on through a window on the second floor.

It’s too much of a coincidence.

But how the fuck am I supposed to…

There’s a fire escape.

Am I out of my mind enough to climb up the thing that looks as though it’d collapse if a butterfly landed on it?

Apparently.

Because a minute later, it’s groaning under my weight as I settle on the landing outside the window. It’s one of the few that still has glass, though it’s cloudy with grime. At least I’m able to see inside. Kind of.

The light comes from an old ceiling fixture. There are three bulbs, but only one works, casting a barely dim glow around the room. There’s hardly any furniture—a threadbare armchair that I can’t even tell what color it originally was, and a chipped coffee table piled with plastic bags, spoons, and syringes.

A loud commotion reaches my ears. It sounds like a barrage of pots and pans. Sure enough, a moment later, a dirty skillet goes flying clear across the room, followed by a man who trips in his haste to run away. He’s screaming something I can’t make out.

The noise probably isn’t uncommon in a place like this.

Then Stone comes around the corner.

A knife is in his hand. It could be the same fromthatnight. He stalks toward the man on the ground with a smirk on his face.

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