Page 29 of Pure Killers

“Does he look like a retired killer to you? He's practising. Brushing up.”

As he takes the saw to the plastic leg, I stop watching. I turn to face Needler. He's behind me, blocking the spotlight now. “You’re going to kill him now. Tonight." It’s not time, too early, barely months since the last.

Needler shrugs. "He doesn't have long. So neither do I."

“Why kill him? He can go back for the rest of his life now.”

“He’s not going to get better. The law had its chance. It failed.”

I shift from foot to foot, eying the stairs. I step towards them, and he swiftly steps in my way. "You're not going to let me leave until you're done," I realise.

“Well, you’ve proven that you can’t be trusted with delicate information.”

"I did the right thing." I step slowly around, my back now to the chain-link fence. But he's watching… that eerie mask following my movements even if his body stays still.

“Your 'right thing' sees men and women who have never shown compassion in their lives mercy, just because it’s suddenly their turn. He’s sick. He always will be.”

“You’re sick.”

His lips quirk. I make a dash for it. Even before he catches me, before his arm snakes around my waist, I know I won't make it. The chain-link fence sways and rattles, catching me as my back comes up against it. His fist braces against my collarbone, twisted in my jumper. I'm expecting the prick of another syringe—blackness. Instead, he catches me by the chin, tilting my face up, the wire links catching in my hair, and kisses me.

His tongue pushes deep, the pressure of his mouth against mine keeping my teeth open. He tastes of aniseed, sweet and strong. For the briefest of moments, I forget, and by the time I've remembered, it’s too late to take it back. That pliancy can't be forgotten now. Nonetheless, I shove him back, breathless.

He smiles, the black around his mouth all the more smudged now. "Looks like I'm not the only sick one."

The taste of aniseed stays with me. Then there’s something else. My hand raises to my lips as the bitter taste rests in the back of my throat, sliding lower. My lips feel numb. "What…" I start to ask, then have to catch myself in a stumble, fingers twining in the links.

"I only stab people I don't like very much," he tells me with a sinister smile. "You're about to have the best sleep you've ever had."

Chapter four

Waking up now is not nearly as unpleasant as the first time. Needler was right on that, after all.

At first, as daylight pulls me to wakefulness, memory abides, and I merely think I've had a rare, long and restful sleep. But that belief doesn't last long.

I stiffen, lifting onto my elbows. Somehow, I'm in my room, my bed. Wearing the same thing I had been when…

I gasp, lunging for my radio pager on the bedside table. Multiple missed calls from Dirk. In the seconds that I'm staring at the digital screen, it rings again.

I answer immediately. "Dirk…" I need to clear my throat, my voice croaking.

“What, now you’ve decided to be someone who sleeps in?” he sounds exasperated.

Rubbing my forehead as though that can clear my brain fog faster, I sit up. “I’m sorry…”

“Get in here quick. We need you.”

“Did Needler…”

“He did. Twice.”

That has me instantly more awake. “What?”

***

Carver, out on compassionate leave, that’s victim one. Victim two was an unknown, though it doesn't take long to figure out why the Needler might have been interested in him.

"Great, he's getting political now," Dirk says after Chloe brings up the reports, the conspiracies, and the evidence. His death scene had been littered with the pictures. Foreign places, dirty rooms, children. Chloe changes slides, even her usually impenetrably bright demeanour blackened a little by that.

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