Page 60 of Pure Killers

Not-Seb fixes me with a look. "W-wouldn't I have done it already if I was going to hurt you?"

There's something uncanny there, that brief glimpse of Seb's stutter, moreso than Seb's face on Needler's words. I look at his mouth. "Your stutter… it’s real."

"Psychological. Only as Seb. Mask on, no stutter. When I'm him."

Mask on, cold-blooded killer."Your limp?” I ask, as though that’s the most important thing right now. “Psychological too?

"You want answers? W-we need to be off the street."

How badly do I need to know? Badly enough. "You bastard," I mutter, but unlock my gate.

All the way up, in my dingy elevator, to my door, until I lock the door behind me, I don't speak. Then the Needler is in my living room, unmasked. And he didn't limp the whole way. "You're Tristan," I say, wasting no time, keeping close to the door. "Caleb's partner."

His lips twitch. Lips I've kissed so many times. He nods. "We met once, briefly. And to answer your question, I had a limp. From him. It took me two years to learn to walk again. A J-John Doe by the time I washed up down the river." Two years, the gap between Needler’s first and second kill.

"Why a John Doe?"

He pulls off that beanie, and I stare, seeing suddenly why he never took it off. An inch of bright blond regrowth stands out, a line against the false, faded copper. "I liked it that way. Everyone thought I was dead, charred beyond recognition." His stutter is a half-thing now, sliding away with Seb.

"You could have told the truth!"

"I could have? Even with both of us 'dead', people still conjectured that I was the first Cocooner. A-always me. Never Caleb. Never the rich boy from the estate side, with the doting wife and clean record. You c-can’t deny it, you bought it too. Besides, what good would I have been? Better to be Needler, to punish them."

I shake my head. None of this makes sense. “But… you came back to the station. How? How didn’t anyone recognise you?” How didn’tIrecognise you? I want to scream. How didn’t I see Caleb for what he really was, and now Seb?

He spreads his hands. “They remember a tall skinny blond guy with crooked teeth and a beard. Is that what Seb was? No one’s looking for the dead guy in the awkward lab tech.”

So he’s bulked up now, clean-shaven, straight teeth, and donned glasses, but still, I can’t drop it. “Rosie would have seen through that,” I say it like a demand.

“She was starting to. Eyes stay the same. But most don’t look someone stuttering at them in the eye for very long.”

Taking a step back, I bump the table and catch myself. "And me? Why stalk me, fuck me…"

I see his chest rise and fall in a long breath. "Watching you was the b-best bet for stopping the new Cocooner. I knew they’d come for you eventually. Then… my reasons got mud-dled. I’m still human.” Tristan sighs. “He was such a martyr to you. He didn't deserve that regard. I knew eventually the world was going to know, and you too."

"Trust me, you haven't made that any less painful."

"Haven't I?" he asks quickly. "You're telling me you fucked your husband’s murderer with not even the slightest doubt in your mind?"

My mouth opens and closes. He's putting ideas in my head, giving me a noble excuse. I can't say if it’s the truth or not. Hindsight is too lenient.

His jaw works, gaze dropping. "I liked you, really. You were kind to the lab-boy.”

I shake my head. “You’ve done nothing but lie to me!”

He shakes his head. “Not everything. I didn’t lie to you about stuttering as a kid, the accident. It came back after that night,after him, the Cocooner. And it only went away with the mask. With revenge.”

“What, I’m just supposed to believe you now?”

“Eleanor…” he reaches towards me, then thinks better of it. “I could see the self-destructive side of you from the start. I followed your story after his death. You’re brave.” He smiles softly, then looks sad. “It was going to get you in trouble. It still will, if you're not careful.”

"It’s a little late to be careful!"

"It’s not." Tristan steps towards me, and I hold my ground until his fingers brush my jaw. Gently, he tells me, "You w-were..." He sighs, and tries again. "You were going to be his Magnus Opus," he says it slowly, carefully. "The best work he'd ever done."

Somehow that possibility, that Caleb would have done to me what he did to others, had yet to occur. No, I was on the safe side of him, untouchable. His hand falls from my face as I back up, out of reach. "He wouldn't have killed me."

There's a look in his eyes- pity. "He was saving you. Until it could be perfect."

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