Page 22 of Savage Seduction

“One more thing,” she says. “You were a cop, and I’ve seen enough true crime shows to know that if The Butcher is back, or if someone is trying to be a copycat… this kind of thing only ends one way.”

“Someone’s going to end up dead.” I nod. “When it comes to The Butcher, someone always ends up dead.”

“You’re brilliant,” London says, the enthusiasm in her voice contagious. “Maybe that’s why this is all happening.”

“Why?”

“It’s like the movie Final Destination. Those people were supposed to die. It was the way of the universe. Right? Same for him. He should have killed you, but by some miracle, you survived. He, or someone who is obsessed with him, is hell-bent on setting the universe straight.”

“By killing me?”

“No offense, buddy. I’m just theorizing here.”

I think about it for a moment. She was actually probably onto something, not that I think the universe is out to get me, but surely a narcissistic psychopath who bloodlusts after killing people would want to finish the job.

“I’m going to get right on this tonight.” She turns to head for the door, but stops and turns back to me. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Get your shit… you’re spending the night with me an Nana.”

I shake my head. “I have stuff I need to do. Plus, once you go out that front door, I’m not opening it again until tomorrow morning. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Nodding, I say, “I don’t want to stress Nana out about it either.”

“Okay, fine, but if something happens to you… I’ll be so pissed off at you.” She turns back to the door and is about to open it.

“London?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” I rush over and hug her again.

“You’re welcome, bestie.”

I fight back tears as she hugs me back. We stand for a couple of minutes wrapped in each other’s arms, her head on my chest. She lets go and takes me by the upper arms.

“I’m glad you called me.” She smiles.

“Me too.”

I walk her to the front door to see her out when my cell phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket. Ben.

“Who’s the late-night caller?” She ribs me with her elbow and makes googly eyes at me.

I send the call to voicemail and shove the phone back intomy pocket. “Ben. I’m sure he’ll leave a message if it’s important.”

“Doctor Dimples? I’ll get out of here so you can go get your booty called.”

We both laugh.

“And I expect details.”

“Of course,” I say, blowing her a kiss and waving goodbye.

The clear evening air is dry, and a few stars manage to peek through the massive amount of city light pollution. A siren blares somewhere in the distance and the ever-present sound of traffic fills the emptiness I feel inside as I close the door to my apartment.'

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