Page 16 of Killer Clone

Natalie thought before she answered. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But this was only his first semester. He didn’t like his roommate and was struggling to build a social circle. I just figured he needed more time.”

Stella put away her notebook. Hagen and Ander would be on their way to speak to the roommate by now. She’d be interested in what they found. With no social life, the roommate was about the only lead they had into Patrick’s life.

“Do you mind showing us his room?”

Natalie glanced toward the kitchen door, but her mother was still sobbing, and her father was still trying to console her. She laid the photo album aside and led them upstairs.

There was little to see in his bedroom. Someone had moved a stationary bike into the middle of the floor, a change that probably happened when he went to college, but most of the room remained as Patrick would’ve left it.

AHarry Potterposter, its edges torn and corners folded, hung above the bed, where it probably had for years. The desk under the window was empty except for a glass jar that held a couple of ballpoint pens and a broken pencil. The metal bookshelves that ran across the wall were full.

Stella scanned the selection. Patrick’s reading had been broad. Between books about ancient Rome, the Civil War, and the rise and fall of half a dozen empires sat science fiction novels and thick volumes of fantasy.

There was something to be said for retreating from the world. At least it had given Patrick plenty of time to read and escape before his body wound up in a filthy downtown alley.

Stella thanked Natalie for her help and followed her back to the living room.

Kerrick’s Alley, where Patrick Marrion’s body was found, awaited them.

7

Swinging soothed me. My legs wrapped like a pretzel around the cord of rope hanging from the steel beam overhead, and I let the momentum take me.

Swoosh.

Poor HistoryBoi1789 hadn’t enjoyed the rope the same way.

I couldn’t imagine my luck when I found the beams across the warehouse ceiling when I first arrived. The setup was exactly like the trees back in Claymore Township. I’d brought thick sailors’ rope from home. It was similar to the rope me and Maureen had used for crazy Laurence and Deputy Mark.

HistoryBoi Patrick now joined the ranks of those previous victims. The guy was so pathetic, I’d done him a favor putting him out of his misery. He wanted a friend too desperately. Cringe.

Swoosh.

Maureen King had been my teacher. But I taught her. In the end, she was mine.

People, teachers especially, had always been impressed by me. I hadn’t always had this facility with words. My parentsthought I was an alien. I turned out so different from them, from how they raised me.

Swoosh.

I was one of those rare people who were as charismatic and convincing online as they were in person. Usually, people were better at one or the other.

Monty31 was my online persona.

I could’ve had as many names as I liked, of course. Made a new one anytime. A person could disappear just as easily in the real world as they could online. Especially if they had money, which I would have soon. The Administrator would reward me for taking out those two federal agents. My plan was coming together.

Swoosh.

I’d never go back to Claymore. I was done with that hick town. Nashville was lit. Once I got the money, I could go anywhere I wanted. I just had to finish the job first.

Then law school.

Swoosh.

Beneath me, the puddle of HistoryBoi Patrick’s blood had dried now, turning dark and flaky around the edges like rust. I’d gathered most of it with a mop and bucket. But before it coagulated, I’d managed to load up my paintbrush.

After coaxing enough material onto the brush, I’d sketched out the ancient symbols Maureen and the Administrator were so obsessed with. The cuneiforms appeared like strange bird tracks across the concrete—angular lines and wedges that resembled tiny footprints marching in formation. But the wild, random flicks of blood between the carefully crafted symbols—those were my own little artistic touch.

HistoryBoi Patrick’s freakish scars were a terrible canvas and had made carving impossible. So I’d compromised and left the Administrator’s message on the wall.

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