Page 89 of Back In the Shadows

Kip picked up a cup of coffee and took a gulp.

“Xavier told me that he and Sebastian are brothers.”

Kip’s eyes widened and he spewed his drink all over the desk. He broke into a fit of coughing before he was able to compose himself.

“What the fuck? No way, man. There’s no fucking way.”

“I wanted to tell Sebastian what I’ve learned, but I can’t find him. Do you think Dope could find out the truth?”

“Hell yeah, that guy can find out anything given enough time and resources. Tell me what you know, then I’ll call Dope.”

Over the next few minutes, I relayed what Xavier had told me about the boys being stolen and separated.

Kip remained quiet and then grabbed his cell phone off the desk and frowned. “That’s some juicy shit. I wonder if it would ease Sebastian’s conscience if he knew that it wasn’t his real father that died in his kitchen.”

I shrugged. “Does Sebastian know that the Pied Piper forced him to knife his father or whoever that man was?”

“As much as he and Death have been talking, I think so. Death always knew, so it wouldn’t be a stretch that he said something to Bass. It’s probably another reason he’s fucked up in the head about Death being a part of him.”

After my intense workout with Death in the sex swing, my muscles were achy and my legs trembled as I got up. Kip’s silence added to the weight of unease in my gut. I removed my phone from my pocket and checked for any missed calls. My heart sank when I saw the empty screen.

“No word from Sebastian.” Despite wanting to give him space, worry gnawed at me after several hours of not hearing from him. The only time he didn’t answer immediately was when Death had claimed another victim. I dialed his number and listened to it ring, each tone a deafening reminder of his absence. But all too soon, it went to voicemail, leaving me to dread what might be keeping him from answering.

“Maybe I should go look for him. I can’t help but feel something is wrong, Kip. A few hours is a long time for him to be gone.”

“You think so? I just wanted to give him some space, but maybe you’re right.” Kip rose from his seat and walked to the door. “I’ll call Dope while we’re looking for Bass.”

“Thank you.”

I followed him down the hall and double-checked that I’d locked Xavier’s door from the outside. With the pain pill in his system, I wouldn’t put it past him to drag his body across the floor and try to escape. I trusted nothing about him.

Over the next half an hour, Kip and I talked about how to help Sebastian come to grips with Death and his history. Sebastian under no circumstances could turn himself in. I would lose him, and the kids would lose their father. If he was set on that decision, I had to figure out a way to change his mind.

“Ella, it’s starting to get dark. We should head back. Bass would kick my ass if anything happened to you again.”

I didn’t miss the worry in Kip’s tone. In fact, the longer we’d looked for my husband, the more my anxiety kicked into overdrive.

45

DEATH

“When they found the lamb's wool caught on thorns, they assumed violence. They didn't know how gently darkness helps shed old skins.” ~ Anonymous

The man standing in front of me was a notorious serial killer, but I hadn’t known that because he knew how to charm people and stay off the grid. He wasn’t charming me. I understood exactly who he was. Men like us were experts at playing games, setting the stage for our prey. He was doing just that. I suspected before the night was over that I would have to fight for my life, but I was ready. A part of me had sworn that if I ever had a chance to end the son of a bitch who murdered my family, I would make him pay. Even though I’d told Ella she could help, it might not be possible. Regardless of how this all played out, I promised myself I would see her and my children soon. I refused to die at this man’s hands.

“No, I don’t need anything to eat or drink.” I glowered at him. “Tell me about the Fletchers,” I demanded again.

He cleared his throat, his brown eyes dancing with mischief. It was clear he was enjoying himself.

“I was always different than others around me while growing up. Hell, I only had a few friends that wanted to have anything to do with me. You and I are wired differently, we think differently, feel differently than most. Once I realized that, I kept to myself, but as I said, a few of the guys in school took to me, and we were friends until we graduated high school and each of us moved in different directions. It was at that time I realized I might not ever have friends again, but I was at peace with it. Then, my freshman year of college, a guy in my chemistry class named Chuck asked if I wanted to hang out with him and a few others. Just a small weekend gathering around the bonfire, a few beers, some good-looking girls. I was bored at school by that time and making straight A’s without studying. My time was spent in the library reading about every serial killer that came before me. I was fascinated with what I learned about them, and it felt familiar here.” He patted his chest directly over his heart.

“Anyway, I agreed to get together. That Friday night, I met Chuck at my dorm, and we walked to the back of the campus and through the woods,” he continued. “Eventually we came upon a small circle of people around a campfire. Chuck introduced me to everyone, and I took a seat. They were friendly enough, but I was on high alert. I had trust issues, and it seemed strange that Chuck asked me along when we barely knew each other. But I also understood that normal people who wanted to get to know someone, invited them to hang out. So, I kept my suspicions to myself.” He shifted in his seat as if what he was about to say next was hard for him to share.

“There were a few young ladies there, and they were beautiful. The other four were guys my age, and one seat was empty. It took me listening to everyone’s conversation to catch up on the gossip. I learned that Cindy was the girl that normallysat in the empty chair, but she’d had a baby and didn’t get to hang out with the group as often. She’d lived in Australia most of her life and intended on returning once the baby was old enough to fly across the ocean.”

“What does this have to do with the Fletchers?” I asked, impatient.

“Everything,” he snapped. It was the first time he showed any kind of emotion other than being hospitable and pleasant. He smoothed his white shirt with his palm, composing himself before he continued.

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