Page 98 of Two for Joy

“I’m gonna go find out … oh, and I almost forgot.”

Romeo waved the duct tape roll in front of Neil, then cut off a strip. He leaned down, applied it to Neil’s mouth, then patted him on the head.

“Now you stay here, and stay quiet, or I’ll have to come back and silence you for good.”

Chapter Seventeen

Romeo slowed the Porsche and stared as he drove past Hollytree house. It looked almost futuristic with its sharp angles, and huge glass windows. Romeo spotted two cameras on the front gate, he thought he could see more attached to the house. It reminded him of the prison he’d been kept in—the huge gate, the spiked wall, the cameras everywhere.

Romeo drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then carried on up the road. He mounted the verge, scraping the bottom of the Porsche on the mound of grass, then kept going till half of it was covered by a thorn bush. He didn’t have time to conceal the car any better, and as he jogged away, he cursed when he could see its glowing license plate.

It was inevitable he was going to be spotted on camera. He stalked along the gate, then pressed the intercom with no real clue of what he was about to say. If the killer really was Marc, Romeo thought he might be able to flatter him, get entry into the house by playing the “we’re brothers” card.

No one answered, and looking up at the house, Romeo realized there were no lights on in any of the rooms.

He’d fantasized about escaping bars for so long, and now all he wanted to do was get inside another set, be trapped in another cage. Romeo walked around the property, looking for an entry point. He found it behind the house, a tree had come down, bending the spikes at the top of the wall.

He heaved himself up using the tree, carefully avoided the twisted spikes, then dropped down the other side. No alarms blared, the dogs weren’t released, but one of the cameras was trained directly at him. He didn’t hide his face, or stoop as he moved, there was no hiding. He walked confidently towards the door, used a rock to smash the glass, then unlocked it from the inside.

Romeo stepped into the entrance hall and listened. He could hear muffled voices, a few of them, then realized when the voices changed to music, it was the radio. The radio was set on the classical channel, the one he liked to listen to while waiting between victims.

The music he used to sway to with his mother.

He approached the sound of the music, pushed the door, patted the wall for a light switch, then looked around the huge kitchen. Double the size of Neil’s with three ovens, three sinks, a kitchen to entertain the masses. Next to the radio was a box of cigars, the same brand he’d used when marking his victims.

The same ones his father had smoked when he was a kid.

There was a set of keys on the table, they looked as if they’d been tossed there in a hurry. Romeo took them, studied them, then put them in his pocket. He went back into the entrance hall, then froze when he saw the photograph framed on the wall.

Holly and Marc together, smiling brightly at the camera, his smile genuine, but hers not. He had his arm over her shoulder, and there was a huge diamond glinting on her ring finger.

Romeo slowly lifted his head to look up the stairs. A grand staircase, wide enough for a car to drive up. Romeo saw the news articles on the walls, not scruffy and tacked on like in the farmhouse. The front covers detailing his spree were in huge glass frames, vibrant, well kept. Marc was proud of the articles he’d written, and Romeo looked at each one as he climbed the stairs. They continued on the landing, a progression of his crime, leading to the one at the end of the corridor. The same one he’d had in his cell, except in mint condition.

TheOneThat Got Away.

He paused by the door, hand curled around the handle, unable to breathe. He didn’t know if he could cope with what lay the other side, but it was like the car-crash conundrum. He knew he wouldn’t like what he saw, but he had to see it. He took a deep breath, then opened the door.

It took a few seconds for him to adjust to the dark, the curtains were drawn, and before he saw blood, he smelled the irony scent in the air.

A figure lay on the bed, completely still, eyes closed. The cuts looked black with the lack of light, dark on his skin. Romeo could see the patches where it had run down the side of his body and soaked into the white sheet beneath.

Romeo approached, skimming his gaze along the torso, not to see the extent of his wounds, but to make sure he was still breathing. There was no slash across his throat, no spill of dark color, but that didn’t mean he was still alive. Romeo had almost killed him twice when they were in the farmhouse.

He was pretty certain his heart had stopped in his chest, but he had to see, had to know.

“Chad?”

His nose twitched, and that was all the confirmation Romeo needed. His body remembered how to breathe again, and he took two heaves, then rushed towards Chad. His eyes fluttered, Romeo gripped his face, hand on both cheeks.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Romeo whispered.

Chad opened his eyes. It was too dark in the room to see them clearly, and Romeo let go of him to turn on the light. He staggered back when he saw the slices and cuts decorating Chad’s body, the numbers 5, 4, 3, and 2 scratched into his flesh. Some looked old, some looked fresh, some looked deep, some faint, some had scabbed, others oozed. The most shocking were the numbers that had been cut out, like Chad’s flesh was a piece of pastry.

He knew Chad was hurt, could even smell the blood, sweat, and fear in the air, but it had been easier to handle in the dark. With the light on he could see the damage, the horrific red marks on Chad’s chest, the darker dried blood on the bed. He could see how pale Chad’s face was, how matted with sweat his hair looked, how cold his skin felt.

“Romeo?” Chad croaked.

He forced his shock aside, and went back to Chad, holding his face, and looking deep into his pained brown eyes. “I’m here.”

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