Page 117 of Serial Killer Games

A paramedic sprints over and shines a flashlight in her eyes. “She’s not responsive!”

A second paramedic, two more cops, and a fireman—we’ve got fucking firemen now—swarm the car, and another fireman runs over with a window breaker—

“Stop!” Dodi shrieks, clicking the fob buttons madly. She punches the panic button, the lock button, and finally the unlock button. A cop yanks open the door and Willow topples out onto the asphalt. The paramedics pounce.

“She’s cold and clammy! I can’t find a pulse!”

All hell breaks loose, but to one side, Baby Cop hasn’t moved an inch.

“You,”he says, looking right at me. “You sickpervert.” His voice rings out and heads turn to look. He takes one step toward me and another, arms bulldogged around his vest and hands hovering near his belt. “Where were you going to leave this one, huh? Sitting on a swing making daisy chains?” He jerks his chin toward the playground behind Dodi’s complex.

Preposterous. It’s the middle of winter.

“Or on the steps over there, scattering bread for the pigeons?”

I sigh.

“Or maybe sitting on that bench there,” Baby Cop continues, pointing, “a white hot chocolate in her hands, her skates in a bag on the ground and two tickets to the Santa Skate for Tots in her pocket, waiting for her date to pick her up.”

My mouth falls open. Hegets it.

He gets the happy stories I was trying to create, the Life After Grant I was giving his emancipated prisoners. Una down by the river, bundled warm and perched on a rug to admire the view of the glittering downtown, with a bottle of champagne, a bouquet of red roses, and an engagement ring sparkling on her finger, waiting for her new fiancé to come back from his phone call to announce the news to his parents.

Tari, perched in a wheelchair, a tensor bandage around her ankle, a pair of dance shoes in her lap and a nightclub’s stamp on the back of her hand.

Katrin, waiting in arrivals with a printed itinerary in her pocket and a big sparkling sign sayingWELCOME HOME.

David, perched on Santa’s knee, Christmas movie tickets in one pocket and a wrapped present in another, a gift for his significant other—an apartment key—

And so many others. Rich, interesting lives for all of them, from A to V. Well, from B to U. Poor Anastasia. And Verity—Dodi was aterribleinfluence.

Everyone’s staring at me. The paramedics have abandoned the doll, the firemen form a ring, and half a dozen cops creep close like a pack of wolves circling.

And there’s Dodi, eyes wide, mouth as round as Willow’s.

When I look at her, I know I have my own rich, interesting life waiting for me.

I summon my best serial killer smile. “Get out of my head.”

He pounces. I’m pinned to a cruiser in an instant, being patted down and mashed against the metal body of the car. I taste blood on my lip.

“Pete. Pete!”

It’s a familiar voice. Officer Stubbs? I can’t move my head. Handcuffs ratchet tight around my wrists.

“What—No! That’smycar!” Dodi is shrieking at the same fireman who tried to smash a window. A cop hears this and now Dodi is pinned to the hood of the cruiser next to me.

“A bit extreme, Pete,” Stubbs’s voice rings out.

“It’shim!” Pete snarls.

“Public mischief, Pete! That’s the best-case scenario!”

“He’s going to have fucking decapitated heads in his freezer. Skeletons buried under his patio. Iknow it!”

“Jesus…the Homicide Department thought it wasfunny…no one was laughingatyou, but then you started—”

He presses his big paw on top of my head and ducks me down and into the back of the cruiser. My face collides with the sticky vinyl of the back seat, and the door slams behind me. I wriggle around and sit up. Outside, Pete’s yelling, spittle flying out of his mouth, and Officer Stubbs watches him, coolly, eyebrows raised. She catches my eye.

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