Page 26 of When You're Broken
Wednesday glanced up.“Is everything all right?”
Rob shrugged helplessly.“I’ll find out.She’s never one to dramatize, so if she’s calling me like that… I’d better go.”With an apologetic glance at Finn, he headed for the exit.“Call me if you find anything about these two victims, or about Amelia.Let me know how it goes.”
Finn forced a reassuring nod.“We’ll keep you in the loop.Take care of Eleanor, okay?”
Rob offered a wave before disappearing into the corridor.
Finn watched the door close, a knot of concern forming in his chest for his friend.“Hope it’s nothing serious.”
Wednesday gathered her kit, standing from Kelvin’s body.“At least he has the sense to check on her.Maybe you should do the same for Amelia.”Her gaze flicked to the hallway where Amelia had stormed off.“She’s in no state to be alone with these feelings.”
Finn let out a weary sigh.“I know.Just not sure how to talk her down from this.She’s furious every time I suggest stepping back.”
Wednesday gave him a half-smile, ironically gentle.“She’s determined.That’s not always a bad thing, but it could get her killed if she’s not cautious.You’re the one who can guide her without undermining her autonomy.For now, let me finish here.I’ll have forensics come in, do the full treatment.Then I’ll get the bodies to the morgue.”She arched an eyebrow.“After that, I’ll write a scathing note in my report about someone messing with my crime scene, no doubt.”
Finn let out a small laugh.“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, raising his palms.“I’ll leave you to it.”
She turned away, quietly directing a couple of uniformed forensics staffers who had arrived.They began photographing the bar’s interior, taping markers near the blood spatter.Finn realized he no longer had any reason to linger inside—Amelia was outside, presumably battling her frustration alone.He would go to her, and support as Wednesday suggested.Even though he feared it could be the end of things.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wendell Reed sat in the middle of Rob Collins’ living room, the soft buzz of a distant boiler and the occasional drip of a faucet underscoring the quiet tension he relished.The house itself was a detached property nestled on a gentle rise at the edge of a Hertfordshire town.A wide driveway curved up to its front door, flanked by neatly trimmed hedges that, under different circumstances, might have evoked a sense of comfort and domestic calm.Tall windows on the ground floor let in the waning light of day, revealing well-kept furniture and tasteful decor—evidence of a tidy life carefully arranged, a life Wendell intended to disrupt.
He glanced down at his watch.The second hand ticked steadily, each movement an affirmation of time slipping away for everyone who thought they were safe.He lifted his gaze to check the figure tied to a chair in front of him—Eleanor, Rob’s girlfriend, or so the rumor went.
Eleanor looked up at him with large, fearful blue eyes, her blond hair clinging to her face in sweaty strands.A strip of duct tape over her mouth muffled her sobs.Her wrists were bound behind her back, her ankles to the chair’s legs.Wendell found the entire scene almost too predictable—another hostage, another example of how easily he could unravel people’s illusions of safety.Still, it served his purpose.He let out a measured sigh.
“You did well on that phone call, you know,” he remarked quietly, tapping the gun’s barrel against his knee.“His reaction was exactly what I hoped it would be.No suspicion, only concern.”
Her eyes pleaded, but she couldn’t voice a coherent reply through the gag.The tear tracks on her cheeks glistened.Wendell set the gun gently on the side table, reached forward, and tugged the tape from her mouth, ignoring her small yelp of pain.
She swallowed, fresh tears threatening to spill.“Please,” she managed, her voice shaky.“Please, just—just let me go.You don’t have to do this.”
Wendell tilted his head, considering her words.From behind the sofa, a clock chimed the quarter hour, a gentle melodic note echoing through the otherwise silent house.“It’ll all be over soon,” he said.“But not yet.”
She sobbed, shoulders quivering.Her voice broke as she asked, “Why are you doing this?”
He felt the corner of his mouth twitch in a near-smile."Chief Constable Rob Collins chose to live here, so far from other houses.Peaceful, isn't it?The advantage for me is that no neighbor will hear you screaming.Or his, for that matter."He leaned forward, removing a fresh piece of tape from the roll, setting it on the table for later use."I understand you're an art expert.You helped Finn Wright on a case, correct?"
Eleanor’s breathing quickened.“Yes,” she replied softly, the clarity of her voice muffled by fear.“A few months back, I helped authenticate some paintings.Finn was investigating forgeries and a killer who mimicked them… That’s how I met him.”
“Interesting.”Wendell let the word hang, picking up the gun again and admiring its polished metal.“I’ve never cared for art galleries, to be honest.All those people gazing at a canvas, feeling something they couldn’t even describe, while I… well, it never stirred anything in me.Pigments on stretched fabric, hung on a wall, and yet they act like it’s the second coming of Christ.”
She swallowed hard, sensing he wanted some response.“Art can be emotional,” she offered.“It can hold deep meaning.It can help us discover who we are.Those who can’t experience emotions...”
He laughed, a low, hollow sound.“Deep meaning?Perhaps for those who possess certain… emotional wiring.Let me guess: you want to put me in a neat category—‘psychopath lacks empathy’—something like that?”He waved the gun dismissively.“In fairness, maybe it’s correct.I can’t claim to care about strangers or silly moral lines.Yet I do feel emotions, of a kind.The pleasure in my work, for instance—my real work, not the menial jobs I once pretended to hold.I used to fight that feeling, until I realized there’s no point.Leaning into it became so much simpler.”
Her voice trembled, but she dared to ask, “So you—like hurting people?”
He shrugged.“It’s not always the hurting.It’s the control.Watching them realize how fragile their illusions of safety are.That’s the real thrill.”
Eleanor shuddered, letting out a whimper.Before she could speak again, a faint rumble outside signaled a car pulling up the gravel drive.Wendell’s eyes narrowed.Right on schedule.He rose from his chair, ignoring the subtle ache in his knees from crouching for so long.Her expression lit up with desperate hope.“Rob!”she screamed, voice cracking.
He shoved the gag back against her mouth, pressing the tape into place.“None of that,” he said tersely, pressing the barrel of the gun under her chin.“Next time you try that, you’ll feel a bullet in your face.”
She froze, tears spilling anew.The car outside stopped.Wendell heard a door slam, then Rob’s anxious voice: “Eleanor!Eleanor, are you in here?”
At the corner of the room, a bright rectangle of light framed the entrance to the kitchen, the direct path from the front door.Wendell stepped behind Eleanor’s chair, pressing the gun lightly to her temple.He listened as Rob’s footsteps clattered in the hallway.The tension in the air was palpable—he could practically taste the fear.
