Page 33 of When You're Broken
Finn’s stomach twisted at the mention of pictures of him, the cottage—Wendell’s continuing to get far too close.He caught Amelia’s eyes, reading the swirl of fear and indignation there.
McNeill inhaled sharply.“Given this, plus Rob’s shooting, I have to insist: both of you stand down.We’ll put you in protective custody.We can’t risk you continuing on this investigation when you’re clear targets.”
Amelia’s posture tensed like a coiled spring.“No,” she spat, voice trembling.“I’m not backing off.If Wendell’s threatened me, so be it.I’m not letting him roam free, murdering people, kidnapping my brother—”
McNeill raised a palm.“Enough, Winters.This is no longer a request.You’re compromised by personal involvement, and you’re the direct target of a known multiple murderer, who we know now can get to us.I’m relieving you of duty for your own safety.”
She clenched her fists, about to argue further.Eleanor looked up from Rob’s bedside, tears shining.“Amelia… you saw what happened to Rob.Do you really want that for Finn, or for yourself?”She brushed trembling fingers over Rob’s bandaged wrist.“He might not make it.Please.”
The quiet hush of the heart monitor returned, a beep that hammered each second of tension.Amelia swallowed, tears edging her eyes.She cast a glance at Finn, who was silent, shoulders slumped with the heaviness of anguish.He’d pleaded with her to go into hiding only moments ago.Her jaw worked, trying to form an objection, but the sight of Rob’s inert form in the bed eroded her resolve.
Finally, she exhaled, voice cracked."Fine.I'll— I'll stand down."Her breath hitched, tears threatening to spill."But, damn it, we need to get Wendell anyway.Don't you dare leave my brother to die?"She addressed McNeill with a fierce glare, though it brimmed more with heartbreak than fury.
McNeill nodded, the set of his mouth grim.“We’ll do everything, Winters.I promise.”His tone bore no trace of triumph, only solemn duty.“I’ll put a round-the-clock guard on you and Finn.There’s a hotel we use for protective custody.Two constables are waiting in the hall to take you there.”
Amelia hung her head, swallowing back tears of frustration.She turned to Finn, heartbreak plain in her expression.“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice quivering.“I— We should do more.But… I can’t watch you end up like Rob.”
Finn gently clasped her arm, offering what little comfort he could.“I feel the same way about you,” he admitted.“But we’ll let them handle it now, for Rob’s sake.And for yours.”He turned, stepping to Rob’s bedside.Eleanor edged away slightly, giving him room.
Finn bent down, pressing a trembling kiss to his friend’s forehead.The beep of the monitor pulsed, an unchanging note.“Don’t give up, Buddy,” Finn whispered, tears finally cresting in his eyes.“I need you back.”
A strangled hush followed.Finn drew back, blinking moisture away, rejoining Amelia at the foot of the bed.She squeezed Eleanor’s hand gently, murmuring a final apology and promise that they’d see this through eventually.
Eleanor watched them go, words failing her, her gaze drifting between the battered policeman in the bed and the policeman’s friends she was losing to protective custody.She nodded, tears shining in her eyes.“Stay safe,” she rasped.
Turning away, Finn walked out, his breath catching in the ache of heartbreak and frustration.Amelia followed, eyes still damp.In the corridor, McNeill trailed them, gesturing for the two constables standing at attention.“Take them to the secure car, then to the designated hotel.”
Amelia halted at the threshold, spinning back to face McNeill.She squared her shoulders, tears replaced by a steeled determination, and said, “This all better be worth it.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Wendell Reed sat in the abandoned mall’s former food court, the fluorescent tubes overhead long since dead.In the gloom, only a pair of battery-powered lanterns cast lopsided circles of faint light on the dusty tiles.A single plastic chair supported him.He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, letting the hush of night swallow the echoes of his own slow breathing.
Before him, on the battered remains of a table whose laminate surface had chipped away, lay a notepad.Its dog-eared corners hinted at frequent use; it was an intimate ledger, of sorts.The ink scrawl was stark in the lantern light.He stared at the list of names, methodically crossing out the one that readRob Collins.The flourish of his pen dug deeper into the paper than needed, as though emphasizing a final act.
He paused, letting a thin smile curve his lips.Collins was dealt with.He pictured the policeman crumpling on his own kitchen floor, blood soaking through that crisp shirt.A swift shot to the abdomen—nothing complicated.Wendell recalled the shock in Rob’s eyes, a rush of satisfaction.He wished he could have been there to see Amelia’s reaction.The hush of the memory melted into the present, where the mall’s vacant corridors stretched around him: metal storefront grilles, broken mannequins, scraps of old signage fluttering in the draft.Even the rats had given up on the place.
Now, with Rob’s name struck off, Wendell’s eyes scanned the next lines.Only two remained, each equally significant:Brendan WilsonandFinn Wright.Two more threads in the tapestry of his grand plan, two final moves he needed to orchestrate precisely.
He tapped the pen on the list, heart fluttering with a mild excitement.“So close,” he murmured.His voice echoed in the empty space, bouncing off cracked tiles and rusted rails.It was all unstoppable now.
He looked up to the high windows overhead.The night sky provided little more than a dull navy glow.Nothing out there,he reminded himself.No one to stumble upon me by accident.A perfect lair.The basement was functional for holding captives, but this mall gave him so much space to linger, to remember.He realized with a mild start that it triggered a memory from long ago.
He closed his eyes.A flash.He was six, maybe.His mother had brought him to this exact mall once, when it was alive with bright lights and enthusiastic shoppers, not this now rotted husk.She’d bought him a milkshake from a garishly lit fast-food counter.He could still recall the shape of the plastic cup, the taste of synthetic strawberry.They’d also wandered into a pet store, and on a whim, she purchased a small puppy—an impulsive but joyous surprise.The store’s fluorescent lights and squeaky cages rushed through his mind: wagging tails, the clerk praising them for giving the dog a good home.His mother had been radiant that day, her hair pinned back, eyes crinkling with rare delight.
The memory made him grin.He remembered how she’d looked at him, hope shining in her gaze, as though for once they could be a normal family.The dog wriggled in his arms on the drive home, nuzzling Wendell’s cheek.He’d named it Captain or maybe Baxter—he couldn’t quite recall.The details blurred, overshadowed by what happened next.
Now, that recollection twisted, morphing into an intrusive thought: the nighttime hush in their old house, his father’s voice echoing in rage.Wendell’s mother crouching in a closet with him, pressing her finger to her lips.“Don’t go out,” she whispered.She was trembling, stifling sobs.Wendell, a child, hearing the dog whining somewhere down the corridor.Then his father’s furious holler: “Where is that damned dog?”The hamper of scattered shoes in the closet, the stench of musty clothes, the stifled fear.Wendell wanted to protect the dog, to hold it safe.
In the memory, he felt himself tug free of his mother’s arms, ignoring her desperate grip.He darted out of the closet, drawn by the panting and pitiful whimper of that puppy.He scooped the small creature into his arms, meaning to run, to find a window maybe.But the father’s heavy footsteps pounded down the corridor.A rough yank, a flurry of cursing, and then he seized the puppy from Wendell’s grip.
Wendell's mother screamed for him not to hurt it, but the father barged into the bathroom.The dog yelped, splashing.Wet, thrashing, high-pitched cries that quickly muffled.Wendell, frozen with horror, heard water sloshing—his mother's ragged pleas cut short by a strike.Then the puppy's yelping ended, replaced by an unearthly silence.
Wendell’s eyes snapped open, a tremor coursing through him.He clenched his fist, slamming it down on the table, rattling the pen and his lantern.The metal clang reverberated across the deserted mall corridor.He forced slow breaths, reminding himself that was long ago, that the father was gone now, the mother dead too.None of them existed except in these flashes that haunted him.Focus on the present, he commanded, dragging his gaze back to the notepad with the final two names:Finn Wright.Brendan Wilson.
He ran a finger across each name, frowning.The question lingered:Which do I go after next?A savage satisfaction blossomed in his chest.Both are prime targets.Finn was formidable, but oh, how sweet to break Amelia’s spirit by finishing Brendan first.Yet part of him wondered if finishing Finn might be more satisfying, as Finn was cunning—could pose a threat.
He pulled a coin from his pocket, a well-worn piece of currency he’d used for an earlier twisted game.
