Page 10 of Antihero
I snap out of the momentary shock. My disguise is nothing but a hood pulled low, and a bandanna over my nose and mouth. That’s it. Lazy. I didn’t expect anyone else to be out here. I’ve been watching the space for hours and seen no one. Stupid, stupid mistake.
With a last look at the body—disposing of it will have to wait, and I can only hope no other midnight wanderers come across it in the meantime—I give chase.
By the time I burst into the corridor, my dark companion is already at the other end, slipping through into the night. I give chase, sprinting to the other end. But as I expect, when I step out into the whipping snow and howling wind, I see the cliff edge some 100 metres ahead of me, and no sign of anyone. There’s also very little chance I’ll be able to spot someone who doesn’t want to be seen out here.Fuck.
They won't have been able to see my face, or recognise me. But they can give a description. A time and place of death.
Here I am, right on my home territory, committing a murder. What an idiot. Maybe I was retired for a good reason.
I jog back towards the courtyard, and I’m about to step back out through the double doors, when something in the corner by the wall catches my eye. I lean down, grabbing at the dark shape, and come back up with a cord as thick as my little finger.
My eyes widen, pieces falling into place. I look sharply back towards the other end of the corridor, like she's about to reappear to take her weapon of choice back.
The Wraith.
Here.
I look towards the courtyard, thinking of the body lying in the shadows. For him?
Why would we be hunting the same quarry? For a moment, I regret not waiting. Not seeing if she would’ve taken him down herself. I got a good enough look at her; slender, short, but nimble. And that gasp. The sound that alerted me to her initially. So involuntary, so… I shake myself. Time for that later.
I need to focus on taking care of this body before any other intruders happen across it. Maybe athirdserial killer on this damned spit of land has this courtyard on their agenda tonight.
Three hours later, and out of breath, I sling the large body off my shoulder. I'm standing on the rotting boardwalk that leads further into the wetlands. They crowd into a bite-shaped bayon the south shore of White Rock, towards the eastern end of the island. Here, the snowmelt from the mountains runs down, joining into a short delta before meeting the sea. This means I can rely on both saltwater and freshwater critters to take care of the body.
I carried him from the asylum. It’s best that way. With no vehicles involved, there’s no extra cleanup where something will inevitably be missed. By staying off the island circuit road and trekking through the low, harsh woods, then crossing the road to the lee down towards the wetlands, I made sure I wouldn’t encounter any other midnight wanderers.
I pause, balancing his body on the wooden handrail. I hear the sharp skitter of crabs and bugs across the planks. His body is still limp, though beginning to transition to the stiffness of rigormortis. The darkness is almost absolute here, with the drooping trees arching overhead. But if I squint, I can just see the reflection on the water and know the tide is in. When it’s out, the place is full of crabs, crows, and a number of other carnivorous types. They'll do a good enough job when it’s their turn, come morning.
I let the body tip, and he hits the shallow water headfirst, body bending, then slumping until only the ballooning security uniform is a matt point in the shine of water. I could’ve undressed him and disposed of the clothes separately. But Declan will be reported missing either way, his remains enough on their own. Best to avoid spreading him out.
It’s done. Now time to go home and shower.
***
I cancel on my coffee date with Paige. I just can't get that noise out of my head.
That gasp.
Since I’ve got her home number now, I use a phone in the corridor, and leave a message when I know she won't be home.
I can’t help the replay of those moments in my head, like there’s a chance it’ll be different with each reiteration. But it never is.
Paige, sitting on a park bench, her lips growing hot against mine. A single point of connection and yet, every inch of my skin thrummed. It had felt so… good. Soright.
Then there’s the other moments. I’d been crouched over his body, watching the light go from his eyes. Then, ahead of me, that sudden, sharp intake of breath.
Surely I'm imagining that it was familiar. But every time I close my eyes, I hear it. There, in the courtyard, looking down on a dead man. Also here, in this room, the first time I met her. That noise that switched on parts of myself. Parts I’d kept dormant on purpose.
It was the same noise.
But it makes so little sense. The black-clad woman in the courtyard was the Wraith, undeniably. What are the odds that girl I've compulsively thought of, and the first I’ve taken out in years, is also theotherserial killer on White Rock? I can’t accept it, and yet I keep coming back to it. That the Wraith could be… her.
And that kiss could be entirelywrong.
No. I need to prove it to myself that this is mere paranoia. Which means I need to think about it objectively.
But that doesn’t give me the conclusion I want either, rather it only proves myself more right. I sit on the edge of my bed, elbows propped on my knees.
