Page 55 of Heart of a Killer

Alex

While Brie skips along the dotted line running down the middle of the asphalt, Skylar and I walk among the trees covering the road’s edge. I decided to go along with her plan only because they had a point. We need to be quick.

I’m not sure how shady the doctor’s dealings were and if someone might call the cops once he’s discovered, but thankfully, we do have one thing on our side: the hours of darkness. It comforts me that there is still time to do what we need to before someone finds him.

The snap of twigs and the crackle of leaves sound with every step we make. My hands are fists in my pockets as the slice of cold wind burns my skin. I wish I had thought of grabbing another shirt before leaving the hospital. Then I would have at least a small barrier between me and the freezing air.

“Why did you agree with us?” Skylar’s words break my train of thought.

Her brows furrow as she hugs herself. The hairs on her thin arms stand erect from goosebumps. Another thing I regret—maybe most of all—is not grabbing the girls something for coverage.

I shrug my shoulders. “It sounded like a good plan.”

“I don’t believe you,” she states as we continue walking and stepping over fallen branches.

“Why?”

“Because you were able to come back from the dead, hot-wire a vehicle, and find me in a day. You’re pretty quick.” She adds, “Plus, you didn’t even give us a fight.”

“Then why did you agree with Brie instead of going along with my plan in the first place?”

Skylar stops in her tracks beside me, and I follow suit. I don’t want to miss a word of what she says.

“I was worried you would leave without us,” she confesses. Her voice is soft, and the corners of her lips turn down.

“Sky, I would never leave you,” I admit before pulling her into my arms and planting a kiss on her forehead. Leaning into her hug even more, I try to give her as much warmth as possible.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Brie calls out, interrupting my moment with Skylar. “Get with the program. There are lights up ahead.”

Looking up the road, I see them: lights coming through the trees around the bend. My limbs grow tight, and the acid in my stomach churns. I’m worried about this part of her plan because the driver might not see her. I get closer to the tree line and wait. Gripping onto the tree’s bark, my muscles tense as the car draws closer to her.

Brie waves her arms in the air, attempting to get the driver’s attention.

The shrieking of tires fills the cold, empty night, and the lights illuminate Brie, still covered in blood. Her face is contorted and pinched in agony, with her hands over her chest. She could be an actor with the way she is selling this performance.

The driver gets out of the car and goes to her. They are both in the spotlight, and he is an older, middle-aged man. His jeans are high on his waist, and a big belt buckle gleams in the light. The man’s hands are on Brie’s arms, rubbing them. My teeth grind together in order to control myself.

The man guides Brie to the back of the car until she plants her feet on the pavement. He doesn’t get the hint that she doesn’t want to go with him, and he becomes more forceful. My vision tunnels in on his hands, gripping her arms as she fights him.

It’s as if time fast-forwards, and I have the man by his throat, feet dangling over the asphalt.

“She doesn’t want to go with you,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

The man is gawking at me and spluttering. His brown toupee falls off in his thrashing, and his balding head shines in the moonlight. The pressure in my chest is like a craving, and my fingers push into the man’s eyes. The soft, pliable sockets spurt, and warmth pours over my fingers. The man’s screams grate on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard, and my thumb goes to the soft upper palate of his mouth. I’m holding his face like a bowling ball, and I plunge it repeatedly into the concrete.

Crunch, drip-drip-drip.

Smack, drip-drip-drip.

Squelch, drip-drip-drip.

I don’t stop until my fingers touch the pavement through the back of the man’s head. The cool breeze now holds a copper tang in the night, and I inhale it. My limbs relax as the fire inside me subsides.

“You feel better now, psycho?” Brie teases. “I would say something really snarky like ‘I could have handled myself,’ but you look like you just smoked a fat doobie.”

“Yeah, I feel a lot better, actually.” After a long exhale, my mind clears, and I am already working on a plan.

Skylar’s face is blank, which surprises me. She’s either getting used to the sight of death, or she’s in shock. I know there’s a little killer in her. We are blood-related and bonded by trauma. Maybe later, after I give her the present I have for her, we will see just how compatible we are.

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