Page 121 of Make Me Scream

“Don’t kill him. Just make sure he never paints again.”

Lane chuckles.

“With pleasure.”

I look away as he takes my meaning and reaches for Mundell’s hands and wrists.

Chilling, tormented bellows follow sharp, wet snaps. Each one makes my smile grow wider.

By the time a small army of police cruisers pour onto the property, Mundell blubbers to himself, gasping in the cold, dewy lawn while Rory keeps watch. Lane holds me in his arms, but I tell him I’m okay. I point him over to Chloe, who stares into the night sky, tears running down her cheeks. He kisses me.

“I love you,” he says. “I’m so sorry I-”

“I love you too. Please. Help her.”

He kisses me again, then goes. He holds her until the police arrive.

—

It took Lane and Rory a couple hours to reach the Catskills, during which time Lane studied a satellite view of the property and the supplies available in Rory’s van. As they got close, they called Joel and Martin, giving them the plan: scale the fence, cut the power, set up networked Bluetooth speakers and misdirect Mundell. With his eyes on Rory, Lane would sneak up and disarm him. When the time was right, Joel would call the police, just in case.

There were a lot of unknowns, like whether they’d trip any motion sensors or if Mundell had any guns. Ultimately, they worked with what they had. Lane says he didn’t intentionally plan the rescue mission like an Alistair Rat piece, that he naturally applied his instinct for distracting audiences and controlling their attention.

Joel contacted Lane and Rory’s lawyers on their behalf, so when we were all taken in by the police, our legal counsel was already there waiting, fully briefed on the situation. Then he and Martin took a Lyft all the way from Manhattan to bring me clothes from the apartment. When they arrived, we cried in each other’s arms in the middle of the precinct lobby.

“You saved my life,” I tell them as their bodies press against mine. “I wouldn’t be here without you, and I’ll never forget that.”

Crisis professionals come in to help Chloe, who showed the police where they could find the remains of Anne Nichols. Hers wasn’t the only unmarked grave exhumed that night.

They don’t let us see Chloe, but they tell us she gave a long and lucid accounting of her time since she disappeared. Despite the horrors inflicted on her, she maintained her sanity. Especially lately, she clung to a promise she made to Anne that she would help Mundell’s next victim.

After twelve hours of questioning, official statements and drinking the best and simultaneously worst coffee ever made, the police drive Lane and I back to my apartment. He’s supposed to contact them if he needs to leave the city because they haven’t decided whether or not to charge him with a crime. Our lawyers say this should take a few weeks.

While we’re heading back to the city, the police and FBI raid Mundell’s home and office. Apparently he destroyed the sketches Lane found and there’s not much else that could be used against him as evidence, but the law enforcement movements alert the media to the developing story. They piece it together. By the next day, Rush Mundell is a famous mass murderer, instead of a famous art scholar or philanthropist. The trial may take years, but he’s going to spend the rest of his life in jail.

It’s also nice to know he’ll never draw my face again, or Chloe’s or Anne’s. He’ll never see us. Not in person. Not in the darkness of his mind’s eye.

—

Lane and I spend the following week laying low at my apartment with Joel and Martin. News vans line our block for days before giving up. We bring in food deliveries and relax — painting, drawing, cooking, binge-watchingBob’s BurgersandThe Office. We let the lawyers handle the press.

When we do leave, Rory picks up all four of us and drives us to a cemetery in the suburbs west of Philadelphia. A funeral for Anne Nichols had been held years ago, long before she actually died, so a new one is held as her remains are put to rest properly. Seeing Lea and Colette in person makes me cry; they tell those gathered how they are glad to know the truth, but I can’t help wishing they didn’t have to know about Anne’s suffering. Maybe they’ll get some satisfaction knowing Mundell will face a life sentence for her murder. I know I will.

Chloe attends the ceremony as her first public appearance. In the time between her liberation and the funeral, she spoke to Anne’s family at length, answering their questions. They promised Chloe they didn’t blame her for Anne’s death — only Mundell. They even offer Chloe a place to stay, should she have nowhere else to go. They also pledge to pay for her to finish art school, if she wishes.

At Martin’s insistence, Joel hires a manager, who arranges interviews for Joel to tell his truth: that he had no idea Mundell was such a monster. Considering the offers for his work keep coming in, the public seems to believe him. If anything, the interviews bring Joel additional sympathy, and hosts of new fans.

Hundreds of past students give their takes on Mundell — no one knew, or even suspected. He’d had his share of willing partners, some of whom had even visited his home in the Catskills. They had no idea what was occurring under their feet.

Mundell Academy shuts down, of course. Days after Anne’s funeral, the school’s entire faculty and staff announce their resignation. Mundell’s legal team takes on an additional job: selling the school’s real estate and auctioning off its extensive art collection.

“You could buy it,” I tell Lane. “That would really piss him off.”

He laughs, stroking my hair as we lay together in my bed.

“Nah, they need to turn that building into offices for a bunch of accountants. Something as far away from art as possible. Besides, I have a better idea.”

“Oh?”

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