“You don’t have to do this, Eric, I will,” Jacob Strong said to him. Eric nodded once, he didn’t know if Jacob understood why he needed to be the one to do it or not. He wasn’t sure he could make him understand it either.
“You should understand why it has to be me,” Eric finally said. He didn’t look at him, he hung his head and stared at his hands. “The thirst won’t be something I can ignore indefinitely. Better now when I can still control it.”
“I occasionally wonder if this is what it would feel like to be a vampire,” Jacob seemed introspective and not really talking to Eric. “The thirst for blood, the knowing that a single breath is enough to change the world, knowing that they have the power to do it.”
“Getting a god-complex?” Eric asked.
“I’m a psychopath, I’ve always had one.” Jacob answered.
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Eric sighed. It wasn’t the killing that bothered him, it was the rest of the plan. He hoped to be clear headed enough to follow all of the instructions. “You’ll take care of Aislinn, Mom, Elle, the kids, and Malachi?”
“It’s already being handled,” Jacob answered. “Besides, I’ll have a lot of help looking after all of them. It isn’t like I’m the only one.”
“I know, but I trust you more than some of the others.”
“Patterson will make sure Aislinn gets through until she’s able to join the US Marshals. Trust that. Malachi has already been accepted by the FBI. He’s on his way. Your mother, well, she can take care of herself.”
“That I believe,” Eric gave a short bark of laughter that sounded hollow even to him. He was already starting to turn off, to put this life behind him and his accept his new one. The new one would require him to not feel most of the time.
“Eric, you still have the option of not doing this,” Jacob tried one last time.
“And if it isn’t me? How do you explain that? How do you explain any of this if it isn’t me that climbs to that roof?”
“I’d think of something,” Jacob said and flicked ashes out his window. “I always do.”
“You and I both know there’s more to this than what we saw and what we were told.”
“There always is,” Jacob agreed. “But a redacted file is just a redacted file. Lord knows how much of your file will be redacted by the time lunch comes around.”
“I’m sure it’s already happening. Much like yours.”
“That’s true.” Jacob looked at Eric. “I know I’m stalling, I just hate to see this happen, you have two kids.”
“Two kids I may end up killing before they turn ten. I was a killer by birth and then they honed the skill and I’m losing control of it. This is the only area I can’t live up to my father in. I don’t have his control.”
“Donnelly had a lot of control, but he wouldn’t be disappointed in you, Eric. Whether you do this or not, your father would be proud of you. You did what most of us can’t. You protected your family.”
“And I’m going to continue to do so. My father may have been murdered by a meth head, but that meth head had an agenda. My sister was bait. They were both set up to die that day and I want to know by who. This may be our only chance of finding out.”
“How long before I tell Aislinn what I know?”
“Elle has a letter for her that she’s supposed to get when she turns 30. However, if it is beneficial to tell her before that, do so.” Eric opened the car door. “Find him Jacob, find whoever is behind this and make them suffer.”
“Will do.” Jacob put his cigarette out. “I’d tell you good luck, but I don’t think luck will be an issue for you.”
Eric nodded and stepped back. He let Jacob drive off, knowing that Jacob would do everything he had promised. He’d probably go sit with Elle until they were both sure the deed had been done. He entered the building and climbed the staircase. His mind was quiet for the first time in ages. He only had the mission in front of him. A mission not handed down by some mysterious superior, but by his own crew of conspirators determined to figure out exactly what was going on. Men like himself, that knew there was something very wrong with the world but couldn’t make others see it.
That’s why his father had been targeted. Donnelly Clachan had known that there was something larger going on. He had suspected that some of the smarter serial killers had started to organize as a group. They worked as individuals, but they were nearly untraceable. The only way that could happen was if there were others involved in cover-ups and conspiracies. It was the reason Eric had joined the CIA. He needed the skills, training, and connections afforded to him as a CIA operative.
Unfortunately, like Donnelly, he didn’t have anything concrete that he could say was proof. Jacob had some pieces of the puzzle, but not enough. His mother knew about it to some degree. It had been why she left the Department of Justice. They had called her crazy. She was still convinced.
It wasn’t just her and Donnelly that were convinced of it either. There were several law enforcement members who believed it was happening. They were pressing for a new unit to be created under the US Marshals to chase serial killers because of it. They wanted the crazy ones, like Aislinn, to be involved with the good guys. If they could get enough people like Aislinn working for law enforcement, they could eventually break this thing up. Eric would know who wanted his father murdered. Aislinn would know she played a part in bringing that man to justice. It would be a win-win situation. However, it needed a good boost. Men like Jacob Strong, Peter West, Mike Reece, they knew what Eric was doing and they were going to use it to further their agendas.
He opened the baggie, determined to create the same scenario as the man that murdered Donnelly and Isabella. He’d used meth and claimed a psychotic break from reality. Eric was determined to keep it as authentic as possible. Inside was some crystal meth that Jacob had gotten for him. Eric didn’t know where, but he was sure it was probably the good stuff. Jacob would never settle for anything less. He followed Jacob’s instructions on what do with it.
The smoke burned his mouth, his throat, his lungs. It made his eyes water and his stomach churn. He felt he was dying from a single puff. Drugs were never his thing. This was proof they never would be. Even marijuana hadn’t appealed to him. He took as much of the stuff as he could manage before throwing it down on the ground. The foil made a strange hissing noise and he felt his world start to change.
Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t this. He felt like shit. Maybe it didn’t work on psychopaths like it did normal people. There was nothing pleasant about the experience. He gagged and wiped snot from his nose on his sleeve. The world became a little blurry around the edges of his vision and he suddenly found himself worried he’d pass out before he could complete the mission.
His hands found the file folder one more time and he studied the faces in it. After he was sure, as sure as he could be with this crap coursing through him, that he knew his targets, he poured acid on the folder. It began to smoke and pop. The next step required him to assemble the rifle and set it up.
Eternity seemed to pass in the few moments that his hands worked without his brain. His mind had gone away, somewhere different, thinking of things that he wasn’t sure was his thoughts. He had never felt crazy in the past, but at this exact moment, he did feel crazy. All he needed were purple dragons dancing around his head and singing Whistle While You Work.
The purple dragons never appeared. By the time the family of the asshole who had murdered his father arrived, he was feeling saner. His head no longer spun and his thoughts were his own again. He looked at them through the scope. He studied the differences from the photographs; the wrinkles, the frown lines, the sadness, and now joy. They all looked so fucking happy. It made him want to take them all out. However, that was not the mission. That would just make him a mass murderer, not a mass murderer with a purpose and he needed that purpose for the years that were ahead of him. No innocents could die today, not if this was going to further the cause. Their happiness would be short-lived anyway. That thought brought him comfort. He didn’t mind a little psychological anguish for them, let them feel how his mother had felt at losing a daughter and a husband. It brought a small smile to his lips. The darkness inside of him swelled, swallowing all those pesky feelings that made him human. The demons he had fought for so long were no longer things to be loathed and hated, but a beautiful representation of righteousness.
Through that scope, he felt god-like.