After folding the comforter and sheets at precise, military-style angles, Andrew Phillips finished making his bed and sauntered into the bathroom. The oscillating head of the electric toothbrush remained on each tooth for exactly twenty seconds before moving to the next.
He gurgled mouthwash for ten seconds.
Spit.
Rinsed.
Wiped out the sink.
Phillips showered next, carefully scrubbing every square inch of his fifty-year-old skin. He lathered his face with shaving cream and used a small mirror hanging from the showerhead to ensure he sliced off every whisker. Leave-in conditioner worked at his hair as he shaved.
When he finished the cleansing ritual, Phillips sprayed the glass shower enclosure with a disinfectant and wiped it down.
Patted his skin dry with a towel, never wiping.
Used the hairdryer while naked.
Because he didn’t have an excursion from his home on today’s itinerary, Andrew dressed in a white t-shirt and pressed khakis. That ensemble was the closest he ever got to slumming it, as one of his adopted children was wont to say.
Two cups of cereal, one cup of skim milk.
He read the paper from cover to cover, paying special attention to the police blotter.
At a quarter to seven, Phillips went to the window of the front room and sat in a chair bequeathed to him by his mother. The neighborhood children meandered their way down the sidewalks, coalescing under the canopy of a maple tree.
Sleep still had its tendrils in most of them, their eyes droopy and vacant as they all stared down the street to their left. A few spoke, their voices inaudible from the distance and glass between them and Andrew.
What they said was of little consequence to him.
None would become one of his children.
Two years ago, Andrew had taken one of them.
One from such a small group was enough. Two would bring too much heat, too much suspicion upon the neighborhood.
Upon him.
But that didn’t stop him from watching and dreaming. He could practically see the round-eyed, teary expressions on their faces. Smell their fear-laden sweat. Hear their lamentations.
His expanding appetite concerned him. It had only been a week since he’d last satiated his desire, and the longing had already settled in the pit of his stomach again. No matter how unbearable that hunger became, however, he refused to satisfy it again.
The rules were important.
They kept him safe.
Secret.
Andrew would only allow himself to adopt twice a year. Any more than that and the attention became too great. Unfortunately for him, it was only the beginning of the summer and he’d already fulfilled this year’s quota.
He quite literally had no idea how he would make it through the latter half of the year.
Perhaps, he thought as he watched the children wait for the bus, the rules will need to be altered soon.
Andrew had designed the rules to keep himself safe, but what good were they if his mind eroded from hunger, from desire? What was Andrew Phillips if not adaptable?
As he pondered the ways he could adjust, his new love walked into view.
April Levine.
She’d just turned twelve three weeks prior. Her parents had thrown a grand birthday party four houses down. They’d invited Andrew, purely to be friendly neighbors, but he’d declined, knowing that he couldn’t have any connection to April in case he slipped. He’d kept his distance from everyone living on his block, allowing himself to be just kind enough to go unnoticed for the most part.
The budding swell of her breasts caught his eye. The straps of her training bra were visible through her tight t-shirt.
Her legs, muscled from hours of volleyball practice each day, had the sheen of a fresh shave. The way her blonde ponytail swayed with each step made Phillips’ breath catch in his chest.
God, how he wanted her.
Needed her.
Yes, the rules would have to adapt.
School would let out for the summer soon, and his morning view would evaporate until the fall. Andrew knew that he couldn’t make it those three months. No way, no how.
Adopting a girl from his neighborhood was even more dangerous than the increased pace. The planning phase would have to be even more thorough than usual to ensure success both during and after that evening of bliss.
April stood at the back of the line that had naturally formed as the children waited for the bus. She didn’t speak to any of them, merely looking down the street with the rest.
She’d sprouted the past six months and now stood taller than all the others.
Phillips leaned forward as he watched her, unaware that he’d begun to slowly run his tongue over his lips.
He focused on the curve of her backside, inspecting the—
A black sedan slowed to a stop beside the curb in front of his house. Phillips peeled his gaze from April and focused on the vehicle, grunting when he saw the unmistakable style of an unmarked police car.
Panic buzzed through him. His throat worked. The hair on his forearms stood on end.
He took a slow breath and blinked, willing his pulse to normalize.
Everything was fine.
The man behind the wheel put the car in park and killed the engine.
Andrew slid out of the chair and slowly moved to his right, not wanting his movement to draw the cop’s attention. It wouldn’t be good at all to have the detective see him staring at a couple of kids first thing in the morning.
When he cleared the window, he raced to the door. He stood on his tiptoes to peer through the wedge-shaped windows above the peephole.
The driver’s side door opened, and a besuited man stepped out. His bald head gleamed in the morning sun.
Phillips recognized him instantly.
This was the same detective who had questioned him several days before about the disappearance of a fifteen-year-old girl. Phillips fetched the detective’s name from memory in a millisecond—Andrew Lloyd.
Phillips had a knack for faces and names.
But even if he hadn’t, the detective had recently become famous for an act of heroism in the National Mall a few weeks prior. He’d interjected himself into the middle of a terrorist attack and had helped to thwart it. His face and name had been splashed across seemingly every newscast since.
If ever there was a man to fear, an officer to stay away from, Detective Andrew Lloyd was it.
Save for the fluttering in his belly that always occurred when he spotted an officer of the law, Phillips feared no one. It was a natural reaction for most people, let alone those who had done the things Phillips had. Once the initial jolt wore off, however, Andrew knew that he would be safe.
He had the rules after all.
And they never let him down.
The only thing the detective would ever be able to deduce was that they shared the same first name.
The cruiser’s passenger door opened, and another man struggled to extricate himself from the seat. He had short, dark hair and a thick neck. His shoulders filled out a dingy t-shirt, spreading the fabric thin across his broad chest.
One of his arms rested in a sling.
Phillips thought he recognized this man as well, though he didn’t have a good enough view to be certain who it was. As they drew closer, he had no doubt that the memory would click into place.
The two men looked over at the gaggle of children, returning a wave given to them by a little boy. Both wore grim expressions as they turned their attention to Andrew’s house.
He slid down the door and backed away from it, moving to the kitchen. Standing by the refrigerator, he waited for the men to knock on his door. Memories of his previous conversation with the detective flooded his mind.
Lloyd arrived with a gaggle of questions the day after Liliana had disappeared.
Phillips had been exhausted, of course, because he’d spent the entire night meticulously following his rules as he disposed of the fifteen-year-old’s body. It had taken him hours upon hours, but he’d done the job right.
Of course, he’d blamed his fatigue on his concern for the girl.
The detective, who hadn’t yet become famous at the time, had eyed him with an unexpected amount of suspicion. They’d sat in the living room, a few feet apart, Lloyd’s eyes roaming around the space.
“You didn’t sleep because you were concerned for Liliana?” he’d asked.
Phillips had nodded. “My shift manager called from the restaurant when she didn’t come back from her break. She’s the most responsible high-school student I have, so yes, I was extremely concerned. She hasn’t ever been late for a shift, let alone walked away in the middle of one.”
Detective Lloyd scribbled a few notes in a pad. “And where were you during this time?”
“I didn’t get the call right away, unfortunately. I was asleep when they tried to get me the first time, but I got the message when I woke up to get a drink and called them back.”
Phillips, of course, hadn’t been home at the time. He’d been enjoying a third helping of Liliana’s sweet, smooth, and previously untouched body. She’d even regained consciousness by then and squirmed around a bit.
That was one of the best parts.
But, and this was one of his rules, Phillips had left his cell phone at the house, so that any calls going to it would be routed through the correct cell tower. Moronic criminals always took their phones with them and then were shocked when the police knew their alibis were bullshit.
Andrew knew that the first thing this baldheaded detective would do was check his phone records.
“How well did you know Ms. Casey?” Detective Lloyd asked.
“I’m her manager at the restaurant, but I didn’t know her outside of work.” Phillips put on his best distraught face. He focused on the story he’d crafted and made sure to speak of Liliana in the present tense, not past. That was another dead giveaway to the police. “She talks about her parents and school a little bit, but mostly to the other students who work there. No one really wants to confide in their boss.”
That much was true. Liliana had always been respectful but distant from Phillips, if not somewhat leery. The girl had a keen eye and seemed to almost feel when her boss was ogling her from the window in his office.
Andrew had been extremely careful not to stare at her ass or tits when others were around. He’d never taken one of his children when they were so close to his personal life before, and he knew that the questioning, prodding, and digging would be intense.
He’d been managing that slimy diner for the past five years and had never once considered going after someone who worked for him. The fact that Liliana had been over fifteen meant that she was a solid three years older than his other children were, but there was just something about her that begged for Phillips’ attention.
From the many times he’d listened in on her conversations with the other waitresses at the restaurant, he knew that she was still intact. That, of course, was the most important thing of all. It was a rarity to find a girl of such beauty who hadn’t been ruined by one of the unwashed brutes she sat beside in study hall and math class.
Her sweet, precious demeanor enraptured him as well. Though her body had grown, her personality remained innocent and wide-eyed. It drove him mad with lust.
Detective Lloyd continued with fairly vanilla questions. “When was the last time you saw Liliana?”
Oh, how Phillips wanted to blurt that he’d last seen her just a few hours ago.
“Two or three days,” Phillips said. “I’ve been off all weekend.” He feigned even more concern by wringing his hands. “Do you think she ran away? Does anyone have a clue where she is?”
Lloyd met his gaze and held it. He had piercing, hard eyes. Phillips inspected his face for a split-second and saw pain there. The detective was young, maybe early to mid-thirties, but he had clearly experienced things beyond his years. The traumatic events at the Mall had no doubt added a few lines of age around his eyes.
“We’re looking for her now, Mr. Phillips. Is there anything else you can tell us? Has anyone other than her parents ever dropped her off at work? A boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend? Did Liliana have a boyfriend? I never heard her speak of one, though, like I said, I’m not really in the loop with the kids. One of her friends at the restaurant would have a better idea.” Phillips chewed on his lower lip, giving the impression that he was deep in thought. “I have seen a goldish-colored car drop her off several times, now that I think about it. There was a young man driving, but I just assumed it to be her older brother.”
The detective jotted down more notes. “A gold car. What make and model was that?”
“I’m not so good with cars, I’m afraid. It was definitely a gold color though, and it had some rust around the wheels and on the hood. It could have been a Ford.” Phillips twisted his mouth for a moment. “Or maybe a Mercury.”
Phillips struggled to hold back a grin. He’d already planned all of this down to the most minute detail. He knew which facial expressions he would use for certain questions. A former employee of his, a varsity football player named Tyler, drove a Sable perfectly matching that description. The kid had been nothing short of an asshole while he worked at the restaurant.
Putting him on the pig’s radar was icing on the cake.
Another rule mandated that Andrew’s car would never show up on any reports. Over the past few years, he’d painstakingly taken note of which intersections and businesses had cameras. The back of the restaurant was on the outskirts of Baltimore, the parking lot to the rear of the building surrounded by woods.
Getting in and out without being seen could be done if you knew when the shifts change and the breaks occur.
Driving through the streets was harder, particularly now that every Dick and Jane had a camera built into their cell phones.
Just in case, Phillips put on a license plate he’d stolen from another car and switched the badges on his Mazda to a Dodge. If someone caught a picture of his vehicle, the make and model would be all wrong.
“You’re sure that you weren’t at the restaurant last night?” The detective rolled his shoulders inside his jacket and Phillips noticed for the first time just how thick the cop was. The man hit the gym with regularity, that much was for sure.
“Yes, why?” Phillips’ mind raced for a moment.
Had someone seen him in the parking lot?
Was his car caught on a brand-new surveillance camera he hadn’t documented yet?
Detective Lloyd stood up and glared down at Phillips. In a position of authority, the cop towered over him. Phillips recognized the play and had to fight off a smile.
“Time is of the essence in cases like this,” Lloyd said. “Can I look through your car?”
“I’m assuming that you’re asking because you don’t have a warrant.”
Lloyd’s ever-present frown deepened. “If you refuse, I’ll just go get one. I’m hoping to save all of us the hassle.”
Phillips held his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “Of course, Detective. I want to help in any way I can. I was merely asking.”
Of course, nothing would be found in Phillips’ car. He kept it meticulously clean year round, but paid extra care to it after enjoying a night with one of his children.
Not leaving any forensic evidence was, of course, one of his most important rules.
Liliana had been transported in the trunk, which he’d previously lined with several layers of ten-mil plastic sheeting. He spent an extensive amount of time melting, and then taping, the edges of the plastic together, forming a watertight basin in the trunk. No blood or hair could possibly be left behind.
The girl had been unconscious in the back anyway, a product of the heavy dose of chloroform he’d administered in the parking lot of his restaurant. He’d bound and gagged her, just in case, and then carefully placed her in the plastic. Her air supply had been limited in there, but they only had a ten-minute drive to their final destination.
When he’d pulled her from the trunk, he’d wrapped her fully in the sheeting first, pulling it all out at once so that everything could be disposed of simultaneously.
Phillips led the detective into his garage.
His nondescript sedan was parked in the middle, a fresh coat of wax shining under the overhead light.
“Did you recently have this detailed?” Lloyd asked as he bent forward, inspecting the rear fender.
“No, sir. I’m a bit OCD about cleanliness, as you can probably tell from the way I keep my home.” Phillips waved his arm around the garage, gesturing to his perfectly organized tools and workbench.
He didn’t use any of them, but he kept them for show.
Keeping up the illusion of normalcy was a rule of the utmost importance.
“Do I have your permission to look through the vehicle?” Lloyd asked again, his eyes cutting over to Andrew.
“Yes.”
While the detective opened the doors and the trunk, giving them quick, perfunctory glances, Phillips let his mind wander to Liliana again. He could still smell that flowery perfume she wore.
The way her hips had—
Lloyd slammed the trunk closed and moved to the side door of the garage, which led to the driveway. “Thank you for your time.” His voice had taken a curt tone that confused Phillips.
Why was the detective acting annoyed that everything appeared to be in order? Had he expected Andrew to be the perpetrator? These were the questions that Phillips would ponder for several days after their encounter.
“I’ll be praying that you find her, sir.” Phillips followed him to the door and opened it for him. “She is such a sweet girl. I hope she just wanted a little time to herself.”
“I do too,” Lloyd said as he settled his hard gaze on Phillips again. “But no one seems to believe that she left willingly.”
“If that’s the case, then please feel free to contact me anytime. If there is anything I can do to help you find her, then I’ll be at your disposal.”
Phillips, of course, knew that Liliana would never be found.
There wasn’t enough of her left.
Never leave a body.
That rule was so important that it had become a mantra to Andrew.
If there wasn’t a body, then a case would rarely ever have charges filed. District attorneys were loath to charge someone for murder if there wasn’t definitive proof that a murder had actually taken place.
After months of extensive reading, Phillips had decided that the cremation process would make for the most complete method of disposal. He practiced on deer and stray dogs for several weeks. Getting the exact materials needed to get the fire to the required fourteen-hundred degrees took a bit of trial and error, but he managed.
Using a steel barrel he’d placed in a spot of woods west of the city, he burned all of his children to ashes. Bits of bone and teeth remained, which would have been problematic if not for his animal trials.
He bought a press.
Pulverized the bones.
Mixed them with the ashes.
Spread the lot of them in a nearby lake.
Hand delivered the barrel and press to a recycling plant.
And that was that. No body, no forensics, no evidence with which to implicate him.
Taking Liliana had been incredibly risky, and stupid, due to her proximity to Phillips, but the rules had kept him safe as they always had.
The detective had left, dejected and curiously terse.
Andrew had wondered about the man’s attitude after inspecting his car, but it had begun to slip from his mind as the weeks passed by.
Until now.
With his hunger needing to be sated again, there couldn’t have been a worse time to have the spotlight swing back his way.
Why now?
What had happened to make the now-famous detective return?
Three jamb-rattling knocks hammered on the door.
Phillips counted to five before taking a deep breath and heading back into the living room. He answered the door with mild interest, not wanting to seem too anxious. “Yes?” He let his eyes widen a bit when he took in the cop. “Detective Lloyd, right?”
Neither of the men at his door answered him.
The battered man behind Lloyd fixed his gaze on Phillips.
Yellowed bruises covered his cheeks and surrounded one eye. Healing cuts split his lips. He stood a bit taller than Lloyd, his neck a touch thicker.
When Phillips had first met the detective, he’d understood that the cop had led a hard life.
This man had a look in his eyes that went ten steps further. There was an intense, concentrated sorrow there. He looked at Phillips as if he were little more than a glob of used gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
And he reeked of beer.
The kids hadn’t even left for school yet, and this yahoo had already been hitting the sauce.
The smell and appearance of this new player both disgusted and mesmerized Phillips. Why he was there and what role he would play perked his interest more than a mere second-round questioning ever could. What help could he possibly offer a seasoned detective like Lloyd?
All three of them stood in silence for several seconds before Andrew shook his head slightly. “Can I help you gentlemen? Do you have more questions for me?”
Lloyd didn’t answer him. He turned to the other man, asked, “Was it him?”
The bruised, beaten drunk kept staring at Phillips.
No, not at, through.
He had the pinched expression of a man concentrating on a complex problem, but his eyes had grown vacant, as if he were daydreaming about something else.
“Was what me?” Phillips asked. Unease wormed its way into his stomach. Something that he couldn’t comprehend was happening right before him. “I don’t understand what’s—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Detective Lloyd sneered.
The man’s eyes fluttered for a split-second, then cleared. “No.”
Lloyd’s face fell. “You’re sure?”
“It’s not him.”
“What’s not me?”
Neither answered. They turned and stormed down the sidewalk. The unnamed man had a pronounced limp, one of his knees threatening to buckle with each step. They climbed into the unmarked car and sped away just as the school bus appeared at the end of the street.
Phillips stood in his door, watching the cruiser turn out of view two blocks down.
He couldn’t even bring himself to watch the lovely April as she ascended the stairs of the bus, her glorious behind disappearing inside.
Troubled thoughts raced through his mind.
Neither the detective nor his friend had said a word. They hadn’t explained their presence or the odd occurrence that happened on his doorstep. Lloyd’s words had implied that suspicion had descended upon Phillips.
The thought troubled him greatly.
As the last rays of daylight evaporated from the sky, Phillips stared at his television.
It wasn’t on.
He’d spent the entire day pondering the man who had stood at his door, his eyes fluttering as he stared through Andrew.
An idea had formed around dinnertime—the drunkard might have been one of those psychics who interjected themselves into police cases. They were all fakes, of course, con artists preying upon the weak minded and desperate.
If Detective Lloyd had fallen on such hard times in the case that he’d resorted to using shysters to help him find evidence, then Phillips assumed that he was in the clear. Even if the bruised man had said Yes, it’s him, it wouldn’t have made any difference.
No body, no evidence, no problem.
The living room had plunged into darkness by the time he finally stirred from his place on the couch. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten while he’d been contemplating his situation. Phillips occasionally fell into a fugue-like state while pondering an upcoming adoption.
After hours of deep thought, he would come to realize that he’d walked several miles into the city or had cleaned his entire house without realizing it. That total, uncompromising concentration allowed him to foresee all the twists and turns one of his adoptions could take.
It helped him apply his rules to any given situation.
And now it had guided him to the conclusion that the drunk would pose no threat.
Andrew stood and headed for the kitchen, noticing the deep rumbling in his stomach for the first time. Had he really not eaten since breakfast?
That was when he noticed the man sitting at his kitchen table.
Shadow concealed his face and upper body. He sat in the darkness, facing the doorway that Phillips stopped in.
Andrew sucked in a hissing breath, his heart leaping into his throat. “Wh-wh-who are you? What do you want?”
Before the intruder could answer, Phillips noticed that one of his arms was in a sling. A hand, visible from a faint light spilling through the window, rested on the table. The knuckles were lacerated and bruised, stitches sealing some of the longer cuts.
This was the same drunk who had stood at his doorstep just that morning.
“What are you doing in my house?” Phillips asked. He winced at the shaky quality of his voice. Weakness was a trait he despised, particularly when it came from him.
The man didn’t answer.
Andrew’s eyes cut to a cabinet drawer beside his oven.
A Taser waited inside it.
The brutishness of guns repulsed Phillips. He preferred the intimacy of a blade or a garrote, anything that kept him close enough to see the life fade from his children’s eyes. Sliding a knife into their neck gave them time to realize, to fully understand, what was happening to them.
A gun was for amateurs.
For Neanderthals.
The Taser was as close to a firearm as he would get. It turned its victims into a quivering pile on the floor, but left them alive and unscathed for the night’s festivities.
He tensed his legs, ready to lunge for the drawer.
“Don’t bother.” The man’s voice was deep and angry. “The Taser won’t help you.”
Phillips’ shoulders tensed at the mention of his toy. How long had the man been in his house? Had he rifled through the kitchen as Andrew sat in the living room, completely oblivious to the marauder in his home?
A block full of knives sat atop the counter. A hefty butcher’s knife rested inside. Andrew could have it in two steps.
“If you go for the knife, I’ll take it away from you and jam it so far up your ass that you’ll feel it tickling the back of your throat.” The man didn’t move from his seat, his face still hidden. “In fact, if you do anything but confess to me, it’s going to be an extremely long night for you.”
“Who are you?” Phillips asked again. He focused on keeping the tremor of fear out of his voice.
“Who I am doesn’t matter. What I can do is of the utmost importance.”
The stranger moved his good arm and reached for something sitting on the floor. Light glinted off a can held in his meaty hand as he raised it to his mouth. He took a long pull from the beverage before placing the can on the table.
He belched.
Phillips caught the rank scent of beer for the second time that day.
The man was still drunk and had now broken into his home. Detective Lloyd had led a common thief to Andrew’s door.
They would exchange words over this the next time Phillips saw him.
“I’m no thief, you murdering sack of shit.”
Andrew’s head rocked back as if he’d been slapped. Panic nibbled away at his racing mind. “How—?”
“I know everything about you, Andrew. I know what you did to Liliana and to all the others. I know what you want to do to April.”
Phillips’ knees threatened to buckle. A light-headed sensation washed over him.
“Don’t pass out,” the man said. “If you do, I’ll draw dicks all over your face before you wake up. That will just be embarrassing for you at the jail. It might give a couple of particularly randy cellmates some ideas.”
Andrew leaned against the doorjamb and focused on regulating his breathing. He had to keep it together. The stranger knew everything. How he’d come upon this knowledge was a problem he would solve later.
For now, he had to fall back on his rules.
The perfect crime necessitated that there be no witnesses.
Cops only catch the stupid criminals, the fools who told their friends about their deeds. Phillips had no need for bravado or acknowledgement of his accomplishments. His children gave him all the satisfaction he required.
He looked at the block of knives again.
“I warned you,” the man said.
Phillips lunged forward, his hand grasping the knife and yanking it free in an instant. He spun on the intruder, the blade glinting in the low light. “I don’t know who you are, or how you know what you know, but I’m going to put a stop to this right now.”
Incredibly, the man laughed. He grabbed the can from the table again and slurped a large gulp from it.
The sound disgusted Phillips. It was a low-class, pathetic show of manners.
“As a friend of mine once said, Fuck your mother.” The man stayed in his chair, showing unbelievable indifference toward the knife and Phillips. “I warned you about going for that pig sticker. You’re going to regret it.”
Andrew had never killed anyone over the age of fifteen before. Adults were aware of their mortality. They understood that bad things happened, that death reared its ugly head when you least expected it.
His children were virginal in both body and mind. They believed in their own immortality, unable to comprehend that tomorrow might never come. His adoption introduced them to their humanity in both a physical and an emotional sense.
It was his gift to them before he snuffed them out.
Their deaths were a means to an end for both himself and his children.
Never again would they have to be let down by those they loved. They wouldn’t have to suffer through the never-ending drudgery of adulthood. They wouldn’t file taxes or wait in line at the grocery store. They would die young and innocent, their only flirtation with the horrors of the world coming just before their release.
And Andrew, well, he got off on it.
It was a win-win for all parties.
But he’d never had the desire to adopt an adult. They were already broken, beyond redemption.
For the man who’d defiled his home with his mere presence, however, Andrew would make an exception.
He crept forward, holding the blade out in front of him. When he was less than five feet away, he hesitated. The man hadn’t even bothered to get out of his chair. What was he waiting for? Was he going to let Andrew kill him without even putting up a fight?
“I don’t need to get up to take out a pussy like you.” The man yawned. “I’ve tangled with monsters that make a little pervert such as yourself seem like a kitten. I’ll break a bigger sweat opening my next can of beer than I will beating the shit out of you.”
Andrew was fed up of the drunk’s vulgarities and insults. He lunged forward with the knife, aiming for center mass. Even a little knick to the heart would cause someone to die rapidly.
In a blur of speed, the man kicked his right foot out, catching Phillips in the wrist. The hand holding the knife went numb instantly, Phillips’ grip falling slack.
Andrew cried out as he dropped the weapon.
He swung his other hand around, balling the fingers into a fist.
The man lashed out with his good arm, chopping Andrew in the throat.
Phillips fell to his knees, his mouth working soundless as he fought to breathe. Agony swelled through his neck. He tasted blood on the back of his tongue.
He’d never seen someone move so quickly.
The speed had been almost preternatural, as if the stranger had known exactly what attacks were coming next.
“No wonder you have so many rules.” The man rose to his feet, towering over Phillips as he continued to struggle for a sip of air. “You aren’t so quick on the uptake. I know everything you’ve ever done, everything you’re thinking, and every move you’ll ever make. As far as you’re concerned, I’m a smart-ass, pedophile-bashing demon, and I’ve come here to tear your perverted heart out through your ass.”
Phillips finally sucked in a bit of oxygen just as he thought his lungs might explode.
“Relax, Andrew. I didn’t hit you hard enough to rupture anything. Yet.”
“Who are you?” Phillips finally squeaked out.
“I just told you—I’m a smart-ass, pedophile-bashing demon.”
“How can you possibly—?”
White-hot pain blossomed in Phillips’ side. He shrieked and fell over, his shoulder jouncing on the hard floor. His breaths hitched, face reddening.
The bastard had kicked him in the ribs.
“Here’s how this is going to work, you sick fuck. You’re going to confess to everything, or I’m going to beat you to death.” The man grabbed his beer can from the table and took another swig. “Detective Lloyd located the barrel you attempted to recycle already. The guys at the plant needed a big container for some scrap metal, so they decided to keep it for themselves.”
Even through the agony in his throat and ribs, Andrew felt unadulterated fear creep into his thoughts again. Christ, the man knew everything.
Everything.
“Yeah, yeah. I know everything. We’ve covered that already. Where was I? Oh yeah, Drew found your portable crematory. He has a team out at the lake right now, sifting through the dirt at the edges of the water, pulling up very small fragments of bone. I’m no scientist, but I’d be willing to bet that they match some DNA to a few missing girls.”
Andrew’s eyes flitted around the room as he looked for something, anything at all, that could help him. His gaze settled upon the knife on the floor a few feet in front of him. Just as he thought about scrambling for the blade, he felt fingers twist into his hair.
His head was pulled back, neck straining, hair roots threatening to rip out.
The man slammed his face off the floor.
Blood exploded across the linoleum.
Phillips’ nose canted sideways.
Rivulets of crimson-tinged snot poured from his nostrils.
His teeth lacerated the insides of his lips and dug into his tongue.
“Sumbith! Yu sumbith! Mah faith!”
The man released him and continued talking as Andrew writhed on the floor, cupping his face. “As I was saying, the cops will have enough on you in a few days. I’ve already told them where you purchased the barrel from, so they’ll trace that back to the hardware store and confirm that it was yours. So, you child-murdering sack of shit, you’re about to go to a concrete hell where the other inmates aren’t too fond of pedophiles.”
Tears stung Phillips’ eyes. His face was a mask of pain and blood. Slowly, painfully, he turned around and sat on his ass, angling his mangled mug toward his attacker. He opened his mouth to speak, but coughed up blood instead.
Dark red smears covered the floor.
“The gist of what I’m saying is that you’re good and fucked. Not the fun kind, either. The bad kind. The big-dick-in-the-butt-without-lube fucked.” The man glared down at him. “When we came by earlier, I told him that it wasn’t you so that you wouldn’t skip town if you thought we had your scent.”
Phillips spit out a glob of blood. “If the police are closing in on me, why are you here? Why tell me all of this?”
The stranger took a knee in front of him, resting his damaged arm on his leg. “Because I’m considering killing you.”
A knot formed in Andrew’s throat. He tried to swallow it back down, but the damn thing lodged itself just under his Adam’s apple.
The man continued. “I’ve seen everything that you’ve done. I’ve tasted the disgusting exultation that washes over you as you slice up a poor little girl. There are some things that even I can’t bear knowing. One of my greatest character flaws, and I have a shitload of those, let me tell you, is that I can’t just let things go. I have to interject myself when I see an atrocity being done to someone.”
Phillips’ thoughts shifted to the knife again.
He received a hard slap to his right cheek.
“If you think about that knife one more time, I’m going to bury it in your skull.” The man sighed. “I knew you were a perv, but I didn’t realize how big of a moron you are. How have you not figured out that I can read your mind yet?”
“Bullshit.” Phillips shook his head, then winced and regretted it.
It felt like the man had done a tap dance on his face.
“Have you ever told anyone about your rules? What about your method of murder?”
Andrew stared up at him, thought, If you can read my thoughts, then what am I thinking about right now?
The image of a tiny birthmark on Liliana’s inner thigh filled his mind.
“You son of a bitch.” The man exploded back to his feet and kicked Andrew in the chest, sending him skidding back to the wall behind him.
Andrew clutched at his chest as he leaned back against the wall. Breathing became impossible. Tears blurred his vision. The beating of his heart against his aching ribs was a pain that he couldn’t have articulated, even if he had been able to speak.
He shuddered as he thought about the implications of a man being able to read another’s mind. For the past several years, he’d developed a system that allowed him to adopt his children.
To commit the perfect crime.
If someone truly had the capability this stranger suggested, then it had all been for naught. All of his careful preparation had merely bought him time, not invisibility.
“That’s right, moron. You weren’t invisible—I just hadn’t walked by yet. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Someone like me always comes along. You and your fellow dirt bags can get by for a while, years even, but there is always someone who figures it out. Usually it’s a dogged detective or a miniscule piece of DNA left behind. You were lucky enough to have a handsome, rugged hero find you.” The man puffed his chest out. “Do you feel lucky, Phillips?”
Phillips didn’t like the murderous glean in the stranger’s eyes. He recognized the intent. He’d seen it staring back at him in the mirror. “Don’t kill me.”
“Do you deserve any less than a horrible, prolonged death?”
Phillips hesitated, picking his words carefully. “No, but you aren’t like me. I’m sick. You aren’t a killer.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve killed many men. One of them was a deranged, mass murderer far beyond you. His ambitions were bigger than a handful of schoolgirls.”
Finally, the identity of the man clicked in Phillips’ mind. He had worked with Detective Lloyd to halt the terrorist attack in D.C. Phillips hadn’t recognized him with all the bruises and swelling on his face.
The news had always shown a picture of the man in a military uniform. That clean-cut image stood in stark contrast to the abused drunk before him.
His name was… Adam? Aaron? Asher?
He couldn’t remember.
“My name is Shut the Fuck Up.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Phillips cried. He held his hands up, his shoulders tensing for another blow. “Please don’t hurt me anymore. If you kill me, the cops will lock you away.”
“No one knows I’m here. Besides, I doubt the investigation into the death of a child killer will be all that in-depth.” The man grunted. “I figure they’ll come to arrest you in the morning, which gives me all night to work you over.”
“But why? Why do you have to kill me?”
“Because you don’t deserve to live.”
Phillips considered getting up, but stopped himself when he saw the man’s body stiffen, as if he were preparing to land another kick. His mind raced as he thought of ways out of this predicament.
Prison had always been his greatest fear.
But now, he realized that being beaten to death over the next few hours was a lot worse than getting three meals a day and cable television in a cell.
“I’ll confess!” he blurted. “I’ll confess everything!”
The man stood over him, fist balled, jaw set. “I don’t believe you.”
He stomped on Phillips’ ankle.
The nauseating agony shooting up his leg nearly made him vomit. Andrew flopped on his side, screaming, and clutched at the joint.
The man whose name started with an A finished off his beer.
“Anything,” Andrew whispered. Tears coursed from his eyes, pattering on the floor. His torso hitched with sobs. “I’ll do anything you want. Please don’t hurt me anymore.”
Without another word, the man stepped forward.
Phillips flinched away, squeezing his eyes shut. “No.”
“Shut up.” The man grabbed Phillips by the hair and dragged him from the kitchen.
Congealing blood streaked under him as Andrew fought against the grasp, squealing from the pain in his scalp. It felt as if the entire top of his head might tear away.
The man dragged him into the office Andrew kept at the end of the hall. “Log into YouTube.”
“What?”
“I won’t ask again.”
Phillips grabbed the edge of his mahogany desk and pulled himself into the chair. He let out a whining screech when his ankle tapped the edge of the desk. The joint had already begun to swell, stretching the fabric of his sock.
“I don’t have an account there,” Phillips lied.
The man kicked him in the same ankle. “Lie to me again. I double-dog dare you.”
Andrew’s vision went black as he screamed again.
His head swam.
“Log in and start recording.”
Andrew complied, though he had to retype his password multiple times as he fumbled with the keys. His fingers shook, their dexterity lost in his agony and nausea. He clicked through a series of links, struggling to figure out how to start a video.
His face appeared on the screen. Blood poured from his nose and the corners of his mouth. Tears cut through the red muck on his cheeks.
He barely recognized himself.
The man stood outside of the frame. “Give every detail about Liliana first.”
“What do you—?”
“Start with your plan to abduct her and go from there.”
“But—”
A punch to the ear cut Andrew off in midsentence.
After a series of sniffles, Andrew recounted his adoption of Liliana. He began to weep halfway through, as he described lining his trunk with plastic. The stranger prodded him on when he fell into a lull in the story.
It took nearly thirty minutes for him to explain how he applied his rules and the process required to commit the perfect crime. When he finished, the man stopped the video and loomed over Andrew.
“Obviously, this video wouldn’t be admissible in court,” he said. “Beating a confession out of someone isn’t American. I don’t give a shit. Now, no matter what happens, everyone will know that you’re a rapist and a murderer. You’ll go blind from the spotlight they’re about to shine on you.”
Andrew’s brow furrowed. He couldn’t wrap his head around the reasoning for the video. If the police really had all of that evidence on him already, then why did he need to make the confession?
“Because I lied,” the stranger said. “I did tell my partner where to start looking, but he hasn’t found anything yet. There was a possibility that he wouldn’t find anything. Now everyone will know, regardless of what they discover.” He gave Phillips a sadistic, venomous grin. “That and I really wanted to beat the shit out of you.”
“So… you aren’t going to kill me?”
The man didn’t answer.
At least, not with words.
He reared back and punched Phillips in the mouth.
His jaw broke.
Three teeth shattered.
Blood poured down his throat.
Andrew tumbled backward in the chair, tipping over. He landed on the floor with a thud. His blood stained the carpet.
The stranger straddled his chest and rained down blows to Andrew’s face.
The pain faded after the second one.
Everything else faded after that.
Shouts roused him.
Opening his eyes took a herculean effort. Bright light blinded him as he pried his eyelids apart. Dried tears and blood held them together before they finally sprang open.
He was face down in the middle of his living room. The morning sun shined through the picture window in the front of the room.
Grit laced the inside of his mouth. He ran his tongue along the inside of cheeks, dislodging the rough specks that stuck there. He spit a red glob on the carpet.
A despairing groan escaped his lips as he stared at fragments of his teeth floating in the crimson phlegm.
Men shouted from somewhere nearby.
Andrew tried to get to his knees, found he couldn’t move.
He struggled to get his legs under him, but they were unresponsive. Numbness ran through his hands and feet, the feeling so complete that a momentary panic overtook him as he thought the stranger had amputated them.
His neck cracked as he looked over his shoulder.
Rope bound his ankles and wrists, cinching them close together. The man had hogtied him.
But he was alive.
And help was just outside.
The front door exploded inward, the frame splintering.
Men poured into the living room, guns drawn, shouting profanities. They wore SWAT-style uniforms.
The men paused when they saw Andrew on the floor.
“The fuck?” one of them said. He aimed a shotgun at Andrew’s head.
More officers swept past him, searching the rest of the house for threats.
Detective Lloyd stepped through the front door. He wore a perfectly pressed suit. The sunlight gleamed off his shaved head as it had during his previous visits. Shock flashed in his eyes when he saw Phillips on the floor, before churning to open contempt.
He strode over to Phillips and knelt beside him. He whispered, “Who did this to you? Was it the man I brought by yesterday?”
Phillips didn’t answer. Fresh tears stung his eyes as he thought about the stranger beating him unconscious.
“Fucking Ash.” The detective nodded and stood up. “Andrew Phillips, you’re under arrest.”
He spewed out the rest of the Miranda Rights, the words seeming to make him ill as he rapped them off to Phillips. “Get this piece garbage out of here.” He gestured to an officer by the door. “You saw the video this morning, right?”
The officer nodded and glowered down at Phillips. “Yes, sir.”
“Then you should know that I won’t be too upset if he bumps his head a few times on the way to your cruiser.” Lloyd looked back to Phillips one last time. He lowered his voice to a tiny whisper. “I’m going to make sure you fry.”
They didn’t bother to untie Phillips before throwing him in the back of a police cruiser. They carried him, still hogtied, through his front yard and tossed him in the backseat. His head slammed off the door, sending a fresh wave of misery through him.
Reporters swarmed the outside of the car, pointing cameras and microphones at the windows. They shouted questions and condemnations about the video he’d posted the night before.
Apparently, it had gone viral that morning.
Andrew Phillips was now famous for his adoptions. His deeds were well known.
And that broke all of his rules.