Every breath Drake took singed his nostrils. Even with the directions on his phone, it had been a struggle finding the Elliot cottage.
Eventually, by traipsing through thick snow, he found a small passage through the woods that led him there.
It took several tries just to shut off his phone, with his hands frozen as they were, and he decided that trying to operate his pistol would be akin to an ant trying to wield a flamethrower, and decided against it.
Stealth was the name of the game now.
He still wasn’t sure who had brained him, aside from being a woman, but as he came around a large shrub and he spotted his Crown Vic, he knew that it was someone involved with Colin, with this case.
Which means that there are two of them, and one of me. A frozen me.
Drake hunkered low as he made his way across the snow-covered lawn.
There was a single light on inside the cottage, casting a bleary, diffuse glow over the interior.
Drake perked his ears and held his breath, trying to pick up any sound from the inside, but the wind was just too damn loud.
With frozen limbs, he managed to manipulate his way up the steps to the porch, and then he sidled up next to the door.
It was ajar, which he thought strange given the weather.
Drake darted his head into the opening for a split second before pulling back.
His breathing became more labored.
No, not two of them. Three of them, and one of me.
There were three figures inside the cottage, all of whom appeared to be either lying or sitting on the floor.
He brought his hands to his mouth and breathed on them, trying to bring life back into the digits.
Drake had no idea what they—Colin and the others—were doing on the floor, but he had to be ready to act.
Dropping to one knee, he crawled toward the door, staying low to avoid being seen through the glass pane carved out of the wood.
With his ear near the entrance, he realized that someone inside was speaking.
A male voice. He paused to listen.
“How could you, Ryanne? How could you do this?”
Drake leaned even closer, trying to block out the storm by covering the ear furthest from the opening.
“I never thought…” the man sobbed. “You’ve ruined everything. My life, your life… the kids…”
The female voice that replied was nasal, as if her nose had been recently broken.
“You’re such a fucking pussy… I had to do something, had to make money somehow. You’re just pissed that I wrote something in a few hours that sold more than you have in your entire pathetic life.”
This was followed by more sobs, and although Drake couldn’t see who was crying, he knew it had to be Colin.
But the third person… who is that? And why aren’t they speaking?
“Why, Ryanne?” Colin whined. “How could you do something like this? You’ve… you’ve… killed people. Innocent people.”
A wild cackle ensued.
“You said it yourself, ‘write what you know’. I stole your stupid notebook, and you didn’t even notice. I took notes, wrote every detail about the girls… about how they screamed when I cut them. About how at first, they all tried to be tough. But in the end, they all cried. They all whined and pleaded and begged for their lives. They were pathetic, just like you. And you know what the best part is? When the police come, they’re going to come for you. I even mailed the stories to a detective, with your fingerprints all over it. They’re going to pin this on you, Colin.” More laughter. “What do they call that? Irony, I think. Yeah, irony.”
Drake could take it no more. He rose to his feet, and then fumbled to pull the gun from the back of his jeans.
They had it wrong; Chase and Agent Stitts had it wrong.
This whole time they were looking for a man, but it was a woman who had committed the horrific murders, written the macabre tales.
The gun felt like a cinder block in his hands, but something in his gut told him that he was running out of time.
He had to act.
Drake pushed the door wide and aggressively strode into the cottage.
“NYPD!” he shouted out of habit. “Don’t move!”
He had intended to sound authoritative, but like the rest of him, his vocal chords were frozen and his words came out in a pathetic wheeze.
And yet it did the trick.
All eyes were suddenly on him and his gun.
The scene that unfolded before Drake took what little breath that remained in his frigid lungs away.
Colin was sitting on the floor, his wife’s head cradled in his lap. Blood streamed from her nose and mouth, and one eye was bruised so badly that it was completely closed.
Behind them he spotted a woman he didn’t recognize, bound and gagged.
And shivering.
Part IV, Drake couldn’t help but think. Red Smile PART IV.
Colin stared at him with wet eyes.
“I didn’t want any of this,” he whimpered. “I didn’t want—”
It was only then that Drake realized Colin was holding the sharp edge of a knife to Ryanne’s throat.
“Put the knife down!” he yelled, this time with more gusto. “Put the knife down, Colin, or I’ll shoot.”
Colin was so lost in his own head that he didn’t seem to hear him.
“All I wanted was to be happy, to write books and spend time with my family. I didn’t want any of this.”
Colin broke into full body sobs, and under normal circumstances, Drake would have seized this opportunity to lunge at him.
But he didn’t trust his fatigued and frozen limbs. Instead, he simply waved the gun.
“Colin, if you don’t put the knife down, I’ll have no choice but to shoot you. Think about what you’re doing… you have kids, and you can still spend time with them. If that’s what you really want, put the knife down.”
This time, Colin took notice.
“It’s ruined. Everything’s ruined.” A small indent appeared on Ryanne’s throat as Colin applied more pressure with the knife tip. “She ruined everything.”
Drake swallowed hard.
“Colin, please, think—”
“I know how to write a book… I do. I write good books; people like them.”
The bound and gagged woman suddenly moaned and started to squirm, drawing Drake’s attention.
She was like the others—like Tanya and Melissa and Charlotte and the other girl, the one hanging from the goalpost. She looked exhausted and terrified, her arms marked with criss-crossed scars.
If he hadn’t arrived, Drake knew that it wouldn’t have been long before her lips were also marked with blood.
“I know what people want!” Colin suddenly shouted. “A twist ending! Everyone wants a fucking twist ending!”
“Colin, no!” Drake yelled, but he was too late.
Colin ground his teeth and drove the knife into the soft skin beneath Ryanne’s chin.
This time Drake did lunge, but he was too slow. Hot blood sprayed from the wound, coating Colin’s hands and forearms.
Ryanne started to thrash and sputter as Drake approached.
He knew that he should fire, that he should take out Colin Elliot before he pulled the knife all the way across his wife’s throat, taking with it any chance of saving her life.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
As Ryanne’s eyes rolled back in her head, he found himself focusing on her face.
She was no longer a person, despite the blood that soaked the floor beneath Drake’s feet.
She was something else.
She was Dr. Mark Kruk.
She was Craig Sloan.
Ryanne Elliot was the Skeleton King.
A ruthless, heartless murderer who deserved her fate for what she had done to Clay Cuthbert, to Dr. Eddie Larringer, Dr. Tracey Moorfield, Tanya Farthing, Melissa Green.
To him.
For what the Skeleton King had done to Damien Drake.