As the night started to creep in, the Lullaby Killer had an easier time of it. He’d claimed his victims easily from a bus stop outside of town, and all it had taken was the simple offer of a ride. They’d climbed into the back of the RV. By the time they’d realized they were in a cell, it was too late. They belonged to him now.
He had a long, metal pole at the ready, making his way to the back of the vehicle. His plan was to rip the door open quickly, pole raised and ready to strike anyone who dared attack him. If that failed, he’d just have to discharge his firearm. It wouldn’t be the first time, and if his plan with Mason Black went right, it wouldn’t be the last.
The killer steadied himself and gripped the handle. He counted to three and pulled hard on the stiff metal door. It came open with a groan. The two adults—both identical twins, which suited him just fine—cowered at the back, cradling each other like a couple of cowards.
“You’ve decided not to fight,” he said, lowering the pole. “That’s very wise. Now, I want just one of you to come out slowly. Try anything funny and you’ll have one hell of a headache.”
The women whimpered. One started to make a move, and then the other eased her back down, standing to take her place. She edged toward the back of the van nice and easy, her pink lip quivering and red, curly hair dangling over one eye.
“Easy,” he said again, like he was training an animal.
The woman stepped down with a thud. The killer grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her out of the dirt. They were going inside the abandoned building—one of his many temples of solitude. Only he was coming out alive.
“Good girl,” he said to the crying woman. “Now just—”
It caught his eye in an instant, leaving a dark, hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. Not too far up the road, the silhouettes of two large figures were running toward him. Not far behind them was a black Mustang. Mason’s Mustang.
“Get back inside,” the killer barked. “Right fucking now!”
The woman screamed and climbed back in. The killer slammed the door and ran to the cab, reaching for his gun. If the private investigator wanted to get involved so early on, that was fine. The killer was ready to play whenever, wherever.
Because he knew he couldn’t lose.