Mason badly needed some air. None of it felt enough—those long, soothing breaths of cool, outside oxygen did nothing for him. He tried closing his eyes, curling his toes to ground himself. He counted to ten slowly, inhaling on the even numbers and exhaling on the odds. By the time he opened his eyes again, he found himself in exactly the same condition: exhausted, nervous, desperate to be done with this whole damn case.
“You okay, buddy?”
The voice startled him. Mason craned his neck to see Bill standing nearby, his hands stuffed into his pockets and a sympathetic frown manipulating his eyebrows. It was a relief to see that he cared so much for his wellbeing, but if he were being completely truthful with himself, he was still angry that he had kept the secret of Wendell’s supposed death from him.
It made him want to question their friendship, but there was no time for that.
“I’ll live,” Mason told him. “How’s the investigation on the twins?”
“Hard to say at this point. They’ve both been identified, but it’s too late for them.”
“No shit.”
“I’ll do some digging into their backgrounds, but I doubt there’s anything to find.”
“You think they were chosen at random?”
“You don’t?”
Mason shrugged. He wasn’t sure what to think. The more he learned about this new spree of murders, the more he felt like all of this was for him. The more innocent people who were killed just like in the past, the more he believed this truly was Marvin Wendell. It just kept bugging him that he couldn’t see the man’s face. It was always inconveniently shadowed.
“All right, I’ll be inside if you need me.”
Bill left abruptly and turned back toward the motel, drawing the attention of some officers on the scene. Mason watched him leave, doing all he could to steady his breathing. It was tough not to dwell on the current situation they were in—which was to say that they were up shit creek—but they had to start thinking ahead. Not like last time, but actually thinking ahead.
It took a few minutes, but Mason finally felt able to pick his concerns back up. He found Bill inside, asked for a moment alone with him, and was then taken back outside the motel. They found a quiet spot away from the noise.
“How well do you remember the past?” he asked.
“Not as much as you,” Bill said.
“This was a pattern. It’s slightly different to what happened back then, but I’m trying to think of the differences. Does anything stand out? Does anything seem too similar or even too different? Think, and think hard.”
Bill touched his chin as if to emphasize his concentration. It took a few long, miserable seconds, but then he finally gave a surrendering motion with his hand. “All I’ve got is that the previous victim was shot. This lady was just hanged.”
“So what does that tell us?”
“That he doesn’t care much for the presentation?”
“Nah.”
“Then we should think about what happens next.”
Mason nodded. His friend was right. The Lullaby Killer was moving way too fast. If they started focusing too much on this particular murder, he would surely miss whatever was bound to happen next. Mason tried his best to remember what that was. When it dawned on him, icy fear seized his every muscle.
“You okay?” Bill asked.
“Not really.”
“What is it? You’ve gone sheet white.”
“It was Amy,” Mason said as sheer terror made him feel weightless. It took real effort to talk between his shallow, panicky breaths. “Next, he took Amy.”