Mason spun around to look at the police. They were still sitting in their car, warm and secure, oblivious to the life-changing call he had just received. Mason walked away from the wind, switching ears so the speaker wouldn’t crackle under the breeze. His legs couldn’t move fast enough, their loss of strength making him feel weightless.
“Where is she?” he asked, fighting back the urge to call him every name under the sun.
“Tsk. You’re just going to need a little patience.”
“If you hurt her, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” the killer said, his raspy voice full of spite. “Kill me? It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? See, I’ve been trying to teach you that you did something really, really bad all those years ago. Every move I’ve made has been a hint in that direction, but it’s just not sinking in, is it? You’re just not getting it.”
Mason’s shoulders heaved up and down as he seethed with anger. He already knew he’d done wrong. Every move he’d made ever since had been a solid effort at changing his ways and becoming a better man. How was he to know it would all amount to nothing?
He walked into a secluded area where the trees started. It took him a while to notice this was where he had last been seen pursuing Marvin Wendell, but he tried to put it past him and focus on remaining calm. This was no time for rage.
“Give me my wife back,” he said as gently as he was able.
“Ha!” The killer laughed sarcastically. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“What do you want?”
“I want to make my point.”
“You’ve made it already.”
“No, I haven’t, because you’re still alive.” There was a long sigh through the speaker, a rush of breath as if the killer were moving. “See, after the things you and your little cop buddy did to me, I won’t be satisfied until I see your head on a table.”
Mason hunched over, confused. “That’s what this is about? You want me dead?” He shrugged. “It’s a done deal. Let her go, then come and get me. I won’t fight you. Just keep the innocent people out of this, all right?”
The silence stretched on for an eternity. Mason wanted to encourage an answer, but he knew better than to push. People like Wendell were so unstable that the slightest interruption to their thought process could cause them to snap at any moment.
“Mason?” the killer said smoothly.
“What?”
“I’ll be in touch.”
The line went dead. Mason hurled his phone into the dirt and kicked a protruding sod of grass. “Goddamn it!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, kicking viciously over and over while the rage blasted through every cell of his body. The killer wouldn’t stop until he had things exactly the way he wanted them, and Mason had nobody to blame but himself.