It was just too difficult to devour. All the time this man had spent killing people to get at him—all the pain he’d put those people through—and it wasn’t even Marvin Wendell after all. This was the face of a man he had never seen before. The jaw and nose were the same, at least in profile, but everything else was a far cry from the man he’d left to die.
“Surprised?” the man said. “I thought you might be.”
“Who…” Mason struggled to breathe as anger and confusion worked together to take their toll on him. The results left him feeling weak and hopeless. “Who are you?”
“Oh, I go by two names. To my parents, I was always just Simon Griffin. Pretty decent upbringing, if you can see past the physical abuse. But that was a long time ago, before I decided to live off the grid. Since then, I’ve been roaming the West Coast without a name, simply enjoying my freedom and living off the bare minimum.”
Mason watched his face as he spoke, still too shocked to speak. He didn’t know what to say. There were endless questions buzzing around in his head, and it was too hard to just reach out and grab one. It was like he was frozen in time, staring as the killer spoke.
“You’re not saying anything,” Wendell said.
“I just… Who are you?”
“Weren’t you listening? I’m Simon.”
“But why come after me? Why do everything you’ve done?”
Simon jerked his head back, pulling the face of somebody who had been emotionally stung. “Because I took a strong interest in the Lullaby Killer. Who couldn’t? That guy was fascinating. I followed his every movement, right down to a certain shipping container. Which means I saw everything you ever did, including that thing. From then on, I guess I found my place in the world. I spent my time studying the case, following you closely as you tracked down other killers. I knew the whole time that I would have to bring you to your knees, avenging the evil genius of Mr. Wendell. Sadly for you, you fell for it all.”
Mason shook his head. “It’s not possible. We dug up the body. It wasn’t there.”
“And there’s good reason for that.”
Simon waved him on, this time leading the way as he went toward the wooden panels at the back. Mason spent this time wondering if he should try to attack, but he didn’t like his odds. Instead, he just watched as Simon opened the door, bringing them into yet another small room. It was even more disturbing than the last.
Shelves were decorated along the walls, each holding jars of pinkies floating in yellow fluid. There were battery-powered lamps glowing to show off a collection of mementoes: a wall of newspaper clippings detailing the Lullaby Killer, a whiteboard with the Wendell family history on it. There were even pictures of Luke—Alison’s son, who had survived the entire ordeal. But all of this was nothing compared to what lay in the middle of the room.
Mason approached it slowly, struggling to believe it was real. A sickening knot tied in his stomach as he got closer and closer to the table. A box of glass surrounded it, encasing it like a relic from a museum, not to be touched by human hands. Mason’s solid stare rolled up and down the skeleton, noticing immediately that the pinkie finger was missing. It wasn’t hard for him to put two and two together, even in his current shocked state.
It’s him, he thought, unable to articulate for fear of throwing up.
It’s Marvin Wendell.