Logan was surprised at where they stopped but not at all confused. It made sense the killer would bring him here, if not to show off his control, then at least to brag about the power he had. It was as all crazy men were when they had guns – he became unforgivably cruel. This psycho had hurt Jenny, and now Logan feared deeply for her safety.
The killer told him to get out slowly. Logan did as he was told, stepping out into the downpour. He was soaked through by the time the killer was even out of the car, his hands held above his shoulders as was expected of him.
“Walk,” the killer said.
Logan turned and walked. He knew where he was going. He had passed through these gates before. He had traipsed up this long, stone path many times over the years, but not so much recently. Why he was brought here now was anyone’s guess, but he thought he knew.
They reached a divide in the path, the dirt turning to mud and causing them both to slip. Logan wondered if he might have a chance at overthrowing him in these conditions, but he’d have to wait for the right moment. For now, he simply had to obey.
“Go that way,” the killer said. “Onto the grass. Where that patch is.”
The truth slowly revealed itself. Logan remembered now. It wasn’t as he had thought at all. The empty patch of grass was where they had spread the ashes of the nameless woman. The woman who had died at his own hand.
“Stop,” the killer said. “You remember this place?”
Logan nodded. It was he who had spread them, after all.
“She was my girlfriend,” the killer told him, rain rolling off his bald head. “She was my only love, and you took her from me. But you think I’m the bad guy – that I started this whole thing because I got my revenge on you and your family.”
“She shot at me,” Logan explained, not without a bout of guilt. “If she hadn’t done that, she might still be alive. I was just doing my job and defending myself. You were both breaking the law, killing people for sport.”
“Worthless people,” the killer shouted over the rain. “They deserved to die.”
“That’s not your call to make.”
“Of course it is. Whoever has the gun has the power, right?”
Logan stared into his eyes, seeing nothing but insanity. He was going to die here tonight, not just for getting in the way of his project, but for what he had done all those years ago. For killing, cremating, and releasing his girlfriend into this small patch of grass. Perhaps it was justified – he didn’t know. All he knew for certain was that he thought about it every day.
“I was halfway to remaking her,” the killer said, setting his jaw. “My little art piece you saw back at the storage unit? That was all I had left of her. There are no photos except in the newspapers. I was building it off my memory.”
“You don’t need real body parts to honor the dead.”
“It had to look real.”
“It’s wrong. It’s sick.”
The killer gawked at him with wide eyes. His lip trembled, not with sadness but with anger. The gun inched forward but not close enough for Logan to take a chance. “You want something sick? I’ll show you something sick. Keep walking.”
Hesitating only briefly, Logan turned and began to walk.
He knew where to go.