Chapter Twenty-Two

I froze, listening intently for the familiar sound that managed to grab my attention. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled, and my heart pounded. I inhaled gently, noting the scent that was so out of place. It didn’t belong to anything I owned. It was a man's body spray, perhaps, or maybe an aftershave. It definitely wasn't Jack's. I noticed it in my bedroom but whoever wore it must have been in my living room too.

I wanted to turn and run, hurtling down the stairs and flying out the door onto Main Street, but that required crossing the living room, and passing the door to the bedroom before turning down the stairs. My unwelcome visitor could be waiting to surprise me and now I was completely alone. Jack's goodbye must have been audible throughout the apartment.

Jack. Jack would return soon. Hopefully, in less than ten minutes with coffees and muffins in his hands to sustain us, but I wasn't sure if I had that long to live.

I took a deep breath and straightened my back, turning to face the empty landing. "I know you're in here," I said loudly, my loud voice barely masking the fear I felt. "Come out!"

Another creak.

I saw the foot first, then a body stepping from my bedroom. Finally, I lifted my eyes to his face. Sandy brown hair and blue eyes that I'd seen and known for months, clashed with the hard expression I saw now. He dropped a backpack in the doorway and stepped towards me.

"What are you doing here, Bryan?" I asked.

Bryan gave me a cold glare. "You know," he said.

"No, I don't."

"You came to my college. You must know."

I hesitated, wondering if Bryan really knew what I guessed, and assumed my visit to the college was because I'd realized the truth. Yet, he didn't know that for certain and I wondered if I could use that to my advantage. "I came to offer you a small promotion," I told him, leading with the original reason. "Bethany quit and I thought you'd like to take over her position. Mr. Henson said he could find me a new busboy if you agreed. I know it's not the most exciting promotion but it's yours if you want it."

Bryan blinked. "That's not true! You know. You found out," he said, rushing his words together.

"The only reason I came to Hallowell Community College was to offer you a better job. Seriously. You can call Mr. Henson and ask him if you don’t believe me."

"No! You came there because you know who I am," he said, jabbing a finger at me. "You know I'm Bryan Tate."

"I always knew your name," I said, still playing along and trying to appear naive. I wasn't sure I could keep up the pretense until Jack returned but I had to try. Perhaps I could convince Bryan I truly didn't know what he did, maybe even persuade him to leave so I could call Detective Logan.

When the phone resting on my coffee table rang, I jumped and reached to answer it, but Bryan crossed the room quickly, yanking my hand. "Don't answer that," he said, grabbing the phone and dashing it to the floor.

"What the..."

"You might give the caller a coded message," he said. He raised his foot and brought it down on the middle of the phone, crunching it irreparably in the middle before retreating a few steps. I watched the small plastic shards spinning across the floor. "Or maybe you'll tell someone I'm here. Who else knows about me?" he demanded.

"No one knows you're here. Even I didn't until a moment ago," I said, purposefully not answering his question. "Why don't you sit down? We can talk."

"I don't want to sit with you! I don't want to talk to you! I hate you!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way," I said, holding as still as a statue. Bryan stood between me and my virtual escape. After observing his erratic behavior, however, I didn't want him to feel threatened by trying to barge past him. He was a little bigger than me, but slight in frame. Regardless of that, I wasn't convinced I could overpower him. Plus, I would still have to get downstairs. He would surely recover from any shove quickly enough and lurch after me.

"You ruined my life," he said, staring at the floor, his face reddening. A vein bulged in his temple. "You ruined my mom's life too. We used to be so happy but we had to leave our nice home and our happy life because of you. My sister had to leave her private school. My mom couldn’t afford the mortgage on our apartment because she never had to work after she and my dad got married."

"What do you think I did, Bryan?" I asked. I once read about the need to establish a connection with someone who intended to do harm. I had to personalize the situation and call him by his name, reminding him of the person I was as well as whom he was. "Let's talk about it."

His head shot up and he stared at me, his anger more than palpable. "You killed my father. Gil Tate! You remember him, don't you? Or did you forget his name the minute you left New York? Or maybe it was after you realized you got away with his murder?"

"I've never forgotten Gil Tate," I said, knowing that any subterfuge was pointless. Now, I simply had to keep Bryan talking until Jack returned. "But I didn't kill him."

"You did too! You knew he was allergic to peanuts and you put them in his food anyway. He used to love going to that restaurant. He said it served the best food in the city. We went there for his last birthday, just the four of us. He took my mom there to celebrate his promotion. Then he had his last meal there. His last meal!"

"Bryan, you must know all the final conclusions from the investigation. I was cleared of any wrongdoing very quickly."

"You were arrested!"

"By an overzealous cop who was not doing his job properly."

"No, no! He got you. He got you!"

"Bryan, listen. It was a horrible accident. No one intended for your dad to die. I know it must have been terrible... and it still is terrible for you, and your family, but it was purely an accident."

"No. No! You killed him. You knew about his allergy and you poisoned him with the food!"

"No, Bryan, that's not what..."

"Shut up! I don't want to... Stop it!" Bryan clamped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Swaying, he turned partially away from me, like if he couldn't hear me or see me, he wasn't really here. I edged forwards, sensing my opportunity, and broke into a run for the stairs. As I passed Bryan, he grabbed me and I cried out in frustration and fear. He threw his bodyweight against me, knocking us both to the floor. Pain jarred my shoulder. I kicked and punched, pushing Bryan off me, and barely scrambling away. I struggled to my feet, with my back to the desk again and Bryan stood in the doorway. So much for making a run for it! Now I was truly trapped and Bryan was angry.

"You got away with it once but you won't get away with it again," he yelled, the index finger raised high again. "You tricked the police back in the city and got away with it. You should be rotting in jail right now, not setting up a new life and restaurant like nothing happened. Everyone should know about the crime you committed."

"Everyone will," I told him. "Edwin Jones’s death was published in the local newspaper. Everyone in the county saw it. Plus, the reporter knows about what happened to your dad."

"Good. You should never be given another chance. Even jail is too good for you."

"Did you kill Edwin Jones?" I asked.

Bryan's mouth curled into a nasty smile. "It was so easy. All I had to do was replicate your own method, the way you killed my dad."

"Bryan, I didn't. You have it all wrong and what you did to Edwin was wrong."

"I saw Edwin's name in the reservations book. He was such a jerk. Always making people feel like crap. He taught a few classes at college and often mentioned his allergy. Insisted we all had a responsibility to be absolutely honest about any ingredients. When he made the reservation, I knew that was my golden opportunity. All I had to do was clear the kitchen long enough to put ground peanuts in his food. Just enough to kill him."

"You knew we didn't use any kind of nuts at Belle Rose though. It's not our policy."

Bryan shrugged. "It didn't matter. You're a lousy cook. You could claim anything you wanted to about your kitchen and your food, until someone died. Who do you think would believe you for a second time? You already got away with one murder. The police would arrest you and probably reopen my father's case too."

"The problem with that is: it wasn't me, Bryan. I didn't put nuts into Edwin's food. You did. You purposefully put them there, knowing the reaction he would have."

Bryan nodded. "And I made sure his allergy pen was empty first too. That was easy. I slipped it out of his jacket and dispensed all of it, then I put it back."

My stomach roiled at the cold manner in which Bryan described the murder. "How long did you plan this?" I asked.

"Two weeks," said Bryan. "As soon as I saw the reservation, I knew it was the chance I couldn’t miss."

"When did you know who I was?"

He nodded. "I saw you at the college one day and felt like all the air got knocked out of me. I recognized you instantly from the photo in the newspaper when you were arrested. There was another photo when you were exonerated," he said, adding air quotes. "I would have recognized you anywhere but I never expected to see you in Hallowell, at my college, of all places. What were the odds? It was like fate delivered you to me. When Mr. Henson said you were looking to hire, I made sure I got the job. I told him all about my dad dying and said I was putting myself through college and I had to support my family. My dad was supposed to be supporting our family but he'd just gotten a new job and there weren’t many death benefits for so short a service. Mom didn't need to work before, but afterwards... she had nothing. We had to leave our former apartment. She had to go back to work but didn't have enough recent experience so she couldn't even get a good job although she really tried. I needed that busboy job."

"Mr. Henson recommended you," I told him. "He said you were a good student and worked very hard."

"Yeah, I do. I worked hard at watching you, learning your routine, and how the kitchen operated. I knew I had to get you out of the kitchen to accomplish my mission."

"You used my computer to rearrange the delivery too. You had it arrive during the evening dinner hour," I said as it became crystal clear.

"That's correct! I thought you would handle it but getting Jack out of the kitchen worked just fine. I made sure the phone was redirected to your office too so you would feel compelled to leave. Melody was just a lucky accident. All I had to do was wait for the moment the kitchen was completely empty before I dumped the powdered nuts into every dish. A quick stir and no one knew. No one even noticed me. After all, I'm just the busboy."

"You did something really deplorable, Bryan," I told him.

"No, I did something that had to be done. You are a murderer and a terrible waste of space. Edwin Jones was too."

"Edwin might have been horrible to you but he didn't deserve to die, especially not because of your vendetta against me."

"He was exactly the right person to die! He happily humiliated me! He only got what he deserved."

"Why are you telling me all this?" I asked. "What do you think is going to happen now?"

"I was wondering when you would ask that question," Bryan said. He reached for the backpack he dropped by the door and opened it, uncoiling a length of rope. He tossed it onto my couch where it landed with a soft thud. Instinctively, I stepped back. "You're going to be so overcome by your guilt," he continued, "that you can't live with it anymore. You killed two men! You have to die for your sins against humanity."

"I thought you wanted me to go to jail?"

"I did, but you charmed your way out of that already once. Who's to say you wouldn't do that again? No, you have to die. Get a pen and some paper."

"What for?"

"You have to write a suicide note. All suicidal people write a note first."

"No!"

"Write a note, Ally. I'll tell you exactly what to say."

"No," I said again, only more forcibly.

Bryan reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a knife, the shaft glinting in the light. "Do it and make it quick. That's right, pick up the pen," he insisted. I grabbed one from the desk, scrabbling for the paper, and hardly daring to look away from him. "Write 'Dear loved ones'," he said, "then 'I killed Edwin Jones.' Do it."

"I am," I said, scrawling the words sloppily, "but no one will believe this."

"They will. Keep writing. I want you to say 'I'm the guilty party. Edwin was horrible and he intended to give Belle Rose a bad review, which would have ruined my business. I couldn't let him do that.' Are you still writing?" Bryan took a step forwards. "Edwin liked to do that, you know. He loved writing nasty reviews."

"Yes, yes," I said, writing faster.

"Write: ‘I also knew about Gil Tate's nut allergy but I ignored it.’ Then write: ‘I'm so sorry to all the people I hurt.’ Then sign it."

"I have already." I pushed the letter away.

"Now come over here. I need to set up this noose." He grabbed the rope from the couch and I realized he'd already tied the ends into one large noose, letting the loop hang from his hands.

"Bryan, please..."

"I'll come and get you if I have to," he said before throwing one end of the rope over the beam. I gulped, and Sophie's words popped into my head. You should hang something from those. I doubt she meant me! "It won't take long, you know. It'll just slip around your neck and be over soon. Come here, Ally. I'll make sure someone finds you but I don't think I'll attend your funeral. I doubt anyone else will either. There will be very few mourners for a cold-blooded serial murderer."

"I really hope you get the help you need, Bryan," I told him before grabbing the desk chair with both hands. I whirled it around and slammed it against him as I charged forwards. He stumbled, tipping over the armchair and landing with a loud grunt. I raced past him as he howled. He grabbed my sweater, clutching a fistful of fabric but I kept going, uncaring if it stretched or ripped. Had I stayed, Bryan made it perfectly clear I would die. If I ran, I might get as far as the street and find help. I grabbed the balustrade, my feet slipping when Bryan launched himself at me. My feet went out from under me and we tumbled down the stairs, our limbs flailing, crashing together while his hands grappled for my neck, and he began squeezing.

I flailed and fought, knocking back the hands that reached for me until I was suddenly pulled upright and pressed against a cold jacket. "You're all right, Ally," said Jack. "I've got you."

"Bryan," I gasped.

"Bryan Tate," said Detective Logan, "you're under arrest for the murder of Edwin Jones."