Now I hated that he was right.
“I mean, seriously, if we were gonna do this, and obviously we were, we couldn’t have picked a better guy to do it on his patch. It only got interesting when the FBI got involved.”
God, this was such a mess, this man was so unnervingly narcissistic, I didn’t know if I was trembling with fear or fury.
“So it was time to fuck with Bohannan another way. And I ask you, what’s worse? Dead bodies? Or livin’ for weeks, even months, maybe even years thinking another one is gonna show unless you figure shit out, and when it does, it’s on you?”
He asked me, but he didn’t wait for my answer.
He told me.
“Waiting. Waiting is always worse.”
I wasn’t sure he was right about that, but I didn’t contradict him.
“So, in the meantime, we dick with you, and hype him up, make him think maybe we’ll turn to his daughter, or fuck up his boys.” The next came in the tone of someone rubbing their hands together with glee. “It was gonna be good.”
He grew silent, reflective, looked off in the distance again.
“Then they saw Tony,” he whispered.
Yes.
Then they saw Tony.
He took a breath and let it out in a nonverbal Welp! Anyway! and turned back to me and gave me the final thing I didn’t know.
That being, instead of using his skills to cross the border unseen, why Tony stayed local.
“When he got seen, Tony knew they wouldn’t let up. He knew if they found him and tied him to me, his dad would know he wasn’t a ‘real man.’ So he called…we got phones no one knows about, not even Shelly…Shelly doesn’t know anything. But he called and told me all that went down. Took it on himself to end it. The ultimate sacrifice. The ultimate show of love. He gave himself so I could be free. Then you show at Joy,” meaningful pause, “and here we are.”
There we were.
And I was very, very worried.
Because I had a feeling that was the end of the story.
Fifty-Eight
The Hunt
Bohannan got two things wrong.
Foremost, there were two killers.
It was a team.
And secondary to that, but no less important, the ringleader had sexual issues, though probably not ones anyone would suspect.
Still, outside the fact Ray was totally unhinged, they were the crux of everything.
Putting a fine point on it, he thought his dick had superpowers.
And sadly, too many people along the way made him think he was right.
Bohannan got an added thing right.
When Ray thought he’d bested Bohannan, he found a new challenge.
I discovered this after it seemed story-time was over.
When this appeared to be the case, I wanted to know, I also didn’t want to know, but mostly I wanted to keep him talking, so I asked, as if to confirm, “Was it about Bohannan?”
He touched his nose and winked at me.
That meant yes.
Even if he’d answered, he answered again.
“I told him that in my letters, didn’t I? I mean, in a roundabout way. But I knew he’d figure it out. That was the most important thing. So that was the only thing meant to be easy.”
I had not read the letters.
But I’d guess he did make it easy.
“Why?”
“The best in the league doesn’t play the worst in the league in the Superbowl.”
I faked confusion. “Are you a profiler?”
He scoffed.
“We all are. You gotta be if you’re gonna get through this life,” he educated me.
I didn’t tell him clearly Shelly wasn’t.
And I had a number more examples, considering we needed profilers at all.
For instance, seeing as I was sitting there with him…me.
“See, that Al Catlin, he was one sick fuck,” he told me one thing I knew. “But he had it going on. I mean, seriously. How they found him…” A grin. “Bohannan was how they found him. Most those women didn’t even remember he called them poodle, they were too busy with other things. Preliminarily, only three, in all of them, three in thirty mentioned that. So it took fucking years for them to realize it was one guy doing all that. And then, all they had was what Bohannan said. And Catlin, he left nothing. Still, Bohannan locked him down. Locked that motherfucker down.”
I thought he was going to hoot with admiration.
He didn’t.
“I read that book about it, and I thought, this…now, this guy is the guy.”
He said nothing more.
Not finishing with, to beat.
Or, to match wits with.
Not throwing his head back and unleashing a maniacal laugh.
Not anything.
Just this guy is the guy.
That was it.
It was just a game.
It was just a senseless, foul, despicable may the best man win.
I didn’t know what to do with that.
I didn’t know what to ask next.
But even if I did, he was done with me.
I knew when he looked at his watch and murmured, “I gotta go get Shelly.”
Then he reached in his pocket and took out a penknife.
My mind raced, mostly with the sudden and gripping fight to stay present.
To stay there.
Not to retreat.
Not to check out.
Not to become invisible.
Which would only make me stop existing.
Literally.
But like I had before in times of extreme stress, I felt it happening.
So I focused.
I focused with everything that was in me.
My hands and ankles were tied.
We were in the middle of a forest with nothing around us.
The day was waning.
It was getting cold, the mist was…
The mist!
He opened his army knife and looked at me.
“So, this is the thing. I’m gonna be cool and give you two minutes. One hundred and twenty seconds. That’s what you got.”
He yanked the strap of the shotgun off his shoulder, held it by its forearm, pumped it one handed and concluded.
“Then, I come hunting.”
And with that, he cut the rope at my ankles, cut the one on my wrists, I was already poised for flight, and I flew.
I had no idea, but probably at least sixty of those seconds, I just ran as fast as I could.
But then I remembered.
There was mist.
The air was cold.
The ground was also cold, it was January.
But the lake was hot.
Wherever we were, with that mist, I knew we were close to the lake.
If I could get to the edge of the lake, I could follow it.
Follow it home.
So I ran into the mist.
And I kept running.
I wished I did not slide.
I wished I did not fall.
But I slid, repeatedly.
I also did a slipping fall down an incline, slamming into my hip and descending into the fog, falling so far, I thought I’d hit lake in the end.
I slammed into some rock, my ankles buckled, and I fell to my knees.
I felt nothing.
I just surged up and kept running.
The problem with the mist was, you couldn’t see anything. I had visibility maybe five, six feet in front of me, then it was obscured.
I didn’t know if I was running to the lake, from the lake, beside the lake, deeper into the forest.