Page 108 of Whispers in the Night

She shook her head. “I’m trying to understand you. Isn’t that what you wanted?” Harper gestured around the warehouse. “You brought me here. Waited for me. Risked capture just for this conversation. Why? Not just to kill me. You could have done that from a distance, taken the shot before I even knew you were here. But you didn’t. You wanted this. Face to face. A real connection.”

Sutton was quiet for a moment, the gun wavering slightly. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand.”

“I don’t want to be understood. I want—” He stopped, seeming to struggle with the words. “I want to not be alone in this. The things I see, the patterns I recognize, the darkness I understand. It’s isolating, Harper. You know that. You feel it too.”

And Harper did know. The isolation that came with seeing humanity’s worst impulses, with understanding evil in a way most people couldn’t. The way it separated you from normal life, normal relationships. The weight of carrying that knowledge.

“I do feel it,” Harper admitted. “The isolation. The weight of seeing things others don’t. But Sutton, that feeling—that darkness—it doesn’t justify taking lives. It doesn’t make us special. It makes us responsible.”

“Responsible for what?” he asked, his expression somewhat pained.

“For using what we see to help people. To stop the violence, not perpetuate it.”

“And look where that’s gotten you.” Sutton’s voice turned bitter. “Alone in a warehouse with a killer, risking your life to catch monsters while the people you protect forget your name five minutes after reading about the arrest. They don’t appreciate you. They don’t understand you.”

“Maybe not,” she said with a shrug. “But at least I can look at myself in the mirror.”

“Can you?” Sutton moved closer, the gun rising. “Can you honestly say you’ve never thought about what it would be like? To act instead of react? To choose who lives and dies based on your own judgment instead of society’s rules?”

“No. I can’t say that.” Harper forced herself to maintain eye contact. “I’ve had dark thoughts. Moments when I’ve wanted revenge on someone who hurt innocents. Times when I’ve thought the system failed and justice required action outside the law.”

“Then you understand—”

“But I didn’t act on those thoughts. Because having dark impulses is human. Acting on them is where the line gets crossed.” Harper’s voice strengthened. “You had a choice, Sutton. Every single time. You could have gotten help. Could have walked away. But you chose to kill. That’s not about connection or understanding or being special. That’s about ego and control.”

Sutton’s expression hardened. “You’re disappointing me, Harper.”

“Good. Because I’m not here to meet your expectations. I’m here to end this.”

“End this how? You’re unarmed. Alone. At my mercy.”

“Am I?” Harper tilted her head slightly. “You were right to question if I came here alone. You were right, I am smarter than that. So you know the moment you pull that trigger, they’re coming through every entrance. You might kill me, but you won’t escape.”

“I don’t need to escape. This was always how it ended.” Sutton’s smile turned sad, that defiance and aggression fading away. “I was never planning to leave this warehouse alive.”

Harper felt her blood run cold. Suicide by cop. He’d always planned to go out in a blaze of glory, taking her with him.

“Then why bother talking? Why not just shoot me and get it over with?”

“Because I wanted to give you a chance. To really see me. To understand what I was offering.” Sutton’s eyes were intense, almost pleading. “I thought if anyone would get it, would appreciate the artistry and intelligence required for what I’ve accomplished, it would be you.”

“I see you, Sutton. I understand what you’ve done. But I don’t appreciate it. And I never will.” Harper straightened her shoulders, resigned to ending this—by whatever meansnecessary. “You’re not an artist or a genius. You’re a serial killer who murdered nineteen innocent women because you were too broken to connect with people in healthy ways. That’s not special. That’s tragic.”

For a moment, something flickered across Sutton’s face—hurt, anger, resignation. Then the mask slammed back into place, harder than before.

“I gave you every opportunity to understand,” he said coldly. “I thought you were different. Better. But you’re just like all the others. Another sheep who can’t see beyond conventional morality.”

“If conventional morality means I don’t murder people, I’m fine with being a sheep.”

“Then you’ll die like one,” he snarled, then raised the gun, pointing it directly at Harper’s chest.

Time seemed to slow. Harper saw his finger tightening on the trigger. Saw the cold determination in his eyes. Knew that in seconds, maybe less, he would fire.

Her hand moved to the panic button on her watch.

But before she could press it, Sutton’s expression changed. His eyes widened, looking past her toward the windows. “What the h—”