Page 31 of When I Accidentally Snagged a Serial Killer

“Again?”

Hatred colors him now. “You’re fucking sick.”

“That has been suggested. But I feel healthy as a horse.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Eventually. But first…”

I walk another slow circle, not for intimidation. Movement simply helps me think. Unfortunately, thinking currently comes with floral stockings. Jubilee flashes into my head against my will, ribbons in her hair, fingers knotted in my shirt, staring me dead in the eye as she informed me, This is the part where I kiss you.

Fuck. Not now.

“I didn’t touch those kids.”

Something flexes beneath my beard. There are always phrases. They wanted attention. It wasn’t like that. I cared about them. The wording changes. The shape never does. And every bastard like him drags the same ghost into the room.

Nine years old. Bad lungs. A loud laugh on Halloween night—seventeen years ago.

One monster I haven’t found. Someday. Later. Always later.

I force the ghost back where it belongs and stare down Warren. “One more question.” His eyes narrow. “Is anyone else involved?”

“No.” Too quick.

“Anyone expecting files from you? Anyone you planned to meet? Any child waiting somewhere because you promised to show up?”

His silence answers before his mouth does.

A few more stuns later, he gives me enough names and information to make sure nobody else is waiting for him tonight. They’re cowards. They fold easily.

Warren sags when I put my phone away. “I told you what you wanted. So let me go.”

“No. I was very clear. This is your execution.”

His mouth opens. Nothing comes out. I don’t give him a speech. Men like Warren aren’t improved by hearing themselves condemned.

Mr. Slicey first. Mr. Dicey second. The stomach, then the throat, blood spilling like ribbons. They always scream, then gurgle, then…nothing.

When it’s over, I wait for the feeling that never comes. No rush. No release. I don’t kill because it feels good. Warren was a problem. Now he isn’t. I cut out the rot. Now, more plants can grow. Very Capricorn of me.

I stand beneath the work light, staring at the empty chair and listening to blood and water hit the drain. Then I hear Jubilee laughing over haunted porcelain dolls.

My compartments have never leaked before. She’s already getting into rooms inside my head I built specifically to stay locked.

Christ, Gage. What the fuck are you doing?

By the time I get home, Chicago is a distant glow behind the trees. The gates slide shut, the house is quiet, and the cats are already waiting for me.

They know. They always know. Maybe I bring a darkness home the shower can’t remove. Maybe animals simply understand when humans need to be climbed like furniture.

Cannoli reaches me first. I barely sit before she plants herself on my thigh, stares into my face, and delivers one sharp meow like I’m late for a scheduled emotional debriefing.

“I handled it.”

Mrrrow.

I scratch her cheeks. “Yes, I’m aware you have notes.”