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Announcement: Thank You and Progress Update

Hey, guys. I just wanted to take a moment today to thank you all and to give a quick update on writing and my books in general.

First and foremost, I know updates have been lacking greatly, and I thank you all for my patience. When I was posting on Wattpad, I would get messages every single day asking when the next update was. This was despite updating at least once every day. So when I say I appreciate you for your patience, I mean it. It’s about the only thing in my life right now that doesn’t stress me the hell out, and that goes a long way.

Secondly, I’ve had a strange relationship with writing for quite a while. That’s partly because of Wattpad. It’s partly because of my Letters from a Madman rewrite, which greatly changed my relationship with the crime genre. And it’s partly to do with my work being associated with my last name.

Though I can’t change my past with Wattpad, much as I wish I could, I can work on the other issues. I’ve been in the process of changing my name on my published works for about a month now? Give or take. It’s a long process, lol. And I’m currently working on trying to reignite my love of the crime genre.

I’m writing a new story called “Promise Not”, and I’m about 5,000 words into it right now. You can read a bit more about it here on my Instagram. I don’t start posting it just yeat because there’s still a chance I won’t be able to finish it.

Now, let’s talk a bit about the stories I’ve been posting on my website here.

If you read “The Happy Face Killer”, you probably saw the note about me wanting to–needing to–restart the story again. I currently have absolutely no passion for the story, and I can’t even remember the last time I worked on it. It’s a rewrite as is, and that should make it the easiest book on my list, but it’s actually the most difficult. Once I read through the Bo Austen series, I’m going to decide some things about the series. In the meantime, I’ll keep you as updated as I can on all of it.

I’m also struggling with my romances. I’m 100% stuck on “Hashtags and Homicide”, ad I have been for a very long time. I’m not sure how to fix that one right now, but I imagine it has something to do with my issues around the crime genre at the moment.

I’m also struggling with “Truths and Chains”. Though I have some days where I make good progress, most of it is being forced. The story was supposed to focus on Elias researching for his story, and that hasn’t been there. Things are moving way too fast for Vito, and that’s entirely out of character for him. Time needs to be expanded there, and that’s something I’m going to work on fixing ASAP so we can get back to the story. I know you guys love Elias and Vito, and I love the hell out of them too. I just need to do some rewriting and tweaking before I can move forward with the story.

In the meantime, I have a short story I can post for you all. I was going to wait until we hit 2K reads in a month, but until I start posting more, that’s going to be impossible. So, instead, shortly after this post goes live, the short story “Fighter 13” will be posted. This is a story about Luca from the Jamal Pitman series, and it focuses on how he joined the mob. It’s something I’m pretty proud of, despite how long it took to write, and I’m hoping you guys will enjoy getting some back story on Luca.

For now, this is about all I have for an update, but I’ll do my best to keep you guys as in the loop as possibly can. I suffer pretty heavily from brain fog and memory issues, so you might have to remind me to give you a progress update on my books every now and then. Until the next one, I hope you guys enjoy “Fighter 13”, and I’ll see you soon. Thank you for your patience and understanding. 💜

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When Toxicity and Mental Health Affect a Story

Hey, guys!

Sorry for getting this post out to you much later in the day than planned. The power company cut our power so they could cut down tree branches almost immediately after I posted today’s chapter of The Spectator, and we were without it for almost two hours, and then it was tragically time for bed. But anyway, let’s get into it, shall we?

As all of you know, I’m sure, posting on Wattpad was initially something I enjoyed. I enjoyed sharing my stories there, even when I had no readers, even when I only had one (Gabby). I’ve always loved interacting with respectful readers, and I still do enjoy that part of it. But as you know, Wattpad eventually grew to be incredibly toxic for me.

In between the constant changing environment on Wattpad (Oh, we’ll do ads to pay our writers! No, we’ll do nothing. Oh, what if we make readers pay for coins that they can use to pay for chapters and we give the writers with that feature a small cut? Yeah, most of them are in their teen years and don’t have jobs, but it’ll be great!), the toxicity of many commenters, and the sexual harassment story I don’t often talk about, it was no longer enjoyable.

For my own sake, I won’t say much more than the sexual harassment was directed at me from a man who is now an ambassador at Wattpad. Funny how that works, huh?

Anyway.

“Finally, an update!” It’s been six hours since I last updated. Finally isn’t an appropriate word, but you can bet it was always the first or second comment on most chapters I posted. When people comment things like ‘finally’, you come into the mindset that the only thing that matters is finishing a story so readers don’t have to ever wait for updates. And eventually, that’s the mindset I hit. Hitting word count milestones was worthless to me. Finishing a chapter was worthless. Finishing a book was the only real joy I ever felt in the last two or so years on Wattpad, and even that joy only lasted for the five minutes before I started the next one.

Not being able to feel any happiness from finishing a book starring a character you’ve loved sucks, and it takes its toll, both on you and on the story.

That’s where we come to today.

I’ve written ten books in the Bo Austen-Taylor series, and although I love the characters, there are many aspects of some of the books I flat-out don’t enjoy. I rushed through many of them so I could hit those five minutes of joy, and it shows. Some of the resolutions are rushed. Some of the killers have half-baked backstories that, while included in the story, make little to no sense, there are far more plot holes than usual, and far worse of a crime: I took away all of Bo’s character development from the Bo Austen series because I couldn’t write a character healing while I was worsening.

And that hurts.

Bo worked so hard to hit this place where he didn’t need to be normal all the time because Jensen wouldn’t love him if he was normal, because Jensen loved him because he was Bo, because he was Eli. And I took it away because… how the hell are you supposed to write a character on his way to better mental health when you can’t even take care of your own? When you don’t even put your own mental health at the forefront of your concerns?

For Bo, I feel that I need to rewrite the Bo Austen-Taylor series. For myself, I feel that I need to rewrite the B-A-T series. I haven’t written a single word in book 11–or a single word in book 5 of Young Bo–in almost two months. They’re both hard to look at, and they both remind me that I failed Bo every single time I open them. I need to fix it.

This is where my question to you guys comes in. I have ten books written. I can either A. continue posting the current B-A-T drafts while I rewrite the series or B. remove all of the B-A-T books and begin posting them the same way I would have on Wattpad, as they are written.

This brings me to issue two: Killer in Training.

I love Freddie, Paris, and Preston, but adhering to the backstory laid out in the B-A-T series has caused an issue in that book two of the series has no actual plot until about 5K words before the end. Even if it’s enjoyable to read, the first 25,000 words have no plot, and that’s not fair to those characters or the reader (even if you’re enjoying it, which is okay!).

If I rewrote book one, the main thing that would change is the ending. Hell, it’s probably the only part I would rewrite before diving into a new book two. I won’t spoil it here in case you haven’t read the current ending, but for those of you that have read it, I’m sure you can imagine what a change in the ending means, what a slight change in his backstory means. Hint: it involves Paris.

So this one isn’t so much a question as it is a statement. I’ll be rewriting the ending, at the very least, on Fedkenheuer, and then I’ll begin book two again, this time with a brand new premise, and I hope you guys will be excited for that.

In regards to both of these rewrites, July 1st will be day number one. Which means that if I post B-A-T as it’s written, the prologue of Happy Face will, more than likely, go up on the first or the second.

But anyway, that’s all my thoughts, and I’d love to hear yours, as well. Thanks for sticking with me, guys.

The Highway Axeman – Chapter Two

NOT EDITED

Chapter Two

8:45 AM; LOS ANGELES, THE ATLANTIS HOTEL, PARKING LOT

Bo had bought breakfast for Lyle before taking him back to his hotel. It felt a little crazy, really, to be on edge about being watched but inviting a stranger to the hotel he’d been calling home for the last month. Of course, once Lyle had excused himself to the bathroom, he had accessed the diner’s security cameras to pull a photo of Lyle’s face and run it through his phone to confirm that was at least his name. His arrest record indicated it was. Lyle Davis, twenty-two years old. He’d seemingly been on the streets since he was fourteen or fifteen, if his prostitution arrests were anything to go by.

“I’d like to ask you a question about your criminal record,” Bo said as they reached the door.

Lyle snorted, resting a hand on the grab bar as he looked down at Bo, one eyebrow raised. “Stereotypical to assume I have one, you know.”

Bo offered a nearly embarrassed smile. “I may have checked to confirm you do.”

“Ah, and to think you said you totally don’t do this anymore.”

“I just needed to make sure you were who you said you were.”

“Paranoid, are we?”

Bo tilted his head to the left, to the right, and nodded. “One could say that, yes.”

“Okay,” Lyle said after a moment. “What do you want to know?”

“Your last arrest didn’t lead to a court case, and you were only in a holding cell for a couple hours. You didn’t… make a deal with Pitman, right? Th-that’s not why you’re here? To report back to him on me?”

“Pitman like the police chief?”

“Yes.”

Lyle shook his head. “That last arrest was bullshit and they knew it. They knew that I knew it too. I’m a lot of things, but a spy isn’t one of them.” He snorted. “Especially a spy for the Five-O.”

“Thank you.”

“Mmhmm. Ready to go in?” Bo forced himself to nod. There was a little part of his brain that worried this was some elaborate sting operation, despite the fact he absolutely was not interested in sex, even less interested in paying for it. But he wouldn’t exactly put it past Jamal to arrest him as a way to get him back into the station, even if it was in a holding cell instead of his office or the basement lab.

Bo followed Lyle into the hotel. He usually took the stairs up to the second floor to guarantee he couldn’t get stuck in a metal box with his parking lot stalker, but when Lyle headed for the elevator, he simply followed. At least if his ‘friend’ was waiting for him there, Lyle would probably be enough of a buffer to keep him from following Bo to his room.

An uneventful elevator ride and a walk down a too quiet hallway later, Bo opened the door to his room and let a sex worker inside. It was… certainly a first for him.

“Nervous?” Lyle asked as Bo closed the door.

“A little, which… I know is rather silly.”

Lyle chuckled. “I don’t bite, I promise.” A pause. “Mind if I sit down?”

Bo shook his head. “Make yourself at home.”

Lyle sat down on the edge of the bed, eyes scanning the room. “Took me forever to track you down, you know. The ‘for sale’ sign at your place really threw me.”

“How… long have you been working at that?”

“After Rosa went missing. She was the second of my friends to just… vanish.”

Bo tentatively sat down beside him, setting the folder down between them, as if that somehow made the sting operation possibility quieter in his head. He folded his hands in his lap, hooking two fingers through the blue rubber band around his wrist, twisting it back and forth. “Your first friend to vanish… She’s in the folder too?”

Lyle nodded. “Yeah. I mean, just… just photos of her, some accounts from me and some of the others on when we last saw her and stuff like that.”

“That’s very helpful. You put in quite a bit of legwork there, Detective.”

He chuckled. “I wanted to be thorough. Like I said, I was worried you’d shoot me down if I didn’t have enough information.”

“You’ll recall that I did shoot you down. More than once.”

“Yeah, my old man always said I couldn’t listen for shit. Guess that’s true, huh?”

“It’s a good quality in this aspect. I still can’t promise I’ll be able to find anything. I’m not a cop, you know? Not a detective. I just… I worked in the basement, Lyle. That was my job.”

“Yeah, and you were never really any good at staying in the basement, far as I’ve read and watched. How many times have you thrown yourself into harm’s way to give a victim justice?” Lyle asked. “I’ll take a lab geek that can’t follow the rules over a detective that doesn’t give a shit about a woman going missing just because she does sex work. Out of the two options, Bo, you’re the one that’s going to give Rosa a chance at justice. You’re the one whose gonna give all the other girls a chance to not get their fucking heads cut off. And I’ll take that over any other option any day of the week.”

5:00 PM; WEST LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT, DETECTIVE DAVID QUINN’S DESK

David lifted his head as Travis tossed a thin stack of papers onto his keyboard. “So I’m guessing nothing helpful?”

“No, nothing more than what we already assumed, honestly. Marks match the incised wounds on the first victim to a T. Same kind of ax. Fingerprints didn’t pull up any matches, and neither did her blood. Blood work itself is pretty standard. No drugs, no booze. No food in the stomach or small intestine, so she likely hadn’t eaten in at least eight hours. She’d been dead about two hours when we found her. The head was removed pretty much the same way as the first victim. He just swung, hacked up several of the vertebrae until he got through one of them enough to actually detach the head. Not exactly doing anything precise or surgical with it. He’s sloppy.”

“But not sloppy enough to screw up and leave behind some tangible evidence for us,” David said.

“No, but he will eventually. They always do.”

“Almost always.”

“Semantics.”

“Right.” David cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“Mmhmm.”

David shifted his weight in his chair. Much as he didn’t want to apologize to the bastard, he did generally believe in being the bigger person when the situation allowed it. This one unfortunately did. “Hey, uh, sorry for getting on your case about Bo today. As long as you’re doing your job and doing it well, it doesn’t really matter if you like Bo or not.”

Travis shrugged. “It’s whatever, man. If you wanna suck the guy’s dick and act like he’s God’s gift to the forensic world, that’s your business. I don’t give a shit either way.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, dude. I’m trying to be civil. The absolute bare minimum for you here is to return the favor.”

“When it comes to Bo’s little fan club, this is me being civil. Couldn’t care less how you feel about the guy or how you think he’s so amazing or how you all worship the ground he walks on. Just don’t wanna hear about any of it.”

“You’re… Christ, you’re a real piece of work, Travis. I genuinely cannot believe how many years he put up with working alongside you.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy what people like Bo will put up with just so they can get told what a good little worker they are, isn’t it? It’s a lot like how the rest of you treat him, just hoping he’ll throw you one little bone, come back, and solve the big case for you.” Travis rolled his eyes. “We solved cases long before Bo moved to West. We’ve solved cases the million times he’s been gone. And when he finally drinks himself to death, we’ll keep solving cases. He’s not the genius you all make him out to be. He’s just a self-deprecating little shit with an ever-looming little pity party, and you all play into it because it makes you feel all warm and gooey inside to cheer on the underdog or what the fuck ever.

“So while the rest of us are here doing our damn jobs every day, you go on home and hold his little hand, tell him how amazing he is, tell him how L.A. just can’t survive without him, get on your hands and knees to beg him to come back. But don’t make me hear about it.”

“God, you are bitter,” David whispered. “How the hell are you surviving even being in this damn station with that big of a chip on your shoulder?”

Travis raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “The lights in my office are turned on, David. His aren’t. Doesn’t matter how many of his little achievements Jamal hangs up on the walls. I’m here, and he’s not. I walk around in this station just fine with that knowledge.”

“How did I not realize what an insufferable dick you were?”

“Because like all of his groupies, you only work cases your perfect little boy is on.”

Although Bo had definitely worked most of David’s cases with him, he sure as hell hadn’t worked every single one. So David offered a roll of his eyes and a dismissive wave of his hand. “Get the hell away from my desk, man.”

Travis chuckled. “Gladly. But, hey, pro-tip, if you want your little blonde back? Don’t tell him how great he is and how he saves the world and shit. Just tell him a dead woman needs him. Has more respect and grace for the dead than he ever has for the living.”

“Yeah, I can see why.”

Travis snorted, threw up a little wave, and headed for the door. David let his annoyance simmer for quite some time before standing and marching his ass to Jamal’s office. He opened the door, crossing his arms over his chest as Jamal lifted his head to meet his gaze.

The man stared at him for a moment, one eyebrow raised. “I’m going to have to call you back, Alessi. Excuse me.” Jamal cleared his throat as he set his phone in its cradle. “What can I do for you, David?”

“If that miserable piece of shit continues to work on this case, I cannot work it any longer. You gotta reassign me, or you gotta reassign him.”

“Miserable piece of… Travis?”

“Yes, Travis.”

“What did he do?”

“I don’t even know where to start with that, Jamal.”

“Well, unfortunately, I’m going to need something if you want me to do anything about it. There’s a reason he still works here. Bo would never give me anything to do something about it.”

“Yeah, because that’s stopped you before?”

Jamal sighed. “These… assumptions of yours bore me so incredibly quickly, Detective. I don’t illegally fire my employees because someone’s got their panties in a bunch.”

“You quite literally fired Bo for refusing to testify again Kathy and Dallas.”

“I fired Bo for repeated insubordination. Pardon my French, but I don’t fuck with the livelihood of my employees just because one of them is a little grating or a bit of an ass now and then.”

David grunted his response.

“Would you like to tell me anything, or may I get back to my phone call?” Jamal asked, gesturing to his phone with a near elegant flair of his hand.

Much as he hated the way Travis existed in that very moment, he still didn’t necessarily believe in taking a man’s job from him. Not yet, anyway. “Why the hell does he hate Bo so much? I mean, did they have some sort of life-long forensic battle before I got here?”

“The year Bo took his apprenticeship with the force is the same year Travis applied for the first time. He was also fresh out of college. Just… at a more standard age. Bo was chosen over him, and I suppose it pissed him off. Greatly. Bo had absolutely nothing to do with Travis not getting chosen other than the fact that he was a better candidate, but like most most people who grow bitter over something, the blame is inherently placed on the wrong party. That has unfortunately not changed for Travis as the years have gone by.”

“Dude, you hired the guy you passed over for a teenager and thought things would go well?”

“First, don’t… call me dude,” Jamal said, holding his hands up as he leaned back in his chair. “I get enough of that from one of my boys. Second, to be fair, I didn’t know he knew he lost to Bo. Nor did I know he’d be such a vindictive little asshole about it.”

Franklin, Jamal’s personal body guard, chuckled from his seat near the corner of Jamal’s desk.

Mid reach for the pop on his desk, Jamal glared at the ceiling. “What?”

“Nothing. Just… this is the most normal conversation I have seen you have in any recent history.” He shrugged before his gaze fell back to the book in his hand. “It’s nice, is all. Despite the topic, it’s nice.”

Jamal rolled his eyes, smacking the air in Franklin’s direction. He grabbed his pop and twisted off the cap. “What would you like me to do about it, David?”

“I… I just can’t work with him.”

“Dylan will be back in a few days. Unless another headless woman turns up dead before then, I won’t send you anywhere Travis goes, and I won’t send Travis anywhere you go. Does that sound all right?”

“Yeah. Umm… thank you.”

“Mmhmm.” Jamal took a sip of his Coke, clearing his throat as he set it back down. “I know your opinions of me are mixed, at best, and that’s my fault. But I still try to do what’s best for my employees. The way I treated Bo to try and push him away and bury my own shame and guilt and God only knows what else… It was cruel and unnecessary. I don’t expect you to ever forget that or forgive me for what I did to him, how I made him feel, but I’m still going to try to make you both know that I’m trying to undo the damage I have done. So… this thing with Travis. If it gets worse, I need you to tell me so something can be done about it. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Chief.”

Jamal nodded. “Let me know how things go with Bo.”

“I’ll do my best to keep you posted. Night, Pitman, Frank.”

“Mm. See you tomorrow, Quinn.”


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The Highway Axeman – Chapter One

NOT EDITED

Chapter One

Sunday: June 14, 2020

7:30 AM; LOS ANGELES, SLICE OF LIFE DINER

The Slice of Life Diner had always been one of the only places that felt like home to Bo Austen. His adoptive parents had taken him there many times to celebrate achievements with key lime pie and ridiculously overpriced ice cream. Over the last year or so, the diner had expanded into making those sickeningly sweet and sugary coffees that were so popular. Even Bo’s sweet tooth couldn’t quite handle the way the sugar stirred in his stomach. But the brewed coffee smelled strong and hung in the air with some of the more aromatic flavor options, and that was good enough for Bo. He didn’t really do much eating these days, so hanging out in the diner with a mostly untouched cup of coffee was usually enough to settle most of whatever appetite he had.

His laptop open on the little table in front of him, he scrolled through the houses for sale in Los Angeles. Hopping between hotels while he waited for his own home to sell was getting old. Of course, if it wasn’t for the tall, dark-haired bastard tailing him, he wouldn’t need to hop between hotels – not that it seemed to stop said bastard from finding him. He’d already seen his car in the parking lot shortly after he’d picked a table at the diner. His tail almost never stepped out of the vehicle, and Bo never saw him follow him to places, but he was always there at his destination, watching.

Bo had grown to assume he was one of Kathy Baker’s people, sent to report back to her on how miserable and depressed he was in life, likely one of her only forms of entertainment and joy in her little prison cell. The stalker hadn’t yet attacked or tried to kill him, so even if he was sent by Kathy, Bo admittedly had to chalk that up to a success, given how many times Kathy had threatened to send ‘her people’ after him to kill him for his role in locking her and Dallas Silver away.

“Bo Austen?”

Bo’s hand stilled over his laptop’s track pad as he lifted his blue-eyed gaze to the man’s face. Not his stalker. That was either very good or very bad. “Can… I ask who wants to know?”

The man, dressed in a faded t-shirt for a band Bo didn’t recognize, didn’t offer an answer. Still standing beside the table, he dropped a manila folder onto Bo’s keyboard. A piece of paper slid out from the side, fluttering to the floor. Bo glanced back up at the man to confirm he had absolutely no intention of picking it up before leaning down himself to grab it.

A headless, bloated corpse greeted him. Bo winced as he sat up straight and tucked the picture back into the folder. Admittedly, a warning would have been nice.

“Her name’s Rosa. She was my friend, and now she’s dead. She laid in a ditch on the highway for almost two weeks before they found her, another month on a cold slab before they identified her. A month in some cold, sterile morgue drawer, all by herself. Didn’t even have a name to her to give her some sort of peace in that time.”

Bo swallowed, lifting the folder from his laptop to hand it back to the man. He wouldn’t take it. “I’m sorry for your loss, I really am, but I don’t do any of… this any more.”

“But you used to, before you tucked tail and ran away. You used to identify these victims, get them back to their friends and families, and find the fuckers who cut off their heads.”

Bo’s lips parted, but he struggled to force any words out. His second attempt was only slightly more successful, “I’m not that guy any more.”

The man dropped both hands to the table and leaned down, practically nose-to-nose with Bo. “With you gone, you know who cares about dead, beheaded prostitutes? Not a single fucking person, Austen. Not the cops, not the chief, not the coroner, not even the reporters. No one.”

Bo set the folder down on the table and leaned back to distance himself from the man. “I know how you feel, and I know it’s horrible and it feels like it’s going to eat you alive and like it’s never going to stop. But I’m just not… capable any longer.”

“I’d take an incapable guy who gives a shit about these women and their justice over the most capable guy in the world who couldn’t give a fuck because she ‘sold’ her body. Because she’s a whore who got what she deserved.” His voice broke on ‘whore’, and he scrubbed an angry hand across his face to keep the tears at bay.

Bo looked back down at the closed folder. The woman hidden beneath the cover deserved someone to give a shit, even if it was just Bo. His eyes flicked back up to the man’s face. “What’s your name?”

“Lyle.”

“Lyle,” Bo repeated. He reached past his laptop for the folder and lifted the corner of the cover just enough to see the photo again. The stack of papers beneath it was thin, but he’d opened case files before that were even thinner. “Where’d you get the picture?”

“One of my Johns works at the station. Doesn’t give a shit about Rosa, but he does give a shit about sex.” Bo opened his mouth to respond, but Lyle interrupted him, “She’s not the only one. Three of my friends have gone missing in the last six months. Rosa was found and eventually identified, but the other two…” He licked his lips, finally sitting down across from Bo. “I haven’t heard from them. I haven’t seen them. They aren’t in their usual motels. They aren’t working their usual spots. No one else has heard anything about or from them. Cops won’t take a missing persons report. But I-I know they have at least one other Jane Doe at the station. I need to know if it’s one of them, and if it is, I need to know if every last one of us is in danger.”

“I know you said he doesn’t care, but… have you asked your John for photos of the other Jane Doe?”

“He said he’d get me info on one of them, and he made me choose. Rosa’s file was slightly thicker, so I… I chose hers. I thought having something to go on might entice you a bit more than, well… nothing.”

Bo couldn’t help but think how the police chief would feel about one of his cops handing out case files to sex workers. He had no intention of finding out. “I’ll take a look, see what I can see. But I-I can’t promise anything to come of this. I don’t work with the LAPD anymore. I don’t work with… anyone anymore.”

“Well, then I guess you’re working with me. Yeah?”

Bo’s brow furrowed. Working with Bo was begging for danger or a tragic outcome, and Bo getting attached to someone risked destabilizing whatever it was inside of him that kept forcing him to wake up and live each day. But if there were three women in that folder, if all three of them were dead and beheaded, then LA had a serial killer targeting sex workers. Much as he hated it, he knew Lyle was right. Most of the cops wouldn’t care. Most of the cops believed the sex workers simply had it coming. The women deserved names. They deserved care and respect.

They deserved justice, even if Bo was the one who had to give it to them.

Bo stuck out a hand, which Lyle grabbed and gave a firm shake. “Yeah. I… I guess I am.”

“Partners?”

Bo blew out a harsh breath, forcing himself to nod before he could change his mind again. “Partners.”

8:00 AM; LOS ANGELES, PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY

Detective David Quinn stared down at a young woman’s naked corpse for the second time in just as many months. Two months, two corpses hacked at with an ax, two missing heads, and zero leads.

“Do we know who she is?” David asked.

Travis snorted, tilting his camera back against his shoulder. “The hell do you think I am? Bo?”

“Not gonna lie, man, that’d be nice.”

“She doesn’t have a head, and her fingerprints aren’t gonna tell us shit, just like the last chick’s prints didn’t tell us shit. If you want something further than that, go track down your alcoholic ‘genius’ and see what he and his little inventor doodads have to say about her.”

“Watch it.”

Travis offered a shrug before going back to photographing her neck, where their killer had chopped at her flesh, muscle, and bone until he successfully removed her head. “You know, the rest of us were solving cases long before Bo came around and made his little gizmos, we solved cases after he left us for Clinstone, and we’ve solved cases since he left them for booze. Something will cave and give us a break sooner or later, and we’ll be fine. I just need more than two seconds to find it.”

David chose to do both Travis and himself a favor and ignore the booze comment. “It’s been two months since the first gal turned up dead, and we still don’t know who the hell she is. Who she is, where she came from, where the hell her head is. We don’t have anything, Travis.”

“Which I’m sure is the dude’s goal when he’s hunting down women to kill. Probably prostitutes. Not exactly an uncommon type of victim, Quinn.”

David gestured to the woman with his coffee cup. “You think he chose this ‘prostitute’ while she was working, wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a windbreaker on a warm June evening in Los Angeles?”

“I said ‘probably’. Jesus, Bo’s ‘no assumption’ thing might just be the one thing he did right. You assholes are such a pain in the fucking ass about every little goddamn thing we say.”

“His ‘no assumption’ thing is because you and Kathy harassed him for daring to think his opinion was worth anything if she was on a case. I’m not biting your head off for your assumptions. I’m simply questioning them.”

Travis smiled for a split second—annoyed or cocky, David wasn’t quite sure. “Right.”

David took a sip of his coffee, giving himself a moment to think rather than attack. As Bo had told him many times when they had worked together, not everyone liked him, and that was okay. Bo would hate knowing David had defended him to Travis for even a second. Bo had always said the defenses only made it worse. Travis’s obscene hatred of him seemed to confirm that. “What do you know? Actually, genuinely know.”

Travis snorted, shaking his head. “Well, David, I can tell you that she’d dead and her killer started chopping off her head before she was dead. That’s what I genuinely know. If you want a few assumptions that won’t offend you, the hack and slashing done here looks like it came straight from the first body. If this wasn’t done with the same weapon and by the same guy who killed the first woman, I’d be blown the fuck away.”

“And… you’re certain her head was removed while she was alive?”

“Not removed, but yeah. He started swinging his blade into her neck while she was alive. She probably bled out pretty damn fast, but her heart was still pumping blood for at least the first two or three swings.”

“Was that the case with the first victim?”

“If it was, I would’ve put it in my report, Quinn. You can read, can’t you?”

David closed his eyes, tilting his head back as he drew in a breath. When he opened his eyes again, the smug little smile on Travis’s face seemed to confirm that his only goal that morning was to piss him off. “Let me know if and when you’re able to confirm the weapon?”

“Yep.”

“Okay,” David whispered. He turned and started back toward his car, surprised to see Jamal Pitman seated in the passenger seat. The chief wasn’t exactly David’s biggest fan, a fair trade since David absolutely loathed the man. He ducked under the crime scene tape and pulled open the driver’s side door. “Morning, Chief.”

“Morning.” Jamal gestured to the driver’s seat. Clearing his throat, David slid into the car and closed the door behind him. Jamal watched him a little more intently than necessary as he fitted his coffee cup into the center cup holder. “Have you spoken to Bo lately?”

“Not since last month. He usually ignores my calls, and he’s not big on opening the door if I knock.”

“Mm.”

“Have… you?”

“I don’t try. I get the impression it would make things worse.”

David scoffed.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just… glad you finally realized that. Hell of a late realization, but we all need to get there eventually.” It felt dangerous to blatantly state it, what with Jamal’s rumored murderous extra-curricular activities and the gun holstered on the police chief’s hip, but it seemed unlikely he’d kill him right in front of a crime scene with so many witnesses scattered about, phones out and recording to see who could garner the most views and clicks online.

“Yes,” Jamal said after a long silence. “I’m aware I heavily contributed to Bo’s state of mind. I did not open the wound, but I helped it fester. I’m aware of my responsibility there, David.”

David cleared his throat. “What do you need, Chief?”

“Do you know why he’s not staying at his house any longer?”

“He’s selling it.”

“Is he leaving California?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Is he moving back with his parents?”

David shifted in his seat, eyes scanning the crime scene he so desperately wanted to see his short blonde friend at instead of Travis’s insufferable face. “No. He believes that, uh, that he’s robbing someone else of the house, someone whose more alive than he is.”

“Jesus.” Jamal rubbed a hand over his short hair. “So he’s still actively planning to end his life, yes?”

“Yes and no, I, uh, I guess. He knows he doesn’t want to be alive, but he isn’t planning out how to make it happen. He’s just passively drinking himself to death.”

Jamal nodded. “I need you to show him this case, David.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jamal.”

“Not for me. Not for you. For him. Working a case no one else has made progress on? You really don’t think that’ll help him?”

“I… I don’t know,” David admitted. “Besides, I showed him the case file when the first woman was murdered. He said he wasn’t interested.” Bo’s actual phrasing had of course been a bit more self-deprecating. ‘I can’t help you, Dave. There is no part of me that is capable of helping you solve a case anymore. That part of me is… gone. Dead.’

“There’s a second victim now. Try again.”

“If I got him to say yes, and that’s a damn big ‘if’, you know how that would go over? The shit Travis would put him through when he got back to the station?”

“Don’t worry about Travis. If you get Bo to come back, Travis will not be a problem. You have my word.”

David chuckled, shaking his head. “No offense, Chief, but your word doesn’t mean shit to me. You told Bo that no one would ever mistreat him at West Department the way he’d been mistreated before his relocation. And look what you did to him. Look what they all did to him.”

“I know,” Jamal said, his voice soft. “I did not… handle Katherine’s departure well, and I will never be able to make up for what I did to him. But giving up on trying to make it right is allowing Bo to think he doesn’t belong here. Not just L.A., but the Earth itself. I won’t allow him to think that. I will not allow him to drink himself to death while thinking there isn’t a single place on this Earth that he deserves to live happily in. I won’t allow Bo to die thinking he’s a worthless piece of shit, and I know you don’t want him to die that way either.”

David drew in a long breath, releasing it as he offered a nod. “Tonight, after I have this woman’s details added to the file, I’ll show it to him and see what I can get from him. Maybe a second unidentified woman will entice him out of the dark fucking abyss he’s sitting in. I can’t promise that it will, but I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask. Let me know how it goes.”

“Sure thing, Chief. I’ll… see what I can do.”


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Heads Will Roll – Chapter Thirty-One

A/N: I… can’t believe it, but this is the final chapter of this book. We finished a book, guys!! We wrote the final words and everything!

NOT EDITED

“Hello.”

Leaned back against Dallas’s rental car, Bo lifted his head until his eyes met Jamal’s. “Hello,” Bo echoed.

“Mind if I sit with you?” Jamal asked.

“If you don’t mind your butt getting wet.”

Jamal chuckled softly before turning to sit beside him in the light dusting of snow on the parking lot’s asphalt. “My ass has been parked in worse conditions, I assure you.”

Bo offered a nod in response, arms tightening around his knees to pull them closer to his chest, if that were even possible. “Did you call the FBI?”

“I did.”

“Did you go see it?”

“Which part?” Jamal asked.

“Inside the house. The… shrine, I suppose.”

“I did.”

“What’d… what’d you think?” Bo asked.

“That you guys were up against a bastard that was far, far more dangerous than we knew.” Gently, Jamal elbowed him in the side. “And you helped get everyone out alive.”

Bo dropped his forehead to his knees, closing his eyes. “These cops are never going to be the same. Rick and Jeff, anyone else who goes to Gerry’s house and sees Jeff’s blood down the drive or the shrine in the closet. And if photos of it ever get leaked, the people of this town—”

“What happens to the people in Ellepath isn’t something that should fall on your shoulders. It falls on Gerry’s shoulders.”

“If I hadn’t written down my suspicions in a notebook, plain as day for Baker to find—”

“Katherine would have torn that entire lab apart if it meant finding a single piece of information to pretend she came up with,” Jamal interrupted. “If either of us is responsible for Katherine’s actions, it’s me, not you. She isn’t yours to take the blame for.”

“Because that’s your responsibility, right?” Bo asked, finally lifting his head to look the man in the eye.

Jamal offered a smile. “I’m working on that. It’s a slow process.” He gave Bo’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before resting his hand on the blonde’s back. “You did good here, kid, even if you don’t think you did. No one else could have come up with the information you did in the short time frame you did. Rick called me to ask for you for a reason. These cops, the town’s residents? How they do or don’t feel about life after this isn’t your fault. You didn’t choose what town Gerry came to. You didn’t help him decide who to kidnap or who to kill. He did that. The only responsibility to bear is that you helped them find the fucker, and now he’s gone for good. He’s dead, the kids are alive, and Rick didn’t get his head chopped off besides trying his damnedest to. You did good.”

***

It was well after visiting hours by the time Rick ended up in Des Moines, but Jamal had assured him that wouldn’t matter. If there was one thing Jamal was good at, it was keeping his word, and the ease with which the nurse behind the desk gave him Jeff’s room number proved Jamal had done just that.

Bridget was asleep in a chair pulled up next to the hospital bed, her hand resting on Jeff’s forearm. Jeff was propped up in the bed, eyes snapping up to Rick’s face the very moment he stepped into the room. “Hey,” Rick whispered. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Jeff shook his head. “I’m nowhere near sleep, man. I think my adrenaline’s still got me a little wired.”

Rick nodded as he closed the door. He crossed the room and gave Jeff’s free hand a tight squeeze before pulling up a second chair to the bed, opposite the side Bridget sat on. “You almost got yourself killed trying to find me.”

“And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” A smile tugged at one corner of Jeff’s lips. “But please give me at least a week or two before you test that statement.”

Rick chuckled. “Deal.” He scanned the monitor next to the bed, though the only number he really knew much about was heart rate, which seemed normal. “What’s the damage, Jeff?”

Jeff cleared his throat, and Rick allowed him to hold the silence for as long as he wanted, though the longer it carried on, the more dread built in Rick’s gut. “Doc says I might never walk again.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rick whispered, closing his eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry, Jeff. If I—”

“Don’t. I put on my own big boy pants this morning and chose to go to that fucker’s house by myself. I did that.”

“I woulda been there with you if I hadn’t been on my own suicide mission.”

“Doubt we woulda been going to his house today at all if it hadn’t been in search of you. Kinda gave us the ‘I don’t care about the procedure’ we needed to just… do it.” Jeff lifted a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “ ‘Sides, I stalled the fucker. If I hadn’t, who knows. Dallas and Bo might not have made it there in time to save you or the kids.” Jeff pointed a finger at Rick. “Saved your life, you bastard. You owe me.”

“Deal. Anything you need.”

“You’re gonna regret that when I’m living with you, Heidi, and the kids in my wheelchair.”

“You can bunk with Logan.”

Jeff chuckled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

***

It was strange, really, walking into Logan’s bedroom and seeing everything clean and normal and perfect and in its place. Even Logan was sound asleep in his bed, as though he hadn’t been ripped from it that morning and tied up in Gerry’s basement.

“Jamal sent someone to clean everything up.”

Rick leaned out of the room enough to find Heidi in the hall, arms crossed lightly over her chest. “It looks…”

“Like nothing ever happened?” Heidi asked. Rick nodded. “I know. I couldn’t believe it either.”

Rick backed out of Logan’s room, pulling the door closed. “How hard was it to get him to sleep in there?”

Heidi shook her head. “I tried to get him to sleep in our room, but he says our bed is harder than his, and he doesn’t like it. It was… a big day, and he was tired. He fell asleep basically before I even had a chance to tuck him in.”

“Thank God for that,” Rick whispered. He leaned back against the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets as he tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling rather than his wife. “Jamal wants to send me to therapy. Well… ‘wants’ is the wrong word. He said it’s a demand.” Rick couldn’t help but chuckle. “I don’t know what he’s planning on doing to make good on that demand, but I’m sure he’ll figure something out.”

“I don’t think it’d be a bad idea. The therapy, not whatever he’s thinking about doing to make you do it. You… I know it’s not what you want to hear, Rick, but you’ve never been the same after California. I don’t expect you to be the guy you were before that, but you lost pieces of yourself that night, and I don’t think you’ll be able to get them back yourself.” She hesitated a moment before adding, “Especially after all this happening here too.”

“Yeah,” Rick whispered. Head still pressed to the wall, he turned it enough to look at Heidi. “He wants you and the kids to all have at least one session with a therapist too. And Jeff. Jesus, he’s gonna need that.”

“Did you go see him? Jeff, I mean.”

“Yeah. Doctor says he might never walk again.”

“Oh,” Heidi breathed. “Oh, my God, Rick. W-we…”

“No,” Rick said with a shake of his head. “I already talked to Jeff, and against every damn fiber of my being, I promised him that I agree with him that we can’t take the blame for it.” He offered a smile. “We might have agreed to house him through his recovery if needed, though.”

“He can sleep in Logan’s room.”

Rick couldn’t help but chuckle. “I said the same thing. He’d be so excited to have Uncle Jeff around day and night.”

“He would. And even with that bastard dead, it’d… it’d still be a bit of a comfort to know Jeff was here to keep Logan safe.”

“And himself safe. We almost lost him today. I… I never even considered that a possibility when we moved here. The idea of one of the deputies here getting shot and…” He shook his head. “I never thought something like that would happen here. I never thought any of this would happen here. And now, in hindsight, that was always just so incredibly naive. I can’t believe I played right into the bullshit idea that stuff like that can’t happen in little towns like this. So fucking stupid.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid to expect a monster from California to stalk you to Iowa.”

“When you phrase it like that, maybe not stupid, but thinking I could escape anything like that ever happening again by moving to a small town was still naive.”

“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. But thinking there’s no point in changing anything in life because there’s a chance it’ll stay the same doesn’t get you anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Rick mumbled. “Thank you.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” Heidi reached out and gave his arm a squeeze. “Come on, it’s been a long day. Let’s get you a belated supper, a shower, and a nice warm bed. Yeah?”

Rick’s shoulders relaxed just a hair as a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.” He pushed himself away from the wall and grabbed her hand, allowing her to lead him back to the kitchen.

Heidi was right. Rick had lost pieces of himself after California, and even after he’d found them again, they hadn’t ever really fit back into the puzzle quite right. Now, the edges had been torn up and misshapen even more, and he wasn’t sure they’d ever even manage to get back to whatever ‘normal’ had been before Gerry had unleashed his ‘plan’ in Ellepath.

But he’d do his damnedest to try.


BOOK ONE: END

BOOK TWO: FIRES WILL BURN (coming soon!)


Thank you so much for reading HEADS WILL ROLL, and I hope you enjoyed! I know there are obviously things that need to be fixed in editing, but we finally finished a book again, and you got to be here for the ride! I hope you’ll join me for book two when it comes out (I’m hoping to start writing it this week), and Bo Austen book two will hopefully restart around the same time

Thank you for sticking with me ❤


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Heads Will Roll – Chapter Thirty

A/N: Thank you, Samm, for the contribution toward the website! For whatever reason, JetPack gave me a random offer for a free year of the domain, so it’s now just the plan I have to renew this year, which with Samm’s contribution, is just another $33 ❤

NOT EDITED

Bridget couldn’t help herself—she kissed Jeff the very moment his eyes opened far enough to acknowledge her presence in the room. Jeff let out a soft mumble of a sound, one hand lifting to wrap around her forearm. His lips were dry beyond belief and the tips of his fingers were cold, but they were still Jeff. A very much alive and breathing Jeff.

Bridget broke the kiss only to make sure she didn’t starve him of air, both hands moving to his face to hold him in place while she searched his face. His pale face. God, he was so pale.

Jeff closed his eyes, leaning into her left palm just a hair. “Whole flight here, and I kept thinking that half-assed kiss in the driveway was the last one I was ever gonna get.”

“You’re a brat,” Bridget said.

Jeff chuckled. Quiet and weak, but it was there. “I’ve had worse things said about me.”

Bridget kissed him again. Softer this time. Lighter. More so a pepper of little kisses and less so a ‘steal the air from the lungs of the man who almost died’ singular kiss. “Has the doctor talked to you?” she asked, leaning her forehead against his.

“Yeah, after I woke up.”

“What’d they say?”

“I… still need more blood.”

“Okay, and?”

“My ankle’s fractured. Gonna be sporting that super cool boot for a while.”

“Okay,” Bridget said after a moment. “You just… you sound different than when you were on the phone.”

“Yeah, I’m more awake.”

“That’s not what I mean.” She pulled away enough to look him in the eye, his face still held between her hands. “You just don’t… sound like Jeff.”

He snorted. “You barely know me, Bridget.”

“So? You still don’t sound like the Jeff I’ve been getting to know.”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

“Whatever’s on your mind?” she suggested.

Jeff searched her eyes for what felt like an eternity. “I-I might never walk again.”

“B-because of your ankle?”

“Because two of the three bullets Gerry fired at me are lodged in my spine.”

“Oh, my God, Jeff,” Bridget whispered.

Jeff cleared his throat, wrapping both hands around her forearms to gently pull her hands from his face. “I didn’t know that, umm… when I called you. I-I don’t think I would have if I’d known.”

“Why, because you somehow deserve to sit here all by yourself just because you’re…?”

“Paralyzed?” Jeff asked. Bridget chose to look down at her lap rather than repeat it. “You signed on for a bit of fun before you went back to California. I can’t give you that.”

Bridget lifted her head, her brow furrowed. “Do you think that’s why I came down here? Because I was expecting to have sex with the guy who was shot in the gut three times? Because I sure as hell was expecting it to be pretty off limits for quite some time, Jeff. I’m not an idiot.”

“I don’t think you are. An idiot, I mean,” Jeff said, his voice quiet. “But I didn’t want you to leave Iowa knowing that I…” He drew in a deep breath before letting it back out in a sigh. “I just didn’t want you to know. I want you to see cinnamon on the shelf at the grocery store and think about the fun we had and grin, not smile sadly and think about how I’m in a fucking wheelchair. I don’t want the fun permanently marred by… by pity. I didn’t wanna leave either of us with that.”

“I don’t pity you, Jeff. Not in the way you feel about it, anyway.”

“What… what does that even mean?”

Bridget offered a smile. “Bo says that neurotypical people—presumably you and me—like to add all of these weird underlying and unspoken meanings to words. Pity is one of them. It just means, like, sorrow because someone around you is suffering. That’s it. Its like… compassion or empathy or whatever. It doesn’t mean I look down on you or think I’m better than you or any of that. All of that’s just some weird thing we decided to put on the shoulders of one little word that had… absolutely no say in the matter, and that’s… unfair.”

One corner of Jeff’s mouth lifted. The pull at the corner of his mouth was slight, but it was sure as hell there. “All of that come from Bo?”

“Most of it. I’m paraphrasing, but I think I definitely nailed the wandering at the end where he keeps talking because you accidentally triggered one of his special interests.”

“I think you did wonderful.”

Bridget reached up to comb her fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his forehead. “And guys in wheelchairs can still have plenty of fun, Jeffery.”

“Oh, can they now? You know that personally?”

“Pfft, I don’t kiss and tell.”

Jeff snorted. “Bullshit. You told Bo the very second you could.”

“Fine, I only tell my gossip buddies about my sex buddies, and you’re still a sex buddy. So… kiss and tell is off limits.”

“You’re incredibly annoying, but in a weirdly endearing way?”

“It’s a talent, yeah.”

Jeff smiled faintly, rolling his eyes. A hand on the back of Bridget’s neck, he pulled her just close enough to kiss her. “Are you…? You gonna stay for an hour or two?”

“Until they kick me out, Biggs.”

***

Jamal had advised the sheriff to hand the case over to the FBI before descending upon the little town of Ellepath himself once more. Twice in one week was impressive for his appearance anywhere other than California. A town as small as Ellepath, with absolutely no ties to any of Jamal’s… extra-curricular activities? Even more so.

Though he had promised Rick that he would ensure the safety of his family, he had only one contact nearby—Roy. He’d sent the man toward Rick’s house immediately, before he had even headed back to the airport, and he had worked to gather the men he didn’t quite need on previous assignments anymore to redirect them to Ellepath. They hadn’t been far away when Rick’s boy had been taken. The one in Iowa, however, a man he had trusted with another’s life more than once, should have been able to stop that abduction. The fact that he didn’t, and the fact that Jamal had yet to hear from him, was unsettling, at best.

Jamal found Roy’s car parked about half a block up the road from Rick’s house. The driver’s side door was open a couple inches, the door ajar ding silenced by a battery long-since run dead. Jamal closed the door, dark eyes scanning the ground until he found the faintest impression of footprints in the light dusting of snow over the grass.

Walking away from the road, the faint impressions gave way to small specks of blood here and there. A much larger pool of blood, like the injured man had stood there for a moment before veering off to the left. Jamal did the same. There, hidden from the road by a few small trees, he found Roy’s partially beheaded corpse.

Jamal scrubbed a hand over his mouth as he squatted down beside the man. “I’m so sorry, Roy. I had no idea what kind of monster I was putting you up against,” he whispered. “Your family will be taken care of for the rest of their lives, Roy, I promise you that.” He reached out to squeeze the dead man’s arm before pushing himself back to his feet. He pulled his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and selected Franklin’s number from his contacts.

It rang twice before Franklin answered with, “I haven’t found him yet.”

“I did.”

Franklin blew out a harsh breath. “So he’s dead?”

“That fucker must’ve gotten to him. Damn near beheaded him. “Goddamn.”

Jamal only nodded. There wasn’t much more left to add to the conversation. He cleared his throat. “I’m going to call the Sheriff, have him send out a deputy to mark off the area until the feds arrive.”

“You’re going to let them handle it?” Frank asked.

“It’s not like he was killed by the mob, Franklin.”

“That’s… fair,” Frank said after a moment. “What would you like me to do?”

“Come to Rick’s house. I’d like you to watch the scene until the feds come in. The bastard’s dead, but I still don’t want some kid coming out and poking him with a stick.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll be there in a few.”

Jamal pulled his phone from his ear and flipped it shut before tucking it back into his pocket. He was never exactly ‘glad’ that one of his own cops had shot and killed someone, but he was particularly miffed about this one. If Dallas had only maimed him, Jamal would still be able to make sure the fucker fell into the hands of someone who would make sure his penance was far more severe than a quick and nearly painless end to his meager little life. The bastard would never know just how lucky he was that Dallas had shot him, but lucky he very much was. If given the chance, Jamal’s hands would have been far less kind.

***

Rick came back to his desk after yet another coffee refill only to find Jamal seated in front of it. At least it’s not Kathy, he couldn’t help but think. He let out a sigh and walked the rest of the way to his desk before lowering himself into his seat. “Jamal.”

“Rick.” Jamal cleared his throat. “I was a bit surprised when I called and found out you were here instead of at home or… still at the hospital.”

“Offering to let a guy behead you in an attempt to keep the kids alive usually results in paperwork.”

The corner of Jamal’s mouth twitched, like he had wanted to smile but changed his mind. “I suppose it would, yes.” He lifted a hand and scratched his jaw. “Where’s your boy then?”

“Home, with Heidi and everyone else. Since Bo and Dallas are done, Dallas offered to make sure they were safe, and since he can actually do his job, I took him up on the offer.”

Jamal raised his brows briefly, seemingly catching the general drift of the statement, and nodded. “Yes, I wanted to talk with you about that.”

“Oh, me too. I’ll start. What the fuck happened, Jamal? I let me guard down because you promised me my family would be safe, and then the fucker took Logan. My little boy, Jamal. Do you know what a fucking miracle it is that he didn’t kill him just to prove a point to me?”

“I know.”

“So?”

“He’s dead,” Jamal said after a moment.

“What?”

“The man I assigned to your house. He’s dead.”

“Jesus fucking… Gerry?”

Jamal nodded. “It would seem so, yes.”

“What… what happened?”

“He was parked a little ways away from your house. His car door was open. He must have… seen or heard something suspicious, and he got out. It looked like he was attacked and was walking for at least a few feet before he was attacked a second time. Gerry almost beheaded him, but… I don’t know. Maybe it was close to the time he wanted to kidnap Logan at. Maybe he felt he couldn’t finish the job and nab the boy.”

“I’m so sorry, Jamal,” Rick whispered.

Jamal shook his head. “That isn’t your cross to bear. I knew better than to leave a single man on that assignment. I should have stayed behind with him or left Frank to stay here until I could get another man or two sent in. I knew better. I simply… didn’t follow through.”

“You’re… you’re human just like the rest of us, Jamal. You make mistakes just like everyone else.”

Jamal’s only response came in the form of a snort. Rick knew from personal experience that Jamal’s little haha, very funny bullshit was because he had long ago stopped considering himself soulful enough to still be human. That hadn’t really made sense to Rick when he was a kid, but as an adult with the ability to watch and understand the news, it made a lot of sense. The opinion pieces from just about every news outlet in the country painted Jamal as some sort of beast, a soulless monster risen from the ashes of corruption, torture, and God only knew what else.

The man was no angel, sure, but the weight he bore on his shoulders for every man he’d ever lost was more than enough proof for Rick that he was far, far more human than anyone gave him credit for, even the man himself.

“Bonnie, Logan, and I wouldn’t be alive without you or your involvement. No matter what happened with this guy, you sent Bo, Dallas, and Bridget to help us here. You sent us three more people than anyone else would have, Jamal. There’s not a chance in hell we ever would have solved this case on our own, let alone come out alive on the other side of it.”

“Mm.” Jamal smoothed a hand over his short hair. “How’s your partner?”

“Jeff? He made it through surgery. He wouldn’t tell me much more than that on the phone. Bridget’s down there with him now. I was planning on heading down myself to check on him in person once I’m done with all of this.”

“How are you doing with him being in the hospital?”

Though Rick wanted to play dumb, he unfortunately knew exactly what Jamal was asking. “He’s in there because I played one hell of a stupid card, and every single one of them was trying to save me and the kids. It could have been any of them that got shot and… almost died.” His eyes fell to the paperwork spread out on the desk before him. “Have you seen the driveway? Where… he was shot?”

“I drove past it, yes.”

“I don’t know how the fuck he survived, Jamal,” Rick whispered. “He almost died today because of me. I almost got my best friend killed, and… and for what? To traumatize the hell out of Logan? To make him watch that fucker almost kill me too?”

“You thought it was an honest trade. I would have done the same. I have done the same,” Jamal said.

Rick couldn’t help but snort. “I’m not sure doing things you’ve done is reassuring to anyone.”

Jamal chuckled. “I would suppose not,” he agreed.

Rick allowed silence to hang between them for a moment before clearing his throat. “The man who was killed… Did you know him well?”

“Mm. Trained him myself.”

“I’m sorry, Jamal.”

Jamal shook his head. “This was all just… one giant clusterfuck.”

“Yeah,” Rick whispered. “Yeah, that’s… that’s a good word for it.” Fingers interlocked, he scrubbed his hands over the top of his head before dropping them back to the arms of his chair. “I know this fucker’s killed people before, you know? Before he came here, I mean. The other people he determined needed to be killed to bring his son back. But I keep wondering if…” He blew out a breath. “On the lake, he was so offended that I called his son a monster. That I’d dare insinuate he was a killer. But if you’re a killer, what the hell do you care that I call your son one too, right? So… so I just keep wondering if-if maybe his son… wasn’t one.”

“You saw him kill those girls, Rick.”

“I keep telling myself that, but how much can we trust the memory recall of a guy bleeding out after someone ran a machete through his arm?”

Jamal stared at him for a moment, brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I catch your drift.”

“What if I shot the wrong guy, Jamal? What if… what if Gerry was the one killing the kids too?”

“You would’ve seen a second person, Rick.”

“It was dark,” Rick whispered. “It was so fucking dark. I dropped my gun. I dropped my flashlight. I remember hearing his footsteps retreating and one of the girls screaming and the door… opening and then slamming shut. Before the door, I-I know I could see their shadows on the wall where my light had rolled off to. I could see the shadow of someone with them, someone with a machete. Once the adrenaline took over the pain and I was able to grab my light, they were dead, and the door had already closed, and when I got outside, he was running away, and…”

“He killed them, Rick,” Jamal said again. “He killed those girls. He tried to kill you, and if you want to argue and say his attack on you wasn’t going to lead to that, he at least intentionally maimed you. You shot him because you knew there was no way in hell you’d be able to catch up to him, not injured like that, and he’d be long gone by the time backup arrived. Even if Gerry was there—if—you still shot the right guy. Don’t start questioning yourself on that, Rick. It’s not going to do you any good.”

“How the hell am I not supposed to question myself about it? If Gerry—”

“They’re both dead now. It’s done. It’s over. Leave it, or you’ll head down a path you absolutely do not want to be on. You understand?”

“Yeah,” Rick whispered, his brow furrowed slightly as he looked away from the intensity written all over Jamal’s face. “I understand.”

“I’d like to set you up with a professional, Rick, someone who can help you work through everything going on in your head.”

“I’m fine, Jamal. It’s just been a long day.”

“It wasn’t an offer. If it seemed as though it was one, I apologize. It’s a demand, Rick. You need help.”

“Jamal—”

“I don’t claim to be some kind of expert on mental health, but I know that letting all that sit in your head isn’t going to be good for you, and that’s the real path you don’t want to go down. From experience here, Rick.”

“Okay,” Rick finally whispered, forcing himself to nod. “Thank you.”

Jamal shook his head as he pushed himself to his feet, one hand gesturing a circle above Rick’s desk. “This clusterfuck is why you need help, so don’t thank me for that. I need to check in with Bo. You let me know if you need something else in the meantime.”

“I will.”


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Heads Will Roll – Chapter Twenty-Nine

NOT EDITED

A brief treck through the treeline around the lake had revealed no obvious signs of a corpse, so Bo had called Dallas for a ride to their killer’s house. Though he still believed it made the most sense to keep the soon-to-be-revived body near the scene of the final steps of the ritual, Bo felt as though he were maybe expecting a bit too much of a logical conclusion to the plan of someone who was undeniably and utterly crazed.

Now, with Dallas’s rental car parked behind the crime scene tape two of the deputies had set up over an hour ago, Bo climbed out of the passenger side and adjusted the strap of his camera bag. Even with the distance between him and the house, he could already make out some of Jeff’s blood on the driveway, but the closer he got, the more he couldn’t believe the man had survived. Standing at the end of the drive, he let his eyes trace the path of the pooling trail of blood all the way up to the garage door and back down to where it seeped past the slanted end of the drive and onto the road, slowly spreading to seek out the nearest storm drain.

“Jesus,” Dallas mumbled from behind him. “Bridget’s tree might just be superhuman.”

“Adrenaline does… insane things to a person,” Bo said after a moment. “Sometimes, that insane thing is allowing the person to survive absolute devastation to their blood supply.”

After photographing the drive, including laying the ruler down to blood footprints that he assumed belonged to Bridget and the crew that had transported Jeff, Bo moved to the garage. The door was wide open, as it had been left when Gerry backed out Bonnie’s car and left Jeff to die. It was more than a bit disappointing that Gerry wouldn’t get to discover Jeff hadn’t died in this driveway, despite Gerry’s best efforts.

Though the garage didn’t seem to contain anything relevant to the case, Bo still took his photos and his measurements. He dutifully searched every nook and cranny for something that appeared even mildly important, but he came up empty at every turn. The search of the main floor of the house resulted in much of the same. No journal, no notebook, no strange books on necromancy or ways to otherwise raised the dead, no books on sacrifice, no manifesto.

The house was decorated but not necessarily lived in. The bed was tightly made, the mattress seemingly untouched with any hint of wear. The sinks and shower were all clean and dry. No sign of rust or limescale. Not even a measly little water stain blemishing the steel.

The power strip the TV was plugged into was turned off, and attempt to flip it on revealed it either didn’t work or the breaker that controlled it was off. There were no dents or scrapes across the carpeting anywhere in the house to insinuate furniture had recently been moved or that the floors had even been vacuumed.

“God, this place is just all kinds of heeby and jeeby,” Dallas said as Bo walked into the kitchen. Again.

“Disturbing,” Bo said after a moment. “Everything perfectly in its place and untouched. I’ve seen display homes look more lived-in than this place.”

“Same,” Dallas admitted. “So maybe he wasn’t really staying here.”

“He had to be for the majority of the time Bonnie was here, right? The read through of your notes in the car insinuated that she could hear him walking around most of the time?” Bo asked.

“Mostly,” Dallas said, drawing the word out over several beats. “You okay?”

“I am.”

“You’re not. You doing that thing where you’re… a bit more robotic than usual?” Dallas suggested. “Not in a bad way, just in a…. not quite Bo way.”

Bo blew out a harsh breath, using one gloved hand to pull open the refrigerator again, just in case he’d somehow missed something the first time. “I’m admittedly still quite… perturbed that Baker stole my notes and leaked pertinent information to the press. She rushed his timeline. She put Bonnie in danger for nothing more than trying to kick me around and prove she’s some sort of force to be reckoned with. If she hadn’t leaked that information, we may have gotten to him before he kidnapped Logan, before Rick tried to sacrifice himself in front of the kids, before the bastard killed the second guy. WE could’ve…”

“What? Put him in prison to sit on death row for the next forty years?” Dallas asked. “He’s dead. That’s what matters. And Baker’s a bitch, and she’s sure as fuck on one hell of an acid trip if she thinks she’s got anything on you. Quality, merit, loyalty—she’s got nothing on you, Bo. You know that.”

Bo only shook his head. “I do not know that.”

“Don’t let the bitch fuck with your head. If she was so great, Pitman woulda sent her here, not you.”

“Rick didn’t want her here.”

“So? Like what someone wants has stopped Pitman before?”

“I… suppose that’s fair,” Bo said after a moment. “But if he’d sent her, maybe things would have gone differently. Maybe Logan wouldn’t have to be traumatized too, and maybe Rick and Heidi wouldn’t have to spend the rest of their lives worrying about their son being kidnapped again, and maybe Jeff wouldn’t—”

“And maybe it all would have happened anyway, and because you wouldn’t have been here working with her, maybe they’d all be dead and he would have gotten away,” Dallas said.

Bo allowed himself to sit with that for a moment, closing the refrigerator door. “Yes,” he finally settled on, “maybe.”

“So—”

“She could hear him walking around,” Bo said, more to himself than to Dallas.

But Dallas nodded anyway. “Yeah, most of the time.”

“It there a door that would lead to a room above Bonnie’s location in the basement that we… haven’t opened?”

Dallas turned to scan the portion of the house he could see from the kitchen before shaking his head. “Highly doubt it. Not unless it’s some sort of hidden door.”

Bo pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’m going to the basement, and I’m going to call you.”

“Okay.”

In the basement, Bo positioned himself at the pole Bonnie had been tied to. He slid to the floor next to it, eyes on the blood across the room. A quick test of that on his phone had matched it to Carol Jameson, which aligned well with Bonnie’s recollection of Gerry tossing the head down the stairs at her.

Bo set his camera aside and dialed Dallas number before pressing his phone to his ear.

“Hey,” Dallas greeted.

“Walk around.”

“Just… anywhere?”

“Anywhere you can walk,” Bo said.

“Mm. Can do.” Dallas’s steps above his head were incredibly far away. Bonnie would have been able to hear them, sure, but Dallas’s ‘feeling’ part of his notes—the part he only jotted down for Bo on any given case—had indicated that she’d been able to hear them rather loudly. “You gettin’ anything useful from me stomping around up here?” Dallas asked.

“You’re hardly stomping. But… maybe you should try. I didn’t really get to meet the man in his, uh… lively state, but I can only assume you move much lighter on your feet than him.”

“Probably.”

“So, you know… stomp?” Bo suggested. He heard Dallas sigh, but the slight increase in the volume of his steps indicated he’d done as told. Bo tilted his head back toward the ceiling as the steps grew closer. “There. Where are you?”

“Near the bedroom, I guess.”

“Can you walk north?” Bo listened to Dallas’s steps retreat. He shook his head to himself. “That’s south. North.”

Dallas chuckled. “Sorry. I can’t get directional bearings inside a house.” He cleared his throat. “Okay, well, if that was south, then north is directly into the bedroom, through the door. You want me to go in?”

“Yes, and keep walking north.” Bo heard the door open, the slightest little creak. Dallas’s footsteps drew closer and then further away again. “Stop. Take a couple steps back.”

“Okay.”

“Where… are you standing now?”

“Near the closet.”

“Walk toward it.”

“Okay.”

“That’s closer,” Bo mumbled.

“What?”

“Are you stopped by the closet?”

“Yeah, unless you want me to morph through it.”

“I want you to move the clothes and knock on the wall behind them.”

“Because… I still found too far away?” Dallas asked.

“If we’re to believe your…”

“Spidey sense?”

“I prefer not to call it that.”

“I don’t got anything I like to call it,” Dallas said.

“The voice,” Bo said after a moment. “If we’re to believe… the voice, then yes, your footsteps are still too far away. Your notes said directly above, so much so that if the wood were older, sawdust would rain down upon her.”

“Well, I didn’t quite write it like that, nerd.”

Once corner of Bo’s mouth lifted as he closed his eyes. “Knock on the wall for me. Different places. Work your way toward the ground.”

Dallas did as told, and before Bo could note the hollow knock, Dallas muttered a brief and astonished, “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit, indeed. That’s a door, Detective.”

“Yeah, it looks like—Hold on.” Bo heard a rustle over the phone. Dallas must have set it down or tucked it back into his pocket. The sounds were a little muffled then, so pocket seemed likely. “Holy fucking shit, Bo.”

Bo was upstairs and at his side in the closet—which admittedly was not a phrase of strange irony that was lost on him—almost before he finished the statement. Dallas moved back a step, holding the clothes back enough for Bo to easily duck through the small doorway and into the secret room.

Shrine. The secret shrine was far, far more accurate.

Articles about the Decapitator were pasted all over the walls, covering so much of it that they practically served as wallpaper. Pictures of the victims, pictures of the killer, pictures of the crime scenes—many of them pictures Bo himself had taken at the original scene.

About halfway through the room, things became less… organized. The wallpaper of newspaper were covered haphazardly by information about the people Gerry intended to seek revenge upon. The officers, the reporters. Rick. Jamal. Bo.

Red lines of yarn stretched between photos and articles. Pictures of their homes, their floor plans, their daily schedules and activities. Pictures of their corpses, printed off screenshots from videos he must have taken of their murders, of their subsequent beheading. Open spaces with names written above them like some sort of hunter’s trophy wall. Many of the open spaces had been filled with photos. The three labeled for Rick, Jamal, and Bo had not.

Frankly, it was almost… impressive if it weren’t so batshit insane. Impressive if it didn’t make Bo’s stomach flip around uncomfortably in his abdomen.

Impressive if it weren’t for the embalmed corpse of the Decapitator laid out nude on the table against the furthest wall, words and symbols from a language Bo couldn’t immediately identify scrawled on the wall above him. Candles surrounded him on his red velvet blanket, the flame of each one lit and eventually self-extinguished hours ago.

Bo hadn’t realized quite how harshly he’d been snapping his rubber band against the underside of his wrist until Dallas slipped two fingers beneath it to stop the impact. With the distraction interrupted and ended, his wrist burned like a thousand bee stings.

Dallas carefully flipped Bo’s hand over in his, thumb resting beneath the growing welt. “Jesus, Bo.”

Bo swallowed roughly, reminding himself for the millionth time that that touch was nothing more than Dallas trying to analyze just how much damage his helpless friend had done to himself. “Y-your… your spidey senses didn’t sense any of this?” Bo asked, unable to force anything more than a whisper past the lump in his throat.

“I thought you didn’t like calling it that,” Dallas whispered back.

Bo pulled his wrist from Dallas’s grip and wrapped a hand around it, both to prevent the resumption of the rubber band snapping and to hide the damage from Dallas. “I don’t, but using ‘voice’ felt as though it were going to sound odd.”

Dallas nodded. “It would have. And… no, I had… no fucking idea,” he mumbled, blue eyes scanning the room. “Jesus,” he whispered again as his eyes settled on the trophy blanks dedicated to the hopeful arrival of Rick, Jamal, and Bo’s heads. “Jesus.”

“I… would appreciate it if you could call Jamal and ask him to send someone else to finish with this,” Bo said, his words slow. Deliberate. “Given my… presence on the wall, now that we have discovered the room, I am not certain that it’s best for me to be the one to continue the CSI… aspect of this.”

“Yeah,” Dallas said after a moment. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Bo nodded, ducking away from Dallas’s hand as he reached out to squeeze his shoulder. The furrow of his brow was minute and didn’t last long, but Bo was certain he’d seen it. “I will be in the car.”

“Bo, if you need—”

“I… will be in the car,” Bo repeated.

“Okay,” Dallas whispered with a little nod. “Okay. I’ll be out in a few.”

Bo offered a thumbs-up, free hand still wrapped around his wrist, and turned to leave the room. He had seen some incredibly surprising and disturbing things in his day, but that… had certainly been near the top.


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Heads Will Roll – Chapter Twenty-Eight

A/N: I’m sorry if the formatting on this chapter is incredibly weird. I switched writing programs since Docs feeds whatever you write on it into the AI to “train” it, and the download of the OG document into the new software changed the way things look and I haven’t yet figured out how to actually fix it and make it look normal once copy-pasted again. I tried to fix it by backspacing every paragraph and then re-entering it, and that looks normal in the editor? So hopefully it is. If not, I’m sorry 🙃 

NOT EDITED

“Necromancy.”

Bo’s brow furrowed as he closed the door on the back of the coroner’s van. He adjusted the grip on his phone, just in case that was somehow to blame for Dallas’s lack of any and all context clues. “Excuse me?”

“This Gerry dude, or whatever the fuck his real name is — he thought he could bring his piece of shit son back from the dead if he killed everyone there was to blame for his death and then sacrificed an innocent.”

“Which is why he took Logan. I assumed that was simply to punish Rick.”

“You breezed right past that news a lot faster than we did,” Bridget said.

“There’s… not much a killer could do to genuinely surprise me these days,” Bo said. He lifted a hand in departure as the coroner pulled out of the parking lot. “Did you get that from Bonnie or Rick?”

“Both. Started with Bonnie, confirmed it with Rick,” Dallas said.

“Mm. And he killed Caleb because…?”

“He was going to kill Gerry if he didn’t let the kids go.”

“But beheading the old lady was fine? And… kidnapping the kids?” Bo asked.

“Apparently he’d been told the kids weren’t actually in any danger. They were just to send a message to Rick, and once Rick was dead, the kids would go back home,” Dallas said.

Bo shook his head. “Jupiter, what a clusterfuck.”

“Tell me about it,” Dallas and Bridget said in near unison.

Bo sighed. “I fingerprinted him and took his blood, ran both through the system, but he’s not in it, and I highly doubt Gerry Schutt is his real name. But in case it is, it’d still be helpful to see what kind of records you can find on his name. See if he owns any other property. I’m almost done here at the lake, and then I’d like to head out to where he was keeping Bonnie and Logan, see if we can find the other missing pople to ‘blame’ that haven’t turned up beheaded yet. I imagine he’s got his son’s body stashed somewhere too, which brings up a concern of… how he retrieved it.”

“Ugh. He’s gonna be so gross, B,” Bridget said.

“Incredibly so. I promise I won’t make you look at him when I find him.”

“Good.”

Bo let the silence hang between them for a moment before clearing his throat. “Any word on Jeff?”

“No,” Bridget said.

“He’s alive,” Dallas added. “In surgery, but alive.”

“They won’t tell us much because we aren’t family and his emergency contact is his on and off girlfriend, and she won’t answer her phone.”

“I’m admittedly kind of shocked a small clinic in a small town like this would follow that rule.”

“He was flown to Des Moines, I think,” Dallas said. “Or Ames. I don’t remember. But they transferred him somewhere bigger.”

“Ah, yeah, I can understand that a little more.” Bo shifted his weight between his feet. He’d always struggled a little with what to say in situations like this. Words had never really comforted him, and forcing himself to pretend they might comfort another was a constant hurdle he had to jump in his mind. “If you wanted to find out which hospital he’s at and head out to wait for him to be out of surgery, you can. I’m not doing many interesting things here, just taking a few more photos now that the bodies are cleared out.”

“I can’t do anything for him in some waiting room,” Bridget said. “And if the girlfriend’s there, I…”

“The ex-girlfriend. They’re off right now, remember?” Bo asked.

“It doesn’t matter. I still can’t help him, and if she’s there, I don’t wanna cause any issues. And if he makes it through surgery—”

“When,” Dallas interrupted. “When he makes it through surgery.”

“I don’t want the first thing he deals with to be some fight because she found out about me,” Bridget said.

“You’re not the other woman in this situation, Bridget. Jeff said—”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m more use here,” she insisted.

Bo blew out a breath. “Okay. Let me know if you find anything on Gerry, then. Might not hurt to check out the guy he was pretending to be, as well, just in case he did something other than steal his name.”

“You got it,” Bridget said.

“We’ll check in soon,” Dallas said. “If you’re done there before I call, shoot me a text and I’ll swing by and getcha. Okay?”

“Sounds good,” Bo said. “Talk soon.”

“Yeah, talk soon.”

Bo pulled his phone away from his ear and ended the call before tucking the device into his pocket. “Necromancy,” he whispered, eyes scanning the lake. Bo didn’t claim to be an expert in necromancy by any means, but he’d worked a case or two surrounding rituals. Those rituals being ‘real’ versus entirely in the killer’s head was debatable at best, but they had generally taken place in the same location as the person the ritual was meant to affect. So if one were to revive the dead, wouldn’t he want to spill the blood of an innocent in the same location of the body? Or was this some sort of spell cast via hex bag àla Supernatural? Maybe it didn’t matter at all.

Bo wished he had all the answers on that one. He’d certainly save a lot of time looking for evidence and clues that way.
If he were all-knowing, he could have had Gerry found and caught before Kathy oh so helpfully leaked case information to the press and ‘sped up’ Gerry’s timeline. Before Logan was kidnapped, before Gerry’s partner was killed, before Jeff was shot.

Before Logan and Bonnie had to watch so much trauma unfold before their eyes.

But unfortunately, Bo was not all-knowing, and he truly didn’t even know where to begin searching for the missing bodies, Gerry’s son’s horrifically old corpse included. So for now, he’d start with what he did know: photographs.

***

“Oh, my God.”

Dallas lifted his hands from the keyboard on Rick’s desk like he’d been burnt. “What? What’s wrong?”

“He’s calling me.”

“Jeff?” Bridget only nodded. “Well… that’s a good thing. Right?”

“What if it’s not him? What if… what if it’s someone at the hospital?”

“I don’t think they’d call you. If something, umm, happened and they still couldn’t get hold of that chick, I think they’d call Rick. Or maybe Jeff’s parents. It’s him. Answer it.”

“Yeah? That one of your things? Y-your spidey sense or whatever?” Bridget asked.

Dallas raised an eyebrow. “Would… it help if it was?”

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“Then let’s say it is.”

Bridget rolled her eyes, though the nervousness still written all over her face undercut her usual Bridget Decker flair. Finally, she tapped the green button on her phone and pressed it to her ear. “Decker speaking.”

“Hey.” Jeff. Rough and tired and weak, but undeniably Jeff. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I woke up and… and would you believe that my room’s empty? No flowers, no beautiful woman, no nothin’? Just empty.”

Bridget laughed, spinning her chair away from Dallas. “No, I-I can’t believe that.” A pause. “I’m so glad to hear your voice, Biggs.”

“Right back atcha,” he mumbled. “Please… please tell me the reason you’re not here isn’t because of something… happenin’ at the lake.”

“They’re okay,” Bridget whispered. “They’re okay, baby, I promise.”

“Good,” Jeff whispered back. “All of ‘em? Kids and… and Rick?”

“Everybody.”

“Gerry?”

“Dead. Dallas shot him.”

“Mm. Good.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of been the general consensus on that one.” Bridget sniffled before wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Which hospital are you in? We—I wasn’t sure if it was Ames or Ankeny or Des Moines or…”

“Umm…” Jeff cleared his throat, as if there was any way that would be enough to clear the scratchiness from his voice. “This cool cup of ice chips on my nightstand indicates I’m in Des Moines.”

“Des Moines,” Bridget echoed. “Okay. I’ll come see you, yeah? I-it’s not like I’m being super useful here.”

“Well, I got plenty of useful stuff you can do here.”

Bridget snorted. “Oh, do you now?”

“Nothing like that. God, get your mind out of the gutter,” Jeff said, his voice slow, his words a little more slurred than before. “I’m gonna… go back to my little nap, and then I’ll be… all awake and stuff when you get here. And then you can… can feed me my ice chips.”

Bridget laughed. “Deal. Y-you enjoy your nap, Biggs. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Mm. Lookin’ forward… to it.”

“Me too,” Bridget whispered. She waited a moment, simply listening to the beep of Jeff’s heart monitor for what felt like far, far too long to confirm he really was alive before ending the call. She turned back toward the desk and set her phone down. “Ugh, I’m gonna throw up.”

Dallas lifted his head, eyes pulling away from the computer monitor and up to her face. “Everything okay?”

“He’s alive. H-he’s awake. Mostly. H-he’s gonna go back to sleep now. But my stomach is… so many kinds of fucked up.”

Dallas offered a smile. “I can only imagine.”

“And God, do I think that man deserves to get laid, but I totally know his doctor won’t let me.”

Dallas snorted before laughing. “Yeah, that’s the Decker I know.” He drummed his fingers against the edge of the desk, tilting his head to the side. “You need a ride to the hospital, then?”

She shook her head. “I can handle it, once my stomach settles a little.” She dropped her elbows to the desk, scrubbing both hands over her face. “You’ll be okay by yourself here?”

“Oh, yeah. Bo won’t be at the lake much longer, so I’ll be able to stalk him around whatever locale he shifts to next.”

“Good, that’ll keep you entertained. Bridget looked down, picking at the edge of one of her fingernails. “You or Bo will… will call if you find the guy’s son?”

“Yeah. He’ll be dead though.”

“That’s what you hope for, anyway.”

“Okay, dude, if we’re going down the necromancy route, the fucker didn’t even complete his little ‘ritual’. So the son’s totally dead,” Dallas said.

Bridget’s eyes lifted back to his face, though she didn’t lift her head. She raised a brow. “Yeah, assuming his ritual theory was right. Sitting there like you know shit about fuck.”

I hate her, Ed announced.

Dallas only smiled. It was one of many reasons he didn’t mind working with Bridget even slightly. Ed absolutely hated her guts, which meant he primarily left Dallas the hell alone if Bridget was actively around. It was actually bit of a shame that she’d be heading down to Des Moines, leaving Dallas to fend for himself against Ed’s onslaught once more.

“One of us will keep you posted, I promise,” Dallas assured. “What’d Bo call him? Your… your tree?” One corner of Bridget’s mouth lifted as she offered a little nod. “Go see your tree. All the blood and gore and shit—it’ll be here waiting for you when you get back. You won’t miss much, I promise.”

“Thank you. And… and tell Bo to call if he needs me. I’ll come back.”

“I’ve got him. I speak a little bit of Bo too, if you’ll recall.”

“I know.” Bridget pushed herself to her feet, swiping her phone from the desk. “But I’ve known him longer, which makes me so much better at it then you.”

“Pfft, fuck off.”

Bridget cracked a smile, rounding the desk only to punch him in the shoulder. “Later, loser.”

“Bitch.”

Bridget snorted. “Cunt.”

Dallas’s mouth fell open, but he really couldn’t even feign offense long enough to stop himself from laughing. “That’s so fucking rude, even for you, man.”

She slashed a dismissive hand through the air, already walking toward the lobby. “I’m a lady, I can say it.”

“Hardly a lady, Decker.”

Without turning around, she lifted one hand to flip him off over her shoulder. Dallas chuckled to himself, gaze dropping back to the computer monitor. Yeah, she’d be okay. Biggs was okay, and she’d be right back at a hundred percent once she saw him in person.


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Heads Will Roll – Chapter Twenty-Seven

NOT EDITED

While Bo had stayed behind at the lake to wait on the coroner, Dallas had driven Rick and the kids to Ellepath’s small clinic. In LA, he’d get reamed for leaving a shooting like that, but he had a feeling that in Ellepath, the logistics didn’t matter much. Rick certainly hadn’t put up a fight when Dallas had offered the idea.

It’d be so easy, Tex. They were all destined to die today anyway.

Dallas glanced up at the rearview mirror just long enough to confirm all three members of his little entourage were safe and alive. Rick sat in the middle of the backseat, Logan on his left and Bonnie on his right. Bonnie had pressed herself into the door, as far away from touching Rick as she possibly could. Logan, on the other hand, had practically burrowed himself into his father’s side.

You got what you wanted at the lake. You’re out of the driver’s seat now.

The voice, Ed, laughed. The driver’s seat’s always just a little push away, Tex. You know that.

Unfortunately, Dallas knew it all too well. Ed had been with him for as long as he could remember. A little whisper at first, words indiscernible, that grew a little louder every year until it finally convinced Dallas to let him take the wheel, so to speak. Dallas had set ground rules. Ed could only ‘steer’ toward people who deserved it. Criminals, killers. Monsters. Ed pushed him every step of the way. He’d been pushing much, much harder since they’d arrived in Ellepath. When they’d pulled up to the lake, when Gerry had raised the ax at Rick? Well, Dallas hadn’t even really had a say any more. His adrenaline had spiked and just like that, Dallas was riding shotgun, and Ed was at the wheel, gun in hand.

Dallas was just thankful it hadn’t been worse. Ed’s handiwork was usually far less… impersonal.

Was gonna let him kill the country bumpkin cop first. But what’s the fun in WATCHING an ax drop when you could be the one wielding the blade?

“Shut up,” Dallas whispered.

“You say something?” Rick asked.

Dallas cleared his throat. “No, sorry.” He shifted in his seat, cleared his throat again. “How’s your head there, Dep?”

“Fuzzy,” Rick said after a moment. “He’s… he’s dead, yeah?”

“Very. I don’t miss.”

“What… what about Jeff?”

“He was on his way to the hospital when Bo and I were dispatched to the lake.”

Rick lifted his head. “S-so he was alive? Jeff?”

“Last I knew, yeah. Bridget pulled up to the house within seconds of the shooting. As I understand it, Jeff was conscious and coherent enough to talk to dispatch over his radio with her there.” Dallas glanced up at the mirror again. “Biggs seems like a strong guy, Dep. He’ll pull through.”

“There was a lot of blood,” Bonnie said, her voice quiet. She sounded so much further away than just the backseat. “So much blood. Ran down the driveway after us like someone tossed a whole bucket of it down.”

“He, uh, he would’ve been amped up. His adrenaline would’ve been going, his heart probably racing. It makes the blood come out faster, no matter how bad the injury actually is.”

You know from personal experience, huh, Tex? So sweet that your expertise can help comfort this innocent little girl.

Dallas closed his eyes as he flipped on the blinker. God, if only his hands were capable of killing Ed too. “Biggs’ll be all right. He’s tough. Bridget only goes after strong guys.”

“God, I hope you’re right,” Rick whispered.

“Bridget knows how to spot the tough guys from a mile away, believe me. He’s got this.”

Once they’d made it to the hospital, while Bonnie threw herself into her mother’s arms and Heidi dropped to her knees to hug Logan, Dallas spoke to just about every damn person in the place to locate Bridget. Finally, he wound up at the door to the women’s bathroom nearest to the waiting room. He rapped two knuckles against the door. “Decker, you in there?”

“He’s at the lake still.” Dallas waited a moment. No response. “You alone in there?”

“Yeah.”

“You want a friend?”

“Okay.”

Dallas opened the door. Bridget was tucked under the sinks as much as she possibly could be, her back pressed against the wall. Dallas cleared his throat as he stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room and sat down beside her, dropping his hands to his lap. “Sitting on a hospital bathroom floor seems like a brave choice.”

Bridget laughed a little, offering a short nod. “I figured I was already covered in so much ick that it didn’t really matter what the uniform picks up from under the sink.”

“That’s fair, you do look pretty gross.”

She laughed again, wiping her cheek with her forearm. “I haven’t been able to bring myself to change yet. Or wash my hands. Or my face. I just…”

“It’s his blood,” Dallas said. He cleared his throat. “I know. I get it. When, uh, when my partner was shot, I sat in that uniform for… for hours. Stared at the dry blood on my hands until Jamal forced my hands under the water. I’m not sure I ever would’ve been able to make that call on my own.”

“It feels stupid to be so upset about it. I barely know him,” Bridget said, gaze focused on the wall nearest to the door. “But I’m here covered in his blood and feeling guilty for considering washing it off. Like I’m… like I’m washing his life away or something.”

“It doesn’t matter if you knew the guy for two damn seconds before you found him in that driveway. It’s fucking traumatic, Bridget. It’s trauma. Our brains aren’t made for witnessing that kind of shit and then just jumping on back into our normal lives, like it didn’t mean anything or like we don’t feel anything. Wearing a damn badge doesn’t make you immune to that.”

“Maybe,” she whispered. She let one of her legs stretch out, dropping her forehead to the knee still pulled to her chest. “You said Bo’s at the lake?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you…? Rick and the kids?”

“Safe and sound.”

“Good. So what’s Bo still doing at the scene?”

“Two bodies. Schutt and his partner.”

“Who did that? You or Rick?”

“Schutt took down his partner, according to Rick. The guy realized Schutt wasn’t who he said he was and threatened to shoot him if he didn’t let the kids go.”

“Who he was?”

Dallas shrugged. “I didn’t push him. I figured there wasn’t a point on my own.” He elbowed Bridget’s arm. “What do you say we get you cleaned up, see if the nurses have a pair of scrubs you can borrow, and go ask ourselves some questions?”

Bridget wiped her nose with the back of her hand before nodding. “Yeah. Let’s.”

***

Dallas rapped two knuckles on the open door of Bonnie’s hospital room. The girl’s shoulders lifted defensively, settling only slightly once her eyes had settled on Dallas and Bridget. Dallas offered a smile. “Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay.” Bonnie shifted on the exam table, gaze flickering to her mother before shifting back to Dallas. “Did you find out anything on Mister Biggs?”

“He’s still in surgery.”

“So he’s alive?”

“He is,” Dallas confirmed, leaving out the, ‘for now’ Ed’s voice taunted him with.

Bonnie blew out a relieved breath, though the peace in her expression didn’t last long. “But you’re not here to talk about Mister Biggs.”

“Not entirely. He’ll come up, sure, but if you’re ready, we have a couple questions about the man who took you.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ‘ready’ for that. But… but I can try.”

“Thank you. You’re a brave girl, Bonnie.” Dallas leaned back against the wall while Bridget sat down in the metal chair next to Bonnie’s mother. “What do you remember about Wednesday afternoon?”

“When he took me?” Bonnie asked. Dallas only nodded. “I… I don’t know. I remember walking to my car, I guess. I think I made it inside, into the driver’s seat. And then… there was a sound behind me. Like a shuffling. And before I could turn to look in the backseat, there was something sharp in my neck, and then I woke up blindfolded, and my wrists and ankles were tied up, and he had put tape over my mouth.” She closed her eyes, the fingers of one hand tugging on the fingers of the other. “He talked to me. I-I don’t remember what he said, but I recognized his voice. I couldn’t put a name to it, but I knew I… I knew him.

“He took the blindfold off. I was in the basement at the school, and he was wearing a mask, so I could really only see his eyes, and those were kind of familiar too, but I couldn’t figured out why. I didn’t know where I knew them from. He… I know he wanted me to walk with him to his car, and he said he’d untie me if I did. If I didn’t put up a fight, I-I guess. I tried to talk to him, but I stil had the tape on my mouth, and I-I remember him kind of smiling at that, like it was funny that he couldn’t understand me or that I couldn’t tell him what I wanted to. He yanked me away from the wall and my head hit the floor, and I tried to scream as loud as I could, b-but if anyone was still in the school and heard it, they didn’t come to help. I kicked him, I think, and he choked me and bashed my head into the floor a couple times. He said something about… teaching Rick a lesson, but I didn’t really understand what that meant until we got to the lake, umm… today. I’m still not really sure I totally get what it meant, honestly. It’s all so… clear and so foggy at the same time. I don’t know.”

“You’re still in shock, Bonnie, and probably exhausted beyond belief. The clarity and the fogginess overlapping like that is totally normal,” Bridget assured. “You’re doing great.”

“You said he wanted you to his car? Not yours?” Dallas asked.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Do you remember getting into it?”

Bonnie shook her head, finally opening her eyes again. “No, I think he drugged me again. The next thing I remember is the basement. I-I mean a different… basement. His basement, not the school’s. “

“Okay. What do you remember about that?”

“I wasn’t blindfolded this time, and he’d switched out the tape over my mouth for a-a hankerchief or something. And I was handcuffed to a metal pole. Tall, floor to ceiling. When he came downstairs, he was still wearing the mask, but he’d changed clothes and he wasn’t wearing gloves anymore. He told me that I could scream if I wanted, but that no one would hear me a-and he couldn’t promise what he’d do to me if I did, s-so I didn’t. He took the gag off, and I just told him that I had no idea who he was, that I didn’t recognize him, that he could just let me go and I wouldn’t tell anyone. He told me that I was part of some plan he’d been cooking up for a while, so he couldn’t do that.

“The next time I saw him was… I don’t know. The next day, I guess. He’d left for several hours, and I screamed so much that I went hoarse,” Bonnie said, her voice breaking. “When he came back, he told me he’d left to… to test me. To remind me that I’d been told that I could scream as loud as I wanted but that he couldn’t promise how he’d react to it if I did. And then he threw Miss Jameson’s head down the stairs at me.” She covered her mouth. “I-I killed her. I’m the reason she’s dead.”

“Bonnnie, there’s no world in which you’re responsible for man’s actions,” Dallas said.

“But he said—”

“He would have found someone to kill no matter what you did. He’s a monster. He was a monster. He didn’t come to Ellepath not to harm anyone. He’d already killed his way through a slew of people before he got here for his continued ‘revenge’ plan. What he did or didn’t do isn’t because of you, and the blame for that woman’s death doesn’t fall on your shoulders. It falls on his.”

“A whole… whole slew?” Bonnie asked, hand falling back to her lap as her eyes lifted to Dallas’s face.

“Rick wasn’t exactly the only person he was seeking revenge on. He was just… one of the last names on the list.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bonnie’s mother whispered.

“When we were at the lake, before he shot that other man, ghe kept talking about the balance. Balance of the universe. And how he needed to reset it. He wanted to kill Rick, Bo, and maybe Pitman too. And once he did that, it would… restore the universe. A-and then he said he was going to kill Logan too, because he needed the blood of an innocent, and then his son would get to come back to earth.”

Dallas raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Bridget only to confirm he’d heard that right. The look on her face indicated he had. “Sorry, umm… like back from the dead?” Bridget asked.

“It sure seemed like it,” Bonnie confirmed. “That was, like, the final straw for the other guy. He stopped aiming his gun at Rick, and he pointed it at Gerry. And he kept calling him Zak? It didn’t seem like he knew who Gerry really was. I think Gerry had told him that he was the father of one of the kids killed at the same time as the other’ guy’s daughter, but he was actually… the father of the kid who killed them? And when he wouldn’t lower the gun, Gerry pulled Mister Biggs’s gun from his waistband and shot him.”

Dallas needed a moment to process that particular piece of information. “Did he, uh, ever say why he took you?” he asked.

“I don’t think so, no. Just all the stuff about teaching Rick a lesson.” I don’t even think he mentioned killing Rick until we got to the lake. Before that, I was just… part of the lesson. I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. You did great here, Bonnie. Thank you for talking with us. I know recalling all of that wasn’t easy. Thank you for doing it,” Dallas said.

Bonnie only offered a nod.


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Progress Report – September 2, 2026

I just wanted to check in so you all knew I hadn’t forgotten about you or your favorite characters

I’m currently writing the next chapter of Rick’s book but because we’re almost at the end, I’m stuck. 100% totally and completely stuck. As you probably know, my chronic illness has drastically changed my relationship with writing, and although that’s something that’s slowly improving, it’s been a long time since I’ve written an ending to something, and I’m struggling with it. I know there are things that need to be fixed or adjusted in the book and the sequence of events, and my current brain struggles to just get to the ending and fix those things at the end, during editing, like you’re supposed to. Like I used to do quite frequently. It’s incredibly frustrating, and I wish my brain didn’t work that way now, but it doesn’t. Long gone are the days of past Courtney writing a 50K+ word book every month, that’s for sure

Truths and Chains is currently on hold. I need to pin down exactly WHEN this book takes place, including when Elias’s dad died. The year is important for Jamal’s books, and where this falls in the timeline is important to Jamal and Bo’s books, as well as any other mafia books I write. At one point in time, I had Elias’s birthday written down in a notebook somewhere, but I shoved so many of my notebooks into boxes and drawers that I wouldn’t even know where to start with that, lol. But I’m working on it! Once I have the timeline set, I’ll tweak a couple things in the currently posted chapters and then we’ll be back in business

Bo’s next book is coming soon! I’m hoping to finish Rick’s book this month and then dive back into Bo’s. Bo, Jensen, and David have all been in my head a bit lately, tossing me scenes that I totally don’t have room in my brain to store, so I’m hoping to get to them before they’re done talking again, but we’ll see how things go

Again, thank you guys so much for your patience. Though there are always things I’ll miss about Wattpad, the incredibly entitled messages and comments I’d get from people aren’t one of them. I don’t mind occasionally asking about progress or when a chapter is coming, but Wattpad was more like people telling you to go die if you aren’t going to post an update in the next hour. I’ll always be so thankful for the readers, writers, and friends I met there, but it was incredibly toxic and was the very beginning of my downfall in terms of my relationship with writing, and it has taken me a long time to even begin to repair that. So to say I really appreciate those of you who have migrated here and stuck around is an understatement

Thank you

Heads Will Roll – Chapter Twenty-Six

**A/N: I REALLY struggled with this chapter. Like, staring at every day for two months and not being able to make any progress, struggled. To finally get past the section that was giving me the most trouble, I just kind of jotted down roughly what happens, and I’ll eventually write that scene out in full when the book is finished and is ready for edits. That particular part is just one short paragraph or two and is in bolded present tense. I normally wouldn’t post it like that, but you’ve waited two months for the next chapter already, and I have a feeling that it would take another two just to get past it for whatever reason. So, without further ado, let’s jump in

NOT EDITED

Bridget pulled into Gerry’s driveway only seconds after he’d pulled out of it. “Oh, my God. Jeff!” The tires had hardly stopped turning before she threw open the door and ran up to the bleeding deputy. She dropped to her knees beside him, quickly shrugging off her coat to press it into the wound. “Jeff? Biggs, are you with me?”

“Mm… mmhmm.” He grunted, pointing back toward the road with his one unbloodied hand. “He just… They’re…”

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” She looked down at the blood seeping into the knees of her pants. “Oh, Jesus, Biggs.”

“No good, huh?”

“It’s not great,” Bridget whispered.

“Thought so. Felt like… a lot.”

“It is.”

“Kiss me.”

“Absolutely not. You’re not dying on me, Biggs.”

“If I do, you’re gonna… gonna feel real mean and guilty for that,” Jeff argued, his eyes closed.

“You’re not. I need you to hold the button on your radio for me.”

“Sure. But it’ll cost ya.”

Bridget shook her head before leaning down to kiss him. His lips were already cold. Jeff buried a hand in her hair, letting it fall to the radio pinned near his shoulder as she pulled away. She kept her forehead leaned against his, her eyes squeezed shut. Whatever meant she didn’t have to watch his blood seep between her fingers and run down the driveway any longer. “This is Decker. I-I’m with Deputy Biggs. He’s been shot. Umm, o-outside Gerry Schutt’s house. Th-the address—”

“I’ve got it,” a woman said on the other end. “I’ll send out an ambulance. Is he breathing?”

“Yeah. And he’s conscious.”

“Is Gerry there?”

Jeff shook his head against Bridget’s. “No,” Bridget said.

“Do you know where he is?”

“Took the kids,” Jeff whispered. “Drove… drove away. North.”

“He took Logan and Bonnie in a car. They were headed north,” Bridget said.

“What kind of car?”

“Bonnie’s,” Jeff said, a little louder than the last statement.

“Okay. I’ll get a BOLO put out. North is…”

“The lake,” Jeff finished.

“Can you contact Dallas or Bo? Let them know that he’s probably coming out to the lake?” Bridget asked. “They were supposed to be checking for Rick there, but they might’ve already left. Tell them to go back.”

“I will, ma’am,” the dispatcher assured. “Fire and rescue is on the way.”

***

Rick had willingly let Caleb ‘force’ him into the driver’s seat of Heidi’s car. Had willingly followed Caleb’s directions to the lake, mostly unworried about the handgun’s muzzle digging into his side.

Even if Rick had been willing to hurt Caleb to get away, he didn’t know where ‘Zak’ was, who he was, or where he was keeping Bonnie and Logan. Sure, he could start with Carol’s neighbors again, but if he wasn’t one of them, if he wasn’t there, he’d have to wait on another phone call, and if Rick didn’t play along, he wasn’t so sure that ‘Zak’ would hold up his end of the deal. Rick’s life for the kids’. He could play along with that. ‘Zak’ could get what he wanted — a dead Rick Downs — and the kids would be safe.

Rick could accept that.

“Slow down and drive past the parking lot. Enter from the far end,” Caleb said from the backseat.

Rick did as told, clearing his throat as they neared the far entrance. “What are you looking for? Zak?”

“Making sure none of your friends are here.”

“I didn’t tell anyone where I was going,” Rick assured. “That was part of the deal. I’ve kept my end of that.”

“That doesn’t mean they aren’t looking for you. If I were a cop, I’d certainly start at the lake.”

“Right.” Rick shifted in the seat. “Satisfied no one’s here?”

“Not no one. Just not your friends.”

“Of course,” Rick said, his voice quiet.

“Pull in.”

Rick turned into the small lot, parking next to the only other car there. Bonnie’s. He cut the engine before letting his hands fall to his lap. “I know you don’t want those kids to get hurt, Caleb. I know you don’t see that as justice.”

“He isn’t going to hurt the kids. They’d be dead already if he was going to,” Caleb said. “They’re just… a tool. Pawns. To get to you.”

Rick forced himself to nod. “If there’s… any indication that he’s going to hurt them—”

“I would kill him before I let him hurt one of those kids. I-I didn’t support what he did to that old lady. I didn’t even support taking Bonnie. Or your boy.”

“Why’d you go along with it, then?”

“For my family. For their justice.”

“Even when you believed he was going too far?” Rick asked, lifting his gaze to the rearview mirror. Caleb was turned toward the window, staring off into the trees. “Did he threaten you?”

“Vaguely.”

“Would a good man do that, Caleb?” Rick asked.

Caleb turned, eyes shifting to meet Rick’s in the mirror. “You aren’t going to get into my head, Rick.”

“I’m not trying to, Caleb, I swear. I’m just… trying to get us on the same page. Did he make you kill Carol? The old lady?” Rick asked. Caleb only shook his head. “Did he ask you to?”

“No. She was… she was already dead when he called me for help.”

“Help with what?”

“Just… doing a few things at… at her house. I never saw her. Just the blood. I knew she was dead, but I only found out what he did to her after… after you guys were at the scene. After it hit the news.”

“You can still walk away from this without a homicide charge, Caleb. You don’t have to have that under your belt. But if this guy kills me, even if you don’t pull the trigger, you’ll be charged for it too. Conspiracy to commit homicide at a minimum. But you don’t have to go down that route. You can walk away from all of this.”

“I don’t care what they charge me with, Rick. I won’t be alive to see it,” Caleb said.

“What?”

“After this is over, I’m joining my wife. My babies.” Caleb let out a breath, the first sound he’d made all day that seemed relaxed, calm. “I’m going home, once and for all.”

“Jesus, Caleb,” Rick whispered.

“No. It’s where I want to be. Where I need to be. I’m not meant for this Earth anymore. Haven’t been for quite some time.” Caleb cleared his throat. “But I still won’t let him kill those kids. They’re pawns, not targets. You have my word on that. Now get out of the car.”

“Before you… join your family, will you… will you tell Heidi it’s gonna be okay?”

“Sure.”

“I need to know you will, Caleb. I need to know she and the kids will be okay.”

“I’ll tell her.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m doing it for her. Not for you.”

“I know. But she won’t be in the mindset to thank you when you talk to her.”

“Get out of the car, Rick.”

“Yeah,” Rick whispered. He pushed open the door and stepped out into the cold. Caleb followed, reaching behind Rick to close the door. “Up to the lake?”

“Yep.” Caleb nudged Rick forward with a quick push of the gun into his spine.

Rick drew in a deep breath before forcing himself to start walking. He could see three figures on the ice. The closer they got, the more he was able to make out Logan and Bonnie. The man’s back was turned to him, but he could unfortunately make out the axe he held at his side.

“He’s got the axe with him,” Rick said.

“It’s not for them,” Caleb said simply.

“You’re going to stand here and watch him behead me?”

“I don’t exactly have to live with the memory of it for long. Besides, how he carries out justice doesn’t matter to me, so long as it’s carried out.”

“How long did it take him to brainwash you like this, Caleb? How long did it take him to turn you into the same kind of man as the one who killed your little girl?” Rick asked.

“You shut your fucking mouth.” Caleb shoved him forward. “One more fucking word, and I’ll make sure your boy gets a front row seat to watch your head roll.”

Rick nodded. With everything else ‘Zak’ had talked Caleb into, he couldn’t quite put it past the man to follow through on that threat.

“Daddy!” Logan exclaimed.

Rick couldn’t help but run to his boy, but ‘Zak’ stopped him from getting too close with the blade of the axe pressed flat to his chest.

“That’s far enough.”

Rick finally got a good look at the man. “Gerry?”

Gerry smiled. “Rick. So glad you could make it.”

“I-I don’t understand. Wh-why… why would you do this?”

“Gerry?” Caleb asked before Gerry could answer. “Why would he call you Gerry?”

“Because it’s the name I use at the school. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“But he said he doesn’t forget the victims or their families. So he should know… who you are.”

“I told you he’d say that to you. I told you he’d try to get into your head. Why would you let him get into your head?” Gerry asked. “Even after I warned you? Even after I explicitly told you what he would say to you?”

“But he remembered my name,” Caleb said. “A-and my girl. And my wife. My son. He remembered.”

“He has access to the case files, Caleb. You can’t be this stupid. This naive.”

“Please let me give him my coat,” Rick interrupted. “Please. He has to be so cold. He’s just a little boy.”

“Did you check him for weapons?” Gerry asked. Caleb only nodded. “And he’s clean?” Again, a silent nod. Gerry pulled the axe away from Rick, using it to gesture to where Bonnie and Logan were knelt on the ice.

“Thank you,” Rick whispered. He shrugged off his coat as he hurried over to the kids. He dropped to his knees and pulled the coat around Logan, zipping it up all the way to the top. He wrapped the boy in a hug, his little head tucked under his chin. “Has he hurt you?”

“He shot Mister Biggs,” Bonnie whispered, her voice breaking. “I-I think he’s dead, Rick. There was so much blood.”

If his eyes hadn’t stung with tears before, they sure as hell did now. “You shot Jeff?” he asked, chin still resting on Logan’s head.

“I gave him a chance to leave, Rick. He pulled his gun on me. I didn’t have a choice after that. You understand.” Gerry clicked his tongue. “Stupid, stupid. You fuckers are so damn cocky, always assuming you have the upper hand. But you don’t. There’s nothing about you that makes you… special. You don’t have anything that the rest of you don’t. You were simply given a badge and a gun. Nothing more.”

“Where… where’d you get him?” Rick asked, his voice thick.

“Three shots to the gut. I figured if he wanted to fight so hard for you, I’d make sure he suffered for it.”

“My God,” Rick whispered, closing his eyes as a tear fell from his jaw and into Logan’s hair.

“This was only ever supposed to be about Rick,” Caleb said.

“It still is. Casualties of war, Caleb. It’s just how it goes,” Gerry said.

“B-but this isn’t war. You didn’t have to kill another one of them. That other deputy, he had nothing to do with it.”

“Whose fucking side are you on, Caleb? Ours, or the man who killed your little girl?”

“You’ll be safe,” Rick whispered as Caleb said something about them going too far. “I-it’s me for you. So once you’re free, I want you to grab Logan a-and run for the parking lot. Your car is there. The keys are in the ignition.”

“Oh, my God, Mister Downs,” Bonnie whispered. “I can’t do that.”

“You can, and you will. You will save yourself, and you will save Logan. Do you understand me? That’s your job, Bonnie. Okay?”

“Mister Downs—”

“It’s your job. Last one, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“Come on.” Caleb grabbed Rick’s bicep and pulled him to his feet.

Rick turned to face Gerry again, arms crossed over his chest to try and keep himself as warm as possible. “The blood in the basement…”

“Stop,” Gerry said, eyes focused on the axe as his fingers dragged across the sharp edge. “Your crime-solving time is up, Rick. That part’s over now.”

“We never were able to find a father for him. There wasn’t one on his birth certificate,” Rick said.

Gerry’s fingers stilled, eyes lifting to Rick’s face without any movement from his head. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t love him.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Who’s he talking about?” Caleb asked.

Gerry held up a hand and patted the air a couple times, signaling for Caleb’s silence. “That’s between me and the deputy. Don’t worry about it.”

“The effort you would’ve had to go through to… to find me. To come here. To… Oh, my God.”

“Planted myself right in the middle of your little town. Right in the middle of the school. Right in the middle of your kids’ lives.” Gerry walked around Rick, shoving him to his knees as soon as he was behind him. Rick’s palm skidded across the ice as he caught himself before his face could take the impact too. “Watched them grow. Watched them learn. Watched you dote on that little boy, just like I used to with mine.”

“I-I don’t understand, Zak. You—”

“This isn’t about you, Caleb,” Gerry said.

“Not about me?” Caleb asked. “I have lost everything. Every single Goddamn thing that ever mattered to me. Every single thing I ever loved. All gone. A-and you… I-I let you convince me that all of that loss was because of Rick, b-but he’s… he’s right. He was right. A good man wouldn’t have done all you’ve done. A good man wouldn’t have made me help him clean up a crime scene. A good man wouldn’t behead an old lady and kidnap a teenager and a little boy.”

“Goddamn, Dep. You really played around in my boy’s head, huh?”

“I was just giving him some perspective.” Rick grunted as Gerry swung the handle of the axe into the back of his head.

He shoved him to the ice, a foot planted between his shoulders. “He does not need your perspective on things, Deputy.”

“Daddy!” Logan cried out, trying to wiggle himself free from his binds.

“You control your boy, Rick. You won’t like what happens if you don’t.”

“Logan!” Rick shouted, his voice far more panicked than he’d hoped it’d be. “Buddy, you just stay there, okay? It’s okay. Y-you just keep your eyes on Bonnie, okay? Talk to Bonnie.”

“Daddy, I’m scared.”

“I know, buddy. I know. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. You look at Bonnie, baby. At Bonnie, not at Daddy. It’s okay.”

“Mm. Good boy,” Gerry said, lifting his foot from Rick’s back. Rick closed his eyes, letting out a breath that was about as close to relief as he was going to get. “When you killed… the children that you did,” Gerry said, oh so careful not to mention his son again, “you upset the very balance of the universe, Rick. It took years to get to this point, but it’s finally time to set that balance right once more. Once you’re gone, and that little blonde is gone, maybe Pitman too, balance will finally be restored, and the world will be right once more.”

“I know you miss your son—”

“My kid,” Gerry corrected.

“Your kid,” Rick echoed, his voice breaking. He forced himself to nod. “I know you miss your kid. I-I know that loss was so incredibly profound. But please, Gerry, please. Think about this. There’s no balance to restore. There’s no world in which killing me brings back your kid. Or Caleb’s girl, or his son or his wife. I-it doesn’t bring back any of them.”

“Oh, it’ll bring back mine. You and Bo are the last steps to assure that. Well, and Logan.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Once you and Bo are out of the picture, all I need is the blood of an innocent. That’s it. And then my b—kid will walk this earth once more.”

“Oh, my God. You’re fucking crazy,” Caleb breathed. “Wh-what do you think you are? Some kind of necromancer?”

Slowly, Gerry lifted his head, gaze settling on Caleb and the gun pointed at him. “Lower your weapon, Caleb.”

“Who the hell are you? Because I know you’re not Zak. I-I knew you were pushing it with what you did to that old lady, to these kids. B-but bringing someone back from the dead? Killing the kid to do it? You’re crazy. You can’t be a good man. You can’t be Zak.”

Gerry pulled one hand from the axe, resting it on the gun tucked into the waistband at the small of his back. “My boy deserved to live just as much as your kid. He just needed help. Rick stole that from him, just like he failed to give your kid the chance at life she deserved.”

“You’re his father? Th-the fucker that killed them all?”

“Don’t you fucking call him that.”

“Oh, my God,” Caleb whispered.

“Put the gun down, Caleb.”

“No. I’m not going to let you hurt anyone else.”

“Caleb. Lower the gun.”

Rick lifted his head enough to spot Jeff’s gun in Gerry’s hand. “Caleb, he has—” The gunshot cut Rick off. Bonnie and Logan screamed. Rick flinched so hard he pulled something in his neck. Caleb crumpled to the ice, gun falling from his hand.

Gerry shook his head. “What a shame. You know how hard I had to work to convince him I was just like him? And you fucked it all up, Rick. First with your little newspaper article, and then with this.” Another shake of his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have sent you to the house with him. I knew you’d get into his weak little head.” He stepped back and kicked Rick’s shoulder. “Stand up.”

Rick drew in a shaky breath. Hands pressed to the ice, he pushed himself up to his knees, and then to his feet. “We had a deal. You… you let the kids go, and then… then you can… reset the balance.”

“I’m honestly surprised you bought that,” Gerry said with a little shrug of his shoulders. “Surely you’ve heard of the slaughter of the lamb? Blood of the innocent?”

“Gerry, please,” Rick whispered. “I know you want to punish me. I-I know you think killing me a-and even Bo makes it right. I understand that. But Logan and Bonnie? They didn’t do anything. Bonnie’s mom doesn’t deserve to lose a child like you did. Heidi doesn’t deserve to lose a child like you did. Your revenge is me. Bo. Jamal. But not them. Not these kids.”

“That’s cute, Rick. Really. But I’m not as weak-willed as Caleb was. You won’t be able to change my mind with begging and pleading. You won’t be able to toy with me the way you were able to do with him.”

There was no changing Gerry’s mind. Not the way there had been for Caleb. But he could still save Bonnie and Logan if he played his cards right. “Caleb needed to know you weren’t the man you were pretending to be. He needed to know you weren’t suffering his same loss like you claimed to.”

“You murdered my boy. I suffered just as much as any parent who lost a child.”

“His innocent little girl was murdered at the hands of your bastard child. In what world could that possibly be the same?”

Gerry pointed the axe at him. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Your son deserved a hell of a lot worse than death. What he got was the easy way out. That little fucker—”

Gerry swings at Rick with the axe. Rick barely manages to lean back out of the way. They struggle over the axe. Gerry slams the handle into Rick’s nose. Rick falls back to the ice. Gerry raises the axe. Three gunshots ring out. Gerry stumbles back a step before the ax falls from his hand, blade burying itself in the ice an inch from Rick’s head.

A little dizzy from the blow to the head, Rick blinks hard before turning toward the parking lot. Dallas and Bo run toward them.

Dallas shoved his gun back into its holster before squatting down to check Gerry for a pulse. “The sacrifice yourself method was a stupid fucking choice,” he said.

Rick closed his eyes, dropping the back of his head to the ice again. “I know. I couldn’t see another way out.” A pause. “Is he dead?”

“As a doornail.”

“Tragic,” Bo commented as he untied Logan’s wrists.

Dallas snorted his response as he rose back to his feet. “You ready to stand, Downs?”

“Not yet.”

“Should probably see a doctor. Hit the ground so hard, I could see your head bounce off the ice from the parking lot.”

“Yeah, it… it feels like that’s true.”

Logan, free from his binds, crawled over to his father and practically collapsed on top of him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “Safe, Daddy?”

“Safe,” Rick whispered, burying a hand in his son’s hair. “Safe.”


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Truths and Chains – Chapter Six

NOT EDITED

Vito pulled his phone from his pocket as he dropped into his usual spot on Jamal’s private plane. Most people in Vito’s life were in agreement that public air transport was probably the last place he should be most days, and he was always thankful for that. Jamal’s plane was much more cushy anyway.

He raised an eyebrow as Jamal’s name appeared at the top of his screen. He swiped his thumb across the bottom of his screen, denying the call. Not because he didn’t want to talk, but because it had been six months since he’d gotten to fuck with Jamal, and God, had he missed it.

JP: Answer the phone

Vito: You wanna talk to a millennial? Learn to text, Boomer

JP: You’re insufferable

Vito: 😘

JP: 🙄

Vito: 😱 Baby Boomer’s first emoji!!!

JP: I hate you

Vito: You love me

Vito: You missed me bothering you 24/7

Vito: Admit it

JP: If I admit it, you have to accept my call

Vito: Pfft, no deal

JP: I’ll beat your ass the next time I see you

Vito: Like to see you try, short stuff

Jamal, a whopping two inches shorter than Vito, could very much successfully beat his ass. But Vito would never willingly admit that, especially to the man himself.

JP: I spoke to Elias, and he’s willing to meet with you. I gave him your number so you can coordinate a time and place. He also knows your real name. You should probably prepare me ahead of time if you have me call someone you’ve given a fake name to

Vito: Tattletale

Vito: Six months was a long time ago. You expect me to remember what name I gave someone?

Vito: And bro, my PHONE NUMBER dude? You gave him my actual PHONE NUMBER?

JP: It wouldn’t be a problem if you’d give people your real name

JP: We’ve talked about the ‘dude bro’ thing, have we not? Besides, I thought your ‘rule’ for phone numbers was not giving them to the women you sleep with? You’re not sleeping with him, so what’s the problem?

Vito admittedly didn’t know how to respond to that one.

Vito: Pfft, whatever dude. Out here handing my fucking number out like it’s everyone’s business

Vito tapped his thumb against the side of his phone. Jamal must’ve been closer to Mickey’s kid than he’d thought if he’d been able to talk him into meeting up with a Minetti twin so easily. Maybe he’d ask Elias about that. If Elias got to learn all about Vito’s relationship with his dad, it seemed only fair that he should get to learn about Elias’s relationship with one of his.

Vito: Thanks for talking to him for me

JP: It was ONE person’s business, shithead. And you’re welcome. Try to behave yourself. He has permission to call Tito if you don’t

Vito: Rude

As soon as a text from an unknown number popped up at the top of his screen, he clicked the notification, opening a new message thread.

Unknown: Hey, Vitelli, this is Elias, Mickey’s kid. Jamal gave me your number to coordinate coffee

Vito: Don’t worry, Jamal tattled on himself. I know you know my real name

Vito backed out of the thread long enough to add him to his contacts.

Mickey’s kid: Thank God

Mickey’s kid: You’re a good liar, Minetti

Vito: The best 😉

Mickey’s kid: 🙄

Mickey’s kid: I don’t know if Jamal told you, but I’m a veterinarian. I had a couple emergencies come in today, so I’m at the clinic and planning on being here for a while to keep an eye on everyone. If you’d like to have coffee here, I’m happy to give you the address. If you’d rather be out in public, I should be more available tomorrow

Vito: Vet clinic is okay, long as you feel comfortable with it

Mickey’s kid: I don’t mind

Vito: Sweet. We have a pit stop to make after we land, so it’ll probably be closer to four hours before I’m there. Whatcha gonna order? I’ll pick it up for you

Mickey’s kid: Dealer’s choice. I’m not too picky, as long as it has soy instead of dairy

Vito: Eww

Mickey’s kid: I know, haha. I’m not a big fan of the taste either. But I’d rather that than the migraine

Vito: You tried oat milk? My brother switched to that after I shit on his soy tastes too many times and likes it better

Vito was actually kind of impressed that he had remembered that. Maybe he wasn’t quite the piece of shit little brother he credited himself to be.

Mickey’s kid: You know, I actually haven’t. I’ll take you up on that offer though. Anything with oat milk

Vito: Awesome. You want food? I’m gonna score some pancakes myself

Mickey’s kid: A muffin?

Vito: Got a favorite?

Mickey’s kid: Whatever they have available. I’m not picky

Vito: Okie dokie. I’ll text you when I’m in Kansas and on my way. Send me a pin for your clinic whenever

Elias sent him a Google Maps link.

Mickey’s kid: Looking forward to seeing you again. Have a safe flight, and I’ll see you, food, and coffee in a few hours

***

Once their plane landed in Kansas, Tito had driven them straight to the Cassata household to see Matthew ‘Momma’ Dawson, the family’s doctor. Unlike their own house doctor, Momma was sober and actually gave a shit about the men he took care of, Vito’s dumb ass included. After taking Vito’s prized bag of drugs from Tito, he had shooed the taller twin out of his office and closed the door. He sat down at his desk, clearing his throat as he turned the bag over in his hands.

“So… what have you taken most recently?” Momma asked.

“Valium.”

He nodded. “Okay. It looks like all of these pills aren’t Valium, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Are these all things you’ve taken recently?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Momma cleared his throat. “Would you like to tell me what the other pills are, or would you like me to dump them out and find out myself?”

“I can just, uh… tell you, I guess.”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Vito scratched his jaw, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Uh… Vicodin, Oxy, Fentanyl, Codein. Think that’s… probably it.”

“So mostly opioids?” Momma asked, absolutely no judgment written on his face.

“I guess, yeah. And the Valium.”

“Did you take that one frequently?”

Vito shook his head. “I switched… sources the day before I was released. She’s the ‘source’ who gave me that instead of the pain meds.”

“That’s good. We should only have to manage the opioid withdrawal. How are you feeling now?”

“Little bit like I wanna kill you for that bag.”

Momma nodded, like that was a totally normal thing for one human to say to another. “Well, I appreciate the honesty.” He locked the bag away in one of his desk drawers before pushing himself to his feet. “You weren’t getting any alcohol in there, were you?”

“No, just the pills.”

“Good,” Momma said softly, sorting through the keys in his hands. “I’m going to start you on methadone. It’ll help blunt your cravings a bit, but it might take a couple days for you to really feel that difference. It might make you a bit sleepy in the beginning, as well. Are you good at swallowing pills rather than… other methods one may use?”

“A pro at pretty much any form, Momma.”

“Perfect. I’ll give you one before you leave here, and I’ll give your brother the bottle. I’m going to start you on ten milligrams, and if you start experiencing heavy withdrawal in a couple hours despite that, we’ll up your dose. I don’t imagine we’ll have to decrease it any right now given your tolerance, but if you feel completely sedated by it, let me know. We can always adjust. Okay?”

“Okay.” Vito chose to continue staring at the wall as Momma walked behind him to open the medicine cabinet. He did not need to know which drawer held the opioids.

Momma leaned back against his desk, holding a bottle out to Vito. “Give that to your brother. I’ll text him the details, so if you don’t give it to him, he’ll still know you have it, and he will absolutely take it from you. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” Vito rose to his feet and cleared his throat. “Umm… thanks, Momma. For this. And for not being a piece of shit about it.”

“Of course. I’ve stitched you and your brother up so many times that it’d be impossible to pretend you aren’t family, regardless of the name your loyalty officially falls to.” Momma leaned forward to squeeze Vito’s shoulder. “You’re one of ours, kid, whether you know it or not. You always will be, and I will always take care of my own, you included.”

“Well, if you need anything stupid or dangerous done, you know who to ask for,” Vito said.

Momma chuckled. “That I do.” He pointed to the pill bottle. “You keep me updated on how that does for you. If something needs to change, you know where I am.”


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