In only a matter of roughly two-and-a-half months, the town of Gates Mill, once virtually unheard of, now dominated every television screen across the United States of America.
After the close encounter with Detective Garland, Vance met with Lumis alongside Ariella and Arkus—and Lumis quickly advised them not to visit the station themselves. So, the detective took the mp3 recording of the incident and left to resolve the issue himself. In the days to follow, Vance, Ariella, and Arkus heard nothing new from Lumis about the ordeal—though none of them were particularly worried now. Vance was still preoccupied with his own tasks, preparing to make a long drive to Dallas to follow a lead—and Ariella, Arkus, and the rest of their friends were getting their podcast back on track, barely keeping up with their school work as they did.
Slowly, the students throughout school began talking to them regularly again; after Ariella cleared up her side of the story on the show, many of them expressed full support of her despite the negative news story circulating around her. After a few days, nobody in the school gave them any bizarre looks, and their routine mostly returned to normal—in fact, after the exclusive content in the latest podcast, everyone on the website and everyone on the channel was showering the comments section with undying support of the Gates Mill Gate Keepers, a few of them making harsh remarks about the Gates Mill Police Department. Though on a whole, the Gate Keepers kept their podcast afloat with little negative feedback, which was a better outcome than any of them expected.
However, as their routine returned to normal—the routines of the town itself seemed to be on an incline of urgency; many of the protesters who were already in town chose to flee Gates Mill, and many more flooded in to take their place, as the reign of the Cutthroat Killer was the hottest topic of nearly every media outlet across the country now. But this time, the protesters didn’t seem to be leaning toward one side of social movements or another; most were on the same page, holding up signs that read SHAME ON GMPD, WHAT ARE THE COPS DOING? PROTECTION FOR PROTESTERS, CUT IT OUT CUTTHROAT, and NO MORE MURDER.
Every sight and every encounter seemed and felt more urgent than usual, as if any sound or movement might lead to a shouting match, or a fight, or even a killing; on the streets, there were more police cars interspersed between the ordinary vehicles. Mayor Byers made a statement on the news, promising to bring the Cutthroat Killer to justice and proposing the idea of a curfew, and now, even the Texas Rangers were regularly patrolling certain areas of the town. Inside the police precinct, many of Lumis’s co-workers expressed their distress at the frequent visits of protesters outside the station, and they also complained fervently about the nosy presence of the recently-arrived rangers. The police often traded conversation about all the fights they’d been forced to break up recently, as assaults and domestic violence seemed to be on the rise in Gates Mill. On various radio stations—particularly talk shows—the DJs speculated heavily on the motive and identity of the Cutthroat Killer, many of them even coming to the same correct conclusion that Vance and the Gate Keepers already had, that Cutthroat was a killer of justice, murdering those who—as he believed—deserved to die. Most citizens of Gates Mill, whenever they ventured into public, would now drag their friends to the public bathrooms with them, or travel in groups and carpools in order to go to work or do their shopping. It seemed everyone was afraid to go anywhere alone, and the angers and frights of Gates Mill’s society continued to steadily grow. Tempers were shorter, people more on-edge. Fear crept to an incline, and in the back of everybody’s head, one unsettling, deeply-repressed question loomed on all the minds of nearly everyone in Gates Mill.
When would the reign of the Cutthroat Killer finally come to an end?
Ariella took the exigency in stride; during all this hype and fear in the atmosphere of her hometown, she and her friends never felt more reassured about their mission, and the rise of fear and adrenaline in their town only strengthened their resolve.
Vance felt similarly. and while Ariella spent the day with her friends, finally reuniting with Julian after his frightful encounter at church—the hound dog PI finally made his long drive to Dallas, hoping to find the mother of the latest suspect, Charlie Hammer.
The day was drawing to an end by the time he spotted the buildings of Dallas shimmering in the distance, far across the open desert. After driving through the city for a while and growing irritated by the traffic, Vance located the dingy, low-income apartment complex of Charlie Hammer’s mother, pulling his car to a stop and sighing heavily. He hadn’t slept more than two hours, as he was up all night racking his brain despite the storm of headaches weighing on him—and now, as his stomach rumbled with a dull ache, he realized he hadn’t yet eaten today. Food and sleep hardly seemed important, though the hunger and tiredness were weighing a bit heavier on him now.
Vance slid his hand off the steering wheel, leaning back in his seat and pulling out his phone. He dialed Lumis, who answered after three rings.
“Vance,” Lumis said before Vance could speak. “Listen. Two things—one, I just got a call about some cadavers in the woods. And two—I’ve got an update on the Garland situation.”
“Which woods are the—no, hold on,” Vance mumbled, massaging the bridge of his nose and repressing a yawn. “What’s going on with Garland?”
“You’re in Dallas, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good, then you can’t hunt me down and bitch at me for this…”
“Oh… fucking great. That can only mean good news.”
“Well… good and bad. The good news is, Garland has been temporarily suspended without pay, which naturally means he’s off the Karen-Peter case.”
“Okay…”
“But, the bad news is… Hawkins doesn’t want you around anymore.”
Vance sat eerily still for a moment, his expression darkening, his insides giving an agitated churn. “I just drove to Dallas for this fucking investiga—”
“Vance, calm your shit,” Lumis cut him off. “He doesn’t want you at the station anymore—but he didn’t say anything about you working with me outside the station.”
“Oh, well, that’s good… that’s very fucking thoughtful of him,” Vance griped sarcastically. “I’m curious to know what I did wrong. Garland had no right to arrest Ari—”
“I know that… and so doea Hawkins,” Lumis assured. “But he listened to the entire ordeal, Vance. He heard everything you said, too… and he knows you’ve got an emotional investment in this case now. So… he just wants you to keep your distance for the time being.”
“Tough,” Vance growled angrily, glancing out the windshield and staring up at the unkempt apartment complex before him. “I’m at the suspect’s damn doorstep now.”
“Good. Now, Kerry Hammer is a little old lady—so don’t take your temper into her apartment, all right?” Lumis advised. “Call me and let me know what happens. I’ll update you on my new situation here as soon as possible.”
“Yeah. Be in touch soon.”
The two of them hung up, and Vance took a deep breath, exiting his vehicle and approaching the nearest entryway to the apartment complex.
He slowed to a stop at the edge of the concrete stairway, turning and surveying his surroundings intently—the broken fence around the building, the graffiti on the wall across the street, the church down the road with the cracked window, and the gang of young twenty-somethings wandering down the street with pants hanging halfway off their backsides.
Vance absorbed every detail of the area before turning and gazing up at the apartment complex again—an incredibly old building, gray paint peeling off in several places, clear signs of heavy water damage on the roof, and smaller works of spray-painted art on the insides of the stairways. After taking in every detail, he nodded to himself, drawing a few quick conclusions.
Charlie Hammer—originally a Gates Mill homebody who disappeared suddenly years ago—had apparently moved to the city without telling any of his friends. This behavior—combined with a list of misdemeanors on his record, which Lumis recently discovered—indicated a history of breaking the law, and it was entirely possible that Charlie Hammer committed a crime shortly before skipping town, vanishing into Dallas and living with his mother. And now, as he studied the environment where Charlie’s mother lived, he determined that his preassumptions were correct; this area certainly fit the bill of a lowly criminal’s home.
So, Vance strolled up the stairs, his hand gliding along the metal balcony as he slid a small piece of paper from his pocket. He read off the apartment number, pocketed the paper again, and searched around until he found the correct apartment on the third floor—apartment number 19. This apartment resided at the end, just beside the balcony overlooking the slummier side of Dallas. Vance inhaled a deep breath, stifled every irritation spawned from hunger and drowsiness, and gently knocked on the door.
Moments later, the door creaked open.
Before him stood a short, plump woman, with graying brunette hairs tied back and a round, careworn face, a large pair of reading glasses resting halfway down her nose. She gave Vance a polite smile, raising her brows expectantly at him.
“Kerry Hammer?” Vance asked.
“Yes,” the woman—Kerry—replied with a nod. “May I help you?”
Vance flashed his badge briefly. “I need to speak to you about your son, if that’s all right. Could I come inside?”
Kerry’s smile seemed to weaken, but she gave him a nod, stepping aside and motioning for him to enter. Vance stepped into the apartment and allowed her to close the door behind him. She kindly offered him a seat, and he obliged, sitting at her table and examining the apartment around him as he did.
The table was only big enough for two people, placed at the wall facing the city, the window overlooking Dallas directly above the table’s surface. Behind him was a faded salmon couch, a TV across from it, playing a news station. Family portraits hung from the walls, pictures of a younger Kerry and Charlie Hammer, both of them with dark hair, Charlie’s cut short, Kerry’s left to grow long and tainted with fades of white and gray. There were numerous paintings of kittens and other small animals covering the walls as well, and there were hand-woven quilts laying on the edge of her couch, most of them finished, one of them incomplete. The cushion at the corner of the couch seemed slightly wrinkled, indented and presumably used frequently, the unfinished quilt sitting beside the cushion on the arm of the old woman’s couch.
This woman spent all her time knitting and watching television, from what Vance could tell.
Kerry had shuffled off to her kitchenette, and was now returning with two cups of fresh coffee. Vance blinked and straightened up, only just noticing the small tray on the table, which contained salt and pepper shakers, creamers, sugars, sweet-n-lows, and splenda. It seemed she was always prepared for company, though he suspected she didn’t see much of it. No one else was here, after all, and the couch only had one obvious indention…
As Kerry scooted the coffee closer to him, something else caught his attention—a smell, a heavenly scent from the kitchenette, where something delicious had presumably been cooked in her oven recently.
Vance gulped, sighing and graciously taking the coffee mug.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Oh… no problem, honey,” Kerry smiled and swatted her hand, sinking into the seat across from him. “What’s this about my son, now…?”
“Well…” Vance took a sip and placed the mug down, wondering where to begin. “I need to talk to him. Do you know where he is?”
Kerry maintained her smile for a moment, though now, it seemed to waver, a hint of pain in her eyes. “No… I haven’t seen him in years, dear. I’m sorry.”
Vance’s lip curled. He looked down for a moment, slowly nodding. “All right… what can you tell me about him?”
Kerry hesitated. “Can I ask what this is about?”
“Of course,” Vance nodded. “I’m just going down a list of suspects for a particular case I’m working on, and Charlie’s name just happens to be on it.”
Kerry hung her head for a moment, sighing heavily. “Doesn’t surprise me…”
Vance narrowed his eyes at her, feeling a touch of empathy for the woman. Every visible spec of this apartment seemed overly cleaned, maintained, and decorated—not to mention, the woman’s attitude was as warm and friendly as ever. But her son was a criminal, and Kerry knew this full well. It seemed her kindness was likely wasted on a guy like Charlie Hammer.
Vance finally spoke again, asking whatever questions came to mind about the suspect in question. As they talked, he perceptively absorbed all the information given to him; Kerry Hammer revealed that Charlie Hammer was forty-three years of age, old enough to be the assailant who killed Mary Goldwater back in the day. Charlie suffered from substance abuse problems and mental health issues in the past, and the more the old woman talked, the more Vance began to consider that this lone psycho from Dallas really might have been the Cutthroat Killer. It was strange that he’d travel so far north to do most of his killings, but as Lumis said, he might’ve been taking precautions in order to avoid being caught. Perhaps the frequent traveling was how he kept himself off the radar—and judging by everything Kerry said this past hour, Charlie Hammer was most assuredly capable of harming others.
When their conversation dwindled to a silence, Vance turned his head, eyeing the family portraits on the wall once more. His visage hardened, his mind racing, and somehow—for some reason he didn’t yet know—something felt off.
He sat in silence for nearly a full minute, reaching through his thoughts and spider-webbing every new detail into the equation.
Then—it came to him.
According to Kerry, Charlie Hammer was a substance abuser, someone who frequently broke the law by assault, attempted robbery, and domestic violence. Yes, this man was definitely capable of murder under the right circumstances.
But he certainly did not fit the profile of a justice killer.
“You don’t have any idea where he might’ve gone, do you?” Vance asked her. “Does he have any other contacts? Any friends he might go stay with?”
“Oh, he used to have lots of friends here in the city,” Kerry told him. “But they’re all locked up now, I’m afraid. Mental wards and jails. All of them. I tried to keep him away from those bad apples, I really did, but living around here… well, this place is just… full of ‘em.”
“Did he ever travel? Did he ever make trips out of the city?”
“Probably, dear. I’m not sure. He was almost never home. He only came around when he needed money. I don’t know what he was up to. He was always gone.”
“Did he ever visit Gates Mill, north of here?”
“Gates Mill? You know… I never even heard of Gates Mill before yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yes, dear… yesterday was the first time I saw Gates Mill on the news. They talked about those people who got killed at a church… a church , for goodness sake. Tragic… oh, I hate stories like that. It makes you wonder how people can even be capable of such evil.”
“Yeah. Sure does…” Vance trailed off, the gears in his mind turning.
So, Gates Mill was making the news everywhere else in the country now, not just local news. Everyone would be hearing about Gates Mill, everyone in every part of Texas and in every other state. Serial killers were a hot topic, and it wasn’t one the media ever neglected to exploit.
“Mrs. Hammer,”Vance said. “Do you think your son is capable of… multiple murders?”
Kerry’s smile diminished. “You think Charlie might’ve been involved in that church incident up in Gates Mill…?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, I…” She paused, releasing a distressed cloud of breath. “I guess I don’t really know, dear. Charlie’s been stealing from me and mooching off me his entire life… but he never talked to me. I guess… I don’t really know him at all. Not anymore.”
There was a pause. Kerry glanced over at her television, which was now playing yet another story about Gates Mill. As she observed the screen—Vance observed her, grimacing as his mind worked up a storm. It seemed unfair that this woman was left alone at the end of her life just because she had the unfortunate luck of having a troubled criminal for a son.
And that was particularly vexing to Vance—the thought of Charlie Hammer being a justice killer. This guy didn’t sound like he had any moral compass whatsoever, and that blatant fact alone stabbed a great big hole into Vance’s theory.
If the Cutthroat Killer was killing those he found to be immoral—why would he himself living such an immoral lifestyle?
“I’m really sorry I couldn’t be more helpful, dear,” Kerry said regretfully. “This whole thing is just awful.”
“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Vance replied solemnly.
“Oh, hun, don’t worry none… would you like to stay for dinner? I just finished a lasagna.”
“Ah… no, that’s all right,” Vance said, ignoring the pain in his gut and the alluring smell in the kitchenette. “I really need to get going. Got a long drive.”
Kerry tilted her head, giving him a sad sort of smile. “You haven’t eaten today, have you?”
Vance took back slightly. “Ahm… no. Haven’t had the chance yet. How’d you know?”
“Mommas always know,” Kerry replied whimsically. “If you’re in a hurry, I’ll wrap you up some lasagna to go.”
Vance opened his mouth, wanting to protest, but Kerry stood and meandered across the living room, reaching her kitchenette and opening her oven. The pleasant smell became thicker, and he suddenly lost the will to argue with her.
He then turned to the window again, eyes tracing up and down the tall buildings in the distance. He found himself thankful he didn’t live in a big city. So many people, so much noise…
Far beyond those buildings, miles north of here, Gates Mill was awaiting his return. He would drive straight back home after leaving Kerry’s apartment. He hadn’t found much information in Dallas, and he certainly didn’t have any idea where Charlie Hammer might’ve been now. There was no point in staying here any longer, with the exception of the heavenly scent that was floating out of the kitchenette…
Just then, as he sat tiredly at the table and secretly savored the glorious scent of fresh lasagna, a strange thought occurred to him. He wondered what his own mother was like, if she ever cooked delicious dinners for him, offering him those warm smiles and those sweet, caring remarks.
He pulled up the sleeve of his overcoat, sliding his fingers over his skin. There were two scars on his left arm, and both of them were lumps, protruding from the skin and muscle, the same place they’d been for many years now, old marks from imbedded shrapnel—and he was well aware of the injury he received when he was a Navy SEAL.
He knew all the hard facts about it, that he took some shrapnel to the arm and a blow to the head—but how it happened, he didn’t recall.
He didn’t remember battle, nor did he remember his family, or his friends, or his school life. Most days, he was fine with it, almost relieved that he didn’t remember much about the military—but it might’ve been nice to recall the things before it. He never had much time to spare it any thought, as he was always caught up in the here and now, between raising Ariella and working with Lumis.
But, occasionally, once in a rare blue moon, he couldn’t help but wonder—wonder what led up to this point, what his life was like at the beginning, what happened in the past to mold him into the man he is today.
His head began to throb painfully, and Vance stopped thinking, covering his scars and looking out the window again.
Once again—just like always—the headache slowed his thoughts to a stop, bringing him to the same conclusion as usual.
It hardly mattered what happened back then—because there was more than enough for him to deal with in the here and now.
“Here you go, sweety,” Kerry said tenderly, placing a large aluminum rectangle in front of him. It was a huge chunk of lasagna, wrapped up snugly, the aluminum hot to the touch. “Please take care of yourself. I can tell you work too hard.”
“Thank you very much,” Vance said graciously, taking the lasagna and standing. “I’ve gotta head back home now.”
“Be careful, dear.”
Kerry smiled sweetly as Vance headed for the door, his heart aching a bit as he left her alone in her apartment.
When he reached his car, he sank into the driver seat and pulled the door shut, eager to rip open the lasagna and devour it, but he groaned when his phone began to ring. Sighing heavily, he yanked it out and flipped it open.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.” Lumis’s voice sounded gruff, throatier than usual. “You need to get back here.”
“What happened?”
“There’s a situation on the outskirts of town. It’s out in the country, so thankfully, there’s no media circus here. But…”
“What is it?”
“It’s the two new Cutthroat victims out in the woods. I need you to hurry up and take a look at this crime scene before the bodies are removed.”
“I’m still in the city, Bill.”
“Then drive, and drive fast. There’s something off about this one, and I can’t explain it over the phone. You need to see it.”
Vance grimaced, grabbing the steering wheel and staring longingly down at the half-unwrapped lasagna in his lap.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Drive up Gleason and keep going until you see Greenpark Drive off to the left. Turn there, and you’ll find the police cars about a mile down the road. Wooded area.”
“Gotcha.”
Vance jerked his phone shut, setting it and the lasagna in the passenger seat before starting up his engine and driving away from Kerry’s apartment complex. He didn’t have time to eat, and he certainly didn’t have time to take care of himself, not just yet.
He drove out of Dallas as quickly as he could.
Time passed. The blazing sun soon died into a faint orange glow, and after a tireless afternoon of nonstop driving, he finally got off on his exit and headed toward Gates Mill.
His stomach tight with hunger and his eyes bleary from lack of sleep, Vance shook himself awake and drove out to the countryside, taking the road that eventually connected to Gleason.
When he found Greenpark Drive, the sunset had faded into a darkening twilight, and he drove through the night until finally stopping at a congregation of police cars on the side of the road, all of them parked beside the woods and unoccupied. None of the police were anywhere near their cars as of now. The street was completely empty, the only things in sight being the endless autumn trees that stretched along this entire back road and the vacant police cars parked beneath a few of them.
As the night set in, a thin fog became visible in the air while Vance exited his car and walked down the only trail-like pathway in his sight, following the faint sounds of muffled voices. He marched through the woods for a few minutes before finally emerging in a clearing.
The police were shuffling around and talking to one another, movement and flashlights shifting over the dark scene, and Vance spotted Lumis standing beside a peculiar structure in the center of the field.
The detective couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from the structure, and after narrowing his eyes at it, neither could Vance.
It was mind-boggling; the base of the structure itself was a tall, thick tree stump, but either side of the stump had two corpses tied onto it, back-to-back, both of them facing opposite directions. When he got closer, Vance was able to see the rope that was keeping the two bodies attached to the stump. The rope was wrapped around both of them, and it sank into their clothing and their rotting flesh. The heads lay lopsided and backward atop the stump, as the sawed-open necks were unable to support the weight of the skulls, and their faces were sunken and saggy, emitting a scent that even a maggot might find unbecoming.
Lumis covered his nose with his sleeve as he stared at the bizarre scene.
Vance approached and stood by his side, giving the corpse-strewn structure an intent surveying. He let out a sigh and attempted to ignore the smell.
“A couple of kids were playing out here, and they found the bodies. I looked up the towns nearby, and I was able to identify the first guy based on a report from Wichita, where the guy originally came from. He’s been missing from his home for a week. He’s an African American, a member of a black extremist group, Avondre Gordon. Had a hell of a criminal record, and his social media’s full of anti-white propaganda. He spent most of his free time physically assaulting white people and bragging about it on Facebook and Twitter X,” Lumis explained, motioning toward one of the corpses.
Avondre’s decaying skull was decorated with a black bandanna, his torso dressed with a wife-beater that was now coated in clumps of dry blood.
“And this one is a Caucasian. He’s from closer by. One of the kids was able to identify him as a neighbor of theirs. His name was Frank Maples. He was a known leader and active participant of the Ku Klux Klan. A grand dragon,” Lumis stated, gesturing to the other body. “He’s not on social media, although his family did have a lot to say about his… activities. He also liked to brag about how his grandfather treated black folks back in ‘the good old days,’ apparently… and he would allude to the fact that he periodically does the same things, whenever he can get away with it in ‘today’s liberal society’ or what have you.”
The second corpse, the middle-aged Caucasian named Frank, was wearing a white overcoat blotched with dark bloodstains and chunks of mud all over.
“That’s peculiar,” Vance remarked. “We have the bodies of two racist extremists here.”
“Yeah… two reprehensible people who were particularly outspoken about their violent racist activity, to beat it all. And… now… here they both are, lashed to a stump together. It means something, I’m sure. You’re better at deciphering this philosophical shit than I am. I thought it’d be worth your time to have a look in person,” Lumis moaned into his arm, as with every word he spoke, it became harder not to vomit. “So… any thoughts…?”
Vance moved forward slowly, his eyes reading over every inch of the scene. It wasn’t easy to make out in the darkness, but he studied it best he could; the throats had been split open by something sharp and jagged, most assuredly the work of their mysterious Cutthroat Killer. The visible skin on the corpses appeared to be incredibly loose, and the smell quickly became overwhelming when he moved closer.
“Well… this definitely isn’t today’s work. They’ve been here for a day or two, at least,” Vance said without looking away from the corpses. “They’re falling apart, and they smell like they’ve been sitting in the sun.”
“I can see that,” Lumis uttered disdainfully.
One of the police officers briefly shone a flashlight at them by accident. Just when the light skimmed over the tree stump—Vance caught sight of a brief reflection in the center of it.
“Hey!” Vance yelled at the nearest cop, the one holding the flashlight. “Point that over here again. Shine that back over here!”
The officer aimed his flashlight at the corpses again.
In the middle of the stump, between the two corpse heads and glistening in the light—a single quarter was wedged into one of the cracks in the old rotting wood. The coin stood perfectly upright, almost like a tiny divider between the two bodies, the heads side facing Frank, the tails side facing the Avondre.
Vance reached out to take the coin, but Lumis smacked his hand away. “Don’t touch that. That’s part of a crime scene. Fuck, you know better.”
“Two sides of the same coin,” Vance muttered.
Lumis stared.
“Two racist extremists on two sides of the stump. Opposites, but they’re the same. The coin is symbolic of them. They’re two sides of the same coin,” Vance elaborated.
There was a grim, tense pause between the two of them, Vance observing the scene intensely, now knowing for certain everything he simply suspected before.
Charlie Hammer, the morally corrupt drug addict who stole and assaulted people all his life, was not the Cutthroat Killer. A guy like Charlie only lived for himself.
But the Cutthroat Killer lived for far more.
That much was clearer than ever now, as Vance scanned over every inch of the revolting scene before him. No, a shiftless thug like Charlie wouldn’t go through these incredible, horrific lengths to preach any kind of morality.
Charlie—from everything Vance had learned about him—simply had no concept of morality.
But the Cutthroat Killer was absolutely, positively obsessed with it.
“Yeah… I thought it’d be something like that,” Lumis mumbled nauseously. “The killer’s sending us a message again.”
“I told you… he’s killer of justice,” Vance replied gravely. “Killing a couple of racist extremists would fit his agenda. And these two, killed so recently after the protesters at the church… it’s getting more and more intense by the day now. He’s acting out more, and he’s doing it on purpose. He certainly is sending a message… even more so than he was before.”
“And what message is that?”
Vance turned to him, his eyes burning a fiery blue.
“He’s never gonna stop. He’s gonna keep at it… and he’s gonna kill until he dies.”
After the most stressful day Vance encountered since the Cutthroat Killer’s return, Lumis dealt with the new situation while his PI was left to return home for the evening.
Ariella and Arkus came home late as well, as they’d spent the late afternoon with Julian inside the empty church, joking around in order to lift his spirits. When the two of them marched into the house, they found Vance slumped over the kitchen table, his coat thrown lopsidedly on the back of the couch, his arm outstretched, and his head resting on it, his mouth slightly agape as he slept soundly on the table’s surface. A chunk of aluminum sat a few inches away from his face, containing a large helping of lasagna that had been halfway eaten.
Arkus smirked, and Ariella let out a breathless laugh, gently patting her father on the arm and stirring him awake. He slowly stood, and she led him down the hall, Vance wandering dazedly into his bedroom and flumping backward onto his bed, falling back to sleep almost instantly. Ariella slid the blankets out from beneath him and draped them over her exhausted father before turning and leaving the room, gently pulling the bedroom door shut behind her.
When she returned to the living room, Arkus was still brandishing a sly half-smile.
“I reckon he’s not gonna mind us all having a movie night,” Arkus remarked. “Seeing as how he’s dead to the world.”
“Nope,” Ariella grinned in response. “I swear to God, he works way too hard…”
A few minutes later—just as expected—there was a knock at the door. Ariella gladly opened it, pleased to see Tammy, Lucy, Zane, and Jaxson on her front porch, all of them carrying armfuls of junk food. The six of them piled into the living room, sitting around the TV and snacking while they chatted and surfed the movies on Netflix, trying to vote on one.
With little room on the couch, Ariella was sitting snugly beside Arkus, his arm and side pressed up against hers. She couldn’t seem to wipe the smile from her face for a good long while.
As they all watched a goofy romantic comedy movie, Tammy and Jaxson soon succumbed to a minor food fight, flicking potato chips at one another. Zane and Lucy joined in as well, Zane trying to shove a Slim Jim up Arkus’s nose at one point, making Lucy explode with laughter. Ariella giggled, though she was forced to repeatedly shush them, as she didn’t want anything to wake her father.
As the evening carried on, the Gate Keepers enjoyed themselves in full; for the first time in quite a while, none of them spared the Cutthroat Killer a second thought.
Ariella beamed, thinking this night was a much-needed break.
But, about halfway through their second movie—heard another knock on the door.
Tammy paused the movie, giving Ariella a questioning look. She simply shrugged in response, all of her friends watching quietly as she moved around the couch, stepped toward the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.
A frowning, exhausted-looking Lumis stood on the front porch before her.
“Oh… hey,” Ariella said, stepping aside. “You’re here late.”
Lumis nodded and walked inside, everyone else giving the detective a series of strange looks. Yawning, he slowly turned his head, spotting all the young adults in the living room and releasing a large sigh.
“Well… I figured I’d sleep here tonight,” Lumis mumbled. “But… I didn’t know you had company. Sorry.”
“You wanna stay the night?” Ariella asked, closing the front door. “How come?”
“Marissa’s been blowing my phone up all night,” Lumis groaned, sitting at the table and running a hand down his face. “I’ve been busy as hell, and I’m not gonna get any sleep if I go home…”
“Who’s Marissa?” Arkus asked.
“Long story,” Ariella told him, her voice lowering with disdain.
“My wife,” Lumis yawned, leaning farther back in his chair. “She has a long list of people she just doesn’t approve of, Mexicans and war veterans being at the top of her list. Which is ironic, since she’s half Latina herself… woman is nuts…”
“ What …?” Zane scoffed with a laugh, leaning over the back of the couch and shooting Lumis a questioning look. “What the hell is that about?”
“Well… she’s just one of those people who bitches constantly about whatever types of people her little clique of girlfriends instruct her not to like,” Lumis responded. “She thinks every Mexican in Gates Mill comes straight out of a drug cartel, and she thinks every war veteran is a psychopathic killer with an unquenchable bloodlust.”
“Oooh,” Jaxson mumbled slowly, turning and staring at Ariella. “I bet that makes this whole arrangement kinda… uncomfortable…”
“Mhm,” Lumis agreed. “Marissa thinks Vance is the most unstable person on the planet just because he has some memory loss issues from his time in Iraq. It’s been years, and I don’t see any change in sight, so…”
The detective rested his head backward atop the chair, then met Ariella’s eyes, his expression now as serious as it was exhausted.
Ariella gulped, sensing that something more was amiss. “What…?”
Lumis glimpsed at all the others sitting in the living room, then faced her again, leaning forward and slightly lowering his voice. “I haven’t told your father yet… and I’d appreciate it if you guys could keep this to yourselves too, for the time being.”
“Okay,” Ariella agreed. “What…?”
Lumis released a huge cloud of breath. “I’ve been seeing a divorce lawyer in Harbor County. I wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to go through with it, but… it looks like it’s gonna come to that if something doesn’t change soon. Which it won’t…”
Ariella nodded, her friends falling silent at hearing this.
“I won’t tell him,” she assured. “But, just out of curiosity… why is it a secret?”
Lumis’s expression flattened, making a sideways nod. “You know how your father is, whether he’ll say it out loud or not. He’d end up backing off and trying to stay away from me for the sake of my marriage—but I don’t need that. He and I need to keep working together, especially now.”
“Ohhh, I getcha.”
“Yeah, and… Marissa doesn’t know about this, either. And neither does my son. Nobody else needs to know right now.”
“Gotcha.”
“Oy,” Arkus spoke up, joining Zane and leaning over the back of the couch, giving the detective a curious squint. “You’re workin’ the Cutthroat Killer case, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Lumis replied. “But I can only say so much about it, fair warning.”
“Aye, that’s fine,” Arkus nodded. “I wasn’t gonna ambush you with an interview…”
“Oh, fuck that—I will,” Jaxson said quickly, leaping to his feet. “Mr. Lumis, is there anything that you can legally tell us about the Cutthroat Killer case— and that we can safely divulge to the public on a semi-famous podcast?”
“Maybe… if I spoke as a completely anonymous employee of the Gates Mill Police Department, and I gave you statements that were purely hypothetical,” Lumis answered with a smirk. “As a totally nameless employee of the GMPD, I can say that our killer is definitely a justice killer—and based on the hearsay I’ve overheard, hypothetically , I’d say he probably likes to take nasty souvineers off his victims.”
Tammy and Lucy exchanged cringes, Zane and Arkus both reeling back in confusion, Jaxson giving the detective an odd stare.
“Body parts,” Lumis clarified. “I’m not gonna tell you which ones, or how many. No details, just hearsay. You need to be careful what you release on your little talk show. Ever since you gave out the podcast info on the news, the police have been listening to it every week. Even the chief of police is listening to you now.”
“Oh Christ,” Arkus exhaled, trading wary glances with the others.
Ariella bit her lip, staring downward and thinking of the night she spoke to her father about the podcast. Vance had advised her to remove the podcast episode that contained Moreno Brunelli’s name—and it was a good thing he did. If the police were listening to the podcast now—and if they’d heard Ariella talking about Moreno Brunelli right before his death—then she likely would’ve faced a whole other level of suspicion that paled in comparison to the Garland incident.
“Hey, Lumis… I have a question for you,” Zane said, his eyes fixating on the detective. “But, fair warning… it’s a weird question.”
“I may or may not be able to answer,” Lumis replied. “Shoot.”
Zane’s steely eyes locked onto him interestingly. “If this guy is a justice killer, and if he’s killing pedophiles and extremists all the time… then… honestly… why are the police even trying to stop him?”
Following this question was a deep, grave silence. Lumis gave him an unreadable stare, Ariella narrowing her eyes at Zane, Tammy and Lucy ogling him in surprise, Arkus and Jaxson both staring at him as if they’d never seen anything quite like him before.
“Because… that’s what the police do ,” Lumis answered simply.
“Yeah, but… Texas has the death penalty,” Zane said. “If the justice system is allowed to kill bad people, then… what makes this guy any different?”
“Because he’s not the justice system,” Lumis replied, his tone flat. “He’s just some lone nut running around with a saw blade and attacking people.”
“Eh.” Zane shrugged, turning away and sinking more firmly into the couch. “Sounds pretty much the same to me, but okay…”
There was an awkward silence following this odd conversation. Ariella glared into the back of Zane’s head thoughtfully, and Arkus scooted further over the couch, swatting the air and meeting Lumis’s eyes.
“Don’t mind him,” Arkus said, making a comical expression of nonchalance. “His mommy never hugged him. He’s damaged. Bless.”
Instantly, the others exploded with laughter, Zane chuckling and shaking his head. The tension seemed to lighten, and Lumis leaned over the table again, sighing and swallowing another yawn.
Then—a loud ringing noise made Ariella jump from her skin.
Everyone else fell silent again, and the dinging noise echoed rapidly throughout the entire house; it dinged and rang over and over again, bouncing off the walls obnoxiously and making Ariella’s heart pound. It took her a moment to realize that someone was ringing the doorbell—not just ringing it, but positively hammering it.
Vance—alone in his room, still lying crookedly over his bed—gave a slight jump in his sleep, his eyes drifting open and narrowing irritably at his bedroom door.
Instantly angry—Ariella stormed toward the front door and ripped it open without bothering to check the peephole first. Lumis stood from his seat and stood behind her, and everyone else reared like cats in the living room, eyeing the front door expectantly.
On Ariella’s front porch stood a thin middle-aged woman, one who was probably once fairly beautiful, her face now ridden with lines at the edges of her angry eyes and her deeply-etched frown. She had long dark hair billowing down her shoulders in waves, a stylish violet jacket with tiny metal studs along the sleeves, her tightly-fitted dress a deep black. Her eyes were wide and lit with fury, painted with layers of makeup much like her large, red lips, two golden hoop earrings dangling from her earlobes and swinging abruptly as she tore her gaze from the doorbell, her eyes locking with Ariella’s.
“What is wrong with you?” Ariella snapped in a furious hiss. “My dad’s trying to sleep! You don’t just walk up to people’s houses in the middle of the night and start beating on their freaking doorbell! Jesus!”
“ Where is my husband? ” Marissa griped, ignoring her statements.
Lumis tried to approach the doorway—but Ariella gently pulled the door halfway shut, hiding the detective from Marissa’s view.
“Probably hiding from you,” Ariella snarled at her. “Get the fuck off my property.”
“His car is right there!” Marissa fumed, jabbing a finger over at the driveway, where Lumis’s maroon four-door was parked just behind Vance’s black Impala. “Don’t lie to me! I know he’s here! I need to talk to my husband!”
“Okay, Karen—you also need to go tell someone who gives a shit,” Ariella spat.
“ Oof ,” Jaxson cackled in the living room, pressing a fist to his mouth and trading snide smirks with his friends.
Just when Marissa opened her mouth to reply, a car door closed farther down the small hill. She whipped around, squinting at her shiny blue car, its front right tire sitting on the edge of the lawn, as she apparently didn’t mind driving someone else’s yard. Seconds later—a ten-year-old boy emerged from the other side of the car, his hair dark and wavy, tenting over his eyes. He stared up at the front porch, giving his mother a questioning gesture.
“Get back in the car, Max,” Marissa ordered, turning to face Ariella again. “I’m not leaving until I talk to my husband.”
Ariella was hit with a sudden burst of adrenaline; she prepared to unleash a wicked slurry of retorts, but Lumis nudged her aside, removing her from the conversation before she could reply.
The moment Marissa spotted Lumis, she nodded and welcomed herself into the house, stepping inside and giving her husband a long, searing glare.
Lumis returned the look, his stare just as disdainful, though far more exhausted.
“You brought Max here?” he muttered. “It’s almost midnight. He’s supposed to be in bed.”
“Well—I couldn’t leave him home with his father, because his father is never home anymore,” Marissa griped in response. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’ve been trying to call you all day. You ignored all my calls, and then you just decided not to come home tonight? Are you kidding me right now?”
Lumis sighed deeply, Ariella standing close beside him and giving Marissa a hateful stare. Arkus, Jaxson, Tammy, and Lucy all watched uncomfortably from the living room, Zane smirking at the altercation, seeming entertained.
“Marissa,” Lumis rumbled in a low, flat voice. “This is not the time or the place.”
“Then when is the time? Where is the place?” Marissa rounded on him, her eyes flaring an angry hazel. “Because you’re never home, and you never have the time to spend with your own family anymore. You’re just gonna come here and hide from us all night? Seriously? ”
“Marissa—I have bodies piling up and I had two more to deal with today,” Lumis snarled through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry I can’t just drop everything and run to you whenever you pout and stomp your foot—but this is my job . The entire town is going bat-shit insane over these murders—and I’m supposed to pull a miracle out of my ass and make it all stop. I know you don’t care about that, but I have to.”
“Yeah—and you know what else?” Ariella added, cocking her head at Marissa. “Max doesn’t have to be away from his father. He’s welcome to stay here, just like his dad is. That way, the kid can be with his dad, and everybody can be away from you .”
“Ari—hush. Stay out of it,” Lumis urged, gently pushing her back. “Marissa, we can talk. But not tonight. I have to sleep sometime this week.”
“And you’re gonna sleep here? ” Marissa scoffed incredibly, swatting her hand toward Ariella and nearly hitting her in the cheek. “With these people? ”
“Yes—with these people,” a low, raspy voice joined in. “In my house.”
Everyone turned—seeing a sleepy, agitated Vance standing in the darkened hallway, his button-up crooked along his torso, his short black hairs slightly askew from his brief nap. His eyes shone an icy blue in direct contrast to Marissa’s fiery golden glare. He slowly moved forward, advancing on them, his focus locked onto her.
Arkus and Jaxson raised their brows, meeting eyes and uttering a couple of oh shit s. Zane tried to keep his interested smile from growing and failed, Lucy gulping nervously and Tammy showing no visible reactions. Ariella glanced between Vance and Marissa, and the tension amidst the house seemed to amplify.
“I have had… a very… very long day,” Vance growled, so angry and exhausted, it sounded as if he’d swallowed gravel. “And I do not have the patience to deal with you bringing your domestics into my home. So… I would advise you to take your husband’s advice, get out of my house, and deal with your Jerry Springer drama tomorrow . Somewhere else . Not here .”
Marissa leered heatedly into him for about ten seconds straight. Before she could think of a response, Max squeezed into the house behind her, stepping past her and approaching Lumis.
“Max—I told you, get back in the car!” Marissa shrieked.
Max shook his head and took a side-step, planting himself firmly behind his father.
“Max,” Lumis muttered faintly. “Listen to your mother.”
“No,” Max refused. “I wanna stay with you.”
Another awful silence lingered over the scene, Marissa’s cheeks burning pink. She turned her livid stare onto Vance.
“Do you get off on this?” the woman hissed, waving at Lumis and Max. “You always do this. You always take my family away from me like it’s nothing to you.”
Vance took another step forward. “Oh, I just do what the voices tell me to.”
“ Vance ,” Lumis barked, suddenly raising his voice.
“No, no… it’s fine. She’s not wrong,” Vance said with a dry little laugh. “I’m obviously a harbinger of the apocalypse because her family visits my house. Oh, no, wait, hold on…”
He stopped, holding up a finger and pressing his hand to his head.
“Incoming transmission,” Vance snarked. “Yep, yeah, there it is. Yeah, Satan’s voice just told me I have to kidnap Bill and Max in order to bring about the reign of the antichrist. Yeah. You were right, Marissa. It’s all a divine conspiracy to take your family away from you. Because… you see… literally everything in the world is about you .”
“ Fuck you,” Marissa seethed, her teeth clenching. “My family does involve me—and I don’t want my husband or my son hanging around with a murdering fucking psycho! ”
Ariella’s fist shot forward—and her knuckles bashed into Marissa’s mouth, instantly bloodying her once perfect teeth.
Marissa fell backward and stumbled out the doorway, landing awkwardly on the front porch.
Lumis grabbed Ariella and yanked her back, Vance’s brows raising—everyone in the living room shot up from their seats, all except for Zane, who let out a cackling laugh and quickly covered his mouth right after.
Vance shoved his way toward the front door, pushing his daughter back and glimpsing down at Marissa one final time. She glared up at him with blood trickling down her jaw, her expression twisted with rage, and he spared her a brief, snide smirk before closing and locking the door, finally sealing her out of the house.
Ariella’s chest rose and fell with every incensed breath, Lumis’s hands locked around her shoulders viselike. Vance remained facing the door, and nobody spoke.
Marissa eventually reached her feet, shouting several vulgarities and threats of pressing charges into the door. Then, moments later, everyone was able to hear her car door opening, then closing, then her engine roaring to life. Nobody said a word until they heard her car speed off.
“Oy, little man,” Arkus eventually broke the silence, leaning over the couch and waving at Max. “Come over here, bud. Come watch some Netflix.”
Max nodded and meandered over to the couch. Arkus lifted the remote and put on a teen comedy series for him to watch, though everyone else’s attention remained fixed on the detective and the PI.
Vance released a long, heavy breath, Lumis doing the same, both of them turning to Ariella.
She broke out of Lumis’s grasp, forcing down every ounce of anger and adrenaline remaining and swiping her askew bangs aside. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry—but she—”
“She wouldn’t win that case,” Lumis replied grimly, sinking into his chair once again.
Ariella stared at him. “What?”
“If she tries to charge you with assault, I’m pretty sure you’re in the clear,” Lumis clarified, hanging his head and leaning on his palm. “You asked her to leave your property, and she refused and barged her way in here. Legally speaking, you’re fine.”
There was a pause, Ariella and Vance both giving Lumis a conflicted sort of stare.
“Bill,” Vance said, his voice having softened quite a bit. “You good for tonight?”
“Mhm.” Lumis nodded into his hand. “Max and I can go to a motel…”
“You don’t have to do that,” Ariella told him, motioning down the hall. “We can set up the cots in the spare room for you guys.”
“Really?!” Max suddenly perked up, grinning and hovering over the back of the couch. “I wanna sleep in there!”
“Max,” Lumis said severely. “Just because that room is full of Vance’s military stuff doesn’t mean you’re gonna be allowed to play with it. They’re not toys.”
“Hey—you have school tomorrow?” Vance asked the boy. “Where’s your backpack?”
“At home,” Max replied. “Mom put it in my room.”
Vance and Lumis traded eyes.
“I’m gonna have to go grab it in the morning,” the detective sighed.
“Vance,” Max said curiously, peering up at him. “Do you really hear voices in your head?”
Vance laughed. “No, kiddo. I don’t.”
“Did you ever kill anyone?” Max wondered. “Mom says you killed a bunch of people when you were a soldier—”
“ Max ,” Lumis cut him off. “What have I told you about asking insensitive questions like that?”
Max sighed and sank glumly back into the couch.
“Okay… well… I think we can go home now,” Tammy concluded, standing and gesturing for her friends to do the same. “Sorry we kinda eavesdropped on your whole… situation, there…”
“Couldn’t be helped,” Lumis shrugged. “Have a good night, you all.”
Ariella and Arkus said their goodbyes to their friends as they all headed out the door one by one. Zane was the last to step out, pausing and giving Ariella an approving smirk.
“Good job,” he whispered, nodding at her right hand, where her knuckles were slightly scraped and stinging with a faint pain. “She deserved it.”
Ariella slowly nodded, unsure of how ro reply.
After her friends left the house, Vance marched to the back room and opened it, hoping to clear away some space for Lumis and Max to sleep. Ariella followed him into the room, the room rarely ever entered by anyone.
The third bedroom of the house remained mostly untouched for years at a time; this dark, dusty place was cluttered with boxes against the right wall, the left wall covered with two large gun cases, a glass case containing military badges, an American flag hanging from the top of the wall, and a plaque for Vance’s honorable discharge from the Navy SEALs. The center of the room was full of clutter as well, but Vance and Ariella managed to push many of the boxes aside, stacking them on top of one another before reaching the closet. They pulled out the foldable metal frames of the cots, dragging them to the center and preparing to set them up.
Then, Vance paused, hunching over the metal frame and staring at Ariella profoundly, his eyes venturing down to her hand. Ariella had winced when she opened one of the metal cot’s frames, opening and closing her fist repeatedly and examining her knuckles, where Marissa’s teeth had scraped against her skin.
When she caught her father staring, she lowered her hand and returned her attention to the metal frame in front of her.
“You know what,” Vance said solemnly. “I honestly don’t know whether I should be upset with you or proud of you.”
Ariella merely shrugged, popping the metal poles into place and setting up the frames firmly.
“Ari,” Vance said, eyeing her astutely. “I hope you’re not blowing up like that on everyone who talks bad about me.”
Ariella stopped, raising her head and meeting his eyes. “Isn’t that exactly what you do?”
“Well…” Vance nodded sideways. “I try not to. You really can’t afford to explode every time someone pisses you off…”
Ariella nodded and returned to the closet, pulling out the heavy green futon matresses and dragging them toward the metal frames. She glanced up, expecting her father to assist her with the heavy mattresses, but he hadn’t yet torn his profound gaze from her.
“You never told me why you attacked that protester lady, either,” Vance uttered.
Ariella returned his stare, her expression oddly devoid of emotion now.
“And… I know it wasn’t over something trivial,” Vance added, straightening up as his stare became even more intense. “Because… I raised you, I know you, and I know it takes a lot for you to surrender all self-control.”
Ariella didn’t reply right away. She released a cloud of breath, glancing at the doorway and seeing that Arkus and Lumis weren’t eavesdropping, the hallway sitting dark and empty.
“You know what I’ve learned in psychology?” she murmured. “I learned that trauma victims usually have one of two responses to their trauma. They either hide from everything and live in absolute fear… or they become extremely extroverted and outgoing, almost to a reckless extent. Well… I’ve done the first one, and I got really sick of it. The second one is a lot better.”
Vance’s eyes narrowed intently at her.
“And…” Ariella muttered. “I’m pretty sure you’re exactly the same. You have enough money to live without working for Lumis, but you do it anyway, because you’re like… inspired to. And now… I have a pretty good idea of why you do that. It feels so good to take action and gain some control over life. It’s a lot better than being a jumpy little kid who’s scared of everything, being useless and terrified all the damn time…”
“Ari… I seriously doubt fear would have much control over me, anyway,” Vance told her. “I can’t even remember most of that time in my life.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ariella stated. “Even if you don’t remember, your body and your subconscious does, and it all still compensates accordingly.”
Vance’s eyes narrowed again, and he let slip a smirk. “You have a good teacher. I can tell you do, because you’re getting way too smart to argue with…”
“I’m just tired of taking crap from the world… and I’m done with it,” Ariella said firmly. “Me and you didn’t do anything wrong. We don’t deserve to have everybody coming down on us and villainizing us for no reason.”
“I get that. But you punched Bill’s wife in the mouth…”
“Dad, you had her actually believing you were hearing voices in your head. Are you seriously gonna lecture me right now?”
Vance opened his mouth to reply, then choked out a laugh, chuckling and shaking his head. Ariella laughed along with him, and the two of them pulled the mattresses onto the metal frames, successfully creating a place for the detective and his son to sleep.
Lumis and Max were fairly quick to fall asleep on this late, stressful evening, as were Vance, Ariella, and Arkus.
And, as the distressing day finally came to an end—far away and deep in the darkness of the night, Cutthroat stood inside his shack, his old phone playing music, his eyes locked onto his board of trophies, which smelled more wretched than it ever had before.
Two long, rusty nails had been hammered into the board, a couple of rotting hands nailed in place across from the names Karen Mulland and Peter Carver—and now, beneath the hands were two middle fingers pinned to the board, one a pale and sickly white, the other a dark and decaying brown, the fingers of Frank Maples and Avondre Gordon.
Cutthroat’s heart pounded with a wicked excitement the longer he stared at the long line of body parts, smirking coldly and replaying the murders in his mind on repeat. He could practically feel his hand wrapping around the taped-over handle of his branch-saw, a long, curved blade with teeth stained of blood and leftover flakes of skin. Blood would ooz onto his hand as he grabbed his victim, warm and silky as it met his cold, bony knuckles. A brilliant rush of euphoria would ambush him with every kill, every dull tearing noise and every sputtering victim falling helpless and dead at his feet.
And now, as he surveyed his long line of trophies—after finding various news articles online discussing his actions and after hearing numerous radio shows speak on the same topic—it seemed the town finally knew his motive, as every voice out there all now agreed that the Cutthroat Killer was a killer of justice. He knew full well that the town of Gates Mill finally—at long last—understood his message. The deaths grew more frequent, and the town awoke from its sleepy slumber, just as he wanted. Everyone in the town was ravenous with a deep, primal anxiety now.
Tempers became shorter, everyone more on-edge, fears on a steady incline—and the reign of the Cutthroat Killer was far, far from over.