The Masked Truth(97)

That’s what I’m remembering, not just the deaths but how he did them. How cruel and how callous and that smirking I’m-such-a-clever-boy look in his eyes. He orchestrated the deaths of seven people and would have added three more if he could—Brienne, me and Max—and what did he have to say about that? Told me that Max and I were worthy opponents. Offered us the highest praise he could. That we were prey worth killing.

“Riley …” Max says carefully.

“He murdered seven people,” I say.

“Mmm, no,” Wheeler says. “Actually, I believe my partners—”

“You were in charge. You planned it. And to you, it meant nothing. Their lives meant nothing.”

“Oh ho, is that what you want, Miss Riley? An existential conversation on the value of life? The value of his life?” He points at River. “A thug kid so dumb it’s a wonder he survived this long? His equally stupid sister? What kind of lives do you think they had coming? Petty crime and jail time for him. Babies and black eyes for her.”

I’m shaking as I hold the gun on him, as I listen to him and I remember them. Really remember them. Sandy, the girl who came to therapy out of love for her parents, to prove she’d made a foolish mistake and she took responsibility for it and they’d never need to worry that she’d repeat it. Maria, the girl who found the letter opener while the rest of us were too terrified to move, the girl whose T-shirt said she thumbed her nose at labels, stood up and said, “Yep, that’s me—deal with it.” Gideon, the boy who was scared, so damned scared, lashing out in his terror. And Aaron, the boy who could be exactly what you expected … and the polar opposite of what you expected, a self-centered jerk who wasn’t self-centered at all, who’d tried to convince our kidnappers to free us and just keep him.

I remember them and I hear Wheeler, and all I can think is that I want him to shut up. I want to shut him up.

I don’t want to put a bullet in his brain. I want to shoot him, over and over, until he’s on the ground, howling in agony, and then, maybe then, he’ll understand what he’s done, when he’s dying slowly—

“Riley?” Max is right behind me, leaning down, his breath whispering against my ear. “It’s all right. It’s over. I’ve got the other gun. You can lower that one, get Buchanan’s mobile and call the police.”

“They are the police,” I say. “They took a good job, a noble job—”

Wheeler laughs. I raise the gun and Max says, “No! Please, Riley. I won’t fight you for that gun. Not after Aaron. But I’m asking you to put it down. Please, please, please put it down.”

“He killed them! All of them! And he doesn’t give a damn. They’re dead and he’s smirking and laughing and—”

“And it’s wrong, Maximus,” Wheeler says, imitating my voice. “It’s just wrong. All those worthless idiots he murdered, and he doesn’t care, and I just want to cry. I want to cry and feel sorry for myself and—”

“Shut up,” I say.

“He’s a bad person, Maximus,” Wheeler continues. “A very, very bad person, and I want to kill him, but I don’t have the guts, because I’m just a scared little girl. A coward who hid under a bed, and I really wish I had a bed right now, because all I want to do is hide and thank God I’m alive, because that’s what matters. As bad as I feel about those others, what matters is that I’m alive. Yes, Miss Riley, you’re alive. You know why? Because you have the brains to run. To hide. To get out of the way. Cowardice saved you. The others? They were just too stupid to live. Literally, it seems. Morons who stumbled into their own deaths—”

“Shut up.”

“—and got themselves killed. Through misguided bravery or abject stupidity. They deserved—”

“Shut the hell up!”

I shoot. The bullet hits him in the shoulder. He staggers back but doesn’t fall. Then, through clenched teeth, he says, “I believe you need to work on your aim, Miss Riley.”

“My aim is fine. That’s your right shoulder. If I were trying to kill you, at least I’d have hit your left side.”

I shoot again … and hit him in the leg. He goes down. As I advance on him, Max breaks from his shock and runs in front of me.

“No, Riley.”

“I want—”

“I know what you want, and I’m asking you—begging you—not to do this.”

“He deserves—”

“A life in prison. That’s what he deserves. A life in prison as a cop who killed kids. That’s what he’s trying to avoid. You know it. Deep down, you know it.”

“I don’t care.”

“Then I do.” He touches my left arm, carefully. “He’ll say anything now to make you kill him. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to wake up in the night and see his face. To be walking down the street and see his face. To keep seeing his face, everywhere, and remembering what you did. Please, please, please. Do not do that to yourself. You’ve incapacitated him. That’s good. That’s enough. Anything more …”

Anything more is murder.

Murder.

Wheeler is talking. I don’t hear him, because I know Max is right. Wheeler will say anything—however hateful—to make me kill him. He deserves to die, but I don’t deserve to live with killing him.