The Butcher and the Wren(23)

“There are three stages set up out there now. One main guy and two smaller ones,” Will explains, pointing to the three sections on the map. “Obviously, most of the crowd will gather around these areas, as well as the spots where food is sold. People love to eat, and they love to listen to loud local music up close. We will station most of you around these high-traffic zones and then stagger the coverage throughout the rest of the festival grounds.”

Leroux nods along in approval, clasping his hands together and bringing them to his chin. “Every single entrance and exit has to be covered and then covered some more. No one gets in and no one gets out without us knowing about it,” he adds.

Wren can see the skepticism on some of the faces in the room and knows Leroux sees it too. Even she can’t help the questions forming in her own mind. Is the killer really this brazen? Is he really this stupid? His confidence level has always seemed higher than most, even from his first body dump. It isn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that he is capable of escalating to this grand show of power. But she also wonders if Leroux’s plan and legions of officers will actually help today. This killer is the type of guy who blends in. He doesn’t make civilians cross the street to avoid him or clasp their purses tighter as they pass by. He doesn’t wear his evil on his sleeve or even his face. Based on his profile, she believes he was able to convince most of his victims to leave with him willingly. He didn’t forcibly abduct them. He is interested in causing chaos from afar, not becoming entrenched in it himself.

Wren scans the room with more unease than she had when she walked in.





CHAPTER 15





JEREMY HITS A BUTTON ON his phone and props the speaker by the microphone. The playlist that he meticulously put together for this night begins to sound through the darkness, and he smiles with anticipation. He steps out from the shed that houses his audio equipment and takes a second to pour some water on one of his thirsty magnolia bushes, gently passing the delicate white petals between his fingers. He breathes in the crisp night air and moves his shoulders with the music. David Bowie’s “Suffragette City” echoes across the acres of isolated swampland, and he checks his tools one last time. He lightly touches the Glock 22 tucked into the holster around his midsection and pats the cargo pocket on his right pant leg to confirm that it still holds the seventeen-inch serrated hunting knife. Tugging on the shotgun slung across his back, he takes his time walking into the abyss of trees that stretches out before him.

Growing up, his family stifled his curiosity. He wasn’t encouraged to pursue the things that interested him most. His penchant for exploring the inner workings of small animals through dissection made people uncomfortable. And after his father died, he grew even more resentful of his mother and the ways in which she held him back from reaching his true potential. That is why he felt such a long-awaited sense of relief years ago when he freed himself from her. Now his curiosities are unfettered, and he is free to play for as long as he wishes.

He wonders whether his other guests listened when he instructed them to run. Assuming they are moving and not stuck to the ground in fear, they’ll probably find one another at some point tonight. That might make things a little messy. He doesn’t love mess, but sometimes he accepts it as inevitable. Ducking under Spanish moss and slipping the night-vision goggles onto his face, he steps over twisted roots and scans the woods in front of him. When nothing appears, he unlocks his phone. The app connects to the various security cameras nestled around the property and flicks to life at his command. He taps through the various angles until he lands on one that shows Emily in the darkness.

The dizzying sounds of the night mix with the upbeat music. He can see Emily pressing her back against a cypress tree and sticking her fingers in her ears. As he watches her struggle to catch her breath and adjust her eyes to the darkness, he wonders what thoughts are running through her head. She scans the area around her, probably wondering whether he is close. Just as he begins to tire of her, she moves forward. She’s going to make him work for it. Now she is moving across the swampy ground, keeping her pace brisk and her flashlight use minimal. He has to tap through more angles just to keep up with her. His own pulse quickens at the challenge.

Suddenly, she stops. He sees her turn her attention to her left side and stop dead in her tracks. Clicking off her light, she waits and tries to hear through the cacophony of sounds. Jeremy hears what put her on edge. The snap of a branch must feel a million miles away and right on top of her at the same time. Suddenly, a stream of light encases her.

“Who are you?” a panicked, decidedly female voice squeaks out from behind the flashlight.

Emily lets out the breath, and Jeremy can see her whole body shudder.

“Emily. I’m Emily,” she stammers, placing a hand on her chest and closing her eyes to block out the harsh light.

The light lowers, and there is an audible sigh of relief from its owner.

“Oh, thank god.” Katie closes her tired eyes and squats down, steadying herself on a tree with a hand that is caked in old blood. Emily’s eyes draw to the sight like a moth to a flame.

“Who are you?” Emily clicks on her own flashlight, casting a spotlight on Jeremy’s irritating guest.

“Katie. But introductions hardly even matter right now,” she snaps. “He’s just going to kill us anyway. Super psyched to meet you though!” She rubs her forehead and starts to cry softly.