Fergus held her gaze without blinking. “I did. She shared some details about her life that raised a few red flags. But more importantly, when she was asleep, I went through her things. She kept trophies. You know the kind I mean?” Half-lies always worked best. He hadn’t actually met Lizzy on the road, nor gone through her belongings. But he had Ray’s testimony about them as well as his own scythen. Together they presented a textbook study of a high-functioning serial killer.
“Interesting. Very well. I won’t rule her out as a suspect, but as I said, I have another theory to consider. Pops, have you heard anything lately? Any rumblings of discontent? It’s common knowledge that Everett resented my authority. What better way to bring me down than to frame me for his murder? I doubt there’s anyone who would want Everett out of the way more than me. He’s been a thorn in my side and everyone knows it.”
Skeeter shook his head. “Ain’t heard nothing other than the usual chatter. I think I’d a’ heard, one way or another.” He gave Fergus a meaningful look.
“You might have heard and then forgotten. Sorry, Pops, but I’ve been noticing your memory issues. If you hear any grumbling or complaining about my leadership, report to me immediately. Other than sanctioned scouting missions, we’re in full lock-down mode until the murderer is caught. You two,” she pointed at him and then her father, “Will be with Otis. He wouldn’t kill his own brother. I consider everyone else a suspect. Are we clear?”
Skeeter dipped his head once.
Fergus nodded. “Clear as a mountain stream.”
Serena Jo wasn’t finished with him. “The only reason you’re not a suspect is because you’ve been ill. And the only reason I believe you’ve been ill is because my father vouched for you. And the only reason I excused your perimeter breach with Otis is because I think you had good intentions. Don’t undermine my trust again. It won’t end well for you.”
That line seemed to be a recurring theme in Whitaker Holler. Fergus did not take the threat lightly. Visions of the torch-lit cemetery sprang to mind. He had no desire to become one of its permanent residents.
Chapter 11
Ray
Ray now knew more about Lizzy than probably anyone who had ever lived. Certainly more than anyone currently alive. The gruesome details of the murders she had committed — the first of which had been perpetrated at the age of thirteen — were indelibly imprinted on his brain. The bizarre fire-dancing rituals she performed after a murder, which involved burning locks of the victims’ hair, had struck him as especially heinous. He was no psychologist, but he understood that Lizzy wasn’t insane. He’d suspected as much when he first began reading her journal; now he knew with certainty. She didn’t hear demonic voices. She was no more schizophrenic than he was. She killed because she savored the activity, like a normal person would relish reading a well-written book or eating a delicious meal.
Allusions to events which had taken place during her childhood provided insight to her chosen path: other family members, including a cousin and her father, had engaged in ritualized killing while making her watch. One entry struck him as especially poignant: Pa made me kill my bunnies because he knew I’d gotten too attached. He worried the same might happen with people, and he was right.
If he didn’t know about her trophies, he might be inclined to feel sympathy.
After finishing the journal two days ago, he still hadn’t worked up the courage to leave the warehouse and join the search. Not because he was afraid of her — well, mostly not because of that — but because in addition to OCD, he also suffered from agoraphobia. It was the primary reason past romantic relationships had fizzled and why he was so oddly content now. What situation could be more perfect for an agoraphobic OCD introvert than living in a safe, well-stocked facility after the tragic end of humankind? His disorder was another reason he loved flying the drones: he could see the outside world without physically venturing into it. If he had more DVDs and books, his setup would have been damn-near perfect.
Until Lizzy had come along and ruined everything. If she was wandering around out there wreaking havoc with the few remaining survivors, that meant she wasn’t in here wreaking havoc with his peace of mind. It was a selfish notion, he realized. And it prompted a question: Why hadn’t Lizzy killed him when she had the chance?
He forced his thoughts from her journal and onto plans for making her prison more secure in the event that Fergus was successful in finding her. Although in his heart, he hoped the little man would dispense instant justice — something he himself wasn’t capable of — rather than bring her back here. If he had been able to put Lizzy down like the rabid animal she was, he would have done so months ago. But he couldn’t even kill the spiders in the warehouse, choosing to catch and release them on the rooftop.
The situation filled him with anxiety. And when he was filled with anxiety, his mind drifted to a period in his life more fraught with it than any other.
The end of the world.
Three years ago...
“Ray, you know what this means.”
“Which part of ‘this’ are you talking about? The fact that the director of the CDC just lied about the mortality rate? Or that everything we’ve been doing for the last two decades won’t matter, because to be prepared for a disaster requires having enough people left to orchestrate an effective response to it?”
“That second one. Who cares that Frieden lied? He had to. If people knew the actual
