The respirator from the U-Haul lay in the backpack on the forest floor. The last image he saw before closing his eyes was that of Lizzy donning a similar mask and Ray lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, his hand dangerously close to the fire.
Lizzy clawed at the bag again.
Fergus held his breath and dove for the pack.
Seconds later, the respirator was in place, but his vision couldn’t penetrate the tear-gas fog. He dropped to the ground, then fired six bullets in the direction of Lizzy.
He had no idea if any of them connected.
He counted half a dozen heartbeats, then crabbed toward the spot where she’d last been. The fog obscured his vision, but he hadn’t lost his bearings. After connecting with the log Ray had been sitting on, Fergus touched the man’s unconscious body on the ground. He moved the limp hand away from the encroaching flames.
The gas was beginning to disperse now, and the cylinder lying on the ground no longer spewed its noxious vapor. The respirator limited his vision, but he could make out a dark figure to his left, rising from the mist like an apparition. The Browning recoiled five more times as he emptied the clip.
The next moment, he felt a sharp pinch in his neck.
Damn it, he muttered. The world went black.
Chapter 15
Ray
The last thing Ray remembered was the sound of gunfire. His thoughts felt weirdly disconnected, like his brain’s synapses were attempting to fire along neural pathways that had been rerouted to some cerebral No Man’s Land. With every breath, his throat burned. He struggled to lift a hand to rub eyelids that felt glued together with sand.
The hand didn’t budge. Something held it behind his back. He tried the other hand with the same result. Unpleasant memories of events prior to the blackout didn’t come crashing in. Instead, they flitted toward consciousness in singles or pairs, inaugural blowflies arriving at a fresh corpse. More gathered with every passing moment: Lizzy, the syringe at his neck, the tear gas, the gunshots.
The handcuffs.
He forced his crusty eyelids apart. Daylight greeted him, as did cold air and stiff muscles. The rough bark of a pine tree pressed against his back; he could tell it was pine because its shed needles cushioned his rump, keeping the moisture from soaking into his pants.
“About time,” a deep voice said from a few feet away.
His neck felt like his head had been soldered to it, but he managed to twist it enough to see Fergus in a similar state.
There was a blowfly banquet at the corpse now.
“I can tell by the look on your face that your memory is coming back. It took me a few minutes too,” Fergus said.
“Where is she?” his voice came out raspy. Talking hurt more than breathing. Tear gas will do that.
“I have no idea. She was gone when I woke up about a half-hour ago.”
“The child...” Ray said.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” The determination in his voice was unmistakable, and the expression on the normally sanguine face would have intimidated anyone with an ounce of sense.
It was not the face of an innocuous music teacher.
“How do we get out of these?” Ray asked.
“Fortunately for both of us, I have some experience with handcuffs.”
“Learned during your professorial days?” Ray said, injecting a healthy measure of sarcasm while watching his companion squirm and wriggle.
Fergus chuckled. “Hardly. The origin of that particular skill set is more boudoir in nature.”
Ray nodded, then turned away and vomited. His neck was too stiff to wipe his mouth with a shoulder. “This sucks.”
“Indeed. Nausea is a side effect of the drug, but I’m wondering if there’s something else going on with you,” Fergus replied, thrashing about as he talked. “Not much of a woodsman, are you?”
“Never claimed to be.”
“And yet, here you are, out beating the bushes for Lizzy, I assume?”
Ray nodded.
“That’s admirable.”
“She’s my responsibility.”
“Not sure I agree.”
“It’s my fault she escaped. What’s she been up to?” Ray asked with a grimace.
“You really don’t want to know, but I’ll tell you anyway.
Fergus detailed the grisly deaths of the two victims.
Ray wasn’t surprised. “I knew it would be like this. After you left, I read her journal. Stephen King would be impressed by its horrific prose.”
“Interesting. Do you have fresh insight into our Lizzy? Anything you can share may be helpful in her capture.”
Ray sighed. “She’s as bad as I thought. The main thing I realized was that she’s not insane, as she wanted me to believe during her incarceration. The multiple personality business...that was just for show.”
“So she’s just your run-of-the-mill psychopath?”
“I guess. I haven’t rubbed elbows with many psychopaths. As far as I know.”
“You’ll be pleased to know that the village is on full lockdown, and people are out looking for her. It’s not just you and me.”
“That’s good. I certainly hope she’s caught before she kills anyone else.”
“Someone will catch her, Ray. Sooner than later, too.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because serial killers don’t stop killing. They’re not capable of stopping, so it becomes a numbers game.”
“That’s not particularly reassuring.”
Fergus shrugged. “The odds are in our favor now. We’ve unmasked her. There’s nowhere for her to hide, metaphorically. She’ll eventually slip up. She’s an impressive creature, but she’s still human.”
“I read her journal. I disagree.”
Ray leaned his head back against the tree trunk, trying to ignore the sour taste in his mouth. Nothing would be gained from revealing his mental health issues, yet something about Fergus seemed to invite candor.
Ray had been in the forest for several days, miserable, cold,
