He wondered if he should call Laura and let her know what was going on. Then he decided to wait for a little bit. She’d only worry and there wouldn't be anything she could do. Besides, he knew she’d be home soon and he'd rather tell her in person, instead of over the phone.
Aidan sat upright to look through the window leading to the backyard. The full moon was the only light shining through, giving him a hazy sense of luminosity.
The silence mocked him. Aidan was so used to being annoyed by her snoring, he found himself wishing he'd hear the sound again.
But no.
It was quiet.
It was then he realized the phone stopped vibrating.
He wasn't sure what time it was. His eyelids grew heavy, but he couldn't sleep. He didn't want to even try. He didn’t want to close his eyes and see the empty shell of Cheyenne’s body.
The phone began to vibrate once more.
This time, he looked at the caller ID, and it read unavailable.
Frowning, he chose to answer it, wondering who would be trying to contact him at two in the morning.
“Yeah?” His voice was scratchy. “O'Reilly.”
“I don't want to do this anymore.”
Aidan’s heart seemed to skip several beats.
“Then turn yourself in,” Aidan suggested, baiting the caller. “We can end it now. Tonight.”
“Do you know the worst thing, Agent O'Reilly?” He continued to speak as though Aidan hadn't said anything. The tone he gave seemed as if he thought he was playing a children's game. The thought of that alone sent chills crawling up Aidan's spine.
“What?” Aidan hoped if he could get him talking, then he might get enough out of him. Maybe he'd make a mistake. Say something he didn't intend to say. On another hand, Aidan felt beaten. Whoever The Carnations Killer was, was winning, and he knew it. He'd been taunting the FBI and law enforcement for years. Killing countless women without batting so much as an eye. Then he'd slink into the shadows unnoticed to watch as he fooled the world. And then he'd re-emerge once the fear he'd caused finally began to simmer down.
“It's not really that I don't want to do this anymore,” he admitted. He'd begun lowering his voice, almost as though he was attempting to mask remorse. “No. It's not that.”
“Then what is it?” Aidan's throat was dry, and he yearned for something to drink. But the glass on the coffee table was empty. He retrieved it and took it to the kitchen, quietly filling it in the sink.
“I can't stop,” the offender whispered after a long pause. “It's a disease. You know. Like cancer.”
“No,” Aidan told him through his teeth. The glass of water shook violently in his hand. He clutched it tight. “It's not a disease. You're a sociopath.”
“What's the difference?”
Aidan wet his throat with the glass of water.
“Why’d you hurt Jordan Blake’s dog?” He worked at keeping himself composed. He wanted to show the offender he wasn't going to get to him, no matter what he did. Aidan's hands shook as he held it to his ear.
“It wasn't fair that I never did anything for the reporter,” the offender said simply. “But I admit the dog was not nearly as satisfying as my women.” His laugh was haunting. “And nothing was as satisfying as my new woman. She’s lovely.”
Keep calm, Aidan.
“Why did you go after Cheyenne?” Aidan asked. “Why her? She doesn't fit your profile.”
“Ah.”
The way he said that one simple word sounded as if he was smiling into the phone. Aidan’s blood boiled, and he gripped the phone tighter in his hand.
“Cheyenne. Is that her name?”
“She doesn’t deserve what you’re doing to her.”
It was becoming harder and harder to control his emotions. Aidan's legs began to wobble, so he returned to the couch and lowered himself to the seat.
“I wish you could see her. See Cheyenne.” He smacked his lips. “She asks for you, you know. I have something special prepared for her. When I saw you and her together, I knew—I just knew—that she was the perfect choice. Because she’s special. Cheyenne is very special.”
“Let her go,” Aidan said through his teeth. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“Didn't they teach you to never negotiate with terrorists?” he asked.
“You’re not a terrorist.” Aidan wanted to try and appeal to his human side. Maybe he could get him to feel enough to let Cheyenne go. He knew it wouldn’t work, but the non-federal agent in him had to try. “I think you’ve been hurt by someone. Maybe your mom, when you were little.”
There was a slight pause.
“What did she do to you?” Aidan continued. “Maybe she beat you. Is that it? When you see a blonde woman walking by, you get flashbacks, right? So you take the women and hit them over and over again. Then after they barely have a leg left to stand on, you strangle them. Because that's what you always wanted to do, right? Strangle your abusive mother.”
Another pause filled the phone line.
The rain continued to drum against the roof.
“You think you’ve got me all figured out, don't you?” He laughed softly and continued, “After ten years of the hunt for the infamous Carnations Killer, you think you know the depth of the destroyed soul. Let's get back to the purpose of my call, why don't we? Do you think you can save her? Cheyenne? I don't think so. I mean, of course, you’re welcome to try, but just remember that as good as you think you are, Agent O'Reilly, I’m better. Actually, I can see the headlines now: girlfriend of FBI agent brutally left for dead.” He released a sigh of contentment. “The gist of the story will of course read that said federal agent failed
