“Why are you telling me all this?” Robin asked.
“I thought you wanted to know,” he said. “You always seemed so interested when I was a child. You asked me about my past all the time. Don’t you want to know anymore?”
“I am sorry you had to go through all that,” Robin said. “I know how hard it was for you. Suffering all that – it must have broken you, didn’t it? And then I forgot about you too. I understand your pain. I really do. Jim, why did you wait so long to do this? We knew each other for years before this. Why did you wait so long?”
Jim ignored her question and said, “Then one day, he decided he had enough. He decided he was done with my mother. So, he killed her. He slit her throat, and then he slowly chopped off each limb right in that basement. I hated that part. Then, he started bringing in more women, and I always enjoyed it when he would slit their throats. I loved watching the blood spray everywhere–.”
His voice broke off, and he took a deep breath. His deadpan eyes continued to look at her, his hands shaking.
“The blood sprayed everywhere. I loved it. But when my father would chop those limbs off, it seemed so brutal. So unnecessary. So unsophisticated,” he said, his voice trembling. “I hated it. So, I never copied it. But I liked it when he would cut the head off, so neatly, so methodically. When I cut the Butcher’s head off, I took care. I made sure I did it as neatly and as efficiently as he had done it to others. I used his tools; you know that? And when his blood splattered on me, I enjoyed every second of it.”
“Jim,” Robin said, her mind racing. “Why did you call me here? What do you want from me?”
“All in due time,” he said, staring at her. “Patience. When he killed my mother, I had no one. The women he brought seemed to hate me or detest me. Maybe they were just too scared of me. But I felt so unloved. I wondered if I was so bad that I didn’t even deserve a kind word now and then. Was I so bad, Robin? Was I so bad that I didn’t even deserve kindness? Was it so hard to love me?”
“You know that’s not true,” Robin said. “Your mother loved you. And I loved you.”
“No,” he said. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have forgotten me. But you did and you moved on and lived a happy life. I tried so hard to make you happy and wanted you to love me so desperately. I tried to make you love me. I gave you gifts, but you never liked them. I didn’t understand why. The Butcher enjoyed killing, and I loved watching him kill. It satisfied some evil part of me, I think. I thought everyone enjoyed it, but it made you so angry.”
“Jim, why am I here?” Robin repeated. “What do you want me to do? Why did you call me here?”
“I want my revenge,” he said. “I want to make you suffer for forgetting about me. I want to ruin you. It’s why I did all this. It’s why I set you up to take the fall, so I could ruin you completely. I wanted to see how long you would take to remember me. It was so easy for you to just forget about me. Well, my plan is working. I already have my next target ready. I told you, I will ruin you.”
“Next target?” Robin asked, her heart thumping in her chest. “What do you mean, next target?”
“You better hurry, Robin,” he said. “You don’t want to lose her, do you?”
“Who?” Robin whispered, shaking. “Who? Abby? You have Abby?”
“She doesn’t have long to live, you know,” he said, his voice shaking horribly now. “You will lose your sister, and the worse thing is, they will blame you for it. You will be held responsible for her murder.”
“Tell me where she is,” Robin shouted, pointing the gun at him. “Tell me!”
“You want to save her?” he said, swallowing. “Shoot me. Shoot me, and you will save her. Kill me, Robin Matthews!”
“Just tell me where she is,” Robin said, her heart throbbing in her chest. She was filled with panic and anxiety. Her body was stressed out, her mind racing as worry for Abby took over all other thoughts.
“Shoot me,” he said. “Shoot me and save her! Do it now!”
“Jim, just tell me,” Robin said, her gun aimed for his chest.
“Do it!” he roared. “Do it already! Just do it!”
Robin’s finger rested on the trigger, and she looked at him with sad eyes.
“Shoot me!” Jim shouted. “You want to save Abby, don’t you! Then shoot me!”
Tears began to fill Robin’s eyes as she aimed the gun at his chest.
“Shoot me!” he screamed. “Save her! Shoot me!”
Robin gasped as she sobbed, tears freely flowing down her cheeks.
“I am sorry, Jim,” she whispered and pulled the trigger.
Chapter Fifteen
The bullet hit the rocks behind Jim as the sound of a gunshot echoed in the air. Robin’s hands trembled, and the gun slipped from her hands.
“Why?” Jim said. “Why don’t you shoot me?”
“I don’t believe you,” Robin said. “I don’t believe that you are the killer.”
Robin didn’t know how she knew, but her instinct was screaming at her that it wasn’t him. That none of it made any sense. None of it fit Jim. The profile, the murders, the notes; they didn’t fit the man Jim was. She knew enough about
