“The guards will bring him in when you’re seated and ready to begin.” Ellsworth glances at his watch. “The time grows late, Agent. I wish you Godspeed.”
Gray, peeling paint chafes in the interview room. A wooden table sits in the center, the top marred by decades of scratches and scribbles. Four chairs circle the table, the designated prisoner’s chair wobbling on a warped leg.
Darcy sets her hands in her lap and clasps them together. It’s the only way to keep them from shaking. She recalls prison interviews during her brief FBI tenure, none conducted with a subject this dangerous. And she hasn’t been in the same room with Rivers since he jammed a knife into her stomach.
A harsh buzz twists Darcy’s head around. Two guards lead Michael Rivers into the room, the prisoner’s ankles and wrists bound by chains. Rivers cut his hair short after the FBI captured him three years ago, but now it hangs over his eyes and down to his shoulders in greasy clumps. Shuffling into the room, Rivers grins at Hensel. It isn’t until the guards sit him down that he notices Darcy beside the agent. His face freezes in an unreadable mask. Then a grin stretches to each ear. A grin that displays too many teeth.
It’s quiet after the guards close the door and stand in the hallway. Darcy can’t see them but knows they wait at the ready.
“Hello again, Michael,” Hensel says, opening his briefcase. He removes a pen and notepad and sets his phone to record the conversation.
Rivers doesn’t acknowledge Hensel. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Darcy.
“I think you recognize my partner. It’s been three years, yes?”
Again Rivers ignores Hensel. He perches on the edge of his chair as though he might launch across the table and sink his teeth into Darcy’s neck.
Hensel sighs and taps a finger on the table.
“The warden knows you called my partner. That was a mistake. He’s unhappy you subverted his command and wants to know who gave you the phone. Will you tell me, Michael? Give me a name, and I’ll tell Warden Ellsworth you cooperated.”
No response. His bloodthirsty, piercing eyes are the only evidence Rivers isn’t comatose. His body sways, the motion hypnotic.
“Let’s discuss the Genoa Cove murder and the man stalking Amy Yang.” Rivers’ eyes flash over to Hensel. “You remember Amy, I see. Those were the early days of the Full Moon Killer before you perfected your craft. I’ll bet it bothers the hell out of you she got away. In fact, I bet you see her in your sleep and want a second chance. Trouble is, Michael, you’ll never get out of here. Which is why you’re working with someone on the outside. Who’s trying to kill Amy Yang?”
Rivers licks his lips and runs his eyes over Darcy.
“Have it your way,” Hensel says, drumming his fingers. “The warden wants to make your life difficult. You understand this, yes? I’m the only thing standing between you and a very traumatic life behind bars. So either you talk or—”
“You remember me, Michael,” Darcy says, fighting to keep her voice steady. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be free. You must hate seeing me alive, holding the power in the room while you’re chained like an animal.”
Chains rattle as the serial killer leans forward. He studies Darcy.
Hensel catches her eye. A warning. Only a few feet separate her from the wrath of the Full Moon Killer. Though he’s chained, Darcy doesn’t doubt Rivers could tear her to pieces if he got his hands on her. This is dangerous territory. She walks among tigers now.
“What must you feel knowing another man impersonates you? He copies your methodology like a plagiarist, a cheap hack.” She prods Rivers for a reaction. If her words affect him, he hides it well. “He’s killing by the moon phase. I always wanted to ask you, Michael. Did you widen the number of days around the full moon because you required extra time, or because you were too simple to comprehend the lunar calendar?”
He’s closer to her now. She never saw him move, but his chest brushes the table. She’s within the madman’s reach.
“Your lack of an answer speaks volumes. I wonder, is this new killer a fan who read about you and worked up the courage to make contact, or do you have an apprentice, someone we never captured?” The grin spreads wider on Rivers’ face. His chest heaves in silent laughter. “No matter. He brands the girls as you did. Soon he’ll be the murderer everybody remembers. They’ll forget you, Michael. They’ll forget the Full Moon Killer.”
Rivers thrusts forward and drives the edge of the table into Darcy’s ribs. The door swings open, both guards rushing in with clubs in hand.
“It’s okay,” Hensel says, motioning them back. The first guard, a mountainous black man with flecks of gray in his hair, gives Hensel a doubtful look. “Michael means us no harm, do you Michael?”
The two guards back out of the room without pulling their gaze from the serial killer. Spittle drips off Rivers’ lips. Blood tinges his incisors. Razor-edged like a shark’s.
“You’re even a bigger fool than I thought,” Rivers says, throwing a glance toward Hensel to gauge his reaction. “I know what makes you tick, and I know what you’re afraid of.”
Darcy fights herself from leaning backward. He’s almost face to face with her now.
“Whose face do you see when you sleep at night? Whose footsteps do you hear every time the house creaks? The nightmares will never end, and that fat pig cop you bed with won’t protect you.”
Hensel protests, but Darcy grabs his hand.
“You’re not safe in your own home. Think a security system can stop me? These walls can’t hold me forever, Darcy. When I get out of here, the first thing I’ll do is chase down every last friend and family member you have and bleed them like stuck pigs. You’ll be long dead by then, little girl, and I’ll piss on your grave.”
He’s breathing heavy, face red and dripping with sweat.
“Are you through?” she asks, gripping the chair beneath the table so he can’t see her steady herself. Yet he knows. He’s learned to read her.
“You were an expert profiler with the FBI? You didn’t find me, Darcy. Remember, I found you. I could have skinned women from New England to Florida for a decade if I chose to, and you never would have caught me.”
“Why share the spotlight with a partner, though? Now the world will remember two killers, not one.”
Fire burns in Rivers’ eyes.
“I always worked alone, Darcy. You’re playing mind games, and it won’t work on me.”
“And yet I’m alive and free, and you’re locked in chains.”
“Time to open your eyes. You can’t even recognize the lunatic in your own home. Don’t pretend you haven’t seen the signs. Where do you think Hunter goes when he’s out for a drive? The biggest shame is I’m not there to lend him the direction he needs.”
“Don’t speak my son’s name.”
“But your daughter…she’s special, Darcy. How I’ll enjoy spilling her blood. Do you know how lovely blood looks on the sand?”
Darcy slaps her hands down on the table and stands, the chair flying backward.
“Come near my family, and I’ll end you like I should have three years ago.” Rivers leans his head back and laughs. “No more fucking around, Michael. Who’s killing girls on the Carolina coast, and who gave you the phone? Tell me the truth, dammit, or so help me God, I’ll make your life a living hell.”
“You amuse me, Darcy. But you won’t amuse me for long. You have no idea who’s coming for you and what’s about to happen.”
Darcy hurls herself at Rivers. Hensel clutches her by the waist and yanks her back as she grabs a lock of Rivers’ hair. A clump comes away in her hand. The door flies open, and this time the guards won’t take no for an answer. The larger of the two men eyes Darcy with contempt and terror. She’s breathless, haunted by images of her loved ones bloodied and dying before her eyes.