“Well, we’d want them to be sharp, wouldn’t we?” she said dryly, hoping he couldn’t hear the thundering of her heart.
He smiled. “Unless you want me hacking at that pretty neck of yours.”
He was baiting her again. She made herself shrug. “If you use the sword, you can’t use the block. It’s like wearing suspenders and a belt. It just isn’t done.”
He considered her again, then walked to the platform, picked up the block, and placed it off to the side. “True. You’ll kneel. I’ll get a better view of your face that way anyway. Thank you.” He pushed a camera on a rolling tripod into place.
“Any time. So, did you let your other victims handle the old swords?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Yes. I wanted to capture their movements. Why?”
“I was wondering how it would feel to hold a sword nearly eight centuries old.”
“It feels like it had been sleeping all those years and woke up, just for you.”
Sophie’s mouth fell open as she recognized her own words, and when she spoke her voice was barely audible. “John?”
He smiled. “One of my names.”
“But the…” The wheelchair. Oh, Vito.
“The wheelchair?” He expelled an exaggerated sigh. “You know, people don’t consider old people or handicapped people a threat. I was able to hide in plain sight.”
“All… all this time?”
“All this time,” he said, amused. “You see, Dr. J, I’m not crazy and I’m not stupid.”
She got control of herself, forced the tremble out of her voice. “You’re just bad.”
“You’re just saying that to be nice. Besides, ‘bad’ is one of those relative terms.”
“Perhaps in some parallel universe that’s true, but in this universe, killing lots of people for no good reason is bad.” She tilted her head. “So why did you?”
“What? Kill lots of people?” He pushed another camera into place. “Various reasons. Some got in my way. One I hated. But mostly I just wanted to see them die.”
Sophie drew a deep breath. “See? Now that’s just bad. You won’t-”
He held up a hand. “Don’t say I won’t get away with it. That’s trite, and I’d really hoped for better from you.” He moved a third camera into place and stepped back, dusting his hands. “That takes care of the cameras. I have to do a sound test.”
“A sound test.”
“Yes, a sound test. I need you to scream.”
Go ahead and scream. She shook her head. “No fucking way.”
He clucked. “Language. You’ll scream. Or I’ll use an ax.”
“Either way I’m dead. And I’m not giving you the satisfaction.”
“I think Warren said that. No, it was Bill. Big bad Bill the black belt. He thought he was so tough. In the end he cried like a baby. And he screamed. A lot.”
He came over and touched her hair which was still braided in a crown from the last Joan tour the day before. “You have lovely hair. I’m glad it’s braided up. I would have hated to cut it.” He chuckled. “Although it does seem silly to worry about cutting your hair when I’ll be cutting something more important.” He ran his fingers across her throat. “Right here, I think.”
Panic was making it hard to breathe. Taunting him was going to buy her no more time. Vito, where are you? She jerked her body back, away from his fingers.
“Which one was Bill? The one you disemboweled?”
He was visibly startled. “Well, well. You know more than I thought. I didn’t think your cop boyfriend would give you the details.”
“He didn’t have to. I was there when they were dug up. You cut off Greg Sanders’s hand.”
“And his foot. He deserved it, stealing from a church. You said so yourself.”
Horror turned her stomach inside out. He’d used her words, her lessons to murder so vilely. “You sick sonofabitch.”
His eyes went dark. “I’ve given you some latitude because you amused me. But that time is done. If you are attempting to unnerve me, it won’t work. When I get angry, I become more focused.” He grabbed her arm and yanked her off the table to the floor.
Sophie winced as her hip hit hard concrete. “Yeah, like you did with Greg Sanders.” He’d cut off that man’s hand… and his foot. Because he’d stolen from a church. But it hadn’t been what she’d said. That wasn’t right. He’d made a mistake. He didn’t become more focused with rage. He made mistakes. She’d have to use it.
He dragged her across the floor and she struggled out of his grasp. Then saw stars when he smashed her head against the floor, using her thick braided crown as a handhold. “Don’t try that again.”
She rolled to her back and blinked up at him, breathing hard. He was huge, especially from this angle. He stood, fists on his hips, his face like stone. But he was breathing hard, too, his nostrils flaring.
“You fucked up with Greg, you know,” she panted. “The amputated foot didn’t go with the Church. Only the hand. You got so angry that he tried to steal from you that you messed up the details.”
“I messed up nothing.” He reached under her neck, grabbed a handful of the gown, and twisted until the velvet cut at her throat, cutting off her air. More stars danced in front of her eyes and she bucked, trying to get away. Abruptly he released her, and she dragged air into her lungs.
“Fuck you,” she snarled, coughing. “You can kill me, but I’m not giving you anything for your precious game.”
Simon grabbed the bodice of the gown in both hands and effortlessly lifted her to her feet, then higher, until she was eye to eye with him. “You will give me what I want. If I have to nail you in place you will not fight me. Do you understand me?”
Sophie spat in his face and had the pleasure of seeing his face contort with rage. He drew back one fist, still holding her with one hand and she lifted her chin, ready for the blow. But it never came.
“I won’t mark your face. I need it… pretty.” He wiped at his cheek with his sleeve and lowered her to her feet.
“What’s the matter?” she taunted deliberately. “Can’t you see past a few bruises when you immortalize me in your stupid game? Or can you not function without an exact model? It must be frustrating, only being able to copy. Never creating anything on your own.” She swallowed hard and lifted her chin again. “Simon.”
His jaw tightened as his eyes narrowed and once again he jerked her off her feet. “What do you know?”
“Everything,” she sneered. “I know everything. And so do the police. So go ahead and kill me, but you really won’t get away with it. You’ll get caught and you’ll go to prison where you can paint clowns all day long and not need to hide them under your bed.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Where are they?”
Sophie smiled at him. “Who?”
He shook her, so hard her teeth rattled. “Daniel and Susannah. Where are they?”
“They’re here, looking for you. Just like Vito Ciccotelli is looking for you. He won’t rest until he finds you.” She narrowed her gaze. “Did you think no one would know, Simon? That no one could find you? Did you really think that no one would hear?”
“No one has found me,” he said. He lifted her higher and she winced which made him smile. “No one did hear me,” he said. “And no one will hear you.”
Fury gave her courage. “You’re wrong. All the people you killed screamed long after you buried them. You just weren’t listening. But Vito Ciccotelli was and he always will.”
He forced her to her knees. “Then I’ll kill him, too. But first I’ll kill you.”
Sunday, January 21, 7:45
A.M.
Selma Crane had lived in a tidy Victorian house before Simon had buried her next to Claire Reynolds in the Winchester field. Vito crept up to the attached garage, weapon in his hand, and looked in the window. Inside was a white van. He nodded to Nick and Liz who stood behind a cruiser at the end of the driveway.