Last Breath

JUST LIKE DADDY

Nurse Caitlyn Derry stole into the ICU room like a fox. After muting the overhead light, she clicked off the equipment and stood over the man she once thought she loved. “So, you’re awake,” she said, her voice hollow. “Will just called, said you’re the Copycat Killer. You murdered those women.” She let the words hang. “Murdered them, then came to my bed.” Thoughts spun in her head. I love you, Caitlyn. Marry me, Caitlyn. He whispered the words like promises. Yet all the while, Edward Robert Olson was killing women.

She felt jealous and used but knew her feelings were hypocritical. After all, she had been killing as well—but to “unburden” people, not possess them. She thought back to the patients she had brought to their deaths in hospitals around the country, the hospitals she had resigned from before discovery.

“You know, Edward, we could have collaborated. But you . . . I’ve been killing patients for a few years. No one suspects. Now, that’s the work of a true artist.” Caitlyn laughed softly. “Surprise, huh? Innocent Caitlyn Derry, a serial killer, just like her daddy.” She glanced around the room, then back to Edward. “Just like you.”

She lifted a syringe so Edward could see it and uncapped the needle. “All it takes is air into the vein. It’s going to hurt; sorry,” she said, her face grim.

She brought the IV tube to his arm, then pushed air into it. “You feel that?” she whispered, leaning in close. “That dread growing in your heart? That’s death. It’s on its way.”

Terror flooded Edward’s eyes, but his body—heavy with opioids—refused to move. He was a prisoner in his own skin. Moving his uncuffed hand slightly was the most he could do to resist. He glanced toward the opposite side of the bed and mumbled.

Caitlyn watched as his body gave in—spasms, shallow breaths, abnormal heartbeats. The exhilaration that came with taking a life careened through her. Her spine arched, and her muscles stretched tight. Eyes rolling back, lids fluttering incessantly, her euphoria had no mercy as small shocks snapped against her skin. As if a howling tornado swirled in her belly, she grabbed the bed rail to keep from sinking to her knees.

Edward’s eyes locked onto hers as if pleading, then darkened from sapphire blue to black. Within seconds, life drained from his body, and his once intense gaze now glazed over. Caitlyn stood there—her body tight, her fist clenched, letting the rush soak into her. A hard shiver claimed her as the high took hold. She gritted her teeth. God, that feeling! A fierce heat spread through her like a river of sparks, surging like a tidal wave to her fingers and toes. It was pleasure; it was freedom; and it was sex.

There he lay—Edward Olson—once her fiancé; now, her most significant kill. She hadn’t planned this. But events sometimes unraveled unexpectedly, and in a split second, her fiancé was nothing more than a trophy kill.

Caitlyn shook her head. All this time, he’d been playing with her heart. Wooing her while killing women. He was a monster who’d been eating her soul. She caught herself spiraling in grief. They’d been engaged to be married. But his horrifying secret, now exposed, showed him to be a serial killer who deserved to die. And it was fate that she was the one to stop him.

Don’t gloat.

This would be her last night at the University of Washington Medical Center, which was fine with her. She had an uncanny talent for knowing when to leave her job before anyone caught on. She knew her next moves; this was her specialty.

Caitlyn capped the syringe and stuffed it into her bunny-rabbit-patterned scrubs. After grabbing her jacket, she leaned close to Edward and murmured, “In the end, death is like the silence of a great cathedral after the choir has gone. Neruda paraphrased[BI1] , but you get the drift.”

Caitlyn closed her eyes, and memories came rushing in.

On that first date, when he read the poems of Pablo Neruda, she felt as if she had melted into a profound romance. When he accepted her, even when she broke down and told him about her father. His edginess when he defended her. His calling her Caitlyn rather than Cate, like her father had . . .

But Edward was gone now, and she better get going.

Snapping into herself, she slipped out of Edward’s room and hurried across the hall to the stairs. After taking the steps two at a time[BI2] , she hit the floor off balance and almost fell. Her purse dropped, scattering items across the floor. And each second ticking by, that loud and furious ticking in her ears. Was it real? Her imagination? Someone could walk into Edward’s room and find him dead. Caitlyn’s time was thinning.

Tick.

Tick.

Trembling, she gathered her glasses case, pens, wallet, and keys and stuffed them back in her purse.

She pulled open the exit door. Usually, the roar of traffic on the freeway overwhelmed her. But today, her pounding heartbeat blotted out the waves of cars moving up and down NE Pacific St. She ran across the parking lot, her car further than she remembered. But finally, she reached it, jumped in, and tried to insert the key into the ignition.

She hadn’t expected to be shaking.

The key scratched across the silver plate that housed the ignition slot. One last push with only seconds to spare. She steadied her right hand with her left, and the key slid in.

What if the staff were already looking for her? She thought of Detective Will Cambrey. Had he shown up? Did he suspect Edward’s death was a murder? Would he suspect her?

The exit door she had just exited opened with a bang. They’re coming for me! Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s GO! Her heart thundered. Her mouth dried, and her ears rang.

The two men, wearing black jackets, dark pants, and dark shoes, walked toward her.

Go!

She revved the engine, backed up, and squealed out of the lot. She glanced in her rearview mirror—the men leaning against the building, having a smoke.

One stop at home to grab her things and pick up her pup, Pipsqueak, and she’d be on her way. If she’d known that morning that Edward’s car would crash, that he’d turn out to be a serial killer, and that she would kill him, she would have been packed and ready to go. But life had taken an unexpected turn, and she allowed herself to do what had to be done.

A sense of release dropped from her throat to her belly. It was finished.

She imagined Will rushing into the hospital and finding Edward dead. A relief not only for him—if he were honest with himself—but also for the women of Seattle. She had done the whole state a favor.

Will was Cate’s good friend, protector, and sometimes lover. They had met while he was investigating the disappearance of Nursing Supervisor Sarah Bloom. Sarah was last seen leaving the hospital, had never made it to her car. Authorities suspected that she had fallen prey to the Copycat Killer, a predator murdering women in the Seattle area.

The Copycat serial killings had been going on for months, escalating, with shorter periods between the kills. Women were afraid to go out alone and locked their doors the minute they got home. At night, fewer women were on the streets, in the bars, or driving alone.

Both aware of the other’s presence, Will and Edward's jealousy started instantly. Edward saw Will as an interloper, a man trying to wedge his way into his relationship with Cate. Edward despised the guy, thought he was a jerk, and he was a cop.

Cate denied having a romantic relationship with Will. They were “just friends, she’d tell Edward. But Edward was no fool and knew there was far more between them than either admitted.

THE WHYS OF KARMA

The decision to leave town wasn’t so much about killing Edward—it was time for her to move on anyway. She had successfully gotten away with killing a few patients at the Medical Center. Something about taking part in a patient’s death soothed Cate and recharged her. Cate showed no discrimination in who she chose. She had an instinct about these things. It was as simple as that—no sense questioning the whys of karma.

An angel of mercy—that’s what she liked to call herself, even though two patients had been recovering. Even though she didn’t care about their prognoses. When Karma called upon her, as it often did, Cate knew what to do. Edward was number five.

She was leaving for good now—why press her luck?

She was her father’s daughter all right. She used to tell herself she was not a serial killer like her father, but killing Edward stripped away the last of those lies. Angel of Mercy? Not anymore. She graduated to Revenge Killer. She wasn’t her father’s daughter despite what he’d done. No, she was her father’s daughter because of it. When the moment came, she didn’t hesitate. And it felt right.

After a quick twenty minutes at home, Cate packed her clothes, laptop, fake IDs, wigs, and personal items into a suitcase and loaded it straight into the trunk. Eight-pound Pipsqueak climbed into the passenger seat and was already asleep. She made a reservation under the name Lauren Bateman at Best Western, just south of Medford. Private. Off the highway. Pets okay.

Driving on I-5 for over an hour, she saw the first sign for Medford, which noted 385 miles to go. That would take another six hours[BI3] [LB4] , maybe more. She wasn’t sure where she was headed; she only knew that it was south. She glanced at the clock. Two a.m. At least the traffic was light.

After the rough departure, the trip smoothed out. She glanced at her cellphone before tossing it out the window. Already a line of texts and calls from Will—but she hadn’t listened to his messages since the message warning her about Edward. “He’s the Copycat Killer, Cate.” As far as she was concerned, Seattle, Will, and Edward were already far behind.

A drizzle of mist covered her windshield, and Caitlyn clicked the wipers to low. She played with the radio until she found a classical music station and was ready to let her tension drain. She hoped that Beethoven's “Für Elise” or Vivaldi’s “Spring” would play. But the first bagatelle was Edward’s favorite, “Mariage d’Amour.”

She shook her head. Not a good omen.

WELCOME BACK

When Caitlyn clicked off the machines, the monitor’s beep, beep, beep stopped. While her words about death blurred together And then, The Darkness—an entity only Edward could see and hear—returned after abandoning Edward in the desert. The hawk-like, thorn-covered entity sat on the rail of his hospital bed, click-clacking its upper beak across the lower one with frightening patience. Its buzzard-shaped neck, pterodactyl-like face, and beady red eyes resembled a creature from hell.

Edward believed The Darkness had forced him to kill, which absolved him of any responsibility. And when Edward first met Caitlyn, the daughter of the now-executed Lace Ribbon Killer, he made a deal with The Darkness. Edward vowed to kill whomever the entity chose if he didn’t have to kill Caitlyn.

Click-clack.

Click-clack.

The Darkness watched, still cracking the top of his beak over the bottom, the sound sending Edward into a frenzy. But there was no escape from it.

Click-clack. Click-clack.

Edward mumbled incoherently as if trying to shoo the entity away.

“What Edward? You have something to say?” Caitlyn fumbled with the IV before administering the air.

Just then, deep despair washed through Edward. Was it from the drugs, dread, or the click-clack, click-clacking? He wasn’t sure, but noise chipped away at his psyche. The Darkness, now pecking Edward’s arm in short, sharp jabs, seemed to urge him to wake—not to save him, but to make sure he felt every second of dying.

As if that summoned the reaper, a veiled figure appeared, ripping at his soul and wrestling with him for what seemed like an eternity. The silhouette drilled into Edward’s mind, causing piercing images of the women he’d murdered to appear. Each face burned into him like caustic acid. This is it, he thought, fighting the sensation of icy hands kneading his heart. At that exact moment, the black curtains of death closed.

***

A faint voice that seemed to come from centuries away called, “Dear God! He’s coding! Code Blue!” The words spun down the hall like a dust devil.

Edward heard the click of the machines and then the PA system overhead announcing, “Code Blue. Room 408. Code Blue. Room 408.” In the distance, a voice shouted, “Code Blue, 408.” The sound of footsteps. Lots of them. Hands pushed on his body hard. Cold and relentless pounding on his chest. All the while, Edward’s victims’ faces kept branding his eyes, changing like slides on a projector. Some he’d forgotten. Some he didn’t recognize.

His heart raced like a racehorse rushing down the track at triple speed. Faster than ever before. Something terrible is about to happen. He felt as if his chest would explode. And then he sensed a dark wave coming down the corridor, and his world faded.

***

Edward’s world slammed sideways. Air returned in a hard gasp, and he arched up from the bed. The room split into fragments of white tiles, flashing monitors, and alarmed faces. Doctors and nurses hovered above him, concern on their faces. He was disoriented. The room spun. His heart pounded, and his muscles twitched.

“It’s okay, Edward.”

Edward glances at the nurse, but instead, he sees, Psyche, the woman he killed in the desert, across the room, pacing like a hungry lioness.

He opened his eyes to the tiles on the ceiling of the ICU. “One, two, three.”

“You killed me, Edward,” Psyche, says. “Not some entity you conjured in your mind,

Edward and Psyche had both taken a swig of ayahuasca and were hallucinating hard. “You thought the evil was outside of you, forcing you to murder women, but you were wrong.” Psyche laughs. “There was no entity here when you killed me. It was you all along!”

Her laugh dissolved into the clatter of nurses’ clogs in the corridor. The beep, beep, beep was insistent. Monitors flashed. Staff rushed in and out of the room. He focused on counting the ceiling tiles. “Four, five, six.”

Crying in his arms, Caitlyn confesses her father was a serial killer, not knowing that Edward is one himself.

Beep. Beep. A doctor, a nurse. “Seven, eight, nine.”

Edward stands in an empty hotel suite in Las Vegas. Both Caitlyn and her belongings are gone. Lost love brings a broken heart for most; for Edward, it brings rage.

“Ten.” Edward’s head lolled to the side, and the spinning stopped.

“She left you, Eddie. Just like we knew she would. Should’ve strangled her when you had the chance,” The Darkness said as it jumped onto Edward’s chest, digging its talons deep. “Looks like your precious Caitlyn ditched you on your wedding day.” The Darkness tsked. “Maddening, right? Damn bitch needs to pay.” It shook its hideous head. “We should have killed her when you met her, but noooooo. You wanted to protect her. Ha! Told you so!” The glee in its voice dripped from each word.

Edward became lightheaded; his fingers fell limp, and a rain cloud of unconsciousness poured down from above.

***

Edward slammed back inside himself. Had it been seconds? Minutes? Hours? It felt as if his pounding head had been hit with a board. And although he was conscious, he kept his eyes closed as if he hadn’t come to. He was feeling a bit woozy, yet he knew Detective Will Cambrey would show up with questions. Edward needed to buy himself time.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

As he lay there, one wrist cuffed to the bed, he still feigned a transient coma. The Darkness had vanished, as had the shadow of death. One thing he knew, he did not want to die. He needed time to finish living. Time to dominate his nefarious ways with light. He would change. Of course he would. He would make up for the mistakes he had made.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.