 
### Plot

By Ron Knight

Published by Brand Eleven Eleven,

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Ron Knight

"I dedicate this novel to fiction stories that come true."

_Plot:_ _"A secret plan to accomplish hostile or illegal schemes."_

### 1

Routine.

The correctional officers at Mecklenburg had a detailed schedule, instructing the prisoners to do the same thing each day. A specific procedure to be followed. Nothing should change.

A daily routine assisted death row inmate, RJ Colby, to develop an escape plan. He would also need the assistance of an outside source in order to avoid the electric chair, but today, RJ's plan would come to fruition.

RJ craved the Virginia sky. The free air that so many people take for granted.

His brother Morris two cells down, also on death row. Five other inmates were kept in this constricted area, away from the other prisoners. RJ never wanted to be grouped in with those cockroaches anyway, but the prisoners will be useful in his escape.

Death row inmates were permitted one hour of recreational time a day. They had three choices: Watch a G rated movie, ping pong, or hit the punching bag. This was also the only time the seven of them were in contact with each other. All meals eaten in their cells. Showers three times a week on a staggered schedule.

It took forty-two days for RJ to whisper the details of the escape plan to his fellow death row inmates under the watchful eye of four guards. The CO's (Correctional Officers) each carried a PR 24 Baton, pepper spray, handcuffs, and a radio. The four officers well qualified to guard six prisoners.

With the exception of one minor flaw... _Routine_.

Prisoner Ike Rufus, a black man built like a mountain, started phase one. "I have to take piss," he announced to the guards.

Just as RJ calculated, Harold Bagneli, the guard who liked to beat on prisoners volunteered to escort Ike. He pointed to the door. "Get moving convict." Harold slid the baton from his belt and used it to scratch his short red hair. "I'm just wondering how many pisses do you have left before you're executed?"

Ike didn't answer. He lowered his head, pretended to be intimidated, and opened the unlocked door. Once you went through the door a corridor led to a guard behind six inches of glass who would have to buzz them into the death row cellblock.

They walked down the short hallway to the one-toilet-restroom. Once inside, Harold closed the door. "Get your pants down and take your piss," he said with a greasy smile.

Ike unzipped.

Harold moved closer, dragging the baton along the wall. He leaned close, peeking over the Ike's shoulder. "Come on boy. Get it done." Ike slid his boxers down. Harold positioned the baton on Ike's lower back. "I wonder if you can piss with this baton shoved up your ass?"

In one quick motion Ike grappled Harold around the neck and squeezed. Harold chocked out a plea for help while attempting to reach for his radio. Ike snatched the baton and placed it by Harold's mouth. Ike whispered, "Let's see how far I can shove this down your fucking throat."

Harold struggled, but to no avail. Ike forced the baton into Harold's mouth, breaking several teeth in the process while continuing with the chokehold. Harold's eyes became wide as the life compressed from his body.

Ike twisted the puny neck of the guard, pleased at the sound of Harold's spine snapping into pieces.

As he dropped Harold's dead body to the floor, Ike waited patiently for phase two.

### 2

"Where the hell are they?" one of the CO's asked. "I can't get a hold of Harold on the radio."

This wouldn't be the first time Ike and Harold didn't return from a bathroom trip in a timely fashion. The guards knew what was happening.

Unfortunately for Ike, he had to sacrifice what was left of his dignity over the last month to please that red headed guard, so that the _routine_ would not be disrupted.

RJ's eyes were on the television as Shrek attempted to chase the villagers away from his swamp. RJ didn't care about Shrek's problems. He just wanted to fill his lungs with the air of freedom.

But for now, it's time for the prisoners to return to the swamp.

"Let's get moving," another CO yelled. "Play time is over. Back to your cells."

The six prisoners lined up, escorted out the door and into the hallway.

_Keep moving_ , RJ thought to himself. He didn't want any of the CO's to check the bathroom. If so, their plan would turn from difficult to impossible.

As they marched past the restroom a CO used his baton to rap on the restroom door. "Harold, finish up and let's go." Perhaps the CO didn't want to open the door and witness the obscenities of Harold's sick behavior.

RJ formed a grin as the door to death row buzzed opened. His brother Morris went through first, followed by prisoners LaShawn Sutton and Curtis Finch.

RJ, along with Mason McCoy and Norman Pitts slowed their steps.

Ike burst out of the restroom with blazing speed. He crashed into the nearest CO like a three hundred pound defensive lineman crushing the quarterback. RJ and Mason grappled another CO; same with LaShawn and Curtis. They were able to snatch the baton and pepper spray, using them as weapons against the guards.

The remaining CO attempted to help his friends, but tackled from behind by Norman.

In seconds the convicts had taken control of the corridor.

Morris ran into the control room before the CO realized what had happened. He tackled the CO, sending them both crashing to the floor. He then wailed on the CO, took his baton, and wailed on him some more.

"That's enough," Ike said, grabbing Morris by the arm.

Morris stood, glaring at the bigger man. "RJ and I are in charge. Don't tell me what to-" Morris noticed someone on the monitor, heading for the cellblock.

A woman dressed in white scrubs approached the control room from the east hallway. She pushed a cart filled with prescriptions and medicine. Her eyes met with Morris, oblivious to the scene.

"Nurse Megan," Morris said. "Glad to see you."

She screamed and ran in the direction she had come from. Morris easily caught up with Megan and dragged her to the floor. He yanked down her white pants and underwear, gazing at her dark skin. Morris then pinned her arms back.

Megan twisted her body. "Help me! Help me!"

Morris leaned close, licking her thick lips. "I think about this every time you walk by my cell," he whispered. "I'm gonna do you good."

Morris was hoisted in the air by RJ. "We don't have time for this." He leaned down with a roll of duct tape, then wrapped it around Megan's head and mouth. She instinctively pulled up her underwear and pants. RJ then bound her wrists and ankles. He glared at Morris. "Get her in the control room." Morris reluctantly complied.

The other four CO's were already bound in the same fashion. Ike dragged Harold's bloody and lifeless body from the bathroom while saying, "If any of you asshole guards think of trying something, just look at your buddy. I'll be happy to give you the same treatment."

RJ snatched the keys off a CO and unlocked the gun cabinet. The rest of the prisoners collected the remaining baton's, along with the pepper spray and radio's. RJ grabbed the shotgun and pointed it at one of the CO's. "Goodbye motherfucker!" He squeezed the trigger and fired. The skull of the CO splintered, knocked him out, but did not kill him. RJ stared at the weapon. "Damn. There're rubber bullets in this thing."

Ike looked down the east end of the hallway. "That's fine by me. We don't need to kill them anyway."

RJ glared at the CO's, along with the nurse who quivered on the floor. "You're lucky son's of bitches," he said with a grin. "Alright, let's keep moving."

Together they made their way to the next room with lockers, fridge, old television, table, and chairs. The convicts opened the lockers and changed into riot gear.

Except for Norman Pitts.

RJ gawked at him. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm not going," Norman said with a shaken voice. "I have another appeal in two months. There's no need for me to escape."

RJ smiled. "You're on death row. No judge is going to let you off."

"I'll take my chances."

RJ blew out a sigh. "Very well. Stay here and rot." He slid a baton from his belt and swung it at Norman's face. The cheekbone cracked like an eggshell, spilling a glob of bright crimson blood. Norman's eyes rolled in the back of his head, falling hard to the floor. RJ continued swinging until the brains in Norman's skull dumped on the linoleum. He stood tall and addressed the group. "Grab the TV, a bed sheet from one of the cells, and put it on the cart that Nurse Megan was pushing. Also, get every fire extinguisher you can find."

Mason asked, "What the hell for? Let's go!"

RJ stood in front of Mason holding the bloody baton. "Just do what I say and you'll get out of here. If you don't," RJ glanced at Norman. "You will end up like him."

### 3

"We have a bomb!" RJ yelled.

They closed their riot gear masks, then RJ and his brother Morris pushed the cart with the old television covered by a blanket. Next to the cart LaShawn and Curtis sprayed the blanket with fire extinguishers. Mason and Ike led the way, commanding the other guards to buzz open the doors.

Their radios chirped. " _Harold, what the hell is going on?_ "

RJ recognized the voice of the Warden, Donald Bass. RJ continued pushing the cart while talking on the radio. "We found a bomb in D-Unit. (Death row.) We're taking it out of the building."

" _What about the prisoners in D-Unit?_ "

RJ clicked the radio. "They're still in their cells. There's a timer on the bomb. We only have six minutes and thirty-one seconds."

" _Where're you going to take it?_ "

"In a van and drive it away from the prison."

" _Negative. Take it to the field outside then return!_ "

RJ almost lost his balance as he and Morris turned down the hallway. He yelled at the guards in the main control room. "Get out of the building! There's a bomb!" RJ stopped and clicked the radio. "Sir, I believe it would be better to get this bomb off the property. Also, you need to evacuate the staff and CO's."

Ike went inside the control room and pressed the four different red buttons.

All the prisoners' cells would now open. Warden Bass screamed on the radio, trying to get his crew into riot gear and figure out why the cells had been opened.

In moments, he would lose control of the prison.

Morris began pushing the cart again. "Come on!"

The six of them made it out of the building and into the rear parking lot. There were about fifty cars, all belonging to the staff, including four vans used for transporting prisoners.

A helicopter swooped down from above and hovered over them. RJ opened the back door to a van marked with a large number two. He and Morris lifted the TV, making sure the blanket stayed on, and hoisted it into the back of the van. Ike climbed in the front seat and LaShawn in the passenger's seat. RJ, Morris, Curtis, and Mason all climbed in the back.

The van roared to life.

RJ smiled. "You hotwired that pretty fast," he said to Ike. "I see you haven't lost your touch."

Ike shifted the gear and pressed down on the gas peddle. "You shouldn't give me too much credit. The keys were inside."

RJ chuckled. He lifted his radio and clicked. "Get that fucking helicopter away from us! This bomb will go off in less than a minute!"

The radio chirped, " _Heli Four, head to the north side of building. We have a code red prison escape._ "

Curtis gazed out the window. "Is the warden talking about us?"

RJ leaned back. "No. He's talking about the other six hundred prisoners."

The radio chirped again. " _Open south gate and let van through. CO's extricating a bomb. Repeat, open south gate._ "

Ike drove through as the gate opened. He shouted, "We're free boys! We're free!"

RJ couldn't let them enjoy the moment. "Not yet," he said. "We still have some work to do." He cocked his head, looking up at the blue sky. "Roll the windows down...I want to smell the Virginia air."

### 4

"Ike, pull over," RJ said.

Ike glanced in the review mirror. "I know this is your show, but we need to keep moving. I don't want to stop until we're in North Carolina."

RJ crawled through the van to the gate that guarded the front cab. "Listen to me," RJ said through his teeth. "When I speak, you respond. Now pull the fuck over."

Ike did as he was told.

LaShawn looked back. "Now what?"

"Get out," RJ said.

No one complained. The six of them exited the van. A few seconds later an RV came barreling down the road and stopped right in front of them. The side door opened.

They were greeted by a man with thin blond hair and a lanky body. "Come on in," he said with a pleasant voice. RJ led the way and the rest of them followed. Whoever it was in the driver's seat did not look back. He waited for the door to close and then sped off. The blond hair man said, "I'm Felix. Take a seat."

They sat on a small couch with a table in the middle.

Ike: "What the fuck is this?"

RJ: "Shut your mouth and listen. Felix works for the man who set this whole thing up."

Felix gave them a goofy smile. "That's right. You'll be given a place to stay, clothes, food, and $100,000 in cash."

Mason raised one of his bushy eyebrows. "$100,000 each?"

"Yep," Felix said. "And $250,000 more when your work is done."

Curtis: "What work?"

Felix stood up and retrieved seven folders from the top compartment. Each folder had a name. Felix handed them out, except for one. "Where's Norman Pitts?"

RJ looked inside his folder while saying, "Norman changed his mind."

Felix handed RJ the folder. "Then you'll have to find someone to replace him."

RJ took the folder. "Why don't you explain to everyone what we need to do, just like you told me."

Felix studied the group. "Each folder has detailed plans on how my employer wants you to kill a woman."

Morris: "Who's your employer?"

"Nicholas Shay."

Curtis: "Who the fuck is Nicholas Shay?"

Felix shook his head. "I guess you didn't spend your time reading in prison. Nicholas Shay is an author. He wants you to murder a particular woman. The details are in your folder."

Everyone took a moment to look inside their folder and read. LaShawn glanced at RJ's notes, then over at Ike's. "They're all different. I don't get it?"

"There's a number at the top of your first sheet," Felix said. "That's the order you will go in. If the first person doesn't succeed in killing the woman, then the next will go and so forth. Once she's dead, all of you will receive $250,000."

Ike: "I don't understand. What if the first person kills that bitch?"

Felix gave him a grin. "Then it will be the easiest $250,000 you ever earned."

LaShawn: "Wait. Why do I have to go first? Who picked this order?"

"Nicholas picked the order. It's based on how brutal your crime was to put you on death row." Felix's eyes met with LaShawn. "You're the least feared of your peers."

RJ looked down on his sheet. He was number seven. RJ then glanced at Norman's folder and saw that he would have been going fifth.

Mason: "Where are we staying?"

"In Bloomington, Indiana," Felix replied. "All of you will be in the same house until the woman is dead. After, you will each receive your $250,000 and can go wherever you want."

Curtis smiled. "Well, we each have a hundred grand right now. That buys a lot of whiskey and whores."

Felix's expression became hard. "No one else is permitted at the house. We will send you food. You're not to leave. No outside contact with the world, not even a television."

Mason: "We might as well go back to prison!"

Felix softened his gaze. "Well, that can be arranged."

Mason put his hands up. "No thank you."

RJ looked at the picture of the woman. She had thin, long black hair with a few braids. Her cheekbones high, which complimented her eyes and smile as if her face was in perfected symmetry. In this photo she wore a white gown that exposed her narrow shoulders.

RJ decided that if given the chance he would have some fun with her.

Felix: "Anyone more questions?"

Morris: "I have a question. What's the name of the woman we're going to kill?"

Felix formed a slight grin. "Her name is Helen Miller."

_Plot:_ _"Placing a marker on a map."_

### 5

Helen Miller was handed a set of keys by realtor, Donna Harris. They walked inside the small farmhouse with two bedrooms, dining room, bathroom, kitchen, and living room area with a stone fireplace. Hardwood floors throughout the home. A door at the rear, across from the spare bedroom led downstairs to a _cold_ _cellar_.

They sat down at the dinning room table as Donna unfolded a map of the area. "Okay," Donna said, pointing to several spots on the map. "Here's your hundred and forty-nine acres. The acreage consists of two-thirds pastures and one-third hardwood forest. City water from Bloomington runs through the center of the property all the way to your house. There're two fences. One on the perimeter of the property and a second interior fence that surrounds 1.5 acres of your home."

Donna continued pointing to different sections on the map. "You have four spring fed ponds, along with additional springs throughout the property. At the south end over here is where Timmons Cattle leases a portion of your property. They have farmhouse and a barn, which you own. Rex Timmons is the ranch manger." Donna pulled a file from her briefcase and handed it to Helen. "The lease agreement is in there. Rex pays you three thousand a month for the next five years. You won't ever see him unless you go down and visit with him. Just be careful, because I heard he raises bush hogs along with cows."

Helen glanced at the agreement, but really wasn't reading the words. She just wanted Donna to leave. "Is there anything else?"

Donna's fake lashes fluttered up and down. "How do you look so young?" she asked. "I can't believe you will be forty next week."

Helen didn't appreciate the half-witted compliment. "I also have the misfortune of a birthday that's on September 11th."

"Well, at least you won't forget it," Donna said, her cheeks blushing. "Let me see, what else do I need to go over?"

Helen saw an opening to get rid of Donna. "I think that's-"

"Oh yeah, there's more." Helen heaved a sigh while Donna once again pointed at the map. "This portion of the land is suitable for corn and soybeans. Over here, you have a septic permit where you can build another three-bedroom home in the future. In fact, there're ten separate parcels for more homes if you choose to build and rent them out. And of course your land is perfect for horses."

Helen stood up. "Well, I spent all my money on this house and won't be able to build anytime soon. Also, I don't ride horses or know how to plant corn."

Donna slid up from her chair. "May I ask why you bought this property if you don't plan to use it?"

Helen walked toward the front door hoping Donna would follow. "I like the peacefulness of the place."

Donna gathered her briefcase and hustled to catch up with Helen. "You work as a _reader_ , correct?"

"Yep. I read books and tell reviewers and publishers what I like."

"Sounds like a great job."

"It is," Helen said. She shook Donna's hand. "Well, thanks for everything."

"Just remember that there're few places in the house that need fixed."

"I'll manage."

Donna raised one of her fake eyebrows. "Will you be okay here all by yourself?"

Helen smiled. "Sure. What could possibly happen?"

### 6

Borders in Bloomington became packed with mostly college students. A line stretched to the door as bestselling author, Nicholas Shay, autographed his new book, _Murder System_. Helen stood in line and waited forty-five minutes to get her book signed.

As she approached Nicholas Shay, Helen noticed that his black hair had speckles of white appearing. A few lines had formed on his face and a little weight began to overtake his once fit appearance. This was much different than his photo that he used on book covers, probably taken at least five years ago.

"Hello," he said, taking a sip from his bottle water. "I'm Nicholas Shay."

Helen smiled. "Yes, I know who you are. I've read all your novels."

"Wonderful," he said, opening the cover to his latest book. "It's nice meeting my fans."

"Well, I'm not just a fan. It's my job. I'm a reader for several publishers and book reviewers."

Nick held the pen between his fingers and thumb, eyes right on Helen. "I hope you suggest my book as an example of greatness."

"I usually do," she said, feeling her cheeks heat a bit. "If your novel is just as good as the previous ones, you should be okay."

He cocked his head. "This one's different. I took a risk, trying to catapult myself to the upper tier of authors." He squeezed the pen and lowered his eyes. "Who should I make this out too?"

"Helen Miller."

Nick froze, as if time had stopped. The tip of the pen sunk into the page. "Your name is Helen Miller?"

"Yes," she said, glancing back at the rest of the remaining people waiting to get their book signed. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," he said, then wrote an autograph:

To Helen Miller:

Keep reading, keep living.

All the best,

Nicholas Shay

"Thank you," Helen said as he handed her the book.

Nicholas diverted his eyes away from her. "Okay, next in line."

Helen walked outside and opened the book, gazing at the inscription. "Keep reading...keep living."

### 7

The cool night produced a slight wind that rustled the leaves. Helen placed extra wood in the fireplace until a blazing flame lit the room, placed a hot cup of tea with a splash of rum on the table next to her, then curled up in her soft recliner. She flicked on the small lamp and opened the book to the cover page.

_Murder System, by Nicholas Shay_. Helen flipped the page, always excited about the first line of a new book. This is how authors set the tone. The first line should grab the reader while hanging on for the next 350 pages.

Helen read Nick's first line aloud. "You're going to die soon." She smiled and took a sip from her mug. "Well, that certainly is an interesting start to a novel."

She read on.

### Chapter One

Murder System

You're going to die soon.

It's not easy when someone is that direct. _What do you mean by soon?_ Many possibilities begin to wander in your mind. _How will I die? When? Will I be murdered or will I be hit by a truck?_

Certainly there's no good way to die. On the other hand, we all want to leave this world peacefully. If you could choose a death right now, what would it be? I suppose that most of you would beg to die in your sleep. There seems to be a certain amount of perception that makes death a little easier to handle if you were in a deep dream at the time.

I think not.

So let me say this again. You're going to die soon.

Given the choice, would you want to know how? You'd better decide before reading more of this book, because when your time comes you will not be in the tranquil safety of a deep slumber.

In fact, I'm the one that will murder you.

Authors have that kind of power. I can murder anyone just by typing the words. Watch this:

"Behind the reader stood a killer. He pointed a gun at the reader's skull and squeezed the trigger. Fragments of bone, hair, and blood splattered the page of their new book. The killer then walked away as the reader slumped over, face buried in the blood soaked words."

Did you see how easy that was? I suppose it's not fair. I can shoot you, stab you, even take advantage of what's between your legs and you cannot do anything about it.

But why are you still reading? I'm assuming that you don't want to be murdered and certainly do not want to be fondled by a stranger. Yet, here you are reading my book.

I'll give you one more chance. Leave now. Do not move onto the next chapter.

Oh, and you should know...my imagination is much more vivid than yours is.

### 8

### Chapter Two

Murder System

Welcome!

I see that you are still with me. At least, for now. I'm a suspense writer, but I will not drag the suspense.

First, I want to murder one of my characters named Helen Miller. I ask for your patients why I have a direct conversation with Helen.

Okay, here I go.

Helen, I am going to enter your home while you're in bed. You won't be sleeping, because it will be impossible to sleep knowing that death is stopping by for a gruesome visit.

By the way, you look amazing. Most women should follow your example and wear cotton pajamas to bed. I think that's sexy as hell. Or in your case, sexy as _Hel_ en.

I know, bad joke. Bestselling authors can get away with crappy writing from time-to-time.

Your eyes gaze through the darkness. There are two windows in your room. Is someone staring at you through one of the windows? No. Haven't you been paying attention? I'm in your house!

The hardwood floors look amazing. I hope they don't squeak as I walk closer to your bedroom. The fire is still cracking, although diminishing quickly. The heat pours from the vents to fight the cold chill with a slight whistle.

Your eyes have not blinked. You look at each window, then to the door. Is it open or closed?

Open.

Even if someone were in the house, would you be able to see them?

You have two choices. Lie in bed, listening to every sound. Or stand up and look for me. Neither option sounds appealing. Let me see...what will you do?

My guess, Helen Miller, is that you will crawl out of bed, shivering from both cold and fear. You'll take several careful steps, praying that the killer does not exist. It's just a story. You will walk out of the bedroom and turn on the lights.

Nothing so far.

You'll take a cautious step, then another. Your head shifts from side-to-side, eyes darting in every direction. Your chest rises and falls; heart knocking so hard that it's difficult to take a breath.

I'm here Helen Miller. Turn around.

### 9

Helen closed the book. Never in her life did two chapters scare the living crap out of her like this. She threw the last log on the fire, then hustled around the house and turned on the lights, even in the spare bedroom.

As she made it back to the living room, Helen smiled, then started to laugh. She knew all about Nick's writing, but this book had really gotten to her. No matter how the rest of the novel reads, she would definitely refer it to all her book reviewers. Any novel that can terrify her in the first ten minutes deserves to be a bestseller.

The door to the cold cellar flew open and smacked against the wall. Helen let out a deafening scream and ran toward the front door. She fumbled with the lock, still screaming, and flung the door open. The cold night air struck her with a hard blow. She pressed forward, running off the porch with only her socks and cotton pajamas.

Rocks dug into her foot as she made it to the fence. The wind took away her breath. She sucked in pockets of air, but could not seem to breathe. Her heart squeezed, then banged against her chest.

Bent over, hands on her knees, Helen looked back at the house. Lights still on. No shadows floating in her direction. The front door smacked against the wall. Her eyes narrowed, body shivering uncontrollably. She stood tall, gazing at the home.

No one came after her. No one in the doorway.

Her eyes wandered around the property. She could not see that far, but felt ashamed. "This is my home," she said aloud. In the distance an owl responded.

Helen walked back toward the house, eyes locked on the front door. It continued banging in the wind. She took each step up the stairs with caution, trying to use all her senses.

She did not see anyone.

She did not hear anyone.

She could not smell anyone.

Certainly, Helen did not want to taste or feel anyone.

She reached for the door and walked inside the warm home, closing the door behind her. She secured the lock while examining her surroundings.

The lights still on in each room. The fire just about gone, but the heat from the vents had a steady flow. The door to the cold cellar still open.

Helen hustled to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. She then made her way to the living room while looking at the cellar door. A whistle from the cold cellar had a pitch that went high, then low, then high again.

_There must be a hole somewhere_ , she thought. The draft could have thrown open the door. "Jesus, I'm an idiot," she said with a nervous grin.

Helen turned around, placed the knife down next to her book, then walked to the cellar door.

No light switch.

"Perfect," she whispered to herself.

Wooden stairs descended into the darkness. She could feel the strong wind gust toward her from below. Helen needed to locate where the leak, but her nerves were already shattered. She couldn't seem to muster the courage to take even the first step downward.

Helen didn't want the cold air to flow through her house and battle with the heater and fireplace. However she couldn't close the door, because it may fly open again and scare the shit out of her. Worst of all, she didn't have a flashlight.

After a few quick breaths, Helen placed her sock-covered foot on the first step. It gave a bit as if she weighed three hundred pounds. Carefully, Helen walked down into the cold cellar, listening to the consistent whistle of the wind. As she reached the bottom, her hands felt the walls made of stone and the floor made of dirt.

"Screw it," Helen said. She turned and ran back up the steps, skipping the last two. "It can be cold in here for one night," she assured herself. "And sleep is overrated."

Helen wished she had chopped some extra wood for the fireplace. Although, she did not own an ax, or even a clue on what trees should be chopped down. All wood that had been left behind was now in burning in the fireplace.

She stared at the book, wondering if she should keep reading. It's her job to read, no matter what. And since she didn't plan to sleep tonight...

Helen suddenly realized that something was missing off the small table. The book was there, along with the mug of tea and the lamp. But the knife was gone.

_Plot:_ _"Patterns of events in a novel."_

### 10

The knock on the door didn't seem right with a low, a deep thud.

Helen had been up all night clutching a fire poker. She sat with her back to the unlit fireplace with a view of the entire house. The sun had been up for at least an hour, but she felt stiff and lethargic.

Another knock.

As Helen stood, her muscles cracked. She looked out the window and saw a man holding two Styrofoam cups. He had black hair waved to the side. He was tall, average build, wearing a tan flannel shirt and dark blue jeans. He used his boot to kick the door, seeming the only way he could knock because his hands were full.

Helen opened the front door.

He smiled. "I'm assuming that I just woke you up?"

"I didn't sleep last night."

He handed her one of the Styrofoam cups. "Then you must be glad I brought you coffee." He pointed at the fire poker. "I don't smell a fire, so I'm guessing you're going to use that to poke my eyes out."

Helen forced a smile. "Who are you?" she asked, placing against the wall.

"Rex Timmons. I run the cattle ranch and I'm the one leasing part of your land."

"You're younger than I thought."

"Actually, my father owns the business. He lives in Utah and put me in charge of the small operation here."

"You wanted to get away from him, didn't you?"

Rex chuckled. "Yep."

Helen moved to the side. "Come on in."

"Thank you, ma'am."

She closed the door. "Don't call me ma'am."

He took a sip of his coffee. "What should I call you?"

"My name is Helen Miller." Her eyes felt swollen, hair tangled in a mess, socks dirty, and she still had on her wrinkled cotton pajamas. Not quite the look she wanted for an attractive young man who lived on her property.

"It's freezing in here," Rex said, placing his cup down on the table next to her book. "If you need firewood, I got plenty."

"Yes, I need firewood," Helen admitted. "Also, I need help with the cold cellar."

"What's wrong?"

"There's a leak."

Rex laughed. "Where're you from?"

"California," she replied. "Why?"

"Well, you don't have a leak. It's just a cold cellar."

Helen put her hand up. "Meaning?"

"You store dry food down there. It's like a fridge."

"Do you have a cold cellar?"

"Yep." Rex picked his coffee back up and took a swig. "Although, I keep beer in mine, not food."

Helen cleared her dry throat. "Is there a way to make it not so cold? I don't plan on using it."

"Follow me," he said, heading toward the front door. They went outside to the rear of the house. Rex kneeled down next to a PVC pipe. "If you want it really cold, then turn this pipe north. If not, then turn it south."

"I feel stupid." Helen looked at him. "Are you hungry?"

"I ate six hours ago."

"What time do you get up?"

Rex stood tall and gave her a pat on the back. "Early."

"Well, I don't have any food here. Do you want to get some breakfast?"

"I know a place," Rex said. "There's just one thing I'll need you to do first."

Helen scrunched her eyebrows together. "What's that?"

"Tidy yourself up and get dressed in actual clothes."

### 11

Downtown Bloomington was ten miles away. Before leaving, Helen put on jeans, T-shirt, and sweater. She brushed the tangles from her hair, put on deodorant, brushed her teeth, and applied a modest amount of makeup.

She even put on shoes.

They decided to take Rex's black Ford F-50 truck, because he wouldn't be able to fit in her red Mini Coop. The Uptown Café had been a fifteen minute drive and a straight shot down Highway 37. Helen made small talk, mostly discussing her adapting to a farmhouse that' surrounded by 149 acres of land. She felt comfortable with Rex and at the same time a bit nervous.

Inside the Uptown Café had a dark yet cozy atmosphere. Several people said hello to them on the way in.

"It's nice to be in a place where everyone is in a good mood," Helen said as a waitress seated them at booth.

"In Bloomington, it takes about a week to know everyone."

"Hey there," a man said, approaching the table. He was older, with gray hair and stocky build. "How's it going? I'm Mike Cassady, owner of the Uptown Café."

Rex shook his hands. "We're doing just fine." He looked at Helen. "Mike Cassady, meet Helen Miller. Helen just moved into that farmhouse on Rockport Road."

Mike held out one of his large hands. "Nice to meet you."

Helen became anxious and her mouth actually watered. "The food smells great," she said, unable to think of anything else.

Rex said, "Bring us two specials and couple cups of coffee."

"Coming right up," Mike said. He hustled away and disappeared through a flapping door.

"You're ordering for me," Helen said sarcastically. "I don't know you that well."

"Trust me. You'll like it."

"I'll like what?"

"Potato and cream cheese omelet."

Helen's stomach grumbled. "You're right. I'll like it."

"Helen Miller," someone said. She turned, seeing Nicholas Shay approaching. "Have you started reading my book yet?"

"I read two chapters," she replied. "Rex Timmons, meet bestselling author Nicholas Shay."

"Hey there," Nicholas said, shaking Rex's hand.

Rex slid over. "You want to join us?"

"No, I'm meeting some people. Then I have to catch a plane." His eyes met with Helen. "So you read two chapters. What did you think?"

"You were right. It's different." Helen's heart knocked against her chest. "It's like you wrote it just for me."

Nicholas formed a grin. "I'll take that as a compliment. Well, it was nice meeting you both."

Helen watched as Nicholas strolled across the restaurant and sat down at a large table with a group of eight waiting for him. Though it difficult to see, Helen recognized one of the people with him; Felix Spencer, a publicist for many established authors and other entertainers.

"You okay?" Rex asked.

Helen realized that she had completely ignored Rex while staring at Nicholas Shay's entourage. "Yeah," she said, bringing her attention back on him. "His book is a little creepy."

A waitress placed two large plates in front of them, along with two mugs of coffee.

"That was quick," Rex said. He picked up his knife and fork, then dug into his omelet.

Helen did the same. "I need to tell you something," she said, taking a bite of her food. While chewing, she was momentarily distracted by the wonderful taste. After a few more bites, she was able to continue her conversation. "When I got spooked last night, I grabbed a knife from the kitchen."

"Sounds reasonable," Rex said, already done with half his plate.

Helen leaned forward and whispered, "I went down to the cold cellar for just a moment and left the knife by the book. When I came back up, it was gone."

"That's strange," he replied. "What do you think happened?"

"Well, let's assume that knives cannot fly away." Helen looked around to make sure no one could hear them. "I think someone was in my house last night."

Rex stopped eating and stared at Helen. "Did you see anyone?"

"No. But what other explanation is there?"

Rex twisted his mouth, lost in thought. "And you're sure about where you last saw the knife."

"Yes. I'm positive I left it by the book I had been reading." Helen felt a nervous chill prickle down her arms. She looked across the restaurant.

Nicholas and Felix had their eyes locked on her.

### 12

Rex and Helen exchanged cell phone numbers. They went grocery shopping and Helen picked up a newspaper and several local magazines to familiarize herself with the city of Bloomington. Rex then dropped her off at the house and assured that she could call anytime, day or night.

Helen sat on the porch and read the newspaper, shocked at what happened.

About 1:15 on September 4th, six death row inmates escaped from Mecklenburg Correctional Center in Mecklenburg, Virginia. The inmates overpowered the correctional officers and escaped in uniform riot gear. They claimed to have a bomb and pushed it on a cart and exited the building. During their escape they released all the locks in the prisoner-housing unit, causing more chaos and confusion.

The death row inmates even spoke to Warden Donald Bass on the radio, convincing him of the bomb threat. Bass gave clearance for the inmates to drive out of the gate in a prison van, along with instructing their prison helicopter not to follow, fearing that the bomb would go off. Donald Bass has been suspended, pending further investigation. In addition, the director of Departmental of Corrections, Charles Thomas, has been forced to retire.

Helen paused, envisioning the escape, followed by the aftermath. Then she continued reading as the article discussed the escaped inmates.

LaShawn Sutton is a thirty-six-year-old African-American, with thin, lanky build. He is on death row for robbery and murder.

Mason McCoy is twenty-eight, Caucasian, with tattoos on his arms, legs, chest and back. He is tall, with long black hair. He had been in prison for raping and killing a seventeen-year-old girl. Four months after his release, Mason raped and murdered a fifty-two-year-old woman.

Curtis Finch is a forty-two, Caucasian, with a heavy build, receding hairline, and only has a few teeth remaining. He had wrapped a towel around a sawed off shotgun, robbed a pawnshop and killed the owner. A police officer responded to the call and was shot by McCoy during the escape. The officer died on the way to the hospital.

Ike Rufus is forty-nine, African-American, massive build, buzzed hair. Ike murdered a librarian for eight dollars. He was discovered hiding under a table in the library, covered in blood.

The most terrifying of the death row inmates are brothers RJ and Morris Colby.

RJ Colby is thirty-two, Caucasian, solid build, buzzed hair, with a swastika tattoo on his right arm.

Morris Colby is twenty-eight, shorter than his older brother, wavy brown hair, with a scar below his right eye.

The Colby brothers are on death row for the following crimes, during a murdering spree in 2005:

March 12th: Forced their way into a house, bound the husband and wife, then poured kerosene in each room and lit the house on fire.

March 21st: Shot and killed a vending machine worker.

April 9th: Raped and killed a seventy-six-year-old woman.

July 4th: Killed a seventy-year-old man. Witnesses claim that the Colby brothers yelled at the old man for walking too slow by the their car.

Sept 14th: Shot a radio disc jokey in the head after leaving a gig at a local club.

Sept 30th: Beat a sixty-two-year-old nurse to death with a baseball bat.

Oct 5th: Killed a seventy-nine and fifty-nine-year-old neighbors with scissors.

Oct 19th: Used duct tape to tie up a young husband and wife that were both eighteen. The wife had been six months pregant. They raped her, severly beat the husband, then stabbed them both to death with scissors.

All death row escapees are still at large.

_Plot:_ _"A small piece of ground, used in cemeteries."_

### 13

Helen's eyes popped open.

Where was she?

In the bed. Nicholas Shay's book next to her. The novel open on chapter three. She had not read a word, or at least had not remembered reading.

Exhaustion must have taken over. Helen noticed that she changed out of her clothes, back into her pajamas.

It's dark.

The northern fall winds swirled around house, seeming eager to find a way inside. a faint whistle howled from the cold cellar. Leaves rustled along the roof. The heater popped on and squealed through each vent. These noises she had already become accustom too after one night of sleepless hell.

Her eyes looked at the window in front of her, then to the window on her right. In Los Angeles, even at night there were plenty of lights. Here on a farm in Indiana the darkness became overwhelming.

Helen glanced at the open book, then closed it. Now's not the time to read how _Helen Miller_ was going to be murdered.

A creak echoed from the other room.

She couldn't move, paralyzed with fear. Her head turned toward the door, expecting to see someone standing there. She swallowed down a lump of dread that chocked each breath.

Another creak.

It wasn't the customary sounds of her newly purchased home. Someone was inside. Helen swung her feet around and forced herself to standup. How could she live like this?

Well, maybe she won't.

She waited for another noise that didn't belong. It's quiet. Even the heat shut off for a moment. The faint whistle from the cold cellar continued its up and down pitch.

Helen took one step forward. The wood floor below her bare feet gave slightly, making the same noise she had heard. It meant that someone walked through her living room with the same caution.

She thought about Nicholas's book. _Murder System_. Maybe a better title would have been, _Warning System_. Nick explained how she would be killed. In his novel, she walked out of the bedroom, looking for the intruder. Helen would turn on the lights. A natural response for anyone in this situation.

I'm here Helen. Turn around.

That's how Chapter Two ended. Helen actually thought about reading Chapter Three to see if she lived or not.

If she walked out of the bedroom and turned on the lights, and the killer was behind her, it meant he stood right outside the bedroom door. He would let her pass, turn on the lights, then grab her from behind.

Helen pulled in a deep breath through her nose. She could smell him. A mix between body odor and liquor breath.

What weapon did the killer have? A gun? No, that didn't seem right.

Helen knew. He had the knife that went missing last night. Nicholas Shay removed the knife that rested near his book. Authors are symbolic, even psychotic when it comes to their novels. How dare she put a knife near his book?

Helen took another step. Her breathing heavy. The killer had not moved, meaning that he waited patiently.

_Patiently_ , Helen thought. He would wait until she turned on the lights before killing her. Her logic became risky, but under the circumstances, Helen didn't have much of a choice. If the killer wanted, he could stroll into the bedroom right now and shred her to pieces.

But he waited.

Helen took a few more steps and now at the open doorway. The scent strong. He's there, to the right. The light switch on the left. How would he be holding the knife? He would grip the handle, lifting it like a torch. Was he left handed or right handed? Why couldn't have Nick been more clear about that in his book? Shouldn't authors be descriptive as possible? Did Nick accidentally forget to add pertinent information?

Helen realized what was happening. The killer wouldn't be holding the knife. Instead, it's tucked in his belt. Nick didn't say that he would murder her right away. She was an attractive woman. The killer would have some fun, possibly drag her back into the bedroom and rape her first. When he finished, he would slit her throat and escape.

Helen had one chance. She couldn't just turn the lights on, then fight off her attacker. Instead...

She sprinted out of the room, turned, and bent forward. She charged the killer blindly in the darkness, head low like a battering ram. Would she just hit the wall, knocking herself unconscious? Or was there someone really standing there?

That question was answered a second later as her body collided with the flesh of a man. Helen drove her shoulder into his thin stomach. She could actually hear the air expel from his body as he grunted, then wheezed in pain.

Helen felt along his waist, searching for the knife. The killer's hands grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up. She fought the pain and continued searching.

It wasn't there.

Helen took a half-step back and thrust forward. Once again, her shoulder drove into his slim waist.

"Bitch," the killer mutter.

Helen punched him between the legs, connecting on his manhood. This put the killer to the floor.

_Run or attack,_ she thought.

With a closed fist, Helen pounced on him, hitting his face and head. He reached for his ankle.

The knife!

Helen grabbed it first. She gripped the handle and drove it into his neck.

That was enough for her. She leaped to her feet and turned on the lights. The man was tall, black, and body like a beanpole. He had already yanked the knife out, but too weak in pain. He dropped it on the floor with a gusher of blood sprouting from the neck.

Helen hurried to the dining room table, grabbed her cell phone, then called 911 as she ran out the door.

She kept running until she made it down her driveway to Rockport Road. The 911 operator said that a police officer would arrive in four minutes or less. Helen needed to stay on the line, but instead, she hung up and called Rex.

While the phone rang, she thought of a bible passage that she once read as a teenager. "If he comes suddenly, he must not find you asleep." ~ _Mark 13:36_

### 14

Detective Perez finished his interview with Helen. "Do you have a place to stay tonight," he asked.

Helen was fully dressed, sitting at the dining room table, glancing at the remaining blood on the floor next to her bedroom. "How long are you going to be?"

"We'll be here to about noon," he said. "Helen." Perez waited for a response. "Helen?"

She turned. "Yes?"

He reached for her hand. "I'll have a crew come in and clean up the mess. Until then, should I arrange a hotel for you?"

Rex stood outside, waiting patiently by his truck. She could see him through the window, arm's crossed, not moving.

Helen rolled her eyes up to the detective. "I have a friend to stay with. He lives on the property."

"Okay." Perez stood up. "I'll make sure an officer will be near the area for awhile."

Helen didn't respond. Instead, she eased from her chair and went outside. The sun had already crept up. "Don't you have work?" she asked Rex. Her voice sounded condescending, but she meant it as concern.

"I have a crew," he said. "How you holding up?"

"I need a place to crash for the day, until they clean the mess."

He opened the passenger door. "Hop in."

Rex's place was a quarter mile away by road. The only way to reach his house was to take Rockport to Tarkington. The other option was to ride a horse through the 149 acres of her property.

Helen didn't know what a cattle ranch looked like. She imagined cowboys, horses, wagons, cows, and bulls.

It was much simpler than that. Rex lived in a ranch style home that's wide-open inside. Everything seemed to be made of wood. The kitchen was massive, with a large table that seated twenty. Through the sliding glass doors she could see an elongated barn with cows fenced in near it.

Rex poured them each a glass of fresh lemonade, then sat down in one of the several chairs by the fireplace. "You've had a tough couple of nights in your new home," he said.

Helen sat in a chair next to him and sipped her lemonade. "I'm tired," she groaned. "All I could think about when I moved in was a good night sleep in my own home and not a soul to bother me for miles." She looked at him. "Well, except you."

One of his workers came in covered head to toe in dirt. "Hey Rex. The boys will be done early today. I'll let Cook know."

"Thanks," Rex said, waiting for him to leave. "In about a half hour, fifteen dirty, hungry men will be in the kitchen eating pot roast, mash potatoes, and corn on the cob. The gravy is so thick it could be its own food group." Rex stared at Helen. "You want to eat with the boys or be alone? I can bring you a plate?"

She glanced at the clock. "It's only 9:30."

He smiled. "That's lunch for us. They have been up since 4:00."

Helen took another sip from her lemonade, eyes wandering around the room. No decorations. Just the basic needs for a man to live. "I heard you have bush hogs here."

Rex laughed. "You're thinking something like pigs, aren't you?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Bush Hogs aren't animals."

She put her glass down on the coffee table. "There're not?"

"No. Picture a lawn mower on steroids. Bush Hogs cut the pastures. We have four of them."

Helen shook her head. "Maybe Indiana life is a little too confusing for me."

They sat in silence for several minutes before Rex spoke. "Do the police know the guy that entered your home?"

At first, she didn't want to talk about what happened. But at the moment it seemed okay. "Detective Perez knew him right away. His name is..." She glanced at Rex, "or should I say, _was_ , LaShawn Sutton."

"That name sounds familiar."

"You probably read about him in the newspaper. He's one of the death row inmates that escaped in Virginia."

"What the hell is he doing here?"

Helen shrugged her shoulders. "Good question."

A short, fat man, with no hair, and a stained apron walked in through the sliding glass door. He waved at Rex and headed for the kitchen. "That's Cook," Rex said. "He's going to get lunch ready. He made everything earlier this morning, so all he has to do is heat up the food and call in the crew." Rex leaned towards Helen and spoke in a low voice. "If one of those escaped inmates made it this far, it could mean the others are with him."

Helen had already thought about that. Now's a great time to enter the imagination of Nicholas Shay. In his novel, Nick will reveal his _Murder System_. Later this afternoon, she will read what happens next.

She touched Rex on the arm. "I'll join you for lunch, then I just need a place to sleep for a couple of hours. Hopefully by then, I'll be able to go back home."

### 15

"LaShawn isn't back yet," Ike complained.

RJ sipped his Budweiser from the longneck bottle, gazing out the window. He hated being trapped in this house and not even able to watch TV. He and his brother had $100,000 each, but they couldn't spend one penny. Unfortunately it's the deal they agreed to with Felix. And the deal that Nicholas Shay put together.

So far, Felix has kept his end of the bargain.

Ike sat down next RJ. "Listen man, we need to run. I got a bad feeling."

RJ rolled his eyes toward him. "The mere fact that I helped a nigger escape from death row, should explain how dedicated I am to this arrangement." RJ looked forward. "When that bitch Helen Miller is dead, we'll be given enough money to hide anywhere in the country."

Ike's chair squeaked as if complaining that he's too big. "We can't watch TV. We can't go outside." Ike stood up. "We _are_ in prison."

RJ took another sip from his beer, savoring the liquid as it ran down his throat. "Call me crazy, but this doesn't feel like D-Block."

RJ's brother, Morris, had been in the next room sleeping along with Curtis and Mason. Getting drunk and passing out had become pretty much the highlight of their day. Sometimes they would play poker, but the excitement of gambling seemed nonexistent. None of them would bet their money, knowing they would need every penny when it's time to leave.

"If LaShawn doesn't make it," Ike said, "why do I need to go next? The cops will be watching her."

"Whoever Nicholas Shay is, he must know what he's doing. After all, his plan for us to escape from prison worked without a hitch." RJ noticed a massive brown squirrel next to the tree in the backyard. The squirrel had found something to munch on and feverishly eating as if someone was about to take its food. The squirrel's dark brown eyes shifted at a rapid pace. RJ thought about his hometown in Round Rock, Texas. He missed the lazy days of staring at nothing while getting drunk and smoking cigarettes.

Ike had been breathing heavy. "Well, I don't give a fuck about Nicholas Shay. LaShawn went first because he's black. I'm next, because I'm black. Felix and Nicholas Shay are racist, just like your cracker ass." Ike rubbed a bead of sweat that ran down his massive forehead. "LaShawn and I are going before the white's. It's not-"

"Ike," RJ said, watching as the squirrel finished its meal and scurried away. "Do me a favor."

"What?"

"Shut the fuck up."

Ike pointed one of his meaty fingers at RJ. "Man, I will knock you the fuck out!"

RJ let out a sigh. "You killed a librarian for eight dollars and then hid under a table like a little bitch waiting for the police to arrest you." RJ rolled his eyes in Ike's direction. "I've killed seventeen people, which is more than the police know. And I'll wax your black ass in a heartbeat if you don't stick with this plan." RJ looked forward, pleased that his squirrel had returned to the tree.

The front door opened.

RJ stood, seeing Felix walk in. Felix then said without expression, "I have good news and bad news."

Ike stepped forward. "What's the bad news?"

"Helen Miller stabbed LaShawn in the neck with the very knife he was going to kill her with."

Ike leaned against the wall. "So I'm next," he huffed.

Felix looked at RJ. "Where are the others?"

"Sleeping," RJ replied. "What's the good news?"

Felix gave him a grin. "Well, you get to split LaShawn's hundred thousand amongst yourselves." He pointed at Ike. "You're up."

### 16
Chapter Three

Murder System

Amazing.

You're still alive. Good for you, Helen Miller. Unfortunately, it's still early in the novel. I'll have plenty of chances to murder you. Only _I_ know how this will all end.

Of course, you still have another chance to turn away from this book and let fate play its psychotic game. Or, use this as a warning system of where you should go and what you should do. After all, I'm flabbergasted that you're still alive.

To be honest, I've never done this before. I wonder if everyone will enjoy this book? The suspense for you must be terrifying. However, for the other readers, it's sort of like watching a real live serial killer plot his evil on an innocent woman.

Well, let's keep you reading and keep you living. Here's what happens next.

The police are still watching the house, so this will be difficult. How about I kill you upstairs? When you arrive, I'll be waiting in the corner. Your eyes will search for me through the smoke and crowd of people. Beer and drinks will be flowing, the noise level high. You will be disoriented.

I'll make my move, stepping closer. I can see by your expression that you just realized your fatal mistake. You whisper to yourself, "I let the killer upstairs."

You look in every direction, waiting for me to attack. The walls seem to be closing in around you. Smoke fills your lungs, causing a choking panic with each ragged breath. You want to run, but someone runs into you, followed by another person.

A fight breaks out. You turn, shoving your way toward the stairs.

Why did you turn your back on me? That's a costly error. I'm right behind you, easily making my way through the crowd. In fact, everyone is stepping aside. No one is trying to stop me. The fight is broken up. You just about reach the stairs when I shove you forward.

Your body tumbles, head banging on the wood. You feel every step like a punch in the gut. You plummet downward. Your skull splits open. Pieces of teeth are lodged into the rail. Bones are cracked. Muscles ripped and skin torn. Blood trickles, soaking your clothes.

But you're not dead...you just wish that you were. The pain is horrific. Your body is crumpled, spine twisted and loose in your back.

No one heard you fall. I'm there with you, alone. You look up at me with swollen and battered eyes. "Kill me," you whisper. "Just kill me."

"I suppose you will not be finishing my book," I respond. "Heck, you didn't even make it to chapter four."

I drive my foot into your neck, snapping it with ease. Your eyes continue to stare at me, glazed with death.

~

Helen closed the book. She wanted to read chapter four, but didn't see the point. Her eyes wandered, lost in thought. Helen envisioned her small house. "Is there a second floor," she asked herself.

If so, how would she get up there?

### 17

Morris turned up the music and sat down next to his brother as requested. They both kept their heads forward, looking out the window, and speaking low from the corner of their mouth.

RJ noticed his favorite squirrel. He decided to name him Showboat for no particular reason. "How many cameras did you count in this house?"

Morris shifted in his chair. "Sixteen."

"Can they hear us?"

"Not with the radio blaring."

"I've been wondering what Nicholas Shay would gain by breaking us out of prison and killing Helen Miller."

Morris put his feet up on the window ledge. "I suppose the question is, what do _authors_ need the most? Money?"

"Nah," RJ replied, seeing Showboat scuttling around the tree. "Authors need attention. More specifically, they need readers."

"What does that have to do with us killing Helen Miller?"

"I can only assume it means that Helen Miller's death will increase Nicholas Shay's book sales."

"How?"

RJ cocked his head, watching Showboat spin down the tree. "I have no fucking clue."

"Do you think Ike will get the job done?"

"Nope," RJ replied. "In fact, I think when Mason and Curtis go, they won't make it either. Something isn't right."

"Curtis is a cold-blooded mother-fucker. He would kill that bitch for free."

RJ glanced at his brother, noticing the scar below his right eye had darkened. That meant Morris was worried. "We need to figure out what Nicholas Shay is up too. I'll bet my left nut it has to do with his book."

"How can we do anything? We're stuck here?"

"Felix said we need to find someone to take Norman's spot. Norman was supposed to go after Curtis."

Morris looked at RJ. "You saying that Ike, Mason, and Curtis are all going to fail? That seems impossible."

"If they do, we need to know what's going on before it's your turn."

Morris sniffed, now looking forward again. "What's your plan?"

"Get our little brother, Dale, take Norman's spot."

Morris froze, not wanting to react. Whoever planted the cameras were certainly watching. "That bastard testified against us. Also, he doesn't know shit about killing someone."

"Believe me, I've been dreaming about squeezing that little prick's neck ever since he took the witness stand. But if we can convince Felix to let Dale take Norman's spot, then Felix will have to let one of us contact our little asshole of a brother."

"I'm telling you man, if I was face-to-face with Dale, I would tear his fucking head off."

RJ watched as Showboat darted back and forth in the grass. "If Felix let's me speak with Dale, I'll figure out what Nicholas Shay is up too."

"How will you do that? Track Nicholas down and ask him?"

"No. I just need to get a copy of his latest book and see what he wrote about."

Morris turned, looking at his big brother. "What about Dale?"

"I'll deal with that fucking turncoat when I see him."

### 18

Rex dropped off a truckload of firewood. Helen assisted him as they stacked it up on the porch, along with about twenty logs inside by the fireplace.

Afterwards, Helen and Rex examined every inch of the area where blood had soaked into the wood. The police must have hired a professional cleaner, because there wasn't one single drop.

At least, nothing that Helen could see.

They sat at the dining room table, drinking Miller Lite's. "I can't thank you enough," she said. "It would have taken me a year to cut all that firewood and haul it here."

"I have more than enough," Rex said, wiping his mouth after an extra swig of beer. "Are you going to be okay here tonight?"

Helen cocked her head. "Is that your way of asking to stay over?"

"Nah. Just my way of asking if you're going to be okay here tonight."

"Smartass," Helen said with a smile. "Actually, I could use some advice."

"Are you still having trouble with the cold cellar?"

"Shut up." Helen finished her beer. "I'm reading that novel by Nicholas Shay. In it, the main character is named _Helen Miller_. The story is about how Nicholas is trying to kill a Helen Miller."

"That's a freaky coincidence."

"Is it?" Helen asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I knew exactly how Nicholas was going to try and kill me last night. It's all in the novel."

Rex shook his head, eyebrows crunched. "I'm not following?"

"I knew there would be a man standing outside my bedroom door. That's how I was able to fight him off and save my own life."

"But it had been the escaped inmate trying to kill you, not Nicholas Shay."

Helen stood up and collected the empty beer bottles. "When I met Nick at the book signing, he seemed uncomfortable that I was there. Also, he signed my book by saying, 'keep living.'"

Rex leaned back. "Well, that doesn't mean he's after you."

Helen dropped the beer bottles in the recycling bin and marched back to the dining room. "Nick was staring at me in the Uptown Café."

"You're good looking," he said with a grin. "And I think you're a little paranoid because of what happened last night. Anyone would be. I couldn't imagine what you went through."

Helen scratched her neck, frustrated at how this conversation had been going. "Well, according to chapter three of his book, I'm going to be shoved down a flight of stairs."

Rex looked up at the ceiling. "This is a one story home, right?"

"Yes. Also, Nick wrote about a crowd full of people and a room with smoke. I don't see that happening here."

Rex pushed himself out of the chair. "Maybe _Upstairs_ is a place, not a phrase."

"What do you mean?"

"There's a small bar called Upstairs. It is crowded every night with college kids."

Helen grabbed her jacket. "Take me there."

"Are you nuts?"

She turned, giving him a grin. "I thought you said that I'm just being paranoid. If that is the case, then we should be fine."

"But let's say for arguments sake that Nicholas Shay is waiting for you to show at the Upstairs. Would you actually go there?"

Helen walked toward the door. "Yes," she said. "Because if something happens, then his entire book is about my murder. I'll have all the proof I need."

Rex jogged toward the door. "How can you prove anything if your dead?"

She locked her eyes on him. "Well, that's why I'm bringing you along for protection."

### 19

Normally when you think of heading upward, it's a sign of heaven. In this case, she felt like the long journey up the wooden stairs became a path to hell. She envisioned the fall, smacking her head against the railing and stairs. Her body twisting and snapping into pieces. Parts of her skull breaking off as blood glazed her eyes.

With Rex right beside her, Helen entered the Upstairs bar. Just like Nicholas described in his book, the place was packed with college kids, smoke filled the room, and the noise level rang in her ears.

Helen maneuvered through the wild bunch of drunks. These students were future congressional representatives, lawyers, doctors, and CEO's. Right now, they're just twenty-two year old inebriated idiots.

Rex said something, but Helen couldn't hear him. She turned, realizing that he had ordered them both longneck Miller Lite's. She grabbed one of the bottles and drank most of it down. The beer calmed her nerves, but she had to be in survival mode.

After all, Nicholas Shay predicted that she would be shoved down the stairs in the next few moments.

A scuffle broke out at the rear of the bar. There wasn't much room for people to move since the place represented the size of a condominium.

"Here we go," Helen said. It was so noisy she couldn't hear her own voice.

Rex put himself between her and the pressing crowd. The fight continued, but she couldn't see who was involved. Rex turned and shouted, "This is nuts! I'm taking you back home!"

That is exactly what was supposed to happen, she thought. Helen played along with Nick's game. Or maybe a better way to put it...Nick's storyline.

With the beer bottle in hand, she fought her way to the stairs. Helen was ready. "Come on," she whispered. "I'm right here."

"Helen!" Rex yelled from a distance. "Hold on!"

Rex must have been tangled up in the mess behind her. That's a good thing, because Helen wanted the killer to come after her. Just like she did with LaShawn, she would be the aggressor.

Helen felt a pair of hands on her back. She dropped the beer bottle on the floor, twisted her body, and created a human revolving door. She then shouted, "Bye-bye asshole!"

The killer was black, with a massive body. His size became an advantage to Helen, because it was impossible for him to stop his momentum as he slipped forward on the beer bottle. He actually went airborne and didn't land until halfway down the stairs. The impact of the crash ripped apart the wood as he flipped head over heals. His foot caught the railing and snapped both the railing and his ankle into several pieces.

Rex approached as several people tried to rush down the stairs. The fight in the bar had escalated.

Helen had the feeling of being trampled.

Rex grabbed her hand, attempting to guide her down the stairs. The panic behind them was too much as a herd of people shoved their way past them. Helen and Rex became separated. A young woman screamed when she stumbled past the bloody man on the stairs. Some of the students fell into the broken hole that had been created by the fall.

Now, the entire stairwell filled with bodies.

Helen crawled over them, not knowing where Rex had gone. At this point, she could only assume that he's mixed in with the terrified college students. She continued moving forward, eyes on the killer. He was still alive, moving slightly. His body wedged between the stairs and the door below.

A young girl, screaming and flailing her arms, shoved Helen forward. Both of them tumbled on the bodies and landed next to the killer. The young girl leaped to her feet and jumped over him, falling as she stumbled outside.

Helen and the killer's eyes met. She recognized his face from the newspaper. Ike Rufus, one of the escaped death row inmates.

Several students pushed their way forward and hurried out the door. She turned and looked up the stairs seeing Rex trapped, his leg caught inside the stairwell. People trampled him, not caring if he was stepped on or injured some more.

That gave Helen an idea.

She stood up, glaring at Ike. His head was in an awkward position, lodged into the wall. Ike screamed in pain, trying to move his legs and arms. Helen glanced back as people scurried by her. She would have one chance at this.

Helen lifted her leg and thrust her foot down on Ike's meaty neck. Part of his upper spine tore through the skin. Dark blood leaked to the floor. His eyes fluttered. He was dying, but still alive. She wasn't going to wait until he was hauled back to Virginia and strapped down in the electric chair. Most of his body would be paralyzed, so he wouldn't feel much pain.

Still, Helen wanted him dead.

She glanced back and saw that Rex had crawled out of the hole. He held his leg; face twisted in pain. Helen looked at Ike, glaring into his inattentive eyes. She lifted her leg once more and drove her foot into his neck.

Ike's body twitched for a moment. Helen waited, ready to finish the job.

He stopped moving.

She turned and ran up the stairs. At this point most of the bar had been cleared. A bartender yelled at someone as if the fight had yet to be broken up. Sirens could be heard outside.

She reached down and grabbed Rex around the waist. "Can you walk?" she asked.

He held his leg, groaning through his teeth. "Damn. I think it's broken."

"Let me help you down the stairs." Helen did her best to move him. He placed his arm around her shoulders, using her as a crutch. Most of the stairwell had been broken, so each step became an adventure.

"Is that the guy who tried to kill you?" he asked as they edged past Ike's dead body. "Did everything happen, just like in the book?"

Helen didn't answer, but instead breathed in the fresh air, noticing an unmarked police cruiser pull up Detective Perez exited the vehicle and looked around, as if assessing the problem.

Helen waved him down. "Detective Perez!"

He approached her while slipping on a blue windbreaker. "Hello, Ms. Miller. I have to get inside. Excuse me."

"There was another attempt on my life," she shouted.

He glanced at the bar. Police officers now blocked the entrance with yellow crime scene tape. "Is the person still inside?"

"Yes," Helen said. "He tried to push me down the stairs, but I moved just in time. He lost his balance and fell."

"I'll go take a look." Perez began walking toward the door. "Stay here for a moment."

Rex whispered in her ear. "What the hell is going on?"

Helen glared at him. "I told you. Nicholas Shay is trying to kill me."

### 20
Chapter Four

Murder System

Let us take a brake from Helen Miller for a moment. I want to concentrate on you, the reader. The _Murder System_ applies to everyone who reads this book.

Imagine you're in a white room. There are no doors, windows, or openings of any kind. The only thing you see is perfectly white walls, floor, and ceiling. No sound, not even your own breathing. You could scream, but it wouldn't matter. No one would be able to hear you.

How do you feel?

Think of three words, describing your emotions in the white room. It's important that you do not continue reading until you have written down those three words.

________________________________________________________

Now imagine your favorite color. Think about how that color makes you feel. Write down three words.

________________________________________________________

What color do you despise the most? A color that you wish did not exist. You're disgusted every time you see it. Write down three words, describing how you feel about that color.

_________________________________________________________

Did you complete all three exercises? Good. Now you can decide whether or not you want to continue with this book. If you go on reading, then by the end, you will know _how_ you will die, _when_ you will die, and the _circumstances_ that led up to your death.

Do not take this book lightly. Information like this may not be for the best. If I said that you will be in an accident tomorrow at 9:09 a.m. and that your body would be torn apart like a jigsaw puzzle, would you still travel? Maybe you would stay home and lock yourself in the closet until 9:10. If that's the case, then you're not a person that should be told the time of your inevitable death.

Back to my exercise questions. How did you answer the first one? The white room is death. Were you afraid? Frightened? Trapped? If so, then if I told you about your impending death, it will not bring you comfort. Then again, maybe you said something like, "Peaceful, secure, and content." In that case, you're a person that has accepted dying, no matter how it happens. You may read this book without fear.

WARNING! Having the knowledge of how, when, and where you're going to die will terrify the most courageous of people. You may start counting the days, crossing the dates off on the calendar. That would be a shame, because I don't want you to live in fear, but rather enjoy the final days of your life.

The moment you travel to the white room could be the happiest moment, or the most horrifying. I suppose no one is anxious to die, but you have to agree, it will happen someday. The good news is that you won't feel any pain. I'm not talking about seconds before your death, but rather after the fact.

The next question I asked was about your favorite color. The answers given are how you feel about yourself. I hope that you put cheery words and not morbid answers. If your answers were gloomy, then death is knocking at your door right now.

Figuratively of course.

The third question sometimes can be the hardest. You've already answered the question about the white room, meaning your death. The last question is the person that will be directly _responsible_ for your death.

Don't get me wrong; there's a chance that you won't be murdered. However, there's someone in this world that will be liable for your demise. Most of the time, the person won't even know who you are, or that you were killed.

Many factors come into play. It could be something like they are running late for work and the disruption of their timing caused another car to slow down, which irritated another driver, which slammed into you. Alternatively, it could be some sort of minimal act. For example, they may drop a pencil; bend over to pick it up, causing a molecular change in humanity. That small change contributed to your end.

Here's some more disturbing news. _You_ were responsible for someone else's death. One point in your life, someone died because of the way you went about your day. It's only fair that you will be paid back with the same senseless act.

The white room is waiting for your arrival.

### 21
Chapter Five

Murder System

I see that you're moving on to the next chapter. I'm assuming that you understand the consequences of what you're doing. To see the future and know the course of your events is a desire that should be considered with the utmost care. Death will remind you everyday from this point on that it's coming; in one form or another. You may die peacefully of old age in your bed, or kidnapped by a sadistic killer who will torture you for several days before getting rid of the evidence. Are you sure you want the answer?

I am a religious man. I believe in God and Jesus Christ. There's a heaven and a hell. I will be judged one day on my actions. I have faith, love, and passion in my life. Having said all that, I still don't want to know when I will enter the white room.

Last chance to back out. After all, this has become your horror story, not someone else's.

Okay, you asked for it. To learn of your future, you must have knowledge and wisdom. In this case, you are gaining that knowledge from this book. If you stop reading this book, then it will no longer be a horror novel, but rather a mystery.

Many events have already been set in place to discover the details of your death. Everything you did to get this book has a direct implication on the day you will die. You may have purchased this book in a store or ordered it on Amazon. It may have been a gift, or you checked it out at the library. In any case, you took specific actions for self-discovery and wisdom.

You're taking precise measures to read this novel. That displacement in time also has consequences. To save on writing space, let us assume that everything about this book, every word and all circumstances during your reading, will have a direct impact on your life.

Be proud of yourself. It is an honorable thing what you're doing. After all, besides public speaking, death is our greatest fear. At this moment, you're throwing caution to the wind. I respect that.

The best way to familiarize yourself with the meaning of death is to learn from the number one selling book of all time...The Bible.

Here's a quote from Genesis chapter two, verses sixteen and seventeen. These words will help you fully understand the implication of your curious nature.

"You may eat the fruit from any tree in the garden, except the tree that gives knowledge of what is good and what is bad. You must not eat the fruit of that tree; if you do...you will die the same day."

It's okay to read other books on death. You can plow through that Stephen King novel and watch other people murdered. However, it's not okay to gain knowledge about your own death.

Nevertheless, I appreciate your vigor. And I do apologize for dragging on the suspense, but as you know, I am an author. Keeping you terrified and apprehensive is my job. There's one thing I will _not_ do...leave you wondering. You will receive answers, as the plot squeezes your heart until it stops beating.

Your life, along with this book, has similarities. There's a beginning...and an end.

### 22
Chapter Six

Murder System

I know what you're thinking. "How the heck could he know anything about me?" That is a great question. I'll answer that question specifically in a later chapter, if you're still around. (I hate when authors do that. It's tacky.)

On the other hand, I don't need to know one thing about your life. For the purpose of this book, all I need to know is how and when you will die. The process has already begun.

The end is a moment in time. Here's how it will play out. Look for the signs that will be connected with your death. Remember, as these events take place, search for the color you despised in chapter four. That's the description of the person that will put in motion the events that lead to your death.

Also note that something connected to your death will always be at least 840 feet away.

There's a plot, or a marking point, which means your death will occur within 1,260 days, which is less than three and half years. I know what you're asking. "My death is only three years away?" Well, sort of. That timeline could be extended or cut short, based on certain events that will take place. After each of these events occur, then your death will arrive.

Here they are...

Seven lights in your house will be turned on at the same time.

You will have the courage to overcome a horrifying temptation.

Someone from Philadelphia will cheat you of a reward. Your integrity will be put to a test.

Four people will visit you. The first is a man with valor and strength who is trying to help you.

The second is a woman, who looks to tame your ego.

The third is an older man who represents some sort of group or organization. (There are twenty-four people in his group, or organization.) Their building has many clear glass windows.

The fourth visitor is someone with authority.

A war is started that directly affects your decisions. (Remember, a war can be countries fighting, or a family dispute that drags on for days, weeks, months, or even years.)

News of the war spreads to one-fourth of the people you know. Casualties of some sort will be announced.

There will be a change in your wages, under certain conditions and agreements.

An earthshaking moment will disrupt a service that you need.

The sun is blocked by smoke. People are suffering all around you. They seek death, but cannot find it. Death flees from them, because it's looking for you.

A secret is handed to you on a small piece of paper.

You will eat something that is sweet in your mouth, but sour your insides.

Two people celebrate the suffering of others.

A woman befriends you. She has no sexual morals and will have a child that dies during birth. The father is angry and considers his next move while on a beach. He is scared on the inside, which will painfully show on his face. His sorrow will come close to being fatal. When he moves on with his life, it disrupts the life of others.

Three more people will contact you. The first will judge you. The second will complain of your envy. The third will warn you about something.

Your body will ache and heat up like fire. You will be thirsty and spit up vile liquid.

Several people will question your judgment from the past.

Three doctors, or three people that work in the medical profession will examine you, but they seem untrustworthy.

A drunken woman wearing a purple dress, with gold earrings, and a pearl necklace, will have a secret behind your death. She introduces you to several businessmen.

You begin to have nightmares about the three unclean doctors/medical professionals, the drunken woman, and the businessmen.

You're invited to a wedding that you cannot attend, because...

Darkness will overcome you like a heavy chain and lock. The key is forever lost.

Life goes on without you.

Just like that...you enter the white room.

"Watch where you are going-it may save your life." _Proverbs 16:17_

### 24
Chapter Seven

Murder System

Now that the readers know about their own death, I should get back to my main character, Helen Miller.

Honestly, I cannot believe you're still alive, Helen. I should have been able to murder you with ease. I suppose survival instincts are underrated.

I will wrap a rope around that soft neck of yours and drag you to a pond. The rope will squeeze, but not kill you. Your eyes will bulge and your brain will heat with pain. Clusters of stars will mix with your blurred vision as you see the world pass by.

Come on Helen, kick your legs in the dust. Tug on the rope, so that a tiny pocket of air can seep into your mouth. Twist your body in pure agony. Your head feels like it may detach and rip the skin of your neck. The pain worsens as I continue to haul my prize.

Just as the last bit of air oozes from your lungs, we arrive at the pond. You dig your fingers under the rope and loosen it from your flaming skin. I have undressed and stripped you of your jeans and panties.

Before you can react, I'm inside of you. It takes a few agonizing seconds to realize what is happening.

"Take it, Helen," I whisper in your ear. "Pain and pleasure. Pain and pleasure. Pain and pleasure."

All of your strength is gone. You cannot fight back. "My sweet Helen," I moan. "My fucking sweet Helen."

The rope remains tight on your torn neck as you suck in a quick breath of air. Sweat drizzles down your face.

"Stop," you groan. "Please...stop."

"Sure," I respond. "I'm a reasonable man."

It takes me a few moments to redress myself. I watch as you attempt to pull up your pants with little success.

Helen, in the next few moments it won't matter if you're dressed or not. You came into this life naked and it would be symbolic if you left the same way.

I reach down and twist the rope. Once again, your breath is being stolen along with your life.

Helen Miller, you're about to die.

You struggled, but the effort is minimal. Your brain warms, the flickering stars reappear and the throbbing returns as oxygen becomes desolate. Your body twitches. The fingers on your right hand tugs into the rope as the fingers on your left hand dig into the moist ground.

"Let it happen," I whisper to you.

You stop moving. Perhaps the knowledge of your impending death is convincing enough. You knew this would be your final moments on earth.

It seems peaceful. Off in the distance...way off... a bird is chirping. The wind rustles the trees. The violence just seconds ago is a vacant remembrance.

Nobody comes to this spot, except the occasional wandering animal. I don't want them to gorge on your flesh. I grab the rope and drag you into the pond. It's deeper than I originally thought.

"You're not sinking." I'll have to collect a few big rocks and secure them to your corpse with the rope. That process will take longer than I expected, but you have plenty of time to wait.

Finally, your body rests at the bottom of the spring pond.

"Goodbye, Helen Miller."

### 25

After slamming the book shut, Helen grabbed her keys and hurried outside. She climbed into her red Mini Coop, sped out of the driveway, and zoomed down Rockport Road. Eight minutes later, with book in hand, Helen entered the Bloomington Police Department.

After a fifteen minute wait, she was escorted to Detective Perez's office. They each took a seat at a small table in front of his desk. "What can I do for you Ms. Miller?" Perez's Mexican accent had been unmistakable, while his eyes lost in thought.

Helen placed the book in front of him. "I think that Nicholas Shay is trying to have me killed."

Perez opened the book. "I'm not following?"

Helen tapped her finger on the page. "This entire story is about a Helen Miller who's attacked by the author."

He gawked at her. "You're saying that Nicholas Shay is attacking you?"

"No, I'm saying that he's using those escaped inmates." She leaned forward, heart rapping against her chest; veins pumping like a valve had been blocked. "I knew that someone was in my house. When LaShawn Sutton tried to kill me, I was able to fight back and save myself."

"How?"

She tapped on the page again. "It's all in this book! I also knew that someone would try to kill me at the Upstairs club. The information in this novel saved me."

Perez skimmed through the pages, not really looking at the words. "So the author of this book is trying to kill you, but he's telling you how to save yourself?"

Helen blew out a deep sigh. "I know it sound ridicules, but-"

"I think you may be spooked because your name is a character in the-"

"No! It's not a coincidence."

Perez closed the book, reached in his pocket, and pulled out his Blackberry. With this thumb and finger, he clicked the buttons. His eyes studied something on the phone and then he said, "According to Google, there are 2,145 Helen Millers in the United States." He turned the phone, showing her the statistics. "Indiana has forty-seven Helen Millers. Isn't it possible that you may be over reacting?"

"No, it's not possible," she pleaded. "Nick is using those inmates. LaShawn Sutton attacked me in my home. Ike Rufus tried to kill me at the Upstairs club."

Perez put his hand up. "Why did you go to the club?"

"I was curious."

"Why didn't you say anything to me about it then?"

Helen thought about how she drove her shoe into Ike's neck. "I was frightened, just like everyone else in the bar. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"And you claim that Ike arrived at the club because he was after you?"

"Yes."

"You knew he'd be there?" Perez asked, placing his fingers on the book cover. "According to this novel, your life was in danger?"

"Yes."

He raised one of his dark eyebrows. "I still don't understand why you went, if you're so convinced your life would be in danger?"

Once again, Helen's veins pumped with rage. "I needed proof."

Perez sighed. "What happens next? I mean, according this _fiction_ novel."

"Well..." Her mouth went dry. "The next chapter explains how he's going to try and kill me near a pond."

"A pond?"

"I have four spring ponds on my property."

Perez stood up. "I'll direct you to the Property and Evidence Division. You can tell them you have reason to believe that you may have a trespasser."

Helen practically leaped from her chair. "Trespasser?"

"I investigate homicides, suspicious deaths, child molesters, sexual assaults, complex frauds, and armed robberies."

"Both LaShawn and Ike's death are suspicious!"

Perez sat on the edge of his desk. "Really. How so? Is there something you haven't told me?"

Helen diverted her eyes, then regained her confidence. "What if I'm right? That means another escaped inmate will be on my property, near a pond. Wouldn't you like to catch him?"

Perez reached back and grabbed a piece of paper. "According to this report I received yesterday, we're still on high alert here in Bloomington. However, eyewitnesses have notified police in Vermont that they have seen suspects that match the descriptions of Mason McCoy and Curtis Finch. In New York, the FBI are looking for RJ and Morris Colby, who have contacted a friend of theirs for help." He dropped the paper on his desk. "I highly doubt any of those four escapees are here. It's likely that LaShawn and Ike stayed together, while the others went their own way."

Helen shook her head. "Those are just reports, not facts. Another one of those escaped convicts is coming after me." She turned and opened the door. "I guess if you don't believe me, I'll find someone who will."

### 26

Felix slapped the newspaper on the table. "It seems that death row has transformed you inmates into pussies."

RJ snatched the newspaper up and looked at it, seeing two pictures on the front page. Each a mug shot; one of LaShawn and the other of Ike. Their deaths described in detail.

LaShawn had been stabbed in the neck by Helen Miller in her house, just as Felix proclaimed. Ike had fallen down the stairs and broken his neck.

RJ rolled his eyes up. "LaShawn's neck was stabbed and Ike's neck was broken?"

Felix glared at the group of convicts. "It seems that you idiots aren't as resourceful as we thought."

RJ smiled, not taking the insult personally. However, Mason was offended. "I can show you how resourceful we really are by tearing your fucking head off."

With blinding speed, Felix retrieved a gun and rested the barrel on Mason's skull. RJ recognized the weapon as a Bul M-5; government model, nicknamed, _The Bull_. Felix cocked his head, eyes meeting with Mason. "Maybe I'll blow your fucking skull to pieces."

RJ continued scanning over the newspaper article, not interested in the sidebar conflict. "Did Helen Miller have something to do with Ike's death?"

Felix continued aiming the gun, not taking his eyes off Mason. "She's the one who pushed him down the stairs. Then, she finished the job by breaking his neck."

"Why isn't that mentioned in the story?"

"Because, Helen didn't inform anyone of what she did."

RJ stood up. "Are trying to kill her, or is she trying to kill us?"

Felix drove the barrel forward on Mason's skull. "Helen Miller isn't a cold-blooded killer like you idiots. It just seems her survival instincts are better than your murdering skills."

Mason inched forward as the barrel dug into his skin. "I'm not going to end up like LaShawn and Ike. Go ahead and shoot me if you think-"

Felix squeezed the trigger, cracking Mason's skull like a broken widow. Blood poured out as if it were a faucet draining down his face. His eyes never wavered. Mason dropped down to his knees. Felix used the gun to push Mason backwards and collapse on the floor.

RJ, Morris, and Curtis froze. None of them really cared about the other death row prisoners, but the unknown began to terrify them the most. They would handle just about anything: Murder, death, even being fried in an electric chair. But should they be afraid of Felix? Helen Miller? Nicholas Shay? Or should they fear the circumstances behind their escape from prison?

Four men came through the door. One of them retrieved several garbage bags from the kitchen and wrapped it around Mason's bloody cranium. The four men heaved Mason up and took him out the door.

Felix glared at the remaining three. "Nicholas Shay handpicked you death row inmates and went through a great deal of trouble to assist with your escape. Should I tell him that you cannot handle this?"

Curtis spoke up. "The Fed's must know we're in Bloomington by now. How can we possibly get to Helen Miller?"

Felix pointed to the newspaper. "Keep reading." He turned and headed for the door. "And since you have so much time on your hands, clean up that bloody mess on the floor." Felix left, slamming the door behind him.

RJ sat back down and continued reading the article. Morris joined him at the table while Curtis retrieved a mop, bucket of soapy water, and a rag. He began cleaning up the blood, hair, and skull fragments off the floor.

RJ flipped through the pages, reading with intense eyes. When he finished, he looked at his brother. "It says that you recently contacted our buddy Holt Browning in New York about working at his mechanic shop."

Morris rubbed the scar below his right eye. "Do you mean the same asshole who gave me this scar? How's that possible?"

RJ waited until Curtis walked by with the bucket of blood and headed to the bathroom to dump it. RJ then leaned forward and spoke in a low, almost muted voice. "Felix and his buddies must have leaked that bogus information to throw the Fed's off. The article also claims that witnesses saw Mason and Curtis in Vermont. We need to find out what the fuck is really going on."

Curtis returned with a duffle bag and manila folder. "Are we going to split up Mason's cash?"

"Sure," RJ said. "What's in the folder?"

Curtis held it up. "The info on how to kill Helen Miller."

"Is that yours?"

"Nah," Curtis said with a grin. "It's Mason's."

Morris stood up. "How was he supposed to murder Helen?"

Curtis dropped the folder on top of the newspaper. "He was going to drag her out of the house to a nearby pond, rape her, then hang her from a tree."

RJ opened the folder, noticing the same photograph of Helen Miller that he had in his folder. He scanned over the details of how Mason was going to brutally assault and murder Helen.

RJ leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. "Felix said we had to replace Norman. I guess we have to replace Mason as well."

Curtis used a paper towel to wipe off a few specks of blood that stained his hands. He locked eyes with RJ. "I'm ready for my turn. I'll rape and kill that bitch. Then, we can get the fuck out of here."

### 27

Plenty of radio and newspaper outlets in Bloomington covered the story, but Helen wished that her story would be covered on a television news channel. She needed something visual that would be shown all over the country if the story were picked up.

Unfortunately, the only television station in Bloomington was WTIU Channel 30, owned by PBS.

Joe Hren, who hosted The Weekly Special, was willing to give her a few minutes. They met in a small conference room. Joe was tall, handsome, with clean-cut reddish hair, sparked with a touch of gray. He fidgeted with the coffeemaker with no success, then sat down. Helen discussed the same information that she gave Detective Perez. Joe listened without interrupting, his eyes unwavering, hand rubbing his chin.

He seemed interested in what she had to say.

After finishing her story, Helen asked, "So, do you believe me?"

"No, I don't," he said. "However, I do think this is a much better story than the crap we've been doing here at TIU."

Helen had renewed hope. "Where does that leave us?"

"I'll have to run it by my producer and co-host, but I haven't had a story turned down yet." He continued rubbing his chin. "When Nicholas Shay had been in town, he promoted his book signing on my show. To be honest, he doesn't seem like a cold-blooded killer."

"He's not," Helen urged. "But the men he has sent after me _are_ cold-blooded killers."

"Why would an up and coming author like Nicholas Shay risk everything to free six death row inmates and have them take turns trying to murder you, exactly how he had wrote in his book?" Joe paused, giving Helen a grin. "The reason I'm asking is because Nicholas Shay will sue PBS if this story ends up on my show. I'll need to know the answer to that question."

"Maybe he's obsessed with me. I'm in the publishing business."

"What's your job?"

"I read books, then refer them to publishers and reviewers."

"Have you ever turned down any of his books?"

The air drained from her body, along with hope. "No. In fact, I've referred all his books to the top reviewers."

"How does Nicholas Shay rank amongst other authors?"

Helen's eyes snapped up. "What do you mean?"

"Authors like Grisham, King, Roberts, Koontz, and Patterson are on the top. Where does Nicholas Shay fit in?"

"He's considered a mid-list author."

"Meaning?"

"He's not at the top, but not at the bottom either."

Joe heaved a sigh. "I'm sure you're aware that _Helen Miller_ is a common name."

"Yes, but-"

"Maybe you're not the only Helen Miller involved. Nicholas Shay could be doing the same thing to several Helen Miller's around the country. Maybe he's trying to freak out all the Helen Miller's in the world."

She leaned forward. "I don't think so. Everything so far that he wrote in his book, happened to me."

Joe stood up, eyes flashing with energy. "If that's true, it would send his book sales through the roof. People would read the _Murder System_ the same way they watch a reality show. Not only would Nicholas Shay become popular, but so would I for telling this story." Joe took a lap around the table, rubbing his chin. "Of course, it's not realistic that Nicholas would assist in freeing six death row inmates. That'll be a tough sell to my audience."

"Maybe he didn't," Helen said. "Nick has enough money to pay someone to do his dirty work. He may not even know the details. Perhaps Nick made up the plan, but someone else carried it out."

"You're in the publishing business. Who would do something like that for an author? It would have to be someone close to Nicholas that he trusts; like an agent or something."

Helen stood. "Felix Spencer," she said. "He is Nick's publicist."

### 28

Of the four spring ponds on Helen's property, only one would be ideal for a murder. It was hidden by trees, about a half mile from her home. There was just one problem.

When would this happen?

Helen decided to visit Rex and see how he had been doing. After going to the hospital that night, the doctor informed him that he had a deep bruise, severe knee sprain, and several small lacerations. He was given pain medication and told to take it easy for a while.

Rex answered the door, using crutches to walk. "Come on in," he said with a grunt.

She closed the door behind her and watched as Rex fumbled with the crutches, then plopped down on the couch. "I'd ask how you're doing, but that seems obvious," she said.

"The pain in my leg is just the least of my worries." Rex's face twisted in agony. "I lost the business."

Helen practically ran to his side and plunged on the couch. "What happened?"

"The economy," Rex replied with a sour tone. "My father had to shut down four of his cattle farms. This was the one costing him the most money."

Her mind strained for a quick solution. "If the three thousand a month is too much, I can lower the rent. In fact, hold off on paying me until you have the money."

His face softened. "That's just about the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

Helen felt pleased. "So call your father and tell him!"

"It's too late." Rex adjusted his body, picked up his leg, and gently positioned it on the coffee table. "My workers have been released. Even the damn cows and horses are gone. My father arranged for them to be picked up and sold at an auction."

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner? I've could've done something."

His eyes wandered. "Nothing could have saved this cattle farm. Times are tough. It's just the way it is."

"Bullshit!" Helen sprung to her feet. "I can't believe you gave up that easy."

"There's nothing to give up. The business is gone."

She drew in a deep breath and attempted to calm herself. No reason to make things worse. "Well, this ranch house and the barn are already paid off."

"Yep." His eyes glossed with pain. "But this is still your property. If you waive the three grand, I can live here."

Helen stepped forward and kissed him on the top of his head. "If that will help, then of course."

"You don't need the money?"

"No, I'm fine."

He reached out and gently took her hand. "I really need another big favor."

"Anything."

"Can I pay you back somehow? Maybe work on your house and fix it up. Run errands for you. Something."

Helen sat back down and put her arm around his wide shoulders. "You want to be my houseboy?"

"If that would square us."

She hesitated, but then kissed his cheek. "I'll tell you what. When your leg heals, we'll talk. My house does need a few repairs and I haven't the slightest clue on where to start or how to fix things."

He rested his hand on her thigh, not looking at her. "I saw what you did at the Upstairs club."

Helen's heart seemed to stop beating. "What?"

Rex glanced at her, but kept his eyes diverted. "When I was stuck in the stairwell, I saw what you did to Ike Rufus. You killed him."

She didn't move. "I don't know what to say."

Rex wrapped his arms around her and whispered in her ear. "You were frightened and defending your life, just like you did against LaShawn Sutton. Nothing to feel guilty about."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Rex held her arms, eyes locked. "Until all those criminals are found, you can't stay in that house alone. Also, I believe you. Nicholas Shay wants you dead."

### 29

The morning sunrays blazed through her window, heated the cold wooden floor, eased up her bed, and crept onto Helen's face.

She didn't want to open her eyes. The light kept fighting, burning the lids until she conceded.

As Helen swung her legs over the bed, her body shook with a massive chill. She thought about Rex. The safety of a man next to her in bed would certainly help her sleep, but she couldn't ask him over just yet.

Rex was simplistic, but Helen knew that if she invited him to stay the night, things would instantly become complicated.

Helen wrapped the blanket around her body and made the long, slow, drudge to the kitchen. While the coffee brewed she took a hot shower to warm her frigid bones. After dressing, the coffee reached her senses and instantly brought her to the reality of a new day.

Helen sipped the hot coffee from a mug while gazing at Nick's book. In the recent chapters Nick changed his narrative point of view, concentrating on the "readers." It was a strange twist, as if he wanted everyone to feel included with the idea of death. Helen knew that chapter eight would describe another horrifying murder that she would have to survive, along with another murder in chapter nine and so on.

Her cell phone rang. "This is Helen Miller," she said, gripping the phone with one hand and holding her coffee with the other.

"Helen, this is Joe Hren from TIU. How are you this morning?"

"Fine. Did you get approval from your producer to run the story?"

"I did. However, my co-host is not so thrilled about the idea."

Helen placed her mug down on the dinning room table and walked toward the rear of the house. "Why isn't your co-host thrilled?"

"Pam enjoys local stories."

"This is local. I live-"

"I know. But she also feels that even if the story received national media attention, it could blow up in our face."

Helen gazed out the back window. "What do _you_ think?"  
"I want to move forward. We just need more proof that Nicholas Shay is after you."

A buzzing sound appeared from the rear of the property. Through the window, her eyes bounced left and right. "Hold on a second." The noise grew louder. _A wood chipper_? she thought. _Maybe a lawnmower_?

"Helen?" Joe said. "You there?"

The buzz grew so loud it rattled the window. She saw Rex driving a huge red machine, heading toward her backyard.

_A lawnmower on steroids,_ she thought. He was on a Bush Hog.

Helen's mouth fell open. Behind the Bush Hog, Rex dragged a massive tree.

Her eyes locked on the rope. "Joe," she said on the cell phone. Her voice barely audible.

"You okay?"

"Can you get a camera crew here?"

"Why?"

Helen couldn't take her eyes off the thick piece of rope. "I'm about to be dragged to my death."

### 30

Helen ran outside and yelled over the roar of the engine, "Do you have a gun?"

Rex turned the lawnmower off. "What?"

Helen looked in every direction. Fields, pasture, woods...rope. She snapped her eyes at him. "Do you own a gun?"

"Yeah." He edged down off the Bush Hog. His face twisted in pain as he limped on his tender leg. "Why do you need a gun?"

She pointed to the rope. "Tell me why you have that."

He looked at the tree attached to the Bush Hog by a thick piece of rope. "It's for firewood," he replied. "Until my leg heals, it will be hard for me to do a lot of cutting. I thought we could work together."

Helen squeezed his arm to keep his attention. "In Nick's book, he drags me away with a rope around my neck."

Rex gave her a nervous grin. "Listen to yourself. Now you're saying that Nicholas Shay can predict the future. How would he have known that I would haul a tree to your house and we could both use some firewood?"

A white van sped along the side of the house, into the backyard. The driver jumped out, opened the side door, and grabbed a large camera. The passenger, Joe Hren, hurried toward her. "Has anything happened yet?"

Helen pointed to the rope. "According to the book, I'm supposed to be dragged away."

Rex raised his hands. "This is nuts! You called the guy from PBS!"

Helen turned and glared at him. "Twice now I've been correct. If that's the case, then there's a killer in the area. Most likely it's one of the escaped death row inmates."

Rex heaved a sigh. "So you're just going to stand around, wait for him to attack you as he wraps the rope around your neck and drag you away? Meanwhile, Joe from PBS will film everything?"

"Go home," she said, still glaring at Rex. "Thanks for your help."

Joe patted his camera operator on the shoulder. "Benny, get shots of the woods and pastures. Let me know if you see anyone."

Rex shook his head with utter disbelief. He limped toward the back of the Bush Hog and untied the rope. He then untied it from the tree and wrapped it in his arm. "I'll take this with me," he said with heavy sarcasm. "That way, you can feel safe again."

Helen ran to him and slapped his face. "No matter what you think, there's a killer coming for me right now. Rope or not, he's somewhere on the property!"

Rex threw the rope in the back of the Bush Hog and climbed on while pulling up his injured leg. "Get some help," he said. Before she could respond, he fired up the engine and drove off.

Benny continued filming. "Someone is coming!"

Helen and Joe spun, looking in the same direction as the camera. Sure enough, from the woods, a figure appeared. He was short, Hispanic, with a heavy blue jacket and jeans.

It was Detective Perez. Following him were three more police officers.

Perez shook hands with Joe. "How're things with PBS?" Perez asked.

"Unfulfilling," Joe responded. "Glad you came."

Perez scanned the area, then his eyes fell on Helen. "Well, Joe informed me that a murder is about to happen. I suppose the decent thing to do is help." He kept his eyes on her. "Have you seen any escaped convicts on your property?"

She became defensive. "You mean besides the one that broke into my house and tried to kill me?"

"Besides him, have you seen any others?"

Helen's eyes continued scanning the area. _He's out there, hiding somewhere on the 149 acres_. "Can you look over the property?"

"Have you seen anyone?" Perez asked again.

She had to be honest. "No."

"Then why am I here?"

"Because the book claimed I would be-"

Perez put his hand up. "Stop." He turned to Joe. "The next time you call me there'd better be a legit reason. You understand? I'm not here to assist with your career."

Joe patted Benny on the shoulder. "I guess we can wrap it up." Joe then glanced at Helen. "It was worth a shot, but don't bother me again."

Less than a minute later everyone was gone. Helen stood alone, gazing into the woods. "He's out there," she whispered.

### 31

The photo of Mason McCoy was on the front page of the newspaper. As Helen read the article, certain words flashed up at her.

McCoy

Dead body discovered...

Shot...murdered...close range...

New York City...

After scanning the words she read the entire article again. Mason's body was found near the garage where the Colby brothers were suspected to be heading. FBI assumed that Mason, who was last seen by a witness in Vermont, must have met up with the Colby's. Something went wrong and he was murdered.

Helen studied the photograph of Mason McCoy. Tattoos ran up his neck, curling under his jaw line.

She picked up her cell phone and called Joe Hren. He barely said 'Hello' when she spoke. "Did you see that Mason McCoy was found dead in New York?"

"Yes Helen. I read the same newspaper as you."

"That's why he never made it here. Mason was killed before he arrived in Bloomington."

She could hear Joe sigh through the phone. "Listen, I love a good conspiracy theory, but this is getting me nowhere. I don't need a lot of proof, but a little would be helpful."

"I'm handing you a story that will spark national media interest."

"No, you're getting me in hot water with my producer, my boss, and my co-host."

"I'll take this story to another media outlet. You'll regret treating me this way."

"Helen, for God's sake! I dropped everything and came to your house. Nothing happened. My neck has been stuck out far enough."

"Why did you contact Detective Perez?"

"If an escaped death row inmate really did show up, I wanted to make sure he was caught, rather than splattering my brains on your beautiful pasture."

Helen gripped the phone. "So there was a part of you that believed me. For a brief moment you thought it was possible."

"A very brief moment."

"Even your producer agreed to do the story."

Joe sighed again. "Helen, what do you want from me?"

"Put me on the air with Nicholas Shay."

There was a sudden burst of laughter. "Yeah, I'm sure Nicholas Shay will come on the air and discuss accusations of a plot to murder you. What next? I ask him how he freed six death row inmates?"

Helen considered her options. "I'll speak with Nick myself."

"Let me ask you something. Why does everyone call him Nicholas and you call him Nick?"

Helen paused, thinking about the question. "I don't respect him enough to use his whole first name."

"I'll tell you what. If you can get _Nick_ to come on my show, I'll do the broadcast."

Helen smiled. "No problem."

### 32

Nicholas Shay was doing a benefit in Dallas. It was the 25th Annual National Philanthropy Luncheon at the Hyatt Regency. Six awards were given to those who have donated an extraordinary amount of money to the Dallas communities. Helen paid for a $75 ticket online and was able to snag one of the last remaining spots. Then, she flew to Dallas.

While on the plane Helen used her laptop to do some research. She discovered that Nicholas Shay donated $100,000 to the Dallas public library. Nick wasn't making millions as an author, so that donation was quite generous. Helen knew that a behind the scenes deal had to take place for Nick to be that charitable. He must have received some kind of huge benefit in return. After all, Nick lived in Miami. Why would he donate money to a library in Dallas?

Helen continued her research and discovered that shortly after Nick's donation the city of Dallas announced what they called the, "Master Plan." It involved hiring board members to make key decisions on existing and future facilities, new services, and updated technology. A large portion of the funding came from the City of Dallas 1998 Bond Program. The Bond Program covered everything from new street and sidewalk construction, major intersection improvements, new buildings, and represents two/thirds of the property owners in Dallas.

The "Master Plan" promoted the Dallas Public Library on every major street, building, and sidewalk. Nicholas Shay's picture and website was included in each promotion. Also, every Borders, Barnes & Noble, Target, Wal-Mart, and all stores that sold books in Dallas, made sure that Nick's books were near the entrance where people walked in.

His $100,000 donation (investment) assisted Nick in selling over two hundred thousand books in just the Dallas area alone.

Helen had been in the publishing business a long time to know about the backroom deals that are done. Authors are no better than politicians or big business owners. Every penny that's spent has a "Master Plan" behind it.

After the plane landed in Dallas, Helen still had about an hour before the event would start. She decided it was long overdue to protect herself better. She took a cab to a place called, _McCelelland Gun Shop_. The man behind the counter had an Amish styled beard, looking nothing like a gun salesman. His nametag read, _Chris Felts, Manager_.

"Can I help you?" Chris asked.

"I need a gun," Helen blurted out.

"Well, that's what we sell here." His smile raised the Amish beard into his cheeks. "Anything particular I can show you?"

Helen glanced over the selection inside the long glass case. "I'm not sure."

"Is this for protection, hunting, or just to blow off some steam at the gun range?"

"Protection," she replied sharply. Helen pointed to a small pistol with gold trim on the handle. "How about that one?"

Chris opened the case, retrieved the gun, and handed it to her. "That's a Galena. Three-inch barrel, six shots. Police officers use this for a backup weapon."

Immediately the Galena felt natural in her hand. "How much?"

"Six hundred and thirty dollars."

Helen placed the gun down on the case and opened her purse. She handed him her license and social security card. "Is there a waiting period?"

"No ma'am."

"Can you ship it to my house?"

"No ma'am."

Helen leaned her hands on the glass case and gave her best flirtatious grin. "I live in Bloomington, Indiana and cannot take it on the plane with me. How do you suggest I bring my new friend home?"

Chris shifted to the side and tapped the keys on his computer. "We'll have to disable the weapon. The firing pin and barrel will be shipped separately FedEx Overnight. The ammunition will be shipped FedEx Dangerous Goods."

Helen raised one of her dark eyebrows. "Shipped to where?"

Chris banged on the keys and clicked the mouse. "The closet retailer that is FFL approved is the Supply Depot in Martinsville. They sell military supplies, but can accept shipments of handguns and rifles." He glanced around the computer. It's about a thirty minute drive from Bloomington."

Helen dragged in a quick breath. "Is there a gun shop anywhere in the Bloomington area so I don't have to drive so far?"

Chris brought his attention back on the computer, clicked the mouse and said, "Sunffy's Pawn Shop."

She raised her hand. "No thank you." Helen dropped her credit card on the table. "So it will be at the Supply Depot by tomorrow?"

"If your background check comes in clean, yes it will."

"Very well. Let's do it."

Helen filled out the paperwork and completed her purchase, which came to $947 with ammunition and shipping.

The Philanthropy Luncheon would be starting in about twenty minutes. Plenty of media outlets will be there; much more influential than the local PBS station in Bloomington.

She would confront Nick face-to-face with the cameras rolling. His reaction will be televised all over the world. Afterwards, on the plane ride home, she would read the next chapter of Nick's book.

Tomorrow, Helen will drive to Martinsville and pick up her gun.

### 33

Nicholas Shay, along with six other speakers spent twenty minutes each at the microphone. Nick's speech was more focused on the comedic side of being an author, which the audience approved.

Guests were permitted to eat during the presentations. Despite five hundred people packed in the hall, the clanking of silverware was minimal. This was because of the upper-class attendance. Proper manners seemed to flow through the large room.

Helen didn't fit in with her table guests consisting of a doctor, two lawyers, school board director, and their spouses. Although her group seemed polite, her thoughts were distant. Nicholas Shay was playing Russian Roulette with her life. His risky and psychotic plan would soon be exposed.

Following the meal and presentations was about an hour of meet-and-greet. Helen had a small window of opportunity as the media from newspapers and magazines took hundreds of pictures. Local news did interviews with the speakers and some of the more upper echelon of guests. Helen had to squeeze through the crowd and get close to Nick, hoping that their conversation would attract interest of the surrounding media.

Long shot at best.

Helen searched for Nick's right hand man, Felix Spencer. Even with the large crowd, it wouldn't be hard locate Felix with his wavy blond hair and lanky frame. She knew that being a publicist was only part of his job. Felix did all of Nick's dirty work. Nothing was off limits to launch his client to super stardom while putting Nick on the bestsellers list. Soon, Nick would become a powerhouse in the publishing world.

Nick shook hands with several people. Then, his eyes met with hers. Helen approached, noticing a camera crew doing an interview just a few feet away from him. Now's the time.

"You failed," Helen said with a voice that rang loud enough to catch the attention of a few people. "You sent LaShawn Sutton into my home to murder me with a knife. But you failed. I stabbed him instead."

Her voice spread through the crowd like wave.

Nick kept his composure. The cameras now on him. "Ladies and gentleman. I like you to meet...Helen Miller!"

As if someone flipped a switch, the audience laughed. To them, this was just a publicity stunt. A character from Nicholas Shay's book had come to life.

Helen stepped forward and kept her voice steady. "Ike Rufus tried to push me down the stairs, but I got the better of him."

The audience applauded. Someone yelled, "Next you were dragged away by a rope!" Everyone laughed.

She turned, screaming loud enough so her words would carry through the hall. "This isn't a fucking joke!"

Silence.

Security inched forward, probably wondering what to do. The flash of cameras began to increase.

"Ma'am," Nick said from behind. "Helen Miller is just a fictional character in my book. She's not real."

Helen turned, glaring deep into Nick's eyes. "Mason McCoy never arrived at my house. Why not?"

Nick didn't lose his cool. "You live in Bloomington, Indiana...right?"

"Don't play stupid. You know exactly where I live."

"From what I read in the papers, McCoy was found dead in New York." He formed a confident grin. "Sweetie...No one is after you."

Two security officers grabbed Helen's arms. "Nicholas Shay is trying to kill me!" she pleaded. The guests parted like the Red Sea as she was dragged through the hall. "Read his book! Sutton and Rufus came after me just as he described! Nicholas Shay is responsible for their escape from prison!" Her voice trailed as the security practically carried her out the door. "The Colby brothers aren't in New York! They're in Bloom...."

### 34
Chapter Eight

Murder System

The blast was like a bomb going off in the house.

Helen thought she had been awake in bed, but realized she must have dozed off. She reached for the gun inside her nightstand and clicked off the safety.

Fully dressed, she eased off the bed and steadied her arms, aiming at the open door.

"Helen Miller," a voice whispered from the living room. "Come on out."

She kept the gun in front of her, staring into the darkness. A light flicked on in the kitchen. From the bedroom, Helen watched as the killer wrapped a towel around the shotgun. Helen ran from the bedroom while squeezing the trigger.

The killer shut off the light and fired back, shattering the wood next to her on the wall. She dropped to the floor, keeping a firm grip on the gun. The killer fired two more shots, both missing as she crawled toward the basement.

"Helen Miller," he whispered. "Helen Miller."

She flipped on her back and fired until the gun was empty. Bullets sprayed the living room, dining room, and kitchen. She couldn't be sure if the killer was hit by any of the wild shots.

Once again, silence.

More silence.

A blast ignited, briefly flashing an image of the killer. The window above her head shattered, glass spilling down on her like rain.

Another shot fired, ripping into the door of the basement. Helen flipped onto her belly and crawled like a soldier in a war zone. Shards of glass on the floor shredded into her skin, ripping apart her hands and forearms. She made it to the stairs and tumbled down into the pit of darkness.

Helen squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, with the hot sting of glass embedded into her stomach.

The killer took his time walking down the stairs. "Helen Miller," he whispered.

She kicked her legs, trying to move. But there was nowhere to hide. She could scream, but who would hear? She could stand up and charge the attacker, but would it do any good?

Helen could smell his evil sweat. This was the aroma of a murderer. She second-guessed every decision she had ever made. Why did she live in this house? Why did she move to this city?

"Helen Miller," he whispered.

Most of all, why did her parents name her Helen? It was a death sentence.

The pain from the shards of glass seemed irrelevant. The blood leaking from her body was unimportant. This basement would be her coffin. Bugs would find their way inside and feast on her corpse.

"Why am I here?" Helen asked herself. It was more of a delusional statement than anything else.

"You're not here," the killer replied. "At least, not anymore."

The blast from the shotgun was simultaneous with a surge of pain.

Suddenly, Helen was in a different room, painted to perfection in white. No doors. No windows. No escape.

The room was death.

### 35

During the entire trip back to Bloomington, Helen thought about chapter eight of _Murder System_. Nick had written that chapter in the third person. It became a narrative, rather than Nick telling the story from his point of view.

Did that have a hidden meaning? It was almost as if Nick turned her murder story over to a character, referring to him as, "The Killer."

Helen could barely keep her eyes open as she then drove from Bloomington to Martinsville and located the Supply Depot. The building looked more like a warehouse than a store with a metal frame and no windows. Only a few cars in the lot. A light drizzle, mixed with the cold September wind dampened the air. Helen jogged to the front door and went inside.

Although the building had a massive warehouse appearance, the inside was setup like a large retail store. The isles filled with military equipment, military clothing, and themed items from every government agency.

"Can I help you?" a female employee asked. She had appeared from nowhere and startled Helen. "Sorry, I was in the restroom," the woman said, reading Helen's mind. She didn't have a nametag, or a uniform. Rather, she was dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans.

"I'm just a little jumpy these days," Helen said, brushing the rain droplets off her jacket. "I believe you received a package from Dallas for me?"

She held out her hand, "My name is Dye."

"Dye?" Helen asked. "Strange name for someone working in a military store."

"Strange name for working anywhere," she said with a giggle. "Follow me." Dye led Helen to a desk at the rear of the store. "I'll need your ID."

Helen gave Dye her drivers license while looking around the store. "Do you have video surveillance equipment?"

Dye handed the drivers license back. "Wow, you really are jumpy sweetheart," she said with another giggle.

"What do you mean?"

Dye reached down and picked up three boxes, placing them on the counter. "If I'm not mistaken, you ordered a handgun from McClelelland Gun Shop in Dallas, along with ammunition. Now you're asking for surveillance equipment."

Helen glared at her. "Your point?"

"Someone must be harassing you big time." Dye's expression softened. "Ex-boyfriend?"

"No. Some author wrote a book that's all about killing me. The story has details about my murder and how it will be done. So I need to protect myself, because no one believes me. Everyone thinks the character in the book is just a coincidence. Also, the author helped six death row inmates escape from prison and he's using them to act out my murder."

Dye put her hands on the counter and squeezed them together. "Well, that sounds...interesting." She stared at Helen for a moment. "We have a Spy Digital Alarm Clock. When activated, it has a motion sensor that will begin recording twelve consecutive hours of video and twenty-four hours of sound. The recording does well in either light or complete darkness. It comes with a remote that you can use to trigger the video from up to sixty feet away and also a USB cable to easily download the video to any computer."

"How much?"

Dye leaned to the side and tapped on her computer. "$149.39."

"I'll take two," Helen replied.

"Sure thing. Is there anything else?"

Helen looked at the three packages. "Can you put this gun together and show me how to use it?"

Dye gave Helen a grin. "No problem, honey."

### 36

The muffled shotgun blast tore the front door lock to pieces. Curtis Finch kicked open the door. He wasn't trying to be cautious or sneak into her home, although, he didn't want the echo of his shots to carry to someone's ears that could be out for a late night stroll. So he had wrapped a towel around the barrel of the shotgun, creating a makeshift silencer.

All he could think about was that he just wanted that bitch dead.

Just enough of the moonlight shown through the windows that he could see Helen Miller scramble out of her bed. She held a small remote of some kind, pointing it in his direction. Then she grabbed a pistol from the nightstand and crawled on her knees.

Curtis smiled, exposing the last of his remaining teeth. Beads of sweat formed on top of his balding head, even though the temperature dipped to thirty degrees.

She gripped the gun, eyes locked on him. Curtis strolled to the kitchen and slid off the burnt towel from the barrel of the shotgun. He snagged another towel that hung near the edge of the sink. He spoke to her with a scruffy voice. "This will muffle my kill shot when I shoot that sweet ass of yours." He flicked on the kitchen light. "I can see you on the floor in the bedroom, crawling toward me. I also know that you have a gun in your hand. Why aren't you shooting?"

Curtis shut off the light and walked to the dining room area, his heavy boots stomping on the wood floor. "Helen Miller," he whispered. "Come on out." She was no longer at the bedroom door. His eyes wandered to the living room, by the fireplace, and along the wall.

A door was open next to the spare bedroom.

Curtis marched forward, gripping the shotgun with both hands, two fingers on the trigger. "Helen Miller," he whispered again. He fired the shotgun, hitting the rear window. The mere sound of glass shattering pleased his destructive soul.

It was hard to see in the dark house, but he located an open door that led to a set of stairs which disappeared into a pitch black of nothingness. "Are you down there, Helen Miller?"

Helen stepped forward from the spare bedroom and raised her gun to his bare skull. With her fingers twitching, she asked, "Who sent you?" She shoved the gun forward, piercing the skin. "You're Curtis Finch; one of the prisoners who escaped from death row. Why are you after me?"

"If you were going to shoot me, you would have done it already." Curtis twisted his body and swerved the shotgun toward her.

Helen squeezed the trigger of her new Galena pistol while falling backwards to the floor. The shot rang in her ears, disorienting her for a couple of seconds. Curtis waved the shotgun in her direction and fired with glossy eyes and blood pouring down his face from his ruptured skull.

The spare bedroom door splattered; pieces falling on top of her. Helen aimed and fired off three more shots, sending Curtis into the darkness of the cold cellar.

### 37

Two copies of the video were made. One was given to the police. The other was sent to Joe Hren at WTIU Channel 30. It took about an hour before the entire world watched the edited video of Curtis Finch's attempt to murder Helen Miller just as it was described in chapter eight of _Murder System_ , written by Nicholas Shay.

On the internet, the gruesome, unedited version had over a million views in just a couple of hours.

Media outlets from the Dallas event showed her outburst, while reporters discussed the past attempts on Helen Miller's life, along with Curtis "Cop Killer" Finch's criminal history.

Reporters mobbed Nicholas Shay at every book signing and event that he attended. FBI questioned Nick about the prison escape. With his superficial grin, Nick's standard response was always the same, "I had nothing to do with the Mecklenburg prison escape. I had nothing to do with the attempted murders of Helen Miller in Bloomington, Indiana. My book, _Murder System_ , is fiction. I'm just an author."

Helen spent the day at Rex's house, watching the broadcasts. She did not own a television which gave her a nice excuse to visit Rex, other than the fact that the police were cleaning up another dead body in her house.

More importantly, Helen wanted to apologize for slapping him in the face.

They sat next to each other on the couch, sipping long neck bottles of Miller Lite's. "Tomorrow is my birthday," Helen blurted out.

Rex shifted his body, leg on the coffee table, looking at her. "Your birthday?"

She kept her eyes forward. "Yes."

"Are the police going to protect you?"

Helen faced him. "What does that have to do with my birthday?"

Rex's eyes seemed glazed with pain. He had been mowing the pastures on the property and doing other work in the barns, which must have flared up his injury. Even with all that work, he promised to fix everything that had been destroyed with bullets in her house.

"RJ and Morris Colby are still at large," Rex said. "It stands to reason that they will be coming after you."

Helen snatched the empty beer bottle from his hand and stood up, heading toward the kitchen. "What can I do?"

"Go somewhere," he said with an aching grin. "We can take a little vacation."

Helen opened the fridge and saw that he was out of beer. She closed the door, standing in the kitchen. She considered Rex's idea. "If I said yes, where would you take me?"

Rex eased off the couch and hobbled to the kitchen. "How about the Bahamas?"

She pointed to his leg. "You up for a vacation?"

"Sure." He rubbed the back of his neck. "When can you go back home?"

Helen didn't answer right away. It seemed everything moved at a hundred miles an hour. Detective Perez, along with the FBI, wanted to do a more meticulous investigation in her house, as opposed to what they did with the LaShawn Sutton incident. "The detective said it could be a week before I can come back, maybe longer."

"Perfect!" He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. "What do you say?"

"Are we dating?"

"We're attracted to each other," Rex said, limping as he walked away. "Let's just take it from there. Besides, you need an entire week with no attempts on your life."

She followed him to the living room. "Are you being funny?"

He glanced back. "Well, I'm trying to be." Rex continued moving away from her. "I need to use the bathroom. I'll be back in a sec."

Helen shook her head as she watched him struggle with each step. She couldn't figure out what her true feelings were for him. He was gorgeous, helpful, and genuinely concerned about her wellbeing. Helen supposed that was all anyone could ask of someone else. But a week with him in the Bahamas?

She found the door to his cold cellar. Rex was smart enough to have a light switch. Helen decided that would be the first thing Rex could add to her house. That is, when the police were done cleaning Curtis Finch's blood from her home.

Helen hurried down the stairs in search of his stash of beer. If she was going to evaluate her first long trip with a man, she needed a few beer cocktails to aid in that decision.

The cold cellar's air was just like a large refrigerator. So cold in fact, she could see her breath. Instead of a dirt floor, it was cement. The walls had several shelves, loaded with...

Helen froze. Her brain attempted to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. A body, wrapped in clear plastic smeared in blood was tucked in the corner.

The cold whistle from the pipe leading outside brought her back to reality. She took one step toward the stairs, eyes still on the corpse.

She needed her gun, but Detective Perez kept it for evidence. Her cell phone was upstairs on the coffee table. She couldn't take her eyes off the blood-smeared plastic.

"Helen!" Rex called from above. "Where are you?"

### 38

After evaluating her circumstances, Helen decided to race up the stairs before Rex knew she was in the cold cellar. When arriving at the top by the open door, she flicked off the light and stuck her head around the corner. Rex was outside in the rear patio looking for her.

_Did he already check the spare bedroom?_ she wondered. If so, Helen couldn't go in there and say, "I was here the whole time." Where _hadn't_ Rex searched for her?

She took a step forward, then gazed at the cold cellar door. Was it open or closed before she went downstairs? Helen closed it, hurried through the living room and snagged her cell phone from the coffee table, then continued to the front door. She eased her way outside, careful not to make any noise.

The day had been on the warmer side, but a steady cold breeze had caused the temperature to rapidly fall. The sky was blue, with a row of clouds in the distance. Leaves fell from the trees, the grass withered, and the dirt on the ground had been shaded with frost.

Everything seemed to be changing right in front of her eyes.

Helen jogged to her red Mini Coop which had been parked behind Rex's black Ford Truck. She reached into her pockets and realized that her keys were in her purse, which was in the spare bedroom.

"I was looking for you," Rex said from behind.

Helen turned, seeing him at the front door. "I had to get something from my car," she said in a defensive tone.

"You alright?" he asked, taking a step forward.

People can hide some feelings, or expressions from others. However, witnessing a dead body in a cellar and feeling terrified because the killer was ten feet away wasn't something she could disguise.

"I forgot my keys," she said, walking by him.

He grabbed her arm. "Hold on a second." Rex's eyes looked down on her, piercing through her skull. "Are you okay?"

"Sure," Helen said, barely able speak that simple word.

"I was pushing this relationship too hard. I'm sorry."

Helen scrambled to say something. "We really don't have a relationship just yet."

"Should I slow down?"

Rex's grip remained on her arm. His fingers were icy and calloused. She placed her hand on his wrist, trying not to shake. "I've been through a lot. I'm not sure what I would have done if you weren't around to help."

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a sad grin. "Where does that leave us?"

"Let's hold off on taking a trip for now. Keep things simple."

"I like simple." Rex finally let go of her arm. "Don't take this wrong, but you look stressed. Why don't you take a nap? When you wake up, I'll have the best chili you ever tasted simmering on the stove."

"Sounds like a plan." She walked into the house with the image of a dead body wrapped in plastic hidden in the cold cellar below. Rex came inside and closed the front door. Helen could feel his eyes as she hurried to the spare bedroom.

### 39

Helen sat on the bed, staring at the closed door for a moment. Rex could be right outside listening. She remembered him admitting that he had a gun, although she had yet to see it anywhere.

Helen thought about the dead body downstairs. Who was he? Maybe it was one of Rex's workers. Rex had abruptly shut down the business. It was possible that the worker became angry and attacked Rex. A scuffle ensued and somehow the worker ended up dead.

Or, maybe it was just an accident? Perhaps the worker fell off the Bush Hog and ran himself over. Regardless, it didn't change the fact that Rex went through great lengths to hide the body.

The door seemed to have eyes. It gazed at her, ready to swing open. Helen was defenseless. Rex could enter the room, shoot her, wrap her body in plastic, and place her next to the corpse in the cold cellar.

She dialed 911 on her cell phone.

"911, what is your emergency?"

Helen gripped the phone with both hands, keeping her voice low. "I found a dead body." The words sounded unrealistic.

"What is your name please?"

"Helen Miller."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm in the bedroom of a farmhouse that is located on the property."

"Address?"

Helen let out a huff. "Do you want my address or the farmhouse address?"

"Both."

"The farmhouse can be accessed at 2013 Tarkington. The address to my home is 648 Rockport Road."

"Are you in any danger?"

Helen pulled in a deep breath through her nose and let it seep out her mouth. "Listen to me carefully. I am in a house with a dead body. The killer is also in the house." She could hear the dispatcher talking to someone else. "Hello?"

"Yes Ms. Miller, I'm here. Please stay on the line until the police arrive."

"I will, but how long will that-"

The door opened.

Rex stepped inside and leaned against the wall with a grin. "What's wrong, you couldn't sleep?"

"He's here," Helen whispered to the dispatcher.

Rex continued to lean against the wall, his eyes locked on her. "Who're you talking to?"

She swallowed down a lump of fear. "The police."

"Why?"

"I saw the dead body in your cellar."

"Ma'am," the dispatcher said. "What is the person's name that you are speaking with?"

"Rex Timmons."

He heaved a sigh, stood tall, and took another step forward. "I had a feeling you were in the cellar." Rex leaned over and formed a grin, speaking quietly, his eyes next to hers. "It wasn't easy, but I took the body into the barn."

"Ma'am, what's he doing?" the dispatcher asked.

"Just talking," she replied. "He's standing right in front of me."

"Is he threatening you?"

Helen kept her eyes on him. "Not yet."

Rex reached out and carefully put the phone on speaker. "Hello, this is Rex Timmons."

"Sir, this is Alice from the Bloomington Police Department. I need to ask you to walk away from Ms. Miller and wait for the police at the front door."

"Sure thing." Rex pushed the END button on the phone. "If the police do a search of the property, they will find the body. But you and I don't want that."

Helen remained on the bed. Her muscles clamped together with fear. "Why not?"

Rex cocked his head. "Because, I work for Nicholas Shay. He asked that I keep an eye on you." Rex leaned over, his face right up against Helen's. "It is important that you're in the right place at the right time, so Nicholas' story is accurate. Or else there could be problems."

"Who are you?" she managed to ask, despite the horror pumping in her veins.

"My real name isn't important." Rex stood tall, glancing at the window. "I believe the police have arrived. You'll need to say that you were spooked and really didn't see a dead body."

"Why would I do that?"

Rex snapped his eyes in her direction. "Lyle and Wanita Miller. Do those names sound familiar?"

The police knocked on the front door.

Helen couldn't move. "They are the names of my parents. I haven't spoken to them since I was seventeen."

"Nicholas has information about them that concerns you."

The pounding on the front door became more urgent.

A bead of sweat drizzled down her back. "Who was the guy in the basement?"

He turned and headed out of the bedroom. "His name was Rex Timmons."

### 40

Felix walked inside and slammed the door shut. RJ and Morris were playing cards at the kitchen table. Both had longneck Budweiser's and packs of Camel cigarettes next to them. RJ was currently smoking, while his brother took a swig of beer.

Felix slapped the newspaper down on the table, sending most of the cards to floor. "Your buddy Curtis Finch is dead. Not only that, but that bitch Helen Miller videoed taped the entire murder attempt."

RJ took a drag from his cigarette and slid the paper toward him. He scanned over the article, ignoring the photograph of Curtis's ugly mug shot. "I see that Helen Miller now owns a gun." RJ looked up. "Well, isn't that convenient."

Felix was breathing hard. "What the fuck are you getting at?"

RJ flicked an ash from his cigarette to the floor. "Why do I get the feeling that we're being setup?"

Felix placed his palms on the table and leaned forward. "Listen to me, you piece of shit. We got you out of death row so that you can do a simple job. We're paying you well." He grabbed the newspaper, crumpled it up, and threw it in the direction of the garbage can. "Obviously we chose the wrong criminals for this task."

"Why do you want Helen Miller killed?" RJ asked.

"Nicholas Shay has issues with her," Felix snapped. "That's all you need to know."

Morris pushed his long hair to the side. "Norman Pitts was supposed to go next."

"That's right." Felix's eyes bounced from Morris, to RJ, then back to Morris.

"This job was for seven," Morris said.

Felix rubbed the back of his neck. His skin flushed, looking odd in contrast to his blond hair. "What's your point?"

"Our younger brother, Dale, is probably available."

Felix didn't respond right away, seeming lost in his thoughts. "The Fed's are certainly watching him to see if you show up."

"We need him," Morris urged.

Felix slid into a chair. "Where does your brother live?"

"Round Rock, Texas."

RJ dropped the last remains of his cigarette to the floor and stepped on it with his boot. "Get me a secured phone. I'll have a little chat with Dale and convince him to help us. You just find a way to get him here without anyone knowing."

Felix rubbed his chin. "Your brother testified against you both. I figured you'd want him dead."

RJ stood up. "Of course we want him dead, but the way things are going, Helen Miller will probably take care of that for us."

### 41

Felix purchased a prepaid phone for RJ to make the call to his brother. Felix also stood next to RJ and monitored the conversation.

In some ways RJ had been prepared for this all his life. When he was a teenager, RJ came up with code words to use when talking to his brothers in front of their parents at the dinner table. Everything seemed normal, but RJ, Morris, and Dale were actually planning crimes right in front of mom and dad.

When RJ was sixteen, Morris was twelve, and Dale was only ten-years-old, they planned a trip to a nearby farm where they would torture several cows, chickens, and the family dog. This scheme was done while the three boys conversed and ate roast with mashed potatoes.

Of course, RJ could have planned this with his brothers in private, but he wanted them trained to understand and use the codes. If they were trapped in a room with the police, or even a rival gang, RJ could give instructions to his brothers without anyone knowing what he was doing.

After Dale testified against RJ and Morris, he actually came to the prison to visit with RJ and apologize. It wasn't all that brave of Dale, since there was six inches of bulletproof glass between them.

Using their coded words, RJ assured his Dale that the time would come when he'd need his help. RJ still needed Dale on the outside to assist with a drug smuggling scheme that RJ and Morris ran in prison. Even on death row, RJ continued earning about $6,000 a month. Although, Dale collected the money from the guards and pocketed most of it.

RJ used the secured cell phone to call Dale while Felix listened to every word. RJ spoke in his coded voice. "Hello Dale," RJ said. ( _Hello_ was a code for, _help_.)

Dale's voice was soft, almost inaudible. "It's good to hear from you. Mom and dad are very upset at what's going on."

_Translation_ : The Fed's have planted bugs in my house and are watching me. (Hear = Bugs, Mom and Dad = Feds, Very Upset = More than the local police are looking for you. If Dale had said something like, 'Only mom is upset,' it meant that just the local police are involved.)

"When was the last time you've spoken to mom or dad?" RJ asked.

_Translation_ : Have the Fed's contacted you face-to-face? If so, when?

"Only once in the last week," Dale replied.

RJ glanced at Felix who seemed to be getting impatient. "I know we haven't said much more than hello in the last few years, but I need you to abandon your house and meet me for a job in Bloomington, Indiana."

_Translation_ : Professionals have me captive in Bloomington, I need help. Hide the money we earned from prison. (Hello = Help, Abandon = Hide the money, House = Prison, Job = Professionals; as opposed to a gang or local thugs.)

"What if mom or dad starts wondering where I am?"

_Translation_ : What if the Fed's start looking for me?

"Don't say anything to them. In fact, sneak away and travel light."

_Translation_ : Escape unnoticed. Steal an untraceable gun. (Sneak = Steal, Travel Light = Gun/Untraceable.)

"I can be there in two weeks."

_Translation_ : I'll be there in two days.

"The job will be waiting," RJ replied.

_Translation_ : The professionals that have us will be watching.

"Any last advice before I leave?"

_Translation_ : Am I helping you escape before we kill the professionals?

"Keep your head down," RJ said and hung up the phone.

_Translation_ : We're going to kill them when you arrive.

### 42

Helen explained to the police that she made a mistake. What she thought was a dead body, was actually a large sack of potatoes. The police did a quick inspection of the cold cellar to make sure. Satisfied, they left.

Moments later, Helen was contacted by Detective Perez. "Two things," he said with a stern tone. "You can pick your weapon up at the police station. Second, I know that you have been traumatized by these home invasions and near death experiences. May I suggest you see one of our psychiatrists? It will all be paid for by the Bloomington Police Department."

"Can I go home yet?" she asked sharply.

Perez sighed. "I suppose we could be finished up with our investigation by the day after tomorrow."

"Fine."

"And another thing. I have spoken with Joe Hren and others at WTIU. If they want anymore public funding, they better not do stories on how an author is trying to murder someone using his book."

Helen had a backup plan just in case this would happen. "Fine," she repeated.

"I happened to see your age on the police report. You have a birthday tomorrow. When you stop by the station, come see me so I can-"

Helen clicked END on her cell phone.

Still in the home of the departed Rex Timmons, she sat down on the couch, gazing at the wood floor. The man who she thought was Rex, stood next to her. "What should I call you?" she asked. "You don't have to give me your real name, just give me something."

"I've always liked the name, Kipp."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Kipp? Are you serious?"

He walked in front of her, reached behind his back, and slid out a massive handgun. It looked like something from the Old West. "I was hired to keep an eye on you, so do not make plans to leave."

"Fuck you," Helen replied. "I'm leaving in a few minutes."

"Nicholas Shay will be disappointed."

"You think I really give a shit what Nick thinks?"

Kipp blew out a sigh and rubbed his fingers along the lengthy barrel of the gun. "Shouldn't you be reading his soon-to-be-bestseller? That way, you can be prepared for the next attack."

"I'm not staying here." Helen stood. "You can jerk off that gun all you want in front of me. It won't make a difference." She marched to the bedroom and collected her things.

Kipp watched her every move as she packed. "Let me call Nicholas. Hold on a second."

Helen slung the duffle bag over her shoulder and headed for the door. "Do whatever makes you feel happy. I'm out of here."

Kipp shoved the gun in his belt and frantically used his cell phone. "Just hold on one second," he pleaded. Kipp followed her to the front door, cell phone in hand.

Helen opened the door, but was surprised by a man with thin blond hair and lanky body.

It was Felix, raising a pistol in his hand.

Kipp froze, still holding the cell phone. "I was just calling Nicholas," he said. "What are you-"

Felix moved Helen out of the way with his arm, then pointed the gun at Kipp's chest. He squeezed the trigger four times, bullets exploding into Kipp, body falling backwards to the floor.

Helen didn't move.

Felix turned, eyes like the devil himself. "You can go. I'll clean this mess up."

### 43
Chapter 9

Murder System

The warm night air blustered through the open window of the hut. Helen Miller once again felt alive, but not in control. Her mind swirled from the excessive margarita consumption during the beach party. Now she lay on an oversized hammock, which swayed back and forth.

For most people, the salty breeze and gentle rock would be relaxing enough to put them in a wonderful dream state of mind. Conversely, Helen felt like she was on an old ship, in the middle of an ocean, during a tormenting thunderstorm. Her stomach swirled as the room spun like a whirlpool.

"Hello, Helen Miller," a voice hissed. Perhaps a nightmare had already taken over her dreams. She had fallen into an uncomfortable slumber because of the excess of alcohol.

"Who's there?" she asked instinctively. Helen didn't expect an answer, but the voice, now close, did indeed respond.

"It's the author of _Murder System_." Helen could feel his hot breath on her neck. "Open your eyes," he urged.

Helen moved her head side-to-side as the margaritas swirled in her skull. She could taste the impending vomit. "I can't," she moaned. "I don't feel well."

"This isn't any fun," the author replied. His face still close to hers. "I need you to fight back."

"I can't," she repeated. Helen kept her eyes closed. She hoped that the author wasn't actually a few inches from her and his pungent breath wasn't actually prickling her skin. She swallowed down the vile lime taste in her mouth. "Please...leave me alone."

"No chance," he whispered in her ear. "How should I kill you this time?"

"Kill yourself," she replied. It was a joke of sorts. Considering her circumstances, it was a comment fueled with desperation.

She felt his fingers along her sweltering forehead. His touch was sickening, running down her cheek and neck. "I want to feel the warmth leave your body."

"How about you leave me alone?"

"Why aren't you fighting back?"

"I can't," she said, attempting to raise her voice. The effort only made the room spin with quicker motion.

The hammock stopped rocking. The author must have grabbed a hold of it. "This isn't much of an ending to your pathetic life. May I suggest you at least try to get away?"

Helen attempted to open her eyes, but the vision of walls revolving around her was too much. She swung her hand in his direction, which caused the hammock to flip. Helen landed with a heavy thud, face first on the sandy woodened floor.

A gush of vomit ejected from her mouth. Since it had nowhere to go, the vomit sprayed back into her face. "Oh, God," she groaned. "Help me."

"Are you asking God to help you?" The author laughed. "You're pathetic."

Helen curled into a fetal position, embracing the pain in her stomach. The foul liquid trickled uncontrollably from her lips.

She felt the grip of the author's fingers around her throat. He squeezed, constricting the airflow. Her lungs instantly burned with pain. Her eyes bulged, now open, with white sparkles flickering in every direction.

Helen reached up and clutched onto the author's arms, but her strength was minimal at best.

"That's it," he whispered. "Fight me."

Helen conceded death. Her cheeks, nose, and mouth swelled as if they were about to pop. Another round of vomit gushed from her stomach, but only seeped into her throat and mouth. Her body became numb. The pain and torture disappeared. The sordid taste was no more.

Helen Miller was once again...dead.

### 44

Helen closed the book, staring blankly at the wall in the downtown Bloomington Holiday Inn. She was tucked safely away from the dangers of her home. For the moment, Nick Shay wouldn't be able to reach her except through the pages of his novel.

Helen thought about the chapter she had just read. Several words popped out: warm, hut, margarita, beach, hammock, sand. Nick wasn't describing a northern state in September. It was a warm climate all year round. A vacation spot.

"The Bahamas," she said to herself.

Kipp had suggested that she go there. He was guiding Helen to her next murder destination. Tomorrow, on her birthday, she was supposed to be attacked. Most certainly it would have been one of the escaped prisoners. The only two that remained were the Colby brothers. Which one of them would come for her? Also, how were they planning to travel to the Bahamas?

Nick's secondary plan had been foiled when Helen discovered the body of Rex Timmons in the cold cellar. Kipp was exposed.

Felix must have gotten rid of the employees that originally worked for Rex. Then, Felix either hired a new crew, or sent in his own men to be actors.

When she exposed Kipp's true intentions, the trip to the Bahamas wasn't going to happen. Felix had no more use for Kipp, so he killed him.

"What now?" she wondered. Was chapter nine of _Murder System_ a waste? In order to protect herself, should she move on to chapter ten? What were Nick and Felix planning to do?

Helen glanced at the closed book on her lap. The cover was all black. She stared at the words on the front. They were printed in white, with a hint of red inside the "M" of _Murder_ and the "S" of _System_.

There was a light tap on the front door, followed by a small card slipped underneath. Helen jumped up, opened the door, and saw a young girl running back down the hallway, then disappeared in the stairwell.

Helen closed the door and looked down, seeing it was a business card. She plucked it off the floor and read it, while speaking aloud to herself. "Talk Show Host, Lake Ontario Waters." It also had the web link to his show and a phone number.

Helen left the room and went downstairs to the business center to use the computer. She was also hoping to see the young girl that was at her hotel room, but no such luck.

Helen fired up the computer and researched Lake. He had an Internet show that aired once a week. It seemed like a better option than PBS, but who was the girl that left this card? Why didn't she want Helen to see her?

After another twenty minutes of consideration, Helen called the phone number on the business card.

Nick Shay was about to get all the attention he could handle.

### 45

Lake Ontario Waters was the son of a hippy mother who gave birth to him inside Lake Ontario. There were seven different men that could be his father, but the true sperm giver had yet to be identified.

After his birth, Lake's mother took him to California where they could live on a hidden compound with a hundred other hippies. The compound earned money by producing and selling wine and marijuana; although, they drank and smoked more than they sold.

When Lake was seventeen, his best friend and lover, Mardi Gras, had convinced him that they should leave the _good life_ and go on their own. She was five years older than he was, but on the compound, age didn't matter.

One evening while Lake and Mardi drank homemade wine and smoked several joints, they decided to let fate choose their destination. Lake and Mardi tore up pieces of paper and wrote different cities in the United States. Then they placed the pieces of paper in a hat.

While finishing off the joint, Lake blew out a hefty amount of smoke and said, "How're we going to earn money?"

"You'll be a talk show host," Mardi suggested. "I'll be your camerawoman and your research assistant."

Lake was young and impressionable. "Well, that sounds like a plan." He looked at the hat. "You can choose the city we will live in."

The small bedroom was dark, lit only by a pine-scented candle. Next to Lake's bed were hundreds of books of all genres. He read self-help books, inspirational, educational, and all kinds of fiction. Reading, drinking, and smoking were about the only ways to pass the time. He had regular sex with Mardi and his other close friend, Chloe, who was named, Firefly. Most of the compound of men and women had sex with each other. Only a few had been married, but in spirit only.

Lake had plenty of opportunities to have sex with both young and older women. He matured quickly, growing over six feet tall, with a natural build. His eyes were sharp blue; his hair brown and cut short. Most of the men had flabby stomachs and long straggly hair, which made Lake the most attractive _catch_ on the compound.

Lake was careful not to get Mardi pregnant. He was also careful with Chloe and the others he had sex with, fearing that he would end up like his father, whoever the hell he was. The men on the compound were about as responsible as children. Lake vowed he would be different.

Although Mardi was twenty-two and Lake was seventeen, they were a good match. However, in the normal world, having sex with him would have been illegal. But here at the compound, if you weren't doing something illegal, then you weren't living.

It seemed everyday that Mardi begged him to leave the compound. It didn't matter where they would go. Lake could have said, "Hey, we're going to spend the rest of our lives in northern Alaska. You in?" She would have packed her things in seconds.

Mardi took a long drag of the joint, anxious to discover where they were going. In fact, this was the most excitement either one of them had in years.

Mardi was bustier than most of the women, but that wasn't what attracted Lake to her. It was her ever-changing hair color. Some days it was red, other days it was brown, then auburn, and ginger. It all depended on the weather and how much sun she had gotten that day.

The uncertainty of her hair color in a place where everything stayed the same aroused Lake.

After another drag of the joint, she passed it to Lake, then sucked down a glass of wine.

"Nervous?" he asked, finishing the joint.

"Excited," she said with a smile. Mardi reached into the hat, shuffled the papers around, and selected a city. She stared at the name, not saying it aloud.

"Well?" Lake asked. "Don't keep me in suspense."

"Bethel, Maine," she said. "Should I pick something different?"

"Nope. Fate has spoken."

Mardi sighed, gazing at the piece of paper in her hand. "Well, I guess it's fitting that we will be traveling to the other side of the country."

"Exactly," Lake said. "It's decided. We're moving to Bethel, Maine so I can be a talk show host and you can be my assistant."

Mardi slid up her cloth dress, showing Lake that she was not wearing underwear again tonight. He leaned forward, about to burry his face in-between her thighs, but she gently pushed him back.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Mardi pulled her dress all the way off and let it drop to the floor. She spread her tan legs and rubbed her balloon size tits. "Just watch me for a few hours. Then in the morning, I'll fuck you before we leave."

### 46

Money was tight for Lake and Mardi. They began their Internet talk show and were able to lock down a few local sponsors from the town of Bethel, Maine. However, the news stories were less than thrilling. The most exciting thing Lake had done a story on was the amount of accidents at the Black Mountain Ski Resort.

They shared a room at the Victoria Bed & Breakfast and made a deal with the owner to pay just $109 a week, plus they would do chores. Lake and Mardi washed sheets and towels, cleaned up after meals, and did whatever they could to remain living their.

It was one o'clock in the morning and Lake couldn't sleep. All this pressure built up in Lake's mind. Even though it was the middle of the night, he dressed in sweatpants and sweatshirt, then left without waking Mardi. At first he walked at a quick pace, fighting through the brisk November winds. He wondered how it was possible to make enough money to live comfortably. How does a talk show host become successful? He had no idea. But the last thing Lake wanted to do was go crawling back home to the hippy compound.

He started jogging. The cold air snapped into his bones and stung his throat. Lake decided he was going to stay out all night if needed until a solution presented itself. He wasn't just some hippy from California. Lake was intelligent. Motivated. Imaginative. He read more books than most people read in a lifetime. His determination and Mardi's support should be enough fuel to guide them to success.

Lake turned on Old Iron Road, then abruptly stopped. He blinked several times, staring as if watching a movie. A car had spun around the corner, swerved, then jumped the sidewalk about fifty feet ahead of him. The car smashed into the front door of a construction building with a horrific collision. The screech of metal echoed into the night, followed by utter silence.

Lake continued gazing straight ahead. His cold breath sailed into the air. His heart thundered and fingers twitched. He took a step forward, then another. Exhilaration took over Lake's body, running in a full sprint towards the accident.

When entering the large hole in front of the building, Lake expected to see the car smashed into the wall. Instead, the car went through the receptionist area, blasted through an office, then continued forward into the warehouse. It looked like a meteor shot into the building. Glass, drywall, metal, and pieces of furniture were scattered like Lego pieces.

Moving with quick, yet careful steps, Lake followed the path of destruction into the warehouse and sprinted to the other end. The car had lodged the driver's side into a massive concrete wall, with lumber stacked to the ceiling that was secured by fifty-inch steal rods.

Just before Lake arrived at the car, a piece of lumber toppled down, smashing into the trunk. The front end of the car lifted upward, then bounced back down. High above, Lake saw the enormous blocks of lumber teetering. In a few more seconds, the entire wall of lumber would fall and crunch the car like it was in a garbage compacter.

Lake hurried to the passenger side of the car. Both doors were crumpled, making them impossible to open. The windows had been smashed open.

A woman was lying on the dashboard, wedged into the windshield with a spider web of glass imbedded into her skin. Her hands above her head, fingers punctured into the glass. Blood trickled into her blinking eyes like crimson raindrops.

Lake reached in the passenger side, stretching until his hand met her bloody fingers. "I'm going get you out of here," he promised her. The woman didn't make sound. Instead, she continued blinking as blood painted her chalky face.

There was moan from the backseat. Lake turned, seeing a man leaning forward. "Help me," he groaned.

A chunk of lumber fell, crashing into the hood. The car lifted with a shard of glass stabbing Lake in the pit of his arm. He screamed as hot pain seared down to his fingers.

Another slab of lumber fell, then another. Some bounced off the car, others toppled on the warehouse floor. Lake glanced up. The entire wall of lumber leaned toward them.

Lake gripped the woman's hand, then reached into the rear passenger window, grabbing the man's arm. Lake pulled as if he was in a tug of war. The woman slid away from the windshield, but still seemed wedged on the dashboard. Her voice came to life with a horrific scream.

Lake was left handed, which allowed him to pull the man out of the car as he toppled to the floor. His right hand was still inside the car, holding the woman's blood soaked fingers, when the wall of lumber all came down at once. The impact shook Lake free of the wreckage. He stumbled back and landed hard on the warehouse floor.

He opened his right hand. In the palm, were two of the woman's bloody fingers.

### 47

"Lyle Pritchett," a voice said.

Lake's eyes moved side-to-side. He flipped his right hand over, dropping the bloody fingers to the floor. In front of him, the man had stood up. His forehead had a golf ball size knot with a bruise that had already turned purple. Behind the man was a pile of lumber that completely covered the car.

Still on the floor, Lake asked, "Did you say something?"

The man hobbled forward. "My name is Lyle Pritchett."

Lake couldn't get his legs to move. And he couldn't understand why the guy was speaking his name. Was he in shock?

"How did this happen?" Lake asked. The pain in his armpit was horrific. He was afraid to look, but it felt like all the skin had been scrapped away. Lake glanced at the bloody fingers, then swept his eyes back up to the man. "Who was driving?"

"She was," Lyle said. "We both came from the bar. I must have passed out in the backseat." He reached into his pocket, then dropped a clip full of cash onto Lake's lap. "It's all the money I have on me at the moment. I have to go."

Lake looked down at the money, then back up, seeing the man heading for the side door. "Wait! Where're you going?"

Without turning back, or saying another word, the man opened the door and left.

Lake placed his left hand on the floor while holding the money clip in his bloody right hand. His armpit throbbed with the worst pain of his life. He stood while sucking in a deep breath. He reached into his sweatshirt and grabbed his cell phone. With one hand, he called Mardi.

She answered on the second ring. "Where are you?"

"Research the name Lyle Pritchett and call me back." Lake hung up and dialed 911. "There's been an accident at 99 Old Iron Road." Lake shoved the cell phone in his sweatshirt and plopped back down on the floor. The pain in his armpit felt so horrific, he seemed the world had slipped away.

Lake examined the money clip. It was gold, with _LP_ etched into the middle. Lake pulled the cash from the clip and counted it. There was sixty-three dollars.

### 48

After the doctor put twenty stitches in Lake's armpit and supplied him with a handful of pain medication, a Bethel Police Detective asked Lake some questions.

"What did you see?"

Lake rested his head on the pillow of the hospital bed. Mardi had just arrived in the room and sat quietly next to him.

"The car swerved," Lake said, feeling the effects of the pain medication. "It jumped the sidewalk and then crashed into the building."

"What were you doing when it happened?"

"Jogging."

"At one o'clock in the morning?"

"I was clearing my head."

"Then what happened?"

"I ran into the building, through the holes made by the car, and hurried into the warehouse."

"Then what?"

"I saw the woman on the dashboard, wedged into the windshield."

"What was her condition at the time?"

"She was badly hurt."

"Describe what you saw."

Lake took in a deep breath. "Blood running down her face. She wasn't moving, or making a sound. I reached in to try and pull her free."

"Why didn't you call the police first?"

"The wall of lumber had started falling onto the car. I tried to get her out before she was crushed. I grabbed her fingers and pulled. The lumber came down and I fell backwards."

"With two of her fingers in your hand."

Lake snapped his eyes up. "I didn't mean for that to happen. I was trying to get her out of the car before she was crushed."

"I understand." The detective studied his notebook. "She left the Snow Berry Tavern at approximately quarter to one with a man she had been drinking with all night. The bartender isn't sure if they got into the same car, or parted ways when they left."

Lake glanced at Mardi, then looked at the detective. "She was the only one in the car."

The detective narrowed his eyes. "You didn't see anyone else?"

"No."

"Well, then." He flipped his notebook shut. "I suppose we're all done for now. I'll contact you if I need more information."

"What was the woman's name?" Lake asked.

The detective pulled in a deep breath before answering. "Her name was Rashel Ellery. She worked as a receptionist at Brossard Construction."

Lake raised an eyebrow. "You mean the same building that she crashed the car?"

"Yes." The detective turned and left room.

Mardi stood up and eased on Lake's hospital bed. "Why didn't you tell him the truth?"

Lake closed his eyes, letting the pain medication do its work. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

### 49

Lake dozed off and slept until noon. He peeled his eyes open, seeing a breakfast tray had been sitting next to him on the table, untouched. Lake's throat was dry, his armpit throbbing. He remembered a nurse waking him to take a pain tablet, but that seemed like ten hours ago.

He grabbed the orange juice from the tray and drank it down. It was warm, but still felt good on his throat.

After the accident, Mardi had called Lake back to explain who Lyle Pritchett was. He just happened to be the Governor of Maine.

Before the police, ambulance, and fire trucks arrived, Lake had already decided that he wasn't going to mention the man in the backseat. After all, why would a guy walk away from an accident?

Because he had something to hide.

Why would the guy say his name aloud, repeat it, then drop a money clip on Lake's lap with the guy's fingerprints and initials? Because Lyle Pritchett wanted to make a deal.

Speaking of fingerprints, there was a chance that the Bethel Police Department would check the car to make sure no one else had been inside. If that were the case, it would cause serious problems for Lake and the governor.

So far, so good.

Mardi had given Lake all the background information on Lyle Pritchett. In 1981, he was promoted to manager at Brossard Construction, which only had one location in Rockland, Maine. Lyle put together a plan that added fifteen more locations around Maine, turning the construction company into one of the most profitable companies in the state. Not only that, Brossard became a fundraising giant for hundreds of foundations, schools, and churches.

Lyle was practically begged to run for governor, which he did, and won in a landslide.

The nurse came in the room and interrupted Lake's thoughts. She checked his pulse, blood pressure, temperature, and had him fill out a card for lunch. "You have to eat, or we can't discharge you," she said.

"I need more pain med's," Lake groaned. He hated how that sounded, as if he was a cocaine junkie. He was looking forward to getting stoned with Mardi soon as he left the hospital.

The nurse handed him a tiny cup with two pills. She poured him a glass of water and placed it next to him on the tray. "Take the pain medication, drink as much water as you can, eat lunch, rest, and you will be out of here before you know it."

Lake watched her leave, paying attention to the way her scrubs were tight against her ass, then continued with his thoughts.

Rashel Ellery worked as a receptionist for Brossard Construction, here in Bethel. Somehow, Lyle and Rashel's paths had crossed, setting both their fates. Perhaps Lyle met her in his managing days. Or maybe after he was elected governor, he visited all the Brossard Construction locations and met Rashel in the process. Whatever the case may be, Lyle and Rashel formed a relationship that no one could know about.

Lyle was married and Rashel had a live-in boyfriend.

The Snow Berry Tavern was a dark hole-in-the wall. Lyle and Rashel must have sat in the corner, drinking themselves into a stupor. Rashel would have ordered all the drinks from the bartender, so that Lyle had little contact with anyone else. The Snow Berry is usually packed, but with idiots that wouldn't know the governor from the president.

Around 12:45, Lyle suggested they leave. The bartender claimed that Rashel _walked_ out of the bar with another guy. Of course, the bartender saw them _stumble_ out of the bar, but changed his story. Rashel died in a drunk-driving accident and the bartender didn't want to be sued by Rashel's family. (If she had any.)

Lake closed his eyes. The pain in his arm subsided for the moment. He continued to think, attempting to put the pieces together.

Lyle most certainly has private bodyguards. Where were they? Lyle wouldn't have driven his own car, or rented a car. And there's no way the bodyguards would have let him get into some woman's car, especially since they were both hammered.

"The bodyguards weren't there," Lake whispered to himself.

However, one of the bodyguards must have driven Lyle to Bethel, dropped him off at the bar. Lyle probably said something like, "I'll call you when I need picked up. Go get something to eat, but not in Bethel. Find a Denny's somewhere and wait for me to call."

The bodyguard would reluctantly accept, bitching to himself as he drove away that he needed a better job which did not involve covering for a scumbag fornicator.

Lyle and Rashel crawled into the backset of her car. They would have kissed. Lyle would rub her tits, while she rubbed his cock. Rashel would then give him a blowjob. They were going to fuck right there, but perhaps the idiots in the bar were starting to leave. Lyle and Rashel would have discussed where to go next. A hotel would be risky and they couldn't go back to Rashel's house, so the only other possibility was the Brossard Construction building. Rashel had the keys and knew the security code. They could fuck on her desk, then maybe get some cheap thrills by fucking on her boss's desk.

Rashel crawled up to the front seat, shoved the keys into the ignition, and peeled out of the parking lot. Lyle was so drunk he could have been laughing in the backseat, rolling around as Rashel swerved down the road.

Then something happened. Rashel either lost control of the car, or blacked out. With her foot still on the gas, she jumped the sidewalk, sped through the small parking lot, and smashed into the building.

Lyle would be helpless in the backseat. The car had been going so fast it tore through the front office, into the warehouse. Lyle must have ducked down as the car struck the rear wall with lumber supplies. The momentum carried Rashel forward, embedding her into the windshield.

Lake opened his eyes, thinking about how callous Lyle had to be. He spoke his name, because he wanted Lake to remember it. If Lake told the police that the governor was in the car, he would have been laughed at. The governor of course would have an alibi, because the bodyguards would swear he wasn't even in the city. If the Bethel Police Department decided to investigate things further, the governor would certainly use his connections to squash any attempts to harm the his good name.

But it never got that far. The police must have bought the story that Rashel left the bar with someone, went into her car alone, then crashed into the building. Case closed.

Lyle spoke his name and gave Lake the money clip for another reason. If Lake kept his mouth shut, he would be rewarded.

### 50

It wasn't until spring when Lake received an invitation for a fundraising event being held at Governor Hill Mansion, 136 State Street, Augusta, Maine.

It was the home of Governor Lyle Pritchett.

Of course, Lake wasn't invited to the actual event. He was put on the list to interview the governor _about_ the event. Lake pulled into the service driveway, stopped at a gate that had four guards that looked like they were pretending to be secret service for the day.

Lake rolled down the window. "I'm here to interview the governor."

One of the guards approached with a clipboard. "What is your name?"

"Lake Waters."

The guard let out a sarcastic chortle. "Sounds made up." He looked at the list. "Well, what do you know. There's a Lake Waters on the media list." His eyes examined the vehicle. "No cell phones or cameras permitted."

"I'm media," Lake said. "Check your list again."

"No cell phones or cameras," he repeated. "I suggest you use a pen and notebook."

Lake sighed and handed the guard his cell phone. "Is that it?"

"No," the guard said. "Shut off your engine and step out of the vehicle please."

For a moment, Lake thought that he was being ambushed by the governor. The guards were waiting for Lake and were going to shoot him in the woods with a silencer, then bury him.

Lake cut off the engine, left the keys in the car, and opened the door. He eased out as one of the other bodyguards poked his head inside the car, looked under the seats, and opened the glove compartment. Then, the bodyguard opened the trunk and spent a solid two minutes going over every inch.

Meanwhile, the bodyguard that spoke to Lake searched him from head-to-toe.

"Okay," the bodyguard said. "Drive up to the service area. I'll let the governor know you have arrived."

Lake wanted to say something sarcastic like, 'I guess you guys aren't good enough to protect someone important,' but he kept his mouth shut and climbed back inside the vehicle, turned the keys, and drove at a slow speed up the long driveway.

The mansion was a white colonial style home, looked to be built in the early 1900's. The lawn was a hunter green, cut perfectly as if each blade of grass received special attention.

Toward the rear of the house a dozen or so vans and trucks were parked. Hundreds of people were setting up a massive tent, unfolding chairs, and carrying balloons. Four catering vans were being unloaded and a band setting up on a stage.

Lake stepped out of the car, staring at the chaotic scene. When he shut the door, a voice appeared. "Hello there, Mr. Lake Ontario Waters."

Lake had not noticed the governor walking toward him, dressed in jeans and a light blue golf shirt that was awkwardly tight. His face pink, belly round, and an odor of hard liquor protruded from this mouth. Lake couldn't believe he actually pulled that fat ass from the car.

After shaking hands, the governor pointed to a gazebo, which was farther back on the property. The lawn was the same perfect hunter green, with the gazebo sitting by itself as if it had been randomly dropped from the sky.

"I like to hold my meetings here," Lyle said. "It's quiet." The governor had a slight southern accent, which he must desperately try to mask since Maine wasn't the type of state a hick could be in office.

Lake looked around. "This is a good spot because you can see if anyone is eavesdropping."

"Indeed." Lyle pointed to one of the four wicker rocking chairs. "Have a seat."

In the center of the gazebo was a round wooden table with a brown box. Extra tape was put around the corners to make sure it was securely shut.

"Is that for me?" Lake asked.

"It is." Lyle took a quick look around, then his eyes fell back on Lake. "I've been enjoying your weekly Internet show. Your interview with the local high school librarian was most fascinating."

Lake stared at the governor, refusing to be bullied or made fun of. "I'm sure you're aware that Rashel Ellery died in that wreck."

"I am," Lyle said. "I miss her dearly."

"And yet, you walked away from her when she needed you most."

Lyle's red face darkened. "Speaking of that, I do appreciate you saving my life."

"Don't flatter yourself. If I was right handed instead of left handed, Rashel would be alive and you would have been crushed by a wall of lumber."

The governor's eyes became animated, but with hate, rather than sorrow. "I had my people do some research on you. It seems that you arrived at Bethel, Maine, but there's no record of where you were before. No social security number. No birth certificate. Nothing. Other than our Internet show, no one seems to know who the hell you are." Lyle rocked back and forth. "Same thing with your partner, Mardi. No record at all." He abruptly stopped rocking and gawked at Lake. "Do you mind telling me where you two came from?"

"Mars." Lake stood while scooping up the box. "How much is in here?"

Lyle remained in his rocking chair. "One hundred thousand."

"I guess our business is done."

"Not quite." The governor stood and held out his meaty palm. "The money clip."

"Of course." Lake secured the box under his arm, while reaching into this pocket. He pulled the money clip from his pocket and placed it in the governor's hand. "Here you go."

Lyle squeezed his hand shut. "This money clip has been a good luck charm for me."

"Then you sure took a big risk giving it to me. I could have handed it over to the police to prove you were in that car."

"But that's precisely my point. I left it to bring me luck." He raised his bushy eyebrows. "And if you would have said a word to the police about me, I would have silenced you and your friend Mardi that very evening."

"I made the correct decision then."

"Indeed you did, Mr. Lake Ontario Waters." The governor pointed to the driveway. "Now get the fuck out of here."

### 51

Routine.

Everyone has a habit, schedule, or a way of doing things. The governor had secretly met Rashel Ellery, got drunk with her, and planned on fucking her. It was probably the fourth or fifth time they had met. The governor was such a scumbag, he most certainly had cheated on his wife many times while using his position of power to fill his sexual needs.

And most certainly, the governor would do it again.

Lake continued his Internet show, but not in Bethel, Maine. He aired it in hotel conference rooms all around the state, careful not to mention where he was.

That's because Lake and Mardi were following Lyle Pritchett.

For two months, Lyle seemed to be the shiny, fun loving governor that everyone adored. One night, routine took over. A bodyguard drove the governor to Rockland, Maine and dropped him off at the Time Out Pub. Lake remembered that the governor was visiting the Rockland Brossard Construction building a few weeks earlier.

Lyle must have met someone special.

"Follow the bodyguard," Lake told Mardi as he exited the vehicle. "If he leaves the city, then come back."

Mardi slid over to the driver's seat, slammed on the gas, and sped out of the parking lot.

Lake followed a crowd into the pub, keeping his head low. At first he didn't see the governor. Panic started to set in. Was he in the bathroom? Did he sneak out the back door?

Lake was relieved when he noticed a portly man sitting at a corner table with baseball hat low on his head. Nibbling in the governor's ear was an attractive young woman, with short strawberry-blonde hair, thick lips, and a large chest.

The patron's stood shoulder-to-shoulder, barking orders to the three female bartenders. A jukebox played 80's music, but the crowd was much louder.

Someone grabbed Lake's arm. He turned, relieved to see it was Mardi. He followed her out of the bar.

"The bodyguard stopped at the Lime Rock Inn," Mardi said.

"Did he get a room?"

"I think so."

Lake looked around. "Where is he now? Did he come back?"

"No. He's eating at a restaurant down the street."

Lake figured the governor wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. The bodyguard reserved a room under his own name, then went to get something to eat. In a few hours, he'll come here to make sure the governor and his date arrive at the Lime Rock Inn safely without anyone seeing them.

"If the bodyguard comes back, he'll be watching the governor closely." Lake was breathing heavy, trying to come up with a solution. He looked at Mardi. "When the bodyguard leaves the restaurant, club him over the head with a rock or something."

Mardi raised her hands. "What?"

"After you knock him out, take the keys from his pocket, along with his room key and his driver license, then stuff him in the trunk of his car. Afterwards, do some research on who owns the Lime Rock Inn. Meet me here when you're done. I'm going to keep an eye on the governor."

"You've really got to cut down on the amount of weed you smoke." Mardi was almost laughing with frustration. "Why don't you do it? You're bigger."

Lake patted her on the shoulder. "I'm the talk show host and you're my assistant. You get all the shit jobs."

"Whatever," Mardi said, turning around.

Lake grabbed her by the arm and spun her. He leveled his eyes on her, not speaking right away. "It seems like in every romance movie the couple is having a great time, then they get in a fight, but then they make up later and everything is fine."

"Your point?"

"I want to make sure we skip the middle part. I want to have a great time with you and I want it to stay that way. No fighting, or temporary breakups."

Mardi moved up on her tiptoes and kissed Lake on the cheek. She then whispered in his ear, "I'll take care of the bodyguard and research Lime Rock Inn. See you in a couple of hours."

### 52

A garden made of brick decorated the front of the Siwili Restaurant. Mardi found a loose portion in the brick foundation and kicked it free. She grabbed the brick and carried it to the side parking lot where the bodyguard parked.

Mardi periodically checked the front window of the restaurant. Inside were twenty or so tables, only three of them were being used. The bodyguard sat alone, reading a magazine and drinking coffee.

At 11:00 p.m., the restaurant closed. The bodyguard had been the only one remaining. He strolled outside, looked in both directions, probably trying to decide what he'll do next. The governor was at the bar with his lady friend and may not be done drinking and nibbling on each other's ear for another couple of hours.

The bodyguard walked to his car.

Mardi hid across the small parking lot by a dumpster. She could see the bodyguard's every move. Unfortunately, now was the time to whack him over the head.

She took hold of the brick and sprinted toward him as he placed the key into the driver's side door. Just as she raised the brick, the bodyguard turned and put his hands up. Mardi swung hard, catching his palm and skull at the same time.

"Stop!" the bodyguard pleaded. He wobbled, dropped to his knees, then put his uninjured hand up in the air. "Please, stop."

Mardi lifted the brick, but didn't have the heart to take another swing. "I'm sorry," she said, dropping the brick on the ground. "Are you okay?"

He fell on all fours, curled his back up like a cat, then vomited on the ground. It was dark, but Mardi could still see the yellow and orange liquid on the asphalt, mixed with undigested beans, rice, corn, and chicken.

He wiped his mouth and sat down, leaning his back against the car. "Take whatever you want. I'm not going to fight back." He unzipped his jacket. "I have gun. Take it, but don't shoot me. Please."

Mardi went down to one knee. The bodyguard had a young, pale face. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five-years old. His eyes were like black saucers and his mouth spit up a little more vomit, which ran down his chin to his shirt.

"I'm so sorry about this," she said, reaching into his jacket. She found the gun in a holster and tugged it away from him. "I'll need your driver's license, cell phone, car keys, and hotel key."

Sweat moistened his face. A maroon welt formed just over his left eye. "Are you going to kill the governor?"

"No. Just kill his career."

The young man forced a weak laugh. "So you know about his mistress."

"We do now." Mardi stood up and shoved the gun in her belt. "What's your name?"

"Henry Kerr. It's my third week on the job." He smiled. "I hate every second of it." He handed her the car keys and two plastic room cards. "Can I keep my cell phone and driver's license? I'm going to call a cab and get to a hospital."

Mardi felt a pang of guilt. "Are you going to call the police, or try to warn the governor?"

"No," Henry said. "I'm just going to call a cab. I'll need my license for the emergency room." He rolled his round eyes up. "There's a first aid kit in the trunk. Can you get it for me?"

"Sure," Mardi said. She used the keys to open the trunk. "Oh boy," she whispered. Mardi jogged back to the brick and scooped it up. She lifted the brick high in the air and swung before Henry could react. The brick landed with a deep thud, cutting open the left side of Henry's skull. He collapsed the rest of the way to the ground, knocked unconscious.

Mardi tossed the brick, then grabbed him by the shoulders and slid him to the car. "Sorry about that Henry." She lifted him up, awkwardly twisting his body into the trunk. She searched his jacket, locating his cell phone and wallet.

The left side of Henry's skull oozed blood, soaked up by his hair.

"Damn," Mardi said, closing the trunk. "Don't die on me Henry."

### 53

Mardi called Lake and had him meet her in the parking lot of the bar. A caravan of college kids pulled up, tossing their beer cans on the ground, laughing and punching each other as they entered the bar.

Lake came outside a minute later. "Nice job," he said. "Where did you park your car?"

"In the street, in front of the restaurant." Mardi lowered her eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"I hit the guy kind of hard with the brick and now he's bleeding pretty badly."

Lake looked at the bar. A couple came outside, arm-in-arm, stumbling to their car. It wasn't the governor. "I'll take a look at the bodyguard," Lake said. "Open the trunk."

Mardi looked around the parking lot, then used the keys to open the trunk. The bodyguard moaned, but was still not fully conscience. "You see," Mardi said, pointing to the large bloodstain.

Lake leaned down to get a better look. "Jesus. How many times did you hit him?"

"Twice."

Lake opened the first aid kit and retrieved the gauze. He carefully lifted the head and wrapped the gauze around until nothing was left, then secured it with several pieces of medical tape. "Is anyone coming?"

"Hold on," Mardi whispered. "A group of cougars are leaving the bar."

Lake could hear the older women and their drunken laughter. "Apparently they didn't find any younger men to screw," Lake said with his head still tucked in the trunk over the bodyguard.

"Okay, they're getting into their car." Mardi reached down to help Lake. She grabbed Henry's feet and Lake took the shoulders.

As they carried him to the side of the building, Lake grunted and said, "Damn. I can't believe you picked him up by yourself."

"I was filled with adrenaline." Mardi glanced at Lake. "But not in a good way."

They continued carrying the bodyguard to the rear of the tavern. "This is good," Lake said, easing the bodyguard down. "He'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Let me see his wallet."

Mardi handed it to him and looked around. "What if he doesn't wake up? He could die here."

"It'll be fine," Lake said, examining the driver's license. "Henry Kerr. Age twenty-seven." Lake tucked the license back in the wallet and placed it in Henry's jacket. He noticed the holster. "Where's his gun?"

"He gave it to me," Mardi said, handing it to Lake. "The guy was pretty freaked out after I hit him the first time with the brick."

Lake shoved the gun in the holster and zipped the jacket up. "Did he have one or two hotel keycards?"

"Two."

Lake stood. "Okay, toss his cell phone on the ground and smash it."

Mardi did as she was told. "Now what?"

"Did you get the information about the Lime Rock Inn?"

"Not yet."

"I'm going back inside the bar. How far of a walk is it to your car?"

"I'll run," Mardi said. "It'll take about twenty minutes. Then I'll drive back here and wait for you in the parking lot."

Lake kissed Mardi on her sweaty forehead. "You're a special young lady."

Mardi reached behind Lake's head and pulled him forward. She shoved her tongue in his mouth, then reached down and began rubbing Lake's cock through his jeans.

Lake spun her around, unzipped his jeans, and yanked them down, along with his boxers. Mardi had already pulled down her jeans and panties. She placed her hands against the wall, bending forward.

Lake entered her from behind, gripping her around the waist, pumping in and out of her; both of them groaning softly.

Mardi braced her hands against the wall, eyes closed, breathing heavy. Lake continued with hard pumps until his cock exploded inside of her with warm cum.

Lake stumbled back, pulling up his boxer and jeans. "What brought that on?" he asked, trying to catch his breath.

Mardi re-dressed with a satisfied grin on her face. "There's just something exciting about knocking a governor's bodyguard unconscious with a brick, then shoving him in the trunk of his own car." She gave him a flirty wink. "It made me horny."

### 54

Lake walked back inside the crowded bar and located the governor. Lyle Pritchet had just come out of the bathroom, hat low on his forehead, making his way back to the table. The woman was at the bar, ordering a pitcher of beer and two shots of Tequila. She hiked up her short skirt, checked her blouse to make sure her chest was still exposed, then carefully maneuvered through the crowd with the pitcher in one hand and the two shot glasses in the fingers of her other hand.

Lake approached the nearest woman. She was a little taller than he was and thin as a beanpole, with hair running down to the middle of back. "Excuse me," Lake said. The music and talking was so loud she didn't hear him. "Excuse me."

She turned. "My boyfriend is in the bathroom. Just once I don't want someone hitting on me every time he goes and takes a piss."

Lake inched forward. "I'm not hitting on you." He was about to reach in his pocket and pull out one of the hotel keycards, but hesitated. "Let me know when your boyfriend gets back. I need to tell him something."

"I'm right here," a guy said.

Lake turned, seeing a short older man, with massive belly hanging over his jeans. "I need a favor." Lake pulled out the hotel keycard, the car keys, and a hundred bucks. "Keep the hundred," Lake said, hoping the guy could hear him over the music. "Take the car keys and hotel keycard to that guy over there." Lake pointed to the governor. "Tell him, 'Henry needed to go.'"

The man stared at Lake for a moment. "You got something kinky going on with that couple over there?"

"Just do it," Lake said with a grin. "And enjoy your money."

Lake hurried back through the crowd and exited the bar. He breathed in the cool air, seeing that Mardi had not yet returned.

He jogged through the parking lot to the rear of the building to make sure Henry was still breathing. The bodyguard had sprawled on the ground as if he was lying in bed. Lake pressed two fingers on Henry's neck and felt for a pulse.

"I'm back," a voice said from behind.

Lake about fell over. He turned and saw Mardi. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry." Mardi glanced at the wall. "Do you want to replay what we did earlier?"

Lake smiled and stood tall. "I wish. But we'd better keep an eye on the governor. I don't want him leaving without us." Lake glanced at Henry, then looked back at Mardi. "Let's go get the note and money from our car. You can shove it in his pants or something."

"I'd rather shove my hand down your pants." Mardi lightly touched the zipper of his jeans.

"Later. We have work to do."

"Fine."

Lake smacked her on the ass and they headed back to the car.

### 55

Mardi sat in the passenger's seat, researching the Lime Stone Inn on her laptop. "They have two floors," she explained. "The governor will be on the second floor in the garden room."

Lake gripped the steering wheel, gazing at the front door of the bar. People were beginning to stumble outside as the night of drinking came to a close. "What about Henry the bodyguard? Where was he going to stay tonight?"

"No clue."

Lake shook his head. Apparently the governor was going to have poor Henry sit in the hallway all night guarding the door. "Search the owners and tell me what you can about them."

While Mardi did that, Lake continued staring at the front door of the bar. Crowds of people were leaving. Lake knew why the governor enjoyed spending the entire night in a bar with some bimbo. The risk of being caught actually turned Lyle Pritchett on. The six hours before heading to the hotel was foreplay.

Mardi cleared her throat. "The two owners of the Lime Rock Inn are Jason Cole and Bobby Rumph. Both of them worked in the marketing department of IBM. They left to start their own business, away from the hustle and bustle of the corporate world."

"Are they gay?"

"Both are married. Jason has a thirteen-year-old girl. Bobby has two boys and a girl, all under the age of ten."

Lake took a deep breath. "Who's on duty tonight at the inn?"

"They take turns staying at the inn with their family. Both have their own homes. I'm not sure who's there right now."

Lake leaned forward. "The governor is coming out."

Mardi took some photos with her camera. "We need to know the identity of the woman."

Lake started the engine. "Check the Brossard Construction office here in Rockland. See if they have company photographs on their website."

Mardi quickly typed in the website on her laptop. "You think she works at Brossard?"

"I would bet on it," Lake said. He maneuvered the car from the parking lot, keeping a good distance away from the governor. From what he could see, it appeared that the woman was driving the bodyguard's vehicle and the governor was in the passenger's seat. "He never learns," Lake said to himself. When the governor received the hotel key and the car keys in the bar, he most certainly attempted to call Henry on his cell phone, but Henry didn't answer.

Lyle must have figured that Henry had quit, but didn't have enough guts to approach the table.

That's exactly what Lake wanted the governor to think.

"I found her!" Mardi said. She doubled-checked the picture on her camera, then looked at the laptop screen. "Her name is Nida Burke. She's works in human resources at the Rockland office."

Lake smiled. "We're about to take our talk show to another level."

### 56

"Hello, I'm Jason Cole." He was tall with short wavy black hair that was currently pushed to the side, large shoulders, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. "How can I help you?"

Lake shook hands with Jason, introduced himself, then introduced Mardi. "Sorry to disturb you at this hour. We're doing a story on your inn, about how more and more people are leaving the corporate world and starting their own business."

Jason huffed. "That's great, but why disturb me at two o'clock in the morning?"

"We need to take camera shots all over the inn and it would be better if your guests were asleep why we work. Otherwise, we would have to block off certain areas while I did my report." Lake paused for a moment. "I'd like to say that we planned this ahead of time, but actually we've been on the road for the last twelve hours and had car trouble on the way."

Jason scrunched his tired eyes. "How much noise are you going to make?"

"You won't even know we're here."

"Will you need to interview me, or my business partner?"

"Tomorrow will be fine."

Jason took in a deep breath. "I'd offer you a room when you're done working, but we're filled up at the moment. I'm sure you're exhausted after your long journey."

"It's not a problem. We'll get our work done and find a hotel to get a couple winks before returning tomorrow." He smiled. "Or should I say, later this morning."

Jason looked around as if inspecting to make sure the inn looked appropriate. The area was decorated with lots of flowered prints, reds, and wood furnishings. "If you need anything," Jason said, clearing his throat several times, "my assistant Amy Stratton is the night employee. She's in the office."

Lake shook Jason's hand. "Thank you. I hope that my report will bring you some extra business."

"Enjoy your evening." Jason walked to the office, poked his head inside, said something, then headed down the hallway to his room.

Mardi stepped closer to Lake and whispered. "What was that all about?"

Lake formed a grin. "While we're innocently doing a story about the Lime Rock Inn, we stumbled upon the governor and his mistress. Hopefully, she will have his dick in her mouth, or some other interesting place. Either way, it will seem like an accident that we found them."

"So it doesn't look like we stalked the governor," Mardi said. "That's smart."

"I know. Come on."

They headed up the second floor and searched for the room. Mardi positioned the large camera on her shoulder. "How do we explain going inside the room?" she whispered.

"We'll say the door was open and we thought it was recreation room or something."

Lake slid the keycard into the door, waited for the green light, then carefully opened it. Mardi flicked the camera on and followed close behind him.

The room had all its lights on. It was decorated much the same as the rest of the inn, with lots of flowered prints, reds, and wood furniture. To Lake's disappointment, the bed was untouched. However, a pile of clothes was on the floor next to a dresser including the gold money clip.

Lake waved his hand for Mardi to follow him. He pointed to the bathroom door and shoved her forward. "Go in there," he whispered. Lake pressed his hand on the door, moving it open all the way. Mardi went inside.

At first it was difficult to believe what they were actually seeing. Nida was standing naked in the tub, legs spread apart, squatting over Lyle who was also naked, but lying face up inside the tub. There wasn't any water. However, there was the sight of Nida peeing over the governor while he stroked himself.

Mardi stepped forward, videoing the entire scene. Nida saw her, but could not stop mid-stream. The governor had no idea anyone else was there. He continued moaning, while stroking his hand up and down his cock as golden liquid streamed down his large belly.

"Who are you?" Nida asked with a slur. She shook her body a few times, then stepped out of the tub.

Mardi continued videoing, smiling at the great shots she was getting. The governor was so drunk and focused on playing with himself that he still had not realized someone else was there.

Lake stepped in front of the camera while Nida wrapped a towel around her body. "Your name is Nida Burke, correct?" Lake asked. "You work at Brossard Construction at the human resource department in the Rockland office."

"Get away from me!" Nida screamed. Her eyes darted in every direction, probably having no idea what to do. Her only reaction was to crouch near the toilet and hide her face the best she could.

Finally, the governor leaned up. His cheeks were about as red as the wallpaper inside the bathroom. "What the..." His eyes flickered, attempting to grasp the reality of the embarrassing moment. "Who are you?" he shouted, slurring each word.

"Governor Lyle Pritchett. My name is Lake Ontario Waters. I need to ask you a couple of questions."

The governor remained in the tub, his skin gleaming with golden urine. "I know you!"

"I'm sure you have seen my reports," Lake said. "Does your wife know you're having an affair?"

"Henry!" the governor yelled. "Henry! Get in here!" Then his expression softened, remembering that his bodyguard wasn't around.

"Governor Pritchett, what would the voters in Maine think about you sneaking off with tax payer dollars to have sex with a woman that works for a company that you helped build?"

"We weren't having sex!" the governor replied.

Lake chuckled. The combination of being drunk and stunned had taken all wisdom and dignity away from Lyle Pritchett. "I apologize governor. How would the voters feel about you being _urinated_ on by woman that works for a company that you helped build? And how would your wife feel about this?"

"I'll pay you," Lyle said, attempting to stand up. The tub was slick, causing him to fall back down. He grunted and said, "I'll give as much money as you want to keep this quiet."

Lake shook his head. He couldn't believe the governor just made a bribe in front of the camera. This could not have gone any better. "How much would you pay to keep this story quiet? And where would you get the money?"

Nida crawled on the floor to the tub. "Don't answer that! Keep your mouth shut!"

The drunk governor ignored her. "I'll give you five hundred thousand I have stashed away for my next campaign. It's all corporate funds that the public doesn't know about."

Lake was almost laughing. He looked at the camera and said, "I think we have enough."

### 57

Henry peeled his eyes open. At first, he imagined being in his bed. However the bed was too hard and filled with dirt.

He pushed himself up, realizing he was on the ground.

Outside.

Somewhere.

His skull felt like it had been broken open. Above his left eye felt as if someone drove a nail into the skin. His throat was dry and body numb.

He reached up, feeling around his head. Things were worse than he thought. Did his brains seep from his skull?

No. Wait. It was a bandage.

The pounding was so painful he just wanted to lie back down and pray for his own death.

Flashes of what happened popped into his mind.

Driving the governor to...Henry couldn't remember. Wait, yes he could. He was in Rockland, Maine. He dropped the governor off at...Henry looked at the building. He was at the bar, but couldn't remember the name.

He ate a restaurant. It was some sort of Native American food. Afterwards, he walked to his car.

A woman hit him with a brick.

Henry couldn't remember much after that. The breaks in his memory were like a distorted dream.

Being locked in a trunk.

Two people having sex.

Pain throughout the night in his skull.

It took Henry about a half hour to stand up. The wave of pain was horrific. His pants felt extra tight for some reason. He looked over himself, checking the pockets.

Gun in the holster.

Wallet.

His cell phone was missing.

Henry looked down to see why his slacks were snug against his body. He reached his hand inside the front of his pants and pulled out a large envelope. He tore it open and examined the contents.

Cash. Lot's of cash. Henry flicked through it. He couldn't get his mind to function, but there was about fifty thousand.

He then looked at a small, handwritten note. _Keep the money. Keep your mouth shut. Go home. Find another job._

Henry gazed at the money, then at the note, back to the money.

"Okay..." he said, taking a few deep breaths.

He decided that whatever happened, it must have been fate.

_Keep the money_ , he thought. _Keep my mouth shut. Get home._

Find another job.

"And find a hospital," he said with a grin.

### 58

When the edited version aired, Lake did a full report on how some politicians use their power for greed and lust. Of course, it wasn't a surprise that a governor would sneak off and cheat on his wife, nor was it a surprise that a governor offered a bribe.

Nevertheless, a governor being peed on while he played with himself was entertainment at its finest.

In a three-part interview, Lake discussed with Nida Burke how she first met Lyle Pritchett, the escalation of their relationship, how she felt about the governor, what happened that night in the Lime Rock Inn, and how her life had changed ever since.

After all three shows aired, Nida was invited to do hundreds of other interviews.

Lake's Internet show had over a million viewers, but faded over the last year to about ten thousand loyal viewers. To earn some more money Lake sold the unedited version to a paparazzi magazine for $600,000.

Lyle Pritchett had resigned as the Governor of Maine. His wife committed suicide about a week after the unedited version of _Lyle and Nida's Golden Tub Adventure_ hit the Internet and went viral.

Just recently, Lyle hung himself over that same tub in the Lime Rock Inn.

Nida Burke was paid a $50,000 advance for a book deal. Halfway into the writing of the book, she slashed the length of both arms with a razor blade in the warehouse at Brossard Construction. The video of her shameful urinating act had plagued her soul to the point that she didn't want to live with it anymore.

Lake figured that the dark fallout of this story is what caused his squandering viewers. The misfortunes of others would be entertaining for only so long.

Five years later, Lake received a phone call from a woman in Bloomington, Indiana.

"This is Helen Miller. I'm not sure if you know me, but-"

"Sure I do," Lake said. "You're the one that claims Nicholas Shay is trying to stage your murder through his book."

"That's correct," she replied. "And no one will listen to me. I need a media outlet that will report my story. Are you interested?"

Lake agreed and made arrangements. He hung up, then looked at Mardi. "Pack your suitcase," he said. "We just got a great story. Better than what happened to the governor. It will have national media attention."

"Where are we going?" Mardi asked.

"Bloomington, Indiana."

### 59

_September 11_ th _._

Many famous people shared Helen Miller's birthday, which just happened to be one of the most _infamous_ moments in American history. Just some of the birthdays on 9/11 include rapper Ludacris, singers Richard Ashcroft and Harry Connick Jr, actress Kristy McNichol, football coaches Tom Landry and Paul "Bear" Bryant, and author D.H. Lawrence.

Unfortunately, Columbine High School massacre gunman, Dylan Klebold, was also born on September 11th.

Helen thought about her quick phone conversation with Lake Waters. He would be flying in from Bethel, Maine and should arrive sometime this afternoon. Helen arranged for him to stay at the Holiday Inn and meet her at the Tumbleweed Bar & Grill for dinner.

Helen did one more Internet check on Lake Ontario Waters. He had a small Internet show with about 10,000 viewers a week. His topics ranged from the legalization of marijuana, to exposing backroom deals of politicians, to skiing accidents. Lake's claim to fame was catching Governor Pritchett in a golden shower.

Lake was entertaining and charismatic. He was the type of person that would eventually be offered a major network job, hosting his own televised show.

Which made him perfect for what Helen needed.

Helen had already been seated at the Tumbleweed. Like every bar and grill in Bloomington, it was busy with college students shoveling down cheeseburgers and draft beer. When Lake walked in, everyone looked at him for a moment. He had the kind of allure that drew attention, which is probably why he had a successful Internet show.

Helen waved her hand to catch his attention.

Lake approached the table, pulled off his long black coat and rested it on the back of the chair. He reached out his hand and greeted her. "I believe you are Helen Miller," he said. "I'm Lake. Pleased to meet you."

His blue eyes were magnetic. Hair well groomed. He wore a collarless hunter green shirt with black slacks. Even the way Lake eased into the chair seemed appealing.

They kept the conversation light, talking mostly about Lake's childhood, living on a hippy compound. Considering most children's options, it actually didn't sound all that bad. The only thing that surprised Helen was how educated and polished he seemed to be for someone who spent his life smoking weed, drinking cheap wine, and having endless sex.

They both ordered the Tumbleweed Burger topped with grilled onions and peppers, smothered with hot pepper cheese. Lake embarrassed Helen when he secretly planned a surprise for her. The entire staff sang happy birthday to her with the drunken college patrons joining in the celebration. Their waitress brought them a Double Barrel desert, with two rich chocolate brownies filled with chocolate chips served with vanilla ice cream, topped off with chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and a cherry.

Thankfully the waitress also brought two spoons.

"How did you know?" Helen asked, taking a big scoop and shoveling it in her mouth.

Lake picked up his spoon and helped her devour the dessert. "I researched you while on the plane."

Helen froze, spoon near her lips. "You did a background check on me?"

Lake put his hand up. "Relax. I just scanned over the latest news stories that were done about you, watched clips from that horrendous local PBS show that finally did a story on you, and looked up some reviews you did for authors, particularly the ones you wrote about Nicholas Shay's books."

Helen continued with her dessert. "I have to ask you something," she said, diverting her eyes. "Do you think I'm telling the truth?"

Lake dipped his spoon into the ice cream and chocolate sauce and raised it up to his mouth. Just before eating it he said, "It doesn't matter what I believe. If you and I are convincing enough to my audience, we will have a blockbuster story."

Helen looked around. It was noisy, but she remained cautious by leaning forward and whispering. "There were two other murders at a ranch house located on my property. One murder was done by someone Nick hired to watch over me. Then, that guy was killed by Nick's publicist." She straightened up, seeing the doubt in Lake's blue eyes. "I'm telling the truth."

"How do you know about the murders?"

Helen took another glance around the bar. "I saw a dead body myself, then watched the other guy murdered just a few feet away."

Lake raised an eyebrow. "Police?"

"They don't know anything."

"But you witnessed a murder. Why did that so-called publicist let you go?"

Helen looked around, making sure that no one was eavesdropping. "He let me go, because I wasn't supposed to die that way. It wasn't part of Nick's story."

"Good," Lake said.

"What does that mean?"

It was Lake's turn to whisper. "Nick and his publicist feel untouchable. That will give us an advantage."

Helen wiped her hands with a napkin. "It sounds like you believe me."

Lake flashed a smile. "Like I said, it doesn't matter what I believe. We just have to be convincing."

### 60

The Fed's had been watching Dale Colby's home since his older brothers escaped from prison. And even though Dale used a prepaid cell phone, he was afraid that the Fed's knew that he had been contacted by one of his brothers. With all the Federal Governments high tech devices to invade his privacy, it was possible that they knew something was going on.

Dale had promised to meet RJ and Morris in two days, but that wouldn't be possible. He had lost his nerve, fearing that the F.B.I. would arrest him, then force him to rat out his brothers...a second time.

While waiting for RJ to call him back on the prepaid phone, Dale went to his job at a small printing shop located in the heart of Round Rock, Texas. Outside, sitting in a white van, were the Fed's. There was a good chance that they not only bugged the printing shop, but also hid video cameras.

A technician walked in the shop wearing a blue uniform and a cap. He handed Dale a business card. "I'm here to fix the computer connection to your printers."

"My manager stepped out for-"

"He knows I'm here," the man said, pointing to the card.

Dale flipped it over. On the back it said, _Go to the bathroom_. Dale looked up, seeing the determination in the man's eyes. "The computer and printer are in the next room," Dale said. "I'll catch up with you in a moment. I have to use the john."

"Take your time." The man walked behind the counter and through the door.

Dale went into the restroom, not knowing what to do next. Did his brother RJ arrange for this escape? Or was it the people that held his two brothers captive?

After searching the stall, under the sink and urinal, he didn't know what his next move would be. Each second ticked by as if he was letting his brothers down again. He had testified against RJ and Morris, because he was terrified of going to jail. His brothers were hardened by life behind bars and they even used prison as an opportunity to continue earning money.

Dale was different. He never wanted that life, but was terrified to go against his brother's wishes.

That is, until he ratted them out to save his own neck.

Dale's eyes scanned every inch of the bathroom again. It wouldn't be long before the Fed's started getting suspicious. Then, his eyes locked on the garbage can. Dale reached his hand inside. Under a layer of crumpled paper towels was a uniform and hat. He quickly dressed, placing the cap low on his head. A drizzle of sweat ran down from his forehead, snaking through his unshaven face. He glanced in the mirror, seeing that he matched the technicians outfit.

Most likely Dale was to walk outside to an awaiting truck, or van, then drive off. The Fed's would be confused momentarily, but not stupid. Dale would have to get away fast and drive far enough where he could dump the truck or van, then escape on foot. Next, he would make his way to the bus station and head to Bloomington.

It seemed improbable.

The bathroom door opened. "You still in here?" the tech said, handing him a piece of paper. "Here's your bill. Everything is fixed. Have a nice day." He pulled his hat down low and left.

Dale was confused. He looked down at the paper. Written over the billing statement was, _Back door you idiot! Move!_

Dale shoved the statement in his pocket, then hurried out of the bathroom. He glanced at the front window. The tech wore his hat low, climbed into his truck, and sped off. The white van with F.B.I. agents spun around and followed. The Fed's must have thought that Dale switched uniforms and tried to escape. This was reverse psychology at its best.

With a grin, Dale rushed to the back door, flung it open, and jogged to the back alley.

A truck pulled up that looked exactly the same as the tech used. Dale opened the passenger door and climbed inside. Before he was settled, the driver hit the gas.

Dale looked at him. He was wearing the same tech outfit. "Where are we-"

"Shut the fuck up," the man said. He pulled into the parking lot of a Wendy's, then drove to the other side and slammed on the breaks. "Get in the dumpster," he ordered. "Now!"

Dale opened the door and slid out as the truck took off.

Not hesitating, he flung open the dumpster door and crawled inside. Seconds later, the ground vibrated with the noise of a large truck. The dumpster violently shook. Dale braced his hands in the corners, his feet against the nearest wall. The garbage shifted and tumbled over his body. Dale was flipped upside down and sent flying through the air, landing hard in a pile of debris. Smashing on top of him was the rest of the garbage from the dumpster.

Now in the back of the garbage truck, Dale covered his face, attempting not to breathe the rancid smell. The truck made several sharp turns. A few minutes later it came to an abrupt halt.

"Leave your clothes inside!" someone yelled.

Dale stripped off the soiled uniform. Wearing only his boxers and boots, he crawled to the top of the garbage truck and flipped over the wall. He was much higher than he originally thought. He landed hard on the ground and rolled several times. Before Dale could get his bearings straight, he was seized and dragged into an RV.

Trying to catch his breath as the RV sped off, Dale looked up. No one else was inside except for the driver.

"Where are we going?" Dale asked.

The driver didn't turn around. "You smell like shit. There's a shower and fresh clothes in the back."

Dale mustered up a brave voice. "Where the fuck are you taking me?"

The driver glanced back. "You had been instructed to leave Round Rock, but since you failed to do that, I was given orders to come and get you like a damn babysitter."

"Where are we going?" Dale asked again.

"Bloomington, Indiana," the driver said. "Now take a fucking shower."

### 61

Showboat the squirrel noticed a robin in the tree. RJ watched from his chair, gazing out the window. The leaves were falling and the air seemed crisp. He wanted just a moment away from this house, but Felix was smart. He kept them inside with limited resources. RJ understood Felix's reasons to keep them away from the world. The taste of freedom would cloud their vision.

RJ lit a cigarette and took a long drag. Showboat scurried up the tree, chasing the robin away. That was Showboats domain and he would protect it with his life. RJ realized that the fucking squirrel had more freedom and even more courage. He sneered, feeling less than worthless.

As he smoked the remains of his cigarette, RJ thought about when he beat an old man to death just because he was standing near RJ's car.

That was freedom.

Morris had shot a disc jockey outside a Virginia club. The disc jockey's fate was determined by chance. Whoever walked out next was going to end up dead.

Freedom to kill.

RJ remembered breaking into a house, tying up a young husband and his pregnant wife.

Morris raped the woman while RJ beat her husband until he was barely breathing. When Morris was done, RJ took his turn on the wife. She had little fight remaining. Her round naked stomach was gorgeous. RJ shoved himself inside of her, then stabbed her with the same pair of scissors that Morris used on the husband.

Freedom without morals.

RJ and Morris lived their lives without fear. No one told them what to do. Even in prison, being on death row, they smuggled guns and drugs inside. With limited resources they made more money than the guards.

LaShawn, Ike, Mason, and Curtis became rusty. There was no reason a helpless woman like Helen Miller would have ever gotten the drop on them in years past.

That would not happen to him or RJ.

Still, he was pissed that someone assisted with the prison escape. He was indebted to a moron writer that lived in a fantasy world. Nicholas Shay told stories with partial truths. He couldn't possibly know what it was like to be serial killer. RJ and Morris were always inches away while killing whomever they wanted, not hiding behind a fucking laptop. Authors like to write about murderers, but the only reality was that their entire book is fucking fiction.

As RJ lit another cigarette he watched Showboat reclaim his castle, chasing away another squirrel.

Morris sat down with two beers. "Hey bro," he said, handing one of the longnecks to RJ. "You sure like staring out that window."

"It soothing."

"Soothing?" Morris asked, letting out a robust chortle. He didn't laugh very often, but when he did, it was usually something annoying. "You're not getting soft on me, are you?"

RJ shifted in his chair, turning his head with a slow, deliberate purpose. "I can snap your neck, rip the spine from your back, and eat waffles off your bloody corpse without you doing a damn thing about it."

Morris put his hand up. "Just checking," he said, taking a swig from his beer. "I can't believe Dale couldn't even get into his truck and drive here like you asked. Now Felix is bringing him, which is fucking up our plans."

RJ kept his voice low, knowing that the house was bugged. "Dale thinks we're going to kill Felix and the rest of his goons. Then, we can escape."

Morris leaned toward his brother. "Isn't that the plan?"

RJ rolled his eyes in Morris's direction, seeing the scar under the right eye had darkened. "Dale is a fucking rat, but I want him thinking that we need his help, and everything that he did to us will be forgiven."

"So are we going to kill him when he gets here?"

RJ gazed out the window, not seeing Showboat at the moment. "Felix will probably send Dale to kill Helen Miller. In that case, we may not even see him."

Morris chuckled. "If the others didn't survive Helen Miller, our jackass brother won't have a chance."

RJ rubbed the corner of his eyes. "We need information, instead of making plans while sitting here blind."

Morris leaned in, his face right next to RJ. "How are we going to find out what the fuck is going on before it is my turn? It seems to me, all of us are being sent into certain death."

"Death is always certain." RJ formed a tired grin. "Felix isn't letting us watch television, or listen to radio channels. Which means, whatever's going on is making national headlines."

"I'm sure our mug shots are on every news channel."

RJ saw that Showboat had returned with an acorn. "Felix must be using our prison escape story to his advantage."

Morris rubbed his scar, lost in thought. "Nicholas Shay is an author. Maybe he's writing our story?"

RJ's eyes became wide like silver dollars, looking at his brother. "Holy shit..."

### 62

Felix walked through the stylish home and entered the den. A large window on the back wall had a spectacular view of Miami Beach with tan female bodies, large breasts, and revealing bikinis.

"I'm not happy," Nicholas Shay said. He was sitting on the edge of his desk, sipping a clear drink with two ice cubes. Felix guessed it was either vodka or gin, which were both favorites of the author. "Nothing is going how we planned."

Felix sat down in a wicker chair across from Nicholas. "I wouldn't say that. We were able to help six death row inmates escape from a Virginia prison."

"There was supposed to be seven," Nicholas corrected. He finished his drink as the ice cubes clanked to the bottom. "Norman Pitts was supposed to be with them."

"He changed his mind. Nothing we could have done about that."

"The man you hired to impersonate Rex Timmons ended up being discovered by Helen. Not only that, he was supposed to travel with Helen to the Bahamas." Nicholas slammed his drink down on the desk. One of the ice cubes bounced out and slid to the floor. "Chapter nine of my book is totally fucked."

Felix crossed his legs. "Your book didn't say she had to be in the Bahamas. It described a warm climate with a hut." Felix pointed outside. "I think we should bring her here."

"The more Helen is around me, the more people will become suspicious."

"No one is going to be suspicious. Everyone thinks Helen Miller is a nutcase. In fact, if she travels to Miami while you're here it would prove that she is obsessed."

Nicholas pushed himself away from the desk and kicked the melting ice cube across the floor. "Dale Colby wasn't part of the original plan either. I can't believe you let RJ talk you into letting his snake of younger brother help with our plans. It's too much of a risk."

"Of course it's a risk, but my people are handling it. Dale is on his way to Florida right now." Felix grinned. "Of course, Dale thinks he's traveling to Bloomington to see his brothers."

"What happens when Dale discovers he was tricked?"

"Who gives a shit? Plus, we need Dale, because we're low on options."

Nicholas gazed out the window. "What about Helen. How're you going to get her to Miami?"

"I'll use you as bait."

Nicholas spun, eyes glaring at Felix. "What does that mean?"

"Helen has partnered with some guy named Lake Ontario Waters for her media coverage. He'll want to ambush you here, while videoing an attack on Helen. Then, he'll air the video on his show."

"His name is _Lake Ontario Waters_?"

Felix's cell phone rang. He smiled and said, "I couldn't make that up if I tried." He then answered the phone.

Nicholas saw the color drain from Felix's cheeks. "What's wrong?"

Felix put his finger up. "Stay calm. I'll call you back in fifteen minutes." He clicked END and frantically dialed another number. "Actually, we have a big fucking problem."

"What?" Nicholas asked, stepping closer.

As Felix waited for someone to answer on the other line, he said to Nicholas, "Dale Colby somehow overpowered the driver and is now holding him at gunpoint."

"So what?" Nicholas said. "Let him shoot the driver."

Felix hung up the phone and tried dialing again. His eyes leveled with Nicholas. "My brother is the driver," Felix said. "So no, I'm not going to let Dale just shoot him."

### 63

It wasn't easy showering in the tiny bathroom while the RV swayed down the road. Still, it felt good to clean the smell of garbage off his body. When Dale was finished, he wrapped a towel around his waste and went to the bedroom. A set of clothes were laid out on the bed. Next to the nineteen-inch flat screen was a DVD player and a stack of porno's. On the corner table was a large pizza, a bottle of rum, glass, and an ice bucket. "I could get used to this," Dale said with a grin.

After dressing, eating, and watching a couple hours of girl-on-girl action, he dozed off. By the time he woke up it was morning. His mouth was dry and he had pounding headache.

Dale looked around the small room. On the table, there was only once slice of pizza left and only a quarter of the rum bottle remained.

He sat up, rubbed his head, and took a leak in the tiny bathroom. He had planned to go back to sleep when he noticed palm trees along the highway. Dale wasn't a genius, but he knew this wasn't the way to Bloomington, Indiana.

He reached both hands into the bucket and splashed his face with the melted ice. Then, he tipped his boot over where he hid the SEECAMP LWS32 pistol. It only had a two-inch barrel, but six shots.

After sliding his boots on, Dale shoved the pistol in his rear pocket, collected his senses, and opened the bedroom door. He had trouble keeping his balance as the RV swayed from side to side. In addition, he had an awful hangover. The fear of what he was about to do made him even more disoriented.

"You had quite a night," the driver said. Both hands were gripping the wheel. "We'll be there soon."

Dale saw the handle of a gun sticking out of the lower compartment next to the driver's leg. "We still going to Indiana?" he asked. His voice was heavy, nervous, and thick with panic.

"Change of plans. We're going to meet your brothers in Florida."

"No one told me."

"You were passed out." The driver laughed. "Just relax and-"

Dale reached for the gun in the compartment and snagged his SEECAMP at the same time. Both guns were now pointing at the drivers head. "Pull over."

The driver raised one hand. "Chill out. We're on the highway."

"Pull over!"

The driver turned on his flashers and eased to the side of the road. "You're a dead man," he said, cutting off the engine.

"Where is your cell phone?"

"Between my legs. You want to reach down and grab it?"

Dale pistol-whipped the driver with his own gun. "Call the man in charge. Tell him I want to speak with RJ."

### 64

RJ had been sleeping when the bedroom door opened. He saw a man holding Morris at gunpoint. "Get up!" the man shouted. It was one of Felix's goons.

RJ slid from his bed, completely naked. "Is there a problem?"

He handed RJ a cell phone. "Talk!"

RJ cleared his throat. "Hello."

"This is Felix. Your brother has taken the driver hostage. Obviously this is an unexpected setback."

"I never said that Dale was the brightest light bulb in the room."

"Yes, but you did convince me to let Dale replace the others that failed in killing Helen Miller. Now we have a cluster fuck."

"Calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down! One phone call from me and the Fed's will be storming that house. The good news is that you won't have to go back to death row, because I'll make sure you both are shot in the fucking skull!"

"What does my brother want?"

"Your freedom."

RJ contained his smile. This worked out perfectly. "Where is the closest mall?"

"Why?"

"I'll convince Dale to make sure you take us to a place with lots of people. We'll send him photos of Morris and I, so that Dale knows we're safe. Put Dale on a plane and get him here. When he arrives at the mall, Morris and I will trick Dale into thinking we need to escape. Then, we'll kill him. Afterwards, Morris and I will return back here to the nice accommodations you have at this house."

"That's too risky. Someone might recognize you and call the police."

"It's a risk we'll have to take."

RJ could hear Felix breathing heavy, followed by several grunts. "Dale was supposed to help us kill Helen Miller. We are paying you good money to do things exactly how we want them done."

"I'm not sure what to say about that, other than shit happens."

There was a long pause before Felix spoke. "Fine. When Dale is fucking dead, I'll have Morris go after Helen Miller next. Just know that I'm deducting $250,000 from your pay."

"Not a problem."

"It's a big fucking problem!" Felix then hung up.

RJ handed the phone to the goon and said, "Stop pointing that gun at my brother, or I'll fucking kill you."

### 65

The driver gave Dale a cell phone as pictures were being uploaded. He saw RJ and Morris in a food court with the caption saying, "College Mall."

Now that his brothers were in a safe place, Dale agreed to get on a private jet, which was provided by the guy in charge. Dale brought the driver, holding him at gunpoint.

So far, so good.

Another picture came through fifteen minutes later. RJ and Morris were eating at a table surrounded by hundreds of people. Dale smiled, knowing that RJ and Morris will be pleased at how he handled the situation. This will make up for all the wrong things he had done to them.

A half-hour into the flight, Dale was able to turn the cell phone back on. Two more photos were sent. One was of RJ and Morris at Lids, purchasing Indiana Hoosier hats. The other picture showed them inside a Victoria Secret talking to a gorgeous saleswoman. She was a blonde, dressed in a tight black outfit with her breasts popping at the seams. Dale stared at the woman and became aroused. He wanted to go in the restroom and take care of himself. Dale decided to delete the picture and concentrate on the task at hand, which was keeping an eye on the hostage that sat in front of him.

His only fear right now was that someone might recognize his brothers at the mall. It was smart that RJ and Morris both purchased hats, but that was the extent of their disguise.

An hour later Dale checked the phone. Both his brothers were safe. The picture was of them in Brooks Brothers rummaging through the dress shirts. Dale contained his smile, knowing that RJ and Morris hated rich people, especially men that shopped at Brooks Brothers.

When the plane landed, more pictures were sent. His brothers had returned to the food court. Dale and his hostage exited the plane and entered a waiting limousine. Dale kept his gun pointed at the hostage, while being aware of his surroundings to make sure no one was following him.

The people who had RJ and Morris could be waiting for him at the mall parking lot. The world was looking for the last remaining escaped prisoners. Maybe someone in the mall recognized his brothers. The police and Fed's could be on their way to arrest them.

If the Fed's somehow had been following Dale this entire time, he could be leading them straight to his brothers.

He thought about the escape from Round Rock. It was stressful, but whoever was running this show had a professional crew working for him.

A picture came through the cell phone. RJ and Morris were safe. In fact, the mall had seemed to increase with college students that had finished class. Dale thought he might be able to hook up with one of the college girls and fuck her at a hotel. Or maybe, he good get a blowjob in the parking lot.

Dale shifted in the leather seat, attempting to contain his swelling cock. The guy he kidnapped just stared at him. He hadn't said a word since they were in the RV.

Each minute that passed, Dale's heart began to quicken. He was about to see his brothers. The last time he faced them was in a courtroom, after Dale had been arrested for cocaine possession and distribution.

In the courtroom, Dale pointed to Morris, then explained all the murders his brother had committed over the years. Other than Morris's scar darkening under his eye, there was little emotion.

Next, Dale pointed to RJ in the courtroom and gave the same testimony. RJ had a permanent smile with an icy glare, seeming un-phased by the damaging statements.

It was apparent that enough time had passed that both of them forgave Dale for what he had done. They must have realized that Dale's choices were limited. If he did not testify against his brothers, then he would have gone to prison. What sense would it make to have all three of them locked up? At least this way, Dale as able to help them from the outside.

When the limo arrived at College Mall, every vein in Dale's body pumped with anxiousness. He waited for his hostage to climb out of the limo, then Dale followed, tucking the guns in his jeans and hiding them under his shirt.

Before going inside the mall, he looked at his phone and opened the last picture of his brothers, which was sent just a couple of minutes ago. RJ and Morris were on the other side of the doors.

Barely able to focus, Dale walked with his hostage inside the building.

### 66

RJ had an earpiece, along with a tiny surveillance microphone and camera, disguised with a cross necklace. There were at least two other goons watching RJ and Morris's every move. Felix had been in Florida, but flew to Indiana. He was now right behind Dale.

"Your brother is walking into the door," Felix said.

RJ continued watching until his eyes locked with Dale. Once that happened, RJ turned and raced through the food court, then headed down a hallway that led to the restrooms. He passed a security office on the way. Just outside the restrooms were two water fountains, a payphone, vending machine, and an electronic directory. RJ hurried to the directory and typed the word, _Books_ into the SEARCH.

Felix spoke in RJ's microphone. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Looking for alternate routes, just in case we run into trouble." RJ banged his fist on the directory. The only store that showed up on the search for books was a place called, Build-A-Bear, which made no sense at all. He glanced back down the hallway, seeing Felix in the food court, watching earnestly from a distance.

RJ returned to the directory and looked over the categories. He clicked on _Entertainment_. There were plenty of places to pick up video games, DVD's, and laptops. Before RJ went to prison, he remembered that bookstores were popular. He also figured that a place called, _College Mall_ , would have at least one store that sold fucking books.

"Dale is standing in the food court looking confused," Felix said. "Morris hasn't approached him yet. Get your ass back here!"

RJ clicked on the store map, hoping to find something. Just past the Abercrombie & Fitch was a Footlocker, then a side entrance to a Target store. RJ rushed back to the food court and saw Dale approaching Morris.

Waves of riled emotions quickened RJ's heart. He loathed everything about Dale. He was weak, a traitor, and an abomination to this world. In just a few minutes Dale would suffer for his disgraceful turncoat actions. Not a day has gone by when RJ hadn't thought about Dale's slimy face in the courtroom.

Felix was about a hundred feet away. The two bodyguards were to either side of them, blocking the only other way out. The plan was to go inside Footlocker, enter through a door to a cluttered hallway, which led to a changing room. Inside the changing room, RJ and Morris would kill Dale and help Felix's brother escape. They would exit the changing room and continue down the hallway to a rear door that led outside. An alarm would go off, but Felix had a car waiting for their escape.

Dale's dead corpse would be left behind.

With a quick pace, RJ, Morris, Dale, and the hostage moved through the crowd of college students, past Abercrombie & Fitch, and approached the Footlocker.

"Where're we going?" Dale asked, his voice stricken with panic.

Morris put his arm around Dale and gave him a quick hug. "Just stick with us. You did good, bro."

Dale beamed with pride. "Thanks. I thought you both were still pissed at me. I can't believe you escaped-"

Morris put his hand over Dale's mouth. "We can talk later. First, let's get out of here."

"Did the same guys that held you captive, also help you escape from prison?"

It was typical that Dale couldn't keep his mouth shut or follow simple instructions.

"Not now," Morris repeated.

The four of them stood in front of the Footlocker. RJ pretended to be nervous. "Felix, there's a security guard inside the Footlocker. We need to find another way out."

Dale's eyes darted back and forth. "I don't see a security guard."

Morris grabbed his little brother's arm and said through clenched teeth, "Would you shut the fuck up."

Felix was about fifty feet behind them and spoke on the microphone. "Go into the Footlocker as planned. Do not-"

"Target," RJ said. He led the group through the crowd, turned left, and made their way to the side entrance of Target, which was connected to the mall. RJ kept his eyes moving as he thought about twenty years ago when he raped and killed a cashier from Target. It was one of his better nights.

"Where are you going?" Felix asked, his voice heavy with frustration.

"To the rear of the store," RJ said. "There should be an exit."

Dale looked at him. "Who are you talking too?"

RJ ignored him, slowing his pace so not to draw attention. Sweat poured down RJ's back. The top of his head felt like furnace under his hat. This wasn't going as smooth as he hoped.

"I'm loosing my patience," Felix said. "I want the hostage released right now!"

They made their way to the electronics section of Target. RJ's eyes swept the area, seeing games and movies.

And then, he saw a book section. "Go to the restroom," RJ ordered.

Felix responded. "The restrooms are in the front of the store where you just came from!"

Morris guided Dale and the hostage back down the isle. RJ split off from the pack and briefly covered the camera on his necklace. His eyes moved down the bookshelf until he saw the name, Nicholas Shay. The book was called, _Murder System_. RJ grabbed the novel and shoved it under his shirt. He then rushed to catch up to the others.

Felix appeared from a side isle and stood next to RJ. "What the fuck are you doing?"

### 67

"There are cameras all over this store," Felix said with a harsh whisper. "You couldn't have picked a worse location."

RJ used his right hand to shift the book under his shirt and hold on to it. Felix had not seen it yet. "It's been awhile since I've walked into a Target. I didn't know."

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for a place to take my brother and get rid of him. When my brother is dead, I'll tell the hostage to leave. Morris and I will meet you at the front exit."

Felix looked around. "I gave Morris a knife and a vile of accelerant. When you take care of Dale, make sure to leave the knife, then burn the restroom." He glared at RJ. "Before any of that happens, you release the hostage."

"Understood," RJ said. He raced through the Target, past the cashiers, and entered the men's restroom.

It was empty.

There were two stall doors, but no one was inside any of them. RJ turned and left. For a moment he wondered if they went into the women's restroom. He couldn't imagine Morris taking that chance.

RJ saw a door labeled FAMILY RESTROOM. He knocked, then heard Morris ask, "Who is it?"

"It's me," RJ said as two college girls walked past him toward the women's restroom. The door opened and RJ rushed inside and locked the door behind him.

"I thought this would be better," Morris explained. "No traffic."

RJ patted Morris on the back. "You did good." He ripped the microphone and camera off and tossed it in the garbage can. Then he pulled the book from under his shirt and placed it on top of the hand dryer.

"Are you wired?" Dale asked.

"Just shut the fuck up," RJ said with a glare.

The hostage finally spoke. "My brother is going to kill all three of you unless I'm released in the next ten seconds."

RJ formed a grin. "Who's your brother?"

"Felix."

Morris laughed. "You gotta be shitting me. That's great!"

The man looked confused. "Are you letting me go or not?"

RJ and Morris glanced at each other and smiled. Morris shoved the man against the wall, punched him once in the throat, then covered his mouth. At the same time, RJ turned, lifted Dale's shirt, and retrieved both guns.

"Wait!" Dale said. "What're you doing?"

RJ shoved the barrels of the guns into the man's gut, then twisted the barrels in his shirt. "Homemade silencer," RJ said. He squeezed the triggers.

There was a loud pop, which sounded like someone slammed the bathroom stall. The man groaned, eyes wide, attempting to breathe through his nose, but Morris still had a firm grip on his mouth.

RJ let go of the guns, which were still wrapped in the shirt. Blood dumped from the man's stomach and drained to the floor.

"Let him go," RJ said in a calm voice.

Morris released his firm grip. The man slid down the wall, looking at his own blood. He began wheezing. His eyes rolled up, staring at Dale. "They are going to kill you next."

Dale shook his head. "What?"

RJ kicked the man in the mouth, knocking several teeth out, causing a gush of blood to flow down his face.

Morris laughed. "Damn. I really missed doing this shit." Morris punched the bloody face until he stopped breathing.

"What the hell is going on?" Dale asked.

RJ ignored him, grabbed the book off the hand dryer, and began reading. In prison RJ had read hundreds of books. His reading improved so much he could finish one in a day.

"I don't understand," Dale said. "We're trapped in here. How are we going to get away?"

RJ continued scanning through each chapter. "Morris," he said, not taking his eyes off the book. "Get it over with."

Morris grabbed Dale from behind, dug his fingers into the top of Dale's eyelids and pulled them wide open. With his other hand, Morris held a knife to Dale's throat. "I've been waiting a long time for this," he whispered in his little brother's ear. He moved Dale so he was in front of the mirror. "Stare at yourself. Look at the reflection of a fucking snake."

"Please," Dale begged. "I helped you-"

Morris pulled up on the lids of Dale's eyes, tearing them open. "You're going to die and be left here with the rest of the piss, shit, and garbage."

Tears mixed with blood began to squirt from his eyes. "It hurts!" Dale cried like a child with deep moans, becoming delirious with pain. "Momma! Momma!"

"Morris," RJ said, still reading. "I don't want to hear his bitchy voice again."

Morris dug the knife into Dale's neck and ripped the skin apart. The mirror splattered with blood. Morris continued grinding the knife into the neck. A gusher of thick blood spilled from his body. Morris then grabbed Dale by his curly black hair and drove his head into the wall. He repeated this three more times, until a piece of Dale's skull broke off. Satisfied, Morris dropped the corpse to the floor next to Felix's brother.

RJ never looked up from the book, still reading. "Clean the knife and your hands."

Morris was breathing heavy. A river of sweat drizzled down from his hat. "I know what I'm doing," he said with heavy sarcasm.

Morris dropped the knife in the garbage, then turned the sink on and used globs of soap to clean up. He pulled a tiny vile from his pocket. "You ready?" he asked RJ.

"Almost," RJ replied. He looked at the back of the book jacket, seeing that Nicholas Shay lived in Miami, Florida. RJ then dropped the book on top of Dale's blood soaked body. "Okay, let's do this."

Morris squeezed the vile and poured accelerant over the dead bodies, in the garbage can, and on the floor. RJ positioned himself at the door with a lighter. He waited until Morris was right next to him.

In one motion, RJ flicked the lighter and opened the door. He let Morris out first and followed behind. The flame ignited with a bright force.

They hurried out of the Target and back to the mall. Felix grabbed RJ from behind. "Where is your microphone?"

"Dale ripped it off me when I was killing him," RJ said.

"Bullshit!" Felix's voice carried in the mall. A few people began to look at them.

Morris whispered to Felix, "You better get a grip on yourself."

Flex snapped his eyes in Morris's direction. "Where is the hostage?"

"Dale killed him."

Felix's skin became pale, matching his hair. "How?"

"We couldn't get the guns off him fast enough," Morris said.

The three of them began walking. Minutes later, they were in the parking lot and climbed into a minivan. Felix sat up front. RJ and Morris were in the back. One of Felix's thugs was driving.

"This was a big fucking mistake," Felix shouted. "Not only didn't your brother help, but he caused fucking problems." Felix turned in his seat. "And that hostage was my brother!"

"Sorry," RJ said. "We did everything we could to save him."

Felix turned back around and kept quite the rest of the way to the house.

RJ stared at the back of Felix's blond hair. He couldn't wait to gut Felix with a knife, the same way Morris killed their brother.

### 68

When Felix left the house, Morris turned on the radio and blasted the volume. RJ took his seat next to the window and Morris sat next to him.

RJ thought about what he saw in Nicholas Shay's book, remembering the words as if he was still reading them.

You will take a cautious step, then another. Your head shifts from side-to-side. Your chest rises and falls; heart knocking so hard that it is difficult to take a breath.

I'm here Helen Miller. Turn around.

A fight breaks out. You turn, shoving your way toward the stairs.

Why did you turn your back on me? That was a costly error. I'm right behind you, easily making my way through the crowd. In fact, everyone is stepping aside. No one is trying to stop me. The fight is broken up. You just about reach the stairs when I shove you forward.

Your body tumbles, head banging on the wood. You feel every step, plummeting downward. Your skull feels like it had been split open. Pieces of teeth are lodged into the rail. Bones are cracked. Muscles ripped and skin torn. Blood trickles, soaking your clothes.

But you are not dead, you just wish that you were. The pain is horrific. Your body is crumpled, spine twisted and loose in your back.

I drive my foot into your neck, snapping it with ease. Your eyes continue to stare, glazed with death.

I will wrap a rope around that soft neck of yours and drag you to a pond. The rope will squeeze, but not kill you. Your eyes will bulge and brain becomes hot. Clusters of stars mix with your blurred vision, as you see the world pass by.

Just as the last bit of air oozes from your lungs, we reach the pond. You dig your fingers under the rope and loosen it from your flaming skin. I have undressed and pulled down your jeans and panties.

Before you could react, I'm inside of you. It takes a few agonizing seconds to realize what his happening.

I reach down and twist the rope. Once again, your breath is being stolen, along with your life.

A light flicked on inside the kitchen. The killer wrapped a towel around the shotgun that he was holding.

Another shot fired, ripping into the door of the cold cellar. Helen flipped back over on her belly and crawled like a soldier under fire. Glass tore into her skin, ripping apart her hands and forearms. She made it to the stairs and tumbled down into a deeper pit of darkness.

Helen squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, with the hot sting of glass embedded into her stomach.

The killer took his time walking down the stairs. "Helen Miller," he whispered.

Now she lay on an oversized hammock, which swayed back and forth.

For most people, the salty breeze and gentle rock would be relaxing enough to put them in a wonderful dream state of mind. Conversely, Helen felt like she was on an old ship, in the middle of an ocean, during a tormenting thunderstorm. Her stomach swirled, as the room spun like a whirlpool.

" _Hello, Helen Miller," a voice hissed. Perhaps a nightmare had already begun. She had fallen into an uncomfortable slumber, as the alcohol took control._

After lighting a cigarette RJ spoke so only his brother could hear, confident that the music would conceal their voices. "Nicholas Shay should have called his book, _Warning_ _System_ , because that's what it is for Helen Miller. The instructions that were given to us are exactly repeated in the book. Helen reads each chapter and knows how each attempt on her life will happen."

"Why would an author risk breaking us out of prison and concocting this elaborate plan? Wouldn't he be worried about getting caught?"

"You know how the world works. Do the equation."

Morris thought about it for a moment. "To plot a scheme, you should minus the risk, add the value, and create a sizable reward."

"Yep." RJ stared out the window, smoking his cigarette, wondering where Showboat was today. "Let me ask you; was this risk worth the reward?"

"Maybe Nicholas Shay lost his mind and wanted to actually witness something that he wrote."

"Nah. The situation we're in doesn't have that kind of feel. Our author friend is expecting a big payday."

"How?"

RJ took several drags of his cigarette, considering the question. "I suppose authors need to sell books. The more they sell, the more money they make."

"So Nicholas Shay believes the attention he's getting on this book will earn him a lot of money." Morris scratched the scar below his eye. "How much money would it be worth for Nicholas to take this kind of risk? Twenty-five million? Fifty?"

"I was thinking more like a hundred million, with the possibility of added funding." RJ dropped his finished cigarette to the floor and smashed it with his boot. "In every business there's a way to manipulate the system; a weakness to earn millions. Nicholas and Felix discovered that weakness and want to cash in."

"I'm supposed to murder Helen Miller next," Morris said. His voice actually creaked with a bit of nervousness. "Did you happen to read the chapter of how I'm supposed to kill her?"

"I scanned it over, along with my chapter. It's just like the notes we were given by Felix."

"Well then," Morris said with a grin. "I'll just change things up a bit."

RJ shifted in his chair, eyes locked on his brother. "I want you to rip that bitch to pieces." RJ held his gaze for a moment, then looked back out the window. Showboat had returned, scurrying up the tree. "When you're done killing Helen Miller, come back here and help me escape."

Morris patted RJ on the back. "Never fuck with the Colby brothers."

### 69

News of two people murdered in the family restroom of a Target next to College Mall was the lead story in every national media outlet. The news reports were similar to a gory horror novel. One man was shot in the stomach with two different guns, then beat to death. The other man was also beaten and killed with a knife. Whoever murdered them set the family restroom on fire and fled the store. The names of the victims are being withheld at the moment. Police are tracking down leads, based on video surveillance.

~

Helen met Lake in his hotel room. She was surprised to see another woman in the room as well.

"My name is Mardi," the woman said, shaking Helen's hand. She had short reddish hair, pale skin, and a tough demeanor. Her body seemed oddly shaped with large shoulders, thin stomach, sizeable chest, and long legs. "Thanks for inviting us." Mardi pulled in a deep breath and eased down on the bed.

"I don't understand what's going on?" Helen glared at Lake. Suddenly, she realized her attitude was a bit on the jealous side. In a humble retreat, Helen attempted to play nice. "Are you two married?"

"Not really," Lake said with a snicker. "We grew up together in California."

"California?" Helen asked with surprise.

"Yeah, why?"

Helen changed the subject. "So Mardi, you work with Lake?"

"I'm his assistant." She leaned back on the bed, resting on her elbows. "I'm the reason Lake looks so good on his shows."

Lake smiled. "Mardi is also my camera woman."

Mardi huffed. "Why do you always say 'camera woman' like it's some crap job?"

He gave her a playful smack on the arm and sat down next to her on the bed. "Because I know it riles you up."

Once again, Helen felt a jealous sensation in the pit of her heart. Lake and Mardi were obviously close. But why did she care? "Are we in an agreement?"

Mardi raised an eyebrow. "What agreement?"

Lake placed his hand on Mardi's thigh. "Nicholas Shay is in Miami, so that's where we should go. Plus, chapter nine in his book talks about Helen being murdered in a warm climate."

Mardi shook her head. "You want to actually put Helen's life in danger?"

Helen spoke up. "We need to prove that Nick's book is about me. I was supposed to be in the Bahamas today, but it didn't work out that way." Helen paused, gauging Mardi's expression. Lake must have relayed the conversation they had at dinner and told Mardi everything, because she didn't seem surprised. "If we go to Miami and one of those escaped convicts makes an attempt on my life just as it was written in Nick's book, then we will have enough proof that his novel is way beyond coincidence."

"Why do you call him Nick instead of Nicholas?" Mardi asked.

"I'm in the publishing business and have done several reviews on his books. People in the inner loop call him Nick." That was a lie.

"You're in the inner loop?"

Helen didn't like the way Mardi was asking her questions. "I'm right on the cusp," she replied with a sneer.

Lake pushed himself up. "Okay, let's make travel arrangements to Miami. Meanwhile, we'll need background information on Nicholas Shay."

"I'll have that by morning," Mardi said, gawking at Helen.

"Great." Lake's blue eyes drifted toward Helen. "Is there anything else we need to know?"

"No...not really." Helen felt her cheeks heat. The air in the room seemed to be sucked away. "Should I keep reading _Murder System_?"

"Actually, we need to focus on chapter nine which is the warm climate murder. Also, we need to figure out why Nicholas Shay would take such a risk in scheming a plan that involves the escape of death row inmates and the attempted murder of your life."

"Makes sense." Helen eyed the door. "Well, I guess I'll be going. You two must have a lot of work to do."

Mardi stood up and put her arm around Lake. "I'm sure we can find ways to relax tonight as well."

"I'll make flight arrangements to Miami," Helen snapped. "Be ready in the morning." She left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Lake gave Mardi a questionable grin. "Why were you goading Helen?"

"Because, I don't trust her."

Lake stared at the door. "I don't trust her either. She's not telling us everything."

"What should we do?"

He rubbed his chin, still gazing at the door. "While you're doing research on Nicholas Shay, find out what you can on her."

Mardi sighed. "Helen Miller is a popular name. We need her social security number to do an accurate background check."

"I agree." He paused, thinking of a solution. "She just bought a farmhouse over on Rockport Road. Get the address."

"Why?"

He put his hands around her shoulders. His blue eyes locked on her. "The loan papers are probably in the house."

Mardi shrug him off. "You want me to break in?"

"Yes. Get her social security number off the loan application."

"But we're leaving for Miami in the morning."

"That's perfect. I'll tell Helen that you need to stay behind one more day and that you will meet up with us in Miami."

Mardi grinned. "She'll love that. Going to Miami alone with you."

Lake stepped forward and gave Mardi a long kiss. He brushed his lips along her cheek and up to her ear. "Let's schedule some time to fuck later."

Mardi maneuvered away from him, picked up her cell phone, and clicked on the schedule she kept for Lake. "How about in an hour?" Her eyes seductively rolled up and gazed at him. "Does that work for you?"

Lake smiled. "An hour? Don't you have something sooner?"

Mardi slid down her slacks and stepped out of them. She turned and bent over the side of the bed, reached back, and slowly peeled down her underwear. "Ready when you are."

### 70

Helen marched down the hallway. Her room was three floors up. "This was a terrific birthday," she huffed to herself.

As she approached the elevator, she glanced at the door to the stairwell. After a few seconds of deliberation, she decided to blow off steam by running up the three flights to her floor.

Just as she went through the door, someone grabbed her around the head and placed his gloved hand over her mouth. "Don't move. Don't make a sound," the voice whispered. He cautiously let go. Helen turned, immediately recognizing the blond hair of Felix Spencer. He leaned close, speaking into her right ear. "Chapter nine is a wash. Nothing we can do. Move on to chapter ten."

Felix turned and raced down the stairs.

Helen blew out a gush of air and clutched her chest. Her heart thudded as if it was about to explode. She opened the door and headed back to Lake's room. After several knocks, he finally answered.

"Back so soon?" he asked. The lower half of his body was wrapped in a bed sheet.

Helen could not help herself. She lowered her eyes, staring at his firm body, then noticing he was aroused. It looked like a baseball bat tucked under the bed sheet. "Forget about Miami," she blurted out. "My house will be ready by tomorrow. We'll go there instead."

Lake's face crumbled with disappointment. "But the story we're looking for is with Nicholas Shay."

"We are staying here," Helen snapped. Without further discussion she marched down the hallway feeling the eyes of Lake on her back.

This time, Helen took the elevator up to her floor. She practically ran down the hallway to her room, opened the door, and rushed inside.

Next to her suitcase was a prepaid cell phone. She dialed the number, urging someone to answer on the other line.

It was over twenty rings when she finally heard a deep voice. "What?"

"I need to see you," Helen said.

"No."

"It's important!"

"No."

"Who was that Kipp guy? Why did you send him to follow me?"

"I'm not having this discussion right now."

"Bullshit! My life is dangling by a string!"

"Stay calm."

Helen gripped the phone and drew in several deep breaths. "I can't believe you sent escaped convicts after me. What the hell were you thinking? You were supposed to payoff deadbeat ex-cons, not death row inmates."

"Just read the book and everything will be fine."

"Do you know how dangerous the Colby brothers are?"

The phone went dead.

Helen tossed the cell on the bed, then slid down to the floor, knees pressed up against her chest. A lump formed in her throat, lips quivered, eyes welled with tears.

Helen had only had one option left. She crawled to her open suitcase and took out the novel, _Murder System_. Still on the floor, she read chapter ten.

### 71
Chapter Ten

Murder System

Helen Miller was relieved to be home after her paradise vacation turned into a continuation of more attempts on her life.

She was exhausted, but couldn't sleep. If by some chance Helen did finally doze off, random noises would jerk her back awake. Getting through the night was in itself a torturous process, which carried over to a grueling day.

Helen started the fireplace, hoping to take the bite out of the cold room. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, sitting close to the fireplace, gazing into the flames. The warmth, along with the cracking of logs soothed her murder-plagued imagination.

How long could she survive? The only way Helen presumed she could live is if she made it to the end of the novel. The book would have spilled its last words like blood on the page. Helen's character would survive her own horror story.

Her eyes watered with fatigue, heading bobbing, attempting to stay awake. Gripping the blanket with both hands and making sure it stayed around her body, she lowered herself to the wood floor. The fire crackled just a couple feet from her face. Helen heard her own breathing. Her mind drifted to a safe place.

"Helen," a voice whispered. "Helen Miller."

She flipped the blanket off her body and sprung to her feet, eyes looking in every direction. The fire had dimmed, engulfing the room in darkness.

Her body was frigid, shaking uncontrollably. Eyes attentive, brain locked with panic. It was night already. Her throat dry. How long had she been asleep?

"Helen," the voice whispered. It came from the left. She could barely see the small dining room table. Her eyes moved, searching in the darkness. It was as if the house had been painted black.

Her veins pumped with a driving force of terror. Each breath seemed to echo from her mouth, cloaking the killer in the shadows.

She glanced back at the fire. It was dying.

The wood creaked once again to her left. The killer was moving.

"Stop!" Helen shouted, hoping to alarm the killer for a moment and reveal his location.

She sidestepped to her right, moving away from the faint sparkle of the fireplace. The room temperature dropped at a rapid pace. The night had imprisoned the house inside a dark hell.

Only the killer could see in such an evil blackness.

Helen had little choice. She reached down, grabbed her blanket, and tossed it in the fireplace. It lit with a brilliant flame, followed by a cloud of smoke. The flash of light was just enough to locate the killer.

He stood a few feet away.

Helen raced toward her bedroom, but felt a sudden pain in the back of her head. At first Helen thought she had been struck. But it was far worse than that.

She was being dragged back toward the fireplace by her hair.

With legs kicking, Helen attempted to grasp the killer's hands, dig her nails into his skin, and break free. This effort failed, because the killer had on thick gloves. She squirmed and twisted her body. Her hair was being ripped from her skull.

There was a sudden burst of horrific pain on her face. The killer had driven her head into the fire. Flames melted her skin and lips. She wanted to die, but couldn't seem to leave her own body. The flames continued to have its way with her as hot pain seared into her tongue and down into her throat.

Instinctively, Helen pressed her hands forward as if she could push the blaze away. The skin on her fingers melted into the fire mixed with hot blood.

Helen wanted to be swept away by death. She opened her eyes, letting the flames enter through the sockets, roasting into her brain, sweltering down the neck.

Finally, her head burned away from her body and dumped into the fireplace.

### 72

It was the middle of the night. Mardi had been doing extensive research on Nicholas Shay. She also dabbled into some preliminary information about Helen Miller, which were mostly her reviews of authors and Helen's contribution to the publishing industry.

Lake had fallen asleep several hours ago. He woke, with only the blue light of Mardi's laptop glowing in the hotel room. "You still working?" he asked. His voice was rough from the lack of sleep. He slid his legs off the bed, rubbed his eyes, and wobbled to his feet. As always, he was naked; a tradition he picked up from the hippy compound. Mardi wore a T-shirt and panties, sitting at the desk, still glued to the laptop. Lake glanced at the clock. "It's 4:30 in the morning. Give yourself a break."

"There's too much I have to finish. Your next show is in three days."

In the darkness he managed to find his way to the dresser where they had six marijuana joints already rolled. He lit one, taking a long drag. "You're right. We have three days until my show airs. So get some sleep."

"No time for sleep. After I'm done retrieving info on Nicholas Shay, I'll need to work on more of Helen's background. I need to keep at it."

Still naked, Lake made his way to Mardi and gently wrapped his arms around her neck. He pinched the marijuana joint and carefully placed it between her lips. "Something is bothering you. I can tell. What is it?"

Mardi sucked in a healthy dose of the weed. "I have a theory." She took the joint and sucked in some more, causing the flame to brighten.

"Give it to me."

Mardi stood, as smoke oozed from her mouth. She glanced down at Lake's cock. "Are you excited to see me or do you have to pee?"

Lake looked down at the pole sticking from his body. "Those damn things have a mind of their own."

"Well, my theory on Helen Miller may dampen your mood." She handed him back the joint. "Why would Helen change her mind about Miami? It doesn't make sense."

Lake took a couple of drags and finished off the joint, blowing a hefty amount of smoke in the air. "I agree. Tell me your theory."

"Helen Miller and Nicholas Shay are working together."

Lake's eyes snapped to attention. He flicked on the light and dressed in his boxer shorts. "You're right. That dampened my mood." He rubbed his eyes. "But that doesn't make sense."

Mardi grinned. "And yet, part of you believes me."

"Give me your damn theory," Lake urged.

"Both Helen and Nicholas work in the publishing industry. They must have crossed paths at some point."

"Which means they may know each other professionally. Who cares?"

"What if Nicholas really helped those death row inmates escape, then actually wrote a story about Helen Miller being killed. What would it take for him to pull that off? And what would be his reason for doing that in the first place?"

"Both good questions," Lake said. "Now answer them."

Mardi went back to her laptop and sat down. She pulled up Nicholas's Wikipedia page. Lake looked over her shoulder. Mardi scrolled down the page and spoke at the same time. "According to this, Nicholas has published twenty-one novels, but none of them made the bestsellers list. He still earns a good living, but certainly not the type of money that the top echelon of authors brings in."

Lake's eyes now alert, scanning down the Wikipedia page. "Nicholas's publicist is Felix Spencer. His literary agent is Mary DiFore. Do you think any of them are involved?"

"I looked over Mary DiFore's website, along with the other agents that work under her. I think she's clean." Mardi clicked a link that sent her to Felix Spencer's website. "I don't believe Nicholas had the backbone to pull off a stunt like this alone. Felix is a well-known publicist for authors. He also represents anyone connected to the entertainment industry."

"Which does not make Felix Spencer dirty."

Mardi clinked on another link at Felix's website. "Check this out. Felix is part owner of Umberto's Clam House in Little Italy, New York."

Lake stood tall. Shortly after the Governor Pritchett scandal, Lake had busted a politician doing a backroom deal at Umberto's Clam House where several low level mobsters had meetings. The restaurant had been exposed, placing a black mark on Little Italy which resulted in a decrease of population. The entire area became a ghost town.

Lake pulled in a deep breath. "Okay, let's say that Felix was the mastermind behind the Virginia prison escape. Then afterwards, he convinced those prisoners to attack Helen Miller, exactly how Nicholas Shay wrote in _Murder System_. Why would Nicholas concede in a plan that could send him to jail and ruin his career? Why would Felix risk being exposed? And why would these prisoners go along with it?"

Mardi went to Google and typed _Author James Patterson Receives Large Advance_. "Look at this."

Lake stared at the screen with disbelief. He read the next line aloud. "James Patterson receives a $150 million dollar advance on his next five books."

Mardi chuckled. "Not a bad way to earn a living. And that doesn't count royalties and other perks." She looked up at Lake. "Nicholas and Felix are doing this because there's a big payday coming. Felix helped those death row inmates' escape, promising freedom and money if they killed Helen Miller. Felix gave them the exact details on how it should be done."

Lake now understood. "But the inmates are ending up dead. They're walking into a trap. Helen Miller knows exactly how each killer will come after her. It's all in Nicholas's book."

Mardi eased up from her chair and held Lake's arms. "My guess is that Nicholas and Felix didn't tell the prisoners anything about the plot of _Murder System_. They were given a so-called deal. If Nicholas and Felix help them escape from prison, then they would have to kill Helen Miller. Each prisoner is taking his turn, but ending up dead. So the next prisoner tries, then the next, and so forth. Meanwhile, Helen makes a big stink, gains media attention, which also helps Nicholas Shay."

Lake shook his head, agreeing. "Any attention, even scandals, is good attention. The notion that Nicholas Shay actually assisted in the escape of six death row inmates, then wrote a book of how Helen Miller would be killed and had the inmates act out the story is absurd. Nevertheless, it draws attention to _Murder System_."

Mardi chuckled to herself. "Actually, it creates an awesome plot. I'd buy that book."

### 73

Lake waved his finger. "Wait a second. Helen was supposed to be in a warm client in order for chapter nine to work. Why would she deviate from the plan?"

Mardi sat back down and returned to her laptop. "According to the news reports, a fellow death row inmate Norman Pitts was killed during the escape. Sources believe that Norman was supposed to go with them, but probably backed out because he was up for parole."

"Do you think Norman was supposed to be the killer in chapter nine?"

Mardi twisted her body in the chair, facing him. "I can't be sure of that." She turned back around and pulled up a news story that discussed a double-homicide in a Target located just outside of College Mall. "The murder rate seems to have gone up in Bloomington since Helen Miller came to town. This leads me to believe that the gruesome killings in that Target restroom are connected somehow."

Lake glanced at the story. "Did the police release the names of the two victims yet?"

"No."

"We need to find out who they were." Lake rubbed the back of his neck. "What about video surveillance in the Target? Anything released?"

"No."

Lake tried to clear his mind and think of the best way to move forward. "Okay, so who were the prisoners that attempted to murder Helen, but failed?"

Mardi clicked on the keyboard with lightning speed. "LaShawn Sutton was first. Then Ike Rufus. Followed by Curtis Finch." She paused, reading down a recently posted article. "Mason McCoy's body was found in New York. He was shot in the head."

"What are the names of the remaining escaped prisoners?"

Mardi stared at the laptop screen. "The Colby brothers; RJ and Morris."

Lake leaned forward, resting his hand on her shoulder and looking at the names. "I remember reading about those guys. They're bad mother fuckers." Lake paused. "Don't they have a younger brother?"

Mardi clicked on a link. "Yes. Dale Colby. He lives in Round Rock, Texas, which is where the Colby's were born."

"Make sure Dale is still in Round Rock. Also, let's keep digging on Helen Miller." He kneeled down, getting Mardi's full attention. "I believe your theory, but we need proof."

Mardi rubbed her fingers on Lake's bare shoulder. "You have to admire what they are doing. Nicholas wrote the story. Felix is controlling the prisoners by giving them details on how to murder Helen Miller. Meanwhile, she's reading the book, using it as a warning."

Lake's blue eyes became distant. "Helen needs to gain worldwide attention, which will create sales for Nicholas's novel."

"Exactly. The bigger stink she makes, the more people who will become interested. The more people who become interested-"

"The more books Nicholas Shay will sell and the bigger deal he would will receive in the near future."

Mardi gave him a tired grin. "A deal that could be worth fifty, or even a hundred million dollars. Nicholas, Felix, and Helen then split that between them. And they don't have to worry about the escaped prisoners, because at that point, all of them would be dead."

"We need to keep this quiet," Lake said.

"No," Mardi protested. "We need to let the world know what's going on. We can't sit on this story!"

Lake stood up and kissed her on the forehead. "Trust me. This story will be told by us...not Nicholas Shay."

### 74

Nicholas was in the middle of shaving when the doorbell rang, followed by an urgent knock. He slid the razor down his skin with quick motions, irritated that whomever was at the front door had not given up.

On the last swipe down his cheek the blade took a piece of skin away. Nicholas froze with the razor in his fingers. He stared at the mirror as if time had momentarily stopped.

Thick blood appeared, followed by a stinging pain. Nicholas dropped the razor on the sink, grabbed the white hand towel and pressed it against the cut.

More knocking, followed by the doorbell.

Nicholas used one arm to put on his robe, then marched down the hallway, past his den, through the living room and jerked open the front door. "What!" he shouted.

There were two people. A woman dressed in a dark blue suit with a white shirt buttoned to the top. A man had on a windbreaker and jeans, carrying a manila envelope.

"Sorry to disturb you," the woman said.

Nicholas continued to hold the white hand towel against his cheek. "You better not be trying to sell me something."

The woman reached into her jacket and showed Nicholas her credentials. "I'm Special Agent Liz Benning of the F.B.I."

The man flipped open his ID. "I'm U.S. Marshal Kevin Valenti."

Nicholas's heart drummed against his chest. "What can I do for you?"

Liz shoved her credentials back into her suit pocket. "We just need to ask you a couple of questions."

Nicholas stepped back, waited for them to enter and shut the door. "Let me go change. I'll just be a minute."

"No need for that," Liz said.

Nicholas paused, eyes meeting with Liz. He understood this tactic. In fact, he had written about it several times with his F.B.I. and police characters. Liz wanted him to feel vulnerable. Nicholas was dressed in a robe and holding a blood-soaked towel on his face.

He was certainly vulnerable.

Kevin pointed to Nicholas's cheek. "What happened?"

"Cut myself shaving." Nicholas locked his eyes on Liz. "I'm going to get cleaned up. If you don't want to wait two minutes, then leave." He marched away, feeling the eyes on him.

While entering the bathroom he tore off his robe, slid a Band-Aid over the cut, then quickly dressed in black slacks, a hunter green golf shirt, black socks and Rockport dress shoes.

After a few quick breaths, he returned to the living room. Both Liz and Kevin were sitting on the couch. Neither of them stood when he arrived back. "What's this about?" Nicholas eased into a chair.

"Sorry to bother you," Kevin said. He opened the envelope and slid out three black and white glossy photos. "These pictures are from the security camera at a Target next to College Mall in Bloomington, Indiana."

Nicholas attempted to breathe through his nose. Beads of sweat moistened his back. "This is Miami, Florida. Why would I care about a mall in Bloomington, Indiana?"

Kevin spread the photos on the coffee table. "Do you recognize any of the people in these photographs?"

Nicholas lowered his eyes. The first photograph was of four men. Two of them wore ball caps. The other two were complete opposite in size.

The second photograph was of a blond hair man talking to one of the men in a ball cap. It was hard to see his face, but Nicholas was sure the blond hair man was Felix.

The third photograph was of the other ball cap man, along with the big guy and the little guy entering a restroom. And the fourth photograph was of the two guys in ball caps walking out of the Target with Felix.

Nicholas rolled his eyes up. "It's hard to see the faces in these pictures."

"Look again," Liz said. "We think the two men in ball caps are RJ and Morris Colby."

"I've read about them in the newspaper. What does that have to do with me?"

Kevin slid one of the photographs closer to Nicholas. "Do you recognize the man with blond hair?"

It seemed like minutes passed by as Nicholas stared at the photograph. The back of his shirt and under his armpits was completely soaked with sweat. "It kind of looks like my publicist, Felix Spencer. But that's impossible."

"Actually," Liz said, "You're correct. That is Felix Spencer."

Nicholas shook his head. "Why was he talking to one of the Colby brothers? And what was he doing in Bloomington?"

Liz cocked her head. "We were hoping you would be able to answer that question for us."

Nicholas stood, feigning a brave tone. "Obviously you're here because of the accusations from Helen Miller." A drop of blood from the razor cut slid from the Band-Aid, down his cheek and dripped onto his shirt. "Do you think Helen Miller is telling the truth? That I wrote about her and now trying to kill her using the escaped inmates!"

Liz stood up. "If we thought that you would be under arrest."

Kevin also stood. "We're trying to locate Felix Spencer. It appears that he can lead us to the Colby brothers."

Nicholas snapped his eyes on Kevin. "I don't believe that. Something is wrong about this whole situation."

Liz scooped up the photos and placed them back in the manila envelope, then handed them to Kevin. She took a moment before speaking. "If you had to guess, where do you think Felix is hiding?"

"I don't think he's hiding," Nicholas said with a sharp tone. "Did you try his place in Los Angeles?"

"Of course," Kevin said.

Liz reached into her pocket, slid out a business card and dropped it on the coffee table. "If Felix contacts you, please give me a call."

"I will," Nicholas said. He waited for them to leave, wondering if they would be monitoring his calls. Could they have gotten a judge to sign off on that so fast?

After pacing for several minutes Nicholas decided he would chance it. He grabbed his cell phone and called Felix. Thankfully, Felix answered on the first ring. "We have another fucking problem," Nicholas said. "I just had a visit from an F.B.I. agent and a U.S. Marshal."

"I have it under control," Felix said.

He hung up.

### 75

It was morning already. Helen's eyes burned with fatigue. She drank down several cups of the complimentary coffee that the hotel offered in the lobby. She had already packed her suitcase and checked out.

"Tough night," Lake asked. Mardi was standing next to him, glaring at Helen.

Helen gazed at them for a long moment. "Every night has been tough lately."

Lake pointed to the suitcase. "Are you leaving?"

"My house should be ready."

Mardi stepped forward. "What about us? Do you expect us to pay for a hotel during this entire story that may or may not pan out?"

Helen had just about enough of Mardi's attitude. "I'll give you money to cover your expenses for a month. On the other hand, it may be better if you both stay at my house." Helen cringed at the thought. She wouldn't mind Lake sleeping in the next room, but having Mardi around would drive her insane.

Lake grabbed Mardi by the arm and retreated backwards. "Sounds great. We'll see you this afternoon."

"Stay by your cell phone." Helen picked up her suitcase and marched out of the hotel.

The morning was damp with a harsh chill in the air. She threw the suitcase in the backseat of her red Mini Coop, slid into the driver's seat, fired up the engine, and peeled out of the parking lot. The road was slick, but Helen wasn't in the mood to be cautious. Mardi was pissing her off. Regardless, Helen needed to play nice so Lake would run her story on his show. If she had to go through the trouble of convincing another media outlet it would eat up too much time.

Her first stop was a Starbucks for more coffee. The octane was a necessity to keep her mind at least semi-alert. Her next stop was the police station to pick up her gun. She tossed the empty coffee cup in the garbage and approached the front desk.

"Can I help you?" the desk clerk asked. He was heavy, with sunken eyes, tiny glasses, and only a tuft of hair remaining on his dome.

"I'm here to pick up my gun."

"Property and Evidence is down the hall, third door on your left." He slid over a clipboard. "Sign in first."

Helen scribbled her name. The desk clerk buzzed the door and she went through.

She found the door labeled _Property and Evidence_ and went inside. There was a small desk with a uniformed female police officer that looked sixteen-years-old. "Can I help you?"

"My name is Helen Miller; I'm here to pick up my gun." She pulled out her wallet and showed her drivers license. "The gun is a Galena."

"Did you make an appointment?"

"An appointment for what?"

"To pick up your weapon."

Helen's skin heated with frustration. Was everyone in a pissy mood today? "Detective Perez told me I could come and get it."

"I'm sure Detective Perez told you that the weapon was available, but you need to make an appointment first."

"He just told me to stop by and pick it up," Helen snapped. She looked around the small room. There was a door labeled, _Evidence_. "It's not like you have a line of people down the hallway. Can't you please just get the damn thing so I can go?"

"Please clam yourself, ma'am."

Helen forced herself to take a breath. "Can you please make an exception?"

After a moment of consideration, the officer rolled her chair over to a file cabinet, opened it, and retrieved a manila folder. She then rolled back to the desk, opened the folder, and handed her a form that was pre-printed with Helen's information. "Sign this."

Helen snagged a pen from the officer's desk and scribbled her name. "Thank you."

"Wait here," the officer said, standing up. Helen was surprised the woman didn't just roll her chair into the next room in order to prevent the effort of walking. Five minutes later she returned with a two large paper envelopes. "Here you go. One is your weapon. The other is the ammunition. Do not open these inside the building."

Without saying a word Helen snatched the envelopes and left the police station. It won't be long before chapter ten of _Murder System_ will come to fruition.

She needed to rest.

### 76

"I informed Helen that we're moving onto chapter ten," Felix said on the secured cell phone.

Nicholas didn't respond right away. "I can't even begin to tell you how much that pisses me off. We're already losing media attention."

"We'll get it back tonight. I'll send Morris."

"How come the police haven't released Dale Colby's and your brother's name to the press? Why are they keeping it a secret?"

"Probably because they don't want to have a full blown panic in Bloomington."

"Be that as it may, the Fed's must be convinced by now that the Colby brothers are in Bloomington."

"I am taking care of that this afternoon."

"How?" Nicholas snapped. "If chapter ten doesn't go as planned, we're fucked."

"Calm down."

"Bullshit. You're going to get paid a lot of money for this job."

Felix squeezed the phone, attempting to remain calm. He hated working with creative people. Authors were even worse. Their imagination always got the best of them and paranoia would take over. "The key thing you just said is that I am _going to get paid_. Until this happens I have a lot of time and risk put into this; more than you."

Once again Nicholas took a moment to respond. "How are RJ and Morris holding up in that house? Are they still going along with the plan?"

"Yes. Although, I should not have let them convince me to use Dale for chapter nine. They won't get the better of me again, I can promise you that."

"Just as long as chapter ten works and the media attention is focused on my book."

"Helen can't use PBS anymore, so she brought in Lake Ontario Waters."

"Who the fuck is that?"

"An up and coming talk show host. I'm confident he'll be able to give this story a spark."

"The story will sell itself as long as we do not deviate from the plan. And also, you need to clear things up with the Fed's."

"How many times do I have to tell you...I'm taking care of it!"

Nicholas sighed. "Okay, so tonight Morris is coming after Helen?"

Felix smiled. "Yes. The fireplace chapter is one of my favorites. Should be interesting."

### 77

When Helen saw the black Ford F-50 parked in front of her house it was like seeing a ghost. Kipp, who pretended to be Rex Timmons, was dead. She still had flashbacks of Felix murdering him. And now the exact same truck that Kipp had been driving was now parked in front of her house.

As Helen drove closer she saw a bumper sticker on the truck that said, "Cattle Farmers Don't Bullsh** Around." A large man was knocking on her front door. He turned around when she pulled up.

Helen swallowed, trying to dispel the fearful notion that chapter ten had already started. As she climbed out of the car and walked up the steps, she was relieved that the man standing on her porch was not one of the Colby brothers.

"Hello, ma'am," he said with a kind voice. He wore a brown cowboy hat with a hint of gray hair sticking from the sides. His skin had been whittled by many days in the elements; eyes narrow and distant. "My name is Kipp Timmons."

"Kipp?" she asked, shaking his hand.

He smiled. "Well, that's my nickname. It certainly sounds better than Kippy, which is the name my parents gave me."

Helen just realized this man was Rex Timmons father. Her heart thumped so hard, it was as if someone repeatedly punched her in the chest. "What can I do for you?" she managed to say.

"Well ma'am, I own the cattle farm business on the north end of your property. I hadn't heard from my son, so I flew in to check on him. To my disappointment, everything was shut down and all my cattle are gone. Has my son spoken to you since you moved in?"

Helen was forced to lie. "No."

Kipp pulled off his hand and scratched the top of his forehead. "He wouldn't have just picked up and left without calling." Kipp returned the hat to his head. "I can't even get a hold of any of his crew."

This didn't alleviate Helen's tension. Every muscle responded by squeezing together with panic. Rex, formally known as Kipp, killed the real Rex Timmons and had gotten rid of his entire crew, then brought in new guys. That was the safest approach with the least amount of risk. There was a good possibility that the new cattle employees worked for Felix. If not, then they were all dead as well. She envisioned bodies buried all over the property.

Helen cleared her throat. "Do you want to come in for a moment? I can put on a pot of coffee." Helen was praying that he would decline.

"No ma'am. I wouldn't be good company right now." Kipp stepped past her, staring off into the distance. "Where the hell is he?" he asked himself.

The last thing Helen wanted was Kipp to call the police and have Rex's disappearance investigated. This could lead to more problems with police forensics combing over every inch of the ranch house. They would find traces of two murders...at least.

"I'm sorry Mr. Timmons. I haven't been completely truthful to you."

Kipp turned, eyes right with Helen. "What does that mean?"

"I met Rex. In fact, I was at his house."

Kipp towered over her. "Explain yourself young lady."

Helen's mind didn't seem to work. She needed something to tell this guy so he would just leave. "Rex said he was having trouble coming up with the money for the lease. He wanted to work out a deal."

"That's impossible," Kipp replied. His weathered skin darkened to a deep maroon. "The business was doing just fine."

"He told me that he was sorry and would be leaving. I think he met some other woman and-"

"Hold it right there." Kipp's eyes pierced into her body. "My son was a homosexual. I didn't approve, which is why I sent him across the country to work away from me." Kipp leaned forward. "Despite my feelings about his choices in life, I still love my son. And further more, Rex is a dedicated cattle farmer. It's all he wanted to do. Even as a young boy Rex woke up on his own to help me." Kipp stood tall. "What nine-year-old boy do you know that would wake up every morning at four o'clock and help his father with chores around the farm?"

"You seem upset, but I assure you that-"

"Bullshit." He turned and marched down the stairs. "I'm calling the police."

"Wait!" Helen shouted, then ran after him. "I do have something that might help." She raced to her car, opened the door, and leaned inside. She ripped open both envelopes and frantically put one bullet into the chamber. Helen turned, seeing that Kipp was standing right behind her. Without aiming, she raised the gun and fired.

Kipp's impulse was to put his hand up. The bullet took a chunk out of his wrist, splashing blood over his face. He fell to one knee, shouting for help, squeezing the wrist with his hand.

Helen turned and reached into the envelope. There was one bullet remaining. She loaded the small pistol and turned. Kipp had made it to his feet and running to his truck. As Helen chased after him, Kipp stumbled and fell hard to the ground while still holding onto his wrist.

Kipp rolled over on his back, eyes like glass. "Please don't shoot me," he begged.

Helen didn't want to kill this man, but she had little choice. With only one bullet, she had to make sure this counted. "Who else knows you're here?"

Kipp dug his boots into the mud and slid back. Blood seeped through his fingers as he continued to clutch his wrist. "My ranch manager knows I'm here! He'll call the police if I'm missing!"

"What does your ranch manager think you're doing here?"

Kipp's hat fell off, as he attempted to shuffle away from Helen on his back. The specks of blood on his face were now mixed with sweat. "He knows that I'm checking on my son to see what's going on."

"What's your ranch manager's name?"

"Perry Caulfield."

"Where is he?"

Kipp looked around, probably hoping that someone would arrive and save him. The iron clouds opened up, sending a downpour of rain. "He's at my ranch in Utah, taking care of things while I'm gone. He'll wonder where I am! He'll call the police! Please, don't kill me!"

Helen stepped forward and kept the gun steady. "Calm down. Does anyone else know you're here?"

Kipp shook his head. "Perry is the only one."

"What about your wife?"

"We're divorced. She's remarried and lives in Wyoming."

The rain fell with large, pelting drops. "I'm sorry about this Kipp," she said in a kind voice. She then used both hands to aim.

Kipp shook his head. "Oh please God, help me!"

Helen squeezed the trigger.

She had been aiming at Kipp's head, but the bullet hit him on the upper part of his nose. Thick chunks of blood, skin, and bone, slid down his face. He rolled over, groaning like a sick animal.

Kipp was still alive and she didn't have any more bullets.

Helen turned and went back to her car. She reached for the secure cell phone and called Felix.

"What do you want?" Felix asked.

"I need your help." The hard rain fell, mixing with Helen's tears. "I had to kill someone at my house."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I need you here!" she screamed.

Felix sighed. "I'm not in Bloomington. I'll have to send someone."

"Hurry!"

Felix hung up.

### 78

The rain stopped. Kipp finally died.

A few minutes later someone came jogging up the driveway. He was short, shaved head, body like a rock, wearing a red sweatshirt and gray sweatpants.

"Who are you?" she asked. Helen didn't want this person to come any closer and see the dead body.

"I'm Eddie," he responded without breaking stride and not a hint of being winded. "I work for Felix."

Helen was actually taller than this guy. "You're the one Felix sent to help? Where's your car? How did you get here?"

"I was dropped off," he said, pushing past her. "I was told we have a time sensitive problem."

Helen couldn't fathom how this short little runt was going to save the day. "There are two people coming here that work in the media. If they show up, I'm screwed. So are Nicholas and Felix."

Eddie glared at her. "Well then, we should stop talking about the problem and actually _solve_ the problem. Do you agree?" Helen only responded by shaking her head. Eddie looked around the front yard. "I assume that truck belongs to the dead guy lying in the mud." Eddie leaned down and examined the bloody corpse. "You shot him in the wrist and the bridge of his nose. Was your goal to make the poor bastard suffer?"

"No!" she responded defensively. "I was just shooting!"

"Calm down. Your voice is squeaking through my skull. Eddie grabbed the cowboy hat, then scooped up the body with surprising ease. He headed toward the back of the house, carrying the corpse like a child. "Get a hose," he shouted.

"I don't have a hose."

"Then start filling buckets of water and bring them-" Eddie was now behind the house and his voice faded away.

Helen figured that he wanted her to bring back water to cover up the blood on the ground. She rushed to the house, located two large pots, then began filling them up with water. She used her butt to open the front door and saw that Eddie was waiting for her. She hurried down the steps and Eddie took the pots away from her.

She was confused. "Isn't that for the-"

"No, it's for me to clean myself up with."

"What are you doing in my backyard? Burying him?

Eddie carried both pots and snickered. "It's probably best if I don't tell you what I'm doing back there."

Helen's stomach turned. "What should I do now?"

Once again Eddie was almost out of site as he headed around the house. "Find his keys. They weren't in his pockets."

Helen thought the only other place Kipp would leave his keys were inside the truck. She hurried to it and opened the door. After searching on and under the seat, in the ashtray, on both visors, she couldn't locate them. She looked all around the truck again, in the bed of the truck, and even searched the four tires.Nothing.

Startled by a jingling sound, Helen spun around. Eddie was now wearing gloves and holding the keys in his fingers.

"Where did you find them?" she asked.

"In the mud where you shot him." Eddie took a moment to examine the area. "This sure is a tranquil piece of property. You couldn't ask for a better location."

Helen followed his eyes, then looked back at him. "Excuse me?"

"It's peaceful here. You can't see the road. The city is far away enough so it's always quiet. Not many places in the world have this kind of unruffled harmony."

Helen narrowed her eyes. "Okay...we are in sort of a hurry, so-"

Eddie glared at her. "Are you actually telling me how to do my job?"

She raised her hands defensively. "No, I just..." She cowered under his relentless gaze. "What now?"

"Do you have any salt?" he asked.

"Sure, in the kitchen."

"How much?"

"A half of container, I think."

Eddie once again became lost in the surroundings, eyes wandering. "It just seems like you wouldn't have a care in the world living in a place like this."

Helen was afraid to speak. "Should I get the salt?"

"Yes."

She ran to the house, went inside the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and retrieved the container that had the little girl holding an umbrella. She then returned to Eddie who was in the same exact spot gazing at the swaying trees. "Here you go." She handed him the salt. "What's that for?"

"It sucks all the water from his body. If he isn't wet, then bacteria will increase and decompose him quicker."

"Where is he?"

"In the woods. His body parts, including the bones, will be gone soon enough." Eddie walked away carrying the salt.

Helen remained standing, waiting for him to return which was about ten minutes later carrying the two empty pots. He placed them on the porch. His jogging outfit was soaked to his skin. Eddie smiled at Helen. "The body parts are high enough that no one should find him."

"High?" she asked. "What does that mean?"

Eddie walked around the bloody mud pile and headed toward the truck. "He's dangling in a tree like a bloody set of ornaments." Eddie turned and glanced back at her. "Like I said, you don't want to know." Eddie climbed in the truck, fired up the engine, and spun the truck around. He positioned the rear wheels over the bloody mud and hit the gas, spraying mud in every direction and creating two large tire tracks. He pulled up next to Helen and rolled down the window. "Okay, what else?"

Helen shook her head. "What do you mean?"

"What else should I know about this predicament you have gotten yourself into?"

"Oh." Her faced turned a bright pink. "Kipp's cattle ranch manager, Perry Caulfield, knows that Kipp is here looking for his son."

"Who's Kipp?"

"The fucking guy you just decorated my tree with!"

"Oh." Eddie chuckled. "And where can I find this Perry Caulfield guy?"

"He's at some cattle ranch in Utah."

Eddie rolled up the window and peeled down the driveway. Just seconds after he disappeared, another car pulled up.

It was Lake and Mardi.

### 79

Felix cut off the engine of the Escalade and said to RJ, "Walk into that Hess station and buy a six-pack of Bud. Make sure the clerk gets a good look at you."

RJ didn't like being separated from his brother. Morris was still in Bloomington, getting ready to be transported to Helen's house. As for RJ, he had to drive with Felix to Chicago so that the Fed's would think that they had left Indiana and heading somewhere else like New York.

By now, the police in Bloomington certainly had an ID on his little brother Dale. Also, the police would have examined the video inside the Target. Even though RJ and Morris were careful to cover their faces and not leave fingerprints, there was more than a reasonable doubt that the "Colby Brothers" got their revenge on their snake of a brother.

"Why are you still sitting here?" Felix asked. "Get inside there!"

"Are setting me up?" RJ asked.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

RJ shifted in his seat, locking eyes with Felix. "If I go into that Hess station, there's more than a good chance that someone will recognize me. What if a cop is just a few seconds away?"

"We need the Fed's thinking you and Morris are no longer in Bloomington so they won't be watching Helen Miller's house. In order for Morris to have the best chance in killing Helen, we need to be dealing with the local cops only."

RJ never blinked. "If Morris does succeed in killing Helen, which he will, are you really going to let us go with the money you promised?"

Felix looked forward, gripping the steering wheel. This pissed RJ off. It meant that whatever Felix was about say could be a lie.

"Since those other convict idiots failed, all their money will be yours. That is $1.5 million. It should be enough for you and Morris to disappear and live the rest of your days screwing tan women, eating steak, and drinking the finest Budweiser." Felix rolled his eyes toward RJ. "For that to happen, you need to get your ass in that Hess station and your brother needs to murder Helen Miller. At that point I will get you and Morris out of Indiana."

"We don't want your help leaving Indiana. After my brother finishes the job, he will meet me at the house. Then we'll run on our own."

Felix grinned. "You seem pretty confident that Morris is going to succeed. The others before him failed."

RJ opened the door. "Morris knows how to kill. He'll get it done." RJ slid out of the Escalade and walked toward the front door of the Hess station.

There was a camera just above, catching him walking inside. Six people were in line, three others still wandered around the store. RJ took his time, heading toward the beer coolers. He saw at least one more camera that probably scanned the entire store.

He opened the cooler, gripping the handle firmly. This was to make sure his fingerprints were on the door. When the police or Fed's investigate, they will want to make one hundred percent sure that "RJ Colby" was here in Chicago.

RJ snagged a six-pack of Budweiser and strolled to the front of the store. By the time he arrived, there were only two people in line. His eyes moved, catching the attention of someone who just walked in. It was a skinny punk not wearing a shirt, hair greasy from his day, jeans soiled with filth. The guy made eye contact with RJ, held it for a moment, then headed to the beer cooler.

"Can I help you?" the female cashier asked. She was young, maybe nineteen or twenty. Her lips were full. Innocent. Eyes stern, yet inviting. His cock began to swell, wanting to throw this young bitch on the counter and fuck her in front of the entire store. That should be enough to catch everyone's attention and give the Fed's a nice show to look at later on the video surveillance.

RJ slid the six-pack on the counter and dropped a twenty. "I'll need this and your phone number," he said. RJ noticed her hand tremble as she lifted the twenty-dollar bill. Either she was nervous about the comment, or she realized that there was a death row fugitive standing two feet in front of her.

"I don't think so," she responded, placing the twenty in the cash register.

As she handed him the change, RJ snatched her by the wrist. Her skin was smooth, with a hint of lotion. He liked that a young woman with a crappy job took the time to look her best.

"I'm going to fuck you...right here in front of everyone."

The greasy-no-shirt-guy had valiantly come to the woman's aid. "Let go of her!"

RJ leaned over, pulling the girl close to him. He tenderly kissed her on the lips, letting his tongue slide briefly inside. His cock seemed as if it was about to burst through his jeans. The girl didn't resist, most likely out of fear, although her mouth did not move.

By now at least five more people had entered the store, all watching.

RJ let go, dropping the change on the counter. "I don't want the money," he said.

"I know you!" the grease ball shouted with a hick accent. "You're the prisoner everyone is looking for! RJ...something."

As RJ turned and faced the idiot, he grabbed one of the bottles of Budweiser, gripping it by the neck. "Colby," he said. "My name is RJ Colby."

The grease ball placed his twelve-pack on the counter and slid a cell phone from his pocket. "Don't go anywhere."

RJ chuckled. Did this asshole really think he was going to call the police and apprehend a crafted killer?

The cashier yelled at the idiot, "Just let him walk out of here before-"

RJ swung the beer bottle at the grease ball's head, connecting on the temple. The bottle didn't break. It sounded like a piece of metal scrapping on the pavement.

Customers ran out of the store while others hid behind an isle. The grease ball fell to his knees, blood pouring from his temple. His eyes wide, distant, and pupils disappearing. RJ swung again, connecting in the same spot and sending the idiot to the floor.

This time the bottle shattered as bits of glass stuck inside the grease ball's face.

With everyone now screaming, RJ looked at the cashier, blew her a kiss, and ran out the door.

Felix had already started the engine and had the passenger door open. RJ jumped in as Felix hit the gas.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Felix shouted. He pressed the gas peddle down to the floor, increasing the speed of the Escalade to a hundred miles per hour. "You better pray that I can get us out of here without being caught. I'll fucking shoot you before the police arrest me."

RJ grinned, while gazing out the tinted windows. All he could think about was the fresh lips of that cashier.

### 80

It was early afternoon when Lake and Mardi had arrived. Lake assumed Helen must have just come home, because she was standing in the muddy driveway staring right at them.

"What's her problem?" Mardi asked.

Lake shoved the gearshift into park and cut the engine. "I don't know, but she looks a little freaked."

"What's up with the mud pile in the driveway? Was she doing donuts?"

Lake's eyes moved from Helen, to the driveway, her red Mini Coupe, and to the house. "There's no mud on the back of her car." He looked at Mardi. "Let's just stick to the plan."

Mardi opened the door. "I know what I'm doing. I don't need to be reminded like some child."

"Okay then..." Lake climbed out, popped the trunk so they could grab their camera equipment, media equipment, and their suitcases. As he lugged everything to the front door he said to Helen, "Looks like someone had a good time in your driveway."

Helen seemed to force a smile. "I just came home and saw it. Must have been a bored teenager taking a joy ride in daddy's truck." She drew in a deep breath as the rain began to pick up again. "You better hurry inside."

Lake and Mardi put everything in the spare bedroom. Meanwhile, Helen fried up hamburgers and heated a can of baked beans. She also washed two large pots, vigorously scrubbing them and using most of the dish soap.

By the time they finished eating their meal it was late in the afternoon.

Mardi squinted, rubbing the corners of her eyes. "I've got a massive headache," she groaned. "I'm going to take a nap." This was all planned by her and Lake. She slid up from the chair and with weak steps, made it to the spare bedroom and shut the door behind her.

Lake helped Helen clean up. "She hadn't slept much last night," he said, scraping off the plates.

"I know that feeling," Helen replied.

After the dishes were cleaned and the table wiped down, Lake pointed to a clock in the living room. "Is that a Spy Digital Alarm Clock?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

Lake remembered seeing the video of Helen being attacked. It was all over the Internet. He knew all about the hidden cameras in her house. There was another one in her bedroom. "In my line of work, you learn all the tricks. Is the motion sensor activated?"

"Not at the moment," she said. Her voice faded almost to a whisper. "I turn the recorders on at night."

Lake clasped his hands. "Well, I went over chapter nine and ten of _Murder_ _System_ again. It seems that chapter nine won't happen since you're here in blustery Indiana."

"I agree."

"So, we should focus on chapter ten." Lake eyed the fireplace. "According to the book, the killer will..." He paused, looking at Helen. "Well, you know what happens."

"I need more media attention on this story. What are you going to do about that?"

Lake sensed the frustration in Helen's voice. It was obvious that Nicholas Shay, along with Felix Spencer, were irritated that things weren't going exactly as planned. Mardi had done a search on _Murder System_. It made Amazon's top ten, but that was it. The novel was losing momentum already. "My show air's tomorrow. We need to decide on an angle."

"What do you mean?"

"I need to hook the audience so everyone starts paying attention to what's happening here again. Some people probably believed that Nicholas Shay was actually trying to murder you, but most everyone has lost interest. We need to find a way to keep people glued to this story."

Helen rubbed the back of her neck. "No one believes me. How many more attempts have to be made on my life, acted out the same way it's written in Nick's book, before people understand what he's doing?"

"Perfect!" Lake said. "You need to say that on my show tomorrow."

She didn't appear to be satisfied. "We'll need more than that."

"I agree. How about you take me to the bookstore where Nicholas Shay did his signing. I'll bring my camera and get some footage."

"Nick also saw me in the Uptown Café."

"Great. Maybe we can stop there for some coffee, make our plans, and I'll get some extra footage of the restaurant."

"That's fine," Helen said, looking at the spare bedroom door. "What about Mardi. She needs to come with us, right."

"Let her sleep. She'll just be cranky the whole time."

Helen's eyes went back to Lake. "Leave her here?"

"Sure, why not?"

After a few moments of deliberation, Helen grabbed her keys. "Come on. I'll drive."

### 81

The door slammed. A minute later there was a sound of car doors, an engine starting, and a car pulling away.

Mardi flipped the covers off. She had changed into her big T-shirt and pretended to be sleeping. She actually dozed off for a moment, still exhausted from her long night.

Mardi opened the door, examining the house. It was cold and the temperature seemed to drop by the second. In front of her was a door that had recently been replaced. Same with the window to her right.

She stepped into the living room and headed toward the Spy Clock Camera. Lake had warned her to check it before doing anything. She walked behind it and saw the motion sensor with a green indicator. Mardi flicked it off and headed toward Helen's bedroom. Crouching down to the floor, Mardi stayed low, not wanting the sensor to be activated.

The clock was pointing toward the door, just as she expected. But it was on a nightstand, so the camera would only catch someone walking in. Mardi crawled to the alarm clock. Her oversized T-shirt rose up high. Mardi didn't have on underwear, so the wood floor was a bit uncomfortable against her skin. With careful precision, she reached around the clock, felt for the switch, then clicked it off.

"Hopefully, that's all of them," she said to herself.

Mardi stood up and began opening the dresser drawers. There wasn't a closet, so the choices were limited on where Helen would keep her personal papers.

After a quick search through underwear, socks, and an assortment of shorts, jeans, T-shirts, and sweaters, Mardi didn't find anything. Next, she looked in the nightstand.

A box of ammunition.

Mardi figured that Helen had already picked her gun up at the police station, but she must still have it on her. Mardi closed the drawer, becoming frustrated. It was possible that Helen kept all her important papers at the bank in a safety deposit box.

Something caught Mardi's attention outside. The late afternoon sun was beginning to fade, but she could see hundreds of birds, all different sizes. They were clustered in one area of the woods.

Mardi moved to the window, seeing buzzards, crows, along with other random birds. They must have located something high up in one of the trees, which would be an odd place for an animal to die. Perhaps an extra large nest of baby birds? This property was farmland in Bloomington, so anything was possible.

Not giving up and certainly not wanting to disappoint Lake, Mardi searched the rest of the house; every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen, and under the sink.

No sign of the loan papers, banking statements, or anything with Helen's personal information.

The living room had a table with a copy of _Murder System_ next to a lamp. Just to make sure Helen didn't make notes in the book, Mardi picked it up and flipped through the pages.

Nothing but a crappy story.

Next to the spare bedroom was a door. It was the only place left in the house to search. Mardi took a quick look out the front window, making sure that Lake and Helen did not come back. Downtown Bloomington was only fifteen minutes away, so there was a chance that Helen changed her mind and wanted to return home.

Satisfied that she still had time, Mardi hurried across the house to the rear door. She peeked out the window and saw that the flock of birds had doubled in size, clustered around the same area.

Mardi opened the door, feeling a rush of cold air and hearing a high-pitched whistle. Wooden stairs led downward into the darkness. Unfortunately, there wasn't a light switch. Mardi remembered seeing a flashlight in one of the kitchen drawers. Becoming flustered, she raced back to the kitchen, grabbed the flashlight, took a quick glance out the front window, and ran back to the stairs.

With flashlight in hand, she went down. Her bare feet were calloused since she grew up not wearing shoes. Like everyone else in the hippy compound, clothes and footwear were optional and walking barefoot on dirt and rocks was a way of life.

At the bottom of the stairs was a dirt floor. The room unpleasantly cold. The annoying whistle from a pipe went from soft, to loud, and back to soft again. Mardi realized the pipe ran outside.

She moved the flashlight around the room. There didn't seem to be anything down here.

Before going back upstairs, she did one more check. Tucked in the far corner was a steel box with a lid. Mardi opened the lid and just about leaped with exhilaration when she discovered several brown folders. She grabbed the folder that was labeled _House_. Sure enough the loan papers were inside. Helen Miller's social security number was 361-27-8091. She returned the folder to its proper place.

"361-27-8091," she repeated to herself several times.

As Mardi lowered the lid of the steel box, she heard the floor squeak above. Someone was in the house.

### 82

Morris Colby had been dropped off on Tarkington Road near the deserted cattle ranch. He was told that this would be the safest way to enter Helen Miller's property. If someone were watching the house, they would have to do it on Rockport Road, parked by the driveway.

The air had turned even colder as the sun dropped from the sky. Morris was told that if he timed it out right, he would have enough light to make it across the property to Helen Miller's house. Once the job was over, he would escape the same way he came in, through the darkness and meet the driver back on Tarkington.

As Morris jogged across the pasture and forest, he saw at least two ponds. The air was harsh on his lungs. He hadn't spent much time outside in the last five years. In some ways, he missed being locked up. Everything seemed more consistent. Breakfast, lunch, recreation, and dinner were the same time each day. Morris showered on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. He knew every correction officers first and last name, what shift they had, and even their birthdays.

Routine.

That made it easier when RJ planned the escape. They probably wouldn't have made it without Felix's help, although, it was still possible. RJ and Morris had the entire prison wired. Which meant, guards were paid off, prisoners with influence could be used when needed, and outside assistance was available. RJ and Morris had benefited several gangs by earning them thousands of dollars a month. In fact, the Colby brothers were more successful inside prison than outside, because they had direct connections.

Being on death row didn't matter or slow them down. It was just different scenery.

Morris had to stop several times to catch his breath. As he approached a clearing, he saw the small house. Above him were hundreds of birds, mostly buzzards and crows. They were feasting on something high up in the tree. Morris despised buzzards, because it was easy to take what was left from a dead person.

He was more impressed by the one who actually did the killing.

Like a mirage, it took another twenty minutes before Morris made it to the house. He caught his breath and made his way to the front porch. A blue Saturn was parked in the muddy driveway. It meant that someone was home. And since Helen Miller lived alone...

Morris walked with careful precision to the door. He looked in the window, but didn't see anyone. Also, he noticed that the fireplace wasn't lit. Helen Miller was not lying on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, sleeping. According to the notes in the file he was given, she was supposed be there. He would put on the thick gloves that were provided, enter the home, hidden by the darkness. Morris would whisper her name. At some point, Helen would wake up and try to find him. In a panic, she would throw the blanket in the fire to create more light. Morris would drag Helen to the fireplace and shove her into the flames.

Of course, Morris had no intention of following the plan.

He waited by the door. _Perhaps he was early?_ It would be another twenty minutes before it was dark enough.

Morris smiled. This actually worked out for him. Helen was probably in her room, waiting until nightfall. Once it was dark, she would make her way to the fireplace. The killer would enter, but Helen would be ready. She may still throw the blanket into the fire. Heck, she may even let him grab her. But something will change. She will have a weapon of some sort and use that to kill Morris. Afterward, she will notify both the police and media. The plot in Nicholas Shay's book will come to fruition. Sales would rise.

_Things won't be so easy for Helen Miller this time_ , Morris thought.

He tried the door, pleased that it opened. Over the years, Morris had mastered entering a home undetected. RJ was the same. They were ghosts.

The bedroom was in his sights. He waited for a moment to see if Helen appeared from a doorway. Masterfully, he made his way to the kitchen. Felix didn't permit Morris to bring a gun or even a knife. The only way Morris was supposed to murder Helen was using the fireplace.

Morris looked through the drawers. Since there were only butter knives, he decided to use a fork instead. In the past, he killed people with screwdrivers, baseball bats, scissors, and even choked a victim with a Yo-Yo.

With a little imagination, just about anything can be used to murder a human.

Still no sign of Helen Miller, he walked through the living room. There were three open doors. On his left was a large bedroom. No one was inside and the bed was made. He did a quick lap around the room and glanced out the window. The property was shaded by the lowering sun. He noticed the massive flock of birds. "What the hell are they doing?" he whispered.

He made his way back to the living room, noticing the book _Murder System_ on a small table next to a lamp. He picked it up, browsed the pages, eyes scanning over the words. He slammed the book shut and placed it down on the table. "What a shitting story." RJ had forced him to read books in prison, claiming it would keep their minds from going insane. Morris became so talented with his reading that he could tell by just a page or two if the author was entertaining.

Nicholas Shay was a hack.

In a short hallway that ended at a window, which viewed the rear portion of the property, there were two open doors. One door led to a spare bedroom. There were suitcases and camera equipment on the floor. The bed a mess with a blanket tossed to the side. He walked in, placing his cheek on the pillow.

It was warm.

Morris hurried out of the room to the next open door. A set of stairs led downward.

### 83

Mardi had clicked off the flashlight. In the darkness of the cold cellar, she heard the floor creak above several times. Only one set of footsteps, not two.

Kitchen area.

Living room.

Then to the Helen's bedroom.

Back to the living room. Whoever it was spent quite a bit of time there.

"Police?" Mardi wondered. Someone continued searching the house. What were they looking for? Was Mardi the only one trying to fine Helen Miller's social security number?

The footsteps light, careful, and precise. Possibly it was a thief? But with a car in the driveway? Who would have the guts to come inside?

Mardi eased toward the stairs, masked in the darkness. The door above was open. She saw the figure enter the spare bedroom. If it were indeed a thief, she would risk going upstairs because the camera equipment was invaluable.

Plus, she stashed a large bag of weed in her suitcase. She would kill the motherfucker before letting him steal her only stress reliever.

A few seconds later the intruder was at the top of the stairs. Mardi didn't move, staring at the short man with wavy brown hair and scar below his right eye. Just as he was about to take a step down a car door slammed from outside.

Lake and Helen were back.

Mardi remained still, gazing at the intruder. Her muscles gripped, recognizing the intruder.

Morris Colby.

Mardi could hear Lake and Helen on the front porch steps. Morris opened the window next to him and slipped out, shutting it behind him. He was quiet with skilled movements.

Mardi hurried up the stairs, closed the cellar door, then raced into the spare bedroom and closed that door as well.

Lake and Helen's voices muffled as they entered the house. Mardi dove into the bed and pulled the blanket over her.

The bedroom door opened.

She feigned sleeping just in case it was Helen.

A large hand touched her head. "Jesus, you're sweating," Lake said. "I was going to start a fire because it's getting cold in the house. Are you okay?"

Mardi spun over and opened her eyes. She kept her voice low. "I got the social, but the motion detectors were on. I had to shut them off."

Lake sat on the bed, speaking softly. "Why didn't you turn them back on?"

"Morris Colby just escaped through the rear window a few seconds ago. I was trapped in the cellar."

"Morris Colby?"

"Yes. He was looking for something in the house. When you two came back, he escaped through the window."

Lake pulled in a deep breath, letting the air seep from his mouth. "He's most likely waiting for her to come home and start the fireplace. Then, he can attempt to murder Helen just like it was written in chapter ten."

Mardi touched Lake on the arm with her trembling hand. "Then he's probably right outside."

"Yeah, probably." Lake held her hand. "I need to get those motion sensors back on the alarm clock before-"

"What the fuck is going on?" Helen was in the doorway. "Who shut off the motion sensors on my Spy Clocks?"

Lake stood up. "I thought you said they weren't activated?"

"I lied," Helen snapped. She pointed at Mardi. "What the fuck were you doing?"

### 84

Lake had to think of something quick. He decided to blurt out the truth.

At least, part of the truth.

"Morris Colby was just here," he said. "In fact, Morris is still on the property."

Helen's gaze softened as the blood drained from her face. "Chapter ten," she whispered. "He's here already."

"Mardi saw him come inside. She hid under the bed while he went through the house. When Morris heard the car door slam, he escaped out the rear window."

Mardi joined in Lake's tale. "Morris was in the house for about five or ten minutes. He probably shut off the motion sensors on the Spy Clocks so you wouldn't know he was here."

Helen placed both hands over her face, holding back the tears. "We need to get a fire going."

Mardi sprung from the bed. "What? You are going to play right into his hands!"

Helen let out a shaky breath. "It's the only way he'll return. I need to be asleep by the fire. He'll whisper my name; I'll wake, throw the blanket into the fire, and fight off his attack."

Lake pointed to the camera equipment. "We need to get set up and catch the whole thing on video. Morris is aware of the Spy Clocks, so we'll have to do this ourselves."

Mardi slipped on a pair of jeans she had been wearing earlier, not bothering with the underwear. "I'm sure Morris knows that Helen isn't alone in the house. Won't he be prepared?"

"It's a chance we'll have to take," Lake said. He touched Helen's shoulder. "Once you lure him in, how are you going to defend yourself?"

"My gun...I suppose."

Lake shook his head. "No good. If Morris has read the newspapers or seen your story on TV, he knows you have a gun."

"What do you suggest?"

Lake's eyes bounced from both women. He had regained control of the situation, but he needed to keep Helen and Mardi safe. Morris Colby was a ruthless killer. If Mardi's original theory was correct, Morris would follow through the plan to make sure Helen's face was shoved in the fire. If Morris failed, he would end up dead or back on death row.

The room had darkened in the short time they were talking. Lake flicked on a lamp and locked his eyes on Helen. "You need to bring in some wood and get the fireplace started. When you're done get setup, just like it's described in chapter ten of _Murder System_." Lake turned to Mardi. "There's a clear shot from Helen's bedroom. With the house dark, you might be able to hide and film everything from there." He looked at Helen again. "Let everything play out just like it's supposed to be. Morris will come looking for us next. I'll be hiding in here. After he grabs you, I'll run to the living room and point your gun at him."

Helen shook her head. "What if Morris doesn't give up?"

"Then I'll shoot him," Lake responded. "We either send him to death row or send him to his death. It will be up to Morris."

Helen seemed satisfied. "And all this will go on your program so we can expose Nick Shay?"

"Yes."

"Very well." She left the bedroom.

Mardi whispered, "How much longer do we need to pretend that we don't know what the hell is really going on? I can't wait to see the look on her face when we inform the princess we know everything she's doing with Nicholas Shay."

Lake grabbed Mardi by both arms, staring intently. "We aren't going to say anything. You understand?" Mardi shook her head, agreeing. Lake released his grip. "So you found Helen's social security number?"

"361-27-8091."

Lake smiled. "Perfect. Let's get through tonight. Then before our show airs tomorrow, find out what you can about Helen."

### 85

A massive trailer used as an office rested near the dirt road that led to the cattle farm. All the workers finished up about an hour ago. The killer knocked on the trailer door and walked inside.

"Hello," the man said from behind his desk.

"Are you Paul Caulfield?" the killer asked.

"Yes. Can I help-" The killer raised his gun with his gloved hand. Paul's skin turned the same white as his hair. "What did I do?" Paul screamed, tears draining from his eyes.

The killer shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea." He fired two shots into Paul's chest. The body slid off the chair to the floor. The killer walked up to Caulfield, firing another two shots; both into the skull.

"Utah isn't so bad," the killer said, dropping the gun on Caulfield's bloody corpse.

He hurried out of the office.

### 86

The farmhouse was completely covered in darkness. The outside area became so black that Morris couldn't see ten feet in front of him.

From the north a rancid odor hung in the cold winds. Morris recognized the smell, since he had plenty of experience.

It was a dead body.

He thought about the flock of birds around the tree. Maybe someone climbed up and hung them self? But why here?

As for Helen Miller, she must have hired a small media crew. Her plan was simplistic, yet critical for the success of Nicholas Shay's, _Murder System_. In a way, Morris thought the plan was brilliant. There aren't many ways to earn millions of dollars in any business. Nicholas, Helen, and Felix found a loophole in the society of authors. Despite the risk of freeing death row inmates, the publishing industry would pay anything for an author that was popular in the media.

On the other hand a shocking twist was about to be added to the story. Chapter eleven of _Murder System_ would not come to fruition, because the main character, Helen Miller, wouldn't be around.

Morris would have to deal with the large man that Helen came home with. Also, someone else was in the house when he was there. He could smell her fresh scent in the small hallway. Whoever it was, hid from him. The pillow had the sweet smell of marijuana. Morris had not checked under the bed, but he had been in enough houses to know if the helpless person was hiding. Also, if it were a man, then he would have attacked Morris right away.

Based on that thought process, the other person was a woman hiding in the cellar.

Morris also knew that Helen owned a gun. She probably wasn't a good shot from medium range, but it just takes one bullet to end someone's life, no matter how poor their aim might be.

Morris was armed with a pair of thick gloves and a fork. Helen would be expecting him, so the element of surprise was now gone. He didn't have much going for him other than the familiarity and skill of entering homes undetected and killing without mercy.

Through the thickness of the night Morris narrowed his eyes, seeing smoke floating from the chimney. It as if Helen took her spot on the stage and said, "Chapter ten is about to begin. Everyone take your seats and enjoy the suspense."

By this time Helen should be lying by the fireplace pretending to be asleep. The large man would also be hiding, probably somewhere close. Morris guessed it would be in the cellar stairs or spare bedroom. Those were the best locations near the fireplace. The third person, most likely a woman, would be out of sight videoing the entire escapade. This was crucial if Helen was going to publicize make the attack. Morris could see the caption now, "Death row inmate attempts to murder Helen Miller, the exact same way it was written in Nicholas Shay's latest novel."

The woman doing the video would need a clear view of the front door and living room. Morris thought about the inside of the home.

"Helen's bedroom," he whispered.

Now, Morris had a good idea on where all of them would be. The only problem was entering the house. There's only one door. Then again, he did escape through the rear window by the spare bedroom and cellar. Unless they locked it, Morris could regain his element of surprise.

The wind picked up with the relentless aroma of the dead body hanging above in the tree. Morris had actually considered climbing up to see the corpse, because the curiosity was maddening. However, he had a job to do.

He put on the thick gloves and jogged to the house. The person working the camera would have it set to night vision. Morris was certain that the woman wasn't filming his approach. Instead, the woman would capture the entire event from Helen's bedroom, videoing him as he entered through the front door.

Morris settled his nerves, waiting for his heartbeat to pump at a normal rate. Most thieves and killers became excited at this point. Morris and his brother RJ learned to free their minds of distractions. Morris would keep his emotions in check, before, during, and after he murdered the helpless victims.

The window slid open, causing a trivial squeak. With the house being quiet, Morris had to rush his entrance and take care of the man who was either in the spare bedroom or on the cellar stairs. The warmth of the house comforted his cold skin. He caught a glimpse of Helen in the living room curled up by the fireplace. But first, Morris had to deal with the large man.

Left or right, he wondered, gripping the fork. Where are you hiding?

### 87

The squeak from the window next to Lake was unmistakable. Morris Colby was coming inside, but not through the front door.

Lake had never held a gun before and didn't intend to use it, but the circumstances had just changed. Morris Colby was coming back in the exact way he had escaped rather than using the front door as written in _Murder System_. If Morris went against the plan then he probably discovered what was really going on and knew wasn't supposed to survive the attack on Helen Miller.

The spare bedroom door was cracked open so Lake would get at least a partial view of Helen by the fireplace. He couldn't see the window to his right, or tell if Morris was all the way in the house yet. There were no sounds of footsteps, no breathing, no movements that Lake could detect.

Morris was a phantom, floating unnoticed.

Lake began to lose his nerve. He wasn't a killer, nor could he stand up to a man like Morris Colby. Catching Morris by surprise was one thing, but going head-to-head with a brutal killer was something entirely different. Lake had been brought up on a hippy compound that preached non-violence. He couldn't remember anyone getting into an argument much less getting into a fistfight.

The cellar door moved.

Morris was just a foot away. Lake's body stiffened with fear. His veins pumped so hard he almost lost grip of the small gun.

Without warning the spare bedroom door flew open, smashing against Lake's arms and chest. He fell backwards against the bed, unable to keep his balance. Blindly, he pointed the gun forward and fired. At the same moment the gun was kicked from his wrist, sending the bullet to the ceiling. Lake didn't have a second to react, because Morris was already on top of him, puncturing something into Lake's thigh. Whatever the weapon Morris had it wasn't sharp, but that made the hot pain even worse. It felt like tiny screws penetrating through his skin and muscles.

Instinct and the horror of dying took over. Lake grappled the smaller man, lunged to his feet, and pushed forward. The momentum carried both of them out the door.

Suddenly Lake felt like he floated in the air with the phantom. They fell passed the open door of the cellar and propelled downward.

Morris hit the bottom stairs with Lake on top of him. The crash hard enough to knock the wind from Lake's body. His fingers, which were still wrapped around Morris, burned with pain, smashed between Morris and the stairs.

Seconds later Morris flipped Lake over with ease, sending him all the way to the cellar floor. Morris regained his balance, kicked Lake in the stomach with such immense force that Lake felt as if the boot went into his stomach and smashed his spine.

Morris took a step toward the stairs. Helen's voice shouted, "Stop!"

Lake rolled to his side, gasping desperately, trying to allow a pocket of air back into his lungs. Instinctively he reached down to his thigh, yanking out the object that remained wedged into his skin.

A fork with the prongs covered in thick blood.

Still trying to catch his breath, Lake watched as Morris took one step up, then another. Lake crawled to his knees, then stood. Morris barreled the rest of the way up the broken stairs. A shot fired, but ricocheted off the wall just missing Lake. Morris plowed into Helen, sending their bodies away from the door.

Lake stumbled up the broken stairs as another shot went off, followed by shattered glass.

Helen screamed, wrestling for her life.

Lake could not clench his fists because of his damaged fingers. Between the hot searing pain in his thigh and stomach, it only weakened him with each step. He trudged on as Helen and Morris fell towards the living room. Lake turned the corner, hearing Morris bellow a cry of pain.

Helen had stabbed Morris in the face with a hot poker.

Morris recovered and lunged toward Helen. Lake dove on Morris and spun him around to the floor. Mardi pounced on top of the two bodies, helping to keep Morris pinned.

"Get some rope!" Lake shouted. His grip on Morris was weak because the fingers on both hands were throbbing, bloody, and swollen.

"We have to kill him," Helen pleaded.

Mardi didn't move, probably sensing Lake's struggles. She helped keep Morris restrained, his face smashed against the floor.

"Mardi, there's twine on the front porch holding the logs in place," Lake grunted. "Go!"

"Will you be able to hold him?"

"Go!" he repeated.

Lake shoved his uninjured leg into Morris's back and used his elbows for extra weight. From the corner of his eye he saw Helen scoop up the gun, run into her bedroom, then return while aiming the pistol.

"Move!" she screamed, pointing the gun right at him.

Lake rolled off Morris as Helen fired three shots.

### 88

"Are you fucking insane!" Mardi screamed from the front doorway. She had a handful of wet twine, which she dropped to the floor. "We could have tied him up and sent him back to death row."

Helen ignored her. "I need to see what footage you have. We may need to do some editing."

Lake hadn't moved, still sitting on the floor next to Morris's dead body. "We have to call the police."

"We will," Helen responded. "But first I need to view everything that Mardi got on camera." She hurried toward the bedroom.

Mardi jogged to the living room and knelt down next to Lake. "Are you okay?" she asked, examining his wounds.

Lake felt like he had been in a car accident. The adrenalin still pumping, which prevented him to assess the damage at the moment. "The fucker stabbed a fork in my thigh." Lake said, opening and closing his fingers. It was painful, but they still worked. Nothing seemed broken.

Helen returned with the camera. "Where's the fork?" she asked.

Lake still couldn't move. He wondered if his body had been altered into a state of traumatized shock. "The fork is in the cellar."

"We'll have to get rid of it and bandage your wounds. Also, you'll have to change your jeans."

Mardi stood, full of rage. "We could've been killed! And now you want to lie about what really happened?"

Helen continued to ignore Mardi. "How can I review the video?"

"Show her," Lake groaned. He reached up and grabbed Mardi's hand. "Help me up."

Mardi yanked him to his feet, then marched to Helen, snagging the camera out of her hand. She rewound the entire incident and pressed play.

"I need you to delete certain parts," Helen said. "Possibly move some things around so it match's chapter ten of Nick's book."

"Right now?" Mardi asked.

Lake limped toward the spare bedroom. Every muscle began to ache, throb, and spasm. "We're not going to mess with the video, but we need to hide it from the police for twenty-four hours."

Mardi placed the camera down. "What if the police ask why we hid evidence?"

He winced, still in horrific pain. "We'll explain that we found it later. But instead of telling the police it was from the video we did, we'll say it came from one of the security clocks."

Mardi stomped toward him with the camera. "This is a fucking disaster. We're doing everything possible to make sure Princess Helen gets her way. If the police do a thorough investigation, that story won't hold up."

Just as Mardi was about to walk past Lake, he clutched her arm. "If we want to get Nicholas Shay, everything needs to look as if it really happened according to his novel; exactly like chapter ten was written. Once we air the exclusive story people will believe this is more than just a coincidence. Morris Colby, LaShawn Sutton, Curtis Finch, Mason McCoy, and Ike Rufus all attacked Helen. They could have hid from the police, but instead, risked everything to murder Helen Miller just the way it had been written in _Murder System_. They were assisted in their escape from prison and paid well for this job. Unfortunately, the inmates were not aware that Helen was reading the same book and had been somewhat prepared for them. That's the story we are running tomorrow. We're going to bring Nicholas Shay to his knees and expose everything he's doing."

Mardi shrugged his arm away. "Yeah, I understand what you're trying to do, but that still doesn't solve the problem of being caught."

Helen approached Lake. "Thank you so much for helping me," she whispered, kissing him on the cheek.

Mardi's face burned hot. "I better hide this video somewhere if we don't want the police to know what really happened." She looked at Lake. "Also, you might want to bury your blood-stained jeans in the backyard."

"None of that will be necessary," Lake said. "But there's something we need to do in order for us to not get caught."

"What?" Mardi asked.

"We need to burn this house to the ground," Lake said. "We'll grab what we can and escape the fire, but all the other evidence needs to be destroyed."

Helen picked the blanket off the floor that was next to Morris. She tossed it in the fireplace and said, "Sounds like a plan. I hate this place anyway."

### 89

"I just got the call," Detective Perez said to Felix. Three months ago, Perez agreed to a deal that seemed limited risk. In return, $100,000 cash was left in his garage with the promise of $250,000 more when the job was over. He was to contact Felix Spencer on a pre-paid cell phone and give updates on the police investigation. "The Fed's will certainly be watching Helen Miller's home and keeping an eye on her. No way will they believe that RJ Colby isn't coming after her next."

"That's exactly what I want them to think," Felix said in a calm voice.

"I saw that RJ was in Chicago."

"And?"

"When he discovers his brother is dead, RJ may lose control."

"What's your point?" Felix asked. "Are you thinking? Never think. Just listen."

Perez gripped the cell phone. He hated being talked down by a thug. Perez knew that Felix Spencer had connections to Little Italy. Still, Perez also knew that Felix needed police cooperation in order for this plan to work. The best-case scenario is that the Bloomington Police Department fires Perez for the unprofessional job done in the Helen Miller investigation. Perez could then move to warm climates without risking his life or working crappy hours.

"Since the Fed's will be watching Helen closely and be waiting for RJ Colby to arrive, there's not much else I can do."

"You need to focus on Morris Colby and make sure the statement Helen gives you is exactly how it's written in chapter ten of _Murder System_."

Perez had wondered if Nicholas Shay was paid off as well to write his book a certain way or had Nicholas been apart of the plan all along? Also, what was the benefit of Felix going through such lengths? There had to be a huge payoff when all this was over. "Everyone is going to be suspicious of Nicholas Shay. This is more than a coincidence."

"I _want_ everyone to be suspicious of Nicholas Shay. Please stop thinking."

Perez winced, attempting to keep his emotions in check. "I'll write up the report of what happened tonight at Helen Miller's home, making sure it matches the book. That ends my involvement, correct?"

"Correct."

"You won't try to kill me, will you?"

"Should I?"

Perez squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he wouldn't have said that. "I want the $250,000 in my garage by the time I get home. Is that clear?"

"That is clear."

"I'm done. You got that?"

"I understand."

Perez received a call on his radio. He had already explained to the dispatcher that he was in route to the home of Helen Miller. However, Perez had to clear things up with Felix before driving to Helen's place. The dispatcher informed Perez that the F.B.I. was already on the way. He needed to hurry before the Fed's screwed everything up. "I don't want us speaking ever again," he said to Felix. "I'm going to destroy this phone when I hang up. You better follow through with your end of the bargain."

"Get to work," Felix said. "The money will be in your garage when you get home." He paused. "Oh, there's one more thing."

"What's that?"

"Please stop thinking. It only causes problems."

### 90

Lake felt like the next six hours had been the most grueling in his life as Detective Perez and members of the F.B.I. questioned him, along with Mardi and Helen at the Bloomington Police Station. Lake knew that Mardi would hold up under the interrogation. She was raised, like everyone in the compound, to hate government and corporations. Their names were a prime example. Traditionally children inherited the same last names as their parents. In the compound parents broke tradition, not wanting to be part of the brainwashing commerce ways of thinking.

As for Helen, Lake was confident that she wouldn't break down. She was determined. More importantly, her plans were made long ago. So far Helen had fought off five attacks and masked her surprise like a pro. Even with Lake knowing what she was up too, he couldn't believe her gift of lying.

It was after midnight by the time they were driven to the Holiday Inn Express. Helen's house had burned to the ground. Lake made it out of the burning home with his laptop. Mardi had the camera, but hid the video by the spare tire in their car. She also hid their stash of weed.

Helen escaped the fire with her gun and box of ammunition. She also had a pre-paid cell phone, which Lake saw her hide in the glove compartment of her car just as the fire trucks came barreling up her driveway with the F.B.I. in tow.

The first thing the F.B.I. took away was Helen's gun and her ammunition. Detective Perez arrived shortly after.

Lake's Internet show was supposed to air at 11:00 a.m. Lake wasn't sure how that would be possible with the limited resources they had, but he was determined to succeed.

As they walked into the lobby of the Holiday Inn, Detective Perez said to them, "The U.S. Marshals will be here in a couple of hours. Until then, six F.B.I. agents will be watching your rooms and surveying the parking lot. RJ Colby will have one heck of a time getting to Helen."

Mardi spoke with a determined voice. "We don't have fresh clothes? Also, we have a show in the morning which is our source of income. You are holding our laptop, camera, and cell phone. How do you expect us to work? How long will we be stuck here?"

"Calm down," Perez said, escorting them to the elevator. "You can speak to the Fed's in the morning and request whatever you need." As they entered the elevator, Perez gawked at Helen. "The F.B.I. has already retrieved your gun from the Bloomington Evidence Department."

"It is mine!" Helen protested.

"That gun of yours has been involved in several murders with known escaped criminals. It's now the property of the Federal Government."

"I don't want the U.S. Marshals protecting me. In fact, I don't want anyone protecting me."

"I'm not sure you have any choice." The elevator door opened and Perez led them to the right. "The F.B.I. still needs to apprehend RJ Colby. Until that happens-"

"What about Nick Shay?" Helen asked. "Will he be questioned?"

Perez came to an abrupt stop. Lake and Mardi almost ran into him. "Why would Nicholas Shay be questioned?"

"He's trying to kill me!" Helen's voice carried through the hotel.

"No," Perez responded. "Six escaped death row prisoners are trying to kill you."

Helen's eyes became hard. "Exactly the way it was written in Nick's book."

Perez stared at her for a moment, then continued down the hallway. "Each of you has a room. No other guests are on this floor. Helen, you're in room 601. Mr. Waters, you are in room 603. Ms. Gras, you're in room 605. The F.B.I. is set up across the hall in adjoining rooms 602 and 604 until the U.S. Marshals arrive and replace them. If you need anything you'll have to go across the hall." Perez handed each of them their keycards. "You're not permitted to leave. Is that understood?"

Helen snatched the card and stomped off. Lake needed time alone with Mardi to discuss what to do next. "Can Mardi stay with me?" he asked.

Perez shook his head. "You each have assigned rooms. Just get some sleep." Without waiting for a response Perez headed back to the elevator.

Lake walked with Mardi towards their rooms. He whispered, "I need you to dig deeper into Helen Miller's past. We need to know everything about her."

Mardi shoved the keycard in the door of room 605. "I'll work through the night. Sleep is overrated anyway."

Lake glanced down both ends of the hallway, then leaned close to her. "How are you going to do that? The police have our laptop and cell phone."

Mardi opened the door and tapped her pocket. "I stole Detective Perez's Blackberry."

### 91

Felix returned to Los Angeles, went to the office and had a meeting with the top people in his company. Then he drove to his condominium, went up the elevator to the twenty-second floor and took a long hot shower.

When the doorbell rang, Felix wasn't surprised. He saw a suspicious van parked across the street which he figured to be an F.B.I. surveillance team. When he arrived, they most certainly called it in.

Felix opened the door seeing a woman dressed in a black pants suit with a white button down shirt. Next to her was a man in jeans and a blue windbreaker.

"I've been expecting you," Felix said with a tired grin, noticing that the man was carrying a manila folder. "Come inside."

As the woman entered, she said, "I'm Special Agent Liz Benning of the F.B.I." She flashed her credentials and pointed to the man. "This is Kevin Valenti of the U.S. Marshals." Kevin showed his badge and identification.

Felix pointed to the dining room table. "Have a seat."

Both Liz and Kevin sat across from him. Kevin opened the folder and slid a black and white glossy photograph toward Felix. "This is from the surveillance camera in the Target next to College Mall. Is that you in this picture?"

"Yes," Felix said.

Liz pointed to the other person in the picture. "We believe you were talking to RJ Colby. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

Kevin glanced at Liz, then brought his eyes back on Felix. "Can you explain why you met with a known escaped felon?"

Felix leveled his breathing and locked his eyes on Liz, assuming she was the more important of the two. "My brother called me and said that he was in big trouble. He asked if I could meet him at the Target in Bloomington, Indiana."

"Did you speak with your brother at the Target?" Liz asked.

"No. But I did seem him enter the mall. Walking with him were three other men. I recognized two of them; RJ and Morris Colby."

Kevin grabbed the photograph and placed it back in the folder. "Why didn't you approach them?"

Felix narrowed his eyes. "Aren't you listening? I said that I recognized RJ and Morris Colby with my brother. I wasn't going to just walk up to them and say, 'Hey, what going on.'"

Liz asked the next question. They were clearly taking turns. "RJ hung back and looked through the book section, but then, you both came together and spoke."

Felix's heart squeezed together, then pumped so hard he felt the blood running to his face. _RJ looked in the book section?_

"Is something wrong?" Liz asked.

Felix blinked until his focus came back. He wanted to take a deep breath, but he couldn't seem to get the air into his lungs. "Just thinking about RJ scares the shit out of me."

"What did he say to you?" Kevin asked.

"He said, 'Walk away and keep your mouth shut. We will kill you later, but for now, we need to torture your brother.'" Felix had to suppress the image of his brother being murdered just a few moments later.

Liz: "Why didn't you call the police?"

Felix shook his head. "I wasn't about to test RJ Colby. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if after you leave the door busts down and RJ throws me out the window to my death."

Kevin: "What was your brother involved in?"

"No idea. I never had a chance to speak with him."

Liz: "In your opinion, why was your brother with the Colby brothers?"

Felix let out a sarcastic laugh. "Well in my _opinion_ you just asked the same question in a different way. Let me answer by saying I have no fucking idea what he was doing with the Colby brothers. But I do look over my shoulder, waiting to be stabbed or shot by one of them."

Kevin leaned back, seeming to debate his next question. "Was your brother connected to Helen Miller somehow?"

"Not that I know of."

Liz: "Do you personally know Helen Miller?"

"I know _of_ her. She reviews books."

Kevin: "Is it possible that your brother assisted with the escape of the Colby brothers, along with the other four prisoners?"

"Is it possible?" Felix shook his head. "I don't think my brother has the brains to pull off something like that. However, if the Colby brothers somehow threatened him, or promised money, then maybe he helped. Perhaps that's why he wanted to meet with me." Felix pulled in a quick breath. "I have no clue as to what my brother had been doing. I hadn't spoken to him in years."

Liz reached into her pocket and grabbed a business card, then plopped it on the table. "If you think of anything else, please give me a call."

"I will," Felix said. He watched as Liz and Kevin stood up and left. Felix then thought to himself, _RJ was in the fucking book section. He knows everything._

### 92

Felix called Nicholas on the secured line. "I have some bad news."

Nicholas sighed. "Well, that's a shock. What's wrong now?"

Felix could barely speak. "RJ was in the book section at Target. I'm sure he scanned over a copy of _Murder System_."

"How..." Nicholas breathed heavy through the phone. "How is that possible? Can the guy even read?"

"He's much smarter than you think."

"So RJ knows what we're really doing?"

Felix gripped the phone. "Yes."

"What the fuck are we going to do?"

"Maybe..." Felix didn't have the answer to that question, although he was trying to come up with a solution.

"Well?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Really? That's just fucking terrific!"

"Calm down."

"It was you that let RJ and Morris bring their brother into our plan! You allowed RJ and Morris to enter that store! Your brother was killed because of you! This entire plan is fucked because of you! And by now RJ has probably figured out that his brother is dead!"

"I can spin this into our favor." Felix squeezed his eyes shut. "Just give me a few seconds to think."

"Bullshit! You haven't stuck to the plan and now everything is fucked up!"

Nicholas' screaming was annoying, but his words rang true. In Los Angeles, Felix is viewed as one of the most powerful people in the entertainment business. But today he felt like one of the weakest. "RJ is going to want revenge."

"No shit. Did you come with up that all on your own?"

"Shut up and listen for a second! RJ won't let Helen Miller get away with killing his brother. He'll want to come after her. We might be able to salvage chapter eleven."

"Helen and her media friends burned down the fucking house...did you know that?"

"Of course. I'm sure they'll move into the ranch house. Chapter eleven can still work."

Nicholas didn't say a word for a long moment. In fact, no sound came through the phone. Finally, he spoke in a calm voice. "Maybe you should tell RJ and Helen about October nineteenth."

Felix eased into a chair. "Why?"

"It may give them both enough fuel to keep going."

"I don't know about that..." Felix pulled in a deep breath. "It may push Helen over the edge."

"I don't care about that."

Felix smiled. "I understand what you're getting at. You want to push _RJ_ over the edge. And if Helen knows what RJ did, it will intensify things."

"More importantly," Nicholas said, "It will bring chapter eleven to fruition."

### 93

Mardi had pulled up information on Helen Miller long before Lake asked. However, she decided to refresh her memory and spent the last six hours following her own line of investigation. Mardi's eyes burned, her mind exhausted as the sun began to poke into the hotel room.

According to Mardi's research Helen Miller moved into her grandparent's house in California at the age of seventeen. Her grandparents had a sizeable life insurance policy, which was left to Helen.

Helen's parents, Lyle and Wanita Miller, were alive and well, living in Alexandria, Virginia, but didn't receive any of the insurance money.

As for Helen's job, she sent in book reviews to publishers, literary agents, media outlets, and even movie producers and received a modest commission in return.

Mardi had frantically dug deeper, using Helen's social security number. She was born on September 11th, 1970, which makes her forty-years-old.

The battery on the Blackberry turned a deep red.

Mardi couldn't think; her mind clogged with fatigue. Helen wasn't little Miss Perfect. In fact, Helen was a crafty thug working with other thugs. Mardi needed something to tell Lake. She decided to research once again the history of RJ Colby. Before he and his brother were arrested they had gone on a murder spree in 2005.

March 12th: Tied up a married couple and burned them alive in their home.

March 21st: Shot a vending machine employee.

April 9th: Raped and killed a seventy-six-year old woman.

July 4th: Killed a seventy-year-old man.

Mardi continued her search.

September 14th: Shot a disc jockey.

September 30th: Beat a nurse to death with a baseball bat.

October 5th: Stabbed two elderly people with a pair of scissors.

October 19th: Tied up a young married couple, raped the pregnant wife, beat the husband, then stabbed them both to death using their new weapon of choice...scissors.

The Colby brothers were then arrested on October 31st, 2005.

On the lower right of the screen the Blackberry flashed, CHARGE BATTERY!

Mardi clicked on the link that discussed the Colby's trial. Their youngest brother, Dale Colby, was a key witness. The most damaging testimony was of the October 19th home invasion. Dale had actually been in Virginia when it happened. In fact, he was waiting in a car outside thinking that his brothers were simply robbing the place. Dale had taken pictures of his brothers entering the house and leaving. Dale's friends thought of RJ and Morris as crime legends. Dale wanted to show how cool he was in the get-a-way car while his brothers robbed a home.

Later, Dale realized what really happened. To avoid prison time, he gave the F.B.I. his cell phone which included the pictures.

CHARGE BATTERY!

Mardi was so tired a tear spilt from her eye as she thought about the young couple that was murdered. The husband, Joshua Kinder, was only nineteen. His wife, Alyssa, was eighteen and six months pregnant.

They were just about to start a family.

Mardi looked over the story, reading how Joshua's parents, Norman and Gretta Kinder spoke at the trial. Also, Alyssa's grandparents, Lyle and Wanita Miller spoke at the trial.

CHARGE BATTERY!

Mardi read that last sentence again. _Alyssa's grandparents, Lyle and Wanita Miller, spoke at the trial._

Mardi gazed at the phone.

The screen went black.

### 94

Mardi was now wide-awake and reviewing in her mind what she just read, along with the past research she had done on Helen Miller. It was time that Lake heard the truth.

Lyle and Wanita Miller are Helen's parents. When Helen was seventeen, she became pregnant. Lyle and Wanita didn't want anyone to know that their daughter was knocked up while still in high school so they sent her to live in California with Lyle's parents. (Helen's grandparents.)

Mardi began pacing to keep her mind sharp.

After the baby was born, the child was taken away from Helen. She was to forget that she had a child and start her life over in California. Perhaps one of her grandparents took the child back to Alexandria, Virginia to be raised. The baby was given the name, Alyssa.

Mardi plopped down on the bed, rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes. She leaned forward and clasped her hands together, continuing to assess her research.

When the baby was taken back to Virginia, the idea was to put the child up for adoption. However, Lyle and Wanita reconsidered. They raised the baby without telling Helen what they were doing. Lyle's parents discovered this happened, becoming infuriated that they would do such a thing. Helen's grandparents then cut off all ties with Lyle and Wanita, but never told Helen the truth. That was also the reason why Helen received the insurance money, not her parents.

Alyssa grew up in Virginia, but made the same mistake as Helen, becoming pregnant; but at age eighteen, rather than seventeen. This time, Lyle and Wanita convinced Alyssa to get married, rather than hide her from the world. Lyle and Wanita helped their granddaughter purchase a small home, but never told Helen that she was about to become a grandmother.

On October 19th, 2005, Alyssa was rapped by RJ and Morris Colby. Then, she was stabbed and killed, along with her husband.

Helen never had contact with her parents and never knew her daughter's name, never knew that her daughter was pregnant, and never knew that her daughter was murdered.

The prisoners from the Mecklenburg Correctional Center in Virginia were chosen for this reason. When the story breaks that Helen Miller's pregnant daughter was raped and murdered by RJ and Morris Colby, it will be huge. And if Nicholas Shay's book was linked to Helen Miller when the story breaks, his book sales will be through the roof.

When RJ and Morris escaped, along with their crew of death row prisoners, they planned to murder Helen Miller in a brutal way just like Alyssa and her husband. Fed's will think that RJ and Morris could have read _Murder System_ in prison and decided to use that as their guideline.

That was all fiction of course. The reality was that Nicholas Shay and Felix Spencer had worked hard to set this all up. They were using RJ, Morris, the other escaped prisoners, and Helen Miller for their own greed. When it was finished, all of them would end up dead, including Helen Miller.

Then Nicholas Shay and Felix Spencer would have a book that was linked to a worldwide story. Nicholas Shay would rake in a $100 million, or even more.

Mardi picked up the hotel phone and dialed Lake's room. When he answered, she said, "You need to get us out of here. I have the story you have been waiting for."

### 95

When the U.S. Marshals replaced the F.B.I. security detail, Lake asked to call a lawyer. The U.S. Marshal's response to the request was, "We're not detaining you, but rather protecting you from an escaped prisoner that is a skilled and dangerous murderer."

"Nice speech," Lake replied with a confident grin. "But protecting us is not in your job description. You are using us as bait to apprehend an escaped prisoner, which is why I would like to call a lawyer." He really didn't have a lawyer, but the Yellow Pages would do for now.

On the other hand no phone call was needed, because ten minutes later the three of them were released. Their cars were in the hotel parking lot. In the trunk were the few possessions that they took from the house before burning it down.

Helen said to Lake, "Follow me to the ranch house, which is at 2013 Tarkington Road."

"Will do," Lake said. He and Mardi climbed into the car. While following Helen's red Mini Coop, Lake said to Mardi, "Okay, tell me what's on your mind."

Mardi explained everything that she discovered about Helen Miller, along with why Helen moved to California and why she wasn't present during the Colby murder trial after they murdered her daughter.

Lake did not speak for several minutes. He replayed everything Mardi said, while deciding the best way to proceed. "Let's keep this quiet for now."

"No!" Mardi snapped. "It's too big of a story. We need to expose everyone right now before someone else discovers what's going on. More importantly, the Fed's may connect the dots and this will all blow up in our face."

Lake gripped the steering wheeling. "It's a chance we'll have to take."

"I disagree," Mardi huffed. "I think if we keep quiet, it will be a huge mistake."

"Listen to me." Lake took in a deep breath, attempting to control his emotions. He didn't want to fight with Mardi. "It's like you're looking ten feet down the road while I'm looking ten miles down the road. You need to think about the end goal."

Mardi turned in her seat. "What is our end goal?"

Lake glanced at her and smiled. "To get rich." When Mardi didnt 'respond, Lake asked, "Do you believe that RJ Colby will actually come after Helen Miller?"

"Perhaps you should rephrase the question."

Lake shook his head. "What do you mean?"

"Will Nicholas and Felix _send_ RJ after Helen Miller despite the Fed's watching her now?"

"That a good point." He took a quick glance in her direction. "Well, what do you think?"

"I believe that they will take the chance, because it's the only way to continue increasing the popularity, which means increasing book sales."

"I agree," Lake said. "I'm going to call Helen and tell her we need to make a pit stop before going to the ranch house."

"For what?" Mardi asked.

Lake picked up the cell phone while keeping his eyes on the road. "I need a copy of _Murder System_ so that I can read chapter eleven."

### 96

Lake, Mardi, and Helen drove to the Target next to College Mall. They purchased a copy of _Murder System_ , along with some clothes and necessities that they will need at the ranch house. They walked past the restrooms noticing that the door to the family restroom had been sealed with a sheet of plywood and yellow caution tape.

When they arrived at the home Lake took a long shower and dressed in a black three-button shirt and black slacks. Mardi uploaded the video of Morris Colby attacking Helen Miller so it was ready for the show.

"Do you want a quick joint?" Mardi asked.

Lake waved his hand. "I'm good."

Mardi lifted the camera on her shoulder. The shot would be a bit unsteady, but it gave a little more life to the show and created more angles when Lake interviewed someone.

Mardi positioned the laptop on a table next to her, then looked at the clock. "Okay, we're on in one minute."

Helen had skipped the shower and only used a minimum amount of makeup, per Lake's instructions. He wanted her to look tired and scared, which wasn't too hard since she looked absolutely exhausted.

Lake said to Helen, "Make sure when you refer to Nicholas Shay, you use his whole name. Do not call him Nick."

"Why?"

"Because when you say, _Nick_ , it sounds like you personally know him."

Helen didn't respond.

Mardi steadied the camera on her shoulder. Lake and Helen stood in the living room in front of the rear sliding glass door, which had a nice view of the property.

"Get ready," Mardi said. "We are on in five, four, three, two..."

Lake waited a heartbeat and faced the camera. "Welcome to the show, my name is Lake Ontario Waters. With me today is Helen Miller." He shook hands with her. "You are certainly a brave woman."

"Thank you so much for having me. I appreciate you believing my story." Helen's voice was perfect, full of grief, with a mix of terror.

Lake looked at the camera. "Helen Miller has claimed to be the victim of a sick plot, created by author Nicholas Shay. And when I say the word, 'plot,' I mean that literally."

Lake continued to interview Helen as she reviewed the attacks by LaShawn Sutton, Ike Rufus, Mason McCoy, and Morris Colby. During the discussion, Lake gave background information on each escaped prisoner, giving details of the crimes they committed, especially Morris Colby.

"How can you explain surviving such vicious attacks by these ruthless killers?" Lake asked.

Helen paused and glanced at the camera. She wobbled a bit, tired of standing for the entire hour show. That was Lake's plan, because he wanted her to weaken while the audience watched the energy seep from her body.

"The book," Helen said. "I was attacked the same way as it was described in _Murder System_ , written by Nicholas Shay. I actually knew how Morris Colby was going to come after me." Helen lowered her head, seeming to fight back the tears. "If I hadn't asked you to do my story, I may not have survived the attack, because you would have never been there to help me."

Lake sighed and gave his best concerned expression. He then glared at the camera. "Morris Colby had expected Helen to be alone. However, she had invited us to stay at her home while we researched her story. Yesterday evening, Morris carried out his instructions according to chapter ten of _Murder System_. I actually became part of this story during that attack, along with my assistant, Mardi."

Lake paused again, eyes locked on the camera. "No one believed Helen Miller. Even I had my doubts. But once I was plunged into her horror story, I now believe every word of Helen Miller...and the novel, _Murder System_."

Lake reached over and gently took Helen's hand, but kept his eyes forward. "When the house caught on fire, we barely escaped. My assistant, Mardi, had grabbed a flash drive from Helen's computer, then made it out of the fire just before the house collapsed in a ball of flames. On that flash drive is a video taken from one of Helen's security cameras that she installed." Lake squeezed Helen's hand. "Why did Helen Miller need to install security cameras? Because if Nicholas Shay succeeded in the plot of her murder, she wanted the world to know that she had been telling the truth."

Lake released Helen's hand, then turned sideways with his eyes looking out the sliding glass doors. "Across this beautiful property is the remains of a house that was burned to the ground." He shot his eyes forward, staring at the camera. "You will now see for yourself the horror of living in the world of Nicholas Shay."

Mardi pressed play on the video, showing Morris Colby attacking Lake and Helen.

### 97

During the show Lake had 10,721 viewers.

When Mardi uploaded the video to YouTube it had 24,946 views in the first half hour.

Three hours later the show had over 500,000 viewers.

At 5:00 p.m., just about every news broadcast had mentioned the show, increasing the viewers to over five million.

At 8:01 p.m. the show had over ten million viewers.

By the next day, _Murder System_ was number one on the bestsellers list with record sales.

Later that morning the street outside the ranch house filled with media vans. Lake and Helen had over a hundred requests for interviews.

"We did it!" Helen said, hugging Lake. "People finally believe my story!"

Lake took a step back. "I think people are interested in the story, but I'm not sure how much they believe us."

"Are you kidding?" Helen opened the curtain of the front window. "Look at all those media vans and reporters outside, just waiting for us to make an appearance." Helen let the curtain drop back down. "The same amount of media is camped outside of Nick's house." Helen raised her hands. "Guess what they are asking him about? The book and how it's linked to me."

Lake glanced at Mardi, then glared at Helen. Lake said, "We need to get a plan together and discuss what to do next." He looked at both women. "I say we start by reading chapter eleven."

"I'll roll a few joints," Mardi said.

Helen smiled. "And I'll see if there's any rum in the house."

### 98

Unfortunately there wasn't any rum. However, there was plenty of tequila in the cold cellar stashed behind a few cases of beer.

They sat on a soft rug in the living room, passing around a joint and the bottle of tequila. In the middle of them on the floor was _Murder System_. The fireplace glowing, keeping the room extra warm.

Helen's eyes began to water. "I haven't been this stoned since..." She looked around, then grabbed the bottle of tequila and polished it off.

"Since when?" Lake asked, finishing the joint which made the fifth one they had smoked.

Helen wobbled bit, followed by a small burp. "Since what?"

Lake laughed. "You said, 'I haven't been this stoned since...' but you never finished your sentence."

Helen scrunched her eyes. "Do you mean I...or me...or you are stoned?"

Lake smiled. "Never mind."

Mardi leaned down on her side. "It's nice to see Ms. Perfect sloppy drunk and stoned out of her mind. We should do this all the time."

Helen went down on all fours, crawled toward Mardi and slurred, "Why do you hate me so much?" Before Mardi could answer, Helen fell forward on top of her, knocking Mardi on her back. Helen leaned down and gave Mardi a sloppy kiss.

Mardi grinned and whispered to Helen, "You are going to regret this."

"I don't care," Helen moaned. She reached down and shoved her hand inside Mardi's loose jeans.

Lake had seen plenty of girl-on-girl in the hippy compound. In fact, he saw plenty of everything, including orgies of twenty or more. Being drunk and stoned, then having sex was the best way to pass the time. It was the only thing he missed about that place.

Mardi and Helen had already stripped off all their clothes. Mardi looked at Lake. "Are you coming over here, or do we have to come and get you?"

Still on the floor, Lake completely undressed. "How about you come and get me."

Mardi smiled, then pulled Helen close. "Just for that, you can sit there and watch." She shoved her tongue in Helen's mouth, then rolled Helen on her back. Lake did indeed watch. For the first time since they left the compound, Mardi seemed to be herself again. Lake knew that Mardi liked being with other girls, even more than she liked being with him. But Mardi was his best friend on the compound, which meant, they fucked just about every day.

Helen glanced back and Lake. "Are you really going to sit there with that big hard-on?"

Lake crawled forward and gave both of them several kisses, pressing his lips on every part of their bodies.

Mardi buried her face in-between Helen's legs. Lake positioned himself from behind and slid his cock inside of Mardi. While he thrust in and out of her, Mardi used her tongue on Helen, using deep, long strokes as if were the best tasting ice cream cone she ever had.

It had been a long while since Lake been with more than one woman at a time, he couldn't hold himself back. His cock pulsated, then exploded inside of Mardi. She lifted her head, screaming in a moment of pure ecstasy. She then turned and shoved Lake on top of Helen. Lake didn't hesitate, rubbing Helen's breasts and pushing his swollen cock inside of her.

Mardi positioned her knees on both sides of Helen's mouth while facing Lake. Mardi then leaned down as Helen sucked and prodded with her tongue inside of Mardi's pussy. Lake continued pumping his hips and leaned forward, kissing Mardi at the same time. Helen dug the fingers of her left hand into Lake's back while digging the fingers of her right hand into Mardi's thigh.

Lake came again, which was more powerful than the last orgasm. The three of them remained on the floor, bodies glistening, taking turns rubbing and kissing each other until the three of them passed out.

### 99

Lake had been up early. He looked inside the fridge, seeing that it was bare. In the freezer he found a pound of bacon and two pounds of ground sausage. He searched the cupboards and grabbed two large cast iron skillets and began cooking breakfast while making a pot of coffee.

Mardi had been up earlier than Lake. _The girl never sleeps_ , Lake thought. At the massive dining room table, Mardi worked on the laptop, checking to see how Lake's show had been doing along with the sales of _Murder System_. "We have twenty million _hits_ on your show," she said to Lake. "I'm not sure how many copies of _Murder System_ have been sold, but it remains number one on the New York Times Best Sellers List and is Amazon's top selling book right now."

Lake flipped over the bacon and gave the ground sausage a good stir. "Has Nicholas Shay made an appearance yet?"

"No, but his publicist, Felix Spencer, has been busy the last couple of days."

Lake turned the heat down under both skillets, poured two cups of coffee in oversized mugs, then joined Mardi at the table. "What has Felix been doing?"

"Telling the world that _Murder System_ has nothing to do with Helen Miller in Bloomington, Indiana. He's also saying that the characters in Shay's books are fictional. And he has no idea why the Virginia escaped convicts have targeted Helen Miller."

"Speaking of Helen Miller," Lake said, standing up.

Helen stumbled into the room like an elderly woman that had just been whacked over the head with a baseball bat. "Why are you two so chipper?" she asked. Her voice strained and barely audible, her hair as if she stuck her finger in a light socket.

Mardi continued looking at the laptop screen and said, "Five joints and a bottle of tequila would be just a typical afternoon for us where we come from."

Helen plopped down at the dining room table. "I smell food, which makes me want to puke. And I smell coffee, which I desperately need right now."

Lake had already poured her a large mug of coffee and slid it down in front of her. "Greasy food is good for you after a night of drinking and smoking."

Helen lifted the coffee mug as if it weighed fifty pounds. She sipped at first, then took a larger gulp. "What's the latest?" she asked Mardi.

Mardi clicked the mouse a few times. "Our viewers are through the roof and _Murder System_ is selling like hotcakes."

Helen took another sip of coffee, then spoke in a low voice. "I don't care if _Murder System_ is selling books. All care about is if people believe my story."

Lake saw Mardi look up from her laptop at him. She then looked away before Helen suspected anything.

"I would guess at least half of the people that watched my show want to believe your story," Lake said. He scooped up sausage and dished out large servings on three plates. He then topped it off with several slices of bacon. "Breakfast is ready," Lake announced.

"Great," Mardi said. "I'm starving.

Helen sprung from the chair to the bathroom. Seconds later, they could hear her vomiting.

Mardi pushed her laptop to the side and began eating. "What's our plan for today?" she asked with a full mouth.

Lake sat next to her and began eating. "Helen and I still need to read chapter eleven of _Murder System_."

### 100
Chapter Eleven

Murder System

"Wake up, Helen Miller." The voice was distant, flowing through the room like a spirit that had lost its way. "Helen Miller...wake up sweetie."

Helen peeled her eyes open. She was bound on a large wood table with a thick rope wrapped around her chest, continuing around her arms and stomach, down her legs, and around her ankles. Her skull pounded with a headache so fierce, she wanted the killer to show mercy and end her life.

A single pop from behind startled her. She was now fully awake, head still throbbing.

The killer took a stroll around the table, drinking a can of Pepsi. "Are you thirsty?" he asked.

Helen was thirsty, but didn't answer.

The killer took another sip, then poured the remains over face, splashing the cold, dark liquid into her eyes and mouth.

Helen's eyes burned, while she tasted the sugary liquid. Her throat teased by the coolness. "I change my mind," she said. "I need something to drink."

"Sure," the killer said. He twisted the can, ripping the aluminum. He then positioned the sharp edged on the corner of her mouth and tore into the skin. Helen screamed as he sliced her lips, working his way inside her mouth, shredding the inside of her cheek, then finishing by cutting a deep slice into her tongue.

Salty blood leaked into her throat. Her mouth felt like a hundred paper cuts, while her head throbbed so violently the room spun in a painful haze.

The killer strolled away from the table. She heard him drop the can to the floor. Seconds later, music blared from the next room. It was top twenty music, with the base turned all the way up.

"Please let me go," she moaned, but did not expect the killer to hear her voice over the beating music. Her skull pulsated with painful thuds. Blood continued to run into her throat with a hint of sugar mixed in, causing a warm load of vomit to expel from her mouth, seeping over her cheek, then dripping onto the wood table.

The lights flicked on and off. Her eyes darted to the left, then right. She saw the killer next to the switch, lifting it up and down.

Light's on...she could see him smiling at her.

Light's off...she was in lost in the darkness of the room.

This flicker of the lights continued for minutes, upon minutes, creating a strobe effect. The music blared with songs she never heard of. The base was so loud she could feel the drumming in her veins.

Suddenly, it was quiet.

Helen spit the remaining blood and vomit off her lips while attempting to see in the darkness. Where was the killer?

A volley of pain in her shin was so horrific it snatched her scream away. Following this was a similar pain in the other shin.

The killer was striking her with a baseball bat.

Helen couldn't see him, yet could feel the wind of the bat coming down just before making contact. He struck her stomach, blowing the wind from her body, cracking several ribs.

He swung again and again. The killer struck her fingers, smashing them into the table. He struck the wrist on her other hand, working his way up her body to her jaw.

All Helen could wonder is why she wasn't dead. Several teeth dropped into her throat, which she immediately coughed back up.

Still, she could not scream.

The killer turned on the light. "You are a mess," he said. "Hold on...I'll be right back."

Helen didn't squirm. The pain rung in her ears and twisted around her as if she was being squeezed by a snake covered with dirty spikes.

The killer returned with something in his hand. She didn't want to look, but could not help herself. He held a pair of long scissors while opening and closing them. He then positioned the scissors on her throat, gripping it with both his hands. "I need to confess something," he said. "Can you hear me?"

Helen's fearful eyes snapped in his direction. The point of the scissors was like a pinprick under her shattered jaw.

The killer whispered in a cold, ethereal voice, "I just wanted to say that I killed her."

Helen felt the world slipping away. She was finally dying. Maybe she would be dead before he...

The killer shoved the scissors down, puncturing her throat and slicing all the way through until making contact with the table.

Before dying, Helen heard him say again, "I killed her."

### 101

"I don't understand something," Helen said, closing the book. She had vomited twice and drunk down a fresh pot of coffee while Lake read chapter eleven aloud. "Nick says, 'I killed her.' But it doesn't seem like he is referring to me?"

Lake and Mardi's eyes met. Lake wondered if this was the moment to inform Helen that they knew everything. He had considered making a deal with Helen to split whatever money she would earn off this scam. Lake had enough blackmail to take down Helen, Nicholas, and Felix, while proving to the world what they had done.

Lake opened his mouth, but a phone began ringing. They had turned off their cell phones because of the non-stop calls from the media.

The color in Helen's face had drained to a pasty white.

Mardi stood. "What's wrong with you?" she asked Helen. "And what phone is ringing?"

Helen pushed herself up from the table, following the sound of the ring. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small, cheap cell phone. With no signs of a hangover, she hurried away from Lake and Mardi, entering the bedroom and closing the door.

### 102

The caller I.D. flashed, FELIX.

Helen answered. "I'm here."

"Are your friends there with you?" Felix asked.

"Yes, but they're in the other room. What do you want?"

"The sales of _Murder System_ are doing better than we could ever imagine."

Helen eased down to the bed and spoke in a low voice. "Did Nick get an offer yet from the publisher?"

"Not yet."

"Why? They should be begging him to sign a large contract."

"Patience."

"Fuck you. I'm the one taking all the risk. You sent fucking death row killer's after me. I did not agree to that!" Her voice carried just bit. She took in a deep breath and whispered, "I read chapter eleven. How are you going to get RJ past the media? They are camped out here day and night."

"I have that under control. Just make sure your new friends have a video setup in the ranch house."

Helen's pounding headache returned, along with a case of dry mouth. "I don't have my gun anymore. Can you get be another one?"

"You won't need it," Felix said. "Just make sure the video is setup and your friends are not around."

"That won't be easy."

"Well, that's your fucking problem. You were supposed to attract media attention, but not invite the media to stay inside your home, you fucking moron."

Helen gripped the phone. "They're good, I promise." A flashing image of last night fluttered inside of her, realizing it was the best sex she ever had.

Felix's voice brought her back to reality. "I agree that they're good, but as I said, they are your problem."

Helen rubbed the back of her neck. She wanted to lie down in the bed and sleep until she felt better. "When is RJ coming here?"

"October nineteenth."

Helen sprung up from the bed. "That's a month away!" A wave of dizziness was followed by a swift pounding in her skull. "Why are you waiting?"

"It will give the media and Fed's time to fade away and not watch you so closely."

"But the story will fade away as well. Nick hasn't received a deal yet."

"He will."

"Listen, I know the publishing business. If Nick doesn't make a deal soon, the luster of his book sales will fade."

"You're a book reviewer," Felix said. "Leave the publishing deals to me. I have it under control."

Helen gazed at the door. Eventually she will have to return to the living room. Lake and Mardi will ask her questions about her phone call. What was she going to say?

She walked to the window and looked outside. "Are you still there?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm still here."

"Is there anything else I need to know? I have a splitting headache and want to lie down."

"Poor baby."

"Fuck off."

Felix laughed. "There's one more thing you should know."

"What?"

"When this plan was still being considered, many people were researched to play your role."

"I'm flattered that you chose me. What's your point?"

"You have quite a background."

"Bullshit. You didn't find anything. I haven't done anything wrong in my life. Which I'm assuming is why you thought I was perfect for this crime."

"You did have one tiny screw up."

"What? I misspelled a word in one of my book reviews?"

"Not quite. I'm referring to when you were seventeen."

Helen's muscles snapped together. She attempted to keep her voice confident. "That's impressive that you discovered I was knocked up my senior year of high school, but I'm not sure why it's important."

"I know that you had a baby girl."

Helen assumed that Felix had hundreds of contacts, especially in California where she gave birth. It didn't matter what he discovered about her. Still, Helen wondered how different her life would have been if she stayed in Virginia, had the child, and raised the baby on her own.

"I still don't see the relevance," Helen said.

"Your daughter was named Alyssa."

Helen's heart skipped a beat. "How could you have possible known that? I didn't even know her name."

"Your child was raised by your parents."

Helen let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah right. They kept my pregnancy a secret and they certainly didn't want to raise another child."

"When was the last time you've spoken to your parents?"

Helen did not have to think about that question. "Twenty-three years ago...at the airport...when they put me on a plane to California to stay with my grandparents."

"Who took the child back to Virginia?"

"My grandfather."

"And where did he take the child?"

"To an adoption agency."

"And how can you prove that?"

Helen's neck became like a twisted rubber band. "I can't prove that, but he certainly didn't take the baby to my parent's house and drop her off. My parents didn't want anything to do with me, or the baby. They dumped the problem on my grandparents."

"Your grandfather probably decided to give his son, which is your father, another chance at redemption. I can picture your grandfather begging your father to allow you to come back home and raise the child, doing the best you can as a family. Your grandfather left the baby with your parents, hoping they would change their mind."

"They didn't change their mind," Helen said. "I stayed in California and never spoke to my parents again." Helen had originally been upset when the baby was taken away. She had an unexplainable bond with the child, which made not speaking to her parents extremely easy. As the years passed, Helen stopped thinking about the child. She looked at her decision to have unprotected sex at age seventeen as a dumb mistake that had been removed from her life.

"They named your baby, Alyssa," Felix repeated. "And they raised her. I have her social security number, along with everything I need to prove that what I'm saying is true."

Helen's legs felt weak. She returned to the bed. "Is the baby...I mean, is my daughter in Virginia with my parents?" Helen paused. "Alyssa would be twenty-three. Did she move out of my parent's house? Do you know where she is?"

"I know exactly where she is," Felix said.

### 103

Helen could hear Felix clearing his throat before he spoke. "Alyssa went to the same school as you did. She grew up in your room and lived in your neighborhood. It was like your parents wanted to make up for all the mistakes they made with you by raising another girl all over again."

Helen was surprised that the comment stung so much, especially since she didn't care about her parents, or that child. However, Felix's words reached inside her chest and squeezed her heart. "Where is Alyssa?"

"Hold on, hold on. Don't get ahead of the story."

"Just fucking tell me."

"In April of 2005, Alyssa was a seventeen-year-old senior in high school. She had sex with a boy named Joshua Kinder and got knocked up just like you."

"How could you possibly know all that?"

"Isn't it ironic," Felix said, ignoring the question. "Your parents get a second attempt at raising a child and they fucked it up again."

Helen wanted to throw the cell phone against the wall. "Are you saying that I'm a forty-year-old grandmother?"

"I'm getting to that."

"Why are you telling me all this? How did you get all these details? Did you interview my parents or something?"

"No, I wouldn't do that. It was all on the Internet."

"Yeah right. Who would care?"

"I'm getting to that."

Helen squeezed her fist together and spoke through her teeth. "Then would you please get to the point."

"Sure." Felix cleared his throat. "Your parents tried something different with Alyssa. Instead of shipping her across the country, they convinced her to marry Joshua. Also, your parents bought a small home for them to raise their family. By that time, Alyssa was eighteen and her new husband was nineteen."

"Really?" Helen was actually pissed off. Her parents could have done the same thing for her when she was seventeen. "Does Alyssa and Joshua live in Alexandria?"

"Yes," Felix said.

"What's the address? Do you have their phone number?"

"You won't need any of that."

"How come?"

Felix chuckled. "I'm almost at the end of this thrilling story."

Helen rolled her eyes. "You would make a horrible author."

"Anyway," Felix said. "I'm coming to the reason why you were picked for this job."

"I'm waiting on pins and needles," Helen said sarcastically.

"On October 19th, 2005, Dale Colby was visiting his brothers in Virginia and drove them to a house, which RJ and Morris claimed they were going to rob."

Suddenly Helen remembered that date. She had read about it in the newspaper which listed RJ and Morris' killing spree in 2005. "Wait, are you saying..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

"RJ and Morris entered the home, bound Alyssa and Joshua with duct tape, and took turns raping Alyssa."

A tear spilt from Helen's eye. She had horrific image of a young woman that was six months pregnant being raped. Helen opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't have the words.

"When RJ and Morris were finished, they beat Joshua to death, then stabbed Alyssa with a pair of scissors, killing her and the baby at the same time."

Helen's stomach swirled. The room spun. Her mind drifted to a horrible place.

Felix continued. "RJ and Morris were arrested twelve days later, on Halloween of all things. At the trial, Dale Colby was the key witness. Can you believe the guy actually had pictures of RJ and Morris going into home and leaving a half-hour later? Then of course, RJ and Morris were charged with other crimes they committed in 2005, but the rape and murder of Alyssa and Joshua was enough to give them the death penalty."

Helen's eyes became moist with tears. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. "How come I didn't hear about this?" she asked, her voice cracked with sorrow.

"Your lovely parents and grandparents kept it from you. Oh, that's reminds me. At the trial, the judge permitted family members to make a statement. Joshua's parents spoke and then... _your_ parents spoke."

Helen dropped the phone, fell to her knees, and began wailing.

### 104

Lake had turned his cell phone on. He sat next to Mardi in the living room, gazing at the hallway.

"She's been talking to someone for over a half-hour," Mardi said.

"I'm aware," Lake replied.

Suddenly there was a pain stricken howl coming from the bedroom. Lake shot up and ran to the room with Mardi right behind him. He opened the door, seeing Helen on her knees, red-faced, body quivering, tears pouring freely from her eyes.

Lake and Mardi gently pulled her up and guided her to the bed. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Helen's lips trembled, attempting several times to speak. "I...I...had a child." she moaned.

Mardi's eyes snapped up to Lake.

He leaned down, rubbing Helen's shoulder. "Who called you?"

"I...can't say."

"Can you tell us why you're so upset?" Lake had a pretty good idea what happened. Either Nicholas or Felix called Helen and told her the truth about her daughter. If that was the case, then Helen was no longer part of their plan. They just needed her to be killed by RJ.

Helen looked up. Tears drained from her eyes. "I got pregnant at seventeen and-"

"We know all about it," Lake said. He wanted to save Helen the torture of retelling the entire story.

She looked at Lake, tears still falling. "How could you know?"

"I had Mardi do an extensive background check you. She discovered everything that happened."

Helen looked at Mardi. "Is there a video of the trial?"

"Yes."

Helen pulled in a shaky breath. "Did my parents speak at the trial?"

Mardi paused, looking at Lake, the letting her eyes fall on Helen. "Yes, they each took a turn."

"How...how come you didn't tell me?"

Lake answered the question. "I instructed Mardi not to say anything."

Helen's face crumbled with more agony. "I don't understand why you would keep that from me?"

"Because, we know everything that you're really doing," Lake blurted out. "We know that you're working with Nicholas Shay and Felix Spencer. We also know that Felix helped plan and execute the prison escape." Lake paused, letting Helen process that information. "They chose you, along with RJ and Morris, because of what happened. Somehow Felix will leak the story and continue to bring attention on you, which in turn, will increase the book sales of _Murder System_."

Helen wiped her eyes. "Were you going to wait until I received my share of the money?" Her voice had regained some strength. "And then what? Were you going to blackmail me, or kill me?" She locked her eyes on him. "Which one was it?"

"I wasn't going to kill you," Lake said honestly. "But I needed to stay close to you so I could figure out what Nicholas and Felix were doing."

Mardi cleared her throat and with compassion. "Why did Nicholas and Felix wait until now to drop this bomb on you?"

Helen didn't speak for a long moment. "My God...They're planning on killing me."

"I agree," Lake said. "And now you understand what Nicholas meant in chapter eleven when he wrote, 'I killed her.' He was referring to RJ and Morris killing your daughter."

Mardi sat next to Helen, but stared at Lake. "How are they planning on accomplishing chapter eleven with all the media attention on us? Also, the Fed's probably have a twenty-four hour watch on this place. The F.B.I. desperately needs to regain their credibility after being made to look foolish. If RJ Colby shows up they'll be here for sure to arrest him."

The color in Helen's skin had returned to normal, although her eyes still a deep crimson. "Felix told me that RJ will be coming here on October..." Helen almost crumbled again, but she regained her composure. "October nineteenth. He said I need to have video surveillance ready."

Mardi stood. "So they're going to wait a month and hope the media attention dies down. Also, they will probably do something again to draw the Fed's away from here. On top of that, it will be symbolic that RJ comes here on that date. Whether he succeeds, or not, it will be a story that Felix can promote."

Lake shook his head. "I don't think the Fed's will be fooled again. They'll keep watching Helen until RJ is caught."

Helen pushed herself up from the bed. "But if that's true, then chapter eleven won't work."

Mardi leaned one shoulder against the wall. "Maybe the answer of what they're going to do isn't so much in chapter eleven, but in chapter twelve."

Lake patted Mardi on the back. "It couldn't hurt to see where Nicholas Shay's plot will take him next."

_Plot:_ _"Plan...Design...Arrange...Conspire"_

### 105
Chapter Twelve

Murder System

I can feel your hot breath. Your fingers are soft, yet, taking hold of me with a firm grip. Your eyes locked on me. You are gorgeous. Don't let anyone tell you differently.

Could you arrange to be with me? Perhaps you're married, or with someone. I understand. Then again, you need to understand how much I need you.

Maybe it is best if I come to you, rather than waiting for you. How is that possible? It's not so hard. Publishers do extensive research so they can better understand the readers. There are a number of ways to contact readers; polls, surveys, newsletters, questionnaires, and feedback requests.

There's an application on your phone that allows you to scan any book in the store, which will produce all the information about the author. In this digital age, wouldn't you think the reverse is possible? For example, when you purchase an eBook, the publisher is sent detailed information which is all about you. The author is privileged to that information.

One of the easiest ways to find you is through the Internet. If you type my name, or the name of my book, anywhere, or anytime you are online, I will be sent an email of what was said, along with _who_ said it. If you are on Facebook and post a comment that says, "I really enjoyed _Murder System_ , by Nicholas Shay," then I will be sent an email, alerting me of that comment.

As you can see, it's pretty simple for me to gain access into your life.

Of course, there's the old fashion way of finding you. I spend insurmountable time in bookstores and other mass-chain stores like Target, just watching people browsing at books.

Sometimes I follow those people home.

Because I tour around the world chances are I have been in your city. If you have browsed through the book section, it is possible that I have watched you then followed you.

And finally, there's the process of _chance_. I like to choose readers at random, then spend many hours researching them. If I am busy, then I can instruct my team of researchers to do that for me. I will say something like, "I need information for a character I'm writing based on that person. Please find out everything you can."

Is it possible that I am watching you right now? Look around. Do you see me?

I'll make a deal with you. In the next thirty seconds raise your hand if you want me to approach you. Just remember that how and when I approach you will be up to me.

Do you have enough courage to raise your hand? It's a simple act, yet, with terrifying possibilities. It's a gesture to show me how much you really want an imaginative author in what's left of your mind-numbing life.

### 106

### Chapter Thirteen

### Murder System

Here's a list of "Helen Miller's" that I've researched.

Helen Miller, owner of Helen Miller Music.

Helen Miller, graduate of Florida State University.

Helen Miller, who is currently in the United States Army.

Helen Miller, now retired.

Helen Miller, who owns a record label.

Helen Miller, a politician in Fort Dodge.

Helen Miller, a teenager at Sand Creek High School.

Helen Miller, living in Tallahassee, Florida.

Helen Miller, who works at the ALTA MODA Fashion Show.

Helen Miller, who attended Troy University.

Helen Miller, currently studying to be a paralegal at Brown Mackie College.

Helen Miller, owner of Miller's Grocery.

Helen Miller, a dancer.

Helen Miller, born on August 24th.

Helen Miller, living in Raleigh, North Carolina.

Helen Miller, graduate from North Marion High School.

Helen Miller, working and living in Myrtle Beach.

Helen Miller, a sales associate at Goodwill.

Helen Miller, long blond hair, living in Wapato, Washington.

Helen Miller, a Majority Leader in D.C.

Helen Miller, I am watching you.

If I decide to haunt another character, maybe _you_ will be chosen to be in my next horror story.

I'll let you know...

### 107

RJ had been patiently waiting for someone to enter the front door. He knew that Felix could see him on the cameras located in every room.

When the door flew open, RJ had been sitting in his favorite chair drinking a beer, smoking a cigarette, watching Showboat scurry up and down the tree. By the sounds of the footsteps behind him, RJ was sure that it wasn't his brother, Morris.

He stood, gripped the top of his beer bottle, and turned. Both men carried guns. RJ threw the bottle at the closest person, hitting with such force it cracked the skull, sending the goon to the floor.

The another one had briefly stopped, looking at his friend.

RJ didn't hesitate. He charged, closing the gap between them in seconds then shoved his lit cigarette into the man's eye. The man screamed, trying to push RJ's hand away while his gun bounced on the floor; luckily, it didn't go off. RJ continued pushing the cigarette until it went under the flap of skin, melting the eyeball.

When the man fell to his knees, RJ snatched the gun off the floor and fired two bullets into the man's chest. The other guy was on his back, with his hand on the skull, blood seeping through the fingers. His gun next to him. RJ snatched the gun up and tucked the weapons in his jeans.

The guy's cell phone rang. RJ leaned down and picked it up. "Hello?"

"Wilk's, is that you?"

"Um, no...Wilk's is about to be killed." RJ put the phone on speaker. "Listen to this." RJ grabbed a broken piece from the beer bottle, then jammed it into the side of Wilk's throat. A fountain of blood shot into the air. Wilk's rolled, making a deep gurgling sounds. RJ held the phone, while standing tall. He positioned his boot over the lodged piece of glass and stepped down, forcing the glass deeper into Wilk's skin.

Moments later, Wilk's stopped moving.

"I'm all done," RJ said. "Is this Felix?"

"Yes." He paused, then spoke with a panicked voice. "I didn't send them there to kill you."

"Bullshit." RJ stepped away from the bloody scene and looked out the window. Showboat was munching on an acorn at the base of the tree. "Where's my brother?"

"Dead," Felix blurted.

"You set him up." RJ kept his voice steady. "I'm going to kill you, then Nicholas Shay, and then Helen Miller, and everyone you fucking people know! I'll make it my life's work. Heck, I'll move to L.A. and kill all of your clients."

"I didn't set your brother up. And I have proof."

RJ looked away from the window. "What proof?"

"Helen Miller kept video in her house. She hired some guy named Lake Ontario Waters to help her post the video on the Internet."

"Lake Ontario Waters? Is that some sort of stupid character name that Nicholas Shay made up?"

"That's his real name. He has an Internet show that Helen was using in attempt to get people to believe that Nicholas Shay was trying to murder her, while using his story as a guideline for the killers."

"Send me the video."

"You're going to stay in the house? I'm pleased with your decision."

"How much money are you, Shay, and Helen going to make off this?" RJ wouldn't let his brother die for no reason, but for right now, he had to be patient."

"We're going to make about ten million, maybe a little more."

RJ chuckled. "But you still need me?"

"Yes. And by now you know what's going on. I need you for chapter eleven."

"Well then, you better tell me the truth. How much are you _actually_ going to make off this job? If I think you're lying, I'll hang up and walk out of here. Meanwhile, you better hire a massive team of bodyguards, because I'll be coming for you."

Felix paused. "We're hoping to make over a hundred million."

"That's better," RJ said. "I want half."

"No fucking way!"

"Giving up half the money is better than dying with it all."

"I'll give you thirty million. That's more than enough."

RJ formed a grin. He would have settled for fifteen million. "I want a million up front."

"I don't have that kind of money."

"Yes you do."

Felix sighed. "You are to stick with the plan in your folder. Take whatever cash is in the house that was left for you and the others. There's plenty."

"I want you to stop by with another million."

"I know you do," Felix said. "But that won't happen."

RJ formed a grin. "Alright you chicken shit. When do I need to kill Helen Miller?"

"October 19th."

RJ scrunched his eyes. "That's a month away."

"Don't you remember what you did on October 19th, 2005?"

RJ had an image of fucking that pregnant woman. She was on the bed, screaming, while he raped her. When Morris took his turn, RJ checked on the husband. Morris had already beaten him to death. When RJ returned to the bedroom, Morris was finished. He handed RJ a pair of scissors. "You finish the bitch." RJ smiled, gripped the scissors and drove the blades into the woman's stomach.

"Why do you care about what I did on that day?" RJ asked.

"It's not me that would care, it's Helen Miller."

"I don't understand?"

"That young woman you killed was Helen Miller's daughter."

RJ had a moment of shock. "No, shit," he muttered. It took a long time for him to speak as the thought about the irony of getting to kill Helen on the same day as he murdered her daughter. "Make sure you send someone here to clean up the mess. Also, I want to see that video."

"No problem, but meanwhile, I want you to-"

RJ hung up the phone and walked to the bedroom where he kept the manila folder given to him by Felix. He flipped open the folder and gazed at the picture of Helen Miller dressed in white with black, loose-curled hair and eyes that gave him a hard-on.

RJ then scanned over the information, reading exactly how he was supposed to kill her. He closed the folder and said to himself, "You have quite an imagination, Nicholas Shay."

### 108

Lake was outside by the barn rereading chapters eleven, twelve, and thirteen. The day was clear, with a frigid wind blowing through the property. Lake needed some time alone in the fresh air. He scanned through the remainder of _Murder System_ , reading that Nicholas Shay chose other female names to haunt and murder. Each chapter was about a different woman with a detailed explanation of how "The Killer" was going perform the murder...systematically of course.

Lake read over the names of the women who would be murdered.

Emily Redick

Sophia Fletcher

Addison Talley

Chloe McCoy

Kathy Stratton

Ella Wheeler

Kayla Hartz

Oliva Millington

Terri Colbert

Brianna Kilman

Lily Nelson

Ashley Burke

Lauren Ellery

Hailey Hoffman

Morgan Ness

Vicky Overton

Madison Birman

Elizabeth Singh

Lake knew a Chloe McCoy on the compound. She was sixteen and ran away from her abusive parents. The compound became a home to many runaways, along with people that couldn't survive the failing economy. Chloe changed her name to Firefly and lived with one of the older women. The nickname was more for the others at the compound, who demanded that newcomers leave behind the traditional world and become reborn in the hippy life.

However, Lake and Mardi refused to call her Firefly. Instead, she was just Chloe; a scared girl that needed a fresh start.

At least once a week Chloe would visit with Lake and Mardi, smoke weed, drink, and have sex. When Chloe heard that Lake and Mardi were leaving, she begged to tag along. Mardi refused to bring her. She had always been jealous of women that paid attention to Lake, which was just about every woman on the compound. Lake had to show a special interest in Mardi. He loved her more than anyone else in the world.

"What's going on?" a voice said from behind.

Lake turned. Mardi was walking toward him wearing a thick wool sweater, along with a knit hat and gloves that they had purchased from Target. The mere fact that she walked toward him while he was thinking about her reinforced the notion that they were soul mates.

He lifted the book and said, "I was reading this over."

"Is it any good?"

Lake smiled. "It sucks."

"Which means Nicholas Shay will make millions off of it."

Lake dropped the book on the ground and wrapped Mardi in a hug. "Exactly. Another example of a backwards industry."

Mardi stepped back, glancing at the ranch house. Her cheeks had already turned pink from the cold snap of the wind. "Can we trust Helen? What if Felix changes things up and sends RJ before October 19th and Helen doesn't say anything?"

"Why would Felix do that? And why would Helen do that to us?"

Mardi locked her eyes on him. "By now Felix knows we're here. Maybe he'll want to get rid of us."

Lake sighed, then leaned down and picked up the book. He flipped through the pages, but more of a method to think rather than to read. "We'll have to keep an eye out for each other, especially at night."

Mardi pointed to the book. "Did you gain any insights?"

"Not really. It's like the plot changes and starts to focus on other women characters."

"Anyone we know?" Mardi asked sarcastically.

"Actually, one name rings a bell...Chloe McCoy."

Mardi smiled. "You mean Firefly? I always liked her."

Lake raised an eyebrow. "Maybe we should have brought her with us."

Mardi playfully punched him in the chest. "I didn't like her that much."

Lake held Mardi's hand and started walking while carrying _Murder System_ in the other hand. "I'm sure everyone that reads the novel will recognize a character name and think, 'I know her!' It will make the story more realistic and dramatic."

"Especially if one of those women end up dead."

Lake abruptly stopped. "What if Chloe..." He couldn't say the words aloud, but the vivid image of Chloe being tortured and murdered was clearer than words.

Mardi gave him another playful punch in the chest. "The book is fiction," she said. "Except for the Helen Miller parts of course."

Lake's heart began to thunder. "Maybe Felix or Nicholas researched us. They could know all about the compound."

"That's impossible. No one can trace us back to the compound. Plus, Helen Miller called us _after_ exhausting all of her other media options. She probably had no idea who you were until she started researching Internet shows."

"Unless," Lake said in a soft voice. "Helen Miller had us in her plans all along and it was made to look like we were the last resort."

### 109

Lake and Mardi told Helen that they would be leaving for about three weeks. Helen protested this sudden change of events, but conceded when there was no hope of changing their mind.

Lake and Mardi flew to California, rented a car, and took extra caution when driving to the compound. In fairness to the people that live there, Lake made sure they weren't followed. No one should ever know what the city, or location the compound is hidden.

To enter the compound Lake had to drive down a long dirt road which was open for miles in every direction. Lake then parked on the edge of a hill, grabbed their two suitcases, and began his journey upward with Mardi by his side.

The day turned cold, but Lake had a relentless stream of sweat pouring down his face, soaking the shirt underneath his jacket. They arrived at the top of the hill in about a half hour, then walked another ten minutes down the other side. The houses in the compound were sunken in the ground, masked by rows of trees that enclosed the area.

When the houses came into view, Lake placed the suitcases down and caught his breath.

"What are you doing here?" a voice rang.

Lake noticed that Joab had been sitting at a nearby tree. Joab stood, walking toward them with a hard glare. He had a large frame, with dirty-blond hair that reached the middle of his back and skin that had been bronzed by the sun. He never wore a shirt and or sandals. Today, he did wear baggy shorts, but for the most part, he liked to stroll around naked.

Joab was the leader of the compound. It's conceivable that he watched Lake and Mardi's journey over the last hour from the top of the hill.

Lake waited until Joab was close. "I need to speak with my mother."

Joab cocked his head. "Free is in her home. What do you need to speak with her about?"

Lake picked up the suitcases. "None of your fucking business."

Joab placed his large hand on Lake's chest. "You and Mardi Gras left this place. The only way you can return is to be reborn into the compound."

Mardi bravely shoved him away from Lake. "We're not staying," she snapped. "Just let us through."

Lake gripped both suitcases and took a step forward, but Joab stood in his way. This time, he placed both of his hands on Lake's chest. "I'm not a violent man," Joab said through his teeth. "But I will defend this compound with my life."

Mardi was about to shove him away again when Joab snatched her arm and twisted.

"Stop!" someone yelled. "Let her go!"

Joab released Mardi's hand and turned around. Lake saw his mother approaching. She wore a sundress, with brown hair pulled back and secured with a wicker band. Lake noticed that his mother's tan skin had aged considerably, yet her eyes remained a sharp blue.

"Stay out of this, Free!" Joab yelled. "You know I can't let strangers on the compound."

Mardi stood right in his face. "We aren't strangers, you jackass!"

Lake considered swinging both suitcases into Joab, but held back his frustration. "We're not staying long. And no one followed us."

Joab snapped his eyes at Lake. "Leave everything here so I can check it. If you have cell phones, or laptops, they'll have to be shut off and remain in my possession. When you leave, I'll give them back."

Lake didn't trust Joab, but in order to end this misery he agreed.

After Free hugged both Lake and Mardi, she led them to her house, lit up a joint and sat on the floor, crossing her legs. "Sit down with me. Make a circle and find peace. You both have brought a lot of negative energy into the compound."

Neither Lake nor Mardi had a freshly rolled joint from the compound since they left. The weed they had purchased over the years tasted like garbage compared to the marijuana they grew here. Both of them eagerly sat down, ignoring the 'negative energy' comment.

Lake squeezed the joint between his fingers, took in a long drag, and passed it to Mardi. "It's good to see you," Lake said to his mother. "How have things been going for you?"

"I'm tired," Free said.

Lake raised an eyebrow. In all the years he lived here, no one ever complained of being tired. In fact, he didn't see how it was possible. "Are you sick?"

Free accepted the joint from Mardi. "Don't bring more bad energy into this place. Just accept the fact that I'm tire and leave it at that."

"You don't sound like yourself," Lake said. "Is there anything I can do?"

She handed Lake the joint. "Tell me why you're here, because I know you didn't come back to visit."

Lake took an extra long drag from the joint and handed it to Mardi. "We need to speak with Chloe McCoy."

"Who?"

"Sorry. I meant to say, Firefly."

Free took the joint from Mardi and finished it off. "Firefly is gone."

Lake's mouth fell open. "When did she leave?"

"We're not sure what happened to her. She just disappeared."

Mardi leaned forward. "When did you last see her?"

Free reached up on the table near her and grabbed another large joint and the lighter. Free then looked at Mardi and said, "Firefly disappeared around the same time you left."

### 110

After Lake processed this information he said, "I'll need to speak with Birthwen." Birthwen was the old woman that Chloe lived with on the compound. "Maybe she knows what happened."

Free held both the lighter and joint in one hand. "Don't you think that we asked Birthwen what happened? She had no idea."

"Still, I'd like to speak with her."

"You can't," Free said, lighting the joint and taking a drag. "She died about a year ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Lake said. Birthwen and his mother were close. In fact, Birthwen was close to everyone, because she guided all newcomers on how to be reborn into a peaceful life while leaving all their corporate and government mindsets behind. "Who first discovered that Chloe...I mean Firefly...was missing?"

"Birthwen told me. I informed Joab." Free offered the joint to Mardi, but she waved her hand, not taking it. Free narrowed her eyes at Mardi. "What's wrong with you?"

"Did Joab notice if any of Firefly's possessions were missing?" Mardi asked.

Free took a long drag from the joint and blew out the smoke through the corner of her mouth. "Firefly didn't have any possessions."

"And what about the box?"

Lake snapped his eyes in Mardi's direction. "What box?"

A wave of shame washed over Mardi's face. She diverted her eyes and said, "Firefly had stolen five thousand dollars from her parents before running away. She put the money in an old toolbox and hid it in under a floorboard."

Lake glanced at his mother. She was beat red. It was rare when someone showed up here with money. Usually the person or family arrived broke and out of options. The compound was their last chance to be saved from the world. However, if someone did bring money it was to be donated to the compound. The only true way a person can be reborn is to give up all their remaining possessions.

Free puffed on the joint several times before speaking. "Mardi Gras, you should have said something. Firefly was lost, but you were her closest friend. How could she have been completely reborn if she's hiding five thousand dollars in cash?"

Mardi lowered her head. "I'm so sorry."

Free handed the joint to Lake. She then leaned forward and hugged Mardi, whispered something in her ear, then gave her a long kiss on the lips. Free leaned back and took the joint from Lake, handing it to Mardi. "Clear your mind and lay your problems on the altar of spiritual life."

The three of them smoked the rest of the joint in silence. Lake actually felt the pressures of the world slip away. That was the power of a few joints and the peacefulness of the compound. He could tell that Mardi and his mother were both calming down and settling into the enchantment of the smoke-filled room; although, he was a bit worried that when it was time for them to leave, Mardi may want to stay behind.

Lake stood, guiding both Free and Mardi to their feet. "Who lives at Birthwen and Firefly's home now?"

"A young couple with a one-year-old boy and an infant girl." Free opened the door. "They arrived two months ago. The husband lost his job. He had been working at an industrial unit that was experimenting with Green Energy of all things."

Now outside in the crisp air, Lake walked to one side of his mother, while Mardi walked on the other side. He asked, "How did they find the compound?"

"The same way Firefly discovered us."

Lake shook his head, agreeing. The compound was in a remote area in the center of five hundred acres of land. They believed that when someone wandered here, they were led by the spirit of God. This place was absolution, freedom, and the kind of liberty the United States could only talk about in political speeches. The compound was true freedom. People generally walked around naked. They grew their own marijuana and made their own wine. They smoked, drank, and had sex whenever and wherever they wanted. All the food was grown here. Cows provided milk. A nearby stream provided water, along with a place to cleanse their body and souls.

No taxes. No bills. No stress.

"The husband's wife is named Stunner," Free explained. They walked at a brisk pace through the compound. Plenty of eyeballs shot in their direction. Lake and Mardi simply nodded and kept moving. Free pointed in the direction of Birthwen's old home even though Lake and Mardi knew the way. "The husband is named Waben."

Birthwen had been the one that named newcomers after they had been reborn into the compound. By the sound of these names, it was obvious that Joab had taken over the responsibility.

They arrived at the small shack, which was similar to other homes in the compound. There was only one room with the bare necessities to live. In several locations throughout the compound were outhouses. No home was permitted to have a self-made toilet, because the smell could damage the spiritual essence of those who lived there.

Free gave a light knock on the door. Stunner answered, completely naked. Her skin was pale because she had yet to experience a full summer at the compound. She had a long nose, undernourished body, and a full bush of hair between her legs.

She wasn't what the world would classify as a "Stunner," which is probably why Joab gave her that name.

Free embraced the woman and introduced Lake and Mardi. "They need to look inside the home," Free explained in a kind voice. "A girl that used to live here may have left something behind."

Stunner moved to the side. "You can look around of course, but the house was cleared before we moved in."

The three of them entered the small home. Two children slept on a bed to the right. There was a picnic table on the opposite wall of the door. Three windows had blankets over them, making it just about impossible see. When Stunner moved one of the blankets, a flash of light revealed the left side of the home with a mattress on the floor and a naked man lying on top of several blankets.

His glistening cock pointed straight up in the air. It was obvious that Stunner and Waben had put their kids down for a nap and were enjoying some afternoon delight.

Waden had pale skin like his wife and shared the same rail body with the exception that he had a small round potbelly that looked oddly out of place.

Mardi knelt down by the bed. Waden turned his body, reached behind her head and pulled her close towards his cock. "My God you're beautiful," he whispered.

Mardi swung the back of her hand, connecting on Waden's cheek. His eyes became like silver dollars as he moved away from her and stood. "Why did you hit me?"

"I'm not here to fuck you," Mardi said, looking down on the floorboard.

Free stepped forward and became the voice of reason. "She just needs to check something. We won't be long."

"Are they even residents of the compound?" Waden asked. "Because we were told that visitors weren't permitted to be-."

Lake put his hands up. "Calm down," he said. "A girl used to live here. We're concerned about her safety."

Stunner moved next to her husband. "I thought an elderly woman used to live here?"

Free said, "That's true. The girl lived here with Birthwen."

"Where is it!" Mardi shouted, drawing the attention of everyone including the two children who were now awake and crying.

Stunner hurried across the room looking like a streaker. She scooped up both children and asked Mardi, "Why are you yelling at us? What're you looking for?"

Mardi stood tall, then pointed to the floorboard that she had removed. "Inside the hole is an old toolbox and inside the toolbox was a wad of cash."

"Cash?" Waden said. By now his penis had crawled back inside its shell and was barely visible. "We aren't permitted to hide money." He looked at Free. "Isn't that true?"

"Yes," Free said, keeping a calm tone. "Mardi, you need to stop shouting at-"

"It's real simple," Mardi said. Her voice was just a notch lower. "If Chloe took the money, it means she ran away. But if she disappeared and the money was taken later, it means that she's in trouble and needs our help."

Free narrowed her eyes. "Stop calling Firefly by the name her abusive birth-parents gave her. And stop accusing these people of stealing."

Lake put his hands up. "Okay, everyone calm down." He glanced at the screaming kids, then looked at Stunner. "We just need to know if you noticed the loose floorboard, looked inside, and whether or not the money was in there."

Waden pointed to the door. "I would like all of you to leave!"

Stunner placed the two screaming children back down on the bed. "I agree. All of you have brought a harmful energy into our home, which could take weeks to remove."

Mardi heaved a sigh. "Give me a break. You haven't been here long enough to know about _good_ , or _harmful_ energy. Just answer the fucking question. Did you accidentally find the toolbox? If so, was the money in there or not?"

Free grabbed Lake by the arm, then stepped forward and snatched Mardi by the hand. "That is enough! Let's go." She dragged them both outside. The sound of a slamming door came from behind. "Have you two been in the world so long that you forgot how to enter a home in peace?" Her voice brought the attention of others that had been walking by.

Mardi tugged her hand back. "Chloe...I mean Firefly, could be in danger. We need to know if she ran away, or if she was taken."

"Is there a problem," a male voice asked. They turned to see Joab. "I've been receiving complaints that a bad energy source is infecting the compound. Naturally, I knew exactly who was causing the problems."

Mardi stepped nose-to-nose with Joab. "When Birthwen died, who cleared the home?"

"I did," Joab said with a sly grin.

A crowd had formed around them. Lake reached out and pulled Mardi back. He then looked at Joab. "Did you take the money?"

Joab cocked his head. "What money? Who possess money here?"

Lake knew that it was pointless to continue this conversation. "I'm sorry for the disruption. If it happens again, we will leave."

Joab studied Lake for a moment. His eyes swept to Mardi, Free, and then on the crowd of onlookers. "Well," he said. "Let's all walk away from here and search for our inner harmony."

Lake grabbed Mardi by the arm, led her away, and spoke in a low voice. "Just keep your mouth shut until we get back to my mother's house."

### 111

After eating a dinner at Free's home which consisted of a salad full of veggies and sprinkled with lemon, Lake and Mardi took a walk. Mardi brought three joints and a bottle of red wine.

The compound was shadowed by low gray clouds with a sprinkle of rain. The ground turned to mud and the temperature dropped at a rapid pace. It reminded Lake of medieval times with the exception of everyone being stoned.

The trees colored with orange, yellow, and red leaves, which created at least some happiness on the dreary evening. The sun would fall beyond the world and the compound would soon be sheltered in darkness. That's when small campfires begin to burn, wine would be drunk, and joints would be smoked.

Mardi pointed to a large home. "That brings back memories," she said. The place was nicknamed Leftovers. Teenagers without parents would spend a few months with Birthwen so they can be reborn and learn how to be responsible, especially with sex. When Birthwen was satisfied that the teenager had learned enough, they could move to Leftovers with the other teenagers.

It was where Mardi had lived.

They continued walking in silence, working their way through the compound into the woods, arriving at an open patch of land near a stream. About fifty feet away they saw a naked couple having sex on the other side of the stream.

"Talk about memories," Lake said. The man laid on his back while the woman road on top of him. The cold air mixed with the sprinkle of rain would be uncomfortable for most people to be naked on the ground while having sex. But for the residents of the compound this was just another evening filled with love.

Lake and Mardi found their special spot near the bend of the stream. In the tree behind them Lake had carved their initials. It was a little corny, but Mardi seemed to appreciate it. Unfortunately, Lake also carved the initials of other young women he had sex with, including Chloe.

Mardi lit one of the joints, took a long drag and handed it to Lake. "Do you ever miss this place?" She opened the bottle of wine and took a swig. "I forgot how relaxing it is here by the stream."

Lake knew that despite Mardi's sudden burst of anger earlier today, she seemed like a young woman returning home. "It's certainly peaceful here," Lake said. "I miss some things about the compound." That statement was true, but not true enough for him to move back.

Lake and Mardi finished off the joint and most of the wine in silence while gazing into the night. The mist of rain and the flow of the stream were hypnotic, serene, and relaxing. No drug, or buzz of wine could replace a moment like this, although, it didn't hurt.

"We could stay." Mardi's voice cut into the night. She had obviously been thinking about this rather than meditating on the stream.

Lake scrambled for a response. "This place is like a vacation to us now. It's fun for a couple of weeks, but we'll become anxious to leave again."

"I suppose." Mardi had trouble lighting the second joint. She cupped it under her hand to protect it from the drizzling rain and cold snap of the wind. After a few tries, the joint lit. She took a quick puff and said, "I just love our spot here by the stream. It's irreplaceable."

"You might not remember this, but it was actually _your_ idea to leave here. A few months before we left you said to me-"

"I remember," Mardi said. She handed him the joint. "It's just that we're dealing with a shrewd snake in Helen Miller."

It was strange to hear the name as if the mere mention of Helen Miller was like an imposter that had snuck onto the compound.

Lake thought about the threesome they had with Helen. Mardi went through with it, most likely for the same reason Lake did...because it felt like being on the compound again. "We have the upper hand with Helen Miller. I'm not worried about her."

"What about Felix? There's no telling what that motherfucker will do. And then there's RJ Colby. How can you or I defend ourselves against a cold-blooded killer like that? It's impossible. Heck, we don't even own a gun. Let's face it. You and I aren't cut out for that kind of life."

Lake pinched the joint, smoked, then chased it down with the last of the wine. His body remained in a complete state of relaxation despite Mardi's worried comments. "You can stay here," he suggested. "But I'd rather have you with me."

Mardi accepted the joint from him and took a quick drag. "I'll go wherever you go."

"That's not fair to me." Lake's voice rose a little higher than he wanted. "You have to make your own decision or you'll regret being with me."

Mardi took another drag, held in the smoke, then leaned over and connected her mouth with Lake. She let the marijuana seep into Lake while rubbing her tongue on his.

When all the smoke had been transferred from her mouth to his, she leaned back and formed a thin smile. "Where you go...I go."

### 112

The room where RJ killed the two men had been cleaned by replacement goons sent by Felix. They also brought with them a television set, DVD player, and the video that RJ requested. In addition, the two goons filled the refrigerator with beer and handed RJ several cartons of cigarettes.

When they left RJ slid the DVD in, turned on the television, and sat down on the couch. In one hand he held a lit cigarette. In the other hand he had a fresh longneck beer.

The camera was steady, showing Helen Miller lying down at the fireplace. The shadows from the flame barely revealed her face. RJ narrowed his eyes, staring hard with anticipation.

According to _Murder System_ the killer was supposed to enter through the front door. RJ instructed his brother to find a different way to enter the home using a back door, or window.

Helen's head turned. It was difficult to see, but it appeared she had been alerted like a dog that heard a noise. She moved to her knees, watching intently. Seconds later she stood, placing her hands over her mouth. It was obvious Helen was looking at something horrible, but she didn't run away.

RJ dropped the cigarette to the floor and squashed it with his boot. He took a sip from the beer and leaned forward. "What are you looking at?" RJ asked himself.

Helen darted out of the picture. The only image for the next minute or so was the fireplace. Suddenly, Helen and Morris tumbled into view. RJ reached for the remote and hit PAUSE, then studied the screen.

_Morris was injured_ , he thought.

RJ's notion was confirmed after he hit PLAY. Helen was able to fight off Morris and crawl to the fireplace. She grabbed the fire poker, twisted her body around, and shoved the poker into Morris's face. Despite the pain, Morris recovered, grappling Helen all the way down to the floor.

RJ found himself cheering on his brother despite knowing the outcome.

Another figure appeared into the screen. He was a tall male, who also seemed hobbled by an injury. The man plunged down on Morris and spun him off Helen. Then another young woman appeared in the screen helping the man hold Morris down.

Helen stood and the man yelled something to her. Helen responded as if the two were in an argument. Meanwhile, Morris was on the floor bleeding from his face, being held by the young man and woman.

The young man yelled something to the woman. He then drove his knee into the back of Morris while the woman stood up and ran from the screen.

Unexpectedly the young man rolled off Morris and the screen went black.

RJ replayed the video several times. In the newspaper it claimed that a fire had started from when Helen poked Morris. When she attempted to put the fire out with a blanket, Morris broke free and Helen had no choice but to shoot him.

RJ wasn't stupid. He knew that Helen and the young woman had moved away from Morris while that man held him down. Suddenly the man rolled off. Most likely he noticed Helen pointed the gun, or Helen yelled a warning to get out of the way. Then Helen shot Morris until he was dead. Afterwards, the three of them burned down the house, but _remarkably_ saved the video.

Breathing a heavy, angry sigh, RJ ejected the DVD and was about to place it back in the paper case when he noticed something written on it.

CHARACTERS IN THIS VIDEO

HELEN MILLER

LAKE ONTARIO WATERS

MARDI GRAS

RJ took a healthy sip of beer while staring at the names.

### 113

Helen felt more alone than ever. It was October 10th. Lake and Mardi should be arriving back soon. She longed to have them walking into the front door.

These emotions were of course unexpected. Helen had planned to be alone in the farmhouse until all of this was over, but having Lake and Mardi stay with her seemed to pass the time. It also made her feel safe.

Helen flicked on the television and watched the news. A couple of dedicated media remained on the street in front of the ranch house. She also assumed the F.B.I. continued watching, but that didn't ease the tension that RJ Colby would be coming after her in nine days.

A picture of Nick's novel on television caught Helen's attention. As the story continued, Helen watched in horror as they discussed three other murders that were connected to Nick's book.

Emily Redick, from Baltimore, Maryland had been murdered exactly how it was described in chapter fourteen of _Murder System_. In Athens-Clarke, Georgia, Sophia Fletcher was killed the same way it was described in chapter fifteen. Addison Talley of Joliet, Illinois was murdered the same way as described in chapter sixteen.

The reporter went on to say that the next character in chapter seventeen is named, Chloe McCoy. Helen turned up the volume.

"Meanwhile," the reporter said, "Helen Miller in Bloomington, Indiana had taken the brunt of this book...at least, according to her interview on the Lake Ontario Water's Show." Helen sensed a hint of jealousy from the reporter. "It appears that the novel, _Murder System_ , is moving forward without the character Helen Miller while killing others in the later chapters. A spokesperson from the F.B.I. made a statement today that they do not believe these murders, nor the attempted murder of Helen Miller, are connected to Nicholas Shay's novel. However, it appears that several million readers disagree. _Murder System_ remains on the New York Times Bestseller's List as sales continue to rise."

Helen grabbed the remote and flicked the television off. She was pleased at the national attention Nick's book received. After all, that was the plan. But she wondered if Nick and Felix decided to move on without her.

She used the prepaid cell phone and called Nick. When he didn't answer, she tried calling Felix.

"What could you possibly want?" Felix asked.

"I see that _Murder System_ is still on the bestseller's list. It also appears that millions of books are being sold."

"And your point?"

"When is Nick going to get a deal so we can end this?"

"I don't know. That's not in my control. I'm sure being a person in the publishing business you're well aware of how things work."

Helen pulled in a deep breath. "What about chapter eleven?"

"Stop worrying, my dear," Felix said. "Chapter eleven is going to happen."

### 113

Helen had been in a deep sleep for the first time in a year. She flicked her eyes open, but instantly swallowed in the darkness of the room lit only by the green glow of the digital clock, which indicated it was three in the morning.

She sat up with a start. Why had she woken up in the first place? Had she heard a noise? Yes, she did.

Helen threw off the blankets, then became chilled by the coldness of the room. She hurried to the light switch and flicked it on. The sudden appearance of light hurt her eyes. She took a few moments to catch her breath and collect her wits.

"What day is it?" she whispered to herself. Was it October nineteenth already? No. It was only the eighteenth.

Helen opened the door with a slow, cautious movement. She looked at the dark hallway, still convinced a noise had woken her up. Maybe Lake and Mardi had come back? She hadn't heard from them. They were supposed to return before the nineteenth to setup the video equipment.

More importantly, they were going to help defend her against RJ Colby.

Helen's mouth became dry. Her breathing unsteady. She had been spooked while sleeping and could not get past the fearful sensation that flowed coldly through her veins.

Helen flicked the hallway light on, taking each step as if someone was about to appear...

"Hey there," a voice said.

Helen screamed so loud that a wave of dizziness sent her to the floor. She instinctively twisted her body, putting her hands up in defense, shouting for help.

"Are you a little jumpy?" the voice asked.

Helen blinked her eyes into focus, keeping her hands in front of her. She looked up and saw Lake. Then, relief began to flow in her body and releasing the grip of fear. After a few quick breaths, she raised her hands. "Help me up," she said with a grin.

Lake grabbed her hands and pulled Helen to her feet. "Are you okay?"

Mardi had joined them. "What the hell is all the screaming about?"

Helen saw that Lake was only wearing a pair of boxers and Mardi dressed in an oversized T-shirt. "How long have you two been back?"

"We got here around midnight," Lake said. "We didn't want to wake you."

Helen blew a sigh of relief. "You could have woken me instead of scaring the shit out of me." She began walking to the kitchen.

Lake followed. "Well in hindsight that seems obvious," he said sarcastically.

Helen turned on all the lights and then poured herself a glass of water from the sink. "Did you hear about the other murders?"

Lake glanced at Mardi. "Yeah, we heard. Three women with the same names as the characters in _Murder System_ had been killed in order of the chapters, the exact way Nicholas had described."

Helen placed the glass down in the sink. "Those women couldn't have been killed by RJ Colby. It must be other sicko's murdering them."

Mardi eased into a chair by the wooden table. "A friend of ours is named Chloe McCoy."

Helen raised her eyes. "Same name as the character in chapter seventeen?"

"Yes," Mardi said. "We went back to our home in California. She's missing."

Helen stepped forward. "Where are you two from? You've never told me."

"And we never will," Mardi snapped. "Do you know anything about Chloe?"

"What the hell are you insinuating?"

Mardi sprung from her chair. "Maybe part of your plan was to include Lake and I, along with our friend Chloe."

"First of all," Helen said, "someone left a business card taped to my door with Lake's name. That's how I found you."

Lake put his hand up. "Wait a second. Someone gave you a business card with my name on it? I don't have any business cards."

"Well, someone left it for me," Helen said. "And second of all, I have no idea where you two are originally from, which means, I don't know any of your friends, including Chloe McCoy. And third, Felix and Nicholas planned everything. I was to play a role in his story and receive a cut of the money after he received a lucrative deal."

Lake rubbed the back of his neck. "I want to discuss the money. How much is your portion?"

Helen bounced her eyes from Lake, to Mardi, then back to Lake. "I'm to receive forty percent. Nick and Felix are going to split thirty percent each."

Mardi sat back down. "How will you know when Nicholas gets a deal?"

Helen joined Mardi at the table. "It won't be a secret. The media will have that story covered in detail."

Lake remained standing. "How will Nicholas divide the money?"

"After he receives his check, Nick will withdrawal the money, then set a time and place to divide it with Felix and I."

Mardi slapped her hand on the table. "How can you trust them?"

Helen glared at her. "They have no reason to screw me out of the money," Helen said with a hard glare. "There's plenty for all of us."

Lake finally sat down. "Mardi and I will help you, but take a portion of your money."

"How much?"

"Half of anything you receive."

"Half? I'm the one that's dealing with death row killers! It's the reason why Nick and Felix are giving me a larger portion in the first place!"

"Well," Lake said. He looked at Mardi. "Let's call the F.B.I. and tell them everything we know."

Helen didn't seem amused by Lake's threatening sarcasm. "If you blow the whistle on me, then you'll also be exposing Felix. You cannot defend yourself against him."

"But you can?" Lake asked. "I agree with Mardi. There's no way you can trust Felix and Nicholas. They've already held back information from you. Don't forget that tomorrow is October nineteenth, which is the same day your pregnant daughter and her husband were-"

Helen put her hand up. "I'm fully aware of what happened." She paused, looking at both of them. "What can I do? I've come this far. I need to see this through to the end."

"How about you give us thirty percent of what you earn," Lake said. "I'll protect you from RJ Colby while video taping his attempted murder. I'll also handle Felix and make sure you get your money. I've dealt with someone more powerful than him before."

"Like the governor of Maine?" Helen said.

Lake formed a tired grin. "Yes, just like him."

Helen considered Lake's offer. "So if Nicholas receives a hundred million on a deal, I will give you eighteen million and keep forty-two million?"

"Yep," Lake said. "Are we partners?"

Helen smiled. "Yes...we're partners."

114

_October 19_ th _, 2010_

Detective Perez had just arrived at the police station, grabbed a cup of coffee, flirted with the female officer in the evidence room, then sat down at his desk when the phone rang.

"Critical Response Team, this is Detective Perez speaking."

"I need a favor."

Perez recognized the voice. "Our business is finished."

"Why haven't you retired yet?" Felix asked.

"I'm retiring at the end of the year."

"I'll have someone leave a hundred thousand on your front porch."

Perez squeezed the phone and leaned forward. "Sounds like you really need my help."

"If want to pat yourself on the back, then go ahead. But the reason I'm calling you is because I ran out of idiots and your name was next on my list."

Perez ignored the insolent comment. "What do you want?"

"Is the F.B.I. still watching Helen Miller's ranch house?"

"No, but they have asked we keep at least once patrol car on her street near her house at all times. And the Fed's check in with us daily."

"What about the media? Are they still hanging around, or did they give up as well?"

"There are a few devoted media there." Perez lowered his voice. "I read chapter eleven of _Murder System_. When is that supposed to happen?"

"Today," Felix said. "I need you to clear the street in front of Helen's ranch house. No media or police. I don't even want a neighbor to be walking their dog near her home. Get this done right now."

"How the hell am I going to do that?"

"Use your imagination," Felix said. "If you get that done in the next hour, I'll make sure your hundred thousand is delivered. If you're unable to complete that task, then I'll assume you're just another idiot on my list."

Felix hung up.

Perez took a sip of coffee, then spit it back into the cup because it had turned cold. He looked at his watch and sprung from his chair while grabbing his coat.

Minutes later he was in his cruiser heading to Tarkington Road. Meanwhile he racked his brains on how he could clear the street without raising suspicion. He didn't have authority over the officer watching he house. He couldn't order the officer to leave, along with all the media. And even if he did, how would it look when Helen Miller is brutally murdered just a few minutes later? The Fed's would be all over him.

Perez continued driving, attempting to think about this logically. He didn't want to be linked to Helen's murder, so that meant he couldn't be seen. He had to get rid of the officer and media without making contact with them.

An idea popped into his head. He thought of the perfect solution.

### 115

Lake purchased twelve security cameras and worked on installing them early this morning.

Front door.

Living room.

Dining room.

Kitchen.

Cold cellar.

Hallway.

Main bedroom.

Spare bedroom.

Rear sliding glass door.

Inside and outside of the barn.

And on top of the house facing toward the property.

When Lake finished checking each of cameras, he went back into the house and saw that Mardi had a handgun that looked like something from the Old West. "Where'd you find that?"

"In the cold cellar," Mardi said, looking at the weapon. "I've never shot one of these things before."

Lake snagged it from her. "Well, let's not have an accident. I'll put it in the bedroom."

Helen walked in from the hallway. "I see you found the .45 Magnum BFR."

"Do you mean this gun?" Lake asked, holding it up.

"Yeah. It belonged to the guy who was staying here." Helen's skin began to flush. "Where did you find it?"

Mardi answered the question. "In the cold cellar."

"Well, be careful." Helen forced a grin. "You two aren't the gun fighting type." She looked around. "Are we all set?"

"Yep," Lake said. "No matter what direction RJ comes from, or where he enters the house, we'll have him on video."

"How does that work?" Helen asked.

"The twelve video cameras are streamed into a central computer, which in this case, is our laptop in the spare bedroom closet. There's also a backup feed that I hid inside the closet wall. It's all connected by a router, so no wires are necessary."

"I'm guessing if RJ kills me, he won't be able to find the video, because it will be hidden."

Lake hardened his expression. "I won't let him kill you."

Helen took in a small breath. Her eyes swept across the room. "Where will you two be hiding?"

"I'll be in the spare bedroom. Mardi will be in the barn." Lake fixed his eyes on Helen. "You'll have to stay near the dinning room table."

"How will we know when this will start?" Helen's voice was clearly shaken.

"I don't really know."

"I do," Mardi said. She had been looking out the living room window. "I think he's coming."

Lake rushed to her. "Why do you think that?"

"Look." Mardi pointed outside.

Helen joined them at the window. All three looked at the street. Lake said, "The officer that had been watching the house is gone. So is the media. Where did everyone go?"

"Can you smell that?" Mardi asked.

Lake stepped away from the window. There was a faint smell of smoke. He could here sirens down the street. "That's smart," Lake said.

Mardi shook her head, agreeing. "Yep. Starting a fire nearby would clear everyone out."

### 116

"Wake up Helen Miller," RJ said into her ear. His eyes examined her.

Dark Hair. Smooth skin. Firm body.

Bound with rope to a table.

"Helen Miller," RJ said again. "Wake up sweetie." He glanced back at the camera and smiled. He loved killing, but never thought to record his passion on video. This was actually a first for him.

RJ picked up the Pepsi can that he placed next to her, then popped it open. Helen's eyes appeared. She had not yet grasped what was happening to her. She attempted to move her arms, then legs, coming to the realization that she was tied to the large wooden table.

RJ strolled around the table sipping in the Pepsi. "Are you thirsty?" he asked. Helen didn't respond, so he placed the can over her face and dumped it, splashing the cold dark liquid in her eyes and mouth. "Did you change your mind?" RJ asked. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes," Helen responded with a quiet voice.

RJ shook his head. "No, I want you to say, 'I changed my mind. I want something to drink.'"

Helen's chest began to rise and fall. She whispered, "I changed my mind. I want something to drink."

"Louder!"

"I changed my mind!" Tears slid from the edge of her eyes. "I want something to drink!"

"Sure," RJ said.

He twisted the can, ripping the aluminum. He then positioned the sharp edged on the corner of her mouth and tore into the skin. Helen screamed as RJ sliced her lips, shredding the inside of her cheek, then finishing by cutting a deep slice into her tongue as blood seeped from her mouth.

RJ strolled away from the table and let the torn aluminum can drop to the floor. He turned on the stereo, blasting club music that he absolutely despised.

"Please let me go," Helen groaned.

RJ reached for the light switch, flicking it off and on. He continued doing this, watching Helen through the strobe lighting, twisting her body under the rope. He gazed at her thighs, tits, and bloody mouth, wishing that Nicholas Shay had written a nice rape scene for him to perform.

RJ turned the lights off, then carefully walked through the darkness, following the sound of the music. He blindly reached for the power button.

Now, it was dark and quiet.

The baseball bat ready and waiting next to the stereo system. RJ took hold of it and once again walked through the darkness, but this time following the sound of Helen's whimpers. RJ let his eyes adjust, positioning himself at the wooden table. He swung down with the bat, striking Helen in the stomach so hard that he heard the ribs crack.

He swung again and again. RJ struck her fingers, smashing them into the table. He struck the wrist on her other hand, working his way up her body, ending with a hard strike on her jaw.

RJ placed the bat on the wall and turned the light back on. He took a moment to examine his work, especially her jaw, which dangled to the side of her gruesome face. Helen spit up blood, moaning, eyes wide with fear.

"You're a mess," RJ said. "Hold on. I'll be right back."

RJ walked away from the table, searching for a pair of scissors. He found some in a drawer, then returned. This brought back memories of five years ago when he raped that young pregnant bitch, then stabbed her in the stomach.

RJ returned to the table, gripped the handle of the scissors with both hands, positioning the tip on Helen's blood-splattered throat. "I need to confess something," RJ said. "Can you hear me?" Helen's fearful eyes snapped in his direction. "I just wanted to say that I killed her."

The life drained from Helen's eyes. RJ repeated, "I killed her." He then pushed the scissors down into her throat, ripping through the skin and muscles until he hit the wood table.

He let go of the scissors, gazing at the punctured hole. Only a small stream of dark blood poured down her neck. He waited for the gusher, but it never happened. She just died.

RJ was a bit disappointed that the death had not been more dramatic.

### 117

RJ shoved the video surveillance DVD in his back pocket, then walked outside, comforted by the mixture of sun, blue sky, and chilly air. He looked back at the sign on the building. HELEN MILLER MUSIC. RJ then looked in both directions. The small town of Martinsville, Indiana seemed barely alive, even though it was early afternoon.

A white Chevy Colorado truck approached, slowed down, then parked in front of the store. As the man climbed out of the truck, RJ spotted the bulge underneath his leather jacket, meaning he carried a gun.

At first RJ thought it might be an off duty cop, but as the man stepped onto the sidewalk, RJ recognized him. "Hey there," RJ said, catching the man's attention. "You're Aric Miller, a knight in the Klu Klux Klan."

Aric took a few steps toward RJ. His eyes wandered down to RJ's right arm, gazing at the swastika. Aric pointed and said, "I see you're a nigger hater." His speech was pure redneck.

"Yeah, I hate niggers," RJ said. In reality, he hated just about everybody. "Unless I need to use the niggers for something."

Aric shook his head. "You got a lot to learn, boy. Niggers aren't good for nothing." Aric's eyes leveled with RJ. "You're not from Martinsville, but you look familiar. Where you from?"

"Round Rock, Texas. Then I moved to Alexandria, Virginia in 2005."

Aric gave him a thin smile. "And now you're here, in front of my wife's music shop, hoping I'd stop by so you can talk to me about joining the Klan." He reached his hand out. "What's your name, boy?"

RJ accepted the handshake, but didn't let go. "I'm RJ Colby." He pulled Aric close. "And I'm more powerful than the fucking leader of the Klan." RJ yanked Aric forward while driving his knee into Aric's stomach, then wrenched the arm again with such violent force he separated the bone from the socket.

Aric fell to one knee, refusing to cry out in pain. He went for his gun, but RJ was able to grab it first. He stood tall, examining the weapon. "This is a Dan Wesson .44-Mag. Very nice."

"If you kill me," Aric moaned, still on his knees. "The Klan will hunt you down."

"I'm not going to kill you," RJ said. "But I had a great time with your wife."

Aric's skin flushed with anger. He was about to stand with his renewed strength, but RJ kicked him in the throat, sending Aric down to the sidewalk.

The chirp of a siren caused RJ to turn around. The cop had already parked in front of Aric's truck and was about to climb out. RJ skillfully fired three shots. The bullets shattered the driver's side window, hitting the officer all three times.

Aric had made it to his feet. RJ aimed the gun and said, "You know what, I changed my mind. I hate niggers, but I really fucking hate the Klan."

RJ squeezed the trigger. The bullet sunk into Aric's forehead. His body fell limp to the sidewalk, spilling hot blood from his skull. RJ turned, looking in every direction. People were watching him, but hiding behind parked cars, light poles, and storefronts. RJ raised his hands, still holding the gun. "I can't be killed!" he shouted. His voice echoed several times.

RJ walked to the front of the police cruiser. He leaned down, waved to the camera, then yelled, "I cannot be fucking killed!" RJ aimed the gun and emptied the pistol into the police car.

### 118

Nicholas Shay sat in his leather recliner watching the news. Helen Miller in Martinsville, Indiana had been brutally murdered just as he wrote in chapter eleven of his book. Nicholas was pleased that they mentioned _Murder System_ several times.

Also murdered was a Martinsville Police Officer who just completed his shift and was heading back home. The officer received a call that two men were fighting in front of Helen Miller's Music store. He was about exit the vehicle, but instantly killed by RJ Colby.

Aric Miller, husband of Helen Miller and leader of the Klu Klux Klan was also killed. Ironically it was Aric's own pistol that he was murdered with and then used to murder the officer.

The news showed the video from the camera inside the vehicle. RJ had positioned himself in front of the car, looking directly into the camera and yelled, "I cannot be (Bleep) killed!" RJ then aimed the pistol, squeezed the trigger, and the screen became fuzzy.

Nicholas shut the television off and leaned back in his recliner. He remembered using his laptop and writing chapter eleven in this chair. Fate was certainly on his side.

The cell phone next to him brought Nicholas out of his trance. He checked the caller I.D. "Hey there, Felix."

"You seem in a good mood."

"Everything is back on track. RJ did a great job."

"Well, I'm about to give you some more good news. Simon & Schuster wants to meet. I have a ten o'clock flight this evening to Miami. I'll stay at your place and we'll fly to New York together in the morning."

"What about my agent?" Nicholas asked.

"Fire her."

"Will do." Nicholas paused. "Who did you hire to kill those other characters, or I mean people, in chapters fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen?"

"I'm doing it myself," Felix said. "That limits our risk."

"You told me that RJ would take the video from the music store. Do you have it?"

"I don't need it."

Nicholas stood up. "Didn't RJ kill Helen Miller exactly like it was written in chapter eleven?"

"Yes."

"Then you need to get that video from him...now!"

"It'll be delivered to Lake Ontario Waters in the morning for his Internet show, which is why I don't need it."

Nicholas plopped back down in the recliner. "Oh...sorry."

"No problem. Just relax and keep your mouth shut. Let me handle everything."

"Will do." Nicholas adjusted the phone by his ear. "How much do you think Simon & Schuster will offer me?"

"I don't know."

"They didn't say?"

"No."

"It better be a lot."

Felix chuckled through the phone. "I'm in full control. Everything's working out perfectly."

Nicholas took in a deep breath. "Chapter seventeen is the murder of Chloe McCoy. When will you take care of that?"

"I may not need to kill her. We have a deal waiting for us in New York. Like I said, everything's working out perfectly."

### 119

Lake, Mardi, and Helen watched the news again, seeing RJ Colby in front of the police cruiser displaying to the world his confidence as a serial killer.

Lake looked at Mardi. "Are we all set for the show?" Earlier that morning a DVD was dropped off at the front door with Lake's name written in bold letters. They had watched the video several times, although it was like watching a real life horror film.

No one else seemed to have this video. If so, it would have been on YouTube or an edited version on the news. Lake had the video all to himself. In the next half hour, Lake felt like he's going to be a national icon.

"We're all set," Mardi said, looking over her camera. "The video link is ready as well."

Helen had been pacing throughout the living room. "Felix and Nick killed a different Helen Miller!" She turned, eyes full of anger. "They're moving on without me!"

"Relax," Lake said. "You're still the original Helen Miller and you're the one that warned people this would happen. Nothing changes. Most of all, you are safe. They're going after other Helen Miller's."

Mardi joined the conversation. "It's obvious that RJ Colby is now working with Nicholas and Felix rather than being tricked." Mardi's eyes fell on Helen. "I'm sure that wasn't part of the original plan. Do you foresee any problems with that?"

"As long as RJ is killing other Helen Miller's, I suppose is doesn't matter."

Lake interceded. "That's not what Mardi was asking. If RJ is part of the team, then maybe he's been promised a cut of the money."

Helen opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing.

Mardi said to Helen, "You need to contact Nicholas, or Felix, and ask them what the hell is going on. Also, that DVD was addressed to Lake. Maybe they suspect the three of us have our own plan. If that's the case, then we could be in danger."

Helen left the room, then returned with a prepaid cell phone. She frantically dialed Felix's number and pressed the phone against her ear.

"This phone is for emergencies only," Felix said. "What the fuck do you want now?"

"I see that RJ Colby murdered a different Helen Miller."

"Yes. Which means your sweet ass is still alive. You didn't have to call and thank me."

"RJ was supposed to come here. Now it seems you made different plans with him."

Felix didn't respond right away. "RJ discovered what we're doing. I had no choice but to make a deal with him."

"Will that cut into my money?"

"No, you idiot. I'm going to kill RJ when we do not need him anymore."

"Is Nick with you?"

"Yes."

"Let me speak with him."

"Why?"

"Just put him on the phone!"

Nicholas's voice appeared. "What?"

"Are you sure Felix can pull this off? It seems that things are spinning out of control."

"Actually, I feel like everything is working just fine."

"When are you going to get a major deal from a publisher? I want my money."

"Felix and I are on a plane right now flying to New York."

Helen's eyes widened. "Which publisher?"

"Simon & Schuster."

"That's great! Call me back when you can."

"Of course."

Helen hung up and looked at Lake and Mardi. "Nick is about to get a deal from Simon & Schuster." Helen smiled. "We're about to become multi-millionaires."

### 120

A receptionist escorted Nicholas and Felix to a meeting room. It was simply decorated with a long redwood table, leather office chairs, and a large whiteboard. Six elongated windows provided ample amount of natural light.

Nicholas and Felix remained standing after the receptionist left. Nicholas actually felt his heart flutter with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

The door opened. Entering was a gentleman with silver hair, dressed sharply in a black suit and dark yellow tie. He introduced himself, although Nicholas knew Timothy Mohr, President of Simon & Schuster.

With him was a woman dressed in a gray pinstriped skirt and jacket, carrying a black leather briefcase. Nicholas noticed that her heels were only two inches and her skirt ran down to her knee. Her makeup modestly applied, which gave her a conservative, yet professional look.

She gave both Nicholas and Felix a firm handshake. "It's nice to meet you both. I'm Dana Abraham, Corporate Attorney at Simon & Schuster."

The four of them sat at the table; Timothy and Dana on one side, Nicholas and Felix across from them on the other side.

Timothy started the meeting. "So Nicholas, how are things over at Kincade Publishing? I'm sure Judith is pleased with your book sales."

Timothy was referring to Judith Kincade, CEO and Founder of Kincade Publishing. Nicholas adored Judith because she was the first publisher to believe in him. "Things are going well for all of us," Nicholas said, keeping his answer neutral. He just wanted to see the offer Simon & Schuster were about to make.

"Are you ready to make the leap to a bigger publisher?" Timothy asked.

Nicholas had to be careful with his answer. "Ten years ago when every other publisher including Simon & Schuster rejected me, Judith took a leap of faith and signed a multi-book deal with me. She's been good to me." _So much for being careful with my answer,_ Nicholas thought.

"We don't have the luxury of signing unknown authors," Timothy said coolly. "Which brings us to why we asked you to meet with us."

Nicholas's heart banged against his chest so hard he wondered if the others noticed his anticipation. All his plans, risks, and talents were about to payoff.

Dana popped open her briefcase, retrieved a thick set of papers, placed them in front of Nicholas and Felix, then snapped her briefcase shut. "Here is our offer."

Nicholas's eyes scanned over the numbers. He saw a $35 million offer on the top half of the page, then a $60 million offer on the second half of the page. Before Nicholas could read any more, Felix snagged the contract and flipped through it.

While Felix read, Timothy looked at Nicholas and said, "We're offering $35 million for the rights to _Murder System_. Of that $35 million, we will pay $17.5 now. If your book sales cover the $17.5 million advance over the next six months, we will pay the other $17.5 million. If not, then we will hold back the funds until the advance is paid in full."

Nicholas looked at Felix. His skin turned a bright red as he continued reading the contract. Nicholas then looked at Timothy. "I don't understand. You're offering me $35 million, but not giving me all of it unless we sell enough books?"

Felix slammed the contract down. "It's worse than that. If you don't sell enough books to cover the original $17.5 million, you will owe Simon & Schuster the difference. In other words, you will have to pay back the advance."

Nicholas's shirt began to moisten with sweat. Even if he received the entire $35 million, after taxes, and after he gave Helen and Felix their share of money, he would only be left with about $5 million.

"What about my royalty?" Nicholas asked. His voice soft and barely audible.

Dana answered the question. "After the advance has been earned in book sales, you will receive a 7% royalty on all paperback and hardback books, and 25% on all eBooks. The royalty will be held for ninety days to cover any books that are returned from stores."

Felix shook his head. "This is a bad offer. I can't believe you wasted our time with this crap."

Nicholas pointed to the contract, hoping to salvage something from this meeting. "What is this $60 million?"

Dana: "That is an advance on your next three books, which will be paid upon your completion of the novels and our approval."

Felix: "You're not offering an advance. What you are saying is that you will pay Nicholas $60 million when he completes three books that meet your approval, which could drag on for years." Felix picked up the contract and slid it over to Dana. She did not react in time and the contract flew past her and landed on the floor. Felix continued his rant. "If and when you approve those three books, you will once again issue a check for only half the amount until book sales cover your so-called _advance_. Then, Nicholas will receive royalties, but only if book sales justify the payment of royalties."

Nicholas did another quick math calculation in his head. After taxes and splitting the $60 million with Felix and Helen, he would be left with about $9 million. In total, he would receive about $14, which if everything goes right, will be paid in the next three to five years.

Timothy seemed calm despite Felix's shouting. "I assure you this is the standard ways of doing things. You will not receive a better deal from anyone else." His eyes met with Nicholas. "You can always stick with Judith Kincade and be a mid-list author the rest of your life."

Felix stood up. "This meeting is over."

Nicholas wanted to stay and see if they could renegotiate, but Felix had already stomped out of the room. Nicholas eased up from his chair, walked around the table, and picked up the contract from the floor. He gazed at it for a moment, thinking that despite everything, it was the most money he had ever been offered.

He handed the contract back to Dana and said, "Thank you both for your time."

Nicholas left the room.

### 121

"What fucking bullshit!" Felix shouted as the private plane ascended into the air. "Simon & Schuster would make a hundred million easy off of _Murder System_. I guarantee it would become a movie by next year."

Nicholas felt tired. He had been up all night thinking about what he would do with his money. Now, all he would think about was going home, sucking down a bottle of Vodka, and passing out on his bed.

"What are we going to do?" he asked Felix.

"Keep moving forward with our plan. We don't have another choice."

"But what if Timothy is right. Maybe that would be the best offer we're going to receive. The publishing industry is in the toilet these days. I think we should-"

"I'm not going back there with my tail between my legs and accepting that shitty offer." Felix picked up the prepaid phone, dialed, waiting for Helen to answer.

"How did it go?" Helen asked with a chipper voice.

"Not good. We need to continue what we're doing."

"For how much longer?"

"As long as it takes!" Felix snapped. "When are your roommates going to air that video?"

"Lake goes live on the Internet in about ten minutes."

"Make sure you call the police and tell them someone left that video at your front door."

"Really?" Helen asked. "Why would-"

"Don't ask me stupid questions. Just do it!" He hung up the phone. Felix's blond hair looked out of place with his crimson skin. "I'll have to take care of chapter seventeen."

Nicholas leaned forward. "Do you have a location of a Chloe McCoy? How long will it take for you to kill her?"

Felix's eyes became distant. "I've already located a Chloe McCoy. I'll kill her tonight so it will make the morning news."

### 122

Helen repeated her phone conversation to Lake and Mardi.

"Well," Lake said. "Let's just keep moving forward. That's all we can do right now."

Mardi asked, "Why do we have to call the police and let them know about the DVD?"

Helen shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, but that's what Felix wants."

"I know why," Lake said. "The DVD is evidence. If we hold onto it, we could be arrested." He looked at Helen. "Make the call."

Helen glanced at the phone. "But if I call the police, they're going to want the DVD."

"And we'll give it to them," Lake said. "While they are driving here, I'll be doing my show."

Helen smiled. "Okay, I get it." She picked up the phone and dialed the Bloomington Police Department, then asked for Detective Perez.

She was on hold for another minute before he answered. "Detective Perez speaking. How may I help you?"

"This is Helen Miller."

"Helen Miller from Rockport Road in Bloomington?"

She thought that was a strange question. "Yes. Are you receiving calls from other Helen Miller's besides me?"

"Actually, yes we are. So is the F.B.I. There are terrified _Helen Miller's_ all over the country. What can I do for you?"

"Someone dropped a DVD off at my ranch house and addressed it to Lake."

"The guy that has been doing all the shows about you?"

"Yes."

"What's on the DVD?"

"Surveillance from that RJ Colby murder in Martinsville. I think it had been inside the music store."

"Who left the DVD at your ranch house?" His voice had risen to almost a panic mode.

"I have no idea."

"Put in a baggie. I'm coming over." He disconnected before she could say anything else.

Helen turned to Lake. "He's on the way."

Lake pointed at Mardi. "Let's do it."

Mardi placed the camera on her shoulder. "You're on in five, four, three, two..."

Lake introduced himself and explained that a DVD was left at the ranch house, stating that only RJ Colby had access to the surveillance, which means, he could still be in the area. Lake then informed his audience that the police have been contacted and he will be turning the DVD over to them as evidence.

"Before that happens," Lake said. "I feel it's important that all of you see what a sadistic killer RJ Colby is and how he's following the directions of chapter eleven of _Murder System_." Lake paused. "Let me warn you that this video is extremely graphic." Lake pointed to Mardi. She played the DVD for the entire world to watch.

When it finished, Lake said, "RJ Colby is still on the loose. Meanwhile, chapter seventeen of _Murder System_ is next. If your name is Chloe McCoy...please be careful."

A second later the door burst open. "F.B.I.! Everyone down on the floor!"

### 123

The F.B.I. seized everything. The DVD, camera, laptop, and cell phones, including the prepaid cell phone that Helen had been using to call Felix and Nicholas.

While Helen, Lake, and Mardi were being questioned separately in three black S.U.V.'s, the F.B.I. searched the ranch house and even dusted for fingerprints.

They were asked about the DVD, which they claimed had been dropped off at the front door. They didn't see anyone.

They were asked about knowing the whereabouts of RJ Colby. They had no idea where he was.

Helen was asked about the prepaid cell phone. Who was she calling? Helen admitted that she called Felix Spencer and Nick Shay on many occasions. Their conversations were about _Murder System_ , nothing else.

Lake was asked why he aired that gruesome video. He responded by saying, "I did nothing illegal. The police were notified promptly and it's my right to play the video on my show."

The questions went on for another hour before they were released.

Two hours later F.B.I. forensics did an onsite fingerprint analysis and confirmed that RJ Colby had been at the front door of the ranch house. Fingerprints were found on the doorknob and DVD.

Which means, RJ had considered coming inside.

As for Lake's show, millions watched. Minutes later, _Murder System_ sold over a hundred million copies in print and digital downloads.

After the F.B.I. returned Lake's and Mardi's camera, laptop, and phones, Lake sat down on the couch with a copy of _Murder System_ and read chapter seventeen. While reading, he prayed that his good friend Chloe McCoy would not be the next victim.

### 124
Chapter Seventeen

Murder System

It was the middle of the night. Chloe McCoy had not been able to sleep. She knew there was a serial killer on the loose, hunting her down. All the doors and windows were locked. A light was on in every room.

Chloe still did not feel safe.

She scanned over chapter seventeen of _Murder System_ at least ten times. It was strange to read about herself in the novel. The author, Nicholas Shay, certainly wanted to write an entertaining story. But he could have never of guessed that his characters would be murdered exactly as it was written.

When the killer grabbed her mouth from behind, Chloe had instantly begun to lose touch with reality. The room faded. The lights became blurred. Her mouth had the taste of aluminum foil.

Chloe felt like she withered into the pages of _Murder System_.

When she blinked her eyes open she heard the killer say, "Now we're having fun."

Chloe was bent over on the back of a park bench, completely naked. Her hands bound with the rope going around the bench to her ankles. A rag shoved into her mouth, secured with duct tape.

She immediately felt the wood of the bench digging into her stomach and thighs. The sweat on her naked body chilled by the cold night air. Chloe wanted to break free, but it was useless. Whenever she moved her arms, the rope would pull on her ankles. If she tried to step back, the rope pulled on her wrists.

The rag in her mouth, secured with duct tape, made it difficult to breath. When she felt the killer thrust inside of her from behind she wanted to die. Chloe would have chewed off her own tongue if the rag wasn't in her mouth.

The killer continued to shove himself inside of her, moaning, seeming lost in a moment of tortuous delight. It wasn't fair that men could rape a woman whenever they felt like it. In fact, Chloe thought that any author who would write such a thing in their novel is sick in the head. All the author is doing is giving disgusting ideas to others.

If the author only knew how real and powerful their words will become, they would second-guess the carelessness of their writing.

The killer finished. Chloe anticipated a knife being slid across her neck. Or perhaps, the killer would choke her. Maybe the killer would have mercy and shoot her in the back of her skull.

Chloe remembered what happened next in chapter seventeen. The killer walked in front of her with a hardcopy of _Murder System_. "Did you enjoy this novel?" the killer asked. "I fucking loved it."

The then killer walked behind her and spanked her with the book. This went on so long Chloe's ass became numb. She envisioned her skin turning purple with bruises instantly forming.

The book struck her again and again, sometimes flat, and sometimes the corner of the book would dig into her skin. An hour went by, maybe more. Wasn't the killer getting tired? How could anyone have that kind of strength?

Chloe's lower half lost sensation, caused by the continued striking of the book along with the position she was in over the park bench with the wood digging into her stomach and thousands of tiny needles in her feet and toes because the circulation was cut off.

The book struck her in the same spot for an insurmountable time. The pain had returned. She could feel the blood dripping down the back of her legs. The muscle tissue softened to the point that it loosened from her body.

More striking of the book.

_Murder System_ had not fallen apart. The hardback remained intact as if the novel wanted to last until the character had been tortured to death.

More striking. This time, the killer used just the corner of the book.

Then more.

Chloe realized that she had passed out. The sun appeared on the horizon, burning her eyes. The killer still behind her, hitting with the same force as when he started.

In her mind, Chloe begged for death. She knew that most of the skin, muscle tissue, and bone, had dropped to the ground. Why was she still alive?

Chloe's prayers went unanswered. The lowered half of her body had detached. Part of her torso and legs fell to the ground like a manikin had broken in half, followed by a gush of blood that drained from her stomach.

Finally, Chloe McCoy was dead.

### 125

It was one o'clock in the morning when Felix arrived at the house. He double-checked the directions that were written on a piece of paper, then looked at the address on the house.

This was the right place.

He shoved the paper in his pocket and pulled out a key. Felix's eyes swept the area. It was quiet, with the exception of distant car or truck driving on Highway 37. Across from the house was a small park. It had a playground made for young children. There was a picnic bench, several trash cans, and of course...a park bench.

Felix ran his fingers through his blond hair, then retrieved the gloves from his back pocket. Killing had become normal for him. In fact, it was the most exhilarating thing in his life. It gave him purpose, unlike being a publicist, which was fucking boring.

Killing aroused him.

Felix's first murder was at age thirteen. He had ridden his bike with a friend to downtown Los Angeles. This was strictly forbidden by their parents of course, but they didn't care. Felix and his friend locked their bikes on a light pole, then entered several buildings, racing up and down the stairs.

On one particular building they climbed thirty stories to the top. Felix's friend stood on the edge, looking down. "This is awesome!" he shouted. "Get over here and try this."

Felix was terrified. In fact, he had the willies just watching his friend on the ledge. "Come back," Felix urged. "You're making me nervous."

His friend laughed. "You chicken shit!"

Being called a name wasn't a good reason for murder, but something snapped in Felix. He wasn't angry. Instead, he was curious. What would it be like if his friend went sailing down to the sidewalk below? That would be worth watching.

Felix ran toward the ledge and pushed his friend off. At first, Felix thought that his momentum carried him over as well. He regained his balance and watched his friend plummet, screaming the entire way down. His friend didn't die of shock before hitting the concrete. His scream could be heard to the very last second.

The body exploded like a watermelon hitting the ground at full force. A piece of bone stuck into a female pedestrian's eye like shrapnel, killing her as well.

When the police arrived, Felix explained that his friend had been playing on the ledge. A gust of wind knocked his friend away from the building, sending him to the ground below.

Everyday since, Felix thought about the remarkable feeling when his hands hit his friends back and shoved him over. Felix could still remember the scream and the image of his friend splattering on the sidewalk.

Now, Felix was killing women characters just as it's written in _Murder System_. Emily Redick, Sophia Fletcher, Addison Talley. The three of them spent their last moments on earth in horrific, tortuous pain.

Chloe McCoy was about to get her little bottom violently spanked, right after Felix shoved his hard cock into her from behind. He had been anxiously waiting for this chapter to begin, especially over the last couple of weeks. At least twice a day he masturbated while thinking about what he would be doing to Chloe.

Standing here in the middle of the night, savoring this moment, became just as arousing. It was like foreplay.

Felix walked toward the house gazing at the side door. He was just a few steps away. His cock swelled with eagerness.

A sharp, hot pain, submerged into his skull, sending him to the ground. Seconds later he was unconscious.

### 126

When Felix opened his eyes, he was bent over on the back of a park bench completely naked. His hands bound with the rope going around the bench to his ankles. A rag shoved into his mouth, secured with duct tape.

The coolness of the night air chilled the sweat on his skin.

Felix sensed someone behind him. Who was it? RJ Colby? Nicholas Shay? Lake? Helen? Maybe it was one of his own men that he hired?

Felix attempted to breathe through his nose as the wood of the park bench dug into his stomach lining. His head went back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of who knocked him out. It had to be someone that knew he would be here, which meant, it had to be one of the few people that's part of the plan.

The next painful sensation shot into his rectum. The pain surged into his stomach and down into his legs as the violent thrusts continued from behind.

"Now we're having fun," the voice moaned.

It was a female.

The agony inside Felix was unbearable. Tears moistened his eyes while he mentally begged her to stop. Whatever she was thrusting into him had torn the inner skin and was knocking against his tailbone. He pulled his arms back, resulting in his ankles being yanked forward with the rope. This caused the driving force of the object going into him to be a hundred times worse.

With a deep moan, the woman stopped. She walked in front of him, holding a massive dildo with blood dripping off the tip and hardcopy of _Murder System_. She dropped the dildo to the ground and held the book with both hands. "Did you enjoy this novel?" she asked. "I fucking loved it."

Felix lowered his head, crying through the gag. He knew what's coming next. His death would be slow, lasting until the sun burned into the morning sky. People would wake, eat breakfast, and enjoy the day. Parents would bring their young children to this park with the horror of discovering his severed body.

The woman struck Felix behind with the book.

Then struck him again...and again...

### 127

Chloe McCoy's a student attending Indiana State. She's dedicated to her studies, knowing that her parents made plenty of sacrifices so she could enroll in college.

She had been teased plenty by friends over the last couple of weeks. "You're next," they said. "Stay away from park benches."

Chloe didn't want to be part of the psychotic culture that purchased _Murder System_ by Nicholas Shay. No one should earn money on a product that involves women being tortured and murdered. Chloe understood that it wasn't Nicholas Shay's fault. When he wrote that story, he could not have imagined what would take place after it was published.

Still, what kind of world do we live in when millions of people are fascinated by murder? The people killed were not characters; they were living, breathing, human beings.

Even with all those thoughts, Chloe couldn't help herself. She borrowed a copy of _Murder System_ from her roommate and read the entire book in one night, paying close attention to chapter seventeen. Since then, she hadn't been able to look at a park bench without imagining herself naked and bent over, bound with rope, while being raped and beaten to death by the book of all things.

Park benches are everywhere.

While Chloe's roommate had been at her boyfriend's fraternity party, Chloe spent the night in her dorm room reading the entire novel over again. She had become obsessed just like the millions of other people. She didn't realize what an exciting feeling it was to have the same name as a character in a novel, even if that character is raped and tortured to death.

A light tap on the door iced her skin. She looked at the clock, seeing it was just after midnight. It was common for her other friends on the same floor to be up late, but for some reason, the tapping on her door seemed vile.

Chloe heaved a sigh and closed _Murder System_. She had a comical image of readers yelling like in some cheap horror flick, "Don't answer the door!"

There was another light tap. Someone's still there waiting for Chloe to answer.

"Don't answer!" the readers shout from the top of their lungs. "Your name is Chloe McCoy! She dies in chapter seventeen!"

Chloe now understood the genius of _Murder System_. The story actually became a part of the reader's world.

She pushed the book to the side, stood up, and walked to the door. "Who is it?"

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Who is it?" Chloe asked again.

It was probably one of her drunk friends playing a trick on her.

"No!" the reader screams. "It's not a trick! Why would the author waste all this time on a silly prank? DO...NOT...ANSWER...THAT...DOOR!"

Chloe placed her fingers on the knob, heart thundering against her chest, hand moist with nervous sweat. She turned the lock, hearing it snap open. The door creaked back, followed by these gruesome images...

Attacked while a cloth put over mouth.

Taste of aluminum foil followed by the world slipping away.

Waking up naked, bound to a park bench.

A gag shoved in her mouth, secured by duct tape.

"Now we're having fun."

Wood digging into her stomach and thighs.

The cool night chilling the sweat on her skin.

Wrists and ankles fighting each other, united by the sting of the rope.

The thrust of evil, entering her from behind.

Moaning sounds from the killer.

Being shown the hardcopy of _Murder System_.

Struck by the book, hour after hour.

The detachment of her torso.

Blood gushing to the ground.

But these were more than just images, or fiction in a Nicholas Shay novel. Chloe McCoy lived and died in the story.

### 128

Lake watched the news with Mardi sitting next to him. Helen had not been in her bedroom when they woke up. They had no idea where she had gone.

Lake focused on the news report, mulling over this bittersweet moment. It's horrible that a Chloe McCoy had been tortured and murdered on the Indiana State campus just as it's described in chapter seventeen of _Murder System_. On the other hand, Lake couldn't help his feeling of relief that the Chloe McCoy he and Mardi were friends with was not the one that had been killed.

Mardi reached for the remote and turned the volume lower. "Where do you think Helen is?"

Before he could answer Helen burst through the door. "Did you see the news?" she asked, slamming the door shut.

Lake remained seated, but cranked his head back to look at Helen. "Chloe's murder had been on every channel; kind of tough to miss." He waited until Helen joined them in the living room, sitting in a chair next to them. "Where have you been?"

"When the F.B.I. checked my prepaid phone and questioned me about the calls, I had this feeling that I was going to prison. When they released me, I destroyed it."

Mardi narrowed her eyes. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I had to use a phone booth to make a call," Helen said. "I didn't realize that you two would take it so personally."

Lake raised an eyebrow. "So you called Felix or Nicholas from a phone booth? Where's the closest one?"

"Well, after I drove down every street in Bloomington, I realized there weren't any phone booths. When did they take them all away?"

"No idea," Lake said.

"I had to purchase another prepaid phone, use it, then destroy that one as well."

Mardi leaned forward, locking her eyes on Helen. "Who exactly did you call?"

"I tried getting a hold of Felix, but he didn't answer. Then I called Nick. He's been trying to reach Felix as well."

Mardi hadn't moved her gaze. "What else did Nick have to say?"

"He's worried that RJ changed his mind about the arrangement he made with Felix, which means, RJ may have _killed_ Felix. It could also mean that RJ is coming here next, then going after Nick."

"Is this everything _Nick_ thinks, or what _you_ think?" Mardi asked.

"Both." Helen returned the hard stare. "Do you want to stop looking at me like that?"

Mardi ignored her. "Who murdered Chloe McCoy?"

Helen sprung to her feet. "Is that why you're interrogating me? You think I killed Chloe McCoy?"

Mardi pushed herself up from the couch and stood nose-to-nose with Helen. "Yes, that's precisely what I'm saying."

"First off, what does it matter? Chloe was killed the same gruesome way as it was described in chapter seventeen. It will help the sales of _Murder System_. But I did not drive to Indiana State in the middle of the night and kill her!"

Lake stretched his arm on the top of the couch and crossed his legs. "Would you two sit down and shut up. You're giving me a headache."

Mardi spun around. "If Helen is sneaking off in the middle of the night killing people with the same names as the characters, the Feds are going to catch her, which means, we may get busted as well."

Helen screamed, "I...did...not...kill...her!"

Lake shook his head and stood. "Did Nicholas have any idea when he's going to get a deal?"

Helen calmed herself. "He didn't say."

Lake opened his mouth to respond, but something caught his eye on the sliding glass door at the dining room table. He walked forward, keeping his eyes on the object.

Mardi tried to follow his gaze. "What're you looking at? Is someone outside?"

Helen ran around the couch to get a better look. "Is RJ here?"

Lake ignored them. He opened the sliding glass doors, reached around, and snatched the small glossy photo that was taped to the glass. At first Lake thought it was a picture of a slaughtered animal, but he noticed the blond hair. The body was detached, with legs next to the bloody torso.

Both Mardi and Helen looked over his shoulders. Mardi asked, "What's that picture of?"

Lake sighed. "It's Felix. He was murdered the same way as Chloe McCoy in chapter seventeen."

Helen stepped back. "It must have been RJ! He's coming after all of us!"

Mardi grabbed Helen by the arm. "If RJ is coming after us, he wouldn't tape a picture to the door, then leave. He would just come inside and kill us."

"Maybe he's toying with us?" Helen said. "RJ is the one that left the DVD. Who knows how many times he's been here. Maybe he's going to wait and kill us last."

Lake could not take his eyes off the gruesome picture. "Actually, Helen has a point."

### 129

RJ sat in the chair, staring out the window. Showboat hadn't been around today. It actually made RJ feel depressed. No Showboat.

No Morris.

RJ lit a cigarette when the door behind him flew open. It was either Felix, or one of his goons. If it were the Fed's, there would have been shouting.

"Where is he?" the voice said from behind.

RJ flicked an ash from his cigarette, stood, and turned around. "Holy shit," RJ said with a grin. "My favorite author has finally mustarded up the courage to visit me."

"I'm not fucking around," Nicholas said. "Where's Felix?"

RJ took a drag from his cigarette. He blew a hefty amount of smoke into the air. "How the hell should I know where Felix is? He sent me to Martinsville, then had me drop the DVD off at Helen's ranch, then had me come here to wait for instructions."

Nicholas looked around. "So this is the shit hole he's been keeping you in."

RJ tossed his finished cigarette on the floor and stomped it with his boot. "When can I expect my money?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

RJ stepped forward. "Aren't you afraid that I'll break your fucking neck?"

Nicholas didn't move. "I'm your meal ticket. So no, I don't think you'll break my fucking neck."

"Don't you authors get royalties?"

"Yes. In April and October."

RJ cocked his head. "Well, it's October. How much money did you receive?"

"I haven't received anything yet."

"Why not?"

Nicholas casually stepped away, creating space between him and RJ. "My agent receives the check, then she sends me my share. But I fired my agent, so it may take a little longer to work things out with the publisher and have the royalty checks sent directly to me."

"That sounds fascinating," RJ said with heavy sarcasm. "How about taking a guess when you'll get paid."

Nicholas let out a nervous chuckle. "I told you that I don't know."

RJ lit another cigarette. "With this Chloe McCoy murder, your book sales are now well over a hundred million."

"How would you know that?"

RJ took a drag then said, "I had been recently given a television."

Nicholas' eyes wandered for a moment. "Well, something must have gone wrong, because Felix wouldn't have disappeared for no reason." He looked at RJ. "You work directly for me now," he said with a confident tone. "I'm going to give you the address of a Detective Perez. Felix has been using him to help with the Helen Miller side of things."

"Like making sure my brother ends up dead?" RJ asked.

Nicholas' fingers began to twitch. "My point is, I don't want any loose ends. Perez has at least a $400,000 in cash that Felix has paid him. You can keep all of it."

"Then what?" RJ asked, finishing off his cigarette and smashing it on the floor with his boot.

"Helen Miller is now disposable. Get rid of her, along with those two media people she's using."

"What about Kathy Stratton?"

Nicholas scrunched his eyebrows. "Who?"

"The character you wrote about in chapter eighteen. Who's going to kill her?"

"Felix was going to handle that. He has the names and locations of all the people that we planned on murdering, just like in my book." Nicholas paused. "If Felix doesn't resurface, then I'll have to find a Kathy Stratton that lives somewhere close to Bloomington." He paused again. "When I get a new publishing deal, I'll split it fifty/fifty with you. Also, I'll split my next royalty check with you. Afterwards, we go our separate ways. You can spend your money while hiding from the Fed's."

"Give me a contact number," RJ said. "I'm not going to stay here anymore just in case you decide to make a phone call to the F.B.I. and give them my location."

"I won't do that. If I did, the Fed's would know that we're working together."

"Just give me a contact number."

Nicholas pulled a business card and a pen from his pocket, wrote down the address of Detective Perez, along with Nicholas' contact number, then tossed the card on the kitchen counter. "Do you still have the phone that Felix gave you?"

"Yes."

"Very well." Nicholas headed to the front door. "I'll be in touch."

After he left, RJ grabbed a beer from the fridge, sat back down in his favorite seat, and gazed out the window. On the other side of the ten acre farmland was the property owned by Helen Miller. All this time the police and F.B.I. have been looking for him and he has been five minutes away.

He fantasized about all the ways he would make her suffer, along with those two media people. It's obvious that Nicholas was moving on, so Felix had also become disposable; that is, if someone hasn't gotten to him already.

Nicholas wasn't going to survive this either. When the money was paid, RJ would get rid of him.

Something scurried through the leaves in the backyard, then up the tree.

RJ smiled. Showboat had returned.

### 130

As if Nicholas didn't have enough problems, he was summoned to Cambridge, Massachusetts by Judith Kincade.

After the flight and cab ride, Nicholas found himself standing in the parking lot, staring at the Kincade Publishing sign. The building was only three floors, constructed of brick and tinted windows. The surrounding trees displayed the remains of orange, red, and yellow leaves.

Nicholas realized that he was stalling and concluded his sightseeing of the area. Judith wouldn't have wanted to see him unless it was important. Nicholas had a bad feeling that she heard about the Simon & Schuster meeting.

Inside the building, Nicholas was greeted by the male receptionist who recognized him right away. "I loved _Murder System_ ," he said in a bubbly voice.

Nicholas barely acknowledged him. "Is Judith ready to see me?"

"Do you remember the way?"

"Yes." Nicholas turned and headed toward the elevator. The ride was only two floors, but he didn't feel like trudging up the stairs.

He stepped forward into the upper lobby, greeted this time by a female assistant. "Hello, Mr. Shay. I just wanted to tell you that I loved _Murder System_."

"Thanks. Is Judith ready to see me?"

The assistant pointed down the hallway. "Yep, she's ready."

Nicholas slowed his pace, looking into every open doorway. The staff in the building seemed quite chipper for being at work. He arrived at Judith's office. The door was closed, but he went inside anyway.

The area had been divided into three spaces. First was a round table with eight chairs, which is where Nicholas stood. The next space was Judith's desk and the third space was a more private area that had two tan leather couches across from each other and a coffee table in-between.

Judith stood up from her desk. She was in her sixties with styled gray hair, wearing a dark brown dress with a matching belt, and low heels. She pointed to the more private area. "Let's talk over here, Nicholas."

_This isn't good,_ Nicholas thought. Judith didn't say 'Hello,' or 'Hey Nicholas, glad you could come on such short notice,' or 'I guess we hit a homerun with _Murder System_.'

Nicholas sat across from Judith feeling like he had been called to the principal's office. "You seem upset," Nicholas said, hearing the tension in his own voice.

"I know all about your meeting with Timothy Mohr at Simon & Schuster." Judith formed a grin. "I also heard that Felix stormed out of the meeting like a six-year-old."

Judith had never liked Felix. It's probably a good thing that Nicholas couldn't get a hold of him to attend this meeting. "I just wanted to hear what Timothy had to offer. We weren't going to accept any deal." That was a lie of course. And the way Judith was still grinning, she _knew_ he was lying. "Why am I here?" he asked.

"Do you understand that you're under contract with Kincade Publishing for the next eighteen months?"

"Yes, but-"

"And I'm assuming that you understand that Kincade Publishing owns the rights to your last six books, which includes _Murder System_?"

"Yes." Nicholas also understood that Felix had ways of getting his clients out of contracts. "Listen, I did not make a deal with Simon & Schuster, so this discussion is a waste of time." Nicholas gained his confidence back. "Did you really ask me to come here to discuss my meeting with Timothy Mohr?"

"No," Judith said. "But signing with them would have been the biggest mistake of your life."

"Is that a threat?"

Judith adjusted her dress, pulling it past her knee so the legs were covered. "I've never had to use threats and I'm not going to start now."

"Then tell me why I'm here."

"I've sold Kincade Publishing."

Nicholas felt like someone had just punched him in the heart. "What? When? To who?"

"The deal was finalized last night with IPOH Media Corp in Malaysia." Judith took in a deep breath, then let the air seep from the edges of her mouth. "Publishing has changed. The purity of the business doesn't exist anymore. I miss the days when books were put through the ringer before they were published. Now, Amazon is filled with crap."

Nicholas wasn't listening. All he could think about was that he would have to start over again. "What does all this mean?" His voice squeaked like a nervous child.

"Your books are now under contract with IPOH. In eighteen months, you can leave them, but they have big plans for _Murder System_."

"What plans?"

"IPOH has their own movie production company. They also plan to turn _Murder System_ into a graphic novel. Heck, they're expecting to sell millions of T-shirts, cups, posters, and things like that." Her expression became hard. "Which is exactly why I'm getting out of the publishing business."

"I don't understand?"

"Your book has become a worldwide phenomenon, because people are dying. I think it's sick."

Nicholas didn't know if this was good for him or not. "So I'll be receiving royalty checks from IPOH now?"

"Yes."

A thought flashed into his mind. "You may not agree with how _Murder System_ became popular, but it's the reason Kincade Publishing could be sold."

"I know that," Judith said.

Nicholas leaned forward. "Well, I expect to be compensated."

Judith shook her head. "Knock the chip off your shoulder. Timothy Mohr would have destroyed your career. He only wanted you because _Murder System_ is selling millions of books. Unlike Timothy, I understand your value as an author."

Nicholas' heart softened. "I'm sorry if I offended you. Ten years ago, Simon & Schuster rejected me, but you signed me. I'll be forever grateful to you."

"You should have told Timothy Mohr that."

Nicholas smiled. "I did."

Judith reached out and touched his hand. "I appreciate that. It makes me feel a heck of lot better." She stood. "Follow me." Nicholas walked with Judith to her desk. She opened the drawer and grabbed an envelope, then handed it to him. "Here you go."

Nicholas held it up. "What's this?"

"I'm sixty-three-years old. There wasn't much point in me keeping all the money for the sale of Kincade. I compensated the staff, along with all of my authors based on years at Kincade and book sales. Also, I included your royalties from the last six months."

Nicholas appreciated the check, but this wouldn't solve his immediate problems. "Well, thank you for everything." Nicholas gave her a hug and a quick peck on the cheek. "Good luck to you."

A tear spilt from Judith's eye. "Have fun at IPOH. I'm sure they'll take good care of you. If not, you should do just fine with the check I gave you."

"Thanks." Nicholas left the office while thinking about the envelope in his hand. He had no idea how much the check was written for. Hopefully it was two or three million so he could split the money with RJ. Then if everything goes well, IPOH should offer a more lucrative deal.

Nicholas blew past the assistant and used the stairs this time. He now realized why everyone in the building had been in such a good mood. They just received a portion of whatever Kincade Publishing was sold for to IPOH.

The male receptionist on the first floor had said something, but Nicholas ignored him and continued outside. He tried calling Felix again, but to no avail. Next, he called for a cab, then took a moment to enjoy the scenery and brisk air.

Nicholas looked at the envelope. "Just open it you whimp," he said to himself.

Nicholas tore open the envelope and pulled out the check. He read the numbers several times. Then, he counted how many numbers were on the check, making sure he read it accurately.

His heart fluttered as the swaying trees around him became a haze of colors. He sat down on the curb, gazing at the check.

"Holy shit..."

### 131

$263,919,420.84

### 132

RJ heard the car door slam. He opened the curtain, seeing that Detective Perez had finally arrived home. RJ had been here for several hours smoking and drinking all the beer and Red Bull in the refrigerator, and even cooked himself a steak that he took from the freezer.

Perez unlocked the back door, which led to the kitchen. RJ stood by the wall with a steak knife he had used early, stained with gristle, a little blood, and steak sauce.

When Perez stepped into the kitchen he sniffed the air like a dog. From behind, RJ wrapped his arm around Perez, then positioned the knife on the side of his neck. "Where's the rest of the money?" RJ asked. He only found a hundred thousand in a duffle bag hidden behind some boxes in the basement.

"Who are you?" Perez asked. His hand was on the butt of his gun.

RJ pressed the knife closer, piercing the skin. "Where's the rest of the cash you were given?"

"Do you work for Felix?"

RJ pressed harder. Blood squirted from Perez's skin. "Tell me where the fucking money is!"

"Mexico," Perez said, wincing in pain. "I'm moving there in January to be with my family and friends."

"That's too bad." Felix shoved the knife all the way in, tearing through the neck muscles while holding Perez's mouth with the other hand. RJ then stabbed the knife wildly, piercing the skin in just about every part of the detective's body.

When Perez finally died, the kitchen looked like someone splattered spaghetti sauce on the walls and floor. RJ left the gun in Perez's holster, symbolizing how weak and useless cops really were.

After cleaning himself up, RJ grabbed the duffle bag of cash and left. He kept the steak knife as a souvenir.

### 133

Lake made a big pot of chili and picked up some spiced rum from the store. After dinner he and Mardi took a stroll through the property and discovered a spring fed pond. The fall air had dipped into the forties, then dropped down to the twenties when the sun disappeared from the sky.

Mardi held Lake close. "This reminds me of our stream at the compound. How many times do you think we made love there?"

Lake had no idea. He started having sex with Mardi when he was sixteen and she was twenty-one. The stream was their favorite spot, especially at night. "Well, this spring pond could be a new spot for us." Of course the water was too cold, but they had sex plenty of times next to the stream in temperatures that dipped below twenty degrees.

Mardi opened her coat, lifted up her shirt and bra, then squatted down next to the pond. She unzipped her jeans and shoved them down around her ankles while knocking her shoes off. There wasn't a need to pull her underwear down, because she wasn't wearing any.

The area was dark with a bitter wind swaying through the trees. The sound of the spring pond had now become erotic. He opened his coat and yanked off his jeans and underwear, then knelt down between her legs, pushing her thighs apart. He used his coat as a blanket, while laying on top of her.

Mardi's skin was cold, making her breasts firm and unyielding. Lake eased his cock inside of her while pushing her tits together and sucking on both nipples at the same time. Her moans were in perfect tune with the swaying trees and gushing spring water. His cock warm inside of her as her moist cum drenched to their inner thighs.

Mardi aggressively spun him over, flinging off her coat and shirt. Lake reached up, ripped off the bra from her body and threw it to the side. Mardi straddled his cock while positioning her knees on the cold dirt and wet leaves. A gust of wind blew as she bounced up and down, digging her fingertips into Lake's chest. He held her cold breasts with his hands, squeezing them with sexual firmness.

A gush of cum shot up into Mardi. "Keep going," he moaned. His cock had soften, dripping with warm liquid.

Mardi moved off him, then took of hold of his cock, jerking him off until he became hard again. She slid back on him, using her fingers to guide the cock back inside of her. "Come on," she urged. "Fuck me."

Lake took hold of her ass and thrust his hips up with all the force he could muster. His cock banged deep inside of her. Sweat formed on their skin, chilled by the frigid wind. With amazing strength, he curled in his knees, wrapped his arms around Mardi, and stood while he keeping himself inside of her.

He kicked off his shoes, carried her to the spring pond, and fell forward. Their bodies splashed into the icy water while still fucking. The cold shock was painful, yet both of them had orgasms that shuttered their gripping muscles while they let out a satisfied scream that echoed into the night air.

### 134

Shivering from the cold, Lake and Mardi returned to the ranch house. Helen dozed off on the couch, startled by the sliding glass door opening. "Why are you two so wet?"

Lake smiled. "We went swimming."

"It's freezing," Helen said, standing up.

"We know," Mardi replied with a grin. They held each other close and headed for the bathroom with a trail of cold water. They stripped, turned on the shower water as hot as it would go, then went inside and closed the shower curtain.

Helen came in. "I need to tell you something."

Mardi faced the showerhead, then reached back and grabbed Lake's cock. He took the hint and began fucking her from behind. "What do you want to tell us?" Lake said with a slight groan.

"I just saw that Kincade Publishing was sold to IPOH Media Corp in Malaysia for three hundred million."

Mardi pressed her hands against the shower wall, squeezing her eyes shut and letting the hot water drip down her back, to her ass, where Lake was now fucking her. "Why do we care about Kincade Publishing?" she moaned.

"Because, they're the ones that published _Murder System_."

Lake abruptly stopped, turned off the water, and opened the shower current. "What does that mean?"

Helen's eyes dropped, gazing at Lake. She then looked at Mardi's glistening body.

"Well?" Lake asked.

Helen blinked a few times. "The press release says that Judith Kincade, who owns the publishing company, split the sale profit with her staff and authors."

Mardi stepped out of the shower and grabbed a thick white towel, tossed it to Lake, then snagged another one for herself. "How much money did Nicholas receive?"

The steam in the bathroom began to clear away. "Well," Helen said, "Judith would have given Nick his royalty check, because authors get paid every April and October. _Murder System_ has sold over a hundred million copies in both print and digital. Between the royalties and Judith's gift, he had to make two hundred million or more."

Lake wrapped the towel around his waist and led the group to the bedroom. He dropped the towel and dressed in fresh clothes. "Have you tried calling Nicholas?"

"I have to get another prepaid phone," Helen said. "I'll do that right now."

"No," Mardi snapped. She dropped her towel and began to dress. "Use your regular cell phone, or the phone in the house to call him. It doesn't matter anymore."

"But what if the F.B.I. is monitoring the calls?"

Mardi slid a sweater on. "Who cares? Just call him before he runs with all the money."

Lake shook his head, agreeing. "Mardi's right. You need to get a hold him now." He grabbed the cell phone from the dresser. "Here, use mine."

Helen took the cell from Lake and dialed. Nick's phone went straight to voicemail. "Nick, it's me. I need to talk to you. Call me back at this number." She flipped the phone shut. "What now?"

"I don't know," Lake said.

The phone chirped, startling the three of them. Helen put it on speaker. "Hello?"

"It's Nicholas."

"I saw that Kincade Publishing was sold."

"Yeah. I was going to call you after the check cleared and I figured out the taxes."

Helen looked at Lake and Mardi. "How much money did you get?"

"After taxes, I cleared $132 million."

Helen was now smiling. "So this is over? We can meet and divide it?"

"Not until I figure out where Felix is. He's the one that put this whole plan together. I'm not going to screw him over."

Helen lost her smile. "Felix is dead."

"What?" Nicholas' voice rose. "How do you know that?"

"Someone left a photograph of Felix's dead body on our sliding glass door. It looks like he was killed the same way as chapter seventeen."

"Who did it?"

"I don't know, but I have a guess."

"RJ?"

Helen took in a quick breath. "It had to be him."

"Is the F.B.I. watching your house?"

"I don't know?"

Nicholas shouted, "Look out your fucking window and see if there's a black SUV! They're not going to be hiding in the fucking woods!"

Helen glanced at Lake. "I haven't seen any black SUV's. In fact, no one has been on the street, not even the media."

"Okay. I'll meet you at the ranch house in about four hours to split the money with you."

Helen squeezed the phone. "Really?"

"Yes. We'll split it right down the middle, then go our separate ways."

"Sounds good." Helen pressed the END button. "We finally did it!"

Mardi smiled. "You and Nicholas will each get $66 million. That is-"

Helen lunged forward, grabbed Mardi from behind the neck, and shoved her tongue in Mardi's mouth. They kissed for several seconds. Helen pulled her lips back and said, "We need to celebrate."

### 135

Nicholas placed the phone down on the counter. He looked at RJ, who sat on his favorite chair smoking and gazing out the window into the darkness.

"The three of them are there," Nicholas said. "F.B.I. isn't watching the house."

RJ continued looking out the window, blowing a hefty amount of smoke into the air. "I want my money."

"I'll tell you where it is when you come back."

RJ stood, turned, and took a long drag from his cigarette. "I don't trust you and you don't trust me."

"What do you want to do?"

RJ tossed the cigarette on the floor. "You're coming with me."

### 136

"Does the F.B.I. still have your gun?" Lake asked Helen.

"Yes...why?"

"I'm not going to just sit here and wait for Nicholas to show up. We need protection."

"You won't be here," Helen said.

Mardi stepped forward. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Nick isn't going exchange the money with the two of you here. You'll need to hide in the barn. After Nick leaves, I'll give you $33 million and we can go somewhere and have a good time, then depart as millionaires."

"I'm not hiding in the barn while you're getting paid," Mardi said. "For all we know, you'll take off and we'll never see you again."

Helen stepped forward, pushing her body next to Mardi then whispering, "I couldn't leave you..."

Mardi shoved her back. "Get the fuck away from me. I only let you near me because I want to keep you happy until Lake and I are paid." Mardi narrowed her eyes. "You're a shitty kisser and even worse with sex."

Helen looked like she had been slapped in the face. "Fuck off!" She stormed out of the room.

Lake smacked Mardi on the ass. "I love it when you argue with her."

Mardi wasn't amused. "We're not leaving her alone. She'll run with the money."

"We can keep an eye on her."

"How?"

Lake walked to the closet and opened the door. He reached in and pulled up the laptop which was linked to the security system. "We'll bring this with us in the barn."

Mardi expression softened. "Brilliant."

Lake placed the laptop on the dresser, then put on his shoes. "We still need a gun."

"What about that Old West looking pistol?"

Helen appeared at the door, holding the Magnum .45. "I'm keeping it," she said. "Just in case Nick tries to pull any crap."

Lake grabbed the laptop and his cell phone. "We'll be watching you from the security camera on my computer. Don't try anything stupid."

"You don't have to worry about me," Helen said. "Nick is the one we have to worry about."

Mardi put her hand up. "Um, there's still one other person that we need to be concerned about."

Mardi didn't have to say the name. Instead, the three of them thought about it silently as if speaking the name of RJ Colby would bring upon them a terrible curse.

### 137

The temperature dipped into the low twenties with a harsh wind blustering from the north. Winter was coming, with a threat of a rare snowstorm for this time of the year.

Lake and Mardi jogged to the barn and closed the door to keep the wind from blowing through. It wasn't exactly warm inside, but tolerable. Lake powered up the laptop and pulled up the security cameras of every location. The screen filled with twelve boxes, each with a black and white image including a camera that showed them inside the barn.

An hour had passed. Lake and Mardi huddled together on a pile of wood, eyes on the laptop. Helen had spent her time pacing throughout the house while carrying the long-barreled Magnum .45. Once every few minutes she would look up at a camera, perhaps being comforted by the thought that someone watched over her.

Mardi pointed to the screen. "Did you see that?"

"No," Lake said, narrowing his eyes. "What happened?"

"Someone's at the front door."

Lake saw that Helen had abruptly turned around from the dining room. "She must have heard the doorbell." Lake stared at the front door camera, but didn't see anyone.

Mardi leaned forward, studying each screen. "Someone was definitely at the front door, but they took off before I could get a good look at them."

Lake's eyes swept from image to image. Helen approached the front door and opened it. She raised the gun and took a step outside.

"There!" Mardi shouted. "At the sliding glass door!"

"That's not Nicholas Shay." Lake dialed Helen's number. He watched as RJ ran across the house. Just as Helen turned around, RJ plowed into her, sending them both to the ground.

Mardi stood. "We need to help her!"

Lake hung up the cell, dialed 911, stood, and gazed at the horror on the screen.

"911. What is the nature of your emergency?"

"There's an intruder at..." His mind went blank. "Helen Miller is being attacked by RJ Colby at her ranch house on Tarkington Road." Lake's voice was strained. He wasn't even sure if the 911 operator understood him.

"Police are on the way. Are you in the house?"

"No. We're in the barn..." Lake had to come up with a quick lie. "We were checking the security equipment when..." He looked at the screen. RJ dragged Helen across the living room by her foot. In his hand was the Magnum, which he must have taken away from her. "Please hurry!"

"An officer is thirty seconds away. May I have your name."

"Lake Waters."

"Your _real_ name, sir."

"My name is Lake Waters!"

"You said 'we.' Who is with you?"

Lake watched as RJ dragged Helen toward the cold cellar door. Lake imagined Helen's skull bouncing down the stairs while her arms desperately tried to grab the rail.

"Sir, are you there?" the operator asked.

Mardi pointed to the front door camera. "Police are here."

Lake hung up the phone, eyes on the cold cellar. Three flashes of light temporarily blinded the camera. The officer at the front door paused, gun in his hand, speaking on his shoulder radio. RJ stood over Helen's dead body, gripping the gun, then fired another shot.

The camera on top of the house showed an image of a person running towards the woods. At first Lake thought it was another police officer, but why would he be running away?

Mardi gasped. "That's Nicholas Shay!"

"Let's go." Lake closed the laptop and tucked it under his arm. They exited the barn, fighting the cold wind gusts as they hurried toward the woods. The night air filled with flashing red and blue lights. In the distance it sounded like a helicopter approached. "We can't lose him!" Lake said, referring to Nicholas. "If he gets away we'll never see him again!"

Mardi sprinted ahead of Lake as they dodged trees, attempting to navigate through the woods. "He's up ahead," Mardi said, gasping for air.

Both of them stumbled through a wet patch of leaves and branches. Lake twisted his ankle, but that only slowed him down for a brief moment. He followed Mardi past another thick set of trees to an open area of unmanaged farmland. The frozen muddy ground was filled with ruts, jagged rocks, and holes.

Mardi pointed, keeping her voice low. "Over there." Nicholas was three-quarters across the patch of farmland, heading toward a small house. He stumbled a few times, but somehow had amazing vigor and kept moving forward with a quick pace.

Lake had trouble catching his breath. The bitter wind sliced into his throat and lungs, as sweat dripped into his eyes. "Let's go." He placed the laptop down, then ran full speed with Mardi across the rutted farmland. His shoes hit the ground with light steps, trying not to snap his ankle or leg before making it across.

Nicholas disappeared into the darkness, but they saw him again in the back of the house with a duffle bag around his shoulder, then he went inside.

"Do you think...he saw us?" Mardi wheezed, bent over, sucking in cold pockets of air.

Lake was doing the same, with determined eyes on the sliding glass door. He noticed the lights had just flicked on. "Come on," he whispered.

They approached a tree that about twenty feet from the house. Sweat poured down Lake's face, instantly chilled by the wind. He narrowed his eyes, watching the inside of the house, sucking in pockets of cold air.

Above Lake, he heard a clicking sound. At first he thought that someone cocked a gun several times, but suddenly a squirrel flung towards him, nipping at his neck and cheek, then scurrying down his back. Mardi swung her hand, knocking the squirrel to the ground. It relentlessly attacked while trying to crawl up his leg. He kicked the squirrel as hard as he could. It squealed, bounced off the tree, then went after Mardi. She drove her foot down, pinning the squirrel on the ground, then used all of her weight to crush it under her shoe. The bones cracked and blood squirted like a ketchup packet had just popped.

Then, two shots were fired from the house.

### 138

Lake grabbed Mardi's arm. "Let's get out of here!"

"No!" Mardi yanked her arm free. "The money is inside!"

Before Lake could respond, Mardi sprinted to the house, kicked open the sliding glass door with her bloody shoe, and hurried inside. Lake took a step forward, but had been gripped with a sensation of utter fear. The feeling was so strong his muscles squeezed together, almost knocking him to the ground.

He forced himself to take a step, then another. The terrified emotion continued to grip him. It felt like a warning signal that he had no choice but to ignore. Mardi was inside and Lake needed to help her.

He arrived at the shattered door, stepping on the glass, making his way inside. Lake saw three images that did not seem real at first. It took several moments before his mind could catch up with his vision. He stepped around the table, then spoke with a soft voice. "What's happening?" He became lightheaded, gazing at the dead body on the floor. Nicholas had been shot twice in the head. Skull fragments and blood splattered on the floor.

Next to him a large duffle bag that had been unzipped. Lake could see the stacks of cash inside.

His eyes moved upward to Mardi. Next to her was another close friend from the compound...Chloe McCoy.

A tear spilt from Mardi's eye. "When you and I went back to California, I begged you not to pursue this. You didn't listen to me."

Lake plopped down on a dining room chair. The room smelled of rotting flesh and cigarette smoke. "You planned this? But..." His eyes became distant. The shocking reality was that all this time, Mardi had been guiding _him_ , not the other way around. He looked at Chloe. "You've been following us all these years?"

"Mardi kept me updated." Chloe raised the pistol in her hand. "I'm sorry to say, that Mardi and I are going to take this $132 million. You're the last remaining person on earth that knows what happened."

Lake swallowed, then slumped in the chair. "You're going kill me?" His words soft and full of terror. "Chloe...I cared for you...On the compound, I watched out for you..."

"That's the thing. You think of me as a young hippy named, Firefly. But I'm Chloe McCoy...and you're Lake Ontario Waters."

His eyes met with Mardi. "I love you."

Chloe aimed the pistol. "Anything else you want to say?"

Lake kept his eyes on Mardi. "If you want me dead..." Tears drained from his eyes. "I want Mardi to pull the trigger."

"How sweet," Chloe said, handing Mardi the pistol.

Mardi stepped to the side, aimed the pistol, and said, "I'll always love you." She hesitated for a moment, then squeezed the trigger.

### 139

Five years ago...

The assistant dressed in a short red skirt, white blouse, and red six-inch heels. Mardi carried a brown file folder and walked next to her, feeling like a child because the assistant was so tall.

"I'm surprised Felix is seeing you," the assistant said. "He usually doesn't take appointments from girls like you."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to fuck him."

The assistant's cheeks flushed. She opened the door and let Mardi inside, then closed the door behind her. Felix stood up from his glass desk and pointed to a set of clear plastic chairs that resembled something from the future. Between them was a white marble table shaped like a flying saucer.

"Have a seat," Felix said. He brushed back his blond hair, waited for Mardi to sit, then took the seat across from her. "How old are you?"

She placed the folder on the marble table and opened it up. "I'm twenty-two."

"Where you from?"

"I'll get to that."

Felix cocked his head. "I liked what you told me on the phone, so I'll give you five minutes. If I'm interested, then you'll get another five minutes, and so on."

"That's not going to work," Mardi said with a stern tone. "Either you're in, or you are out. What's it going to be?"

Felix sighed. "Why am I so privileged to be part of this wonderful plan of yours?"

"Because you're a fucking scumbag." She flashed a smile. "Do you want to hear this or not?"

Felix crossed his legs and clasped his fingers together, resting them on his knees. "Go ahead."

"First, did you talk to that author?"

"Yes. Nicholas Shay is in, pending my approval of this conversation."

"Good." Mardi retrieved several documents from the folder. "Nicholas is a scumbag just like you. He'll be perfect."

Felix chuckled. "No offense taken, in case you were wondering."

Mardi shot him a quick glare. "No, I wasn't wondering." She slid the documents across the table. "You'll need to get in touch with Helen Miller. All her contact information is there."

Felix glanced down at the papers. "Who is she?"

"Helen works as a reader in the publishing business. I profiled about a hundred women. Helen is at the top of the list."

"Do you think she'll do it?"

"I'm sure of it." Mardi shifted, trying to get comfortable in the chair. "If she doesn't, we'll kill her and go to the next person on the list."

"Tell me about her."

"Helen used to live in Virginia. She was knocked up at seventeen, then sent here to California to stay with her grandparents. After the baby was born, the grandfather took the child back to Virginia, thinking that it would be put up for adoption. Instead, Helen's parents kept the girl and raised her while Helen stayed in California unaware of what was going on."

"And what does all of this have to do with your plan?"

"The girl was named Alyssa. At eighteen, she was knocked up by her boyfriend. Unlike Helen, her parents convinced Alyssa to get married. Helen's parents even helped them purchase a small house. A month ago, on October 19th, Alyssa and her new husband were attacked by two men."

"Did Alyssa have the baby yet?" Felix asked.

"No. But that didn't stop the men from raping her, then killing both her and the husband."

"Did the police catch the two men?"

"Yes, on Halloween of all things."

"What are their names?"

"RJ and Morris Colby. Both of them moved from Rockport, Texas to start a killing spree in Virginia. It's rumored that their youngest brother, Dale Colby, will testify against RJ and Morris."

Felix uncrossed his legs. "You told me earlier that the plan was for Nicholas Shay to write a book, describing several gruesome murders of Helen Miller. Also, you have a list of female names that you want to use in the later chapters who also will be murdered."

"That's correct. And we're going to use RJ and Morris, along with five other death row inmates to carry out those attempted murders."

"How? They are in pris..." Felix formed a nervous grin. "Do you really think we can bust them out, especially since they're on death row?"

Mardi pointed to the documents. "Everything you need is in there, along with details of how the escape will work. Because they're on death row it will actually be easier than if they were in the general population with the other prisoners."

Felix glanced at the papers. "Where did you get all that information?"

"Google," Mardi said. "After the prisoners are free, you'll be in charge of them, along with Nicholas Shay. Later, I'll take care of Helen."

"How?"

"I have a couple of friends that will help."

"Do they know the plan?"

"Only my girlfriend does. My boyfriend won't know anything."

Felix smiled. "You have a girlfriend and a boyfriend? How kinky."

"Focus," Mardi snapped. "After the book is published, I want Helen to purchase a farmhouse in Bloomington, Indiana. It will be perfect for what we need to do. The address and realtor information is in the documents."

Mardi explained the rest of the plan. Felix will hide the escaped prisoners and offer them money along with freedom if they murder Helen Miller. Each prisoner will have detailed instructions on how to complete this task. Meanwhile, Helen will accuse Nicholas Shay, stating that he's trying to kill her while she fights off the prisoners one by one.

"Don't tell Helen who you're sending after her. Instead, tell her that you're using some idiot ex-cons."

Felix shifted through the documents. "I want to go over everything, step-by-step, so nothing gets missed." He looked at her. "I'm sure you realize that this plan will take a few years to achieve."

"I'm well aware of that."

Felix leaned back. "I know your real name isn't Mardi Gras."

"That's my name on the hippy compound where I live."

"Really? I heard about those places. Lots of sex, drugs, and alcohol." He smiled. "So tell me...what's your real name?"

Mardi leaned forward, brought her lips together and kissed the air. "No one will ever know my real name."

### 140

_October 18_ th _, 2013_

At eight o'clock PM, Mardi sat in her minivan at the parking lot of the Mecklenburg Correctional Center in Mecklenburg, Virginia. She was a bit nervous, gazing out the window at the media circus. A mist of rain fell from the night sky, shown by the cameras and portable lights.

She remembered this same kind of media circus at the Bloomington Police Station shortly after RJ Colby had been arrested. He was extradited back to Virginia by the U.S. Marshals and resumed his place on death row.

The night RJ had been arrested, he shot a police officer, but then the gun ran out of bullets and the police were able tackle him on the living room floor while squeezing on the handcuffs. Helen Miller was of course already dead in the basement.

Including everything else RJ had done, he was found guilty for the murder of Detective Perez, who was stabbed to death by a small steak knife which was found tucked in RJ's boot when arrested. In fact, RJ never cleaned off the knife. Perez's blood stained on the jagged blade.

Mardi thought about Lake. She missed him so badly that she forced her mind to think of someone else; perhaps her other best friend, Chloe.

It was amazing how patient Chloe had been over the years and how well she adjusted to Mardi's plan. Everything was based on screwing over the _system_ and making a ton of money at the same time. Mardi used Felix and Nicholas Shay, and even Lake who transformed into a man of opinionated corporate ideology. Lake didn't change on purpose, but just like most people, the world shoved its hand into Lake's brain and made him into a follower.

Chloe pursued the natural rules of life, which were similar to Mardi. It was Chloe that left the business card at Helen's, which had Lake's contact information. It was Chloe that murdered Felix. She had been waiting, just like Mardi had instructed. When Felix showed up, he was no better than the other prisoners who walked into a buzz saw. Just like Helen Miller, Chloe was ready for her own murder, then changed the plot so that the killer ended up being tortured to death.

It was Chloe that murdered the college student, also named Chloe McCoy, using the same dildo that she raped Felix with.

And it was Chloe that followed Nicholas until he retrieved the money. Seconds later, Chloe ended Nicholas' miserable life.

Mardi set the house on fire before leaving. She was never questioned by the police or F.B.I. They assumed that RJ Colby killed Nicholas Shay, set the house on fire, then walked through the property to Helen Miller's ranch house and killed her.

The manhunt was over. No one was satisfied with the results, because it took so long to capture RJ Colby. To make things worse, he was captured in Helen Miller's ranch house. Over the next few years Helen's interviews were replayed thousands of times on the news. The Bloomington Police, the Fed's, and even some politicians took heat for the poor job that had been done with her investigation and the apprehension of the escaped death row inmates.

Mardi looked at the digital clock on the dashboard. It was time for her to go inside the prison. RJ Colby would be executed at 12:01. Hundreds of media requested to interview RJ, but he only wanted one person...Mardi Gras.

Even so, it took Mardi a month of phone calls, writing letters, and several meetings to approve the interview. Now she was about to have a discussion with one of the most crafted and ruthless murderers in history.

Mardi gathered up her camera and other equipment, then hurried in the mist of rain past the jealous reporters and protesters to the visitors entrance. It took another thirty minutes of being searched, along with signing a document with strict guidelines of what she could and could not talk to RJ about.

At 9:09 p.m., Mardi was escorted into a private area that housed only one cell. It was specifically constructed for RJ Colby and even named after him. All future death row prisoners that were a flight risk would spend their final days in the RJ COLBY CELLBLOCK.

Yesterday, Mardi had been instructed by the warden to wear a thick sweater and loose fitting slacks, with pantyhose, or socks, and flat shoes. If she wore a skirt, or revealing outfit, she wouldn't be permitted inside the cellblock.

Mardi refused to be instructed what to wear by a government employee, but she did keep her outfit simple: navy blue T-shirt, brown leather jacket, and jeans.

Inside the oversized cell there was a bed attached to the wall, which only had a mattress. The pillow and blankets must have been taken by the guards. A metal chair was bolted to the floor across from the bed. There was a sink and toilet in the far corner.

No windows. The ceiling ten feet high with two massive lights and a security camera.

A guard watched her setup her video camera on a tripod. As instructed, she moved the camera behind the chair and pointed it toward the bed.

Another guard entered the cell with a small plastic table and set it next to the bed. He placed a napkin and plastic fork on the table, then existed the cell.

Mardi turned and looked at the guard standing next to the tripod. "Where's RJ? It's 9:30."

"He requested a shower," the guard said without emotion.

The sounds of heavy footsteps and rattling chains could be heard in the hallway. Seconds later, RJ was escorted inside the cell by eight guards; two in front, one on each side, and four walking behind him. RJ wore a white prison outfit; his wrists and ankles in shackles, which were unlocked by one of the guards.

He sat down on the bed, unconsciously rubbed the swastika on his right arm, then smiled at Mardi. "My time is running out. Let's get started."

### 141

Mardi hadn't turned the camera on yet. Two guards were positioned on each side of RJ. Two others stood near the small table and two on each side of Mardi and three other guards stood behind the tripod.

The large cell felt cramped.

Mardi sat down. "I'm surprised you asked for me. How come?"

"I know you were the brains behind the Lake Ontario Waters Show." RJ locked his cold eyes on her. "I had plenty of time to think about you, along with everything that happened. It seems you were lucky to survive it all."

Mardi glanced at the guards. They looked straight ahead.

She brought her attention back on RJ. "Do you want to get started or not?"

A guard entered and placed a tray of food down on the table, along with a plastic bucket with six longneck Budweiser's packed in ice. RJ formed a grin. "Okay, now we can start."

Helen reached back and flicked on the camera. She kept her eyes forward, not interested if her face could be seen. "I'm with convicted serial killer, RJ Colby, who is about two hours and fifteen minutes away from being executed." She paused, watching RJ dig into his large plate of food while chugging down the beer. "What did you choose for your last meal?"

RJ continued eating while talking. "I had this shipped here from the Boiling Pot, which is a local restaurant in my hometown of Rockport, Texas." His voice seemed calm for a man that was about to be executed. "I ordered a half-pound of smoked sausage, one blue crab, taters, corn on the cob, key lime tarts, and six longneck Budweiser's."

Mardi paused, letting him enjoy his meal. After all, it was his last.

RJ devoured his food, finished off the key lime tarts, and licked his fingers with a satisfied grin. He chugged down the last two remaining beers and let out a healthy belch.

The same guard that brought in the food returned wearing surgical gloves, holding several large wipes. He cleaned RJ's hands and face like a father cleaned his child after dinner, then picked up the table with the empty tray and beer bottles and exited the cell.

RJ focused on Mardi. "Most reporters would have been impatient and not let me eat." His eyes lowered. "I'm going to miss looking at tits and pussies. I can imagine fucking you right now-"

"First warning," a guard said with a stern tone. "One more warning and the interview is over."

RJ slowed his breathing. Mardi could see the restraint in his eyes. She decided to get him refocused on the interview. "The State of Virginia allows death row inmates the choice of lethal injection or the electric chair for execution. Which did you choose?"

"The electric chair, of course."

"Why?"

"When I was in this shit hole last time, I read several articles on death-by-electrocution. It fascinated me."

Mardi was surprised that the prisoners would have access to such information. On the other hand, prisoners should rightfully be informed of the pros and cons of both forms of execution. Even so, it wasn't like choosing which health plan would work the best...they were choosing their death.

"What do want to talk about?" Mardi asked, leaving the option to RJ.

"I want to discuss my death." He shifted his body, drawing the eyes off the guards. "Everyone wants to talk about the details of how I've killed people. Nobody wants to know the details of my own impending murder."

"You mean execution."

"No...this is another form of murder, but legal by the state. Plain and simple."

Mardi actually agreed. "This is your final moment on earth. Say what you want."

RJ cocked his head, smiling. "You're not part of the system and don't follow the rules, which is why I chose you."

"I'm honored." Mardi's voice unintentionally came across a bit sarcastic.

RJ took in a deep breath. "4,443 convicts had been executed in the United States by the electric chair. There is something poetic about me being the 4,444th."

Mardi was surprised he used a word like, 'Poetic' and strange coming from his Texas accent. "What's poetic about it?"

"Do you know what the four humors are?"

Mardi had studied the four humors on the compound. "They are four fluids in the body: blood, phlegm, melancholy, and..." She noticed RJ form a sly grin. "And the fourth is chloer."

"Also known as Chloe."

Mardi's veins pumped with fear. She felt the eyes of the guards, the ceiling becoming lower and the air in the prison cell was sucked away. Mardi opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"The four fluids in the body determine a person's mental and physical quality." RJ's eyes seemed right on top of Mardi. "I wonder how much blood, phlegm, melancholy, and chloer I have drained from humans that were unqualified to live."

Mardi breathed through her nose, letting the air seep from her lips. "So you believe that because you're the 4,444th convict to be executed in the electric chair, you have some special oneness with nature?" Mardi felt like she was back on the compound, debating with a newcomer.

"Earth, wind, fire, water," RJ said. "North, south, east, west. I will become part of it all. I'll be an angel returning to this world, judging the mental and physical qualities of humans and punishing those that do not adhere to my control."

"You're talking about the most wicked and tainted angel of them all." Mardi's heart thundered against her chest. The back of her T-shirt became moist with sweat. Time seemed like it had stopped.

"That's right," RJ said. "When I die, I'll find my brother Morris, kill the devil, and we'll take over his job. Our first priority will be to shred every fucking person that read _Murder System_."

### 142

Mardi forced herself to speak. "You wanted to discuss the details of your _murder_. Since you chose the electric chair, you'll be given a rare opportunity to understand the similar gruesome and painful final moments of your victims."

RJ eyes gleamed with the memories of those he murdered. "If you think about it, the execution system works like a serial killer. Everything is planned carefully. The victim will be tortured. Then finally put to death in the most horrifying way."

"I couldn't agree more." Mardi loathed the justice system and its methods, which is why she had found a way to free the worst criminal of them all; to expose how pitiful and helpless the leadership of prisons really were.

RJ never took his eyes off her. "They will completely shave my head. The razor will burn down my face, along my neck, tearing small pieces of hair and skin. Then, they will humiliate me by shaving my legs and force me to wear an adult diaper so when my piss and shit discharge from my body the mess will be contained."

"Rape is a form of humiliation," Mardi said. "You murdered women and now, you will be treated like a woman when they shave your legs. At 12:01, it will be October 19th, which is the day you murdered Alyssa Kinder along with her unborn baby that never even had a chance to wear a diaper, so you'll take the child's place."

"I will then be led to the execution chamber." RJ's voice had become soft. He was still looking at Mardi, but his eyes became distant.

"The prison will have a priest lead the way."

RJ's eyes snapped to attention. "I won't listen to him. I'll fucking kill that priest when I return from hell."

A guard placed his hand on RJ's shoulder. At first, Mardi thought that the interview was over, but the guard returned to his original position.

RJ continued speaking. "I'll be taken into a room. The walls and floor will shine in white. It will seem perfect."

"The white room is death," Mardi said, quoting a line from _Murder System_. "How will you feel when you're brought inside?"

"Faultless. Formidable. Famous."

"You may assume that's how you're going to feel, but that will change when you enter the white room."

"It's impossible to discover fault in a perfect room."

"Nothing is perfect. Not even death."

"The room inspires death, awe, and respect." A bead of sweat drizzled down the side of his face. "It's formidable."

"And I suppose you're arrogant enough to think about being famous after you are gone."

"People will celebrate my death for many years."

Mardi chuckled. "People will observe your death, but their lives will go on while you rot in a place that punishes evil."

"I'll be in hell," RJ said. "But the journey starts in the white room. A place that is faultless, formidable, and famous."

"Except for one detail that steals the attention away from the perfection of the white walls and floor."

RJ narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Mardi smiled, paused, then said, "The chair."

### 143

"And speaking of the chair," Mardi said. "Your legs, chest, and arms will be strapped to the one thing in the room that terrifies all that enter. You can try and focus on the beauty of the white floor and walls, but the chair will grip your body and pull you close. Never again will you stand, or walk. The chair will count each of your last breaths with eager delight."

"A natural sea sponge will be placed on my head," RJ said with a shaken voice. "The water will drip down my cheeks and cool my skin. Then, a metal helmet will be placed on my head like a crown."

Mardi contained her laugh. "More like a machine that contains two electrodes will be pressed against the sponge and skull, which will improve the contact of electricity."

RJ's chest began to rise and fall. He started to realize that his death would soon arrive. In was obvious that he wanted to approach this like everything else since he started killing; as if he was invincible.

Mardi wanted him terrified when it was time to be escorted from the cell.

RJ continued, seeming to attempt a brave voice. "One of the front legs of the chair will be connected to a spring loaded hinge, coated with an electro crème gel, and then attached to my leg. It will increase the conductivity, yet reduce the burning sensation."

"Oh trust me...it's going to burn."

"The chinstrap on my crown will be tightened."

"Correction...the chinstrap will be tightened on the metal _helmet_ that has two electrodes."

RJ swallowed. His eyes blinked. His fingers began to shake. "A leather mask is secured on my face, symbolizing my evil."

"The leather mask will keep the spit, blood, and vomit from projecting all over that pretty white floor."

Color drained from RJ's face. "At 12:01, the warden will press the button."

"The chair will then take over. Once that button is pressed, no one can stop what happens next."

"The first shock will be 2,400 volts at 7.5 amps, lasting for thirty seconds. My brain and central nervous system will be destroyed, rendering me unconscious in 1/240th of a second, which isn't enough time for me to feel the pain."

"Many doctors have proven studies that strong inmates can indeed feel the pain." Mardi paused. "You're a pretty strong guy...right?"

Sweat poured freely down his pasty skin. "The second shock will only be 240 volts 1.5 amps."

"Only?" Mardi chuckled. "That second shock lasts for sixty seconds. "Your scalp and calf will burn in such an agonizing way it won't come close to any pain you inflicted on others." Before RJ could respond, Mardi continued describing the torture. "Your chest will violently heave as every muscle contracts and snaps your spine. Your mouth will foam, sweat will turn to blood, and your eyes will shatter while piss and shit gush into your diaper."

"I won't feel it," RJ said.

"Bullshit you won't." Mardi glanced at the guards. They weren't going to stop this conversation. It actually seemed like they contained their pleased grin. "And here's the best part. The process automatically starts over again. 2,400 volts for thirty seconds, then 240 volts for sixty seconds. That fucking number 4,444 won't do a damn thing to save you."

A tear spilt from RJ's eye. His breathing heavy. "I can't do this..."

Mardi seized the moment. "Whistling smoke will hiss from your skull and burning leg. Your body temperature will reach 140 degrees. Your skin will glow red, but not like the devil. It will be more like a convict in a diaper, torched and blazed like he deserves. Your skin will sizzle like bacon. Your precious white room will be filled with the sickle sweet stench of burning flesh and baked organs."

RJ leaned forward, crying into his hands, moaning unrecognizable words.

"Your fried body will have to sit for five minutes, because your skin will be too hot to touch. Then, a doctor will examine you. There's a chance that your black heart will still be beating. In that case, the warden will press the button again, which will administer a third round of shocks. 2,400 volts for thirty seconds. 240 volts for sixty seconds."

RJ lifted his head. Tears and sweat poured down his face. "I...I did love two things in this world." His voice quiet and full of sorrow. "I loved Morris. That should count for something."

A guard looked at his watch. "Okay, it's time. We need to get him prepped."

Mardi stood up. "What was the other thing you loved?"

RJ swallowed. "There was this squirrel that I watched from the house."

"Do you mean the house where you murdered Nicholas Shay, along with a friend that I loved dearly? The house that you torched?"

"I did a lot of things wrong in my life, but I didn't kill them."

The guard tapped his watch. "Finish up," he said to Mardi.

She looked down at RJ. "You said something about a squirrel?"

RJ actually smiled as tears ran past his lips. "I know it sounds stupid, but that fucking squirrel gave me peace. I named him Showboat."

Mardi clicked off the camera, then leaned forward towards RJ and whispered, "I crushed Showboat with my foot and broke every bone in its body. You should have heard that thing squeal in pain."

RJ sprung from the bed, but was immediately tackled by the guards while he screamed under their weight.

Mardi grabbed her camera and tripod. She was then escorted from RJ COLBY'S CELLBLOCK.

### 4,444

RJ Colby was forced to strip naked. His scalp and legs were shaved. He was then redressed, but this time, with an adult diaper.

He was escorted from the cell. A priest that was assigned to walk with RJ to the chamber had become ill and taken to the hospital. A second priest was called, but delayed by the amount traffic that jammed the road to the prison. The warden ordered that RJ be escorted to the chamber on schedule.

They entered the white room with the electric chair in the middle. RJ's legs, chest, and arms were strapped.

A natural sea sponge placed on his skull, followed by the metal helmet. A spring-loaded hinge attached to his calf. The chinstrap tightened. Wiring connected to the helmet.

"Any last words?" a guard asked.

"I don't want to die," RJ said. "Please...I don't want to die."

The leather mask secured over his face.

On October 19th, 2013, at 12:01 a.m., the warden pressed the button.

2,400 volts at 7.5 amps blazed through RJ's body for thirty seconds.

Smoke whistled from the helmet. RJ's chest heaved, foam drizzled from the mask, a popping sound came from his eyes and sweat turned to blood.

240 volts at 1.5 amps turned his skin bright red. RJ's heart and organs baked. The smell of urine, feces, and burning flesh drifted into the white room.

Sixty seconds later, another 2,400 volts shot through RJ's body. A deep scream could be heard through his mask. His spine shattered, muscles contracted, and chest lifted as if fighting to get away from the sizzling chair.

240 volts surged through his body. RJ's head lowered. His body unresponsive.

A female doctor entered the room. She waited five minutes, then examined RJ.

Over the room's speaker the warden asked, "Should we administer another shock cycle?"

The doctor took another few seconds to examine RJ. "No need. His heart has stopped. The body is unresponsive."

"Are you sure?" the warden asked.

The doctor stepped away from the body, containing her smile. "He's dead. I'm sure of it."

As the doctor left the room, she saw a priest jogging towards her dressed in a black button down shirt and slacks. "Am I too late?" he asked.

"Yes," the doctor said. "But you can pray for him if you like."

The priest gazed down the hall for a moment, then kneeled. He clasped his hands together and squeezed his eyes closed. "God bless the souls of Alyssa Kinder, Joshua Kinder, Helen Miller..." The priest continued to pray for every victim that RJ and Morris Colby had brutally murdered.

### 145

Mardi had returned to the compound. She used the $132 million to purchase new homes for everyone, along with expanding the property for more homes so families that were spat out by the world would have a place to live.

Joab had disagreed that the compound should accept money of this magnitude. The residents took a vote and decided that he should step down as the compound leader. In a second vote, Mardi Gras was voted to take his place.

Lake's mother, Free, became the new spiritual advisor for all newcomers and teenagers.

Mardi never showed anyone her interview and final moments with RJ Colby. She had been afraid that RJ would come across as faultless, formidable, and famous.

Mardi undressed by the stream and sprawled her naked body down on the soft grass. The warm summer air felt perfect on her skin. Lake approached with a handful of joints and a bottle of wine. Mardi laughed. "Are you planning on getting me wasted?"

"That's the idea." Lake stripped off his clothes, placed the joints and bottle of wine on the grass, then lowered himself on top of Mardi. "I think we should make love first, then smoke, then drink, then make love, then-"

Mardi kissed him. "I get it," she said, kissing him again. Lake's eyes wandered up. Mardi stretched her head around. "What are you looking at?"

"The tree with all the names carved on it."

"Do you miss Chloe?"

Lake's eyes fell on Mardi. "Of course I do."

Mardi spread her legs. "But you're here and she isn't. I chose you instead of her."

Lake formed a grin. "There's something that I haven't told you."

"What?"

Lake leaned down, kissed her soft lips, and eased himself inside of her. As he made love to Mardi, Lake whispered in her ear, "I know your real name..."

She thrust her hips up, wrapping her arms around Lake's back. "I never told you."

"It was back when you first arrived at the compound." Lake thrust back and forth. "You were high and drunk for the first time. I asked you."

Mardi grinned. "Okay, then what is it?"

As Lake and Mardi had a simultaneous orgasm, he lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, "Helen Miller."

### Written by Ron Knight

~

### Murder System

### Final Chapter

I couldn't leave without speaking to you first. In fact, you're the most important character in this book. Forget about _Murder System_. Who cares about _Plot_. Instead, I want you to focus on this crucial moment of your life.

In order for me to become successful, I need you to die.

I'm sorry, that was a little forward. Let me rephrase. I need you to die in the near future.

There. That's better.

Think about how I am writing these words, while I envision you reading them. It should be thrilling that I want to haunt your thoughts and end your life just so I can be rich.

Well, you may not exactly be thrilled, but I'm sure you've never been given this wonderful opportunity before. You're going to be the main character in this book! (I hate exclamation marks, but I wanted to get my point across with some enthusiasm.)

Let's get started.

I want you to breathe in through your nose and let the air seep from your mouth. Do that a couple of more times. Breathe in, slowly breathe out.

Let your mind drift. Imagine seeing me one day. Where will you be? At McDonalds? At home? In your yard? In your car?

I know how to find you. Do not be naïve and think that a little fiction can get in my way. You and I are way past the point of storytelling. My goal in life is to kill you, because you have become a character in this book and I need that character to die in dramatic fashion.

Breathe.

Float towards me.

Let me into the darkest part of your mind. I want to be in that place you try not to think about. A place where horrible things happen to you.

Breathe.

Come closer to me.

I want you tonight in your dreams. Not a day will go by when you will wonder if your time has ended. Not an evening will pass when you will not take one more look around just to make sure the doors and windows are locked.

Breathe.

Pull me towards you.

When the deepest part of your dream has seized your fearful heart, your eyes will pop open. You will turn your head and feel my hot breath on your arm.

I'm that close to you, robbing your sanity.

I want the last words you read to be your own. I want to _write_ your name, then watch as you _read_ your name. Fixate on the last empty line. Envision your name. Gaze at the empty line until it becomes real. You're going to end this book, not me.

Future readers must know the character that I have just tortured and killed. The name is....______________________________
