

My Brother's Killer

By B.K. Raw

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 B.K. Raw

Cover art by Peter Gray

With thanks to Carol Drayson

Smashwords Edition, License Notes.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

## Chapter 1

Max Myer allows his car to move slowly forward under no more power than just its idling engine. A light press on the brake pedal brings the car to a stop. He doesn't attempt to get out as he turns the engine off but pauses with one hand still on the steering wheel and both eyes closed. He takes a deep breath. At over six feet tall and solidly built he's too large for the compact car he sits in. He looks a little awkward as he takes up so much of the available space around him. He's in his late twenties, keeps his hair short and his face clean shaven. His T-shirt should be one size bigger so it does nothing to hide his solid frame.

He looks at the scenery around him. He's parked on a road which weaves its way through row upon row of grave stones. The road stretches off until it melts into a series of trees in the distance. The sun gleams off shiny stones making the view around his car seem brighter than it should be.

From a pocket he retrieves a tiny piece of black plastic. He turns it over between his fingers with no greater purpose than to continue repeating the action. On one side, in white lettering, it reads 'Micro SD', a memory card smaller than the nail on his little finger. Small enough for a modern smart phone. He holds it up and stares at it with a curious reverence as though it holds all the secrets of the world.

He grabs his mobile and opens up the back cover. He removes the memory card that is already in it and places it on his dashboard before inserting the new memory card into the empty slot. He turns his phone on and opens the contents of the tiny memory card which reveals only one audio file.

He reaches over and opens the glove box, retrieving a set of headphones.

He plugs them into his phone, places them over his ears, and opens the audio file. A voice both comforting and haunting plays into his ears.

"Heath. I'm making this recording for you. Assuming you're sitting there, victorious. You'll forgive me if this gets off to a slow start. I have a lot I need to say but even as I record this I don't know if I have the words to say it. I'm offering you my thoughts as a reflection on the journey you've been on and an encouragement for the days ahead. I don't doubt that times will arrive, maybe they already have, where you question why I did what I did and whether it was worth the struggles it's going to bring you. Just remember the suffering you've lived through the last - almost thirty years. So I want to tell you this not because I think you've forgotten it but because you need someone to say it out loud.

"You may not remember standing where I am right now, staring at yourself in a mirror covered in dirt, having suffered years of neglect. The reflection is dull but you can see enough of yourself through the dirt to make out your face. This face - as equally neglected and dirty as the mirror its soulless eyes stare back from.

"You stare at your long unkempt hair. Your hair is a light brown colour which helps the dirt blend in better. The mess of hair and the unshaven face just distract you from the tired eyes in your reflection.

"I'm not sure when you got to a point in your life where people just stopped noticing you but you learned to love the feeling of anonymity. I have an analogy about that. When you walk through the city, to other aimless wanderers you're like a wall in their home. They don't think about the wall as they move past, they know it's there and they avoid walking into it but it doesn't receive their attention as they move from one place to another. People avoid walking into you but not because they notice you, or care, but because you're a nameless obstacle between them and their goal.

"You may remember that it used to make you angry, but not anymore. It comforts you now. You ignore them with the same contempt they show when they ignore you. An unspoken agreement. But, think, what if you were to place your foot out on an angle and trip one? They'd notice you then.

"I digress. Right now I'm standing in a restroom, years since used, in an abandoned warehouse. No human had been here for years before I made it my part time home. The decay and the animals calling it home have made it almost unliveable - I make do. Some of the toilets still have water in the bowls but I figure it's from a leak somewhere because the taps don't work. I could have cleaned the place I guess. I won't be here for long though so I doubt there's a point.

"The story I'm about to tell you from this rotting hole I call home, is of your victory. This story is my legacy to you. Some would say it's bad, while some, we, would say it's good. It's ours though - whether good or bad. It's your story told so you'll never forget. Told the way I want you to remember it. The way I planned it. I'm confident that you will have regrets but, no matter what you have come to understand since putting these plans in place, no matter what actually transpires, you win. Today, though, is the day I die so that you will live on.

"Think back over the painful years then try to tell me that what we've just gone through, and what you have gained, isn't what you deserve.

"Now, to start.

"My twin brother, is the vilest and most hateful person I've ever met - he has everything that should be mine."

## Chapter 2

The newly promoted Detective Max Myers, and Senior Detective Alan Winter, step out of a lift with four uniformed police following behind. They're in a hotel but the lift lobby is hospital-like with its sterile decor. Mirrored panels frame the two lifts which service the floors and meet with a horrible brown paint covering the walls. The awful dark brown colour reaches all the way along each of the four hallways which stretch out in the four directions of the compass.

Opposite the lifts in the lobby is the main staircase with the windows surrounding it providing the sole source of natural light to each floor as it ascends the side of the building. Further along, the hallways, with rooms on each side and a fire escape at the far end, have no natural light other than what bounces off the highly polished lift lobby and finds its way from the stairwell. The sole piece of furniture to be seen, a couch, sits opposite the lifts.

Having never been here before, Max pauses and turns back to his older and more experienced colleague. Detective Winter though, turns to a security guard standing behind the four uniformed police officers. Max wipes a drip of sweat from his cheek as he compresses each knuckle under his thumb, one after the other, in an effort to crack them. He was successful in producing a crack the first time he did it back in the car on their drive in but now it's just a tic he does subconsciously.

Despite his nerves Max projects an intimidating figure purely from his size, close cropped hair and clean shaven face wearing a t-shirt and jeans. If it weren't for the badge around his neck and the gun on his belt he'd just look like anyone enjoying a day off. The grey bearded Alan Winter, in contrast, is almost - but not quite yet thank you - sixty and barely hits Max's shoulder while three of the four uniformed police aren't even as tall as Alan. He wears business pants and a clean pressed shirt with a tie and a gun on his belt.

The hotel security guard stands at the back of the group. The young man is barely even twenty, dressed in a suit which looks like he slept in it. He squeezes past everyone and points down a hall to his right, "This way". They all walk in the direction indicated.

Halfway down the hall, to the right of the lifts, the young guard stops and hands Max an electronic room swipe key, then points down the hall, saying, "Second last door on the right".

The guard is asked to keep back while, Max, Alan and the four police step forward. Max becomes aware of his finger cracking tic and consciously forces himself to stop. He wipes another drip of sweat from his cheek. He's been a detective for three months after acing the tests his first time through. He joined the police at twenty-one after dreaming of being a cop when he was a teenager. To the surprise of his parents, not only did he get in but he graduated the Academy at the top of the class and took his job extremely seriously - too seriously for some of his less dedicated colleagues.

He requested to be appointed to one of the busiest stations in the State with the purpose of learning as much as he could. He wanted to avoid the quiet stations in case he got into the habit of not working as hard as he could. The real world of policing in the lowest socio-economic suburbs opened his eyes, bringing the realisation that in spite of his success at the Academy he had a lot to learn. The ego he graduated with crashed down to earth in his first month when a forty year old lady slapped him hard enough to knock him to the ground. He just didn't see it coming.

Alan, aware of his young colleague's nervous tic, glances at him as they walk toward the second last door on the right and says, "I'm talking." It was more of a question, really.

"No, no. It's cool. I got this," is Max's quiet response. This will be his first arrest as a detective.

Before Alan has time to respond, the second last door on the right opens and out steps a mountain of tattoos and a whole lot of hate with some skin wrapped around it. Ugly. The tattooed and hate-filled man from the room freezes at the sight of two detectives and four uniformed cops in his hallway; clearly he didn't expect these visitors.

He's not particularly tall, but the skin tight muscle top and the massive arms, chest and shoulders sticking out of it, show the effects of years of steroid abuse. The odious tattoos cover his bare arms and overflow up his neck - they complete a not so pretty picture. He's the type of person people avoiding making eye contact with for fear he'll just kill them.

"Steven Cooper?" Max puts on his most authoritarian voice complete with low rumble.

This is indeed Steven Christopher Cooper. Gangland murderer suspected of close to twenty murders of underworld figures with only two directly linked to him. That's what they're here for today. Steven slowly reaches behind his back until he sees each of his six opponents reach for their guns and draw them. Six barrels aimed at him, he's not stupid. He knows three things right now. First, he's actually unarmed. Second, there's a fire escape behind him and third, if he runs they can't shoot him. Or, rather, they're unlikely to.

He slowly brings out the empty hand he moved behind his back to show he's not holding anything then he turns and runs.

Use of Force laws, and guidelines around escalation of force, mean that only if someone reasonably believes their life or the life of someone else is in jeopardy can they use lethal force. In this instance, a retreating and unarmed individual does not constitute a threat to someone's life. Max would love to put a bullet in him though. Front, back, side it doesn't matter as long as he shoots him. But that won't be happening.

Before Steven can reach the door to the fire escape Max engages the safety on his gun and returns it to his hip mounted holster. Before the door to the fire escape closes behind the escaping target, Max is running through it and bounding down multiple stairs at a time. If it weren't for the handrail twisting down the centre of the stairwell he'd have tripped over and rolled.

The concrete walls and stairs surrounding them amplify every sound. Each footstep plays like it belongs to a giant as it echoes up and down the seven flights of stairs. The abuse and colourful language from Max's target echoes louder still. Max keeps running downward because Steven keeps running downward and the four uniformed police are close behind the pursuing detective.

Back up the stairs in the hallway however, Alan turns back to the sleepy looking security guard and smiles. "We'll take the lift".

Max hits the ground floor running and bursts through a door into the bright and burning midday sun, covers his eyes stinging from the sudden change and quickly picks out his target through the blur. Steven is running across the hotel parking lot but he's not built for speed and before long Max's taller frame is very close behind with the uniforms catching up as quickly as they can.

They sprint through the parking lot and Max looks to his left just as a yellow taxi screeches to a halt in front of him with brakes locked. He leaps from his right foot and lifts his left leg over the bonnet. He lands on the now stationary taxi and momentum takes him across the bonnet before he's back on both feet on the other side - only a couple of metres behind his target. He lost ground but begins the chase again.

Max's concern actually becomes whether Steven will turn and fight. He knows his target has checked the distance with a glance over his shoulder and he knows that Steven knows he's losing ground, fast. But it's too late because Max leaps and wraps both arms around Steven's upper torso. With one hand, Max grabs Steven's face and puts most of his body weight into pulling backward until even the massive steroid driven muscles Steven holds himself up with can't take the weight and he collapses backward.

Max is on top with a death grip around his target's head and shoulders. Steven Cooper fights back but the four uniforms also jump on top of him and before long he's cuffed and sitting in the back of a police wagon with his upper lip curled in anger. He stares at the floor, still breathing deeply to catch his breath. His face is flushed red.

Max stands at the open door and looks at Steven sitting there, out of breath and submissive. He smiles, "So, Steven Christopher Cooper. You are under arrest for the murders of Gregory St Luke and Harry Forde. You don't have to say or do anything but anything you say may be given in evidence." Max smiles as he closes and locks the wagon door.

The small army of police packs up and leaves before it creates even more of a scene as a large number of hotel guests have crowded around to watch. The police manage to get away before the first TV News trucks arrive but plenty of observers had their mobiles up to film the excitement.

Max and Alan search through Steven's hotel room which won't provide much since, despite living there for the last two months, the room contains nothing but clothing and food. The vials of horse steroids and related boxes of syringes and needle tips Alan found at the bottom of the wardrobe are illegal but aren't his concern.

"You did well," Alan says with a quick look to his young colleague.

"Cheers, I noticed you weren't around for the chase." Max says with a quick glance and smile.

"I thought I found a short cut." Alan pauses briefly for effect. "Not so much."

Max offers mocking concern, "Is it Alzheimer's?"

## Chapter 3

Six months after the arrest of gangland killer, Steven Cooper, at the hotel, Max and Alan step out of the Court House having achieved a life sentence conviction. Max has a huge smile on his face, "So this is what it feels like." Gathered media film their every move.

Alan seems content but doesn't gloat as they walk on, "That's right. But don't let it go to your head. Sometimes even the best cases fall apart if the defence lawyer is good enough. They can find technicalities and abuse them or, I don't know, any number of other things that produce enough doubt for the jury. It's all about who can manipulate the legal system the best. Don't think it's always about justice."

Max isn't swayed, "But justice was done this time. And on my first case." Max's phone rings and he retrieves it as Alan says without real conviction, "Congratulations." Max hears it and smiles at the older detective as he puts the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" Max listens. Alan can hear the voice on the other end of the phone but can't make out what its saying. The voice goes quiet and Max responds, confused, "Um, OK. Sure. I'll head in now. Cheers, bye."

He hangs up, now in a completely different mood.

Alan asks, "What?"

"I have to see Will Chapman about something."

"Private?"

"Business. Come with us." Max and Alan head off to their car. Alan asks questions about Max's phone call but no answers are forthcoming.

The cool and quiet of the sterile autopsy room is home to Dr Will Chapman. A man who has been cutting bodies open for the last twenty years. All shapes and sizes, all types of deaths, everything has come through his door. Often his work has helped put murderers away. Or vindicated the wrongly accused. Occasionally he's brought peace to surviving family members.

Death has fascinated Dr Will since childhood. A psychologist might suggest that since seeing his best friend hit by a car at the age of ten his fascination is an emotional response, his own way to deal with the mental trauma he refused to talk about through his younger years. In his teens he would actively search out photos of dead people. Library books about death became his subject of choice for extracurricular reading, much to his parents' horror. But according to what psychologists now know, trauma is often healed by reliving the experience over and over. Perhaps he was healing himself with his interests without even realising.

In his teens he went to a hospital to visit his grandfather before he died only to have the skeletal old man in the next bed pass away right before his eyes. The doctors and nurses already had a Do Not Resuscitate request for the old man so as young Will and his family stood around his grandfather's bed the nurses simply pulled the curtain and covered the unknown old man with his blanket until they moved him to the morgue.

Young Will sat in quiet wonderment at what he witnessed and fought every temptation to peer through the curtain. What he would have given to lift the sheet.

With a quick glance at the old man's shape under the bed sheet on their way out young Will knew he wanted to work in a hospital. While working his way through high school figuring out what he wanted to do exactly, he considered becoming a nurse but when his best friend laughed at him he moved on to doctor. Before graduating his final year and going to University he had decided studying the dead was what he really wanted - so pathology became his career choice.

So now, many years later, Dr Will Chapman, mid-forties, bald with a goatee and a frown frozen onto his face, stands over the body of an elderly man. In his eighties, now with deathly pale skin, the man lies perfectly still not feeling the biting cold of his metal bed on his bare skin. Will reads quietly through a file.

The peace and quiet of a room full of the dead is disrupted by Max's entrance as he allows the door behind him to slam shut. Alan enters with him.

"Hey," Max says with no awareness of his disruption to Will's thought process. His voice echoes off the tiled walls and floor.

Will doesn't look up, "No one else is allowed in here so freely. Who did you sleep with for that privilege?"

"Not the antique on the front desk, that's for sure. Someone her age shouldn't flirt like she does. What would her friends at the nursing home think?! They'd be mortified."

Will drops the file beside the dead man as he covers him back up with the white sheet which had only been covering his lower half. Max and Alan join him beside the dead man, and Max asks, "I'm here. What was with your cryptic phone call?"

Will points at the dead man, "You recognise this guy?" He pulls the white sheet down just enough to uncover his face. Max looks at the face without any sense of recognition. There are chemical burns around his mouth which have eaten away at his flesh. Max shrugs. "Can't say I do, why?"

Will maintains a degree of deathly seriousness, "He possibly knows you." He grabs the sheet again and pulls it down further to reveal the old man's lower abdomen. Just below his belly button and written upside down, cut into the man's skin with a knife, are three words: DETECTIVE MAX MYER.

"Crap!" is all Max can say. He feels like his blood has just frozen in his veins. A muscle spasm in his back shoots through him and his stomach tightens until he feels like he's about to throw up. Alan leans in for a closer look and turns back to Max for him to fill in the blanks. Max's eyes remain fixed on his name written in flesh as he just shrugs at Alan.

Will hands Max the file he was reading, "Everything we've got so far."

Alan asks, "How did he die?" as he grabs the file from Max and begins to flick through it.

"Murder. As you can see by the burns on his mouth it seems he's ingested a poison before vomiting it back up."

"Suicide?" Alan shrugs.

Will's reply is simple, "Unlikely."

Max continues to stare at his name cut into the old man as Alan asks, "His murderer cut Max's name into his skin?"

Will responds. "I mean I literally took his shirt off five minutes before I called so I haven't done much but someone wrote it. I can't imagine it was the victim. I'll be starting the autopsy when you head off."

Max speaks up but his eyes still remain fixed and his stomach doesn't let up with the nausea, "I'll stick around."

Will tries to lighten the mood, "Awesome. Did they tell you at detective school, you don't need to attend autopsies?"

Max shakes himself from his shock and joins the joke, "I like to take a holistic approach to my work."

Will passes Max a scalpel. "I'll show you how it's done then."

Max screws up his face in mock disgust and says, "Not that holistic." He looks back at the dead man's face to see if he can recall a memory of who he might be. Maybe they do know each other. "But he's so old. Who murders an old person?"

Will responds, "It happens all the time. But that's your job anyway. There's also this." Will grabs one of the pale and wrinkly hands and flips it palm up. "Look here."

The old man's flesh has a burn across his palm from the base, at the wrist, to the end of each finger. The fresh blisters and peeling skin indicate that it's recent.

Max looks at it, "It means what exactly?"

"There's a matching one on the other palm. They were made with a naked flame. May have just been a lighter or similar. It's possibly nothing but they're there and they're new."

"That wouldn't have killed him."

"No, that was the poisoning. The chemical burns on his face and over his chin extend inside his mouth and while I haven't checked his stomach yet the burns stretch back along his tongue. No doubt I'll find the burns all the way down his oesophagus. They're running tests on the contents he vomited."

"So what's with the hands?" Max asks.

"The burns are new. Plus they're familiar to me. You'll want to check recent murders in your area. We've had a couple over the last few months. From memory they have these burns on their hands, or similar.

Max is interested now. "A calling card? A serial killer? Alright, that's cool."

Alan says sarcastically, "A serial killer inviting you to the party."

Will says to Max, "Slow down there fella. Do some 'detectiving' first. I'll keep going and let you know what's what." He emphasises his mispronunciation of 'detecting'.

"I'm on it." Max grabs the file from Alan and turns to head out. Alan calls him back, "Max, we'll get the file off Will when he's done." Max sheepishly places the file back on the dead man.

Before they leave Will changes the subject, "Congrats on convicting that gang murderer bloke. What's his name?"

Max smiles, "Steven Cooper. Cheers mate." With that, Max and Alan are on their way, letting the bang of the slamming door behind them deafen Will and his company of deceased as they leave.

Max carries two newly collected files through his office space like a little boy carrying presents. The office is populated by the occasional uniformed police officer but most are plain clothed detectives along with some administration staff. He takes a seat at his barren desk which faces off with Alan's. The bland off-white walls and hard wearing blue carpet coupled with the wood of the mid-eighties era desks don't do anything good for the senses but become easy to ignore after a few months. The unpleasant atmospheric smell that seems to come from nowhere and never leaves, however, is hard to dismiss.

Alan is at his desk and deep in conversation on his phone. Max waits with files in hand for him to finish. Alan looks at him and gives a little shrug as his discussion, or more truthfully, argument, continues. He speaks into the phone, "Well don't fight with her about it. Just let her use it for a little while and then you can have a go." He looks at Max again and rolls his eyes as he hears an earful from the phone. He voicelessly gestures his question about why Max is holding the files.

Max whispers, "These are the files Dr Will was talking about." He takes the opportunity to open them on the desk. Both files contain a series of photos of burnt hands and faces with burns around the mouths where the victim vomited a cocktail of chemicals over themselves. Burns exactly like on the old man Dr Will showed them. To Alan, Max gives the photos the most focus.

Alan gives Max half his attention as he both scans the photos and listens to the phone, but the phone wins. After leaning forward to check the photos he leans back to continue his argument. With one hand stroking his grey beard, "I understand that but... alright, put her on." A brief pause and the talking continues, "Honey, listen, you can use it for half an hour then your sister has a go."

Max sits politely by as Alan debates what 'fair' actually means and whether equal use of something really constitutes what's fair. It doesn't take long for the older detective to resign from the debate and make his final demand to share what they're fighting over or no one gets to use it. He hangs up. "I didn't think I'd have to raise teenage girls at my age."

Max taps a finger on the files as Alan gives him his full attention. Max says, "Photos of burns. Burns on palms of the hands. Palms of the hands of dead people. Unrelated dead people from what I can see. Poisoned exactly like the old man."

"You want me to believe you have here evidence of a serial killer?"

"I think Will was on to something. In these files are two murders, not including the old guy Will's working on, both in our area, both with burns."

"So that makes three with one bearing your name as a scar." Alan considers their options and after a musical number performed by his fingers on his desk he says, "Let's have a look, I guess." Max wheels his chair around and side by side they read through the files.

An hour later, Alan breaks the silence. "OK. This doesn't make sense."

Max interrupts before Alan can continue his thought, "It's someone going around murdering people. What's to make sense? But each murder has the burns and that's enough to go on."

"Who's investigating these two cases?"

"Earl and Carl are on one and I don't know the detectives on the other."

"Is Barry in?"

Max points across the office space as Barry Fine walks his large belly out of his office. His business shirt is so tight around it the buttons protest under the strain. As far as personal hygiene is concerned, Barry shaves, and occasionally uses deodorant, that's about it, but he's friendly, if he likes you - and he's extremely good at his job. He has a photographic memory and only needs to hear or read something once, then he'll remember it and remind you of it later when you've forgotten.

Max calls to him, "Hey, Barry!"

Barry pretends not to see them, "Gents, my work day finished half an hour ago. If you both want to hang here and not spend time with your families that's your problem. I'm not staying with you." He has a way of saying things deadly seriously but people still warm to his sense of humour.

"Just a quick one." Alan says.

Barry shuffles over to them with a resigned groan, "What?"

Max's phone rings and he checks the caller ID before hitting the cancel button and turning back to the files, "Since when do you get to go home?"

"My wife gave me permission. With permission comes great responsibility and by responsibility I mean getting home on time or my wife will kill me. Plus if I'm late home my food will be cold and if my food is cold I won't sleep very well and if I don't sleep very well I'll be cranky when I come in tomorrow morning. If I'm cranky tomorrow morning because I had a cold meal, didn't sleep, and got in trouble by my wife for getting home late, who do you think I'll take it out on?"

Max considers the pretend question, "The new guy?" He says with a shrug.

"You've been around, what, nine months? You're the new guy."

"Max has something here, possibly." Alan says.

"If it involves him taking off his pants again, I'm leaving."

Max puts his hands up in protest, "I was drunk and my wife was there so it's OK. But look here, I've got one word for you." Max pauses to see if he's sold Barry with the mystery. He hasn't. "Serial... Killer... Two words. Serial Killer."

"My boy, if you're choosing a new career path that's not the one you run past people for feedback."

Alan can't stand the performance and takes them all straight to the point, "What Max is trying to say is we've got a couple of open homicide cases which contain similarities."

Barry rubs a hand on his belly which Max and Alan have come to know indicates he's thinking. It's a good sign. "OK, keep going and have a look at new cases coming through. What's the time span of the ones we have?"

"First one came in three months ago." Alan says.

"How many?"

Max answers, "Three including the new one."

"That's the one with your name carved into him?"

Max looks at Alan then back at Barry, "You heard?"

Barry smiles. "Three months? So there's a good chance there's been more. I'll make a few calls when I'm in tomorrow but don't let anyone know what you're doing. The Chief Commissioner doesn't need another opportunity to get his ugly face on TV."

Before Barry can walk Alan points out, "One of the investigations is Earl's."

Barry doesn't care, "If he complains tell him to shut up. Go home gentlemen." Barry leaves without another word.

## Chapter 4

Max sits on his couch, paperwork in hand, with his feet up on the coffee table. Around his feet are files he's brought home, waiting to be read. The massive TV against the wall is on but muted with an episode of 'The Simpsons' playing. Every now and then he'll look up to see what's happening - then he'll refocus on the file.

His mind half registers the sound of bare footsteps slapping on the wooden floorboards moving down the hall. Tahlia is quite short compared to Max which formed the basis of most of his jokes when they first started dating. It didn't take long for them to get old and stop but they were funny while they lasted.

Tahlia carries her laptop in and sits gently down next to Max, "Some people leave their work at work." Tahlia was Max's first true love when they met during their teenage years. Her dark brown hair contrasts with her naturally pale, and flawless, skin. Her huge brown eyes give her a younger look than her twenty eight years. Max used to tell her she looks exactly like Judy Garland in 'The Wizard of Oz'. She used to remind him that Garland was about sixteen when she made that movie.

She works from home most days of any given month as a Copywriter putting together product brochures for a large advertising firm. She only goes into the office when necessary because she spends a lot of 'work time' writing her own children's books and working from home allows her the privacy to keep doing that. She's currently looking for a publisher who will read her work.

Max doesn't look up although she distracted him enough for him to lose his place and stop reading, "So you keep saying. It's important though."

Tahlia gives a fake smile, "So you keep saying." Max protests when she places the laptop on top of the file he's reading but she interrupts. "Look."

On the screen is a news website. The banner headline grabs Max's attention like nothing else in the last week.

'SOUTHSIDE SERIAL KILLER HAUNTING MELBURNIANS' screams at him from the laptop. He reads on and finds details only he and Alan, and maybe Barry, would know. "They quote the Chief Commissioner," he says out loud but not specifically to Tahlia.

"Yeah I'd thought you'd like to know." Tahlia isn't overly concerned and has a slight smile.

"How did you know I was working on this?"

"You talk in your sleep and I've mastered reading over your shoulder without you knowing. But you have been going over this stuff for a couple of days, maybe we can go out for dinner tonight?"

"I would honey but we've got a mountain of open cases to look at and...," Max would have continued if not for Tahlia grabbing her laptop and hopping up with an angry look on her face. "Don't bother," she says before Max is left with just the sound of her bare feet slapping on the wooden floorboards again as she heads back down the hall.

## Chapter 5

Out of the darkness of the night a strong and bitterly cold breeze finds its way inside Max's jacket. He wraps his arms tightly around himself to keep warm. Should have brought a scarf. Alan seems oblivious to his colleague's discomfort as they stand in the middle of an alley which smells less than fantastic and seems to funnel the dark breeze into the bone chilling monster it has become.

Blocking the entry to the alley hangs a thin white and blue plastic strip acting as a 'keep out' to anyone without a Police badge. Two police officers stand guard at the strip to keep gawkers under control. The detectives stand halfway down the alley next to a collection of wheelie bins and dumpsters. At the far end a crime scene photographer does her work. She steps lightly around the body of a late-twenties aged woman lying underneath a white sheet, still and cold. Towering over her are a pair of foul smelling dumpsters overflowing with waste.

The body was found by a young cook from a Vietnamese restaurant which backs onto the alley. He's currently speaking with officers, through broken English, as he leans against a wall at the point the alley meets a cross road. At his feet is a collection of cigarette butts as he smokes a continuous chain of them trying to forget what he found when disposing of a bag of garbage. A friend stands with him, a comforting hand on his shoulder.

The photographer finishes her work and gives a courtesy 'thank you' nod to Max and Alan as she heads off. The two detectives step respectfully up to the lady hidden under the white sheet.

Max lifts the sheet to reveal her face. Chemical burns surround her mouth match the ones on the old man they recently saw with Dr Will. He lays the sheet back over her face as Alan uncovers her hands from the sides. Both palms have the horrible burns leaving her with scarred, melted skin and no finger prints. Something else catches his eye. At her wrist begins a white sleeve with pink love hearts. He lifts the side of the sheet a little further to view the rest of her arm and some of her torso. She's wearing flannelette pyjamas.

Alan says quietly, "She's in her night clothes. She was dumped."

While Alan is talking, Max gently lifts one of the woman's tiny hands and shines his torch on it to get a clear view of the burns. Alan stands over him, watching. The younger detective hesitantly lifts the sheet further and begins to lift her shirt up to reveal the lower half of her stomach. In the torch light both can see blood staining the pink love hearts of her flannelette top. Lifting an edge of the blood stained top reveals the beginning of a knife wound on her skin and the detectives look to each other as Max lifts the pyjama top the rest of the way. 'DETECTIVE MAX MYER' is carved into her flesh.

Max drops the sheet and stands before pacing around the dark alley, rubbing his hands together for the nerves and muttering to himself. The spasm up his back and the sick feeling in his stomach that he had at the morgue return. He places one hand against a wall and bends over ready to throw up. "What the hell man!" He finally says out loud.

## Chapter 6

"I killed all those people. That was never to be the mystery. There were so many, I've lost count. Not all were killed the same way so not all were attributed to me. And I'm sorry if that weighs heavy on you but from my perspective as I sit here, the end justifies the means. Just because we are identical twins doesn't mean we are not two distinct individuals where we have our own wants and needs and desires; this will become clear to everyone by the end. The twins thing is what made my plan possible and why you are listening to me talk, but there was so much more going on. Nothing is down to chance and cutting his name into their flesh was simply to get his attention and ensure his involvement.

"Let's go back over something you may have forgotten in all the excitement. The first time I killed wasn't straight up premeditated. That is, I didn't go out that day with the intention of killing someone. I had thought about it for years though. I dwelt on the idea and let my imagination take me through the different ways I could do it. I imagined matters of a less tactical nature. Things less about me and my desires like, who it would be, what they looked like and how old. And then more interesting things like, did they fight back? Did they just cower in fear until it was too late? Would I use a knife to make sure I could feel the moment when the pressure I put against their skin finally proved too much and the blade would slice through causing blood to flow out and down my hand?

"What would their scream sound like? Would I enjoy it or would it scare me as much as it did them? I imagined picking the wrong person only to have them fight back. What would it be like to have someone plunge a knife into me? Would it scare me or would it bring me as much pleasure as the thought of doing it to someone else did? Surely ecstasy isn't an unreasonable response for either participant in such a moment? Maybe I would use something a little messier. A bat or pole?

"What if I got to the point of no turning back and got too scared to go on? I had questions consuming my mind. Occasionally these thoughts would find their way into my dreams. I'd wake with memories of killing or being killed. It was exciting because it was the closest to the real thing I had experienced.

"Thinking back on my first time, I would have been too scared had I planned it out and acted on it as if I knew what I needed to do. The most impassioned imagination could never have come close to what it was really like.

"He was fifty seven. Homeless. Smelt terrible. I saw him on a train and followed him. I carried a knife on me at the time, just because I could. Details are unnecessary but when you're talking about something as absolute as death, nothing should be understated.

"Of course from your point of view you'll know that for society the difference between the deaths of the old and the young is cavernous. Media plays the murder of the elderly as horrible but if the victim is young it's beyond words.

"As my brother stood over the bodies of my victims he knows the difference as well. He can see the burns around their mouths and on their hands. He stands over them knowing he'll soon be speaking with their families and he'll see the pain they will carry. All these things I created along with everything that grows from them."

## Chapter 7

Lunch time at high school, Heath was thirteen and spent most of his lunch breaks just walking around with no goal and no purpose other than to keep moving. To the masses of peers who barely noticed him he'd spend his breaks pretending he was going to meet friends but there were no friends to meet with. Constantly moving also made it less likely other students would be able to sneak up on him and do something. As they did. As identical twins, teenaged Max and Heath were as different as any two strangers can get. While they looked scarily similar most people could tell them apart simply by the way they carried themselves. Max was loud and confident. Heath was shy and reserved; mostly avoiding eye contact. This was why Heath was teased as any other social outcast in high school was, but no one would dare cross Max.

Heath moved slowly through a corridor lined with glass windows providing a view of an outdoor space of the school property. It was a space between the gym and the main administration building where students would run around and scream when not in class. He stopped at a window to watch the goings-on outside.

Between those playing ball games, those running around for no apparent purpose, and those sitting talking quietly amongst themselves, the only thing they had in common was the school uniform. Heath saw it all. He spotted Max passing a football between himself and some mates. What they were saying couldn't be heard from this distance but Heath watched with sharp interest the way his brother interacted with his friends.

Heath could see Max say something his friends all laughed at and smiled to himself, pretending he was part of the fun. Coming from behind Heath, another student walked into him and knocked him to the ground. The kid, Scott McDowell - School Captain. He wasn't particularly tall for a fifteen year old. His snow white hair, freckles and eyes that were just a little too close together, created an ugly child. But his forceful personality got him through life while, uniquely, not creating too many enemies. Everyone seemed to enjoy his company.

As Heath looked up at his assailant he could see that Scott was just too distracted, talking with his friends as they walked, to notice Heath standing in his way. Scott extended his hand to help Heath up.

"Sorry Max I didn't see you," Scott said genuinely. "What are you doing up here alone?"

"I'm Heath," Heath said as he got to his feet and collected the bag he dropped.

Scott and his friends laughed as he knocked Heath to the ground again and walked off.

That afternoon Heath took the long walk home from school having learned long ago not to catch the bus with his class mates. It took months of teasing by everyone including his brother and kids in grades below him before realising he could just walk alone and not subject himself to it anymore.

For a normal day it took close to half an hour, with a quick walk, to get through his front door from the school but this time he just meandered along the familiar path, distracted by the music playing through his headphones. He was in no rush. At the last moment he spotted a small bird sitting injured in the middle of the foot path and stumbled to stop himself stepping on it. He moved around it and considered walking on but stopped to watch the hurting animal for a moment.

A wing was extended out dragging on the ground as its little feet pushed itself along the concrete. It clearly wanted to flee as Heath knelt down and picked it up. It was squawking at him in a plea to release it but he continued on his way home with the bird held gently in his hands. He used his slower than normal walk down the street to pat the bird gently on its head. When he came upon a park bench he took a seat and continued to caress the injured animal. While speaking gently in the hope of calming it.

The bird stopped struggling to get away and rested in his hands even though it was clear to Heath that it was still in pain. He looked compassionately down at the animal and placed its head between his fore and middle fingers. He held the bird's head gently, at first, then a little tighter until the relaxed animal began to struggle. It squawked out a plea. He could feel it trying to wriggle its tiny head free so he tightened his hold. It tried to bite him.

The crack was almost inaudible under the noise of the squawking but the bird instantly went silent and limp. Heath looked down at the tiny animal lying motionless in his hand and continued to pat it. Its broken wing no longer hurt.

## Chapter 8

Barry sits at his desk pretending to read an email while reclining in his chair. The spring that allows the chair to tilt back and return to a normal sitting position when no one is in it also allows Barry to recline then bounce back up until his big belly hits the edge of his desk where he can push out using just his belly causing him to bounce back into a reclined position again. He bounces back and forth enjoying his alone time until he hears a single knock on his door before Detective Earl Mullins walks in without waiting for a response.

Earl is in his fifties and cranky. He has skinny arms and legs contrasting with a belly disproportionately round for his body - unlike Barry who's fat all over. A profile view makes him look pregnant. Taking a seat opposite his boss, he has his serious face on.

Earl annoys Barry for a good reason. The detective is incredibly good at his job and he knows it. Earl has the frustrating ability to quote relevant laws and past cases which gives the two of them reason to butt heads since Barry can remember pretty much anything too. There are not uncommon showdowns between the two which build up as they try to outdo each other on who knows what about what.

Barry stops bouncing in his chair and responds to Earl's presence with sarcasm, "No, please Earl, come on in. Take a seat. Thank you for responding to my meeting request."

Earl frowns, "You organised a meeting?"

Barry is more annoyed that Earl didn't understand his sarcasm than that he barged into his office and took a seat without an invitation. "What do you want?"

"You gave my case to Alan and the new guy."

"If that was a question then, yes, I gave it to Alan but you already knew that so why would you ask? If it was a statement then, I don't need you to remind me of those higher level 'executive decisions' I make every day that you have to live with but don't get a say in. And 'the new guy', has been here almost a year. His name is Max but you know that as well."

"You gave my investigation..."

'Yours and Carl's," clarifies Barry.

"You gave it to another team?"

"True story," replies Barry with a hint of mockery. "I gave it to two detectives in my team, one of whom has as much experience as you while the other is a detective regardless of how new he is. Plus he just put a gangland killer away for life."

Earl is disgusted, "Are you kidding me?!"

Barry remains calm even though he wants to yell. "No Earl, I'm not. I have made a decision based on what's best for the investigation. Your case became part of what appears to be a serial killing and all existing cases, along with any new ones, will come under the one team. That's how it works. Most of all, I don't run my decisions past you for approval. You tow the line, my friend."

"Why didn't you give the case to Carl and me? We were already on it."

"I have two bodies with Max's name carved into them and I have an intense desire to know why."

"Mine didn't!"

"And yet, it appears to be related. So it all goes together." Barry puts on a Dr Phil tone. "Now let me take this moment to validate how you feel and let you know that your feelings are never wrong, no matter what anyone says, except now, you're wrong. Alan and Max are in charge, get out."

Earl knows when he's not going to win. Sometimes he'll keep fighting, not this time. He leaves without further word. Barry waits for him to close the door then starts back to bouncing off the desk with his stomach again.

## Chapter 9

Max and Alan spent the bulk of the day at a crime scene in a park not far from a local school. A male in his twenties was found propped up against a tree by a team of council workers who were there to mow the grass. After giving statements they left with their equipment so a team of police could comb the area. The young man hadn't been dead long but they couldn't say when he had been dumped under the tree since his body was angled in just the right way to obscure a view of him from the most popular areas of the park, letting him go unnoticed.

It was here that Max was struck with the realisation that none of the victims had fight wounds. He pointed out to Alan that a twenty-something male the size of the one they were standing over should have put up a good fight and had some wounds to show for it. He would have been hard to overpower. Burnt hands, burnt mouth, no hint of a fight.

Four hours into examining that crime scene, they received a call about another body and had to beat the media there as reporters were already on the way. Despite the standard burnt hands and poisoning this second body was unusual since it was a four hour drive from the areas where the other bodies were found. Standing over the second body Alan can immediately tell this one is a copycat killing so he pushes it off to someone else. A moment of realisation hits Alan as his relief at being able to get rid of a murder victim from his to-do list is somewhat disturbing when he ponders the fact that this crime is no less horrifying than the others and the victim is as worthy of respect, especially in death. But it does mean less work.

Max returns home only to be greeted by Tahlia watching a news report.

"Community outrage as Police struggle to keep up with the Southside Murderer," the voice projects from a pretty-faced news reader as she throws to a pre-recorded statement from the Chief Commissioner. "I can assure the Australian public that Victoria's best detectives are on the case. Everyone needs to be aware that these things don't wrap up in an hour like on television. We have real police work to do and we're doing it. Murderers don't always play by well written rules. They don't perform for the story tellers. We have made outstanding progress and it's only a matter of time before the killer is in custody and made to answer for his crimes."

Tahlia turns to face Max and says, "Do you know about this?"

Max's only acknowledgment of Tahlia's presence or her question is, "I'll be in the shower."

## Chapter 10

Max shifts himself from side to side. He tries sitting up straight then slouching like he's at home watching TV. Nothing works. The couch he's sitting on looked comfortable when he arrived but he now feels a wayward internal spring working its way up through the cushion and into his flesh. Listening to a man named Jeremy talk, with free flowing tears, about his amazing and spectacular wife who has been stolen from him too early, isn't helping the detective relax. Jeremy looks to be the same age as Max with a very clean-cut, inoffensive, way about him. Max could imagine him as a politician.

Jeremy's wife was found in the alleyway with Max's name carved onto her abdomen; a fact not currently disclosed to the grieving husband. They're only at his house to collect him and take him to a police station for a formal interview but the heartbroken father of two merely fills their time with anecdotes about when he met his wife and what they did during their first few months together. His stories are sweet and heartfelt and Alan listens patiently with only the occasional dirty glance at the younger detective when he tries to interrupt.

Jeremy's stories are told against the background noise of two little boys playing just outside the window. When the detectives arrived at the house Jeremy's parents were there to baby sit and took the children outside.

Jeremy finishes one story then says, "I haven't even told the boys yet. I don't know how. They keep asking."

Alan is genuinely sympathetic but has to act his way through a well-rehearsed line he's said countless times over the last two decades. "We can put you in touch with counsellors. They can help with that."

Jeremy wipes a few tears from his eyes as Max adds in his own style, "We really need to move to a station where we can do this formally."

Jeremy is almost exhausted with emotion, "Look, I can't do this now."

Max has no time for it, "I appreciate that but the more you tell us now the better." Alan tosses a dirty glance which Max misses.

"I get it. I'm a suspect, aren't I?" Jeremy's words trail off as he puts his face in his hands and cries uncontrollably.

Alan tries to comfort him, "It's all just standard practice."

Max leans back on the uncomfortable couch - annoyed. He's not a fan of the 'group-hug' approach, preferring pragmatism even at the expense of people's feelings. The loose spring in the couch digs into him making him even more frustrated than he already was.

Jeremy is finally in the back seat of the car and Alan closes the door leaving both he and Max outside looking in at the crying man.

Alan takes the opportunity to offer some advice to his young counter-part, "A bit of compassion, even pretend compassion, would help everyone."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure compassion will find a murderer."

"That's not the point. You may be a heartless machine who doesn't care, but losing someone under these circumstances destroys people. It's made worse when they have young children."

The detectives hop into the car for the drive to the nearest Police station and have only the endless sobbing of Jeremy in the back to break the silence.

## Chapter 11

Once again Max and Alan walk toward the front door of a home which has had a life torn away. The home of someone now living a nightmare and wondering if they'll ever wake up. They're hoping they'll rise to find their loved one just where they last saw them.

"Remember about compassion," is all Alan offers before they're at the door, knocking and waiting. Max looks around and makes mental notes of all the unimportant but annoying things he can see, like how the bushes haven't been trimmed in years and the windblown dirt and dust hasn't been swept from the porch in maybe just as long.

Alan can see Max's eyes darting around at the scene before them and knows what he's thinking and says, "Stop judging her on the state of her yard." Alan didn't say the rest of what he was thinking, that he thinks Max's immaturity and seeming inability to take the job seriously will get him into trouble one day.

"Seriously, I'm not. But, you know, if I was to offer some constructive criticism, I'd suggest, at the very least, paying someone to do the gardening or even moving to an apartment. It's why I live in one. I hate gardening."

"Maybe she has better things to do with her time?"

"So move to an apartment! Why own a garden if you aren't going to look after it? I bet inside is even worse. I bet she still has wallpaper. Who still has wallpaper?"

"You haven't even seen inside yet. You don't know that."

"You want to put money on it?" Max says as the door opens to reveal a grey haired Jessica, in her late fifties and near as makes no difference to morbidly obese. It was her son who had been found propped up against a tree in a park. She has her grey streaked hair in a very unkempt bun. Over her ample sized body is stretched an old and tattered man's sweater, even though it's not cold, in a horrible green colour and a pair of blue denim jeans. The blue and green clash loudly. She smiles as best she can, revealing missing teeth, and invites the detectives in without introductions although Alan manages to get his badge up before she waves them in.

The three sit in a lounge room decorated with a purple coloured floral wallpaper which, upon spotting, Max nudges Alan and nods an 'I told you so'. On the coffee table Jessica places two cups of tea which Max and Alan must have said a polite 'no thanks' to at least three times during the walk from the door before realising they were going to get one whether they drank it or not.

While making the tea Jessica offered up no end of detailed descriptions about her day and what her pets have been up to. Sitting down with the two detectives she launches straight into talk about her son without prompting.

"Clive was a lonely boy. He'd stay in his room on his computer for hours. Some days I'd only see him when he came out for food. He enjoyed all things gaming and computers. He worked in computers."

Max musters up his compassion, "And the last time you saw him?"

"When he left for work on Tuesday. Really, his only enemies were online."

"Really?" Alan is surprised. "Online?"

"Yes, in his computer games. He liked the sword and dragon ones." That wasn't what Alan thought she meant.

"He had friends he played with?" Max asks as his phone rings. He cancels it after a quick glance at the screen.

"You wouldn't think it but he had quite a few friends. All computer people. A couple are girls too. He didn't date any of them."

Max and Alan nod at the irrelevant information. "You can provide us with their details?" Alan asks with his head still nodding.

"Sure. But, it couldn't be any of them because, I mean the news has said there's been a lot of murders, yes? And Clive would be just one of them? The news said last night that there might be more, yes?"

"We're chasing all leads," Max offers.

"So you haven't gotten very far? It's been a week now, yes?"

Alan smiles, amused by the innocence of Jessica's question, "It's not that simple." And changes the subject. "So Clive was the sort to have a schedule someone could have learned?"

"Well, yes. He left for work at the same time every day. Caught the same train. Walked the same way. He gets stressed easily so we tried to keep things as straight forward as possible." Jessica smiles and continues, "He liked yogurt... would you like some?"

On their walk back to the car Max's thoughts are no longer on Jessica's poorly manicured garden. "She had a point asking why we want a list of her son's online friends when literally, in every conceivable way, nothing connects the victims. It's unlikely we'd find all these people with one particular shared acquaintance. These aren't murders of passion. They're well-constructed, well thought out, immaculately planned and executed attacks without, seemingly, any emotion. There are no mistakes in any of these deaths that give him away. He can dump bodies in the middle of the city leaving us with no usable CCTV footage or witnesses. Even the poison is made of household items so common it'll be impossible to trace them. Not even a fingerprint."

By now they're at the car and after listening patiently to Max all Alan can offer is, "We've got the burns."

Max is about to respond when his phone rings. He answers it this time, "Hey." Thalia's voice projects out, "Hey. When are you home?"

"Not sure."

"Will you be here for dinner?"

"Can't say. I'm in the middle of something, I'll speak to you later." Max hangs up the phone abruptly without waiting for a reply or saying goodbye.

Alan is less than impressed, "After that massive rant you can't even speak to your wife for five seconds?"

Max is straight on the defensive, "Come on man, without fail she calls me every day."

"Devastating," Alan says sarcastically.

"I see her every morning and every night. We have hours each day during which time we can communicate face to face."

"And do you, when you're home?"

"Do we what?"

"Communicate? Do you talk to her when you're at home?"

"We're married."

"And you said it's been ten years. Nothing stays the same. You need to work with the changes."

Max puts on a mocking tone, "Are you a marriage counsellor now?"

"No, but I am more experienced and I can tell you marriage is about communication."

"Thanks Doc. How much do I owe you?" Max flops himself into the car to indicate he's done with the conversation.

Alan hops in, "Hungry?"

After ordering their meals, Max and Alan pick a table as far from the families and young people crowding the restaurant as they can. The taller detective decides he needs a bathroom break before eating and as he runs off Alan offers up a joke about how old men are supposed to have the weak bladders. He only realises it isn't funny after he says it.

Finishing up in the bathroom Max is washing his hands and as the water runs over them he holds them still and stares at them like they were now somehow different than he knew them to be. They are his hands but now seem to belong to someone else. He thinks of the burns on the murder victims. What had been normal for him, what he never thought twice about, are the large burns covering the palms of both his hands. Burns so deep neither his palms nor his fingers have any trace of a fingerprint pattern left. He dries his hands and stares at the melted skin.

He takes a slow walk back to the table where he sits down opposite the older detective; he doesn't go the menu in front of him or respond to the new weak-bladder joke Alan had been rehearsing while waiting for the younger detective to return. He just rubs the fingers on each hand together as though caressing an unseen piece of fabric.

He looks up at Alan, "I have a mate who lost an eye when he was a kid. Very young, like three or four years old. The accident left a scar on his face so, while they could give him a glass eye, which was noticeable by itself, no one would have thought much of it if he didn't have the scar as well, you know. He saw it himself in the mirror every day but never thought of it either. It was what he was used to."

"Right. What are you keen to eat? I'm thinking I'd like a pizza. Irene doesn't let me eat them anymore; cholesterol and all that..."

"Listen though. Everyone who saw him, saw his scar, and his fake eye. Every photo he was in captured his scar, you understand? But my point is that everyone saw what was different about him, except him. The scar, the missing eye, to him it was just his face, yeah? You had to point it out or ask about it for him to really remember that he even had those wounds."

"Your point?"

"My point." Max holds up his burnt hands, palms out. "These scars are normal to me. They are my hands and I need someone to point out to me that they're not normal, otherwise I'm not even going to think about them."

Alan puts his menu down and loses the smile he had on his face while Max was talking about his one eyed friend. "How long have you had those?"

"Since I was thirteen."

"Well," Alan is more dismissive than Max was expecting, "I guess, it's not a surprise to have burns on the hands of these victims remind you of your own. I'm sure your mate would have remembered his scar if he saw someone with the same kind."

Max nods his agreement and lowers his hands.

Alan continues, "So what have we got? Bodies with burns on their palms which are superficially similar to yours and your name carved into the skin of said bodies. Your thoughts?" Alan tries to be funny again. "Do you sleep walk?"

"I only know of two people with these scars and I'm one of them." Max says this more seriously than Alan takes it.

"Who's the other? Your evil twin?" Alan thinks he's hilarious but his colleague doesn't seem amused so he stops laughing. "Do you have an evil twin? Do you have a brother?"

"I have a brother and he is my twin."

"You never mentioned him."

"Well we haven't spoken in years. He lost the plot way back. But, we both have these burns."

Alan leans in for a proper look at the deep scars on the palms of Max's hands. "What's his name?" Alan asks.

"Heath."

"Years, hey?"

"Yeah. He took off a few months before I got married. I had already asked him to be a groomsman. That's the last I saw of him. Haven't spoken to him since. My parents kept in touch for a few months. They were concerned that he had some mental issues to deal with and tried to talk him into getting help but one day they called and his number was disconnected. He just disappeared. I don't know, it's probably a coincidence. Just my imagination getting the better of me."

Alan takes a more serious tone than he had previously, "We need an imagination in our line of work. I'll tell you, this is too coincidental to ignore. We'll have to add him to the board."

Max slinks back in his chair like a protesting teenager, "Give me a little bit, I'll check with my old man. But this is stupid, I shouldn't have said anything. It's ridiculous."

"The bodies are piling up and this is the best lead we've got," is all Alan says as they both read their menus in silence.

The silence of their car ride back to the office is broken by Alan saying, "Just a groomsman? You didn't ask him to be your best man?" Referring to Max's brother.

Max takes a moment to remember the question related to their earlier conversation and scoffs, "No way. We weren't that close. I could hardly stand him, if I'm honest." Max reflects on his statement. "I've often asked myself why we didn't get along. You know, twin brothers, we should have been inseparable but I went out a lot and had lots of friends, he would stay home and play computer games or read whatever magazine subject he was interested in at the time. We were completely different."

Alan offers, "Being different shouldn't have stopped you from getting along."

"Yeah, true. To be fair, I wasn't overly nice to him. We were just..." Max tries to find the right word, "...different."

"So maybe he's angry at you and this is all payback?"

Max gives an uncomfortable laugh, "Pfft. No. It wasn't that bad. Like I said, I'm sure this is just a coincidence."

## Chapter 12

"You're such a pussy!" Eric Sanders was the neighbour who lived next door to Max and Heath for most of their childhood. Fifteen years old, two years older than the twins, he had no friends to speak of so would spend his days annoying his identical twin neighbours with a laugh that reminded them of Gonzo from The Muppets. Not to mention a nasty habit of picking his nose and eating it or disposing of it on the nearest surface; even if that happened to be Max and Heath's couch or wall.

"Get stuffed. You do it." Heath protested as only a thirteen year old could.

"Come on. Pick up the can." Max said, daring his brother on.

Heath stood his ground, "You idiots understand this will burn our hands?"

"That's the point!" said Eric.

"It doesn't have to. Just hold it as long as you can. I'm just saying I'll hold it longer than you," said Max.

Krissy Vaughan was a little redheaded twelve year old neighbour who was very small for her age and hid her chronic loneliness in an overly outgoing personality. It wasn't that she was fun or entertaining to be with, she just put forward such a full on personality that Max could never bring himself to ask her to leave. Heath was intimidated by her even though he had at least six inches of height and close to thirty kilograms on her.

She had been sitting on the washing machine, listening to the three boys argue. She kicked the back of her heals on the side of the machine to draw their attention. "Just do it, Heath. You can let go when it hurts too much." She lived across the road but while she was younger than the boys she could be away from home all night without her parents caring. Her inattentive mother and father had one rule for her, 'Don't come home pregnant'.

Resigning his protest and succumbing to peer pressure, Heath picked up the small tin cans, holding one in each hand like cups. Eric and Krissy were happy with their win. Krissy hopped off the washing machine and knelt on the ground with the three older boys.

Eric jumped up and ran out of the small shed-cum-laundry, heading next door to his house. "Great! Wait here," he said as he ran off.

A few minutes later he returned carrying a small metal container which he placed on the ground. Inside were burning coals. "Just in time. They're still crazy hot. Dad was cleaning out the barbecue."

"Did you get in trouble?" asked Heath.

Eric shrugged. "Pfft. No. He told me to put it back, I told him to get stuffed."

Max and Heath were ready and waiting, holding their small tin cans as though about to drink. Heath was still apprehensive but peer-pressure was all he needed to go through with something he knew he shouldn't. He didn't want them to tease him any more than they already did. It wasn't uncommon for Max, Eric and Krissy to all start laughing at him for some small infraction which Heath himself didn't even notice.

Max was a mixture of excitement and nerves, "Alright, get it happening." He didn't want Krissy to know he was a little scared as well.

The little redhead was getting excited and clapped her hands as she repeated what Max just said. "Alright, get it happening."

Using barbecue tongs Eric placed one hot coal in each of the four tins. Immediately the heat radiated up the metal surfaces and seared into the hands of the two young brothers. Heath frowned at the pain but hid it as best he could while Max smiled and laughed. Encouragement from Krissy distracted them for a moment until Eric placed another coal in each tin. The pain intensified and Max did his best to laugh it away. Heath's face was covered in sweat. The sweat hid his tears.

The brothers continued their challenge with neither wanting to be the first to give up. Krissy continued to cheer which kept them going while Eric mocked them in anticipation of whoever would give up first.

It was Heath. He released his grip on the tin but didn't count on his skin having melted and as he pulled his fingers away the hot tin ripped flesh from the palm of his hand. The tin cans remained attached. He panicked and screamed while tipping the tins upside down to get the coals out.

He hit the tins on the ground to rip them from his palms. Max saw this and did the same as he realised the damage done. Heath ran outside crying with his hands in the air, calling for his parents. Max just knelt there staring at his hands - in shock. Eric was laughing so hard he was crying. Krissy began to cry and ran off.

In the years following this incident she rarely showed up again.

Krissy and Eric weren't around during the next two years until the brothers could say their wounds were healed. The two neighbours weren't there for the skin grafts conducted over countless hospital stays or the constant dosing on pain-killing medication which would still leave them in too much pain to sleep at night. It was close to a year before the brothers could hold anything in their hands. They were off school for months and during this time Heath rarely left his room. Choosing to simmer and mentally self-flagellate.

Max would limit his intake of pain killers as his own misguided attempt at penitence for what he quickly realised was an incredibly stupid idea. Heath, though, would lie in his bed descending into episodes of depression and became addicted to his medication.

Their mother had to quit her job and stay home to care for them with a daily, sometimes more than once a day, routine of changing their bandages, helping them use the bathroom and taking them on trips to doctors to have their wounds reviewed and their guilt deepened.

Fed-up with their sons' immaturity, Max and Heath's parents changed their approach to parenting during the aftermath of their stupidity and became more like prison wardens keeping criminals in line. It took a long time for Max to fully appreciate the sacrifice his parents made during that time. In his early twenties he made a point of sitting down with them to explain his understanding of the effort they went to and how much he appreciated how hard it must have been for them. His parents cried with joy.

Both, Eric and Krissy, would spot the brothers coming and going from their house with hands bandaged but they'd look away. The six parents got together when it was revealed all four kids were involved. Eric's parents, Chris and Anita Sanders, sympathised and assured their boy would be punished, he never was. Krissy's parents, George and Jan Vaughan, however, couldn't have cared less and didn't pretend that they thought this was anything other than Max and Heath being stupid little kids who deserve what they got.

Neither Max nor Heath ever found out that their father punched George Vaughan and broke his jaw. No charges were laid.

## Chapter 13

Max reaches the tenth floor under the duel influences of will-power and a firm grip on the railing by which to pull himself up each step of the stairwell. His legs are burning and his heart is pumping. He's been half pulling himself up each step since level five when his legs went limp as his thighs started to burn. It always seems like a great idea when he's standing on the ground floor but it only takes a few floors to remember the last time he did this he swore was going to be the last.

Using a wall to stop himself falling over, Max closes the door to his apartment as quietly as he can. It's not that he's hiding from his wife, especially not at six in the evening, but he's used to getting home late from work and needing to be as quiet as possible. It's the habit of it. Not that it matters because the heavy breathing from his trek up the ten floors to their apartment could well wake the neighbours.

Thalia's voice can be heard from down the hall, "Climb the stairs again?"

"Yeah."

"Regret it again?"

"Yeah."

"One day you'll learn."

"I hope so."

Tahlia is playing on her tablet computer while watching the TV. She maintains a strict structure around working from home and dedicates the standard nine am to five pm work hours to her job but will run from her home office as soon as five appears. So now she relaxes by looking at a two screens at once. She looks up at Max when he enters and smiles. Teasing she says, "Feel the burn, baby."

Max flops on the couch and can barely say, "Stupid burn. Why can't exercise be less... burny?" Tahlia laughs. Max reaches for the remote sitting on the coffee table but it's just beyond his fingers. Tahlia sees what he's trying to do, "Oi, I'm watching this." She's not really.

He lets his hand drop to the floor as Tahlia says, "You have got a package in the mail."

"What is it?" Max says without moving. His interest doesn't overpower his pain.

"A box. It's on the bench."

Max grunts to show his interest but also his inability to move.

"Fine." Tahlia says as she gets up and grabs the small box from the kitchen bench. She brings it over and drops it on his back causing him to groan once more, "Can't you see I'm already in pain?"

"Oh, I can see it," she says, smiling.

Max tries to reach the little parcel on his back but can only wriggle causing it to roll off and drop to the floor. He reaches down to find the box is extremely light. He shakes it but whatever's inside doesn't make a sound. He rips it open to find a roll of bubble wrap and, on unravelling that, he finds a mobile phone and charger. It looks to be brand new but it's not in its original packaging. To his surprise it's already on and receiving a signal.

"A phone?" Tahlia says, reminding Max she's been watching him open it. "Who's that from?"

Max turns the phone over in his hands as he stares at it like it's a long lost toy. It's cheap and nasty and only good for calls or texts. He goes through the menu and into the contacts list. There's one number listed under the name 'Answer Me'. He checks the Inbox to find a message reading: 'Keep me charged'.

He sits up and the pain of his walk up the ten floors is no longer registering. He scrolls through the menu checking everything until he realises Tahlia has been speaking to him the whole time, "I'm sorry?" he says after finally looking up at her.

"Who sent it to you?" Tahlia says with a degree of impatience after having said it half a dozen times already.

"I don't know," is all Max can say as he stands and walks to the bedroom. He sits on the edge of his bed and leans down, reaching behind his bedside table with one end of the charger and plugging it into the wall. He places the other end into the phone. It beeps and the animated battery symbol begins flashing to indicate it's charging.

He places it on the bedside table as gently as if it was a holy relic. It sits charging as Max sits watching. The powerful feeling of nausea begins to well in the bottom of his stomach again. With nothing to work on other than intuition he can't help but feel his thoughts concerning his brother may turn out to be a real possibility.

He grabs his own phone from his pocket, dials a number in his contacts list and places the phone to his ear. The ringing ends with the sound of his father's excited voice, "Max!"

"Hey dad, how's things?"

"Yeah good matey. I took the week off work to get some stuff done around the house. I've been replacing the back fence today. We've got the frame concreted in, and we'll get the rest done tomorrow or the next day."

"Yeah? Who's we?"

"Harry from next door. You remember Harry?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

"How are things with you my boy?"

"Yeah good. So, I have a random question for you if you've got a sec?"

"Go for it."

"So... have you heard from Heath recently?"

"Wow son, you weren't kidding about it being random."

"Sorry."

"No, it's all good. But, no, unfortunately. Whenever I said the last time was, was the last time. Haven't heard from him since."

"You haven't had any weird things happen. Someone calling and hanging up or anything?"

"Not at all. Have you?"

Max is hesitant to reveal too much and doesn't feel the need to overtly connect Heath to the murders just yet. If his father even knows about the murders as he's infamous for being out of touch. Even Max announcing his speculations would grieve his parents. He looks at the cheap phone sitting on his bedside table and says, "Not really. Just a few things got me thinking about him and I thought I'd check in about it."

"What's on your mind?"

"It's nothing I can go into right now."

"Well Heath was an unusual boy. Your mother and I still aren't sure what we did wrong."

"I'm sure it wasn't you."

"Maybe not, but what if I said something? What if he needed me and I wasn't aware and pushed him away? What if that... broke him? What if he just needed more love than we could have given?"

Father and son hear an odd click sound through the phone line as a voice joins in. Max's mother. "Max?"

"Hi mum."

"I heard your father saying something about your brother."

Max's father pipes in, "Max was just asking if we had heard from him. I said we hadn't for years."

"Is everything OK Max? Have you heard from him?"

"No mum, I was just thinking about him is all."

The three way conversations started years ago when his parents saw the idea on the TV show Seinfeld and thought it would be a productive way to speak with family, better than one at a time and having to repeat the same conversations. Max doesn't enjoy it as much as they do.

His father responds, "Max said something happened that made him think about his brother."

Max tries to reword what his father said but is interrupted by his mother, "Are you OK darling? What happened?"

"No, mum, I'm fine. Nothing happened. I was just thinking about him and wanted to check in with you."

"But if you hear from him be sure to give him our love and tell him to call. It's been a long time. We're worried."

"Yeah, I know mum, I'll be sure to tell him."

His mother sounds sad, "He was such a good boy. He never did anything wrong."

His father agrees, "It's true. Max you were the trouble child."

His mother agrees, "Oh yes. Max you were a handful. Remember when you were boys and burnt your hands?" His father announces that he remembers as his mother continues. "That was horrible. Neither of you could do anything for yourselves for nearly a year. We had to feed you."

Max slaps his forehead. Every time these three way conversations happen his parents end up talking over each other, saying the exact same thing, telling the same stories from their own perspective. "Thank you, yes, I'm sorry again. I remember all that. I've grown up..."

Max is interrupted by his mother, "No need to apologise darling. You've grown into such a wonderful man. Heath was never the same though."

"It's true, Max." His father agrees, "We're so very proud of you my boy."

Max spends the next few minutes working his way out of the conversation so he can hang up and when he finally does he flops back on the bed, exhausted from what was actually a short call compared to past experiences.

## Chapter 14

"Do you remember when people would say you and Max were more identical than most identical twins? Even strangers in the street. You know? You look more alike than most. There are some twins where you can see they're twins and there are similarities but it's not always that they're impossible to tell apart. I'm talking beyond just wearing the same clothes or having the same hair style. You know? I'm talking where the shape of their faces is exact. Eyes, nose, mouth, it's all the same. That's you and Max. One leaves a room and the other enters, you wouldn't know if it's the first one returning or the other one arriving; all of that. Of course, you put that to the test from a young age.

"When you weren't fighting you were fooling the parents into thinking you were Max or Max was you. It became a game and soon, I'll admit, it became, at least for you, an obsession. Sometimes it was as easy as just changing clothes and answering to the other one's name - that's how it started of course. Soon it became difficult to keep up because it was more and more elaborate. You once visited relatives and spent the whole week playing the game. You never once broke character.

"Preparation became key for the game. Sometimes the sharing of certain details that you'd need to know about the other was all that was necessary. The talks you had were usually about your interaction with the person you were trying to fool. If it was the parents then you'd let the other know if they had said anything you should refer to. Those little things that only the two of you would know but would be a subconscious hint to confirm to them that this is the brother they think it is.

"Letting the other know about a significant event or something that you could mention became a source of confidence for you as well. You got to a point where you'd spend entire weeks at school fooling teachers and friends. You got Max suspended once. He wouldn't have cared if he actually did what he was being punished for but, because you did it, he was furious. It was those times of just being someone else that made you feel alive. The thrill. There were none too few times when, in the middle of the game, your heart was racing and you had to grip your hands together just to fight the shakes. A mix of nerves and excitement.

"You stopped the games in your late teens though. Max grew out of it apparently. It was fun. You were good. It took bravery, I think, because you were very different people. Where he was loud and out-going, you... well, you weren't. He was friends with more girls than you but in the middle of a game you had to approach them like you had known them for ages. That wasn't so easy. You were better at it than he was though, for sure. You prepared yourself. You would watch him, at home, at school, out with friends. You'd follow him without him knowing. You'd watch how he interacted with different people. You knew that if you got one relationship wrong, if you treated one of his friends in a way he didn't, you'd have lost. You were good. In fact I remember you would sometimes wait for Max to be at home or away and you'd meet up with one of his friends without telling him. He'd come to you later and yell 'cause his friend would talk about something they did that he didn't remember doing and he knew it had been you."

## Chapter 15

The warm night drew families out to a local park set amongst a network of suburban streets. Lit by the surrounding street lights, on an evening like this the park is in use even after the sun has gone down.

At the far end of the rectangular shaped park surrounded by a ring of trees all perfectly spaced apart, a young woman sits on a bench holding a sleeping newborn while her husband chases their five year old son around the playground. The boy squeals with delight as his father catches him and lifts him up into the air before putting him down and starting the chase over again. All the while other young families enjoy the space along with them.

Soon enough though, the warm night is no longer enough to keep them out so the mother places the sleeping baby in a pram and calls her husband and son for the short trek down the street to their home.

They move off with the husband carrying the boy who promptly falls asleep in his arms. They talk quietly together and pay no attention to the car that has been sitting beside the park since before they arrived and which now starts moving in their direction driving slowly past them up the street before pulling over a short distance ahead.

The occupant was seated across the street from the park in the car long before the sun went down and remained there patiently as people came and went. The park was visited by families throughout the afternoon, evening and night but the occasional jogger also enjoyed the space. None of them noticed the man in the car observing them.

He watched as the young couple moved off with their two sleeping children, started the car and waited for them to pick a direction before moving off ahead of them. He waited further along the street to see where they would head next.

Not far along though, only a little further than where the car stopped, the couple turn up a driveway into a modest house. They go inside; the interior lights bleed out through the curtain on the window to the left of the front door for a moment before blacking out. The car creeps slowly past the house and in to the night.

## Chapter 16

Max is sitting at a desk, in a glass walled meeting room, staring at a pin board covered in photos of victims, their wounds, and anything else they think is important to know, including Max's name carved into scarred flesh. To one side is a map marked with murder sites. Max stares at the board but is daydreaming, when Alan knocks on the open door. A call had come through asking them to attend a suspected murder possibly linked to their case. On the drive Alan said the difference with this victim is he appears to have been there for at least three weeks.

The reason the body was not discovered for so long was the dense bushland setting. It wasn't till a bushwalker decided on walking through a little used area of the popular national reserve that the decaying man was spotted. The decay was only part of their problem as large chunks of his flesh, including his entire left leg, were eaten away by animals. Even his tibia and fibula as well as his entire foot were missing. Fortunately one of his hands was almost fully intact and appears to show signs of being burnt. Alan is the one to check the deceased's abdomen for Max's name and while there seems to be something there the flesh is too rotten to know for sure so they agree to leave it for Dr Will to confirm.

A few hours later they're back at the office. Max was quiet most of the drive having spent the time staring at his hands. As soon as he reaches his desk he's on his computer searching his brother's name on internal databases as well as checking social media sites and doing a simple Google search. There is one guy floating around social media with the same first, middle and last name as Heath but he's from a different country and is nineteen. Quick responses to his inquiries with State and Federal Government Departments confirm none have any recent record of his brother. He has no driver's licence and doesn't submit a tax return. He hasn't existed officially for years.

It was after a couple of hours searching that Max and Alan were called to Barry's office. The boss is mad, a little stressed and wants to take it out on someone. So they sit across from their boss who has his feet up on his desk while one hand rubs his giant belly and the other rubs his forehead. To Max he looks like a cartoon character come to life.

Alan has just finished explaining the inconclusive details about the newest, yet maybe oldest, body.

"Do we have anything? Anything at all that can be remotely considered a lead? Something that says, 'this person could, even just possibly, be the murderer?'" He says this with a degree of resignation, knowing what the answer will be. Before either detective can answer, Barry corrects himself. "No, let me rephrase. So, we've maybe now six bodies all linked to the same person." He points to Max, "You. Has that got us anywhere?"

Max stays silent and looks at Alan who returns the look and realises he's going to have to speak up, "No. We're nowhere."

"No?" Barry almost laughs. "What are forensics saying? No hair? Skin cells? Fingerprints? What are the psychologists saying about the causes of death? Why is he burning their hands? Why the poison? Is it truly random or can we figure out who might be next?" Max just stares down at his hands.

Alan can only shrug. "The labs have found plenty of hair and skin samples on the victims \- that don't belong to the victims - but, so far, they've all been connected to family or friends or others the victims regularly come into contact with."

Barry stands and paces around his office while screaming, "How can we have nothing?! Not one mistake we can use to find him?! How can this be?! CCTV gives us nothing. What about witnesses?"

Max and Alan look to each other. It sounded like a rhetorical question. They shrug, unwilling to speak up in case he doesn't want an answer but not wanting to ignore him if he really wants one. Of course, this makes Barry angrier, "What do you have? Anything? Or do I have to replace you with detectives who can do their jobs? Earl and Carl could get me results faster than you two. Hell, Earl's been riding me about leading this investigation. Maybe I should let him. I have the Chief Commissioner breathing down my neck on this, you know? The media too. I have to give answers."

While ranting, Barry doesn't spot Alan whacking Max on his leg. Remaining unsaid between them is Alan's desire for Max to tell Barry about his brother, his burns, and their theory. Anything that will save them from looking incompetent. Max knows this but gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head and mouths the word 'no' before placing his attention back on his hands. Barry's voice fades from Max's mind as his eyes review every scarred millimetre of skin on his hands. As unusual as his hands are, they've become normal to him. If his hands were without the scars he would feel... odd.

The last time he spoke to his brother they were fighting; a yelling match ten years of silence couldn't blot out. Heath had never been far from his mind but never near his mouth so he went unmentioned to every new person in every new conversation.

The occasional 'any brothers or sisters' question was answered by a quick, 'I have a sister' with a quieter, 'and a brother I don't really talk to'. The last point often went without further detail and only the most pressing of his friends could free up any information to that end.

Heath was a shy child. Max remembers his brother, during their very young years, not wanting their mother out of his sight even for a moment. Her bathroom visits were accompanied by his screaming and tears. He was three and a half when he realised he could force his way into the bathroom to sit in the corner until his mother was done. Their father put a lock on the door which provided Heath with an opportunity to test the limit of his lungs when he screamed constantly and the limit of his little fists as he beat on the door. Even as a four year old Max would take himself outside when Heath screamed as the patience of his young self was being worn out. This went on until they were six and all through these events Max would sometimes watch and sometimes just ignore it.

His brother couldn't be involved in such cold blooded murder, surely. So many dead bodies. So many broken loved ones and irreparable wounds. Heath's too shy. Too... weak. It's not Heath; can't be. Max can't say anything to Barry about this before being absolutely sure that what he feels is not just his imagination. Surely burnt hands could mean a million things, couldn't they?

No, he won't say anything to Barry just yet. But the phone he received in the mail? Surely that's the best confirmation of his suspicion he could have?

Max's day dreaming is interrupted by his right hand being unceremoniously yanked up and to the side. Before his mind is back in the moment all he can think of is the tight grip around his wrists. "The hell is this?" Before Max could return from his dream world, Barry grabs his arm, mid rant, after realising the young detective wasn't paying attention; he sees the burns. Something he had never noticed before. Something he wouldn't have noticed until now.

Max can feel Barry's face next to his and can smell his breath as he talks, enunciating every word, "What... the hell... is this?" Barry holds Max's hand up in front of his own face until he wriggles it free.

The young detective shoots a quick glance at Alan who nods his encouragement for Max to talk. "They're..." Max considers dancing around the truth but gives in and says what he knows will bring hell down on them, "I've had them for a while. So has my brother." Barry's eyes burn holes through the new detective until he inexplicably calms and takes a seat behind his desk. He wipes the sweat from his brow before giving a gentle smile to both Max and Alan, letting his anger simmer just under the surface. "Tell me about that."

With that simple request Max and Alan spend the next hour sitting there in Barry's office discussing Max's brother and their scars. Max tells him everything.

By the story's end, the boss was rubbing his sweaty bald spot with one hand and patting his big belly with the other. Alan was shrinking into his seat with every passing word from Max. He's been in this business too long to watch his career die but that's exactly what he's looking at and now he sits there unable to find the words to defend himself.

Max takes a deep breath and goes silent. Barry continues to pat his belly, staying quiet while he thinks. Max watches to see when the moving hand stops. That's the sign that he has made sense of his thoughts.

The hand does stop but he doesn't look up. His softly spoken words are simmering with anger, "Do you know how many people are working these murders in one way or another?"

Max and Alan look at each other.

Alan tries to sound confident, "Sixty?"

Barry leans forward and explodes in anger just as his belly keeps him from jumping over his desk, "Sixty! Hundreds, thousands of man-hours, all of it filtering through you two and you've been sitting on the biggest break we could have had. We've had the media killing us, not to mention the pressure from politicians weighing in, questioning our competence."

Max joins in, defensively, "As I told Alan, I never honestly had any reason to suspect him. I would be the first to put him on the board if I thought that was the best lead we had."

Barry won't have any of it. "Max! The media has been taking us for fools because we have given them absolutely nothing. Your name is carved into the flesh of at least two people! And you want to sit there saying you had no real reason to suspect him. All these murders, innocent people, and we've had nothing except what you've been sitting on! Sixty Police! Tens of thousands of dollars!"

Alan feels like he did when he was a new recruit just out of the Academy, in over his head and making himself look the fool. He barely utters the words, "Will you be suspending us?"

Barry's glare burns holes in him, "Suspending!? I should be firing you and charging you!" Alan swallows hard and fights back tears. Barry continues, "But you may not have noticed sixty police are wrapped up in the biggest serial killer investigation this country has had in years and you two have been wasting everyone's time!" Barry turns his attention to Max and says with a pointed finger, "Max, you're suspended."

Max is crushed but doesn't respond. He just looks at the floor.

Barry turns to Alan, "You're being replaced as lead detective by Earl." That's a kick in the gut for Alan. "You're reassigned and I'll look into demoting you." Barry gives Alan a moment to let it sink in. "Unless you can give me a reason not to."

Max jumps in, "It was my fault, Barry. Honestly..."

Alan interrupts him, "Max please." He thinks for a moment and realises he's too old and has too much on the line to let this send him off the cliff. He leans forward. "Barry..." Alan has no defence. "I screwed up."

Barry interjects, "I'll stop you there. We'll go on about this later. In the meantime, Max, you will write down everything in a statement and give it to Earl and Carl. Everything. Get out."

Max doesn't bother protesting. Both detectives leave.

## Chapter 17

"The problem is this, you spent your entire childhood being ignored by the parents while Max was the centre of their lives, but not in a good way. What was the difference between you and the brother who was genetically exactly the same? It took you years to understand the answer to that question but it had been staring you in the face the whole time. It was because you were 'the good son,' but Max was always in trouble. Keeping him in line was their focus. So the parents were forever saying 'Max did this' and 'Max don't do that' or, 'We have to do this about Max'. And where were you? Quietly sitting to the side being 'the good son'. Is that fair? Hell no! You deserved their attention. You deserved respect. You deserved more than you've been given.

"For all the evil he did you still deserved their time and attention. You remember getting to a point where you knew you just had to accept being overlooked. You had to accept that you weren't their priority and that the trouble Max caused took precedence over everything, especially you."

## Chapter 18

After the painful admission to Barry of his suspicions about his brother earlier that day, Max is back at home on his couch. He doesn't have the energy or inclination to do anything for a while. The TV is on but muted and a one litre tub of yogurt sits empty beside him with the handle of a spoon sticking out the top. He stares at his laptop screen as he watches YouTube videos. He plays music videos and cute animals doing stupid things, anything just as long as they take his mind off the massive mistake he's now living with.

Tahlia comes in the front door - she can see Max from where she is. She's curious. "Hey. What are you doing home?" she asks as she moves into the lounge room and then spots the yogurt. "Did you eat all the yogurt just now?"

Max replies, "I feel a gentle urge to visit the bathroom. Gentle, yet urgent. To answer your other question: Barry is why I'm home."

"Barry?"

Max puts his laptop down. "Sit here for a sec," he says as he pats the couch beside him. Tahlia takes a seat and Max proceeds to tell her a few of the minor details of the murders he'd been investigating. He informs her of the burns on the hands of the victims and how they made him think of his own scars with this leading him to think about Heath and if he could be involved. He told her how he laughed off the idea as absurd; dismissing it as stupid. He didn't tell her about finding his name on the victims as he thought it would needlessly scare her.

Tahlia was confused about Max connecting the victims to Heath just because of the burns on their hands. Since Max didn't speak of the biggest connection - the one where his name was carved into the abdomens of an old man and a mother to two young boys - things that would have cleared up her confusion, he just brushed off her query.

He ended his story telling Tahlia about keeping his theory about his brother secret for a few days so he could check with his parents and when he finally spoke about it, Barry took him off the case and sent him home for a week. When he's finished speaking, Tahlia's response surprises him, "Heath? So, is this time off with or without pay?"

Maybe it's the stress of the last few days or maybe his wife's reaction was genuinely funny, either way Max bursts into laughter. When he stops laughing, he says, "Suspended with pay, for now. The whole thing is stupid though. If Heath is to blame I would put him away faster than anyone else."

Tahlia doesn't buy what he's saying. 'Yeah but there's a conflict of interest, right? What would happen if you arrested him yourself and took him to court? Wouldn't the defence stomp all over you?"

"Wow. Thanks. Whose side are you on exactly?"

Tahlia puts her hands up defensively. "I'm just asking."

"Honey, there's no allegiance here. I'd investigate and arrest him like any other criminal. Doubt me all you want."

"What?!" Tahlia is offended. "I never said I doubted you and I never said your heart wouldn't be in the right place but you've gone on in the past, at length, about how there are procedures in place to stop cops abusing power and all that stuff."

Max doesn't hide the fact he's over the conversation. "I'm sure it's all a coincidence. He can't be involved."

## Chapter 19

The next morning, Alan sits in Barry's office with detectives Earl Mullins and Carl Petersen who have taken over the investigation. Both Earl and Carl are in their fifties, sharing the exact same birthday, only three years apart, Earl being the younger of the two. Earl, like Max, joined the police force straight out of school, many years earlier though, and worked his way up. Carl, however, didn't join till his early thirties after years as a private investigator.

Despite being the older of the two, Carl has remained fit with his daily push bike ride into the office and maintains a much more professional disposition than his offsider. Earl's skinny arms and legs and fat belly always reminded Max of a pregnant Kermit the Frog and the Kermit-like detective has hated Max for the entire time the younger of the two has been a detective; since they met. The only person Earl gets along with is Carl.

It's not so much that he gets along with Barry but that Barry has authority over him and won't be intimidate by Earl's brash manner. Earl recognises this and doesn't push his luck. Earl is so well known around the office for being a grump it's common for all new starters to be told that he hates everyone; 'so watch out'.

At this meeting Barry informs Alan he's being moved on to the Illegal Arms Dealing team and Max will join him after his suspension, if he retains his job at all.

Barry offers Earl and Carl the option of Alan giving them a run-down of what they already have but Earl would prefer not to have the information they've accumulated polluting his own investigation. Alan bites his lip and doesn't respond to Earl's dig at him.

If Barry hadn't instantly refused before it could be said, Earl would have re-interviewed everyone. Barry insisted they don't have time to go back that far and it would cause undue stress on the families. They will have to work with what's there already.

Back at home, Max is once again on the couch but this time the TV isn't muted as he and Tahlia watch a news report announcing to viewers that Heath Bruce Myers is the main suspect in the Southside Serial Killer murders. Through an arrangement made with Max's begrudging approval, his image has been used in the media as an example of who they're looking for. A mug shot of his face was photo-shopped with a few different hair styles. Some images have facial hair, others don't.

Barry insisted Max stay out of public view while his image is plastered over every newspaper and magazine in the country and features on every news update - he didn't need much persuading. Needless to say Tahlia was devastated at the turn of events and pointed out they won't be able to go out to celebrate their upcoming ten year wedding anniversary because of it. That is the least of Max's concerns and he barely acknowledges it when she mentions it.

In fact Max is so self-reflective on this matter it takes Tahlia three attempts to draw his attention to the ringing phone. "What's that ringing?" she's asking. Max slowly comes back to the moment and the ringing registers in his ears, faint but clear. It isn't his phone, which is beside him. He has been so lost in seeing his own face on the TV he's missing what should have come to mind straight away. It takes him a moment but when he understands he leaps from the couch and runs to the bedroom, fast.

He launches himself at his bedside table and opens the drawer. Inside, the mobile he received in the mail is ringing and has been for some time. The screen says 'Answer Me' is calling.

He sits on the side of the bed and hits the answer button. It's not until this point that he stops to think about what's happening; he waits and stares at the screen of the cheap mobile. The phone line is open and without placing it to his ear he thinks he can hear someone breathing. He takes a breath and swallows hard before lifting the phone to his ear. "Heath?" is all Max can think of saying.

"Of course, brother." Heath's voice sounds equal parts familiar and unusual. "Good to finally speak after all these years."

Max spends a moment thinking of the most meaningful thing to say but is left with, "Obviously you're the one doing all the... stuff?"

"Murdering? Is that not clear for you?"

"Why?"

Heath speaks with a hint of arrogance Max had never heard in him before. "That will become clear in time."

All Max can do is respond to his brother's tone, "Are you proud of what you've done?"

Heath couldn't sound more patronising as he says, "Max, my dear brother. It has never been a matter of pride."

"Then what?"

"Influence brother, simply. Influence on the world around me. My world."

"You're trying to prove to the world..."

"Prove to the world? No." Heath almost laughs, "Nothing to the world. To me... everything. My world, you see. I think of it as my purpose."

"Prove what to yourself exactly?"

"Simple, Max. I want to know I am capable of evil. Pure evil. I want to know that I can look someone in their eyes as I cause them unimaginable pain. That I am capable of influencing the world I live in as I want to instead of letting it influence me as it always did."

"Why?"

"WHY! Because I spent years living in your shadow! Hiding behind you because you just didn't care. But Max, if I'm really honest with you, and it took me a long time to be honest with myself about this..." the sound of Heath taking a deep breath can be heard through the phone before he says, "...I was living for your approval, Max. Everything I did. Everything I said. Would Max like it if I said this or did this? Would he laugh? Would he join in? I'm sure it doesn't make sense to you, not now anyway, but I've come to terms with my past."

Hearing his brother cry, Max says, "It doesn't sound like you've come to terms with anything. You're blaming me though?"

"Blaming you? Yes, to a degree. Don't get me wrong, what I've done is my choice but that's the point, I choose to do this despite what you would think. I am now the one in control." Heath takes a deep breath to pull the emotion out of his voice, "Did you tell the parents?"

"No. But the media let it out anyway so they probably know."

"You didn't tell them before it was announced?"

Max knows his brother had made a good point. "No." He wishes he did tell them. "But it was only just announced."

"But you'll talk to them about it?"

"Maybe. Why? Do you care?"

Heath laughs, "No."

"You cut your victims to get me involved?"

"Correct. To be honest I wasn't sure what police do with situations like that. You know, the cases that involved their staff a little too closely. I figured that's the part that could back fire on me. I created a 'work around' in case they tried to distance you. I didn't need it in the end now did I?"

"I'm not on the case anymore."

"Well, no matter. If I remember you correctly, I'm sure I do, you will find a way to stay on my tail. Tell me though, when did you start to suspect me? When did it become clear?"

"The burns were..."

Heath laughs, "Yeah, nice, I hoped it wouldn't be too subtle. Other than our faces, these burns are the only things that still connect us. But I'll still do the burning even though you're on top of things."

"Didn't you hear me? They took me off the case. You can stop killing people." His last five words strike him as extremely odd.

"I heard you. And you said you'd still chase me. I wouldn't have it any other way. The killings continue."

Max is almost breathless, "I don't understand what..."

Heath interrupts, 'No brother. There is no understanding, not right now. That will come, in time. If at all."

"I won't go easy on you."

"Did you ever?"

"How do you know I'm not going to have this mobile traced?"

"You won't because I gave it to you and that would be too easy. If you caught me you wouldn't have earned it."

"This is about stopping you from murdering people."

"True to a point. I'll give you that. But you still need the victory. You've always needed it. I mean it's safe to assume you haven't told them about the phone yet, which is why you've answered it. You have to prove you're better than me. You see, that's something else I've come to understand about you, you do everything to show people you are better than me. I forgive you for that because it just shows how weak you really are."

"We're not children anymore Heath. Things have changed."

"Haven't they indeed," spits Heath. "Well this has been nice. We could talk for ages but we'll have more opportunities as the game moves along. We'll speak again. Let me leave you with one question." The phone stays silent in Max's ear for a moment before Heath speaks again. "If you weren't a homicide detective would I have still killed people to get your attention? Goodbye Max."

The phone goes dead in Max's ear, he stands and takes a deep breath then catches a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, through the ensuite door. He walks over to it and stares at himself.

He spends a few minutes staring at his reflection and thinks back over the surreal nature of having just spoken to his brother for the first time in so long only to have him admit to being a serial killer. He is drawn from his own reflection by his ringing phone. He pulls the phone from his pocket and swears at himself under his breath as he sees his parents' home number appear on the screen. He answers it, "Hey."

His father's voice comes through, "Did you see the news?"

Max rubs his head, "I'm sorry. I meant to tell you first. I've had a lot on."

His father is more softly spoken at this point than his son has every heard before, "Max, it can't be true. I refuse to believe it." Max can hear that his father has no confidence in his own words.

"Dad, I should have told you, it just happened so fast. I'm sorry."

His father asks, "Is it true?"

Max takes a deep breath, "Yeah dad, it's true."

Max thinks he can hear his father cry as he asks rhetorically, "It can't be. What did we do wrong?"

"It wasn't you or mum. He's just..."

His father interrupts, "Maybe we didn't try hard enough. Maybe..."

Max interrupts, "No, he's just messed up in the head. It's nothing you could have changed."

"How do you know?"

Max almost lets slip about, only moments before, speaking with his brother but catches himself thinking it may be too hard to explain before he himself fully understands what he's in the middle of. He just says, "He's my twin. I just know these things."

His father remains silent for a moment which Max takes as a good sign that his last comment is being considered. Max asks, "How's mum?"

"Not too good. She's with your sister. They're not sure what to think. They're very upset."

Max feels it's his place to give his family some hope. "I'll catch him dad. It's what I'm paid to do. It's what I'm good at. Don't worry."

"My own son has killed people. What do I tell everyone?" His father's voice changes from confusion back to denial. "No, I don't believe it. It's a mistake. It's a mistake isn't it Max?"

"Dad, if anyone asks you about it don't tell them anything. Don't respond to the press if they find you and..."

His father interrupts, "Is that going to happen?"

"It's possible, yes. Just ignore them. Stay away from them. But more importantly, and this we can't get away from, you'll be interviewed on record by investigators."

"Why? Why will that happen?"

"Because we can't find him. We've got nothing and they're going to think we know something because we're his family."

His father protests, "We haven't seen him in so long! How can they think we'd know?"

"It's what cops do, dad. Everyone's a criminal. Everyone's guilty of something."

"This is a nightmare."

"Should I talk to mum or Claire?"

"Just give them a moment. I'll get them to call you when they can."

Max's talk with his father ends the same way they always do, long periods of silence indicating they've run out of things to say. They both have so many thoughts going through their heads but neither can process them into intelligible sentences.

Just outside the bedroom door, around the corner in the hall and out of view, stands Tahlia. She's been there since Max first answered the call from his brother. She's heard everything.

## Chapter 20

On the final night of Max's suspension his mind is racing so fast he's slept for no more than an hour and spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the temptation to get up and watch TV or do something to take his mind off his brother. Occasionally he'd lie on his side and stare at his sleeping wife. He couldn't see her properly in the darkness but there was enough city light coming through the open curtains to give him a slight outline of her face. He remembers back to when they met in their late teens. Nothing but her mattered to him back then.

For the first time in his short life, teenaged Max met a girl he couldn't imagine being away from. Only a year into dating and he was considering how he'd propose. This surprised even him at the time because he had never considered marriage before. Nor should he have at that age. He didn't care for the idea. But all that changed. He grew so determined to propose that he scared himself out of doing it for years. After they had been dating for a few years and even after he bought an engagement ring he kept it in his pocket for months with the intention of proposing but could never get the words out.

One day Tahlia sat on his lap and could feel the ring box in his pocket and asked him about it. He joked about her turning him on but she knew what it was just by the shape and pressed him for details until he pulled it out of his pocket and told her how long he had held on to it. Tahlia was so excited she put the ring on and said yes without Max actually asking. He was happy with that.

But now, as he lies in bed and looks at her in the dark, the excitement has gone. Sure enough he still thinks she's beautiful but he's not sure about love anymore. He tries to pinpoint a time when the shine left and the doubts came but is left wondering. He just knows things aren't what they used to be.

By five thirty he feels like he's been lying in bed long enough and gets up to enact a very slow showering and dressing routine before heading into work for the first time in two weeks. Everyone will have been talking about him. They'll stare at him. Whisper behind his back. Nothing he can do about that.

His drive to work almost resulted in rear ending a motorbike, the shock of which forced him to pull over and gather himself. As he sat in his car with traffic speeding past him he could have sworn he was almost going to cry.

Max sits at his desk having walked the psychological gauntlet from his car and past his colleagues. A few said 'hello'. Now he's pretending to read a file, something about a gun - or something. He doesn't care and can't focus. There had been no new murders during his time off and his brother hadn't rung back. He did try calling the number saved on the phone but a recorded voice told him he couldn't make outgoing calls.

From his desk he can see through the windows surrounding the meeting room he had used with Alan to speak with the team investigating the murders. The room is currently populated by Earl and Carl and at least another dozen detectives Max used to meet with. The room has a large board at one end with photos and documents pinned to it. In the centre of the board, taking pride of place, is Max's own photo. It's meant to signify his brother, but Max still can't help but feel like he's the one everybody looks at suspiciously. Still, in that room is where he wants to be.

He wants to get closer and take a look so he takes a slow walk to the office kitchenette trying not to attract too much attention as he slips past the meeting room and gets a good view of the board.

Earl is mid-sentence, "We're almost done with..." Both Earl and Carl look in unison toward Max. Mission failure, they've spotted him. He moves on to the kitchenette after he gives a little wave and a smile. None of his colleagues are impressed although Carl does wave back. Earl would have covered the evidence board with his body to protect it from Max's prying eyes if he could have.

Seeing as he was now at the kitchenette anyway Max figures he might as well make himself a coffee. He watches the steam bubble from the kettle spout as it spits tiny boiling splashes of water until the auto-off trips and the violent bubbling water calms, breaking Max from his day dream. Only now, pouring the boiling water into his cup, does he notice Earl standing beside him. "You've been told," says Kermit the Frog. It's all Earl needs to say for Max to know he's telling him to stay away from the investigation.

Max plays coy. "Don't know what you're talking about there, Earl."

"You jeopardized this investigation by looking after your brother. You could be open to criminal charges. Stay away."

Max gets defensive, "I never looked after him. I would have turned him in if..."

Earl interrupts, loudly, "But you didn't Max! You didn't! How many people are dead because you held back?" A spattering of meerkat-like heads pop up from behind barriers and desks to see what the yelling is about.

Max is immediately defensive, "Hey, I wasn't to know! We didn't..." he realises half way through talking that he didn't know what he was saying. "I..." he searches for the right sentence, "...did nothing wrong."

"You have a way with words. You should probably know Barry is currently in his office suffering from some serious inner conflict because the Chief Commissioner heard about your secret and now knows everything. You're being investigated by the Police Conduct Unit."

Max is shocked, "Are you serious?"

"It's only going to get worse from here."

Max feels very small, "Are they really investigating me?"

"But hey, like you said, you did nothing wrong by keeping your suspicions of your brother quiet." Earl steps in close and speaks just above a whisper, "Your problem, young fella - you're arrogant. You're new but you bounce around this place like you've been here twenty years. I've seen little punks like you come and go. And they go. They all go because they don't learn. They can't last here because they can't learn from mistakes they don't believe they make. Don't be one of them. Don't let your arrogance be your downfall." Earl leaves the kitchenette where Max turns back to the kettle and considers Earl's wise and surprisingly generous advice.

As is becoming a theme for Max, he doesn't notice Carl enter and the gentle cough the older detective offers up to announce his appearance beside him also goes unnoticed. Carl waits politely.

It takes a few moments but Max speaks to Carl without giving an indication he has even seen him. "Was Earl telling the truth about the investigation?"

"Yeah, he was," is Carl's gentle reply. "Surely you didn't think you'd get through this without one?"

Max remains in an internally reflective trance realising he may now pay dearly for what he honestly thought was the safest route.

Carl tries to help him think of other things, "How's Illegal Arms?"

This is good, Max is happy to work with this new conversation. It'll help take his mind off the nightmare. Max replies, "Illegal Arms Dealing. It's, illegal."

"Sounds interesting."

"Not so much."

Carl says as he leaves, "By the way, we'll need to interview you soon too. We have to speak to your family as well."

Max nods and keeps nodding even after Carl has left.

His phone rings, "Hello?" He says after a quick roll of his eyes because Tahlia has called again.

She sounds upset, "There are people calling and asking about Heath. They're asking if we're helping him kill people."

"Who are they?"

"I don't know. Journalists. They're asking if I know anything about it. They're in the building. They've been knocking on the door. I can't go out."

"They're trespassing, call the cops and keep the door locked. I'll be home in a few hours."

"Honey...," Tahlia is cut off as Max ends the call and puts his phone back in his pocket.

Sitting at his desk, Max fans himself with a file he should be reading. Whilst doing so, he scans the room to see what others are up to.

He drops the file on his desk, almost sending it sliding off the other side, and stares at his hands, at the burns on his palms. They seem more scarred than normal. They stand out more to him now. What were, only a few weeks ago, regrettable, stupid teenage battle wounds that he never really thought about anymore, have come to signify so much more and so many worse things. The death of random strangers, the death of his career, essentially a death in his family. What he delayed by not mentioning to Barry the things that made him think of his brother is now haunting his every step.

Alan interrupts his thought, "What have I told you about taking this job personally?" he says standing over his young colleague.

"This is different. It actually is personal." Max says without looking up.

"And that's exactly why we're now on a different case."

"Alan, I don't have to tell you that's crap." Max now makes eye contact. "You've been in this long enough to know the job comes first. If I honestly believed Heath was part of it I would have chased him down. I would have put him at the top of the board. My first case put someone away for life. Does that mean nothing?"

"No it doesn't. We're all here to put the bad guys away. You did your job. Well done. We do that too. You had enough suspicion to agree to consider it. To speak to your parents about where your brother was. And besides, I've been in this long enough to know the job is a distant second or even third place; family comes first. Fair enough, I'm an only child and couldn't begin to imagine what it's like to suspect your brother is a serial killer but I can say I'd honestly be conflicted and it would affect my work. It's our own fault and now we both have to face the anti-corruption investigation. Which brings me to my next point. I should never have let a new detective tell me how we'll handle an investigation. If you didn't put your brother on the board, I should have."

"You're being investigated too?"

"Yep. But it's not the first time. I'll be honest and tell them everything. I'm sorry if it affects your career but I'm too old to be playing games. I have to think of my family and my retirement."

Max's phone rings, he glances at the screen and considers cancelling the call. Tahlia can go without speaking to him for five minutes, surely.

"Answer it," says Alan. Max pauses a moment then accepts the call and puts the phone against his ear as he stares holes in his nosey colleague.

Alan watches and listens as Max speaks. "OK. What're they doing...? I don't know... 'cause I'm at work and should be working... I can't think about this now... just call building management... yes, fine. Bye." Max drops his phone on his desk but before he can complain, Alan says, "Another thing. Take it from me. There will always be another crime to solve. Criminals are being made every day. Don't forget your wife for an arrest."

Max dismisses the claim with a smirk, "Come on. We're fine."

"I don't believe you because of the way I just heard you speak to her. If my wife spoke to me the way you just spoke to your wife it'd be time for a long chat about what's wrong with our marriage."

"There was nothing wrong with how I spoke to her. It's just that was the second call today. She can't go five minutes without calling me about something."

"What did she call about?"

"What? Something, I don't know."

"Something to call management about?"

"Yes. There are reporters in the building. She can't leave. I don't know."

"And what are you doing right now that couldn't wait for you to speak with her? I'm a patient man, you receive a call from your wife, by all means take it, I'll wait."

"Come on dude."

"What was the earlier call about?"

"Seriously, are we doing this?" Max is annoyed but Alan answers with just a nod so Max continues. "The other call was about the same thing. They're calling and knocking on the door asking about Heath. About whether I'm involved or whatever. OK?"

"She feels threatened?"

"Sure, I guess."

"And you're still here while your wife is at home being harassed?"

"I told her to keep the door locked and call the police."

Alan leans down close to Max's face, "You are the police. There will always be another crime to solve. All of this is your fault anyway. Look after your wife."

Max knows he lost. He knows Alan is making sense so tries to change the subject. "Arms dealing. So stupid."

"It's illegal isn't it? Listen, your social life is limited so you've got time on your hands and you need to get your mind off everything so I'll arrange a night with my wife for you and Tahlia to come over for dinner. Off with you."

Max grabs his stuff and leaves.

Once back at his apartment he spends the first hour ensuring the building is free of prying reporters by physically restraining them and dragging them out a fire escape to the alley behind his building, dumping them on the footpath. With each of the four reporters he dragged out he made a show of his anger by slamming the steel fire proof door shut with a deafening crash.

Later, from his balcony ten storeys above, he could make out at least a dozen cameramen ready to catch him or his wife as they leave. Tahlia was still upset and angry at him for not coming home sooner as she missed a meeting with a publisher that she had to plead for them to move at the last minute.

Over the next few days Earl and Carl investigate three new murders that quickly reveal themselves to be copycat killings. Heath's threat to Max that he would keep killing seems to have been empty. A separate task force is set up to chase down these other murders but unlike the ones committed with Heath's fastidious planning and execution the new murders are solved within a week. Although not before news services went from feigning horror that Heath still hadn't been captured after all these weeks, to feigning horror that there are copycat murders inspired by Heath's actions. They scream for answers, or at least, they scream for something that will sell advertising. The Media juggernaut continued its attack on the police by questioning why the three unrelated copycat murderers were able to be caught within a week while Heath continues to avoid capture. Of course the Chief Commissioner takes every opportunity to get his voice and face on TV.

Max works on his cases while pretending not to be following what Earl and Carl are up to. Really all he's doing is waiting for his brother to call or to hear about a new body - a real one. To Barry though, Max claims to be unsatisfied with his colleagues' inability to trap Heath despite the head start he says he's given them. Barry still won't put him back on the case.

## Chapter 21

Tahlia rushes out of her bedroom and into her office while trying to place a shoe on each foot. She's bent over sideways reaching down with a leg in the air so she can attach the shoe and has to grab the wall to stop from falling over. She's looking every bit the professional with her business attire and polished make-up and hair, not her usual working-from-home outfit but she's on her way to a meeting with a publisher and needs to put forward her best. She had already had to postpone it due to the reporters camping inside her building. From her desk she grabs a thin black leather folder which zips closed to keep its contents inside. She moves into the hallway - an expert in moving quickly while wearing heels - and to the lounge where she collects her bag then heads out the door without pausing.

She almost collects her neighbour as she clips along the vinyl hallway with her eyes on the lift. She apologises. Both have a quick and awkward laugh but Tahlia keeps moving. One of the four lifts is closing, heading down so she calls with no time for dignity. "Hold the lift, please!"

The hide of some people \- the lift closes without response.

Tahlia slams the call button being careful not to break the newly painted nail at the end of her finger. She scans each lift while bouncing on her toes and muttering under her breath something about the rude people who live in her building and don't hold lifts for each other.

Ping!

She jumps into the lift without waiting to see if someone was getting out. Thankfully it's empty. She taps the button for the ground floor continuing to mutter under her breath about 'rude neighbours' for not holding lift doors for each other out.

Ping!

Tahlia's tiny stride in her tight business skirt creates a rapid fire clipping from the sharp heels of her shoes as she moves as fast as she can through the tiled foyer floor. She sound projects off the solid walls but she's out the secure entry point in no time and laughs again as she almost collects a maintenance worker who's kneeling beside the door looking through his tool bag. She calls back an apology as she runs on. He waves without looking up. His face is mostly hidden by long brown hair and bushy beard but Tahlia has no time for politeness. She's running late.

When she's a short distance away the maintenance worker who she almost tripped over turns and watches her jump on the first tram that stops. When she's aboard and out of sight the long haired, bushy bearded worker picks up his bag and scans the card reader at the secure entry point. The door unlocks and he enters. Whatever he scanned at the door isn't a standard electronic key for this building but he scans it again when inside a lift.

Tapping the button for the tenth floor he places his heavy bag on the floor and leans against the rear wall. The hum and rattle of the ride up ten floors is set to a gentle piano accompaniment. It's a song easy to drown out if you had to experience it multiple times a day but it helps the awkwardness of a silent lift packed with neighbours who have no desire to converse.

Ping!

Picking up his heavy bag the worker trudges along the hall that Tahlia had been running down not two minutes ago. The difference is not just his direction but his large frame taking up most of the width of the space which he navigates at a slow saunter as though slightly hesitant to reach his goal; like a job applicant about to enter his interview. So much has built to this point.

The hairy maintenance worker stands at the door to Max and Tahlia's apartment and runs a gentle finger over the gold tinted numbers screwed onto it. From his pocket he pulls a key. It slides into the lock and turns it with soundless ease. He steps inside and breaths in the view down the short hall ending at the lounge with the kitchen and small dining room to the left. A simple but appealing open plan apartment. Definitely a place Max would have chosen.

The gas hinge closes the door with a click.

The place is quiet - peaceful - and Heath holds his place at the door just bathing his senses in the atmosphere.

A few steps along the hall places him at the kitchen. White door and bench tops. Hasn't been cleaned since they ate breakfast but still looks tidy due to the bowls and cutlery being stacked beside the sink; ready. Heath places his heavy tool bag on the dining table and moves into the lounge room. The bag contains tools but its only job is to compliment his disguise.

Heath's body is shot with adrenaline when he hears a rattle at the front door. A key entering the lock. He looks back then around for a place to hide.

Moments earlier Tahlia exited the lift on her floor almost without waiting for them to open. She searching her bag for her keys while cursing her own stupidity for forgetting her phone. Having made it onto the tram she was one stop away when she realised she didn't have it. She considered continuing without it seeing as she was already late but it had an email with details of her meeting and she made a choice not to memorise the email because she was going to have her phone anyway. She had to return for it and call the person she's meeting with to make sure it's OK. She's barely holding back her tears.

Her key hits the lock and she's in her apartment making a line straight for her office. Her phone sits on the desk and was underneath the black leather zip-up folder when she missed it. She heads back down the hall and walks straight past the tool bag sitting on her dining table. She's back out the door and starts dialling her phone.

She not only missed the bag on the dining table but also her brother in-law standing on the balcony having barely gotten the glass sliding door closed before Tahlia was walking into the lounge.

Now she's gone and Heath makes his way back inside and over to a row of photos sitting on a shelf hanging from the back wall of the lounge, behind the couch. He can still smell her perfume lingering in the air. Of the photo frames on the shelf the centre one is the largest and depicts Max and Tahlia's wedding day. The photo is of the happy couple surrounded by their glowing bridal party. Heath stares at his brother. Short hair, clean shaven face, massive smile. Heath hates what he sees but imagines it's him not Max; not hard considering they look exactly the same.

But Tahlia. She looks amazing and he stares into her eyes as though they were face to face. He remembers watching her skating as a teenager, floating along the ground like an angel. He smiles at the memory and allows a tear to find his cheek.

He recognises two of the three groomsmen from school. They teased him but both had been the victims of his covert missions to impersonate Max to his friends. They weren't mean to him when they thought he was Max.

The other photos are of their parents, sister, Tahlia's family and a few babies. He moves onto scanning the small collection of books. Nothing of note. A couple of 'life on the force' biographies but not much else. Max was never much of a reader and most likely hadn't even read these ones. They were probably gifts from well-meaning but ignorant in-laws.

Next to the large TV was another wedding photo. Smaller than the one on the shelf, only Max and Tahlia feature in this frame. A pretty photo but possibly one that would be easy to forget existed, at least for a few days, if one day it just wasn't there.

A Blu-ray player sits beside the TV with one old DVD of 'Hot Fuzz' sitting atop it. Max was never one for movies either. He didn't have the attention span. Nor the intelligence.

Heath takes a seat on the couch and places his nose against the fabric. That is the smell of Tahlia that stayed in his memory for all these years. He leans back into the cushions and makes himself as comfortable as he can.

Heath lost track of time while sitting on the couch as he closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it was like for Max sitting there. Tahlia beside him. It was a dream that made Heath smile but anger welled up inside him as he thought over everything Max had. No matter for now.

Heath makes a move toward the bedrooms. The first on the left is a home office. Tahlia's work space. He stands in the doorway and pictures Tahlia in his mind sitting at her desk and working away not knowing he's watching her.

The master bedroom. Heath sits on the bed and opens the drawer of Max's bedside table. He retrieves the mobile he sent Max in the mail then lies back with his head on his brother's pillow.

Tahlia has a seat to herself in a near empty tram. The polished make-up and hair with the perfect business suit are no longer as neat as they were when she left her apartment. Her mascara is a little smudged after cleaning tear stains from her eyes with a tissue from her purse. Her hair is still in a ponytail at the back and kept in place but her head doesn't hold it as high.

She had made her call when she finally collected her phone and the voice on the other end was prepared to give her an extra half an hour from their original appointment start time to arrive but he was too busy to cancel anything else to give her something beyond that. She never made it. She gave it her best and didn't give up till she was outside 'Kidslife Publishing' at which point she saw the time. The face of her watch may as well have jumped off her wrist and smacked her. Her heart broke.

She fought the tears and only let a few fall as she made her way back to the tram stop for the trip home.

She's glad the tram is all but empty because she's not in the mood for people. She wants to go home and be alone. She considers calling Max to let him know how her meeting went but remembered he hadn't been listening when she told him in the first place.

The piano soundtrack accompanying the lift ride up to the tenth wouldn't have been as bad if she didn't look at her watch again and realise she had just done an hour and a half round trip for nothing. She leans against the wall in resignation and just wants to dump her black leather folder down the garbage chute.

She pushes her key into the lock and it may as well have been linked to her eyes because the moment she felt the safety of her home the pent up tears were released. She steps inside and lets the door shut behind her. She dumps her bag and leather folder on the couch as she makes her way to the bedroom where she wants to lie down and forget the day.

She stops at the door to her office and looks in. Phone still in hand she throws it at the wall as hard as she can. It shatters and drops to the floor. She looks at the mess and doesn't care. Turning away she kicks off her heels and they hit the closed bedroom door. Opening the door to the bedroom is one more thing to annoy her. She can't imagine the day getting much worse.

Throwing the door open she enters the empty room and barely notices that the sheets are ruffled on Max's side even though it was perfectly made when she left. It's not important enough though and she flops on the bed with no plans for getting up any time soon.

Ten floors below where Tahlia is lying in bed the hairy maintenance worker stands street side and looks up at the building.

## Chapter 22

Dr Will enters the cold autopsy room and, despite it only containing the dead, he closes the door as quietly as possible. Of the three steel benches in the centre of the room only one supports a body covered by a white sheet. He walks over to it and respectfully pulls the sheet down to reveal the face of the deceased.

His young detective friend, Max Myer, lies there with his eyes closed; motionless. Dr Will sighs deeply. "This is disrespectful to the dead," he says.

The body of his friend opens one eye and smiles, "The dead aren't here though," he says.

"Get up," Dr Will says while trying not to laugh. Max throws the sheet off and sits up then slides himself off.

"I was lying there for five minutes. What took so long?"

"I knew you were in here so I wanted to let you spend some time with the dead. You enjoy it?"

"Conversation felt a little one sided but once you get them talking you can't shut them up."

They both laugh and Dr Will says, "Welcome to my world. Why are you here?"

Max loses most of his smile, "I just needed to get away from... everything."

"I saw your appearance on the news. Looks like you're famous."

"It looks like people don't care so much anymore for the murderer I put away."

Dr Will shows no sympathy, "That card was only going to last you so long. Your suspension went pretty fast."

Max smirks, "Not for me." He wants to change the subject and says, "So, how's death?"

"Death? Inevitable," says Will, with a small tinge of bitterness. "At least I don't work in tax."

"Without death you'd be out of work."

"If there was none of this type of death I'd have been a normal doctor and spent my time helping people instead of figuring out the ingenious ways we've come up with to kill each other."

"My brother included."

Will nods, "Indeed and especially." Max gives an enquiring look at his friend's comment, to which Will replies, "Especially your brother because those poison concoctions he uses, give his victims a slow and painful death." Max nods his regretful understanding. Will continues, "See, I can do death. It happens. It's a part of life. I've had the oldest of the old and the newest newborns come through this room and if they've died, as everyone does, I'm fine, I can study them, you know, academically. But it's when I come across people who have been tortured, people who've had those slow, painful deaths that I'm affected. Where another human being's purpose was to put someone through as painful an experience as they can. I've had countless people of all ages through here who have been treated like they're worth less than animals. A broken body I can accept, a broken soul, however, of a person who kills, that's where I'm lost."

Both men stand in silence. Will thinks over the many murder victims he's referring to while Max thinks about his brother and how it came to be that the person he grew up with can possibly glean pleasure from causing so much pain. They stay that way for a good few minutes when Max quietly says, "Gee, thanks, I came down here to get away from all the depressing crap."

Will smiles and apologises as Max's phone rings. He says his goodbye and answers the phone as he leaves, letting the door slam shut on his way out.

His trek back to the office was spent on the one call from his parents. They did their standard Seinfeld-style three person phone conversation and his parents spoke over each other to explain to Max exactly how horrible Earl was during the interviews he conducted with them just moments before. By the time Max got back to the office he was boiling with rage. Claire had also spoken to him and told him how Earl had treated her \- he was ready to kill.

Back at the office Max makes a line straight to Earl who sits with Carl in the meeting room. Max doesn't care what they're doing - he's interrupting. The young detective weaves his way through the desks and bursts into the meeting room without a word. The two senior detectives look up to see Max barrelling down on them - eyes burning with rage. They both stand as Max grabs Earl and slams him against a wall with a crash which pulls attention from everyone in the office including Alan who runs over from his desk.

Max doesn't yell as he holds Earl up against the wall, he simply speaks softly, with a ferocity that surprises Earl, "You treat my family like that and think I'm too scared to tear you apart!?" Earl struggles under the pressure from the younger, larger and stronger detective. Max doesn't let up. "You think you're brave because you can speak to my family like that?" Alan and Carl try to drag Max off but struggle to move the much stronger man. They supplement their near useless effort on him by pleading for him to back off voluntarily. Their pleas go unheard as Max continues his quiet abuse and, seemingly, doesn't even notice the two trying to drag him off.

Max is so focused on his anger he also doesn't notice the audience he has peering at him through the windows that separate the meeting room from the rest of the office space. No one other than Alan and Carl actually steps in to help though.

Earl stops struggling against the stronger man and tries a different tack, "I don't show favouritism. I interviewed your family the way I interview everyone."

Max yells for the first time, "Shut up!" He whispers again. "They told me what happened. They told me what you said. How you treated them. You think you could accuse them of hiding my brother without me finding out? You're a stupid old man."

Earl responds, "You set the theme here Max. You set the standard. Your family had to lift themselves out from under your failure from when you protected your brother."

Every word Earl says makes Max more furious but he continues to speak with a whisper, "I never protected him." Max is interrupted by the first voice, other than Earl's, he's become aware of since entering the office. Barry yells his name, loudly, and he turns to see the fat man standing at the door of the meeting room, glaring at him. For the first time Max also becomes aware of his audience and pushes himself off Earl now noticing Alan and Carl behind him with their hands on his shoulders.

Barry steps in with a glare intense enough to bore holes through Max. He says to the young detective, "I'm not even going to debate this with you. Go home." Max considers arguing but just walks out after a quick look at Alan who gives a nod encouraging Max to do what he's told.

## Chapter 23

Max leaves work early after his showdown with Earl and spends the afternoon drinking with his mates. The guest list includes Dr Will Chapman as well as one other fellow cop but the rest are from his school days. His high school friends all know Heath and even though Max hadn't been in touch for weeks, other than a call or two after the news broke about Heath, a quick text message from him and they all met at their old local. While out in public he makes use of a cap and sunglasses to cover his face so people don't recognise him and think he's his brother.

Will settles right in with the younger crowd and goes drink for drink with his temporary friends. Max's best mate Freddie was always the loudest of the group so it's no surprise for Will to learn that during Freddie's teens he studied acting and has since scored a few minor, but consistent, roles on TV and in movies. He remains one of those actors where people recognise his face but can't remember his name; they just know they've seen him somewhere before. This is exactly what Will thought when he first saw him.

Joe, however, was the odd one out in the group, choosing to spend most of his time reading fantasy novels. He's since had a few short stories published in fantasy magazines but none of the full length novels he's written since leaving school, and of which he is very proud, have made it to book shelves. He remains a suffering artist and seems to enjoy letting people know he's written over a dozen novel manuscripts with all having been rejected by multiple publishers. Finally there's Sam; he is the only one, other than Max, who has really settled down. He's working for the government, with a wife and five kids - all girls. The guys often remind him of how difficult things will be when his daughters are teens. Dr Will said exactly that when Sam told him he has five daughters.

Freddie offers a mock toast to Heath and they have a good laugh but Max is already too drunk to keep going. A few beers later he catches a cab home.

Tahlia is slamming dishes into the dishwasher when she hears Max fumbling at the door trying to put his key in the lock. She can hear the scratching sound of the key missing the lock and sliding along the wood of the door. It's just after seven but she can tell he's drunk. She considers opening the door for him but she's not in the mood to deal with him. Unfortunately for her he finally gets the key in and the door opens.

Max slinks inside thinking he's being quiet only to find Tahlia standing in the hall watching him.

"Really?" is all she says.

Max nods in defiance.

"You didn't tell me you'd be coming home drunk, or so late."

"I didn't tell you a lot of things."

"You could have let me know so I didn't waste all that time cooking."

Max moves down the hall, sliding along the wall to keep him steady, and dismisses Tahlia with a wave of his hand.

"Don't you wave me off!" she almost screams.

"Don't tell me what to do!" He's so drunk he can't hold eye contact.

"You said you wouldn't..."

Max interrupts, "Whatever you're about to say should have been one of those things I didn't tell you."

"You're not the only one who has it hard, are you? You realise there are other people in this world?"

"Are you kidding me? My brother, Tahlia, is a serial killer. He kills people and thinks it's fun."

"So you'll just destroy your life? That's the best you can do? Turn into 'that guy'?"

"As if you know how I feel. Besides, I'm not 'turning', I've just been hiding. Peek-a-boo." Max laughs.

"That's not funny."

"No it's not!" Max screams before sliding down the wall he's been leaning against till he's sitting on the floor. For the first time, possibly ever, Tahlia sees her husband crying. "I'm sorry," Max says quietly through his tears.

Tahlia sits on the floor with him, puts her arms around him and pulls his head into the side of her neck and says, "You can't let him control you."

Max takes a deep breath as his head spins, "He carved my name into his victims with a knife."

"What?" Tahlia isn't sure if it's the alcohol speaking or if he's telling the truth.

"I saw it. The old man. The woman. She had a husband. Two little boys. He was devastated. She'll never be there for them again."

They're quiet for a moment until Tahlia speaks, "Maybe you should talk to someone."

Max forces out a laugh, "Does that sound like something I'd do?"

"I guess not."

"I'm always talking. I'm sick of talking. I'm sick of the pretend concern from people who just want some gossip to tell their friends. Like it's a freak show."

"Well you two were a freak show growing up."

"That's the truth. You know, I never had a problem with him disappearing. I literally shrugged when mum and dad told me they couldn't get a hold of him. His phone was cancelled. He hadn't used his email for ages. I probably should have felt something but him leaving to go find himself, or whatever he was doing, meant I had one less stress on my mind."

Tahlia smiles, "Oh yeah? What, pray tell, were the other stresses?"

"Don't worry honey, the stress you bring me is good stress." Max smiles and Tahlia slaps him playfully while pretending to be offended. They sit quietly. For the first time in a long time they are holding each other.

Tahlia breaks a long, almost enjoyable, silence, "I still remember the stories you told me."

"It's been a long time since all of that." Max closes his eyes and struggles against the alcohol swimming around inside his head to remember his teenage years. "So many stupid games. Idiot got me in so much trouble."

Tahlia laughs, "You can't just blame him for that. You did enough of it yourself. But that's why you stopped pretending to be each other?"

Max stares at the ceiling and thinks back, "We didn't do it very often anyway but it wasn't only the trouble he got me in. Not even burning our hands stopped the game straight away. It was Christina, really. She really brought about the end of it."

"Your cousin?"

"Yeah. Christmas. We were fifteen or sixteen. We stayed with our Aunt and Uncle for a week and spent the whole time pretending to be the other. Our parents and Claire weren't staying around. We got out of the car. I was wearing Heath's clothes. He was wearing mine. They always asked us to confirm which one we were so we figured it wouldn't be too hard. Christina runs up to me, it'd been at least nine months since we saw her last, I think, she runs up to me, throws her arms around my neck and kisses me on the cheek. She was only five or six.

"She was so happy to see me or, really, she was happy to see Heath. I watched Heath as me. She gave him a small hug. Nothing special. Nothing endearing. He didn't respond. He was cold. Didn't care. He was me, yeah? I'll give him credit for that. And for the rest of that holiday she was climbing all over me and play wrestling with me, wanting me to do whatever her excited little self could think of for fun. Some nights, she fell asleep on my lap. She loved Heath. Loved him. I never even realised.

"Just before we left I asked her what she thought of Max. She said she hated me. She said I wasn't very nice to her. And she was right. She said I was mean and it made her sad so she didn't like being around me. She was five, or whatever. There was no malice or anything. She was just calling it how she saw it. I never even realised. That stopped the games and I just became so aware of how people responded to me compared to Heath. At school, at home, everywhere. The kids at school were always friendly to me even when I treated them like crap but I guess that's because they were scared of me. They treated Heath like I treated them because they had nothing to gain by being nice to him. But I started noticing that friends of our parents and even relatives were always so kind to Heath while I got, I don't know, the cold shoulder. If they were people who knew both of us then, you know, I'd have to... I don't know..."

"You'd want them to start liking you?"

"Maybe."

"And a little later we met."

The moment holds with more silence. Tahlia spends it wondering if she should ask about the phone in the drawer. She wonders what Max is thinking about it. What is he going to do with it?

"Tell me," she says softly. "What about that phone?"

Max doesn't miss a beat. "It's nothing, don't worry. Probably sent to me by mistake. I'm going to throw it out."

A dismissive and uninterested response ends that conversation. After that moment of honesty Max still put forward a lie without hesitation.

Tahlia knows he's lying.

## Chapter 24

"This place is immaculate." Max is looking around the front garden of the house Alan and his wife, Irene, share with their two daughters. The house sits at the end of a cul-de-sac where an earthen staircase, dug into a gentle slope, weaves down to the front door. The walk to the door takes visitors through well-kept flower beds and bright green grass. Max spots a tiny garden gnome statue and gives a deadpan delivery, "I'm disappointed by the gnome but otherwise, full credit to a job well done."

Tahlia laughs at her husband. "Why are you a cop when you should be a garden designer?"

"I considered studying landscape architecture."

"You did not!?" Tahlia laughs.

"I kept it quiet."

"You're such a dork," says Tahlia as they arrive at the door.

"And that's why I kept it quiet. I can't believe you just called me a dork." Max smiles but pretends to be serious. "Try saying something else. Something meaner."

"No!" Tahlia says still laughing.

"Go on. You've got it in you, I know."

"Yeah you need to knock on the door now. We've been standing here for long enough."

"I'm building up to it." Max points up to part of the eave above the door. "Notice there are no cobwebs? They've really paid attention and..." Max is interrupted when Tahlia knocks. He takes a deep breath.

"Why are you so nervous?" Tahlia asks with a smile.

"I'm not nervous. You are."

Tahlia smiles. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I don't feel well."

The door opens and Alan's smiling face welcomes them inside where the foyer isn't as immaculate as the garden but is still nice. "Sorry we're late. This is Tahlia." Max's relative confidence at work is now betrayed by the nerves he feels behind mixing his work life and private life. But Alan is there to make them comfortable and gives Tahlia a fatherly hug. "Tahlia. Alan. It's great to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you. The photo on Max's desk just isn't enough though."

"Thank you. It's good to meet you too."

Irene appears from another room and even though Max has seen her photo on the desk, here, for the first time, face to face, she looks like a female version of Alan. She also looks younger even though they're the same age.

Friendly greetings are offered around with a kindly word from Tahlia for the amazing state of the front garden and the overall loveliness of the house before Irene ushers everyone into the dining room; the food is ready.

As their hosts lead them into the next room, Tahlia slaps Max gently on the arm and demands he relax. Max's only response is to shrug to indicate that he'll try.

At the dining table, Tahlia watches Max out of the corner of her eye as he sits nervously beside her with both hands gripping the edge of the table. She smiles to herself. Alan and Irene have gone to the kitchen for the food but the young couple speak in a whisper, "You've worked with him for almost a year." She says as though he'll be better for hearing it.

"Yes, but this is covering new ground."

"You've been to lunch together."

Their hosts return carrying the food and interrupting their conversation. "Sorry to leave you so long," Irene announces as she places things on the table.

"You sure you don't want help?" Tahlia offers.

"Please darling, not at all, we're fine thank you. We can't have guests waiting on themselves now can we?"

Alan chimes in, "Max you want another beer?"

"Hell yes..." Max feels he may have been a little too eager with his response so he follows it up with a softer, "...please."

Alan walks out the door he came in but sticks his head back through and says, "Tahlia?" He motions a drinking signal. Tahlia smiles, "No thanks. My water's fine."

While Alan is off Irene dishes out the carefully prepared food and takes a seat across from Tahlia who asks, "You have two girls don't you?"

"We do. Twins. Fourteen. Most twins get along. Ours don't, they're always fight...," Irene's sentence trails off as she looks to Max and realises her faux pas. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking."

Max puts up a defensive hand and smiles, "Its fine. I'm right there with you."

Alan returns and sits.

"Well, anyway," Irene endeavours to move on quickly. "They're with friends tonight. It wouldn't be this quiet if they were here believe me. So how long have you been married?"

Max looks to Tahlia to answer. "Ten years. Ten years in a few days actually."

Irene is genuinely happy for them, "Really? Congratulations. You married young. By some standards."

Max and Tahlia nod in unison.

"You must want children soon?"

Tahlia nods with whole-hearted agreement but Max speaks up, "We're putting off having kids. I mean do we really want to bring children into this world? Alan, you hear me? We're on the front line of everything wrong with this world. People don't care anymore. They kill for fun, for hate, or for no reason at all. Think of all the crimes being committed. Children are being hurt and are hurting others. Do I want to send a child out into that kind of world?"

Quietly noticed by Alan and Irene, Tahlia shrinks into her chair a little and looks down at her food. She clearly doesn't agree. Alan looks back to Max, "That's an incredibly pessimistic world view. How do you get out of bed in the morning?"

"No, 'cause I'm one of the good guys. I'm one of the few trying to help make things better. There aren't many of us."

"There's a lot of love in the world though," Irene counters.

"I'm not sure that's enough anymore."

"If you had children you'd think it was enough," says Irene.

As both couples sat at the dining table and juggled the uncomfortable subject of parenting with eating, neither pair was aware, nor should they have been, of the vehicle parked outside, across the road. The occupant sits patiently as he watches the house. He's prepared to sit there for hours. Just to watch and imagine what they're doing inside and what they're talking about.

An hour or so later Max isn't nervous about meeting with his work colleague at his home anymore and he listens to Alan's adventures from his early years as a uniformed officer. Alan is in the middle of a tale, which may or may not contain exaggerations for the sake of entertainment, and Max announces his shock that Alan never told him this particular story before.

Alan interrupts himself to ask of Max, "Did I never tell you this?"

"No!" says an exasperated Max. "This should have been a first day story!"

"Well I'm walking through this sewer drain, not thinking anything about it other than the smell, not hearing the guy come up behind me, until he slips on \- I don't know what, and stabs himself with this thing that looks like a machete! I swear he was about to cut my head off."

Max moves from his forward-leaning, elbows on the table, tell-me-more pose, to leaning back as though resting after a jog around the block. "So how badly was he hurt?"

"I did first aid and all that but he lost a few litres of blood by the time the ambulance got there."

Max can hardly hide his amazement, "Wow, I don't think I'd have bothered with first aid."

"Don't get me wrong, I let him bleed for a little bit."

Irene adds, "He waited five minutes before giving first aid."

Alan defends himself, "To my credit though, he was fine-ish until he pulled the blade out himself. That's when he really started to bleed. But hey, he tried to kill me and he would have if he didn't slip."

"I'm glad he didn't baby." Irene pats Alan on the arm.

"I spent years in uniform and never had anything like that," says Max, still amazed at the story.

"I'm glad," responds Tahlia.

"This is what I'm saying," says Alan. "There will always be someone who needs to be arrested." He gently holds his wife's hand and they look lovingly at each other. "There will always be someone who needs to be loved. You can put the whole world in prison but if you don't come home to a good woman then it's all for nothing."

Max replies - tongue firmly in cheek, "I think I read that in a self-help book once."

The food has been consumed. The coffees have ended the formal part of the evening and the hosts feel the need for something new to stimulate conversation. Irene and Tahlia move to sit in the lounge room and Alan takes Max to where they find themselves now.

Alan's man-cave.

It's in what used to be one bay of a three car garage, now with a bar at one end, and everything centred around the massive pool table which encourages the eye towards the projector screen against the far wall. Real estate across the four walls is at a premium with most of the space given up to sports memorabilia, signed pictures, framed jerseys and shelving holding up little knick-knacks of sporting relevance.

Max gives Alan the reaction he expects from all who enter his man-cave, "Wow."

Alan smiles and says, "I know."

Max moves through the room at a respectful saunter as he slowly scans the different items hanging from the walls. Alan stands back, letting his friend move slowly along.

Max moves on to a series of jerseys from different sporting codes. Looking back at Alan's grin for the first time, "Did you get all these signed yourself?"

Alan stops smiling, "Um, no. I bought them."

"That's still cool, I guess." Max goes back to scanning the walls. "I wish I had a room like this."

Alan says matter-of-factly, "Every man needs one."

"We live in a two bedroom apartment. Tahlia uses the spare as an office."

The pool table is always set and ready to be used so Alan grabs two beers from the bar fridge and passes Max one along with a pool cue. "Your break."

Max smashes the white ball as hard as he can and achieves a random scattering. Despite Alan having had the table for a few years he's still not very good which makes them as bad as each other. So the game is slow and just a frame for their conversation.

Alan forgoes eye contact as he focuses on the game, "Forgive my lack of a segue but what I was getting at before was that I've gone through exactly what you're experiencing. With your marriage, that is. It almost cost me my marriage."

Max can almost be heard to sigh, "It's not as simple as..."

"No, it really is," interrupts Alan. "See, Irene and I got married young. Not too young for that time, I guess. We put off having kids because I knew I was working my way up the ladder, you know how it is. I had my goal in mind and I didn't want anything, not even children, getting in the way of that. Irene wouldn't listen to that so I appealed to the emotional, albeit vague, excuse of, 'is this a world to bring innocent lives into?' The world is so evil and there's no guarantee of safety or that they'll grow up well. All of that. Right on cue I got detective and spent eighty hours a week at the office. Worked weekends as well. No one else did but I was getting convictions and more importantly, praise. But guess what?" Max shrugs as he hits a wayward ball and sinks the white. Alan retrieves the ball from the pocket and resets it for his shot. "There was always another crime. I couldn't work hard enough or fast enough. Guess where I started as detective?"

Max shrugs.

"Asian crime gangs. That was a long time ago. Do we still have Asian crime gangs?"

Max nods.

"Do we still have gangs from every race and every conceivable collection of people?"

Max nods again.

"And we always will. But the way you're going you won't always have your wife."

Max doesn't respond.

"And because of all that I almost lost Irene. It wasn't till she walked out the door that I started paying attention. I once worked for just over a year on a case only to see the judge dismiss it due to a technicality. Someone else's error, not mine. All my hard work down the drain and it was years before most of that gang was cornered again. What I felt then was nothing compared to the panic I felt when I realised Irene left me." Alan gives Max a moment to absorb what he said. "The best lesson you can learn is from someone else's mistake."

The lounge room is one clean away from sterile with furnishings straight out of the eighties. Even the decades-old wallpaper would scare the casual visitor and were it not for the LCD TV and Blu-ray player one would feel like they've travelled back in time. Irene sits in her usual spot on a single seater recliner, which happens to not be the three seater couch directly in front of the TV – the three seater is where the twins sit - the parents are relegated to the side chairs. There's another single seater for Alan. Tahlia sits comfortably on the three seater, blissfully unaware of the significance of her location compared to her hostess's.

Their own conversation parallels Alan and Max's with the older couples' past guiding them to the same point in their story. Irene continues, "Back then I was too scared to approach him about it. Not that he was home to listen anyway. And even when we was home he wasn't strictly home. Leaving was the hardest thing I had ever done but it was the only way I could let him know."

Tahlia is probably showing more interest than she means to, "Would you really have ended it? If he didn't chase you?"

Irene nods but not with any sense of pride, "I think so. I was ready to refuse to settle for a loveless marriage. If he didn't chase me I don't think I'd have come back. He did though so I guess I didn't really have to decide."

"Things changed?"

Irene nods with a smile. "Everything changed."

"Any regrets?"

"I only regret that we didn't have the twins till I was in my forties. We love them but being pregnant at that age almost killed me, and them."

"They weren't planned, of course?"

"Oh, not at all. We put off having them for so long that once we started considering it, we thought it was too late. And I think we were trying in spirit only, neither of us believed anything would happen, but we were really enjoying pretending we were newlyweds again."

Irene stands and asks Tahlia to follow her.

The point where the kitchen turns into the hallway, leading to the bedrooms, is also where Irene's own home-office is located. With a small and excited twirl, she introduces Tahlia to her home art gallery. All pieces are lovingly and meticulously painted by Irene herself. Tahlia is genuinely impressed and takes a moment at each painting to study the details as Irene talks about what inspired her to paint each one and how she went about it.

"You've painted a lot," is Tahlia's first real sentence since entering the room.

"And this is just a small number, I've sold most of what I've painted and have done a lot of commissions." Irene beams with pride.

"I'm trying to get children's books published," adds Tahlia.

"That's great. How's it going?"

"Not so good. I wasted a meeting with a publisher a few days ago because I forgot my phone. I was already late and by the time I went back for it there was no way I'd have gotten there in time. I'll hopefully get another chance but... I don't know."

Back in the man-cave, Alan found the right time to move from beer to Scotch and retrieves the bottle from behind the bar before pouring a small amount each for the two of them. Max grabs the glass Alan offers him and smells the brown liquid before grabbing the bottle for a closer look.

Alan says, "Get the taste of beer out of your mouth because I don't want it spoiling the scotch experience. You are a Scotch drinker?"

"I was. I had a run in with three quarters of a bottle when I was in my teens, the bottle won. I haven't really had much since."

"Well this is a five hundred dollar bottle so you should be OK."

"Why do you have a five hundred dollar bottle of Scotch?"

"I didn't buy it. Irene's brother gave it to me. It was just a random gift but he's the CEO of an IT firm so he can afford it and I'm not going to question."

"You should milk him for more."

Alan laughs.

"I wish my brother had something to offer."

"How's the family with all the stuff? I understand they didn't take being questioned very well."

Max shrugs, "Mum collapsed that afternoon, she was in hospital being monitored, something about her heart; still, you know, it was just for the night. She was just overwhelmed. I'm sure it's not easy accepting one of your children is a serial killer. My sister is coping, kind of. But she wasn't particularly close to Heath so I think it's more humiliation than anything else."

"No doubt. The humiliation of being told one of your family is a serial killer is probably only out-weighed by the pain of being told one of your children was killed by a serial killer."

Max becomes reflective in his response, "No doubt."

## Chapter 25

"So, Max was married with a career in the police and good friends. And what of you? What of your childhood? Of Max causing hell and coming out without a scratch? There he was... you think he has trouble sleeping at night, hell no, but there he was, a wife, a job, a home; everything. No regrets. He had everything you could ask for. But you grew up doing the right thing. You tried to make everyone happy. Make them proud of you. For what?! What do you gain? What did you achieve? Where's your wife? Where's your career and home? How does he deserve that, while you get nothing? All the people he hurt, all the pain he caused you. Did he get what he deserves? Hell no.

"I know now what I hate most about your brother. To put it kindly, it's his lack of consistency of character. If he hated you every day you'd have coped and of course you'd prefer him to have been kind but the fact is one day you'd be best mates and have a great time while the next he'd yell at you. On the good days you'd swap identities and trick people but then he'd just change. It could be the difference between the morning and evening. He'd just change. You'd say something and he'd scoff at you, whereas earlier he'd have had a laugh or something. I don't know what it was. I would always think back over what you may have done. Tried to pinpoint why he was angry at you. You must have been, I don't know, in your twenties when you realised it wasn't you. You spent so much time blaming yourself but it was him, all the time, it was him."

## Chapter 26

Max was fifteen years old and sitting on the couch in front of the TV playing a video game as Heath quietly shuffled into the room.

"What you doing?" Heath asked.

"You kidding me dude? I'll give you one guess," barked Max with undue contempt and without looking away from the TV.

"Can I play?" asked Heath without outwardly reacting to his brother's tone.

"Shut up. Go away."

Heath left as quietly as he entered only now he's holding back tears. His presence in the lounge room where Max was playing his game was replaced by their father's voice yelling from another room. "Max," his father's voice boomed. Max paused his game knowing he had to pay attention. "What?" He said to the empty room knowing his father could hear him from the next. His father responded without appearing from where he was sitting out of sight, "Let your brother play the game with you."

In protest Max dropped the game controller and turned the TV off. "I'm going out anyway."

Heath was watching from the kitchen as Max jumped up and walked out the front door. His father called to him from the other room but his voice now sounded softer, "Sorry matey, I tried." Heath shrugged to hide the feeling of rejection, and replied, "I'm going for a ride."

As Heath headed out, his father called from behind, "Don't go too far, or for too long." Heath rolled his eyes knowing his father wouldn't have said that to Max.

Max and a small collection of his friends sat in the food court of the local mall yelling and laughing like a bunch of... teenagers. Despite their young age they discuss getting drunk and having sex along with telling stories about drug taking which are detailed enough to be exciting for each other but anyone listening would laugh, or cry, at the naivety of what they're saying. They were having fun though and they didn't care who they annoyed.

Max loved being the centre of attention whether it was because he was telling a story to entertain or because he was yelling at a friend for doing something that annoyed him. He'd talk loudly to his friends just so the people around them could hear whatever awesome thing he had to say. He'd talk with his hands, using gestures to exaggerate his story until it was as epic as he could make it.

All of that is what Heath noticed from his seat a few tables away.

When he started studying his brother, started learning as much as he could about him, he quickly realised Max was predictable regarding where he would hang out with his friends. They were either at a park near their school or they were at the mall.

Heath left home on his bike earlier and rode down a path which would give him a view of the local park while remaining hidden. He saw his brother wasn't there so he went to the mall and only spent a few minutes wandering around before finding the group. He took his own seat at a table nearby. He would watch for as long as it took him to learn something new; something he could use. Sometimes he wondered why they were so different when they shared so much history. Physically identical while the inside couldn't be more opposite.

Teenaged Max was happy to draw people to himself, and between his ability to tell a good story and the confidence with which he approached people, he was starkly different to Heath. His ability to also explode at his friends for no reason always surprised Heath but he was still all too familiar with it.

## Chapter 27

Having spent the last couple of minutes standing at the door to Tahlia's home office watching her work, Max's mind distracts him momentarily. Now, rather than thinking about his wife and the conversation he had with Alan last night during their game of pool he thinks of the phone sent by his brother which sits in the drawer of his bedside table. He moves off down the hall to the bedroom wondering if Tahlia actually knew he was watching her and just ignored him.

Their drive home from dinner with the Winters was done mostly in silence after a quick discussion about how nice their night was and how the Winters are a lovely couple. Both had left with plenty to think about but neither wanted to share the lessons learned.

In their bedroom, Max takes a seat on the edge of the bed, opens the drawer on his bedside table and picks up the phone he left inside, still connected to the charger, as always. It has an unread message which he quickly opens.

The message reads: 'How was dinner with the Winters? How are their daughters?'

He knew they were having dinner with Alan and Irene? He knows where they live? Was he watching? Max isn't sure if he should be concerned but his thoughts are interrupted by the phone in his hand ringing. He looks down at it as the screen flashes and he feels the vibration running up his arm. He accepts the call and puts the phone to his ear.

"Did you get my text?" is Heath's opening line without waiting for Max to initiate talk.

"I was just reading it." Max replies somewhat softly with new concern for Alan and his family.

Heath takes a sentimental tone, "Why do you think we turned out so differently?"

Max doesn't pause to think of the answer he already knows, "I grew up, Heath."

"Really? Just like that, hey?"

"Sure. Just like that. Why not?"

Heath counters Max's claim with his own thoughts, "I keep thinking, even all these years later, about how much I hated everyone saying how I was such a nice boy. How the parents were so proud of me."

"Really?" Max sounded like he was mocking his brother more than he meant to.

"You remember their reaction when we burnt our hands?"

Max replies matter-of-factly, "Anger."

"Yes. But angry at who?"

"At who? Both of us."

"No, no. Think back."

"Heath, it's not like it's something I'd forget! I remember it clearly 'cause it I lived it for more than a year. I remember every lecture and..."

"Pfft. Lectures. I don't care about lectures. I received them too. My point is, who were they disappointed in? You get me? Who did they shake their heads at? I, brother, let them down. I made them look bad in front of their friends. They couldn't say how proud they were of me like they used to. You just did what everyone expected. You never saw the way the old man shook his head at me. A look in his eye of silent condemnation that tore away at me. They were both like that."

"Wow, slow down with the melodrama there champ."

"IT'S NOT FUNNY!" Heath explodes through the phone so loudly Max has to pull it away from his ear.

"So killing a bunch of innocent people proves a point to them 'cause of what they did?" Max asks.

"No, damn it! To me! Not to anyone else! I did it for me! I told you exactly that last time we spoke. I'm showing myself that I no longer live in your shadow. I've brought us back together for this. I need you to take part in my performance."

"How long will it take to prove this sick joke to yourself? How many more people will you murder?"

"That really depends on you, brother. It depends on how quickly you either catch me or kill me."

"I won't be the one catching you."

"Yes you will. You won't let this go. It may have been ten years but I know that part of you hasn't changed."

"What part?"

"The part where you can't let me win. You've never been able to let me have something over you."

"You killed people, Heath. Innocent people."

"And I will again and again until one of us wins."

"And what if I can't catch you? Another twenty lives? More?"

"You know, I wonder if I'd be happier if I lived like you did. Did what you did."

"What I did?"

"You were such an evil child. Maybe I should have been one too. Maybe I should have been like you. Maybe I would have had all the friends you did. Maybe I would have hurt all the people I could and not cared. Maybe I could have hurt you without a second thought on how it made you feel. Maybe I could have gotten away with it all, like you did."

"So you do still live in my shadow?"

Heath laughs bitterly into the phone, "I guess maybe I do. But I'm trying though, give me that."

"What will it take for you to stop if I can't catch you?"

"Maybe family."

Max hesitates, "What?"

"Maybe killing family would make me stop." There's silence as Heath waits for Max to respond. He doesn't, so Heath continues. "You see, any heartless monster can kill his folks. I've grown indifferent to them. I don't love them, I don't hate them. They exist, as I do. They don't have a role in this game."

"Claire?"

Heath laughs into the phone again.

Max is furious, "I would snatch the life from your soul..."

Heath interrupts, "Yes very good Max. Very brave. You've only got a short time."

Max drops the phone and runs out of the apartment after grabbing his keys.

The light traffic helps Max as he speeds his car toward his sister's house, weaving around the few road users who get in his way. He dares to play chicken with cars coming in the opposite direction the few times he has to cross into the wrong lane. He wins every time but has a few close calls and almost collides head-on with a bus.

He has his phone at his ear and steers with his other hand. In his ear the sound of his sister's voice introduces callers to her Voice Mail. "Hi, it's Claire, leave a message."

Max can't drive and hide the concern in his voice at the same time, "Claire, I'm on my way to your place. Call me back ASAP."

Max had only driven a few streets further, and barely avoided being caught by a passing police car, when Claire rings back. She's clearly concerned by Max's message and becomes more so when he tells her to lock her doors and stay away from the windows.

A few minutes later he pulls into Claire's driveway. He calls her phone from outside as he scans the street and the cars parked along it.

Claire looks through a window and, based on Max's assurance that the cop brother and not the murderer brother is outside, she opens the door and invites him in but only after chastising him about how scared he made her.

Compared to her brother, Claire is tiny. Her more than six foot tall brother towers over her tiny five foot frame. Her small stature has been the source of family jokes for years including the occasional, 'are you adopted?'

Claire sits at her dining table drying her eyes with a tissue, police standing around trying to look needed and Max talks with detectives Earl and Carl off to the side. The two senior detectives have only just walked through the door but the sub-surface animosity between her brother and this Detective Earl Mullins character isn't lost on Claire. Plus she remembers him as the rude jerk who interviewed her about Heath. She leaves them to talk as she tries to come to terms with Max's revelation that the brother she hasn't seen since she was a child wants to kill her.

"So you'll put her into protective custody?" Max puts it more as a statement than a question.

Earl is unmoved, "Slow down. Tell me, how do you know there's been a threat against your sister?"

Max suddenly finds himself in an unforeseen and awkward situation where he has no choice but to admit to being in touch with his brother. Without the time to think more deeply for an excuse or a way to soften it he says, "He rang me."

Earl is not impressed. "Once more?"

"Today, just before I got here, he made a very real threat against my sister and you need to do something about it."

Earl doesn't miss a beat, "Go back to the fact that the most wanted man in the country, a serial killer, rang you."

"How did he get your number?" Carl brings himself into the conversation and asks a second question before his first is answered. "Has he called you before?"

"What I want to know is what you will do for my sister. She needs to be protected." Max almost seems to be pleading.

Earl is insistent, "Nothing until we get a statement filling us in on this call, or calls."

"And?" says Max.

Carl tries to be the voice of reason, "Max, mate you know this process. It's a big call to put someone in protective custody. It's expensive. We have to tick all the boxes."

Max accepts this point if only in the hope it would distract from questions about the phone call with his brother, "You're right. You're right."

Carl reassures him, "Just get her to pack some things and have her stay at your place or with your parents until we've organised something."

While Carl is being diplomatic Earl is happy to push buttons and says, "I hope you're not blowing this up, Max."

Max does his best to keep from exploding at the pretentious detective, and he moves in close so he's not tempted to yell, "Who do you think I am? Who are you to talk? Watch your mouth."

Earl replies confidently yet softly, "Your brother has only killed randoms. There is nothing to connect him to them so why would he start threatening family members? It doesn't make sense."

Max isn't so polite in his reply, "Murdering people makes sense to you does it?"

"Don't play with my words Max. There's a pattern to what he does and it's not in killing family."

"Earl, it's simple. The threat is real."

An hour or so earlier, Tahlia heard Max running down the hall from their bedroom and out the door. She knew he was talking with his brother because after he stopped watching her work - thinking she didn't know he was there - she heard the mobile ring and stood close enough to the bedroom to hear but not close enough to be seen. She listened until they started arguing about their sister. She was concerned Max would come out of the bedroom to find her eavesdropping so she returned to her office until Max's thumping footsteps projected through the apartment as he ran from the bedroom to the front door and left.

But now Max is gone. She doesn't know where and decides to take this moment to go into the bedroom and just hold the phone again. She's done this a few times since Max went back to work, something about it excites her.

She picks it up from where Max dropped it. It's still warm from when he was holding it against his cheek. She doesn't do anything with it. She just looks at it. She scrolls through the menu and opens the messages folder. She's about to open the first text message when the screen changes to show an incoming call. Her heart races. Why would it be ringing so soon after the last call? Heath would know Max is gone for whatever they fought about. She just stares at the screen as the ring tone plays into her ears and the vibration tickles her hand.

Her thumb hovers over the answer button.

She presses it and the line opens but she keeps it away from her ear. She thinks she can hear breathing. Pushing another button and the speaker phone is activated. She can definitely hear breathing. Her blood goes cold and a shiver runs up her spine when she hears the words, "Hello Tahlia." That voice could have been Max if it weren't for the chill it created deep inside her. She throws the phone back in its drawer and slams it shut before running out of the room and into her office. She closes the door behind her and sits in the corner, on the floor, back against the wall, knees curled up to her chin. She hugs her legs and laughs uncontrollably, her stomach in knots.

## Chapter 28

"He called you and made a threat against your sister?" Barry rubs his forehead and closes his eyes while trying to find his happy place. He places his other hand on his belly; it helps.

"That's right." Max stands, somewhat sullen, on the other side of Barry's desk along with Alan, Earl and Carl. On arriving back at the office Earl made a line straight for Barry's office to let him know about the new incident.

"Do we have a trace on Max's phone?"

"We're getting approval," says Earl.

"And Heath's number?"

"Same again." Earl, again.

"Is he likely to call back, Max?"

Max remains sheepish, "Couldn't say."

Earl snaps back, "Well that really depends on why he called in the first place and whether Max is keeping anything else from us."

Max moves in to Earl personal space, "Who are you to..."

"Shut up!" Barry yells.

"Earl, you have all those Investigators under you to get one job done - stop bickering like children. Max, you should still be suspended and that may yet happen so tread the ground you walk delicately. Where's your statement?"

Carl hands over a piece of paper which Barry reads while quietly rubbing the bald patch on his head. He reads slowly, leaving the four detectives standing awkwardly, wondering if they should have left by now. Barry finally breaks the silence, "This is everything?"

"That's right," says Max, with a nod.

Barry points at Earl and Carl, "You two, get to work and catch this guy." They both leave without further prompting. "Alan, you keep your colleague in line and remind him, daily, if necessary, that he is on a short leash. Max, is there anything else you want to share?"

After a moment's thought Max shakes his head.

Barry signals his desire to end their meeting with a wave of his hand and says, "Get back to work."

As Alan leads the way out of Barry's office their path is blocked by a tall man in his late fifties. The awkwardness of his unusual height is exacerbated by his also being painfully thin and sporting a shiny bald head. Alan involuntarily says to the man, "Chief Commissioner," and steps back so the tall and bony Overlord can enter Barry's office.

The Chief Commissioner's beady eyes look between the three men in the office before resting on Max and smiling bitterly, "You must be Max Myer."

"That's right," is Max's slow and quiet response.

"We need to talk." The Chief Commissioner takes a seat as Max looks to Alan who just shrugs and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Barry sits back down after having stood for the Chief Commissioner's entrance and Max quietly finds his way to the seat next to the Chief.

The skinny Overlord turns slightly toward Max, "You are one half of the pair responsible for the investigation and arrest of Steven Cooper, correct?"

Max almost smiles with relief, "Yes, Sir. That's right." He's just glad he's not being yelled at.

"I followed your work on that case. He was usually meticulous in covering his tracks and keeping his hands clean but you found a way to get him despite all his hard work."

Max is beaming, "Well it was a team effort for everyone involved."

"I also read that you chased him down six floors and got hit by a taxi to arrest him."

"I figured we had come too far and I didn't want to let him go after all my hard work. I jumped over the taxi."

The Chief corrects the young detective, "It was a team effort though."

"Of course. All of us together."

"I read recently that you sat on the information about your brother for over a week."

Max's smile disappears, "In my defence I had no real evidence to suggest..."

Max is cut off by an indignant hand placed in the air by the Chief Commissioner, "Max, I'm not an idiot. There's no need to sing that song to me while pretending a part of what you do isn't intuition. That feeling you had at the bottom of your stomach when you first considered your brother won't help in court but it will push you along when something might otherwise seem pointless.

"Of course, the big issue here is, clearly, the murderer was sending you a message. He made it personal. He not only denied his victims the right to live in safety, he delivered a final indignity by carving your name into their bodies as though they were nothing better than a piece of paper. After this conversation I'll be speaking with your boss here about why you weren't arrested for obstruction of justice. And why at the very least you haven't been suspended pending the results of the investigation into your actions by the Police Conduct Unit. But here you are working on illegal arms dealing. How's that going?"

Max balances his expression between a refusal to answer the question and not wanting to seem too disrespectful. He's already in enough trouble. "I had been suspended, Sir."

The Chief is surprised and turns to Barry to ask, "Really? For how long?"

Barry is equally as sheepish as Max, "Two weeks."

The Chief turns back to Max, "Made any head-way on your cases?" he says.

More silence from Max, who can tell his method of protest is starting to irritate. He continues. "You've only been a detective a few months, isn't that right?"

Max gives in and provides a slight nod after a glance at Barry whose raised eyebrow is all Max needs to know he's alone in the room. "Almost a year, Sir."

The Chief continues, "I'm starting to wonder if we promoted you too soon. Maybe a few more years in uniform will give you the experience you need? Or maybe you can give me a reason to let you keep your job at all."

## Chapter 29

"You lied to Max the time you threatened Claire. You had no intention of killing her. Honestly you'd have to find her first. But that's a lot of time and effort you didn't care to spare. You've gotta have a bit of fun, you know? The irony is in the memory I have of when you were kids and Max told Claire that he was going to kill her after which he then chased her around the house with a cricket bat. She screamed and cried and he just got angrier. He only stopped 'cause the parents came home and yelled at him. He wouldn't remember. That wouldn't mean anything to him.

"When you said killing family might make you stop killing other people, that was a lie also. Sure, if they had been there for you when you were younger things might have been different but even if they all died - even if you killed them all - it doesn't make things right. You still have your purpose in killing these so called 'innocent' people. None of them are innocent though. They all still hate you."

## Chapter 30

Max is at his desk, slouched in his chair. Alan sits next to him and, not far off, Earl and Carl, along with most of the office, pretend they aren't watching. Max doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. He feels the weight of bad decisions pressing down on him. Maybe it would be better for him to just quit and get a nice, easy job being a security guard at an office building at night.

"At least he didn't suspend you." Alan breaks the silence.

"Forced leave may as well be suspension."

"Forced leave..." Alan is interrupted by Max's phone ringing. Max retrieves it from his pocket and answers, "Hello?" A friendly but firm voice leaps from the earpiece, "Yes, is that Detective Max Myers?"

Max is curt, "Yep."

"My name's Gary Shelp, I'm with the Nation's Voice newspaper. Can I get a quote from..."

Max cancels the call and dumps his phone on his desk.

"Not your wife then?"

Max shakes his head, "Newspaper guy. Took them a few days but they found my number." Max groans.

"Go home. Enjoy your break with your wife."

Max's frustration simmers just beneath the surface. "Did you miss the part where my brother, my identical twin brother, is a serial killer? He's playing games with me and it's my face plastered over the media. I can't just go home and enjoy a holiday."

"I'm not the enemy Max. I'm not pretending I know what it's like in your shoes but you could use an outsider's perspective."

Max surrenders the point and lets Alan know he's right, then packs up his things and says, "This feels like Deja vu." As he walks through the office he passes Earl who stares at him with a slight smile. Max screams, "You think I give a damn what you think!" Earl's smile disappears and he glances self-consciously at his colleagues watching him then slinks back to his desk. Max walks on.

A short walk to the parking lot and Max dumps his bag in the back of his car then flops down in the driver's seat. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and pretends he's a million miles away living someone else's life. Opening his eyes again, he stares out the windscreen into the distance but not at the rows of cars spread between ugly half-dead trees that fill his vision. More out of habit than anything else he turns his phone on and flicks through his apps. There aren't too many to scan through since he rarely does anything with his phone that isn't a call or text but he scrolls through the list every now and again as a distraction.

He stops and thinks for a moment then reaches behind into the bag he placed on the back seat. From a side pocket he pulls another phone, the one his brother sent him in the mail. When he got home from Claire's the day before he noticed it was back in his bedside table with the drawer pushed shut. Not where he dropped it as he ran out. He wasn't sure if Tahlia had just picked up after him or if she knew what was going on so he decided to just keep it with him. He opens the texts and re-reads the last one he received - the quick jab from Heath about Max and Tahlia's dinner with Alan and Irene.

Max jumps when someone taps on his window. He looks up and lowers the window after seeing Alan standing there. "Did I forget something?"

"No, I was just concerned after your grand finale in there. I think you actually scared Earl. You'll be a hero in the office."

Max puts his attention back on the phone which he continues to spin in his fingers. Such a relatively small item made of plastic and electronics, connects him to the most wanted man in the country and is now his only way of finding that man before anyone else does. Max knows he should do the right thing, hand the phone over and point his colleagues in the right direction, but he doesn't want to lose the one thing he has left connecting him to the investigation - the chase - the game. He knows he can bring his brother in and save his reputation \- maybe. But now his mind goes back to his original thought. The one that caused him to pull the phone out of his bag. He needs to show Alan the message Heath sent him. "I need to show you something." He says finally while searching the phone's contents.

Alan smiles, "Sure."

Max hands the phone over with Heath's text on the screen. Alan spends a quick moment reading it and the expression on his face tells his down trodden colleague the dots aren't all joining.

"It's from my brother," Max volunteers without prompting.

Alan's expression changes to something closer to anger but he still has questions. "When did you get this?"

"Yesterday. When I got home from your place."

"How did he know where you were?"

"I think he may be following me."

Alan is furious, "Let me understand this, your serial killer brother knows where my family lives, he followed you there, you knew this for almost twenty four hours, and you're only telling me now?" Without giving Max time for a reply, Alan drops the phone back in Max's car and runs off.

The drive from where Alan and Max work to where Alan lives is just over twenty minutes on a good run. As he pulls into his driveway it's only been sixteen minutes since he dropped Max's phone and ran back to his car. He ran red lights and wove through other vehicles causing a few near misses. At one point he overtook someone by using the emergency lane and almost hit a broken down car. For Alan though, this had been the longest sixteen minutes of his life. His call to Irene before he got into his car ended with a dropped signal which almost gave him a heart attack. He feared the worst, but his wife called him back so he told her to lock the windows and doors. He also told her to keep the girls inside then hung up before Irene could tell him they were at school.

Irene hears the scream of a high revving car engine in the distance then the sound of tyres skidding to a halt outside their house. She peers out to see Alan jump out of his car and navigate the earthen stairs down to the door. He's pale and out of breath as he bounces inside. The mix of panic and concern on his face is clear. "Are you OK?" he asks as he gives her a hug.

"Of course. What's going on?"

"Where are the girls?"

Before Irene could answer there's movement at the front door. Alan turns with a jolt while reaching for his gun. He stops when he sees Max putting his hands in the air, "Just wanted to help."

Irene is stressed. "What's wrong?"

"We're leaving. Get a suitcase. Where are the girls?"

"At school." Irene pleads. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's not safe here." Alan heads out the door but turns to Max before leaving. "You want to help? Stay here while I get my girls." He continues outside and yells back to Irene, "Start packing!"

Irene is now close to hyperventilating, having never seen her husband so agitated. She's ready to panic. She looks at Max who turns back from watching Alan run to his car. "Why?" she asks.

Max can only shrug. He doesn't want to explain another one of his mistakes.

Alan and Irene's fourteen year old daughters, Ashley and Isabelle, go to a simple public school only a short walk from their house. Driving takes longer because the road takes cars around a sports oval to get to the main entry. This is where Alan pulls into the parking lot and leaves his car in a bus zone.

He's been here a few times over the years to meet with his daughters' teachers so he sort of knows the building but at this time the girls could be anywhere on the property. A quick flash of his badge and a request to see his daughters is met with help from everyone behind the reception desk, including the school principal. They respond as much to his state of agitation as they do to his badge.

The painful wait in the entry foyer feels like forever until Alan is able to lead his two confused daughters to the car. After encouraging them into the back seat he jumps in the front but not before scanning the parking lot and nearby street for anyone out of place. It's not until he drives off the school property that he spots a man standing near a tree across the road. The man is staring at Alan and smiling as the detective drives by. The long hair and dirty, bearded face can't hide the eyes, nose and smile that look exactly like Max's.

Not willing to involve his daughters more than they already are, he drives on. He heads around a corner and pulls over to phone it through so he can get police to the area. Afterward he calls Barry who presses him for details about why Heath would be at his daughters' school and how Alan came to know but the already stressed detective refuses to go into it and says he'll fill him in later.

Irene had packed small bags for the girls but Alan had returned and got her into the car before she could pack for herself or her husband. The brief talk she had with the not so talkative Max while Alan was gone did little to clear things up and exactly how Alan came to believe she and their daughters where threatened wasn't spoken about.

Max stands off a short distance as Alan dumps the bags in the car and when Irene complains that she didn't get to pack for them he insists it doesn't matter and he'll return later for their stuff. Irene makes sure the girls are buckled in at the back and not too scared. They're mostly just thoroughly confused.

Alan walks over to Max who, even though he's a head taller than Alan, feels very small. The older detective speaks through gritted teeth, "Your brother was at the school watching me." Blood drains from Max's face and he looks over to his car. He wonders how quickly he can get there. Alan interrupts his thoughts, "I've called it in. Barry is organising a response. He's probably disappeared though. You watch my family while I lock up my home. If he shows his face, you shoot to kill. Understood?" Max nods and Alan heads inside.

Max gives a quick glance at Irene and the girls, and their expressions tell him they know he did something stupid. He can't hide from them the pained look on his face. He just turns to the road and watches for the brother he knows won't show.

Alan exits the house a few minutes later and stops briefly beside Max. Max can tell the experienced detective has had a moment to think while locking up. Alan is cold and serious in a way Max has never seen, "Your brother is a serial killer. He knows where I live and made what I consider a threat against my family and you waited a day to tell me. I know I don't have to say what I would have done to you if something had happened to my family."

Max's hands shake but he tries to distract them by cracking his knuckles. He's sweating which helps to hide that he's almost crying from the stress of his failure. He feels like he's losing a friend. "I'm sorry. What do you want me to do?"

"For starters, you can stop focusing on yourself, realise there are others at risk in this game you two are playing. Secondly, don't ask where we're going and don't follow."

Max watches as Alan backs the car out and drives away. He feels like he just lost the one absolutely trustworthy friend he had. He walks slowly to his car and sits on the bonnet. His mind is everywhere and he's wracked with guilt. He wants to go back to work but can't now he's suspended. He wants to go home but doesn't want to face Tahlia. He just sits.

## Chapter 31

The sun had set an hour ago and Max is only just walking through the door to his apartment. After Alan's call on sighting Heath hours earlier, the school and surrounding street were flooded with marked and unmarked police searching behind every tree and bush. The school had been locked down until every corner had been cleared. By which time panicked parents had flooded the parking lot and street in a desperate attempt to get to their children. The students had been cleared one classroom at a time in an attempt to control movement of people.

They didn't find him.

Before the police arrived Max had left to keep from getting mistaken for his brother. He knew any cop would put him on the ground and cuff him at the end of a pistol before listening to who he was.

After getting away from Alan's house after the family had driven off, the rest of his day was spent driving around regretting the choices that got him to where he is now. Not normally one to wallow in self-pity he just can't help it this time. He drove past the house he lived in as a child - his parents had moved not long after Heath disappeared - and then to the school he attended with his brother.

Now he enters his home as quietly as possible to delay the inevitable show down with an angry wife whose multiple calls over the last two hours went unanswered. Most of the lights in the apartment are off which makes the glow from the TV even brighter to the point of lighting the lounge room, but there's no sound. He walks along the hall and looks in the kitchen to see a pile of newly washed dishes left beside the sink to dry. Tahlia normally only washes up by hand when she's angry and trying to distract herself.

Further along, the dining table is set for two. Candles still sit in pride of place at the centre. Max pauses and looks over the table. Wine glasses. Candles. The good cutlery and plates. Their meals aren't usually so nice. What's going on?

It dawns on Max in an instant and his body is shot through with panic. He whispers to himself, "Oh no."

Wedding anniversary.

If he thought he felt bad about what he did to Alan, he's now in a whole new place. He feels sick. In spite of everything else, he's killing himself for forgetting this. He's mentally backtracking to find a spot where he should have been able to stop and remember.

Alan going into hiding with his confused and panicking family?

The Commissioner threatening to fire him and have him charged; rightly too?

Revealing to everyone Heath had been in touch with him?

Trying to look after his sister?

Speaking to Heath earlier?

Everything had come together to form a personal perfect storm. An endless stream of stress to steal away the chance to think of his wife.

Moving into the lounge room, he finds Tahlia asleep on the couch and watches her. She has an empty wine glass on the floor beside her. Next to it, a pile of tear soaked tissues covers her phone. She stirs at the sensation of being watched and sees her husband in the flickering glow of the TV. She fights back a new stream of tears as she tucks her feet up and away from where Max stands.

"I'm so sorry," is all he mutters.

A tear runs down Tahlia's face but she wipes it away and stands in protest. She turns and leaves the room, heading to their bedroom but Max follows her. He's lost. He wants to say something that will fix it all but he doesn't know what. Walking after her, he just repeats, "Honey," "Baby," "Tahlia," over and over as though it will make a difference. The more he talks the more desperate his voice becomes.

Tahlia makes it to their bedroom and attempts to close the door but Max catches it and holds it open. She tries pushing against him but he won't give. Cornered, she stops pushing and stands defiant, no tears. Max begs, "Please, let me talk." His wife stays silent while looking up at him, waiting for him to try his best. He can't think, he's panicking, "I'm so sorry."

Tahlia opens her mouth slightly and Max waits. He hears, "I've loved you. I've cooked for you. Washed your clothes. Cleaned your home." She sounds as though she's rehearsed this in her head but she can't hide the quiver in her voice as she fights the urge to cry. "But you don't care about me. You don't talk to me. You don't touch me or spend time with me. You won't give me children. You spend hours working and when you're home you either ignore me or you're mean to me. You care more about your stupid brother than me. I deserve better than this. I'll leave if you..." She chokes as tears now fall freely from her eyes, "Why don't you love me?"

She sees a tear in her husband's eye as he stands helplessly searching for the words to say, "I do love you. I always have." Max lets his hand fall from the bedroom door and Tahlia takes the opportunity to close it. Not hard, not too fast for Max to notice or respond. She just closes it and Max watches until the door fits perfectly into its frame with a click.

The few centimetres of wood between them may as well put them on different planets.

## Chapter 32

"Tahlia will never be forgotten nor will your brother's betrayal when he stole her from you. You dated her first. You met her at a skate park and did your thing for a couple of weeks. Innocent stuff. You'd agree to meet up at a specific time at the park and you'd just hang out for hours. You weren't much of a skater. You just rode your bike around while watching her on her roller blades. She was pretty good. You watched her for hours sometimes. But, Max being Max, when he saw her with you, like everything else when it comes to what Max wants, you didn't matter. He wanted her. Even when he knew you were watching her skate he'd go up to her and skate with her or just talk. Anything he could do to make you jealous.

"You told him to leave her alone 'cause she didn't like him anyway. That didn't stop him. Finally you had found a girl who wasn't interested in the 'bad boy'. So she said. She just wanted to be with a nice guy like you. He came to know this, so he did the one thing, the only thing, he could do to win her away from you. He changed. He got a job! He stopped the drinking! Everything! Just to take her from you! You could've asked him about all this but he wouldn't have even remembered. That's how little you mattered to him. That's just the way he was.

"She wasn't your first girlfriend though. You dated a girl called Annie Bellow for a few months when you were sixteen and that wasn't even a year before you met Tahlia. But Max played his game again. He didn't date her but he made sure you would break up with her.

"But this brings us to Alan Winter and family. It was a source of great joy to see all the effort he went to in hiding his family after my text message. Ironically, I followed them to a small motel a short distance out of town. Admittedly I'd be lying if I didn't say that I was preparing to kill at least one of the daughters. I followed so I could find them if needed. Alan isn't as smart as he thinks. He would still go to work every day then drive back to the motel in the evening. The girls weren't going to school and they'd stay at the motel all day with just their mother. To his credit he would take a scenic route to try and throw me off but it didn't work. I spent a night or two standing outside their window."

## Chapter 33

It wasn't spending the night on the couch that stopped Max from sleeping but rather the picture in his mind of Tahlia's tear stained face as she asked him why he didn't love her. He'll be haunted by that for the rest of his life. It was six in the morning, when he was half asleep, that he heard the bedroom door open, then footsteps move past him and out the front door. Finally asleep after a restless night, he couldn't pull himself from his slumber in time to attempt to speak with his wife before she walked out with a bag of her clothes. When he finally woke to her movement he jumped to his feet and was halfway into the hall before realising the self-closing door was about to lock him out without his keys. He ran back inside to find them so he could chase her but the lift had taken her away before he made it back.

After that, he spent an hour sitting on their bed staring at the half empty wardrobe. It's too much. His brother mocking him. His colleagues abandoning him. His wife leaving him.

He deserves it all.

He grabbed the phone Heath sent him and threw it against the wall in anger but quickly jumped up and put the pieces back together not wanting to lose that connection. Lucky for him it still worked. It did leave a hole in the wall though.

Sitting on the edge of his bed is where Max realises he's in over his head and doesn't think he can get through the mess he's made for himself. He could chase his brother, of course. That's what he knows how to do and he did promise his dad he would catch him. He could fight for his job. He knows how to talk to investigators to introduce doubt in their minds which may cause them to think maybe he's not incompetent after all. He could do it with the Police Conduct Unit as well. But now he's alone and the one constant in his life just walked out because his obsession with his brother was more important than her. Alan's advice was right; 'Don't forgot your wife for an arrest'. He did exactly that though. She was only going to be ignored for so long. He knew it but didn't think that time had come. Forgetting their anniversary was a big one, of course. After everything, he couldn't blame her for going. He couldn't blame her for thinking he didn't love her. That's the worst part - it's all his fault.

He's now all but unemployed and alone. He doesn't know what to do or how to fix it so he does the thing he spent all of last night avoiding.

He cries.

Not the brave tear of a hero but the desperate and helpless blubbering of a crushed spirit at the end of his strength.

A few minutes of his face in his hands and both now soaked in tears he receives a text from Heath. A cryptic message that is timely yet somewhat esoteric. 'Even the bravest men have their limits.'

That's it. He doesn't reply but is now resolved to do something stupid. He's ruined his life already so what else can he lose? He's going to protect himself and his loved ones. Heath threatening Alan and showing his face at the school gives Max cause to think his brother is getting braver - clumsier. Max must act.

Max pulls his car to a stop on the side of a busy road. Tram tracks line the centre in both directions with shop fronts lining the outside as far as the eye can see. Max checks his mirror to make sure a car isn't going to rip the door off when he opens it and hops out. A baseball cap sits low over his head and large sunglasses disguise his face.

While he stands next to his car a steady stream of vehicles flows past him delaying his attempt to cross. Thirty metres or so down the road a tram slows to a stop and lets passengers on and off causing cars to back up behind it, giving Max a gap in which to cross one half of the road. Midway across he looks in the other direction then puts in a short sprint to cross the rest of the road before he gets wiped out by a car.

He walks a short distance along the foot path, passing stores of such varying character it's almost distasteful. Between one particular store selling second-hand knick-knacks and a coffee shop, sits a spare car parts business. Without delay Max pushes the heavy wooden framed glass door open and is met by a shopfront empty of staff. The store holds the smell of both fresh and stale grease which is soaked into every surface. A solid wooden bench covers one side of the entire store and separates the customer area from the endless rows of mechanical bits and pieces which stretch back beyond where Max can see.

He hits a small bell on the bench and an older man appears from a door off to the side. The old man sees Max and wears an expression that lets him know he's not welcome. The old man is covered in grease with dry smudges of it on his face; just to confirm what business he's in. Max knows the image the old man projects is standard for him and he looks this way at home as well. That's why he lives alone.

"Detective," the old man says. "How's your brother?"

Max doesn't satisfy the old man's desire to offend him but only places a pile of money on the bench.

The grease covered pre-retiree stares at the pile as though just told he has an unknown love-child; unsure if Max is setting him up. "Detective, I'm not in that business anymore. You know that."

"I'm not playing games, George. I know you're still in it. I know that you know that I know you're still in it. I just want one. If you've been reading the papers, you know why."

George Katsaros scratches his large nose with a grease covered thumb and wipes another smudge across his face as he considers his options. "It's not that I don't appreciate the odd position you find yourself in but..."

In a blink Max reaches across the counter and grabs the old man behind his head and slams his face onto the solid bench making sure his nose takes the brunt of the force. With a sound like gravel crunching underfoot George's nose breaks and blood splashes across the bench.

Max's voice almost quivers as he says quietly into George's ear, "The odd position I find myself in is one of desperation. I've very little left to lose and you're standing between me and my goal. Best if you don't." Max grabs the pile of notes and pushes them into George's blood filled mouth. "Now, please, let's do business."

He lets go of the old man and offers more encouragement, "It's just you and me, mate. I'd get into as much trouble as you, but no-one will ever know."

Spitting the notes out of his mouth, George pushes himself back up and holds his broken nose with a grease covered handkerchief retrieved from his pocket.

"Not until you use it," is George's grumpy reply as he tries to clean the blood off his face. "Come with me."

Max grabs his money and walks through a small gap at the end of the bench allowing access to the 'staff only' area. Not even on his official police visits has Max gone back here. George is one of his paid informants who gets away with a lot of illegal activities purely because of how helpful he is. Anything gang related, he's heard people talk of it and knows who's involved. George limps his way past the rows of car parts, still mopping up the blood with his handkerchief, with Max close behind. "Oi!" George yells. Max is about to query whether he's talking to him until he hears a distant voice, equally gruff and equally as old as George's, "What!?"

"I'm out the back for a bit! Mind the shop!"

"Right!"

And now the conversation is over. Max didn't know where the voice came from and had never seen another staff member with George on past visits. He didn't this time either.

In a corner of the shop, not far from a rear roller shutter, George opens an old rusted toolbox. Something no one would notice, sitting off to the side like it was. Inside are at least six guns. They lie in the steel box unceremoniously piled on top of each other as though they had been tossed there and forgotten about.

George turns to the detective he's known for only a few months, "Which one? They all work."

"Just a small one. Nothing fancy."

George reaches in and pulls out a Taurus .359 Magnum 605 revolver. "Smallest I got." He hands it to Max who weighs it in his hand before inspecting every inch of it, including the firing pin.

"You need bullets?" he asks.

Max nods. The old man opens another container and pulls out a handful of bullets which he dumps in Max's free hand. "Don't load it till you're outside or I'll shoot you."

Max believes him and nods, "That's fine."

"I should shoot you anyway for breaking my nose."

## Chapter 34

Tahlia and Irene squeeze themselves into the tiny kitchen of Alan and Irene's newly acquired motel room with hands holding coffee cups like microphones. The sound of a TV emanates throughout as Irene's daughters watch TV in the second bedroom.

Tahlia, eyes dry but red from tears, speaks without prompting, "I learned years ago not to ask about work stuff. The first few months after he joined the police were fine. Even the first year or so. He did the occasional overtime, which I understood was necessary but then he'd take an entire extra shift a week, every week. I'd ask him about it and he'd say 'it's temporary, just while they're understaffed'. They never had enough staff.

"Years later. I asked him again about how much he was working and he said it was good experience 'cause he wanted to make detective. At work functions, if he ever took me, I'd ask his friends about how much overtime they do - they'd shrug it off, saying they didn't do more than a few extra hours a week. If that. They didn't have to do more 'cause Max took most of it and they didn't really want it anyway."

Irene, listening patiently, says, "Men don't really take hints - how about asking him straight out not to work so much?"

"I tried that once. He got really angry. We never spoke about it again." Tahlia chokes back a tear. "What if he doesn't come after me?"

"He will. He's clearly not stupid. We'll have to get you to counselling."

Tahlia groans, "He won't like that."

"He'll have to do something because what you've been going through isn't working and sounds like it hasn't been for years."

Tahlia stares out the tiny kitchen window and relates Irene's last few words to the last few years of her marriage. She realises the truth of her friend's comment doesn't even just relate to the last few years but to a good portion of the last ten. This isn't how she imagined life would be when she was walking down the aisle toward the love of her life.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Alan entering from outside. He smiles as he spots Tahlia, "Hello! Tahlia. Good to see you again."

"Thanks."

Tahlia's dry but red eyes tell Alan not to ask what's going on. He's got a strong theory though and leaves it alone. "You might be happy to know that there's finally movement on your brother-in-law and we might have him soon."

"Finally," says Tahlia. "I wish we had the death penalty."

Alan gives his wife a kiss on the cheek as she hands him a pre-prepared coffee. "Thank you dear."

Irene says, "People might be screaming for the death penalty by the time this is all over." She's curious about what the detectives now have and asks her husband, "What's been discovered?"

"A witness, finally. Someone who believes they saw a car that might be involved. Not the best lead but it's all they've got."

Tahlia tilts her head back and stares at the ceiling, "I can't wait for all this to be over."

Alan says matter-of-factly, "A lot of people have died."

Tahlia looks at Alan, deeply embarrassed. She had been referring to her efforts to change her marriage but realises now there's much more at stake. "Of course," she says sheepishly.

Irene asks her, "Did you know him?"

"Heath? Yeah. I knew him before I knew Max."

"He introduced you?" Irene asks.

"No, not exactly. Heath would come to this local skate park that all my friends went to when we were kids. He'd watch me. I'd see him out of the corner of my eye just staring at me. He'd sit off to the side. No skateboard or anything. He had a bike but never rode it on the park. It was awkward. Even my friends asked me why he was staring at me."

Irene interjects, "Max came and saved the day?"

Tahlia shrugs, "Kind of. I spoke with Heath a few times thinking he'd just wanted someone to invite him in. He said he had a sore leg but would join in when he was better. Max turned up one day and I thought he was Heath but he was completely different in every way to the boy who kept staring at me. Plus he had friends with him. He said they were brothers. One of my friends told Max that Heath had been making me feel weird. Max and I got to talking about it and hit it off. When Heath came Max said we could stay together, Heath would get jealous and go away."

"And love blossomed." Alan says with a childlike grin.

Tahlia nods. "Yeah."

Irene asks, "So Heath wasn't normal even back then?"

"Not at all. I'd go to their place with Max and have to leave 'cause Heath would stare at me. I once caught a reflection of him in a microwave, watching me. I didn't even know he was there. He ran away for two days once when Max yelled at him and punched him. The last time we saw him Max screamed at him about making sure he didn't ruin our wedding."

Tahlia's phone beeps. On checking it she stands. "My sister's outside. Thank you so much for letting me talk."

Irene gives Tahlia a hug, "Not at all my dear. Anytime you need, let me know."

Alan and Irene walk her to the door.

As she's about to step outside she stops and turns to Alan, "I almost forgot. Alan, I was going to tell you. Max has a phone, he got it in the mail a little while ago; unexpected. I'm pretty sure he's spoken to Heath on it."

Alan's expression is stone-cold. "Really?"

"I know not to involve myself with his work but... you know." She turns and walks off.

The Winters watch as she hops in a car and after offering one last wave, she's off into the night.

They close the door.

## Chapter 35

A storm water drain sits next to a major road but remains hidden by dozens of trees left to grow almost completely unhindered for decades. A tiny litter filled pool of stagnant water has collected under the protection of the trees above and the closest anyone would come to it is the foot path running alongside the road. Though, over the last eighteen hours, if a passer-by stopped and spent a moment looking through the dense trees and into the mosquito infested area they would have noticed something out of the ordinary. Something that has now drawn a team of police and paramedics. It took a wayward and disobedient dog on an early morning walk to draw his owner into the area when no amount of calling and tapping of knees would encourage the dog away from his find.

It's now over an hour since the body of a young boy was found by the walker and Detectives Earl and Carl are on site. They are covered on every side by a few dozen uniformed police who search the land around the scene for clues. Media got wind early on and a few channels have news vans already broadcasting live crosses by reporters.

The boy is tiny - maybe five or six. He lies face up, fully clothed but covered in a small amount of morning dew from the relatively cold night. Earl crouches over the boy and lifts the white sheet off his face, down to his hands. Carl comments that the boy looks like he's been posed. Earl nods his head in agreement as he looks at the boy's hands which have been unnaturally positioned so the palms face upward to reveal horrible burns.

Both experienced detectives remain respectfully silent, saying only what needs to be said. Years on the job have brought a healthy, albeit distasteful, humour to their crime scene attendance but some situations can go without the jokes.

Earl gently slides the boy's shirt up to expose his stomach. The senior detectives are relieved to find nothing written into his skin. Earl places the shirt back down when he hears a familiar voice call to them from a short distance off, "Was there anything there?"

The detectives look over to see Max crouching under a tree branch as he shuffles in closer. Max's face is pale and the strain in his voice gives away that he knows a little bit about what's here. "Is there anything on his stomach?" Earl stands and blocks Max's view of the boy. "You can't be here," he says with no small amount of contempt.

"I just need to know," is Max's genuinely heartfelt and gentle reply.

Earl is furious, "How do you feel now? You play games with processes and now a boy is dead. Because of you. Because you didn't do your job."

## Chapter 36

Dozens of reporters and cameramen form an audience for the Chief Commissioner, Detective Earl and the parents of the little boy whose body had been found. They all sit side by side along a table decorated with microphones. The mother of the murdered boy clutches possessively to the baby in her arms, while the father holds a photo frame with a picture of their son. The couple is a long way from the evening spent playing at the park near their house where Heath watched the father chasing his son around on that warm evening not long ago.

In front of the long table sit reporters and behind them is a wall of cameras, all there in the hope of getting some sound bite or clip they can use to sell air time. The sounds of the clicking of photographs for the papers and internet news sites project out through the room while the Chief Commissioner speaks of heartbreaking loss and the hard work his detectives are putting in. They've been gathered for an hour already. He fields accusations that his people aren't working hard enough but reassures his audience that these things take time and every available resource is on top of it.

While the reporters turn their attention to the parents and request the most intimate details of their experience, Max stands off to the side, behind a pillar, and watches without listening. He's stupid for even being here but he is anyway. Carl quietly steps up beside him and says, "You're brave."

Max looks at him from the corner of his eye but doesn't respond so Carl continues, "Standing so close to the media. Considering who you are and who you look like."

Max still gives nothing but Carl tries again, "I can't stand all this media stuff."

Max barely turns and only offers a slightly guttural, "Mmmm," in reply.

Carl isn't dissuaded, "I can see how it's sometimes helpful but only when we have control of it, you get me? We have to keep control over these vultures." He pauses to see if he's winning Max over to the conversation. He's not, but continues, "All they want is to sell advertising space. My dad worked in advertising before he passed away. Thirty years. Mum thinks that's what killed him." Carl thinks for a moment, "Could have been the cancer."

Back in front of the gathered media the Chief Commissioner calls a stop to the conference. He leads the bewildered and heartbroken parents out of the room to the soundtrack of loudly spoken questions which go unanswered.

The Chief Commissioner walks with his entourage through back corridors heading to his car but is waylaid by a reporter. He sees her coming. She's pretty, in her mid-thirties and the dark grey pants suit tells even the casual observer she's all about business. She has determination in her walk and burning eyes.

The Chief Commissioner smiles at the reporter, "Jennifer. How are you?"

Jennifer doesn't return the smile, "Annoyed. You ignored me during the press conference. I had questions."

"You and everyone else. Why do you think I ignored you specifically?"

"Because you know I can spot you lying from a mile away."

"Lying! I never lied."

"You weren't telling the full story though."

"That's not lying."

Jennifer makes a show of holding up a voice recording device.

"So, the full story is?"

"Is that the type of questioning they taught you at university?"

"You would know. You're tip-toeing around something."

"I'm the Chief Commissioner. If I'm not tip-toeing I'm not doing my job. Bear in mind something important my dear, this isn't a show. These are real victims with real families who are really hurting and who may not want every detail displayed for the world to gawk at. You know the boy is a victim of Heath Myer and that's all you need."

"Give me something. What about his brother? The detective?"

They stop walking and the Chief Commissioner looks at Jennifer's big determined eyes, he smiles.

"I'll email you something. But only if you promise to have dinner with your mother and me tonight."

"Blackmail?"

"Yes. It's been weeks. We miss you."

"OK."

Jennifer gives him a hug.

"Thanks Dad."

She walks off.

## Chapter 37

In the quiet of his apartment, Max has spent the last ten minutes standing in front of his open fridge staring at its contents. He concludes he's not hungry so closes the door and moves to the lounge where he grabs the TV remote but doesn't feel like watching anything. It seemed like a good idea before he grabbed it. He drops the remote and takes a slow walk down the hall where he sticks his head in Tahlia's home office. Most of her things are still there but she's taken her laptop. He takes a moment to breath in slowly as he soaked up the silence before moving on to the bedroom. The wardrobe is missing her clothes. The ensuite is missing her make-up and the countless beauty products she was always buying. He sits on the bed and pulls out the small revolver he bought from George at the car parts store, from under his pillow. He rests it in his hand.

His phone rings from inside his pocket. He puts the gun back under his pillow and stands to retrieve the phone. He can't help but sound dejected as he answers it, "Hello?"

"Max Myers, I'm Jennifer Colson with World News dot com. I'm after a response to the claim..." Max hangs up before she can say anymore. Only the second call from the media he's had to face since this all began.

He sits back down and collects the phone Heath sent him from its home on top of his bedside table. He figured now that Tahlia's gone he doesn't have to worry about her playing with it so he just leaves it sitting there as he waits for it to ring. He spins it between his fingers.

The next thing Max is aware of is waking up, lying sideways on his bed. He's still fully dressed and the time on his alarm clock shows he's only been asleep for an hour or so. He must have dropped off without realising while holding his brother's phone.

He makes his way back to the couch where he places his phone and the one Heath sent him next to each other on the coffee table. He opens his laptop and pulls up a local news website. The banner headline features another one of the mug shots of Max as a stand-in for Heath.

The blurb reads: 'It has been revealed detectives were aware of the identity of the Southside Killer a week before action was taken to actively pursue him.'

He reads on to see he is identified as the detective who tried to keep his brother's possible involvement secret. The article even talks about his prior arrest of the murderer Steven Cooper being officially reviewed. He closes the screen of his laptop before being sucked in to reading more. He knows the Chief Commissioner sold him out by giving this information. He picks up both phones and checks the battery on the one Heath sent him while moving outside onto the balcony. The bright midday sun burns down on him as he dials Tahlia. He holds his phone against his ear while absent-mindedly spinning Heath's phone between his fingers.

Tahlia comes on the line. She does her best to remain distant, "Hello?"

Max smiles at the sound of her voice, "Hey baby. I wasn't sure if you'd answer."

"I did."

"I want you to come home."

"Why? Do you even understand why I left?"

"Well. I. Didn't. Remember. Our anniversary."

"And?"

"Well, and, I was spending too much time at work."

"Max! Do you understand this or are you just saying it because Alan told you?"

"No, Honey, I know I need to spend more time with you and..." Max feels the phone in his other hand vibrate a second before the ring tone sounds. He looks down at the phone and forgets what he was saying.

"Max?"

"No I'm here. I just..." Max considers answering the ringing phone but Tahlia interrupts, "Is that a phone?"

"No. It is, but..."

"Cancel it!"

"I will but it'll be important..."

"Max! Don't you dare! You put that phone away and talk to me!"

Max hits the cancel button on Heath's phone. "OK, OK, I did. It's just us, OK."

Tahlia is unimpressed, "I can't believe you were going to answer it!"

"No I wasn't." Max knows he's caught out. "I'm sorry."

"I've got a better idea. Let's leave this until you catch your brother. You care more about that than me." The phone goes dead in Max's ear.

That call didn't go the way he wanted.

Looking back down at Heath's phone. He holds it out over the edge of the balcony and prepares to let it drop to its end in a million pieces ten floors below. His grip becomes lighter as he lets the phone slip through his fingers. It rings. He tightens his grip on it again, places it against his ear and screams into it, "What the hell are you doing!"

Heath sounds far too jovial for what he's done, "I'm sorry for interrupting your call. It's not personal, it's just part of the game."

Max is disgusted, "You are a monster! You killed a child!"

"You noticed?"

"This isn't a joke!"

"I'm sorry Tahlia left you."

Max doesn't buy it. "No you're not."

"Why were you going to drop my phone over the edge?"

Max realises he's being watched and scans everything around him. Ten storeys up - there are not a lot of options. "I'll catch you. I promise, every waking moment, every breath I..." Max is silenced by the sight of his estranged brother standing on a balcony directly opposite him on the other side of the road. At this distance he can't make out the face on the figure standing there staring at him but he knows exactly who the long haired and bearded man is.

Max thinks he can see his brother's mouth move as he hears him through the phone, "Good to see you, brother. See, I can do theatrics too." He takes a deep breath and pauses for effect, "Catch me if you can."

Heath drops his phone, letting it fall to the floor, turns back inside the apartment and disappears from view.

Max bursts from the glass security door of his building and onto the street outside. He holds his badge in one hand ready to shove it in the face of anyone who tries to get in his way. It took him only a few minutes to descend the fire stairs from his apartment on the tenth floor before sprinting through the foyer and bounding outside. He bounces past a waiting reporter and ignores his questions as he jumps onto the bonnet of a parked car and scans the street for his brother.

Heath simply stands on the other side outside the building he was in waiting for Max to notice him. When they make eye contact Heath takes off and Max is on the move close behind. It's not lost on Max that his brother looks, possibly, fitter than he is, possibly faster too but that doesn't stop him from putting his best into the chase. The adrenaline keeps him going. Catching Heath should repair his reputation not just amongst his peers but also the public now that the media is ruining his name. Most importantly, catching Heath will bring closure and Tahlia can come home - and no more murders, of course.

The bright sun beats down on the brothers as they move with violent passion between cars and pedestrians. Heath is not far ahead and is slowed by a few pedestrians on the footpath. As Max runs down the middle of the road, he makes up ground quickly. Any drivers who get in his way he screams at as they see him in their mirrors barrelling down on them with his shinning police badge forging a path.

Heath looks back and is surprised to see his brother so close behind. He leaps a parked car and is on the road now, like his brother. Free from pedestrians, he picks up his pace. He takes a left turn up another street making his brother cover even more ground to maintain the distance he's quickly losing. Max knows this chase can't last so he dials his phone, "Alan! I'm chasing Heath! I'm about to lose him!" Sweat is pouring from his brow and soaking into his shirt.

Over the next few streets Heath builds more ground between himself and his brother. He glances over his shoulder every now and then to make sure. His goal isn't to get caught at this point. After one look over his shoulder he turns back to find his path cut off by a cop car which skids to a halt in front of him. He leaps the bonnet to find the first car is joined by more until he has at least five police cars following him. Max is still in the chase close behind. Although he's fading quickly as he struggles to keep his breath and maintain his pace.

Heath ducks down a side alley creating a bottle neck, delaying the cars chasing him. The blaring sirens are now just for show as the drivers are forced to stop and Heath gets his space again. Max leaps over the jammed police cars and continues his pursuit as he shows his badge to anyone who looks his way.

The chase exits the alley and Max loses his brother in the midst of a crowded street just as more cop cars arrive with sirens screaming. Max leaps onto the bonnet of a parked car and scans the crowd again hoping Heath is waiting.

He's gone.

"Keep going!" He yells at everyone, "He's somewhere!" He has no authority here.

The street now only has half the pedestrians than were populating the area when the police first arrived. The masses are still all there, though they watch from a distance. Max and Alan, Earl and Carl, and endless uniformed cops are gathered street side at the point they lost sight of Heath. Cops head up and down the adjacent streets speaking with shop owners and shoppers about what they witnessed, if anything. Some people volunteer information of no help while others claim to have known nothing of the emergency until being told, just now.

Max, still sweating and sounding like he's still out of breath, fills his colleagues in on his story and finishes off with, "I almost had him," just as Barry arrives and says, "Max, have you filled our friends here in on what happened?"

Max is without emotion, "Yes."

"Good. Go home. You're not working. You'll be contacted if needed."

Max doesn't offer any protest, turns like a schoolboy being chastised and walks away. Alan calls after him, "Max." The dejected Max turns back. Alan continues, "He knows where you live."

Max thinks about this for a moment. He stares off in the distance but doesn't look at anything as his mind races over this realisation. He looks back to his four colleagues who wait for him to say something. "He knows where I live. And that Tahlia left me. He sent me a text message." Max turns and runs off in the direction of his apartment.

Earl calls out after him, "Wait Max." Max turns back. "What was he wearing? What did he look like?"

Max smiles without any sense of amusement, "What did he look like?" He points to his own face. "This, but hairier!" He turns and runs on.

The distance to Max's apartment now feels twice as far on the return journey than when he had been chasing his brother in the opposite direction, although, this time he's not running as fast.

Arriving home, he puts the key in the lock to his door as quietly as possible. He turns it and pushes the door open. A relatively modern apartment block, the door opens easily and quietly, however, his trick now will be to close it without it slamming as every door in the building has a gas hinge so residents can't leave them open. Max glances into his apartment, down the hall and to the side into the kitchen as he works the door closed - all this because he's concerned his brother may have come back to wait for him here. A quick check of each room and wardrobe reveals he is alone. He then goes about checking light fittings and anywhere an electrical device could be hidden.

Heath must have used something planted in the apartment to spy on Max and Tahlia. How else would he have known Tahlia left him? How else would he have known to send Max that text message about 'brave men having their limits' right when he was crying under the overwhelming pressure of failure, unless he had been listening? Or watching? How would he have known to follow them to Alan and Irene's that night unless he heard Max talk to Tahlia about going there for dinner?

An hour after arriving home and conducting his search of the apartment, a small collection of miniature cameras and microphones sits in front of him as he stands over his dining room table. He stands over them with Alan next to him. They haven't spoken since the older detective took his family into hiding but they've no time to discuss that now. Earl and Carl stand to the side as another cop sits at the table and logs each item. Barry enters the room from the hallway having just hung up from a phone call. "So what do we know?" he says to everyone.

Max answers almost as soon as Barry had finished speaking. "He must have come in the last week or so and..." Before Max can continue thinking out loud he's interrupted by the cop logging the inventory of electronics. No one knows his name, no one asked, but his badge says Constable Jones.

"Actually." Jones makes sure everyone is listening to him before continuing. "None of these are new." He gestures a hand over the devices in front of him. "These particular models are all at least, I don't know, two, maybe three, years old. Which may not mean much but look at the dust. They've all been here longer than a week or so."

Max doesn't know how to respond.

Barry speaks up for him. "Constable, you're saying possibly years? Alright. Max, we'll put you and your wife under protective custody. Start packing."

Max is silenced by the revelation that Heath may have been spying on them for years. He tries to think back to when they must have had an electrician inside. He can't remember any point when that could have happened. All he can do is repeat Constable Jones. "Two or three years?"

Barry grabs the young detective by the arm. "We'd probably have to do this anyway now that you're on the news again. People aren't responding well. Pack your bags."

Alan stands at the door to Max's room as Max throws clothing from dresser drawers into a bag. "What if Tahlia was here, alone, with him? What if she called an electrician or something and didn't tell me?"

"Or, she did tell you and you weren't listening?" says Alan, stone faced.

Max stops packing.

"What am I doing? I'm not hiding. I'm not running from him. If he wants to kill me he can come here and find me."

Alan isn't impressed. "Don't be a hero Max. Just walk away, repair your relationship with your wife."

Max stops what he's doing and frowns. "You know she left?"

Alan nods, "I could tell just by looking at your wardrobe but she's kept in touch with Irene. She came to our motel last night for dinner. Use this time to fix things with her. There's a good team on this. You don't have to worry about catching your brother."

Max dumps the bag of clothes upside down on his bed. "I'm not going anywhere."

Earl appears at the door, "How'd it start?"

Max isn't sure of the specifics of the question.

Earl adds detail, "How did you come to be chasing your brother down the street?"

Max walks past Earl and out of the room. "Come with me."

He leads Alan, Earl and now Carl to the balcony and once outside he points to the balcony opposite where he saw his brother. "He was standing on that balcony."

Earl isn't impressed and gives a look that demands more, "Keep going. Join the dots. Finish the story. Stop lying and giving half-truths. Your brother has clearly targeted you all along and despite the fact that you don't currently work for this state's police force he continues to drag you into the mess that, might I remind you, is your fault. Now tell me the rest."

To Max's surprise Earl's voice and temper don't communicate the usual hatred and determination to belittle. It seems an honest, albeit desperate, plea for truth. In a flash Max is reminded how much of this mess is his fault. He shouldn't have played the game. He shouldn't have let his brother manipulate him. At almost every turn he played into his brother's hands. He's lost the love of his life and he has no one else to blame. He feels Alan's advice a few weeks ago was all too true. Even when this is done and Heath is in jail, there will be another murderer, and another one after that and another one after that. He feels the pressure of the countless mistakes he's made and how they've destroyed his life.

He looks at Alan who steps in very close and speaks as quietly as he can so Earl doesn't hear, which isn't easy considering their height difference. "The phone you showed me in the parking lot with that text. It wasn't your phone was it?" Max can see a look of understanding on Alan's face. He knows. Max pulls the phone out of his pocket. The phone his brother sent him. He hands it to Earl, saying, "He calls me on this."

Earl, ice cold when he asks, "How long have you had this phone?"

Max shrugs.

"Did you have it when he threatened your sister? Did you have it then and not tell us about it?" Earl doesn't even wait for Max to respond. He gives one glance at Alan who shrugs. He takes the phone and walks back inside the apartment heading for the door with Carl following. "We're going across the road." Before he walks out the door he turns back to Max who has followed. "You'll be coming in for another interview. You will tell us everything that was said in every conversation you had and you will stop lying like a spoilt child. I'll make sure you're charged." Earl disappears out the door and down the hall toward the lift, the only sound left in the apartment is the gas hinge slowly closing the door. To the crime scene investigators who have been quietly watching and, most definitely to Max, the click of the door latch engaging as it closes, is deafening.

Max turns to Alan who holds a look of utter disappointment on his face. The older detective's voice is cold, "I'll give you a chance to explain why you would hide that information and why I had to wait for your wife to tell me about it."

Max remains dumbfounded and speechless.

Alan talks over his silence. "After everything that's happened, this silence is the best you can do?"

Max still has no words and just stands with his mouth open in a pathetic attempt to defend himself.

Alan says, "It's just one lie after another with you. For a man your age you have a lot of growing up to do," and then walks out.

Alan looks ten floors down at the busy road below. He stands across from Max's apartment on the balcony where the young detective saw his brother before their chase through the city. He looks over at Max's apartment and through the window can just make out the remaining investigators clearing the last of the electronic devices Heath had planted. He can see Max watching him from inside the glass sliding door.

Inside Heath's apartment, Earl moves between the rooms discovering one specific thing. It's a normal apartment for a single man, clean, but with almost no furniture. There's no bed in the master bedroom but there is a cheap foam mattress to one side. There's nothing in the lounge room save for a desk and chair with a few pieces of electrical equipment and a laptop on it along with, of note, a small photo frame. Earl picks it up. It's a wedding photo. The happy couple with smiling faces looking into the camera are Max and Tahlia. A memento of Heath's time spent in his brother's apartment a few days earlier. Heath predicted that taking the photo would go unnoticed, and he was right.

A small handheld plastic dish with a long microphone attached like a mini satellite dish sits resting on an unknown electrical device complete with dials, buttons and a small LCD screen - good for listening to someone standing too far away to hear. Say, on Max's balcony. The laptop is still powered so Earl spends a moment reading over the files on the screen. There's a folder named 'Max' and one named 'Tahlia'. Earl opens the one named after his foolish colleague and finds a series of subfolders: 'Work', 'Home', 'With Friends', 'With Family', and so on, a different folder for each place Max or Tahlia would find themselves on any given day.

Carl has been standing to one side of the room speaking on his phone which he now hangs up and places back in his pocket. "Get this," he says to Earl as Alan makes his way back inside and closes the sliding door behind him. "This apartment has been leased by the one tenant for three years."

Earl, still sitting at the laptop, rubs his eyes indicating that he's annoyed. "We need crime scene guys here. Let's start going over this computer."

Alan, speaks for the first time since entering the building. "What have you found?"

Earl continues searching the computer as he speaks, "Something isn't right. There is folder after folder of video files, audio recordings and photos of Max and his wife. What's Heath getting at if he's killing all these random people but has been following his brother everywhere for what looks like years? There are hundreds of files in just this one folder."

Carl volunteers the obvious, "Maybe Max is who we should be protecting."

Alan counters, "Maybe he really does need that protective custody, but why wouldn't his brother have killed him already if he's been so close for so long?"

Earl looks at Alan and says calmly, "Maybe you need to stay close to your friend and find out? Maybe you also need to pull him into line? He won't have a career for much longer if he keeps this up. You know he's pulling you down with him."

Alan is unmoved. "Earl. For someone your age you have the worst people skills this side of someone with undiagnosed autism. I won't accept advice on my interactions with my colleagues from you of all people."

To Alan's surprise Earl doesn't respond and just puts his eyes back on the laptop. Within minutes the crime scene team from Max's apartment arrives and collects anything that will fit in an evidence bag. Alan spends the time contemplating his colleague's fall from grace since he's not supposed to be on this job anyway.

Earl doesn't look away from the computer and Carl potters around after doing a coffee run to the café at the base of the building.

## Chapter 38

A few hours after Max had found the cache of electronic equipment planted in his home, the police had cleaned up and taken all the evidence with them. The sun had not long ago receded behind the buildings and set for the night. Max now sits on his couch, beer in hand. The TV is off and he just stares off into the distance. There's dust covering everything from the search for fingerprints. He initially enjoyed reminding them that his brother's fingerprints were burnt off but after a while repeating himself just became annoying and stopped. Dusting for prints was 'standard procedure' they would say as though he didn't know it.

The dusty lounge room is no more than just a distraction from the constant thought of Tahlia being alone with his brother. When would he have accessed the apartment? He'll have to speak with building management and get answers. Was she here by herself with him?

He grabs his phone and dials his wife. He doesn't think she'll answer but he needs to hear her voice. As he scrolls through to find her name in his contacts list, the screen alters and the phone starts to ring with a call from an 'Unknown Number'.

He answers it with a statement, "You came into my home."

"I'm sorry," is Heath's less than heartfelt reply.

"You've been spying on me."

"Yes."

"What have you heard?"

"Everything. Every little moment that seemed insignificant. Every big moment. I know it. I heard it all."

"How long have you...?"

Heath interrupts, "Years."

"How did you get into my home?"

"I'll tell you. It's amazing how little attention people pay to maintenance workers. No one knows whether they're supposed to be there or not so they walk on by without giving them a second thought."

"Someone let you in?"

"I think I've shown myself to be proficient with electronics. Getting past the security system in your building didn't require much effort. Neither did getting my hands on a copy of your key. Let's clarify that I've won another point. Yes, I put the electronics in your apartment but that was years ago. I was in your home just the other day. I tried to time it so neither of you were home but Tahlia came back while I was hiding on the balcony." Heath takes a deep breath and continues, "She smells exactly as I remember."

"You put my wife in danger."

Heath responds like a defensive teenager, "No I didn't! I wouldn't have hurt her!"

"I don't believe you."

Heath is angry that he has to repeat himself, "I wouldn't have hurt her!"

Max screams into the phone, "I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!"

"And now you can see I won another point! I sat on your couch and laid down on your bed. I've lived as a stranger ignored by everyone. I've lived as the one society says isn't important. I've been rejected and pushed to the side but now I've turned this country upside down and everyone knows my name."

Max changes his tone to a very cold rumble, "This isn't a game, you child."

"Yes it is. Don't you see? It always has been. It started when we were boys and has yet to end."

"Is there any part of you that can understand what you've done? You go on about how hard done by you are but can you stop and think of the lives you've ruined? The child you murdered? His parents?"

"No. I take solace in knowing someone else shares my pain. This is a game. The life and death stakes of survival-of-the-fittest. I'm winning. This is a game and it will be until the end. But, speaking of the end, I think we can agree this has now gone on long enough."

Max is sarcastic, "You think so?"

"Just know I've spent too long planning every detail of this game and none of it is up to chance. But we agree this has run its course and should end. So I'll do you a favour since none of you can do your jobs; I'm going to tell you where I am."

"No. I'm not going on another chase. I don't care anymore. I'm telling them everything."

"You do care, Max. You care 'cause you haven't won yet. I promise I won't run. I'll be here enjoying the final act."

Max leans his head back and rubs his eyes with a sigh. He feels like he could sleep for days. "I've spoken with the families of your victims."

Heath speaks softly, "I imagine you did. So?"

"That young guy you left in the park. He was an only child. He was all his mother had left after her husband died. He was diagnosed as dyslexic just before his twentieth birthday. Spent his schooling thinking he was stupid. He just needed a little encouragement."

Heath is emotionless but Max tries to believe his brother is just hiding how he feels, "That's quite a loss."

"She's lost now. She used to help him get ready for work. He wasn't too outgoing, but you probably remember that from when you kidnapped him and forced that poison into his stomach. Did you burn their hands before or after you killed them? Don't answer that. What exactly do you learn about someone when they cry for mercy? Don't answer that. Not that you cared, I'm sure. His mother asked me what she should live for now that her world is gone."

Heath is impatient, "Why are you telling me this? I can't cry for these people!"

"No, I know. You remember the woman you dumped in the alley? Like she was nothing. Like she didn't matter. She had two little boys. You left her husband to not only raise his boys alone but to find a way to tell them their mother won't be coming home..."

"You can stop this..."

"They're too young to understand. They're going to think she left them. They're going to think she didn't love them enough to stay."

"Yes, OK. Thank you..."

"You've killed more than just the people you fed poison to. You've scarred more than just the people you burnt, more than just the people you cut my name into."

"And I can't change what I've done."

Max thinks he finally hears emotion. "Would you? Do you have anything in you that feels bad?"

"I'm telling you where I am aren't I! I'm going to be here so you can stop me! You come here and all of this hurt ends. You kill me and they can drag my body behind a car through the city for all I care! They can dance on my grave. You just have to come here!"

"You think I won't just ring someone working the..."

"No you won't!"

"You don't know me!"

"I know you Max!! Better than you think! I know that you will come here yourself just like I knew you wouldn't tell them about our calls and like I knew you would finally get that I was behind everything. I. KNOW. YOU!"

"You're a child!"

"Maybe so... but I will win this."

"You're going to jail!"

"Not if you kill me."

"Then I win!"

"Maybe. Not necessarily." Heath speaks through the tears rolling down his face. "For years I chased you brother. I wanted you to love me but you never did. I wanted to be your best friend. I never was. I looked up to you. You looked down on me. I thought it was my fault though. I thought I wasn't worthy of your love. I thought I had done something wrong and for years I didn't know what it was. But now, you chase me. You see? Now you go where I lead. Now it's about me. I don't need your love. I don't want it anymore. I didn't do anything for you to hate me. You are just a hateful person."

Max is taken aback by this display of emotion and isn't exactly sure how to respond. "You've killed people." He says quietly.

"YES!! But I only wanted you to notice me!"

Max tries to give words to his thoughts but remains silent. Heath speaks up, "I always did the right thing. I didn't hurt people like you did. I didn't ruin everything like you did. But you've got it all. You've got everything I deserve for doing the right thing."

"What!?"

"You have everything that should be mine. You stole Tahlia from me!"

"WHAT!

"She was mine. She liked me. She wanted a good guy and that was me! But you took her!"

"She was never your girlfriend!"

"SHE WAS!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"YOU STOLE HER!!"

"You're not making sense and I'm not having this argument."

Heath's sudden explosion of emotion calms, "Hudson Road. Spotswood. Pick the warehouse."

The line goes dead in Max's ear.

## Chapter 39

"And now here we are. Max will turn up any time now. I'm not sure if you had actually forgotten anything that I've spoken about but I hope listening to this has helped. I know about the things I've told you because they've happened the way I planned them. I know my brother. I've been watching him. Studying him. Learning everything I need to know to win this game. I know how he's going to react. When he runs I know where he'll go.

"I've got this gadget here that blocks electronic signals. Max will turn up carrying a phone. He'll call for back up at some point but I don't want that to be too early. I need time. So, turn this on and he's all alone, he can't use his phone. I've planned this game to the smallest detail.

"And now we come to the beginning of the end. I'm still sitting here in this abandoned warehouse, in this rest room, preparing for what magicians call The Prestige. You'll remember where we were when I started. This is the world I have influenced. The one I have created. A world of my design. I hope you understand why I've done what I've done."

## Chapter 40

Max has his laptop open with a map on the screen, with which he zooms into the address Heath gave him. He dials his phone and places it against his ear.

Alan answers. "Hello?"

"Alan, I've got a favour to ask."

Alan is curt, "I don't recall you earning the right to ask for favours."

"This is the last one."

"What is it?"

"I think I know where Heath is."

"So call it through and flood the place with police."

"No I just want to check it first. In case it turns out to be nothing."

"Enough Max. Where are you going?"

"It could be nothing. I don't want to get..."

Alan interrupts. "You know how I knew that phone you had wasn't yours? Because your wife told me. I had to hear from your wife that you had direct contact with your brother. We've worked together for almost a year and you still can't stop lying to me. Lives have been lost. A little boy is dead and you still can't stop lying."

Max is almost inaudible when he says, "I meant to tell you."

"When! How long was this going to go on before you got around to it?"

Max is silent.

Alan sighs and takes on a fatherly tone, "Mate, just stop, think. After everything, after all the things that blew up in your face because you let your brother get under your skin, do you just have to do it one last time?"

"I told my father I'd be the one to bring my brother in."

Alan laughs, "You didn't just say that did you? Don't do this Max. Just let it go. Tell me where you think he is and I'll call it through. Now's the time you need to stay out of the way."

Max feels like he's going to lose this argument so hangs up.

Alan hangs up his phone and places it on the arm of the couch. He sits in the motel room he's rented for his family while hiding from Max's brother. His daughters are in the second bedroom, lying on their beds, playing on their phones.

Irene, sitting beside her husband, watches him as she waits for an explanation of the call he just finished. His stare is enough to put holes in the wall as he thinks about his young friend.

"What are you thinking?" Irene asks.

When it looks like he's not going to respond at all, he says, "If Max does something as dumb as I think he's going to - we'll be moving back home shortly."

"He's not going to go and get himself killed is he?"

Alan stares into the distance as he considers his options. He grabs his phone and dials as he says to his wife, "I hope not." As the phone connects he says to the person on the other end, "Earl. Alan. Our friend's about to do something stupid."

Hudson road is lined with warehouses. Some are bigger than others but all are old and falling apart even though most are still in use. Max drives slowly down the tree lined street checking each deteriorating building as he goes. They all have signs of life outside. If not smokers gathered at the communal areas then parking lots full of cars, or trucks parked in loading bays.

One warehouse at the far end of the street is markedly different though. It's rusted, ageing and falling apart. Rusted nails let tin cladding fall to the ground leaving bare wooden framing in place of walls. The few parts built with brick are covered in graffiti. All windows are smashed.

The high fenced parking lot is gated and locked so Max pulls his car over and parks on the side of the road. He is dressed casually in a white t-shirt which does nothing to hide his large frame and it begins to show sweat spots - a result of both the heat of the day and his nerves. He hops out of the car and studies the building before him, taking a moment to adjust the revolver he has tucked into his jeans.

"Classy," he says to himself. "Well, stretch the legs."

Max hops through a gap in the chain link fence surrounding the property, avoiding the main entry and massive roller door at the front of the building, preferring to head around the side to find a discreet way in.

Part way down the side of the building he finds a door. It's hanging off one hinge and sits open. The animal waste, feathers and hair around the area show wildlife have been using it for quite some time. He steps around the mess and makes his way into the building as quietly as possible.

Inside, the sun falls through the large holes in the walls and roof flooding the place in clean natural light that seems out of place inside the rotting building. A thick layer of dirt and animal waste covers the entire floor and spreads over the massive machines which were left in place when whatever business was here shut down.

The machines sit as almost ominous reminders of what was once a busy warehouse. Not old enough to have rusted as badly as the weather beaten roofing overhead, they still have a thick layer of grey paint underneath the dirt and grime - the years of lying dormant has had its effect.

And the smell - overwhelming. The wind moves through but only pushes the stale smell of a decaying building in Max's face. He'd gag if it wasn't for his unwavering focus on the impending showdown.

A bird enters through a hole and glides its way to a nest high up in the steel support structure. It beats its wings to a gentle landing and the sound travels across the otherwise quiet warehouse. A trickle of water can be heard while a sound of steel tapping on steel emanates from an unseen source.

Max moves further in.

Chains still hang from pulleys attached to girders on the ceiling. To one side of the main workshop floor are the offices. The two levels of office space cover the back wall, far from the front workshop area. Catwalks work their way along the upper floor and reach down both sides of the ceiling. Max spots a car partially hidden on his angle by machinery. A modern car. No more than five years old. Relatively clean and clearly not one that had been left behind when the business closed. This was the car that had gone unnoticed when the young family spent time on the warm evening at the playground. It had also gone unseen parked outside Alan and Irene's home when Max and Tahlia had joined them for dinner.

Max continues his slow progression through the warehouse. Removing his gun from his belt, he's now fully aware that Heath had told him the truth; he is here. Gun raised, he moves along peering into every corner and behind everything big enough to hide someone.

He continues along for what feels like forever through the eerie decay of the warehouse. The silence in such a large space plays with his ears as he thinks he can hear the scurrying of a person, or rats, in the distance. His heart rate is near maximum and sweat is pouring from his brow.

The quiet of the warehouse is shattered by an explosive sound which almost deafens him and forces him to duck and cover his ears with his hands. The first thing he does is drop his gun and in the panic he can't even think to run so just crouches to the ground hoping he's behind something big. Sparks fly off metal objects around him and part of the concrete floor is ripped up as a volley of bullets penetrates it at speed. A ricocheted piece of burning hot metal, a bullet, hits Max on the side of the head but lacks the force to do damage so bounces off, leaving a small cut. The sound is loud but brief. He looks for the gun, the shooter, his brother, but dares not reveal his own whereabouts.

A voice from an unknown place fills Max's ears. Impassioned. Furious. Full of hatred and anger. "MAX!" Max is shaken from his frozen state and takes what he hopes is cover behind a large machine in case the gun fire starts again. He is scared and can hardly move as his heart races, he yells back to his unseen brother, "What are you doing!?" He receives no response but can hear heavy, running footsteps from the steel catwalks above him.

Max looks around in a panic. Nothing to be seen. He tries to use his phone but the adrenalin and shock has limited his motor skills, his fingers won't work properly. He uses both hands on the phone just to hold it still but can't get a signal anyway. He freezes. Someone is standing over him. He looks up to see the barrel of a machine gun pointed at his head and behind it is Heath's smiling face looking down at him. Max can't bring himself to make eye contact but his quick glance up reveals Heath's clean shaven face with the rest of his head covered in a thick beanie.

Heath doesn't show emotion at this point. "It won't work in here." Max just puts one hand in the air as an act of surrender. Heath repeats himself, "The phone. It won't work in here." Max places the phone on the floor then puts both hands above his head. He wants to tell his brother that Alan is outside calling for back-up but is too scared to talk with a weapon pointed at his face.

"No, no. Keep the phone. You'll need it. Hands down." Max lowers his hands and picks up the phone. "Stand." Max stands but does it slowly so as not to panic his brother. He places the mobile in his pocket.

Heath lowers the gun and says with a smile, "Finally. I've waited years. Come along."

Heath points in a direction and Max walks.

Max finally speaks, "You almost killed a cop."

"You've been suspended."

"I'm on leave. I'm still a cop."

"On top of all my other killings? Won't matter. There's a bigger picture."

"I have a family."

"So did I, once. Hold that thought though." They stop near Heath's car. "Here." Heath says as he calls his brother to a halt.

"You going to kill me too?"

"Not exactly." Heath replies with an evil grin.

Max finally feels able say what he couldn't before, "My partner is outside. Calling for back up."

Heath isn't falling for it, "No, he's not." Heath scoffs but he's agitated now. "Max please don't lie to me. You've played into my game since the start. The clues. The big ones were pretty damn obvious. The things I left for you, saying, 'It's me. I'm here. Come and get me!' The fact I told you exactly where to find me was pretty nice of me. Admit it.

"This isn't about us."

"Yes it is! Every single dead person was to get us together here. Right now."

"You killed a child, brother?"

"No matter. Collateral. I needed you here."

"You could have asked."

Heath laughs.

"Not really. There's more going on. This only works if people believe your life is in danger. Which it is by the way."

"You are going to kill me." It was a statement not a question.

"Kind of. You remember what I asked you a while back? What would I have done to get your attention if you weren't a cop? Would I have killed people? The quick answer is, Yes. But it doesn't matter now because here we are. Here..." Heath puts his gun down and removes his beanie to reveal his close cropped hair matched with his clean shaven face - exactly like Max's. They're a mirror image of each other.

Max finally understands the part he plays in his brother's game. He's horrified.

Heath laughs, "I've done this before. I can do it again. If I could fool everyone when we were kids it'll be easy to fool everyone now."

"What the hell are you doing? We never fooled them. They knew. They just went along with it."

"NO! I was good. I can do it again! I've studied you for years. I know just about every conversation you've had for the last three years."

"You're crazy!"

Heath laughs. "Maybe so but I watched you as a teenager making mistake after mistake in how you lived your life. I watch you now, an adult, making the exact same mistakes."

Max panics. He can't let this happen. His mind is full of a million thoughts. He attacks.

They fight. Punches are thrown. Kicks. Elbows. Knees into stomachs. Their hits are mostly accurate but it's a mess. Neither are specifically trained to fight so they attack each other wildly and without too much thought. They roll on the floor as they kick and punch. Blood soon flows from their faces.

Heath comes out better off and they separate; sizing each other up to see the damage they've done. Breathing heavily as they catch their breath. Both have blood stained faces and bruises starting to grow.

"Surprised? You could always beat me, when we were children."

"I won't let you win."

Heath smirks. "Pull a gun then. Or did I see you drop it before?"

Max reaches behind his back hoping to fool his brother. He acts like a cop, "Heath Bruce Myer, you are under arrest..." Heath puts one hand behind his back as well, like he's also reaching for a gun, "...for multiple counts of murder."

Stand-off.

Max pretends to draw and Heath does the same. Only Heath actually had something behind his back. He throws a spanner hitting Max in the head and knocking him to his knees. Through his blurred vision Max sees Heath moving to the machine gun he placed to the side. Max is up and running - away. Heath reaches his weapon, picks it up and fires as Max rounds a corner and disappears. The gun totting brother takes the opportunity to laugh and change the cartridge. After which he moves slowly through the warehouse - gun raised, ready to fire. Moving forward he sees Max search for, and retrieve, the gun he dropped, then run on. Heath doesn't take a shot but could have.

Heath follows. Moments later, he rounds a corner. He's near the offices at the back of the warehouse. He can see Max crawling out a door with his gun up, scanning for his enemy. Before Max can turn in his direction, Heath jumps behind a giant machine and approaches from another way. His knowledge of the building works in his favour.

Heath pokes his head around a machine to see Max a few metres in front of him, his back to him, walking in the other direction. He steps forward and fires a single bullet into his brother's back. Though not at vital organs. Max falls and drops his gun. He screams in pain as he hits the floor.

Heath stands over his brother once again, "You can't win this time."

He places the gun down and picks Max up by his shirt so they are face to face. He holds him against a pole with a hand around his throat. Max tries to fight but the pain is too much. "I've called the cops," he growls.

"I'll be dead before they get here."

The pain of the bullet in Max's side confirms to him that if they fight again he'll lose badly. He tries a different approach, saying, "This doesn't have to happen."

Heath smiles at his brother, "Max, beg. Beg for your life." The smile turns to a look of contempt as he screams, BEG FOR YOUR LIFE!!!"

Tears stream freely down Max's face. "Heath. Please. Please don't do this."

"I'm sorry brother." Heath almost sounds genuinely saddened by their situation. "It has already happened. I'm already dead and you are going to have a new life."

"No. No. You're about to take my life!"

"No, my dearest brother. I'm about to live your life. You can't keep going on as you have. You don't deserve any of it."

"Heath listen." Max does his best to appeal to Heath's misunderstanding of their childhood as he says, "Whatever you thought happened when we were kids isn't right. We only tried being each other a few times and people knew all along."

Heath screams. "LIAR! We did it all the time when you weren't treating me like I was nothing. When we were friends."

"No. Nobody fell for it."

Heath is defiant. "They did! They all did! Christina..."

"Christina was five!"

Heath slams his brother against the pole he's holding him against. "Shut up! I fooled your friends."

"Only the first time. You know what we did after that? I had a password I'd say to them whenever I'd see them. If I didn't say it, they knew it was you not me."

Heath is devastated. He thinks back and his mouth moves as though he's trying to say something but no words come out. "You're a liar. But that doesn't change when you did that to me."

"What? Did what?"

Heath begins to cry. "Annie Bellow."

Max didn't need Heath to clarify who Annie Bellow is. He only had one female friend as a teen. He asks, "What about her?"

"She was my girlfriend. Don't pretend like you don't remember. You pretended to be me and slept with her."

Max protests again. "What the hell are you talking about? No I didn't!"

"You did! That's rape! You knew that I wouldn't stay with her after that. How could I?"

"I remember, she said you flipped out and yelled at her for no reason and said you never wanted to see her again. She had no idea why."

"You took from me the two girls I loved. I couldn't let you hurt me again. I've haven't loved since - because of you. I hate you."

"Tahlia..."

Heath interrupts. "I will love her though. I will love her so much more than you ever did, or could. Don't worry, I will make her happy again."

"She'll know. They'll all find out."

Heath still allows tears to flow freely down his cheeks, "I hope not, but I'll take care of her and love her and protect her until they do. All I'm doing, you see, is taking out of your life what's ruining it and putting back what it deserves."

"You're insane."

"Max. I want to be somebody. I always did the right thing. I played it right and I'm a nobody. A nothing. I can't be that anymore. I'm more than that. I can be if I'm given a chance. I just need a chance."

"What?"

"I should have done it different. Everything different. I did it wrong Max. Everything was wrong but I can make it right."

"Wrong? Because you were good?"

"No. Wrong because I was weak."

"Heath..."

Heath leans in and almost whispers, "You don't deserve what you have. I do. I am Detective Max Myers, I killed my brother, the serial killer, today."

Max breathes deep and through the pain, he screams. Anchoring one foot on the pole behind him he pushes forward with all the energy he has left. He knocks Heath to the ground and lands on him, throwing punches despite the pain shooting through his body. All Heath can do is hold his arms up to cover his face. As Max covers his brother in punches he's energized by the sound of approaching sirens.

Outside the abandoned warehouse, police cars are arriving and surround the building. A tactical van pulls up. Uniformed cops make their way into surrounding warehouses to clear them out. They'll lock down the street. Earl and Carl arrive.

The tactical unit flows out of the van and fluidly moves toward the locked gate which they quickly open. The narrow side door through which Max accessed the building forces them into single file but not for long and they spread out as they enter after disbursing a round of flash grenades.

Inside, after a quick search, they find a blood soaked and bruised Max standing with his police badge held high above his hand. His white shirt, now torn and red with blood, hanging loose from his body.

At his feet they see Heath lying dead on the ground. A bullet wound to his head brought the horror to an end. Max, tired and sore, looks down with pity at his brother.

Outside in the fenced off parking lot of the abandoned warehouse, Max is lying barely conscious on a stretcher as paramedics wheel him to an ambulance. Earl stands next to it as they load Max in. "Why are you here, Max? This was really stupid." Max turns his head slightly and looks at Earl. Through the bloodied and bruised face, Earl can make out an expression showing the young detective just doesn't care. "Earl. I quit. Let Barry know."

Max lifts his mobile, dialling Tahlia. Her phone rings out and as it connects to voice mail Max rolls his eyes. "Hey. It's me. Just wanted to hear from you. And..." Lost for words he hangs up.

## Chapter 41

Max lies in the hospital bed where he woke after being put under anaesthetic during an emergency operation on his wounds. His cuts and bruises are now bandaged. Tahlia sits beside him, crying. He sits up slowly, painfully.

She's excited by his stirring and jumps up but is gentle as she puts her arms around her injured husband. He winces at the pain and she softens her grip. He slowly, painfully, stands and puts his arms around his wife and kisses her.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. Both teary eyed. "Everything changes now."

"I thought I'd lost you." She says stroking his face.

"So did I." Max smiles, he looks deep into his wife's eyes as though seeing them for the first time. "Things will change for us. From today. I'll do better for you."

He notices Alan and Irene standing at the end of his bed. They smile at him and he smiles back thankful they came after he put them at risk by not telling Alan about the text message. The two detectives shake hands.

## Chapter 42

Max is still sitting in his car listening to the audio recording from his phone that Heath made before he died. As his brother's voice fills his ears he glances out his window for the first time since he began listening to the recording. The cemetery, graves stones surrounding him, weaving their way underneath trees until they meet the high steel and sandstone fence surrounding the graveyard. He can see staff using an excavator to dig a new grave site not far off.

The scene around him is silent as Heath's voice continues to project through his headphones into his ears, "So I find myself sitting here with an amazing view of the end. I can see it from here but I'm still not entirely sure if I will win." Heath's voice takes on a friendlier tone. "I've told you all of this to encourage you in your plan. If I've done my work well, you now have everything you deserve. If not, then you no doubt find yourself in the deepest part of Hell. You may well deserve that even more.

"I should leave you now, my dearest, I hear footsteps downstairs. I think Max is here. If I have won and we now share an incredible bond please destroy this recording. I ask this, for you to break our final link, in the hope that everything that has happened between me sitting here speaking this and you sitting there listening, has all been worth it. I tried so hard to give you the best.

"Of course, if I've failed and my audience is made up of detectives investigating my horrors - I dare you to look over at Max Myer and tell me that after everything I've told you, he deserves the life he has. My brother, if you're listening to this, I love you anyway."

The recording stops.

Max dumps the headphones on the passenger seat, climbs out of his car and walks between the tombstones spread throughout the cemetery. Some are large and bare down on him with images of crosses or angels. Some are small and inscribed with heartfelt words ignored by most who would walk by. He comes upon an area which appears modern. Modest marble stones lay flat and half buried in the freshly mown grass with small plaques dedicated to those six feet below.

He stops by one stone and looks down. The name: Heath Bruce Myer, lifts off the plaque with raised lettering which is accompanied only by his dates of birth and death. Max lets a tear role down his cheek as he speaks to the grass at his feet, "I only wanted you to love me."

He removes the tiny memory card from his phone and holds it between his burned and scarred fingers. He stares at it and thinks over the weight of its contents. He thinks over the truths in the story he just heard himself tell. He says, smiling, to the grass below him, "The press has made me out to be a hero, you know. I did a TV interview about everything. It was pretty scary. Your friends investigated everything and agreed I killed you in self-defence. And you'll never guess what. Alan confessed that Irene gave Tahlia the idea of leaving to teach you a lesson. Apparently during the dinner they got to talking and Irene told Tahlia that she left Alan 'cause he did to her what you did to Tahlia. Funny, hey? I said, 'all's well that ends well'. Wouldn't you agree? You'll be glad, she's happy now. We went away for a couple of weeks. We spent time with mum and dad. Claire too. Everyone is happy. They're relieved.

"I don't know if you fully appreciated what it's like to hold your wife in your arms as you fall asleep and wake with her gentle breath on your neck. I think we're all in a better place. Please don't hate me. Don't worry I'll make you proud."

He places the Micro SD card between his teeth before sucking it into his mouth and swallowing it.

###
