Kyle raised his fist to strike again. He was madman strong and he wanted to punish me, didn’t he? I was such an important character in his fantasy. He was so sick, so insane. I couldn’t believe the things he’d done.
A voice inside screamed, Take him out; find a way!
A second hard punch glanced off the side of my forehead. I had moved just enough to make him miss. I was in a living nightmare. The stainless handle of the ice pick was sticking out of my chest.
I grabbed the hood and collar of Kyle’s windbreaker with one hand, his black hair with the other. I yanked him sideways, got him off me for a moment.
Somehow I managed to get up and pull Kyle with me. We were both grunting, gasping loudly for breath. I felt myself getting weaker. Blood was spreading on my shirt from the wound.
Still, I spun him around and pushed him headfirst right into Kate’s well-organized glass-fronted kitchen cabinet. It shattered on impact. Splinters of glass and wood flew everywhere.
I pulled his head back out of the cabinet, cutting Kyle’s face on nasty shards of the glass. I wanted to hurt him too. For Betsey Cavalierre, for Zachary Taylor and his wife, for all the others he had murdered along the way. So many dead at the hands of this heartless monster. The Mastermind. Kyle Craig.
He screamed, “My eyes! My eyes!” I’d hurt him—finally.
I crunched a looping roundhouse right into Kyle’s forehead. I moved in closer. I hit him again and again, then I held him up so I could hit him some more. I wouldn’t let him go down. I kept body-punching Kyle Craig, body-punishing him. I don’t know where I got the strength. I wanted to keep hitting Kyle, for everything he’d done: the murders, the cruel betrayals, stalking me all this time, the terrible hurt he’d inflicted on my family and on other families like mine.
He was out on his feet, so I finally let him drop to the kitchen floor. I stood over the unconscious body, exhausted, winded, afraid, and in pain. Now what? I felt as if I weren’t myself anymore. Who was I? What was I becoming? What had all the brutal murders I’d seen done to me?
I stepped away from the body crumpled on the floor. The spike of the ice pick was still embedded in my chest. It had to come out. I knew I couldn’t, shouldn’t, do it myself. I needed to get to a hospital. Maybe Dr. Kate McTiernan would take care of me.
I made a phone call. A very important call.
This was just the beginning, wasn’t it? Sure it was.
The Mastermind and I were alone at last. We had so much to talk about. I’d been waiting so long for this, and maybe, so had he.
Chapter 114
IT WAS a hollow feeling to stand over Kyle and realize that I had no idea who he really was. He was an obsessively cruel psychopath, he had been stalking me for years, he had killed so many times, including friends of mine. “You fucking bastard,” I whispered through my teeth.
The first case we had worked on together was a double kidnapping in Washington. I had written a book about it, and Kyle was a character in Along Came a Spider. Later, he cleared the way for me to help in the investigation of a kidnapper-killer who called himself Casanova and who worked in the Research Triangle around the University of North Carolina and Duke. That was when we had first met Kate McTiernan. Kyle kept me close to him after that. He was the one responsible for my getting named as the VICAP liaison between the FBI and the Washington Police Department. I didn’t know why at the time. Now I did.
He was conscious now. A mocking, falsely sympathetic look crossed his face. His eyes leveled me as he spoke. “I know, I know how it hurts. You thought we were close; you thought we were friends.”
I didn’t say anything, just looked into cold eyes. What did I see there? Nothing except for his hatred and disdain. He was incapable of feeling guilt, or especially compassion.
Then Kyle smirked, and I wanted to hit him again. He began to laugh. What was the joke? What did he know? What else had he done?
He started to clap his hands together. “Very good, Alex. You’re still studying me, aren’t you? You should bear in mind, I did beat you every time.”
“Except this time,” I reminded him. “This time you lost.”
“Oh, are you so sure?” he asked. “Are you positive that you have the upper hand, partner? How can you be certain? You can’t be.”
“I’m sure. Partner. I do have a few questions. Clear some things up for me. You know what I want to hear about.”
He continued to smirk. Of course he knew. “North Carolina. You suspected me for a while because I had attended Duke with the Gentleman Caller. Very good, Alex. I knew both him and Casanova. God, did I know them. I killed with them, hunted with them. But you let me off the hook, Detective Cross. Then there were the perfect bank robberies. The Mastermind at work. And, of course, I did kill the lovely Betsey Cavalierre. Great fun. That one’s on you, Alex.”
I stared into those pitiless eyes. My voice came out in a rasp. “Why did you have to hurt her?”
Kyle shrugged indifferently. “That’s how I win the game, by inflicting the most pain imaginable, then watching the torment and suffering. You should see the look in your eyes right now. It’s priceless, a thing of beauty.
“Not that I want any pity, Dr. Cross, but did you ever see me with my shirt off? I’ll answer that question. You haven’t. That’s because of the scars and welts t
here. My father, the great and respected general, the corporate chief executive officer, he beat me for years. He thought I was a very bad boy. And you know what? He was right. Father did know best. His son was a monster. Now, what does that say about him?”
Kyle smiled again. Or was it a grimace? He shut his eyes.