Got Thrills? A Boxed Set (A McCray Collection) (20 page)

Fury returned to the jock’s face as he turned to Michael. “I’d leave now, bitch, and not look back.”

Cecilia watched in horror as John’s hands balled up into fists. His arms shook as he backed up a step, like a snorting bull getting ready to take out the matador. She grabbed Michael’s arm.

“Come on.”

Michael stood his ground, though, clinging to his only weapon—the lamp they had stolen from a room. “Go.”

But she couldn’t leave him here. She knew exactly how she would feel if she found Michael like she had Helen. Slashed and crucified. “No.”

“Damn it, go!” Michael yelled, as John charged forward.

Seeing the whites of John’s eyes, Cecilia nearly balked. She would never know whether she would have stood her ground, since the floor beneath them cracked. Then the hallway between them and John exploded. Cecilia’s hands flew up to protect her face as chunks of wood rushed past them.

Smoke stung her eyes as a ring of fire rose from the edge of the hole. Heat shimmered, distorting John’s already tangled features. His chest rose and fell as he prepared to make the leap across.

Michael snatched her hand. “We’ve got to jump.”

“No!” Cecilia cried, unwilling to face that wall of flame.

“That’s the stage level down there. We’ve got to.”

Choking on the smoke, Cecilia felt panic rise. They couldn’t go back the way they came—not unless they wanted to run across the glass and nails. And she couldn’t draw John back to Frannie and the others.

Finally, Cecilia nodded.

Michael counted down. “One. Two…”

Cecilia was prepared when Michael leapt long before he said three. Instead of being terrified, though, Cecilia was struck by the beauty of it all. The flames flickered as they passed, as if they were being reborn in fire. Air caught her dress, making it flap, as it would from a warm summer breeze. And for the first time in a while, things were actually light enough for her to see.

Of course, then they hit the next level, really, really hard. Her ankle buckled and she banged her elbow, but considering they were falling through fire with a serial killer on their tail, it wasn’t all that bad.

Michael staggered up, seemingly a little dazed. A bright gash seeped on his forehead. But Cecilia was more concerned as she looked up to find John framed in flame.

She grabbed Michael’s wrist and tugged at him. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

As they fled down the hallway, Cecilia risked a glance over her shoulder. Just as they turned the corner, a large figure jumped down, hitting the floor hard.

Michael listed to the side as she tried to get him to pick up speed.

With Michael injured, could they outrun death?

* * *

Ruth coughed, still pointing toward the exit. “You have got to get them out in an orderly fashion,” she said to the security chief. “We do not want anyone trampled. The fire is still contained—”

Another explosion rocked the building—this time on their side of the room. The chandelier above swayed precariously.

Diana Dahmer rushed from his dressing room. “Get us out of here!”

Paxton put a hand on the singer’s still-naked chest. “We are getting the kids out first.”

“Bull—”

Another bomb exploded, this time right behind the dressing rooms. The band poured out of the room as smoke billowed. Ruth looked to her right. That, too, was aflame. She couldn’t see if the security chief had survived the blast, or even if the exit was still accessible.

“This way!” Paxton ordered.

The path he suggested moved them deeper into the mansion, but there was no other direction to head toward, which worried Ruth. Those weren’t random explosions. They were timed. Synchronized. And now they had to wonder when the next one would strike.

One of the band members tripped and skidded out on the floor.

Without breaking stride, she hauled him up by the back of his black crushed velvet jacket. “Move it!”

“I can see a light ahead!” Paxton called out, as they all rushed forward.

“Watch out!” Ruth yelled, as she saw a figure round the corner.

In horrible slow motion, she watched Paxton pull his weapon.

* * *

Cecilia didn’t see who was wielding the gun—only its bright, shiny barrel. She tried to stop, but Michael was right behind her, and his legs had finally kicked in.

She heard someone yell, “No!”

Careening around the corner, Cecilia ran headlong into the figure, who
oomphed
loudly. He kept his feet, but barely. Her face buried in his shirt, Cecilia smelled pretzels and whiskey.

Cecilia looked up. “Uncle Paxton?”

His brow furrowed in surprise. “Cecilia?”

“Uncle Pax!” she screamed, heedless of the group gathered round. She opened her arms and hugged her uncle.

It took a second, but he hugged her back. Paxton felt solid and real. And while the gun had scared her, Uncle Pax came bearing weapons. God, she had never loved him more than she did right now.

“Cec, where’s Jeremy?”

A woman stepped forward. “And Evan?”

“I don’t know. They should be at Evan’s.”

The woman’s face clouded over.
Didn’t Cecilia recognize her?
Ruth thought.

Was that Evan’s mom? Uncle Paxton’s partner? Cecilia asked herself.

She swung around to Michael. “I thought Jeremy wasn’t here?”

Before he could answer, another explosion rocked the mansion.

Paxton urged her back the way they had come. “Let’s get somewhere safe and discuss it.”

“No,” Cecilia said. “The killer’s that way.”

“Great, just great,” her uncle grumbled the way he always did.

She tried to urge him back down the way his party had come. “We’ve got to go this way.”

But Evan’s mom, Ruth—Ruth was her name—blocked her way. “The bulk of the fire is that way.”

Paxton pointed toward a side hallway. “Down here.”

Cecilia followed her uncle, and Michael was right behind her. Quickly, they found themselves at a dead end. Ruth and Paxton both checked their weapons, making sure they were loaded.

“Brilliant. Now we are trapped,” one of the group said.

“
Der
, Eyeliner Man,” Paxton shot back.

The shirtless man scoffed. “Glad to see our tax dollars are going to such good use.”

Even more bizarre than finding her Uncle Paxton here, Cecilia realized, was that Diana Dahmer was with his group. The goth king paced as his bandmates grumbled. She wanted to say something, but what could she say? It was surreal.

The flames, though? The heat? The killer? Those were all real.

Paxton opened a side door and swung his flashlight around the room.

“It’s clear. Everyone in.”

Even though her uncle held the door open for her, the band brushed Cecilia aside, and Dahmer himself elbowed her out of the way. But a lack of manners was the last thing on her mind as Michael escorted her into the room. He looked stronger, but he still had a sway to his step that Cecilia didn’t like.

Once the door was shut behind them and Ruth was guarding it, her uncle turned to her.

“You said the killer was deeper in the mansion?” Paxton asked her.

“He wasn’t far behind us,” Cecilia said.

Ruth asked from the door, “Could you identify him?”

Cecilia looked at Michael, who nodded. “Yes. I mean, we think so.”

Michael pressed his palm against his forehead wound as he stepped forward. “It is John Rampart.”

Cecilia squirmed, almost embarrassed to speak in front of her uncle. “We, Michael and I, caught him… Well, with a girl… And they both had blood and—”

“Is he Catholic?” Ruth asked.

“All-American altar boy,” Michael answered.

A look passed between the adults. Cecilia had seen that look before. When they knew something the adults didn’t want to “kids” to know. Like when her dad was diagnosed with cancer, or when her mom had lost her job for being out on too many “sick” days.

“What? What is it?”

Neither adult looked inclined to tell her, though.

“My best friend is dead, we’ve got three others injured in a room upstairs, and Quentin is missing,” Cecilia said, stepping closer to her uncle. “You can’t spare me, shield me, or protect me, Uncle Pax. So, just tell me already.”

More looks passed between the adults. Then, strangely, Ruth tossed her phone to Michael. “Look up everyone’s names.”

“I don’t understand,” Cecilia said as Michael flipped through the pages of a book on the detective’s phone.

“Me, either,” Paxton said as he turned to his partner. “What are you thinking?”

Ruth paused, cracked open the door, and surveyed the hallway before answering, “I thought we might be a tad more prepared if we knew
how
the perp was planning on killing us.”

Paxton just nodded, but Cecilia was still confused.

“I don’t get it.”

Her uncle turned to her. “The killer is selecting people based on the names of the saints.”

Oh, God! Helen. What had Sister Sarah said during catechism class? Saint Helen had died upon the crucifix. And Saint Paula had her fingernails pulled and her hair shorn.

“And killing them in the same manner,” Cecilia concluded.

* * *

Paxton nodded sadly. “I am afraid so.”

Cecilia had been through so much already. She shouldn’t have to carry the burden for this as well, but how could he avoid telling her? She was right. Like or not, she was deep in all of this.

He indicated the phone. “Ruth downloaded the Vatican’s
Guide to the Saints
.”

Diana Dahmer snatched the phone from Michael. “Let me see that.” Paxton tried to grab it back, but the sweaty singer slipped through his grasp. The band members converged around Dahmer.

Fine. Let them have it. Paxton had other problems. Like how to avoid being fried to death—and a maniac with a fascination for martyrs.

“Ha! I’m not in here!” Dahmer exclaimed.

Another band member shoved his way forward. “What about me?”

“Okay, Pancreas…” Dahmer said as he scrolled through the names.

“Pancreas?” Paxton could not help but ask. “Your name is Pancreas?”

“What?” the guy wearing purple lace Spandex said. “It’s the most important digestive organ in the body.”

Okay, that did not really answer Paxton’s question, but Dahmer’s face blanched.

“Oh, man… Panc, you get torn limb from limb.”

Another band member elbowed his way closer to Dahmer. “What about me?”

“Sixtus,” Dahmer murmured as he looked.

“No way! I’m next in the alphabet!” another band member argued.

“Fine,” Dahmer said. “Rage it is.”

Paxton rolled his eyes. These weren’t names—they were marketing ploys.

Dahmer shook his head. “There’s no Rage.” The shorter band member looked relieved until Dahmer followed up. “Wait, there’s a Ragener.”

Everyone looked at Ruth, who was watching the door. She glanced back. “Anglo derivations do seem to be fair game.”

“Oh, man! What’s my way?” Rage asked.

“It doesn’t say, except for an ‘extremely violent and painful death.’ ”

Rage leaned forward, grabbing his head in his hands. He rocked back and forth, moaning. Paxton was pretty damn sure the Stones would have taken this news way better.

“Come on, get to S,” the last band member insisted.

“Hold on, hold on.” Dahmer urged as he scrolled down. “Here it is. Six, or Sixtus.”

“Yes!” Sixtus stated, his eyes nervously trying to read over Dahmer’s shoulder. “What’s it say?”

Dahmer looked uncharacteristically somber. “Dude. You get run through by a dozen swords.”

“No f—ing way!” Six shouted as he backed away and ran into the wall, although he didn’t seem to notice.

Paxton snorted. That’s what they got for picking such idiotic names.

Ruth said from the door, “Diana, you had better check under your real name. He might be going off of that.”

The singer looked insulted, however. “Diana Dahmer is who I am.”

Paxton smacked the guy on the back of the head. “Your
legal
name, you moron!”

“I… I don’t…”

“Julian,” Michael stated. “Julian is his given name.”

His secret outed, Dahmer—Paxton meant Julian—found his name. His lips opened, then shut. The phone slipped through his fingers. Only with quick reflexes did Michael catch it before it hit the ground.

The boy read from the screen. “Julian. Beheaded with a dull sword.”

The lead singer sank to the floor.

Okay, maybe Mick would have had the same response.

* * *

Cecilia hit the screen icon for the M category.

“No, I wanted to look you up,” Michael argued, but Cecilia was determined. She had to know.

She scrolled up, and then down. “There’s no Michael!”

Ruth shook her head. “No, Michael is an archangel. If the killer’s MO doesn’t change, you should be okay.”

Cecilia hugged Michael. “You’re safe!”

While he returned her hug, his frown remained. “We just better hope Maggie didn’t come to the concert…”

Cecilia read the entry next to Saint Margaret. “Eaten by a dragon and burned at the stake.

“A dragon?” Paxton questioned. He turned to Ruth as she shut the door. “How in the hell was he going to simulate a dragon?”

Ruth frowned. “How in the hell has he done what he has already?”

“Granted, our suspect is an altar boy, but it is one thing to kill one person at a time. It would give him time to prepare. But this? This is a whole other level of execution, so to speak.”

“And isn’t he a jock?” Ruth asked Cecilia.

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “He’s captain of the football team.”

She watched her uncle pace the floor. Her heart sank as the adults frowned. Cecilia had pinned her hopes on the adults, and especially two cops, knowing what to do next. That somehow they could make sense of all the pain.

But looking into her uncle’s face, Cecilia knew that no could ever make sense of what happened here.

* * *

What the hell was going on?
Paxton worried. Nothing had really added up since they had been assigned to the priest’s murder. Now, running around a burning mansion, hauling Diana Dahmer around, finding his niece, things were even more out of whack.