Watch Them Die, page 1
part #2 of Morgan Young Series
Copyright © 2019 by Papyrus Publishing.
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Watch Them Die
(Morgan Young 2)
Adam Nicholls
Contents
Watch Them Die
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Also by Adam Nicholls
Don’t You Dare
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Afterword
Subscribe
About the Author
Watch Them Die
Chapter One
The killer stood beside his victim, facing the water. It was the coldest night of the year, and he felt it in the wind; it brushed across the surface of the Potomac River and assaulted his cheeks. He closed his eyes against the freezing air, breathing slowly through blocked sinuses. It soothed him, easing his nerves while he prepared to take a life.
When the breeze lowered and the wind’s whistle dimmed into nothingness, the killer turned his attention back to his victim. He crouched down, resting his hands on his knees as he stared into the driver’s side window. Even at this time of night, he could see the paralyzing fear in his victim’s eyes. He would probably have heard it too, had he not taken the time to apply duct tape to the guy’s mouth. That same roll of duct tape had already served its other purpose: to bind his hands to the steering wheel, securing him in place.
“It’s getting kind of cold, huh?” The killer knew he couldn’t answer. In fact, he depended on it. His burning desire for this moment had been haunting him for a while now, and he’d gone to great lengths to create the opportunity. “But I bet it’s even colder in that water.”
Pushing up from his knees, he stood and stalked around the vehicle, the cold wind picking back up and assaulting his already dry skin. He felt it in his hair, brushing it back toward its natural direction of growth. A younger version of himself would’ve caught a glimpse of it in his reflection and stopped to tidy it, but such things didn’t bother him anymore. Not as the person he’d become. The only thing he gave a damn about now was getting the job done, and that would never happen if vanity had anything to say about it.
Wasting no more time, he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, leaning on his side to study his victim. Those cold, pleading eyes begged forgiveness. His hands—although securely fastened to the wheel—trembled under the thin light that shone from the dockside lamps on the corner of the faraway building. The man before him was completely helpless, which was everything he deserved and more.
“See,” the killer said, the air whispering through the open door and up the back of his shirt, “being young and reckless isn’t always as fun as you think it is. Sure, it is at the time, but the problem with you guys is that you don’t understand consequence. When I was young—and that probably seems like a long time ago to you, but I’m only forty—we were punished for all sorts of things: stealing milk from front porches, trashing tree houses the other kids had made. No matter how small it seemed, consequence was waiting for us. It helped keep us straight. It made us behave. But you don’t have that problem, do you? Personally, I blame the internet. It’s given you some misguided claim to immunity. I mean, you’re safe behind your computer screen, right?”
His victim nodded, but he wasn’t really the victim in this situation, and the killer knew it. Watching him now, tears seeping from his dark little eyes, only reminded him of why they were there. The memory was accompanied by anger. That anger grew and grew until it was ready to explode inside his head. It was all he could do not to strangle the life out of him right there and then, putting an end to this once and for all.
But that would be too quick.
Too merciless.
And there was a plan to stick to.
“Well, guess what?” the killer continued. He turned to face the rippling waves at the end of the boat slip. “Today you’re going to accept the consequences of your actions, and it’s not going to be pleasant. Tell me, do you think about them late at night, in your most personal moments? Do they even cross your mind? I was watching you long before I made contact, and if I had to guess, I’d say you didn’t pay a single thought toward them.”
The killer knew the man couldn’t reply, and that was exactly what he’d longed for. He’d dreamed of this moment over and over, preparing what he’d say when he finally got everything in order. But now that he was here, that rehearsed speech felt stale and meaningless. Now, there was nothing but the true words that fell seamlessly from his lips, straight from the heart. It was the most honest he’d ever been.
“You can’t answer, but I wouldn’t be interested even if you could.” The killer reached back toward the door, kicked it open, and climbed out, feeling the fight of his age and recent diet: fast food and alcohol, when and where he could find it. He shut the door behind him and wondered why he’d bothered as he returned to the driver’s side, leaning far into the window and gripping the handbrake. With his hand wrapped around it, he tilted his head at a slight angle and stared deep into the desperate eyes of the man he was about to murder. “I…”
What was it he’d wanted to say? The killer felt a pressing urge to further his speech, to try to make him understand. A selection of words circled in front of his eyes—revenge, deserve, comeuppance—but what was the point? What could he really say to make this man understand what he’d done wrong? Even if he could, what would be the point? It wouldn’t bring them back, and he wasn’t about to try. Instead, there was only revenge.
“Ah, forget it. You’re not worth it.”
The killer said no more. He thumbed the button and lowered the lever, releasing the emergency brakes. As the man inside sobbed into the duct tape and uttered a muffled howl, the killer quickly stepped back. He watched with morbid satisfaction as the car rolled down the slip toward the water, smoothly floating onto it like a boat. Water rushed inside, and with every drop, the killer felt justice ease his headache. He watched as the river consumed the car, the man inside finally claimed by his watery grave.
It was over.
There was only silence.
Enjoying one last moment, the killer took a deep breath of the cold night air and enjoyed the tranquility. He pictured his victim’s face, water filling his lungs as he desperately tried to wiggle free, his lungs collapsing under the pressure. Under the hopelessness.
It was perfect.
Turning now, the killer hurried away from the boat slip, exiting the yard with a surprising lack of satisfaction. The hole he’d expected to fill was still nothing more than a painful vacant lot, but that was fine. If he could turn back time, he’d have done it all over again. Why? Because it was right. Just like it would be right when he got to his next victims, during which he was certain he’d feel the same way.
After all, each and every one of them deserved it.
Chapter Two
The vacation was supposed to be a chance to relax, unwind, and hit the reset button. The whole purpose was to return with a new lease on life, as if the dark crimes of Washington had never tainted his soul, but Morgan had not made it to the airport’s exit doors before trouble came for him once more. It was as if he’d never left.
He was yet to know what the problem was exactly, but as he hauled a large suitcase out of the arrivals section and found Detective Gary Lee waiting for him, he knew something was amiss. Even Rachel, Morgan’s wife, who’d enjoyed the Maldives vacation just as much, gasped with surprise. A visit from Gary was never a good thing if he wasn’t smiling.
He wasn’t.
Morgan steeled himself for bad news. As a private investigator, work could come calling at any time. He just hadn’t expected it to be waiting for him the moment he hit US soil. Hell, he didn’t even have an office at the moment anyway; when the work had slowed down, he’d decided to close up shop and set it up at home instead, but over time the spare room had become a dusty old box room, and neither he nor Rachel had mentioned it since. Morgan suspected this was due to his own embarrassment. Another reason he loved his wife.
As prepared as he could be, he dragged the suitcase toward Gary, keeping Rachel close to his side. The solemn look on Gary’s tired face told him all he needed to know. “Let me guess, the Homicide Department has hit a snag, and they need a PI who has nothing better to do.”
Gary shook his head, his expression unchanged. “You wish.”
The tone in his voice struck a nerve. Morgan recoiled, all hopes of a pleasant exchange diving out the window in a matter of seconds. Even Rachel stepped back, pulled her own rucksack farther up her shoulder, and announced she’d go find the car. Morgan nodded and took note, but his eyes were fixed on Gary’s.
When they were left alone, Gary raised a hand and clamped it on Morgan’s shoulder. His chest heaved up and down, as if to exhale a heavy burden. This definitely wasn’t going to be good news. “Let’s get some air.”
The idea was music to Morgan’s ears, and although he dreaded the coming news, he couldn’t wait to get outside and suck up some of that thick Washington smog. While they marched in silence toward the exit, he wondered what could possibly be wrong. Was there another murder spree? Had the DC Carver broken out of prison to take his revenge on Morgan, the man who’d put him away in the first place? Anything was possible, making this short walk to the outside a long, tedious journey. It didn’t help that the suitcase weighed a ton.
Eventually the time did come. They passed through the automatic doors and took a left, pulling to one side where two smokers stood around an ashtray and talked too loud about their recent trip. Morgan passed by them and stopped the suitcase, leaning on the raised handle while he addressed the situation head-on. “What’s this about?”
With the same frown he’d worn inside, Gary raked a hand through his hair and made eye contact. He pursed his thin lips, cleared his throat, and finally spoke. “There’s no easy way to say this, so here goes: your cousin died while you were away.”
The news hit him like a brick. Morgan only had one cousin—Dylan “Dusty” Young, a nice guy who attracted bad news. Having spent the first ten or twelve years of their lives inseparable, there was a bond that should never have been broken. It wasn’t until Dusty’s mother—Morgan’s least favorite aunt—announced they were moving away that they had to say goodbye. Since then, they’d only been able to keep in touch over the phone, and although they’d both tried their best to maintain that friendship, it’d withered away over the many years. People changed and friends drifted. They both understood this, and it had never turned sour.
But now their time had come to an end, and Morgan felt the clean spirit of his vacation being sucked away like water down a drain. It was like he’d never left. “What happened?”
“That’s the worst part. He was murdered.”
There was stab number two. Morgan didn’t realize he was falling back until his spine hit the brick wall behind him. Had it not been there, he was sure to have hit the ground. “Murdered? Who the hell would want to hurt Dusty Young?”
Gary kept to himself, not rushing forward or crowding his best friend. Morgan recognized that effort and appreciated it, but it didn’t do much for his mood. “Don’t worry about that. I’m working on the case right now, just like you did for me not so long ago. All you need to do is attend the funeral. Provided you want to?”
“Sure I do,” Morgan said eagerly, but as he parted with the words, he saw glimpses of his distant family. He pictured them all gathered in a large, dull room, the conversation dying the moment he stepped inside. All eyes were on him, and the sweat soaked his collar. How was he supposed to stay in a room with them after all these years? They were distant family for a reason, but Morgan knew it wasn’t about him, them, or their relationship; it was about his cousin and old friend Dusty Young, who’d been killed for reasons Morgan had yet to learn.
“You okay?” Gary asked.
“I’m fine,” he lied. “You going to tell me what happened?”
“How about you get settled, and I’ll explain at the funeral tomorrow?”
Morgan nodded, staring vacantly at the ground. “But how do you know about this?”
“Homicide.” Gary opened his suit jacket and flashed his badge. “That, and your Aunt Gladys called me personally.”
“I’ll bet that was fun.” Morgan’s Aunt Gladys was a piece of work. After many years of no communication, she’d spent her lonely hours filling her son’s head—Dusty’s head—with lies about why they had to leave DC. She’d blamed the neighborhood and Morgan’s bad influence, rather than confessing to her inability to hold down a relationship, much less a job. Morgan had refused to react, deciding to keep to himself and avoid the toxicity of an altercation. He’d been happier this way. Until now. “What did she say?”
“Just that she wanted me to invite you to the ceremony.”
“She didn’t want to talk with me personally?”
“Does that surprise you?”
Morgan smiled, but he didn’t know how genuine it was. “Not much.” He sighed. “All right. Thanks for coming down here to tell me. I’d better find Rachel and head home. Maybe I’ll make a stop along the way to pick up a black tie.”
“Good idea. Keep your chin up, pal. And stay out of this one.”
They exchanged a weak, brief hug and parted ways. Morgan dragged the suitcase around the exterior of the building toward the parking lot with a gray cloud following above him. All he could think about was Dusty’s young, playful smile, and Gary’s words repeated in his mind like a broken record: “Stay out of this one.”
But how was he supposed to?
His cousin had just been murdered, and Morgan couldn’t just let that slide.
Chapter Three
The funeral had been normal, as far as funerals went. There was a priest and a lot of crying and hugging, and everyone wore black. Morgan had stood at the back throughout the ceremony, keeping quiet with Rachel’s arm looped around his, saying nothing except “I’m sorry for your loss” to those who passed.
Not that it did him any favors—Morgan’s cousins, aunties, and uncles all scowled as if he’d wronged them somehow, to which Rachel frowned. He’d tried to explain that these weren’t grateful, caring, or loving people, and judging by the cold stares exchanged by each of them, they didn’t want kind words.
They only wanted their loved one back.
But Dusty wasn’t coming back. Morgan was yet to know why, but somebody had taken it upon themselves to end his life. From the little he’d heard from Gary, the killer had gone to great lengths to ensure that Dusty suffered, but the greatest question was why?
Morgan had no clue, but he was determined to find out.
It wasn’t until the wake that Gary approached him. Morgan had been sitting at the corner table, eager to reconnect with his family but reminding himself that the toxicity of it was far too hot. He’d spent a lifetime convincing himself he was better off without them, and even something as simple as starting a little small talk would be akin to stripping his armor and making himself vulnerable. Instead, he sat with his hands wrapped around an empty glass, regretting having asked Rachel to leave him to his grief. It only made him more grateful when Gary slid a whiskey glass across the table and heaved himself onto the stool across from him. He leaned in and clinked his own glass against it, then knocked it back before Morgan could even take a sip.
