Mimicry, page 14
“So we just sit here and do nothing?” from Amelia.
It wasn’t that simple. Then again, it never was with Mason. As usual, he had just run off into the night with a gun and no plan whatsoever. How was she supposed to help when he was off doing his own thing? Was she even destined to be there at all?
“We’re going,” she finally said.
Confused glances swung between the girls.
“We’re going,” she said again, this time making a move for the door. “As long as we’re discreet, there’s no reason we can’t be there. But we’ll have to park farther down the road. There’s an embankment not too far from the meeting place.”
“You know a lot about this,” Kylie said.
“Yeah, I’ve been there before.”
Nightmarish images flashed in her memory. Had it really been eight years? Had Marvin Wendell really waited this long to carry out his revenge? It seemed impossible for that much time to have passed, but when she looked around at her daughter, it was easy to see where it had all gone. Now they were here to make the same mistakes all over again—for the killer to make his move and for Mason to pay for the consequences of his actions.
“Come on. We have to hurry.” Evie pulled open the door and encouraged them out, all while she dug through her purse for the car keys. Her shaking hands made it harder to pull them apart, but she got there in the end.
She just hoped her nerves wouldn’t fail her tonight.
Chapter Eighty-Three
Mason killed the engine and sat in the car for a few moments. It was pitch-black out here—hard to see a damn thing except for the faint outline of an RV. Wendell’s RV, and no sign of any human being, outline or otherwise. He began to think this was a trick, a hot wave flushing over him as he feared for the safety of his son. Was all this a distraction to pull him away from the city? Was Wendell back in town, killing off what little family he had left?
Just as he reached for the ignition key, something hard slammed into the car door. Mason jumped but tried not to show it. He looked around and finally saw a figure standing far away. The silhouette of an outstretched arm beckoned him toward the edge of the cliff. His heart racing like a greyhound, Mason climbed out of the car, the wind’s whistle turning into a fierce howl. He spotted a large rock on the ground and suspected that was what had hit his Mustang.
“Over heeeere.” The wind carried the voice, slow and eerie.
“I’m coming.”
Mason shielded his eyes with his arm. Fine droplets of rain began to fall from the cracking and clashing clouds above them. It dampened him, cooled him, but it wasn’t going to solve any of his problems. He strolled toward the edge of the cliff, took one glance at his watch, and was relieved to find he had made it with two minutes to spare.
“Over here.”
Mason stood near the drop, doing all he could not to peer over. If history really was due to repeat itself, he knew what was coming and didn’t like it one bit. But if that was what it took to save his wife, he would do what he had to. It was the one thing he could do right.
Two silhouettes joined the scene from behind the RV. It was still dark, and there was very little moonlight to guide them, but it was easy to tell what was happening a few feet away from him. Marvin Wendell was approaching, the lip of a revolver pressed against Diane’s head as he held her like a human shield.
“Mason,” she whimpered, her voice frail and unstable.
“It’s going to be okay,” Mason said.
Wendell laughed. It was a deep, hearty thing that drove spikes of cold ice into the nape of Mason’s neck. “Yes, go ahead and lie to her like you do to everyone else. Because we all know the truth: nothing is fine. None of you are safe. Now, am I right in assuming you brought a gun with you to this little party?”
“No.”
“Are you lying again?” Wendell jerked Diane closer, forcing her to whimper.
“Okay!” Mason said, reaching for his holster.
“Slowly.”
Mason was slow and deliberate, reaching for the Glock with a thumb and one finger. As he pulled it out, he held it up for proof. “There, are you happy?”
“I will be when you toss it off the cliff.”
There was no hesitation. Mason did as he was told.
“Good,” Wendell said. “Now, look by your feet and you’ll find a rope. I’m sure you know how this goes by now. I’m a big fan of repetition—comes with the job, I guess—so tie that thing firmly around your waist, and we’ll see what happens.”
“No,” Mason said, puffing out his chest. “First, you let her go.”
“And give up my bargaining chip? Try again.”
Mason took a deep breath but still found himself suffocating. His fear for Diane’s safety had reached an impossible new height, anxiety riddling his body like a thousand bullets. Slowly, he felt around for the rope. He found it nearby, fixing it around his waist in a Palomar knot. He knew how this was going to end. Diane was going to get tied to the other side, and he would be pushed, leaving him with the choice of killing himself or taking her down with him. It was how it had happened years ago with Amy, only now things were different.
Now, he had already lost.
“There,” he snapped at the killer. “It’s done.”
“Good. You know what’s coming next?”
Mason nodded. Damn right he knew—he was going to die in order to save her.
“But the thing is, I had to make some improvisations.” Wendell pushed Diane onto the ground. She whined as her hands and knees hit the rocky ground. He came toward Mason, the gun now fixed in his direction. Flashes of lightning intermittently lit up his face, the shadows playing tricks to make him look different somehow. More… demonic? “Not everything has gone according to plan, so some things have had to change. This is one of them.”
Mason’s chest heaved up and down as he panted. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about this. Right here, right now.” Wendell leaned in close, whispering in his ear with hot, stinking breath blowing out with every word. “The difference is, Diane and I are going to have a lot of fucking fun, and in the meantime? You can just die.”
Before Mason could react, he felt the heels of both hands strike his chest. Even with his great size, Mason struggled to find his balance. He waved his arms, reaching for nothing as the ground fell out from under him. He fell backward, the edge of the cliff disappearing as the rope, attached to nothing at all, traveled with him. The last thing he saw as he plummeted to his death was the sneering face of a man who looked like Marvin Wendell.
A face he could never forget.
Chapter Eighty-Four
Mason held on as rock and stone scraped the skin off his side. His back jerked with a painful snap as his momentum stopped. The wind pinned him to the side of the cliff, like a butterfly on a collector’s board. He strained to look up, severe agony tearing through most of his aged body as multiple parts of him had been battered against the cliff face.
What he saw was a miracle.
The rope was snagged between two jutted stems of rock. They had somehow pinched it together, holding his weight for God only knew how much longer. Mason swung slightly to his left, placing a foot on a small outcropping to reduce some of the weight. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for exactly—nobody could find him out here. He was only prolonging his inevitable death. Something that had given him his reputation, he guessed.
Diane and I are going to have a lot of fucking fun.
The thought replayed in his mind, his imagination taking him to places he didn’t want to go. Marvin Wendell, creep and killer, making the promise to use and abuse the poor woman. Before finishing her off, no doubt. Mason couldn’t help but envision his wife’s face, those tears streaming down her soft cheeks as she begged for help—pleaded for the sweet relief of a quick death. Anger boiled up inside him at this. He had come here to do the right thing. To accept the mistakes of his past and take his punishment for them. If he had known Diane would suffer anyway, he might have taken a risk or two. Then, he might not be dangling from a cliff for the second time in a single decade.
The rope loosened. Mason heard a crumble above him as he dropped a few more feet, the rope snapping at his back. Debris cracked and rolled, striking his head and shoulder as they rained down on him. The rain grew heavier, making it harder to reach out for grip on the slick rocks. He peered up and found the rope loosening, the outcropping now reduced to one. It was a horrifying thought, knowing one small rock would be the difference between living through this and not—between saving Diane or leaving her to get raped and murdered by a man he had allowed to live.
But that thought alone was worth holding on for.
Chapter Eighty-Five
There was nothing more satisfying than seeing him die.
The killer had watched with great interest after pushing the private eye off the cliff. It had felt so good to have his own hands end the life of the man who had been so damn determined to make him suffer.
Now who’s suffering? he thought with snarky joy.
He turned around on the spot, staring down at a weeping version of the woman he had brought out here. If he were to be completely honest with himself, he found no joy in doing anything to her now. The only rewarding thing about such an act was that it would hurt Mason on an emotional level. Torture him, really. But now that he was dead, was there really any point in continuing? He supposed not, but in the very least, she could die like his own sister had.
The killer stomped forward and grabbed her by the hair. She kicked and screamed like the broken woman she was as he dragged her toward the RV. On the slim chance Mason had informed the police of tonight’s events, the killer had to cut some corners to escape. He began by shoving Diane into the front seat, slamming the door, and walking around to the other side.
That was when he heard the lock.
The dome light shone down on Diane, her smug, tearstained face oozing with pride as she sat back from the door she had just locked. She scurried back, shaking as she smiled. It was an interesting combination, but the killer had no time for this shit.
He tapped on the window with the gun.
“Don’t make me use this,” he said. “Come on, open up.”
Diane hesitated, biting her nails as they rattled between her teeth. She seemed to only be contemplating her options until he pointed the gun right at her to remind her who was in charge. She then quickly unlocked the door and slid back over the seats.
The killer climbed in, soaked through from the rain. He rested the gun on his lap and fed the key into the ignition, enjoying his refuge from the storm. “If you cause me any more problems like that, I’ll only have to kill you quicker.”
Diane sniveled. “You killed him,” she mumbled. “You killed my husband.”
Smiling, the killer turned the RV in the dirt with a great struggle, found the road, then traveled down it slowly and carefully. There was no need to rush now—even if the police were on their way, they’d be coming from a different direction. It was doubtful they’d catch up to him, especially because they would stop when they saw Mason’s car sitting at the crime scene. It was almost a shame they wouldn’t get to see that bastard’s body.
“Where are we going?” Diane asked.
“Somewhere special.”
“Where?”
The killer didn’t answer. He simply looked ahead at the road, biting his lip as he thought he heard… no. Could it really be? It sounded like a car’s engine, roaring like a bull as it drew closer and closer to him. The killer slowed down ever so slightly, quieting his own engine so he could get a chance to hear what else was on the road.
Then it hit them. The air escaped his lungs as something sped into the side of the RV. There was a forceful crash, the glass shattering around him as his body was slung around in the front seat. Beside him, Diane held herself upright by clutching the dash, but even she was flailing like a rag doll. The rear end of the RV was the last part to swing, bringing them to an abrupt stop. He wheezed, shaking off his burning headache as he checked his mirrors. Beside the vehicle was a smaller car—a little silver thing with a Ford badge decorating the hood. He had seen that car before somewhere.
It took him only seconds to remember where.
Chapter Eighty-Six
The cliff ground against his back with long, jutted teeth. Mason pushed away from the face as the wind launched torrents of rain at his cheeks. Far below him, the tide crashed against the rocks. Was it too much to consider letting go? Would the water be deep enough, or was this yet another desperate fantasy to preserve his dignity?
Another rock crumbled. Gravity tugged at him, making his stomach turn inside out. He let out a cry of pain as it jolted him. He closed his eyes, ready to meet his death as he fell. But was he falling? Plummeting? No, there was a different sensation. A tug on the rope around his hips. It burned as the rope chaffed against him, but all this went to the back of his mind as he discovered he was heading in a different direction.
He was going up.
Mason clawed at the rocky cliff face, straining his neck to look up. There was nothing but two pairs of hands working together against his weight. Mason did all he could to help, pulling at outcrops and placing his feet into crevasses for additional grip. As he rose higher, he felt his worries melt away—his deepest shades of fear burning into bright scolds of rage and vengeance. The top of the cliff greeted him with Kylie and Amelia. Never had he been so pleased to see anyone, but now it was no longer about gratitude or survival. There was no case for patience or moral integrity. There were only two things on his mind as the young women rescued him from death’s doorway and helped haul him to his feet.
There was saving Diane—pulling her from the grips of death’s embrace and easing her back into a life of safety and comfort. Mason would take her away from the danger and deliver her to a better world. A world where Marvin Wendell no longer existed. It was safe there, and wasn’t that the least she deserved after years of patience? Sure it was, Mason thought, and it was possible, too. All because there was that one other thing that circled his mind like a shark meandering around its prey, sizing it up as it prepared to strike.
There was revenge.
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Mason ran as fast as his legs would carry him. The wind roared at his back, pushing him closer to his target. Close at his sides were the two young women who had saved his life. That was something he could never forget.
They were halfway along the hill when they saw the RV. Its engine spewed smoke into the air, but it was still grumbling. His old car—now Evie’s car—had crashed into its side. The front of the Explorer was folded up like a mattress. The door was open. Evie was climbing out, her legs unsteady as she reached for stability on the car door.
“Go and get her,” Mason said to the girls.
Kylie began to run in that direction. Amelia stayed nearby. Mason, fearing the worst for the collision that had just transpired, ran along the side of the RV. He had never felt the absence of his sidearm more than he did right now. There was nothing to protect him. Nothing to protect Diane or any of his family who had shown their faces tonight.
The passenger door widened with a croak. An arm revealed itself first, and Mason got ready to defend himself. When the second arm reached out, the person’s face revealed itself in the dim, dark of the night. Mason knew that face—he had woken up beside it more times than he could count. It was the face of an angel, and his heart bled to see her.
“Mason?” Diane said.
He rushed forward, catching her as she fought to slide out of the smashed-up RV. She fell into his chest with a whine of pain. Mason held her upright, holding her so tight he thought he’d never let her go. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. I just smacked my knee in the crash.”
Before Mason could respond, a bloodcurdling scream sang out from the other side of the RV. It was like a siren, high and shrill. Mason felt a wave of heat burn up his skin as he told Diane to stay, then ran around the vehicle.
What he saw would haunt his dreams forever.
Marvin Wendell had slid out of the driver’s side. He was alive, a grim sneer contorting his features as he held Amelia close to him. He held the gun to her head, inching back little by little as if to plan an escape. Evie and Kylie remained at the Explorer, too scared to make a move. Mason didn’t blame them—the thought of another casualty made him quiver with fear.
“Stay back,” Wendell yelled. “Stay the hell back!”
“Easy there,” Mason said. He reached out with one hand, easing in closer and closer, trying to counter each movement his opponent made. “You’re outnumbered, pal. Why don’t you just drop the gun and wait for the police? It’s over.”
Wendell’s gun hand began to shake. He aimed it at Mason, then back at Amelia, whose lip trembled as he held her hostage. She was too young to see things like this. Even at twenty-one, she didn’t deserve to be in this situation. Not now, not ever.
“All right,” Mason said, panicking. “How about you let her go and take me instead? I won’t fight you. Nobody here will call the police on you. Just let the girl go, and you can do whatever you want with me.”
“How about I just shoot you right now?”
The gun turned on him. Gasps came from all around him: Evie, Kylie, and Diane. Time seemed to stand still as Mason waited to be shot. But Wendell only continued to back away, inching closer and closer into the wooded area behind him.
“You can’t,” Mason said. “That’s just not part of the deal.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“But I do. Think about it. If you shoot me and the girl, there are three other people here ready to rush you. If not that, then to call the police. Then I’ll be dead, and you’ll have nothing left to work toward. You’ll live the rest of your life knowing you could have given me a slow death. Don’t tell me that won’t niggle at you.”
