Let Her Run, page 15
He couldn't waste his own life not doing what he was born to do.
"Exterminate them before they can exterminate others," he muttered to himself, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. The words had become both a mantra and a curse, driving him forward into the abyss.
The truck slowed as he approached the next house on his list.
"Your time has come," he whispered, a wicked smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You won't hurt my friends any longer."
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
The fading day cast long shadows across the cluttered garage. Fiona stood at the entrance of Harrison Greene's makeshift office, taking in every detail. The garage, tucked under the derelict apartment building he apparently called home, was left surprisingly open for someone who had so much to hide.
She took a breath. Maybe Harrison was in there, working. The thought of coming face-to-face with him alone made her heart race with fear, but she had to see this through. Jake was supposed to meet her here, but there was no sign of him yet. Her partner's absence weighed heavily on her mind as she ventured further into the dimly lit garage.
Inside, it was empty. No sign of Harrison or his vehicle. But there were plenty of tools and a workbench cluttered with papers. Not exactly an organized office space.
She glanced over her shoulder as though Harrison would suddenly appear out of thin air. But there was no sign of life, and she couldn't waste any time. Fiona dove at Harrison's desk and rifled through stacks of paperwork scattered across the grimy surface. And then she found it—records of all the people Harrison had gone to give quotes to.
With shaking hands, she dialed Jake's number.
"Jake, I found something," she breathed out.
"Red--there's been an accident, and I'm stuck behind it," came his harried reply. "What did you find?"
"Records, names, addresses—it could be everything we need to find his next victim before he kills again." Fiona's voice hitched in her throat as the gravity of their situation settled upon her. "But which one, Jake? We've got to figure this out."
"Alright, read them off to me," Jake said. The sound of sirens wailed in the background, punctuating the urgency of their task.
Panicking, Fiona said, "Um... Helene Smith... it says she called him a month ago... he went and moved a nest for her."
"He never actually does the jobs for the victims, right?" Jake said. "We're probably looking for people who he just gave quotes to."
"Right," Fiona said.
"Okay, here's another one – James Evans. He called for a quote on termite control about two weeks ago. And then there's Emily Nguyen, she called in for a quote on spider removal just last week... and John Hopper, which he did a quote for... today?"
Fiona's heart sank.
"For a wasp nest removal," she said. Two of the victims had called about nests.
They had three names, each accompanied by an address etched in the killer's hand.
"Red, I need you to wait for me," Jake insisted, his voice tense with worry. "I'll call for backup as soon as I'm out of this mess."
But Fiona's eyes were drawn to one address, just a few blocks away from where she stood. The darkness creeping in around her only heightened the sense of urgency gnawing at her gut.
"Jake, I can't just sit here. One of the addresses is close by—I can go alone," she said, determination steeling her voice. "John Hopper. He's only a few minutes away."
"Damn it, Red…" Jake sighed, "It's too dangerous. At least wait for the cops."
"Call them in now," Fiona said, already turning toward the exit. "I have to go there, Jake. What if he's there right now? He's not here!"
"Fine, but just--just don't do anything reckless, okay?"
Fiona hung up and took a deep breath, her fingers still trembling. She couldn't believe they were so close to catching him. But their victory would be short-lived if they didn't move fast.
She bolted out of the garage, feeling a sense of urgency prickling at her skin. She had to get to John Hopper's house before Harrison did.
***
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched across the quiet suburban street. Fiona parked her car outside John Hopkins' house, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as the weight of responsibility settled on her shoulders. She had to be right about this.
"Come on, Red," she whispered to herself, taking a deep breath before stepping out into the fading light. Her shoes crunched on the gravel driveway, echoing through the still evening air.
She approached the front door, heart racing, and knocked firmly. It creaked open, revealing a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and tired eyes. For a moment, doubt crept into Fiona's mind—had she made a mistake?
"Hi there," she began, flashing her FBI lanyard. "I'm Fiona Red, a forensic analyst with the FBI. I'm investigating a case involving pest control services, and your address came up. I understand you received a quote from Bug Hero today?"
"Uh, yeah, earlier," John said. "Really weird guy, to be honest. Refused to do the work for me, so I've had to call some other places for quotes."
"Is the nest still out back?" Fiona asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Sure is, no thanks to that guy," John said.
"If you could please show me it, that would be helpful," Fiona said. She wanted to see it for herself, to determine the position of it and see if Harrison might have viewed John as a possible victim. Just because he wasn't here now didn't mean he wasn't going to come.
John led her around the side of the house to the backyard, where the back porchlight ticked on.
"It's here, behind the shed," John said, leading Fiona toward the back of the yard.
As they walked, Fiona's eyes scanned the area, looking for any signs of Harrison. But the yard was empty, save for a few lawn chairs and a rusted swing set. They reached the shed, and John pointed to a wasp nest hanging from a tree limb.
"That's it, right there," he said. "I was going to call someone to get rid of it, but now I don't even want to deal with it."
Fiona nodded, her eyes still scanning the area. She felt uneasy, as though they were being watched.
Suddenly, the ring of a phone cut through the quiet evening from inside the house. John glanced back toward the house with a start. "Sorry, that might be my wife. She's out with the kids. Do you mind if I take that?"
"Of course, go ahead," Fiona said, keeping her eyes trained on the nest. As the man hurried back inside, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the brink of something important – or dangerous.
Please let this be the right guy, she thought, her heart pounding in her ears. We can't afford to be wrong.
Even if John wasn't the target, Harrison had to be the killer. They'd wasted too much time on other leads.
As she contemplated the implications, her gaze instinctively flicked back towards the house. The homeowner had disappeared inside, eager to answer the phone call that might have been his wife. Fiona knew she couldn't afford to waste any time, especially if they were about to apprehend the killer.
Just then, she caught a glimpse of movement through the window.
Her breath hitched as she saw a man stealthily approach the homeowner from behind.
A blood-chilling realization washed over her
This was the killer.
And he was inside John's house.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
The neon lights of Portland blurred past Jake's car as he tore through the night, finally free from that damn traffic jam. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white against the black leather.
He had tried calling Fiona several times, but she hadn't answered.
The frustration gnawing at him intensified.
"Dammit, Red," he muttered under his breath, hitting the redial button once more.
His heart hammered in his chest as the phone rang unanswered. He knew she had been investigating a potential victim, John Hopper, and that she'd gone alone. Jake had called the police to the addresses Fiona had given him, but there was no way of knowing if they had arrived yet.
The thought of her alone with a possible killer sent a cold shiver down his spine. He shook his head, trying to dispel the image. "Come on, Fiona, pick up!" he growled as the call went to voicemail again.
Realizing that waiting was no longer an option, Jake made a quick decision--he set his course for John Hopper's house. His foot pressed harder on the accelerator, urging the car to move faster, even as his mind raced with thoughts of what might be happening to Fiona.
As he weaved hastily through the traffic, the streets grew darker and less inviting as he approached John Hopper's neighborhood. Shadows clung to every corner, hiding secrets and threats alike. The tension in Jake's body increased with every block he passed, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders.
His heart ached at the possibility of Fiona being in danger. He'd almost lost her before, and he couldn't stand the idea of it.
As much as he tried to dispel the images, he could still feel the warmth of her lips from their single, stolen kiss, a moment of vulnerability that had caught them both off guard. He knew pursuing a romantic relationship with her would be a bad idea. She was right on that. And Jake had a history of being non-committal too. He hated the idea of hurting Fiona. More than that, he hated the idea of her getting hurt by some sick freak. He focused on the road ahead. The car's engine roared as he pressed harder on the accelerator, ducking and weaving through the increasingly sparse traffic. His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline surging through his veins.
As each mile blurred past, Jake's thoughts raced along with them. If Fiona was right, she could be facing the murderer alone at that very moment.
He took a deep, steadying breath, and the knot of panic in his chest loosened ever so slightly. The air tasted like gasoline and damp asphalt, a bitter reminder of the city's darker side. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders like a heavy cloak, but he refused to let it slow him down. If anything, it only made him more determined.
"Almost there," Jake muttered, gripping the wheel harder as he turned onto John Hopper's street.
***
Fiona's heart thundered in her chest as she pushed open the door to John Hopper's house. The dimly lit interior seemed to swallow her whole, a void of darkness punctuated by ominous shadows. She had seen Harrison—the killer—lurking behind John through the window, and her instincts screamed at her to act. Now.
"John!" she cried out, her voice grating her throat. A sickening crunch echoed through the room, and Fiona's breath caught in her throat. She turned the corner into the kitchen and found Harrison shoving a spray wand down John's throat, his eyes wide with terror.
"Stop!" Fiona yelled, launching herself at Harrison. Her limbs felt like lead, but she managed to grab a pan from the counter and slam it against the back of his head. The impact reverberated up her arm, leaving her fingers tingling.
John sputtered and coughed, his body crumpling to the floor like a discarded ragdoll. Fiona's stomach churned, uncertain if he was dead or alive, but there was no time to check. Harrison roared in anger, recovering faster than she'd anticipated, and lunged at her.
"Stupid girl!" he snarled, grappling with her in the cramped kitchen. "You should've stayed away!"
"Like hell," Fiona spat, her nails digging into the flesh of his arms as they struggled. She knew her training was limited, but it wasn't anything, either--Jake had been teaching her well.
She had to fight.
Or at least try.
"I won't let you hurt anyone else!" she shouted.
"Your interference will cost you your life," Harrison growled, gaining the upper hand. His grip tightened around her wrists, forcing her to release the pan. Fiona's mind raced, searching for a way to escape his grasp, but her thoughts were scattered and frantic.
She could die here, she realized, her blood running cold at the thought. But she couldn't give up. Not when there was still a chance to save John and put an end to Harrison's murderous rampage.
"Get off me!" Fiona screamed, desperation lending her strength as she tried to break free. The seconds stretched into an eternity, each moment a battle for survival.
Fiona's breaths came in short, ragged gasps as she fought against Harrison's crushing grip on her wrists. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, her mind scrambling for any advantage that could tip the scales in her favor.
Then, a spark of inspiration ignited within her.
"Wait!" Fiona choked out, her voice barely audible under the strain of their desperate struggle. "I...I'm an entomologist! I know you care about bugs. I do too!"
Harrison's eyes narrowed, his grip faltering ever so slightly. His passion for insects had driven him to the edge of madness and murder, and Fiona hoped that by appealing to this twisted obsession, she might be able to turn the tables on him.
"Let me help you," she continued, her voice gaining strength as she saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes. "I want to protect them too. We can work together."
"Protect them?" he muttered, his voice barely audible. "You...you really think we can?"
Fiona's mind raced, trying to come up with something convincing to say. She knew she couldn't let this opportunity slip away, but she had to be careful. One wrong move and Harrison would be back on the attack.
"Yes," she said finally, her voice calm and even. "I do. But we have to stop this first. We can't keep hurting people."
Harrison's eyes flicked to the crumpled figure of John lying on the floor, and Fiona saw a momentary flash of regret in his expression.
But it was quick to fade.
"No... he's a murderer, a pest, an infestation. We all are."
"No, we aren't, Harrison," Fiona said. "Humans can be good. You have to know it. Hasn't anyone ever been kind to you?"
Harrison's grip on Fiona's wrists faltered even further, and she saw a glimmer of something in his eyes that gave her hope. She pressed on, her voice gentle but firm.
"I know things haven't been easy for you, Harrison. But there's still time to make things right. We can work together to protect the bugs and each other. But we have to stop hurting people."
For a moment, Fiona thought Harrison might relent. But then his expression hardened, and he pulled her closer, his breath hot against her ear.
"You think you're so smart, don't you?" he snarled. "Trying to get inside my head like this. But it won't work. I'm not like you. I'm not like anyone."
Fiona felt a cold sweat break out on her skin as Harrison tightened his grip on her wrists, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh. She knew she was in grave danger, but she refused to give up. Not when there was still a chance to save John and herself.
"I'm not trying to get inside your head, Harrison," Fiona said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm trying to help you. You don't have to keep hurting people. You don't have to be alone."
For a moment, Harrison hesitated.
It was just enough time for Fiona to rally her strength, seizing her chance to fight back.
With a swift, powerful kick, she caught Harrison off guard, striking him in the groin.
"Ugh!" Harrison doubled over, releasing Fiona from his grasp.
The wail of police sirens sliced through the air from outside of the house. The sound seemed to tether her back to reality, reminding her that she wasn't alone in this nightmare. Help was coming.
She just had to survive.
But Harrison wasn't done. He rose from the floor; his face contorted with rage and pain. His fingers curled around the spray wand once again, determination fueling his every move.
"Stay back, Harrison!" Fiona cried out, her heart hammering against her ribcage as she backed away.
But there was nowhere left to run; her back hit a wall. She could feel its cold surface pressing against her spine, trapping her like a fly in a web.
Harrison closed the distance between them, his eyes blazing. "You think you can fool me?" he snarled, grabbing Fiona's throat in a vice-like grip, instantly making her head feel light. Her pulse thundered beneath his fingertips, each beat a countdown to her impending doom.
"Please," Fiona choked out, her vision blurring at the edges as she struggled to pry his hand away. "I meant what I said. I want to protect them too!"
"Too late," Harrison growled, his voice a twisted symphony of hatred and despair. He raised the spray wand high above his head, preparing to deliver the final blow.
Fiona's mind raced her thoughts a whirlwind of panic and desperation. She knew she had to act quickly if she wanted to survive, but what could she do? What weapon did she have against this madman?
Her gaze darted around the room, desperately searching for anything that might give her the upper hand. The room seemed to hold its breath as Harrison prepared to shove the spray wand down Fiona's throat. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the sirens that grew louder outside. She knew this was the end, and terror clawed at her insides.
"Stop!" Jake's voice roared through the room like a gunshot, freezing both Fiona and Harrison in their tracks.
The door burst open, and Jake stormed in, gun drawn and aimed directly at Harrison.
"Let her go!" he demanded.
Relief flooded Fiona's veins. Jake had come. He was here.
Harrison hesitated, his grip on Fiona's throat faltering just enough for her to seize the opportunity. With every ounce of strength she could muster, Fiona swung her arm up and knocked the spray wand from Harrison's hand. It clattered to the floor, momentarily forgotten.
Jake wasted no time swooping in and lunging at Harrison. In mere seconds, he had subdued the killer, forcing him onto the ground before snapping handcuffs around his wrists.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Fiona sat on the edge of the hotel bed, the darkness outside a strange comfort to her after everything that had happened. The room was dim, the curtains drawn to block out the moon. It had been a long night of paperwork and dealing with everything to do with Harrison Greene, but he'd been caught, and Fiona was grateful for that. Now, it was all over, and she and Jake could leave--but something was stopping her from meeting him outside.
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