Page 6 of Antihero (Tregam’s Fractured Souls #3)

Chapter four

The Wraith of White Rock

T here's a schedule. But some people just need to be moved up on it.

That’s why I'm here, instead of following her.

He’s doing the big loop tonight, right around to the East Ward, though those are all behind deadlocks that set off an alarm when opened. So, no fun for him there.

It’s a rare, clear night tonight. I see him, the reflective cuffs of his security jacket glinting in the moonlight as he strolls back along the southern battlement.

He’ll come down into the courtyard soon, cross it to the gatehouse, and ascend into the West Ward on this side of the castle.

There, he’ll stop, unlock a door, and lock it behind him.

He’ll come back out after a few minutes. One filthy deed later.

I could let him see me; he’d be easy enough to lure that way. But there’s limited time, and he needs to go down quickly, so he won’t get a chance to lay eyes on me. He’s taking the stairs down now, with that over-confident swagger of his, as he descends into the courtyard. I slip down off my ledge.

I won't wait in the open. The sky is too bright for that, even in my black wear. Instead, I slip into the corridor under one side of the thick stone gatehouse. It leads to the outside, and halfway along, there’s a narrow stairwell going up into the long line of the wards three storeys above.

Just beyond sight, I wait, the double doors between me and the courtyard. Soon enough, he’ll come this way, and I’ll stalk him to the stairs. There, in the narrow space, sound cut off from the rest of the castle; I’ll kill him.

A whistling wind sifts through the ramparts.

A cloud illuminates as it passes in front of the full moon.

He won't have a chance to make much of a sound.

The cord, thick as my index finger, is too strong to snap, even if he could get his hand on the inside.

I squeeze it, feeling the soft leather. There are smooth wooden handles that fit securely in my palms on each end, so the rope never slips out of my grip amid the struggles.

The courtyard is lit only by a single lamp in the middle, and cast into shadow everywhere else.

Perfect. There’s a grin on his face, thumb hooked into his belt, flashlight switched off as he crunches his way across the familiar gravel stretch.

Probably thinking about the latest resident he's chosen to victimise.

He'll get bored of her eventually and move onto the next one, like he has before.

Except this time, he won't.

Every step brings him closer to me, disguised in the shadows on the other side of the door.

He’s turning for the steps that lead up towards my corridor.

I crouch, and my hand tightens on the wooden paddles.

I no longer feel the cold. White Rock’s winter has well and truly set in this week.

Small icicles drip off the eaves over the door.

None of that matters, not when the moment is this close.

Then… nothing.

No crunching steps, no clanking of his baton against his belt. Just the whistling wind. There are no windows in these doors, I’ll need to open them to see out. I listen again, ears tuned, but nothing I hear indicates he’s still coming this way. Could he have taken a different route?

I swing open one of the doors and face out over the courtyard to look down the shadowed grounds, my eyes still adjusting from the downlights of the corridor.

My target is not there. At least, not how I expected him to be.

He’s on the ground, and at first, I think it’s some kind of animal crouching over him. That’s until the shape straightens.

A man looks up at me.

***

Needler

I don’t know why I'm outside. After midnight. After curfew.

That’s a lie.

I know exactly why. I’m following him. And I know exactly what I’m going to do.

But I can’t admit that to myself. I used the asylum key. After the room check at curfew, I unlocked my room door. I’ve been waiting ever since, ignoring the cold, the snow that fell briefly, all my focus on one single thing.

I watch Declan do a circuit. Too early for him, I know.

He likes to wait until after midnight to do his ‘visits’.

On his second loop, I came so close to him, I could’ve reached out and touched him, snapped his neck right there if I was lucky.

But I didn’t. He never knew I was that close.

The night is freezing, but despite this, I'm wearing just a thin, dark sweater, dark pants, and thin-soled shoes that barely crunch on the fallen snow.

As he descends the stairs, I linger at the top. It’s not too late to go back, to stay in my room and pretend not to hear the noises. To stay ‘retired’. How little encouragement it’s taken to be here, about to break all of my promises to myself. No more killing, no more feeling.

Nothing. That’s what I should be. Rather than this, here, and what I’m about to do. I should go back to my bed and forget this lapse in judgement, before it’s too late.

That’s when I see my needle.

The icicle is larger than the others, straight, almost the exact size of my old weapon of choice.

I see it as an offering, a sign. It’s so easy to see those when you’re looking for them.

It’s been too long, the needle seems to say.

Just this once , I vow back; an empty promise to myself.

Because he’s disturbing my sleep, I reason.

I wait for a loud gust of wind that rattles the eaves, and I strike the icicle with a closed fist at the top, just so. My gloves have rubber finger pads and palms, so I won't leave any of my DNA on the clinging ice, and my grip won’t slide on it.

Down in the courtyard, I don’t feel dull. I feel as sharp as the tip of my weapon.

John has no place here.

This is the moment. In the shadows cast by the east wall, out of the pool of light glowing from the single lamp. We’re a dozen metres from the entrance to the corridor ahead.

I’m out of practice, so I aim for the lungs, a big target.

One hand driving the icepick up under his ribs, the other closing over his mouth.

I muffle what noise he can make before the pick does its job.

I drive it further up, finding something fatal.

The gurgling sound, the bubbling that I feel through his back as my chest presses close, both tell me my aim was true.

He's still alive, just. His weight drops, and I guide him down onto his back. I let go of the pick. There’s no point taking it out.

It’s already melting from his fast-fleeing body heat.

Declan is gasping, looking up at me with wide, confused eyes.

I crouch over him and lean in close. With my hand clamped over his mouth, preventing any noise he has left to make, I whisper in his ear the words he says to them.

“ You’re nothing, and nothing doesn’t speak. ”

I stand over him. The light is leaving his eyes, along with any expression. Except terror. That stays.

A sharp gasp.

My head snaps up towards the gatehouse. One of the double doors is open, the lights from within are on and silhouetting a dark, slim figure there. But not for long. They turn and run back inside, towards the castle exit.

I snap out of the momentary shock. My disguise is nothing but a hood pulled low, and a bandanna over my nose and mouth. That’s it. Lazy. I didn’t expect anyone else to be out here. I’ve been watching the space for hours and seen no one. Stupid, stupid mistake.

With a last look at the body—disposing of it will have to wait, and I can only hope no other midnight wanderers come across it in the meantime—I give chase.

By the time I burst into the corridor, my dark companion is already at the other end, slipping through into the night.

I give chase, sprinting to the other end.

But as I expect, when I step out into the whipping snow and howling wind, I see the cliff edge some 100 metres ahead of me, and no sign of anyone.

There’s also very little chance I’ll be able to spot someone who doesn’t want to be seen out here. Fuck .

They won't have been able to see my face, or recognise me. But they can give a description. A time and place of death.

Here I am, right on my home territory, committing a murder. What an idiot. Maybe I was retired for a good reason.

I jog back towards the courtyard, and I’m about to step back out through the double doors, when something in the corner by the wall catches my eye. I lean down, grabbing at the dark shape, and come back up with a cord as thick as my little finger.

My eyes widen, pieces falling into place. I look sharply back towards the other end of the corridor, like she's about to reappear to take her weapon of choice back.

The Wraith.

Here.

I look towards the courtyard, thinking of the body lying in the shadows. For him?

Why would we be hunting the same quarry?

For a moment, I regret not waiting. Not seeing if she would’ve taken him down herself.

I got a good enough look at her; slender, short, but nimble.

And that gasp. The sound that alerted me to her initially.

So involuntary, so… I shake myself. Time for that later.

I need to focus on taking care of this body before any other intruders happen across it. Maybe a third serial killer on this damned spit of land has this courtyard on their agenda tonight.

Three hours later, and out of breath, I sling the large body off my shoulder.

I'm standing on the rotting boardwalk that leads further into the wetlands.

They crowd into a bite-shaped bay on the south shore of White Rock, towards the eastern end of the island.

Here, the snowmelt from the mountains runs down, joining into a short delta before meeting the sea.

This means I can rely on both saltwater and freshwater critters to take care of the body.