Page 73 of Guess Again

Ithaca, Wisconsin Monday, August 4, 2025

FRANCIS WATCHED ANDRE MONROE’S BLOODY HAND SLIP FROM THE seatbelt as the man fell to the pavement, out of view.

“Hurry,” he said.

He waited for her to finish unlocking the harness of his transport suit.

When the final clasp gave way, his chest expanded as his lungs were finally able to fill with air.

He shed the red suit onto the ground and took a moment to kiss the woman in front of him.

He kissed her deeply on the mouth.

It had been forever since he’d kissed a woman.

“Get the car,”

he said.

He pointed to the ground.

“Leave the gun.

They need to find it.”

She dropped the Sig on the ground next to the van.

“He’s the one?”

she asked of Andre Monroe, who moaned in pain from the other side of the van.

“The one who visited you at night?”

Francis nodded. “Go.”

He watched her hurry away from the carnage of the van and toward the Range Rover he had told her to hide in the woods.

When she was around the bend, Francis reached into the van and pulled the 12-gauge shotgun from the cage behind the seats.

He checked to make sure the gun was loaded, then walked slowly around the front of the van.

He found Andre Monroe lying next to the open driver’s side door, writhing in pain from a leg wound.

His accomplice was a smart woman. He’d told her to do everything necessary to get Mr. Monroe to open the back of the van, but to make sure she didn’t kill him. Anyone else in the van was dispensable, but not Monroe. Francis had plans for the guard who had tormented him.

Free from the constricting transport suit and so focused on the task at hand, Francis never considered that he was wearing just underwear and a white T-shirt.

When he reached Monroe, the guard looked up at him.

Francis noted the defeat and resignation in his eyes.

He had seen the look before, although it had been quite some time.

The women he had killed on the banks of Lake Michigan had offered similar expressions when they knew the end was near. When they knew pleading and begging would get them nowhere.

“Open your mouth,”

Francis said.

“It’s my turn.”

He stuck the barrel of the shotgun to Monroe’s lips and pressed incessantly until the man’s mouth opened and the tip of the shotgun entered his mouth.

With his lips sealed around the barrel, Monroe’s cheeks ballooned with each breath he tried to expel.

The man’s eyes were wide and panicked just before Francis pulled the trigger.