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Amber grabbed forit, pulling out the weapon. She was too short to reach the rope now that Simonand Francesca were lifting Morrison up. Instead, she clambered up the tree sothat she could get to the rope. The wood bit into her hands, but she clamberedout onto the branch Morrison was hanging from, sawing through the rope, hopingthat she would be in time.
Morrison was stillstruggling, his eyes rolling wildly as he gasped for air. Amber sawed throughthe rope with growing desperation, her heart pounding harder with each passingsecond. Finally, the rope gave way, and Morrison tumbled down into the arms ofFrancesca and Simon.
They eased himgently onto the ground and loosened the rope from around his neck, and Ambersaw that his face was now a blotchy red. He was still breathing, but only inragged gasps.
Francesca andSimon immediately started giving him basic medical attention while Amber calledfor backup. She joined the others. Morrison was unconscious, his breath raspingand hoarse.
She could hear thesirens of the approaching ambulance in the distance, but it felt like aneternity before it finally pulled up.
The paramedicsrushed out of the vehicle, pushing Amber, Francesca, and Simon out of the wayas they started working on Morrison.
One of them lookedup at Amber and the others.
“He’ll live, butwe need to get him to a hospital right away.”
Amber nodded,knowing that they’d barely been in time. She also knew that this wasn’t thesituation she’d thought they might be walking into. This hadn’t been about akiller hiding out from the cops, but a grieving man trying to take his ownlife.
For her, that didn’tfit with the anger of the killer, the determination to make others pay. Theyhad the wrong man, and that… that meant that the real killer was still outthere somewhere.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The dead stillwhispered to him as he worked, constructing the next winch mechanism, carefullywinding cable onto its coils and checking the mechanism.
“It’s not enough,”they whispered to him. “It will never be enough, no matter how many of them youkill.”
He knew that. Heknew that each death did nothing to quiet the voices of the angry dead, thevoices that demanded justice, but he also knew he couldn’t stop now. He hadcome too far, killed too many, to turn back now. The anger inside him burnedlike a relentless fire, consuming everything in its path. There was nothingelse in his life now except to continue.
He tried to ignorethe voices, but they grew louder and more insistent as the winch took shape.They raged at him, refusing to leave him alone, even for a moment or two. Thekiller knew that he had to finish the mechanism soon, that he risked beingcaught by the police with every passing moment. He’d seen the news reports: theFBI was in town, hunting him. He wasn’t a fool; sooner or later, they wouldcatch up to him.
He had to keepgoing with his work, but the voices made it difficult to concentrate.
He wondered ifanyone else could hear them. Did the police and the FBI have their own voices,driving them to seek justice, the way he did?
He shook his head,angrily pushing the thought away. Of course they didn’t, or they wouldn’t standin his way. They didn’t understand,couldn’tunderstand the pain, theloss that had driven him to this point. If they’d been able to hear the voicesof the dead, they would be helping him in this, not trying to stop him. He wasthe only one who could hear the voices of the dead, the only one who couldbring them justice.
He had chosen anold garage to construct the winches before he moved them to the places for hisgames; classic cars were restored in the garage before the business had folded,leaving the building empty. He liked that choice of location, given that it hadbeen cars that had brought about the deaths of so many, cars that had startedall of this. It felt right somehow.
It also meant thathe had everything that he needed to complete his work. The workshop around himwas far too large when it was just him in it, the remains of old machinerygiving it a graveyard feel that was hard to ignore. Once, this place must have bustledwith life.
Westford-Myer hadclaimedlives. Now, he was using this place to claim them back. He movedthrough the place, hands brushing over old tools, considering the people whohad worked here. If they’d built the WM 120, he had no doubt that they wouldhave used these tools to make a car that was safe, one that didn’t kill.
The winch wasalmost complete, with most of the pieces in place. He had one more task to do,and then he would be finished. He reached for the last piece, a metal hook thathad to be attached to the end of the cable. He fitted it into place, thencarefully moved the winch into his black panel van, ready to move it to thelocation he’d picked out for this round of the game.
Maybe the policewould save his chosen target this time, although just the thought of that madethe voices scream louder.
He drove out ofthe old workshop and through the town, feeling the voices of the deadwhispering in his mind now that he was on his way, telling him he had to finishwhat he’d started.
He had alreadydecided upon his target for this next round of the game. Her name was SydneyLocksen, and she had been one of the administrative staff on the project. Lowin the pecking order, no one really, yet she was as guilty as the rest of them.She could have blown the whistle, could have told the world about the brakes onthe WM 120, but she hadn’t. She’d chosen to say nothing. Her silence had costas many lives as the actions of the others.
Inaction deservedto be punished, just as much.
He drove to watchher now. She had changed jobs, working a variety of small, temporary jobs,presumably to try to scrub the stain of Westford-Myer from her soul, but he hadstill managed to track her down. She was sitting at an outdoor café, sipping ona latte and scrolling through her phone. She was in her twenties, short, blonde-haired,wearing a cream blouse with a dark jacket and skirt.
He watched her fora few moments, taking in her appearance and demeanor. She seemed calm andrelaxed, as though she had no idea what was coming for her—which of course shedidn’t. She looked almost… happy. He took a deep breath, feeling the angerinside him grow even stronger. How could she just go about her normal life likethis when so many were dead?
No, she didn’tdeserve to be happy. None of them did.
He wanted to grabher in that moment, to take her from the cafe, to kill her with his bare hands,but there were far too many people around for that. If he tried to abduct herhere, people would stop him, and the FBI would know who he was.
