The boy merely waved his gun. “I didn’t come to talk, lady. I came to graduate.”

Kimberly contemplated the door this time. If she could just inch to the side, get close enough…

“Does Dinchara know you’ve escaped?”

“Escaped? Lady, who the hell do you think sent me?”

She faltered, tried again: “He knows we’re here?”

“Everyone knows. You and your friends paradin’ all over town, flashing pictures. It was always only a matter of time. But that’s all right. Your visit simplifies things. Now I don’t have to hunt. We can cut straight to the main event.”

“Is that what you want? I know what’s going on. What he makes you do. It doesn’t have to be like that.” She inched forward half a step. The boy and tarantula didn’t react. She went for another step. “Dinchara picks up the prostitutes, doesn’t he? He brings them home, does terrible things to them. And you hear it, don’t you? Maybe you’re even in the room. Forced to listen and watch, but there’s nothing you can do. Then it’s over and he makes you clean up the mess. Plastic, paper, does he put anything down or does he prefer to make you do all the work?”

The boy was staring at her with a fascinated look. She’d gotten it right, or at least close enough. She was talking to him about all the things he was never allowed to mention, and that had him hooked.

“He drains the blood,” the boy murmured. “In a tub. Less mess, less weight, makes it easier for later.”

“He wraps them up, or do you do that?”

“Both. Body’s hard to manage, it takes two.”

“What does he prefer? Old bed linens, garbage bags, burlap? Or has he experimented around with it? The choices are endless.”

“Nylon. From the Army surplus store. Cheap, efficient. He likes things like that.”

“You help him carry the bodies to the truck.” She made it another inch.

The boy shrugged. “You do what you need to do. That’s how the game works. You make him happy and then he doesn’t hurt you so much.”

“How long have you been with him?”

“Too long to do anything differently now.”

“Is he your father?”

“My parents are dead.”

“He’s your guardian?”

“He’s the Burgerman,” the boy said mournfully, spider sitting beside him. “Grinding the naughty boys into dust.”

“It’s not your fault,” Kimberly said. She’d made it a foot closer to her field kit, her fingers wiggling impatiently at her side. “You’re obviously assisting him only under duress. Work with me now and I can make this stop. I can help you.”

But the boy’s face abruptly shut down. His mood shifted and it wasn’t in her favor. “I am making this stop,” the boy stated, raising the gun. “He’s already found a replacement. Time for me to go.”

“The younger boy. Did he kidnap him, too?”

“Stay still. I know what you’re doing. Just stop it, all right. Don’t move!”

“What’s your name? Tell me your name. Let me help you.”

“You don’t get it. I don’t have a name. He took it. He takes everything!” The boy’s voice was rising now, getting agitated. She forced herself to still, remain calm. The spider was playing with the base of the fallen lamp, allowing her to home in on the twitchy teen.

“What about Ginny Jones?” she asked, taking a shot in the dark, because both the boy and Ginny knew Dinchara, so it was reasonable to assume they also knew each other.

The boy blinked, appearing uncertain for the first time. “What about Ginny?”

Kimberly drew a deep breath, took another gamble: “What about Ginny’s baby? Aren’t you the father? Don’t you want a life with her someday?”

“That’s what she says.”

“Have you heard from her? Is she okay-”

“She’s outside. Waiting in the car to drive me away.”

“What?”

The boy burst out in a rush: “She chose you, you know. Read you took on some other killer guy, thought you might be able to work some magic. I told her she was crazy. All these years later, like some chick with a badge is really gonna make a difference. Guess it doesn’t matter anymore. You failed, so here I am. Me and my little friend, just like Al Pacino said. Ready to get the job done.”

“Please, Dinchara will never let either of you go. You help him dispose of the bodies. Ginny earns him cash. Why would he ever let you graduate?”

“He’s got a replacement-”

“A young kid! Too small to help haul a body.”

“We put them on litters. Drag ’ em up. Boy ’ll get tough soon enough.”

“All the way up Cooper Gap?” she asked incredulously.

The boy took the bait. “Cooper Gap? What the fuck are you talking about? We got our own network, above Blood Mountain and all the skippy little Cub Scouts. Dump a hooker, watch a little boy pee. Makes for a great day with the Burgerman.”

“It’s not your fault,” Kimberly said softly, urgently, three feet forward now, so close to her field kit, so damn close…“Surely you understand, it’s not your fault-”

“I just want to fucking graduate!” the boy screamed, suddenly sitting up. The commotion startled the tarantula. It reared, fangs arching. The boy turned, pointed his gun, and pulled the trigger.

The tarantula and the lamp exploded on the bed. Kimberly sprang forward, feeling bits of ceramic sting like shrapnel slicing into her skin. She made it three more steps, then the boy screeched: “DON’T MOVE!”

She was at her field bag, fingers on the zipper. But she forced her hands down, forced herself to take a deep breath, regard the boy calmly. He was bleeding, too, across his nose, on his cheek, his chin, his neck.

“Let me get you a towel-” she started.

“He did terrible things to me,” the boy said dully. “You have no idea. And then I did terrible things because I didn’t know what else to do. And it’s been so long now…I don’t even…I had parents once. At least I think I did…I am tired. I’m just…so tired.”

“Talk to me. Help me understand.”

“Ginny wants us to get married,” he said as if she’d never spoken. “She wants us to go away, have our baby, be a family. I don’t know what a family is.”

“We can make this happen. It’s not too late-”

“Do I get a job? Wear a tie? I never finished fourth grade. What kind of job does that get you? I know how to fuck, kidnap little kids, and kill hookers. Where’s that needed in the workforce? Find me that want ad-”

“You’re young, there’s still time-”

“She doesn’t know what I did. That’s all. She thinks Dinchara did it, but no, that would be too easy. He handed the gun to me. ‘Pull the trigger, boy. Don’t be an asshole. You know she’d run back to him if she could. Pull the goddamn trigger.’ So I did and then he was dead and it’s only a matter of time before she figures it out or Dinchara tells her just for kicks.”

“You shot Tommy Mark Evans.”

“I had to. You don’t understand. Practice, you see. So I could graduate. So I could finally be free.”

Blood had pooled on the gashes on his face. Now it began to slowly trickle down, like a trail of tears, as he raised the gun again, took careful aim.

Kimberly’s hand flew to her duffel bag, fingernails scrabbling frantically against the nylon surface. Goddammit, why’d she have to zip the bag? She was never gonna make it. The gun leveling, pointing…

She grabbed the bag, held it in front of her swollen belly, as if that would make a difference…

“I can’t be a daddy,” the boy whispered. “I can’t be around little kids. All I know how to do is destroy them.”

And then, in the next heartbeat, the gun turned, found his temple. Her voice, starting to scream. “Nooooooo!”

“Don’t let your baby ever meet someone like me. Don’t ever let it fall into the hands of the Burgerman.”

The boy pulled the trigger.

The shot deafened her. Or maybe it was her own desperate wail, trying to call it back, as the far side of the boy’s skull opened up, blew against the wall, rained gray matter across the bedside table.