Patterson, James - Alex Cross 7 - Violets Are Blue

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Alex Cross 7 - Violets Are Blue

Chapter Fifty-Two

It became clear that Irwin Snyder couldn't have committed the earlier murders. He had been out of North Carolina only once or twice in his life. Most of his contact with the outside world was over the Internet. And of course he was too young to have been involved in murder going back eleven years. The seventeen-year-old had killed his mother and father, though. He seemed to have no remorse. The Tiger had told him to do it. That was all I had been able to get out of him. He refused to say how he had come into contact with the person or group who had such control over him. While I was questioning Snyder, and then the others from the house, my shoulder and hand began to itch, and then ache. The bites were puncture wounds, but there had been little bleeding. The bite to my shoulder was the deepest, even through my jacket, and had left prominent teeth marks, which I'd had photographed at the station. I didn't bother going to the local emergency room in Charlotte. I was too busy. But the wounds soon became extremely painful. By late morning, I had trouble making a fist. I doubted I could pull the trigger of my gun. Now you're one of us, Cross, Irwin Snyder had told me. I wondered what group, or cell, or cult, Snyder was part of? Where was the Tiger? Was it only one person? I attended a meeting with the FBI and the Charlotte police that lasted until eight that evening. The net result was that we were still nowhere near a solution. The FBI was scouring the Internet, searching for messages relating to the Tiger, or any kind of tiger.

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I flew back to Washington later that night, and managed to sleep a little on the plane. Not nearly enough. The phone rang minutes after I stepped inside the front door of my house. What the hell? 'You're back, Dr Cross. That's good. Welcome, welcome. I missed you. Did you enjoy Charlotte?' I put down the receiver and hurried outside into the night. I didn't see anyone, no movement up or down Fifth Street, but that didn't mean he wasn't lingering near the house. How else could he have known I was here? I ran out into the street. I stared hard into the darkness. I couldn't see anyone, but maybe he could see me. Someone had definitely been watching. Someone was out there. 'I am back,'I shouted,'come and get me. Let's settle this right here and now. Let's settle it! Here I am, you bastard!'He didn't call back to me, didn't answer. Then I heard a footstep behind me. I whirled around to face the Mastermind. 'Alex, what is going on out here? When did you get home? Who are you talking to?' It was Nana, and she looked very small and frightened. She came up and hugged me tight.

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Alex Cross 7 - Violets Are Blue

Chapter Fifty-Three

I woke up in bad shape around six the next morning. There was blotchy redness and blistering heat around the bites. The wounds throbbed. I noticed a nasty pus-like drainage from the bite on my hand. It was swollen to nearly twice its normal size. This was not good. I was sick as a dog, and it was the last thing I needed right now. I drove myself to the St Anthony's Hospital ER, where I found out that I was spiking a fever. My temperature was a hundred and three. The emergency-room doctor who examined me was a tall, dark- haired Pakistani named Dr Prahbu. He could have been one of the sons in the movie East Is East. He said that the most likely cause of the cellulitis was staphylococcus, a common bacteria found in the mouth. 'How is it that you were bitten?' he wanted to know. I suspected that he wasn't going to like my answer, but I gave it anyway. 'I was subduing a vampire,' I said. 'No, seriously. Detective Cross. How did you come to be bitten?' he asked a second time. 'I am a serious person and this is a serious question. I need to know this.' 'I am completely serious. I'm part of the team investigating vampire killers. I was bitten by a man with fangs.' 'Okay, fine. Detective. Whatever you say.' I was given tests in the ER: a CBC and differential count, sedimentation rate, and a culture and sensitivity test on the drainage from the wound. Blood cultures would be studied. I told Dr Prahbu that I

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needed copies of his findings. The hospital didn't want to give them over to me, but they finally relented and faxed the results to Quantico. I was sent home with a prescription for a drug called Keflex. I was to keep my infected arm elevated, and administer Domeboro soaks every four hours. I was too sick to do much of anything by the time I got home. I lay in bed and listened to'Elliot in the Morning'on the radio. Nana and the kids hovered around me constantly. Nausea swept over me really bad; I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep, couldn't concentrate on anything except the painful throbbing in my shoulder and hand. I became delirious for several hours. Now you're one of us. I finally fell asleep, but woke up around one in the morning. The witching hours. I felt even worse. I was afraid the phone would ring and it would be the Mastermind. Someone was in the room with me. I sighed when I saw who it was. Jannie was sitting in the chair by my bed, keeping watch over me. 'Just like you did when I was sick,'she said.'Now sleep. Daddy. Just sleep. Rest up. And don't you dare rum into a vampire on me.' I didn't answer Jannie. I couldn't even manage a few words. I drifted off to sleep again.

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Alex Cross 7 - Violets Are Blue

Chapter Fifty-Four

No one would expect this, and that was why it was so good, so excellent. The end ofAlex Cross. It was time for it to happen. Maybe it was overdue. Cross had to die. The Mastermind was inside the Cross house, and it was as exciting and extraordinary an experience as he had imagined it would be. He'd never felt more powerful than he did standing in the dark living room at a little past three in the morning. He had won the battle. The Mastermind had triumphed. Cross was the loser. Tomorrow, all of Washington would be mourning his death. He could do anything - so what should he do first? He wanted to sit and think about it. No need to rush. Where would he choose to sit? Why of course, on Cross's piano bench on the sun porch. Cross's favorite spot for relaxation and escape, the place he liked to play with his children, smarmy, sentimental bastard that he was. The Mastermind was tempted to play something, perhaps a little Gershwin, to show Cross that even his command of the piano was superior. He wanted to announce himself in a dramatic fashion. This was so good, so delicious. He never wanted tonight to end. But was it the absolute best he could do? It had to be a night he would never forget, something to savor always. A souvenir that would have great meaning to him, only to him. There were two triangles that explained his complex relationship with Alex Cross, and he visualized them as he sat on the porch, biding his time, enjoying himself immensely. Christ, he was smiling

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like a damn fool. He was in his element, and he was happy, so happy.

It was such a good psychological model, so concise and clear and sound. It explained everything that was going to happen tonight. Even Dr Cross would approve. It was the perfect dysfunctional family triangle. Maybe he would explain it to Cross now. Just before he murdered

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him. He slid on plastic gloves and then plastic booties. He checked the load in his pistol. Everything was set. Then upstairs he went - the Caller, the Mastermind, Svengali, Moriarty. He knew the Cross house very well. He didn't even need a light. He didn't make any unnecessary noise. No mistakes. No evidence or clues for the local police or the FBI to follow. What an incredible way this was for Cross and his family to die. What a coup. What a chilling idea. The 'killing order' was starting to come to him as he climbed the stairs. Yes, he was sure of it. Little Alex Jannie Damon Nana Then Cross. He walked to the end of the upstairs hallway and stood there listening before he opened the bedroom door. Not a sound. He slowly pushed on the door. What was this? A surprise? Christ! He didn't like surprises. He liked precision and order. He liked to be in total control. The young daughter, Jannie, was sitting by Cross's bed, fast asleep. Watching over her father, protecting him from harm. He watched Cross and the girl for a long moment, maybe ninety seconds. A small nightlight had been left on in the room. There were thick bandages on Cross's hand and shoulder. He was perspiring in his sleep. He was wounded, sick, not himself, not a worthy opponent. The killer sighed under his breath. He felt such disappointment, such sadness and despair. No, no, no! This wouldn't do. It was all wrong, all wrong! He closed the bedroom door, and then quickly, silently retraced his steps out of the Cross house. No one would know he had been there. Not even the detective himself. As usual, no one knew anything about him. No one suspected a thing. He was the Mastermind, after all.