34. Theron

34

THERON

SACRIFICE - LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT

Miss Driscoll,

It would be a pleasure to have dinner with you, if you are free, this Friday night.

Sincerely,

August Rothenberg

Nyssa looks over my shoulder as I jot down the words and then lay down the pen. She's fresh out of the shower, clutching at the robe I've given her to wear.

Things between us are ambiguous at best, but in the midst of the uncertainty, we've settled on spending the night together. Nyssa was soaking wet after being in the rain, and I was still holding onto the chance my feelings weren't completely unrequited.

As I glance over my shoulder at her, she gives little away. Her features are relaxed, yet her expression vacant, like she hasn't made up her mind.

For all I know, she very well could leave any second. She could never speak to me again.

The truths that have been unloaded on her in the last forty-eight hours are enough to distort anyone's reality.

I turn in my chair and grab at her hands to draw her toward me. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Theron… I…" she sighs then shakes her head. Her hair's been twisted into thick braids as it dries. I reach up and slide my fingers along the underside of her scalp, giving her a light and comforting massage. Her eyes naturally flutter closed.

"Tell me, Nyssa. Tell me every little thing on your mind. Sit."

I tug her until she tips over into my lap.

"I don't think…" she starts again. She bites down hard on her bottom lip. "I don't think I can leave you alone."

"Who says you have to? Look at me." I clip her chin between my thumb and forefinger for her attention. "You don't have to walk away from this… us. We can make our own rules."

Her carefully groomed brows knit together, her eyelids lowering as if tempted to slip into avoidance again. I stroke my thumb along the soft curve of her jaw to bring her back to me.

"Everything you said," she whispers. "It was true."

"Every last word."

"My father?"

I understand what she's asking. "Yes, unfortunately."

"And my mother?"

"Yes… also unfortunately."

"And you?" she asks. "You killed him? Because he killed her? "

Tension cords through my jaw, causing the muscle to contract. "That's right."

"But you're not Valentine?"

"Nyssa—"

"Tell me," she demands. "Tell me you're not Valentine."

"Your mother was. Though she had reason to be. As horrible as that is to say. None of the victims were good people."

"That doesn't make it any easier to process the fact that my mother was a serial killer and my father—who was more than twice her age and her professor—killed her."

"No, I don't imagine it would."

"Why are you still here?"

I raise a brow, still stroking her face. Only now my thumb's traveled up to her cheek. "This is my home."

"You know what I mean."

"I've already told you. Because I've meant every word I've said. That includes my confession about how I feel."

"You're… in love with me?"

"More than in love with you. Even if you don't feel the same. It doesn't change the fact that you are the nexus of my world."

"It doesn't feel deserving," she says. "After everything. My scheme for revenge made you murder people, Theron."

"I made choices that I don't regret. In each instance, I was protecting you. Something I will never apologize for."

She sits in my lap in thoughtful silence, taking even more time to sort through what she's learned.

"You're going to finish my plan. You're writing Heather to lure her?"

"I read your Composition Notebook. You were going to frame me by making it seem like I had taken out Heather. Make it seem like there was something between us. Is that correct?"

"I'm not sure what I was going to do anymore," she mumbles. "I was wrong about everything."

"But you had the right people. Except for me. Everyone else has played a part."

Nyssa leans forward until her brow brushes against mine. "How are you so calm about this? How are you not angry I was going to ruin your life?"

"Because I understand you. You were reacting out of a place of hurt. Justifiably so." My palms slide along the side of her neck to bring us together in a slow kiss. "I've been thinking about an alternative to myself. There's one other person who deserves to go down for everything he's done."

She pulls back to gaze into my eyes with a spark in her own. "So that's why you signed his name."

Heather Driscoll shows up a few minutes after nine, as agreed. She's dressed up even more than usual in a low-cut, blood-red dress that hugs her body and black heels that accentuate how toned her legs are. Her strawberry blonde hair is loosely curled about her shoulders, offsetting the heavy makeup she's used to paint her face with.

She waits outside the Castlebury Tower with an impatient roll of her eyes. Every minute or so, she resorts to tapping furiously away at her phone. Likely texting someone to bitch about how late I am.

I'm watching from afar as her phone rings in her hand and she answers on the second ring after recognizing the number .

Mine.

Or the number she believes is mine.

"Why don't you head on up using the private entrance?" I ask in my smoothest tone. The code is 3698. Make yourself comfortable and help yourself to some pinot noir while you wait. I'll be there soon."

Heather hangs up with a satisfied curve to her mouth. She pockets her phone in the small clutch purse she has with her and then shakes back her locks of hair as if preparing to strut on a runway.

It takes her another five minutes before she's able to punch in the code and ride the elevator up to the eighteenth floor where Thurman Adler's penthouse is. The door opens when she tries it.

Heather takes my advice about making herself at home.

She kicks off her high heels and browses the large penthouse apartment with dollar signs gleaming in her eyes. In the wake of her money troubles following her father's death, it must be a comfort to see such nice furnishings.

It's a reminder that the ritzy life is the only one for her.

She helps herself to a glass of the pinot noir I'd mentioned before she sets off on an exploration of the rest of the penthouse.

"Wait 'til you see the older man I've caught, Nyssie," she sneers in between sips of wine. "University dean trumps a measly professor any day. I always come out on top."

She giggles at her own remark, stopping in the bathroom to freshen up. Her ivory skin tinges pink as she turns on the faucet and reaches for a towel to dab herself with.

"It's so warm in here," she mumbles. "Eww, why am I sweating? "

Eighteen stories below, Dean Rothenberg arrives via a private driver. He thanks his chauffeur and then heads for the same private entrance Heather used moments ago.

He's in the elevator by the time Heather's stumbling out of the bathroom on the verge of collapse. She makes it over to the unmade bed, where the sheets are wrinkled and a Composition Notebook rests on the night stand, open to a page full of lipstick kisses. She notices none of it as she coughs, then plops down on the edge, wheezing for air.

The front door opens to Dean Rothenberg surveying the furnishings with an impressed nod. His reaction mirrors Heather's in that way, as though he recognizes he's made the right choice in showing up tonight.

He hadn't needed much convincing.

He used NSFW, the same VIP site as Jackson Wicker had, often meeting up with women across the city at places like the Scarlet Room and other obscure clubs.

But tonight's proposal was so special, he couldn't turn it down.

The use of Thurman Adler's penthouse and a young woman propositioning him?

MzSexi99 was a flirtatious blonde looking for an older man to spoil her. Dean Rothenberg was more than willing to volunteer in exchange for some sexual gratification.

Nyssa was behind the account on NSFW. I was behind loaning him my father's penthouse for the evening.

I'd done so under the guise of feigned ignorance. Just an innocent offer I sensed Rothenberg couldn't refuse. Since Wicker's penthouse was off the table after his murder, the dean couldn't resist the next best thing for his indiscretions.

"Hello?" he calls into the silent penthouse. He takes a few steps toward the open layout, which leads into the living room area and the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Castlebury. "MzSexi99? Are you hiding from me?"

No one answers him.

His brow creases as he explores some more, wandering toward the other half of the penthouse. Mere footsteps outside the master bedroom, he finally picks up on the fact that he's not alone.

"MzSexi? Is that you?"

He nudges the door open all the way only to choke on air.

"Ms. Driscoll? What are you… why are you…?"

The dean can't bring himself to finish his thought as he peers at the passed out strawberry blonde on the bed.

He hesitates for half a second and then hurries over to check on her. His fingers press at the pulse point at her neck as he leans closer to see if she's breathing.

"Wake up," he says, shaking her by the shoulders. "Ms. Driscoll, open your eyes. Are you MzSexi? Why would you lie? Is this some kind of set up?"

He shakes her some more as her eyelids slowly lift open.

Heather goes from catatonic to shaken awake. A scream erupts from her throat, her arms flying up to slam into Rothenberg.

"Will you stay still?" he grunts, trying to dodge her hits. "I'm trying to help you!"

"GET OFF ME!" she screams.

"Not until you stop being stupid. Don't you hit me again!"

I sigh from where I'm hidden inside the closet, my skeletal mask on for identity protection. Heather wasn't supposed to wake up from the sedative in the wine, but apparently she hadn't drunk enough of it.

The plan was for Rothenberg to walk in on a passed out Driscoll and then be knocked unconscious himself to set up the crime scene.

The Valentine Killer, caught at last.

All the evidence that Nyssa had been planning to use against me was already planted on Rothenberg—the pages in the Composition Notebook, the messages exchanged using the NSFW chat function, even Driscoll's own words to friends about seeking out an older man.

But the plan wasn't for her to wake prematurely and then fight the dean.

As she claws at his face, he retaliates with a sharp smack across her cheek. She releases another feral, catlike scream and struggles even harder against him.

It goes against the plan to intervene, but the longer they fight, the more uncontrolled the situation becomes. I ensure I have the syringe with the same sedative we fed Driscoll in her wine and then I emerge from the closet.

Rothenberg is too engrossed in trying to restrain the blonde to realize I'm coming up from behind.

I jam him in the neck first, then move onto Driscoll. Yet another wild scream leaves her as I pin her down and stick the needle in, injecting her with the sedative.

Within seconds, they're both nearly in a coma.

Nyssa appears at my side, having come out of her hiding spot. "Now what?"

"We continue to set the scene," I say. "Driscoll has to die. Rothenberg will be framed."

"Uh… Theron… I think he's suffocating?"

I glance down to see what Nyssa's talking about. August Rothenberg's face has begun to tinge blue as froth bubbles from his lips.

"He's having some kind of allergic reaction to the sedative. "

"A lot of people are allergic to anesthetic drugs. He must be one of them."

It's not long before August Rothenberg's heart stops altogether. We're standing around the bed when it happens, left to think of a new story to spin.

If he's dead, we can't pin Valentine on him. We have no more use for Driscoll.

Nyssa bites her bottom lip, looking up at me. She seems to know exactly what I do.

The only option we have left if we're to finish crossing off the names on the list.

There's only one thing left to do.

It's nearing three a.m. when I stick the shovel in the dirt for the last time and cover the deep hole I've spent the past hour digging. Nyssa's at my side, helping with a shovel of her own. As I flick the last heap of dirt on the makeshift grave, a sigh of relief leaves me.

Done.

We're finally done.

Our original plan didn't work out like we hoped, so we improvised. We pivoted to a new solution that leaves two individuals six feet under and the public soon scandalized by the fact that the Dean of Castlebury ran off into the sunset with a student, never to be seen or heard from again.

Given the evidence we've gathered, it still fits.

Except now we'll have to make it look like they both left town.

Nyssa has a spare key to Heather's apartment, and I'm certain I can find a way to access Rothenberg's devices to make it seem as if he'd planned a getaway (I did make sure to keep his phone after all).

It'll likely be a couple days before either one is reported missing.

It buys us some time.

"That was… exhilarating," Nyssa laughs. Her eyes shine even in the dark as they meet mine. "Is burying bodies always like this?"

"Sometimes. Other times, like Wicker, not so much."

"You came here with my mother. You two… here in the forest?"

"When I initially found out what she was doing and helped her get rid of a body, yes. But then she refused to stop."

"And now you're here with me."

"I suppose life really does come full circle in the strangest ways."

"A couple who digs graves together, stays together."

"A murder quip right now? Really, Miss Oliver? Too soon."

We drift closer 'til we're distracted by each other's kiss, shovels still in our hands. Covered in dirt from our after hours' activity, we're both in need of a hot shower and some rest. The night's grown colder and wetter as time has gone on, which has only made our task more grueling.

I stroke Nyssa's cheek affectionately as our kiss ends. "Alright, time to get out of here. You're shivering."

The wet earth squelches beneath our boots. We shine a flashlight at the path ahead, where my BMW is parked in the clearing some feet away.

Then I hear it. I see it.

The whir and flash in the dark.

Coming closer. Growing louder.

The red and blue light emerges from the dark as police cars arrive on the scene.

My adrenaline surges to untold levels. I react at a moment's notice, doing the only thing that makes sense in my mind. For a man as deeply devoted to the woman at my side. I shove my skeletal mask in her hand and yell, "Run! Quickly! Get out of here!"

"What? Theron?—"

"Go! You have to go now," I say, giving Nyssa a shove toward the trees. "Run as far away as possible. Head south. It'll lead you to campus. If they do find you, you remember what I told you to say if we were ever caught."

She shakes her head in confusion. "I'm not blaming you?—"

"Get out of here!" I hiss at her.

The police cars invade the area, their headlights flooding the area with bright white light.

Nyssa fades into the dark at the last possible second. Her glassy eyes are the last part of her I see as she vanishes and I'm confronted by a familiar scene.

The doors flinging open on the three squad cars before the officers step out.

This time, with firearms drawn.

"Hands where we can see 'em, Adler," comes Officer Brewster over a megaphone. "We've finally caught you in the act."

"Caught me in the act? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Cut the shit. We've been following you for days! We uncovered the bloody boulder in the bushes from Samson Wicker's campus attack and guess whose DNA was on it?"

I raise my hands as the officers point their weapons at me, playing it cool. My tone's calm as I ask, "I'm sorry, officers. But what does that have to do with tonight?"

"You know exactly what it's got to do with tonight, Adler! You're going down!" he grunts, grinning. "You and your family think you're above the law. You and all your rich as dirt friends think you can do no wrong! But I've got you dead to rights this time. You're going down no matter what. Everything Valentine's ever done. I'll make sure of it."