The empty, abandoned setting makes sense now, seeing Lissa; it suits her. All of her bubbly warmth is gone, replaced by something infinitely darker. Her mischievous grin is now a cold, hard line, her eyes flashing like knives. In her manicured hands, she holds Lesley’s guns—one aimed at each of us.
“I’d say you can hang up the phone,” she says. “But probably best not to reach for anything just now, yeah?” She gives a little smile that drips with faux apology. “Ididsay I’d see you again soon.”
Her words echo from the walls, tumbling alone through the shell of the station. She raises her eyebrows at us, waiting for a response. We’re speechless. I stare at her, not blinking, hands fisted. My pulse thrums in my ears.
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “You’re not even going to ask how? That’s disappointing. I’m rather proud, after all—quite a glass ceiling I’ve shattered. All this time, you were looking for a man.” She giggles coldly. “It’s notMisterPage, you idiots. It’s M. R. Page. Melissa. Rhea.”
Her name cuts the air like a saber, leaving dead silence in itswake until she adds, “And then Page, because, you know. Like a book. Book club. Get it?” She looks from one of us to the other as if expecting kudos.
“Why,” is all I say, my voice unnaturally low.
Her eyes flicker, lips pursed as if considering how to answer.
“You remember that man I loved?” she asks. “The one who abandoned me? Craig. He was the beginning. See, before him, I was a disgrace—desperate for love, begging to be chosen. Pitiful. Even after he chucked me, I had this delusional hope. I showed up at his flat the next day, expecting an apology.Anyshow of remorse would have done, but no. He looked right through me, dismissed me like I was nothing. Not a human with a beating heart and hurt feelings. An insect. Anuisance.
“But I couldn’t leave him like that, thinking he’d won. And so, I decided if he refused to regret how he’d treated me …” She sighs, melts into a wistful smile. “Then I’d have to make him.”
She cringes, all but sayingOops. “Ididsort of lose it on him, poor bloke. But what I learned about myself in that moment—standing over his body, his blood on my hands, and feelinglighter, feelingfree—well, that was priceless. I wanted more. I thought of everyone else who’d ever done me wrong—the exes who’d cheated, the teachers who’d failed me, the baristas who’d given me decaf—and I took them out one by one. I’d never felt so alive. It’s a beautiful thing, finding your passion.
“But it’s also a lonely thing, particularly when you can’t tell anyone about it. That’s the downfall of many killers; they’re so desperate for someone else to recognize their brilliance that they start showing off or leaving hints for the cops, and before you know it, they’re caught.
“I’m smarter than that. I tried to find a workaround, some way to share my talents without giving myself away. I thought about an anonymous podcast or blog, but that seemed too risky.I tried fictionalizing things; I wrote up my story as a novel under a pseudonym and pitched it to my book club. But they panned it. So after I killed them all, I moved on to plan B.”
“A new book club,” I say hollowly. “A fake one, full of people like you.”
“Exactly,” she says, beaming. “A support group for serial killers. A place where we could connect, lift each other up, share our wins with people who understood. It wasn’t easy at first; hard to track down people who prefer to lie low. But eventually, with a lot of networking and some good old word of mouth, it grew into the beautiful thing it is today: a thriving community bonded by a love of revenge.”
“Revenge forwhat?” I say. “Most of the killers we encountered just seemed to be doing it for kicks.”
Lissa exhales sadly. “Youwouldsay that,” she says. “You were determined to see them as nothing but bloodthirsty monsters. But if you’d looked closer, if you’d gotten toknowthem like I did, you’d have known better. You’d have seen them for who they really were, people seeking justice: Howard, who’d have been a business mogul had his takeaway deliveryman not given him food poisoning the night before his GMAT. Vincent, the cyclist who grew tired of seeing his favorite routes overrun by tourists. And Jack, dumped one too many times by romance readers with impossible standards.” She rolls her eyes. “Personally, I’m glad you offed him. What a whiner. As if respect, communication, and not killing your dates are unrealistic standards.”
God. I hate when horrible people make really good points.
“This doesn’t explain the competition,” says Grant.
“I’mgetting there,” Lissa says, as if Grant’s impatience is the greatest offense being committed here. “See, things were all well and good in the group for a while. It was meant to be a mutually beneficial operation: a safe space to show off in so that we didn’tfeel the need to go elsewhere. But over time, that wasn’t quite enough. People were getting cocky—taunting the police with magazine cut-out letters, leaving crucial evidence behind. One guy even left his phone at the crime scene; that’s how Lesley caught on.
“Now, a lesser mind might have thought the answer was to take Lesley out. But not me. I did some digging and found out he’d placed an ad for a personal assistant.What an opportunity, I thought. He could unwittingly lead me toward new recruits, while I could put himjustfar enough off the scent to keep the group secure. Voilà. A dream team was born.
“But that didn’t solve the root issue, the reason my colleagues were slipping up. It was that same old occupational hazard: the killer’s craving for notoriety. And if just one of us got caught, it would be bad news for us all.
“It was then that I had an epiphany, watchingThe Voiceone night: is there any greater acclaim than being declared the best by a leader in your field? If you have something to compete for, aren’t you a lot less likely to go looking for recognition elsewhere? And so it began: an incentive for my fellow killers to stay focused. To keep their eye on the prize, so to speak; money, yes, but more importantly, the honor of beingthe greatest.”
“And I assume the prize money was stolen from Lesley,” I say.
“Partly,” she says. “The perks of a rich employer with terrible cybersecurity. But I did also charge an entrance fee for competitors. And I waived it for any who doubled as hackers, if they helped me drain my own victims’ accounts.” She spreads her arms wide, triumphant. “I like to think of myself as the ultimate girlboss.”
“Really?” I say. “Because I think of you as an abhorrent snake.”
She smiles. “Tomato, tomato.”
“Man, that is not going to translate to print,” Grant mutters.
“Anyway,” Lissa continues. “That about brings us to now: the big conclusion. Time to declare a winner.”
“Which makes no sense,” I say. “Why would you invite us to the finale? This was a contest for serial killers. Grant and I weren’t competing.”
She gives me a long, pitying smile—the kind only given to the hopelessly naive. “I’m afraid,” she says slowly, “you’ll have to speak for yourself there, babes.”
