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I glance at the thing that was Caleb. “At least he’s free.”

Henry reaches down to squeeze my hand. “He is. Now let’s stop the bastard who murdered her.”

THIRTY-SEVENRAYMOND

If Raymond had known how easy it’d be to kill people, he’d have started a lot sooner.

He wheezes a laugh that sounds shaky. Nerves, that’s all. He doesn’t feel bad about what he did to the girl. Why should he? He set her free. Her and her boyfriend. He was a goddamn hero.

Fine, “hero” might go too far, but still, he isn’t going to feel bad. He’s mostly just shocked at how easy it’d been. The knife had seemed guided by some outside force, sliding right between her ribs. He remembers that ill-fated hunting trip, how his dad told him that if they shot a deer and it didn’t die, they had to kill it, and Raymond needed to be ready to slide a knife into its ribs. Which only proved that his father had no fucking idea how to hunt, because even at the age of ten, Raymond had been pretty damn sure that wasn’t how you killed a wounded animal.

It’d be hard, wouldn’t it? Without practice? To get the knife in the right spot?

But Raymond had, guided by the hand of fate.

He’d killed the girl quickly and mercifully.

He’d seen her running, seen the shadowy figures stalking her. They were playing with her, like cats with a mouse. He’d watched a cat kill a mouse once, and it had not been merciful. The cat had pulled the poor thing apart while it screamed.

That is what those figures would have done to the girl, and so she’d run to him for mercy. She’d seen him, seen an easy way out, and practically ran into his arms.

Because she thought he was the other man—the big guy.

When she realized her mistake, she’d tried to escape, but that was just panic. He’d set her free, and the look she’d given him?

His insides twist seeing that look again. The hate in it. He’s going to see that face in his sleep and in his waking hours—

No, he isn’t, because he’d done the right thing, and if she didn’t realize it, well, that was on her.

The universe knew he’d done the right thing, which is why that monster—the thing that’d been her boyfriend—stopped before it could sink its fangs into Raymond. Died right there on the spot, as if Raymond were a flower that released a fatal toxin when a threat got too close.

He laughs at the image, but it might not be far off. What will happen when he takes over that Maggie chick’s job? Dead but not dead, that’s what the bartender said. Invincible, that’s what he meant. Maybe when Raymond killed the girl, he transformed, and now he’s invincible. Which is going to make it a whole lot easier to kill the other two.

He had hoped to start by killing the big guy. But while the powers that be had given him a knife, they weren’t making it too easy. The first target he’d come across was the one he feared least.

Maybe that was the way to do it. If the girl had teamed up with one of the others, she might have stood a chance. On her own, still stunned by grief, she was easy prey. Knock her off the board first.

After he killed her, he’d heard shots and a scream. The scream came from the big guy, being more of a bellow. Then, just to be clear who it was, the guy had called for the other woman—the chick with the braid. So maybe the shots had killed her? That’d be convenient. Maybe Raymond won’t need to kill all three—

The bartender’s words come back.

To take her job, you need to finish her job. Kill the other three before whatever’s out there does it for you.

Before whatever’s out there does it for you.

Fuck! No. That can’t be right. He’s misinterpreting. He must be. They need another reaper or whatever to replace that Maggie chick. If something else kills the other two, then that isn’t his fault.

Raymond walks slowly, bloodied knife in hand as he creeps through the woods. He really never pictured himself as a slasher, but here he is, filling some very big boots. Maybe with the next death, he’ll actually slash. Blade meets throat in an epic killing blow, gouts of blood pumping through the air.

He should be horrified at the thought but he’s …

Excited?

No, not excited. Just not horrified, and anything else he feels is nerves because he isn’t the bad guy here. He’s never been the bad guy. Just ask Bryce. Ask his mom, who never fails to tell him what a good son he is when he writes the check for her retirement home.

He is not the bad guy. He’s the bringer of mercy.

Slashing a throat doesn’t seem merciful.