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August walked over, grabbed one of French's arms
and handcuffed him to the leg of the heavy wooden
sideboard that stood in the corner. "He won't be now.
Look," August said, "the police are going to be crawling all
over this place in about a half hour. Tell them to take the
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laptop out of the back seat of my car. It belongs to that
shithead there." He looked over at French, who was
sobbing. "He's got it all on film."
"I'll tell them. August," Bruce said, grabbing his
arm, "be careful."
August walked to the door.
"Get the fucking bastard."
August winked at him then raced out of the house.
* * * *
Bruce cried bitter tears as he undid the ropes that
bound Peter Ludlow. He found a blanket and covered him
up. The boy was stunned, a little groggy from some drug
he'd been given, but he was going to be alright.
Bruce hugged the boy tightly, so grateful that he
was alive. "I wouldn't have let them hurt you," he
whispered, feeling a little lightheaded from the loss of
blood.
"Is it… going to be… am I okay?"
"Yes," Bruce said, "you're okay. You're going
home. Just stay here, stay put." He walked to the window.
In the distance, he could see just the corner of Blood Pond.
All around him were trees. August. Please. Finish this once
and for all and come back. He couldn't expect to be with
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August anymore, not with everything that had happened.
And the abuse had come back to his memories, so vivid and
painful he doubted he'd be able to deal with all this without
help.
He thought about Clay as he placed his hand on the
Ludlow kid's shoulder. Clay had taken most of the beatings
and sexual violations, sometimes pretending that he was
Bruce and taking it twice… until finally something in his
mind just snapped. Maybe Evelyn coped as best she could.
The father of her children had been a madman, and she'd
been too terrified to tell anyone. And all these years, Bruce
guessed, his father had continued to terrorise her.
He knew what it meant to live in fear, and as the
tears flowed, he knew what love was now, real love, the
love August had given him, even when Bruce hadn't made
it easy for him. To love one person the way he loved
August was the greatest gift he'd ever had. But he couldn't
continue to ruin the man's life. It wasn't fair that August be
stuck with a fuckup like him, but did he love his man
enough to let him go?
* * * *
August didn't know if Monkton had a gun. He had a
knife sharp enough to decapitate someone. That was
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enough if Monkton snuck up on him.
The man was insane but bright. Most serial killers
were. They feared nothing, laughed in these situations, so
sure they'd win. August had studied enough of them to
know that most had been damaged in their youth, tortured
animals as kids, and, after their first kill, got high from the
thrill of the next one.
Monkton had his own following, his own cult
members, and even if they weren't all murderers, they
worshipped at the same demented altar, children in
servitude, sexually exploited and used for the pleasure of
sexually immature monsters.
His senses were on high alert, and perspiration
dotted his forehead. He listened for every little sound. He
couldn't mess this one up. He had to get him. It had been so
long coming. He could taste it now, the adrenaline flowing
through his veins. All he could think about was Tommy
and how this was for him, as well as all the others.
He stopped suddenly when he heard the cracking of
a twig somewhere. At first he hadn't been sure if he'd taken
the right direction. He knew Monkton was on foot and had
fled through the woods. He had left the motorcycle, and the
car belonging to Darcy French was still there.
August had followed his instincts, thinking that
Monkton would head for the main highway where maybe
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he could hitch a ride out of town. The cracking of that twig,
although it might have been a wolf or a lynx, gave him
some hope that he wasn't far behind him. He had an
advantage. Monkton had at least ten years on him, and
August worked out regularly. He was in great shape, and he
could run pretty fast when he had to. He wasn't going to
give up until he hunted this killer down and put an end to
him. He didn't want to even think about what he'd do when
he got his hands on him.
The flashlight was directed toward the ground as he
scanned the terrain, looking for any tracks. He spotted a
man's fresh footprint suddenly and looked up to see
something move in the bushes. August took off in that
direction, heading into the bush on a run.
In the distance, he caught a glimpse of blond hair
through the trees. August doubled his pace, half tripping
over brush. Police sirens were now wailing in the distance,
and August looked around helplessly, feeling dwarfed by
the huge trees. For a moment, he thought he'd lost him,
then he realised that Monkton had abruptly double-backed
and now was running in the other direction. Monkton had
heard the sirens too, and August knew where he was going.
He was headed for Blood Pond.
August was breathing hard as he ran, but he had no
intention of slowing down. He was this close. He could
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taste it. Tommy. He's going to pay, little brother. I promise
you, kid.
When he reached the edge of the woods, he stood,
bending a bit to try and catch his breath. The answer to
whether Monkton had a gun was suddenly answered when
a shot fired and hit a tree right beside his head. August
dropped to the ground for a moment, crawling forward on
his belly. He peered through the trees and saw a figure
running down the embankment toward the water. August
got to his feet and scrambled after him. He fired a shot in
the air, but Monkton was too far away. The threat of a
gunshot wouldn't stop him now. He had too much to lose.
August knew just what his plans were. It's exactly what
he'd do in his situation. Monkton was going to swim across
Blood Pond and take a shorter route to the highway before
the roadblocks went up.
The man had already dived into the pond when
August got to the water. He could see that Monkton was
halfway across the pond already. It was a gamble going in
after him because his gun would probably be useless, but
he had no choice. He dove in and started to swim as if his
life depended on it. One swift strong stroke followed
another, his respiration coming fast and hard. He couldn't
think about the pain.
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* * * *
Bruce stood in front of the house. He scanned the
horizon as two local police officers carted Darcy French off
in the squad car. Joe was there, fawning a bit over him,
suggesting that he get an officer to drive him back to the
hotel if he wouldn't go to the hospital.
"I'm not going anywhere until August comes back,"
Bruce told him.
Joe had already had the laptop retrieved from
August's car and was busy talking to the big boys from
Manchester who'd just arrived.
Bruce allowed the medic to bandage his throat and
made sure they took care of Peter Ludlow. They kept
suggesting that he go to the hospital, but the wound wasn't
life threatening.
The Manchester police were all over the place now,
lights flashing and evidence people dusting for fingerprints.
A police officer from August's department that Bruce had
met before came over to him as soon as he noticed him.
"Bruce. Are you alright?"
"David, right?"
"Yes, David Zeniki."
"I'm okay."
He nodded. "Good."
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"August went after him, Bruce Monkton, my father.
He's the one who's been killing all these boys, even those
boys in other parts of the state."
"We know," he said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"It's a hard thing to find out that it's your father."
"I didn't remember him, but then I did. Don't feel
sorry for me. I have no love for this man. Please just find
August, okay?"
"We're going to find August," Zeniki assured him.
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