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Mark stood across the room. Gone was the chubby kid with disturbing fascinations. Before Damien was a man, tall and strong, with defined muscles and a hardened glare. Just as Matt Plank had described.

As Mark approached the black cell bars, Damien instinctively stepped back.

Sanders didn’t move an inch.

“How’s the hometown?” Mark asked, keeping his focus on Damien.

“Pretty much the same,” Damien said. “Except we’ve got five stoplights now, so the apocalypse must be near.” He looked past Mark and at the holding cell. “Nice place you have here. Minimalist. Industrial. Nice choice.”

Mark smiled. It looked sincere. Even charming.

“I’m a trend-setter,” Mark said. “Now every death row is doing it. How’s Theodore?”

“Ted?” Damien asked. “Great. Married. Three kids.” “You?”

“Married. One on the way.”

“Congratulations,” Mark said. “Exciting times. Are you a cop now too or did Detective Sanders make a new friend?”

“Fuck you,” Sanders said.

“I’m a cadet,” Damien said. “Hope to finish up in a month, if all goes as planned.”

“Hayeston will be the better for it,” Mark said.

Damien glanced at his surroundings. Hardened walls. White tile in the hall, polished concrete in the cells. Multi- lock doors. Prison bars. The conversation was more suited for the bookstore over a cup of coffee than on death row. Damien anticipated many ways this conversation could have gone, but this wasn’t one of them.

“I have so many questions,” Damien said. “You’re in luck. I happen to have plenty of time.”

“Yeah, but we don’t,” Sanders interrupted. “Unlike you, our time means something.”

“I’m not talking to you,” Mark said.

His eyes bore into Sanders like a laser and, for an instant, Damien saw the side of his friend that was capable of his crimes. Seething hatred. Repressed anger. Tightened hands. Clenched jaw. They were there, visible, present, then, in a flash, gone, replaced by another disarming smile.

“I don’t like talking to Sanders either,” Damien said to Mark. “But, he’s here, so, just try to ignore him. There’s been some girls murdered back home and we were wonder- ing, well, I was wondering, if you could help us out.”

Mark motioned to the holding cell. “I have a rock solid alibi,” he said.

“No,” Damien said with a smile. “We don’t think you had anything to do with it. We just wanted your advice. Your insight.”

Mark stepped up to the bars, his nose in between them, but, this time, Damien remained still.

“Do you really want to go there, Damien?” Mark asked.

“Not really,” he said. “I’d rather talk about old times, like the day you, me and Ted learned to make fart sounds with our armpits, or when we toilet papered Principal Dison’s house on Halloween. That’s what I’d like to remember. But, if that’s all we had to talk about, you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

“I’ll make you a promise,” Mark said. Sanders huffed and rolled his eyes. “What’s that?” Damien asked.

“I’ll answer your questions if you promise to come back and visit me. Then, maybe we can talk about the fun we had when we were kids.”

Damien considered Mark’s request, but was conflicted. He’d had questions about his crimes since he was arrested, questions that kept him up at night. But, he also missed his old friend and, in a way, felt bad he ended up here.

They talked a lot as kids about their dreams. Life in prison waiting for the needle never came up.

Yet, as Damien looked at his childhood friend, he wondered if any of the youthful aspirations Mark had shared were real. Was he saying what he wanted he and Ted to hear? To be accepted and liked?

Mark never talked about his fascination with hurting others, to rape and kill, as he did with Dr. Jones after his arrest, yet that was inside of him, even back then, while making fart noises in Ted’s bedroom.

Instead, Mark told them he wanted to be a fireman when he grew up. The hero saving the damsels in distress.

Was it all lies? Were Damien’s memories of Mark just examples of his manipulation, keeping he and Ted around for his own selfish purposes? That’s what a sociopath would do and Mark had been one since he exited his mother’s womb.

For Damien, talking about their past would help him remember the child that he loved like a brother. For Mark, perhaps they’d be nothing more than reminders of how he played them like fools.

He’d have to face that truth later. Right now, it was time to stop looking back and, instead, face the psychopath in front of him.

“Yeah, I’ll come back,” Damien said. “Once every couple of weeks good enough, depending on Raquel and the baby?”

“Good enough for me,” Mark said.

“Great,” Sanders said, “Now that the foreplay’s over, can we get down to business?”

Damien motioned to Sanders to shut up before he could irritate Mark any further.

“Mark,” Damien interrupted. “Two girls. Your type. Teens. Blonde. Blue eyes. Big breasts. Red nail polish. Same interests. Same jobs. Their bodies found in similar locations.”

“So, you’re saying I have a fan?” Mark said.

“You do. Have you received any mail or had any visitors other than Matthew Plank?” Damien asked, phishing.

“Sure, Plank’s been here a couple of times. The guy seems to think we were buddies in high school, but he’s nothing more than a bag of water and bones.”
“He is an odd bird,” Damien said. “I’ll grant you that.

What about letters?”

“I get a few, mostly from women who think I’m innocent. Love letters, some of them. If girls treated me like this in school, I wouldn’t have turned out the way I did.”

“You and I know that’s not true,” Damien said.

Mark nodded. “You always liked being direct.”

“Truth is, I don’t think I ever knew you. I only know the real Mark because of what you did to those girls. Now, someone else is doing the same. That may turn you on or make you proud. It may inflate your ego or put a bulge in your pants. I don’t care about that. What I do care about are the families of the girls that have been killed the way you murdered Cathy and Daisy.”

“And the ones before that,” Sanders chimed.

Mark shot him a look, slid over and wrapped his hands around the bars on either side of Sanders’ face.

“Prove it, old man,” Mark said. “You got all the press, but you weren’t a good detective. I got sloppy and you got lucky. Nothing more than that. If you had real investigative chops, you would have found whatever other girls you think I’ve killed. Yet, here you are as impotent as you were back then, with nothing more than accusations.”

“You cock sucker, I haven’t stopped looking for them. I know there’s more bodies out there. As long as I’m breathing, I’ll keep searching.”

“From the looks of it, that won’t be very much longer.” Sanders moved his face up to Mark’s.

“You don’t know shit. You never did, you fat fuck. I put you in there. Me. Remember that every morning you wake up. While your life fits into a six by nine cell, the world isn’t big enough for mine. I’m free to live anyway I want while you’re rotting in here, waiting to die, because of me.”

“Sanders, you’re pathetic,” Mark said. “You’re so inept, it’s embarrassing. If you’re the best Hayeston has to offer, then you’ll never catch the new me. Because you don’t see it. The answer is obvious and you don’t see it.”

“See what?” Damien asked.

Mark and Sanders’ eyes were locked. Mark’s nostrils flared and his hands twisted around the metal bars as if they were the old detective’s neck.

“Mark,” Damien said. “What are we missing?”

Mark released his grip and stepped away from the bars. He moved across the small room, sat at the table, and opened his book to a page with a folded corner.

“You disappoint me, Damien,” he said. “I knew Sanders was a dumb shit, but I thought you were smarter than that.”

“You want me to come visit you?” Damien asked. “Then answer my question. What are we missing?”

Mark looked up from the law book.

“When I was… well, doing my work, I read every news- paper, watched every television report. I knew everything the police were telling the press and the details they kept to themselves.”

“Yeah, so.”

“Do you?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Damien asked.

“How’s your dad?” Mark asked.

“What?”

“Your dad. How is he?”

“Dead.”

“Sorry,” Mark said.

“I’m not. Why are you bringing him up now? What does he have to do with this?”

“Nothing. I was just curious. I looked up to him.”

“You’re the only one,” Damien said. “Now, what about the copycat killer?”

“I’ve already given you the answer,” Mark said. “If there is a copycat out there, ask yourself, why is he killing? I was driven by my own demons and it consumed me. I spent months finding the right girl who met all my criteria. I followed them, made notes, knew who their friends were, their hobbies, where they went and why. I did it because I didn’t have a choice. No other type of woman would fulfill my needs.”

“Our killer is copying you, but he isn’t you, so his motivations must be different.”

“Exactly. You’re worried about who he may kill next when you should be finding out why he’s killing in the first place. You do that and you may be able to stop him. If not, you’ll end up counting corpses, like Detective Sanders.”