This is how she felt.

Troy stumbled to the kitchen, his vision spinning in circles, and fumbled to open the freezer, intending to grab an ice pack.

No! You don’t deserve any relief, she said.

He slammed the door shut and leaned his back against the door, slowly sliding down until he was on the floor. The pain ebbed. Slightly. He focused on his breathing. He’d slept in the ball gag for the last two nights. That’d been easy. His jaw had hurt like hell but nothing like the current pain on his chest. He relaxed, leaning his head backward against the door, and the pain eased another degree. He blew out a loud breath and listened to his heartbeat.

Her voice was quiet.

He felt cleansed and restored. Looking around the kitchen, he noticed his vision was back to normal and he was struck by a sudden thought. What if my years of guilt and stress created my medical issues? Had he created and nourished the tumor in his brain? The one that was stealing his sight and mixing up his words?

Laughter bubbled out of him. Troy laughed and cried until he couldn’t breathe. His tears stung his new wounds, making him gasp. With the fresh pain came another wave of revitalization. He stood and pulled a knife out of the block on the counter. He pressed the blade against a rib and his vision tunneled. Blood welled around the knife and he watched the rivulets run down his stomach. Adrenaline flowed through his limbs the same way it had when he’d sliced open the wrists of the men.

He felt the power.

In those moments he’d known he’d found his purpose, and he’d had no doubts about his actions. Just now he’d felt the same moment of clarity; he was right to suffer as the other men had.

In the suffering, maybe he’d find some lasting peace.

17

Another morning without a dead body. Ava had showered and gotten ready for work, waiting for her phone to ring with news of another hanging, but it never did. Around ten A.M. she finally relaxed. Surely everyone who crossed a bridge in the Portland area now kept an eye out for any morning surprises.

Her only phone call had been from Zander.

“We’ve had a breakthrough,” he’d said the moment she’d answered.

She perked up. “Let’s hear it.”

“Joe Upton spent the first twenty years of his life in Newberg before moving to Grandview.”

Her mind had shot into overdrive. Newberg was on the outskirts of the Portland metropolitan area. “He grew up in the same large general area as Carson Scott and Aaron King,” she stated. “They all lived here; they were all the same age. They could have connected back then. That’s a damned good connection.”

Three creates a pattern.

It was a good reason to focus on an earlier time in the men’s lives. All their research into the victims’ recent years was turning up nothing. It was time to dig deeper in the past. First on her personal list was talking with Joe Upton’s parents.

Mason had balked yesterday when Upton’s parents had suggested doing their interview via Skype this morning. They said they often communicated with their son using the video chat software.

“I’ve seen you Skype with Jake,” Ava had said. “Don’t you think this is a good way to get a feel for the parents? They can’t get to Oregon for a few days.”

Mason had made a face. “I know. It just seems odd. What’s wrong with a phone call?”

“Nothing.” She studied him for a few seconds. “Too new for you?”

“Phone calls have worked just fine for me in the past.”

She bit her lip to hold in a laugh. “And eight-tracks deliver music just as well as that iPod you wear to run.” She’d bought him the iPod when she noticed he cranked his country music while working in his garage. Now he wore it every time he ran.

“That’s different.”

“Try something new. I like to see the faces of the people I’m talking to. If you hate it, you can go back to phone calls.”

He’d reluctantly agreed and now sat with an ultra-straight back in front of a computer screen as Ava and Zander shared the Skype call at the FBI building.

The news of their only son’s death had crushed Joe Senior and Evelyn Upton. They wanted to help the investigators in any way they could, but Joe Senior’s poor health kept him from traveling. They were waiting for clearance from his doctor before flying to Portland to arrange Joe Junior’s funeral. Ava assumed the thin clear tube looped over Joe’s ears led off their screen’s view to an oxygen tank. Both parents looked exhausted, but Evelyn held up her chin and clung tightly to her husband’s hand as she answered their questions.

“We hadn’t talked to Joe since Saturday,” said Evelyn. “We have a standing appointment for a Skype session every Saturday. He acted like normal. We mostly talked about the latest installment in the Avengers movies. My husband and I go to the movies a few times a month. It gives us better topics to talk to Joe about than discussing our health. Joe Junior doesn’t like to hear all that.”

Ava smiled, appreciating parents who put effort into finding common ground with their grown kid. “Do you like the same movies as Joe?”

Evelyn and Joe Senior exchanged a glance. “Some of them,” said Joe Senior in a rough voice. “Don’t care for the horror garbage he likes, but even Evelyn likes a good Star Trek or Bruce Willis flick.”

“Did Joe ever tell you that he felt threatened by someone? Or that he was worried about his safety for some reason?” Ava asked.