Page 108 of The Executioners Three
They were too loud, though. Every footstep, every rustle of fabric was an explosion in Freddie’s ears. But then… maybe as long as Dr. Born believed there was only one way out of here, noise was okay. Especially if Freddie gave them cover.
She cupped her hands to her mouth. “Hey, Dr. Born! I was wondering when we’d get that last counseling session. I’m ready to talk, just so you know. Because ohboydo I have a lot of feelings right now. Am I correct in thinking you killed my dad?”
A soft laugh slithered out. Impossible to pinpoint in location, although she thought it might’ve come from the ladder’s hatch.
“Let me see if I’ve got the rest right too,” Freddie continued. “Your real name is Edgar Fabre Jr., and you never died. It was someone else who had their head cut off, wasn’t it? A missing person from Elmore is my guess.”
Freddie clutched at the support beam, cold at her touch. “Was his name Born by chance? Or is there some other guy you’re pretending to be? I hope you realize that identity theft is a federal crime, punishable by up to thirty years in prison.”
“That,” Dr. Born murmured, “is the least of my sins.”
Crap.Freddie’s heart slammed into her skull. His words had pinged as if from only a few rows away. She’d have to sprint if she wanted to reach the back window with her friends now. Or…
Freddie grinned as a new idea formed.
“Well, no wonder I didn’t like you when I met you, Dr. Born! Or should I call you ‘Junior’?” Freddie patted and patted until she found the fire extinguisher. “I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m kind of famous for my gut. And I could justtellthere was something off about you. How else to explain why I was so opposed to our counseling session? It’s like my instincts just picked up right away that you were trouble.”
She grabbed at the fire extinguisher, fumbling it off its holder. There was supposed to be a pin on it. Something to release the foam…
Freddie found it. She yanked it free. Then scooted full speed into the nearest row of shelves.
“I mean how many people have you killed over the last twenty-four years, Dr. Born? You’re trying to reenact the poem from your blacksmith ancestor, right? By murdering people in the way the poem describes? I’ll admit, though, I’m still kind of hazy on a motive. Care to share with the class?”
No answer, but that was fine. Freddie was on a roll.
“Alright, I’ll hazard a guess. You wanted to trick the people of Berm into thinking everything fromThe Curse of Allard Fortinwas real. I mean, the whole town rejected you and your family. They laughed your dad right out of town after the Allard Fortins sued him into oblivion. I’m not the counselor here—and, I guess, neither are you—but I’m going to assume all that rejection made you pretty mad.
“But to respond withmurder,Dr. Born? That feels like overkill. Pun totally intended.”
Still no answer, but as Freddie dipped out of the row to slink along the left wall after her friends, she glimpsed a flicker in the darkness.
It was candlelight guttering, and Freddie’s breath hissed out. Dr. Born was farther away than she’d feared. Excellent.
She picked up her speed.
“It must really upset you that every time you killed people, the locals just chalked it up to suicide or an accident. What a bunch of oblivious fools, am I right—”
A flashlight beamed into Freddie’s eyes. She screamed and squeezed the extinguisher.
Foam sprayed out, a spew of white to fill the air. Dr. Born barked with shock, with rage. And Freddie charged him, spraying, spraying,knockingpast. Then finally sprinting sideways down the center aisle of the archives again.
She ran, not for the window, but for the ladder—just in case her friends needed more time to escape.
And as she ran, she aimed the fire extinguisher behind her. It was loud, violent, and absolutely ruining Mom’s documents… But Freddie was pretty sure Mom would choose her daughter over a bunch of books.
Maybe.
Probably.
On a shelf near the ladder, Freddie passed the candle. A clever ruse… and too much light. So she blasted foam. Darkness once more took hold. And Freddie, with one hand in front and the extinguisher still spewing out behind, found the first rung on the ladder.
She dropped the extinguisher and climbed.
26
Snow-crusted leaves crunched beneath Freddie’s feet. Frozen leaves too, while branches snapped and cracked and tore. Each breath was a harsh boom in her skull, a harsh burn inside her lungs.
There was no one outside the archives hut—one small win, Freddie supposed. Divya and the Prank Squad must have gotten away, and maybe by now they were at the Village placing another phone call.
