Page 131 of X Marks the Stalker
“Can’t have you checking out early,” I say, removing the gag from his mouth. “We’re not finished yet.”
Blackwell’s eyes dart around the room, pupils dilated from the chemical surge.
I take the red string from my pocket and begin connecting the nails, creating a web across Blackwell’s body. Each connection represents relationships between victims, between crimes, between pieces of evidence that have taken me years to assemble.
“Every thread connects, Richard,” I say, my voicesteadier than I expected. “Every crime, every cover-up, every death—they all lead back to you.”
The red lines form a grotesque map across his torso, blood mixing with deeper crimson thread. The string connects teenage girls to corrupt judges to business rivals who died in “accidents.” A constellation of suffering with Blackwell at its center.
I step away to appreciate my murder board before continuing.
From the bottom of the folder, I withdraw the police report of my parents’ deaths.
“Detective Sean Novak,” I say, my voice shaking. “Dr. Katherine Novak.”
I take the nail gun from Xander, feeling its weight, its purpose. I place it against Blackwell’s inner thigh, where the pain will be excruciating, but not lethal.
“My father.”Thunk.
I move to his other thigh. “My mother.”Thunk.
Blackwell’s eyes roll back, pain threatening to pull him under. Xander slaps him hard across the face.
“Eyes front, Richard,” he says. “You don’t get to leave the theater during the finale.”
I connect these final nails with red string, completing the web—the human murder board made of its creator. Blackwell hangs suspended in the chair, transfixed by physical evidence of his crimes, his skin now a gruesome collage of photos, documents, and blood.
It’s time.
I try to line the nail gun up with the center of Blackwell’s chest, but my hands won’t stop shaking. Something between rage and grief rises in my throat, choking me. Twelve years ofsearching, investigating, piecing together evidence—all leading to this moment. Yet now that it’s here, my body betrays me.
Blackwell’s eyes find mine, barely focused through the haze of pain.
The nail gun trembles in my grip. Hot tears spill down my cheeks, blurring my vision.
Xander’s fingers wrap around mine, not pulling the nail gun away, just steadying it.
“Let me,” he whispers. “You did great.”
I release my grip, feeling the weight transfer from my hands to his. My arms drop to my sides.
Xander positions the nail gun over Blackwell’s heart. The bloody web of string stretches as Blackwell’s chest rises with one final desperate inhale.
“This is for Oakley,” Xander says, his voice calm and clinical. “And everyone else you destroyed.”
The mechanical thunk of the nail gun echoes in the small space. Blackwell’s body jerks once, then goes still.
The red string quivers, then settles as Blackwell’s final breath escapes.
Chapter 31
Xander
Blackwell’s vacant eyes reflect the ceiling lights, unseeing. Blood creeps across the floor, soaking through the evidence we’ve literally nailed to his chest.
The red string connecting his sins gleams under the harsh lighting, like a web spun by a vindictive spider. Beside me, Oakley vibrates with aftershocks of adrenaline.
“You did it,” I say, my voice bouncing oddly in the confined space.
