Page 82 of Girl, Unmasked
So one by one, Ezra had taken out everyone who’d wronged Drago LaChance.
When this was all over, the world would know aboutHalo of Blood.
Ezra Borgman would confess to everything.He’d taken a few trophies from each scene – including Sophie Draper’s eyeballs – for proof.Then the cancer would bring him under and Drago LaChance’sHalo of Bloodwould become a controversial cult classic.
And so, he had one last angel to make.
A single loose end to tie up with a garrote of razor wire.
So he flashed his ticket, walked into the theater and took a front row seat.
Ezra Borgman.This phantom caregiver with a master key to Drogo Lachowski's lair and a closet full of janitorial skeleton keys for all she knew.
Now Ella just had tofindthe slippery son of a bitch.
The police database stared back at her in a cascade of dead ends.No known address for Borgman.She’d tried DMV records, property deeds, tax returns.Not so much as a parking ticket to prove the guy actually existed outside of a grainy reflection in a dead woman’s eyeball.
Equally heartbreaking was the lack of information on Drogo Lachowski.Ella had found him through his real name, but the guy’s family tree had more dead branches than alive ones.His mother was six feet under, so no chance of her being the final victim.Ella cursed herself for being hopelessly optimistic on that front.
Ella glanced at the clock and her stomach did a slow roll.Twenty minutes until Blythe slapped the cuffs on LaChance and called it case closed.
So, what was the play?Prowl the streets and hope that she magically stumbled upon Ezra mid-mutilation?Wait around Eagle Eye Publishers for Ezra to clock in to his next shift?The odds of catching Ezra in the act by chance were as likely as winning the Powerball, and trying to cut him off at work was asking for a fourth body to fall in her lap.
‘Think, Dark.Think.’ Ella's fist met her desktop with a crack and send everything into the air.
Including a copy ofHouse of Shadowsby Kirsten Lawler.
Ella froze.She grabbed the book.Held it up.
And something fell out.
A glossy flyer.
AN EVENING WITH LOCAL AUTHOR KIRSTEN LAWLER.
ORPHEUM THEATER.
9PM.
Ella held it up to eye-level.
A public talk from a local horror author at a local theater.
And the date was today’s date.
The Orpheum.A theater.Just like in LaChance's manuscript.
‘With an audience,’ Ella muttered.
She remembered William Kane’s words.
Miss Lawler and I, we tried to tell Drago his story needed work.He didn’t say a word after that.Looked quite demoralized.
The writing group.Where LaChance had read his grisly opus and been humiliated.According to Kane, Kirsten Lawler had been there.Had been one of the ones to shoot down his efforts.
Her mind exploded.Thoughts gushed and drowned out everything else.One by one, like dominos in reverse, each clue found its home.
At last, she saw clarity.
