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CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

MIKEY

Mikey was elated.

He could still hear the shrieks of the crowd echoing in his ears. Oh, the chaos, oh, the hysteria! It was insane, insane beyond imagination. His stub tail wiggled against the car's seat as he reflected - oh what a thrill, to be the cause of all that madness. He, Mikey, could make thousands of people deteriorate into panic. It was power, and it was exciting, and also a little scary.

Killing Conner Wilson hadn't been quite as enjoyable as the previous victims, since he had been so far away that he'd not been able to even see the bear die, but still, it had been fun to play with the minds of the police, the law, the city government; leading the investigation after the congressman, when in reality, his boyfriend had been the target all along. Too much fun, too much. And only two deaths away from the finale!

His tail was still wagging when he went into the house, humming cheerily to himself as he dug around in the refrigerator, extracting various leftovers. He never paid that much attention to what he ate anymore; no more than he cared how much sleep he got. Mikey had become consumed by his plan, by the love of killing. He'd managed to keep up his act at work, but elsewhere, everything was sliding, no longer a concern. Unable to eat, unable to sleep....

Except for Joey. The collie had been strangely quiet that morning, when he left for the hospital. Was he ok, Mikey had asked?

Joey had said he was fine, but his wiry tail lacked the bounce it usually had in the mornings, and when Mikey had suggested they drive to the beach that evening, Joey had been unenthused.

Oh well, it was probably nothing. Maybe something to do with a patient - back near Christmas, Joey had gotten all wrapped up in one particular patient, a seven-year-old panda who was dying of an incurable cancer of the digestive system - after the girl had died; he'd been mopey for weeks afterwards, lacking his usual enthusiasm. If another patient had deeply affected him, it could explain his quietness. Mikey would have to ask him about that.

He was sitting at the table, munching on stale spaghetti; when Joey pulled up behind Mikey's work car.

That was odd. This was Joey's lunch break, but he hardly ever left St Anne's during it; there just wasn't time. Even odder was the way the typically-happy-go-lucky dog slammed his car's door, tramping up to the front door with a firmness that was decidedly out of character.

Mikey felt a shiver of dread run down his spine.

"Hey babe! To what do I owe this surprise?" he asked as his boyfriend entered the kitchen, instantly aware of the collie's bristled fur and pinned eras. He got up to give him a hug.

To his surprise, Joey bared his fangs. Joey _never_bared his fangs. "Get away from me, you liar."

What? "Babe, what'd you mean?"

"I saw you down at Bay State" Joey snarled.

Uh oh. Maybe it had been unwise to be seen in public at the college where the fictional Michael Ross was supposed to be taking classes, but Mikey couldn't have helped that; being there as himself was unavoidable. He just hadn't expected Joey to attend; wasn't he supposed to be at work?

"I didn't know you were there" he said finally, sitting back into the chair.

Joey began pacing in circles, arms crossed. "I saw you, and I started walking over, but then I realised you weren't dressed like a college student; no, far from it. Nor were all those guys you were talking to."

How much of the truth could he safely let out? He sighed. "Ok, Joey. I have to admit to you I've been a little untruthful about my job-"

"Your job? How about your name? What was I to think when the BSU representative told me there is no Michael Ross attending any of their classes?"

Shit, Joey, you make a better detective than I'd have thought you would. "I'm sorry-"

"I'm not through" Joey spat. "I watched you for a little. You pulled out your phone, and for just a moment, I thought maybe you were calling me. But no. You dialled someone, and just at that moment, that congressman's boyfriend got blown apart." He walked up to Mikey, sticking his muzzle out, fangs bared. "Tell me, Mike, if that really is your name. Who _are_you? The police broadcast says this killer, 'the Prophet,' drives a white Prius. The keys aren't in the drawer Mike. I haven't been driving it..."

Mikey put his paw up and tried to look horrified. "Fuck, Joey. Are you accusing me of being that psycho?"

"Are you?" the question was so cold and direct that Mikey had no option than believe Joey really did suspect him.

God, and he couldn't help letting his ears flick a little at the accusation. "I'm not-"

Joey took a step back, still frowning. "You're secretive; you've been moody; you're often gone at night. You lied about your identity, and at night, on the nights we DO sleep together, you mumble in your sleep, about your family, and some guy named Brett. You kick and yelp and cry, 'please don't hurt us,' and so on. What am I supposed to think?"

He must have been coming up with these suspicions before today, Mikey thought. What to do about it, though? If Joey took the white Prius to the police....well, it was quiet possible they could find fur from the Harding twins, and probably from Claudia Wittmore and Carlos Sanchez too. Along with other potential evidence - the board he'd wacked Hugo Sota over the head with, for example. That couldn't happen.

Why Joey? Joey was innocent; he wasn't part of this. I wanted you to love me, he thought, to replace Brett, but was that possible now?

And no one could replace Brett.

Best to stay calm. "Joey....I can't believe you'd actually think I was that...fucked up" he let his ears sink as low as they would go, muzzle pointing down into his lap. "I know I haven't been entirely honest with you, but even with that taken into account.....do you really think I'm a heartless killer?"

Ears low, tail between legs. Would it work?

Success. The raised jowl began to lower, just a little, and the ears lost a little bit of their firmness. "I....I guess not." Joey signed, and sat in the chair across from him. "I just want to know why you couldn't tell me who you really are. What I saw....your real job is way more important than being a college student! Why hide that? I would have been honoured."

"I guess I was just afraid to be me" Mikey said. It was lame, but the tone of his voice was right, he was pretty sure.

"Why'd you use the car?" Joey seemed lost in thought. "I had decided to sell it, you know. I only saw the keys were gone when I went to get them yesterday...I called to have a VIN inspection done this afternoon."

Oh shit. Mikey forced himself to wear a brave face, but internally, he was using every swear-word he knew. A VIN inspection? He did not need strangers, especially a cop, looking in the car. That could be disastrous. What to do? Think, think, think.

Perhaps he should distract Joey from the car by playing the contrite, repentant boyfriend. He knelt in front of the collie. "Joey, babe. Please let me explain..."

A moment of hesitation, then, finally, the dog's expression softened. "Oh, Mike. Why did you have to lie to me?" He grabbed Mikey's paw to pull him up, and they embraced. "I guess I always knew deep down that you couldn't be a killer."

"I hurt you, don't apologise" Mikey said, but his mind was still racing. He couldn't let the VIN inspector come. Maybe he could appeal to Joey's generous nature. "You don't have to sell the car, though. I've been using it for errands and it drives nice."

"Drives nice?" Joey repeated sardonically. "It's a Prius, Mike. You drive a Mercedes. Why give that up for a Prius of all things?" He pulled away from Mikey, turning towards the hall. "Sometimes I don't know about you."

Mikey scrambled to follow. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the hospital" Joey's voice echoed on the halls. "I'm not off shift yet; just grabbing my pager...I forgot it this morning. Oh, and you aren't off the hook, by the way. We are having a serious talk later."

Later. What to do? Mikey followed the collie into the bedroom. Shit - he'd left his bag sitting there, the very one that held Conrad Fincher's gun. Careless, but he hadn't expected Joey to be home till that evening!

The gun.

The VIN inspection.

Joey....

Was not Brett.

He slipped his paw into the bag as Joey rummaged around beside the bed; his pager had apparently fallen off the nightstand. The dog's tail was still slightly between his legs. "I'm sorry I accused you of being a murderer" Joey muttered.

Mikey braced himself, cocked the pistol silently as Joey stood up, his back to Mikey. He swallowed; forced his tail to remain still, took a deep breath.

"I forgive you" Mikey said softly, and then he pulled the trigger.

Half an hour later, he was in a frenzy.

He'd dragged Joey's body out to the front entry, trying not to look at the hole in the back of the collie's skull. Joey had died instantly; he had never known what was happening to him. Think about that. But regardless of how he died, there was still the blood, splattered all over their bed and the wall beyond; and there was Joey's body.

The VIN inspection.

Madly he ran to Joey's desk. The dog was usually very particular about always taking down messages for appointments. Had he?

Yes. There it was, on the usual notepad: VIN Inspector; 3pm. Mike glanced at the clock. 12:49. So he had two hours, roughly.

The answer came to him out of the blue, and it made perfect sense.

They haven't stopped me yet, he thought, although he couldn't really say who "they" were. Already the horror he'd felt after shooting Joey was fading, replaced by the same joy he felt every other time he killed. Oh, Joey, he had been screwed from the beginning. And after all, he had put himself in harm's way by insisting on the VIN inspection, and on knowing more about Mikey. He flicked his ears disconcertingly as he dragged the corpse back through the hall, into the kitchen, and through the door, into the garage. Joey was leaving a smear of blood everywhere he went. But Mikey could deal with that; he could deal with anything!

He walked with a spring in his step over to the Prius; pulled the back door up. It was pretty easy to find a tarp on one of the garage's shelves; hoisting Joey's body onto that was easy enough, after which he lifted it into the car. Put the door down.

Now just to destroy the evidence.

He pressed the door button on the garage; watched the door rise. Climbed into the Prius; drove it out - crap. His own car. Oh well, he still had time. He backed the Prius back into the garage.

It took only five minutes to transfer the body to his Mercedes. The Prius he left in the garage - time to part company with that old friend.

He parked his Mercedes on the curve and walked back to the house. With Joey in the trunk, there was no concern of anyone seeing his body. The answer of how to deal with the house had already come to him, thanks to the time in the garage.

He found the big plastic gasoline jugs right where Joey kept them, along one side of the garage. A quick jerk and the cap was off. His nose wrinkled at the scent of the gas, but he ignored it, walking around the Prius and pouring the gas onto the concrete so it ran underneath the car. That took up one of the gasoline jugs, so he took the other two up to the kitchen door, then went into the kitchen and rummaged in the drawer next to the stove until he found what he was looking for: a book of matches. The matches had come from a bar he and Joey had once visited, inspiring a brief twinge of guilt, but that quickly passed as he walked back into the garage, struck a match, and tossed it under the car.

Instantly, flames burst everywhere, and smoke began to pour from under the Prius as the flames reached into its underside. Coughing, Mikey ran to the door, leaving it open. Step one down. Next, he walked through the house to the bedroom. So many memories - laying with Joey in this very bed, panting after love-making - but it had not been love. Joey had been a tool, something to remind him of who he really loved - Brett. Thus satisfied, he poured gas all over the bed, trailing it down the hall, through the living room, and into the kitchen. Lit it.

The flames boiled up, igniting everything. They crackled, cheering Mikey on, as he bent over the gas stove and turned every knob on, so the propane could begin leaking out. Its scent burned his nostrils, worse than the gas.

Time to go now. He ran from the kitchen, swung the front door open, and sprinted for the Mercedes. He raised the key as he approached it, pressing the button so it would turn on. Best be away before it blew...

He looked back once as he rounded the corner, chuckling to himself. He'd gotten into a tight corner, but he'd found a way out. He could find a way out of any corner, any trouble, couldn't he? After all, he was San Fernando's greatest serial killer.

Maybe America's greatest serial killer.

His ears pricked at the sound of the explosion.