Peter advances towards me with a heavy steel blade. I tentatively identify it as a skinning knife, and my mind spirals further down that horrific path with each step he takes.
"Three years," he says softly.
" . . . What?" I gasp, emerging from a particularly vivid image of a flayed deer.
He is close to me now, and the immediacy of his hands – and the knife they hold – is almost enough to send my mind scurrying for the hills again. "Three years in that zoo they call a rest home," he whispers, laying the knife on my sternum. I jump at the sudden cold.
"You were a monster," I whisper. "You know I had to stop you – it was my duty."
"Three years, Lydia," he snarls, drawing the edge of the knife across my skin. "Years of confinement and oppression. The treatments they used on me – they claimed they were just trying to help, but their methods were barbarous. And you put me there, so I'm going to take every inch of it out of your hide." The knife bites down, and I can't help the scream that erupts from my lips. Blood runs warm down my skin, soaking into my blouse.
My mom will kill me for staining this shirt, I think.
He takes the knife away and regards me with a smile that is so eager and friendly that I almost smile back.
There is a loud banging from behind me, and both Peter and I jerk. He sighs resignedly and vanishes. I hear a metallic rattling, then a squeaking of hinges.
"What is it now?" I hear Peter say.
Another voice, gruff and male, answers him. "She's got another one for you."
"It's not my problem," Peter replies sharply.
"Then make it your problem," the voice suggests. After a moment of silence, footsteps approach from across the dirt floor. I crane my neck to look, and see two men in laborer's clothing coming toward me, Peter following with a thundercloud swirling across his face.
The two men were dragging another one between them, a bundle of torn cloth and dirt-streaked skin, dark hair dangling. "She wants you to take care of this one, too. He knows too much." They toss him on the floor, and I stifle a gasp as I glimpse Stiles' features under a coat of grime.
Peter emerges from the darkness, a scowl on his face. "Isn't there anyone else in our generous benefactress' employ who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty?" he sighs.
The first goon throws him a dirty look. "Look, you're getting paid for this, and she doesn't care how you do it. Just make a mess and make sure they're not around to sing tomorrow."
Peter sighs heavily, but he fetches another chair from the shadows and then bends to drag Stiles to his feet and dump him in the seat. When he disappears for more rope, I begin to speak desperately.
"Detective Stilinski! Stiles!" I hiss at him.
His hands twitch, and he raises his head to meet my gaze. "Hey, you called me Stiles," he says with a bleary smile.
"This is no time for flirting," I whisper.
"It's always the time for flirting," he replies, still grinning weakly. "Don't worry, Miss Martin, everything's going to be fine."
I am not particularly reassured. "Does someone know where you are?" I ask. "And what did that guy mean? Who's the benefactress?"
His lips tighten, and I glance away to find myself face-to-face with Peter Hale, who bares his teeth in a smile.
"Welcome, Detective," he says as he knots Stiles' wrists to the chair. "I must say, I'm surprised you made it this far. I would have assumed she'd kill you outright."
He shrugs. "Natural charm," he says, wincing as Peter tightens his bonds. "So you've dropped the freelance work and switched to paid assassination?" he says to Peter, smiling in a friendly fashion.
"I don't answer to anybody," Peter snaps. "We both wanted a job done, and she agreed to give me funds so that I can disappear."
I glare at Stiles. "Who is SHE?" I say.
He keeps his gaze on Peter, but his words are addressed to me. "Have you been investigating the counterfeiting ring in the area?" he asks.
"Not directly," I say. "But I have some clients who were deeply involved, and I was doing some research for them."
He looks at me then. "Aunt Kate, the crime lord," he says. "She's behind all of it – Peter's escape, the fake money, the notes, Peter coming after you."
Everything swims into focus then, and my stomach lurches as if I had missed a step in the dark. "The Aconitum case," I whisper. I look up at Peter, triumphant in spite of my terror. "I knew I was close to something," I say. "I confess I didn't realize how big, but I was digging deeper every day."
He leans close, leaning his hands on the armrests of my chair, and we are almost nose-to-nose in spite of my attempts to lean away. "Don't you know what happens to nosy lawyers, Lydia?" he asks quietly.
I swallow hard and shake my head.
He steps back, into the darkness. "You're about to find out," he says. And almost without warning he lashes into the light with a revolver in his hand, catching me high on the cheek with the heavy butt. My head snaps backward and light explodes across my vision. I hear Stiles cry out my name. Then, darkness.