NOBODY'S FOOL

March 3, 1966

"Where are you running to, little doggy?"

"Back to the pound!"

The echoes of the taunts filled the woods, but this time, Jerry wasn't bothered by them. His legs made swift work of staying clear of the bullies. He made sure to stay close enough in order to remain a target worth pursuing.

He'd been taking a different route through the woods for the past month, hoping that his bullies would wise up to the change in his routine. After a disappointingly long spell, they finally had.

But his wait would be worth it. He smiled, almost gleeful at the thought of the scene about to unfold.

He cast a look back, worried that the boys would give up the chase before they reached the target. They weren't too far back. He pretended to almost trip on his feet, to entice the bullies further.

The boys hooted, his make-believe accident inviting another round of name-calling.

Before he even knew it, he'd reached his target. He slowed down a little, taking care to leap over the trap. Then, he picked up his pace again.

He'd run seventy feet when the air was filled with agonised screams. It sounded like Bert had stepped into the bear trap Jerry had covered up with leaves and soil.

He ran further, and the distance began to muffle Bert's shrieks and the other boys' panicked conversation.

Finally, he was out of the sight in the woods, and he stopped running, taking a moment to listen. No one was coming up behind him, just as he'd thought. The bullies were trespassing on the grounds of the most influential family in the county. They'd pretend that they'd run into trouble somewhere else.

It was a great pity that Jerry hadn't had the chance to see the moment of Bert's agony, himself.

Maybe next time.

Present day

Jerry was frustrated. He lit up another cigarette, inhaling deep. All the trouble he'd gone to, and still Sharon hadn't bitten yet.

He didn't know what he resented more: being away from Sam this long, or Sharon's refusals to see him.

He'd been in this sorry excuse of a town for days, waiting for Sharon to get the hint and come meet him. All this in the pursuit of ridding his and Sam's life of one inconvenience.

He stepped over the corpse, and his nostrils flared in disgust. He'd never spent this long with a victim. It was... unsavoury.

But, he had to keep up the pretence of being the man, if he were to succeed in this.

Maybe he could bribe a guard to pass on a message to Lesher. Something innocent enough on the surface, but something that would clue the inmate in on the fact that he was seeking an audience with her. Bribing posed its own risks, though. He'd have to play it by ear.

Soon, Sam. Soon I'll have everyone out of the way.

Two days later

Sharon backed away from the bars, ignoring the cat calls from the other inmates. It wasn't like she wasn't used to the hollering remarks; she'd gotten plenty of practice in toughening her skin during her previous imprisonment. Still, word had gotten around that she was an accomplice of one of the most notorious serial killers, and that was like a lightning rod to the bored inmates.

She'd walked up to the bars to get a look at the latest addition to this sideshow of a prison wing. Two guards had ushered a tiny, fragile looking woman into a cell on the opposing side. Originally, the cat calls were for the newbie, but once she disappeared out of view, the prisoners focused their attention on Sharon, again.

"Quiet down!" The guard making the demand was known for his murky morals, and the inmates complied, not wanting to invite his wrath. "You coming, Nielsen?"

Sharon looked out on to the walkway and saw that the other guard was standing in front of her cell. "I saw her handling a suspicious item in her hands, Cunningham."

Sharon shot up from her bed, ready to rail at the man before she thought the better of it. It would be a bad call to talk back. Instead, she fixed her face into the most defiant expression she could, and placed her hands on the back of her head. Let them have their little fun. She turned to face the back wall and walked into the corner, stripping them of the satisfaction of bossing her around.

"Really? Well, allow me to do the honors," c.o. Cunningham smarmed, clearly looking forward to frisking her down.

She resisted the urge to bounce on the guards when she heard the cell door creak open. She also fought back the compulsion to tear out Cunningham's eyes when his hands landed on her, and started groping her.

Nielsen, who'd inspected the bed, cut his partner's groping short. "Nothing. Find anything?"

"No." Cunningham finally stepped away from her.

She let her hands down when the cell door was closed. She shot the two guards a dark look, as they walked away. When she got out of here, she might very well pay Cunningham a little visit. That thought pleased her.

She sat down on the bed, and leaned against the wall. She spent a few minutes diverting herself with making plans for Cunningham, before she gave it up. The fact was, she didn't know if she could get out, make her escape. She'd been counting on Jack to come to her rescue, and ever since that bitch of an agent's insistence that Jack might kill even her, Sharon hadn't been able to rest easy.

What if Jack really was thinking of killing her? First, she'd dismissed the thought as absurd, but upon reflection, it had her worried. Occasionally, he had scared her, and although they had parted on good terms when she'd left on her errand to kill the Waterses, there was no telling how he felt about her now that she was in custody. He had to know that she hadn't given him up, and that had to count for something.

The transfer to Leavenworth was a hindrance. Now, Jack would have to go to more trouble to get her out. Regardless, more often than not, she was confident that he would break her free, some way or another. He'd eluded capture so far. No reason why he wouldn't be able to come to her rescue.

Satisfied with her reasoning, she made to lay down on the bed. Something rustled beneath her pillow, and she propped herself up on her elbow, and lifted the pillow to inspect the cause of the sound. She found a small, crumbled piece of paper. She made sure no one was watching her, and then she shielded the paper from view by placing it flat down on the bed. The paper contained a message of barely legible letters.

An old friend wants you to lend him your ear. Tomorrow.

She'd been expecting a death threat or a lurid message. Reading the note once more, she paused on the first sentence. A choice of words that brought to mind the newspaper agents guy she had befriended when Jack wasn't paying her enough attention. Whom Jack had killed out of jealousy.

A self-satisfied smile blossomed on her face. She'd been right.

Sharon managed to exhibit the air of a fed-up, who-the-hell-cares attitude all the way to the meeting area. She halted her steps in surprise when she realized which cubicle the c.o. was escorting her to, then recovered enough to brush it off. She'd be face to face with someone she didn't recognize. Jack wasn't wearing any mask that she'd seen. Was it really him?

She sat down on the chair, giving the man on the other side a bored look. He picked up the phone, and she obliged him.

"Hello, Sharon." His voice was unmistakeable. She nearly shrieked with glee, but managed to play it cool.

"Do I know you?"

"You're about to. My name is Ham Vendrell. I'm a lawyer, and I'd like to represent you."

She guffawed for the sake of appearances. "Right. What makes you think I'd want to hire a shitty, washed-up lawyer for my legal defence?"

"Looks may be deceiving. I'm a good lawyer. With my help, I'm sure you won't die in here."

She suppressed a grin at his choice of words. Jack opened his suitcase, and produced some paper work. "I've already drawn up the paper work. All I need is your signature."

"Do you spend all your working days hitting up imprisoned hotties, or am I something special?" she challenged him, having a little fun of her own.

Jack's face betrayed nothing. "I'll leave the papers to the guard, in case you reconsider."

"Yeah, that'll happen, shyster," she scoffed.

He gave her one last look. "Feel free to speak to other prospective lawyers. I'll come back in three days, if I don't hear from you otherwise."

Sharon was brimming with anticipation. Only three more days, and she'd be free.

Sharon pored over the papers, reading them over again. Jack must have left a clue in them as to what she would need to do next. She'd spent her evening going over them, huddled in the farthest corner of her bunk.

She was getting frustrated. Nothing stood out to her, yet.

She took another look at the way Jack had written the text. She'd checked for typos, but there were none. She'd checked at the opening letters of each sentence, thinking that they might spell out something. All she got was gibberish.

She decided to take a closer look at the name Jack had chosen for himself. That might tip her off. Maybe it was an anagram?

Ham Vendrell. Too many consonants to make out anything sensible. Then, she noticed that some letters in the name were written in bold, as if by accident: Ham Vendrell, attorney at law

Her senses now tingling, she inspected the writing again. The bolded letters spelled out meeat. She puzzled over that until she connected the dots: eat me.

Jack wanted her to eat the papers? Why? And when?

The papers must be her ticket out. They must be imbued with some chemical compound that'd force the doctors to send her to an outside hospital. And Jack would swoop in with an antidote.

He'd said that he'd be back in three days. That had to be her clue concerning the date and time. She would ingest the papers some time during the night, two nights later.

"Lights out!" a guard shouted, and a few seconds later, darkness engulfed the surroundings.

Sharon laid down on her bunk, sighing contentedly. Soon, she'd be reunited with Jack.

Sharon waited two interminable days, and finally the night arrived. She had been on her best behavior, not wishing to give any reasons for the guards to search her cell and possibly confiscate the pieces of paper she now treasured more than anything in this hell hole.

She figured that she should eat it close to midnight. She had no real idea of how fast the toxin would take hold, but she had reasoned that night time would be best to ingest the paper. That way, the resources at the prison would be minimal, and in order to treat her, they would have to transport her to a hospital. When she was out in the open, Jack would make his daring rescue.

She only hoped it wouldn't be too painful. But, the end result would be worth it.

She started to rip the paper into strips, trying to muffle the sound of the paper being torn as much as possible. She laid it all in front of her, then took a deep breath and stuffed the first piece into her mouth. The taste had her gagging, but she forced the reflex down, and managed to swallow the starchy pulp. She took a moment before proceeding, wishing she had a glass of water to help with ingesting the papers.

Having completed her task, she laid on the bed, closed her eyes, and smiled.

Won't be long now, Jack. I hope you're ready.

Jerry fought the urge to light a cigarette. He was lying in wait, his banged-up car parked just on the side of the road. For all appearances, the car looked like it had been deserted by the owner. The driver's seat was angled as back as possible, so he could remain invisible to any other drivers, should someone use the sparsely trafficked road.

He wasn't tired by any means. The anticipation of the kill was enough to rev him up. Sharon's shock, anger, despair. He could almost taste it.

He drummed his fingers against his thighs, and shifted a little. He wasn't worried about numb legs, though. He knew that when the adrenaline kicked in, he would be light on his feet and move decisively. That's what he always had going for him. There was no confusion, no fear, on his part. Just swift, precise and determined movements. He knew what he wanted and how to go about it.

Flashing lights in the distance ahead alerted him to the present. It had to be Sharon. Jerry's lips curled with pleasure. This would be fun.

Pain seared through Sharon's body, and convulsions took over again, despite the amount of sedatives that had been pumped into her system. She was barely conscious through the agony. The last thing she remembered clearly was the doctor making a call to the university hospital; all else was a haze.

The next thing she was fully cognizant of was the ambulance taking a swerve, careening wildly, equipment flying all over the cabin, and the guard and the medic tumbling towards her, over her body. When the two men stayed like that she realized that the ambulance had toppled over to one side. Jack was here. Her smile of joy turned into an ugly grimace when another shot of agony coursed through her limp body.

Jerry ran up to the ambulance, double-checked that the driver and his accompanying guard were really dead, and then jogged to the back door. He stayed low, attached the explosive on the joint between the back doors and withdrew to a safe distance. Then, he pushed the button and blew off the doors. The bomb wasn't designed to kill the passengers. He intended to blow his way in and use the smoke as cover to kill the prison personnel.

He waited for a second to see if anyone would emerge through the charred doors. After that, he walked briskly to the ambulance, gun and flashlight in hand. He took a look inside the cabin, and made two head shots, taking care of the incapicitated guard, and the medic who was missing a hand.

Sharon lifted her head off the gurney to greet him, but she was unable to produce any sounds. Her head banged back against the gurney. Nonchalantly, he trampled the corpses on the ground to get to Sharon.

Jerry brushed hair out of her eyes and regarded her for a while. Her once lovely features were distorted, her eyes were bloodshot, and she was as pale as a sheet. How could he ever have thought that she would measure up to Sam?

He shook his head, and fished out the syringe from the pocket of his jacket. He uncapped it and unceremoniously injected the toxin into her left arm.

Her face conveyed relief for a while, but then, the added toxin hit her hard. She tried to make sounds, but he hushed them. He didn't want anything to distract him from this moment.

"Save me," she managed to bite out, her words garbled from pain and panic.

Jerry put his hand over her mouth, and kept it there until was she was too weak to say or do anything. Then, he leaned in closer to watch. This was always the best part.