Chapter 4: Ready to Kill

"A'ight, psycho. If we're doing this, we're gonna set down some ground rules, capisce?"

The duo found themselves on the road again, late that same night. They were natural in stealing not only a surplus of necessities from the gas station, but the dead man's wallet and car, too. They drained the cash from his bank account at the ATM, then made their way on. As Ray sat with a blank stare in the passengers seat, she looked over to the man at the wheel with an obedient nod. "Rule number one's simple: just like before—no dyin' before I can kill you."

Again, Ray nodded. Simple enough.

"Next, you do the thinkin'," he pointed at her, then to himself, "but I call the shots. What I say goes, got it?" (She had a feeling those two things might often overlap in a not-so happy medium, but she didn't rival his word.) "And last, no—"

"No lying," she finished his sentiment.

He was caught between a sense of entertainment and annoyance, lending her a smirk. Good. "Glad you haven't forgot." Not that he necessarily expected her to, but could you really ever tell with this girl? Regardless, so long as she remembered those three things, this was gonna work out fine. As they both felt gratified with the terms, Ray turned to face forward once more.

"Where are we going, anyway?"

Zack shrugged, ushering a "psh" from his lips. "Hell if I know honestly," he replied, "but we ain't gonna find many more killers in the middle of the forest."

Fair enough, she supposed. (Well, he said that, yet they were there, weren't they?) Whatever the case, she took his meaning, what he was saying: they had to seek out their prey.

"Used to be a city around here. Can't quite remember the name," the young man tossed the roadmap to Ray. It whacked her in the face before falling in her lap. "Check for me, will ya?" She looked down at the paper, matching the highway number with the one they traveled. Following the road, the name of a city parted off from an exit, and it seemed to resonate with Ray for some reason. She felt her heart skip a beat and her gaze widened a bit.

"[REDACTED]."

Zack seemed to notice her shift in tone. He peered over to her out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, that was it," he said. "What, ya heard'a it?" Ray was silent for a moment.

"Yeah," she answered simply. "It's where I was born."

Oh, thought Zack. Well, it'd make sense. If that's where the preacher found him, it only be logical that Ray was nearby, too. Overlapping whatever hesitation the girl might've been feeling about the fact, he carried on. "Kind of a shithole, ain't it?" he laughed. "Nothin' but a bunch of drunks and whores."

Ultimately, Rachel only shrugged. "I... can't really say. My parents didn't let me go out a lot." She'd have to walk a half a mile to get there anyway, as they lived in the town's suburban countryside, and even when they did let her leave, she usually ended up getting in trouble. She'd spent a lot of time on the "bad" parts of town after realizing thats where a lot of stray animals lived. Adults were constantly fussing at her for it, telling her how dangerous it supposedly was.

"Well, if you're serious about this, you're gonna see first han—"

"I am serious," she cut him off, curt.

He rolled his eyes and growled, annoyed to have been so rudely interrupted. "Sure hope so," he told her, "'cause it's where I use to have my fun, and if I was hangin' around? Ya know it's a bad place ta' be." She didn't deny the fact.

After all, who better to find a killer than a killer himself?

While they weren't far from the city, it took some level-headed navigation on Ray's part for the duo to arrive. They parked a ways off and walked the remaining gap to keep their trail subtle. "Welcome to the scummiest town imaginable on this bitch of an earth," he huffed, recognizing the large, green sign along the entering highway.

Once there, Ray was almost surprised. She hadn't remembered, but the buildings were tall and mostly Victorian in style. The way they towered almost seemed to curve with height; it was a good thing she wasn't claustrophobic. "We should lay low durning the daylight hours," Ray told him. He only rolled his eyes.

"No shit, Sherlock." He gave her a light whack in the back of the head. "Y'think this is my first rodeo?"

She brushed his moodiness off, nonchalant. Ray looked left to right, eyes scanning for their next plan of action. "Where did you usually stay when you were here?"

"Where do ya think?" he huffed a laugh, putting his hand out as if his presence were grand. "It's in the name, Kiddo."

Right. "The alleyways."

Rachel looked down at her bare feet and blood-tinged attire. Her hair was rough and messy from the rain—and not the least of all, her shoulder wound hardly held up the dressing he'd administered the day prior. But, of course, she didn't complain. "I'm guessing that ain't gonna work as well for you, though," he said, much to Ray's surprise. "We'll get a room for the night."

She was quick to protest. "No, I'm—"

"Ain't askin'," he cut her off preemptively.

Ray looked off to the side; while she appreciated the sentiment, she couldn't help but feel reluctant as well. "We shouldn't risk getting noticed."

"Psh, ain't no one gonna think twice if it's just you that goes in," he waved his hand as if to brush away her reasonable concern. He leaned down to look at her at eye level, a little smirk showing on his face. "Just use that innocent, conniving little face of yours and it'll be a piece of cake." Ray gave an exhale, but she assumed this was one of those times he was talking about, where he "called the shots". Truth be told, after the day they had, it's be nice to have a roof over their heads, even if it was for just one night.

Before long, they found themselves standing outside a ram-shack reception building, the motel was lined with a complex of rooms and the doors were open air, lucky for them. Ray looked down, still reluctant, because regardless of the questionable credibility of the establishment, she was still too young to legally rent a hotel room on her own. "What if they ask about my parents?"

Zack gave a smirk, amusing himself. "You could tell 'em ya killed 'em"?"

Ray looked back with a deadpan stare.

He rolled his eyes. "Just tell 'em they're out drinkin' and they'll come back later! They ain't gonna care." She needed to stop giving this city so much credit. "It'll be fine—here." He took out the gas station manager's wallet out from his pocket; he handed her the man's ID and a hundred-dollar-bill. "Just show 'em this and say it's your dad."

Ray looked down at the card, to the sign on the front door, then back to Zack. "It says 'no shirt, no shoes, no service.'"

He tilted his head, of course, never having heard of such a thing. He almost though she was making it up. Regardless, he exhaled a growl of agitation, kneeling down and taking his boots off. He threw them in front of her. First the hoodie, now the shoes. "You're a real pain sometimes, y'know that?"

She was well aware.

Stepping into his much larger boots, she pulled the hood of his jacket up and over her head. "I'll be quick," she said, clunky, uncoordinated footsteps following with irony. She'd better be, he thought, 'cause he swore to fuck, if he stepped in a puddle without his shoes on, so help her God—

Ray entered the front door. At the reception desk sat a woman who looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. Her messy up-do reminded Rachel of her mother, and she felt like her makeup wasn't what one might call well-practiced. She didn't even look up as the door chimed, only staring at her phone yet without a care for the world around her.

"Excuse me," Ray said softly, "I'd like a room, please." Only when Ray walked up to the desk did she bother to look at her for a brief moment, then right back to her cell.

Hardly missing a beat, the woman ushered a lazy reply, as if it were little more than an inconvenience. "How many beds?"

Rachel blinked in surprise as the receptionist showed no interest in questioning her. "Huh?"

"Beds," she repeated, smacking her gum loudly between her words. "Sixty bucks for one, hundred and ten for two."

Ray looked down at the hundred-dollar-bill in her hands. She supposed the decision made itself. The girl put her cash on the counter. "Just one." There was a small nagging in the back of her mind that said Zack wouldn't be happy about it, but at least they saved money this way.

With a heavy sigh, the woman finally looked away from her phone and stood. Ray lowered her hooded head, shielding her face a bit more, but the receptionist didn't so much as bat an eye. It was quickly become apparent to Ray that this woman learned better than to ask questions of her customers business. She didn't even seem surprised about the time of night.

Getting back her change from the register, the receptionist took a key from the rack behind her before placing it on the counter in front of Rachel. "Room C7," she said simply. Muttering something that sounded similar to "enjoy your stay", the woman flipped right back to anything else but Ray. Without another word, the girl took the articles, turning and walking back out.

Huh.

"Well?" a voice called. She turned to see Zack approaching from the evening shadows.

Holding up the key, she replied simply, "Room C7," not that he had any idea what a "C" or a "7" looked like.

"What'd I tell ya?" He gave her a rough pat on the back. "Nothin' to worry about." The faintest sense of relief showed on her face in reply. Maybe she should listen Zack more often.

"I'm gonna shower," Zack said the moment they stepped in the door, settling his scythe against the corner—turning to the small bathroom left of the entrance. Rachel looked back over her shoulder at him; she almost felt relieved he hadn't noticed the room otherwise. As one might expect, it was as run-down as the main lobby.

"Wait," she stopped him, reaching into the plastic bag she held, pulling out a roll of medical wrap they'd taken from the gas station and a tube of disinfectant. "Here," she held it out to him. Zack blinked in surprise for a moment, as he hadn't realized she'd grabbed it. Silently, he took it from her, then closed the door behind him.

Alone, Ray gazed back to the room. It smelled strong of smoke, the blinds were tattered on the edges. The blankets looked thin, and Ray didn't even want to question how long it must've been since the sheet were washed. It was certainly better than sleeping on the floor though, as Ray had already decided she'd be doing. She put down her bag, then taking off Zack's hoodie and boots before placing them on the bed. Walking over to the window, she pulled the curtains, getting a wonderful view of the back parking lot. The girl exhaled a deep sigh through her nose; instinctively, her gaze drifted upwards, to the moon. It wasn't full anymore, but it was still pretty.

Rachel took a step back, settling to her knees as the window's silhouette poured in a large block of illumination. The stars were drowned out by the city's light pollution, but the moon lit the room fluorescent all on its own. She shifted to lay down, the carpet was nearly hard as stone, but at least it wasn't a car, and more importantly, at least it wasn't the her bed back at the mental ward. Her eyelids grow heavier, and before long, her consciousness grew dim, hardly disturbed by the sound of the creaky bathroom door opening.

An overwhelming waft of steam followed Zack as he entered back into the main room. He'd changed his bandages, remarkably less dim in shade considering the fact. Needless to say, it was a rare occurrence for him to not be covered in blood and dirt and all else. Despite his efforts however, he could only put his dirty jeans back on. Running a towel through his hair, he paused in realization, staring down at the floor.

He was somehow stunned by the sight of Rachel's petite form curled up in the moonlight.

He gazed back over to the single mattress, realizing the situation. A twinge of annoyance flicked the back of his mind. Didn't they get a hotel exactly for this reason, so she didn't have to sleep on the ground? He wondered for a moment, if he should wake her up and tell her to lay down properly. After a second, he decided against it; like hell if he was gonna let her get in the habit of having him solve all her problems. Slipping his hoodie back on, he looked at the comforter for a second.

Then away.

Then back at it again.

Ultimately, he heaved a heavy sigh in annoyance. Yanking the blanket off the bed, he threw it over her, letting it drift down atop Ray's sleeping form. Flopping down on the exposed mattress with his arms resting behind his head, he closed his eyes. Keeping her around really was a nuisance.

But, admittedly, at least it gave him an excuse to sleep in an actual bed for once.

The next evening, the twilight cast long sunrays upon Zack's closed lids. He rubbed his eyes, the start of a headache pulsing in the back of his skull from some disturbance or another. The light, however, wasn't quite the reason he was awoken, the agitation of static echoed among the soft hum of the cable television: a news station. Holding the remote, Rachel rested on her knees as she sat on the floor, staring up at the screen.

"Yesterday evening, April 21st, fifty-three year-old Paul Russel was found dead behind a Shell gas station he'd been managing, just off Highway 164. Police have ruled the death as a murder, matching the witness testimony on the matter. At 6:45 P.M. the same day, onlooker Joanna Watson phoned the authorities, claiming to have seen a gruesome murder."

The scene, previously a newscaster sat in front of a station backdrop, switched to an on-sight spectacle. A reporter stood next to the same woman they'd saved the day prior. "It was terrifying, I-I had just gone in to pay for my gas, and the man behind the counter grabbed me! He wouldn't let me go, then he took me out back and told me he'd kill me if I... if I d-didn't—" the witness's testimonial trailed off.

"How did you escape?" the reported pressed.

Her reply sounded incredulous. "A little girl saved me."

"A little girl?"

She nodded. "I couldn't see her face very well, but she seemed confused. I though she... she maybe didn't really know what was happening, but then she told the man to stop. When he didn't, she started counting."

"Then?"

There was a long pause. "Then a man wrapped in bandages walked out from behind her with a scythe. I recognized him instantly, he was... that escaped killer," trauma showed plain on the woman's face. "He... murdered the man who was attacking me."

The screen flashed back to the news reporter. "The killer has been identified as convicted felon Isaac Foster," Zack's mugshot appeared on the screen, placed beside Ray's. "While unconfirmed, it's to be assumed the young woman with him was thirteen-year-old Rachel Gardner, who'd been kidnapped by the killer for a second time the day prior. Foster's motives and location are still unknown."

A detective, presumably, was next shown on screen, behind him being the same gas station they'd been at yesterday, however enclosed with yellow hazard tape. "What can you tell us about the situation?" The accompanying reporter held a microphone out to the man.

"We can't say much for sure at this point," the detective put a hand to his chin, "but we think Foster must be keeping Rachel Gardner for personal motives."

Half awake, Zack let out an unhumored "tch." The sounds of static dissipating echoed as Ray shut off the TV. In retrospect, it was probably a good thing the receptionist hadn't asked to see an ID, given that the news of their work had made nearly every station Rachel checked. "They didn't even mention what that man was going to do if we didn't stop him."

Zack forced himself to sit up, slinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Welcome to the media, kid." Certainly not the first time public reporting had slandered his same (...but maybe the first time where it was unrightfully so.) Rachel stood, tinged by resentment, but she didn't let it linger. Oh well, she though. As long as God knew the truth, that's all she needed.

"It'll be dark soon." The young woman looked back to Zack. "Have you rested well enough?"

"Woulda been better if ya hadn't woke me up with that racket, but yeah."

Rachel made a mental note that Zack, in fact, was not a morning person. Walking over to the nearby window, she peeked through the blinds. "I was thinking we should get a few things tonight. Before we decide what to do next."

He sure hoped she meant cereal.

"I hope you mean cereal."

Listen, homeboy just really liked cereal.

"Sure," she said nonchalantly, "but we should also look for new clothes." The girl's gaze dropped down to her feet, covered in blood and dirt. "I need shoes, too."

"Well, don't know about all'a that," he replied, stretching a bit, "but I can tell you what you're gonna need." Ray tilted her head curiously. "A new weapon." Her reply caught him off guard, helping him awaken a bit more, if nothing else.

"I already have one."

Zack raised an eyebrow. "Thought you said you left my knife back at the loony bin?"

"I did," she muttered. Truthfully, she felt a strange sort of sadness, even regret maybe in having done so, but, to be fair, she didn't think she'd be needing it. Admittedly, even now, since she and Zack were together again, she knew she'd be safe. She didn't have to worry about dying before he could kill her.

Even so, after a moment, Ray turned back, preemptively holding the new article in her hand. It was the pocket knife they'd then from the man they killed the day before. Morbidly, Zack grinned. "Kill a man, take his blade. Now that's what I call sticking the knife in and twisting it," he snorted. "You really are ready for this, eh?" Ray gave a simple nod, clearly confident. An amused grin showed as Zack's face, as his visage reflected off the blade's mirror edge. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're lookin' forward to it."

The night was dim in the deep alley. Rachel couldn't see well through the lens of darkness, but Zack seemed to fair just fine. The rummaging of a hand in a cereal box grated in Rachel's ear, followed by loud, obnoxious crunching.

"Don't know where you think we're gonna find clothes in a place like this," he gestured to the surrounding walls with full hands, "but I'm pretty sure you're outta luck."

Ray almost rolled her eyes, she wasn't baseless in her logic. "Just give me a second," she said, and what would've otherwise sounded like an express of agitation from anyone else came out as a humble request from Rachel's lips. Her gaze panned around as she lingered and squinted. As she'd presumed, looking up, the sight of dangling clothes lines threaded between the two close-knit buildings.

"Well," Zack huffed a laugh in surprise. Scooping a last handful of cereal in his mouth, he threw the empty box on the ground, patting his sugary hands together. "I'll be damned."

Most of the attire looked to be for demographics outside of her own. Taking a few fast steps forward, she examined the various garments. Finally, a smaller set caught her eye; something about it almost seemed familiar. Taking a step onto the rusting fire exit, Ray scaled to the top.

It was a navy and white pinstripe shirt; luckily, it had a hood. Next to it was a plaid skirt and a pair of black knee-high socks with a lace edge. The midi, Rachel realized, must've been part of a school uniform. Maybe that was why she recognized it.

Thinking about it, a strange sense twisted in the pit of her stomach. Despite everything, she felt almost guilty stealing things that weren't hers, especially from a child her age—a person living a normal life, going to school, spending time with friends (probably going to church.) You know, things a girl her age should be doing. Her gaze turned to the nearby window, she had to lean across the rail a bit to get a good look inside, but it was very clearly a teenage girl's room. Ray put her hand on the pane; inside was a nearby desk with a papers sprawled out on top, probably homework. Written on one of essays was a name...

Rebecca Carlisle.

Something about the denomination resonated with Ray, and she tried to think of why that might be, but nowadays, she couldn't quite recognize what was true and false, or memory and illusion. Her therapist at the mental hospital told her it was part of her "condition", delirium. Maybe she heard the name before, but who knows, maybe she didn't.

"'Ey, slowpoke! Ya just gonna stare off like an idiot all day, or what?"

Ray looked back down to Zack as he stood with a hand on his hip and an unamused look. Her only reply was a soft "sorry," exhaled so quietly he may not have heard. Looking back to the clothesline, she called down, "It looks like some of these clothes might fit you, too. Should I grab them?"

"I don't care, just make it quick, we ain't got all night!" he shouted back to her.

Alright, well: "Which ones do you want?"

Zack rolled his eyes. "I don't know, just pick somethin'!" The young woman looked to the various options; it was certainly easier to find something his size. She chose another hoodie, a red one this time (complete with striped sleeves,) and a pair of dark jeans. As she pinched the clothespins off the line, something else caught her eye.

Oh. That'd work.

Collecting all the articles, she made her way back down to him. She held out the armful of clothes for him to examine. The hoodie and jeans didn't seem abnormal, but the last garment confused the boy. "What's that?"

"A leather jacket," she said simply. "I thought it'd look good on you."

"Huh," he muttered before taking it. Nonchalant, he shrugged, moving on, "You ready to go, then?"

"Almost," Ray looked at the clothes she held, then back to Zack. "I still need shoes."

He nodded to the ground nearby, gesturing. "How 'bout those ones?" Presumably, at the back door to the same apartment, there were three sets of shoes on the outside mat. The smallest was a simple pair of black boots. She took the set in hand, lifting them bottom-up. The soul read that same name, written in marker: Carlisle. Setting them down, she stepped into the boots. They felt a bit small, but better than nothing. "Let's get changed, then."

They'd stepped deeper back and around the alley, giving each other proper space by means of a dividing dumpster. After a few moments, a call echoed from the far side.

"How does it look?" Baring the new outer and the clean hoodie, Zack stepped forward, fashioning his image as if he were a prize to be won with an almost satirical grin. Following his example, Ray took a step out and examined him. After a moment, she nodded affirmatively, and just as she thought, it fit him perfect.

"Ready to kill."