His throat ached as he swallowed. The flesh of his neck was tender, as if his Adam's apple had been bruised. He coughed, wincing and pushing himself up to look around. This room was very much like his own, which begged the question, just how big was this fucking basement? He was pretty sure from the thickness of the walls and lack of windows, that's what it was. His eyes ached from having his oxygen cut off. Being choked out sucked. It left his head throbbing behind his eyes and his vision fuzzy. He noticed, as he shook his head, that he wasn't alone in the dimly lit room, which was about as big as his current bedroom.
He frowned as he looked at the two men, each one tied to a chair. The first was older, maybe early forties, and clearly the country type. He was wearing a dirty white vest that was tight around his sagging gut and dusty jeans that suggested he'd been walking through bogland recently. His walking boots had once been tan like his own, but were currently caked with dry mud. He had long greying brown hair tied in a low tail, not even bothering to hide his receding hairline. There was greying stubble on his chin and down his neck, suggesting he didn't bother with upkeep, but shaved fairly often. Grey eyes stared at him with a sense of raw indignation, which made Gavin think he probably didn't know who'd brought him here.
The second man was younger, maybe late twenties. Unlike the first, his pale blue eyes were wide in terror, head darting this way and that as he squirmed and tried to slip free. He had wisps of hair on his pale, gaunt cheeks, unable to grow a proper beard. His hair was thin and sandy, fairly short but untrimmed. He was wearing worn jeans and a denim jacket that was a little too big, making him look even more feeble than he actually was. Both men were gagged, hands tied behind their backs with their ankles tied to the uncomfortable metal chairs to stop them breaking free.
Perhaps if the first man hadn't been so large and clearly angry, Gavin might have untied them, but something felt off. Even the slimmer of the two, weedy as he was, set off his danger sense. He didn't feel safe, as if he'd been left in a cage with an angry gorilla, or maybe something worse. Rather than going towards them, he stumbled further away to get his bearings from a safe distance. His head was still foggy as he rubbed his face and leaned on the wall, noticing a small table over to the right. He frowned as he noticed a gun on it. The phck?
He approached cautiously, lifting it to find it was his own make and model. It wasn't his. That was impossible. He'd left his gun in the-He didn't have his gun. Popping the clip, he found one bullet inside, an icy feeling trickling down his spine as he realised the name of the game. Shooting himself was out of the question. No way could he do that to...to anyone. Even Hank wouldn't want to find him like that. The bullet clearly wasn't meant for him to use on himself, and there were only two other people in the room. Two people he knew nothing about.
There was no way he was just going to shoot one of them for no reason. He was an officer of the law, and he took that duty seriously. Putting the gun down, he skirted the walls instead, ignoring the two men as they hummed and grunted around the grubby white gags for attention. He wouldn't kill them, but he wasn't about to let them loose, either. If the rules were that one person had to die, then he knew for a fact they wouldn't hesitate to play the game. If they're even allowed to play. The chairs didn't move or scrape, so he could only guess they'd been bolted to the floor.
Circling the square room told him nothing he didn't already know. It was a comfortably large space, a little bigger than the interrogation rooms at the DPD. The walls were painted white, thick and cold to the touch. The floor was white cement, dirty but not stained. He could only guess this wasn't usually a kill room. The only door in or out was, unsurprisingly, locked. It was heavier than the one in his bedroom, made of metal, like the old cell doors in a few of the older prisons. There was a window that could slide open and close, and a flap for trays and small items to be passed through. No windows, no vents that he could see, and no air conditioning.
Returning to the table, he leaned on the edge and folded his arms and legs, green eyes calculating as he looked at the two men. It wasn't like the Hickory Killer to stay quiet, so he could only guess he'd either come along later or call through the door. Until then, he was reluctant to act. Removing their gags would probably do no harm, but then he'd be invested. They'd have a chance to convince him to cut them loose, and that felt like a bad idea. He couldn't put his finger on it, but these two were bad news.
"You're awake." Gavin's head snapped up as the voice crackled through what sounded like an old speaker, though he couldn't see it anywhere. He unfolded his arms, still looking up as he searched the ceiling. "Good...Very good. You may have already guessed your current task, but to make things clear..." There was a small metal screech as the flap of the door was opened and two files were pushed through. Police files. Whether they were genuinely stolen or bought from a local precinct or made by the Hickory Killer himself, Gavin wasn't sure. Either way, he knew files. He could work with files. He picked them up without being prompted and looked at the pictures on the front. One for each man. "I'll give you some time to read through those files before I ask you to make the choice...Who lives, and who dies?" Gavin's skin pricked at the thought.
It wasn't his job to make those choices! He put scumbags behind bars, but he didn't execute them, no matter how badly they may deserve it. The speaker crackled to silence, so Gavin hopped on the edge of the table and got to work, noting both men had gone still. It seemed having their lives in the balance was making them more amicable. Opening the older man's file first, Gavin was faced with a fairly thick stack of papers. They were written in the general vein of a police report, only not as formal. He was pretty sure the Hickory Killer had written them. How does he know what a police report even looks like? Was I right? Has he been spying through the security cameras all this time?
The Hickory Killer had listed one kill on each page, going into great detail about how this man, Patrick Harper, would stalk his victims. There were even pictures, sometimes both before and after. How the Hickory Killer had managed that, he couldn't say. It turned his stomach to think of it. A killer stalking a killer. Watching him hunt. Digging up his kills. He must have been planning this for months, he had so many. Harper lived on a farm just out of town and made regular trips in for shopping. Shopping of both kinds. He liked women. Middled-aged women. Mother figures. If they had children, all the better. The children, if they were present, were always left behind. He wasn't interested in them. He'd leave them in the car or in the middle of the parking lot, grab their mother, and drive to the forest near his home. What he did to them before they died was unclear, but their deaths were always violent and bloody. He carried them deep through the trees, where the land was often wet and boggy, and buried them there where no one would find them.
The second man, surprisingly, was worse. Gavin counted him as worse because he went for kids. Thus far, Gilbert Donovan had only targeted human kids. Specifically, boys between eight and twelve. His file was much smaller because sometimes he kept them long term, for a year or more. His country home, left to him by his parents, had space and security enough for him to let the boys wander freely. They rarely escaped, and when they did, alarms were tripped and they were soon caught. Any escapees were quickly disposed of, so it didn't happen again. Predictably, he didn't simply kill these children. They were subjected to weeks, months, or even years of rape and mental abuse. Either they were well behaved and lived until they got too old, or they were fighters or runners, and were disposed of early. Reading his file alone tempted him to pull the trigger, but he wouldn't. Those kids deserved justice, not murder.
Unfortunately, he knew his captor wouldn't see it that way. He was gunning for him to make a choice. The choice was sickeningly easy. He hated by how much. The tremble that ran through Donovan told him he knew it, too. His pale eyes closed, skin paling to a sickly shade as sweat glistened across his brow. No one liked a paedophile. Even in prison, they needed to be kept isolated or pretend they were in for something else. Even psychopaths and killers wouldn't put themselves on the same level. If it got out you'd touched or murdered kids, you were done. Shanked, choked, beaten, it didn't matter how, and the guards often looked the other way.
"Well?" He was back. It had been maybe an hour. Long enough for him to read the files and get an idea of who these people were. If the files are real...If he was being held by anyone else, he might think that, but the Hickory Killer had always been honest. The men also set off his danger sense. After reading the files, Gavin wasn't surprised. "Have you made a choice?" Gavin remained still, glaring at the door with his lips pursed. He'd never admit it out loud, but with the Hickory Killer, he didn't need to. "Good, Gavin. You have one bullet. Use it wisely."
"No..." The speakers crackled quietly.
"No?" Gavin remained resolute, dropping the files on the table and folding his arms. "I know you feel it, Gavin...They both deserve to die. You'll be doing the world a favour by taking one of them off its hands." People always saw it that way, and maybe they were right. In the grand scheme of things, killing a paedophile or a murderer was saving a hell of a lot of people, but serving them justice did the same thing. Their victims or their families got to look these sickos in the eye and see them sentenced. Vigilante justice was outlawed for a reason. "Either you kill one of them, or both will die." Usually, that wouldn't be much of a threat, but killing by proxy was still killing. Even if the blood wasn't on his hands, he'd still be condoning it. But does he mean that?
"You'd kill them anyway." It was a reasonable assumption. How could be bring them here, wherever here was, and let them leave alive? They likely wouldn't go to the police over it, but the Hickory Killer wasn't the type to leave loose ends. And if he did let them go, that would be even more blood on my hands...If they were released, they'd go back to their usual sick ways for sure.
"Usually...but that wouldn't be fair to you, would it?" Letting them go wasn't much of a choice, either. "If you despatch one of them, I shall see that the other is delivered to justice." That could be a code for killing. "To your justice." That made it a little more believable. One dies, the other gets booked. On the surface, it seemed like a good deal, but could he really do it? Screw his morals and shoot somebody like that? Anxiety fluttered in the chest as he considered that he actually might. He'd killed Chloe, after all. Someone he cared about. Why not shoot one of these fuckers and be done with it? Because it's not me, and it's what he wants! "I'll give you a little more time to consider." Gavin glared at the door as the speaker fell silent.
Gavin stayed where he was, breath shaking as he looked at the men. Their lives were in his hands. Their lives and my morals...He wasn't a cold-blooded killer. Yes, the choice was simple. If life were a video game, maybe he'd do it, but this wasn't a game. Not to him, at least. What will happen if I don't choose though? Would there be a penalty for him to pay? Would they put him back in the tiled room again? Leave him cold, naked, and alone? Starve him? His skin prickled, fear fluttering in his chest. It wasn't a fair game. He wasn't giving in for the reasons the Hickory Killer wanted if he did it out of fear. That's what he hoped anyway.
The men in the chairs started struggling and grunting again, each clearly trying to plead their case. Harper still seemed more angry than afraid, probably threatening him with what he'd do if he got free. Donovan was more of a weasel, whimpering and pleading through the gag as tears spilled down his cheeks. Gavin cursed under his breath, taking a gulp of air as he looked at the ceiling. He couldn't do it. He couldn't give in to this. If he gave in, he'd turn into exactly what the Hickory Killer wanted him to be. He shuddered at the reminder that he'd always done what the Hickory Killer wanted.
From the very first time he'd picked up his file, when he'd set foot on that first crime scene. The Hickory Killer had always been multiple steps ahead, laying out breadcrumbs like he was a fucking pigeon. He'd led him to each kill, swapping from doing it for himself to doing it for him. He'd acted like a cat, leaving gifts and playing games, occasionally drawing blood. Since he was always multiple steps ahead, Gavin assumed he already knew how this would end. One way or the other, things would go his way. But not today.
"Make your choice, Gavin." Gavin's jaw hardened as he glared at the door, gripping the edge of the table and remaining in his seat. "What will it be? The killer or the paedophile?" He didn't respond, dropping his head to stare at his knees. Maybe if he didn't move or speak, things would stay as they were. "I see...You need to know that I'm sincere..." Gavin's head shot up as the door opened and Jack stepped inside, gun in hand. He didn't stop or even hesitate as he stepped behind Donovan and fired through the back of his head.
Gavin watched in horror, stomach churning as the man's head exploded outward. He closed his eyes and turned his face and raising an arm to ward off the shower of blood, bone, and brain that rained upon him. A second shot and fresh splatter on his jeans told him that Harper was gone as well. His breaths came out as stunned gasps, too fast and shallow to really take in air. He started shaking as he opened his eyes, very conscious of the sticky matter on his face and hands, and the warmth seeping through his jeans. His porridge didn't stay in his stomach for long. He gagged, falling off the table to his knees and resting his hands on the bloodied ground. Two people were dead. Two people had been killed right in front of him because of choices he made.
"Next time I make you an offer, Gavin, I expect you to accept it." He didn't respond. The Hickory Killer didn't expect him to. Looking up, he almost gagged again as he took in the two limp bodies, faces almost gone from the force of the bullets tearing through their skulls. He shuddered, fear and anxiety tightening his chest until he could barely even breathe. "Take him back to his room." Gavin didn't hear whether Jack replied. He'd already lost himself in a dizzying haze. This is my fault-this is my fault-Phck-phck-shit-I did this-It's my fault!