Boiling Point: Eve Townsend - Serial Killer Hunter: Book 3 by Mark Lukens

Author:Mark Lukens [Lukens, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-12-29T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-FOUR

Eddie Cady woke up in the metal drum, still tied up, the leather collar still around his neck, the red rope still attached to the collar and strung up and out of the gridwork of rebar welded to the top of the large metal barrel. He didn’t know how long he’d been passed out, but it had to have been a while—it was day now, a weak and gray light streaming from up above, down into the drum.

He licked his lips—it felt like they were cracking. His tongue felt swollen, like it might cut off his breathing. He tried to swallow, and for a panicky second, he couldn’t. Then the saliva built up and he managed to swallow once, and then again.

After squeezing his eyes shut, he opened them again. His body ached so badly. His hands and feet had gone numb a while ago. The muscles in his legs and shoulders and back screamed at him.

“Hey,” he said. He tried to yell, but the word had come out as a croak.

He tilted his head up as much as he could. The light was better now than it had been before. He could see part of a block wall in the distance, what looked like a ceiling, but part of the ceiling had crumbled, jagged concrete edges and snarls of rebar exposed.

“Hey,” he yelled, his voice louder this time. He coughed and yelled again. “Hey! Help me! Somebody help me!”

No answer. Just the echoes from his voice reverberating inside the metal drum.

“Darren’s coming,” he whispered to himself, looking down again, the side of the metal drum right in front of him. “Darren’s coming, and he’s going to bring the whole fucking FBI with him.”

Eddie hadn’t tried to think about it too much before, but there was no denying who had gassed him and taken him—the Boiler. He had taken four other men already.

And now I’m the fifth one.

He had boiled the men alive. That’s why he was tied up in this big metal drum.

Footsteps.

Someone was coming. Heavy boots.

Eddie looked up, moving his head as much as the leather collar and ropes would allow.

The pest control worker stood over the drum, looking down at him. He still had the white suit on, the green rubber gloves, the respirator and mask strapped to his face, breathing heavily, sounding a little like Darth Vader.

“Please . . . please don’t do this.”

The man said nothing. He just breathed loudly.

Eddie tried to make out the man’s eyes behind the plastic eyeholes of the respirator mask—he could almost see them, but there was too much reflection on the plastic.

“You don’t have to do this. You can let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I . . . I swear I won’t.” Eddie was crying again. He couldn’t remember when he had started crying.

The man walked away. He was doing something, getting something ready, dragging something toward the drum. He was back in Eddie’s field of vision again with the end of a garden hose in one gloved hand.

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