The greater good requires sacrifice, and I’m willing to risk making the biggest mistake of my career to get those answers.

The designated hotel for visitors sits adjacent from Briar. I stand at the window of my hotel room, watching the grounds as the sky darkens and the lights of the facility blink on to cast distorted shadows along the grass.

I placed a call to the Hollow’s Row Police Department and was put through to Devyn. She promised to keep the scene intact until this evening, and I had to make her aware I wouldn’t be returning in time.

“Thanks for trying to wait for me,” I said to her, “but I won’t be back today. Maybe tomorrow, and possibly, I’ll be bringing help along.”

“Another fed?” she asked. “Because, the suits descended today. I can’t see how this town can fit any more.”

“No. Not a fed,” I assure her. “A psychotic philosophy professor.”

She laughed, but when I didn’t join in, the line went silent.

“Oh, you’re serious,” she said. “Halen, are you helping, or are you bringing something worse to my town?”

I try not to lie to those I respect. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

After I ended the call, I contacted Special Agent Wren Alister, who’s been appointed lead on the Hollow’s Row task force. He’s the one I need to gain approval from in order to bring in an expert consultant on the case.

My division has a lot of sway, but I can’t push Kallum through as a consultant with my director. Aubrey made that clear when he reprimanded me about this trip.

I check my email on my phone. Still no confirmation from Agent Alister. I’ve already completed the pile of required paperwork. I’ve put everything in place. And I’m still not certain this is the right course of action.

Anxiety tightens my chest, and I glance at the slip of paper Dr. Torres handed me.

Peering out the window, I touch the pendant at my neck, seeking some semblance of comfort and maybe even guidance.

“I’m making a very bad mistake,” I whisper.

Dr. Torres’s words haunt me, and I’m not entirely sure of my purpose, or intent.

I accused him of using Kallum to further his career—but am I just as vain in my endeavor to prove Kallum is the Harbinger killer?

Who am I risking if this goes horribly wrong?

Then I picture the gruesome crime scene, the eyes staring vacantly, the tortured bodies of the victims still lost.

Bodies that may still be, in fact, alive.

It’s the one thing no one said at the crime scene, but it’s what the silence screamed.

It’s why the FBI has been called to Hollow’s Row.

If there’s a chance these victims can be found alive, and that chance rests in the ruthless inked hands of a killer…

I grab my phone and open the web browser. I type in he who sees with his eyes is blind and hit Search.

The quote pulls up right away, citing Socrates in Plato’s Allegory of the Cave . I click the link and dive in, immersing myself in the reading. My basic understanding of the interpretation is it’s a metaphorical play about the theoretical difference between intelligence and ignorance.

I rub my forehead, trying to stave off the forming headache. Philosophy—especially ancient Greek—was not my strength in college. I’m too rational, too grounded in practicality to ponder the meaning of the universe.

The further I delve into my research, the more I gather a dominant theme. For the most part, the dialogues allude to most people being happy without a muse, living without divine inspiration, as they have no access to higher perceptions of reality.

In simplified, cliché terms: Ignorance is bliss.

After clicking through links and reading definitions and interpretations of epistemology, I find myself on the back end of the Internet on some philosophy forum, where I’ve lost all track of time and reason, and I can’t even recall what I was originally searching for.

“Shit.” I blow out a frustrated breath.

I glance at the window, as if I can feel Kallum’s derision, his mockery of my attempt to piece together this lead. A lead or a tangent, like Dr. Torres warned? Either way, this is exactly what he wanted.

I’m questioning everything.

Risk, like philosophy, presents a danger outside of ourselves. The only way to mitigate the danger in risk is to have control over the variables.

Rationally speaking, I need to gain control over Kallum Locke.

I’ve put myself in the mind of many sociopaths and killers over the years. I know how they think, how they behave, respond to stimuli—and how they need to be the smartest, most powerful force in the room.

If a wilting rose is what Kallum desires, then I will show him my withered petals.

I click out of the sites and grab a bottled water from the mini-fridge. Then I make the call to Joseph Wheeler, the agency lawyer Dr. Torres referred, to make the deal.

OceanofPDF.com

5

Deal with the Devil

Kallum

“T wo visits in as many days. I’m honored, Dr. St. James.”

Halen sits in the same seat she sat in yesterday at the visitation table. Only today, she seems a little less on edge. Her hair is down. The rich layers drape her shoulders and stop right below her natural, pear-shaped breasts.

I have the sudden, destructive urge to sweep the white strand behind her ear, or wrap it around my fist. I curl my fingers toward my palm on the table to curb the impulse.

She’s freshly showered, and I inhale the scent of generic shampoo and soap. She packed in a rush to get here; she didn’t bring along her own brand of cleansers and fragrance.

Without a retort, she removes documents from her satchel and lines the forms in a row on the tabletop between us. She’s all serious business.

“This is the offer, Kallum,” she states. “You can’t barter or hold out for a better deal. This is time sensitive. This, or nothing at all.”

I don’t look at the documents. I hold her silvery gaze. The overcast sky threatens bad weather, and her irises reflect the stormy atmosphere outside the windows, making her look more like an ethereal fairy creature.

“Before you give me your pitch, I have a request.”

She braces herself with a fortifying intake of air. “Go ahead.”

“The white forelock…?” I use my finger to motion around the side of my face in mirror of hers.

“Poliosis,” she answers straightforward. “The harmless, genetic kind. My mother also had it.” Her rough edges sharpen around the mention of her mother, and her defensive walls erect higher as she avoids my eyes.

“Seems we have a commonality,” I say. “My heterochromia is also a rare pigment condition passed through the genes.” I blink and flash her a smile with my eyes.

“No underlying conditions?” she probes.

She’s fishing for more than the reason behind my striking eyes in my gene pool. “Not unless you count smoldering genius….no.”

With a hard nod, she glances down at the documents. “For the record, we’re nothing alike, Kallum. Now, let’s go over the specifics—”

“Just tell me the offer.” She’s using my first name, one of my terms. From the tightness rimming her pouty lips, she’s not thrilled with the concession.

But she is desperate.

“There is no judge in the state of Boston who is going to grant you a full release,” she says. Her features soften as she delivers the practiced half of her speech. “But, you will have a measure of freedom while you’re participating on the case. You’ll be required to wear an ankle monitor, and assigned a psychiatrist to supervise you. Then, when the case is closed, provided your help is deemed valuable, you’ll be relocated out of Briar to a less restrictive facility.”

I link my hands together on the table, interlacing my fingers. I hold her unwavering stare for a beat, then glance down at the scripted ink on my forearm. One line in particular, a quote from Plato: There will be no end to the troubles of state, or of humanity itself, till philosophers become kings.