Sliders: Bloodline (4 of 4)

by Nigel G. Mitchell

Wade looked from the woman to Mrs. Lynch. "What?"

Mrs. Lynch grabbed a hammer off the worktable. She swung it at Arturo's head. Before Arturo could react, he had been knocked across the room. He slid to the floor, his eyes rolling up into his head.

Mrs. Lynch wheeled on Wade while drawing a butcher knife out of her apron. "Don't move."

Wade stared at her, her eyes wide in horror.

"Helen," Richard Lynch repeated. "What's going on here? What have you done?"

Wade backed away from Mrs. Lynch. "You didn't do this?"

"No," Lynch said. "She told me never to come down here. That she was making something for me, a surprise. But...this..."

"I did make something, honey," Mrs. Lynch said. "A big surprise. Your trip to the electric chair. Just one more woman to make an even fifty, then a tip-off to the police to put you on trial while I moved on somewhere else. To find another sucker to pin my work on."

Mrs. Lynch shrugged. "Oh, well. Best-laid plans, et cetera."

Lynch pointed a trembling finger at her. "You're the Golden Gate Killer? But how? Why?"

"Why?" Mrs. Lynch whispered. "Don't you remember that night we talked about the Killer? About the bloodlust that drives someone to kill? Didn't you make the connection then that I was talking about myself? The moment of death, when the blood is seeping from my prey, is the only time I feel...anything. I need to see blood, to feel it, to taste it."

"You're insane," Lynch whispered.

Mrs. Lynch smiled sweetly. "That's right, dear. And you're dead."

She threw the knife at Richard. It sank deep into his chest. Richard staggered back, gasped, and fell down the stairs. The thuds of his body striking the steps echoed through the basement. He landed at the foot of the staircase on his back, the knife protruding from his ribs. His breathing faded to a low whine.

Wade looked at Mrs. Lynch. She hunched over, breathing heavily. Her mouth hung open in a fierce smile. Her tongue came out to lick her upper lip. "Now it's your turn."

Mrs. Lynch threw herself at Wade, screaming. Wade remembered she held a knife. She brought it out to aim at the woman rushing towards her. But Mrs. Lynch seemed to dance out of the way of the blade. Her hand moved as a blur as it grabbed the handle in Wade's grip. It twisted, hard, causing a shock of pain in Wade's wrist. Wade gasped. She released the knife.

In a split-second, the knife had changed hands. It waited in Mrs. Lynch's hands now.
Mrs. Lynch grabbed Wade's shirt. She shoved Wade against the wall, pinning her there with a hand on her chest.

Mrs. Lynch raised the knife above her head. "Four in one day. That's a new record for me."

She raised the knife higher.

Mrs. Lynch froze. Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened wider, the smile melting into a grimace. A soft wheeze drifted out of her mouth. She fell over onto the floor.
A butcher knife jutted from her back.

Wade looked out to see Richard Lynch still lying at the foot of the stairs. The butcher knife no longer jutted from his chest. One hand clutched his bloody shirt. The other outstretched, lying on the floor, its last ounce of strength drained by the act of throwing the knife.

Wade swallowed, but her dry mouth caused her tongue to stick to the inside of her cheeks. She managed to speak. "Thank you."

Richard Lynch managed a weak smile. "You're welcome."

* * *

Circles of red and white light bathed over Wade from the lights of the police cars and ambulances. She watched as the paramedics loaded the captured woman and Richard Lynch into ambulances. A body bag carried Helen Lynch to the black van of the local morgue.

Arturo walked up to her, his head wrapped in snow-white bandages. He winced as he touched his temple. "I feel like my head has been used as a Ping-Pong ball."

Arturo shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. "Well, I've called the others. They should be here in a few minutes. Easier to have them come to us. The police shall be detaining us for a while to take statements."

Wade nodded as she looked down at the sidewalk at her feet. She prodded a piece of used gum with her toe. "Professor? I just wanted to say I'm sorry. You were right. I was so convinced that everything would be the same here, that Lynch was the killer. I nearly got us killed."

Arturo shook his head, then winced in pain. "No, Miss Welles, I owe you an apology. You were right to interfere. If we had not attempted to solve this mystery, Richard Lynch would have been framed for the murders while his wife got away Scot-free. In this instance, our foreknowledge bore positive fruit."

"So I guess we were both wrong?"

Arturo shrugged, looking away into the distance. "There's no point in assigning blame. What's done is done. Soon, we'll be leaving all this behind us."

Wade watched the long, black plastic bag being loaded into the morgue van. "Not me, professor. I'll never be able to leave this behind."

The smell of death still lingered in her nostrils, carried into her lungs with every breath.

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