Chapter 10: The Curtain Falls

Adam tore out of Valerie’s driveway, the tires of his sedan screaming against the wet asphalt. His phone was already pressed to his ear, ringing David.

"Adam, I heard the dispatch," David’s voice crackled through the speaker, tight with panic. "Units are at the house. Valerie is breathing, but Katie is gone."

"I know," Adam said, his voice dropping into a deadly, icy calm. He wasn't a scared rookie anymore. He was a man with nothing left to lose. "Dave, Christopher is a performer. Everything he does is a show. He needs a stage for his grand finale. Where is the educational theatre troupe registered?"

Keyboard keys clattered frantically on the other end of the line. "An old address in the West Melbourne industrial district. The 'Regent,' an abandoned vaudeville theatre condemned ten years ago. Adam, don't go in alone. Wait for backup. I'm mobilising SWAT."

"There's no time," Adam said, and threw the phone onto the passenger seat.

The Regent Theatre loomed out of the Victorian storm like a rotting leviathan. Its neon marquee was shattered, the rusted iron doors chained shut. Adam didn't bother picking the lock. He reversed his car, shifted into drive, and slammed the accelerator to the floor. The heavy sedan crashed through the rusted loading dock doors at the back of the alley, sending splinters of dry rot and metal flying into the dark.

Adam kicked his door open and stepped into the pitch-black backstage area. The air was thick with the smell of mildew, ancient velvet, and dust.

He didn't have his gun. He reached into the trunk of his wrecked car and pulled out a heavy steel tyre iron. It would have to do.

As he stepped out from the wings and onto the massive, rotting wooden stage, the lights suddenly slammed on. Not modern overheads, but blazing, blinding theatrical spotlights cutting through the dusty air.

And then, the music started.

It wasn't a recording this time. Sitting at a grand piano in the orchestra pit below the stage was Christopher. He was out of the cloak, wearing a pristine, albeit dusty, vintage tuxedo. His back was to Adam, his hands moving over the keys with terrifying, practised grace, playing that same haunting, delicate melody.

In the centre of the stage, directly under a massive, suspended iron chandelier, sat Katie. She was bound to a wooden chair with heavy zip-ties. Her eyes were wide with sheer terror, her tears tracking through the dust on her cheeks. Resting perfectly on her lap was the porcelain doll.

"Let her go, Christopher," Adam called out, his voice echoing in the cavernous, empty theatre.

The music stopped. Christopher slowly stood up from the piano bench and turned around.

Adam involuntarily tightened his grip on the tyre iron. Without the silver mask, Christopher’s face was fully visible under the harsh spotlights. It was the face of an eighty-year-old man—deeply furrowed skin, sunken eyes, and liver spots—but set upon the lean, wiry frame of a thirty-year-old. The juxtaposition was deeply unsettling.

"You're a terrible audience, Constable King," Christopher rasped. His voice was thin and reedy, damaged by the premature aging of his vocal cords, but dripping with theatrical arrogance. "You keep interrupting the performance."

"The show is over," Adam said, stepping slowly toward the centre of the stage, placing himself between Christopher and Katie. "I know about Mary. I know about Sophia. You aren't avenging your mother, Christopher. You're just a sad, broken kid throwing a tantrum because a girl didn't want to hold your hand."

Christopher’s ancient face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. The sophisticated illusionist vanished, replaced by the monster.

He vaulted out of the orchestra pit with explosive, terrifying agility, clearing the six-foot drop and landing silently on the stage. He flicked his wrists, and two long, jagged hunting knives slid from the sleeves of his tuxedo into his hands.

Adam swung the tyre iron in a brutal arc. Christopher ducked underneath it with dancer-like fluidity, slashing his blade across Adam’s ribs. Pain flared hot and bright as blood soaked through Adam’s shirt.

Adam stumbled back, swinging wildly again, but he was fighting a phantom. Christopher used the environment flawlessly. He kicked a release lever on the stage floor, and a heavy velvet curtain dropped between them.

Adam ripped through the fabric, but Christopher was gone.

"You think you understand my art?" Christopher’s voice echoed from the catwalks high above. "You write your little scripts, Adam, but you don't know what true pain looks like. You don't know what it means to be a monster!"

A heavy sandbag—a stage counterweight—plummeted from the darkness above, smashing into the floor inches from Adam’s head, shattering the floorboards. Adam rolled away, gasping for breath.

He scrambled to his feet. He was bleeding badly. He couldn't win a physical fight against someone this fast. He had to stop acting like a cop. He had to think like a director.

What is the blocking? Adam thought, his eyes darting frantically around the stage, tracking the ropes and pulleys. He's in the rafters. He needs a dramatic entrance. A jump scare. He'll drop behind me to finish it.

Adam backed up toward Katie, keeping his eyes glued to the shadows above. He intentionally left his left side exposed—a bait.

He heard the subtle whisper of a rope sliding through a pulley.

Adam didn't look up. He waited one agonising second, and then he spun, swinging the heavy steel tyre iron upward with every ounce of strength he had left in his body.

Christopher dropped from the darkness, his knives raised for a lethal downward strike. But he fell perfectly into the arc of Adam’s swing.

The heavy steel connected sickeningly with Christopher’s knee. The joint shattered with a loud crack, the brittle bones of his progeria-ravaged body unable to withstand the trauma.

Christopher let out a high-pitched, agonising shriek and crashed onto the wooden stage, dropping his knives.

But the monster wasn't done. Screaming in pain, Christopher clawed his way across the floorboards, desperately reaching for the release lever that controlled the massive iron chandelier suspended directly over Katie.

"No!" Adam roared.

He dropped the tyre iron and threw himself onto Christopher’s back. The two men engaged in a brutal, desperate grapple over the lever. Christopher was shockingly strong, his hands wrapping around Adam’s throat, squeezing the life out of him.

Black spots danced in Adam’s vision. He was suffocating. He looked past Christopher’s shoulder and saw Katie, her eyes squeezed shut in terror. He saw the face of his niece, Amy, lying in the trunk of that car.

A primal, volcanic roar tore from Adam’s chest. He let go of Christopher’s wrists, reaching blindly across the floorboards. His fingers wrapped around the hilt of one of Christopher’s dropped hunting knives.

With a final, desperate surge of power, Adam drove the blade deep into Christopher’s chest.

Christopher gasped. His ancient eyes widened in shock. The terrible strength drained from his hands, and he collapsed onto the stage, a dark pool of blood spreading across his vintage tuxedo.

Adam shoved the dying killer off him and scrambled over to Katie. His hands were shaking violently as he cut the thick zip-ties with the knife. He pulled the porcelain doll from her lap and hurled it into the orchestra pit, where it shattered into a hundred pieces.

Katie let out a silent sob and threw her arms around Adam’s neck, burying her face in his shoulder.

Adam held her tight, falling back onto his knees, his chest heaving as the adrenaline finally left him. He looked over at Christopher. The stage magician was staring up at the harsh theatrical lights, his breathing a wet rattle. He reached a trembling hand up, as if trying to grasp an invisible applause, before his hand fell limp. The Schoolgirl Butcher was dead.

Minutes later, the wail of sirens pierced the stormy night. The heavy front doors of the theatre were blown open, and David led a dozen SWAT officers into the auditorium, their flashlights cutting through the dust.

David stopped at the edge of the stage, lowering his rifle when he saw Adam sitting amidst the wreckage, bleeding, but holding Katie safe in his arms.

Adam looked up at his brother-in-law. The nightmare that had claimed his niece and terrorized the city was finally over. The curtain had fallen.