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When Joe called him, again, Ryan sighed and put him on speaker before even saying hello. There was no reason he should be the only one to suffer through the serial killer’s rambling soliloquies. Mike and Agent Parker moved closer, interested.
“Ryan? Are you there?”
“I’m here Joe.”
“Oh good. Listen, I’m not having a very good day, and I could use a little support.”
Joe’s voice was cracking just a bit. Was he drunk? Ryan sat down and looked at the ceiling.
“All ears. What’s happening?”
“Well… as it turns out, this cult idea is putting a lot of pressure on my shoulders.” Rhythmic dull sounds in the background. Joe was pacing. “All those people are looking at me and expecting me to do things for them and sure, it’s nice to be appreciated, but it’s really starting to get on my nerves. Ironic, isn’t it? The whole thing was a lot easier to manage from prison, when I only had to deal with each of them one on one. Now they’re all there, throwing me parties.” Joe’s voice picked up as he got on a roll, and Ryan only had to hmm and uh-uh here and there to keep him going. “Can you imagine? I’ve been isolated for nine years and now I have to smile and keep them entertained like nothing happened and I’m still in frigging Winslow!” A gulp. He was drinking, then. “It’s maddening, Ryan. I’m trying to write our book, but everyone is buzzing around, creating problems that I somehow have to solve. Claire, Joey, Roderick, Emma… Do you know I’m running workshops for my followers? I sit there and I listen to their drivel for hours, acting like they’re the most special people in the world when they are so uninteresting it’s making my skin crawl.” Joe stopped for air and a drink, before continuing with a sigh. “I have so much to deal with,” he complained. “I don’t know how long I can hold up this charade.”
The FBI agents around him were looking on in amazement. Parker was taking notes. Ryan’s eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling.
“Sounds like you’re really not enjoying yourself,” he deadpanned. Joe didn’t pick up on his exasperation, or didn’t care.
“That’s an understatement! I… Maybe I should just kill them all. Start fresh, you know?”
Ryan swallowed, throat dry. “Not sure that’s a really good idea, Joe. What are you going to do with all the bodies?”
“Ha, thank you for your concern but I’ll manage. Oh, now that I think about it, maybe that’s what they want? After all, they left their regular life for me. All of them. Maybe they want me to kill them. What do you think?”
Ryan needed to redirect the conversation fast. “What about Claire and Joey? How do you think they’d react if you organized a massacre like that?”
The sound of creaking leather indicated that Joe had stopped pacing and sat on an armchair or a couch.
“That’s another thing,” the serial killer lamented. “Claire hates me. Joey is terrified of me. Sure, we had smores the other day, but he still won’t talk to me and can barely look at me.” Joe drew a shaky breath. “I really thought that Claire would love me again, after some time,” he confided, and Ryan was sure Joe was completely hammered. None of his other rants had felt that intimate or sincere.
“You had to know that wouldn’t happen,” he said, trying for a gentle tone but coming out cold.
“I most certainly did not! I thought Claire would see sense, and Joey’s young enough that he could adapt. I’d whisk them away and we would all live together again.” Joe’s tone turned wistful. “I would write, Claire would teach, Joey would grow up. Maybe you and I could even go for a drink at some point.”
“Joe…”
“But now I see she won’t love me again. Is it because she loves you instead? That’d be rich. She’s got really bad taste in men, our Claire. I mean, look at us. A killer and a liar. Have you even tried being honest with her? Once?”
Ryan rubbed his face. He really didn’t want Joe to air their dirty laundry for the whole squad to hear. “Joe, we’re not alone.” Parker shot him a stern glare but he didn’t care. And Joe apparently didn’t either because he laughed.
“What, are the FBI goons listening in? Ryan please. I spent nine years in federal prison. Any sense of privacy I might have had has been obliterated. They don’t count, not like you and I. If it helps, think of them as furniture. I mean, I don’t even want to kill them. That’s how unimportant they are.” He paused. “Where was I?”
“You were describing your delusions about domestic life,” Ryan said, trying very hard not to smile at the look on the faces of the other agents.
“No need for sarcasm,” Joe chided. “But yes. I know it’s mad. Bonkers. I didn’t want to face it but now it’s in my face, literally, everyday. I don’t know what to do.” The last sentence was whispered and the skin on Ryan’s neck prickled. That was dangerous.
“You could turn yourself in,” he suggested quietly. Joe laughed again, high pitched and joyless.
“No, no I really can’t. What would you do?”
“What do you mean, what would I do?”
“Well, I can’t let you go back to a pit of depression after all the trouble I went to get you out of it. You need me at large so you can catch me, Ryan,” Joe said reasonably.
Ryan closed his eyes. He was so tired.
“Are you trying to say you’re doing this for me?”
The pause Joe left was pregnant with incredulity.
“Ryan. Was I really too subtle? I’m writing a book with you as my protagonist. Of course I’m doing all of this for you.”
Ryan hung up.