Lust and Lies 04 - Pretty Maids in a Row

screamed at the same moment that another shot sounded.
    "Drop the gun," Diane ordered from behind Philip, "or I'll hit something vital with my next bullet."
    Philip glanced over his shoulder at her but kept the gun trained on David. "Get away from her, Wells," he shouted. "Holly's mine. She's always been mine and she always will be."
    Holly twisted out from beneath David's unconscious weight so that she was now partially shielding him. "Philip, please put the gun down. You don't want to do this."
    "You're wrong, Holly. I want this more than you can imagine. Now move away from him so I can reclaim my prize."
    Holly saw the gun waver in his hand and interpreted it as hesitation. "Your prize? What do you mean?" She thought if she could get him talking, the mad look in his eyes might go away.
    Philip angled his head and his expression softened slightly. "Why, you're the prize, my dear. And that womanizing bastard stole you from me after I'd worked so hard to win you. All I have to do is get rid of him and then you'll be all mine again."
    With a false show of calm, Holly said, "Please listen to me, Philip. You can't win me by hurting someone else. I'd never be able to forgive you." Very cautiously, she rose to her feet. "I explained to you that we could never be more than friends. It has nothing to do with David. It has to do with me, facing life without your protection, or anyone else's." She took a slow step forward, keeping her body between David and the gun. When Philip lowered the weapon a fraction of an inch, she took another small step.
    Though she wanted to lash out at him, she kept her voice gentle. "I'm not a prize to be won or lost, Philip. I'm a woman, and neither you nor any other man will ever control my life again. Now, give Agent Varden your gun and we'll forget all about—-"
    A bloodcurdling scream cut her off. Holly jerked around and saw Cheryl pointing at Philip with an expression of pure horror. April tried to drag her back out of the room but she wouldn't budge. "It's him," she shrieked. "The man I saw in the hotel room. He killed Ziegler!"
    Philip whipped the gun toward Cheryl and pulled the trigger, but his shot went high. Varden instantly fired two shots into Philip's back before he could aim again. As he fell to the porch floor, Holly ran outside.
    Shaken and bewildered, she dropped to her knees beside him. "Dear god, Philip! What have you done?"
    "I punished the rapists," he whispered, his eyes glassy as he focused on her face. "I had to eliminate your attackers... so that you could finally love me... without them coming between us. But Wells—" He coughed and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "I should have eliminated him... when I first realized... you looked back."
    Holly gaped in stunned silence as Philip's head lolled to the side and he exhaled his last breath.
    * * *
    Holly felt as though she should be doing something, but she had no idea what that might be. Though three days had passed since her personal holocaust, the shock remained.
    Philip, the man she had thought of as her dearest friend and mentor, was dead. No matter that he had confessed or that his hair matched the samples found at the murder scenes. Regardless that hidden in his bedroom closet had been a canvas tote bag containing latex gloves, a prescription bottle with the same medication that had been used on the victims and a battery-operated carving knife on which blood samples of the victims were found. Holly could not think of him as a vicious killer.
    The tote bag had held one other piece of evidence that offered a glimpse into Philip's tortured thoughts. On a blue, lined index card, he had printed:

    Jerry Frampton—for the Little Sister Society
    Adam Frankowicz—
    William O'Day—for Stella
    Timothy Ziegler—for Holly

    As soon as Holly was told of the alphabetical listing of the four names, she knew for certain Philip had seen the sheet of paper bearing the fraternity brothers' names weeks ago in her apartment. The index card was the kind she kept in her briefcase. He had apparently copied the four names that hadn't been crossed out while she was out of the room, then after talking to her parents and getting their input, he had formed enough of the picture to begin his plans for retribution.
    Holly knew that Stella was Philip's mother's name, though he'd only mentioned her once or twice. When she realized how much it bothered him to talk about her or the father he had never met, Holly never pushed him on