The Very Dark Final Chapter: 'Murder is unique in that it abolishes the party it injures. So society has to take the place of the victim and on his behalf demand atonement or grant forgiveness. It is the one crime in which society has a direct interest.' W. H. Auden
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AN: I do not own the characters, plot, etc. from The Fall. I simply felt like taking them for a dark run…
Warning…there will be triggers (sexual content, moral ambiguity, violent content, unsettling dark quotes…and murder).
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May 25, 2022~~~ 'twas death, and death, and death indeed'
Stella gasped when she saw the Belfast paper lying in the middle of her bed. The front page was a Ten-Year Anniversary Special of the rise and death of the Belfast Strangler. Stella didn't have time to reach for her gun or search her bedroom. Someone, someone strong, shoved her to the floor and incapacitated her with a Taser.
As Stella regained the use of her limbs, she realized she was laying on her back, on the floor and handcuffed around one of the legs of her four-poster bed.
"Did you enjoy your night out?" A feminine voice addressed Stella. "Did you enjoy your fast and furious fuck in the security office at the nightclub? I'm sure Mrs. Douglas believes her policeman husband was on duty as security for the nightclub last night…perhaps he was. It might be a duty for a thirty-something year old man to fuck you. A decade ago…you were a cougar. Now, you're just an old slapper."
Stella rattled the handcuffs, attempting to see if she could get free.
"Stay calm and talk to me; I will let you live. Scream and you will die. The victim of consensual sex games gone wrong…like Susan Harper." The cool, disembodied voice was unnerving.
Stella complied; however, she wiggled her body around so she was laying on her side, facing the table in her room. She tilted her head and examined the young woman. "Do I know you?"
"It's been a long time since we were face-to-face with one another," the voice said. Her tone was flat; yet the voice was lyrical. The voice was young, Irish…and belonged to Olivia Spector.
"I see you've deduced who I am," the voice said before turning her chair into the light. "Oliva…Olivia Ann Spector…although I don't go by that name. For the past two years, I have been Petra Baldwin for sex games and Mary Celeste Garrison for real life situations." She waited; watched Stella's face.
"Petra Baldwin…Peter Baldwin," Stella murmured. "Mary Garrison, his mother." Stella observed her. The face was mostly Paul Spector, but it had some Sally Spector features: oval, rosy completion.
"Oliva Ann Spector is a strawberry blonde, hazel-eyed, 18-year-old girl. Petra Baldwin is an auburn-haired, grey-eyed, 23-year-old survivor. While I'm wearing my Petra disguise, it's fine for you to call me Olivia." She announced.
"Why am I handcuffed?" Stella asked.
"You would have known today was coming if you bothered to follow the destruction caused by your wake." Olivia's cold voice sent shivers down Stella's spine. "However, you've been too busy building your career in the last decade to pay attention to anything else." She poured more wine in her glass from a bottle from Stella's wine rack.
"Don't project your anger about your father or your mother on me. I was just doing my job." Stella said coldly. "I did it well; your father was caught."
"Since my father was a serial killer, I know you believe that one fact made him impossible to analyze. I know he had two personalities: the one who defended Liz Tyler and who loved me and the other personality who killed his victims. I know you believe he was faking amnesia. I am positive he wasn't…but I won't waste my time arguing our differing opinions."
"We could speculate about your father and what made him tick for the rest of our lives, but neither of us truly knew him. We did not truly understand him. You have your theories and I have mine." Stella said. "Ted Bundy said murder was not about lust or violence, but about possession. Your father said the same."
"I know my father's dark persona began with his mother's suicide, his molestation at the hands of a priest, and the general negligence of the system assigned to protect the innocent. I'm not stupid, Stella. I know my father was sadistic, and psychotic and narcissistic and…considering how he tried to brainwash Katie…he was part Machiavellian. Psychiatrists call that the Dark Tetrad of personality traits. My mother's depression was caused by realizing her life was a lie. Her miscarriage caused an emotional imbalance which caused her to attempt suicide; along with killing Liam and me."
"That's very mother blaming," Stella said. "I know you adored your father; do you really hate your mother that much?"
"I'm not the only daughter who thought the world of her father. You still write about your father in your dream diary. My father too." Olivia said, pointedly; turning to a marked page in Stella's dream journal.
"Last night I dreamed we were in Slieve Dove…Paul and me. Our romantic picnic turned deadly when Jimmy Tyler began shooting at us. Paul attempted to shield me from him…and collapsed in my arms. Paul's hand reached up to touch my curl which brushed against his cheek. He felt the soft, fragrant hair slip through his fingers before he lost consciousness."
"Romantic picnic?" Olivia scoffed and turned to another marked passage. "I dreamt it was the end of a horrible week at work…I came home to soft music, and a hot bubble bath with lavender and rose scent. Paul was naked and gave me a wonderful massaging shampoo and bath. I was almost senseless when he was done. I could only lay there and watch him dress in black running clothes with gloves, cap and balaclava. I could not stop him from leaving to kill another woman."
"Bubble bath?" Olivia scoffed again. She turned to a third marked passage. "Last night I dreamed Tom and I were in bed, we were cuddling after sex. I saw Tom's eyes widen…and I looked where Tom looked. Paul sat there in black satin boxers and robe which hung open, showing off his torso. His legs were crossed and propped on the bed. "Stella, shining star, why do you settle for ordinary sex with ordinary partners? Why can't I interest you in something more adventurous?" He rose and pulled the black satin belt from his robe. He twisted it in his hands…"
"So, I'm curious, Stella, shining star…did the passage end because it was a nightmare…or did you have a wet dream about Daddy tying you up for some adventurous sex?" Olivia smirked.
"It was a nightmare," Stella said. "They were all nightmares."
Olivia sighed and set the journal aside. She took a very large drink of her wine. "Where were we before the entertainment?" She snapped her fingers. "My mother…who was institutionalized after she tried to kill us. Liam and I lived with Steve and Joan Jennings until there was a court hearing. We were sent to a foster home because the court felt my grandparents were too old to raise their grandchildren. When my grandparents died; Liam and I were separated. I was sent to a foster home with half a dozen other preteen girls. Liam was put in a group home."
She poured more wine in her glass, sipped, and continued to tell her story. "I contacted Liam's group home when I turned 18 in April. Liam begged me to take him away. He could not bear to be verbally, physically or sexually abused any longer. The courts refused to give me custody until Liam turned sixteen. However, I arranged for an afternoon visit yesterday. The home was thrilled to let me see my brother. Liam is laid out in the shower of my hotel room in Belfast."
"Did you strangle him? Like your father killed his victims?" Stella asked.
"I killed him with tea and kindness; something sorely lacking from our lives this past decade. I cleaned him up, covered him with a blanket and put a cross in his hands. He's nude. I sent his clothes down to the laundry, in a bag with the wrong room number on it. There will be an explosion at the home in," she checked her watch. "Ten minutes. All the counselors and boys will be killed. We don't want any of those monsters to create new monsters, do we?" She smiled. "In case you hope some of them might escape, it's Wednesday night… when all the counselors are present for staff meetings. While they are occupied; it's an occasional gangbang of younger boys by older boys. It cost me a great deal of money for the chained and locked doors and the explosives which will level the home."
Stella stared at her. Cold, Olivia's voice was so cold. "How many?" she whispered.
"One-hundred-nineteen boys and twenty staff." Olivia explained. "However, let's start at the beginning of this mess." Olivia reached for a file from her briefcase and laid it on the table. "Mary Garrison's death certificate – suicide by hanging, caused by depression. Peter Baldwin's juvenile files and court records." She laid another file on the table. "The names and death certificates for the two social workers who sent my father to Gortnacul House." She added another file. "This one you might find interesting. John Paul Marshall/Spector's death certificate. He died in prison in Canada before I got to him. The file also lists his deceased Marshall relatives and his living Spector foster brothers and sisters. You'll be pleased to know they are or were upstanding citizens." She laid another file on the table.
She eyed Stella and sipped her wine.
"Over the last two years, I paid for contract killings for the priest and ten counselors from Gortnacul House who molested my father. It's a shame the penal system doesn't pay their guards as well as criminals can." She added a much thicker file to the ones already on the table. "Background checks on all of them. Copies of obituaries or death certificates. Most of them slipped and died in the shower. A couple of them electrocuted themselves with fingernail clippers and electrical outlets. The file begins, of course, with newspaper clippings of the investigation and arrests. It includes newspaper articles about everyone involved."
"I can't believe there are that many prison guards who can be bought." Stella scoffed.
Olivia laughed. "It's not just prisoners who hate pedophiles. While they were being eliminated, I started terminating all the boys assigned to Gortnacul House. Thank you for the excellent records you amassed during my father's investigation. They were quite helpful in finding and identifying all the boys. I contract killed men who were at Gortnacul the year before my father, the three years my father was there and the year after my father. I personally murdered David Alvarez."
"Because he betrayed your father?" Stella asked.
"Because he wanted to die and did not have the courage to kill himself. He was killing himself slowly...torturing himself through alcoholism. After we had a conversation, I helped him get high for the last time in his life. He told me an interesting tale. My father, the chosen boy, was to name his successor. Father Jensen tried to convince my father that God had selected David Alvarez as the next chosen boy. Only Father Jensen did not understand, my father picked his successor out of revenge. Seems Father Jenson gave the chosen boys pet names based on their initials."
"Pretty boy…" Stella murmured.
"Chad Lowell, also known as Charming Lad, picked my father to be the chosen boy. My father, Peter Baldwin, Pretty Boy, picked Chad's brother Daniel as his replacement. I think Chad would have been Dad's first kill if he could have found him. Daniel was known as Darling Lad. But unlike my father, who endured a year of daily molestation, Daniel managed to lose grace with Father Jensen in less than six months." Olivia sighed. "I took a great deal of pleasure in taking Chad's life. I cut him twelve times at his carotid, ulnar and femoral arteries while he was bound and gagged. One for each month my father was molested."
Stella gasped.
"I wanted to carve 'Charming Lad' on his chest; however, I could not reveal myself too soon." Olivia laid a thin file on top of the ones on the table. "His death is unsolved, for a little while longer. Daniel overdosed after finding Chad's body. Overdosed as in assisted drug death. They, like my father, were damaged for life by Father Jensen's molestation."
Olivia glanced at the next pile of files before continuing. "I've spent the past two years putting the Gortnacul Guys out of their misery. None of them had happy lives… depression, self-harming, domestic violence, divorces, drugs, alcoholism, criminal events, and incarceration. If they had a child going down the same self-destructive path as their father; I arranged for their termination."
"How?" Stella's horrified voice asked.
"Several of them 'killed' their father and then themselves," Olivia explained with air quotes. "Several of them were killed by people defending themselves. Several of them were killed by alcohol poisoning or drugs. A few of them died when the cigarette they were smoking caught their bed or couch on fire. A few of them were homeless and died by jumping off very tall buildings or bridges. A few of them drowned. A few of them died from falling asleep on railroad tracks."
"Oh my god," Stella gasped. "You are insane!"
"The three happiest of father's classmates were male whores who sold their body to men who used and abused them. Where were you and your grand abilities when it was obvious the suicide rate was exceptionally high these past two years?" Olivia asked contemptuously. "Of course, that's something you never would have researched for your guest speaker presentations." She laid three extremely thick files on the table.
"Obviously, the deaths occurred all over the world, because you managed to not arouse anyone's suspicions." Stella said.
"Obviously, my father read you right…you don't give a fuck if a man dies. You only care to catch the killers of women. Well, I've killed and I won't be caught." Olivia smiled. "Unlike my father…I changed my methods of killing when needed or to reflect the reason behind the killing."
"Oh, you'll be caught…" Stella predicted. "One of the people you hired will be caught in the commission of another crime. They will turn on you."
"Believe that if it gives you peace. I celebrated my eighteenth birthday by killing nine people," Olivia said. "It was my foster father and two of his bastard mates who first raped me on my fifteenth birthday. I enjoyed inflicting pain before they sobbed their apologies to me and pled for their lives. I also killed their wives. I told Vivienne what was going on and she refused to believe those monsters raped teenage girls. I also arranged the death of the three social workers who vetted Thomas and Vivienne Garamond as foster parents for preteen and young teenage girls." She laid another file on the table.
"How did you inflict their pain?" Stella asked.
"They used their male appendages to hurt me; so, I shot them in their nether regions and waited for them to bleed to death. I made their wives watch them bleed to death before I shot them." Olivia said. "Only I didn't just shoot the wives. We played a little game of Russian Roulette. I placed ring gags in their mouths…ring gags which would allow the penetration of a gun. I used a revolver with three bullets. I would spin the chamber, place the gun in their mouth and pull the trigger. If the gun didn't go off, I went to the next woman in line. We played round robin a few times."
"Why for god's sake?" Stella asked.
"Because they needed to know what it felt like…to know something awful was going to happen to them…to know there was nothing they could do to stop the violation of their body. The police are still trying to sort that scene. Over 100 girls went through that house in the last decade. That's a lot of potential offenders to interview."
"Did you kill…" Stella started to ask.
"I killed the two girls who delivered me to my rapists on my fifteenth birthday. Sarah Broadhurst and Mary Louise Langham walked me to school via a different route than we normally took. When we passed a seemingly deserted garage; Thomas grabbed me from behind. They walked on to school. They never looked back. They never helped me. Both were sixteen at the time and probably glad their time as sex toys was over. I was orally, vaginally and anally raped several times for three days by three men."
"How did you kill the girls?" Stella whispered.
"They were kidnapped on my birthday, driven to an empty lock-up. Restrained and gagged in locked cages placed ten feet apart so they couldn't help one another escape. Their bodies haven't been found yet." Olivia laid a file on the table. "The details of their crimes, capture, incarceration and death are in there. The address to find them is there also."
"What did you do to the social workers?" Stella asked.
"I took a page from my father's playbook. I broke into the social workers' homes and poisoned them. However, unlike my father, I didn't leave clues there had been a break in. I wanted them to suffer as much as possible. Anaphylactic shock for two of them, and straight up poison for number three. Penicillin in toothpaste, peanut oil in salad dressing, and poisoned brandy. I emptied and replaced every epipen which I found in their homes; but not before I coated the needles in peanut oil or penicillin."
"How did you…" Stella began to ask.
"Support myself and bring my plans to fruition? I left the system when I was sixteen. Thomas took me to school that day. He told me he would pick me up after school; he had something he wanted to 'discuss' with me. I knew he planned to name the next victim. I had no intention of helping him. I left school at lunchtime." Olivia sipped her wine and continued.
"I planned this day while I was in that foster home. It costs money for living, making and carrying out plans, obtaining alternate identification, learning handgun proficiency, learning how to handle explosives, learning how to break and enter, learning how to bypass security systems, learning expedient poisons, learning how to hotwire cars. I took Krav Maga and yoga classes to strengthen and tone my body. It costs money to procure information…especially the dates, times, places and names of your 36 lovers in the last decade."
"I imagine it did," Stella said wryly. "I'm sure you didn't obtain your money legally."
"I needed money to live and offered myself to a man who had money. He took one look at me, and offered to help me make a quantity of money. He was a BDSM trainer, in search of fresh, untrained flesh to accompany him to BDSM clubs in the UK and Europe. For £2,000 a couple during a weekend retreat, he would train 12 couples to be Dominants and submissives. We taught basic, advanced and extreme BDSM courses...everything from light bondage to device torture. When I wasn't making £8,000 a weekend as a training submissive; I made at least £1,000 a night as a sexual submissive. My Dom introduced me to men who could afford my skills and my youth. You would be amazed at how much men are willing to pay to restrain and fuck a teenage girl. I made ludicrous amounts of dosh letting men spank my ass before fucking it while I wore a Catholic school girl uniform. I made over half a million pounds in the last two years. My Dom taught me how to live a quiet life. The pain I experienced through the BDSM lifestyle kept me sane, and supported me."
"I wouldn't say it kept you sane if you've planned this grand gesture to commemorate your father's death," Stella snapped.
"You'd be amazed how easily pleasurable pain lances the effects of painful memories. Be careful, Stella. I don't have to talk to you. I have the means to keep you on the edge of death for hours while I talk to you…play with you…avenge those families you damaged." Olivia ransacked Stella's underwear drawers. "Very pretty," she laid a black, lace-topped stocking on the bed.
"Your father preferred a belt in the end," Stella said.
"He preferred stockings from what I can tell of Alice, Sarah and Anne's crime photos. However, I cannot let you sidetrack me. Speaking of filthy lucre; how does it feel to be paid twenty-five thousand pounds each year by the Alice Monroe Foundation? Every year AMF pays you to be a 'guest' speaker at their annual fundraiser on Alice's birthday. Seems we both sold our souls. By the way, the Alice Monroe Foundation will be reduced to ashes before the night ends. I do hope they backed up all their materials offsite." Olivia laughed.
"Why did you torch the Alice Monroe Foundation? I can't have been the only reason?" Stella said.
"I killed another person today. Katrina Benedetto will be found, dead, in the bathroom of my hotel room in Belfast. She came to breakfast at the hotel; eager to explain the exclusive interview she gave the Belfast newspaper. The money they paid will help Lisa Benedetto bury her. By the way, I was tempted to strangle the bitch, but instead I put poison in her mimosa."
"Why Katie?" Stella asked. "She worked very hard to turn her life around. She teaches music to autistic children!"
"She didn't have to sell her body to get an education. The Alice Monroe Foundation ensured she received a college education. All she had to do was appear at their fundraisers. Don't you think it is revealing that she claimed she was an ignorant love-struck girl brainwashed by a charismatic and handsome man? Instead of saying charismatic serial killer…she said handsome man. That was what attracted her…his body, his looks, his voice." Olivia said bitterly. "One of her favorite quotes from Twilight is: Because when I thought of him, of his voice, his hypnotic eyes, the magnetic force of his personality, I wanted nothing more than to be with him right now."
"I'm sure your mother was charmed by his looks, also." Stella shrugged. "His good looks and good manners kept his true nature concealed."
"Don't act so superior, Stella," Olivia scoffed. "You would have fucked my father if you had the opportunity. I can see that in your dream diary."
"I abhorred your misogynistic father," Stella said.
"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much." Olivia snapped. "Katie was a sixteen-year-old slut. Willing to destroy my parents' marriage in exchange for her first fuck. Willing to betray her mother's friendship with my mother for sex. Whatever my father's sins were…he was not a pedophile. He never touched that lying little bitch." Olivia spat. "She inflicted pain on my mother, her mother and on her 'best friend' Daisy Drake. By the way, Daisy was killed earlier this week while on a weekend jaunt to Scotland. It was a car accident. I also learned mechanical skills while I was in my learning mode. I don't appreciate the little whore accepting money from the media to tell a fantastic story about meeting my father. She made herself sound like a potential victim…when the truth is…Dad would never have touched her. It was a pain in the ass to follow her to Scotland and wait until dark to sabotage her car. I loosened the lug nuts on her left front tire and on her back right tire…which is appropriate because her life was really a car crash waiting to happen."
"So, are you here to chastise me for the true story I've been telling the media for the last decade?" Stella asked.
"No, it's not that simple." Olivia said. "I have evidence of 36 trysts you conducted in the last decade." She pulled a file from a briefcase. "You had too many one-night-stands with married men and women. You did not care if you damaged families and inflicted pain. How do you think James Olson's wife and son feel every time the media recalls your encounter the night before he died?"
"She was screwing around on him," Stella said. "It's not like she was an angel."
"You didn't want Tom Anderson once you returned to London. Yet, you tried to ensnare him again when you returned to Belfast for one of your guest appearances. I think he was more appealing to you because he buffed up...physical exercise to offset the detrimental effects of his shooting and broken arm. I'm glad he spurned your advances and remained faithful to his fiancée, a sketch artist for the PSNI. I find his selection of women after you to be quite interesting. Petite, long-haired brunettes who were his age. Women who would have interested my father. You tried to reconnect with Reed Smith; but her partner prevented it. Too bad you don't want Jim Burns again. It seems he's the only person in Belfast willing to fuck you." Olivia sniped.
"At least people don't pay to fuck me," Stella snapped.
"Oh, great profiler…and cold bitch…the people you slept with paid for their indiscretions with you afterward through their reputations, careers or marriages. Girls compete with one another…take Katie and Daisy for example. Women empower one another. Except…you never empowered anyone but yourself. You used Tanya Reed Smith for her friendship with Rose Stagg. You used Rose Stagg to get to my father. You are not Snow White. You, Stella Gibson, are the poisonous apple from fairy tales." Olivia smiled.
"I may be the poisonous apple…but you are a bigger monster than your father. He only killed five people…six if you count Sarah Kay's unborn child." Stella snapped. "Are your killings in the triple digits by now?"
"I think I was on my way to monster by the time I learned my father was a serial killer. I think I was on my way to monster before my mother tried to kill me. I think I was on my way to monster before my father killed himself." Olivia shrugged.
"He didn't just kill himself," Stella interjected.
"I know. He assaulted you…but he could have easily snapped your neck. It must have given him great pleasure to know he marked you for life, not only physically but mentally. I know he broke Anderson's arm…but again, he could have easily snapped his neck. I never understood why he didn't just snap Joseph Brawley's neck instead of stabbing him. I don't know why he took the damn scissors with him…considering the blood trail to Annie Brawley's room. He should have left them on her dresser…or next to her dead body. Why he left her alive, I will never understand either. I know he assaulted the doctor, but it was to obtain the items he needed to kill himself." Olivia said.
"How do you explain him killing Mark Bailey?" Stella asked.
"I would like to think he put Mark out of his misery; but I believe he did it so he had time to kill himself. Selfish but not surprising," Olivia said. "Prison would have stripped him of what little humanity remained in him. Killing himself kept you from taunting him year after year...bartering better living conditions for the identity of the girls he was with between Rose and Fiona."
"So, are you putting me out of my misery before you kill yourself," Stella asked.
"I'm killing you so you can't destroy any more lives, Stella. Then I am killing myself." Olivia said. "Like my father, I am treatable but not curable. I accept the limitations of my psyche. I self-harm by selling my body to clients who like restraining, disciplining and fucking a teenage girl."
"What other plans have you made or set in motion?" Stella asked.
"Rose Stagg will be found dead by the time the sun rises. It will appear as if she walked into the sea and took her own life, unable to face the media scrutiny caused by this ten-year anniversary. I wanted her to have a gentle death, god knows she's suffered enough already. Assaulted by my father in 2002 and 2012; dead in 2022. She's part of the reason I blew up the AMF. They won't leave her alone. They keep trying to recruit her as a speaker."
"What number is she?" Stella asked.
"Two-hundred-ninety-seven," Olivia said. "You will be two-hundred-ninety-eight. I will be two-hundred-ninety-nine." She paused. 'Baby Spector will be three hundred.' She thought. "I've prepaid Liam and my funerals and cremations. I requested our ashes be scattered at sea, like my father's. I don't want your lovers to urinate on my grave when the urge strikes them and the bottle makes them courageous...like Jim Burns. I feel sorry for him too, meeting you, becoming obsessed with you, destroying his life, career and happy home life. I couldn't bring myself to put him out of his misery. I'm sure when he hears of your death, it will destroy him."
"I thought you understood it was your father's greatest wish that you be happy," Stella commented.
"How do you know that I'm not happy doing what I'm doing?" Olivia asked.
"If you think I'm allowing you to kill me without fighting back, you are delusional." Stella said.
"Treatable, not curable," Olivia hit her with the Taser again. She sat in the chair and drank her wine until Stella became coherent again. "I told you, I have the means to play with you for hours. I know you always wondered if there were deaths between Susan Harper and Fiona Gallagher. It's one of your favorite guest speaker topics. You show the same slides year after year; hoping someone will come forward and claim the murder of their loved one was my father's fault. Or hoping some woman would claim she was the A.S. or the R.W. of my father's journals. Perhaps you hoped your new book deal to tell all, including pertinent photos of Dad's lingerie collection or journal collection would help you sell millions of copies and make you more famous than you are."
Stella kept silent, but balefully glared at Olivia.
"I've often wondered what caused my father to break from his traditional stalking, breaking and entering and stealing underwear fetish to move on to murder. I often wondered why he killed Fiona. He had a vanilla relationship with my mother, because she was pregnant before he was arrested. Although, according to my calculations, she must have become pregnant about the time Alice Monroe was killed. If she thought about that at all, she should not have been destroyed when she miscarried. However, I digress. I've figured out my father's trigger, although you never have. You should have examined events in my father's life four to six weeks before Fiona died."
"No one knows what sets a serial killer off," Stella said haughtily. "You may think you know, but you don't."
"I'm very sure I do. Mum took me to see a doctor about my night terrors in late October 2011. The physician's assistant, who interviewed my father while the doctor examined me, was Rose Stagg's doppelganger." Olivia found the picture of Molly O'Brien and showed it to Stella.
"Sexual predators like your father have reasons, but sane people don't understand them." Stella snapped. "You're insane also, so you think you know."
"You missed another obvious clue. I spotted it within days of looking at crime scene photos. Each of ladies had a bottle of floral scent perfume...ROSE based. Remember his confession conversation? Sounds and colors more vivid; odors more intense. Dark haired professional women, who looked like Rose, smelled like roses, with rosy cheeks or lips…it was a trifecta of tragedy."
Stella snorted derisively.
"The smell of someone's perfume is the number one atypical turn on," Olivia announced to Stella. "While someone having beard is considered the fourth atypical turn on."
"I'm dying of curiosity about what your Dom looks like," Stella said. "How much does he resemble Daddy?"
"Intelligent…funny…kind…faithful…dependable…generous …confident…romantic," Olivia said.
"You know what I mean, physical attributes," Stella sighed.
"Curly auburn hair which he wore high and tight… blue eyes – but he wore contacts which made his eyes appear to be aqua…soft, sensual lips… straight white teeth… dimples…six feet two…two hundred pounds of sculpted and chiseled muscle… minimal chest hair…well endowed…long, guitar fingers…butt dimples," Olivia sighed. "It broke my heart to walk away from him when I turned 18."
"Why did you walk away from him at 18?" Stella asked.
"Because he did not know about my secret life…and he was ready to collar me. Unlike my father with my mother; I would not drag him into my dark secret." Olivia said. "So how does a bleached blonde bitch like you claim to be such a great profiler of serial killers…when she missed the trigger and clues which set him off?" Olivia asked.
"Like most serial killers...he thought he was too smart to ever be caught," Stella said. "He made mistakes."
"Don't we all," Olivia commented. "I'm sure I've made mistakes in the last two years. I'm sure I've missed someone to add to my list of people to eliminate. I know I missed eliminating my half-siblings." She reached for a stack of files.
"Half-siblings?" Stella whispered, horrified.
"David Alvarez told me Dad was a sperm donor at a fertility clinic in London. They changed ownership seven times since Dad was a donor in Summer 2002. They also moved twice since 2002. I could not access his records. I couldn't spend my time killing every auburn-haired, grey-eyed person born in 2003 or 2004. I had real, viable targets," Olivia sighed.
"Jesus Christ," Stella gasped.
"Is that a Jesus Christ because I considered murdering my half-siblings? Or is that a Jesus Christ because Dad may have fathered another psychopath?" Olivia asked. "Jesus said, 'In my father's house there are many rooms; I go to prepare a place for you.' If God has a special place in heaven for good people, don't you think he has a special place in hell for people like Dad and me?"
Stella's eyes filled with tears; and she lay there, just shaking her head. The thought of another Paul Spector released on the world was a cosmic clusterfuck.
"So, Stella, do you think it's nature or nurture? Was Dad born a psychopath because his father would become a murderer and his mother would kill herself? Or did Dad become a psychopath because he was molested and abused during his formative years? Am I a psychopath because my father was a psychopath and my mother tried to kill me and my brother? Or am I a psychopath because I was raped when I was fifteen and wanted revenge for how shitty my life was after I turned eight? You know, my paternal grandmother killed herself shortly after my father turned eight. I think, if I had enough time and enough wine, I could make an excellent case for either nature or nurture."
"You have no remorse for killing any of these people?" Stella asked.
"I am sorry I cannot put my mother out of her misery. I am sorry Rose Stagg ever met my father. I'm sorry my father wanted a normal life to hide his dark persona. I'm sorry I have a dark persona…because I think loving and being loved would have been heaven on earth." Olivia sighed.
Olivia reached for her Taser. "For Lewis Daniels' family, for Ciaran Boyle's family, for Thomas Strike's family, for Katherine Harris's family…" Olivia named 32 other families affected by Stella's sexual history. "I have a special Peter Baldwin/Paul Spector death arranged for you." She tasered Stella again. She forced Stella's mouth open and slipped a ring gag inside her mouth; buckling it around Stella's head. She slipped a plastic bag over Stella's head. She took the black stocking off the bed and used it to secure the bag in place and tightly knotted it. "Restrained, to ease my task. Tasered, so you are incapacitated and can't rescue yourself. Ring gag so you can't bite the plastic to make a hole for air. Asphyxiation with a stocking ligature. However, I won't release and rechoke like Dad did. I haven't the patience for it." Olivia commented. "Be happy Stella. I saved death by strangulation just for you."
She poured herself another glass of wine and sat down. She watched as Stella Gibson ran out of oxygen; her body thrashed in the throes of death. "Cheers, you selfish bitch. See you on the other side." She toasted the still, motionless body and emptied her drink. She turned off the recording app on her mobile.
Olivia swept the top of Stella's chest of drawers clean with one swipe of an arm. She sorted files into piles. Using sticky notes, she labeled the piles 1-4, in chronological order of her crimes. The bottom file in the last pile was labeled Olivia Ann Spector. She placed both her Petra Baldwin and Mary Celeste Garrison IDs in the file. It contained a written and signed confession from her along with the paid receipt for Liam and her cremations and burial at sea. She reached into her purse and withdrew a tube of rose pink lipstick. She drew a large heart, with a piercing arrow pointed at the files.
Olivia moved to the lounge. She turned the TV to a news channel. She waited, quietly until the devastating news of an explosion at the Belfast Home for Boys aired. Arson experts were unable to sift through rubble until the intense heat dissipated. So far, the body count was fifteen and rising.
Olivia lifted her mobile phone from her purse and activated the conversation recording app again. She poured herself another glass of wine and took a handful of powerful sedatives. "This is Olivia Ann Spector, aka Petra Baldwin, aka Mary Celeste Garrison. I am the daughter of Paul Spector, aka Peter Baldwin, aka the Belfast Strangler. I am responsible for the deaths of the remaining counselors and Father Jensen from Gortnacul House. I am responsible for the deaths of the men who were assigned to live at Gortnacul House as children. I am responsible for the deaths of their children who became criminals. I am responsible for the deaths of two social workers who sent my father to Gortnacul House. I killed Thomas Garamond, Lucas Black and Charles Teller and their wives in Belfast. I am responsible for the deaths of three social workers in Belfast who certified Thomas and Vivienne Garamond as foster parents. I am responsible for the deaths of Sarah Broadhurst and Mary Louise Langham. I am responsible for the death of Daisy Drake. I am responsible for the death of Liam Spector. I am responsible for the death of Katie Benedetto. I am responsible for the destruction of Belfast Home for Boys and the deaths associated with that destruction. I am responsible for the death of Rose Stagg. I am responsible for the destruction of the Alice Monroe Foundation. I am responsible for the death of Stella Gibson. I left sets of files on the chest of drawers in Stella Gibson's bedroom. I am killing myself after I use Stella's mobile to dial 999. Three days ago, I learned I am pregnant. The baby's father does not know I am pregnant. He does not know about this dark side of my life. Monsters beget monsters. I will not bring another monster into this world…especially since I've spent the last two years ridding the world of monsters." She terminated the message. She set the mobile on the table and took a picture of her father and her out of her handbag. "I love you most in the whole wide world, Daddy. Forgive me little one." She apologized and patted her abdomen. She retrieved Stella's mobile and dialed 999. She opened the drapes in Stella's lounge to watch the sunrise, while her life quietly slipped away.