A FRACTURE IN THE CONSCIOUSNESS ✓

TYLER

Tyler slammed the door of the SUV shut behind him, his chest tightening in despair with each fleeting thought bouncing around in the front of his mind.

Excruciating pain shot through his head. This was the most inconvenient time to get a migraine. He rummaged through his messenger bag for the disposable cell phone Spencer had given him for emergencies.

As he went to type in the number Tyler had memorized, he stopped. He remembered everything, but he couldn't remember the number. Why couldn't he remember?

For some odd reason, his memory slipping away scared him more than the very real, very looming threat of being caught.

He went back to the call history and dialed the only repeated number. Spencer answered after the second to last ring, sounding annoyed. "I'm in the middle of disemboweling a child predator, what the hell do you want?"

"Smith, I think I fucked up. Well, no, I don't think, I know I fucked up,  but I am having a migraine and it's conflicting with my mental focus, and-"

"Calm down, Joseph," he hushed. Tyler heard the familiar thunk of a butcher knife sliding through bone. "How did you fuck up?"

"I went after Josh's father last night." He took a moment for Spencer to process what he said before continuing. "And I may have left behind some evidence."

"What kind of evidence?" His voice was steely.

Tyler took a deep breath. "My blood. But let me explain-"

"What the fuck? What the hell were you thinking? We had a fucking code, Tyler!" Spencer shouted.

"Hey, wait a damn minute. Don't yell at me as if you've never majorly fucked up before. I'm not the one who left fingerprints all over that drug dealer's crackhouse and needed help evading the cops."

"That doesn't fucking matter because I didn't get caught! Do you seriously not realize how dire this situation is?" Spencer scoffed.

Tyler could almost hear the steam coming out of his ears. "No, I don't actually, which is why I called you for help. Of course I fucking realize. But I don't have a record, so I'll just check in with Dallon to make sure there's nothing else tying me to the crime."

"Jesus, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. You're a federal agent,  you schizophrenic dumb fuck. Your fingerprints and DNA are in the federal database, just like mine are from when I was a cop."

"So? They won't be searching for me, I'm not a suspect. There's nothing more than circumstantial evidence tying me to any of the crimes."

Spencer groaned. "Look, Joseph, you might be a genius who's evaded the police longer than Urie, but your team is smart. They figured out my connection to Brendon pretty quick. You need to figure out how to delay the evidence going through."

"I... could go with Dallon back to the station and get rid of anything that goes through him before it reaches the rest of the team, but he could just as easily recover it and track it back to me as the one who destroyed it."

"That's too risky. I've heard of that Dallon guy while you guys were chasing me," Spencer muttered, the butcher knife scraping through the receiver. "He's good. He'll find more evidence than just the blood from the crime scene. You need to stop him, permanently."

Tyler looked out of the windows, making sure nobody was looking for him yet. "I suppose I could simply destroy his computers as well, but they'd certainly track it to me."

"That's not what I mean by permanently."

He scoffed, shaking his head. Spencer couldn't actually be telling him what he thought he was. "If you're insinuating that I kill one of my closest friends for my own pride-"

"Why not? You've killed plenty of people before for less reason, what's so different about this one?"

Tyler shuddered, vividly imagining Dallon's pale, bloodless body lying on the floor of his apartment, carved up so crudely that his facial features were nearly indistinguishable. He felt ashamed at the adrenaline rush he got at just the thought of such a risky kill.

"No." Tyler shook his head, telling himself this more than Spencer. "Hell no. Dallon is my friend. He has kids, Spencer. I'm not hurting him and leaving them orphans. Plus, it's too close for comfort. I'll definitely be a suspect then, if I'm not already."

"Since when do you care about other people? I thought you were some cold hearted killer."

"That doesn't mean I don't respect the bureau that I work for." He couldn't believe he was considering actually... doing that to Dallon. It was the best solution, right? "They will hunt me down like a rabid dog if I kill one of their own, it doesn't matter if I'm an agent too."

Spencer gasped sarcastically. "Is that fear I hear? Is the infamous Karma Killer afraid?"

"I most definitely am not," Tyler growled. I'm simply looking at this objectively. Unlike your psychopathic and childish antics, I'd rather deal with this like a big boy instead of killing my way through a problem."

"So you'd rather get caught for countless acts of violent murder than take out the one person between you and freedom?" Spencer grunted in frustration, and Tyler heard a bone snap. "Either you kill him or I will."

Tyler threw the phone at the car door, screaming with his mouth closed. He punched the front seat until his knuckles hurt, breathing heavily. His anger melted away quickly when he heard the driver door open.

Judah poked his head in, completely oblivious to Tyler's current moral dilemma. "Hey, Black wants us and Weekes to head to the station."

"Right. I'll be right out."

Tyler sent him a fake smile, picking up the disposable cell while stepping out of the van. He caught a glimpse of a tired looking Josh outside of the hotel room, talking to Brad and Jenna, who both looked equally exhausted.

The hairs on Tyler's arm stood up when Jenna turned to look at him, an unrecognizable expression written across her face. His gut told him that something was wrong, but he ignored it and followed Judah and Dallon to their other van, completely unaware of exactly how close to catching him his team truly was.