They nodded in agreement. General Anbar lifted the red receiver. “President Corbin, it’s handled.”
“Are you certain, or are you trying to appease me?”
“I’ll stake my life there aren’t any remaining samples or witnesses. All memory wipes have been completed as ordered.”
“What’s the status on that unidentified object heading our way?”
“Madam President, as quickly as it entered, it left. We are not in danger, and we have no explanation for the abrupt departure.”
“Take me off the damn speaker phone.”
The General pressed a button to silence the speakerphone and listened. “Of course, President Corbin, I’ll issue the order.” He placed the receiver back onto the phone.
Commander Anderson eyes lit with eagerness. “What order, General?”
“Patrick, it’s time to issue a media blitz announcing the closure of Mono Lake forever because it is highly contagious. Complete lockdown. Also, if that doesn’t work, we have a shoot to kill order. No one goes in comes out.”
“I’ll make that happen right away.”
Dr. Bradford, with the aid of the walker, shuffled down the hall. She stopped at the nursery hesitating before she opened it as tears flushed in her eyes. She took a deep breath and entered. She felt her stomach as a pregnant woman would and then retrieved the picture from her pocket. Confusion and tears took hold. She stroked the top of the dresser deep in thought. Her blood pumped hard through her veins. She shuffled to the crib and wound the crib’s mobile. May the Angels of the Lord protect you...
She remembered her son when she would gently pat his butt to soothe him to sleep. A flash of the first time she gazed onto the five-year-old Adam in the lab. …Until we meet again.
She visualized Adam as he grew to ten. …And, wherever you are…
Thirty-year-old Adam jarred her memory as he smiled a goofy grin. ...May you know how much I love you.
She fell to the floor onto her knees and sobbed as she recalled the moment eighty-year-old Adam died.
“Adam, I never meant to hurt you.” She pounded her fists onto the floor. “Damn you, General Anbar; you’ll pay for this!”
Giles lay in a fetal position on the bathroom floor. A white doughy blob oozed from his tinted-neon yellow mouth and then slithered down the drain. His body juddered as he took his last breath.
Dr. Bradford, with a vengeance in her eyes, shuffled into the kitchen with the aid of the walker; a rifle balanced horizontally across the top. With extreme effort, she returned to the kitchen, turned a chair to face the side door, and then sat. She loaded the rifle, placed it onto her lap, and then removed her cell phone from her pocket and dialed.
“Agent Morrison get that son of a bitch out of my house. If he or anyone of you ever comes here uninvited, I’ll shoot to kill. I’m sending you my back-up plan.” She snapped a selfie of her holding the rifle and texted it to him. “Take that and the wind you blew in from.”
After she placed the phone onto the table, she pointed the rifle toward the door and waited for Ryan’s return. She glanced at the wall clock above the stove. Tick tock, tick tock goes the clock. “Shit!”
She continued to hold the gun as she removed her son’s picture from her pocket, staring at it as tears poured. She stood, placed the weapon onto the kitchen counter, and then retrieved the step ladder from beside the refrigerator.
The ladder provided the perfect support in place of the walker as she shuffled toward the stove. Almost falling several times, she struggled to climb onto each rung of the step ladder to reach the clock. The clock barely in her reach forced her to step on the top level so she could retrieve it. She controlled her balance as she removed the clock from the wall and then managed to sit on the top rung of the ladder with the clock in her hands. She turned it over. A satisfied grin crossed her lips as she gazed at a vial sample test tube filled with murky water marked - “Original Sample Mono Lake.” A microscope slide sealed in a plastic evidence bag marked “A.D.A.M.” lay taped next to it.
To be continued.
BOOKS IN KSK SAGA SERIES
BY DR. MELISSA CAUDLE
The Keystroke Killer: Part I – Transcendence (2018)
The Keystroke Killer: Part II – Reborn (Winter 2019)
The Keystroke Killer: Part III – Preeminence (Fall 2020)
The Keystroke Killer: Part IV – Opacity (2020)
The Keystroke Killer: Part V – The Fourth Dimension (2021)
The Keystroke Killer: Part VI – New Realm (2022)
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THE KEYSTROKE KILLER
Excerpt from Chapter 3
There’s No Place Like Home
Clang. The door slid into the recess of the wall giving way to the rancid urine smell and smeared dried fecal matter on the walls. The guards led Matthew down the unwelcoming hall. A faint whisper of burnt flesh permeated from the left, the odor of carbolic soap from the staff restroom on the right, and the stench of unwashed clothes from the air vents filled the air.
Matthew looked at the visitor’s restroom door. “I need to go in.”
“Make it quick. Visiting hours are almost over.”
***
The restroom door creaked as it shut behind him. Someone had taken a dump in the toilet and left it unflushed.
In the far corner by the janitor’s closet, a rusty tin bucket served as the final resting place to an enormous and decomposed rat which reeked of rotting decay stifling Matthew.
“Disgusting people.” Did they leave their manners and dignity outside the gate? He shuffled to the sink and scrutinized his reflection wrinkled by torment. A tear fell from his left bloodshot eye as he thought of the exact moment Milo slaughtered his sister.
***
Milo clutched Livia’s hair as he dragged her into the Army green public restroom at Kenner City Park. The pervasive odor of urine filled the air.
Matthew, in hot pursuit, retrieved his magnum and sprinted toward them. He raced into the bathroom high on angered emotion out of breath.
Milo held a machete against Livia’s throat as he grinned sinisterly. “You made it in time to watch your sister die.”
“Let go of her.”
“If I let her go, you will kill me.” Milo taunted him as he pressed the knife harder against Livia’s throat. “And, if I don’t let go, you will kill me. Either way, you lose.”
“Let go now!” Matthew’s muscles contracted knowing the monster before him would take her life.
“What will big brother do? Save baby sis, or capture a serial killer?” His ice-cold stare of gunmetal gray prevailed.
“Both. I’ll do both. Put the fucking knife down, and we all can walk away.”
“Giving up your vow to serve and protect?” Milo taunted to get a rise out of Matthew. “You’d let me walk if I let her go? I think not. I must protest.”
“I’ll kill you. Put down the knife and let her go.”
“Too bad.” Milo slit Livia’s throat and shoved her to the ground. “You’re too late, hesitation kills.”
Matthew lunged to save Livia. He kneeled over her and tried to stop the sprouting blood from her neck with his hands pressed hard against the wound. “Livia.” Her eyes rolled back; she took her last breath.
Milo snickered as he watched the loving embrace between a brother and a very bloody sister.
“You’re a butcher. You’ll pay for this!” Matthew lunged toward Milo and struck the cumbersome machete from his grip. He heaved him against the cracked roach infested sink. Milo’s cheek connected to it and split open. Blood smeared onto the sink and dripped down Milo’s face. Matthew grabbed Milo by the shoulders and heaved his head against the mirror which shattered into several pieces and crashed into the pool of Livia’s blood.
Milo snatched a sharp mirror fragment, charged Matthew, stabbed him, and sliced his left shoulder.
Matthew glowered at him, bent to deliver a reverse round
kick, but slipped on Livia’s blood falling backward onto his butt.
Milo laughed as he held back his mental powers to provoke Matthew. “I’m just getting started.”
Matthew bolted up quickly onto his feet and delivered a round kick. His foot connected solidly into Milo’s ribcage cracking several ribs.
Airborne, Milo slammed against the wall. He grunted, took a deep breath, and charged Matthew.
Matthew outmaneuvered the serial killer. He dodged him, clutched Milo’s shoulders, and used the momentum to propel him head first slamming him against the wall.
Bloody, Milo zigzagged toward Matthew.
Matthew rushed him, grabbed his shoulders, and butted his head against his forehead.
The room spun as Milo staggered toward his opponent. His eyes rolled into the back of his head collapsing next to Livia.
Matthew kicked Milo’s ribs. He yanked his handcuffs from the pouch so hard it busted his lip.
Milo groaned and barely opened one eye, more of a wink.
A drop of blood fell from Matthew’s nose onto the back of Milo’s bald tattooed head. Matthew dropped to his knees and handcuffed him. “I have you now, you son of a bitch. You will rot in Hell for what you have done.”
Matthew kneeled by his sister, checked her pulse, and closed her eyes brushing his fingers across them. He stood and kicked Milo’s face.
Police sirens blared as seconds ticked away.
Matthew glimpsed his bloody reflection in the mirror. He ambled to the sink and washed his face.
A light blue electrical power surge, originating at the overhead light fixture, radiated downwards onto the mirror which captured his attention. The blue light pulsated, zipped through the running water, across the metal pipes, and onto the floor to Livia’s blood. Livia shimmered a faint blue as the surge entombed her. She became transparent and vanished along with her crimson blood.
Matthew became faint as he felt Livia’s life leave her body. “No!”
S.W.A.T. burst into the restroom pointing their rifles toward Matthew. Matthew raised his hands above his head. A red laser dot centered on his forehead. Without lowering his hands, he pointed at the unconscious and bloody Milo. “That’s the Co-Ed serial killer. Notify my father, Squad Commander of the New Orleans Police Intelligence Unit, Matthew Raymond.”
***
Matthew exited the bathroom. The guard escorted him to the interview room at the end of the dreary hall. “You have ten minutes. Anything before that, knock on the door, and I’ll let you out.”
The nine by nine-foot room had a two-way mirror on the north wall. By mandate, Warden Stronghold and several guards watched the conversation between the rugged investigator and the ice-cold serial killer. The camera mounted high in the corner of the room reflected onto a bare bulb hung from the fourteen-foot ceiling.
Milo shackled at his feet and chained at his wrists sat on a metal stool behind a metal table. Both secured to the floor by bolts. A single wooden chair on the opposite side of the table near the door entrance awaited the interrogator.
When Matthew entered, Milo’s hands pulled tight against the round metal restraint. He jerked the chains sneering at Matthew. “These necessary? I thought by now you and I understood each other.”
Matthew didn’t fall for the bait unaffected by Milo’s threatening gesture or posturing and calmly sat. “Had, is the operative word. Why should I trust you without them?”
“You’re not dead, are you?” I could kill you with one thought.
“The chains stay.”
“Then, I don’t talk.” He’s an idiot.
A standoff ensued as neither the interrogator nor the killer wanted to retreat. Matthew maintained the upper hand confronting Milo. He sat stiffly. Milo followed suit. Neither man wanted to blink first as they glowered into each other’s eyes. The silence roared until Matthew made the first move as he tussled his fingers through his scruffy uncombed hair. “Let me remind you of the position you’re in. I put you here. I can keep you here.”
The table vibrated as Milo scowled back unnerved. He responded to Matthew’s emphatic statements by sneering more amused than intimidated. “That’s supposed to make me talk?” Milo jerked toward the resolute Matthew. Only the chains that bound Milo prevented him from reaching his visitor.
Matthew didn’t flinch. Not one recoil gave Milo the result he hoped.
“Oooo! I’m really scared now. Big brother needs protection by the chains that bind me. You’re afraid to unchain me. Rightly so.”
Matthew reached into his back pocket, grabbed a folded envelope, and pretended to hand it to the chained prisoner.
Milo gritted his teeth, grunted, and growled.
Matthew pretended not to notice as he dangled the envelope back and forth in front of Milo one inch out of his reach. “Open it.”
“Not today.” Milo desired to keep the upper hand.
“You scared of what you’ll see?”
“Nothing in your show and tell game scares me.” Milo extended his left middle finger and wiggled it.
A sneer crossed Matthew’s lips; he didn’t take the jeering bait. He placed the envelope onto the table out of Milo’s reach. He flexed his fingers, folded his hands, and then slowly placed them on the table. Matthew sat upright. “What I can show you should scare the piss out of you. It’s from Nathan Hammer.”
“You piqued my curiosity.” Milo tried to slam his bound hands onto the table.
A lump formed in Matthew’s throat as he secured the envelope between his thumb and index finger and lowered it one inch from Milo’s shackled hands. “I’m not interested in what does or doesn’t pique your interest.” Matthew provoked Milo by fanning the envelope.
Unnerved, Milo deepened his cold stone stare, remained motionless fighting the urge to use his telepathic ability to suck air from Matthew’s lungs.
The chair scraped across the floor as Matthew rose. “Maybe next time you’ll show me respect and play my show and tell game as you emphatically called it.” He strode to the door.
Milo sneered as he chomped his teeth to taunt him.
Matthew used his knuckles and tapped on the door protruding his middle finger. “Up yours.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Unamused and unaffected by Matthew’s blatant gesture, Milo leered toward Matthew. “Watch your back. That’s if you can.”
“Meaning?”
“You couldn’t watch your sister’s. Now could you?”
Matthew turned toward Milo as his eyes trickled the calculated insolence of his stare. “You’re not allowed to talk about my sister.” He spewed spit with each angered word.
“You should have seen her face when I slit her throat.” Milo gloated him further. “Oh, excuse me. You did.” His tone in Joker fashion more befitting a character in Batman seemed to bounce in the room against the walls. “Such a thing of beauty to feel as her body jerked going limp before her last breath. Big brother couldn’t save little sister.” Milo smirked and tilted his head to the side. “I remember her sweet perfume and the silkiness of her hair.” A grin of wry amusement dashed across his lips.
Matthew bolted toward Milo, grabbed the villain’s head, and slammed it against the table. Blood oozed from Milo’s nose. He pressed Milo’s bloody face relentlessly on the table as if he had the strength of a Western lowland gorilla from the jungles of Africa. “You son of a bitch!”
Milo strained to avert Matthew’s glare. His yellow stained teeth bloody.
“Where did my sister go?”
Milo’s blank stare enraged an already violent Matthew.
“How did you make her vanish?” Matthew slammed Milo’s head against the table over and over.
“Lost control big brother? I think so.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“That’s the only name you have left in your arsenal? Low on vocabulary for a Tulane graduate.”
Matthew slammed Milo’s head three more times against the already bloody surface. “How’s this for vocabu
lary? You’re demonic.”
Three guards rushed into the room and restrained Matthew. To break free, Matthew thrashed in their arms to escape from the three-man hold.
Milo licked the blood from his lips and sat up. “Tastes like your sister’s.”
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NEVER STOP RUNNING
Dr. Melissa Caudle
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2018 Dr. Melissa Caudle
EXCERPT
NEVER STOP RUNNING
1. OPEN THE DOOR
Dr. Grayson sat in a Victorian chair; his eyes focused on Jackie who lay in a deep hypnotic state on a worn royal blue velvet chaise. The scar which ridged from her scalp to below her cheek covered by make-up embarrassed Jackie as she leaned her face against the pillow to hide it.
“From this point on, when I say sleep and snap my fingers, you will remember this state and go to it. Now breathe in and out.” Dr. Grayson drew a deep breath.
Jackie responded to his suggestion with a huge-heaved sigh of relief.
“Jackie, I’m going to ask you a series of questions. You will not awaken but stay in this peaceful state. You will remain aware of your surroundings. Noises won’t bother you. You will only respond to my voice. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Jackie search through your past and find a door and enter.” Dr. Grayson observed Jackie’s body language and eye movement beneath her eyelids giving her time to select a door. “Do you see the door?”
A.D.A.M. Page 23