Suffocating Secrets

by E A Owen

I started the coffeemaker and plopped onto the couch. I flipped through the channels until something caught my eye. I flipped back. The girl who had taken my latte order at Starbuck’s right before the car had hit me was crying to the news reporter. I turned up the volume.

  “A monster is walking the streets. Why haven’t they caught him yet? If the police did their job, this maniac would be behind bars, and my dad would still be alive.” She sobbed uncontrollably.

  The camera panned to a reporter. “It’s been several months since the last murder. Our community finally thought it might be safe again, but we were dead wrong. The killings have begun again. With the killer still on the loose, everyone needs to proceed with caution. Lock your doors, and don’t go out alone at night. The police still haven’t released any details on the murders—”

  I turned off the TV. Mocking the reporter, I muttered, “Our community finally thought it might be safe again? Huh!”

  Suddenly, it felt like the temperature dropped twenty degrees. I grabbed a hold of my arms and vigorously rubbed them. I looked around; all the windows were closed. That’s strange. I scrunched my forehead.

  That’s when I remembered I had brewed a pot of coffee a few minutes ago. I opened the foyer closet and pulled the dark purple hoodie, with Rocky Mountains written across it, over my head. I hollered in pain, grabbing my foot and hopping on one leg. I fell over and hit my head on the side of the countertop. Jesus Christ! What is wrong with me today?

  While pouring a cup of coffee, I burned my hand. After stepping from the shower, I slipped and grabbed hold of the shower curtain, ripping it off the rod and getting all twisted in it then falling to the ground and smacking my head. I am not off to a good start today, I thought, laying on the ground mangled up and rubbing my head. I just burst into laughter. I laughed so hard that my stomach hurt. And then, from nowhere, my laughter turned to tears. “Get a hold of yourself!” I snapped.

  During my drive to work, I cranked the tunes. Music always calmed my nerves and relieved stress.

  Thud, thud, thud.

  Seriously! Why wouldn’t it? Today of all days. I attacked the steering wheel with my fists of fury. What else could go wrong? But, in the midst of anger, I was thankful Dad had showed me how to change a tire.

  I popped the truck and dug out the spare tire, jack, and lug wrench.

  ***

  I arrived to work twenty minutes late, sweaty and needing a shower, probably reeking of body odor. I scurried into the bathroom and quickly closed the door behind me before anyone could see me.

  Exhaling a big sigh, I leaned against the door and clenched my hands. I gripped a fistful of hair as I felt ready to rip it right out of my head and then released a dramatic silent scream. I shook my head as I stepped toward the mirror—mascara running, messy hair, black streaking from my cheekbone to my chin, and bloodshot eyes. I was a wreck. I needed to clean myself up before anyone saw me like this.

  About five minutes had passed. I straightened my shirt and collar and took a gander in the mirror, approving my quick makeover and giving myself a fake smile to rally myself before I faced my staff. I cleared my throat and pulled open the door, ready to face the world.

  “Good morning, Ms. Williams. It’s so nice to see you. You have two patients waiting to see you. Anna has finished their cleanings.” Monica was definitely a morning person.

  I approached the dental rooms and turned around. “Monica, could you please make a run to Starbuck’s and grab me my usual? With a flat tire, I didn’t have time this morning.”

  Monica smiled. “Of course.”

  “Thank you. And while you’re there, pick something up for yourself. And maybe grab a few muffins and bagels for the rest of the staff.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll be back shortly.”

  My staff had been phenomenal. I needed to show my appreciation more. I decided I’d treat them to Happy Hour at a local pub someday.

  “April, could you please watch the front desk? I sent Monica to Starbuck’s.”

  “Yeah, of course.” April motioned to a patient. “This is Mr. Stewart. This is his first time in a dentist office in twenty years. I just finished his cleaning, and his X-rays are hanging for your examination.”

  “Thank you, April.”

  “Mr. Stewart, twenty years is a long time.”

  “Twenty-three, actually,” he replied nervously, stirring in the chair.

  “Well, Mr. Stewart, you have quite a few cavities. Eleven, to be exact. You’ll have to make a few appointments to get these filled. Looks like you may need a root canal. Are you experiencing any pain?”

  “Sometimes. It comes and goes.”

  “If it gets any worse, please call the office, and we can get you in sooner to get it fixed. Why don’t you go to the front desk, and April can schedule your next appointment? It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Stewart. Have a nice day.” I smile, shaking his hand.

  Sealed Records

  “I don’t get it, Trevor. This case has everyone baffled, especially the police.” Rachel turned her face away. “This case just doesn’t add up. I’m losing tons of sleep trying to wrap my brain around this. It makes no sense.” Rachel sighed, folding her arms.

  “This stuff takes time, sweetheart. You can’t rush it. A clue will come up eventually. It has to.”

  “I don’t know … It’s got everyone stumped. Fingerprints are all over the crime scenes, but no matches found in the database. There are no witnesses. The crime scenes are disorganized and sloppy, and they have nothing!” Rachel rubbed her forehead.

  I grabbed the bottle of 2007 Nosotros and top off our wine glasses. “What about motive?” I raise the glass of wine, and the black-raspberry flavor rolls over my lips.

  “That’s the only thing we have going for us.” Rachel pursed her lips. “I had a connection dig deep into each of the victims’ pasts to shine any light on why someone would want them dead. And not just dead, but brutally murdered, mutilated, and tortured.”

  “And …?” I lean in closer, raising my eyebrows.

  “They all spent time in jail for heinous crimes.” Rachel leaned back in her chair and drew a long breath.

  “Makes perfect sense why someone would torture them.”

  Rachel shifted nervously in her chair and leaned in closer again, almost speaking in a whisper now. “They got away with a slap on the hand, spent hardly any time behind bars. They apparently know how to work the system. Maybe the killer is someone who works in the courthouse. Maybe the judge is corrupt and being paid off. Who knows? The system is broken. You don’t know who you can trust anymore.”

  “Wow! And why hasn’t this been made public?”

  “Because the records are sealed, and the information is from an unreliable source, dismissed from law enforcement for misconduct. Knew a little too much information. No one likes a person who creates waves and holds people accountable. They were forced to resign.”

  “How long have you known this?” I asked nervously, shifting my eyes.

  “A couple weeks.” Rachel looked down and away.

  “And you didn’t tell me?” I sighed with disappointment.

  “I’m telling you now.”

  “Why would you keep something like this from me?”

  “Calm down. It’s a sensitive case, Trevor. I can’t just spill my guts about everything. I have to be careful who I tell.”

  I stood, clenched my jaw and flared my nose. I walked away from Rachel and slammed my fists on the counter. “Jesus Christ!”

  Rachel flinched. “I’m sorry, babe.”

  “So, you’re saying you don’t trust me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yes, you did,” I snapped, cracking my knuckles.

  “I’m sorry, Trevor. That’s not what I meant.”

  “I thought we told each other … everything.”

  “We do. But I think you’ve had a little too much to drink tonight, Trevor.”

  “Don’t go there, Rachel.”

  �
�Come, sit down. Relax.”

  I paced back and forth, taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself before I said or did something I may later regret. “Rachel. I understand you don’t feel comfortable sharing every detail about this case with me, but this is a huge breakthrough. A case with absolutely no leads, no conclusive evidence, and you find this out and have known about it for two weeks and it hasn’t even come up in conversation?” I covered my face with my hands and shook my head. “It feels to me like you’re hiding something or you don’t trust me. And that hurts immensely, especially after everything we’ve been through.”

  “I’m sorry, Trevor.” Rachel tapped the chair next to her. “Please sit down.”

  I was more upset with her comment about being careful who she talks to, but I needed to stop being so stubborn and talk this through. I refused to go to bed angry; it wasn’t good for either of us. That’s one thing Mary had taught me about relationships—never go to bed angry.

  I slid out a chair and sat then turned my chair toward Rachel—no table between us, just two bodies facing each other, open and vulnerable.

  Rachel grabbed my hands and looked at me. “Trevor, please don’t be upset with me. I didn’t mean for that to come out the way it did.” Rachel sniffled. “I trust you completely, I really do. I probably wouldn’t be as stressed if I just unloaded all the thoughts instead of suppressing them.” Rachel sighed, shaking her leg. “Getting a hold of the records will be the hard part. You need security access. Everything is password-protected and high security. I need to find a criminal who knows how to hack their system.”

  “Breaking the law now, are we?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be. Just paying someone to. It’s for a good cause. Need to catch the killer before they do it again.”

  “How would you go about finding someone that could do that?”

  “I’m not sure exactly.”

  “You ready for bed?” I stood, extending my hand.

  As Rachel rose to her feet, I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a tight squeeze, holding her for a moment. “I’m sorry, baby, for getting upset with you and losing my temper. I don’t like when we fight.” I released my grip and looked Rachel in the eyes with a half-smile. I whispered into her ear, “All this breaking the law talk is making me horny. Want to play out a scenario?” I flitted my eyebrows up and down.

  “Like what?”

  “I pull you over for speeding, and you plead with me not to give you a ticket, and just improvise from there.” I slapped her firm ass with an ear-to-ear grin.

  Rachel yelped as her face flushed with color, and she giggled playfully. Grabbing my face, she seductively kissed my lips and grabbed my hand, leading me to the bedroom. “Don’t forget the handcuffs.”

  ***

  I quickly glanced behind me, breathing heavy. My legs burned from running so fast and the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I tripped on an overgrown root and cracked my knee on the forest ground. The pain radiated through my leg as I shrieked.

  I clasped my mouth, eyes darting frantically. I stumbled to my feet. Sharp rocks and dry leaves crunched under my mangled bare feet, leaving a trail of warm blood behind me. My heart pounded so hard that I heard it echoing in my skull.

  I had to stop, take a break for just a moment to catch my breath. My throat felt dry and scratchy from gasping for air. I frantically looked around; my eyes widened with fear. The darkness played tricks on me. A shadow darted behind a nearby tree, startling me. I gasped then held my breath as I fought the impulse to turn around. My heart pounded fiercely; my hands were clenched into a fist, ready to attack my predator. Fear tortured my thoughts. My stomach twisted into a violent cramp.

  A loud crash paralyzed my soul. I tried to run, but my legs felt heavy, making it nearly impossible. The shadow darted from behind the tree, charging at me with a machete.

  I bellowed a curdling scream and awoke from a sound sleep, drenched in a fear-induced sweat.

  Blue Ridge Murder

  Another murder. Four now in six months. This one was in Blue Ridge. Everyone panicked. I’d seen several moving trucks within the last couple weeks. People were scared and moving far away, I assumed. No one felt safe anymore. The police had no leads or suspects, which made it even more horrifying. Whomever committed these murders got away with them, and, until law enforcement catches them, there could be more.

  A newspaper article last week reported the sale of guns had risen 300% this year. Fear had induced towns within a two-hundred-mile radius, and the town of Blue Ridge implemented a dusk-to-dawn curfew.

  A tragic accident occurred a few days ago. Someone had shot an innocent man. A family had lost a father and husband. The victim had parked in a nearby neighborhood during his family vacation to knock on someone’s door to ask directions. The paranoid homeowner didn’t recognize the man, and, when he opened the door, he shot the driver in the head, killing him instantly.

  ***

  The authorities finally released the details of the murders to the public after much uproar and protests. The public demanded details, stating they had every right to know, so they could protect their families. Keeping the details a secret made matters worse and everyone more paranoid.

  My smart, sexy wife dug up the dirt on the victims’ sealed cases. She should have been an FBI criminal investigator instead of working as an investigative journalist for the local newspaper, but she enjoyed her job. She loved being the brains at the Redwood Times. She got satisfaction when she would unearth information before the police could. She had an eye and some connections she wouldn’t name. Top secret stuff. She’s always saying, “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.” She always tried to look dreadfully serious, but she couldn’t keep a straight face for long. She always cracked. She was incredibly cute when she did it too. Reminded me why I fell in love with her. She had such a sweet, kind spirit. And of course, she tolerated my shit; I could be a moody SOB at times.

  “Trevor, I’ve been practicing my speech for the detectives for days now and hoped you’d sit down and just listen without saying a word or interrupting, and let me know if what I have is too much or not enough or if I should change anything.”

  “Yeah, of course, sweetheart.” I sat in the oversized leather recliner and listened intently.

  “First murder victim was fifty-four-year-old Steven Howard of Roanoke, who only served nine months in county jail for sexually molesting little boys. The killer tattooed the number nine on his left buttocks. The second murder was forty-three-year-old Robert Belview of Charlottesville. He burglarized elderly people, and they charged him with multiple felonies. He was released after serving just six months in prison. The killer tattooed the number six on his forearm. He stole millions of dollars over seventeen years. The police never found all the money. They confiscated his house, vacation homes, cars, boats, motorhome, guns—anything worth value—for restitution, but it barely scratched the surface. One of his victims was found dead in his home after hanging himself. Such a tragedy. The third murder was forty-nine-year-old Daniel Balaton of Richmond. He was charged with embezzlement. He spent just three months in jail. The killer tattooed the number three on the side of his neck. He embezzled millions of dollars over his twenty-two-year tenure as general manager of several grain and feed elevators. As a result of his embezzlement, the company went bankrupt, affecting all the farmers, employees, suppliers, and vendors.” Rachel took a deep breath then sighed with disappointment. “As for the forth murder, it just happened, so, unfortunately, we have no details.

  “I learned in my research that three types of serial killers exist: the medical killer, the organized killer, and the disorganized killer. Although the medical killer is very rare, people have become involved in the medical industry to facilitate their crimes with the perfect cover. If it appears the victim has died a natural death, there’s no reason to suspect foul play. The organized killer is the most difficult to identify and apprehend. They are usually highly intelligent and very meticulous.
They plan every detail of the crime in advance, and they leave no incriminating evidence behind. The disorganized killer rarely plans their victims’ deaths. They usually strike at random whenever an opportunity arises. And, in most cases, the victims are just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Disorganized killers take no precautions to cover their crimes and tend to move to different towns or states regularly to avoid capture. They usually have low IQs and are extremely antisocial. They rarely have close friends or family and do not stay in one place for too long.” Rachel paced.

  “With that being said, it also looks like we have two types of serial killers on our hands: organized and disorganized. Even though the crime scenes seem disorganized and sloppy, we have no witnesses and no incriminating evidence, and, even though we have fingerprints, none of them are in our database. Each crime was in a different town. Each murder victim had been charged with a felony, and each murder victim was tattooed with a number. We have deciphered that the number resembles the months they had spent incarcerated. Any questions?” Rachel exhaled a big sigh and plopped onto the couch.

  I smiled. “Rachel, that was fantastic. But, just between us, do you think whoever is committing these murders might be doing society a favor? A vigilante maybe?”

  Rachel nodded. “The thought has crossed my mind.”

  “This serial killer is taking the lives of bad people, not innocent. These so-called murder victims ruined the lives of many, and the system obviously failed miserably, showing the real victims here no mercy.”

  “This is true. Life can be cruel sometimes.” Rachel lowered her head.

  “You always hope that if the system fails, karma will bite a big chunk from their ass. Maybe this vigilante is their karma, if you believe in karma.”

  “I do. I’m a true believer that everything happens for a reason. Karma could definitely play a major role in that.”

  “Cause and effect. I believe every action and intent influences your future. Karma is simply getting what you give or reaping what you sow. But there’s good and bad karma.”