I carefully step into her room and look her way. She's not sleeping under the covers, which I find strange. She's also naked, but only from the waist down. Odd, but not unheard of, I guess. If she was wearing a nightshirt, it might make more sense than this skimpy top--*gasp*
Her eyes! They're open! I hope she hasn't seen me. More importantly, I hope she isn't dead! Ok, calm down, Priya. I see her chest moving slightly up and down, definitely still breathing. Wait... I've seen this before...
That man! Why didn't I think of this before?! I knew he seemed familiar. But how does he do this?!?! I'm careful not to stand in her line of sight, but I need to get closer for a better look. Fool that I am. I don't even know what I'm looking at, or for, but my curiosity gets the better of me. At least I know she won't reach out and grab me. Wait, do I know that? How long before whatever this is wears off?
My heart is pounding as I reach out to touch her forearm. Hard as a rock, as though it's locked in place. I pull away, shuddering, as though I might catch whatever she has. I'd better go. I'm not this brave. As I turn to leave, I spot her wallet. One last gift for the poor, blind, courageous Indian woman. I turn back to her and say, "I'm sorry."
Leaving the room, I wonder what I can do for this poor woman. I obviously can't call the police. What would I say? "Yes, officer, I was ransacking this house, and noticed that its owner was in distress. Send help." How else could I explain stumbling upon her that doesn't sound like breaking and entering? God, I really am terrible at this. How have I not been caught yet?
And this man. I've crossed paths with him twice now. Who is he? Obviously not a mugger, or I'd have nothing to take for myself. Both times I’ve come across him, these women were partially or completely naked. Which means he's something much worse: a rapist. I'm sick to my stomach thinking what he's done to these women, and who knows how many others. But... what can I do about it?
Even if I showed up while he was still in the house, as with this evening, what then? I can't stop him just because I see him in different colors. I can't call the cops, and I'm no vigilante. I really am just completely useless.
An imaginary angel appears on my shoulder, like in those old cartoons, imploring me to find a way to help these women, should I come across him again. A devil appears on the other shoulder, reminding me that I’m no fighter, and am awful at confrontation. Instead of fighting, he says, use this man to your advantage. Remember the van.
Oh no! Not now, please. In my periphery, I see two outlines of bodies walking down the street in my direction. Definitely need to go, and fast. Silence be damned, I race down the steps and track their movement. Maybe they're just a couple out for an evening stroll. Clearly a man and a woman, I can tell that for certain.
As I race to the back door, I see them approach. Yes, definitely coming here, to this house, but why? Was my host expecting company when this man took advantage of her? No time to hypothesize right now. I just need to get out and make sure they don't see me.
As I stand outside the back door, panting, waiting for them to give me a clear path to escape, I can't help but watch them intently. The man checks the lock of the front door. Did they knock or ring the doorbell? No! They're coming around this way. A fence blocks the other side of the house. I need to find a place to hide, and quick.
I look around, frantic. Bushes? No, too small. I'd stick out pretty clearly, even if they weren't looking closely. Ah, a shed. I creep to the side of it, at an angle at which I think, hope, they won't see me.
I stand as still as I can, breathing as lightly as I’m able. Over my pounding heart, I can hear them whispering to each other, but can't make out what they're saying. The man scans the yard, as though he's heard something. Crap, I've given myself away... no, I was quiet as a church mouse. Confirming this, he turns his attention back to his companion. He must just be paranoid, like me. He checks the back door, which opens for him, since I didn't have the sense to lock it, stupid Priya, and they're inside. What kind of people just walk into someone's... Oh.
Now's my chance. As they ascend the stairs, I find solid footing on the concrete, and run as fast as my little legs can manage. I don't want to stick around to find out why these two are here. I've had my fair share of mysteries for one evening.
Chapter 5
Isabel
We run as fast as our legs can manage. We've had our fair share of mysteries for a lifetime. Now's our chance. He's there, we know it, and this time, we’re going to catch that son of a bitch red-handed.
That is, if we’re not too far away. We haven't heard him say anything for a while. He's already gotten what he wanted, then. We don't know how long he lingers. We may have only a few more minutes, if that.
Get out of my head, all of you! No time for distractions. We don't care about your boss, We’re sure he's a jerk. Yes, your precious little snowflake did nothing wrong. It's all the teacher's fault. What is Starry Night? Potent Potables for 800, Alex. MAKE IT STOP!!!
Focus, Izzy, don't let them in. Work on our breathing. We need it now more than ever. Our lungs are burning. We need more oxygen. Deep inhale, deep exhale, and repeat. This would be so much easier if we still had our driver's license. Or a car.
Deep breathing. We’re not the only one doing it. We hear it all around me, penetrating us. Dozens of deep, throaty moans; others short and urgent, racing to a climax. Pull my hair, spank my ass, oh god, oh god, oh god. Then, crying... a child, not ready for bed. An angry father, yelling at someone for throwing a party while he was away. Sounds like it was a good time.
FOCUS! Remember the scream, Izzy. Remember where it came from. Remember her terror, brief as it was. Remember his calm tone, how he told her exactly what he was about to do. Remember how creepy he sounded, no urgency or nervousness in his voice, as though he had all the time in the world. Time is running out, creep.
We’re close now, we know it. The others we heard nearby are louder now, helping guide us to the spot. They chatter away inanely about their day at work, school, the unemployment office, the gym. What would make the world a better place? If everyone would just zip it and start listening. They might actually learn something important.
We used to love small talk. Ice breakers, getting to know you, bitching and moaning. It was therapeutic. Better, it was a dance, making connections talking about family, work, the Giants or the Sharks. Now, we crave those stolen moments of silence, so few and far between as they are. The earplugs help, but they only go so far. And at times like this, when we need to hear to our fullest, they need to come out, and the wall of sound hits us head on. Overwhelming is an understatement.
This is the block, We’re sure of it. Need to slow down a little, home in on the house that has gone silent. Come on people, speak to me. You know all those times when we tell you to shut the hell up? This ain't one of them.
Radios blaring music. Well, blaring in our head. Televisions on, the commercials SO much louder than the shows, it has to be on purpose. We hear angry dad again, blocks away, behind us, still berating his poor, stupid child; ah, a son, teenager, from the sound of his cracking voice. Apologize all you want, kid. That broken vase was priceless. Your dumb jock friends should've known better.
Too much, too much! Need to find a signal among all this noise. Is anyone here familiar? After her scream, after his slimy monologue, what was it that we heard from a neighboring house? Come on, Izzy, think! Right, there she is again, the whiny woman complaining about the traffic on her way home on 85. Now she's on about how pregnant women shouldn't be allowed to use the HOV lane. Let it go, lady. Only one or two houses away, maybe. A bike, that's what we need. Write that down.
Now it's easy to spot. Just listen for the one house without any natural voices coming from it. Nothing a little meditation can't help with, the one useful thing Dr. Gibson has given us so far. Man, if she knew we were here, she'd have us locked up in a padded cell for sure. If we can just focus, breathe, let it wash over us, and tap into it... There.
We open our eyes an
d examine the house. One light on downstairs, nothing upstairs as far as we can tell. If it's like the others, a side or back door should be unlocked. Lord, we hope we made it here on time. Give me strength to keep it together, and not let all the voices... Oh, no. Get out, GET. OUT!!!
Earplugs back in, but they're not helping much. No time for the calming routine again, we need to get in. Front door locked, no such luck. A dog barking down the street nearly brings me to my knees. Walk around the side. Baby crying, tired parents politely dueling over whose turn it is. No side door, go around back. Reality game show, GOD these are so ridiculous. Back door open. we sneak in.
Looking around, we see no one on the first floor. Oh, we love that song, but of course it gets drowned out by others, a muddled mess. The light in the living room shows only that she either has a cleaning lady, or is really anal. Some teenage boy asks someone to go on a date, to the movies. She's sorry, but she’s already got a boyfriend. Better luck next time, papi. They must be upstairs. Our heart's beating faster now than when we were racing here, as we climb the steps as quickly and quietly as we can.
No lights, great. All that helps us is the ambient light from the street and downstairs, and a single teal nightlight in the hallway. A couple argues over money, should've rented a smaller apartment. Night vision would be pretty useful right now. Why couldn't we have a superpower like that? Which one is the bedroom? Come on, big bucks, no whammies.
Damn! Guest room. No one in here. Our hands are shaking so hard, if he's still here, he has to have heard us by now. Sack up, Izzy. Get it together, try the next door. Lady, maybe it's time to carpool or get a job where you can work from home. Your poor husband can only take so much of this. We think we can hear him rolling his eyes.
Let's see what's behind door number two...
No.
NO!!!
Our gun drops to the floor, suddenly useless for all its promise. It's even worse than we imagined. It’s worse than before. He's gone. She's gone. And she's never coming back.
"AAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!"
We fall to our knees. That was stupid, screaming like that. But we couldn't help it. We couldn't help her, just like we couldn't help the others. We deserve the pain. What good are we if we can't stop him? Rape is bad enough, but this? What the fuck did she do to deserve this, you FREAK?!?!
Oh no, we hear the neighbors. What was that scream? It sounded like it came from Debbie's house. Call the police, Charlie, maybe she's in trouble.
Time to go, Izzy. We can ball up into a corner and cry when you get home. It's the only thing we’re really good at anymore.
Chapter 6
Troy
"We went on one date. She just wasn't that into me."
"Yeah, but you kept in contact, kept trying to set up a second date."
"I didn't say I wasn't into her." He looks sheepish, but not guilty. "I didn't get the hint at first."
"So then you started stalking her, hanging out at her place, waiting for her to come home."
He looks up from staring at the coffee table in his living room, dumbfounded. "What? No!"
"Come on, Zack. You just figured it out and moved on? We know you didn't talk to any other girls on Match after you met with Melissa."
He hangs his head a little. "I took some time away from it. I really liked her, so when she never called back, I took a break." He looks me in the eye. "Did she say these things about me? Why would she do that? I was a little...persistent, sure, but I never crossed the line."
Frank leaps on this, calm as a summer breeze. "So where were you on the evening of April 16th, Zack? Can you tell us that?"
He's definitely confused now, fumbling. "I...What? I don't remember."
Frank puts him on edge. I ease him back. It usually works. "Take a minute. Think about it. It was a Saturday. You weren't on another date, I'm guessing." I think we're wasting our time with this guy, but Frank's been heavy with every guy we've dropped in on. Even some of the victims’ neighbors. It's not like him. Either this case is getting to him, or he has some strategy I haven't picked up on yet. And he hasn't been sharing so much lately.
I can practically see the gears turning in Zack's head. He's getting frustrated. "You want me to recall what I was doing three months ago? I can't remember what I ate for dinner last night. I don't know, I was probably home, playing Battlefront, online. Look, what is this all about? Did something happen to Melissa?"
Frank gives him the news. "Yeah, while you were playing at war, your crush was having a pretty bad night."
Zack turns to me, confused. Either this guy is Oscar-worthy, or he has no idea.
"She's dead, Zack."
This is usually where people who are involved display feigned ignorance, and people who are ignorant are visibly shaken. I'm getting pretty good at picking up the cues with Frank's help, but he's a natural. I look at him to confirm, and his face says it all. Not our guy. But maybe we're both wrong. The facts don’t mislead us very often. It's almost time to play what we know about Zack and our most recent victim.
"Wha...How?"
Believe me, buddy, you don't really want to know. "We won't go into the grisly details, Mr. Ross, but she was attacked in her home. Do you know anyone who might have been giving her some trouble? Anyone creepy she might have mentioned on your date?"
"No, I...We talked about our families, what we do for a living, what we wanted out of life, where we see ourselves in the future. Ya know, first date stuff. It was nice, refreshing. We seemed to click. Or at least, I thought we did." It takes a minute to process, but he eventually lays the obvious question on us. "Look, I only met her the one time. You don’t think I have anything to do with this, right?"
Frank Foley, the man in charge, drops the bomb. "Well, not at first, we didn’t, Zack. But then, another girl wound up the same way, a few weeks ago. Denise Zimmerman. Ring a bell?"
I try to read him, but his stare is as blank as a new notebook. "No, I don't think so. Should it?"
Forget the Oscar, we're talking Lifetime Achievement Award, now. "You emailed her a few times, before Melissa. You met her on eHarmony. You even had a couple of phone calls. Did you ever go on a date with her?" We already know that answer, but will he slip up, give us something we don't know?
"Oh...DeniZen? If that's her, I never knew her full name. She was a bit nervous; it was her first time trying online dating. We did speak on the phone once or twice, but it never progressed from there."
So that's it, then. This is another dead end. The facts may mislead, but they don't lie. Zack did have loose ties to our first and third victims, but none to the second, and believe me, we looked hard. Frank's heard enough, too. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Ross."
This seems to bother Zack as much as anything else we've told him. "Wait, that's it? Is there anything else I can do?"
Well, we do need to follow up on your alibi. "Yeah. Don't leave town."
Frank's phone rings on our way out. "Uh-huh. Ok, where's this one?" He stops, looks back at me, shakes his head, and heads toward the car. The look of concern is all I need to know. "Alright, we'll be right over."
As we walk away from the house, Frank mutters just loud enough for me to hear, dejection in his voice. "Fuck...they just found our fourth victim."
----------
Debbie Riley, 31, single, petite, lived alone. This coward keeps picking easy targets. If we don't catch him soon, I hope the next door he knocks on, he picks on the wrong girl, and she's packing heat.
There's something we're missing, though. This guy's all over the place. He should be getting bolder, going further. But this time, only one limb was severed, and this one's a robbery again. Not to mention her clothes are folded up all nice and neat, tucked under her head like a pillow. Like he's trying to make her comfortable, which is kinda pointless after you've ripped her arm off.
I point this out to Frank, and he brings up a theory he’s been hooked on since shortly after we found Denise Zimmerman, victim number three. "So, ou
r first two victims, Melissa Templeton and Tracy Stemple, only one of their limbs were removed, and their clothes were folded neatly in a corner of the room. This one's similar to those. But Denise Zimmerman still had a shirt on, and the rest of her clothes were scattered haphazardly. And then there's the cause of deaths. Michelle confirmed the first two were suffocated prior to the butcher job, and that we were right about Denise bleeding out, that she was alive for some time during the quartering. My bet's that Miss Riley here was suffocated, like the first two, and was already gone when he started pulling her apart. It's as though this fucker's judging them, being a little more respectful of some, but Denise deserved something far worse, in his mind."
"Respectful? How respectful is he being by ripping arms out of their sockets?"
"I've been wondering that myself. Assuming this is all the same asshole, he's erratic, right? I mean, he doesn't seem organized or methodical, but the one constant so far is that he cleans up spotlessly. We're talking not even clothing fibers or hair left behind. But a disorganized serial killer is almost always sloppy, and would be leaving us a ton of forensics to work with. This lends more credence to two, maybe three perps, working together." I guess I'm not masking my skepticism very well. "I know you're still not buying it, but hear me out. One does the suffocating, one does the cleanup."
"And the dismemberment?"
I can see the lightbulb flickering above his head. "...I haven't figured that one out yet. Maybe both of them together, or even a third guy. Would make it easier, too, since ligaments and tendons make it notoriously difficult for limbs to be just yanked off like this."
The Ripper of Blossom Valley Page 4