by Stella Hart
By the time I was sixteen, her problems were too much for me to deal with. She’d started to fly off the handle and go into rages at everyone when she drank, and I’d been forced to move out. It wasn’t just the temper tantrums, either. It was waking up every day and seeing what she was doing to herself that hurt me the most. One morning I went downstairs for breakfast and saw her passed out drunk at the table at eight a.m., and that was the final straw. I couldn’t watch her do it anymore.
After that, I stayed with friends when I could, couch-surfed at strangers’ houses sometimes when I had to, and worked my ass off at the after-school job I had at the time. Eventually I had enough saved to rent a room in a shitty little apartment. Life had moved on from there.
Sighing, I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath as I looked over at the hospital bed. In the end, despite all the difficulties, the weak woman lying there was still my mother. She’d tried to care for me the best she could whilst in the grips of her battle with the bottle, and I’d always be grateful for that. It was why I’d been helping her these last few years.
The kindly nurse gave me a sympathetic smile. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.”
She briskly left the room. The tall doctor on the other side finished scanning the chart and quietly stepped out of the room too, leaving me alone with Mom. I barely even registered either of them leaving; I was too numb.
I headed over to the bedside table and arranged the camellias in an empty deep cut crystal vase that was sitting there. Mom stirred at the sound of my movements and opened her heavy-lidded eyes. Her face displayed the cruel ravages of her disease, each deeply-etched wrinkle making her look ten years older than her actual age.
“Celeste… you’re here again.”
I pasted on a smile, as if nothing was wrong. As if her body wasn’t decaying before my very eyes. “Yes. I brought you some more camellias from your garden.”
Her face brightened. “They’re still flowering?”
“Of course. They always are.”
“They’re as beautiful as ever. Thank you.” She yawned. “Sorry I was asleep when you arrived. I’ve been so exhausted lately.”
I put my right hand over one of hers. “Don’t apologize. Your body has been through a lot, and the painkillers are making you extra tired. You need to relax and rest.”
She smiled faintly. “You’re right, it’s probably the painkillers.”
Neither of us wanted to say the truth—she was tired because her life was slowly draining away. It was the elephant in the room we didn’t dare to mention, as if acknowledging the truth out loud might somehow make it more real and speed up the process.
I went to move the vase closer to Mom so she could smell the flowers. Most camellias didn’t have a scent, but these pink ones had a refreshing citrusy scent to them.
I wrinkled my nose as I noticed something I hadn’t spotted earlier. “What happened to the photo of Dad?” I asked, nodding toward the little photo display I’d set up for her a few weeks ago on the bedside table. Originally, there’d been a picture of me with her when I was a baby, a picture of her with some of her friends, a picture of me by myself, and a picture of my dad. Now only the first three remained.
She sighed. “Sorry, a nurse accidentally knocked it onto the ground yesterday when she tripped on some dripping IV fluid. The glass in the frame smashed and the fluid ruined the photo.”
“Hm. Clumsy.”
“She’s a trainee nurse. Didn’t hook up the drip right; that’s why it was everywhere. But the others are all okay, I think.” She sat up and craned her neck to have a look at the other frames.
“It’s fine. I can bring another photo of him another day.”
She smiled. “Sure, sweetie. Thanks.” The expression on her face was pained, despite the smile, and I felt a pang in my stomach. I knew how hard it was for her to sit up straight, and I’d made a big deal about such a minor issue, making her feel like she had to get up and deal with it.
It wasn’t just the physical aspect, either. I knew it was hard for her to talk about Dad, and his early death had likely been the catalyst for her drinking problem. I originally thought bringing her a photo of him was a good thing for me to do, but now I wondered if it made her feel like drinking again, even though she obviously couldn’t in here and was in no condition to do so anyway.
“It’s fine. No big deal,” I said hurriedly, wracked with guilt over my insensitivity. “You should lie back down.”
“Gladly.” She yawned, stretched, and slid back down in the bed. “Now, I want to hear about you. Have you been seeing any special young men since you last visited?”
I shook my head. “No, no one special.”
Truthfully, I wasn’t seeing any guys at all. I never did. Never had. For the last few years, I’d been too busy with work and classes to worry about dating. Not only that, all the guys I’d met in school were just… wrong. For me, anyway. They could be cute and smart and funny, but I could immediately tell there was something missing. Something major. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but I could always sense it deep down inside me—I needed something they couldn’t give me.
As a result, I’d never been on a date. Never been kissed. Never done anything else.
Of course, I wanted to open up to someone and venture into this unexplored side of me, but until I found someone who carried that mysterious missing piece of the puzzle, it wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t want to lose my virginity to some pretty-boy stranger at a party like so many other girls. Nothing wrong with doing that; it was their choice. Just not mine.
“How about work at the store, how’s that going?” Mom asked.
I kept my voice light and airy. “It’s fine. Pays the bills.”
I didn’t tell her I also worked two other part-time jobs around my classes in order to cover all my expenses—one as a cleaner for the research labs at Chatham, and the other as a waitress at Eat’n Park on Sunday mornings. She didn’t need to know.
“You’re not working tomorrow, are you?” She looked at me questioningly.
“Nope, don’t work Fridays. Too many classes.”
Mom’s eyes crinkled around the corners. “I meant because it’s your birthday. You should be taking the whole day off for yourself!”
I grinned. “I’ll let you know when Chatham declares my birthday a national holiday so I can get the time off.”
She rolled her eyes in a good-natured way. “Surely you can skip a class or two.”
“Usually I could if I really wanted to, but I have an important lecture tomorrow. There’s a guest speaker coming in from the FBI.”
She nodded slowly. I knew she wasn’t a big fan of my choice to pursue a degree in criminology, but she never said it out loud. “Well, I hope you do something nice with your friends after class. I’ll be getting the nurses to lock the doors so you can’t come and waste your time here. You need to go and enjoy your day.” Her eyes flickered with amusement as she spoke.
I laughed softly. “Don’t be silly. I’ll come visit tomorrow. You don’t want to miss my birthday, do you?”
The amusement in her eyes faded, and I immediately wished I could take back my words. I meant it in a joking, offhand way, but Mom had missed a lot of my birthdays in previous years, so my question could’ve easily been taken the wrong way.
“I didn’t mean it like—”
Mom held up a hand. “Don’t worry, I know what you meant,” she said with a faint smile. “And no, I don’t want to miss it. But I am sorry for all the others I missed. I was a terrible mother, wasn’t I?” She let out a heavy sigh. “That’s the elephant in the room.”
I finally took a seat, only just realizing I’d still been standing. “Mom….”
She waved her hand. “Don’t feel bad. It’s the truth. I messed up. I wish I’d—” She opened her mouth to finish that particular sentence, then seemed to decide against it. After a brief pause, she reached over and grabbed my left hand, squeezing it as ha
rd as she could. “Celeste, I want you to know, I’m so grateful that you’ve forgiven me enough for the past to be here for me while I’m sick. I know I don’t deserve it.”
“Sure you do.”
She shook her head sadly. “I don’t. But you’ve always been such a good girl, and you really pulled yourself together when I couldn’t be there for you. I’m so proud of you. I just hope you can continue to forgive me, no matter what happens.”
We lapsed into an awkward silence. Conversations like this weren’t exactly our strong point.
“How’s your back feeling?” Mom finally asked a moment later, peering at me with her brows knitted in concern. “I remember you saying the other day that it’s been giving you trouble for a while.”
“Still not the best. I’m worried I’ve torn a tendon or something.”
Her face scrunched up. “Ouch. Get it checked out.”
“I’m going to.”
“If worse comes to worst, I’ll ask Dr. Magnusson to check you out. He’s a pain specialist, you know. Has all the good pills.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink.
“Mom!” I shook my head and began to giggle. My mother did the same, and soon we were both sitting there cackling away like a pair of witches.
“I probably shouldn’t joke about stuff like that,” Mom said a moment later. “But hey, whatever. If a dying woman can’t even make an inappropriate joke in her last few weeks, what’s the point? May as well jump right into the grave.”
The laughter finally died on my lips, and I scooted closer. “You’ve got more than a few weeks.”
“We’ll see. Sometimes I wonder if I even want to hang around for another six months. Living in pain isn’t really living, is it? Not really.”
I hesitated, chewing on my lower lip. I didn’t want her to die, of course, but I understood her point. I couldn’t even imagine how awful she must be feeling. Hell, I’d had a few sleepless nights with this damn back and shoulder pain, and that was nothing compared to what she was going through. I wondered just how long I could live in constant, agonizing pain before wanting to throw in the towel. How long I could survive without losing my mind.
My thoughts must’ve been written all over my face, because my mom reached over and squeezed my hand again. “Sorry, I know this upsets you, sweetie. But don’t worry. Pain never lasts forever. It has to end somewhere.”
She gave me a rueful smile. I smiled back. We both knew the happy expressions and brave words served as Band-Aids. They covered up our feelings, but it all still hurt.
“And that goes for the both of us.” Mom went on, nodding toward my shoulder. “The pain will all be gone eventually. I promise.”
“Yeah.” I let out a long exhale and squeezed her hand back, willing myself to believe in her words. “I hope so.”
We chatted about less depressing things for the next hour, and then it was time for me to go. Mom could barely keep her eyes open any longer. I stood up, kissed her on the forehead and said goodnight before quietly padding out of the room.
I hurried outside, eager to get to my car. I hated walking through parking lots at night, even if they were well-lit, because whenever I did it, I was struck with the unmistakable feeling that someone was watching me. Sure, it was probably just paranoia with zero basis other than a few urban legends I once heard about killers in back seats, but that didn’t make me feel any better. Every time, the hairs on the back of my neck rose, my pulse doubled, and my insides would feel like I’d swallowed a gutful of miniature sharks. Now was no different. I felt eyes on me, drinking me in, watching my every movement, and I swore I could even hear footsteps somewhere behind me.
My skin prickled as I whirled around to see if someone was following me. The lot was empty, save for a small piece of litter blowing across the asphalt. I was freaking myself out for nothing, and clearly, my instincts were way off-base. There was no one here.
I was all alone.
2
Celeste
“They found the second body floating in the Allegheny.”
I twirled a pencil in my hand and glanced down at the FBI guest speaker, Agent Jason West, as he lectured on today’s subject. He paused and turned to the projector screen to point at the photo he’d just brought up on a slide in the lecture hall. “This was in late August, 2002.”
As he spoke, I could hear two girls whispering a couple of rows behind me. I knew they were talking about me, because they weren’t being anywhere near as quiet as they obviously thought they were.
“Look at her. She doesn’t even care. She’s just looking at all the photos like they’re nothing. What the hell?”
There was a short snort of derision from the other one. “I know, right? It’s weird. I mean, for us it’s normal, but for someone like that, with the… you know….” She trailed off for a second, then sniffed. “It’s sooo weird.” Her voice was annoyingly nasal.
“I bet if the Heartbreaker got her and carved into her chest, he’d find nothing but a block of ice,” the first one whispered cattily.
The nasal one snickered at that. Another student near me rolled her eyes, turned around, and gave them both a dirty look before flashing me a sympathetic smile. I gave her a faint smile in return, but I didn’t turn to look at the bitchy girls. They were pathetic and childish, but they were also probably right—sometimes I felt like I was frozen on the inside when it came to things like this.
The sickening images on the lecture slides should bother me, but they didn’t. I’d seen so much worse before. Besides, this was a criminology class. If I wanted to pursue this as a future career, I needed to be desensitized to horrifying images, even the ones from this particular case.
“…and then the third showed up under the 30th St. Bridge on Washington’s Landing.” Agent West went on with his lecture, his eyes coming to rest on me for a second before skating over the rest of the students in my row. “The killings stopped for four whole years after that, but they didn’t end for good. I’m sure you’ve all figured out who I’m talking about by now, right?”
The lecture hall filled with nods and murmurs. One clueless exchange student from Australia put her hand up. “Sorry, I’ve never heard of this serial killer. Who was he?”
Agent West smiled thinly. “Who is he is the more pertinent question. Or she.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “He’s still alive?”
“As far as we know. He was never caught, and after that four year cooling off period, he started back up again. He’s been active for fourteen years now, counting the first three victims, and he struck as recently as six months ago.”
“Wow.” The Australian girl shifted nervously in her seat, as if the serial killer might pop right up in front of her any second. “So who is he?” She quickly shook her head. “What’s he known as, I mean?” she added.
“He was originally known as the Allegheny Ripper, but the media eventually gave him the nickname ‘The Heartbreaker’, and it seems to have stuck.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Why that name?”
“Look closer.” Agent West zoomed in on the photo of the third body lying in the morgue. “See? The heart was removed. It was like that with every single body. It’s his signature. Autopsies show that the mutilation is usually carried out while the victim is still alive.”
“I see.” The girl’s face was pale now, and I was willing to bet she wouldn’t have moved here to study if she knew there was an active serial murderer on the prowl. She didn’t need to be concerned for her safety, though.
She wasn’t his type.
As West went into some details of the case that I was already aware of, I glanced down at my cell phone. A little blue light was flashing on the top of it, notifying me of a recent message. It was Samara.
Happy birthday babe!! I know you’ve got classes all morning and you have to visit your mom, but after that, I’ve got something fun planned with the girls! Xx.
I smiled and tapped out a reply. Thanks! And it’s fine, I appreciate
the thought, but we don’t need to do anything big. It’s just my 20th, haha.
Samara: Girl, if you’re worried I’m gonna take you back to that salon where that dumbass masseuse messed up your back, then don’t worry. I remember! Only way I’ll be going back there is to slap the shit outta them and threaten them with a lawsuit if you don’t feel better soon.
Me: Lol. What did you have planned?
Samara: Dinner and drinks at Butterjoint. I know you can’t resist their burgers, so c’mon, let me take you out! PS. Also may have asked a few guys to come…whoops…
I grinned. She was right about those Butterjoint burgers. The thought of them made my mouth water, even with the image of a bloated, mutilated corpse in the middle of the slide at the front of the room.
Me: You’ve convinced me ;)
Samara: Yay! I’ll pick you up at 6. Can’t wait xx.
I put my phone away and returned my attention to Agent West’s lecture.
“So far, the Heartbreaker has killed seven people—”
“That we know of.” A student sitting at the very front cut West off. It was rude, but the agent simply nodded and continued.
“Yes, seven that we know of. We can be reasonably certain that there are only those seven, though, as he seems to enjoy making a public spectacle of each victim by dumping the bodies in relatively popular locations. As well as his signature move of carving out the heart, there’s another important aspect to his modus operandi. Can anyone tell us what that is?”
“He keeps them captive.” My voice rang out through the hall. I hadn’t even realized I was speaking until the last word was out of my mouth. “Sometimes for weeks.”
“That’s right. Can you tell us how we know that?”
I could feel the eyes of the bitchy girls on my back, silently judging me, but I spoke up again anyway. “They go missing for weeks, sometimes months, but the bodies are fresh when they are dumped.”