by B. B. Hamel
I looked up, alarmed, but her nose was still buried in the files.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. Can I take a look at the case files on the victims?”
I got up and walked into the kitchen. The case folder was on the counter, next to the toaster. I brought it back, dusted off some bread crumbs, and handed it over.
She sat, put the folders side by side and began to read. I watched her, arms crossed over my chest while Cal slurped his coffee. He didn’t have the bad manners to start complaining some more at least, but I could tell he wanted to.
When this was over, I’d put in for a new partner. This was the last straw, the end of it. Head thought Cal would be good for me, that he’d smooth out my rough edges, but fuck him and fuck Cal too. My rough edges were the only thing that set me apart and gave me any advantage over these psychopaths. I needed all my edges, very much intact.
“Here.” Rose pointed at something on the description sheet for the very first victim. “Look at this. During her stream, she played a game called Blockcraft.” She flipped to the next one and found a particular picture, a still from one of the second victim’s performances, a girl with big brown eyes and an innocent face. “And in this picture, she’s playing that same game.”
“It’s a popular game,” I said. “I mean, half the streamers in the world play it.”
“Del played,” she said. “You don’t have it in your files about her, but she did. Not all that often, maybe a few times, but she’d tell me about it. She was actually obsessed with that game. When she wasn’t on camera, she’d play for hours, building her houses, fighting creeps, crafting stuff, whatever. She was an enormous fan.”
“Interesting,” I said, watching her. “And the others?”
“All of them,” she said. “Except for the girl after Del. But all the others played. It’s mentioned in their files.”
“The one girl’s different,” Cal said. “Why’s that?”
“She played,” I said, closing my eyes. I remembered it, from all those hours watching the archived streams. “She’d play late at night, after doing all the sex stuff. She’d put on bunny ears, and a giant bunny costume, and play until like four in the morning. The guys would be so much nicer then. I used to wonder why she didn’t do that full-time, but she didn’t get tips, so it must’ve been a money thing.”
“Blockcraft,” Cal said. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That’s some teenager game, right?”
“It’s massive,” Rose said. “And CGK’s a fan. Remember what he said in that letter to Starch? About building blocks?”
“Fuck,” I said, standing. I paced down toward the front door and back, mind racing. “He signed it Creep. He called himself a Creeper.”
“So what?” Cal asked.
“That’s what the monsters are called in the game,” Rose said, her eyes shining with excitement. “You know what this means, right?”
I nodded, jaw clenched. I was so mad at myself for missing that, but I didn’t know about Delia playing. I must’ve missed those moments, or maybe I simply glossed over them in the wild hours of taking in all that content.
“We can cut that pile down a whole hell of a lot,” I said.
“Take out any girl that never plays games,” Rose said. “Then take out the ones that definitely don’t play Blockcraft. The ones that are left, those are the ones he’ll go after.”
“What about the new girl?” I asked, looking at Cal. “Did she play? You’re the one doing her profile.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But she had a bunch of game shit in her house. I figured they all did.”
I looked at Rose and she looked back at me, nodding to herself. “She played,” she said. “She definitely played.”
“Fuck,” I said, and started pacing some more.
If I’d seen this earlier, I could’ve saved some lives, or at least we would have had a better idea of where to watch. But I missed it, maybe in my rush to take everything in, or maybe because I was too obsessed on my own idea of CGK, but now it was obvious. Blockcraft was a central theme of it all, and now it felt like the whole world clicked into focus.
Rose slid the folder back to Cal. He took it and thumbed through the profiles. “I guess I have some work to do,” he said, sounding dull and frustrated.
“I guess so,” I said. “You going to take this to Head?”
“I’d better. Get his boys on it.”
“Thank you.”
He stood. “I still think you should quit this mess,” he said. “Save Rose and save yourself, but you’re obvious committed.” He looked at her. “Both of you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said softly.
He walked past her to the door. I watched him leave with a strange mixture of revulsion, anger, and pride.
“I’ve got to admit, I’m impressed.”
She grinned at me, and her joy was so plain and simple, so pure. “Well, look at that. Fancy Mr. Hunter didn’t notice something, but I did.”
“This is huge, honestly. Just being able to narrow down the pool of possible victims like this can help so much.”
“You’re welcome.” She gave a little bow. “And now for my next trick, you’re going to cook me breakfast while I watch TV.”
I laughed and walked to her without thinking. I kissed her, hand on her lower back, and held her there, feeling the stupid, giddy joy of discovery. She looked surprised for a second—and maybe what we did last night was only meant for the night, only for when we were both on edge and in need of release, when the darkness could camouflage just how inappropriate our relationship really was—but she didn’t pull back. I kissed her again and held it this time.
“Pancakes,” she whispered, then bit my lower lip. “Please and thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you desire.” I released her and went into the kitchen.
I glanced back and saw her smiling, her cheeks flushed red, and I knew it was real. Even if it was hard, and stupid, and dangerous, and a million other things, all of them pointing toward why we shouldn’t do this—even despite all that, it was real and it was good.
I made her pancakes and fresh coffee. She deserved it.
16
Rose
Nick showed me the new list of girls the next morning. “Cal cut it from over a hundred down to twenty.”
“That’s sort of amazing,” I said, feeling a surge of pride. “I mean, we might actually be able to keep them safe, right?”
“Twenty is doable. He’ll have to turn to the local cops, but Philly’s a big city, lots of officers to sit around in cars and earn overtime pay.”
“Lucky guys.”
He grinned at me as he cooked pancakes again. I felt a dirty, sensual ache between my legs from him. He’d slipped into my bed again, and we’d spent the dark hours exploring each other—him making me sweat, and me making him groan in pleasure. I blushed a little at the thought, and it was hard to picture myself doing that, riding him, gasping his name. I’d never done it before, never without any hesitation. I was never as liberated as my sister.
But in the darkness with Nick, with a killer lurking nearby, I felt like nothing mattered, and each passing second was important.
After breakfast, we put on old clothes and went out into the backyard. He stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the weeds sprouting like wild, the grass turning into bushes, the forest creeping in.
“You’ve got a mower, right?” he asked.
“I think so. In the shed.”
He grunted and walked to the old crumbling shed at the corner of the property. He got it open and pushed out an ancient red mower that looked like it was about to break down any second. Somehow, the motor turned over and it roared to life, and he got to work on the grass while I pulled the worst of the weeds.
Working like that felt good. The sun was hot, and I felt sweat rolling down my body, but we smiled at each other every time he passed. It was normal, oddly normal
, the sort of thing we’d do together if we really were together.
He finished in the back and went to work on the front. I heard him cursing up there as the mower struggled through the heavy underbrush. I smiled to myself, then heard a ringing from the porch. His phone was going off, buzzing on one of the chairs. I didn’t recognize the number, so I grabbed it, and ran it out to him.
“Cal for you,” I said, thrusting it over.
He cut the mower’s engine and answered with greasy fingers. “Yeah?” He stood there, listening, and his face went serious. I watched close, wondering what was going on, my pulse quickening. That wasn’t Cal, so no girls were dead—but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. “She’s alive? Good. Text me which hospital.” He hung up without another word.
I felt like I might be sick. “What happened?”
“Starch,” he said, dragging the mower back to the shed. “CGK attacked her.”
I almost lost it then. “You said he wouldn’t.”
“I was wrong.” He slammed the shed door. “Fuck,” he shouted, and slammed it again, and again, and again, until the rusted door handle came off and he threw it into the woods. He stood there, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his forehead.
I walked to him but I didn’t know what to say. “We should go.”
“Yeah, we should.” He didn’t move then tilted his head back and took a deep breath. “Yeah, we’ll go.”
We went inside, changed into fresh clothes, and drove to Foylestown Hospital. I wished I could shower, but that could wait. He was silent the whole way, staring forward like something bad was coming, but he didn’t know what. I wanted to talk to him, to ask him what was going through his head, but I couldn’t seem to break through the silence.
The hospital was set back away from town down the road from the old high school. We asked for directions from the front desk and took the elevator up. Starch was in a room tucked back in the far corner of the building. Cops swarmed the place and Nick had to flash his badge more than once.
An older man with a big gut and gray hair pulled us off to the side. “Starch said you’d show up. I’m Lieutenant Pearlman.”
“Lieutenant, I’m Nick.” They shook hands. “And this is Rose.”
I nodded to the old cop and he gave me a quick smile before turning his serious gaze down the hall. “Hell of a thing,” he said, shaking his head.
“What happened?” Nick asked. “Is she okay?”
“Middle of the morning. Can you fucking imagine? You wake up and bam, you’re fighting for your life.” Lieutenant Pearlman grunted and shook his head bitterly. “Hell of a goddamn way to start the day.”
“Lieutenant. Is she okay?”
“She’s okay,” he said. “Starch is a tough old bird. She’ll be stuck in here for a while longer, but her injuries aren’t life-threatening, and she’s awake.”
Nick looked relieved. “Thank God for that.”
“She asked about you. Says she wants to talk to you.”
“I’ll go in, if she’s ready.”
He put a hand up. “Hold on for one second first. I thought we might talk.”
Nick didn’t move. “Of course.”
“I’m sure this is a speech you’ve heard before and are probably sick to death of, but understand that these aren’t idle words. Starch is a good person, and if you get her killed because of some fucking stupid fed bullshit, I will make sure you rot for it, do you understand?”
I felt my toes go tingly and I stared at Nick. He nodded once and his face didn’t change. “Believe me when I say, Detective Starch getting hurt is the last thing I ever wanted, or ever thought possible.”
“That’s the problem with you fed boys. You all think you know everything.” Lieutenant Pearlman seemed to stop himself on the verge of saying more, then let out a heavy breath and gestured toward the hospital room door. “Go inside. She said to send you in as soon as you showed up.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Nick slid the door open and we both stepped inside.
Detective Starch looked small under the thin hospital sheet. She nodded at me then smiled at Nick as we crowded beside her bed. She was alone and looked exhausted. Tension hung heavy and I was terrified of what she’d say to him. I could picture all the ways she could tell him he was responsible for this, that it was his fault she was in a hospital bed, that he deserved to be punished, deserved any number of awful things—even if it wasn’t true, not really. CGK was at fault, and nobody else.
And yet I knew Nick would blame himself. Hearing it from Starch and that asshole lieutenant out there would only make it worse.
“Bet you didn’t see this coming,” she said.
Nick laughed and the tension lessened—didn’t break, not really, but it diminished. “Your lieutenant threatened me out there.”
“Did he? Pearlman?” Her eyebrows went up. “Wouldn’t guess he had the balls.”
“He likes you.” Nick sat down in the chair next to her bed. I dragged a chair from the other side of the room and sat opposite him. “What happened?”
“CGK jumped me.” She stared down at her feet and wiggled her toes under the sheets. “I saw his face. Got a good look.”
I could almost feel the eagerness roll of Nick in waves, but he seemed to control himself. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Stabbed me,” Starch said. “Fucker got me good, too. Almost bled out. Fucker came in right when I’d sent the patrolman away to get me some breakfast and coffee. Lucky for me there was no line at the bagel place or else I’d be dead.”
“And CGK?”
“Got away. Hurt him though.”
“How bad?”
“Can’t say. Cut him, hit him a few times, and then he ran.”
“He’s not a brawler. He probably tries to kill or incapacitate on the first attack.”
“He sure as hell tried.” She gave a smile that was more like a grimace.
“Go over it all, from the start.”
She nodded, shut her eyes, and we lingered in a liminal space as she gathered herself, then began.
“Around six this morning, I sent Robby to get some breakfast. Figured CGK wouldn’t come when it was light out anyway. Robby argued, but left on my orders. Poor kid’s going to get in trouble, but I’ll see if I can’t do something about that. Anyway, I started making coffee, then noticed something. Little spots of colored light on the cabinets, like a rainbow pattern. See, I got this stupid little crystal thing, it was a gift from my mom back before she passed, and I keep it hung in front of the back door’s window. Took me a second, looking at that light, before I realized the only way I’d be able to see it like that was if the door had opened.”
“He came at me hard. Real hard and fast. I managed to smash the coffee pot in his face and broke the glass as he stabbed me on the shoulder. I gouged at him with the glass and we scuffled. He said nothing, grunted a few times, tried to stab me again. I kneed him in the crotch, but I felt myself going dizzy. He stabbed me good, barely missed a major artery, that’s what the doc said anyway. I hit him again, he hit me back, stabbed me again, then I cut him down the arm, real deep. That was when he backed off.”
“For a second there, we stood staring at each other. He breathed hard, bleeding, and I leaned back against the counter, half crouched. I thought I might pass out, my heart was going so fast, and I wondered if I was gonna die. That was when he smiled at me and said, ‘Send my love to Nick and Rose.’ Then he ran out the back and was gone. The whole thing lasted thirty seconds at most. I think he meant to kill me on that first stab, and if I didn’t have that crystal there, I’d be dead, no doubt about it. He didn’t make a damn noise. Robby came back a little bit later and found me, I guess I passed out, I don’t really know.”
Silence fell again. Nick sat back, digesting. I had a million questions to ask. I could barely imagine Starch being able to fight off a grown man. She was such a small woman, and she wasn’t young anymore, though she looked tough as nails. The image of CGK trying to murd
er her, then saying my name before leaving, made me want to burst out in sobs. I had to rub my eyes to keep myself from crying.
“What did he look like?” Nick asked gently.
“Short, five foot six, maybe. White guy, dark hair, dark eyes. Hair cut short, sort of military, but not really. Straight teeth, no scars, no tattoos. Dressed in jeans and a black sweatshirt. Looked like any asshole on the street, really. Almost handsome, actually. Small nose, good jaw line. I remember I kept thinking he had a nice voice.”
“Damn,” Nick said, leaning back. “That’s him. That’s definitely him.”
“You’ve seen him before, haven’t you?”
“From a distance. Your description is the best one we’ve got. Did you work on a sketch yet?”
“Not yet, but I will. I won’t forget that face.” She closed her eyes for a second. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
“Starch—” Nick started, but she held up a hand.
“If you’re about to apologize, you can save it. Hell, you can shove it up your ass. I don’t want your apologies.”
“I still feel like I should.”
“What that psycho did wasn’t your fault. I knew it was a possibility when I got that letter. I never should’ve sent Robby away. Never should’ve left my goddamn back door unlocked.”
“The unlocked back door’s definitely on you.” Nick smiled a little and she laughed.
“Asshole. I’m just saying, you were right and you were wrong. He moved on me, even though you were so sure he wouldn’t, and now here I am.”
“But I was right that he’s still here,” Nick said, voice grave.
“Damn right you were. You think he’s going to go to ground now?”
“No,” Nick said, shaking his head. “Definitely not. I think he’s committed to his course. Coming after you, despite it not being anywhere near his profile, means all bets are off. I think he’s completely unhinged now.”
“Like he wasn’t before,” Starch said.
“Now it’s personal.”