A Deadly Sin: An epic dark thriller that will have you wanting to leave the lights on.

by Tracie Podger

  I grabbed one of the armed officers. “What the fuck happened, how did he get out?”

  “Mich, we patrol this place exactly as we’ve scheduled. There are one or two minutes where the yard isn’t covered. He had to be timing us, unless you give me more men, there isn’t much more we could have done,” he said.

  I sighed. “I’m sorry, you’re right. What the fuck is the kid playing at? He knows damn well he’s here, you’re here, for his protection.”

  If Louis Chapman turned up anytime soon, I’d personally be the one to kick his ass.

  I walked a little way down the drive. Darkness was about to fall and the sun was dipping over the horizon. Yard lights were switched on, some were subtle, hidden in bushes and lining the drive, some blazed and resembled prison searchlights. Was I being too hard on the kid? It can’t have been any fun to be cooped up in this mansion, with its cable TV and endless games consoles. Maybe he was bored of the swimming pool, the gymnasium, or the game room even. Perhaps having staff to prepare meals, or run around after you on a whim, was tiresome. Maybe I was over cranky and in desperate need of a break in this case, or a night’s sleep. I’d take whichever one came first.

  “Nothing,” I heard from behind.

  Dean walked toward me holding his cell. I guessed he’d been in contact with the officers that had been sent to investigate the field behind.

  “Nothing?”

  “Not a fucking thing. Ground is too dry for footprints to be have been left.”

  “Fuck’s sake!” I shouted, pacing as I did.

  We organized a search, every patrol car in the vicinity was sent to scour the fucking town.

  “Can we get this town locked down?” I asked, as Corey joined us.

  “As in, military lockdown?”

  “Police, military, I don’t care. I don't want anyone to be able to move in or out. Can we do that?”

  “Not without some serious legal shit to go through, which will take time. And right now we don’t know the prick just didn’t take off.”

  Corey’s voice tailed off to a whisper when he realized Mr. Chapman was within earshot.

  “Oh, don’t worry. If that prick turns up, believe me, you’ll need the military to separate us!” Mr. Chapman said.

  My cell phone vibrated in my hand. I looked at it, ‘unknown number’ flashed across the screen.

  “Shush,” I said, showing Corey the screen. I slid the answer button across.

  “Mich Curtis.”

  “Mich, hello, how are you?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Aw, don’t pretend you don’t know. You’ll hurt my feelings, and if you do that, you know what will happen?”

  My heart stopped, a sinking, hollow feeling consumed me. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, and even though I couldn’t see myself, the sorrow and desperation in my eyes must have been clearly obvious. I heard Dean mutter an expletive. I heard Mr. Chapman take a sharp breath in, and then cover his mouth with both his hands, as if one wouldn’t be strong enough to contain the sob or cry that wanted to erupt from his body.

  “Sam, I’m a little busy right now. What do you want?” I asked, abruptly.

  “Don’t try to rile me, Mich. I know what you’re doing. I know what you learned in the FBI, what your friend, Corey, tells you to do. All that goes out the window, now, do you hear me? I’m in charge; it’s my time now. Listen…”

  All I could hear were the sobs of another person.

  “So you have the TV on? As I said, I’m a little busy right now,” I replied.

  I heard what appeared to be a low growl. I glanced quickly at Corey. Was I pushing Sam too hard? Corey nodded at me; he gave me a small smile. I took that as indication that I was on the right track.

  “Mom,” I heard down the phone.

  “Hear that, Mich. He’s calling for his mother. Do you know how many times I did that very same thing? Except mine never came. Shall I tell you a little story? My mother abandoned me; she chose to give me up to a cunt. A cunt, Mich!”

  My hands shook just a little as the venom in his words reached my ears.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Sam. But I need to know who is with you,” I replied.

  “You fucking know!” he screeched down the phone so loud I was forced to pull it away from my ear.

  “I need to speak to him, Sam. I need verification.”

  There was a pause. “Dad?”

  “It’s Mich Curtis. Louis, is that you?” I said.

  Mr. Chapman lurched toward me; I turned my back as he reached for the cell. I heard the scuffle as he was wrestled away by either Dean or Corey. I pressed the cell to my ear, so Louis wouldn’t hear the utter devastation in his father’s cries as he was bundled to the ground.

  “Yes, he’s going to…” I guessed the phone was taken away from Louis before he could finish his sentence.

  “See! Now, let’s talk man-to-man, Mich.”

  I sighed. “Let him go, Sam. You’ve made your point. You can outsmart me. Why don’t we meet? Let’s talk face-to-face.”

  “As much as I’d cherish that prospect, don’t take me for a fool. We will meet and you will show me the respect I’ve been denied for thirty-eight years.”

  The call was cut off.

  “He’s thirty-eight years old,” I said. Corey had been off by a few years.

  Dean picked up his phone, understanding immediately. He spoke to Samantha. He told her to narrow down all those that volunteered for DNA of that age; compare it to those on the city’s utility records and land owner rolls, see if she could come up with a list of those who hadn’t put themselves forward. He also asked her to inform everyone our killer had Louis.

  “Please, I needed to speak to him,” Mr. Chapman cried. He was lying on his side, his arms bound behind his back. I watched as Dean crouched to release him.

  “Our guy will get off on any emotion, Mr. Chapman…” Corey started.

  “It’s Chris,” he said.

  “Chris, our guy will get off on your distress. Mich knows exactly how to speak to him, and what to say. You know he was in the FBI, right? He’s dealt with this kind of hostage situation before. You need to let him deal with that. I know you want to speak to your son, but our guy has changed his MO, we need to work with that.”

  I tried to slow my breathing down. While I held the cell, I sent a text to Eddie.

  Babe, call me, please. Our guy has Louis; shit is getting worse out here. I just wanted to hear your voice—ground me, Eddie.

  I never used terms of endearment with her; she would screw her nose up, or worse, laugh, when I had in the past. But ice-cold fear ran through me, causing my veins to constrict. My heart had to work twice as hard to keep my circulation going, or so it felt.

  “You’ll find him, right?” Chris asked. I nodded my head gently, hating that I was affirming something I had no idea to be true.

  “Mich!” I heard and spun on my heels to follow the sound.

  Dean held his cell in his hand, talking on it as he signaled with his head toward Chris Chapman.

  ‘Chris, let’s get in the house,” I said, taking him by his elbow and guiding him to the stone steps that led to a front door. I handed him over to an officer.

  “Wait,” he said, as I turned to head back.

  “If there is any news, you’ll be the first to hear. All the time I’m here, Chris, I’m not out there. And I need to be out there.”

  Corey, Dean, and I huddled together.

  “We’ve found a blue Ford, license plate registered in Michigan,” Dean said.

  We ran for the nearest patrol car and roared back down the drive. An officer was stationary at the gates, which, thankfully, had been switched to manual. He was able to open them quickly.

  Dean was still on the phone, relaying instructions to me as I drove. Corey was fumbling around for a seat belt as we cornered so fast; it was amazing all four wheels stayed on the tarmac.

  We headed out of town and it was the waving of Dean’s arm that alerted me
to a dirt track off the highway. I took the turn; thankful the road was empty, as I’d had no time to indicate. We bumped along until a farm came into view. Parked outside was a blue Ford.

  With guns drawn, we exited the car. Dean was still on the phone and within seconds a patrol car pulled up behind us. There was no point in trying to hide, if anyone was in the house, they would have already known we’d arrived. Dean and I rushed the front door; I shouldered it, wincing at the impact. The doorframe shattered under my weight. Corey and two officers circled the property.

  I paused in the hall, listening for any sounds. I could hear a raspy breath coming from the room to my right. I kicked open the door and the sight in front of me had me skid to a halt. I know I kept my gun steady. I know my body went rigid, but the sound that echoed around the room sounded alien until I ran out of breath from the shout.

  As if in slow motion, I watched Dean lower his gun and run to a naked Louis. At first I couldn’t determine why the lower half of his body was red. But the smell of blood very quickly kicked my brain into gear. I was, however, still rooted to the spot. Not at the sight of Louis covered in blood, but at the woman sitting in a chair beside him.

  I was transfixed. I couldn’t move my feet, my heart hammered in my chest and eventually, my hand began to shake. I finally lowered my gun as Corey joined us. He rushed to join Dean on the floor. Louis was barely conscious, I could hear him but his eyes were closed. When I tore my gaze away from her, still not understanding what I was looking at, I watched as Dean scrabbled around the floor for Louis’ dress shirt. He ripped a section off holding it to Louis’ groin. It was only then the realization hit me; I understood what I was looking at.

  The woman in the chair, a very dead woman, had Louis’ cock in her mouth. Above her head was a word.

  E N V Y

  Sweat beaded on my forehead and ran down my back. The evening was humid, but I wondered if it was anger that caused my pores to open. I wanted to be there. I wanted to see Mich when he discovered my gift. I chuckled. Oh, poor Mother. It was about time the whore got some cock, I guessed. She’d had enough of it in the past, before I’d met her of course. I mean; her whoring ways was how I came to be in existence. So my father continually told me.

  I was actually quite surprised to discover how easy it was to saw off a cock. My only disappointment was that Louis hadn’t been conscious enough to enjoy the experience. I was coated in his blood, I was sure I’d left bloodied footprints, fingerprints at the house, and I didn’t care. Mich would know soon enough who I was.

  I continued to run through the woods, knowing the way without the need for a flashlight. I knew every inch of the path I took, every branch that I dodged before it took the skin from my face and left further evidence. Leaves crunched under my feet, animals scuttled to avoid me. Still I kept running. My backpack swung, the straps rubbed the skin on my bare shoulders.

  Eventually, I came to my clearing. I fell to my knees and brushed grass and leaves from a rope handle. As I stood back up, I pulled the trapdoor open. I flicked on my flashlight as I descended the steps, closing the escape hatch behind me. It was only when I was in my place of safety, in my ‘cave’ that I started to breathe easier.

  My cave, I sounded like Batman, didn’t I? I laughed. The old bunker should have been filled in, boarded up, a long time ago. I’d discovered it just a few years ago, funnily enough, while on a field trip. I struck a match and lit the gas lamp. A subtle warm glow illuminated my space. I had a metal cot at one end, a small kitchen unit with a camping stove next to it. I set a pan to boil. I’d sit for a moment with a coffee and think. The end was near; the time was soon approaching.

  “Mich, fuck’s sake, help us,” I heard.

  Dean’s words had me spring into action, although my mind was whirling with scattered memories, distorted images, and confusing thoughts. I knelt beside him, pushing my hands over his already soaked ones. We tried to stem the blood, but every time Louis’ heart beat, although it had slowed, blood pumped out. His artery had been severed. Corey gave rescue breaths to keep some oxygen circulating, but all the while he bled out, it was a pointless exercise.

  I could hear the sound of sirens. If Sam had been in the house when we’d arrived, he’d be long gone by then. But there was fuck all we could have done about that. Saving Louis’ life was the priority and we were failing.

  “Jesus,” I heard. A paramedic had run into the room, his feet slid in the pool of blood as he came to an abrupt halt.

  When he gained his composure, he pulled me away. I noticed the lack of pumping blood as soon as we released pressure on the artery to allow him to take over. We were too late. We were always too late. I sat back down on my heels, not wanting to look at the woman.

  Light flooded the room as one of the officers had found the power box under the stairs and flicked the switch to on. A green velour sofa faced an open fireplace. The woman was sitting, although sitting was the wrong word, she was bolted and cable tied to a wooden chair, next to it. An old clunky TV sat in one corner, and I doubted very much it would have been able to pick up a signal. The walls were yellowed with age but I could make out a floral pattern on the paper. It was if the room had been transported out of the 1970’s.

  I scanned the room; an old memory flooded my mind. We had a sofa just like that when I was a kid. In fact, the more I thought about, I remembered that I’d replaced that sofa less than a decade ago. A picture above the mantel caught my eye. I walked toward it. Again, I remembered something similar in the house when I was kid.

  “This room has been set up to look like the living room in my house, when I was a kid,” I said, quietly.

  “Huh?” Dean turned to look at me.

  “When I was a kid, we had a sofa like that. Remember you helped me lug it from the garage? That picture? We had one similar, my mother loved it.”

  “So he set this house to look likes yours? But yours is one story, this isn’t.”

  “I’m not saying this house, but certainly this room.”

  I watched the paramedics pack up their cases; there was no saving Louis. Blood soaked bandages were strewn over the wooden floor. Eddie had been called, and we retreated from the room while we waited for her arrival. Dean and I walked through all the rooms. Some were empty, devoid of any furniture. One held a double bed, neatly made. I opened a closet door to find a rail containing five hung t-shirts, all the same grey color, next to them were five pairs of pants, five pairs of jeans, and five white, pressed shirts. Underneath were two pairs of very clean sneakers. A drawer in the dresser held five pairs of black socks, neatly folded in pairs and five pairs of black shorts, folded in half. I counted every item.

  “He sure likes the number five,” Dean whispered, more to himself than to me.

  “It’s all very nondescript,” I said. “There’s not one item of clothing that would have him stand out. Nothing branded, nothing of color.”

  “A neat freak,” Dean said. I nodded.

  The kitchen was spotless. Although there was very little food, just a couple of packets of crackers, a jar of ground coffee, and another of sugar. Like the closet, it was neatly stacked. Another cupboard held one dinner plate, one mug, and one bowl. A drawer held one set of cutlery. The smell of bleach permeated the air.

  More vehicles arrived, more people congregated outside. There was a charged atmosphere. This was Sam’s house. We were standing in his personal space, his home, albeit it was clinically clean and without any form of comfort. I walked out of the house, and for the first time in five years, patted the top pocket of Dean’s shirt. He pulled out a packet of Marlboros, lit one, and handed to me. I inhaled deeply, fighting the urge to cough as the smoke irritated my lungs. By that point, I was on the verge of collapse; exhaustion, and the knowledge the Chapmans had to be told we hadn’t gotten to Louis quick enough weighed heavily on me.

  “Mich,” I heard. I turned to see Eddie walk toward me.

  She took the cigarette from between my fingers. Instead of throwing
it to the ground, as I’d expected her to do, she placed it to her lips and took a long draw.

  “There’s something you need to see,” she said, finally throwing the cigarette down and grinding it out with her leather biker boot.

  I followed her back into the living room. She held a small flashlight and as much as I didn’t want to get that close, she leaned down and shone it on the letters carved into the cock in the woman’s mouth.

  S L O T H

  “That’s the sixth one,” I said. Eddie looked at me. “Sloth, that’s the sixth sin now.”

  Although I’d tried not to look too closely at the woman, my gaze fell on a brooch pinned to her dress. I closed my eyes, shaking my head at the confirmation. I know a groan left my lips; I’d heard it.

  “Mich?” Eddie’s voice only just penetrated the noise that escalated in my head.

  I think I fell to my knees, I know I came in contact with something hard. I placed my hands on the floor in front of me; it felt tacky, wet.

  “Mich!” A man’s voice that time.

  “That’s my mother,” I said, although not entirely sure if I’d said that out loud or not.

  I was sitting at a desk in the incident room. Our whiteboards were full of photographs of Sam’s house and the bodies. It had been three days since we’d discovered it, in those three days we hadn’t heard from Sam at all. I’d expected him to be on the phone, gloating, goading, and explaining at least. The house and surrounding area had been taped off, and the woods surrounding the house were still being processed. It was going to be a long and arduous task.

  “What’s happening?” I asked, as I saw Dean enter the room.

  “It’s a match. I don’t know what to say,” he said.

  A sample of her hair had been taken; DNA extracted that matched mine. I had been correct; the decomposed body was my mother’s. It was the brooch that finally had me recognize her. Her features had long since distorted to be sure. I remembered my father buying her that, he had been so proud that he’d finally saved enough money to purchase the one of a kind piece of jewelry she’d been admiring for years.