by Alexa Grace
"In addition, look for maggot trails that leave a wet and dark trail consisting of decompositional fluids. Maggot trails have been seen extending as far as twelve feet from remains. Lastly, look for fly activity."
Cameron took over from there. "Before you go back out, get a couple of bottles of water and some fluorescent yellow flags to mark your findings."
<><><>
The searchers had only been back in the woods thirty minutes, when a deputy signaled he'd found a shallow grave. An hour later, another was found. By nightfall, they'd found three shallow graves, a leg bone, pelvis bones, and the second arm complete with skeletal fingers. On the arm was a stainless steel identification bracelet. They'd found the skeletal remains of thirteen-year-old Kayla Stuart, who had been missing from Attica, Indiana, for three years. Bryan would use dental records to confirm the identification.
Two of the skeletons found in shallow graves were loaded into the coroner van, along with the bones of the partial skeleton the boys had found. A third skeleton was carefully placed in the CSI van, and both vans headed back to the coroner's facility so Dr. Harris and Dr. Pittman could analyze the skeletal remains for identification.
By the time the deputies had loaded up the tables and canopy tents, a media helicopter was circling overhead.
"Just what we need," said Brody with a sigh. "Once this hits the news, this county is going to be spinning with fear and there's not a damn thing we can do about it."
Chapter Four
Alison tried desperately to adjust her eyes to the dark. Where was she? What was happening? Naked and shivering, she felt the clammy chill of the air on her skin as it settled into her bones. Where were her clothes?
She tried to rub her aching neck where the man had jabbed her with his stun gun, but remembered the silver duct tape he'd used to bind her wrists and ankles. A sticky strip of it covered her mouth. How many times had he used the stun gun on her? Three? Four? Each time she tried to sit up in the backseat of the car, he poked her again, turning her muscles into Jell-O.
A faint stream of light from the only window in the room and the smell of mold and mildew let her know she was in a basement, like the one her grandmother had in her house. The room was filthy, with old, sagging storage boxes, broken televisions, and ancient furniture. A swath of cobwebs was on nearly every surface, and hanging from pipes running along the ceiling beams. The thought of spiders made her skin crawl. How could she be thinking of her fear of spiders when it was very likely her very existence was threatened?
What had the man done with Mrs. Burns? Surely Anthony would report them missing and have the police look for them.
Sounds gushed in from the floor above her, footsteps walking overhead, voices, and a television. A ticking of metal sounded as a gas furnace kicked on, its flickering flame adding more light to the room. It was then Alison realized she was trapped inside a large wire dog crate, the door secured with a padlock. She'd been locked in a cage from which she might never escape.
Alison caught herself glancing uneasily over her shoulder. A young girl curled in a fetal position lay in the dog cage next to her, barely breathing, her face swollen and streaked with dried blood. Alison's scream, muffled by the duct tape, vibrated through and tore her throat. "No, no, no," her brain repeated, as her blood turned to ice.
<><><>
The light was fading, creating new shadows and dark patches in the trees. One by one the searchers returned to the makeshift camp, calling it a day.
Carly's back, aching from bending over the sieve for hours, throbbed in protest as she straightened and stretched. She glanced at Brody and Cameron, who were giving the searchers instructions for the next day. Brody, his white shirt and jeans coated with a fine layer of dirt, was as filthy as she was. The wind had picked up since they arrived, and a coating of dry grit from the barren field covered her hair, clothes, and skin. Carly craved a long, hot shower and food. She'd been starving since their plane landed hours ago.
She waited for Brody, and then started the trek across the field to the dirt road leading to their vehicle. A hot shower and clean clothes were calling her name. They'd almost reached the sheriff's SUV when one of Carly's feet got tangled with the tree root of a large oak tree. She slammed to the ground with a whoosh as the air burst from her lungs. She felt Brody lifting her, supporting her with a strong arm wrapped around her waist.
"Are you okay?" he asked, dropping his arm and stepping back to look for injuries.
"I'm fine," she assured him, embarrassment flooding through her as she dusted herself off.
"No, you're not; you've got some scratches on your face." With his hand on her elbow, he led her to his vehicle as she struggled to pluck dead leaves out of her hair. Once there, he opened the back and pulled out a large bottle of Purell hand sanitizer and a first aid kit. He scrubbed his hands with the Purell, and handed the bottle to Carly, who did the same.
"Sheriff, there's no need for first aid. What I need is a hot shower with plenty of soap."
"Nonsense. Your face is covered with dirt. I can't have my consultant getting an infection," he said with a grin.
Brody unrolled some gauze and dampened it with a squirt from his bottle of water. He lifted her chin as he gently cleaned a couple of scratches on her cheekbone with the wet gauze.
Carly's immediate thought was how wonderful it was to look up at a man for a change. She'd been sensitive about her height since a growth spurt in adolescence when she'd shot up to five feet and ten inches. The nickname the mean kids called her stuck, and she was referred to as "Giraffe" throughout her school years. What was it about the cruel teasing one endured in adolescence that shadowed you the rest of your life?
Brody ripped open an alcohol packet and said, "This is going to sting a bit." His large hand cradled her face and held it gently.
"I'm a big girl. I can take it," she replied. Brody's usual no-nonsense facial features softened as he tenderly dabbed the scratch.
It was positively, absolutely the last thing she should be thinking, but Carly had this overwhelming impulse to kiss him, and not on the cheek. The mere touch of his hand sent a warming shiver through her, her body tingling from the contact.
Once he covered her scratch with Neosporin and a Band-Aid, he dropped his hands and closed the first aid kit. She experienced an odd twinge of disappointment. Carly got into the passenger seat and reminded herself how really, really stupid it would be if she got involved with Sheriff Brody Chase. This was a job, and once it ended, so would her contact with him.
<><><>
Alison jerked out of a restless sleep when she heard creaking from the wooden steps that led into the basement. Someone was coming. Sitting up, she pushed her body to the back of the cage, curling up to hide her nakedness. Trembling, she watched as a light came on when the man yanked on a pull switch. The basement looked even worse in the light. A box filled with ropes, belts, whips, and handcuffs lay in a corner near her cage. Another corner was sectioned off into a small, makeshift room by soiled white sheets. Camera equipment lined a small shelf near the opening.
The man unlocked the padlock and flung open the cage door. With long arms, he reached for her as she edged away from him.
"Come here," he growled. "It will be much worse for you if you don't."
Alison's heart jumped to her throat, and her pulse beat erratically at the threatening tone of his voice. "Please don't hurt me," she tried to say.
Suddenly he lunged, clamping his hand around her leg and pulled her out of the cage. "You will obey me, slave, and call me 'Master. '" She winced when he pulled a sharp knife out of his pocket. He sliced the duct tape that bound her ankles and wrists, then pulled her roughly to her feet.
Her legs numb, Alison stumbled as he led her to a wooden chair. The man ordered her to stand on the chair. Terrified, she obeyed.
"Lift your arms up above your head," he ordered. When she hesitated, he shouted, "Now!"
Alison jumped down and tried to bolt from the basement,
but he caught her easily and slapped her so hard across the face that she fell to her knees. She heard whimpering and looked toward the second cage into the hysterical eyes of the other captive who was watching in horror.
Yanking her up by her hair, the man shoved her toward the chair and she climbed on top of it. Stretching her arms toward the ceiling, she felt him secure her wrists to an overhead pipe with a leather strap. As he slid his hands down her naked body, she could feel him trembling with excitement. What was he going to do to her? The question formed a cold, hard knot in her stomach.
Swiftly, without warning, he kicked the chair out from under her, hanging her from the ceiling like a ragdoll with her legs wildly thrashing the air. Minutes that seemed like hours passed as he stood before her, thirstily drinking in each part of her body. Nausea rushed to her throat as the leather restraints pulled painfully on her wrists.
Dragging a magazine out of a box, he found a page, and then splayed the periodical out on the floor. It was a dirty magazine like the ones she'd found in her stepfather's dresser drawer. One of the pages he'd chosen featured a naked woman hanging from a ceiling just as she was.
From the area behind the sheets, she saw him pull out a video camera connected to a tripod that he set up directly in front of her. He turned the camera on.
Moving out of her sight, she heard him searching for something in a box, and then footsteps as he moved back to her. 'Crack!' A fiery burst of pain cut across her back, then another. Alison wanted to scream out in pain, but couldn't. She realized he was using a whip. She thrashed her legs as if she were running in mid-air. 'Crack!' Pain leapt from her back to her stomach. 'Crack!' The whip bit into her flesh again and again, until her body went limp as she silently sobbed against the duct tape.
Alison braced for another slash of the whip but suddenly she heard a loud pounding on the door at the top of the stairs. The man froze. The hammering against the door started again. Cursing, he threw the whip to the floor and ran up the steps, slamming the door behind him.
<><><>
Once upstairs, he found the kitchen empty and screamed, "Slave!" He and his sister were careful to never use names when slaves were in the house and to keep their faces covered by ski masks.
Erin came into the room, and he shoved her against the wall, so hard it knocked the wall clock down and the glass splintered into a million pieces.
"How many times do I have to tell you never to disturb me when I'm in the basement?" He was so furious he could barely speak.
"Master, there is something you should see," she said quietly as she led him into the living room. Mounted on the wall was a large flat screen television. Erin lifted the remote control and turned up the volume.
"Though the sheriff's department has not confirmed, a number of shallow graves have been discovered on farmland outside of Perrysville. This is the same site where police recently discovered a burning car with the bodies of two murder victims inside," reported the news anchor. A video that was obviously shot from a helicopter scanned a farmer's field that was filled with searchers and CSI technicians working under makeshift tents.
He grabbed the remote from Erin and turned off the television.
"How did they find the graves? Were they searching the woods because you stupidly left the burning car there?"
"The farmer's kids were playing in the woods and found a human skull," she answered. "Then the sheriff's office was called. I am so afraid they will find something that leads them to us."
"They'll find nothing but a shitload of bones," he declared as he began pacing. "Good luck identifying all of them. I'm smarter than Sheriff Brody Chase and his band of idiots."
"Yes, Master," Erin uttered, her eyes glued to the floor.
"Besides, those little bitches deserved what they got. Each one of them disobeyed the Master and discovered the consequence." Still pacing, his anger was accelerating, igniting a white-hot fury.
His sister nodded fearfully like a frenetic bobble head on a dashboard. He sensed her fear, felt a rush of power and relished it. He'd always had a mean streak, just like dear old Dad.
"The local sheriff's office is a joke. The Chase brothers make me want to puke. Do they really think they can find or stop me? Those boy scouts have no clue. None. Do they realize what it takes to manipulate, dominate, and control a slave? No! They don't have the balls to do what I do. They'll never find me. They are not even worthy adversaries. I'm the Master."
A vivid image formed in his head. He was aiming his assault rifle, and in the cross-hairs of the scope was Sheriff Brody Chase on his knees in submission, begging for his life. The vision was delicious, and his sex was throbbing like a toothache.
<><><>
Brody turned onto a paved driveway, pausing at the security gate to punch in his code. He continued driving until a massive redwood and stone house appeared. It looked more like a lodge than a home with huge glass windows and a million tiny lights lining the driveway, entrance, and lawn.
"You live here?" wondered Carly.
"Yes," answered Brody. "My dad was the county coroner before he died. The house took five years to build, but Dad was in no hurry. He oversaw every aspect of the building process. He and Mom had a dream to turn the house into a bed and breakfast or a nature lodge when they finished raising Cam, Gabe and me."
"It's huge."
Brody smiled, "Yes, it is. There are six bedroom suites within the main house and a small guest house in the back. I'll show you the inside of the house tomorrow."
"I'd like that."
"You said in Florida that you liked to run. Cam, Gabe, and I do, too, so we made running trails around the lake and through the woods. The property is three hundred acres of woods, hills, valleys, a fishing lake, and miles of trails with absolute privacy."
"A couple of years ago, I was on surveillance, and my partner asked me what I thought was an ideal vacation," Carly said. "I told him I yearned for a place where I could have absolute privacy: no phones, and no computers—just my thoughts and nature. I think a lot of people yearn for the lodge your dad envisioned."
When Brody drove past the house onto a gravel road, Carly asked, "Where are we going?"
"I told you that there's no hotel for you to stay in, but I have something better."
Soon they approached a smaller house. Like the main house, it was built with redwood and stones with floor-to-ceiling windows. A porch, complete with white rocking chairs, graced the front of the house; another porch was in the back. Brody parked behind the house. By now it was nightfall and the wooded surroundings were difficult to see.
Brody got out of the vehicle and pulled Carly's luggage from the back. She followed him to the back porch and watched as he slipped a key into the lock. He opened the door to a living room with large windows gracing each wall, except for the one where the stone fireplace stood from floor to ceiling. The living space was open and included a living and dining room. An open staircase led to a loft and additional bedrooms upstairs.
At the front of the house was an open kitchen with new white cabinets and dark granite counters.
"Our housekeeper stocked the kitchen so you should be good with food for a week or so. If you don't mind company, I'll make dinner for us tonight."
"Sounds great," Carly exclaimed. "So you cook?"
"Actually, it's Cam's turn to cook, and he has the steaks seasoned and ready for me to toss on the grill. Hope you like steaks."
"Love them."
"Welcome to the Honeymoon Cottage. Dad built this as a wedding present for my mom. They lived here until the main house was built. I was the only son born while they were living here," explained Brody. "My brothers and I have a project every year, and last year's project was to give the cottage a new kitchen and bathrooms."
"I love it, Brody. Thanks for letting me stay here."
Brody picked up her suitcases and led her up the stairs. "There are two bedrooms up here, as well as the loft. Which one would you like to claim?"
"The
loft. I want to sleep in the loft with all the windows so I can watch the stars at night."
He grinned and laid her suitcases on the bed in the loft. Then he pointed to a large adjacent bathroom with a shower and a garden tub.
"Our housekeeper stocked the bathroom, too, so you should have everything you need," said Brody. "I'm going to the main house to give you time for a shower and for me to get cleaned up. I'll be back in about twenty minutes with our dinner."
<><><>
Alison hung from the ceiling; a hot painful strain on her wrists radiated shards of pain to her shoulders. The man had left her like that for what seemed like an eternity. She sobbed quietly, wishing this were a nightmare from which she'd soon awake. Her regrets were many and started with running away from her problems at school and her stepfather. She should have trusted her mother enough to confide in her.
Thoughts of her mother were painful. By now her mom was fully aware she'd run away. Was she looking for her? Did her mom contact the police?
Earlier Alison heard shouting from the floor above her. But it was quiet now, and the only sound she heard was the drone of a television and the soft breathing of the young girl in the cage behind her.
Suddenly, the upstairs door flew open, and soon the man appeared on the lower stairs wearing a black ski mask like before. Her blood turned to ice and her heart raced. What would he do to her now?
"Oh, I see you're still hanging around," he said with a bitter laugh. Walking around her, he went to the camera and removed the DVD recording of her beating and stuck it in his pocket.
"A guy's gotta have a little entertainment," he said, as he reached for her wrists, loosened the restraints, and let her drop to the floor like a ragdoll. Alison had no feeling in her arms, her legs were rubbery, and her body ached painfully from the beating. She struggled to stand up, but she fell to the floor in a heap.