Julie rushed towards the Sheriff, and they stepped into the office. Lydia lagged behind not knowing if she were welcome in the conversation. The Sheriff opened his door and waved her in with caution. He knew her too well to think she would just sit by and not want to be involved, and from the looks of it, they needed all the help they could get. Lydia stood nervously beside Julie and looked up at the Sheriff who looked tired but miraculously not sick anymore.
"Ladies," he grimaced. "This is not okay."
With those words, Lydia and Julie touched stiff shoulders and watched as he pulled a photo from a folder on his desk. He looked at it and closed his eyes as he threw it down in front of the girls. Julie threw her hands up to mouth and then grabbed Lydia's hand. Lydia stared down at the picture in disbelief, a cold chill filling her body and a sickness rising in her throat. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. She couldn't comprehend the face in that picture.
Chapter Three
Lydia grabbed the picture from the desk and looked up the Sheriff in disbelief. It was a man, his throat cut and carvings just like the ones from the six women who had been murdered. At first glance, Lydia didn’t recognize the man’s distorted face, but she followed his arm down to a picture grasped in his hand.
It was a picture of Lydia, one from her third-grade class picture. At that moment she knew who this man was, it was her father. Lydia shook her head feverishly as the Sheriff stepped around the desk and grabbed Lydia in his arms. Sadness overwhelmed her but more than that, fear grasped at every string in her heart. The killer had attacked her family, even though he had been gone for years, the killer found a way to make a statement.
Lydia pulled back from the Sheriff in panic and looked up at his face. She thought about it for a moment in disbelief and then realized she had more family. She pulled free and ran for her bag; she needed to call her mother.
“My mother,” Lydia called out. “Has anyone checked on my mother?”
The Sheriff’s face was twisted in confusion, and the color had washed from his face. He walked slowly towards the door and looked at Lydia as she tapped her foot and muttered “answer,” to herself. She hung up the phone and looked at him.
“Lydia,” he said calmly. “I got a note on my desk a week ago that said your mother called and wanted me to know she would be out of town visiting family. That she wouldn’t be back until after Thanksgiving.”
“What?” Lydia shook her head. “My mother doesn’t have any family. She can’t even make it off the couch half the time.”
Her words faded off, and she looked up wide-eyed at the Sheriff. She grabbed her keys and ran towards the door, ignoring the Sheriff’s call out for her and headed towards her house on the corner. Her heart was beating fast, and she could hear the sirens behind her as the police rushed towards the house. Lydia ignored their calls to her as they pulled in front of the house and she ran full speed around the corner and up to the door. She reached for the doorknob but paused noticing a bloody handprint on the metal orb. The police rushed up beside her and looked at what she saw, shaking their head at her.
Lydia stepped back and let the officer carefully turn the knob and swing the door open. The three men went in, guns drawn, in front and careful cased the house to make sure the area was safe. She heard the last police officer shout out “all clear,” and then entered the house, walking carefully around what looked like drops and small smears of blood on the old wood floors. The house smelled like stale cigarettes and whiskey, something she had once been so accustomed to she hadn’t noticed.
Lydia went from room to room looking for any sign of her mother or the killer but found nothing. She stood at the bottom of the stairs following the trail of blood upwards with her eyes. She started walking along the path and stopped outside of her mother’s bedroom. The door was shut, and though the police had neglected to check that room, Lydia was sure there was no one in there, no one alive at least.
Lydia slowly opened the creaky door and looked up jumping back at the sight of her own reflection in the mirror. She slowly walked in, stepping over piles of dirty clothes and empty liquor bottles. She turned towards her mother’s bed which was oddly completely made and even the comforter looked pressed and neat, something that she had never seen in her house. She looked closer as stains were seeping through the white lace covering and Lydia took a few steps towards the bed and grabbed the comforter by its edge. She yanked the blanket back and stood back covering her mouth.
Written in blood across the freshly pressed sheets was a warning; a warning that was aimed right at Lydia. It said:
“I Told You To Stop. Now You Pay.”
The police walked into the room, and the Sheriff followed in after, reading the words drawn on the bed. He put his arms around Lydia and walked her out of the room trying to comfort her but get her to a safer area. Lydia wasn’t full of fear like the night before. Instead, the vision of her father’s mutilated body ran through her head and anger began to fill her like never before. When they stepped out onto the porch, Lydia looked up at the Sheriff.
“I want to be part of this investigation,” Lydia stated.
“Lydia,” the Sheriff said shaking his head. “You are already in enough danger. I don’t think I can let that happen.”
“I am not taking no for an answer,” Lydia stated looking out at Julie standing in the drive. “Either you let me be part of it, or I will do it on my own without any protection. Your choice.”
Lydia walked away from the Sheriff before he was able to answer her and shuffled right into Julie’s arms. She laid her head on Julie’s shoulder and took in her warmth, realizing for the first time she had walked out without her jacket. She stared at the sidewalk below them and watched as a trail of blood had dried down the walk and to the curb. Someone had gotten her mother, bleeding from the house and to their car without anyone noticing or thinking it was suspicious, how could that be?
Julie and Lydia made their way back to the precinct and sat at Lydia’s desk, both silently contemplating the last few shocking hours. Lydia’s father was dead, and her mother was missing, and most likely at least injured. The killer was targeting Lydia, but Julie couldn’t figure out why. Lydia pulled the picture of her father from the office and realized she never asked how they got the picture in the first place. She picked up the file and opened to a letter. The letter’s contents were made up of cut out pieces of magazine clippings, and the envelope was printed with the Sheriff’s home address on it. The killer sent this to the Sheriff’s home address which meant this person must have knowledge of the town.
Lydia sat in the Sheriff’s chair and read the letter out loud to Julie who was standing in the doorway.
Sheriff,
You have more than two daughters. You have more than enough secrets than one man should hold. Lydia wouldn’t let it go, so I took everything from her. I want you to take this as an example of what I will do to your family if you don’t stop hunting me. Your secrets will be exposed soon…
Happy Thanksgiving
Julie’s face was firm but not pity ridden, and Lydia could tell she was angry. Lydia picked the picture back up and actually took a look at it. Her father was lying on a cement floor, and the walls around seemed to be dirty and covered in boards, almost like a factory.
At first glance you would think he was lying in some dirty old house like Lydia’s mom lived in but when you took a moment to look at the picture really, her father told a different story. His clothes were very nice. The shirt, torn open in the front to show the carvings was light blue with a Polo horse in the pocket. He had dress slacks on, and his hair was nicely combed, his beard trimmed to perfection.
Lydia realized that wherever this picture was taken was not where her father lived or worked. Somehow the killer must have been able to lure him there and with the one picture he had of Lydia as a child. Lydia opened the case file back up and skimmed down the lines landing on the home address of the victim. The box was checked that family had been alerted, so
Lydia looked up at Julie, threw the folder in her bag and walked towards her desk.
“What are you doing?” Julie asked as she followed Lydia towards the door, grabbing her jacket and jogging to keep up.
“I’m going to my father’s house,” Lydia said. “They have to know how this whole thing began. How they got my father to leave his house and then end up dead in some dirty warehouse.”
Julie didn’t try to stop Lydia, and they walked fast towards Julie’s house, skirting her mom’s house as to avoid being stopped by the Sheriff. Lydia jumped in her car and waited for Julie to jump in before she sped off down the street. She kept her hands firmly on the steering wheel and her eyes fixed to the road.
“Shouldn’t we have packed a bag or something?” Julie asked.
“No,” Julie responded as she stepped down harder on the gas. “Apparently my father has lived one town over my whole life, and he never came to save me from my mother. And now I am nothing more than a lonely orphan.”
The rest of the car ride was silent.
Chapter Four
The door knocker echoed through the house on the other side of the large main doors to Lydia’s father’s home in the next town over. The lawn was perfectly manicured, the house was sparkly, and the white picket fence that lined the yard turned Lydia’s stomach. Lydia stood quietly next to Julie as footsteps could be heard approaching the door. A small woman, dressed in designer clothes, and tired wrinkles around her eyes opened the door and blinked out at Lydia.
“Hi,” Lydia murmured. “I am….”
“You are Lydia,” the woman stated with a forced smile. “I was wondering when you would show up. Come in my dear. I’m Nancy, your father’s wife.”
Lydia and Julie followed the women into the large foyer and down the hall. They glanced to the side each time they passed a doorway, but every room looked the same; large oak furniture, rich tapestries hanging from the windows, and not a speck of dust anywhere. Lydia looked at Julie as they entered what she assumed was the living room and sat down on two ornate blue couches facing the fireplace. The fire was roaring, and they watched as Nancy poured three glasses of bourbon, handed them to the girls and then gingerly sat down and sipped her own.
“Nancy,” Lydia started. “Though it is nice to meet you, I am not here for a visit. I wanted to ask you about where my father went the night the picture was taken.”
“I wish I had an answer for you, Lydia,” Nancy said staring straight into the fire. “He got a phone call around four and ran out of the house, barely saying a word and that was last time I ever saw him.”
Lydia could tell the woman was swallowing back tears and she felt slightly guilty for pushing for more information, but without it, she wouldn’t be able to save her mother if she wasn’t already dead. Lydia looked at Julie who gave her go ahead look and then took a gulp of the liquor in her glass. It went down smoother than anything she had ever had before, but the smell made her think of her mother, something that churned at Lydia’s stomach.
“My father,” Lydia continued. “He was holding a photograph. Was that his?”
“Yes,” Nancy answered. “The photo of you as a little girl. I got a copy of the picture from the killer, so I am aware of what he was holding. He had that picture for as long as I have known him. He kept it in his wallet and at least twice a day I would walk up on him staring down at your dark curls and boyish grin, you’ve grown so much.”
Lydia instantly felt bad for intruding on this woman; she may have been lost, but Lydia realized she was never forgotten. But that wasn’t what she was here for, she was here to figure out where her mother might be. Lydia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and Julie laid her hand on Lydia’s knee.
“Nancy,” Julie cooed. “I am sorry that we are intruding, I know this must be very hard for you. We need to know if there is anything you could tell us about the possible whereabouts of your husband. Any warehouses he might have gone to, stores he frequented, really anything would help. Lydia’s mother is missing now too.”
Nancy set her glass down and put her hand against her chest, clothing her eyes as a tear rolled down her cheek. Lydia wasn’t sure whether the women was angry or empathetic and she sat nervously awaiting her response. Nancy turned in her chair and faced the girls.
“I am so sorry Lydia,” she said empathetically. “I know how this must have been hard for you. Coming here was probably a bit of a shock. Your father’s office is down the hall, third door on your left. That is where he took his call before leaving. You are more than welcome to walk around, and look at anything you need that may help you.”
“Thank you,” Lydia said as she stood and walked towards the door.
“And Lydia,” Nancy called out. “There wasn’t a day your father didn’t think about you. I want you to know that.”
Lydia nodded and turned the corner not sure how she felt about what her step-mother just told her. It didn’t matter anyways; he was gone, and now her mother might be gone too. They walked into the office and switched on the light. Books lined the walls of the room and Lydia walked around the desk and sat in his chair. She looked at the picture frames that cluttered the surface and realized all but one of the pictures were of Lydia. The other, a small blonde girl, she assumed was her father’s child from this marriage.
Lydia sighed and slid her hands back across the desk towards her lap. She knocked the stapler off with her elbow and bent down to pick it up off of the floor. As she began to straighten back up in her chair a small sticky note caught her eye; it must have been knocked into the floor. She picked it up and looked at the writing. The note read:
267 Wharf Top Road
Last Building next to the water
Bring Money
Lydia swished the mouse at her father’s computer and pulled up the internet browser. She put the address into the search engine and waited. When it came back, it showed a picture of a rundown factory on the east side of the wharf. The walls looked worn down like the ones in the picture, and Lydia looked up at Julie.
“Call the Sheriff,” she said calmly. “I think I found the building.”
Julie walked around the desk and looked at the picture on the computer and back at Lydia, her eyes wide. She pulled out her cellphone and called the Sheriff, quickly explaining where they had gone and what they had found. Lydia stared at the picture of the building as if she would see her father’s face on the screen.
“Yes sir,” Julie said into the phone. “Yes sir, we will meet you there.”
Julie hung up and put her phone in her purse. She stood silently for a moment as Lydia looked through the caller I.D. All of the numbers were accounted for except for the Private number from two days before at four in the evening. That must have been the killer but why would her father go to an empty warehouse alone and what was the money for.
The girls stood and made their way back towards the living room. A short Korean woman stepped in front of the girls and smiled. She waved her hand towards the front door, and the girls followed. When they reached the front, the woman opened the door for them.
“Ms. Nancy needed her rest,” she said. “I told her I would make sure you had everything you needed.”
The girls thanked the maid and walked out into the frigid air, Lydia tightening the scarf around her neck trying to dodge the wind tunnel that would be formed by the jacket opening. The girls got in the car, this time Julie in the driver seat and started the engine. Lydia looked down at the picture she had quietly taken from her father’s office and back at Julie who was turning out of the long driveway.
“What did the Sheriff say,” Lydia asked.
“He is sending a team over now,” Julie replied. “We are to meet them there in case...in case…”
“Go ahead and say it,” Lydia sighed. “In case I need to identify the bodies.”
It took about an hour, but the girls got to the wharf and pulled up to an array of flashing blue lights that reflected off the water under the piers. Lydia spotted the S
heriff talking to a detective by the doors, and she jogged over, stopping at his side and waiting patiently for him to end his conversation. Lydia looked over into the warehouse and saw a pool of blood and a body covered with a tarp. Her stomach did flips, and she took a step towards the Sheriff as the detective turned away.
“We found your father,” the Sheriff said as he put his arm over Lydia’s shoulder and guided her away from the open door. “But there is no sign of your mother. We are going to sweep the grounds, but we are pretty sure we aren’t going to find her here.”
“I can help,” Lydia insisted. “I am good at that stuff.”
“Lydia,” the Sheriff said hiding a smile. “I think it’s best if you went home. We will call you if we find anything.”
Lydia nodded and stood looking out at the lights on the buoys in the water. The Sheriff had walked over to Julie and was talking in private, but Lydia didn’t care at that moment. All she could think about was her mother and whether she was dead or alive. Lydia turned her head towards the warehouse where the photographer was taking pictures of her father. She couldn’t see much, but she could make out his outstretched hand holding a small picture that she knew contained her long forgotten innocent child face. Lydia shuddered and walked towards Julie who was waiting to take her home.
Jack (Secret Revenge #1) Page 49