I turned the handle marked “C” and put the glass under the spout. Air bubbles tumbled and rose as water filled the glass. I was too thirsty to wait. I took two gulps, the cold liquid gliding down my throat like an ice cube on scorching asphalt. I took another gulp—a chill traveled down my body as goose bumps collected on my skin.
I filled the glass again and took another gulp. Water gathered in the corners of my mouth and spilled down my face. I pulled the glass away and wiped the mess from my chin. I set the glass back onto the sink and picked up the pill bottle. Its contents rattled inside like checkers pieces in a cardboard box, and I pressed down on the cap with the palm of my hand. I twisted it open, a slight impression of the lid engraved itself into my hand, and I tilted the bottle to the side. One pill fell out.
My fingertips covered the instructions printed on the bottle. Although I had been off these pills since I went back to work six months ago, I could recite every word on the label—even the FDA’s cautionary warning about accidental overdose.
PRAZOSIN 5mg: TAKE ONE PILL BY MOUTH TWICE DAILY
I popped the small pill into my mouth and pushed it to the back of my throat with my tongue. The capsule was hardly a mask for the chalky aftertaste from the powder inside. I turned the faucet back on and filled the glass a quarter full.
I had consciously made the decision to be off all meds before I returned to work. Did I really want to start taking these again? It was one dream. A fluke.
I leaned over, spit the pill out of my mouth, and poured the glass of water down the sink. The pill swirled around the drain before it disappeared.
I flipped the bathroom light off and let the lightening-stained sky guide the way back to the bed. I needed to go back to sleep, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins felt like tiny nitrogen-fueled racecars speeding up and down my arms and legs.
The mattress sank under my weight as I sat on the edge and stared at the clock. 4:44 a.m.
I could watch television, but what would be on at this hour? Infomercials about diet pills or home-shopping channels selling knock-off jewelry? I could watch a movie, but my brain was too fried. I didn’t want to put in the effort of following a plot. I just needed noise. I needed something to fill the vacant maze inside my mind.
With Lathan Collins fresh in my thoughts, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. I felt him—as if he was lying next to me, cradling my backside, his breath hot on my neck as he smoothed my hair back; I lied there motionless and full of fear.
I reached for the slender remote control that sat atop the nightstand and hit the “power” button. A jolt of laughter roared from the television, and I flipped through the channels. I stopped on Channel 10 to catch the tail end of the early-morning news.
What there was to report on before five in the morning was a mystery to me, one that was going to be solved rather quickly. As the anchors finished a segment on the best diners in West Joseph, I propped the pillows against the headboard and reached down to pull the blanket over me. I draped the feather comforter over my lap as I leaned against the pillows, my feet soaking up the heat trapped far beneath the covers.
“It’s the one-year anniversary of the Lathan Collins murders, and someone wrote a book,” the burly newscaster reported. His thick mustache hung over his upper lip as he peered into the camera, drawing the audience in with his charm. “Rachel Sanzone, the only victim to survive the Faceless Killer’s terror, will be at Volume One Bookstore on Monday evening at six o’clock.”
In the upper left-hand corner of the screen, the cover to Rachel’s tell-all book, The Face of a Killer, appeared. A dark silhouette of a man’s face wearing a tight black mask filled the entire cover. In white letters, just under the man’s chin, was the title, followed by RACHEL SANZONE in all capital letters.
I let out a heavy sigh as I gritted my teeth.
“She will be answering questions and signing autographs for everyone who buys the book. Channel Ten will be there to cover the full story,” the newscaster quickly added before the segment ended.
I muted the television as commercials filled the screen. The glow emitting from the screen lit the room, and memories of that night swarmed my mind like last-minute holiday shoppers down a toy aisle.
That night.
As Lathan Collins had been lying dead on the floor, I had gone into the basement to free Rachel Sanzone. She and I had run to the closest house on the street—a quarter of a mile away, the moon our only source of light. I had thought Rachel wasn’t going to be able to make the walk. She had been so poorly malnourished, and her psyche had been too far gone to trust a midnight stroll through the woods.
But she made it. I didn’t think she would—I honestly didn’t think either of us would—but we did.
The neighbor, a kind and elderly man, had let me use his phone to call the police. We had waited in the elderly man’s living room and used over-the-counter first aid ointment to mend our wounds before my department’s Captain, Thomas Fluellen, and the rest of West JPD had arrived. Rachel had been sent immediately to the hospital. I had given Fluellen the address to the house and then had been taken to the hospital by an ambulance shortly after.
“You’re awake?” I heard Abi, my girlfriend of two years, say from the bedroom doorway. Her voice snapped me back to present time.
She rested her shoulder against the doorframe as she peered into the spare bedroom where I sat in bed. Her long, strawberry-blond hair fell to the middle of her back. The glow from the television bounced off the walls and highlighted her oval face. It sent a sparkle through her blue eyes. She gave a half-smile as she waited for my response.
“Did I wake you?” I asked.
She nodded. “I heard you go the bathroom. I wasn’t going to come in, but then I heard the TV, so I wanted to check on you. When did you come in here?”
We hadn’t slept in two separate bedrooms in more than six weeks. After the incident, it had become part of our routine for me to sleep in the spare bedroom. With all the tossing and turning from the nightmares, I didn’t want to keep Abi awake.
“After you went to bed,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to keep you up.”
“Did you have another dream?”
I nodded.
“About him?”
I looked to the floor and lowered my head. I didn’t want to admit that I was having dreams of that night again. It was strongly encouraged by administration that I take a paid leave of absence for six months while I recovered. I went to therapy once a week, and when I was deemed well enough to go back to work, I did. In the five months since I’d been back at work, I had been nightmare free.
Until now.
“I’m sure it’s because of the anniversary,” Abi said as she walked further into the bedroom. She sat down next to me, the mattress sinking slightly, and I scooted over to give her room to join me.
But she didn’t. She just sat there, her hand on top of mine, as she studied my face. As if looking deep into my eyes was going to give her the answers she needed to figure me out. “Why don’t you take today and tomorrow off? Make it a five day weekend,” she added.
“I can’t.” I immediately pushed the idea out of my head. “I know it’s Labor Day, but I have to work this weekend,” I said. I’m sorry I woke you,” I added and forced a smile.
“It’s fine,” she said as she scooted closer to me. I moved to the middle of the bed so that she had room to lie down. She lifted the covers and slid her feet toward the end of the bed, and she pressed her stomach against my back. The warmth of her body absorbed into my skin, and I nestled closer to her as I rested my head on the pillow. She draped the comforter over us, trapping the late-summer heat under the covers. It felt good to lie against her. I felt safe with her next to me, but something was missing.
Whether she knew it or not, I had slowly fallen out of love with her. And I didn’t know why. Before that night with Lathan Collins, we were happy and in love. We were see
mingly perfect. The connection between us ebbed and flowed, but it had never burned out. Somehow, we always found a way to reconnect. This time, however, I had strong doubts. The passion that had once ignited between us just couldn’t catch fire, like sparking flint in an empty lighter.
It was as if someone had drilled a hole in my heart—and all the love I had for her was slowly leaking out. At first, I thought it was because of the trauma. I thought pushing her away was normal.
And maybe part of it was because of the trauma. For the past year, I had been holding onto the hope that something in me would change. That maybe the hole in my heart would heal and I could fall in love with her again. But nothing had changed. And I was beginning to think it never would.
Abi had simply faded into the background, like a piece of old furniture. If she was there, I didn’t notice her. If she was gone, an unfamiliar emptiness lurked around me.
It’s not that I didn’t want her there—I just didn’t know what to do when she was around. The monotony and tedious predictability of Monday morning through Sunday evening only amplified the fact that I wanted more than the comforts of consistency. I wanted mystery. I wanted to feel desire. I wanted to physically ache for someone. I wanted to feel in love again.
As unfair as it was to Abi, I forced myself to ignore those thoughts. I would be a fool to let her slip from my life, especially if my insanity was only temporary. I forced myself to go through the motions as if I was in love with her—because maybe, in time, I would be again.
That was my hope, anyway.
A part of me was convinced Abi felt the same but that she didn’t leave because of guilt. How could she leave me after everything I went through? Or, if she wasn’t staying out of guilt, I was sure pity played a part.
“Will you at least consider taking Friday off?” she urged.
Abi placed her head on the pillow and slipped her hand under my breast as she held me closer. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. It was nice to be in her arms—but, again, it was a feeling as familiar as a well-worn sofa.
I was able to relax with her next to me. I knew she would never let any physical harm come to me. She treated me as if I was a wounded child, too fragile to face the terrors of the world, and I was okay with that. Aside from work, I didn’t want to be a hero. I didn’t want to put on a brave face. I wanted to hide from the world and everyone in it.
Abi gave me a way to do so.
“I’ll see,” I humored her, though I already knew taking a four-day weekend was out of the question.
Abi let out a soft sigh as she bowed her head against my neck. She lingered there for a few seconds then slowly sat up. She bent her legs at the knee and propped her arms on top of them, pulling the comforter with her.
I sat up from the pillow and moved to the bottom corner of the bed. I sat with my legs crossed and shoulders forward, the glow from the television highlighting the disquiet in her face.
Abi’s smile slowly collapsed as she looked down at the bed and back at me. It was the look she gave whenever she was about to deliver bad news. She picked at her nails, a stalling tactic of hers that I recognized, and then tucked the loose strands of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes behind her ears.
“My brother invited us to his place this weekend.” Abi continued to pick at her fingernails. “We could go there—make it a mini-vacation?”
Her brother lived in Pittsburgh and, although he was nice, he wasn’t worth the three-hour drive. His house had three bedrooms, one for him and one for each of his two children. The basement had been converted to a guest area, but it was still a basement: damp and muggy, filled with insects I couldn’t identify. It would hardly be a vacation.
“Is this why you want me to take today and tomorrow off?”
Abi nodded. “It’s a nice drive,” she said.
“Don’t you have houses to show?” I hoped that maybe her busy work schedule would be a reason she couldn’t go, and then I would be off the hook. Abi was a real estate agent—and a successful one too. It was the reason we met. She sold me this house and her heart within the same showing.
“I have an appointment later this morning, and then another one on Tuesday,” she said. That was the nice thing about her career: She could take as much time off as she wanted. Not that she frequently did.
“Oh,” I said. My plan had backfired. “I don’t think I can take the time off.” I scrambled for a reason. “I have a lot to do.”
Since returning to work in April, I had immersed myself into each case I was assigned—staying late and going in early. I didn’t care this much about my work life before Lathan Collins, but something had changed since that night. I wanted to catch the bad guys, sure, but it was the other officers’ expectations of me being the constant hero that weighed me down. It was as if I was swimming in the ocean with a garbage bag wrapped around me. No matter how much I fought the currents, it was never going to be enough to stay afloat.
“I think it would be nice to get away for a few days, that’s all.” Abi shrugged as the inevitable defeat stiffened around her. The air conditioner kicked off and sounded like a tin can falling to the ground. Silence filled the room. Abi and I looked at each other, her lips drooping into a crooked frown, and I felt my face slump into an unsettling calm.
“If you really want to go, please don’t let me stop you.” I sat up from the bed. “Go without me. You should see your family.” I crossed the room and headed toward the bathroom.
“They ask about you all the time,” Abi said as she turned her body to face me. She sat on the edge of the bed, one leg dangling off the side as if she was prepared to bolt at any moment.
“It would be nice to see them. I just can’t,” I said firmly. I walked into the bathroom and flipped on the light. My eyes had already adjusted to the brightness from the television, so the sudden burst of fluorescent bulbs wasn’t as jarring as I’d expected.
“Are you leaving?” Abi asked, more accusation than question.
“I’m already up.” I shrugged. “I might as well go in early.”
“Oh.” Abi stood from bed and stared at me, disappointment staining her face. “If you change your mind, the invite’s still there.” She shook her head, as if she knew reminding me of the standing invitation was futile. She looked exhausted—not just from fatigue but from me as well. “I’m leaving tonight,” she said as she left the room. “Have a good day at work.”
Upsetting Abi wasn’t how I wanted to start the day, but I knew I wasn’t going to change my mind about the weekend. I had enough to worry about at work. I hoped Abi would understand— but if she didn’t, then maybe we would reach our end sooner than I thought.
CHAPTER | TWO
THREE CEMENT WALLS covered in soot appeared on the large projection screen at the front of the room. Two archways on the back wall had been sealed off with maroon-colored bricks. A thin shadow cast along the top of the archway. Drops of water rhythmically splashed into a shallow puddle that could be heard off screen. Each drop echoed in the room, sending a chill up my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as my shoulders quickly shuddered. Along the top of the back wall, between the two sealed archways, a burst of sunlight shot through a narrow glass-block window.
The rays of sun shone upon a petite female barely twenty years old. Her long blond hair was just as voluptuous as her breasts as it fell seductively over her shoulders. It sparkled each time she shifted in the aluminum chair that sat in the center of the dimly lit room. Behind the woman, camouflaged within the dull gray walls, a sharp hook hung loosely from a thick rope. It was barely noticeable at first but stuck out like pizza sauce on a white shirt once seen.
The young woman tentatively riffled through a small stack of papers she had rested on her lap. The pages crinkled around the edges, as if she had rolled and twisted them in her hands before taking a seat in front of the camera. She looked directly into the lens, her blue eyes filled with both uncertainty and ambition, then darted her eyes to the side.
“You may begin whenever you’re ready,” said an off-camera voice, deep and distorted, as if it had been electronically altered.
The young woman smiled, revealing her bold, white teeth, and looked down at the stack of papers on her lap. She cleared her throat and began.
“You said you would be home hours ago.” Her voice shook as she read the script. “Where were you?” She scrunched her eyebrows together, shrugging off her nerves as the inflection in her voice changed from anxiety to anger.
“I had things to do,” the deep off-camera voice replied.
“The kids ask about you all the time,” she said as she raised the script from her lap and brought it to eye level, squinting.
“What do you tell them?” the distorted voice asked.
“Nothing. Because I know nothing….” Her eyes darted off camera as an eerie clash of clanking chains interrupted her audition. She smiled nervously and looked back at the script, the taunt of the rattling chains breaking her concentration only for a moment. “If you want a divorce, then just say it,” she snipped. “Because I’m so tired of the lies.”
From the left side of the screen, a long shadow stretched across the concrete floor, a silhouette of chains dangling at its side. The chains scraped along the floor as the dark shadow continued dragging them along. The young woman stopped reading as she slowly followed the shadowy figure with her eyes.
“Please continue,” the voice said.
The young woman paused as she eyed the shadow, which was almost directly in front of her. She looked into the camera and shook her head. “I’m no longer interested in the part.”
She abruptly rose from the aluminum chair. Its legs skidded against the cement as she stood, sending a chilling screech into the air. “What’s he doing?” she asked as she took a step back. A large, black mass entered the shot.
This man, who could only be seen from the top of his shoulders down to his legs, appeared on screen. The young woman stiffened her posture as the man, dressed in all black, his beer belly spilling over the top of his black jeans, raised the chain in his right hand and swung it against the woman’s face. It collided against her left cheek with a force so strong she instantly shrieked. The links wrapped around her neck like a noose, and the man gripped the chain tighter in his hand as he dragged her to the side of the room.
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