by T. R. Ragan
The eerie sounds of a dying animal caused more confusion.
What was going on? It was as if the devil himself had come to life.
Again she concentrated on moving, cursing herself for being so fucking weak. The notion that the mere sight of blood, whether it was a small drop or an entire bucket, could shut her down was illogical. She needed to get out of there.
As the howling increased in volume, the rattling of the metal bars ceased. Calmly, barely loud enough to be heard over the howling, Zee said, “It’s pig’s blood, not human blood. You can do this.”
Forrest pounded on the wall of the enclosed cell, trying to quiet whoever was making all the noise. He pulled a metal loop of keys from his pocket and slipped a large key into the slot in the padlock. Chains rattled. At the very moment the cell door came open, Jessie saw a man appear on the stairway above.
Ben couldn’t make any sense out of what he was seeing or hearing as he came forward, taking slow, careful steps down the stairs and into a dark underground room lit only by kerosene lamps. A long mournful cry of a dying wolf was followed by laughter. A woman sat motionless in the middle of the room, drenched in blood. Another woman lay faceup in a cage, her eyes wide, her hands clasped around the knife in her chest. The other cage was also occupied. But the young woman inside that one was alive and well, talking to the one covered in blood, trying desperately to get her moving.
And within a room he couldn’t yet see inside of came another eerie howl, like nothing he’d ever heard in his life. It wasn’t until he got closer that he recognized Jessie as the person covered in blood.
Continuing on at a slow pace, he heard a voice.
“I’m tired of your filth and your constant racket, Dog. Today is a fine day to die.”
Ben stopped at the entrance of the enclosed cell and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. A tall, lanky boy he assumed to be Forrest Bloom was tossing darts at an old bearded man confined in chains. Every time a dart struck, the man he called Dog would howl. And the boy would laugh.
Ben inhaled as familiar images of broken bodies and bloodied corpses flashed in rapid succession through his mind. He squeezed his eyes closed, and when he opened them again, he saw a dart strike the old man’s forehead, right between the eyes. The howl that erupted from the man’s gaping mouth was a bloodcurdling cry filled with pain and sorrow.
The scene before him was madness, and he could feel the tingling of rage flushing him with heat as he drew in slow, steady breaths. Images continued to flash through his mind: the woman who’d been stabbed, Jessie covered in blood, and the girl in the box. It all needed to stop. It needed to stop right now.
The howling continued as he stepped inside the tiny room.
When the man’s captor realized he wasn’t alone, he turned around and merely smirked at Ben as he raised his hand to throw another dart.
Ben swung the tire iron, catching him on the shoulder.
The young man stumbled backward, his back against the wall as Ben tossed the tire iron to the side, stepped forward and wrapped all ten fingers around Forrest Bloom’s neck.
“You can’t stop me, old man,” Forrest cried out in a raspy voice. “Nobody can stop me. Dog! Take care of him, or I’ll put you in the snake pit.”
The old man didn’t move. He simply shook his head as he leaned tiredly against the wall, one eye still open, watching, perhaps waiting for his captor to take his last breath.
Ben felt a tightening in his chest as he continued to squeeze. The bloody images wouldn’t stop, flickering like a filmstrip in his mind’s eye, again ending with the sickly pale girl he’d found in the box. His muscles quivered as the beat of his heart thundered within his ears.
Forrest struggled to get free, his legs flailing and his fingers clawing at Ben’s as he tried to get loose. Ben felt the muscles and tendons in his forearms tighten as he crushed Forrest Bloom’s windpipe until finally he felt the full weight of the madman’s body in his grasp.
And there it was. A wispy sort of gasp escaped Forrest’s mouth before his body went slack.
Only then did the old man’s shoulders relax. His head fell gently to the right, and a trickle of blood slid from the place between his eyes where the dart protruded. The old man was dead—of that Ben was sure. Only then did he let go.
Forrest Bloom crumpled into a heap at his feet.
Ben stepped over the body, pulled the dart from the old man’s forehead, and tossed it to the ground before he felt for a pulse. Just as he’d thought, there was none. He gently closed the old man’s eyes and then bent over and grabbed the keys from around the killer’s neck.
Ben walked around Jessie, stepping through sticky blood, his shoes making a suctioning noise as he made his way to the first cell and unlocked the door. A loud whooshing sounded in both ears, like ten-foot waves crashing against the shore.
The dark-haired girl thanked him as she swept past. She went straight to the open door of the cell he’d just left and peeked inside.
Ben wasn’t sure what she was doing, but he had an inkling she wanted to make sure her captor was dead.
By the time he unlocked the other cell and knew for certain the woman lying inside was dead, the girl was pulling a hose out from behind the stairs. He had no idea how long she’d been down there or what, if anything, had happened to her, but the normalcy with which she moved about was impressive. She turned on the water and then pulled off her long-sleeve coat and used it as a wet rag to wash the thick coat of blood from Jessie’s face and neck.
Ben looked around, unable to comprehend all that he was seeing.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and it was then that he took a breath of rotten air and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
The girl dropped the hose, and together they helped Jessie up the stairs and outside, where he watched the dark-haired girl put her face to the sun and smile.
FORTY-FIVE
The sun had begun to rise the next morning when Jessie shot up in bed, her arms waving about as if to ward off whatever might be coming at her.
Somebody grabbed her arm, stopping her from flailing around.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re safe.”
It took her a second to realize she was home in bed. “Colin?”
“It’s me. I’m here.”
The dizziness passed, and she saw him clearly. She caught her breath and said, “It’s good to see you.”
“I’m always glad to see you.”
She smiled.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he told her. “I’ve got to get back to work soon, but if it’s okay with you, I thought I’d stop by later with some Chinese food for you and Olivia.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
“It’ll be crazy busy for the next few weeks.”
“Understandable.” She inhaled. “Is Olivia home?”
“No. Andriana took her to school. She’s doing good, though. She was with you at the hospital last night before we brought you home.”
She put a hand to her temple. “I hardly remember.”
“The doctor gave you something to help you relax.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry about everything, Jessie. Mostly I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“It’s not your fault. I rushed in when I should have been more careful.”
“By the time I heard your message and found out what was going on, you were being brought to the hospital.”
“It’s been a crazy time for both of us. You’ve been busy. We both have.” She pushed the covers off her, slid her legs over the side of the mattress, then got to her feet and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight.
“It’s okay,” he whispered as he rubbed her back. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Frightening images came to mind: Natalie lying in a pool of blood, Zee rattling the bars, trying to get out of her cage, the high-pitched wails as Forrest Bloom tortured the old man, and the silhouette of a man standing on the stairs.
Ben Morrison.
She stepped out of Colin’s embrace and headed into the living room where Higgins greeted her, his tail wagging. “Good dog,” she said, scratching the top of his head. The TV was on. One of the local news stations showed the long gravel driveway leading to the Bloom farmhouse lined with police cruisers and media vans.
Colin came to stand beside her. “You’ve been to hell and back. Maybe you should sit down.”
He was right. Her knees felt wobbly. She took a seat on the couch.
“People have been calling in to talk about how Forrest Bloom was tortured by his father,” Colin told her. “After his mother died, he returned to the farm to get revenge on his father. They’re saying he kept his old man chained in the basement.”
The man Forrest had called Dog, Jessie realized, was his father. Pictures of Ben Morrison flashed across the screen, and then a picture of a young girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. She was being interviewed from her hospital room. Her name was Erin Hayes. Ben Morrison had rescued her from the coffinlike box found on the property.
“I heard her screaming,” Jessie said, her heart racing again. That was the voice she’d heard before she’d run to the barn. Erin was alive. She’d made it. Her eyes watered. “What about Ben Morrison strangling Forrest? Is he in trouble?”
Colin shook his head. “There won’t be any repercussions. It was determined that Ben Morrison’s actions were in the best interest of everyone involved. He wasn’t carrying a gun, and he managed to get you and Zee out of there safely.” He took a seat beside her. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“What about Natalie Bailey?” she asked.
“She didn’t make it.”
Jessie’s heart sank. “I could have saved her.” She shook her head.
“Don’t blame yourself, Jessie. It’s not your fault. If it weren’t for you, who knows how many more people would have fallen victim to the Heartless Killer? If not for you, Zee Gatley would still be locked up, and Erin Hayes never would have survived another twenty-four hours.”
“Any word on where Zee Gatley is staying?”
He nodded. “Her father was released late last night. Arlo and Zee are back home.”
“I’m glad.”
“In a day or so, when you’re up to it, we’ll need you to come down to the station and answer a few questions.”
She nodded. “You should go. I’ll be fine.”
After he left, she headed for the bathroom, turned on the water in the shower, and then went to the sink to brush her teeth, her reflection staring back at her.
Her hair was as tangled and matted as her thoughts.
A girl in a box.
A man named Dog.
A house of torture.
Fuck.
She couldn’t get the sound of rattling cages out of her mind.
Butcher knives and a young woman with schizophrenia rooting her on. That was fucked up. She was never going to be the same.
Blood. Knife. Guts.
Numb, body and mind.
Get a grip.
“I live in one fucked-up world,” she said to her reflection, using her toothbrush as a pointer.
She rinsed. Spit. “You could have stopped him.”
As she stared at the mirror, studying the line of stitches on her left side under her chin, where the killer’s blade would forever leave a mark, she decided if she was going to continue in this line of work, she needed to be vigilant, starting with taking a self-defense class. She would run and lift weights and figure out a way to overcome her aversion to blood.
Straightening, she narrowed her eyes and said, “You’ve got work to do.”
FORTY-SIX
Two weeks after Jessie escaped the bowels of hell, she found herself sitting in front of the TV, drawn in by a news reporter’s account of what they knew about the Heartless Killer up to this point.
The reporter started off by saying that psychiatrists across the country were still discussing the case, theorizing and seeking rationalizations for his actions. For the most part they agreed that Forrest Bloom wasn’t merely a bad seed. After interviewing teachers, neighbors, and people who’d known him growing up, he didn’t appear to have held any deep-seated hatred for his mother. The autopsy report showed no signs of brain damage.
Although most psychiatrists agreed that not all abused children grow up to be killers, they were quick to point out that every psychopathic killer known to mankind had been mistreated early in life. From what detectives had gathered so far, Forrest Bloom had been severely abused by his father since the time he could walk, prompting one female groupie to express her deepest sympathies for the killer and beg authorities for a lock of his hair.
Thanks to Mike Bailey, journals and reports written by Sue Sterling were found in storage. Although it seemed the ball had been dropped somewhere along the way by Child Services after Sue Sterling’s passing, it was also determined that by the time she visited the home in 1999, the worst of the damage had been done. All in all, investigators were still sifting through Bloom’s life on the farm, and would be for quite some time.
Jessie picked up the remote and shut the TV off.
Colin had filled her in on the rest. She knew investigators had talked to witnesses and people who had known Forrest Bloom over the course of his lifetime. As expected, the killer had been extremely isolated for most of his life. His relationship with his mother appeared to have been a normal one. During his years at UC Irvine, not too many people remembered him. With the exception of one professor and a roommate of two years, both of whom had described Forrest as quiet and socially awkward.
Forrest Bloom’s grades put him in the top 5 percent of his class. He had no criminal record, not even a traffic violation. He never held a job, and until he met Zinnia Gatley, it seemed he’d never shown any interest in the opposite sex.
Authorities found three journals in Forrest Bloom’s house. The killer had devoted an entire journal to descriptions of the abuse he’d endured at his father’s hands. Forrest Bloom was subjected to both physical and psychological abuse at a very young age. It was no wonder he went on to inflict pain on others.
The other two journals included a total of twenty-one names listed in order of date captured. The list of names did not include his father, the man he called Dog. Beneath each name were details about the victims: age, approximate weight and height, occupation, hobbies, favorite foods, hopes, dreams, and fears.
Of the twenty-two victims, there were sixteen females and six males, ranging from the age of five to sixty-four, Dog being the oldest.
Another trait noted by Colin and others was Forrest Bloom’s extreme cleanliness. His bed was made, the floors swept clean, and not a dirty dish or towel could be found. The only macabre items found within the house were three bleached white skulls lined up neatly on the pantry shelf. Who the skulls belonged to had yet to be determined.
Jessie stared at the blank TV screen, wishing she could spend a day doing absolutely nothing, but she had work to do. Her day in court had been moved up. In less than forty-eight hours, she would be sitting in the courtroom before a judge. And things were looking iffy at best. Friends and family were determined to defend Koontz at every turn. Other than Adelind Rain and Fiona Hampton, nobody had anything to share about Koontz’s Peeping Tom tendencies.
By five o’clock that same afternoon, Jessie was working in the living room while Olivia did her homework at the kitchen table. Colin had called earlier to say he’d pick up a pizza on his way over, but as was the norm, he couldn’t stay long. Andriana paced the living room, her cell phone pressed against her ear. When she disconnected the call, she said, “You’re never going to believe this.”
Jessie looked at her and waited.
“Parker Koontz is responding to certain commands.”
Jessie raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand.”
“I have a friend, a nurse who works on the same floor where Parker Koontz has been staying. She’s been keeping an eye on him, and she told me that this morning he opened his eyes. Not only that, he moves his fingers in response to commands. She’ll call me later if anything changes.”
“If he comes out of the coma,” Olivia said from across the room, “then you would be off the hook, right?”
“It’s not that simple,” Jessie told her, trying not to sound defeated.
Andriana sighed. “If only I’d looked at the video you took at the park before it was stolen. It keeps me up at night.”
“You need to let it go,” Jessie said. “Neither of us would have thought someone would bother to steal the GoPro.”
“You can still look at the video,” Olivia said without looking up from her homework.
Jessie and Andriana looked at each other before Jessie peered over her shoulder at her niece. “What do you mean, Olivia?”
Olivia set her pencil down, stood, and walked over to where they were sitting. She put her hand out, palm faceup, and said, “Give me your phone.”
Jessie did as she asked.
“You asked me to order the GoPro for you after I told you about the one Bella uses, remember?”
“I remember. So?”
“So I ordered the newest model, the one that automatically hooks to your Bluetooth, and I set up an account for you, remember?”
“It rings a bell,” Jessie said.
Olivia snorted as she clicked away. “All you have to do is go to your GoPro Plus account, then to the Hero Session, find the app, and there you go.” She pushed another button and then looked at Jessie. “Do you want to view the video on your mobile or your laptop?”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Andriana said.
By the time Colin showed up with the pizza, they were watching the video on Jessie’s laptop, fast-forwarding to the part where Jessie followed Parker Koontz through the rose garden at Capitol Park.