Lucy's Chance

by Jackie D

  After she heard the bedroom door close she went back to the cursor on her screen, still blinking with nothing in its wake. She took a long sip of the Pinot Noir that sat next to the files on the table. She flipped one open and started turning through the pages. At the moment, her life was far from perfect. By her own hand, she had kicked up ancient dust, leaving her in a cloud of confusion and jumbled feelings. But writing a story was something she was good at and comfortable doing. She could help these women, Clearbrook, and maybe regain her footing emotionally. When all else fails, write.

  “Talk to me, ladies.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  His left hand twitched as he flipped over the front page of the Clearbrook Press. They had released a special edition, just for him. Anger and pride surged through his body in equal measure. He wanted to tear Lucy Rodriguez limb from limb for exposing, in detail, the happenings of his conquests. This would inevitably cause panic and fear in the community, making his job that much harder. On the other hand, seeing it all laid out in black-and-white was a monumental accomplishment.

  He read about each of the victims, feeling the saliva build in his mouth as he relived each kill like it was happening all over again. The part she missed was how it had been their own doing each time. Sure, he may have doled out the deathblow, but that was only because each of these women refused to give him what he wanted, what he deserved. Angelica Peña and Mariana Cruz had been so long ago, a lifetime to some. But now he could remember the way their hair had felt beneath his fingertips, the sound of their screams, and the way their eyes changed as the life drained out of them.

  He walked up the stairs to his bedroom and pulled the vent grate off the wall. Behind it sat a small wooden box that contained the only material memories he had of the women, eight earrings. He picked each up, examining the small pieces of jewelry, holding them in his hands. It was the only thing he had left of them, the only way he could be close. They might not have lived up to his expectations, but they had been special all the same. In a separate box was the earring of Teresa Ortiz. She might not have taken up a space within his soul the way the others did, but she was special too. But her earring didn’t deserve to be in his cherished box. He hadn’t spent time with her; he had never wanted her. He simply needed her, as both a warning to Jessica and a way to throw the police off course a bit. No, her memory wouldn’t share space with the others.

  Teresa had been the first he hadn’t gotten to know intimately. Taking her had been impulsive, exciting, and without any purpose besides buying him time with Jessica. For that reason alone, she could prove to be the most significant of any of them. He spoke to the earring as if it were tied to the soul of the owner. “Your death won’t be in vain, dear girl.”

  He dropped the items into the different boxes and headed back downstairs. He had a few hours before his next shift, and he wanted to spend them with Jessica. He wanted to bring her the newspaper, show her everything he had accomplished, everything he had done, just to find her. Then she’d see just how special she was to him.

  He grabbed several pieces of bread, some jam, and a banana. He tucked the newspaper under his arm and headed out to the barn. Once inside, he lifted the large steel door that led underground, turning on the light before he walked down the steps.

  Jessica was huddled on the small, makeshift bed he had made her. Her eyes were rimmed with red and the dark smudges under them were more prominent than the day before. He was glad he had let her shower. The blood from Teresa Ortiz no longer colored the side of her face.

  She slid off the bed and sat kneeling, head down, as he approached. She’s learned so well. He spread jam on the bread, put the banana next to it, and put the plate in front of her. “Eat.”

  She hesitated for only a moment before putting the food in her mouth. “Thank you,” she murmured between bites.

  He tossed the newspaper in front of her. “I brought you some reading material too.”

  She scanned the pages, various levels of disgust and fear dancing across her expression. The more she read, the more infuriated he felt. “Don’t you see, none of them mattered until you?”

  She said nothing. She simply folded up the paper and sat back against the wall.

  “They weren’t grateful for what I’d done. I saved them from themselves, from their existences. They were wasting their lives, and I tried to help them.”

  “Is that really what you think you’re doing?” As soon as she said it, she covered her mouth and lowered her head.

  He strode across the room, kicked the plate out of the way, and knelt in front of her. He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him. “They weren’t worthy.”

  She let out a quiet sob, her body limp in his hands. “What did they do that was so wrong?”

  He threw her backward, taking small satisfaction when her head hit the wall. “They were liars.”

  “Liars?”

  He walked over to his workbench and pulled a knife off the wall. He returned, put it against her cheek, and waited for her tears to coat the blade. “I asked Angelica out on several occasions. She turned me down each time, telling me she had a boyfriend. Then, one night, I saw her go home with a man she had met that night. She lied to me, humiliated me, and probably laughed with her friends about it.” He gently slid the blade down her cheek, leaving a small, wet, red line in its wake. “Mariana let me buy her two drinks and then turned me down. Again, a liar and a cock tease. There have been more over the years. Women who didn’t or wouldn’t see my worth. Women I had high hopes for, who turned out to be just as disappointing as the first few. They thought they were smarter than me, better than me, but I fixed that. I helped them to see just how powerful I was.” He looked down at her, willing her to see what he was really saying. “I’m not a monster. I made them presentable, almost beautiful. I cleaned them up and even scrubbed their nails. They didn’t deserve it after the way they’d treated me, but I did it for them anyway.”

  She turned her head for the first time and looked him in the eyes. “You killed them because they didn’t want to sleep with you?”

  He pulled the blade from her face and licked the blood from the edge. “I gave them a chance to change their minds, so it’s their own fault. They put themselves on display for the world. They were begging men to take what they wanted. Then, when one finally took them up on their offer, they acted surprised and scared. I took my time with each one of them, allowing them the opportunity to see things my way. But you’re a stubborn group. Women believe they can behave however they wish with no repercussions. Turns out, I was their repercussion. I proved that point with each blow of the hammer. I’ve had to go through so many to get to you.”

  “What about me?” she asked softly, her voice shaking. “What did I ever do to you?”

  He rubbed his face against hers, smudging the blood away with his own skin. “You’re different. I could tell the first time I saw you that you weren’t like the others. Claudia, she let men buy her drinks, night after night, and then would just go home with her friends. You, though, you’re pure.”

  “Pure?”

  He kissed her forehead and held her tightly as she tried to pull herself away. “You’re mine. I knew it the first time I saw you.”

  “How long have you been watching me?”

  “The first time I saw you cry, in the parking lot of Junior’s, I knew I wanted you with me forever. It hadn’t mattered that you were with my cousin. I knew he was no good for you, that he would fuck it up, and he did. He was never good enough for you. No one is. Just me.”

  She grew still against him. He waited for the tremor of fear to vibrate through her body and felt all-powerful when it finally materialized. “I’m going to prove how much you mean to me. I’m going to bring you a present. Then you’ll see.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Erica watched as Jessica’s boyfriend, Zack, buried his head in his hands. They had been questioning him for the last forty-five minutes, and either he was t
he world’s best liar, or he really had no idea where Jessica was. She knew somewhere deep down it was the latter.

  “You’re free to go. Just stay close by.”

  He wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m not leaving Clearbrook without Jessica.”

  He was telling the truth. His feelings for Jessica were written all over his face and in his body language. The irony didn’t escape her that she wouldn’t have recognized that without having loved Lucy the way she had.

  Initially, she hadn’t liked the idea of Lucy writing a piece on the investigation, but she had to admit, it turned out better than she had hoped. It was an excellent tribute to the women who had lost their lives at the hands of a psychopath. It also served as a warning to the public to stay aware of their surroundings. Lucy was talented, she always had been, and if anything, she had only gotten better over the years.

  She walked out of the conference room and sat at the large table, staring again at the four women whose pictures hung in contrast to the stark white of the board. Erica believed the person responsible had taken more lives. He wouldn’t have just stopped after the first two kills were so close together. He had to have moved on, probably to a different state, making it difficult to track. At any given time, there were anywhere from twenty-five to fifty active serial killers, just in the United States. Unsolved murders went unrecognized when the killer remained a step ahead. They left little to no evidence and then moved on to the next town, the next victim. If databases didn’t talk to one another, or if they failed to make connections for other reasons, there was no way to connect interstate murders. But something had brought this guy back to Clearbrook. The victims’ deaths spanned over two decades, and they had too much in common, regardless of the years that separated them. Their hairstyles were different, their clothing, their means of communication, their places in the world. But there was still a string of similarities that didn’t stop at their ethnicity. They had the world at their fingertips. Their stories were just beginning, prior to being tragically cut short by a madman. One of the unknown variables was to what extent the world would suffer because they were no longer in it. Each of them could have been a key to something different. One could have held the cure for cancer in her head, another could have been the love of someone’s life, changing them forever. They each had something to offer that would be left untapped, undiscovered. Their deaths weren’t just sad, they were absolute tragedies.

  Then there was Jessica. She fit somewhere in this mix as well. She was the only one they could save from the fate the others weren’t fortunate enough to avoid. Maybe. If she’s not already dead. She looked at the list of items sent for processing from Teresa’s car. There wasn’t much to go on, just like Jessica’s. Her car had been wiped clean except for a partial print. It was a small, tiny possibility that left her feeling anxious and excited.

  There were items scattered across the table sealed in evidence bags. She picked up the bag that held Teresa’s graduation tassel. Class of 2010. It must have held significance beyond the simple fact of graduating to still be hanging on her rearview mirror seven years later. She let her fingers feel the threads through the plastic, hoping it would send her a hint or a clue to anything that might have happened to the woman who had placed it where she could see it every day.

  “Detective Chance?”

  Erica swiveled in her seat. “Yeah?”

  “There’s a Francisco Cruz here to see you.”

  She mentally flipped through acquaintances in her head until she fell on the association. Francisco Cruz was the father of Mariana Cruz, one of the victims from twenty-five years ago. “Send him in.”

  Francisco Cruz was probably a very striking man when he was younger. His face wore the signs of a lifetime of pain, which probably started the day his daughter was taken from him. “Mr. Cruz,” she said as he took the seat she offered. “What can I help you with?”

  He carried a small notebook against his chest. “I saw the story in the paper today.”

  “I’m sorry. That must have been difficult for you.”

  His mouth formed a tight line. “No, Detective, what has been difficult is having spent the last twenty-five years without this man being caught.”

  There was no appropriate response. He was right, and placating him would do no good. “I can’t imagine. What can I help you with?”

  “I want you to look at my daughter’s journal. Back then, they looked through it but said there was nothing in there. I want you to look at it now.”

  She took the notebook that he slid across the desk. “They looked at this?”

  “Yes, but I thought maybe, with you looking at new cases, there might be something new, something they didn’t see before. There has to be something. Mariana was a good girl, and she didn’t deserve what happened to her. I know none of them did, but she…she was my baby.” His voice hitched and he fought back tears.

  “We’re going to do everything we can.”

  “That’s what they said back then, too.” His hands formed tight balls in his lap. “Losing Mariana was the worst thing that ever happened to my wife and me. My wife passed about ten years ago, but she was gone long before that. Died of a broken heart the day they found Mariana’s body.”

  “I can’t imagine.” She meant every short syllable.

  He stared at her; she assumed to assess whether she was up for the task at hand. “I knew your grandpa. He was a good man, and I was sorry to hear of him passing. You look just like him. Funny how that happens, huh, the things that get passed on?”

  She wanted to ask him more about her grandfather, but this wasn’t her moment. It belonged to him and the memory of his daughter that was etched in his sad eyes.

  He reached across the desk and put his hand back on top of the notebook. “They’re never really gone, those who leave us. I think love is the only thing stronger than the pull of death. If you can still feel that love burning somewhere in your soul, then you never have to say good-bye.”

  She felt his simple and profound words penetrate the carefully constructed defenses she’d erected whenever she handled matters of the heart, whether they were hers or someone else’s. “Thank you for the journal.”

  He stood to leave. “I hope it helps. I couldn’t do anything to help Mariana, but I hope her words, even all these years later, help to protect someone else.”

  Once he had left, she started flipping through the pages of the journal. It was interesting to see the thoughts of a young woman from nineteen ninety-two, a time before a generation had learned to place every thought and emotion in a public forum on social media, for everyone to read.

  She skimmed page after page, jotting down names, places, dates, anything. It wasn’t until she got halfway through that she saw a familiar name. Frank Wilds. Frank apparently had a bit of an unhealthy obsession with Mariana.

  Frank Wilds bought me another drink at Junior’s tonight. I told him before I wasn’t interested, but he insisted and said it was rude to refuse. I was trying to be polite, so I accepted. Then when Jill and I went to leave, he was hanging out by our car. He offered to drive us home, and when we refused he kicked the tire. So weird.

  She flipped a few more pages and found him mentioned again. Her heart pounded at the possibility this journal was creating. It was their first real lead and they desperately needed it.

  I don’t know what it’s going to take. Frank can’t seem to take a hint. He invited me and my friends back to his place. Obviously, we weren’t going to go with him. Who does that? We even told him we have boyfriends, which we totally don’t, but figured he would get the hint. I was the DD tonight, and when I ordered a Diet Coke, he spit in it before he handed it to me. Jill said I should tell the manager, but we go there too often. I didn’t want more issues in the future. What a weirdo.

  But it wasn’t until she turned to the final page of the journal she knew she had him.

  Okay, seriously, what is Frank’s problem? He followed me to the ba
throom tonight and tried to force his way into the girls’ room! Um, what’s his damage? I ran out and grabbed Jill. We’re never going back there. Ew, as if.

  Erica tried to tamp down her anger and frustration. She reminded herself that sexual assault wasn’t as widely talked about twenty-five years ago as it was today. Mariana wouldn’t have realized this was a reportable offense, and she wouldn’t have known where to turn except her girlfriends. But even if that were true, the officers who read this back then should’ve at least questioned Frank, just based on this journal alone.

  She picked up the notebook and headed downstairs to the small call center in the basement of the building. She took deep breaths on the way down, wanting to keep an open mind. Just as she had hoped, Robbie Kern was sitting at the desk with a headset on, waiting for another call.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Sure,” he said and buzzed her through the door.

  She flipped the journal open to the first entry that mentioned Frank Wilds and put it in front of him. “I’ve looked through the notes, and you guys didn’t even interview him. Why?”

  He read the entry carefully. Then he flipped through a few more pages, continuing to read. He put the book down and rubbed his chin. “We wanted to, but we couldn’t find him.”

  “Couldn’t find him?”

  “Yeah, his aunt said he had gone back up to Reno.”

  Erica gripped the desk she was leaning against. She didn’t need to look down to know her knuckles were white. “You didn’t put out an APB? No one thought to go up there and bring him back for questioning?”

  Robbie looked down, shaking his head. “You have to remember, Chance, we were a really small department back then. There were only eleven of us on the entire force. Things weren’t all fancy the way they are now.”

  “You could’ve called up to Reno PD.”

  “I did, and they said they’d look for him and let us know if they found anything. But they said they didn’t have any sign of him there, and the only evidence we had were these entries. We didn’t have anything solid.”