by Michelle Lee
Brody sends everyone in the room a copy of the e-mail and toxicology report to their tablets. Agent Fitzpatrick picks up his phone and dials; he immediately starts to give directions to someone on the other end. “I want you to check all the other cases we suspect are involved here; I want to know if a drug was used and what kind. I want to know who has the clearance to get this drug, and I want to know who has bought it in the last three years.” He hangs up and smiles at everyone. “This could be just what we need to break this thing wide open!”
“We are getting some Chinese for dinner, Brody you in?” Tom Wilkinson asks. He is another agent. He is tall and skinny and as black as I am white; 45 year old divorcee, with twin girls; Eve and Eva. He is funny and always hungry.
“No, Tom I’m good. Thanks though.”
CHAPTER 61
Charlie has been sleeping for a few hours when Michael returns to the building he is keeping her. It took a lot of work to turn this run down building into what it is today. It is an old paper mill. It has been closed down for 10 years. In its prime it ran 24/7. There were three shifts, and everyone worked swing shift. It wasn’t glamorous, but the pay was fantastic and the company knew how to take care of their employees. The benefits were free and your 40 work week was usually worked by Thursday, which left Friday and Saturday for overtime, and Sunday double time.
When they closed they left hundreds out of work trying to find something to supplement their income. Most couldn’t so they moved away, leaving the surrounding town run down and broken. The only people who stay here now are looking for a fix or are sleeping one off.
Michael bought this building dirt cheap. The copper pipes in the place alone were worth the price. He slowly ripped everything apart and fixed up the inside, careful not to draw attention to the outside. He doesn’t need anyone paying attention to him. It helps that the outside is surrounded by trees.
Michael unlocks the door and turns on the lights. The right side of the main room of the abandoned mill is wide open. He cleaned it and painted all the walls white. He put walls up to close off the main area from all the machines in the back and upstairs. It has the original light fixtures, so it is bright.
He turned that wide open area into a living space. He has a bedroom, kitchen and living room. On the left side of the main area, is the bathroom; it is at the end of a long hallway that has six offices; 3 on each side. Only one office is being used at the moment.
The office Michael is using has state of the art computers. He can search for anyone or anything in the world and not be traced. The security he had installed cost a pretty penny but is well worth it. He has 6 big monitors; one just for his personal use, the other 5 he has a images of Charlie in her room, Brody’s house, his and Charlie’s apartments, and the last one shows a changing picture every minute of the grounds outside the mill. He needs to make sure he is safe here at all times.
Now, he is in the kitchen heating up some oatmeal for Charlie. It is breakfast time and she hasn’t really eaten. He reminds himself to check her out; a kind of small physical to make sure she is ok. She has a bad reaction to the Haldol and then she made me smack her around. She is probably not feeling to good right now.
He puts the oatmeal in a bowl, pours some orange juice in a glass, and puts everything on a tray. He adds a long stem black rose to a vase and places that on the tray also. He grows his own roses on the premises, in one of the machine rooms he took out the old paper binder and set up an indoor greenhouse. He grows everything, but the roses are special, they are for Charlie. It has taken years of cross breading to make a healthy black rose.
He walks into Charlie’s room and places the tray on the table he set up in there last night. He goes into his office and grabs his medical bag. Going back into Charlie he gently shakes her awake. She doesn’t stir. He shakes her a little more aggressively. She moans low in her throat and her eyes start to flutter.
“Brody?” She whispers, still asleep.
“No, dear, it’s not Brody. He isn’t coming for you.”
Her eyes pop open, she looks around like she doesn’t remember where she is or how she got here. Finally, her eyes find him.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
“My arms hurt; can you please undo my chains?”
“I will. You have to promise me you are not going to try to run again.”
“If you take my arms down I promise I want try to run again.”
“Ok. Hold still.” He stands and unlocks the chains around her wrists, but he lets the chains hang from the wall as a reminder that he will use them again.
When Charlie’s arms are free she sits up straight on the bed, and tries to cover herself from my curious eye, as she rub the stiffness from her body. “Thank you.”
“I would like to examine you.” He says this as he digs in his bag. He brings out a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff.
“I’m fine, Michael, really.”
“It will take only a minute, relax.”
“Your heart rate is elevated, I wonder why that is?”
The look of anger that crosses over her features is amusing. Charlie has always been very emotional; happiness, sorrow, and anger all very easily read in her expressions. “I don’t know, Mike, maybe because you kidnapped me and have threatened to kill me. Oh. And let’s not forget that little shower scene. You make me sick.”
“Oh, Charlie, I thought with some time you would have come to your senses. You had all night to think about why you are here with me.”
“I know why I’m here with you, because you’re a crazy sick man.”
I stand, she truly doesn’t understand how I feel about her. “Charlie, how can you say things like that to me? Everything I’ve done I’ve done out of love for you. I wanted you to see that there is nothing I am not willing to do for you.”
“You rape and kill women, how is that for me?” She is screaming at me. “You make me sick.”
He grabs her by the shoulders and pushes her against the head board, slamming her head against the metal. “Shut up. Shut up, you stupid whore. I never would’ve done those things if you never left. You left me, and took every other man to your bed.”
“STOP! You’re hurting me.”
He stops and looks at her, his lip trembles, there are tears in his eyes. “Why do you make me hurt you? I just want to be with you like before.”
“There is no way for us to be together, I hate you.”
He punches her in the face like a man. “I was going to save you, now I am going to kill you.” The truth of her feelings seals her fate. If she won’t be with him, she won’t be with anyone.
CHAPTER 62
Sunday morning I find myself sitting at the table with Agent French. She is having coffee and looking at a list of florists in the area; explaining what questions to ask. I am going to be the one that calls, and finds out if any grow black roses. If they do I need to ask who has bought them in the last three months.
“So, how long have you and Charlie been a couple?”
“We aren’t a couple.” I am still looking at the web pages of florists as I answer her questions.
“You’re not? It seems like you guys have been a couple for a long time. You know a lot about her and her life.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Brody, I’m not trying to pry, or make you feel bad, or make you miss her even more. I am trying to get you to talk about her. I want you to remember the good, fight for the good, don’t sit here and get caught up in all the fed talk and police lingo, you need to fight for you and her.”
I look up and she is looking at me with so many feelings in her eyes I have to look away. “Who did you lose?”
“My daughter.” She looks away as she remembers. “She was 4, and the best little girl anyone could wish for. She has big brown eyes that could see into your soul.” She smiles, “She went to sleep one night, when I went into get her in the morning she was gone. I fell apart, lost control. I didn’t know where to look; we had no leads, t
here was nothing. I looked day and night. I only focused on the negative parts of what was happening, and I became more and more obsessed. I didn’t eat or sleep, I cut everyone out of my life except those who were helping to find her. When it was deemed a cold case, I buried myself in work and in my spare time I looked for her. My husband left me. One year after she disappeared, her body was found. She was in an abandoned car, in the next town over; about 40 minutes away. The man who took her was put in jail and I spent six months in a mental hospital. When I was there an old women who I became friendly with told me on her death bed, not to forget the good. If we live in the darkness we forget that there is light. I left the hospital the next week. I knew I had to remember all the good things in order to keep her memory alive; and to heal myself.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss” I have no idea what it’s like to lose a child, but I can imagine it is the hardest thing in the world.
“Thank you, I didn’t tell you that story to make you feel sorry for me. I want you to tell me something that makes you smile everytime you think about Charlie.”
I sit and think for a minute, everything she does makes me smile. I settle on a memory, “The morning I was going to take her for her driving test, I got up early and was on my way back to her room, when”
“You stayed over her house when you guys were in high school?”
“Yeah. I stayed over all the time. Anyway, when I went to open the door her mom jumps out of nowhere with her wooden spoon, and I run like a girl into Charlie’s room and cower in the corner. We had an argument the night before that she would never use the spoon on me, and here she is getting ready to beat me senseless. The whole time Charlie is sleeping. Her mom gives me an evil laugh and Char, finally opens her eyes just to laugh at me. I run out of the room and her mom smacks me in the ass with the damn spoon. Then she goes and kisses Charlie and tells her good luck. It was the first time she smacked me with the spoon but not even close to being the last.” I am smiling when I finish.
“See that wasn’t too hard, was it?” She reaches over and holds my hand and I let her because it feels nice to be comforted, “Now, tell me something about Charlie.”
“She always smells like strawberries. And lavender.”
“I bet that’s nice.” She squeezes my hand a little harder.
“Yeah, it is.” I take a big inhale and release it slowly. “I really need to find her.”
“I know. I know.” She stands to leave the room and wraps her arms around my shoulders in a quick hug.
A few hours later I am finished calling florists in the area and outside the area. I have come away empty handed. What is he doing, growing them himself? How would someone start a rose garden? Wouldn’t they need special equipment? I start to research how to grow roses.
First I discovered how time consuming and difficult it is to grow roses, period. Let alone a rare breed such as black roses. From everything I can find a true black rose does not exist. They are considered a deep, deep burgundy or red. The only way to get them black is to use dye. They didn’t look dyed to me.
“Patrick, do you guys still have the rose petals from the other day?”
He walks into the kitchen. “Yeah, why? We haven’t done anything with them. I was waiting until we got a little more information on them.”
“I think I have a little more information. There is no such thing as a black rose, so we need to see if they were dyed, and what kind of dye was used. We might be able to track down where it was bought.”
“I will send them to the lab and have someone look into it. Good work Brody, you want to join the force? I need a new partner.”
“Na, I’m good. I like computers, they don’t shoot at me.”
Laughing Patrick walks back into the other room leaving me alone with my thoughts and research. I continue with the greenhouse information. To grow roses in a greenhouse you have to keep the temperature at 70 degrees during the day and 60 degrees at night, once the buds reach the size of a pea.
The humidity needs to be regulated to 60% during the day and 40% at night. You can do this by alternating between a humidifier and de-humidifier. The regulated humidity will give the flowers bigger blooms.
The atmosphere also needs to have extra carbon dioxide added by the use of a CO2 generator. The generator burns natural gas, propane, and other liquid fuels to release carbon dioxide into the air.
Roses need at least 6 hours of natural sun light. You can use florescent light, but because light bulbs don’t use the same color spectrum as real sun light, a white light bulb is needed. Really dedicated growers can use High Intensity Discharge Lamps. They are expensive to use and expensive to buy. Most people stick with the white light florescent light bulbs. They are more economical.
I take notes of things to look into with just the flower end of it.
1. Who bought rose plants in the last 3 years
2. Dehumidifier and humidifiers, sale of, and who bought
3. Carbon dioxide generator; who sells them, who bought one
4. Look at high intensity discharge lamps
I am really excited about the light source. I think Michael would have bought a state of the art system. Money is no object. He would want the best for Charlie’s flowers. Hopefully we will find a link with the floral dye and someone who bought all the other supplies.
It all seems to clean. Michael doesn’t make mistakes. Why would he make so many on something like flowers? I hope it is as easy as it feels. I think if we just find the one thing to look at everything else will fall into place.
CHAPTER 63
The air is heavy and humid. It is so wet I can’t breathe easily. Every breath is like drawing air through a straw. It is dark; so dark I can’t see my hand in front of my face, not that I can raise my hands. I’m bond; for a second time. There is a cold metal cuff around my wrist. The cuff attaches to the wall by way of a thick metal chain. The chain is so heavy I can hardly lift my arms. My feet and legs are left free of any restraints, but are too weak to be of any use at the moment.
I can hear water dripping; somewhere. The constant drips; drip, drip, drip, are my only companion and slowly driving me crazy. I don’t know how long I’ve sat here in the dark losing my mind. It could have only been a few minutes or it could have been hours.
Once again I am naked. I don’t know why he keeps taking my clothes, to make me feel vulnerable, exposed, or just to humiliate me. He wants me to know he can do whatever he wants to me. My skin is covered in sweat, causing the all dirt floor to stick to me. The ground is hard underneath me. The walls feel like natural stone. I must be in an old building. Between the moist air and the dirt drying on my skin, I feel like things are crawling all over me. Not being able to see isn’t helping my imagination either.
My head is killing me. I think I have a concussion. I feel dizzy and nauseous, everytime I move my head searching for a sliver of light to appear; to give me the smallest amount of hope, that I was not left here to be forgotten. I have seen no such light and my hope is quickly abandoning me.
My jaw hurts when I try to open my mouth to call out. I stopped yelling a few minutes ago, when I realized no one was coming for me. No one can hear me. My throat is raw from the effort. I have had a fractured jaw from Michael before, and this feels very similar.
My right eye feels swollen shut; not that I can see anything to be able to tell. It is pulsating; matching the erratic beat of my heart. The pressure inside my eye socket feels like someone is trying to remove my eyeball. It isn’t painful, just extremely uncomfortable.