Together in Darkness

by Sloan McBride

  Lancaster grimaced, rubbing his hands over his face. “He did a number on that poor woman's body. Carved her up and pulled out her insides.” The memory of what he'd seen clearly showed on his face.

  "He's a fan of Jack the Ripper,” Jake solemnly replied, unsurprised by the graphic photos he pulled from the file. He'd seen everything this madman had done. The Surgeon always kept just beyond his grasp.

  Jake scoured the reports then microscopically examined the pictures. Another young woman with reddish-brown hair, approximately twenty-four years old, dead, her innocent blood used to scratch out the next line. Nothing happened. He scowled, closing the folder with a snap.

  The detective studied him. “From your expression, I'd say it looks familiar."

  "Yes.” Jake couldn't say what he really wanted to, how the pictures made him feel dirty and disgusted at the same time.

  "So, what now?"

  Jake focused on the man sitting across from him. “I'll move on to the next town or city as soon as I find the clue."

  "Clue?” Lancaster pulled the file back towards him.

  "Every time he kills, he leaves me something to let me know where he'll be heading next."

  Lancaster leveled a suspicious look on him. “Why?"

  "Because he and I are on a journey."

  The detective shook his head and let out a weary sigh. “I'd best go inform the Chief."

  "If you don't mind,” Jake said, “I'll stay a while to review the material. I need to find that clue."

  "Sure. Do you need anything? You look a little dragged out."

  Dragged out didn't begin to cover it, but Jake chuckled. “Some coffee if you have it."

  "I'll send some in."

  A couple of hours later, Lancaster stuck his head in the room. “Find anything?"

  Reports and photographs were spread across the entire surface on the table just as he'd left them. Jake propped his head on his hands, exhausted. “No."

  "How ‘bout I take you out for some lunch?"

  Jake stretched his arms overhead and leaned back in the padded chair he'd occupied all this time. “I could eat. Lord knows I need to move around."

  They walked across the street to Cameron's Restaurant. Lancaster slid into one side of the booth and ordered iced tea and the special. Jake asked for strong black coffee and a piece of apple pie. Lancaster shot him a strange look.

  "What?” Jake asked, knowing full well Lancaster questioned his choice.

  "None of my business."

  "Come on, Detective. You strike me as the type of person who is very straight-forward and knows more than he lets on. What's on your mind?"

  "It's kind of strange how you show up on my doorstep just hours before a murder, then spend more hours cramped in a tiny room searching for a clue that you haven't found,” the other man said, stirring sweetener into his tea. He looked up. “You concentrate hard and you scowl a lot. You've sucked down at least two pots of black coffee today, and yet, you only order a piece of apple pie."

  Jake wasn't fooled by the casual demeanor. Lancaster was sharp, and he'd have to stay a step or two ahead to keep the detective off guard. “Strange things happen. You should know that."

  When the food arrived, the two men sat quietly and ate. Jake finished long before the other man, and restlessness nagged at him. He needed something to take his mind off The Surgeon for a while.

  "So, how long have you been a detective?"

  "Twenty years,” Lancaster said through a mouthful of roast beef. “I worked in New York City for fifteen. As the crimes became more violent and bizarre, my wife gave me an ultimatum, so we moved here."

  Jake nodded his understanding. “Is she happier now?"

  "Seems to be.” The other man put another forkful of beef into his mouth.

  "Are you?"

  "Odd question,” Lancaster chuckled. “There aren't murders here very often. We sleep better."

  Jake smiled. “You're lucky."

  "Yes, I am."

  Jake took a last drink of his coffee and pushed his empty pie plate away. “Thanks. You've been real gracious about all this. Normally, I get the third degree and then some."

  "Hell, we're on the same side, aren't we?” The detective wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  "Sometimes people forget that,” Jake said with a shrug.

  "Well, if it'll make you any happier, you were discussed at length among the others."

  Jake raised an eyebrow. “What's the verdict?"

  "It's a toss-up between burnout or you really love your job.” Lancaster's face flushed, as if he was ashamed of spreading gossip.

  Jake's lips curved slightly. “Okay, let's go with those."

  Lancaster paid the check, and they went out to the sidewalk. “I'm going to head back to The Stern Trawler,” Jake told the other man. “I need a break."

  "All right.” Lancaster unhooked his sunglasses from his shirt.

  "Detective,” Jake called, as Lancaster headed toward the station. “Do you think I could visit the crime scene? Being there may help me find the clue."

  Lancaster kept walking, but called back over his shoulder, “I'll see what I can arrange."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  With trembling fingers, Allison dialed the phone. After the first ring, she slammed the receiver down. Rubbing her hands over her face, she paced the small entry hall before picking the French-style phone up again.

  "Nick,” she said when her brother picked up.

  "Ali, is that you?” Nick Brody's voice held surprise, and she pictured him, his dark hair mussed and a torn t-shirt on his slender frame.

  "Yeah.” What would she say now that she had him on the line? She twisted the phone cord around her index finger.

  "What's wrong?"

  His voice steadied her, and without hesitation, she said, “I'm having visions again."

  Nick had always accepted her gifts as a family tradition. “I thought you blocked those out.” It was a statement, not a question. He'd known how much she'd hated being a freak.

  "I did. At least I'd thought I'd never have to deal with them again,” she said with a groan. “These visions are different, though. I'm in his head."

  There was a moment of silence, before he asked, “Who?"

  "The killer. Haven't you heard the news reports?"

  "God, you mean the sicko who killed that girl?” he asked, sounding utterly confused. “What the hell does that have to do with you?"

  "It's hard to explain. But, something's happened."

  "Are you all right?” His worried tone held warmth, making her want to release the tears burning the back of her eyes.

  A bitter smile curved her lips. “I've seen Yanni, too."

  "Wow, this is serious.” With a chuckle, he said, “Tell the old girl I said hi."

  "He's making a list, Nick.” She shivered, remembering how he'd watched, how she'd watched and knew his thoughts.

  "You saw it?” Somehow he made it sound so natural, as if everyone could do it.

  "I've seen him watching them. I've been there."

  "Call the police.” Even now, it sounded reasonable when he said it, but she knew what she had to do, what the police and everyone else would think.

  "And tell them what?"

  Nick was quiet. He didn't have an answer to that. He knew how people had treated her.

  "What are you going to do?"

  Trust him to focus on the one thing that frightened her most, being around people and exposing herself to ridicule. A cold dread settled in her stomach. She would do that which she'd sworn never again to attempt. “Offer my help to the police."

  "Ali!” Nick's astonished concern was evident when he spoke her name.

  "If I'm connected to him, I can help stop him."

  "I'll be back in town tomorrow morning.” There was a short pause. “Ali, are you sure you want to do this?"

  "No—yes, I'll be fine.” Even to herself she didn't sound convincing. “I
'm a big girl, Nick."

  "Be careful, Ali. Be very careful."

  Allison slowly put down the receiver, feeling like her life had taken a sharp turn, a wrong turn.

  "I am a big girl now.” She brushed aside the overwhelming nausea and went upstairs to dress.

  * * * *

  The victim's house was in a residential area off Myrtle Square. The oak trees in the cemetery were beginning to show the colors of fall. Lancaster parked in front of the house and got out. Jake breathed deeply and opened his consciousness to the emotions lingering where violence had taken place—fatigue, joy, excitement, then a sudden jolt—panic, hearts hammering, pulses racing and above it all, the lust of the killer.

  Jake's eyes popped open. Lancaster leaned against his tan Crown Victoria, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. The dents, the cracked taillight, and the missing pieces of side molding gave the car as much character as its driver.

  Lancaster's right brow rose. “Is this how the FBI works a case? I'm not criticizing, mind you, I'm just curious.” His grin overtook his face.

  An easy smile played at the corners of Jake's mouth. He liked the man, sensing a good heart and strong intent for justice in Lancaster.

  Jake shrugged. “Did I forget to mention that I'm a profiler? We're a rare breed."

  "I'm sure of that.” The other man pushed away from the car, chuckling. “So what now?"

  "I need to get in there where he killed her."

  As soon as Jake entered the house, he could see it as it had been that night. Since forensics had finished, he only wore surgical gloves and walked where he wanted. Careful to stay as close to the killer's path as possible, Jake tuned in to the sounds, sights, smells, all mixed together in a flurry of motion out of control. He moved slowly, sweat beading his forehead and dripping down his back.

  The house smelled of death.

  Deep in the killer's thoughts, anger and fury hammered him mercilessly. Five scenes already and none had overwhelmed him like this one. Something different led him on. Tension and anxiety were all too familiar when he profiled a case. His mind worked through the unforeseen problems, making his head ache. He had a unique ability, a curse, if you will, to get inside the mind of a madman and pull at his deepest secrets and emotions.

  Jake ignored Lancaster's watchful eyes as he moved deeper into the house. Wavering as he stood at the foot of the bed, Jake envisioned The Surgeon gleefully dipping his fingers into the victim's blood and scrawling the next message on the wall. You lied to me. Tangling with the killer's emotions, Jake balled his hands into fists and fought to open his eyes. Pull away, Jake, pull away. He called upon all his mental strength and will to keep from getting lost in the madness.

  A minute or two later, after having wrangled himself back, Jake wandered around the room fingering trinkets and rifling through clothes in a desperate search for a hint to the next destination.

  Nothing.

  Walking down the hall, he glanced at pictures of the family, children in different stages of their life. The vic's parents were called back from vacation and told their daughter had been murdered in their home. This loving environment would now be haunted by a gruesome act. Would they continue to live in this house?

  Upstairs, drops of blood dotted the sink in the bathroom where The Surgeon had cleaned his hands and blade. Black powder-coated surfaces, added to the horror effect.

  After a tour around the entire house, Jake absorbed every thought and emotion imprinted there. He examined the VCR, the stereo, the answering machine. Not that the police hadn't done a thorough job, he just needed to do it. When he ended up back in the living room, Lancaster stood waiting.

  "Well?"

  "Nothing.” His fierce frown caused wrinkles in his forehead.

  "You look puzzled."

  Absently running his hands over his face Jake said, “Something's wrong."

  Lancaster tensed. “I'd say there's something definitely wrong. Just look around you."

  "It's different somehow."

  "How so?"

  Jake raked his fingers through his hair. “I didn't find the clue, the message he always leaves me."

  "There's a pretty clear message written on the bedroom wall."

  Jake shook his head. “Not that. He always leaves a subtle hint on where he'll go next."

  The detective looked skeptical. “Always?"

  "Always."

  "And it's not here?"

  "No.” Jake started toward the front door. “It doesn't make sense."

  "Tell me anything about this makes sense."

  "It does to him, Detective."

  On the return drive, Jake appreciated the sight of the picturesque fishing village, wrought with 250 years of history. A fisherman statue hailed visitors to come and admire the beauty of the inlet. Tiny boats dotted the horizon. At around eleven, he followed behind Detective Lancaster through the sparsely furnished lobby of the police station. Jake barely glanced at the brunette sitting on one side of the room, but it seemed every nerve in his body had suddenly been electrified. The desk officer caught Lancaster coming through the inner door.

  "Bill, the young lady in the lobby has been asking to see you."

  "Me?” Lancaster acted surprised by the message.

  "Well, she asked for the detective working on the murder case."

  Lancaster shrugged. “Seems to be going around.” He turned to Jake. “Why don't you go on back to the conference room? I'll join you in a few minutes."

  Jake nodded and headed down the hallway.

  * * * *

  "I'm Detective Lancaster,” a haggard-looking man said as he came toward her.

  Allison raised her eyes and, with a tentative smile, she rose. “Hello, Detective. I would like to speak with you about the recent murder."

  "Yes, ma'am. Do you have some information?"

  She fumbled with her purse, suddenly nervous now that she was here and angry with herself for it. “Can we speak privately?"

  "Okay.” Detective Lancaster motioned her to the door and held it open. Carefully avoiding any physical contact, she followed him down a slim, dismal hallway.

  Allison entered the conference room and found another man sitting at the table. She stopped short, causing the detective to bump into her and almost knock her down. He peered over her shoulder and cleared his throat.

  "This is Special Agent Jake Austin. He's with the FBI. We're working together on this case. I thought it best that he be in on any conversations."

  Allison's gaze shifted between both men. The younger man had a vibrant aura, an intensity that shook her nerves. Dark features so compelling they stole her breath and green eyes so deep in color, they were hypnotic. Dangerous came to mind. “I understand.” Did it suddenly get twenty degrees hotter in the room?

  The agent rose and gestured to a chair he'd pulled out. “Please have a seat, Miss."

  "Allison. My name is Allison Brody."

  "Okay, Ms. Brody. What can we do for you?"

  He moved back, but didn't sit down. She hesitated a moment. “Thank you for seeing me. I—I want to offer my assistance."

  "What kind of assistance?” Lancaster asked. He took a seat at the end of the long table.

  Allison clasped her fingers to steady her hands and kept her head lowered, unsure of what to say next. Deciding to just spit out the truth, she said, “I've been having visions of the murders."

  A quick look passed between Austin and Lancaster, not totally unexpected. She glared at the federal agent, sensing doubt strongest in him. Their doubt radiated through her like a sickness. She remained remarkably calm while saying, “Think what you like gentlemen, but it will not change the facts."

  "Not to be disrespectful, ma'am, but I'm sure you understand our skepticism.” Lancaster smiled, as if to take the sting from his words.

  Allison sighed heavily, far too familiar with the cynical minds of people, especially those in the police department.

  "Yes, Detective, I do. It's not the first time I'v
e dealt with it."

  Austin remained stoically silent, but studied her with cynical eyes. She felt like a freak under his incessant stare.

  "What is it you think you've seen?” the detective asked.

  She forced herself to go on. “I've had flashes of places I recognize and a ... a woman's face."

  "What did this woman look like?"

  "Reddish hair, brown eyes, young."

  Massaging his neck with one hand, Jake Austin finally spoke. “That could describe anyone."

  Allison ignored his comment and spoke directly to Detective Lancaster. “It was here, in Gloucester. I recognized the buildings. I saw things through his eyes."

  "His?” Austin's voice sounded suspicious, with an undercurrent of anger that sent shudders across her shoulders.

  "The killer.” She gave the outward appearance of being calm but butterflies were like dive bombers in her stomach. Something about the agent unnerved her. It almost seemed ... familiar.

  Austin moved to the windows. “Can you tell us where he is, what he looks like?"

  Allison's narrowed gaze settled on him. He didn't trust her. She frowned. “No. I told you, I see things through his eyes."

  "Do you know what his plans are? What direction he's heading? Who his next target is?” Austin fired off the questions fast, like he wanted to shut her up or maybe scare her away.

  Allison knew the killer's future plans. He was scouting out his next victim. That's why she'd come to help, but she couldn't give them anything ... yet. How could she hope to explain when they already thought she was batty? “I can't."

  "Then I think we'll stick to good old-fashioned police work,” the younger man said with a sneer. “You know, looking for leads, evidence, using instinct."

  His arrogant attitude pissed her off. She clenched her teeth and hands, praying for strength. “Yes. I can see you've done real well so far. Sixth time lucky!"

  Startled by her outburst and a little disconcerted, Allison jumped up, certain no more could be accomplished here. “I can see I've made a mistake in coming. I've taken up enough of your time.” While reaching for the door, the bulb in the lamp next to her popped. Both men looked from her to the lamp. Not fast enough for her raggedy nerves, Allison threw open the door and hurried out before something else exploded.