Trix

by Kate Morris

  “We need to track down this Kyle Archibald,” Jack said as they drove away. “He could fit. The other one seems way too young.”

  “Agreed,” Lorena said. “He’s a lonely nerd college kid. Nobody else is gonna pan out on those other leads, either. Archibald fits a lot better.”

  “So, we’re off to pay a visit to Archibald,” Craig said. “Let me get his last known.”

  “First, lunch,” Lorena said from the back seat.

  Jack laughed and turned east toward another of his favorite spots. She’d love it. The menu offered a variety of grease with a side of high cholesterol smothered in bacon and cheese.

  As he thought of the place and how much he and his friends used to enjoy going there for lunch while working cases when he lived in Portland, he wondered what Hailee was being offered for lunch, and it made his stomach turn. Was he even feeding her? Was this man so cruel that he wasn’t feeding her? Was it just enough to keep her alive because most of the women were emaciated? Would she be alive for very much longer? The clock was ticking. How much time did she have left before she bored him and ended up down by a river?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Trix

  Her text was luring me in like a fish to a worm. I was smarter than this, but it didn’t matter. There was something about Detective Evans that had me fascinated, more so than any other woman. She was also one of the few people I knew that had a higher I.Q. than me. She was trying to draw me out, get me to reveal something about myself that would allow her to catch me. I wasn’t a complete buffoon, but I did believe there was a special connection between us. And I wanted to share with her.

  I researched everything I could find on her over the internet from a secured site, one that the FBI would never think to look, and disappointingly had not come up with much. She was either off the grid or had purposely led a secretive life. This had me even more intrigued. I had to know more about her, and it seemed as if the only way I would get to do this was through communicating directly.

  Throughout my college years, I’d honed my skills and mastered the art of blending in. I knew I would need to do so in order to continue on in a professional career and still be able to have my fun on the side. I met my wife my senior year, an event I planned in order to add even more camouflage to my future life. Having a wife, house, dog, driving a Volvo, it was all manipulated down to the last detail in order to keep my secrets concealed. I volunteered, gave back to the community, went to church every Sunday, took the kids to soccer practice when I could, cooked burgers on the grill, and washed the car every Saturday. There was a side of me that I kept concealed, of course, but society would never understand this side and would prosecute me to the fullest extent of the law.

  The side they never saw owned multiple firearms, knives, and other sorts of weapons too gruesome to explain in mixed company. I knew how to tie the perfect knot so that a woman couldn’t get loose, but that also afforded me the ability to move her around where I needed her. I never befriended anyone for very long, especially men in case they could see that need inside of me that most women could not. I believed that most men had this monster inside of them, as well, this need to dominate and control women. Most of them had learned to suppress it, were taught at a young age that it was unacceptable to behave in such a way. I was never taught this.

  My college years were just as formative as any other young man’s. Since I never had access to such a plethora of books and such a magnificent library, I studied everything I could about people like myself. I was highly fascinated, mainly with myself, of course. But, without actually knowing what I was doing, I’d managed to fly under the radar and stayed out of prison for the few murders I’d already committed. Other people hadn’t gotten as lucky as me. So many of the world’s best serial killers were caught. I didn’t consider them in the same league as me. Many of them were born in other centuries. They didn’t have access to research, the internet, travel abilities, or as much money. These modern-day advances had also led me to a lifestyle in which I could still lead my double life. So, I studied hard, not necessarily everything that had to do with my major, though. I applied myself and worked diligently, made it through with top honors. I managed to kill six women while I was in college. However, while most young men were getting drunk and screwing every young sorority girl they could convince, I was busy crafting my trade.

  In college, I made sure not to stand out, not to miss too many campus parties, not to appear to be a loner-loser. On the nights when I left the school to find a victim, I made sure to check in somewhere to provide my alibi, whether it was a local club where all the kids went, the lab on campus, the local coffee shop. It was imperative to be marked as present somewhere so that the alibi would stick with witnesses who’d made a positive identification on me in those places. During all that time, my years at college, I’d only made one mistake.

  One night, a Saturday toward the end of my senior year, I’d taken my girlfriend, who would go on to become my blushing bride, to a party off-campus. We had dinner first, had gone to the house party where most everyone was drunk, stoned, or a combination of the two. I took her back to her own dorm by eleven thirty. I’d been a gentleman, as always, and walked her to her secure dorm and made sure she got in safely. Then I’d gone hunting. I drove into an area of town where good, decent citizens of the big city never ventured after dark. Even for Gainesville, it was hot and muggy that spring night. I spotted her quickly. She was a regular on the streets. I’d seen her, stalked and followed her for weeks. The license plate on my Honda Accord was not the one that matched the car, a risk if I got pulled over. However, that wouldn’t happen because I never sped, made sure every light was functioning correctly, and followed traffic laws. She was the one. I had to have her, and not just for ten minutes in an alley. I pulled to the curb, rolled down the passenger window and propositioned her. Naturally, being a homeless young woman who lived mostly in shelters, she accepted the offer. She told me where to drive to that was safe from being spotted by the cops. I followed her directions and then just kept going. I knew of a much more private location, I told her. The farther we got from the street she worked most nights, the more nervous she became. I assured her that I didn’t want to get nabbed by the police and blow my scholarship. She bought it enough to relax because I tapped my finger on the student i.d. badge hanging from the rearview mirror. We drove out into a more desolate, swampy area, a place I’d taken six other women. She would be my final conquest before graduating and moving from Florida. The location was perfect. Leaving the body to be cleansed by the water, I was quite sure that the gators pulled them eventually into those murky depths and finished what I was done with and had discarded like the filthy trash they were. I suggested we step outside for fresh air, and she complied. I offered her a joint I had hidden under the hood, taped and concealed in case of a search of the car. She was very interested in that idea. While she smoked the joint, I bent her over and fucked her on the hood of the Accord. I was smart enough to use a condom, not to leave evidence, and cover the traces of DNA that might be on her body. I never left evidence. I pulled the wire garrote from my pants pocket and slipped it around her neck. She immediately freaked out and started struggling. I tightened the wire, and she fought in earnest, managing to rear up and back. She was small but stronger than she looked. I stumbled over a rock behind me, and she got loose with the wire still around her neck. I lunged for her as I went all the way down with my pants in a tangled mess around my ankles. I was furious, enraged. I grabbed her ankle as she tried to run past me. She yanked it hard enough to wrench free. She got back in the passenger seat and snatched her bag as I pulled up my pants and got to my feet. I ran around the side of the car to get her, but she doused me with pepper spray. By the time I could see again a few seconds later, she was gone. I took a flashlight from my trunk and searched the wooded area around me. I looked for her for nearly an hour before I got back in my car and drove up and down the road searching. Once I drove the three miles
back to the downtown area, I scanned the city blocks where she worked. She was nowhere to be seen. I searched until dawn when I finally gave up and went back to my dorm.

  I tried not to panic, but every day I expected the police to show up at my dorm or in one of my classrooms to arrest me. It never happened. Either the whore didn’t go to the police, or she did and couldn’t make a positive identification and wasn’t believed. It worked to my advantage. I learned a lot that night. I would never again take a woman without the use of sedation first. I also learned to tie them while they were sedated and dispose of their belongings quickly. There were many things I learned that night, but most of all, I realized I couldn’t be impulsive or reckless unless I wanted to spend the rest of my life behind bars.

  I prepared the plate of food for my new toy; a sandwich- whole wheat, of course, since I wanted her healthy, a handful of baby carrots, a bottle of water, and vegetable soup. If she drank soda or juice before, she wouldn’t be allowed any now. I didn’t want her to get cavities, after all. Then all would be for naught.

  In the living room, I could hear the local news starting its midday report. I wanted to watch in case my new, favorite detective came on again. I doubted she would, but I also wanted to see if they would discuss me, too. The Tooth Fairy, or so the media had dubbed me. What a ridiculous name! Only the media would come up with something so mundane and unimaginative.

  Hurrying down the stairs, I unlocked the door connecting the stairwell to the rec room and let myself in. From there, I went to the back of the room and through the laundry area again. I unlocked that door, as well, and entered.

  “Lunchtime,” I announced.

  “Please, let me go!” Hailee cried out, her face a red, blotchy mess full of dried tears and mascara that had run more than once.

  “Now, now, you know that’s not an option,” I reminded her.

  Taking dumb women captive was easy. However, they did get on my nerves after a while with all their whiny repetition. They could’ve all had thriving careers in the media.

  I slid her tray on the ground toward her and backed away. I always backed away. The one time I hadn’t had almost been my undoing. That bitch. I showed her in the end.

  “Please, my dad will pay you. You know he will. He’s got a lot of money,” she pleaded again for the thousandth time.

  “You would do well, young lady, not to vex me. You’ve seen what happens when I’m vexed,” I reminded her.

  She cowered, scampered back to her spot in the corner on the cold concrete. Her feet were bare, but it was essential to keep them that way in case they got free. After that one bitch, I’d taken precautions to make sure none of them ever got away again.

  “Eat,” I ordered. “You need your strength. After lunch, we’ll have some fun.”

  She physically and mentally cringed. Hailee was getting on my nerves. She was practically untrainable. At first, I’d been up for the challenge, my perfect conquest. Now, I found her lack of enthusiasm and close-mindedness to learn something of a bother.

  I wondered on my way back upstairs if Lorena Evans would be willing to play new games. Her father had murdered her mother. That was fascinating. It was one more connection between us. I would bet anything that she’d be open-minded, intelligent, and uniquely challenging.

  I took the second platter of food to the living room where I could watch the news coverage. It was highly disappointing, although my pastrami on rye was not. I ate with ravenous abandon, not worrying about etiquette because there wasn’t anyone around to see. Learning proper manners had been a challenge I’d faced when first placed in foster care. I hadn’t known anything but the barbaric manners portrayed by my murderous father, and most of the time he was too drunk to cook us food. I’d managed on my own well enough, but it hadn’t taught me good manners or proper behavior. I learned some of that from my foster mother; however, most of it had to be self-taught from books. I knew that in order to cover my true identity of Trix, I needed to blend into society better than my father, better than men like Jeffrey Dahmer or Kaczynski. Seriously. A gay cannibal and a loner-loser who lived in the middle of nowhere off the grid? What were they thinking?

  Tomorrow was the last day I had to put in for the work week before I was free for a long three-day weekend. I told the wife I’d take the kids fishing, but I knew they’d refuse. That was a good thing. It would get me out of spending quality bonding and family time with people I could barely stand to be around.

  Earlier, I’d gone for a long run through the rough terrain of the surrounding forest. It had been exhilarating and refreshing. I wasn’t as young as I used to be, but I kept in top shape. It was just harder than when I was in my twenties. I used to be able to go for days without sleep, work out the bare minimum, eat whatever I wanted and still maintain a muscular physique. How I longed for those days again.

  I washed my plate, placed it back in the cupboard, and hummed a song as I went downstairs again. My pet was waiting for me. She was not excited to see me, but that didn’t matter. She was smart enough not to struggle when I removed what little clothing I permitted her to wear. Sometimes I had hope for humanity when one finally broke and yielded without fighting. These women even surprised me, not often, but occasionally. She didn’t struggle or resist. She knew there was no point. If she tried to, she knew I’d dose her with enough medicine to put her in a state of paralysis while I fucked her, which, for some odd reason, seemed to upset them worse than being present in their own bodies. I didn’t care one way or the other. They were there for one simple reason, and that was for my use.

  I slid on the condom and plunged into her supple body. She was thin, wasp-like and nubile. The way I liked them. She’d never allow me to do this if the situation were anything but what it was. She had a boyfriend. She was not ever going to be interested in me. It didn’t matter. I could take what I wanted from her without protest because protesting got them something they didn’t like even more than being fucked by me.

  “Open your eyes,” I ordered as I edged closer to climaxing.

  She did as she was told. Good lamb. She was a good listener, obedient and subservient.

  I pumped faster and slid my hands from her hips up to her throat. Her eyes widened. This wasn’t the first time I’d choked her. This time was different, though. I didn’t stop. I kept squeezing and tightening. Her eyes bulged with panic, and she started fighting me. She clawed and scratched and punched. Her legs kicked and flailed as I came within her. I squeezed harder until the life left her eyes and I finished my climax. It was beautiful.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lorena

  After lunch at a place called Bunk’s, where the food was delicious, hearty and filling, they got back on the road to find Kyle Archibald, who lived forty minutes northwest of the city. She got a text from Grace during lunch and was thankful and relieved to hear from her. So far, she’d been good about communicating, which was why Lorena agreed to let her have a phone in the first place. Her long hours at work demanded that she have a way of getting in touch with Grace at all hours of the day and night, even if she was staying with a friend down the street, at Bob’s or with the nanny she paid during the summer months. Grace thought it was ridiculous to have a nanny during the summer when she wasn’t in school, especially since she just walked down to her friend Chloe’s house most days, but Lorena had insisted. Ever since Juliette Nicholson had been in her home, had violated their safety and their secure neighborhood, Lorena amped up the security around her own home and had twenty-four-seven tabs on her niece’s whereabouts. Knowing that Grace was with her former partner and his wife made her rest a little easier. After Juliette shot him, Bob also stepped up the security at his own home.

  The rain picked back up with earnest as they drove north, and she took the time to review Kyle Archibald’s record. He was certainly not in his sixties like the stripper had said, and she couldn’t make a positive identification of him when they’d shown her an old mugshot. She told the FBI agent they�
�d sent to talk to her again that the man in the mugshot was definitely not the man she suspected of stalking Stephanie that night. It was someone else. Lorena wondered if another man, older, was their Trix. Either way, Kyle was still on their radar and would be looked into first. Lorena could see why the stripper would think he was older than his forty-one years, though. His hair was almost all white, obviously prematurely, and the lines marking his tan face made him appear older, as well. He was picked up for solicitation three times in the last five years, as well as a DUI. They weren’t significant crimes, not like murder, but they still counted for something, especially trying to buy hookers. Most of their victims were either strippers, prostitutes, or homeless women, or a combination of the three.

  They pulled up to a cedar sided home that was small, quaint, and in a neighborhood sparsely dotted with similar homes. There was a lake down below them where a dock held boats tethered. It was a nicer home and community than Lorena expected.

  “This is it,” Craig announced. “Says here he works full-time but on the midnight shift at a distribution center. That was six months ago when he was last picked up for solicitation. Let’s see if he’s home.”

  Lorena knew from his profile that he didn’t have children but was divorced after a brief, two-year marriage.

  She followed Craig and Jack to the house where Jack knocked on the door. Nobody answered, so Jack knocked again and then again twice more. She walked back the cement pathway toward the car and looked up at the house and then around at the neighborhood. It was private, lots of pine trees that were full, which helped conceal and hide homes away. His next neighbor over was about a hundred yards. Could he bring women here, though, without at least one or two neighbors noticing?