One (Count to Ten Book 1)

by Jane Blythe

  Vanessa watched as her dad took her mom’s arms and led her from the room, her mom casting her one last disappointed look before they disappeared up the stairs. Vanessa would have protested more, would even have run back off to find Vince and seek comfort in his big, strong arms, but her stomach was pitching forward, and she could only manage to just make it to the downstairs bathroom before she threw up.

  As she splashed water on her face, she studied her reflection in the mirror. “I hate them, too,” she consoled herself. “I hate them and I am not going to let them ruin the rest of my life by taking Vince away from me.”

  MAY 10th

  1:26 A.M.

  His diversion had worked perfectly.

  The police had wasted an entire day investigating the fire, probably coming up with all sorts of theories as to why he’d done it. He didn’t really care what the police thought as long as they were preoccupied with that and not with trying to figure out what he was going to do next.

  Chuckling to himself, really it was who he was going to do next.

  Letting himself inside house number four, he headed for the kitchen, not because he expected to find anyone there but because he suddenly found himself overwhelmingly hungry. Opening the refrigerator, he rummaged around, then settled on some cold risotto and fixed himself a snack. Pouring a glass of soda, he took his snack and settled on the softest, spongiest sofa he’d ever sat on and began to chow down.

  He had never thought of himself as serial killer material.

  Growing up, he had been happy and well adjusted. His dad had been absent, but he and his mom had been happy together. At school he’d been popular, smart, and good at sports. He’d had plenty of friends and, thanks to his good looks, plenty of girlfriends.

  In his past, no shrink would find any of the so-called indicators of a serial killer. He hadn’t been abused as a child, his father had abandoned him but his mom had never been the domineering kind. Instead, she was kind and gentle and he had loved her deeply. His family had no psychiatric, alcoholic, or criminal history, and he had no trouble holding down a job. He hadn't been bullied as a child, he hadn't wet his bed, or been interested in sadomasochistic pornography or fetishes. For enjoyment as a child he hadn't tortured animals or started fires, and he hadn't ever been involved in committing petty crimes.

  He had become who he was now because of what others had done to him.

  If it wasn’t for the actions of those on his list, then he would never have turned into a murderer.

  It was on them.

  They had created this side of him, and although he would never have thought that taking a human life could be anything other than horrific, now that he had tried it, he realized how much it invigorated him.

  Now he was a murderer in every sense of the word.

  All he could think of was his next kill. Of the sight of the blood. Of the feel of it on his skin. Of the feeling of control and power that flushed through him as he took the life of another human being.

  He liked killing. And even though he’d started this plan to get revenge on those who had ruined his life, he now knew that he was never going to stop. Even when this was finished, he was going to keep killing.

  He finished off his snack. As fun as it was pondering how he had become this monster, a lot more fun was awaiting him upstairs. Prancing up the stairs, he pulled his knife from its sheath in the belt around his waist. Pausing at the window at the top of the stairs, he lifted his knife to catch the moonlight on its smooth blade. Tonight was going to be different than the others.

  Tonight was going to be a lot more fun.

  * * * * *

  2:39 A.M.

  Annabelle was too restless to sleep.

  Already she had lain awake for a couple of hours, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out if she knew anyone who hated her or her family enough to do all of this. She wasn’t quite sure whether the possibility that some complete stranger had targeted her family randomly, or that she might actually know and trust the killer, was scarier. And the more she thought about it, the more afraid she became.

  Not for the first time, she was glad of Xavier’s solid presence in the bed beside her. It was so comforting to have his arms wrapped loosely around her, his breath whooshing across the back of her neck, and knowing that if she awoke from another nightmare he would be there to hold her until she stopped shaking and crying.

  Annabelle didn’t know how she would have gotten through the last few days without him. She wasn’t happy about that, but neither did she want to do anything about it. She knew it wasn’t a good idea to get too attached to Xavier, because even though he was interested in her, and she was even starting to become interested in him, it didn’t matter because when this was over, when he had found the killer, then she would walk away.

  It made her sad to think of not having Xavier in her life anymore, even if she had only known him less than a week, and they hadn't gotten off to the ideal start. Even though it scared her to admit how dependent she had become on him, she had to admit that it was nice to know that there was someone she could count on.

  She was also going to miss days like the pleasant afternoon they’d had. At the hospital, Xavier had held her hand until she fell asleep, and he’d been right by her side when another bad dream had ripped her from sleep. Annabelle wondered whether she’d ever be able to sleep through the night again. When the hospital had released her, Xavier had taken her out for dinner before bringing her back to his house, where he had been true to his word to not do anything that made her uncomfortable. Once again, he’d put on a movie, and although he’d sat beside her on the couch, he had been careful to keep his distance. In the end, it had been she who slid closer and initiated physical contact. He had responded by lightly placing his arm around her shoulders, but she had felt him shudder when she’d nestled her head against his neck.

  This time he hadn't bothered to ask her which room she was spending the night in. When the movie was over, he simply took her hand and led her to his bed. Annabelle knew that Xavier had lain awake for hours, wanting to be ready to console her when she woke from another nightmare. Even though she hadn't wanted to fall asleep, the fire had exhausted her and before she’d known it, she had drifted off to sleep.

  She hadn’t slept for long, and when she had awakened, she’d found that Xavier had finally fallen asleep. She didn’t want to wake him, but she needed something to do to occupy her mind. Annabelle was so tired of thinking about that night, trying to perfectly recall the man’s face and voice, of picturing her family’s bodies, of reliving the terror of being trapped inside her burning home. She wanted to think of something else.

  As carefully as she could Annabelle wiggled out from underneath Xavier’s arm, trying hard not to disturb him, and pattered down the hall. She fixed herself some hot cocoa and flopped down in a chair in Xavier’s den, her eyes roaming the room in search of a distraction. Her gaze settled on his computer, and the wheels in her head began to turn.

  Annabelle felt exposed, both physically and emotionally, in front of Xavier. Not only had he seen her naked, but he knew so much about her. He had talked to everyone who knew her—her neighbors, colleagues, friends—in the course of his investigation into her family’s murders and he had learned a lot about her. Yet she knew next to nothing about him. Maybe if she knew a little more about him, who he was and how he had become that person, she might feel a little better about things. Plus, it would give her something to do.

  Taking her drink with her, she switched the computer on and waited. There was only one thing from Xavier’s past that she could think of that might reveal to her more of who this man who was interested in her really was. There had to be a reason why Xavier would take an interest in her, not only a complete stranger but also a victim in one of his cases, and she was pretty sure what that reason was.

  Julia.

  His wife.

  His wife who there was pretty much no trace of anywhere in the house. In the few days she’
d been here, Annabelle hadn't seen any of the little indicators that a woman had once lived here. There were no pretty pictures hanging on the walls, no decorative pillows on the couches, or ornaments on shelves, and there was not a single photo of Julia anywhere. It was like the woman had completely disappeared off the face of the planet and out of Xavier’s life. Whatever Julia had done, it was like it had caused Xavier so much pain that he now had to pretend that she had never existed at all.

  Annabelle was almost positive that if she could find out everything that had happened with Julia, then she would come to understand Xavier’s attraction to her. He had told her that he and Julia had been married for two years and that she had been raped.

  At the thought of rape, Annabelle had to stop and take several deep breaths to keep from passing out. She knew that at some point she was going to have to deal with what had happened to her, but right now she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

  Pushing that away, she returned her thoughts to Xavier’s wife. He had said that after her rape Julia had done something. Apparently Julia hadn't told anyone that she had been sexually assaulted, not even her husband, and she had done something horrible. Something so horrible that Xavier had been unable to move past it.

  What had Julia done?

  Had she committed suicide? Had she tried to exact her own revenge on the man who had hurt her? Had she lashed out at her husband and blamed him?

  Whatever it was, Annabelle intended to find out.

  Jumping onto the World Wide Web, she opened up Google and typed in Julia Montague. From there, it didn’t take her long to start connecting the dots as all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. And she had to admit that she could see why Xavier had described Julia’s actions as ones that had almost destroyed all their lives.

  Within minutes, Annabelle had a pretty good understanding of just what Xavier was hoping to accomplish by instigating a relationship between the two of them. She was so absorbed in taking in all of this information that she hardly registered the ringing of the phone. Nor the footsteps that sounded as Xavier searched the house for her. It wasn’t until he entered the room that she managed to kick her brain back into gear.

  “Annabelle, everything okay?”

  “Fine,” she stammered breathlessly, just managing to bring up a new window as he came up beside her.

  “Are you sure?” he hooked a finger under her chin and nudged her face up. “You look pale; did you have another nightmare?”

  “No, I just couldn’t sleep,” she forced herself to smile. “I hope you don’t mind me using your computer, I was just looking for something to do to take my mind off things.”

  “Of course I don’t mind,” he assured her with only a hint of reproach.

  “Was that the phone ringing?” she tried to shift the conversation away from herself.

  “Yeah.” His intent hazel gaze becoming apologetic.

  She sighed, “He’s killed again?”

  “Yes.”

  “When is this going to end?”

  “I don’t know, honey.” His hand left her chin to cup her face, gently stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. “But Kate and I will find this man, and even though it won’t fix things, it will at least give you the peace of knowing he’s not out there anymore.”

  She nodded, but what Annabelle really wanted was for Xavier to leave. She needed to sort out in her head what she’d just read and what Xavier wanted from her.

  “Are you going to be okay here?” he continued. “An officer is coming over to keep an eye on you. I don’t want you alone.”

  The possessive way he said that made her tingle, but she reminded herself of his ulterior motives. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him.

  “All right then, I have to go. I’ll call to check on you later.” He dipped his head to kiss her then pulled away when she didn’t return it. Puzzled and concerned, he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m okay.” She was fighting back tears now. “Go, Xavier.”

  He remained unconvinced. “Call me if you need me.”

  Watching him go, Annabelle waited until she heard the front door close before she let herself cry. She had allowed herself to start to fall for Xavier, even though she’d known it was a mistake, even though she’d continued to tell herself that she didn’t date. She had let herself start to dream of a future with the prince charming she had wished for as a little girl.

  Now she didn’t know what she was going to do.

  One thing she was sure of, though; she was not about to let herself be used to assuage someone else’s guilty conscience.

  * * * * *

  3:17 A.M.

  “Either this guy is losing it or he’s enjoying killing people way too much for my liking.” Diane met them at the front door of the Littleton house.

  “It’s worse than the last one?” Xavier was trying to focus, but he couldn’t get Annabelle’s face out of his head. Something had been wrong when he’d left, and he wished he’d had more time to figure out what it was.

  “It’s not even in the same category,” Diane replied.

  Entering the house felt like entering hell.

  The killer had painted huge, grotesque love hearts on every wall. “Is that…?”

  “Blood?” Diane inserted. “Yes, it is.”

  “The Littletons?” Kate asked.

  “We’ll test it, but my guess is yes.”

  “How did he get so much of it?” Xavier couldn’t help but stare at all the blood on the walls.

  “You'll see when we get upstairs,” Diane answered grimly.

  “It looks like he had fun down here.” Kate pointed to the dozens of bloody footprints that crisscrossed the room. Tiny drops of blood splattered the carpet around the footprints. It looked like the killer had covered himself in blood and then ran races with himself around the house.

  “He had even more fun upstairs.” Diane reluctantly began the hike up the steep staircase that branched off from the kitchen.

  Almost as reluctantly, he and Kate followed, carefully avoiding treading on the bloody marks left behind as the killer had marched up and down the stairs. Xavier wondered how the killer had managed to top himself this time. When he stepped off the last step, it was instantly evident how their guy was increasing his own enjoyment with his sick game.

  They were standing in a square room around which five doors sat open. The space appeared to be used as a home theatre room with a huge TV screen against one wall, a set of shelves were stacked with movies, and thick curtains hung at the windows that Xavier was pretty sure would completely block out light. Four of the five open doors led to bedrooms. Ken and Kitty Littleton’s room was the first on the left. The next one belonged to their oldest daughter Kaitlin, aged 17. The room on the far right belonged to youngest daughter, thirteen-year-old Kerralyn. Next was middle daughter Koral’s room; the fifteen-year-old had spent the night at a friend’s and had yet to be notified of the fate of her family.

  Perched in front of each open bedroom door sat the lifeless body of the room’s occupant. Ken, Kitty, Kaitlin and Kerralyn were all missing their eyes, hands and tongues just as the previous victims had been, only this time the missing body parts hadn't been left with the bodies.

  That wasn’t the only thing the killer had done differently this time. This time he had been a lot more elaborate in his treatment of the bodies. Yes, he had slit their throats, Xavier was pretty sure that would end up being cause of death, but this time the killer hadn't stopped there. This time he had sliced off their clothes and repeatedly stabbed the bodies. Not just in the torso, but all over. There were knife wounds to the legs, arms and head, probably dozens of them.

  Not only had the killer gone berserk on the bodies, but he had also used them to further his seeming enthrallment with blood. Each member of the Littleton family was covered in streaks of dried blood, and from the splattered patterns on the floor, it looked like the killer had painted his victims in blood and then rolled them around.
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br />   “There’s more in the bathroom.” Diane led them to the middle of the five doors.

  Inside the bathroom there was a pile of electrical tape by the door, it was spotted with blood and when he bent to look at it, Xavier could see brown hairs stuck to the sticky side. One of the glass walls of the shower had been shattered into a thousand tiny glass raindrops, and in front of the bath there was a puddle that he guessed to be urine.

  The bath itself was filled with blood. It dripped down the sides and pooled on the floor. On the sides of the bath he could see what looked like brush marks and he understood what Diane had said downstairs.

  “This is where he got the blood.” Xavier took a step closer. “He must have killed them in the bath to catch the blood so he could use it to decorate the house.”

  “Then painted it all over the Littleton family so he could play with it some more,” Kate added.

  “This is one sick guy.” Diane looked disgusted.

  “He’s also getting more brazen.” Kate looked around the room. “He killed them all in here which meant that this time they were awake and aware of his presence and what he was planning to do.”

  “I think he started with the youngest daughter, Kerralyn.” Diane led them out of the bathroom, past the teenager’s body and into her room. “Signs of a struggle,” she indicated the mussed bed and the lamp and clock that had been knocked off the bedside table.

  “Looks like he used her to coerce the others into doing what he wanted,” Xavier thought aloud. “He picks the smallest and weakest, wakes her up, maybe holds the knife to her throat, drags her into the other rooms, threatens to hurt her if the others don’t obey him.”

  Kate picked up the thread, “Then he takes them all into the bathroom,” Kate continued, “because he wants to collect the blood and the bath is the best place to do that.” She retraced her steps to the bathroom, he and Diane following. “Maybe he gets the mom or dad, or the other daughter, to tie up the others with the tape. Then he makes them watch while he kills them one by one.” She indicated the puddle of urine on the floor by the bathtub.