by Willow Rose
The masked person pointed the gun at them, then spoke.
"Put the children in the bathroom and close the door. Now."
Josef's mother whimpered. She had left the fridge open, and it was now making that annoying noise to tell her so. She shut it, then ran to Mark and Josef and grabbed them by their necks. "Come with me, boys. Hurry."
"But…Mom?" Josef whined.
His mother pushed him toward the bathroom. "I'll be fine. Don't worry. Just get in there. Now."
Mark obeyed and hurried inside the bathroom, where he sat on the toilet bowl, his legs shaking, whereas Josef hesitated. He started to cry and held onto his mother.
"I don't wanna go, Momma. I wanna be with you, Momma; I wanna stay here with you."
"Just do as I tell you to, and we'll all be fine," his mother said, but even to a five-year-old, her words weren't very convincing. "Now, go. Lock the door after you."
"But…but Momma…" Josef wailed, but his mother didn't want to hear any more. She pushed the boy inside the bathroom, then slammed the door shut.
Josef screamed and sprang for the handle, but she held it closed. Mark then rushed up and locked it, using the hatch high up that Josef couldn't reach.
"Momma! Momma! Momma!" Josef screamed and hammered on the door as hard as he could, till the blood was pounding in his hands.
After that, he slid to the cold tiles, crying. Behind the door, he could hear the masked person and his momma speaking.
"What do you want?" his momma asked. "Is it money? I have some stashed in the bedroom. In the back of my closet. You can take all of it, if only you spare our lives. At least the children."
"I am not here for money," the voice behind the mask answered.
"Then why are you here?" Josef's mother asked. Her voice was shivering the same way it had when the doctor at the hospital had told her that Josef's dad wasn't going to wake up again after he had fallen in the bathroom. It was his heart, they said. It happens, they also said. It was one of the few things Josef remembered from that time since he had only been four years old. But his mother's shivering voice when she spoke to the doctors while thinking he was too young to understand, he would never forget.
"You…y-you want sex?"
The man behind the mask started to laugh. It was a sound so chilling, it made Josef feel cold.
"I am not here for sex either, no," the masked person said.
"T-then why are you here?"
"Let me get you a glass of water to calm you down," he said. "You're getting upset."
Josef could hear him open the cabinet and grab a glass. He then heard the water run from the fridge.
"Here," the masked man said.
Next followed a silence and Josef was certain he could hear his mother drinking the water, but maybe he was just imagining it. Josef calmed down a little when realizing that this guy was being nice to his mother, that he was actually being nice to her. Maybe he didn't want to be mean to them? Maybe he was actually a nice man?
Josef breathed a sigh of relief when the glass was put down on something, probably the counter. Josef looked at his brother sitting on top of the toilet bowl. He had pulled his legs up under his chin and was shaking, staring blankly into the air.
Josef felt like comforting him. He wanted to tell him it was going to be all right. This guy didn't want money or…sex. He had just given their mother a glass of water, and he spoke very calmly and didn't yell at all or anything, not like that guy living down the street who had yelled at Josef for skateboarding in front of his house. He was nothing like him, and that was good, ‘cause that guy was mean. He was really mean. This guy was nothing like that.
But Josef didn't get to open his mouth and utter the words before he heard something else coming from the other side of the door. The words that fell—and felt like someone ripped out Josef's heart—came from the masked man.
"I'm here to kill you."
Josef rose to his feet as he heard thudding and thumping noises from the other side of the door. Groaning and bumps were followed by muffled screams. It sounded exactly like when Mark occasionally would put a pillow over Josef's head and hold him down until their mother intervened.
The sounds made Mark stop whimpering and walk to the door. He put an ear to it, and they listened to their mother fighting for her life. When the fighting stopped, they both began screaming.
Josef screamed his momma's name so loudly it hurt his own ears, while Mark sank to his knees. In the distance, their mother's cell phone rang. Josef slammed his fists into the door when suddenly there was a scratching noise coming from the other side, and he stopped. Josef stared at the door. He was barely breathing, and his legs were threatening to give in beneath him. Then he felt a warm gust of air coming through the keyhole and brushing his arm. He heard what sounded like heavy breathing. It reminded Josef of that sound that the evil guy made when breathing behind his black mask in those old Jedi-movies that his brother had made him watch, even though their mother had told him Josef wasn't old enough.
Josef gasped, then approached the keyhole and peeked out of it. On the other side, an eye was looking back at him, one that was steel grey like a wolf's. Josef pulled back, shaking, as the man on the other side whispered:
"Remember. You were the one who let me in. You're the one who opened the door for me. Don't you ever forget that, my boy."
Chapter 34
August 2018
I looked at the mountain of lunchboxes in front of me, then wondered when exactly my life had come to this.
With a deep sigh, I turned to look at my crew of kids, who were eating breakfast. I had gotten up at five thirty to make them pancakes and bacon and to make all the lunches. It wasn't even seven o'clock, and already I was exhausted. I still had an entire workday ahead of me.
I was going to need a lot of coffee.
It didn't help much that I had slept terribly. I kept tossing and turning, thinking about Shannon. I had tried to call her again later in the evening before bedtime when I thought her concert was done for the night, but she hadn't answered. She was probably partying with her manager, publicist, and the press at some fancy after-party.
As Austin and Abigail broke into yet another fight, their third this morning, I couldn't help but envy Shannon. She was out there in the world, being catered to and having her every need met. They even had fresh flowers put out for her every time she entered the dressing room of a new stadium, she had told me. She got pampered at nice restaurants and lived in hotels where she didn't even have to do her own laundry. Meanwhile, I was drowning in dirty shorts and this morning Abigail had yelled at me for not having her favorite shirt clean in time for her to wear.
"I always wear my red surf-shirt on Mondays," she had said. "Always. Now I have nothing to wear! Do you want me to go to school naked?"
I had found the shirt in the bottom of one of the piles, then smelled it. There were no stains on it, but it did smell kind of moldy. I then grabbed one of Shannon's perfumes and sprayed it all over the shirt, then handed it to Abigail. "Here. I'll wash it later."
She had answered with a grunt, then put on the shirt, and now I was looking at her in the crinkled shirt, soaked in perfume so bad that it was stinking up the entire house and made Austin hold his nose—which they were now arguing about.
What have I become?
As the clock turned seven-ten, each of the kids grabbed their lunches and trotted out the door where the school bus picked them up. Tyler and I stood in the front yard and waved at them, me secretly breathing in relief. I had survived yet another of these chaotic mornings. That, in itself, was quite the accomplishment.
"Now that they're all gone, we can have a nice, quiet breakfast before I take you to the preschool," I said and put him down.
We held each other's hands and walked back inside, where we were met by a mess of plates with half-eaten pancakes. A glass of orange juice was tipped over and had spilled all over the counter and even soaked a roll of paper towels. Some of it was d
ripping onto the floor and had left a small puddle.
Tyler giggled and ran to his toys that he had thrown in a pile in the living room, while I made myself some much-needed coffee.
Chapter 35
She asked me if she could smoke a cigarette first. I had tied her up, but the request was so unusual, I agreed to let her do it. Just so she would know she was at my mercy. Maybe she thought she could appeal to me like that, maybe talk me out of my intentions, and I decided to play along with it for a little while, mostly for my amusement. I forgot to tell her that I don't have a softer side. It is funny, though, how people often think they can talk their way out of me killing them. As if the decision hadn't already been made long ago. As if I had a choice not to kill them. What they don't seem to understand is that I am not human. Not the way they are. I am a freak of nature. A mistake. And the only way to stop me is to put me down.
The woman I was about to kill sat in the kitchen, smoking, breathing in puffs, her hands shaking heavily while we talked. I told her all the things I would do to her and, to my surprise, she didn't even try to escape or scream. She simply nodded while smoking. As she killed the cigarette in the ashtray and blew out the last of the smoke, she turned her head and looked at me. It was so beautiful. Like she gave herself to me.
And then I killed her.
I wrapped a plastic bag around her head, then tied a rope around her neck, and tightened it. I looked into her eyes as she fought to breathe. And then I killed her children the same way.
I was never happier than in those moments when I killed someone. It doesn’t last long, unfortunately, but it is by far the most satisfying feeling in the world. There's nothing like it. People jump out of planes, or off bridges or they climb mountains or jump from helicopters onto mountaintops where from they ski, but I doubt any of them ever had a thrill ride quite like the one I had in those days.
In the days that followed, I was on everyone's lips. Everywhere, the police looked for me. Everywhere, they spoke of me with those fearful eyes and shivering voices. Now that I had finished my second kill, they knew they had to be dealing with a serial killer, and they started making up names for me. The Cocoa Beach Strangler some TV station came up with, but that wasn't quite sticking with the public. But later, a local newspaper came up with the name The Monday Morning Killer, since I had made both of my first kills on Monday mornings. The name had stuck with me since then. And I kind of liked it. Once they gave me that name, I was naturally obligated to honor that. So, from then on, all my kills took place on Monday mornings.
Chapter 36
August 2018
By the time I reached my office at the station, I was on my fourth cup of coffee. Tyler had been acting up all the way to the daycare. He didn't want to go today; he wanted to stay home and play with his dinosaur toys. I had to carry him in there, screaming and crying, and just hand him to his teacher. Luckily, she was very good with him, and after much talking, he finally let go of my hair. I told the teacher he was just acting out because he missed his mom, and she gave me an understanding and very sympathetic look while tilting her head slightly to the side. I was getting looks like those a lot lately. Especially from women.
At the station, I went through my interview with Jim Reynolds again, watching it on my screen, studying his every movement and grimace. I couldn't quite figure the guy out. What was his deal?
By the time we reached mid-morning, I decided I deserved one of those tasty pastry treats that our secretary, Elyse, had brought in today. Sugar and caffeine combined should do the trick. I had barely sunk my teeth into it when Weasel came toward me, her eyes somber.
"Ryder. I need you. We have a situation."
I dropped the pastry and put down the coffee. I grabbed my badge and gun, then rushed after her out to one of the patrol cars. She turned on the engine, and we roared onto A1A, sirens blaring.
"What's up?" I asked. "Where are we going?"
"Park Lane. North side of town. A neighbor called it in this morning. He was out walking the dog when he heard screaming coming from a house. A patrol car went out there and found a woman dead in the living room."
"Yikes."
Weasel accelerated the car and turned onto Park Lane. She stopped the car in front of a house where two other police cars were parked as well. She turned the engine off and looked at me with a sigh.
"We need someone who's good with kids."
"Kids?" I asked as we got out and rushed toward the house. We walked inside, and I spotted the body first before I heard the screams. Weasel stopped in front of a bathroom door.
"Kid. Locked himself in there. He doesn't dare to come out. He's too terrified."
She gave me a friendly look. "The scene is all yours."
I took in a deep breath and imagined for a second that it was my own kid behind that door. Tears were piling up behind my eyes as I listened to the intense screaming. I glanced back at the dead body in the living room.
"I take it she was killed?" I asked Weasel.
She nodded. "Plastic bag."
My eyes grew wide. "Like Parker Reynolds' sister?"
Weasel nodded. I looked at the door with a deep exhale. "So, this kid must have heard it all."
"That's what I’m afraid of," she said.
I knelt down by the door and knocked on it, then spoke with a gentle voice.
"This is the police. Who's in there?"
All I got in response was whimpering and more crying. I felt sweat spring to my forehead, worrying about this kid. The screams were excruciating. I couldn't stand the sound of them. I looked in through the keyhole and saw a boy. He was sitting on the floor, had his hands over his head and mouth open like he couldn't stop screaming no matter how hard he tried.
"He must be in shock," I said, addressed to Weasel.
"Poor thing. We have to get him out of there. I don't want to break down the door and scare him further, but I'll do it if I have to."
"Just give me a second," I said and put a hand inside the pocket of my pants. I pulled out a small container.
"What's that?" Weasel said.
I smiled. "Tyler always leaves me a small surprise when I drop him off. He says he wants to make sure I’m not bored at work. I always forget to take it out again."
I knocked on the door and spoke through the screaming.
"Say, anyone up for playing with some slime?"
Finally, the screaming stopped. A few seconds passed, and an eye looked out of the keyhole.
"What kind of slime?" A small voice said with a loud sniffle.
I looked at the container in my hand. "I actually believe this is thinking putty."
"What color is it?" the voice asked.
"Purple, I think. But you'll have to come out here to really see. The light is better out here. It has sparkles in it and everything." I squeezed the thinking putty in my hand and made sure he could see it.
"It feels really good. If you come out, I'll let you hold it and squeeze it," I said and let the purple mass squeeze out between my fingers, pretending like it was awesome. Reality was, I hated any slime or putty that my kids ever owned or made themselves. It somehow always ended up in the carpet or someone's hair. The feeling itself made me squirm. But I knew all kids liked it, no matter the age.
A few seconds passed, and my eyes met Weasel's.
"You sure you're police?"
I showed him my badge through the keyhole. "Sure am. My name is Jack. What's your name?"
"I…I…" the boy looked behind himself anxiously, then back at me.
Someone is with him, I mouthed to Weasel. He's not alone.
She nodded.
"It's okay," I said. "I’m not going to hurt you. But if you tell me your name, it'll make it easier to talk to you. I prefer to know who I am talking to, don't you? ‘Cause our mommas told us to never talk to strangers, right?"
The boy thought for a few seconds more. His eyes were on the putty in my hand. I held it up to the keyhole, feeling slightly like I was luring
the child, like some abductor, but it was the only way to get him to come out without having to use force and scare the crap out of him again.
"I…I am Josef," the small voice said.
"Okay, Josef," I said. "Now we know each other. We are no longer strangers. Now, can you open the door for me, Josef?"
"I…I c-can't reach," he said. "It's too high up."
"Okay. Now, are you alone in there?"
"N-no."
"Who's in there with you?" I asked. "Josef?"
He looked out of the keyhole again.
"Who is in there?"
"My…my brother," he said.
"Your brother, huh? And what's his name?"
"M-Mark."
I nodded. "All right, and what is your brother doing right now?"
The boy looked behind him, then back at me. "H-he is just sitting there. On the toilet." Josef wiped his nose and eyes with his sleeve. He was hoarse from all the screaming. "Staring."
"So, Mark is just sitting on the toilet, staring?" I asked. "How long has he been doing that?"
"S-s-since Mo-o-mma…s-since s-she…"
"What happened to your momma, Josef?" I asked, knowing very well I had to tread carefully here. But if the boy was able to talk about it, then it would be best to do it now while his memory was still fresh.
"Josef?"
No answer. He wasn't able to talk about it after all.
"Have you been hurt, Josef?" I asked.
"N-no."
"Your brother? Is he hurt?"
"It was only…M-omma…"