Mommy, May I

by A. K. Alexander

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Richard sat watching Francesca sleep. He felt bad for how he’d treated her earlier, but she really needed to obey him. Once he woke her, she would receive her next lesson. He believed that she had “appreciation” down. Her next lesson would be about bravery. Richard’s goal was to create the perfect companion. These lessons would benefit them both. If Francesca became what he wanted her to be, well, the possibilities were endless.

  He had returned to the cabin shortly after phoning Helena. He wondered how she was doing. Certainly his call would’ve sent any parent into a cardiac arrest. Good. The thought of her suffering was delightful. Suffer, suffer, suffer. He had suffered for many years at the hands of others.

  His cabin out in the backwoods had been made into a magician’s dream world by the use of electronics and hydraulics. Richard had installed walls in his victim’s room on levelers. Thus, he could turn twenty feet into ten or two. It was a great head game to play with the women he brought there. He had yet to play this game with Francesca. He looked forward to her reaction to small spaces. Would she react the way he had every time that hypocritical bitch he’d had to call aunt would throw him into the basement for hours at a time? Richard remembered the humiliation of urinating all over himself, terrified of the shadows on the walls which looked like monsters coming to get him. Would Francesca feel panicky, not being able to move? He’d soon find out.

  “Francesca?” He shook her lightly. The analgesics he’d been dicing up in her food obviously worked, because she slept most of the time—exactly as he’d expected. There was no room for error in his plan, and leaving her with any energy could be dangerous. She began to move, and he repeated her name. Her eyes fluttered, as if trying to focus. “Hello, sleepy girl.” She didn’t reply. “I’ve planned a great day for us. First we’re going to try a little experiment. Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

  “No.”

  “Good, then all you have to do is stay right here.” He patted her leg. “Sure you don’t have to go to the bathroom?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  After the previous night, the girl’s fight had seemingly died. “Not unless you need to.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then let the games begin.” He left her room, since he’d already rearranged everything while she was sleeping. He typed in the codes on his computer that would make the walls do as he commanded. It took only minutes before he heard the levelers shifting.

  “What are you doing?” she screamed. “Please stop!”

  He enjoyed hearing her scream louder and louder as the walls closed in on her. It took him back to when he’d screamed for his aunt to let him out.

  Richard stopped the walls when they were exactly where he wanted them. Francesca now only had space for her bed. Ah, wonderful! Nothing could make a person nuttier faster than taking away their space.

  “Please don’t do this,” she cried.

  “Quit your sniveling.” He looked up at the television monitor to see her huddled up, shackled, handcuffed, and scared to death. He took a still photo of the image to send to Helena. He planned to send Helena an entire album of Francesca’s “last days.”

  He could hear the girl sobbing and remembered another girl he’d made cry like this—his beautiful Brianne.

  As he listened to Francesca, he decided he couldn’t take it anymore. She had to stop that racket she was making. It was time to teach her a lesson. Once he did that, she would never complain again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Frankie’s tears dried on her cheeks, and she stopped trembling, her will to live fading. What was the psycho doing now? With the walls closed in on her, she now knew what it was to be in a straight jacket with nowhere to go and forced to listen to the ravings of a lunatic. In her private prison, he would read to her. If she heard anything more about ghouls or death, she would make him pay attention to her wails, or at least drown out his horrid voice.

  Why didn’t he just kill her? This must be part of his sadistic fun—drive her batty and then take her life. At least if she were driven mad, maybe death would go unnoticed. But she doubted that. She stared at the walls he’d closed in on her, wondering when all this would end—because she already knew how it would. This fucking Poe dude would never let her out of his insane hell.

  A thought scarier than death confronted her, and she shivered from the fear of it. What if killing her wasn’t his goal at all? What if she really were an experiment for him, like some bizarre Nazi science project? She’d read about the Holocaust and knew something about what Dr. Mengele had done to the Jews. Frankie couldn’t get a read on this psycho, but he was as sadistic as any crazy Nazi.

  For now, Frankie felt numb, as though she were dulled somehow, which of course, she was. If she had a razor right now, she could slit her wrists without too much trouble—except that Frankie wanted to live. She’d been through hell, much more than most teenagers. So far she’d soaked up all the crap, knowing that it had to get better. Her dad had taught her that. But fretting over this psycho’s plans drained her of any hope of a real life again.

  The walls began moving once more. Here we go, maybe this time he’ll just finish this game. But if Frankie had learned anything from this creep, it was that he never did what she expected, like when he’d shoved her into the toilet. She’d figured he’d drown her then. It was apparent, torture was his thing. He wanted to torment her, make her keep guessing at when and how she would die.

  Instead of closing the walls in on her completely, he opened them all the way out, opening up the room again. Moments later, the lock turned and he came in.

  “Was that fun, Francesca? Interesting, huh?”

  “A blast.”

  “Do I detect sarcasm?” He stood at the end of her cot, hands on hips, waiting for an answer.

  “Of course not.” She was tired of fearing him, tired of it all, and yes, she’d decided to be a smart ass. Maybe he’d get mad enough at her to finally put her out of her misery.

  “I’ve got to say that I wasn’t thrilled by your weakness. But seeing who your mother is, I should expect that. Anyway, I’ve prepared another section to this particular lesson, only this time I get to have all the fun, and it’s to teach you how to be courageous, because you need it.”

  “Oh, goody fucking gumdrops. Do I get a purple heart when you’re finished?”

  He took a step back, glaring at her. But she didn’t care if she’d pissed him off. She was going down with a fight, even if it was only through a verbal assault.

  “I see you’re a comic. I’m impressed. But I don’t care too much for comedy. I like horror much better.”

  “No joke. You’re a real Stephen King, aren’t you? Well, get used to it cause I’m freaking Jennifer Aniston, only you aren’t my friend.”

  “Okay, Francesca,” his face turned a raging purple color. “Time for your lesson. You’re boring me with your dribble.” He pulled out a large plastic bag and threw her flat onto the bed. Everything happened so fast. He covered her face with the plastic bag over her head and held it tightly around her neck.

  She panicked, growing dizzy. She started to fade and knew this was finally the way she was to die—thankfully, because she couldn’t go on this way. As the darkness overtook her and she relaxed, allowing a warm, peaceful wave to pass through her, the bag was removed. She gasped for air, coughing violently, tears rolling down her face.

  He stood. “Now, I think you learned something here. Why don’t you think about it, while I go shopping? And you’re wrong about us not being friends. We’re best friends. In fact, I’m your only friend.”

  He locked the door behind him, while Frankie begged God to either save her or take her life.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Tyler watched Patrick pace the floor. Everyone was frustrated as they had failed to trace the call from Frankie’s kidnapper. Helena and Claire had gone outside for some air to brainstorm about who might want to get even with her. Perhaps not s
urprisingly, Claire was turning out to be an asset. He knew that as a reporter she would know the right questions to ask Helena about her past, maybe even get better results than the police; and because she could empathize as a woman, she might have the right touch to help jostle Helena’s memory.

  This case still had Tyler baffled. This perp sounded absolutely possessed, and Tyler was convinced that this case was linked to Leeza’s murder and the fire at Shea House. After the phone call, Tyler had been forced to correct his initial assumptions that the MO was about money as well as revenge. It still was clearly about revenge, but the kidnapper didn’t want or need money. And that scared Tyler.

  Helena furnished the FBI team with the names of people she thought might have a serious beef with her. Agents were busy checking out a handful of possibilities. So far, nothing had come of it.

  When the phone rang again, Patrick raced for it. An agent held up his hand. “Hang on a sec, Mr. Kiley. We’ve got to get the trace going.” Patrick held off until given the signal to answer. After saying hello, he handed the phone off to Tyler.

  “Savoy here.”

  “Ty, it’s Loretta. Couple of things. I’ve got an I.D. on your Jane Doe down here. Nick Yamimoto says you promised him a pay raise if he worked around the clock on this. Guess you forgot to tell him you had another case going, because he did it. We can discuss that later,” she said. “Anyway, the girl’s name was Brianne Jacobs. Reported missing a year ago. The boyfriend called it in at the time, a Rick Shelton.”

  Tyler jotted down the name, then paused. “Did you say Shelton?”

  “Yeah, when she turned up missing, he called and some uniforms were sent over to his place on Wilshire to talk to him. Apparently, he told them that she just didn’t come home one night and he was worried. Police cleared him, figured it was a romance gone bad and she’d split. It happens all the time.”

  “Obviously they were wrong.” Tyler told Loretta about Claire’s findings with Bridget Core and Richard Shelton.

  “Wow, well if Rick and Richard are one and the same we may have our man. I’ll check out a few more things concerning Brianne Jacobs and call you back. I’ll also get some uniforms to head over to this man’s apartment. I also wanted to let you know that I visited Helena’s friend Rachel at the hospital. Collier was by, but she’s got a nurse who’s as protective as an attack dog. He only let me in because of my credentials. The good thing is that she’s getting better, but she’s severely scarred. The nurse told me that they’ll have to do quite a bit of plastic surgery, but Rachel’s spirits were high, considering. The interesting thing is that on the night she went to the center to look around, she did see a man there. She hid though, because she knew that she wasn’t supposed to be inside. She figured that he was an inspector because he was a ‘real preppy looking guy.’ That’s how she described him. She didn’t want Helena, or herself for that matter, to get into trouble.”

  “Did she describe this guy any further?”

  “She says she didn’t see him all that closely, but yes.” Loretta read the description. “Sound like anyone you know?”

  “Sounds like a lot of people I know. I may have to drive down and visit with her myself. Can you have someone draw a composite of the description?”

  “Already being done. I’ll be in touch shortly to let you know what I find out about the Jacobs girl and this Shelton character, and I’ll fax you the composite when it’s finished.”

  Tyler hung up the phone, finally feeling hopeful, but it was Loretta’s second phone call that really got his juices pumping.

  “Guess where Brianne Jacobs worked?”

  “Where?” Tyler asked.

  “Shea Models.”

  Tyler’s mouth dropped open with the realization that the Jane Doe case he’d been working on for months was connected to the Shea case. Stunned, he hung up the phone as his mind put pieces of the puzzle together. He walked over to Patrick. “Come outside with me for a minute?”

  “What is it? Have they found her?”

  “Not yet.” Tyler headed out to the pool area where Helena and Claire were talking. Patrick followed. When they reached the women, Tyler asked, “Do either of you know a Brianne Jacobs? Or a Rick or Richard Shelton?”

  Helena spoke up. “Brianne was my assistant right before I checked into Betty Ford. In fact, she drove me out there.”

  “Do you know what happened to her?” Tyler asked.

  “When I got out, I’d learned that she’d left the company. I was confused about it, because we’d gotten pretty close. Then I found out that the police had talked to my employees because her boyfriend had reported her missing.”

  “Did you find that odd?”

  “Sort of. Yet, it made sense to me at the time, because he frightened her a bit. He was pretty controlling and very strange. I had suggested that she leave him. Brianne was a little flighty, so I figured when she left, she’d disappeared to get away from him. By not telling anyone where she went, I thought that she’d taken my suggestion quite literally and had left the area. Why?”

  “I have an open Jane Doe case—a body actually—down in LA, and she’s just been identified as Brianne Jacobs.”

  Helena’s eyes grew wide, her face ashen.

  “What does this mean?” Claire asked.

  “Brianne’s boyfriend, this Shelton character, may be the kidnapper who has Frankie.”

  “But why?” Patrick asked.

  Helena’s face flushed. “Like I said, I told her to leave him. She was young. She said that they had no ‘real’ sex life, even though he was always talking about necrophilia and bizarre stuff like that. I’d never met him, but from everything that she told me about him, he sounded like a creep. She was very pretty and sweet, and he was something like fifteen years older than she was. She didn’t have a family and had a difficult life growing up, having been thrown around the foster-care system. She was good at her job, and even did some modeling for the agency. I wanted to take her in, but then everything turned sour and I went into treatment. I thought at some point she’d contact me, but I was not the most pleasant person to be around in those days, and I thought maybe I’d burned my bridges with her.”

  “You didn’t give the police this information?”

  “Well, no. When I heard that the boyfriend reported her missing, I knew that she wanted to get away from him. Why would he report her missing if he’d harmed her?”

  “You’d be surprised what these guys will do.”

  “Was he investigated in relation to Brianne’s disappearance?” Patrick asked.

  “Apparently he checked out okay. My boss has a team headed to his place now. All we can do is wait for a call from her and go from there.”

  They headed back into the house, where the wait for the phone to ring felt like an eternity. When it did, Tyler answered.

  “I’ve got something here,” the agent on the line said. “He owns a cabin near Oxnard. There’s a wooded patch out there.” The agent gave him the address.

  Tyler hung up the phone, ran out the door, and hopped into his car. “I’ll call as soon as I know anything!” he yelled out his window as he sped toward the main gate, heading south of Santa Barbara. He wasn’t sure if he’d find Frankie dead or alive, but now he was certain he would find her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Frankie was always tired. It had been over a week since he’d taken her. Thank God he’d leave for hours at a time, so she got a break from enduring his endless reading of favorite passages from Edgar Allan Poe. They only further depressed her.

  Frankie prayed during the hours that he was gone that he’d have a car wreck and die a painful death. But then she would die in this hell, never to be found. Now he was back. She would try hard not to upset him again. She didn’t even have the strength to be a smart ass.

  “Wake up, my lovely.” He shook her. She shrank from him. “Look what I have for you.”

  Frankie squinted at him. He must’ve been drugging her. That would explain her nausea
and exhaustion. He held up several brightly colored boxes, smiling like a freaking circus clown.

  “It’s a special night, darling. You need to focus. Now get up and open your presents. Christmas has come early this year.”

  She stretched out her arms so that he could undo the handcuffs, knowing that it would be easier on her if she went along with his twisted charade. She unwrapped each present—makeup, hair clip, long black satin gown, and a sheer white negligee. She closed her eyes. What did he want from her?

  “Perfect for you, aren’t they?”

  “Perfect.”

  He grabbed her wrist hard, pulling her so close he spit on her face. “Listen here, I’ve spent a lot of money on you. Most women would be more grateful. Brianne was, until your mother got a hold of her. Brianne paid for that, and so will you and Helena if you don’t start acting right. Now I’m going to undo your shackles. You get your clothes off, while I start your bath. Understand?”

  Frankie nodded.

  “Good girl.” He dropped her wrist and bolted the door behind him.

  Frankie wiped the tears off her face. There was no way she’d let him rape her. She wouldn’t allow him to strip her of her dignity. When he returned, Frankie was wrapped in the robe he’d given her.

  “I see you’re cooperating. Good.” He took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom. As he stood in the doorway, Frankie froze. “Go ahead. I’m going to bathe you. It’s the beginning of our first really special night together.”

  “Please, no, I can’t.”

  “Take off the robe and get into that fucking tub. I’m the one giving the orders around here.”

  Frankie did what he told her to do as tears filled her eyes.

  “No more crying. I’m not going to hurt you. Mother likes you, and so do I. She liked Brianne, too, but your mother ruined that. You’re sweet and innocent, like my Brianne was. Did you know that while we were together, I didn’t need to harm anyone? She had saved me from doing that. Now you’ll save me, without your meddling mother. Go on, get in the tub.”