The nurse behind the counter looks up at us expectantly.
“How can I help you?”
“Is Evelyn Sanders working today?”
“Yes, let me page her for you.”
“Thanks.”
I purposely didn’t show my badge because I don’t want to subject Evelyn to any hospital gossip that would inevitably come with being questioned by the FBI.
I watch as she quickly walks down the hospital hallway. I imagine the gait is normal for her, considering she and her fellow employees deal with life or death crises on a daily basis.
“How about we go get a cup of coffee?”
I smile to try and put her at ease, but we both know why I’m suggesting it. Her only response is to inform the nurse working the station that she’s going on a break.
We wait our turn in line, grabbing coffee and a danish, and then sit in a quiet corner of the hospital cafeteria.
“Evelyn, it’s good to see you under better circumstances, at least in a sense. I’m not here because of anything concerning you.”
“I think I know why you’re here.”
I stay silent and keep my face a blank mask because I want her to continue talking.
“What I’m going to tell you, agents, is pretty farfetched, but I guess in your line of work, you hear it all.”
I continue listening like we don’t already have an all-points bulletin (APB) out on Richard Roundtree. I’m not going to assume she’s seen the newscasts on the case.
“We both know, by law, I’m not permitted to reveal personal information about patients, unless… they’re a danger to themselves or others. The woman I want to talk to you about is anything but stable after all she’s been through. However, before I say anything more, there are two stipulations I’ll need your word on: one, nothing I tell you here today can be leaked out to the press, and two, I don’t want me or my patient forced to testify in court.”
I answer her demands honestly.
“Evelyn, I can absolutely assure you that we won’t be leaking anything to the press, but I can’t guarantee your testimony won’t be needed. If it helps at all, I can tell you that if you are called upon to testify, people aren’t going to negatively judge you in the court of public opinion. In fact, I think it will be just the opposite. I believe they would see it as you helping a woman in danger. It won’t be like the last time; I can assure you of that.”
“What I’ve been through over the years has changed me, Agent Turner. I no longer care about people’s opinions. I do, however, care about an unstable woman being forced to take the stand.”
“My partner and I will do everything within our power to ensure your patient isn’t traumatized any more than she already has been.”
That seems to be what Evelyn needs to hear in order to continue. I won’t lie to her about what I can and cannot do. Rene and I have developed a rapport with her over the years, and I don’t want that trust broken. I know from experience that trust, even if it has been years in the making, can be broken in a single day.
“We had a patient come in a couple weeks ago who had cuts on her back characteristic of being beaten with a whip. They were deep, so deep that the poor girl will carry the scars for the rest of her life. It took me a few days before I gained her trust enough that she opened up to me, and even then, it was only after I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone. Despite knowing the severity of her injuries, I was still shocked when she told me how she’d been abducted and taken to a place where she was tortured. She said they would hurt her while a local celebrity just watched, swearing they actually abducted her for him. That’s just sick.”
I decide it’s time to open up to Evelyn about Richard Roundtree, justifying that she will see it on the news soon enough anyway.
“We have an APB out on that quasi-celebrity, Richard Roundtree. One of his partners was killed, and a black rose was left on the body. We both know what that implies.”
“I’m not ashamed to say I follow his blog, agents. Off the record, I’m glad someone has the community’s back.”
I purposely don’t say anything, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her statement. The best thing I can do is just let it go so we stay on subject.
“I need the patient’s name.”
“I promised her I wouldn’t talk to the police.”
“To be honest with you, the investigation has led us to her, and that’s exactly what I’ll imply when I speak with her. I’ll present my questions in a manner that deter her from thinking you’ve broken her confidence.”
There is no sense in my partner and I upsetting the patient any more than she already has been.
“Her name is Lisa Monroe.”
I watch my partner as she takes Evelyn’s hand and speaks for the first time since we sat down in the hospital cafeteria.
“Thank you, Evelyn. We’ll do everything in our power to protect the two of you.”
Chapter Thirty Four
Charles
‘”I’m bored,” I growl, grabbing my wife’s hair and pulling her face toward my crotch.
“You’ve got to be kidding?”
“Does it look like I’m fucking kidding?” I ask, pushing her face closer to my hard cock.
Part of me is telling the truth while another part of me is just fucking with her because I feel like it. I’m an alpha asshole; what can I say?
My fingers lock in her long brown hair as she undoes my pants and all but swallows my cock. She raises up long enough to smart off, “Who’s fucking with who now?”
I grip her hair, pushing her back down to finish what she started. Her ability to take me over the edge sexually seems to get more and more pleasurable with each passing day.
Her lips lock down on me, sucking up and down my hardened shaft, while her hand massages my balls just enough to make me climax. I love this woman like none other. The fact that she feeds off my sadistic side only makes me love her more as time passes.
My head, which had been resting on the headrest trying to recover from what she’d just done to me, suddenly jerks up when I see the guy we’re watching for finally walk out of the bar. Judging by the way he’s rushing to his car, something is up. I button and zip my pants before I start following him at a safe distance.
“Buckle your seat belt.”
“Yes, dad,” my wife replies.
“Yeah, I got your daddy. I wonder where this guy is going?”
“With any luck, he’s going to see Richard Roundtree.”
“I hope to hell so because if he does, I have some things planned for him.”
“What, turning him in?”
“I’d much rather torment the son of a bitch first. There is nothing more gratifying than subjecting someone like him to a major mind-fuck. I’d love to let him see what it feels like to be terrorized. Yeah, that sounds like more fun to me.”
Chapter Thirty Five
Agent Turner
Though the woman in the hospital bed looks as if her bruises have healed almost to the point of being gone, I know the scars she will carry—mentally, physically, and emotionally—will last a lifetime.
I’ve known of cases where victims weren’t ever able to come back from the trauma of the atrocities they suffered at the hands of a serial killer. Very few escape, and those who do have to learn how to live all over again; some never completely get over the abuse inflicted upon them.
I arrange with Rene for her to do most of the talking because I know the victim will likely be more comfortable with a female agent. I push thoughts of whether the woman will ever be able to have a normal relationship after what she has suffered from my mind. I can’t allow myself to get emotional.
“Lisa, my name is Rene, and this is my partner, David.”
I know what she’s doing, using our first names to establish trust and familiarity with the woman she’s questioning.
“We believe a man we have been investigating is the one who did this to you, and we’d like to talk to you about it.”
> I’m shocked when the woman doesn’t ask how we found her. I’m fully prepared to inform her our investigation has led us here. It’s only a half-truth, but it’s one I’m willing to tell. I have no problem lying if it will shield her from having to endure more pain than she has already suffered.
“I got a call from Richard Roundtree, asking if I could show him some properties. As you can imagine, with him being a celebrity, I was elated. My sales haven’t been so good lately, and I thought this would get me out of the slump I’d been in. The real estate market has been up and down lately. We spent the day looking at several different properties, and I felt quite comfortable with him. I thought it only natural to accept his offer to go have a drink with him at the end of the day. I certainly didn’t want to lose the sale of a house because I didn’t accept the invite. I remember getting a drink, but after that, everything is hazy. I know to keep my drink in sight, and I did, but somehow, I believe I was drugged.”
Rene looks at her and asks the question I’m itching to know.
“How did you escape?”
“I managed to escape him when he made the mistake of coming into the room drunk. I’d spent days picking at the screws in the metal plate securing the chain linking my cuffs to the floor. I used the acrylic nails I wear, having broken all but three off. I’d just about given up when I was able to get that last screw undone. When he got close enough, I hit him as hard as I could with the metal plate in the side of his head. I’d never been so happy to see someone crying out in pain as blood poured down his face. He’d left the door open, believing I was cuffed, and I took off running. The whole time, I kept thinking he was behind me, and at any second, he was going to take me back to that dimly lit room. I knew if he caught me, he’d kill me. He must have been in a hell of a lot of pain because he never came after me. I guess I’m one of the lucky ones. Catching him drunk and off guard is the only reason I’m alive.”
The thought hits me that she’s probably correct. I’m also thinking that if she kept such a good eye on her drink, then it’s possible the bartender could have been the one that drugged her. For now, I keep the suspicion to myself and listen as she continues to talk.
My heart wrenches as tears rain down the girl’s face.
“This is what they did to me.”
She turns to reveal the cuts on her back through the open gap in her hospital gown. Evelyn was right. The lacerations are deep and were obviously left by a whip. The scars tell the story of a merciless beating, and her body will carry the raised marks for the rest of her life—a horrible reminder of a night of terror she will never completely escape.
“Every time I look at these, I’m going to remember what those bastards did to me.”
“Can you remember anything about where you were kept? Was there a window with any kind of view?”
“I felt like it was a warehouse, but I don’t remember seeing windows.”
“What about any sounds?”
“One time, I thought I heard something that sounded like a train horn, but I was so drugged that it’s really hard to remember, much less decipher, anything.”
“No, that’s good. You’re doing great.”
I hand her one of Rene’s business cards because I know, from previous experience, my partner/lover can be very territorial. She hates it when witnesses latch onto me as if I’m some sort of hero. Even though we’re both well aware it happens sometimes purely for psychological reasons, she isn’t having it.
“Rene can help you with finding a good counselor who can help you get through this. I’m not going to lie. It won’t be easy, but those who decide to go through counseling sessions do tend to heal more effectively.”
With that, my partner and I say our goodbyes and make our way towards the door. We stop short when she says one more thing.
“Look for a guy who looks like a surfer—you know, scraggly blond hair and a tan. I want all of these guys caught, not just Richard.”
I turn around and look her in the eye. “Oh, they’ll all be caught one way or another. I don’t tell her that it may be in a body bag because Black Rose is on their trail.
Rene waits until we’re seated in the car before she addresses me, her hand sliding over the top of my thigh as she speaks.
“You’re such a good boy, giving her my card.”
She viciously pinches my inner thigh, and I feel my cock jump with each word of her threat.
“I think we both know what would have happened if you’d made the mistake of giving her yours.”
I know all too well what would have happened. I’d learned after the first and only time I’d made the mistake. My relationship is one of submission to her outside of work, and in the bedroom, she dominates. Rene has a mean streak, and as much as I enjoy her dominant nature in the bedroom, pissing her off just isn’t a smart thing to do. The last time I’d done so, it had been difficult to sit down for a full week. To put it mildly, Mistress can be a mean bitch when she’s crossed. Once again, I feel my cock jump at the thought.
Chapter Thirty Six
The Killer
My head lolls back against the leather couch, feeling much too heavy for me to hold up. I must have fallen asleep, or rather I drunk myself into a stupor—drunk being the operative word. Somehow still holding onto the bottle, I tip the last of the warm beer into my mouth. No amount of drinking can abate the trouble I’ve gotten myself into. Why bother thinking? No matter how many different scenarios I toss around in my head concerning my present circumstances, I can’t come up with a single one that brings a positive resolution.
I pull my legs from the coffee table and stumble into the bathroom to take a piss. My hand gropes along the wall in search of the light switch, but it looks as though the bulb’s out because nothing is happening when I hit it. I finally just give up and make my best attempt to aim for the toilet in the dark.
“What the fuck, man?”
I stumble back toward the dining room, which is adjacent to the living room where I’d fallen asleep. Once again, my hand gropes along the wall in search of the switch, but after flicking it, there’s nothing.
“Shit, what’s going on here?”
I automatically reach for my phone to use the flashlight app, forgetting that I’d taken out the battery to disable its GPS function. The last thing I need is getting locked up over some stupid mistake. I feel my way along the counter, fumbling around in the kitchen drawer for a flashlight and a fuse. It isn’t uncommon for the electricity to go out here in my river house. Usually it’s just a matter of a blown fuse, so I’ve learned to keep them on hand. Though it’s usually an easy enough fix, it’s a pain in the ass endeavor when you’re half drunk.
I’m still a bit unsteady on my feet, so I hold onto the wall as I stagger down the stairs and into the unfinished basement where the fuse box is located. After fifteen minutes of stumbling and bumbling around, I am able to get the lights to turn back on. I had plans to set this area up so it was more in line with what I have at the warehouse, but I haven’t gotten around to doing it yet. This basement is crude, unfinished, and downright creepy with no lighting.
I walk back out into the main area from around the corner of the small niche where the fuse box is tucked away. As soon as I turn the corner and lift my head, my blood runs cold. There, slung over one of the wooden rafters, is a rope tied into a noose. That would be enough to scare me on its own, but what really has me terrified is the note and single stemmed, dead, black rose attached to it with duct tape.
I am your worst nightmare. What you subjected those women to will be nothing compared to what I have planned for you.
You have one way out, and I think we both know what it is. Yours truly, Black Rose
Maybe he’s right. I’ve thought and thought, and I damn sure don’t see any other solution.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Charles
It would have been easy to go in and kill Richard Roundtree, but where is the fun in that? We had successfully trailed his par
tner in crime down to a house on the river, but he’d left after five minutes of banging on the door with no response.
Assuming he wasn’t home, we decided to break in. Luckily, we had erred on the side of caution and had still made a quiet entrance because we found him passed out drunk on the couch. I could have slit his throat right then, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. He needed to suffer for what he had forced those poor women to endure.
We’d gone in, shut his electricity off, and then left him a little surprise. The only regret I have is that I couldn’t witness the horror on his face when he saw the personal message I’d left for him.
As far as I’m concerned, the best thing he can do is wrap that fucking noose around his neck and free the world of the scourge of his abuse. Let him be the one to suffer mental anguish as he tries to figure a way out of the mess he’s made. I’m well aware of how tormenting mental sadism can be, and by the time I’m finished, he will understand firsthand what he put those women through.
It’s because of men like him that I started my career as a vigilante. I’ve always known I had a thirst for blood, but my journey has been different than most serial killers.
I’ve done my research, and I know most serial killers start out with animals when they’re young. I have never, nor would I ever, kill some small helpless animal. I’m more inclined to kill the person who has the gall to do something so cruel.
I remember beating the shit out of a neighbor kid as a child for stepping on a frog and purposely killing it. His brothers caught me out alone at a later date and beat me up in retaliation, but I still felt like it was worth it. From that day forward, I knew I was different. It’s crazy, but I felt a strong compassion for that frog. That compassion quickly morphed into rage, and there was no stopping me from attacking that kid. It was then that I knew I was able to feel compassion for the helpless.
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