Remnants

by Carolyn Arnold

  Paige picked up her phone. “He looked different otherwise?”

  “Um, yeah, he had a—” Kelly closed her eyes for a second. “He had a mustache. Who is he? Why did he take my Eric?” She started shaking, and Paige moved closer to her and put a hand on the woman’s forearm.

  “His name is Stanley Gilbert,” Paige explained.

  “I don’t know him. And why my Eric? Why?” Desperation and hysteria mingled in her tone.

  “We’ll do all we can to find out,” Paige reassured her. “Where was he when you saw him?”

  “He was standing near the Dairy Queen eating. I figured he was on his lunch break.”

  “And he was alone?” Paige was thinking about Jesse Holt, even though they hadn’t been able to connect him to Stanley.

  “Yes.”

  Showing her Jesse’s photo right now would just set things off course. “And the last time you saw your husband he was going into the restroom?”

  Kelly ran a hand over her forehead. “I…I never saw him go in. Brianna and I were ahead of him. Maybe he never did… God, I don’t know.”

  “Where are the restrooms in relation to DQ?”

  “Right there, pretty much.”

  The picture was starting to come together. Stanley, impersonating a janitor, had been standing there poaching, waiting for the ideal and unsuspecting white male in his twenties to come along. He’d probably snatched Eric in the restroom.

  Kelly looked at Paige, her eyes bloodshot, her cheeks tearstained. “Do you think Eric’s dead?”

  Paige hated the direct question, but she had to retain as much professionalism as she could. “Until we know what happened, it’s best to stay positive.”

  “Is it?” Kelly spat. “That’s what you’d do? Who is that man, anyhow? I’d never seen him before that day. He’d have no reason to take Eric. Unless…” She looked at them as if seeing them for the first time. “You’re with the FBI… Doesn’t the FBI only investigate serial killers?”

  “Please, Mrs. Morgan. Let us do our jobs. We will get you answers.” Paige hoped she could live up to the promise.

  Kelly shifted on the couch to face Paige. “You have a body, don’t you? And you think it might be Eric’s.”

  Unfortunately, Paige couldn’t avoid this disclosure. As gently as she could, she said, “We have found unidentified remains.”

  “Oh God!” Kelly started sobbing.

  Paige rubbed Kelly’s back. “Shh,” she said, trying to be soothing. “We don’t know anything yet.”

  “And we could really use your help,” Zach tiptoed. “You mentioned that you thought Stanley was a janitor. Why?”

  Paige glanced at Zach and subtly bobbed her head. If he hadn’t asked, it would have been one of her next questions.

  Kelly took a few heaving breaths. “He had one of those large garbage bins on wheels.”

  “What did it look like?” Zach asked.

  “It was black.”

  He nodded, jotting down what she recalled. “Was there garbage already inside it?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. It had a lid.”

  “What was he wearing?” Zach asked.

  “Gray coveralls, I think?” She sniffled. “That’s all I remember.”

  “You’ve done great, Mrs. Morgan,” he assured her.

  “I never told any of this to the local police.” She hiccupped a sob. “I didn’t think about him. And now…he could have been the one to take my Eric.” She cupped her face with her hands.

  Traumatic situations played wild tricks with the mind, and she likely hadn’t considered the janitor a threat. “None of this is your fault,” Paige told her.

  Kelly let her hands drop away. “How do you know?”

  Paige made sure to look in Kelly’s eyes as she spoke. “Given the setup and where he was standing, it would have happened to someone regardless.”

  “Is it sad to say I wish it was someone else?” Pain was tattooed into her expression, her limp body language, her lack of energy.

  “It’s natural to feel that way.” Paige gave it a few seconds before continuing. “Do you need us to call anyone to come be with you?”

  Kelly shook her head and wiped her cheeks. “No, I’ll be fine.”

  “We will keep you posted.”

  “Uh-huh.” It wasn’t so much laced with disbelief but heartbreak.

  “Here’s my card.” Paige extended one to her. “Call me if you need to.”

  Kelly nodded, and Paige and Zach excused themselves.

  Out in the SUV, Zach got behind the wheel. “A garbage bin with a lid doesn’t sound right to me. Normally, they’re open.”

  Paige thought back to the last one she’d seen. “You’re right. He probably put Eric in there and wheeled him right out of the building.” She turned to Zach. “Was there any note in the file about the locals requesting surveillance video from the mall—inside or outside?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  He had an eidetic memory. She flashed him a brief smile. “Then they didn’t.”

  “We’ll ask Perimeter Mall about that and the bins, but I made another observation in all this.”

  “Shoot.”

  “There’s no way Stanley could have loaded the bin into his Prius. So either he left it behind or he was driving something else.”

  “I’d say the latter is more likely. But there are no other vehicles registered to him. And he couldn’t have rented one or it would have shown up in his financial records. Most rental companies require a credit card. Nadia would have caught that.”

  Zach winced. “Not necessarily. She was focused on what happened since Monday.”

  “Nah, we’ve been told Darla’s in charge of the money, and she would have noticed the transaction.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “Someone else is involved. Has to be.”

  “I think so, too.”

  The case had just gotten a little darker. It had merely been an idea before, but now they were pretty sure they were searching for more than one unsub.

  “Well, the rituals were not a solitary affair, either,” Zach said. “When the Mayans performed the sacrificial ritual, it involved the man who ripped out the heart, a priest, and four blue-painted attendants. On top of that, you had the crowds who observed.”

  She nodded. “I’ll have Nadia take a look into vehicles owned by Stanley’s friends, Duane Oakley and Benny Robbins.”

  “Absolutely,” Zach said. “And the BOLO on Stanley’s Prius hasn’t had any hits yet, so maybe Stanley is driving the vehicle he used for the abductions.”

  “Which is what, though? We have no idea,” Paige lamented.

  “We’re not completely without leads. It would have to be something large, like a cargo van, for instance.”

  “True,” she agreed. “Okay, I’ll call the mall, but I’m going to make another call first.”

  “To Jack?”

  “Nope, to Lieutenant Pike. He hasn’t updated us on Jesse Holt and Colin West.” She dialed his cell number, and he answered on the third ring. “It’s Paige. How did you make out researching Jesse Holt?”

  “I was going to update you when you came back in, but I spoke to the detective who looked into the Wests’ case originally. Jesse Holt was cleared as a suspect. He had an ironclad alibi. He was in Cancun that week. Tickets, passport, all of it was verified.”

  “And the Wests would have been told this?”

  “They absolutely were.” Pike paused a few beats. “Some parents have such a hard time in this situation—their child goes missing and they want quick answers, so they’re blind to the truth. They want someone to point a finger at.”

  She wasn’t sure she appreciated Pike’s lesson as she was already aware that was a possibility. “Thanks.” She hung up, looked over at Zach, and sha
red everything Pike had told her. “Holt’s not behind Colin’s disappearance.”

  Zach flicked a glance at her. “Then who is?”

  -

  Chapter 27

  HE WAS DRESSED IN BLACK, a god in human form. The offering was naked before him and bound by chains. He chanted as he dipped his hand into the mixture, his fingers coming out coated in blue. He started with the offering’s face, pressing the paint to his forehead and working his way around his temples, down his cheeks, along the length of his neck, the back of his neck, behind his ears, on his ears…

  The offering let out a moan, and his eyelids slowly fluttered. When they fully opened, he screamed incoherently, and it was then that he must have realized his tongue was gone. His eyes widened, and tears fell, streaking the blue paint.

  He began again, first touching up the offering’s cheeks and then smearing the blue over his shoulders, his arms, his hands, his back, his buttocks, his privates, his thighs, his calves, his feet. All this time, the offering remained quiet and still. Broken. Succumbing to the reality of his fate.

  When all the paint was applied, he stepped back to admire his work, the time for sacrifice upon them. The act itself fed his soul like a walk in nature did for some people. But he wasn’t “some people.” He was above the masses, and he’d evolved through his awakening. He no longer had to close his eyes to elevate above this flesh-and-blood existence. But as it was, he was stuck inside this form—five foot eleven, black shoulder-length hair, brown eyes, alabaster skin. Yet, he also appreciated having touch and taste, which came with being entombed in flesh, and breathing, the sound of doing so and the feeling of oxygen filling up his lungs.

  He inhaled deeply, feeling it enter his lungs, expand his diaphragm. As he emptied his mind, he let his eyes roll back in his head, savoring the moment for a few seconds. He then looked on his offering. The man was weak and feeble, submissive, conquered, without voice.

  He removed the restraints, and the offering, who hadn’t eaten much of anything for days, had no strength to hold himself up. The offering’s legs were like a rag doll’s beneath him as he guided the man to the outer room. Without the strength to resist him, the offering stumbled onto the sacrificial stone. At this point, he restrained the offering to another contraption that would stretch out his body and elevate his chest. The offering was bound once more at the wrists and ankles.

  A smile teased his lips as he observed the offering watching him, his gaze indicating that he was already drifting partway into the next realm. Yet, the offering managed to yell and buck with remarkable strength now. The chain was being wrenched, but there was no way he could break free of his bonds. And there would be no one to hear his screams.

  The protest was short-lived, and the offering retreated again into silence, a calm serenity, a state of detachment and observation.

  This offering was perfect. A young man of strong will, a former protector, and a provider. He had been a worthy opponent.

  “You will ascend soon. The time is near.” He left his offering for a few seconds and procured the sacrificial knife.

  The offering thrashed feebly, tears running down his cheeks in sheets, as he cranked the ratcheting system to tighten the constraints. As the chains pulled on the offering’s arms and legs, bones popped, separating limbs from the joints, the cries became bloodcurdling howls. They reached his ears like music, praise to the gods. This was the sound of the defeated. But the offering wouldn’t suffer for long, and until then, he would bask in the ritual process.

  He stopped the ratcheting system and peered at the offering. The man mumbled, not a word of it coherent. The offering was likely pleading for his life and his freedom, though. Probably adamant about how he’d be found, how his murder would be atoned for, full of threats—none of which would see fulfillment. Not when it was divine purpose that he died.

  Beautiful.

  “You have fought courageously, yet you are not strong enough.” Closing his eyes, he inhaled his own majestic nature, his godliness. The sound of beating drums and cheering rang in his ears.

  He smiled as he was about to embark on his finest hour. After all these years and countless offerings, he was finally going to get praise and admiration for his hard work. Not that he’d ever required it before—at least not from the earthly realm. His accomplishments were appreciated by those in the heavenly realm, the place where he belonged.

  His heart pumped fast with anticipation as he spoke in Spanish to call upon the heavens for their blessings for his safe return and to express his faith in divine timing. While he was stuck in this human body, it would not be for much longer.

  The offering’s cries were dying down, and he feared the man might have passed out. He slapped his face to rouse him. He needed the offering to be awake for the next step.

  “Prepare yourself for the afterlife.” He took the knife and thrust it into the offering’s chest, his other hand closely following it, and he came out with the man’s still-beating heart, blood dripping from his hands.

  Tremors ran through him, and he felt the divine present with him. He closed his eyes briefly and then opened them, his head tilted heavenward. He held the still-beating heart over his head for a moment and then placed it on a silver plate.

  He let out a yell at the victory, at the release, at the sacrifice. He smeared blood from his hands on the faces of four idols he had placed near the stone. Four represented stability and the God of the Sun and Warriors.

  He started chanting again and returned to the offering, who had now crossed over. Taking the knife, he cut off the hands and feet, plucking the bones from the flesh, and set them on a silver plate.

  He then moved the body to the floor and worked at peeling off the offering’s skin, starting with the scalp so he could take the man’s face. He proceeded to the arms, and chest, and legs, chanting the entire time, praising the gods.

  Once he’d finished, he laid the skin of his sacrifice over his own, in effect dressing himself with the offering. Carefully, he performed the dance that represented the rebirth of life, but then his movement stopped.

  Standing there, a calm swept over him, as it always did at this point, and he let his mind gravitate up and away from the earthly realm. This was his reward for carrying out the sacrifice. But the feeling of absolute bliss didn’t last long.

  The clock was ticking, and he didn’t have the time to savor this offering.

  He ripped the offering’s skin from him and tossed it to the ground.

  He roared in sheer frustration, but now it was time to implement the second part of his plan. He had to place the remains somewhere they’d be found quickly, preferably at first light.

  -

  Chapter 28

  THE SUN CAME UP THE next day, and we had one priority: finding Stanley Gilbert. Something that was easier said than done when we had no idea where he was. Yet. Last night, Paige had updated Jack and me about their visit to Atlanta. The Perimeter Mall was sending Nadia surveillance videos pulled from their parking lot and food court cameras from last Friday for the window of eleven in the morning until one in the afternoon.

  Hopefully, we’d come away with another vehicle that we could track down, but at least we were now armed with the knowledge that Stanley had used the ruse of being a mall janitor to abduct Eric Morgan. It was quite likely that he’d used this tactic more than once in different places. The video from inside would make for terrific evidence when the case went to court.

  Despite the hope that we’d get some solid leads, Jack was in a sour mood. “We need to find out where he is carrying out the ritual and burying the bodies. Heck, there’s a lot we need to find out.”

  “It’s going to have to wait,” Pike said as he entered the room. “A body was found about half an hour ago.” He took a few heaving breaths.

  Not another one…

  “It was found on Grove Point Road near Shore Road
,” Pike added. “In a ditch, next to a culvert.”

  “Not too far from where Stanley lives,” I said.

  “Where was it? Just out in the open?” Paige asked.

  “Yep.”

  I looked at the team, and they were all likely thinking the same thing I was: dumping a body like this didn’t seem like our unsub’s work. “Who found the body?” I asked.

  “A bicyclist.” Pike was already on the move. “Follow me.”

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, we were on scene, and I was dying for the comfort of the room back at the precinct. Looking at crime scene photos and dissecting the psychology of our unsub seemed like a cakewalk next to what was before me.

  The body of a male was laid out on a plastic sheet. His skin had been removed from his entire body, including his face. There was a hole in his chest, his ribs were sticking through the muscle tissue, and his heart had been removed. His hands and feet were also missing.

  Strips of skin were next to him and were blue, likely coated with the same paint that had been on the torso found two days ago.

  The smell was rancid, and flies were buzzing around.

  I dry heaved and then burped. It was time to call upon my training, upon the need to detach. I was hoping my adrenaline wouldn’t fail me now. But taking a deep breath wasn’t an option. If I inhaled that… Oh, my mouth was salivating… I turned away from the remains, certain I was going to vomit in front of everyone. Sadly, I’d been sick at a crime scene before—more than once, truth be told, and it had to stop happening.

  “We’re obviously looking at a secondary crime scene,” Pike said, setting his hands on his hips.

  “And there’s no way that the body could have been here for too long without being spotted,” Paige added.

  “He likely would have acted under the cover of night to at least eliminate some of the risk involved with dumping the body,” Zach said.

  “I’d say that we can rule out the skin removal as part of something he’s keeping as a trophy,” Paige reasoned. “Though he’s deviated from his regular MO on this one. He doesn’t normally put his victims on display.”