The Surgeon’s Secrets

by Michelle Love

  He grabbed his laptop and fired it up. Soon he had the camera feeds up. Her kitchen. Her living room. Her bathroom. Her bedroom. His anger snarled through him when he saw them, naked, kissing, touching, fucking. He watched as Sarah, on top of Isaac, rode his cock hard, throwing her head back as she came, watched Quinn’s hands on her tits, squeezing, saw him go down on her, watched as Sarah sucked his cock.

  Whore

  But it made him unbearably hard to watch them. Later, he watched them asleep in her bed, Quinn curled around her tiny, beautiful body, her dark hair clouded around that face. God, that face. It haunted him the way her dark lashes swept down onto her cheeks. His eyes moved all over her body, the full, ripe breasts, the softly curved belly, the legs that were longer than her height would suggest. Quinn’s big hand was splayed across her belly and it made the watcher want to throw up. How would Quinn feel when she was dead? When her blood stained her beautiful skin, when her eyes would close for the last time?

  He lay on the bed and thought about what his next move would be. The rich asshole was definitely a problem but he knew how to deal with that. In that, he had assistance. He grinned to himself. Caroline. Her repugnant vanity and her absolute hatred of Sarah made her so malleable. With only the slightest show of affection on his part, she had bent to his will, given him her trust. Yes, she’d been invaluable over the past year but… his lip curled in distaste and he sat up. When they had broken into Sarah’s home, he had been furious when she had painted that obscene graffiti in the kitchen but later, thinking about it, it had been advantageous – they would know it was Caroline – but Caroline working alone, never suspecting that he was her puppet-master. They would be upset but not scared. Yet. He was free and clear for the moment.

  He began to collect his possessions; his suitcase, his photography equipment. He loaded up his car and went back in for his final bag. Pausing, he unzipped and pulled out the heavy canvas roll and unfurled it. His knives. He pulled out the one he planned to use on Sarah – long and thin. He imagined it slicing into her tender flesh, visualize her terror, her pain as he murdered her. It made him hard just thinking about it and he went into the shower and began to jerk off. Maybe it was time he gave them a taster of what he had planned for her, and at the same time, fuck with Quinn’s head, and destroy Sarah’s peace of mind.

  And he knew just want to do.

  A week later, Sarah didn’t see Isaac when he came into the coffee house, her head was down, concentrating on the account books. He smiled to himself, picked a flower out of the arrangement on one of the tables. She was sitting facing away from him. He touched the flower to her neck, the lightest touch. She didn’t turn, just swatted at herself, distracted. He grinned and ran the bloom down her skin. She turned and smiled delightedly. She moved around the counter into his arms and he kissed her.

  “Hey you, I wasn’t expecting to see you until later. You playing hooky again?”

  “Yep. You’re a terrible influence.” He grinned and bopped her nose with the flower. Your corsage, ma’am.” He stuck the flower in her hair. She laughed.

  “You want coffee?”

  “Always.” He sat down and studied her as she grabbed the coffee pot. He’d been away on a business for the last two days and now he drank in the sight of her. “Is it possible you got more beautiful than ever since I last saw you?”

  She made a face and made him laugh.

  He reached over to take her hand. “I missed you,” he said, grinning at her, “this working thing is really inconvenient. What are you up to later?”

  “I have to drop some paperwork off at George’s place. He still refuses to join the technology age and get a computer so I had to print some stuff off for him. After that, I’m free for whatever you want.” She grinned lasciviously and he smiled.

  An hour later, Isaac nodded and turned the car around, heading out of town. He glanced over at her. “So what do you feel like doing after?”

  “You.”

  “Damn, you keep talking like that, we’re never going to get to George’s place. Hey, not to ruin the moment, but any new letters or anything weird?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Maybe Caroline’s finally got the message. Finn must have threatened her with arrest for stealing the crime scene photos to get her to stop. I think she’s done, the stupid idiot.”

  Isaac sighed. “She has definitely lived up my first impression of her.” He looked over at her and smiled. “Remember that? Our first date at George’s restaurant?”

  Her eyes were soft. “Of course, I do. God, was there ever a time when I didn’t know and love you?”

  He pulled her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “I know what you mean, sweetheart.”

  They drove in silence and a few minutes later Isaac drew the car up to the sidewalk outside George’s house. Sarah started to open the door but Isaac stopped her.

  “Are you mine forever?” He whispered.

  “For all time.” She answered simply and when she looked up at him, he could see the love in her eyes. He smiled.

  “Guess I better go make nice with my future father-in-law.”

  She laughed slightly as she got out of the car. “One thing at a time, buddy. Besides,” she gave him a sly smile, “I need to be wooed first.”

  He laughed out loud. “Wooed?”

  “Hell yes.” She rummaged in her purse for the key and opened the door. As she was stepping into the house, Isaac’s phone buzzed.

  “I’ll be right behind you, darling.”

  The downstairs was in darkness, the drapes pulled. In the hallway, she thought she smelled cooking, or food and wondered if George had prepared something for them.

  “Hey pops,” she called. No answer.

  She went into the kitchen and stopped. The blinds were down and the room in absolute darkness but the smell of… something… was strong in here. She felt her gag reflex kick in. Jesus…Her heart began to thump unpleasantly. She felt her way over to the window, almost slipping in something wet on the floor. She pulled the blinds up, letting the sun stream into the room, and turned.

  Everything in her world stopped. Everything in her world ended.

  Her knees gave way, and every bone in her body went soft. A sound, a scream, a howl ripped its way from the center of her being. Her knees hit the floor, splashing still warm blood over her clothes, her face. She sat there, panting, all human thought gone. Unthinking she crawled through the blood to the front door and somehow managed to get it open. Still on all-fours, she managed to make it to the middle of the front lawn before collapsing. Isaac’s face was a mask of horror as he took in her blood-covered form. She curled into a fetal position, her mind shut down. Catatonic.

  “Christ, Sarah…. what? What happened?” Isaac’s voice, frantic sounded hollow to her, an echo in an empty hall. She didn’t even feel it when Isaac lifted her into his arms and took her to the car.

  Finn came out of the house, his face white, shocked. He pulled Isaac away from the ambulance as he argued with the paramedics. Sarah was refusing to be taken to the hospital and the paramedics were trying to persuade her otherwise.

  “Isaac, let them look after her. You need to see this.”

  He followed Finn into the house, the smell of the blood, of flesh starting to decompose hitting him. He balked at the entrance of the kitchen, and when he did take a step into the room, he clamped a hand over his nose. George was laid out on the kitchen table, his eyes open and staring, his face contorted in unimaginable agony. His torso was split from his throat down to his groin and his organs, his intestines spilled out over his body, his blood covered the floor, congealing, the stench of iron and death. There were stab marks all over his body, his face, and his head.

  Isaac gagged. “Jesus.”

  Finn nodded. “I know. But that’s not what I need you to see. The killer left a message for Sarah.” He nodded to the far wall. From his position, Isaac couldn’t see what he was indicating. He moved into the room a little more, wincing as his sh
oes squeaked in the blood, looked up at where Finn was pointing and his heart stopped.

  Photographs of Sarah. Hundreds, maybe thousands, layer upon layer of them. In most of them, she wasn’t looking at the camera, some obviously taken from a distance, some from awkward angles. She was smiling in most, oblivious to the camera, or talking to someone else. Photos of Isaac and Sarah together. In one they were holding hands, laughing at one of their silly jokes, aprons on, lording it over the barbecue as if they were cordon bleu chefs. That one was at the house, her house. He tried to figure out the angle the picture was taken from. It wasn’t hard. The photographer must have been in the tree line. Photos where he could see members of his own family in the background.

  Then he saw the photos in the center of the collage and his heart began to thump, a wave of nausea rising in his throat. Sarah. Dead. Murdered. Stabbed, shot, strangled. They were obviously photo-shopped images of her head on the bodies of murdered women but it didn’t lessen the horror of imagining her like that. It would have been clear what the threat was even without the most damning evidence.

  In George’s blood, smeared in dark gobs across the wall.

  You are next…

  Here, Today, Then…Part Two:

  The smell hit him and he gagged. His stomach constricted with dread. He knew what that smell meant. Taking a deep breath, he went in. The trailer was in darkness, the stench of death overpowering. He heard the buzz of flies, flicked on his torch, hand on his service revolver just in case.

  The woman was slumped naked in a chair at the far end of the trailer. On the floor beside her was a long-handled razor. Her wrists and her throat were hacked to shreds. Her blood sprayed across the table in front of her, the cabinets and the worn banquette. It pooled on the floor.

  “You see anything”?”

  The nosy neighbor who called it in. He ignored him and slowly moved the light around the room. The woman was pretty, Chinese, he thought, her long black hair hung in the blood on the floor, her onyx eyes cloudy and distant. He shook his head. Waste. He took in the mess on the countertops. Behind him the door to bedroom stood ajar. He poked his head in, not wanting to disturb anything. The scene of crime officers would be here soon and he’d have to account for everything he touched. The torch’s beam picked out the bed, the nightstand, condoms and lube. So the neighbor had been right. The dead woman had been a pro. He sighed. To him, it didn’t make a difference what she did.

  Waste.

  He stepped out into the kitchen again and shone his light across the table at the far end. Two plates, half eaten sandwiches, a glass, a bottle of vodka, pills, a sippy cup.

  A sippy cup.

  His heart leaped in his chest and that’s when he heard it. A whisper…or a song?

  I got the joy joy joy joy down in my heart…

  He could barely make it out. He flicked his torch beam under the table and saw a tiny foot. He dropped to his knees, not caring if they were in the blood. He shone the light into the corner and saw her.

  The child. Not more than five years old. She blinked at him with wide, dark, frightened eyes.

  “Hey,” his voice was soft. “Hey, sweet girl…hey. Don’t be scared.”

  The girl was dressed only in a vest and underwear. Soaked with blood. He held out a hand for her to take. She stared at it and pushed herself further into the corner. He smiled at her kindly.

  “It’s okay, honey. I’m a police officer. Do you know what that is?”

  Still staring at him, she nodded slowly. Then his heart gave a lurching twist as he saw her arms. Slashes at her tiny wrists. Every emotion came then: anger, rage, heartbreak. Tenderness. He smiled at her again.

  “Will you come out for me, sweet girl? Come let me see your hands, make them all better?”

  He didn’t know why she came but she did – she crawled, albeit slowly, towards him and didn’t protest when he swung her up into his arms. She was a tiny little thing, dark brown hair, skin lighter than the dead woman”s. He would have bet the farm that the father was long gone if the woman had even known who he was. The girl stared up at him, his dark brown skin shining in the torch light. She touched his face as if she couldn’t believe he was really there.

  “What’s your name, sweet girl?”

  Her mouth moved but he didn’t hear anything.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t hear what you said. Would it help if I told you my name?” He wasn’t sure if she understood him now. He pulled his identification card from his pocket and showed it to her. She touched the picture then his face and he nodded, smiling.

  “That’s right, that’s me. My name is George G-E-O-R-G-E. George. My last name is Madrigal, like the song. Do you know your name, sweet girl?”

  She nodded slowly, bent to his ear and whispered. George smiled at her.

  “I’m very glad to meet you…,” He brushed some hair out of her eyes.”…very glad indeed, my sweet girl Sarah.”

  Now…

  When Sarah closed her eyes, she could still see him. Smell the blood. See his intestines, his organs, his lungs torn out of him, dripping ooze and gore onto the linoleum.

  Now, covered in a white sheet, his face “repaired” by the mortician, she stared down at the face of the only father she’d ever known. She volunteered to formally identify George’s body so no-one else would have to see him torn apart like that. She wasn’t allowed to touch him but she bent down and whispered “I’m sorry” into his ear.

  She felt Isaac’s big hand warm against her back. “Sweetheart?” she turned and he gathered her against him. She couldn’t cry anymore, her eyes were red raw, her throat tinder-dry but the feeling of Isaac’s arms around her gave her comfort. She felt his lips pressed against her forehead.

  “Let’s go home, baby.”

  She nodded and soon they were back at his apartment. He made her take a hot bath then go to bed, stretching out beside her, stroking her face until she fell asleep.

  The Mariners were losing. Finn shifted in his seat, wishing he could concentrate on the game. He and a couple of his colleagues from the city were off getting hot dogs and beer, the Safeco crowd at capacity.

  Finn pulled his cap over his eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah. She had been so hurt, so devastated it twisted in his gut when he thought about it. He’d just wanted to hold her and make it all okay for her, but Isaac had been there, and it hadn’t seemed appropriate. Weird how that worked. Sarah was his sister, his family and now there was someone in her life who filled every role for her. As long as she was happy, Finn shrugged and let out a long breath. Beside, now he had his own family to think of.

  After he’d gotten home from the long hours of work, after George’s murder, Caroline had been smiling, almost giddy. Pregnant. Jesus, how the hell did that happen? He’d slept with Caroline twice in the last year. Both times, he had too much to drink. Jesus. Finn swore under his breath. He just wasn’t ready for a kid yet, not like this, not with her. Pregnant. Did he believe the baby was his? Not really. And he didn’t care if Caroline was unfaithful – he knew for a fact that she had been many, many times. Still, he couldn’t walk away knowing the child could be his. It wasn’t in his blood to abandon family.

  Damn it. He leaned forward, trying to stop the bottomless ache in his heart. A copy of the Seattle Times was wedged under the seat in front of him. A photo caught his eye. He yanked it free. A headline. Brutal Slaying of Seattle Undergrad…Finn read the story quickly but his eyes kept being drawn back to the photo. Dark eyes, dark hair. She looked just like Sarah. Finn felt a wave of nausea. You’re losing it, man. But he tore the page from the rest of the newspaper and shoved it into his pocket. The nightmare scene at George’s place, the smeared blood on the walls. You are next. Someone was targeting Sarah and he was damned if he’d let anything happen to her.

  “Dude, you sleeping?” Hank, one of the city cops, banged his shoulder. “You’re getting old, man.” Finn gave him a wry smile and took the beer he offered.

  The whole commun
ity turned out for George’s funeral a week later.

  Sarah held the wake at the house. Kept busy with the catering and tending to the guests, it wasn’t until late that she managed to get a moment to herself. She snuck out the back door and, kicking off her shoes, sat on the steps of the porch. She leaned against the railing and shut her eyes. The pounding grief made her chest ache. The last few days had been horrific. George’s home had been cordoned off and crime scene investigators were everywhere. The Varsity had been full of customers wanting to know what happened, all well-meaning but wearing. A few times, she had hidden out in the backroom while Molly dealt with some of more emotional ones.

  From inside, she heard Isaac asking Molly if she had seen Sarah and smiled.

  “Out here, baby.”

  He’d been her rock, her protector this last week, through the constant questioning of the homicide detectives. Do you know any reason why someone would want to kill George Madrigal? Would want to kill you? Why didn’t you report the letters?

  She thought about that now, staring over at the trees that led down to the cove, the dark boathouse at the edge of the water. So much loss. She brushed a tear away.

  Isaac sat down next to her, pulled his tie apart and undid his collar. He winked at her, reaching out and running his hand lightly down the back of her head. She leaned into his touch.