Glimpse of Death: A Riveting Serial Killer Thriller

by Leslie Wolfe

  He closed his eyes and tightened his fists, allowing unsettled memories to invade his mind. Transported, he could see himself as the little boy hidden in the dark closet, too afraid to crawl outside and face a world that was too scary to take on by himself. He had no idea how much time had passed since he sought refuge among scattered clothes and old toys. He might have dozed off, or just lost track of time, until his father had opened the closet door and made him squint and blink repeatedly under the piercing rays of light coming from his bedroom’s ceiling fixture.

  “There you are, little buddy,” his father said, kneeling in the closet, right next to him. “Time to get out of there, all right?”

  His father extended his arms and reached around him, but he pulled back, squirming and whimpering.

  “What’s going on, huh?” His father’s voice was warm and encouraging, but he kept staring at the carpet. Then the next thing he knew, he was in his father’s arms, feeling safe. He stayed like that for a while, quiet, while his dad held him and rocked him gently, back and forth, and listened to the sounds of the approaching storm. The wind howled and blasted furiously, smashing against the low-pitched, Hawaiian wind chimes that hung on the porch. Heavy rain hit the windows and rapped against the roof, and every now and then a loud thunder strike made him jump out of his skin.

  When the downpour eased up for a minute or two, he caught the courage to speak. “Is Mom in trouble?” he whispered, almost too faintly for his father to hear.

  “No, little buddy, she’s fine. Why would you think that?”

  His eyes welled up as he recalled what he’d seen earlier, in his parents’ bedroom. “He seemed very angry. He pulled at her hair with both hands, even if she was begging for forgiveness.”

  His father’s arms turned rigid. “Who?” he asked in an ominous voice. “Who was angry with Mommy?”

  “A man… I don’t know.”

  “And where did you see this man, little buddy?”

  “In her bedroom, I told you that.” He squirmed a little, but then remained cuddled up in his father’s arms and buried his face in his chest when a lightning bolt lit up the room.

  “Was Mommy crying?”

  “Uh-uh. She was on her knees in front of him, like people do in church. But he didn’t care, and pulled her hair. It was warm in the house too.”

  His father frowned and lifted him to his eye level, searching his face. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because they had no clothes on.”

  “Oh, God,” his father said, and he felt his chest shuddering among short, raspy breaths.

  “She didn’t scream, Daddy; she was brave. Will she be okay?”

  He didn’t answer. He stormed out of the closet, carrying him in his arms, and started looking for her. Still holding him, he kicked the doors open with his foot, one by one, looking for her. Every few seconds, he shouted her name, and hearing his dad shout was terrifying. He eventually let him go, and he crawled on the living room couch, curled up in a corner, and waited for the storm to pass.

  His father had paced the floor for a long time that night, waiting for his mother to come home. When she did, he didn’t say or ask anything. The moment she walked through the door, he pounced and hit her hard. “You goddamned whore!”

  One more blow and she was on the floor, yelling senseless words, kicking and clawing at his face, but he soon overcame her. He cornered and straddled her, and she couldn’t move anymore, couldn’t fight back. He held her wrists above her head with one hand, and tried to strangle her with the other, while she kicked and writhed on the floor, trying to free herself from underneath his weight.

  “With your son in the house, you fucking slut?”

  She choked and gasped for air, fighting hard. He let go of her neck only to slap her again, then reached for her scarf. He grabbed the silky fabric and rolled his fist around it a couple of times, so it wouldn’t slip. Then he wrapped it around her neck, and let go of her wrists to grab the other end of the scarf and pull.

  “Daddy!”

  The piercing sound of his son’s voice stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to look at the boy. In that moment, he lost focus and loosened the grip on the scarf for a split second, enough for her to wriggle free and kick him in the groin, as hard as she could. He gasped and buckled on his side, crouching and holding his abdomen with both hands. She didn’t need more than that. In an instant, she got up to her feet and dashed out the door. A second later, he heard her car’s engine roar, then it disappeared, covered by the sound of rolling thunder.

  That was the last memory he had of his mother. Torn clothing, bloodied lip, and an eye swollen shut, running for her life, choking and yelling and swearing. He’d never seen her since, nor heard from her again. The storm had come and gone, leaving shards of their family behind.

  It wasn’t until years later that he truly understood what had happened that day, and it didn’t help him forgive her. It just deepened the anger he felt, for having been abandoned and deprived of his childhood… and for what?

  Regardless, his eyes always searched the crowds for her. He wanted to see if she was really as beautiful as he remembered. He yearned to ask her why she’d betrayed the both of them for a stranger. He craved to punish her for her betrayal, for the endless pain he and his father had suffered, all those years. He ached to finish what his father had started.

  Memories started to fade away, withdrawing into the darkness they’d emerged from, and rendering him back to his adult reality. When he opened his eyes, he let go of the chair’s arms, and felt the tension in his fingers ease. He’d been holding on too tight, so tight his fingers hurt and cracked, white-knuckled and numb. He rubbed his hands for a minute or so, watching the two women in the guest room.

  They stood and talked quietly now, one naked, one still fully clothed. Yes, that one… that one had the defiance he remembered seeing in his mother’s eyes.

  When he entered the guest room, both women gasped and turned to face him, frozen with fear. He approached the new one and looked her in the eye. He saw the terror in her steady look, but also a shred of pride, of character. He lifted his hand and caressed her face gently, but the woman pulled away and grunted, visibly disgusted, turning her face away from him. He grinned and turned to the other woman.

  “Get her ready,” he said, then turned and left the guest room before she could answer.

  12

  Preparations

  Katherine didn’t dare to breathe until the door closed after the man, leaving the two of them alone, locked in the room from hell. Instinctively, the two young women huddled together, holding on to each other’s arms, and still stared at the closed door, fearing he’d change his mind and come back.

  “Who the hell was that?” Katherine asked in a whisper. “That wasn’t the man who took me. This one’s taller, stronger—”

  “Yeah, I know,” Sarah replied. “He’s… there are two of them.”

  “Oh, great…” Katherine said, then swallowed hard. “I thought you said he comes and takes you sometimes, he, as in one man.”

  “Yeah, this one never touches me; only the other one does.” Sarah averted her eyes and blushed a little.

  Katherine started slowly pacing the room, deep in thought. Two deep lines of worry marked her brow, flanking the root of her nose. What if they were never getting away? What if this was it? Sometime in the future, if ever, the cops would catch these animals and dig up the bodies they’d buried who knows where, and she’d end up on some list, in a local newspaper, maybe on TV, and that’s it. That’s how these things typically ended. No future, no hope, nothing. Just darkness, and a fate that made her afraid to breathe, afraid to exist. Her hands trembled constantly now, and her heart rate was well beyond the clinical limit for tachycardia.

  She watched Sarah pull open drawers and get some items together, but didn’t pay attention. She had a single thing on her mind.

  “How can we get out of here?”

  Sarah turned her head towar
d her and looked at her with weary eyes. “We can’t. There’s no way.”

  “Have you tried? Have the others tried?” Katherine pointed at the list of names scratched on the wall, behind the bedpost. “I can’t believe so many women just gave up, resigned to their kidnappers’ whims. They must’ve tried something.”

  Sarah scoffed bitterly. “That’s what you think? That we just gave up and accepted our fate without even trying?”

  Katherine frowned, waiting for her to continue.

  “Whatever we do, they see,” Sarah explained. “Whatever we say, they hear. The walls are solid; Lisa knocked on every corner of these walls, searching for a way out. The door is massive, solid wood, and bolted shut; we can’t break through that. So, tell me, what exactly did we miss?”

  Katherine pursed her lips, thinking of other options, then whispered, “I’m sorry.” She approached Sarah and gave her a hug, just to place her lips near the young woman’s ear.

  “How about we jump the guy when he comes in here next time?” she whispered. “It could work; just poke his eyes out with your fingers. I know where to apply pressure to weaken him in a matter of seconds.”

  A little stiff at first, Sarah hugged her back, tentatively. “It’s been tried before, or so Lisa told me. Their vengeance was horrible. I—I just can’t, I’m sorry.” She pushed Katherine away gently, and returned to the dresser.

  Katherine stood, watching the other woman clutter the dresser with all sorts of cosmetics. She organized them by categories. She had facial treatments and makeup in one pile, then nail polish, manicure accessories, and hand creams in another. A wax heater was warming, filling the room with the familiar salon scent. She couldn’t take her eyes from the long, metallic, nail file; it could work so much better than a finger for stabbing the bastard in the eye. They had options, but she couldn’t do it alone.

  “All right, let’s get started,” Sarah said softly, with a sigh she tried to hide.

  “Get started with what?”

  “Getting you ready,” she replied, keeping her eyes lowered. “You heard him.”

  “That’s what he meant? Primping me for them, to find me more attractive while they rape me? Absolutely not,” she replied coldly. “You got to be kidding me, right?”

  “No, I’m not,” Sarah replied in a sad whisper. “We have to do it. All hair must go, all of it. He doesn’t like it. Fingernails done, fresh makeup every day. That’s the rule.”

  Katherine looked at Sarah’s naked body, scrutinizing every inch of her skin, and ignoring the blushing young woman’s visible humiliation. There wasn’t a single hair anywhere on Sarah’s body, except for the hair on her head, that she could see. All of a sudden, she felt a wave of immense sadness swell her heart. She felt sorry for the young woman in front of her, for what the sick bastards had put her through, and for what her own uncertain future held. Her eyes welled up, but she blinked back her tears and welcomed the rising anger that brought bitter bile to her throat.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah, I’m not going to do it,” she replied calmly, then shoved her fisted hands in the pockets of her black Anne Klein pants.

  “Please… we have to,” Sarah insisted, shooting a quick, scared glance at the dark window.

  Katherine turned toward the window and propped her hands on her hips. “Read my lips, willya?” she said loudly. “Hell, no!”

  13

  Waking Up

  Tess became aware of her eyelids at first, stubbornly stuck and refusing to peel off her eyes. She forced them to open, and the first ray of light blinded her, making her turn her head away from the window. The sudden movement made her dizzy, so she closed her eyes again and breathed deeply, trying to stop the room from spinning. She felt her throat, parchment dry, and tried to swallow, but didn’t feel any relief.

  “Here you go, kiddo,” she heard Cat’s voice, and opened her eyes again to find the tip of a straw next to her thirsty lips. She tried to smile, then sipped a few gulps of tea. It was delicious, or so it seemed, quenching her thirst and easing the metallic taste in her mouth.

  “Look who’s up,” the nurse said in a chipper voice, arriving promptly by her side and noting her vitals. “How are you feeling today, Special Agent Winnett?”

  “Like I’ve been stabbed and sewn back together,” she replied in a coarse voice, and let a faint smile appear on her parched lips. “It’s Tess. You’ve seen my insides; I think you can call me by name.”

  Cat smiled widely. “Happy to have you back,” he said, and squeezed her hand in his.

  “Thanks…” she whispered, “for being here.”

  He didn’t let go of her hand, and she relished the feeling of safety and comfort his presence gave her.

  The nurse wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm and began pumping.

  “We got 96 over 57,” she said, seemingly satisfied. “All right, Tess, I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. He’ll be happy to hear that.”

  The nurse slid the door open, and Tess saw a uniformed cop pull out a phone and speed-dial a number.

  “She’s awake. Yes, sir,” he said, then hung up and dialed a new number.

  “Don’t go calling any more people now,” the nurse said. “Not today. She’s not up for too many visitors. The doctor won’t allow a whole gang in there.”

  Tess must have dozed off for a little while, because the nurse was back at her bed, changing her IV. She tried to read the name on her nametag, but her blurry vision wasn’t helping much. It was as if two different images ran circles around each other, failing to overlap and become a single, crisp view.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Melissa Henderson,” the nurse replied, not taking her eyes off the job she was doing. “I’m your day shift, post-op nurse.”

  “Can I call you Melissa?”

  “Sure you can, sweetie.”

  Tess smiled and looked at Cat for a second. From Special Agent Winnett to sweetie within the hour. That was the Southern way, and Tess loved it. She closed her eyes, just for a little while.

  When she woke up again, a tall man who looked vaguely familiar was holding her wrist with a dry, warm hand. He wore white hospital scrubs, and the traditional stethoscope hung around his neck. Instead of a chart, he carried an iPad, and wore a pleasant smile, even if a little smug.

  “Agent Winnett? I’m Dr. DePaolo. I operated on you yesterday, and you did me the favor to recover quite well. Thank you for that; I like good stats,” he said. He spoke cheerfully, a little louder than she would have cared for.

  “Thanks,” Tess replied.

  He took a flashlight out of his pocket and checked her pupillary reflex, muttering, “Uh-huh,” after checking each eye. “Do you know what day it is?” he asked, frowning a little.

  “Um, the day after the surgery, right?” She racked her brain to extract more information. “The nineteenth… Tuesday.”

  “Perfect,” he replied with a satisfied smile. “You’ve had a grade III splenic trauma, but we managed to save the organ. Through some kind of miracle, the blade missed the colon. That means you have no dietary restrictions; just take it easy for a while, enjoy our chicken broth and Jell-O. You don’t want to be bloated and put pressure on your sutures before they heal. Eat low-residue foods, with plenty of protein.”

  She smiled nervously, a little worried, seeing how the doctor’s frown didn’t go away.

  “That’s where the good news stops, Agent Winnett. You’ve lost a tremendous amount of blood, and came within an inch of losing your life. You went into stage three hypovolemic shock, and we’ve given you four units of blood. You might need more.”

  He waited to see if she had questions; she didn’t. She just kept her eyes focused on him, listening.

  “You might experience some mental confusion, dizziness, and pain. However, considering what I’ve seen so far, you should start feeling better soon. You’ll make a full recovery, Agent Winnett; you just need to rest. Only don’t do this again, all right?”

/>   She smiled. “It’s a deal.”

  “We’ll see you again tomorrow morning,” he said, then promptly left the room.

  Tess tried to lift herself higher on the pillows, but sharp pain in her side got her to give up on that idea.

  “There’s a remote for that,” the nurse said, and put the small, tethered device in her hand.

  She lifted the head portion of the bed without any effort, and felt better just to be able to sit up for a while.

  “And this is for your pain medication,” Melissa added, handing her another device. “In case I’m not here and you need some more.”

  “I’ll go easy on that,” she replied. “I hate being zombied out.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” the nurse said with a chuckle, then resumed her activities, preparing another batch of test tubes. “None of you tough guys like the pain meds much.”

  “I’m hungry, you know,” she told Cat, as if she shared a big secret. “That soup would be nice.”

  The door opened again. Michowsky and Fradella hesitated in the doorway for a split second, then came rushing in.

  “Hey, you guys,” she said, ignoring the nurse’s furrowed brow and Cat’s frustrated groan. “Good to see you two.”

  “Good to see you’re back in the land of the living, Winnett,” Michowsky replied, feigning humorous indifference. His eyes told a different story though, and Tess looked at him long enough to notice his unspoken anguish.

  “Thank you for saving me,” she said, and took his hand.

  He didn’t reply for a while, just held her hand quietly. “Any time,” he finally said, then swallowed hard.

  “Sorry we had to leave,” Fradella said. “We have a new case, another weird one.”

  “No worries, guys, the job comes first. Why is it weird?”

  She felt energized to be talking shop again. She felt the blood rush through her veins, and her brain clear itself of the painkiller fog.