Glimpse of Death: A Riveting Serial Killer Thriller
Page 29
“There could be, but there aren’t,” Carl replied, seemingly sure of himself. “Trust me.”
She held her breath and lowered her head, then clasped Carl’s hand tightly. He turned on the flashlight on his phone and led the way without hesitation. A few seconds later, they reached the beach, and Kris let out a tense, long breath.
The light of the waning gibbous Moon reflected against the calm ocean waves, sending flickers of light everywhere and covering the beach in silver shadows. They were completely alone. The only creatures keeping them company were pale crabs that took bellicose stances when Kris and Carl stomped the sand around them, giggling.
“See? Told you,” Carl said, “no one’s going to see us out here. We can do whatever we want,” he said playfully.
Kris squealed and ran toward the lifeguard tower. In daylight, the tower showed its bright yellow and orange, a splash of joyful colors on the tourist-abundant stretch of sand. At night, the structure appeared gloomy, resembling a menacing creature on tall, insect-like legs.
“It looks like one of those aliens from War of the Worlds,” Kris said, then promptly started running, waving her arms up in the air, pretending she was flying.
Carl chased Kris, laughing and squealing with her, running in circles around the tower, and weaving footstep patterns between the solid wood posts.
“Phew,” Carl said, stopping his chase and taking some distance. “Stinks of piss. Let’s get out of here.”
“Eww…” Kris replied, following him. “Why do men do that?”
“What? Pee?”
“Everybody pees, genius,” Kris replied, still panting from the run. “Peeing where it stinks and bothers people, that’s what I meant. Women pee in the bushes. Men should pee in the water if they don’t like the bushes.”
“Really? That’s gross.”
“Where do you think fish pee? At least the waves would wash away the pee and it wouldn’t stink, to mess up our sunrise.”
“Fish pee?” Carl pushed back, incredulous.
“They don’t?”
They walked holding hands, putting a few more yards of distance between them and the tower. Then Carl suddenly dropped to the ground, dragging Kris with him. She squealed again, and laughed.
“Let’s sit here,” he said. “The show’s on. Let’s see if we get a good one.”
The sky was starting to light up toward the east. They watched silently, hand in hand, as the dark shades of blue and gray gradually turned ablaze, mixing in dark reds and orange hues. The horizon line was clear, a sharp edge marking where ocean met sky.
“It’s going to be great,” Carl said. “No clouds, no haze.” He kissed her lips quickly, and then turned his attention back to the celestial lightshow.
“You’re a strange boy, Carl.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Other boys would have asked me to sneak out in the middle of the night to make out. With you, it’s a sunrise, period. Should I worry?”
Carl smiled widely, then tickled Kris until she begged for mercy between gasps of air and bouts of uncontrollable laughter.
“Stop! Stop it already. I can’t breathe!”
“I might want to get on with that make out, you know,” Carl laughed.
“Nah, it’s getting light. Someone could see us,” Kris pushed back, unconvinced. “Someone could come by.”
Carl shrugged and turned his attention to the sunrise. He grabbed her hand and held it gently, playing with her fingers.
Almost half the sky had caught fire, challenging the moonlight, and obliterating most of its reflected light against the blissful, serene, ocean waves.
Carl checked the time on his phone.
“A few more minutes until it comes out,” he announced, sounding serious, as if predicting a rare and significant event. He took a few pictures of the sky, then suddenly snapped one of Kris.
“Ah… no,” she reacted, “give that to me right this second, Carl.” She grabbed the phone from his hand and looked at the picture he’d taken. The image showed a young girl with messy, golden brown hair, partially covering a scrunched, tense face with deep ridges on her brow. The snapshot revealed Kris biting her index fingernail, totally absorbed by the process, slobbering her sleeve cuff while at it.
“God-awful,” she reacted, then pressed the option to delete.
“No!” Carl said, pulling the phone from her hands. “I like it!”
“There’s nothing to like. There,” she said, relaxing a little, and arranging her hair briefly with her long, thin fingers. “I’ll pose for you.” She smiled.
Carl took a few pictures. She looked gorgeous, against the backdrop of fiery skies, pink sand, and turquoise water. He took image after image, as she got into it and made faces, danced, and swirled in front of him, laughing.
The sun’s first piercing ray shot out of the sea, just as Kris shrieked, a blood-curdling scream that got Carl to spring to his feet and run to her.
Speechless, Kris pointed a trembling hand at the lifeguard tower. Underneath the tower, between the wooden posts supporting the elevated structure, was the naked body of a young woman. She appeared to be kneeling, as if praying to the rising sun. Her hands were clasped together in front of her in the universal, unmistakable gesture of silent pleading.
Holding their breaths, they approached carefully, curious and yet afraid of what they stood to discover. The growing light of the new morning revealed more details with each step they took. Her back, covered in bruises and small cuts, stained in smudged, dried blood. Her blue eyes wide open, glossed over. A few specks of sand clung to her long, dark lashes. Her beautiful face, immobile, covered in sparkling flecks of sand. Her lips slightly parted, as if to let a last breath escape. Long, blonde hair, wet from sea spray, almost managed to disguise the deep cut in her neck.
No blood dripped from the wound; her heart had stopped beating for some time. Yet she held upright, unyielding in her praying posture, her knees stuck firmly in the sand covered in their footprints, and her eyes fixated on the beautiful sunrise they came to enjoy.
~~~End Preview~~~
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EXECUTIVE
Leslie Wolfe
A Novel
*** PREVIEW ***
...Chapter 1: Beginnings
...Thursday, March 25, 9:42AM
...Corporate Park Building, Third Floor
...Irvine, California
"I checked her out, and everything is just as expected." Steve pushed a thin file over the large desk, toward his boss. The man took it and flipped carefully through the pages, mumbling his agreement to the various things he was reading.
"Is she available yet?"
"No, sir, waiting for your approval."
The man gave the file and the photo attached to it another thoughtful look.
"Do you think she's ready?"
"No, sir," Steve answered. "But she could be, with a little bit of time and effort."
"She's so young," the man said, "so young. I hope we're right about this."
"She's not any younger than I was when I met you," Steve replied.
"True."
The man stood up and paced the floor for a few minutes, looking out the windows of his office. The sun was climbing in the sky, inundating their world with the crisp morning light. Everything would turn out all right.
"OK, please proceed."
Steve could hear the smile in his voice.
...Chapter 2: Blackmailed
...Friday, April 2, 11:13AM
...Traveling Tech Corporate Offices
...San Diego, California
"I can't do that. We're talking about one of the best tech support analysts I have ever had." George Auster's chubby face was sweating heavily, while trying to persuade his visitor.
His morning was turning into a nightmare that he could not begin to comprehend. The man standing in front
of him was not willing to negotiate. This man had stepped through the door, put a picture on his desk, and looked him straight in the eye.
"She has to go. You have 48 hours. Or you lose everything."
He had no choice.
...Chapter 3: Job Search
...Saturday, April 10, 6:22PM
...Ridgeview Apartments
...San Diego, California
Your next opportunity awaits.
"I definitely hope so," Alex mumbled, waiting for a new search page to load, while staring at the promising slogan of yet another job board.
With little patience for what she was doing, and in desperate need of a job, Alex was browsing page after page of countless job postings, reading ads, and looking for possible fits. With rent due in just two weeks' time and no money left in the bank, she was considering a variety of jobs, spanning from boring-to-death customer service to marketing, but not ignoring any other available options. It was no longer the issue of making the right career choice; it was about survival and paying the bills.
At 29, she was living alone in a small two-bedroom apartment that looked like a war zone. Not preoccupied by the appearance of her home, she had furnished the apartment with a bizarre selection of items, all serving the purpose of functionality. She had focused on what she needed at particular stages in her life, with no consideration given to furniture styles or colors.
Her desk was huge, quite old, and made of solid wood. It had two sets of drawers, one on each side. Not one square inch of the desk's surface was visible, as it was covered with bills, handwritten notes, and office equipment. Her computer took most of the available space, together with a modem, two printers, a scanner, and a phone, all connected by numerous intertwined wires.
The past few days had been carbon copies of one another— search after search, application after application. She had no choice but to keep going.
...Chapter 4: Timing
...Friday, April 16, 8:40AM
...Corporate Park Building, Third Floor
...Irvine, California
"She's available and running out of money."
"Good. Place the ad in a couple of days. Let me know the minute she sees it."
...Chapter 5: Labor of Desperation
...Tuesday, April 20, 5:17PM
...Ridgeview Apartments
...San Diego, California
Her chair looked as if it had been taken from a high-end, downtown office setting—black, massive, and all leather, in total contrast to the rest of the room. Leaning comfortably back in it, Alex was reviewing job posting after job posting, and applying to whatever would have had even the slightest chance of landing her an interview. Although she was quickly going through the ads, one caught her attention.
The Agency is looking for highly motivated, independent individual, possessing a variety of business skills and an adventurous spirit. Please email résumé.
"That's weird. The Agency? What kind of name is that?" Alex said out loud, breaking the silence. That had to be just another recruiter. The email address was a Yahoo account, and, without giving it much thought, she submitted her résumé and moved to the next ad.
Seconds later, a familiar sound let her know that she had new email. One look at the sender's name and she opened it right away.
From: The Agency
Subject: Received Application
Thank you for your application.
In order to perform an assessment of your skills, please click on the link below and complete the form. Please note that this process will take at least an hour of your time. Please give truthful answers to all questions, and indicate all the skills you possess. We will carefully review your online application. If selected to move forward in this recruiting process, we will be in contact with you.
"Oh, no, not another form," Alex cried. Most online recruiting forms had proven to be nothing but wasted time, without any benefit for her. Spending an average of 15 minutes on each online application form—creating profiles, usernames, and passwords for a variety of companies—was like shooting herself in the foot. She needed to spend less than one minute on each ad, because of the high volume of ads she had to browse every day. "And this has to be way worse, they say it takes at least a full hour," she complained, but there was no one there to hear her. "You have got to be kidding me . . ." Continuing to grumble, she clicked on the link indicated in the email. A browser page opened up.
Thank you for giving The Agency an hour of your time, the message read.
"Oh, we're not there yet, pal. I've only given you 15 seconds so far," Alex replied to the written text, as she continued reading.
Please grab a cup of coffee, and let's proceed.
"OK." Smiling at the thought of having a conversation with an online recruiting form, Alex rose and went into the kitchen. Seconds later, she came back to her black leather chair, carrying a large, steaming cup of coffee. "Got it, what else do you want from me?" She clicked next.
If you promise total honesty, I promise a recruiting process without any bullshit, the following page stated.
"Oh, that's fresh. That's totally new," Alex laughed. In an environment in which getting a job depended on how well you replied to some well-known questions by giving some well-known answers, the whole interviewing process seemed to her like a bad joke, told repeatedly. She was amazed at how most people refused to deal with intelligent, innovative people, preferring instead a standard, already-know-the-answer person, showing little initiative and absolutely no spark.
An old college buddy of hers was currently working as a human resources specialist for a big bank. She had taught Alex a few tricks and explained that recruiters look for specific indicators, such as no turnover of jobs without spending at least two years in the same company, no "empty time" between jobs, and no varied experience—the applicant should only reflect experience in the specific field of the job applied for. Therefore, if Alex wanted to apply for a customer-service position, she had a better chance to get that interview by listing only customer-service experience. Thanks to Leah, and to her own intuition, she was easily getting interview invitations.
With her curiosity at a peak level, she clicked next again.
Now that I have your full attention, let's start. Please select all options applicable to you.
The first page was the most bizarre selection ever put together. There was an endless list of skills and questions, grouped by categories. Next to each entry, there was a small check box, positioned next to an available option. By clicking in the box, a check mark would appear, indicating the respective statement was applicable or true. On the upper right corner of the Web page, a progress bar displayed that this was the first page out of 26.
"One hour? I might be fast, but I think you guys are trying to hire Superman." She took a long sip of coffee and started clicking.
...Chapter 6: Hooked
...Tuesday, April 20, 5:19PM
...Corporate Park Building, Third Floor
...Irvine, California
"She's online now, sir."
"I'll be right there."
...Chapter 7: The Form
...Tuesday, April 20, 5:29PM
...Ridgeview Apartments
...San Diego, California
The first category was listed under the title "About Yourself." Alex had options for everything that could describe her, such as height, build, hair color, and style. To her surprise, there were also boxes to check about age, gender, place of birth, race, and other questions considered illegal under current labor laws. She dutifully completed each one.
The form continued with a questionnaire meant to assess the IQ level of the candidate. Although dealing with the job market quite often, Alex had almost never run into intelligence testing. One thing was certain: this was no ordinary application form, and Alex had a growing desire to meet the people behind this original selection process. Suddenly, she found herself wondering what kind of job would require such a detailed and unique application.
>
...Chapter 8: The Wrong Candidate
...Tuesday, April 20, 5:40PM
...CentroTech Resources Corporate Offices
...San Diego, California
"What?" The HR director could not understand. "Are you telling me I cannot hire this person? Why? Who are you?" She was getting frustrated, and her voice was showing it.
The man in front of her, without saying a word, slowly pulled a wallet from his pocket, opened it, and put it in front of the director's bewildered eyes. She recognized a Federal Bureau of Investigation badge. Her voice dropped to a whisper and her head slowly nodded in compliance.
"As you wish."
...Chapter 9: Another Page
...Tuesday, April 20, 6:42PM
...Ridgeview Apartments
...San Diego, California
New category: Language Skills. This time, she had to type the words herself.
Please indicate the languages you speak fluently.
English, Italian, German.
Please indicate the languages in which you can sustain a minimal conversation.
Spanish, French.
Please indicate the languages you can understand or speak a minimum of 15 words or short phrases.
Weird, Alex thought. She typed: Russian, Polish, Hindi, Punjabi, Arabic.
Please indicate the countries to which you have traveled.
"Are they recruiting for the CIA? Is that it? The Agency? Who are these people?" Her own voice, breaking the silence in her apartment, startled her.
Another page, a new category: Computer Skills. Another endless list of selectable options.