by Jack Kilborn
But you believe you’re a Furie, don’t you? Is that real?
I am a product of my reality.
Tom recalled a conversation with a psychopath named Torble that went a lot like this one. The man seemed perfectly sane one minute, and then a raging loon the next.
Don’t kill anyone else. Please.
Are you willing to make a deal, Tom?
Sure. What do you want?
The response was immediate. Castrate yourself.
Cut off my balls, and you won’t kill anyone else?
Yes. You have my word.
I need to think about it.
No time for that. This deal expires in thirty seconds. And that’s more than enough time to do the deed. I know, from experience.
Okay. I’ll do it.
So do it, Tom.
I need to find a knife.
Tom waited. Then he typed, OK, got one.
Liar, Tom. The next whore I kill, I’m carving your name all over her body.
Erinyes left the chatroom, and the forum. Off to kill again.
And Tom had no idea what he could do to stop him.
CHAPTER 37
Erinyes goes through her mental checklist. What’s in the van, and what’s on her person?
Duct tape.
Butcher knife.
Cardboard box.
Hand truck.
Moving blankets.
Master keys.
WD-40.
Stun gun.
Gamma-Hydroxybutyric acid.
Ball gag.
Taurus 9mm with suppressor.
Adult diapers.
Ethyl ether.
Ammonia ampules.
Doorstop.
Antique ether mask.
Thank you, Internet. What Amazon and eBay can’t supply, the dark net does.
It’s 2 A.M., and Erinyes is both tired and riled up. The chat with the cop was strangely exhilarating. The voyeuristic aspect of it added to the excitement.
You got a knife, Tom?
No… you don’t. I know because I’m watching you on your cell phone camera.
Things have gotten more difficult. More complicated. Changing agendas at the last minute can lead to mistakes. But Erinyes is patient.
Erinyes is patience.
Slow and steady.
Silent and careful.
Erinyes is outside the sinner’s door.
She takes out his cell.
Uses the app.
Turns on the sinner’s phone.
Accesses her camera and speakers.
The room is dark. Only the sound of breathing.
The sinner is asleep.
Erinyes sprays inside the deadbolt lock with lubricating oil. She also sticks the thin, red tube into the door cracks and hinges, making sure everything gets a squirt.
The door used to squeak; Erinyes knows this from her online surveillance. Now, courtesy of the correct master key, it pushes open with a faint sigh.
Erinyes enters the dark, slipping inside quickly, securing the door behind her.
You shouldn’t have lied, Tom.
You should have made the deal, and cut your naughty man parts off.
Because now I’m inside your house.
And I’m going to record some video. Of me carving your name into Joan’s face.
CHAPTER 38
Joan awoke to a buzzing sound. It took her a moment to get her bearings.
I’m in bed. Tom’s bed. Had a night out with Trish. Drank too much.
Another buzz.
My phone. On the nightstand next to the bed.
Joan reached for it, squinting at the text message. It was from Trish, in all caps.
INDENTITY THEFT!!!!
As Joan puzzled over what that could mean, and why it warranted four exclamation points, a follow-up text appeared.
Roy didn’t go to Hilton! Someone cloned his credit card! He’s not cheating!!!
Joan texted back an emoji smiley face. Then she checked her messages.
Nothing new from Tom.
She frowned in the darkness. Joan still hadn’t listened to any of his previous messages. She had been waiting for him to come home, to deal with it in person.
Was he still at the hospital? Had that bite been more serious than Joan had guessed?
Or was he someplace else?
A bar?
A hotel?
With his incredibly hot, bisexual co-worker, Eva?
At work, chasing The Snipper?
Joan tried to tune into her feelings. Earlier, she’d been self-righteous in her anger. The man couldn’t even take a few days off work to spend time with her. Yet he thought proposing marriage—something Joan didn’t even want—was perfectly logical.
Marriage was a lifelong commitment, and Tom couldn’t even commit to a week.
She had a right to be mad.
But now, all Joan felt was concern.
Was Tom okay?
They’d had fights in the past. On more than one occasion, Joan had turned her phone off to let things calm down. And things always worked out.
Wait… wasn’t my phone off? How did it get back on?
Joan switched on the bedside light and sat up. The house looked empty.
But it didn’t feel empty. It felt like someone was in there. Watching her.
“Tom?”
As her heart rate kicked up, fear and common sense fought for control over Joan’s brain.
What was the likelihood someone had broken in, turned on Joan’s phone, and now was hiding somewhere?
Unlikely.
But Tom was a cop. He had enemies. He chased killers. Joan had looked evil in the eye before, and an ounce of prevention far outweighed a pound of cure. Fear is your body telling you something. You should listen.
Joan eyed the front door. It was only three meters away. She could run for it, get into the hallway, and then—
Then what?
Call the police? Tell them she thinks someone is in the house?
If she was wrong, she’d look foolish. She and Tom would be the butt of jokes forever within the Chicago Police Department.
Call Tom?
That was a better option. In fact, it was the perfect excuse to talk to him.
But what if he didn’t pick up? If he ignored her, like Joan had ignored him? Or if he was on a little bender at the neighborhood pub, like Joan had done earlier with Trish?
Try Tom first. If he doesn’t answer, go to a neighbor.
And then? After banging on a neighbor’s door at two-thirty in the morning, wearing nothing but a bra and tee shirt, the police would have to be called. Which led right back to the laughing stock scenario.
Then Joan remembered the nightstand.
Tom’s back-up gun. A .380 Kimber that she’d practiced with at the range.
She slid open the drawer, found the weapon next to the TV remote control, and then quickly and efficiently checked the magazine and racked a round.
“I have a gun!” Joan announced. Just like Tom taught her to do.
Safety off, both hands steadying the weapon, Joan swung her feet out of bed and went to search the house.
CHAPTER 39
The moment after Joan’s phone buzzed, Erinyes slipped into the bathroom. She knows the layout of the house well; people take their cell phones with them everywhere. As Joan texts, Erinyes reaches overhead and feels around for the ceiling lamp. She softly removes the glass cover, then loosens the light bulb by a quarter-twist.
Then Erinyes slips off her shoes and begins to carefully undress.
It pays to plan ahead. She has no zippers, buckles, or snaps on her clothing. Nothing that would make noise while being removed. Erinyes places her bag, shoes, baggy jeans, jacket, and dark flannel shirt in the bathtub. Beneath those clothes, she’s wearing a full body vantablack unitard, with matching socks. She takes the tube of vantablack makeup from her jacket pocket, closes her eyes, and applies it over her lids. Then she pulls on the vantablack ski mask and gloves.
No, it’s not Tom.
Erinyes carefully takes the ether mask from her bag and sets it in the sink, then pulls up the stopper. Working in the dark, she pours half the bottle of ether onto the mask, judging the amount by weight. Then she places the stun gun and suppressed Taurus on the toilet seat behind her.
“I have a gun!” Joan said.
So do I. Erinyes closes her eyes and stands perfectly still, becoming one with the darkness. Come find me, bitch.
CHAPTER 40
Joan walked past the bed, checking every corner of the room and finding nothing. The bedroom closet door was slightly ajar, and with her finger lightly on the trigger she swung it open in one quick motion.
Empty.
She continued on past the edge of the bedroom, then turned the slight corner and hit the lights for the kitchen.
No one there.
That left a few more closets, the living room, and the bathroom.
Her fear level had begun to drop, and foolishness was taking over. She began to wonder if her initial panic had been rooted in guilt, rather than any actual threat. Joan imagined Tom walking in at that very moment, and her accidentally putting three shots in his center mass. She took her finger off the trigger and placed it alongside the trigger guard.
I’m being silly. And overly paranoid.
I should crawl back into bed.
And then, I should call Tom.
Joan promised herself she’d do just that.
But first, she needed to check the rest of the house.
Blowing out a stiff breath, Joan padded over to the linen closet.
Put one hand on the doorknob.
Swiftly tugged the door open.
Empty.
Joan considered how funny this story would be to tell at some far-off, future date. When she and Tom were elderly.
“Remember that fight we had when you proposed? When I was alone at your house, I missed you so much I thought there was an intruder.”
“So what did you do?”
“I did what you told me to. Announced I had a gun, then walked around, looking for somebody to shoot.”
They’d laugh about this someday, and just thinking about it made things so clear to Joan that she was, at that very moment, fearless.
Because I missed you so much.
She was making Tom choose between her and his job. Something Tom would never ask her to do.
Why did I do that? Jealousy? Insecurity?
Was I really worried he’d be hurt? Or did I just hate that he chose something over me?
Joan could picture him, on his knee, holding out that gorgeous ring, the love in his eyes.
Wow. I really fucked up.
She walked over to the bathroom, reaching for the light switch.
The light didn’t work.
Joan flipped it a few times, squinting into the darkness.
It’s empty. I’m being ridiculous. I have to call Tom.
She turned, thumbing the safety back on the weapon, and then noticed an odd, sharp odor. Then came fast movement and something jabbed her in the back.
Joan fell forward, onto her knees, trying to comprehend what just happened. Jolting pain had knocked her down, but she’d managed to keep hold of the .380, and she twisted and saw—
It looked like something floating in the middle of open air.
Joan aimed and pulled the trigger, but the safety was on. Then the stun gun punched her in the shoulder, and then she was on her back and something invisible was pressing down upon her.
No. Not invisible.
Something pure black. So black it was impossible to see.
Except for eyes. Floating in the blackness was a pair of staring eyes.
Her gun arm pinned, Joan lashed out with her free hand, clawing at the man’s face, catching the edge of fabric and exposing a chin and some bared, snarling teeth.
Joan reached up, pressing a thumb into his eye. He leaned away, and Joan pushed, then brought up a knee and kicked at his groin—
—her bare foot not finding anything there.
Was this a woman?
The stun gun hit Joan in the thigh, a pain so piercing and absolute it was like a whole body charley horse. Joan’s entire length went rigid, and the abrupt movement somehow knocked her attacker off.
It also made Joan drop the gun.
Joan managed to twist onto her side, get her shaky knees up under her, and sprint, full speed, to the front door.
She grabbed the knob, turned it, and yanked.
The door didn’t move. Joan pulled hard, then looked down and saw the doorstop wedged at the bottom. As she reached down for it, the stun gun zapped her in the small of the back. And this time the agony didn’t let up until Joan had blacked out.
CHAPTER 41
This one is a real fighter.
Erinyes continues to stun Joan until the woman passes out, then she quickly goes into the bathroom and grabs the ether mask in the sink, squeezing out the excess.
Too much ether, and the sinner never wakes up.
Erinyes holds the damp mask to Joan’s face until she is sure the woman is under.
Then, a quick check of Tom’s phone, to make sure he’s still at the hospital.
He is. And he’s sleeping.
He likely wouldn’t be back for several hours.
Erinyes gets her things from the bathtub, dresses in the thrift shop clothing she isn’t worried about bloodying up.
As she scrubs off the black make-up, Erinyes considers her next move.
There was a promise made to Tom. His name carved all over the whore’s body.
But something like that takes time. And energy. Erinyes is tired. It has been a very long day. Her eye hurts, from where Joan had poked her.
Still, a promise is a promise.
Erinyes sets her bag down next to Joan, then takes out the duct tape, and the smelling salts.
CHAPTER 42
“So… success?” Tom asked. It was a little after seven am, and the doctor was standing at his bedside.
Dr. Jones nodded. “I didn’t see any necrotic tissue. I cut around the wound just to make sure—necrotizing fasciitis is nothing to play around with—and sent the samples to the lab. The prognosis is good.”
“Can I go?”
“I recommend another day of intravenous antibiotics.”
“Isn’t there an oral version?”
“Oral medication isn’t as effective against this form of streptococcus.”
“I have to take my chances, Doc. There’s a serial killer who might have added to his list last night, and I need to make things right with my girlfriend.”
He prescribed Tom some azithromycin pills and topical clindamycin cream, which took an eternity to get at the hospital pharmacy on the first floor. While waiting, he grabbed a Hostess Apple Pie and a Little Debbie Honeybun at the gift shop. Tom had skipped breakfast; cold, rubbery scrambled eggs and stale toast delivered by the male nurse he’d lied to. As he feasted on crap, he decided whom to call first, Roy or Joan.
Tom thought it spoke well of him that he chose Joan.
No answer.
He tried his house, and his machine picked up.
Was she still ignoring him?
Tom remembered their last words to one another.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
Maybe home wasn’t Tom’s place. Maybe Joan meant she went back to Los Angeles.
That was a five hour flight, longer with connections. Depending on what flight Joan took, and when, she might not be back in LA until later today.
Tom called Joan’s assistant, and got an answering service. Of course he did; it was two hours earlier in California. He left a message, saying it was urgent, and then called up his partner.
“I’m gonna find that son of a bitch, Tommy. I’m gonna find him, and I’m gonna wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until his eyes go dead.”
“I think he killed again last nigh
t, Roy.”
“Who?”
“The Snipper. Who are you talking about?”
“That asshole who took my credit card number and bought himself a suite at the Hilton. Poor Trish was a wreck all day. Thought I was messin’ around. Didn’t Joan tell you about it? Why didn’t you let me know, man? We’re like brothers.”
“I tried to tell you. Has Trish heard from Joan?”
“Ladies tied one on last night. Trish is still a little green. Heard you got shut down. Sorry about that. Joanie will come around.”
“Did Joan tell Trish she was going back to LA?”
“Last I heard, they took cabs home around ten. Hold on.” Tom heard Trish talking in the background. “Joan texted Trish last night, at 2 A.M.”
That was good to know. Odds were high Joan was at Tom’s house, probably sleeping it off.
“What about the case? Are there any leads?” Tom asked.
“Man, credit thieves are like ghosts.”
“The Snipper, Roy.”
“It’s gonna take a month to sift through all the shit we got. Meet you at the office?”
“No. I’m on vacation.”
“Okay. I’ll keep you in the loop. Good luck with Joan.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, Tom! Almost forgot to tell you. Top of the police blotter this morning. Terrance Wycleaf Johnson did a jackrabbit parole last night. Street name was T-Nail. War Chief of the Eternal Black C-Notes. Bad dude. Got his nickname nailing people to walls.”
Tom wasn’t sure why Roy was telling him this.
“He kill some people while escaping?” Tom asked.
“Dunno. Two guards, three paramedics missing. He was being taken to a hospital, and the ambulance disappeared.”
That was one of the worst parts of being a cop. You put away bad guys, and then they got out again to do more bad things. “Sounds shitty, but we’re not the gang unit, Roy.”
“I know. Not our problem. But Captain Bains told me to tell you.”
“Why?”
“The undercover officer who arrested T-Nail was our old Loot.”
“Jack?”
“Lieutenant Daniels put the banger away for life. Dude might be holding a grudge. Bains called her house, no answer. No answer from her old partner, neither.”