“Alison Ardoin.”
Petrie huffed. “What if she just told you about her next victim?”
His partner was right. Living at Riverview West was not the same as being in custody. If Jeri could walk down to the store for groceries, she could walk out and disappear.
Chapter Twelve
If Nick Moreau thought Jeri was gonna let some crazy psycho creep scare her and keep her from living her life, he was dead wrong. Sleep wasn’t her friend, so she had figured she might as well get up out of bed and do something.
Nick hadn’t been happy that she’d shown up at the station. When he came back to the apartment, if he came back, he’d probably jack her up for turning up without warning him. But she truly didn’t know how she had gotten there or how she’d gotten past so many cops.
The vision she’d seen was significant. How could she not tell him something that important?
She had news for Nick. She wasn’t going to cower in the apartment and wait for him to come back and fuss at her. When they had gone to lunch the previous day, Nick had given her a name. Sheldon Deville.
Nick was a cop, and everybody knew that cops had minimal street cred. Jeri blended in with the quirky community in the Quarter. She could probably find out more about Deville than Nick could by hanging around and listening to the gossip. Besides, if she left her apartment, then the photographer might come out of hiding and follow her. The experience was never pleasant and usually drained her energy, but maybe if she looked into his eyes again, she could glean more details about the woman’s murder to help Nick stop the guy.
She closed her eyes and recalled what Sheldon had said.
You have to stop him. I wasn’t sure at first…but now I know. You are the chosen one. You have to stop him.
The photographer was the guy that Weirdo wanted her to stop. The leap in logic made perfect sense.
He’d sent her the pictures of Alison Ardoin. Who else could have done that but the killer? The guy obviously thought the photos would traumatize her. The creep didn’t know her. Sure, she’d had a reaction. She’d gotten a little upset. They had disgusted her. They had made her stomach turn over. But she had puked because her stomach had been upset already, probably from the sinus drainage, not because the photos had gotten to her.
Nick had misread her. She let him have his misconceptions.
Jeri scrounged in the bottom of her backpack until she found the soiled hand towel, the same towel that she’d used to wipe up the droplets of blood that had dripped from Sheldon’s glass tube. She’d wrapped the towel around the tube with its heavy silver base and stuffed it into her bag. When Sheldon had ordered his bloody drink, she had gotten some blood on her, and that’s when she’d seen the first vision.
The impression had been growing on her. The power of the gift came from the blood. As soon as she’d first had the idea, her instincts had fired.
She settled her backpack between her shoulders and set out from the apartment, hyperaware of every face and every movement. Everything in the world became a more intense version of itself. The air was heavier. The sky was bluer. The street sounds were louder. Every beat of her heart pushed more life through her. She’d never felt more present.
Her inner thoughts swallowed up the time. Once again, she’d arrived at her destination without knowing how she’d gotten there. She glanced left and right and scooted into the alley that ran alongside the building. Sucking in a deep breath was a mistake. The fumes coming from the dumpster gagged her. She put her elbow over her nose and mouth and kept moving. Surely, there was a back entrance into the building.
Above her, the fire escape called to her, but the lower landing was too high for her to reach. Some packing crates made for a makeshift ladder to get her within a couple of feet of the landing. She pulled herself onto the creaking, rusty metal and sat against the brick wall to catch her breath.
When she’d found her nerve again, she climbed the rusty ladder to the landing outside the third floor. To her surprise, the window had already been busted out. She removed a few pointy shards of glass that had refused to let go of the window frame.
Once she had gotten through the window into the building, she let go the breath she’d been holding. Glancing down toward the alley below, she searched for any signs that someone had seen her break into the third-floor apartment. No one seemed to be about.
Her shoes crunched across debris until she stood in the center of the apartment. She held the towel in her hand and closed her eyes, hoping that the drops of blood would pull up an image for her. Nothing happened.
No one had bothered to clean the apartment. So she scanned the floor until she located the spot in the master bedroom where the woman had obviously died. She gazed down at a red stain, a rather large area of dried blood. Jeri shivered. The woman had bled to death. From her days in med school, she remembered what bleeding out did to the body. Alison Ardoin had probably died from a heart attack as the organ worked hard to pump what little blood was left in her body. Her respiration had probably slowed until she was gasping for breath. Her last thoughts were probably confused and panicked.
Jeri’s hand covered her mouth as her stomach muscles contracted. The poor woman. What a horrible way to die.
She nudged the toe of her shoe over the edge of the red patch. Closed her eyes. Still, nothing happened. So maybe the power didn’t come from the blood. If so, she’d broken into the apartment for nothing.
A crash startled her from behind. She swung around in time to see a black cat dash across the bedroom and disappear through the open bedroom door. She pressed her hand to her chest until her heart rate slowed.
She held the stained towel out in front of her. Wiggled it a bit. Why did she think the blood on the towel would speak to the blood in the apartment? Sure, it had been a crazy idea.
Jeri glanced around the room. Then, she wandered through the rest of the apartment. Such a nice place. She opened drawers and closet doors. Admired the carved woodwork throughout the residence. Appreciated the silver doorknobs and fixtures. It appeared that no one had lived there for a very long time. Why? Even with her aunt’s inheritance, she’d never be able to afford to live in such a nice place in an expensive area.
She caught a glimpse of her image in a floor-to-ceiling mirror. It had been such a long time since she’d seen herself. Really seen herself. The person gazing back at her looked nothing like the person she used to be or the person she wanted to be. What had she done to herself? A long sigh shuddered up from deep inside her.
It was time to leave. She’d have to be just as careful to sneak out as she had been sneaking in. There was one more door left. She twisted the knob and peeked inside. The room was smaller than the others. No windows. A strong scent lingered. She drew in a deep whiff of cedar and something else pungent.
A hard shove toppled her into the closet, and the door slammed behind her. The rasp of a turning lock shocked her into action. She jumped to her feet and searched in the dark for the knob. But when she twisted, the door wouldn’t open. With the palm of her hand, she beat on the wood.
Jeri dug in her backpack for her cell phone. Nick would be mad, but he’d come let her out. She’d have to explain what she had been doing in the apartment. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but she’d live through it.
Then, she remembered she’d destroyed the phone after texting her mother. Her heart sank.
“Damn. Damn. Damn.”
She wanted to hit something, preferably the perverse sicko that had locked her in the closet. How long would it be before someone found her? Would anyone ever find her? Would Nick even know to look for her in the apartment?
Despite the futility of pounding on the door, she beat the wood with her fists. “Are you still out there? Let me out of here.”
The stupidity of wasting her energy on brutalizing the door struck her as funny. She stepped back and smirked at herself. Whoever had shut her in wasn’t going to let her out. At least, she wasn’t bound and gagged. At least, she
wasn’t scared of the dark.
Why would someone have a lock on a closet door?
First, she tried putting pressure on the doorknob. Solid. No give. Then, she lay on the floor and kicked the door several times with all her strength. Focused a renewed attack on the knob. Still, nothing splintered, nothing shook, nothing rattled.
Nope. She wasn’t going to panic. Not yet.
She remained on the floor with her eyes closed. There was nothing in the closet. What did she have in her backpack that she could use to pry to lock loose from the jamb? Her hand shifted and touched the towel that she had dropped when she’d been shoved from behind.
The vision began slowly, gathering from the edges of her mind. Blurry images coalesced into recognizable forms. On her knees. In semi-darkness. Blood smeared on the walls. Droplets on the floor. The horror settling into the lower part of her gut, weighing down her spirit, crushing her soul. Leaning her forehead against a door. Crying. Shouting.
Why are you doing this to me?
Jeri flinched. Didn’t all victims ask that question sooner or later? At least, in every cop show she’d ever watched.
The image disappeared as slowly as it had come to her, leaving behind the distinct impression that the woman was Jeri. Instinctively, she knew that the vision was a horrifying mash-up of both the present and the future.
Something felt very familiar about the terror she kept pushing back. Had she been in this situation before? Not that she could remember.
Panic rose from her gut and lodged in her throat.
Would she come out of a trance and be somewhere else? A few minutes passed, and she was still in the closet. No, escape wasn’t going to be that easy.
****
There was a whole lot of evidence in front of Nick, but the bits and pieces weren’t shifting into place to make a clear picture. Something was missing, a big something, that would fit it all together.
Nick leaned back in his chair but kept his gaze fixed on the whiteboard. Jeri had said there would be more. With all of his heart and soul, he hoped she was wrong. He didn’t want to work a serial case. He’d heard what happened to Maris Couvillian when she’d worked the Scarlet Thread Killer case. It had almost sucked the life out of her, and it had taken her awhile to mentally and physically recover from the aftermath. How long ago had that been? At least ten years.
He’d jotted factoids onto multi-colored sticky notes. The different colors were supposed to help him sort out the evidence, but the colors kept shifting.
First, there was the Ardoin case.
The blue hair belonged to Jeri, but if she had been in the apartment, she’d left no fingerprints behind.
The slivers of glass bagged at the crime scene were high-quality crystal.
The sticky residue on the victim’s neck was strawberry syrup. He nudged a new report on his desk. The lab had been able to find traces of strawberry syrup and blood inside Deville’s crystal tube and drops of blood in the crevices of the carvings on the silver base, the same blood type as the victim. He’d left the lab with a request to compare the crystal of Deville’s tube with the crystal found at the crime scene, even though the tube was still intact.
There appeared to be no connection between Jerilyn Bowman and Alison Ardoin.
The identity of the photographer was still unknown.
Then, there was the Deville case.
Nick was waiting on a background check to come through for Sheldon Deville
And of course, there was the Mancuso case.
The medical examiner’s office was calling the woman in the bar’s death an accident, but Nick wasn’t so sure. Too much coincidence. Petrie had interviewed Heather Mancuso’s friends and family, and no one knew when or why she’d visited New Orleans.
Finally, there was the woman who’d died in the fire. Yet another Jane Doe. He’d started calling her Fire Doe, just to keep his unidentified victims’ handles straight.
Jeri’s hand swab had come back negative for accelerants.
He couldn’t find anyone who had seen her when she first arrived at the fire. It was like she had appeared out of nowhere.
Nick spun in his chair and gazed at not one but two whiteboards, partitioned into four sections. Ardoin. Deville. Mancuso. Fire Doe. How were they related? One name popped into his mind. Jerilyn Bowman.
He’d handed over the soda can to the lab to send off for processing. How long would it be before he received a report? A few days might be too long.
Nick sucked up a deep breath and dialed the phone in Jeri’s new apartment. It rang ten times before voicemail turned on. The nondescript, canned greeting grated on Nick’s ear. A bad, bad feeling settled into the bottom of his stomach. The empty organ grumbled from lack of attention. Food. He needed sustenance.
Maybe Jeri was asleep. Maybe she was in the shower. Should he try one more time to get an answer? No, he’d stop by the apartment and see if she wanted to get out for a while and maybe grab a bite to eat. He grabbed his jacket and sauntered toward the exit.
****
Sweat pooled between Jeri’s boobs as she lay on her back on the hard floor. Her respiration had increased as she struggled to breathe in the stifling heat. She’d once loved the smell of cedar. Now, she thought she hated it.
She’d watched movies where people had gone nuts trapped in a room with no light. She guessed she could understand that. The only light in the room peeked underneath the door. Just a sliver. She focused on that one little ray of hope. But what would she do, how would she cope when the sun went down?
Closing her eyes didn’t shut out the darkness. In her hyperaware state, the darkness pressed against her eyelids. She felt every drop of sweat form. Every thump of her heart pounded in her ear. Felt her lungs expand and contract with each inhale and exhale. She placed two fingers on the artery in her wrist and counted. Her pulse was too fast.
She refused to scream or cry or dissolve into hysterics. If the guy was outside the door, that’s what he wanted from her. She wouldn’t give it to him. Not yet. Maybe in the end when she was running out of air and becoming delusional, but not yet.
The door banged open, barely missing her head when it slammed into the wall next her. The jarring slam rattled her bones, sending little shock waves through her. She rolled over and pushed up on her knees, on all fours. Peering out the open door, she saw no one.
What was he doing? Playing with her?
Jeri scrambled to her feet. Two options. Creep out the door, prepared for a blitz attack from the side. Or rush out and hope the guy didn’t expect her to dart past him. She bounced on her heels. Steadied her nerves. She counted to three in her head. One. Two. Three.
Through the door she bolted at full speed, just like she had when she ran track at Vandy. Just like coming off the block. She’d made it a few feet when an arm wrapped around her middle and a sweaty hand covered her mouth. They jolted to a sudden stop, both of them nearly falling over.
When they found their equilibrium, his hot breath warmed her cheek. “You shouldn’t be here. What am I supposed to do with you?”
She shook her head trying to loosen his hand from her mouth.
“I want to let you go. So you should forget what you know. Forget what you see. Forget what you hear. It could get very dangerous for someone like you. Someone who sees too much. You have to promise me you’ll quit seeing.”
He wanted to let her go? Why would he do that? She heard the truth in his voice, but she didn’t believe him. No, this was life or death. His or hers.
Jeri tried to scream through his fingers, but her muted cry would have never penetrated the walls of the apartment.
“If I ever see you nosing around where you shouldn’t be again, I’ll have to kill you. Do you understand?”
He’d loosened his grip enough to allow her to chomp down on his pointer finger. She sunk her teeth in and twisted, and he unwrapped his arm from around her and popped her on the side of her head with his fist. She’d never believed a person could see s
tars when they were hit on the head, but now she knew what the expression meant. A billion points of light shot through her vision.
“Don’t fight me. I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to.”
She unclenched her jaw and released his finger, licked the metallic taste of his blood from her lips. Her scream reverberated throughout the apartment. Piercing and primal. Filled with all the terror surging up inside her.
“I told you to stop.”
He reached for her again, but she had managed to surge forward and put a couple of feet between them. She swiveled on her heel to face the photographer. Just as she had expected. She’d recognized the voice. Instead of attacking her, he backed away, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide.
“It’s not good that you’ve seen my face. You can’t know who I am.”
But she’d already seen his face. She already knew who he was. He was the photographer.
Oh, she was going to do more than see his face. Jeri rushed him and collected some evidence for Nick by scratching the bastard on his cheek. The creep placed one hand over the scratches and drew it back. A smear of blood reddened his fingertips.
“What have you done?”
He turned and rushed toward an open door. When Jeri followed him, she stood in the door and stared down the stairs that led to the street entrance of the building.
Chapter Thirteen
There had been a very good reason Nick couldn’t get Jeri on the phone. She had left the apartment again. He sighed. He couldn’t stop her from venturing outside the safety of the building. But every time she did, she put herself at risk. Even if she was making her visions up, even if she were imagining things, the killer might believe she knew something that would incriminate or identify him. Why else would he send her the pictures? The killer was trying to scare her. The more she exposed herself, the easier it would be for him to get to her again. She knew that, didn’t she?
Where would she wake up from another trance-like state? What bad situation would she find herself in this time? He’d gotten her out of the problem with the fire captain, but how many more times could he cover for her? He feared one time would be one time too many.
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