(2008) Compulsion

by Jennifer Chase

  Emily is safely inside her Jeep, but the pit bull continues its pursuit of her. She manages to get the key in the ignition and turn the car on. Slamming the gearshift into drive, she stomps the accelerator and cranks the wheel to the right just as the dog hits her windshield showing its impressive jaw and teeth. She slams on the brakes causing the dog to roll off her hood. Without a second to lose, she floors the gas pedal to the floor and speeds out to the main street of Pajaro. She doesn’t stop and pulls right out into traffic with only a one honk from an old pick up truck. She continues at an increased speed, looks into her rearview mirror, but there’s no dog in sight.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Monday 2200 Hours

  The tension builds in every pore and in every cell of the Killer’s body. It no longer tingles in anticipation for a kill, but rather aches for human destruction. The last kill didn’t satisfy him as the previous ones did. It’s becoming more difficult to keep focus on the importance of the ultimate freedom rather than the annihilation of anyone that gets in his path.

  The Killer drives alone without the assistance of the Accomplice who generally helps to balance his demonic psyche. The Killer frequents the standard trolling grounds for victims from restaurants and bars. This time he’s sloppy and doesn’t spend the time to investigate the perfect victim and the most opportune time to attack. Now he doesn’t care, the compulsive need to satisfy the endless fantasy in his head takes priority over everything else. It’s because the killer’s way of life is a specific pattern of violence, but it’s now sped up to feed the uncontrollable need of murder and mayhem.

  The Killer’s relentless need for another victim takes him to the Seacliff Bar less than an hour before midnight. A couple of women get into a small sports utility vehicle and drive out of the parking lot. Two potential victims are now out of his grasp. He sees a petite redheaded woman standing by the bus stop waiting for someone or maybe even a customer; it was difficult to decide.

  The Killer pulls his truck beside the woman and she seems pleased to see him.

  The woman says, “Hi sugar, you lookin to give me a ride?”

  The Killer stares at her and responds in a controlled monotone. “Get in.”

  The woman hesitates and takes a step back away from the truck. It was something in the Killer’s eyes that she sensed wasn’t right. Even though she had a few drinks, she could sense danger and the man’s eyes pierced through her like she wasn’t human.

  “No thanks, I forgot that I’m suppose to meet a friend.” Her voice waivers a bit in her response.

  The Killer maintains his anger. “Get in.” He repeats.

  “No, I don’t think so.” The woman is now scared and looks across the street.

  A couple walks out the front door of the bar chatting about where they are going next. The woman yells to them. “Hey!” The woman runs across the street to the couple and explains to them about the man in the truck.

  The Killer is brimming with rage and has no other choice but to speed away. He beats his fists on the steering wheel. The frustration of wrestling with his neurotic morality devours him. He could begin to feel himself slipping into the abyss of uncertainty. He missed an opportunity to gain another step toward his ultimate freedom, but instead the Killer’s violent unraveling has now begun and there’s no turning back.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Tuesday 1900 Hours

  Emily had almost an entire day to think about who would have trapped her inside that despicable building with a fighting pit bull. Who would want her dead and why? No one knows her true identity. And who would see her as a threat besides a killer she’s hunting?

  Emily knew what she had to do and she didn’t really like it, but she basically had no other choice in the matter. She takes out her medium sized backpack from her closet and begins to fill it with a portable computer CD drive, several CDs, small Canon digital camera, cell phone, two extra pairs of latex gloves, heavy duty plastic coated twine, and two electronic dog collars with remote. She carefully wipes her fingerprints from all of the items before zipping up the backpack.

  She glances out the front window and then gazes outside for a moment before going to her bedroom. She changes from her jeans to black stretch exercise pants and a black long sleeved t-shirt. In her lower dresser drawer, she finds a ski cap that can be pulled down over her face. She shuts the drawer and pauses. There’s nothing that she can do now about her situation, even if she goes to the police. Her mind wanders to Detective Lopez, her gut tells her that she can trust him, and he would probably be her only true ally. She had to try her plan first and obtain viable evidence and then she would confide in the detective. Maybe then everything would begin to fall into place.

  She takes a packed overnight bag, two bankers boxes filled with files, and a portable computer from her closet. From the top shelf of her closet, she takes two Glock 17s and several loaded magazines. Zipped up in a heavy coat is a small zippered wallet with several thousand dollars in cash. She stashes the wallet in her packed overnight bag. Everything seems to be ready and in place. She looks over to Sergeant who has been watching her closely. He knows that she’s planning on leaving him again.

  Emily takes a couple of deep breaths to summon all of her available energy and courage before she leaves her house. Her pulse rate is heightened, but not erratic and unstable. She looks out the window again and notices that her neighbor’s truck is gone. She decides to gamble that he won’t be back for at least an hour. That should give her enough time.

  She packs her Jeep with her belongings, boxes and weapons. Everything is packed except her backpack, which she now slings on her back. She goes through her garage where there is a door that opens on her neighbor’s side and other nosey neighbors will most likely not see her enter the premises.

  Emily moves to the neighbor’s house and spies a downstairs window that’s conveniently open. She knows that he doesn’t have any dogs, but she’s careful not to trip any booby traps or alarms. This man is bizarre and may have some type of security system in place. She puts on a pair of latex gloves and easily opens the window wide enough for her to get through and pulls herself up and through the window without incident.

  Standing alert, Emily looks around carefully before she puts one foot forward. The house is cluttered with junk and thrift store items, with stacks of boxes of miscellaneous papers everywhere. It’s difficult to move through the chaotic mess. There’s a distinct smell of mold, dirty clothes and old trash. She exits the storage bedroom and climbs the cluttered stairs to the living room. She finds a computer on a kitchen table humming. With a sudden movement of the mouse, the computer screen lights up with a desktop background of a busty brunette obviously from some porno movie.

  Emily clicks on various desktop icons and immediately locates hundreds of porno sites. She tries some of his folders and finds pages of letters to himself about killing women complete with a list of names. Disturbing images appear of bondage and torture. The various files and images repulse Emily as she quickly retrieves her portable disk drive. She quickly plugs the USB port into his computer and begins to copy various files of interest. While the files are copying, she takes out her digital camera and takes photos of the interior of the house, computer, credit card receipts, bank account, address book, and cell phone records. She takes more photos of the strange artwork and cluttered items throughout the house in order to study later. She notices some additional scribbled art of skull and cross bones; it seems to match the keychain she found at the abandoned building.

  The copied files are done. Emily takes the time to gather information about his recent downloads and net surfing activities. She copies another CD with this information. She knows that she has little time before he returns.

  She quickly returns everything back into her backpack except the twine and dog shock collars. She quickly makes her way to the garage, it was packed full of boxes and it was difficult to move through the
mess. It takes her a moment to find the fuse box and she flips all the switches off. There’s nothing that she can do now but wait as it begins to get dark.

  * * * * *

  Donald drives up in his dusty Ford truck and parks haphazardly in the driveway. He gets out and mumbles phrases under his breath because he didn’t get paid enough for the work he did on a ranch in Watsonville. He fumes as he walks up to the front door and inserts his house key in the lock. He turns the key and pushes the door wide open and slams it shut with disgust. He stands for a moment at the entrance threshold, almost waiting for something or remembering something that he might have forgotten.

  The house is extremely dark, and he thought that he remembered that he kept the hallway light on. He flips the switch several times but nothing happens. It’s still dark. He trudges his overweight body up the stairs to the landing and moves toward a living room lamp. Just as he’s about to switch on the lamp, he’s ambushed from behind. He’s thrown forward and down on the floor with a significant amount of force and a thin rope is slipped over his hands and feet. Before he can respond with any retaliation attempts, the rope is secured tightly on his hands and feet behind his back in a hogtie position.

  He’s trapped and incapacitated. His deep pent up anger begins to surface, but the more he struggles the tighter his restraints become. Someone turns him over and rolls him up against the wall. He can see a trim black figure wearing a ski mask. The figure takes some type of collar and belts it around his neck and another around his right upper thigh. The figure cinches the neck restraint even tighter. He has a difficult time swallowing and tries to focus intently on who is standing over him. If he could just loosen one of his wrists, he could overpower this intruder. He keeps twisting and turning his wrists as they begin to burn from the friction of the rope restraints. Tiny droplets of blood begin seeping from the wounds.

  Emily stands above Donald, now in charge over this neighborhood bully. Her thoughts become jumbled because she wants desperately to make him pay for what he did to her and the nice elderly people on the street. She gets a grip on her emotions and continues with her original plan. There’s only a little bit of time before he can wriggle out of the restraints.

  “Why did you break into the house next door?” She demands with a strange voice inflection from a voice scrambler that she bought off the Internet some time ago.

  “Blow me.” He manages to say.

  Emily presses the remote button, causing an electric surge to penetrate Donald’s neck and thigh. He winces in pain.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time. Why did you break into the house next door?”

  Donald looks up at Emily almost as if he can see right through the ski mask. He has a look of recognition. “I know who you are, take that mask off you coward.”

  Emily presses the button again, this time she holds down the button for a couple of seconds.

  She leans into Donald and says, “You’ve been warned only once.” She tosses the remote next to him.

  Emily turns and heads down the stairway and out the way she entered. Her pulse is racing and she finds it hard to catch her breath. It’s going to be fifteen maybe twenty minutes before Donald is free and he’s going to come looking for her. She jumps out the bedroom window and reenters her house.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Forty

  Tuesday 2100 Hours

  Emily pulls into The Beach Motel’s parking lot that’s located just a block from the main beach area. She was still feeling guilty about dumping Sergeant on her neighbors at this hour, and she could see their concern about her somewhat erratic behavior. Her adrenaline is still pumping and not showing any signs of slowing after the aggressive episode with her neighbor.

  Now she has to get some distance from her work, her life, and the serial murders in her town by going to Valparaiso, Indiana. She has about a thirty-two hour drive ahead of her and plenty of time to think along the way.

  As she sits in her car staring straight ahead at the motel, she wrestles with her conscience. Is she doing the right thing? Can she really trust Detective Lopez? She sees an open curtain and can see him seated at a desk with several files open and photographs strewn on the floor and bed. A couple of empty beer bottles sit nearby. She continues to watch him for a few minutes and sees that he’s struggling with his own demons as he stares at the photographs. She can’t help but feel for his difficult position; she has been there several times before.

  It seemed strange that he’s staying at this motel, but maybe it’s a way for him to get the solace he needs to work the demanding cases. She still continues to watch him as he runs his hands over his face trying to will the answers he so desperately seeks. He looks tired and frustrated.

  Emily opens her car door and gets out. She hesitates again before going to his door. She decides to softly knock and wait.

  The door opens and Rick blinks in surprise. “Hi.”

  Emily replies, “Hi.”

  “You okay?” He says with genuine concern.

  Emily is hit hard like a ton of bricks on top of her head just by that simple little question. Her emotions are suddenly unstable and she’s not able to respond right away. She looks stressed and doesn’t answer him.

  Rick softens and senses that it’s extremely difficult for her to be there. “Wait right here.” He goes to the mini refrigerator and takes out a six-pack of Heinekens and puts them into a paper bag. “Comon, you look like you could use some fresh air.”

  Rick leads Emily out of the motel parking lot down a stairway towards the beach with the bag under his arm. They walk down the stairs in silence. Emily has never felt this emotionally distraught ever in her entire life. It’s as if everything has finally come crashing down around her, and she’s not quite sure how to proceed. Or if she’ll ever be able to forge ahead.

  Rick stops at a sandy hill just short of the serene shoreline. The beach is dark and deserted, but the three quarter moon illuminates the bay. The cool feeling of the evening is crisp and invigorating.

  “C’mon sit down.” He takes a seat in the sand and takes a beer out of the bag.

  Emily’s mind is racing and she is quite unsteady on her feet. She sits down and tries to concentrate on the sparkling water.

  Rick pops the caps off of two beers and hands Emily one.

  “Thanks.” She obliges and takes a sip of the ice-cold beverage. The distinct flavor stings on the way down her throat zapping her back into reality.

  Rick watches Emily closely. He notices that her beautiful eyes look haunted and even scared. He has several questions for her, but he’s going to take it slow.

  He leans back and enjoys his beer. “Now, are you feeling better?”

  Emily stares at the water. She knows if she looks at the detective everything will come spilling out.

  “I think you have some very heavy things on your mind.” He carefully pushes.

  “You could say that.”

  “But you came to see me.” He looks at her curiously.

  “Yes.”

  He touches her arm to get her attention. “Tell me what’s going on?”

  Emily dares to look at the detective. “I just.” And that was all it took, she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. She immediately gets to her feet and wants to flee, to just runaway from her feelings and everything that she has been struggling with for so many years.

  Rick stops her. “Wait a minute.”

  “Look I made a mistake, I’m sorry that I bothered you.”

  Without anything to lose, Rick blurts out, “I know you sent information to the Yuma Police Department about the child murders.”

  Emily stares at the detective unable to move. It was like her feet were cemented deep in the sand.

  “Look, it’s okay, no one else knows. Just tell me what’s going on.” He gently takes her hand and leads her back to where they were sitting. “Who are you?”

  Emily could barely speak. “What do you mean?”

  “Who do you work f
or?”

  “No one.”

  “You just hunt down serial killers for fun?”

  Emily takes a breath and is silent for a few minutes before she begins. She has never told a living soul about her work and it was difficult to put it into words at this precise moment. She begins to explain about her parents were killed, and how she vowed to do anything that she could to help victims and their families.

  Rick was patient as she explained how she would track the killers and her specific type of investigative techniques. Most importantly, she explained why she couldn’t let anyone know her identity. Everything just poured out of her; it was as if she was confessing her lifetime of sins. She was actually beginning to feel better. She took several long drinks of her beer to help steady her nerves now that the truth was out in the open – vulnerable for everyone to see.

  “Well?” Emily asked.

  Rick was taking in everything that Emily had told him. He was amazed and duly impressed by her effective efforts and how she was able to be so successful in her searches. He knew that she was telling him the truth.

  Emily continued, “Please say something. I know it seems more like a Hollywood movie, but I’m telling you the truth.”

  “I actually don’t know what to say.” He smiles. “You’re amazing. You track down these serial killers by yourself with equipment that you purchase at a computer Internet store or Radio Shack?”

  “Pretty much.” Emily laughs both in embarrassment and relief.

  He really studies Emily and now he has a renewed respect and admiration for her. This beautiful petite woman hunts out serial killers alone. It doesn’t get any better than that in the detective’s mind.