“Excellent job, Lieutenant, Sir,” he said. “Do we have a location?”
“We do indeed. 725 Glenrock Road.”
Sergeant Hughes entered the address into the GPS and they drove off.
“So we’re going to apprehend the suspect?” The young soldier driving asked.
“Yes,” Lt. Col. Rigsby lied.
The two soldiers were on a strict need-to-know basis and this was something they definitely didn’t need to know. When they exited the highway, the soldier made a right turn instead of a left. Lt. Col. Rigsby became incensed.
“Are you kidding me, Soldier?” He shouted. “Can’t you even follow simple directions?”
“I apologize, Sir,” he said, his face reddening more from anger than embarrassment.
“Do you need to pull over and let me drive?” He taunted.
The soldier driving narrowed his eyes as he stared straight ahead at the road.
“No Sir, that’s not necessary, Sir,” he said through gritted teeth.
The wrong turn added a mere few minutes to their trip. They arrived at Ken Dobb’s house just after ten p.m.
“You stooges stay here and try not to mess anything up. This should only take a few minutes.”
The two soldiers exchanged disgruntled glares. When Lt. Col. Rigsby left the Humvee, the two joked about killing him.
Lt. Col. Rigsby rang the doorbell. Moments later, a man clad only in boxer shorts opened the door.
Jo-El had just left his house a few minutes prior.
“You missed me—” Ken teased until he saw the military soldier. What did he want? Why was he at his house so late at night?
“Can I help you?” He asked.
“Ken Dobbs?”
“Yes, I’m Ken...what seems to be the trouble?”
“Mind if I come in for a moment, Mr. Dobbs?”
“Sure.”
Ken closed the door after Lt. Col. Rigsby entered. He offered the lieutenant colonel a seat on the couch.
“Can I get you a beer?”
“No, no thank you. I understand that you gave a young girl and a black woman a ride from the Silver Spring bus terminal tonight?”
“Uhh, yep, I did.”
“Did you happen to overhear anything the two may have been discussing?”
“Uhh, well, let’s see...they bickered about food, we joked about the girl looking like that killer, Hillary Greyson...I told them about that murder in Richmond, the one at the bus terminal and the old woman got really upset to find out that they were there at the same time the murder took place.”
“Did they say what they were doing in Maryland?”
“Oh yeah, the old woman was helping the girl find her father.”
“Find her father?”
“That’s what they said...she never met him before. I guess she just found out about him.”
“Where did you drive them to?”
“The Holiday Inn in Bethesda....”
Lt. Col. Rigsby’s eyes widened. It seemed like too much of a coincidence that Hillary Greyson had traveled to Maryland and was staying less than a few miles from his laboratory. And searching for her missing father? She had killed her father. He was her first victim.
There was just one plausible explanation. Hillary had somehow found out about him, most likely while torturing Dr. Morrison. She was here in Maryland hunting him.
“Is everything okay?”
Lt. Col. Rigsby nodded tentatively.
“Yes, yes...I’m fine. I’m here for the backpack, Mr. Dobbs.”
“Wait, are you the man I spoke with earlier? Jake Benson?”
There was no point in lying. The name plate pinned to his uniform bore the name “Lt. Alan Langford,” his alias for this disastrous assignment.
“No, I’m Lieutenant Colonel Alan Langford.”
“Lieutenant Colonel? Oh, it just says Lieutenant on your name tag.”
Lt. Colonel grew visibly flush as he realized his error.
“A mere oversight,” he said and brandished his doctored military identification for Ken to see.
Ken studied it carefully with a frown on his face. He took note of that fact that the ID listed the man’s rank as “Lieutenant,” not “Lieutenant Colonel.” He grew even more leery.
“The backpack?” Lt. Col. Rigsby repeated firmly.
Ken didn’t trust the man beside him. Something didn’t seem right. He had no idea what was going on and why a young teen-aged girl would be carrying around a backpack full of knives, containing a cell phone belonging to another man in Virginia—a backpack that was being demanded by a military lieutenant.
“Can I ask why you want it?”
“No you may not, it’s classified,” Lt. Col. Rigsby replied tersely.
“To be honest, Lieutenant, I’m not comfortable handing it over to you.”
Lt. Col. Rigsby couldn’t believe the man’s impudence. How dare he question his authority?
“Where is the bag, Mr. Dobbs?”
“I’m sorry, but maybe we should—”
Lt. Col. Rigsby pointed his handgun at Ken.
“I’m acting under official orders with the United States Army, Mr. Dobbs, and if you impede my mission, I won’t hesitate to use this weapon.”
Lt. Col. Rigsby hoped that he wasn’t as shaky as he felt. The gun felt clunky and awkward in his hand, which much preferred to hold test tubes and beakers and other such laboratory equipment.
“Okay, okay,” Ken said, throwing his hands up in resignation. “I’ll go and get it.”
“I’ll come with you,” Lt. Col. Rigsby said as he stood and followed Ken upstairs to his bedroom.
Ken had already decided not to say anything to the so-called Lieutenant about the iPhone that was still charging on his computer desk. Let the bully figure out for himself that it was missing from the duffel baby’s contents. He picked up the duffel bag and handed it to the lieutenant colonel.
“This is it?”
“Yes, that’s it. You expecting a different one?”
“No, if this is the one the girl was carrying then this is the one I need.”
“Okay, well—”
A stunned look froze upon Ken’s face and his body fell to the floor the second after Lt. Col. Rigsby aimed his gun at the man’s heart and pulled the trigger.
Though he had never killed a man before, it didn’t bother him at all. For one thing, he justified it as necessary to protect his own skin. Also, the man was just a cab driver, not an important scientist like he was. It was no big loss to society. Lt. Col. Rigsby had killed thousands of laboratory animals. Killing Ken Dobbs felt exactly the same way. It was simply the inevitable task at the end of a project.
“Thank you, Mr. Dobbs,” the lieutenant colonel said as he carefully stepped around the bleeding man.
Ken didn’t even hear him. The blast from the gunshot echoed in his ears as he whispered JoEl’s name in his head. It was her pretty face he thought about as he died.
Lt. Col. Rigsby carried the bag down to Ken’s couch and unzipped it. He turned it over and let the contents fall onto the sofa.
“What have we here?” He asked as he rummaged through Hillary’s belongings.
He pushed aside sharp knives and the rusted corkscrew as he grabbed the wallet. He flipped it open and examined the driver’s license belonging to Clint Hayden, the man who was murdered at the Richmond bus terminal. Out of curiosity, he looked through the pictures the man had kept in the plastic insert. There was a picture of the man and his significant other—a wife or girlfriend. The next photo showed a young girl, six or seven years old, with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, smiling happily. There were a few other photos of the same girl and one with the girl holding a small baby.
Lt. Col. Rigsby assumed it was the dead man’s family. From what he had heard on the news, the man was a white supremist ruffian. As with Ken Dobbs, the lieutenant colonel didn’t think that the world had suffered a devastating loss.
He dropped the wallet and picked
up a small, blood-stained piece of paper. He unfolded it and read it. It had his alias, Lt. Alan Langford written on top and the address for the laboratory at 4238 Washington Avenue.
“That little bitch!” He said under his breath.
It enraged him that the psychotic little serial killer had intended to pay him a visit. Not that she would have found him. No one at the laboratory knew him as Alan Langford. What a waste of time it had been traveling south into no man’s land when all along the girl he was looking for was making her way north to him. It was like a depraved spin on an O. Henry story.
“You want me so badly,” he muttered furiously, “well I’m coming and guess what you little whore? I’m the one who’s going to kill you, not the other way around, you worthless bitch.”
Lt. Col. Rigsby crushed the paper within his fisted hand then threw it into the duffel bag. He gathered up the remaining items and placed them all back into the bag. He zipped it closed and left Ken Dobbs’ house.
“Did you find the suspect, Sir?” Sergeant Hughes asked when he returned to the Humvee.
“Yes, mission accomplished,” he said smugly.
“So I should drive back to the base?” The soldier in the driver’s seat asked.
“Drop me off at the Econo Inn back in Silver Spring first.”
“The Econo Inn? Really? We just came from Silver Spring,” the driver complained as he pulled away from Dobbs’ house.
“Yes, and we’re going back,” Lt. Col. Rigsby barked.
“You have a hot date, Sir?” Sergeant Hughes joked.
Lt. Col. Rigsby shot him a pugnacious glare that shut him up instantly.
They reached the inn minutes before eleven. Lt. Col. Rigsby thought it was the perfect time to confront Hillary. She was likely to be tired and not on her guard. The old woman didn’t sound menacing enough to interfere. Nor would she pose a threat to the operation. He would seal her lips the way he had sealed Ken Dobbs’ lips...permanently. Then he would find Tony Ramirez the following day and seal his lips as well.
“Now listen up,” he ordered the soldiers. “You are to head directly to the base. You will not discuss this mission with anyone, are we clear?”
“Yes Sir,” the two soldiers said in unison as they saluted him.
With the duffel bag in hand, he exited the Humvee and walked into the shabby-looking Econo Inn.
A young woman in her late twenties greeted him cheerfully when he approached the counter.
“I just love our military,” she said with a big smile. “God bless our troops.”
“Yes, yes,” he said callously, then softened with a smile. If he wanted this woman’s help, he might have to be flattering.
“Can I set you up in one of our rooms?”
“No, actually...I’m hoping you can help me...uh, Connie,” he said, reading her name off the plastic name tag. “My daughter is staying here with her nanny. She left her duffel bag behind. She—”
“Oh, yes!” Connie exclaimed gleefully, “I did see a note about that...hmm, let me see....”
Connie began shuffling around some papers on the counter then picked one up.
“Yes, here. It says that someone would be dropping the bag off and that we’re to call up to the room and inform the occupants when it gets here.”
“Connie, do you think I could deliver it to my daughter? It seems like ages since I’ve seen her.”
“Awwww, but it’s so late now, after eleven already. Wouldn’t she be asleep?”
“You know teenagers,” he said with a playful grin. “What do you say, Connie? My daughter and I would both be so grateful for the surprise reunion.”
Connie thought for a moment then nodded.
“Anything for a soldier!” She said with a wink. “The note says they’re in room 212.”
“Do you think you can give me a key to the room? Pretty please?”
Lt. Col. Rigsby was practically batting his eyes.
Connie nodded then whispered, “I could get in a whole lot of trouble for this.”
“I won’t tell, I promise,” he replied.
Connie activated a room key for him then handed it over.
“Connie, you’ve done this country a fine service!” Lt. Col. Rigsby said excitedly.
He leaned forward and gave her a big kiss on the cheek.
Connie giggled and blushed. He thanked her again then took the elevator to the second floor. His heart raced in anticipation. He removed the 9mm handgun that was holstered on his hip and crept silently to room 212. He thought he heard some sort of commotion going on in the room. Perhaps it was just the television. He didn’t want to spare another moment. It was now or never. He swiped the room key and threw open the door....
~17~
“Go on, child,” Miss Billie prodded, “just tells me everythin’ from the beginning.”
“Miss Billie, we have a deal and I promise I will tell you everything, but can I please get some rest? Can’t it wait until the morning?”
Miss Billie had to admit it wasn’t a bad idea. For one thing, her old bones were weary and yearned for some rest. Also, and possibly even more determinative, she knew what the girl was going to reveal. She knew it would be unbelievably shocking and disturbing. It was a good idea to get some sleep now before those horrific images burned in her mind. She should get some sleep now, while there was still a chance that she could have a restful night.
“Okay, child, you win. But first thing tomorrow morning, you’s spillin’ everthin,’ ya hear?”
“Yes, Miss Billie, I promise you. It’s just been a long day for me.”
“Fo’ me too, child.”
“Yes. For both of us.”
Then without even thinking, Hillary reached out and hugged Miss Billie tightly. When she realized what she had done, she pulled back and jumped onto her bed.
“Goodnight, child,” Miss Billie said, tears glistening in her eyes.
Lord, give me strength, she thought, knowing that the new day would trouble her heart and mind alike. Her mind told her that the girl was someone to be feared, hated. But her heart told her that the girl just needed to be loved. Miss Billie had a splitting headache. She washed up then crawled into bed. She prayed for Hillary.
It took her a long while to fall asleep. It was 9:37 p.m. the last time she looked at the clock before finally drifting off to sleep. But sleep would not befriend her. Rather, it brought her Uncle John to her bed. Instead of the strong, young man she remembered, he was old and skeletal. Only one part of him remained the same: his long, thick, rigid erection.
“Girl!” He beckoned loudly. “You thought you could go an’ escape ol’ Uncle John? Come ‘ere and lemme see how you done grown.”
Uncle John’s bony arms reached out and grabbed her by the waist. Defying logic, the thin arms were strong enough to draw the big woman close despite her violent struggle.
“No, Uncle John,” Miss Billie cried out in protest. “I gots away from ya. I gots away....”
“You ain’t never gettin’ away baby girl, and I’s gonna make up fo’ all that lost time.”
The old, decrepit-looking Uncle John began tearing off Miss Billie’s clothing as she cried and tried her best to stop him, to no avail. She stood naked and ashamed in front of him, an eighty-two-year-old cocoa-skinned, wrinkled woman, trembling before the man who had terrorized her as a child.
“Yeah, baby, ya still gots it...ya gots even mo’ of it now,” Uncle John said as his emaciated hand grabbed her left breast and began to squeeze it.
“You’s hurtin’ me Uncle John,” Miss Billie cried. “Please let go-a-me.”
But Uncle John squeezed even harder and dug his sharp claw-like nails deep into her sagging breast until they sunk right in. He stuck his entire bony hand into her blood-gushing breast and felt around for her rapidly-beating heart.
“No, Uncle John, not my heart! It don’t belong to ya, it’s my heart. You hear me? It’s my heart!”
“Nots any mo,’ baby girl,” the old man said as
he let out a loud, haughty laugh.
His rotted teeth looked sharp and menacing. Miss Billie continued to beg him to leave her heart alone, but he grabbed it at last and yanked it out through her ruptured breast. He held it up proudly within his frail hand as it pounded away.
“My heart!” Miss Billie screamed loudly. “Gimme my heart, give it back ta me now,” she cried.
“Uh-uh,” Uncle John said, shaking his head slowly.
He stuck out a long, forked black tongue and licked the beating, bleeding organ. Then he firmly gripped Miss Billie’s backside with his other hand and pulled her lower half toward his bobbing erection. Miss Billie eyed it with scorn and terror. Suddenly it began to smolder as if it were on fire. It turned red like heated metal.
Miss Billie tried with all her might to back away from the seething abomination, but Uncle John’s skeletal hand was like steel against her tailbone. He brought his other hand—the one holding Miss Billie’s bleeding heart—down between the woman’s trembling legs. With one powerful sweeping motion, he inserted the pulsating organ into the woman’s old abandoned crotch. She shrieked in pain as she felt it throbbing within her.
Uncle John then shoved his fiery red, scorching penis deep within the woman’s crammed cavity. Miss Billie felt as if there was a fire raging within her. As Uncle John pounded into her sadistically, thick billows of crimson red smoke escaped from her mouth as she struggled to scream.
Miss Billie jumped when she heard the screaming. She thought she had awakened screaming from her nightmare. It had been so revolting, so vivid. She sat up as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. The screaming was loud and desperate. It was Hillary. She was having a nightmare of her own.
Miss Billie crept out of bed and approached the distressed girl. She gently nudged her awake.
“It’s okay, child,” she’s said soothingly. “You’s just dreamin’ is all.”
Hillary quickly sat up in bed and brought her knees to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her knees as she looked wildly around the room.
“It’s here,” she whispered apprehensively.
“What’s here, sugar?” Miss Billie asked as she rubbed the girl’s back in an effort to calm her down.
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