Nowhere to Run (Stephanie Carovella)

by Nina D'Angelo

  “I was supposed to have brunch with Cynthia. I knocked, but she didn’t answer,” Jase mumbled, avoiding looking Gena in the eye, afraid of what he would see if he did.

  “You were the first on scene?” Sandra’s voice was sharp, taking in his bloodied appearance.

  Jase ignored her, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I tried to save her Gena, but she was already dead.”

  Gena gave Sandra a panicked look, the shock vibrating through her reflected on Sandra’s face.

  “Are you telling us that Cyn...” Sandra began shakily, unable to finish, afraid of what Jase would confirm.

  Jase shook his head, lifting it to reveal his pain-stricken expression. “Gena, I’m so god damn sorry. I really did try to save her.”

  Gena paled, her stomach twisting with tension. A million different scenarios flooded her mind and she looked from Sandra to Jase again. Standing unsteadily, she turned and ran as fast as she was capable, unaware of anything but getting to Cynthia’s apartment as quickly as possible. Her heart pounding, she took the steps two at a time until she reached the apartment.

  Pushing her way past the crime scene unit, she flashed her badge, when an officer tried to stop her from entering the apartment. She strode from room to room searching, desperate, for any indication that her friend might be still alive. Taking in the spotless living room and kitchen, she almost gagged, the smell of bleach overpowering her. A sense of foreboding hit her. The crime scene was one she was already familiar with.

  Pausing in the archway between the living room and hallway, she fought for control. Slowly, she began to walk towards two uniforms who stood guarding what she knew had to be the main crime scene. A body was, or had been, in that room.

  Flashing her Detective Badge, she smiled when they let her pass through their defense. She stopped in front of the door, before entering, freezing in the archway, at the chaos in the bedroom.

  The walls and the floors were sprayed with blood. Her gaze took in the upturned lamp and the torn bloodied bed sheets and her heart slammed into her chest when she saw the message written on the wall. Moving closer, she realized the killer had written it in blood. Reading the message, she turned ash white.

  Tick tock, you’re way too late

  Tick Tock Detective Evans

  You couldn’t save your lovely Ana

  Tick tock, you’re wasting time

  Tick tock, your Doc is going to die.

  “You, god damn, sick son of a bitch,” she whispered, struggling to keep her emotions in check. The feelings of dread and sense of Déjà vu hitting her when she’d walked inside the apartment founded. She was positive this crime was linked to Carolyn and Angel’s unsolved murders. If so, then Stephanie had been right, they were dealing with a serial killer.

  Glancing around the room, she shook her head. With trembling hands, she took out her cell phone, lifting it to take a photo of the message on the wall before she quickly snapped photos of the room. Carefully, she studied the crime scene, mentally comparing it to the other two crime scenes. Each crime was unique in its own way, but eerily similar. There was no doubt in her mind they were dealing with the same killer; a killer who was now targeting all her friends.

  Her eyes darted around the room, sizing up every little detail and taking in every item unturned. With a frown, she wondered what the message was behind this crime scene. In the past the crime scenes had been almost immaculate. Angel’s crime scene had been clean. Her killer had taken the time to clean up after himself, making sure no trace was left behind. Carolyn Mathers’ body had been dumped, overlooking the Hollywood sign. Again there had been no trace evidence, nothing to indicate who her killer was.

  This crime scene was messy, it looked almost rushed. There was anger here, an emotion she hadn’t seen in the first two crime scenes. It was more brutal. Looking down at her hands, she realized she was trembling. Focusing on the crime scene she knew, despite the crime scene’s chaos, the CSU wouldn’t find anything the killer didn’t want them to discover.

  Detective Frank Delucci stood in the middle of the room, slowly doing a 180. Each time he turned, he stopped to take in the crime scene and make notes. Noticing Gena for the first time, he silently nodded to her. Seeing her ashen expression, he turned back towards the main bedroom wall. “Evans, you want to explain this to me?” he asked, jerking his thumb towards the blooded message scrawled above the bed.

  Gena stared blankly at him and then at the wall again. Ignoring his question, she asked one of her own. “Frank, is this Cynthia’s blood?”

  Delucci didn’t answer. He continued to roam the crime scene, his eyes straying back towards the bloodied message. “It’s hard to tell. Some of it could be hers, or it could be just our victim’s.”

  Gena swallowed hard, unable to take her eyes off the crude poem written in blood. “Frank, the victim,” she began, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat.

  “The victim’s name is Ana something or another,” Delucci said, flipping through his notepad. “Hang on. I’ve got the victim’s name right here.”

  “Don’t bother, Frank. I know her last name. It’s Ferrier, Ana Ferrier,” Gena said. A flood of grief crippled her and she ducked her head, not wanting Delucci to see her pain.

  “You knew the victim then?” he pressed, watching Gena lift her head. She ignored his question. Trying to remain calm, she slowly counted to ten. “Detective Evans, I asked you a question. Did you know the victim?” Delucci pressed again, oblivious to Gena’s growing fury.

  Gena’s eyes darkened with barely suppressed rage. Spinning around to face him, she spat out, “She is not the victim, Detective Delucci. She has a name and it’s Ana Ferrier. At least give her the respect of calling her this, instead of just the victim.”

  With shaky legs, she mustered all her strength to turn and walk away, refusing to let Delucci bait her further and frustrated with herself for losing her temper. Ignoring him when he firmly repeated his question, she hurriedly moved through the apartment, tears flooding her eyes, her sole determination to get away from the crime scene before she completely lost it.

  Staggering out of the apartment, she gripped the handrail tightly in an attempt to control the overwhelming desire to vomit. Racing down the apartment steps, she took them two at a time, blindly pushing through the sea of blue.

  Reaching the police car where Jase stood wearing a fresh pair of clothes, talking quietly to Sandra, she was unable to maintain her composure any longer. With eyes blinded by tears, she twisted away from them, leaned down and threw up.

  ***

  He watched Gena vomit, sneering with contempt. Enjoying her distress, he was unable to hide his smirk. So, beneath the steely façade, Gena Evans wasn’t as tough as she let everyone believe. He’d even managed to shake her up a little. Smiling widely, he wondered if she’d like the little poem he’d left at the crime scene. He’d written it especially for her. Egotistical bitch she was, he knew she would assume this was all about her. He knew better. The fact she was so self-absorbed to believe he was doing this for her, made him chuckle. It just meant his plans for her would be so much sweeter. He couldn’t wait to bring the bitch to her knees.

  Staring at the sea of officers patrolling the area, he felt an inner urge to laugh. Here he was, in plain sight, within inches of L.A’s finest and they didn’t even realize it. It told him what he already knew – the L.A.P.D was clueless and he was untouchable.

  ***

  Sandra frowned, surprised to see Gena so shaken up. In the years she’d worked with her, she’d never seen her lose it at a crime scene. “Gena, I don’t understand,” she began, stopping when Gena held up her hand, silencing her.

  Gena wiped her mouth, standing slowly, still unable to talk. She grasped the bottle of water Jase silently offered her, taking a swig from it. Sandra watched their interaction in confusion. Without a word, she walked towards the crime scene, determined to find out what had made Gena so ill.

  “You know, don’t you?” Jase said quietly
, removing a tissue from his jeans pocket and offering it to her.

  She took it gratefully, flicking her eyes over him. “You changed your clothes,” she croaked.

  He gave her a half-smile. “I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Homicide wanted them for processing. I keep a spare set in the car. Old habits die hard.”

  Gena nodded, wiping her mouth with the tissue and taking another gulp of water. She bit her lip, struggling to keep her composure.

  “I’m so sorry, Gena. I’m so damn sorry,” Jase said, his voice breaking unevenly. He stepped towards her, reaching over to give her a quick hug, before stepping back.

  Gena accepted his embrace awkwardly, still not sure if she could speak without breaking down and crying. Glancing around her fellow colleagues, she grimaced. The last thing she wanted was for them to see her fall apart. There’d be plenty of time for her to that later, when she was alone. Right now she needed to be tough as nails, just another Detective working another crime scene.

  Jase watched Gena’s struggle, knowing the emotions raging through her as she struggled to be a Homicide Detective first, and to mourn the loss of one of her friends second. He silently took her hand and she looked down, gripping his hand tightly before he let hers go.

  “You saw the writing, didn’t you?” she said in a low voice.

  Jase nodded, his own eyes sweeping over the growing crowd. “Do you think he’s here? Do you think he’s watching us? Laughing at us both?” he asked, his voice rich with turmoil.

  Gena’s stomach churned at the possibility of the killer so close, watching their investigation unfolding and their every move. She knew he’d be laughing at them.

  “You know it’s the same son of a bitch, don’t you?” Jase said bitterly, turning to Gena, his voice rising in frustration. “He killed Angel, and now he’s killed Ana.”

  Gena didn’t answer, her expression guarded as Sandra rejoined them with Detective Delucci following closely behind. Ignoring Delucci, she said quietly to Sandra, “Still think it’s not personal, Sandra?”

  Sandra jerked her head back towards the apartment and then back at Gena. Delucci cleared his throat, pinning his steely gaze on Jase. “Dev, I think you better come downtown and make your statement.” Turning to Gena, he added, “And you too, Detective Evans.”

  ***

  He grinned when Detective Frank Delucci indicated for Jase Devlin and Gena Evans to go downtown with him. Whistling cheerfully to himself, he lifted his camera and focused on them, zooming in for a series of close shots of Gena. He moved away from the crime scene, nodding courteously at a nearby police officer, flashing his identification and passing him.

  He paused and waited for Gena Evans and her partner to drive past in their unmarked police car, with Jase following behind in the squad car. Gena thought she had seen everything now, didn’t she? Well, she hadn’t seen anything yet. He still had plenty of surprises in store for her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Stephanie ran down the dark hallway, her clothes bloody and torn. Her heart thundered against her chest, her breathing coming in short gasps, as she sped up. She didn’t look back, pounding her fists on dorm room doors, screaming for someone, anyone to help. She prayed for anyone to save her from the madman who had attacked her.

  Suddenly she heard his thunderous footsteps. She saw him stalking towards her with the bloody knife still in his hand, its blade glittering in the darkness. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. He gripped her arm tightly, spinning her around to look into his shadowed face.

  She reached out, trying to pull off the hood shielding him, but she couldn’t. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see him. She knew him, through. She knew his touch, his voice, his smell.

  Suddenly his face was visible to her. It was Dominic. He shook her, his voice thunderous with fury. “You left me, Stephanie. You left me after you swore you would love me ‘til death do us part.”

  “I didn’t,” she began, shaking her head in denial. “I didn’t want to, Dominic. Please, believe me, I didn’t want to. I had no choice. If I didn’t, he would have hurt you.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached out to touch him. The shadowed man laughed coldly at her pleas, morphing into Leigh. Leigh began to shake her, gripping her so tightly he bruised her. “You’re my wife bitch, and you will stay my wife!” he roared, his eyes burning into her.

  “No, you can’t make me stay,” she cried, trying to break free. She jerked back from him. Then she was falling; falling faster and faster until she landed into a wet puddle. Lifting her hands, she saw they were bright red. Red with someone else’s blood.

  Looking down, she realized she was lying in a pool of blood. Turning her head, she screamed at the sight of her roommate’s lifeless body lying next to her. Katrina stared at her with eyes devoid of any life. She quickly crawled away from the body, her frantic gaze searching desperately for an escape.

  Lifting herself from the floor, she whispered to herself that it was all a nightmare and she wasn’t really here. A hand grabbed her arm and she spun around. She took a step back at the sight of both Carolyn and Angel in front of her, their eyes red with bloodied tears. They held out their arms to her and she took another step backwards.

  She was spun around again, the figure in the black hood standing in front of her. She wanted to see his face. She needed to know who he was. Reaching out, she tried to pull off the hood but he evaded her. He gripped her arm painfully, his eyes glittering as he drew her into his murderous gaze.

  “I’m coming for you, Stephanie. You know this, don’t you?” he whispered, bringing his blade forward and slitting her throat with one thrust.

  ***

  “Dominic!” Stephanie woke up, screaming Dominic’s name over and over again. Her body shaking, she sat up, wrapping trembling arms around herself.

  Jesse sat up abruptly, awoken by her screams. He automatically reached for her. She shook him off, turning around and swinging at him with her fist. He grunted when her fist connected with his jaw and grabbed her arm when she attempted to swing again.

  “Babe, it’s me,” he said, trying to draw her close. She pushed him hard away from her, scrambling out of the bed.

  Ben burst into the bedroom, staring from Jesse, underneath the rumpled covers to where a frozen Stephanie stood trembling. He looked back towards Jesse, who slowly emerged from the bed. His gaze flickered over Jesse’s nakedness, before he focused his attention on Stephanie again.

  Taking a step towards her, he paused when she back away, raising her hands. “Don’t touch me, damn it,” she spat, her eyes welling with tears.

  “Steph, it’s me Ben. You just had a nightmare,” he said soothingly, attempting to calm her.

  She took another step backwards, backing herself into a corner. Wordlessly, she slid down against the wall. Lifting her knees to her chest, she quietly whispered. “Please don’t come any closer.”

  Jesse zipped up his jeans, casually picking up his T-shirt that lay, discarded, at the end of the bed. He moved silently towards Stephanie, who closed her eyes and repeated quietly, “It was not my fault.” Over and over, she repeated the same words.

  Jesse sat cross-legged beside her and nodded his head to Ben, indicating for him to do the same.

  “What’s not your fault?” Ben asked gently, reaching over and stroking her back soothingly, in circular motions.

  She shrank away from his touch. “Don’t touch me, Ben. Please, don’t touch me.”

  Jesse took in her ashen face, shaken by the shadowed grief in her eyes. “Tell me, what’s made you so scared?” he whispered gently.

  Reaching out to touch her face, he frowned when she flinched. He drew his hand back, as if he’d been struck. “I’d never hurt you Stephanie, you know that,” he said quietly.

  She laughed harshly. “It’s not your hurting me, I’m worried about,” she finally said, after a long silence. Shaking her head, she turned to look at Jesse. “Don’t you get it, Je
sse? Everyone I’ve ever let get close...whoever I love...dies. Dominic, Angel and Carolyn, they’re all dead.” Her voice broke and she whispered softly, “I can’t lose you, too.”

  Ben took her hand, stroking the inside of it gently with his thumb. “Babe, it was just a dream. Look at me. Look at Jesse. We’re both here, and we’re not going anywhere. You’re safe. We won’t let anyone ever hurt you. Not ever again,” he vowed, smiling triumphantly when she let him draw her closer.

  Jesse wrapped an arm around her shoulder, gently pressing his lips to her forehead, clammy against his touch. His own eyes reflected his pain with the realization Dominic was still the one she called out for. After all this time, her love for Dominic never wavered. He didn’t know why she’d left Dominic, but the agony in her voice when she’d cried out for him proved it hadn’t been because she stopped loving him. He wondered if she would ever let anyone get close to her again. If she would ever let him get close enough for her to love him in the way he loved her.

  “I’d hoped the nightmares had stopped,” he said quietly.

  Ben cursed silently, remembering the many nights he’d woken from a deep sleep to find Stephanie tossing and turning, in the grips of a terrifying nightmare. Nightmares she’d refused to discuss with him, with anyone.

  Stephanie tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. She saw the concern etched on Ben and Jesse’s faces and gave them a weak smile. “No...I don’t know.” She pressed her forehead against her knees.

  Raising her head, she said softly, “The nightmares never really left, but they weren’t as vivid; they weren’t as horrific. When Dominic died, they got pretty brutal, but in the past few months they’d been easing off. After Angel died, they came back in full force.”

  She lifted one slim shoulder in a careless shrug. “It’s just been a long time since I had one this bad.” She stared at the faint bruise on Jesse’s jaw, touching it gingerly with her two fingers.