by Mark Lukens
Greg hung from the rafters in the middle of the empty garage. There were no vehicles in the garage. Perry didn’t know if the killer had emptied the garage, or it just happened to be that way. At the far end of the garage was a row of counters and cabinets overflowing with tools and car parts. Along the sides of the walls were jacks, spare tires and rims, and other leftover parts and tools.
The ropes that Greg was strung up by were tied several times around his wrists and then looped around the exposed rafters above and then tied off to the sides of the metal walls, tied tightly around exposed metal studs. His bare feet hung only a few inches from the concrete floor. His body swayed back and forth gently and the ropes creaked in the silence. He had a severe wound to the left side of his face; his forehead was caved in a little from the butt of the shotgun. Dark blood was matted in the wound and in his hair. The whole left side of his face was stained with blood that had dripped down the left side of his body. He was gagged with a rag stuffed into his mouth with several lengths of rope tied around his head to hold the rag in place.
Greg was naked. And the skin from his entire torso, from right under his arm pits down to his waistline, had been removed. It hadn’t been a precision job, Perry could tell that just by looking at the sawed marks in the victim’s red muscle and fat. But it didn’t look like it had been a rush job, either. Greg hadn’t been tortured; this had just been a job to the killer, like someone skinning an animal after a hunt. Only, judging from the gag in his mouth, Perry guessed that this animal may have still been alive at the time.
Blood-stained tools were scattered on the concrete floor around the massive pool of blood that Greg hung over. There was a box cutter, a pair of large scissors, a pair of rusty shears, and various pairs of pliers. In the bloody puddle under Greg’s feet were globs of fat and pieces of muscle that had been cut off during the removal of his skin.
The skin from Greg’s torso wasn’t anywhere in the garage.
“He’s taking things,” Jackson said as he stared at the body. He chewed on his wad of bubblegum and his jaw muscles clenched and relaxed as he chewed. “Blood from the first victim. Skin from this one.”
Perry nodded and sighed. He stared down at the assortment of tools in the pool of blood.
“Where are the knives he used?”
Jackson didn’t answer. He stared at the pliers, scissors, and the box cutter.
“There’s a box cutter,” Perry said, “but he didn’t use that to flay the skin off of the body.”
Jackson looked at the saw marks on the man’s muscle and fat, evidence of the knives that had been used.
“Why would he take the knives he used to skin this guy, but leave the other tools and shotgun behind?” Perry wondered aloud.
Jackson didn’t have an answer for him.
3.
Tara’s heart jumped when she heard the knock at her front door. She was at her easel, finishing up the last of the illustrations for the children’s book. She had the radio on – she liked to listen to music when she worked, something soft and easy that eventually faded into background noise.
The knock sounded again.
Who was at her door?
Tara felt the instant prickling on her skin, the instant tension in her muscles, the instant buzzing of panic in her mind.
She got up and hurried out of her office and then raced across the living room. She pried the blinds apart and peeked out the window near the front door and she just caught a glimpse of Steve walking back to his apartment.
Tara rushed to the front door and fumbled with the deadbolt, and then the lock on the door handle. She finally got the door open and ran outside onto the concrete walkway. Steve was almost back to his apartment door.
Steve heard her come outside and he turned back to her and smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“It’s not a bother,” Tara said, even though she wasn’t quite sure what she was saying was no bother to her. That hadn’t come out right and she wished she could start over.
Steve walked back towards her at a leisurely pace, a smile still on his face. Tara noted again that he was a very good-looking man. He wore a pair of old faded jeans that hung perfectly on him and a Polo shirt that revealed more of his toned body than she had seen before.
Stop it! Stop staring at him like that.
“I was just wondering if you had a cup of sugar I could borrow,” Steve said.
Tara didn’t say anything. She couldn’t seem to find her voice for a moment.
“I was going to make some tea …” Steve continued but then he let his words trail off.
“I’m sorry,” Tara finally said. “I don’t … I don’t have any sugar. I used it all.”
Steve smiled even wider. “Thanks, anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” Tara said again and she smiled. She felt like she was smiling dumb. Stop smiling, she told herself. But she couldn’t seem to stop.
“It’s okay,” Steve said. “No big deal. I need to go to the store anyway. I just wanted to make some tea first …” He stopped talking and turned a little red underneath his tan skin.
Was he embarrassed? Tara wondered. Could he be just as nervous in front of me as I am in front of him?
Steve turned to walk away, but he glanced back at her.
“I really didn’t mean to bother you,” Steve said again. And he was still grinning at her, a lop-sided smile that somehow seemed to be cute and sexy at the same time.
“It’s no bother at all,” Tara said as she paused at her front door. “Any time.”
Steve went back inside.
Tara went back inside. She could still feel that big, dumb smile plastered on her face. Any time? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
She sighed as she leaned back against her front door and glanced over at the plate of cupcakes in her kitchen.
I’m such a chicken.
4.
A few hours later, Tara was jogging with Lorie down a trail through Grover Park. They had finished their run and Lorie was panting – she looked like she might fall over and pass out. Tara was hardly even breathing hard.
“I don’t see how this can be good for you,” Lorie said when she finally caught her breath.
They stretched out their leg muscles by a park bench. Lorie wore a pair of shiny, skin-tight yoga pants and a low-cut shirt and the best running shoes money could buy. Tara wore her solid black stretch pants, her white sneakers, and an old T-shirt that she had knotted at the side of her waist. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail.
Tara had agreed to help Lorie work out. Lorie was in good shape already, a naturally slender and curvy woman, but she said she wanted to tone up some, she felt like she needed to compete with Mike’s body, whatever that was supposed to mean. Tara told her they’d start with some aerobic and endurance stuff and then work up to some light weight-training.
Lorie and Mike had really hit it off after she sold him the place up in Pasco County. They’d been seeing each other every night and Tara got a phone call from Lorie after every date. Tara was happy for Lorie, but she could also tell that their friendship was going to slowly dissolve away the closer Mike and Lorie got to each other. Lorie was her only friend, so it saddened her, yet she still couldn’t help being happy for her.
Tara had always been alone; she knew how to be alone. She was an expert at it. But Lorie wasn’t that kind of person so Tara was happy she had found someone to be with.
After Tara finished stretching, she looked around at the park. The day was nice. It was hot, but the further they got into October, the less humidity there was in the air which made it feel less muggy. There were a few other people in the park: two women pushing baby strollers, an old man feeding the birds at another bench, a few other people jogging and walking past her and Lorie. In one of the fields there was some kind of Tai Chi class going on.
“I almost took your advice,” Tara said.
Lorie looked at Tara, still panting a little. “Advice about what?”
“I baked Steve some cupcakes.”
Lorie’s eyes bulged with surprise. “You did? And?”
“And I chickened out. I didn’t give them to him.”
“Tara …” Lorie sighed.
“And today he came over and asked if he could borrow a cup of sugar.”
Lorie’s face brightened a little. “And?”
“And I didn’t have any. So … he went home.”
Lorie sat down on the bench and sighed, she had a confused look on her face for a moment. “He actually came over and asked to borrow a cup of sugar?”
“Yeah.”
“Flashbulbs should’ve been going off in your head. That’s the oldest line in the book. You missed a great opportunity.” Lorie had finally gotten her breath back. “What a line. You could’ve said: I didn’t have any sugar because I used it all on these. And then you present the cupcakes to him.”
“It doesn’t matter now. It’s too late. The cupcakes are old, starting to get stale. And I already ate half of them.”
Lorie got back to her feet and they started walking back down the trail to where their vehicles were parked.
You’re hopeless,” Lorie said. “How’s your work going? You should be getting plenty of that done.”
“It’s going okay,” Tara answered. She wanted to tell Lorie that her nightmares were getting worse. That she was sleepwalking again, something she hadn’t done in a few years. She had hoped (but should’ve known better) that maybe she had somehow begun to move past her night terrors.
But now they’d come back with a force that she hadn’t felt since she’d been a teenager.
Since her parents were murdered.
But Tara wasn’t going to unload all of that negative stuff onto Lorie. She was going to be happy for Lorie and help her in any way she could. She would have to deal with her night terrors and panic attacks as she always did – alone.
They walked in silence for a moment as they got to the parking lot.
“Why don’t you stop at a store on the way home and pick up a bag of sugar?” Lorie suggested. “Bring a cup over to him. Or hell, show some imagination and bring him the whole bag.”
“You have a one-track mind.”
Lorie laid her towel down over the driver’s seat of her car even though she had a seat cover on it. She looked at Tara for a moment, almost like she was studying her. “You okay?”
Tara smiled as she stood by her hulking Jeep. “Yeah, of course.”
“I want you to tell me if anything’s bothering you. If you’re having any more of your nightmares.”
The word nightmares sounded innocuous out here in the bright sunshine, it sounded almost childish; her friend worrying about her bad dreams.
“You know I would,” Tara lied. “Go and have fun with Mike. You deserve this.”
Lorie beamed and nodded. “I won’t give up until I find someone for you.”
“Maybe Mike has a brother.”
“I don’t think so. I’ll see if he has a cousin.”
Lorie got into her Mazda and fired it up. She pulled out of the parking lot so quickly that she almost screeched her tires.
Tara got in her Jeep and after a quick and silent prayer that it would start, she fired up the engine. It roared loudly even though it really didn’t have any power – it was all bark and no bite.
She pulled out of the parking area and onto the street. She didn’t notice the dark sedan following her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
1.
Tara stopped at a convenience store on the way home and bought a bag of sugar. She usually didn’t like to stop at a store in her workout clothes, but she tied her hoodie sweatshirt around her waist and that made her feel a little better. She didn’t have any reason to be ashamed of her body, she’d worked hard to sculpt a lean and healthy figure, but she didn’t like feeling like she was showing it off to people.
She could’ve stopped at a grocery store for the sugar – it would’ve been a lot cheaper – but she tried to avoid the supermarket as much as she could. In fact, she tried to avoid most places that were crowded with people; the less contact with strangers, the better. She had realized a long time ago that she could pick up stray thoughts from people whether she wanted to or not. The signal seemed to be stronger from some people than others. And it wasn’t always like a sentence in her mind that someone was thinking (but sometimes she could hear the actual thoughts from a person, word-for-word, but that was rare), usually it was more like a quick picture in her mind or even just a feeling. Most times the thoughts or feelings were mundane: worries about bills or if they had enough money to pay for the groceries, or worries about work, or their children. But every once in a while she would get a powerful feeling that would nearly knock her down – a sudden feeling of fear or anger or happiness.
Yes, it was just a good idea for her to avoid crowded places. She could tune out the feelings and pictures in her mind most of the time, but sometimes around a lot of people it could be a bit overwhelming. She had learned to schedule her grocery shopping at non-peak hours like either early in the morning or late at night.
She drove home with the bag of sugar on her passenger seat. When she got home, she set the bag of sugar on the counter. She stared at it for a moment like it was a piece of art to be appreciated, and then she walked away to take a shower.
During her shower she would force herself to decide if she was going to take a cup of sugar over to Steve.
Before she got to the bathroom, someone knocked at the front door. She stopped and stared at the door.
It’s Steve.
She looked down at her workout clothes: her tight-fitting, rather revealing workout clothes.
The knock sounded at the door again – more urgent this time.
She hesitated and glanced at the kitchen and the bag of sugar sitting on the counter.
Should I come to the door with the bag of sugar in my hands?
She got a quick mental picture of herself standing at the door holding the bag of sugar in her hands like a showgirl on a game show. No, that was going to look stupid, she thought. And giving Steve the whole bag of sugar might send him the wrong message – like here’s a whole bag of sugar so you will stop bugging me.
Another series of knocks pounded on the door.
Tara hurried to the front door, unlocked it and opened it.
It wasn’t Steve knocking at her door.
“Uh … can I help you?” Tara asked.
The man in her doorway was tall and wore a dark suit and sunglasses. He had what looked like a black wallet in his hand and he flipped it open in a practiced motion and showed Tara an FBI I.D and badge.
“Hello, Tara Simmons. I’m Agent David Woods with the FBI.”
Tara couldn’t answer him for a moment as she watched him tuck the FBI identification back inside his suit coat pocket.
“Could I take up a moment of your time, Ms. Simmons?”
Tara nodded, but she hadn’t moved away from the door to let him inside her apartment. “Yeah, I guess.” She glanced beyond the FBI agent and saw a dark sedan parked right next to her Jeep Cherokee. An unmarked cop car if she’d ever seen one.
“What’s this about?” she asked.
“It’s very important,” Agent Woods said. “I won’t take up too much of your time.”
Tara’s eyes darted back to the agent and a sudden warning flashed through her mind. For some reason this didn’t feel right to her.
“May I come inside?”
Tara chose to ignore the warning in her mind and stepped back; she gestured at him to come inside.
He entered her apartment and she shut the door behind him. And for once in her life, she didn’t lock the door. It was like she wanted the door to be unlocked for an easy escape if she needed one.
Where had that thought come from?
Agent Woods walked a few steps into the living room and took off his sunglasses in a quick, efficient movement and stuffed them down into his suit coat p
ocket. He had dark eyes, but they were alert and they seemed to take everything in within a split second. He glanced at the drawing paper face-down on her coffee table. His eyes lingered for a moment on the two pencils, one of them snapped in half, like there was something bothering him about it.
Thank God the drawing of the gun and bullets was turned over, Tara thought.
Tara tried to will the agent to focus back on her.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked as she walked to her kitchen. “Something to drink? I have some stale cupcakes if you want them?”
Agent Woods gave Tara a tight smile. “No thanks.”
Tara needed something to drink – she was suddenly so thirsty. She grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and drank some of it down. She walked back into the living room. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m thirsty. Just got back from a workout.” She gestured down at her clothing like she needed proof to back up her story.
He nodded.
Why was she so nervous around this man? She studied him for a moment. He was actually a very striking man in a dark sort of way. He was lean, like he’d been chiseled from stone. He stood very still and he exuded a sense of power and even a little danger. She was sure he’d learned this pose of his over the years as an FBI agent. Maybe they had training courses on it or something in the FBI.
What is wrong with me? Why am I suddenly sizing up every man I see?
She felt a rush of blood to her face as they stood in front of each other in a moment of awkward silence.
“So, what’s this about?” Tara asked again.
“It’s about the three murders that occurred over the last two nights.”
“Yeah, I heard about them on the news.”
“We believe it’s the work of a serial killer. We’ve been tracking this killer across the United States for the last two years.”
Agent Woods paused.
“And what does that have to do with me?” Tara asked.
“I need your help.”
“What?”
“I came to ask you for your help.”
“My help with what? I didn’t know those people who were murdered. I wasn’t anywhere around those places when the murders happened.”