Devil's Cradle

by Drew Avera

  I ran my finger along the moist wounds that were protruding upwards from my chest like large boils. I winced again as my finger made contact with the center of one of the wounds and pulled back sticky to the touch. I groaned as I pulled the shirt back down and stood up on shaky legs. I moved closer to the door and peered out through some small slits and could see vast cornfields and other bits of farmland sprinkled along the trail that the train was traveling. I could feel the deceleration of the train as we approached what must have been a small intersection along a country highway.

  I strained to look out to see what lay ahead, but I could not see anything through the grouping of trees that had appeared alongside the train. Despite my better judgment I felt that now was the time to offload myself and find a place to hide out for a while. I pulled up on the sliding door of the car and laid my body down so that I could roll off of the train. I estimated that we were traveling maybe ten to fifteen miles per hour and my likelihood of escaping without further injury were relatively high. I swallowed hard and rolled aggressively to the left and fell out of the rail car and down an embankment. I came to rest a bit more sorely that I wanted despite the soft leaves that had started to fill the ditch that I was now laying in.

  I lay there for a while and tried to catch my breath. The cool air chilled my skin and put me a bit more at ease. The overcast sky darkened a bit more and I enjoyed the reprieve from the glaring sun. After a while of resting in the dirt and leaves I crawled back up and stood firmly on the ground. I knew that I needed to find food once night fell, and based on where I was at the moment I wasn't sure how readily available it would be. I looked out at the large homes that were spread along a two lane highway for as far my eyes could see. I spotted one home that had some clothes hanging out on a line to dry and could see that some of them were men's clothing. I knew that I needed to get out of this bloodied shirt and the pants I was wearing were about four sizes too large. I kept that house in mind for my first mission in this little hick town.

  October 2, 2012

  "This party sucks, Sam," I said loudly into her ear trying to be heard over the loud music and her ever distracting boyfriend.

  "I want to stay," Sam said with a roll of her eyes and that fake smile she often used when she was grinning despite her annoyance. I recognized it immediately because I make the same face. That's the curse of being a twin. You know the other so well that nothing is ever really a secret.

  "Come on, we have that algebra test tomorrow and I need to study," I lied.

  She turned around and grabbed my arm, "Just go home then, Sarah, but I'm staying". She leveled her eyes at me to let me know that she was serious. The last eight months have been rough for her and she was much more prone to anger after what had happened with that psycho killer.

  "Fine," I said hesitantly as I stood up to leave. I turned back to see her still talking to that jerk, Tim, who looked some kind of bad boy poser. I grabbed my jacket that I had sat by the front door and put it on. The cold air was not going to make a fun walk home, but that didn't matter to me. I just wanted to get the hell out of that party. It wasn't my kind of scene. Five blocks in the frigid autumn air went about as fast as a snail’s pace. The Chicago wind kept beating me back and my legs were starting to burn, not that comfortable warmth in a toasty blanket burn, but that exhausted, I don't want to keep going because my legs hurt kind of burn.

  I made the right hand turn onto our street and noticed that the street light in front of our house was out. I thought it peculiar since it had been working when Sam and I had left earlier. As I closed in on it I could see shards of glass and what was left of the filament lying along the sidewalk. I assumed it was just one of the neighborhood kids with a slingshot or something and shrugged my shoulders as I walked up towards the porch.

  Our new house was in a quiet neighborhood in a relatively crime free area outside of Chicago. Our parents uprooted us from everything we had known after what had happened to Sam. Not that I blamed them, I was terrified of every shadow in that apartment after what had happened. The quiet suburbia was just what I had always wanted to be honest. I was never a fan of the bustling city. I pulled my keys out of my coat pocket and went to insert it into the lock. I realized that we must have forgotten to lock it before we left because the key was unnecessary.

  I flipped the light switch on in the foyer as I stepped in only to discover that the light did not work. I would be lying if I said I didn't hesitate stepping into the house, but I could see the time on the oven in the kitchen flashing and felt pretty sure that the power had gone out. Sometimes when the power goes out in this older house it will trip a breaker or cause a light bulb to burn out. I closed the door behind me and locked it. As I turned back around I bumped into something that was blocking my way. I went to scream, but found that I was not able to because whatever, or whoever it was had placed their hand around my mouth.

  My mind was racing and my heart was beating so fast that I thought it was going to jump out of my chest. The headlights of a passing car illuminated the room just enough for me to realize that it was Cason Letum, the sick bastard who had attempted to kill Sam almost a year ago. My heart sank at the thought that no one would be here to help me. I felt his hand grab my throat and he began choking me and dragging me along as he walked into the kitchen. My feet barely made contact with the floor along the way when suddenly he slammed me down onto the kitchen table.

  With a grip still on my throat he finally spoke, "Thought you had gotten away didn't you, you little bitch? No one can get away from me, never. You see this scar?" he pointed to a scar along his left arm, the same arm that was pinning me down.

  I've carried that little meaningless token since our last encounter, but you can be assured that it will have meaning after tonight. Usually I want to savor this kind of thing, but I'm so fucking pissed that you got away the first time that I'm just gonna finish where I left off. Good night, sweetheart."

  He lifted his right hand that was holding a large knife up over his head. I struggled to scream, but I couldn't even breathe with his weight brought down on my throat. My eyes widened as the knife came swooping down. I felt the first three or four stabs before everything went away.

  October 3, 2012

  The disruption of my thoughts came as the radio squawked an emergency call. I was solo tonight and reached over to turn up the volume. "Homicide, female victim, multiple stab wounds to the torso."

  Dammit, I knew the location like it was some kind of premonition that was only confirmed by the dispatcher seconds later. "Martinez residence located at. “I ignored the rest. I knew the home because I had been there on multiple occasions to check in on Samantha. Her tear streaked face still haunted my thoughts even this many months afterwards. I switched on the flashing lights and spun around using the emergency brake and headed south to the home. It wasn't exactly my precinct's jurisdiction, but the hell with that; I had a vested interest in the wellbeing of the Martinez family.

  It was a ten minute drive to their home even with the flashing lights and my disregard for traffic lights. The only thing in my favor was that it was late enough at night that the number of cars on the road was scarce. I pulled up to the scene which was already barricaded off and ducked under the yellow tape, barely flashing my badge to the officer standing the post. My heart began to leap as I walked up the wooden steps of the porch and I realized that the only light in the area was from the emergency vehicles; the street lights and the lights for the home were all dark. I made a mental note of that detail before proceeding into the front door.

  I could see the Martinez family sitting on the couch with their hands holding their faces as the sound of deep sobs and crying emanated from the living room. I could smell the blood as soon as I had stepped through the doorway, which only meant that there was enough of it for the smell to carry. I stepped in quietly and stood next to the detective who was still taking notes. "Evening, Detective," I said, disregarding the 'good' part knowing what kind of night it
was going to be. "I'm Jim Wilson, I'm a friend of the family and I'm with the fourth precinct. Could I speak to you for a moment?"

  "Absolutely, please excuse me a moment," he said to the Martinez family before stepping into the other room with me. He was a younger man, maybe about seven years on the force; his dark hair was slicked back with gel and I could smell his pack a day smoking habit from where we were standing. The cigarette smoke and the blood mixture made me nauseous. "What can I do for you?"

  "I was working a case with one of the daughters; her name is Samantha. She was attacked by the killer Cason Letum earlier this year. I'm sure you heard about it, but I need to know, who's the victim?" I asked in a hurried, nervous way. I didn't want to know to be perfectly honest, but I had to know. He eyes me and cleared his throat lightly before speaking.

  "It was Samantha's twin, Sarah. She's the victim. As of right now there is nothing concrete that points to Letum as the killer." "Bullshit," I said through clenched teeth. "I suggest you dig a little deeper and connect the fucking dots."

  "Jim, I know how you're feeling about this, but it doesn't match his motive. This girl was stabbed seventy-three times, laid out on the kitchen table. Letum always has his victims seated and tied to a chair and kills them by slitting their throats. Pointing to Letum right now is purely circumstantial. For all we know it could be some psycho admirer at their school who was let down a little too hard for him to handle. Let's just wait and see what the forensics team finds and go from there."

  His by the book approach to the case was both reassuring and pissed me off at the same time. I could feel that I had gotten too personally involved with the case based on how I was acting emotionally. "You're right, I'm sorry. It just gets to me anytime a kid like this is victimized."

  "I understand, and if you give me your number I can let you know what we find out, unofficially."

  "Sounds good," I said as I pulled my card out from my jacket pocket and handed it over to the younger man. He eyed it for a moment before placing it into his memo pad that he had been jotting notes into and slipped it into his own pocket. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to speak to the family."

  "Certainly, I've gotten about all I need to know to move forward. I'm going to go check on forensics," he said before walking towards the kitchen. I watched him walk into the room that was lit with black lights and could see the covered body of Sarah Martinez. I swallowed bile as it rose up into my throat. I collected myself as best I could before walking into the living room to speak to the family. We were very familiar with one another by now, but this kind of event always made it difficult for me to approach a family. It brought to mind everything that they had lost, and made me think of what it would be like if I lost my own family.

  April 6, 2016

  "Why are you here, Martinez?" The Chief asked in his gruff voice that made most officers cringe. I stood in front of his desk still wearing my uniform stained with the blood of the little girl who died in my arms after a drive by.

  "I would like to request a transfer of departments, sir," I said while looking him dead in the eye. "Why? You want to ride a desk job or something? Is the beat too hard for you?" He challenged every officer in the department who made this request, I was ready for it.

  "No. I want to move into homicide," I said.

  "Homicide, huh, why is that?"

  "Because I'd like to have a chance to investigate and apprehend the criminals who do things like I witnessed tonight, Sir."

  "You apprehend criminals all the time in Chicago. No need to transfer to homicide for that," he said with a dismissing wave of his fingers as he looked back down at the case file. I didn't move from in front of his desk, in my mind the conversation was not over. It took several minutes for my lurking to agitate him enough to look up and finish the discussion. "How bad do you want it?"

  "With everything I have been through in my life, I want it more than my next breath." I knew he would take that as an over exaggeration, but it held some truth personally. My life was in shambles. My parents were now divorced and my father was suffering from depression. My mother was in rehab for alcoholism for the third time in two years. The only constant in my life was my work. No boyfriend, no friends really, just work and the occasional beer with the guys off shift. I needed a change of pace to say the least.

  The Chief pulled out an interdepartmental transfer form and placed it on his desk. "Take this and return it to admin when you're done. Don't come in here begging for a transfer if you don't like it. All transfers are one year minimums so I won't even entertain the thought. Got it?"

  "Yes, sir," I said enthusiastically as I pulled the sheet of paper from his desk. "Thank you," I finished just before closing his office door behind me. I could see the hint of a smile on his face even though he didn't acknowledge my appreciation. It was just his way I supposed.

  I made my way to the administration department on the second floor and greeted the overwhelmed clerk. "Good morning, Ms. Becky."

  "Hello, Martinez," she said without even looking up as she typed methodically into her computer. "I'll be with you in a moment," she continued typing, never looking away from the screen. After a few minutes she keyed some final demands in whatever report she was working on and looked up at me. "What can I do for you?"

  "I'm transferring to Homicide," I said as I handed her my form. She took it from me and eyed it over briefly before handing it back.

  "All I need is the signature of your current supervisor and your gaining supervisor; all the rest can be skipped. I will take it and forward it up to Personnel so they can document it for pay purposes. It should only take you a few minutes to get these signatures; any questions?"

  I grabbed the paper from her hands and smiled. I knew she would hook me up with a short cut on getting this transfer underway. "Nope, thank you Ms. Becky."

  "Uh huh, anytime, see you in a bit," she said as her hands rested back onto her keyboard and she began typing away again. I walked away with a feeling of excitement to know that my next shift would be with the department that was my reason for becoming a cop in the first place. I knew this was where I needed to be to prevent what happened to Sarah and me from happening to anyone else. I reached up to my collarbone and felt the raised scar just under the material of my uniform shirt.

  "This is for you, Sarah," I whispered as I walked into my supervisor's office to get his signature. "This is for both of us."

  September 20, 2012

  After two hundred miles of driving an old model Toyota Tercel, the intermittent radio was drawing on my last nerve. Every time I took a right turn I would hear static, silence, static, followed by an obnoxious pop before the music returned as the steering wheel straightened back out. I was fried to say the least after months of being on the run, unable to give into my temptations. My desire to taste another life before its end was driving me to a point in which I had never been before. I felt like a chained dog with a bloody steak sitting just out of reach, a hellish torment in which I would no longer have to endure.

  I pulled the Toyota into an empty parking lot and felt it lurch to a stop, I was surprised the brakes held up as well as they had, the grating sound of metal on metal alerting me that the pads were all but nonexistent rang in my ears even after I had sat for several moments. I turned down the radio so that I could concentrate on what was important, leaving the whiny country music station that had been preset into the radio moaning in the background.

  I lifted the latest and greatest phone book off of the passenger seat and thumbed through the gigantic volume that I had ripped off from a phone booth at a sleazy truck stop. I came to the 'M' names and searched for my darling Martinez family. When I came across the name I could see that there were at least a few hundred families bearing that name. I had my work cut out for me, luckily I liked to hunt. It was the one thing that satiated my lust almost as much as the blood itself. I ripped the pages free from the phone book and began to rule out the neighborhoods that a lower middle class family could no
t afford in the greater Chicago area. I scribbled them out with a pencil, just in case I needed to backtrack later.

  I decided to slum it first in relatively the same area I had encountered her before, I knew that the possibility for them to have moved away was high, but so was the chance of them staying and removing themselves from public record. I put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot, mindful of all traffic laws. I didn't want an accidental slip at the wheel to separate me from my prize. I gripped the wheel tighter and smiled a toothy grin, knowing that I was close, knowing that before I drew my last breath I would have her in my collection. I looked down at the scar on my left arm and ran my index finger along the mark. "Samantha Martinez," I hissed and placed both hands back on the wheel...safety first.

  20 Nov 2022

  "Look, I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine...really," I lied.

  "People who are fine don't miss their appointments, Ms. Martinez," the doctor said sternly.

  "It's not an issue for you to be concerned with. I'm working a case right now and have a lead that I need to follow."

  "You have a desk job, Sam. The city will not allow someone with your...condition to be following any leads. I'm not stupid, so why don't you tell me exactly what's going on or else I can contact the court and let them know that you are skipping appointments."

  "It's just this one! I had something come up that I need to take care of, it's private," I said in hopes that she would relent.

  "It doesn't work that way, Sam," she said coldly into the receiver. I cursed under my breath and hoped that the Bluetooth receiver would not pick it up. "What was that you said?"

  "Nothing, look, give me two hours and if I'm not in your office by then you can report me, all right?"