With Love

by Liz Lovelock

  Walking into the station, ready to start the day, I feel brighter. It’s amazing what an actual night’s sleep will do for you. I scan the office and see that Pierce isn’t here even though he should be.

  Turning to the closest officer, I ask, “Where’s Pierce?”

  He shrugs and keeps walking.

  “Great help there, buddy,” I mutter under my breath.

  Pulling my cell from my coat pocket, I hit Pierce’s name. It takes him longer than usual to answer. “What?” he grumbles.

  “Good morning to you, too. Where the hell are you?” I bark, frustrated at him for not being here since we have a meeting with Elenore’s biological parents this morning, and here he is, being a lazy ass and sounding half asleep.

  “Oh, come off it, Blackwood, you’ve been slacking lately as well. I slept in, cut me some slack.”

  I’ve been slacking? If steam could come from my ears, I’m sure it would be pouring out by now. This guy is starting to really get on my nerves. Yes, he’s good at his job, but damn, some days I want to strangle him.

  “What the hell are you on about? I’ve been working harder than you.” I flop down into my desk chair. “Did you get any further information from ballistics on the gun yet?” I ask.

  “Whatever, man. I’m up now, and I’ll be in shortly. As for ballistics, they should be coming in today. They found some fingerprints in the system that match what they found on the gun. There was more than one set.”

  I release a breath. “Whose were they?” I already have a feeling about who one of those sets belong to, but the big question is, what or who did she use it on? The chamber was missing four bullets.

  “They haven’t come back with all the details yet. I’ll talk to you when I get in.” He ends the call, and I’m left staring at my computer screen. This entire case is a mess; there’s more to this girl than meets the eye. Reading her diaries has given me an insight into Elenore’s past.

  I’m a little hesitant to read the next entry. Elenore’s been through so much, and I’m scared to see what else she endured. With reluctance, I pick up the off-colored book and open to the next entry.

  Dear Diary,

  Today I snuck out of the house to go to the library. I was in desperate need of escapism. At the library, I hide away in the corner from the world, with my nose deep in a new adventure of a book of my choosing. The smell of paperbacks are relaxing.

  While I was there, I got a visit from the dropkick Dean. Let’s just say he wasn’t happy to see me. I’d made a fool of him in front of some students, and now I’ve ruined him, as he told me today. He informed me that I’m worthless and a no one.

  If I didn’t already know that then I’d be hurt. I’ve been told these things on a daily basis, so today when Dean said them to me I smiled at him. I bared my teeth, and gave a very generous grin. I told him thanks for the compliment. The look on his face was somewhat of a shock.

  He asked why I didn’t let things get to me. I told him that some people already live in Hell, so it doesn’t much matter what others do or say because their everyday is so much worse.

  He sat down beside me and actually said sorry for being such a dick. Of course, I accepted his apology. I try not to hold grudges against people. It’s not who I am.

  Dean stayed at the library with me for a little while. He actually chatted with me and wanted to get to know me as someone other than the weird girl. It was nice getting to know him on a different level.

  Sometimes I wonder if I even belong to my parents. I don’t think I look like them. I mean, my mother has blonde hair and, well, my father is bald, so I don’t know where I get my dark hair from. I don’t mention it because I remember asking when I was younger and they told me to never ask again and gave me a smack for good measure.

  I always wonder why we never have family or friends over. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve asked, but receive no answer, just more bruises. I guess one day I’ll find out the truth.

  I’ve holed myself up in my room tonight with a book I ‘borrowed’ from the library. I don’t have a library card, and with no I.D. I’ve not been able to get one, so I put a book in my backpack and ‘borrowed’ it, then I’ll return it when I get a chance to go back. Not the most honest way, but I need to live in my books and not my reality.

  Tonight, my parents didn’t actually speak to or acknowledge me. They seem to be caught up in something serious. There were harsh whispers between them, and they were giving me sidelong glances. I made a quick escape before I landed myself in trouble.

  Well, that’s all for me tonight. More tomorrow, hopefully.

  Love,

  Elle

  Leaning back in my chair, I’m relieved that there was no hard stuff in this entry like the others I’ve read. I’ve not read every single one, but I have the majority. Most have her landing a beating for something petty.

  “Blackwood!”

  Looking up, I see Dave, who looks after ballistics and fingerprinting, standing across the room and holding two folders.

  “Hey, man. How are you going?” Getting up, I go over and meet him halfway.

  Dave is always swamped with work. Thankfully, though, we are good buddies, and he helps me out. Especially with this latest case of the serial killer plus our case is currently top priority. “Going good. Got those things for you that Pierce put a rush on. Gosh that guy can be annoying sometimes. It’s like he comes to my office just to get a rise out of me.”

  “Me and you both, buddy. I mean he’s decent enough, but damn, he does my head in sometimes.”

  Dave hands me one folder, and I take it. I open it up. I’m staring back at a familiar face, except she’s younger. Elenore’s younger face is right there in front of me, her beautiful blue eyes that hold so many secrets and still look the same. She wanted to protect herself, which is why the gun and diaries were hidden the way they were. She’s been through something very traumatic and doesn’t want to relive it. I can’t blame her. If I’d suffered like she did, I’d want to forget as well.

  “So what have you found out?” I ask Dave.

  He stands beside me, with the folder open in front of me. Dave moves her picture aside, and we study the paperwork beneath it. “Well the only good set of fingerprints on the gun belong to Elenore. Also, the weapon has been shot before, as we established right away. The serial number had been filed off, but thanks to modern science, we’ve managed to get it to show up again. The owner of this gun was someone who has been murdered. He ran a corner store. The case is still unsolved.”

  My head flicks up, and I stare at him. “Are you sure?” I blurt out. What did you do, Elenore?

  “As sure as there’s sugar on my donut,” he states matter-of-factly.

  “Where’s all this evidence taking us? This girl is like a box of secrets, just like the serial killer himself,” I say. Dave nods his agreement. “Do you have the number for the unsolved case?”

  Dave hands me the other larger folder he was holding. “Knew you’d want it. This one is pretty straightforward. Shop owner shot in a burglary. No credible witnesses, but there was this druggy who was sitting across the street, high as a kite. He told police that he saw a man and woman running from the scene. He mentioned that the man carried something large over his shoulder. He didn’t get a good look, you know, he was high as a kite. There was also some video footage that was checked over.”

  I scan through the report quickly, and now I need to go to the evidence locker and pull out the evidence held there.

  Elenore is like a Russian doll or Matryoshka doll. A doll inside a doll. Elenore… she’s a secret within a secret. I need so many answers.

  “Thanks, Dave. I’ll look into it.” Dave turns and leaves me to the million theories running through my mind. What does all this mean?

  None of this tells me anything about my serial killer, but points me in another direction. I’m going to need to find some answers regarding Elenore’s real parents, and find out who killed this shop owner.

&nb
sp; Where do I start with it all?

  I need to piece a timeline together of when these events happened and fill in the blanks.

  I need you to hold on, Elenore. I know this is pulling me away from your case, but I need you to be strong in the meantime. Show your strength and don’t let him win. Keep fighting. I beg her, knowing she can’t hear me, but desperately somehow needing her to. Hold on. I’m coming for you.

  I will find you.

  Arriving at the house tonight, the air is still, and the clouds have covered the stars in the sky. This evening would be a perfect night for a killing. If only I could bring myself to do it. My father would be so disappointed in me right now. It’s a good thing he’s dead and buried.

  In his last days, our relationship was strained. We argued so much about the next choice of girl and the fact that I wanted to find my mother. I remember the fight we had a week before his death. It was then the seed of hostility was planted between us. It only kept growing until it turned into a large over grown weed.

  Hate began fueling me, and with each death it kept me disconnected from anyone, until Elenore.

  I walk toward the spot I took her—the kill spot. All my girls before her haven’t lived past this point, each taking their last breath right here. Some gave a poor attempt to run—some didn’t move because they had no strength left. Not her, though; she ran like her life depended on it. With each step she took toward that forest line, I’m sure hope fueled her, only to be snuffed out by me. With one single shot, she stumbled forward, her body crumbling, but she only gathered herself off the ground and didn’t give up. Her fight and determination are compelling.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the first ‘goodbye’ letter she wrote and read it over again.

  Dear Captor,

  You’ve stolen me.

  You’ve spilled my blood.

  You’ve brought me pain.

  But what you’re yet to realize is… I’m a fighter.

  I’ve been broken before.

  I’ve at one point even lost the will to live.

  So now you know… This information I gift to you.

  I’m ready for you, so do your worst.

  Sincerely,

  Elenore

  She was right. I did steal her. I have spilled her blood and brought her pain, but she’s a fighter.

  How was she broken before? Eventually the answer will reveal itself, that I’m sure of.

  ‘Do my worst,’ she said. Why can’t I do that? I’ve spent years inflicting pain on these worthless girls, and now one comes along and twists my mind up with one single letter.

  One damn letter.

  That’s all it took for me to gain some feelings and really think about what I was doing. I’ve read this note numerous times and always, always, it plays with my head. A part of me wants to let her go, but another part of me thinks I can’t. I want to keep her for myself.

  Could Elenore be the girl to melt away the ice which surrounds my heart and the hate which pulses through my blood?

  Back in the house, I carry out my usual routine, checking the monitor to see if she’s awake or asleep. Tonight, she’s awake, sitting up against the wall near the food tray. My hands begin to tremble, and I’m not sure why. This is some kind of emotion I’ve never experienced.

  This girl…

  Shaking my head, I pull myself together and get a grip on whatever it is that’s taking over.

  Opening the door to the basement, I drag my mask over my face, pull my shoulders back and try to appear unfazed by her presence. I remind myself why I do this—hate, blood, pleasure in the pain, and my song of the night.

  I’ve missed it.

  Closing my eyes, I draw in a deep breath and release the mushiness that appears to be taking over and replace it with darkness.

  My demeanor in this area changes; the world outside becomes forgotten. With each step down the stairs, a hardness claims me, devouring my insides like a tiger with its prey. The bars of her cell come into view, and I now have to prepare myself to see her in there. I don’t hear her scurry like she did at the start. I step into view, and she lifts her head, her eyes meeting mine. My heart stops momentarily; her stare holds me in her trance.

  “Good evening,” she begins, a sweetness in her tone. Perhaps even a hidden agenda? I’ve come to learn with her that anything is possible. Hell, she pretended to be weak and unconscious in an attempt to escape.

  I choose not to respond. Unlocking the food hatch, I reach in and grab the tray. I spy the note sitting neatly folded.

  Elenore’s hand reaches out and takes hold of my gloved one. I flinch back from her touch. I’m glad it wasn’t skin to skin contact, even though that’s what I desire. The touch of her lips pressed to mine stirs a hunger for so much more from her. I’ve touched her flesh, run my fingers over almost every part of her body as I inflicted pain on her. I know each of her curves, all of the scars that cover her body, and I know her sweet taste. I want more, so much more.

  “Don’t touch me,” I growl, yet she still doesn’t recoil.

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to touch her more. But for appearance’s sake, I keep up my facade.

  My eyes bore into hers. A small smile plays on her lips. Her plump pink lips part slightly. She tilts her head back, exposing her neck invitingly. Quickly, I take the tray, locking the hatch again, and turning back toward the stairs.

  My hands tremble with fury. Who does she think she is? I scrunch up the piece of paper with her beautifully handwritten note.

  What do I see when I look in the mirror? Every single time I see the monster I’ve become. The darkness that’s swallowed me whole.

  When you’re brought up on hate, it becomes a huge part of who you are. When Elenore looks at me she sees my darkness, and she senses my struggle with her. Yet, she holds steadfast to her promise of never giving up.

  When my mother left, I had no one on my side to stand up for me, to stand up for what was right. My parents fought so much that he let her walk out, he didn’t care for her. I recall Mom being so strong-willed and never backing down to my father. I only wish I had her strength of character. I’ve never seen or heard from her since she left. She could be dead for all I know, but no body has ever shown up.

  I pace along the floorboards. All my thoughts are twisted in my head, and they keep replaying everything that’s happened. Frustration pours through me, taking over. My hands slide along the bench knocking the tray, and all the utensils are sent clattering to the floor. What is going on with me?

  Without realizing it, my feet move back toward the basement.

  He’s angry.

  The steps along the floor above me pound for a moment. My letter must have hit home. I’m playing with a low-lit fire that could take ablaze at any moment. I don’t know what came over me a moment ago. I have no idea why I grabbed him. When he looked at me, there was a softness in those usually black pools, and something stirred deep within me. An intense thrill shot right into me, and I desperately wanted to see his face, to touch his skin, for my lips to crush upon his once again.

  Why is this exciting me? I desperately want to hate this man, my captor.

  The footsteps pause, then a resounding clutter smashes against the floor above me, followed by a hammering of steps headed directly toward me. I don’t move from my position; I don’t want my captor to see how petrified I actually am. I’m facing his fury once again, only this time I’m better prepared. Perhaps he’ll take me back out to the field and end it. I’m ready.

  Sitting myself up taller, I keep my focus on him when he comes into view. There’s a fire burning in those usually dead eyes.

  “Are you all right?” I keep my voice at what I think is strong and neutral. I can’t allow myself to show him weakness, not now. Even after being shot, tortured, and who knows what else is to come, I will never allow this man to witness me being weak. I was weak all those years ago but not anymore.

  My father beat the weakness out of me. Every cu
t, bruise, and punch made me into who I am today. And just because my captor wants me to be afraid of him, I’ll never show him the fear that wreaks havoc under my skin. I have a fire within me that spurs me on, pushes me to do better, and now it’s driving me toward the man wearing down the cement floor with his pacing.

  His breathing is erratic. Pausing, he glances my way. “You wanna know what I see when I look in the mirror?” he roars. So much venom pours off his tongue.

  “I do.” I press my body closer to the wall and support myself getting up. My leg still isn’t the greatest, but the positive is my feet are feeling a little better today. They’re still tender but it’s becoming easier to stand on them again. With my heart lodged in my throat, I limp toward the bars. His hands grip them, and without thinking, I put mine over his, touching his gloves. Deep in the pit of my stomach, I have a strong desire to touch his skin. I slide my fingers up his arms, which are covered by a black leather jacket. At my touch, he doesn’t flinch back like he did before. In fact, he closes his eyes and relishes the moment.

  He has taped his sleeves closed as well as his mask which has a piece of tape running around his throat. It shows me that he’s done this so many times before.

  Hanging his head, he stares at the floor. His breathing has calmed a little. It’s as though I’m baring all to him. I’m one hundred percent sure he’s seen what’s under this piece of cloth that covers me, and that thought actually excites me.

  “What are you doing to me?” he whispers, his softer side making an appearance.

  “It’s not me. It’s all you,” I whisper so low as not to awaken the dragon lurking just under his skin.

  My captor’s head lifts, and his eyes bore into my own. “You should be dead.” His rough voice mimics mine. This isn’t the same person who’s tortured me—well, at least, I don’t think it is. The man beneath the mask holds a closet full of secrets of his own. Oh, how I would love to know them.

  My hand slowly travels up his covered arms, my body now closer to the bars, which in turn means I’m closer to him. Still, he doesn’t snap back.