A Life Removed

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A Life Removed Page 27

by Jason Parent


  CHAPTER 35

  Three hours later, Aaron stood in Doug’s hospital room, a black ski mask hiding his face. Leather gloves covered his hands. He had already been discharged and sent home with a sling and a prescription for Percocet. No one would think he had returned.

  He stared down at Doug. “Do you even see me? You look catatonic,” he whispered. “How do you go to the bathroom with all this shit hooked up to you?”

  As if breaking from a trance, Doug raised his head. “I knew you’d come. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Have you? Do you know why I’m here?”

  He nodded. “To save me. The Lord knows about my doubts, my sadness without Kelly. You’re here to take my sins away. You’ll make me pure again. He told me you’d come. He came to me in a dream and told me that you would be my Saint Peter, opening the gates for me to enter the next world.”

  Feeling his mouth curl involuntarily, Aaron was glad for his mask. He wasn’t going to question such an obvious gift. He’d acted on impulse by going there and had made it into the room by the sheer luck that Fortuna and Matthews hadn’t noticed the flecks of broken Percocet in the coffee and brandy Aaron had shared with them. He didn’t need all the painkillers the doctor had prescribed, anyway. In fact, he was already feeling considerably better.

  Aaron had thought he would have to kill Doug quickly and quietly. He wasn’t sure if he could extract the heart in time. But things were finally going his way, as if he should have been following that path all along. “Are you ready, then?”

  Doug grabbed the bedrails. “I’m ready.”

  Aaron stepped back to the door and twisted the lock. His heart raced with nervous excitement. The nausea he had expected—and had once half-hoped for as proof of his humanity—did not materialize. He didn’t care. He was already enjoying it, and he could hardly wait to feed. Doug had so much power in him, strength begging to be Aaron’s.

  “Here,” he said, waving a dirty gym sock in Doug’s face. “Put this in your mouth. I need you quiet if I’m going to finish… to save you uninterrupted.”

  Doug set his jaw. “There’s no need. With God as my witness, I won’t make a sound.”

  “Impossible.”

  “You feel the power of the righteous. You know what it can do.”

  Aaron stared at Doug, who didn’t so much as blink. He dropped the sock and pulled his hatchet from an inside pocket of his jacket. “Sorry, Doug. I shouldn’t have doubted you. Still, this won’t be easy. This hatchet is all I have. I promise I’ll make it quick.”

  Aside from the strained grip he had on the aluminum railings, Doug showed no sign of fear. He gave Aaron a nod then stared up at the ceiling. Aaron raised the hatchet but hesitated before swinging. He knew what he was doing was wrong. Doug wasn’t like the others he’d killed. The others weren’t planned. There’s no going back from this.

  “Do it,” Doug said.

  Aaron swung his arm with all his might. Then, he raised it and swung again. Hacking wildly at Doug’s chest, he felt alive, adrenalin fueling his every stroke. He didn’t want to stop and didn’t think he could have even if he’d wanted to. He paused several times to wipe sweat and blood from his eyes.

  He broke his promise: Doug’s death was not quick. But Doug kept his. If the guards outside were listening, all they would have heard were the dull thumps of the hatchet against Doug’s chest and the heavy breathing of both a murderer and his dying victim.

  Once Doug stopped breathing and his blood quit pumping, things got easier. Aaron frantically shoved his hands into Doug’s chest. Like a junkie in the throes of withdrawal, he had to have the heart, needed the high it offered. When he had both hands around the organ, he yanked hard, stumbling backward as it gave way.

  This thing is huge! The heart was proportional to the rest of Doug. Aaron salivated, proud of his trophy. Blood oozed between Aaron’s gloved fingers as he looked around the room for something suitable to carry the thing.

  He spotted the bag with Doug’s belongings, but he couldn’t wait. He placed the heart on the bedside table and lopped off a piece. After thrusting the chunk into his mouth, he swallowed without bothering to chew.

  He dumped Doug’s clothes and shoes out of the bag and slid the remainder of the heart into it.

  “How could this have happened?” Bruce stood over the body of the only person left who could have given him any insight into the whereabouts of Carter Wainwright.

  Jocelyn crouched over the hatchet that had been used to slice up Douglas Fournier like an Easter ham. “What a fucking mess. Looks like our killer didn’t care about his weapon.” She straightened and walked over to the bed. Peering down into the open cavity of the victim’s chest, she said, “No heart. That’s not surprising these days. You think it was Wainwright?”

  “If so, he had a busy night. First, the murder of Maura Fleurent, then this. And for what? Fournier wasn’t telling us anything. Frankly, I’m surprised Wainwright didn’t leave town for good last Friday.”

  “The officers posted outside said they didn’t see anyone enter or exit the room. The only other possible entrance is through that window. We’re on the fourth floor.”

  “So what did the killer do? Teleport in here? Are we hunting a ghost? I saw the crusties in the corners of that one officer’s eyes. He was probably sleeping on the job. Who knows what the other one was doing? They’re either lousy cops or corrupt. How could the perp chop up Fournier with a hatchet without alerting those two idiots? The blood spatters show that Fournier was alive when the attack began. I don’t see a gag. He must have yelled loud enough to wake every patient in this hospital.”

  “Maybe he was drugged? He was one of Wainwright’s goons. Maybe Wainwright had some pity and made it easier for him.”

  Bruce tapped the bedrail. “We’ll know more when we get the blood results. For now, I’m not convinced this was Wainwright.”

  “Always the conspiracy theorist. Who was it, then? You think we missed a follower? Either way, the motive is the same: to silence Fournier.”

  “This just looks too sloppy—too sloppy to be Wainwright and too sloppy to be one of his followers.” Bruce stared at the corpse for inspiration. “This seems foolhardy, not planned. Maybe even vengeful. We could have a vigilante looking to settle a score.” He scanned his mind for anyone who might fit the profile. The many faces of Carter’s victims, their friends, and their families processed through his computerlike brain, each discounted for one reason or another.

  Of the few remaining who fit the bill, Aaron Pimental stuck out. He had both motive and opportunity. Hell, the officer had been discharged from the hospital less than an hour before Fournier’s estimated time of death. Still, Bruce had seen the bullet wound in Pimental’s arm. The physical labor involved in Fournier’s death would have been a tremendous strain on someone in his condition. The ax strokes were strong and deep. Still. “Where did Pimental go tonight after he was discharged?”

  Jocelyn put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not? He’s had a funny way of showing up wherever Wainwright does. He was friends with some of the killers. How do we know for sure he wasn’t one of them all along?”

  “Because he’s been thrown in a trunk, badly beaten, forced to eat the heart of his partner, shot, and compelled to kill his best friend. Wainwright, on the other hand, would have been able to walk right up to Fournier without alarming him.” She sighed. “You should lay off Pimental. He’s been through enough.”

  Bruce stroked his chin. “Jocelyn, you are a great detective, but you’d be far better than I ever was or ever could be if you just killed off that last remaining bit of hopefulness for the human race you still cling to. Don’t you think all that happened to him might screw with his head? How did he do on his psych eval?”

  “He passed it. So either his psyche is just fine, or he knows wh
at to say to pass it.”

  “When’s he coming back to work? I’d like to give him my own test.”

  “The department is sending him to Orlando for a convention next week. He said he’d make a vacation out of it. I had him placed on light detail, traffic duty mostly, for when he gets back. I think he just needs to fill up his time, and he’ll be all right.”

  “I’m going to order another psych eval immediately, before he goes down to Florida, citing Fleurent’s death as the impetus. It’s in his best interests, as well as ours.”

  “Okay, but let me handle it. You’re about as delicate as a brick wall.”

  “Aren’t you sweet?” Bruce smiled. “The guy’s like a bad penny. Everywhere he goes, someone turns up dead. Florida better watch out.”

  “I admit the coincidences are… noteworthy. But considering his friendship with one or two members of the cult, isn’t some coincidence to be expected?”

  “In my mind, he’s a suspect.”

  “Okay, but so is every friend or relative of each of the victims.”

  “Well, I agree that Wainwright is the prime suspect here, despite my gut feeling otherwise. So fair warning: I’ll be watching Pimental. When he’s on duty, I’m going to insist he be partnered up at all times, with his partner reporting to me after every shift.”

  “Hey, I’m not going to stop you. But as far as I’m concerned, Fournier’s killer did the world a favor. So even if it was Pimental who killed Fournier, good for him.”

  “The laws apply equally to us all,” Bruce said.

  Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “What do you want to do about him?” she asked, jerking a thumb at Fournier’s body.

  “Have forensics do their thing. Bag the hatchet and the sock, sweep for prints, the usual.”

  CHAPTER 36

  The sun was shining brightly in Orlando, warm enough for shorts and T-shirts. It was a shame Aaron wouldn’t be staying long enough to enjoy it.

  The plane ride had consisted of a horde of little whining bastards screaming in his ear for three hours. Babies cried, toddlers puked, teenagers blasted iPods to no-talent bitch-boy bands, and fat, sweaty Hawaiian-shirt-wearing assholes engulfed Aaron in his coach-class bucket seat. It was the type of crowd that only Disney World could draw. Yay, Disney.

  He arrived with a migraine and without the protection of his deodorant, which had completely melted off by the time the plane had flown over Newark. But as he exited the plane, his tension slowly slipped away.

  Aaron took the monorail to the baggage claim, grabbed his lone suitcase, and jumped onto a shuttle to the rental car company hub in approximately thirty minutes. No hassles. No bosses. No killers. Nobody. He planned to head over to International Drive, sign in at the convention, grab his free gift bag filled with Chex Mix, pens, and stationery supporting the logos of various weapon manufacturers, then quickly be on his way.

  He had work to do and a long drive ahead. A true test of his character stood before him. It was finally time to decide what kind of man he would be. His mind was sharp and focused, despite his recurring bouts with insomnia. His determination was his strength. His once-empty life was filled with new purpose. In a way, he had Carter to thank for that. He laughed at the irony.

  Aaron had lost too much in his lifetime. A man’s soul wasn’t meant to bear such loss. Arianna had once accused him of being manic-depressive. The heightened sensations he currently felt made him wonder if that were true. But they came and went in sporadic flashes. He felt everything more but could hold it all in more easily.

  Raquel, Ricardo, Arianna… each had left holes in him. He’d lost too much of himself, and he wanted it all back. He would take it back from those who’d taken it from him. They’d stolen his heart. It was time to return the favor.

  “Reservation for Pimental,” Aaron said as he approached the rental counter.

  “Welcome to sunny Orlando, Mr. Pimental.” The Hispanic gentleman smiled. “I’ll just need your driver’s license, a credit card, and proof of insurance.”

  Aaron handed over the requested documentation. “Do you have the vehicle I asked for?”

  “Subaru Outback… yes, we have one on hold for you. It’s the only one in the lot, actually. We don’t get too many requests for those here.” The salesperson entered information into the computer. “I see you want our unlimited miles plan?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Not a problem.” He click-clacked on the keyboard some more. “If you don’t mind me asking, where will you be heading?”

  Aaron shot the man a look that said, “Yes, I do mind you asking.”

  The salesman averted his eyes. “W-Well… um, off-roading with our vehicles is strictly prohibited, as is any beach driving. Please be sure to read the damage provisions in your contract.”

  Aaron drove straight to the Quality Inn on International Drive. He left his luggage in the rental car since he didn’t see any need to unpack. He paid for the five nights he was supposed to be there, just in case. In his room, he set the alarm for six in the evening and crashed on the bed.

  After those few hours of sleep uninterrupted by any kind of dreams, he felt refreshed. He splashed water on his face and headed out. He caught the tail end of rush hour but managed to get past Jacksonville and out of Florida just after dusk. He pressed on through the night, stopping only for gas and coffee. Not wanting to draw any attention, he kept his speed consistent at no more than five miles per hour over the speed limit.

  He reached Virginia before sunrise and began counting down the one hundred seventy-nine miles of Interstate 95 North that he needed to pass before entering Maryland. He detested long hours behind the wheel, and he knew he would have to do it all over again in a day or two.

  Morning rush hour around DC. He groaned. That wasn’t well planned. He made it around DC, through the Fort McHenry Tunnel, then over the Woodrow Wilson Memorial Bridge into Delaware. He was well on his way to New Jersey by lunchtime.

  He stopped at a rest area to grab Twinkies and a soda. His ass was sore from sitting, but his spirits were high. Over the course of the drive, he’d gone from air conditioning and short sleeves to defroster on high and a heavy jacket. He filled his gas tank for the final leg of his journey.

  Before rolling into Atlantic City, he stopped at a Home Depot he spotted from the highway. There, he found everything he needed: duct tape, a power drill with a wide range of drill bits, and a miniature power saw. He paid in cash and got back on the road.

  When he reached the city, he found a dive motel that took cash and asked no questions. After checking in under a fake name, he went to his dingy room and slept until morning.

  When he got up, Aaron went about his day as if it were any other. He flipped on the TV to catch the news and brewed a pot of coffee in the cheap coffeemaker on the bathroom counter. After flipping through channels for almost an hour, he showered and shaved, brushed his teeth, dressed, packed up his things, and headed to the front desk to check out.

  He took a deep breath as he plopped down behind the wheel of his rental car, then he turned the key in the ignition and headed to her place. The hesitation to act was gone. What he was doing felt right.

  He’d looked up the house on the Internet using a computer in a library three counties away. The library did record his Internet usage, requiring an ID to sign in, but Aaron thought that if investigators ever got that far into their search for him, he would have already given them enough to hang him. The pictures had shown a small single-story house nestled on an acre of land bordered on two sides by wetlands. Most of the traversable land was flat and open, with few places to hide.

  Driving by, he saw no cars in the driveway. Good. She’s not home. He looked for a spot to park somewhere past the house, settling for a roadside spot on a nearby side street. He hoped anyone spotting it would assume the Subaru had stalled and he had left it to get out of the cold. He
thought about moving the car off the road where the land sloped downward, but he didn’t want to chance not being able to get it back up in the snow.

  Grabbing his bag off the passenger seat, he got out of the car. As he walked briskly to the outskirts of the property, his boots squished into earth not yet frozen solid.

  When he reached the perimeter of the yard, he headed straight for a large elm. From that vantage point, he had a clear view of the driveway and the side door. He zipped his jacket all the way up and lay on his stomach, letting his weight sink his body into the snow. His head would be partially visible from the driveway if someone were looking for it, but his dark hood might pass as an uncovered rock or some other part of the landscape.

  An icy wind bit at his neck and howled through the branches overhead as he waited in the shadow of that tree. Snow blanketed everything and turned edges into hazy outlines. After what seemed like an hour, the time elongated by his miserableness, a car pulled into the driveway. He remained perfectly still while the occupants got out and headed into the house through the side door. Once they were inside, Aaron crept up to the window next to the door.

  Raquel Bancroft walked across the kitchen, a bag of groceries in one hand and a baby on her opposite hip. Vanessa—Aaron had learned the four-year-old’s name from combing through Raquel’s social media sites—maneuvered around her mother and ran out of sight, carrying a stuffed penguin. Raquel plopped the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter then took the baby deeper into the house.

  Aaron sidestepped to the door and twisted the handle. Just as he thought, she hadn’t locked it. He moved inside and quietly closed the door behind him. Glancing around, he spotted a closed door that probably led to a pantry.

  Raquel stepped into the hall, the baby no longer in her arms. Aaron froze, caught out in the open. She didn’t look his way as she passed the kitchen doorway. A moment later, he heard a mattress squeak.

  He put down his bag, counted to five, then moved into the hallway. Peeking around the corner, he saw Raquel lying on a bed with an arm draped over her eyes. He couldn’t move, paralyzed by the waves of conflicting emotions flooding through him. Tears blurred his vision.

 

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