Battered Dreams

by Hadena James

  Morgan grinned. The look of malice and joy were ghoulish in the light from the cab of the truck. Jess realized she was dying. This was not how it was supposed to work, damn it. She was supposed to be the killer, not the crazy woman who spoke of rats and had only one hand.

  She must have been more injured by the Marshal than she thought. Coupled with the walking, she hadn’t been at her best. She was going to die, staring up at Morgan McClure and thinking of rats. She would not give her killer that satisfaction.

  Jess tilted her head up. Her stomach was now churning. Thankfully, it was empty. Her gaze found stars. The sky overhead was beautiful. It would have been a good night to climb up onto Shawn’s roof and look through his telescope, but Shawn was dead. She had made sure of that. She’d done it for the right reasons. Becky was never going to like him. There was no need for him to suffer that heartbreak for the rest of his life.

  The moon was sinking below the horizon, but it was still bright. In a few days, it would be full. Pity, she was going to miss it. She loved full moons. There was a pinprick of pain on her arm, like she’d just been bitten by a mosquito or something. She looked at the area. It was beginning to swell. Maybe it was a chigger or flea.

  Her body spasmed, hard. The pain was immense. Then it stopped. There was no pain. There were no reminders of her body at all. Then there was no thought. Her eyes took on the vacant stare that belongs to the dead.

  Twenty-Seven

  My phone was ringing. Darkness still showed through the slit of curtain in my hotel room, so it wasn’t good news. I considered not answering it. I had also considered sleeping in my HAZMAT suit, but was told that would send the wrong message. So, I had the maids vacuum my room twice before I would take my suit off. Peter Corell was not happy with me. I understood. It was really hard to be my boss.

  For Peter Corell, it was worse, because I didn’t consider him my boss. He did. This was never a good situation for the person who was theoretically in charge. Malachi had tried to smooth things over, but it hadn’t worked.

  My phone stopped ringing. I closed my eyes. It started ringing again.

  “It’s dark out. You have bad news. Can’t it wait until the sun is up?” I said without looking to see who was calling.

  “No,” Gabriel told me. “You are closer to Houston than we are. Lucas and I are on the way, but someone has reportedly found and killed Jessica Blanks. I need you and Xavier there, immediately.”

  “Vigilantism?” I was tired of vigilantes. This probably had something to do with my family.

  “Knowing Blanks was desperate, there’s a good chance the victim’s claim of self-defense is true. I want someone who deals with serial killers all the time to check it out. That is you and Xavier.”

  “And Malachi,” I added.

  “I’m not sending Malachi to talk to a woman who might be a victim. I want a statement, not a transcript that reads like Greek because huge chunks are omitted.”

  “Why would huge parts be omitted?” I asked.

  “It’s Malachi Blake,” Gabriel hung up on me.

  My phone flashed 4:32 a.m. before the screen went black. I really hoped that Jessica Blanks wasn’t dead. I had questions for the psychopath, like how the hell did she manage to melt the bodies found in the shed. I knew her motives, psychopaths really could hyper focus after a kill. The dopamine flooding their brains made them feel euphoric and that euphoria could be transferred. If she studied her behind off for an exam while in the euphoric state, she’d get a small secondary rush when she got her exam back with an A on it.

  Her method met her needs, clean kills that boosted her endorphins and dopamine was all she wanted. Until Sabrina Reeves. That had been messy. That had been brutal. That had been personal. Just like Simon Westbrook. There was no doubt that Jessica Blanks had picked Simon Westbrook to fulfill some role in her life. His sleeping around and ignoring her didn’t mesh with her fantasy. She’d killed Sabrina first and realized that only solved part of the problem. Her disappointment was still up. So she had killed Simon Westbrook.

  However, that left Shawn. I wasn’t sure how Shawn fit into the picture. He was a friend, not a threat. His role in her life was fairly concrete. They’d been friends since childhood. He wasn’t Becky, but he wasn’t chopped liver either. Why had she killed Shawn?

  Xavier quietly knocked on my door as I was trying to put on my shoes. It hurt. A dull ache ran the length of my body. If the government hadn’t decided they needed me, I’d be holed up somewhere, recuperating. I was getting old from all the beatings, stabbings, and shootings. I was still recovering from my tumor, not the surgery, but the actual tumor. It had caused damage that I couldn’t explain, like my inability just to ignore the pain.

  I got up and let him in. He frowned at me as I sat back down on the bed. I reached for my shoe again.

  “Stop,” Xavier’s voice was soft. He shut the door. “We don’t want the vultures circling. Let me.”

  “Vultures circling?” I raised an eyebrow as he reached for my shoe.

  “The moment you start showing weakness, the whack jobs that follow you around are going to move in to pick the carcass clean. Your carcass. I haven’t said anything, but you are not at one hundred percent yet. I see it once in a while, in your face. Without your sanity mask, it’s amazing what a person who knows you can learn. You can’t ignore the pain yet, not like you used to. You aren’t completely distancing yourself, like you used to. I think it will come back, but it isn’t here yet. You bend over to put on your shoes and you’re going to have to force yourself not to walk favoring one side. I put on your shoes and there’s less of a chance of that leaning gait.”

  “Do the others know?”

  “No, but they haven’t been watching you like I have. They’ve been trying to assess your mental state, which seems to be fine. I’ve been assessing your physical state and it’s still playing catch up with the mental one.”

  “One could argue that my mental and physical state are the same in this situation.”

  “They could, but they would be wrong. I’ve been around you long enough to realize that some of our perceived ideas of psychopaths and sociopaths is wrong. I realized some time ago that the problem with our understanding of the conditions comes from the mouths of those that have it. Unfortunately, those people are very good liars. You included. Just because you try not to lie, doesn’t mean you don’t withhold the truth at times. Lucas has come to the same conclusion. All those years of research have become practically meaningless. That’s why when we deal with the real thing, Lucas asks you about psychological analysis.”

  “Sometimes, I think about telling you guys what really goes on in my head and then I stop myself. Like I’m breaking some unwritten rule that real people cannot know the whole truth.”

  “I agree with that. I think if the general public were actually to get all the data on psychopaths and sociopaths, they would panic. Myself included. It doesn’t matter how much we study, we cannot fully understand them. That’s why we have you and the FBI has Malachi.” Xavier finished my shoes. “Now, let’s go talk to Morgan McClure and figure out what happened. I had questions for Jessica Blanks, like the melted bodies, so I’m hoping she’s just injured and not dead.”

  “Me too.”

  We bought two Mountain Dews from the machine on our way out. My brain functioned better with caffeine. So did Xavier’s and there wasn’t coffee made in the lobby for him to grab a cup. It was unusual for him to drink soda, but addicts were addicts, even if it meant switching things up.

  The drive was quiet. Xavier, despite his strange qualities, was a decent guy. There were moments when he showed true kindness. Considering all the death, gore, blood, and evil that surrounded us all the time, it was interesting to watch the men on my team hold it together.

  Swirling lights directed us to the scene. It wasn’t on the highway. It was on some little gravel road off the interstate. A woman sat in the back of an ambulance. Blood had dried on her face. Her hair was mat
ted. She looked rough.

  On the ground was a body under a sheet. Blood had soaked through the sheet. The outline was small enough to be that of Jessica Blanks.

  We parked and flashed our badges. Xavier went to talk to the victim. I lifted up the sheet. Karma had come to call on Jessica. She’d been beaten to death. My answers were under the sheet with her though. There would be no explanation on why she killed Shawn. I would never know how she made the shed so humid her victims had melted.

  “Hey, Cain,” Xavier yelled to me. I stood up. My baton was in an evidence bag on the hood of a squad car.

  “That’s mine, I want it back,” I told an officer.

  “It’s evidence, Marshal,” he told me. I sighed. I had known that, but I still wanted it back.

  “Ms. McClure, this is US Marshal Aislinn Cain. She’s going to stand here with you for a few minutes, while I check on some things.” I didn’t frown, although, I really wanted to. I wasn’t good with victims and Xavier knew it.

  “Dr. Cain,” she nodded at me. It obviously hurt. I stared at her. There was a deep-pitted scar on her face. She was missing her left hand. There were insect bites on her arm, and she had called me Doctor, not Marshal.

  “So, what do you do for a living, Ms. McClure?” I asked.

  “I work for the City of Houston,” she answered.

  “Ah, government work.” I stopped looking at her and started looking into the dawning sun. The horizon was turning orange. “What type of work for the city?”

  “I’m an exterminator,” she shrugged.

  “They didn’t give you mosquito repellent while you waited?” I pointed to her arms.

  “Um, no, I didn’t realize I had been bitten.”

  “Shock, I’m sure. It happens after something like this.”

  “Ok,” Xavier came back, “I had to call some colleagues. Green, Blake and Corell are on their way.” Xavier had noticed them too. Clichés aside, psychopaths really did attract other psychopaths. I didn’t understand it, I just knew it happened, often. It was how serial killing teams and couples found each other. They were just drawn together. I didn’t need to hear Morgan McClure’s sob story about doing a good deed. She was just as crazy as Jessica Blanks was. Jessica’s injuries proved it. Somehow, the woman had overpowered the girl and killed her, and Xavier was right, we were all great liars. It was easy to see how the police had bought her story of self-defense and luck. I knew the three men were not on their way to our location, they were on their way to Morgan McClure’s house to see if she was our disseminator. Judging by the fleabites and the scars, she was.

  “How long ago did you get diagnosed with Hansen’s Disease?” Xavier suddenly ambushed Morgan McClure.

  “Um, while I was in college, it’s been a while.” She looked at him. “How did you know?”

  “The scar and missing hand,” I told her. “We were thinking it might have been plague, but judging by how angry someone would have to be and how plague isn’t really common in Texas, leprosy was the next best thing. I did not appreciate the dead squirrel.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Morgan’s demeanor changed.

  “You called me Doctor Cain, not Marshal Cain. Even those that know I’m a doctor, do not use the title. That plus the fleabites on your arms, tells me that you sent me the infected squirrel. Very few people would pick up a hitchhiker at this time of morning, let alone survive an attack by a psychopath while driving. The entire situation tells me you’re angry, very angry, and rightfully so. Most people still treat Hansen’s Disease patients like lepers, literally. You were probably a highly functioning psychopath before Hansen’s. Hansen’s made you bitter and angry. Now, you’re trying to start a biological holocaust.” I didn’t know where to put the handcuffs. She would have slipped out of one of them and while I had never been punched in the face by a stump, I was sure it would hurt.

  Twenty-Eight

  Morgan McClure sprang at me from the ambulance. Her hand latched onto my hair. Her other arm encircled my neck. Her body hung from mine. The attack was sudden and I hadn’t been ready for it. I stumbled backwards, trying to keep my balance as she wrapped her legs around me.

  Her teeth suddenly sank into my face. The calm washed over me. Her movements appeared in slow motion. My eyes searched for a weapon.

  I grabbed at her, found her hair and started pulling. I needed to put some separation between us. I swiveled and rammed her body into the grill of her truck. Officers were drawing weapons. Xavier was shouting orders for them to hold their fire.

  I slammed her into the grill again. Her legs unwrapped this time and she lost her grip. I took the moment to grab her. My leg took her feet out from under her, as we landed together in a heap, with me on top. She attempted to get up. Her body moved in an effort to buck me off.

  My knee found her spine and held her to the ground. Still, she squirmed and twisted. I pulled my Taser. The cartridge spot was still empty. I hadn’t replaced it. I could use it as a stun gun, but the truth was, I didn’t feel much like getting Tasered. The output was high enough that it would travel through both our bodies and I was still healing. Being Tasered would put me at a disadvantage.

  She twisted and hit my leg with something. The pain was immediate. Blood blossomed through my jeans. It dripped from her hand. A chunk of glass was sticking out of the wound.

  My anger spilled over, turning into rage. I let her roll, let her think she had the upper hand. Once she was on her back, I grabbed hold of her shirt. My hand twisted the fabric around itself. She punched the glass shard with her stump. The sound of bone hitting glass seemed very loud. Her heart was racing. I could feel it jackhammering against my hand, even through the knotted fabric. I wanted to break her neck. The urge was so strong, it took every ounce of control not to do it. I stood up, bringing her with me using the shirt.

  “Do something with her,” I told an officer standing close to me. He slipped a handcuff over the wrist with a hand, but like me, he wasn’t sure what else to do. There should have been a manual or something about cuffing handless suspects.

  I let go. Her momentum carried both her and the officer to the ground. I turned to see Xavier. His eyes were wide. His mouth opened. There was a muffled popping noise. Someone screamed. Weapons were being raised. I turned back around. She was getting to her feet. I charged her, catching her in the stomach. She scrambled backwards to stay upright as my body shoved her backwards. The butt of the gun hit my shoulder. It didn’t hurt. My brain ignored it.

  She didn’t hit me a second time, she shot me. The bullet entered near my shoulder and exited near my collarbone. It hit the pavement, leaving a mark. I stood up and pulled her into me, twisting her arm as I did. The bones snapped, the sound echoed.

  My hand grabbed the knife on my shoulder holster. The blade dug deep into her flesh. I pulled it out and stabbed her a second time. The blade hit bone. I jerked it out. The tip was missing. I stabbed her again, this time lower. Instead of jerking it out, I pressed hard and used my body to pull it along the soft flesh of her abdomen.

  “Holy shit!” Someone shouted.

  I yanked the knife out. Morgan McClure looked shocked. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Her face paled. I stepped back, kicking stuff off my shoe as I did.

  Her face turned downwards. She stared at her eviscerated abdomen. Her hand tried to hold stuff in the gaping wound. Slowly, she sank to her knees. I stood a few feet away and watched. Someone stepped in and tried to help her. Xavier grabbed hold of me, turning me away from the scene.

  “Well, I think you might be physically normal again,” he said. I wanted to sit down and he wouldn’t let me. He kept me standing. “You are going to need a hospital bed in a quarantined room.”

  “Why?” I snapped at him.

  “She might have been in the early stages of infection. Her blood could have infected you,” he told me. “I’ll make sure they give you your tablet and phone.”

  “I hate hospit
als.”

  “I know,” Xavier told me. “The stitches in your backside need to be redone. That glass shard is in an artery, we can’t pull it out. Your side is bleeding, and you don’t care about any of it, do you? Do you even feel it?”

  “Not really,” I looked at my leg. My jeans were soaked. Blood dripped from the hem. My shoes were also covered, but that wasn’t mine.

  “When that goes away, you are going to be in some serious pain,” Xavier warned me.

  “If it doesn’t go away?” I asked.

  “We’ll have to deal with that.” Xavier looked at me. “You do know what you did, right?”

  “Her intestines are on my shoes. I wanted to break her neck, but I didn’t. I think that should win me some points.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Gabriel’s voice drifted on the night air.

  “She shot a cop, she shot me, and I was defending myself,” I immediately started defending myself.

  “Yeah, I got that from the officers that let me in. Are you okay?” Gabriel asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Are you okay?” He spoke slowly and loudly, as though I was deaf.

  “I have been shot, stabbed twice, and beaten with my own baton all in the space of three days. We have two dead killers. We have questions with no answers, and there is yucky stuff on my shoes,” I also spoke slowly and loudly. “What part of this am I supposed to be okay with?”

  The calm was retreating. I was starting to feel queasy. My stomach churned. It was the stuff on my shoes. I started pushing on the heel with my other shoe, determined to get them off.

  “Let’s get you to the hospital,” a paramedic told me. He looked at my feet. “I’ll take them off inside.”

  The paramedic did indeed take off my shoes and shove them in a HAZMAT bag. I got all my old stitches taken out and new stitches put in. My face didn’t need any. I was kind of thankful for that. My face had a few scars, but not like the rest of me, and then I was shoved in a hospital room with an air lock and too many windows.