Hollywood Enemy: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  Loretta turns, hearing the girl whimpering again, awakening. After that night with Ellian everything had changed. Before he would take a maiden Ellian had demanded that he paint himself, giving him the appearance of a monster. “You are the taker of souls,” Ellian had said. “The maiden’s souls will honor all the artists, down through the ages, who have been despised and ridiculed. Their souls will become a part of you until the work is complete. Their perfection will become the doorway to your own transformation.”

  Loretta turns, seeing that the girl is awake now. He takes a moment, pulling the headpiece that completes him out of his bag of supplies. He places the ornamental creation of bone and horns onto his head. His transformation is now complete. He is no longer of this world. He is The Artist, the taker of souls.

  He walks over to Sarah. “We need to get you dressed. The final performance is at hand.”

  Minutes later, The Artist has the maiden in her gown and slips the shoes onto her feet.

  The girl’s voice is just above a whisper. “What’s…what are you going to do…”

  He leans closer, his eyes as black as the labyrinth of tunnels surrounding them. “I’m going to make you a part of me. You will complete me.”

  “Pleeeeaseee.”

  The Artist raises his hand, the knife shimmering in the artificial light carves the blackness from the room. Just before the blade arcs downward to remove the maiden’s eyes, he hears a man’s deep voice in the darkness. It’s coming from somewhere across the room.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  “Drop the knife.”

  Dawson gave the command as we entered a room off the main passageway. When I stepped around him with Bernie the horror of what I was seeing left me breathless, my heart beating wildly until it felt like it would shatter against my ribs.

  The nude painted creature was standing over a young woman dressed in a gown who could only be Sarah Meyer. The horned monster had a scalpel in his hand, holding it against the girl’s neck. Then I saw the severed head, the dead body in the corner of the room.

  “I’m not going to say it again,” Dawson said. “Drop the weapon or you die.”

  “I have to kill her,” The Artist said in a high pitched voice. He had positioned himself behind the weeping girl, his head almost directly behind Sarah’s. “It’s the only way.”

  I reigned in Bernie’s leash as he growled, wanting a piece of the monster. I purposely moved away from Dawson so that we each had a different angle but neither of us had a clear shot. Any attempt to shoot The Artist would almost certainly result in Sarah Meyer’s death.

  “It’s not the only way,” I said, clamping down on Bernie’s leash and finally gulping some air back into my lungs. “Let her go and we’ll see that you’re safe.”

  A shrill wail of laughter followed, escaping from the place of madness that had created the crazed figure standing in front of us. This was not the Loretta Martin I’d known as a stewardess. This was something evil, transformed by time and circumstance; a visage of pure insanity.

  His laughter slowly gave way to a hiss of contempt. “You can’t stop this. No one can stop it.”

  Even though I knew the creature in front of me wasn’t rational I wanted answers. “Why? Tell us why you’re doing this?”

  The Artist’s eyes shifted between me and Dawson, his gaze finally holding on me. “So that the work of art can be completed.”

  I shot a look at Dawson. He gave me a slight shake of his head, telling me he still didn’t have a shot. “But all those beautiful girls…” Even as I said the words, the horror of seeing the faces of the victims washed through me.

  “They are immortal now,” The Artist said, “perfect in their sorrow.”

  “You were doing what Ellian wanted,” I said. “It was his idea.” I glanced at the severed head on the table next to him. “He’s dead now. You can stop this madness.”

  He didn’t respond. I continued to slowly move away from Dawson, at the same time trying to make eye contact with Sarah. I kept lowering my eyes in an attempt to show her that she should try to move lower so the shot could be taken.

  Bernie continued his low growl as I said, “Tell me about Jason. You loved him, didn’t you?”

  There were tears on his cheeks, even as his hand was still tensed on the scalpel against Sarah’s neck. “We were going to be married…” His voice trailed off, becoming despondent as he added, “Now he’s gone.”

  I sensed our time was growing shorter. I moved closer to him, farther away from Dawson, and tried to buy us more time. “And what about Ellian? Tell me about him.”

  His voice became softer than before, the words sounding like a sigh. “We were in love a long time ago until…”

  “Until Jason came along.”

  “Ellian was jealous.”

  “And he murdered Jason.”

  His eyes glazed over. “Jason…my beloved…”

  Sarah Meyer took that moment to duck down, sliding out of her abductor’s grasp. Dawson fired, but almost as quickly The Artist spun away and the lights in the room went out. Then a second shot rang out and Dawson went down. I realized that the madman must also have a gun. I returned the fire, based on where I’d last seen the flash from his muzzle, praying that I wouldn’t hit Sarah.

  I heard a scream as I unleashed Bernie, giving him the German attack command, “FASS.”

  I made my way over to Dawson, using my flashlight to check on him. “Get his gun, the dog,” Dawson grumbled. “I’m okay.”

  I went over and got Bernie back under control at the same time kicking the gun away from the fallen monster. I then checked on Sarah who was in a corner of the room, crying. She appeared to be unharmed. I used my flashlight and found the switch to the portable lights and turned them back on.

  “Where are you hit?” I asked Dawson, coming back over to him.

  “Just grazed…the shoulder. It’s nothing.”

  What he described as nothing looked like a pretty serious wound to me. I called Charlie on the radio, asking that they get medical help and giving him our approximate location. I then went over with Bernie and checked on The Artist again. I saw that he was still alive. Blood trickled from his mouth as he said something to me.

  I bent down to him. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Hel…help…me,” he whispered.

  I looked over at Joe Dawson, back at the insane creature who was begging for my help. I stood up, shifted my weight, and put my foot hard on his throat. “This is for all those beautiful girls,” I said. I held my foot there until I was sure the monster had drawn its last breath.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  It was an hour later before medical help finally found us. As they tended to Joe Dawson and Sarah Meyer I gave Charlie and Pearl a brief rundown of what happened, leaving out the part about putting my foot on The Artist’s throat. An outsider might have considered what I’d done as going against my oath as an officer. I felt no remorse for my actions, deciding that eliminating the evil I’d witnessed from the world was justified.

  “All things considered,” Charlie said after I explained what had happened, “It looks like justice was served.”

  I wrapped my arms around my sides, found a breath, and shook my head. “Not for all the girls who died for no reason.”

  Pearl came over to me. His soft, leathery eyes held on me. “Are you doing okay, Kate?”

  I looked into his eyes for a long moment, breathed, and shook my head. “Not really. I think I need some air.”

  I went over and told Sarah that I was leaving but would be back. She was holding onto Bernie’s leash, stroking him. “Do you think…Bernie…could he say with me?”

  “Of course.” I turned to my big dog. “Take good care of her.”

  Bernie let out a whine before I told Dawson that I’d check in with him later. I then asked Charlie to keep an eye on my dog and Sarah.

  I left them and made my way back through the tunnels. Along the way I saw there were support staff, more
emergency responders, and SID people arriving at the scene. As I walked through the darkened passageway I thought about what I’d said to Dawson on the way into the tunnels, my words to him about my biggest fear.

  I’m like everyone else, I’m afraid of being alone in the world.

  It had been the truth. A lifetime of loss, beginning as a young girl with the loss of my father had left me with that one overriding fear. It had haunted me as I tried to find my way in the world, eventually leaving me emotionally shattered by my divorce. When I’d learned about my birthmother, at first being in a vegetative state and now dead, it had only deepened that fear. And, over the years, working in a profession where loss was the one persistent fact of life, that fear had left me hollow, feeling like an essential piece of me had been carved away. And both Joe Dawson and I knew what that piece was—my soul.

  As I rode the elevator back up to the street, that understanding settled in. I knew I had to find a way back to who I was, find that essential part of me that had been lost. And I realized there was only one way to do that. I had to learn to trust again, find a way to learn to live in a world where loss was always there but could be pushed back by the one overriding force we all share, a force that comes from our soul. I had to find a way to love again.

  “Jack,” I said, seeing him on the street as the elevator doors opened. He was talking to a couple of uniforms.

  He came over and held me in his arms. When we finally parted, he looked at me for a long moment. I knew what he was going to ask, even before he said it.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “Why don’t we take a walk.”

  We went up the street. It was still dark, several hours before the light of a new day would begin filtering through the tall buildings of downtown. The streets were mostly deserted, with only a scattering of people walking up the sidewalk.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, glancing over at Jack and feeling his strong arm around my waist.

  “It’s just L.A.,” he said, smiling in that way that always reminds me of him being a boy.

  My eyes moved away from him, taking in buildings, the reflection of the streetlamps in the windows, the architecture that I’d looked at a thousand times but never seemed to really notice. “It all looks brand new to me, like I’ve never seen it before.”

  We walked on, rounding a corner. I smelled fresh coffee brewing somewhere. I turned back to him. “What don’t we get…”

  The sound of the explosion was muted. At first, I wasn’t sure what was happening, the scene unfolding in slow motion. My words to Jack seemed to hang in the air for a long time. I turned my head slowly. I saw that he was being pushed back. Then be began falling. There was a red stain spreading across his shirt. I bent down to him, holding onto his arm, trying to break the fall.

  Our eyes met. In that instant a million images of our lives together washed through me until only one image remained. It was Jack holding me in his arms on that long night after Lacy had been killed, whispering, “I love you.”

  The second blast of gunfire shattered that image and his words. I was spun around, the pain so intense that in that moment everything else went away. The world tumbled, the city skyline blinking in and out of focus. I realized I was lying in the street. Then I heard the footsteps and knew what was happening. The skyline was replaced by the image of a man bending down to me. He had a grin on his face.

  “I’ll say it again,” Ryan Cooper said. “Any last words?”

  I focused but then lost focus. I wanted to say something about my soul, Jack’s soul, maybe even his soul, if he had one, but the words wouldn’t come. My eyes focused again as he stood up and aimed his gun at my face. I blinked and then realized Cooper had fallen back as another explosion ripped through the night air.

  For a moment I thought I might be hallucinating, the horror of what was happening too much to bear. But then I saw the girl. She was tall with dark hair. After a quick glance in my direction, I saw her moving back over to where Ryan Cooper was lying in the street. She raised her gun and fired again.

  Then she was gone and once again I was alone in the world.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  There’s something about the sound of bagpipes that evokes a special emotion. I’d heard the mournful sound of them at Lacy Grover’s funeral. Now, a few days later they played again, this time for the man I loved. Despite the emotion I was feeling no tears came. Maybe there simply were no tears left for me to cry.

  Jack was gone.

  That awareness drifted continuously through my mind like snow falling on a frozen landscape. As hard as I tried to make some sense of it all I couldn’t. How could Jack be gone when I’d finally found him, when I’d finally found the strength to tell him that I loved him?

  Bernie looked up at me, a black band covering the badge on his collar. He whimpered as the bagpipes ended and a rendition of Amazing Grace rolled across the grounds of the foggy cemetery. Mo and Natalie were at my side. We watched as Charlie, Pearl, Jack’s brother, and the others carried his coffin to the gravesite for internment.

  The day had been filled with processions, prayers, speeches, eulogies, a twenty-one gun salute, flag bearers, and music. Now, the worst day of my life, the nightmare that would haunt me all the rest of my days, was finally ending.

  A speaker crackled and a radio call was played. It was an end of watch call, the audio containing the voices of Jack’s friends, family, colleagues and then ending with my own shattered voice. “Officer Jack Bautista, rest in peace. End of watch May 7th, 2014…”

  Taps played and an American flag from Jack’s coffin was folded and given to his brother. As the ceremony ended, I told Natalie and Mo that I needed some time alone. I took Bernie by the leash and made my away past the mourners. At the edge of the gathering I stopped and looked up into Joe Dawson’s pale blue eyes.

  “How’s the shoulder?” I asked, seeing the sling that supported his left arm. My own injuries had been minor, a gunshot wound that entered my left side, before exiting with no permanent damage.

  “It only hurts when I laugh or cry,” Dawson said, his eyes misty. “Right about now it hurts like hell.”

  I touched his arm. “Any word…on the girl who…” I took a breath. “…killed Cooper?”

  He grimaced, shook his head. “She’s a little like smoke. Drifted in and then just gone. We’re still looking but...”

  I thanked him, turned away and tugged on Bernie’s leash, but then something occurred to me and I walked back to him. “Will I see you again, Joe?”

  He smiled, winced. “Count on it, Buttercup.”

  Bernie and I walked through the memorial park for a few minutes. Our case on The Artist briefly crossed my mind. The killing spree was over, but we knew that we would likely never know all the details of James aka Loretta Martin’s relationship with Ellian Lofton, Junior. We did know that when they were younger the two had likely been in a physical relationship, with Lofton acting as the dominate to Loretta’s submissive personality, until she finally turned on him at the end.

  At some point earlier in their relationship Lofton and Loretta’s physical relationship had probably ended, but Lofton continued to use him in the string of murders. The crime scene investigators had determined that Lofton had been in constant touch with Loretta, even while Loretta was in the salt mines beneath the McCray ranch, using sophisticated cell phone technology, webcams, electronic listening devices, and miniature wireless ear buds.

  We weren’t sure if Lofton or Loretta had murdered Jason McCray, but it did seem to be the result of a relationship the three subjects had shared that eventually turned out bad for McCray. Dawson had speculated that Loretta turned on Jason and killed him, at the urging of Lofton who had become jealous of their relationship, but we would probably never know for sure.

  The M.E. determined that Loretta Martin did have the chromosomal abnormalities associated with Klinefelter’s Syndrome, resulting in the XXY chromosome pattern. Dawson said it looked like the profilers had finally go
tten something right, probably because most of them also had a small penis and testicles.

  The autopsy also showed that Loretta’s sex organ had been mutilated in what the experts felt was a botched attempt at castration. We could only speculate that something had happened in the insane relationship Lofton and Loretta shared that resulted in the sexual disfiguration.

  The case had officially been closed and seldom crossed my mind given everything that happened. I was in the black hole called grief and felt like I would never find my way back into the light.

  After strolling through the park for another twenty minutes, Bernie and I found a secluded spot near a stand of aspen trees. The budding leaves in the fog shrouded cemetery in the foothills of Hollywood seemed out of place. I laughed, the irony hitting me. How could something blossom in this field of death?

  We continued on for a few minutes until we came to a bench overlooking a rolling field filled with grave markers. I sat down and Bernie settled at my feet. I brushed a hand through his soft brown and black fur.

  The day was still foggy and overcast with a hint of rain in the air. I huffed out a long breath, the darkness of the day, my emotions, and the thoughts that had consumed me for the past several days all pushing me farther into the abyss of despair. My hand reached into my purse. It lingered there, finding the cold barrel of my gun. I started to pull the weapon out when I heard a man’s voice.

  “He’s a fine looking partner.”

  I looked over and saw that a man was sitting on the bench next to me, motioning to Bernie. I gulped in a breath, turned away, and blinked. I then looked back at him. The man was still there.

  He was my father.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  “Hello Kate.”

  I looked away again, shook my head, breathed, and ran a hand through my uneven hair.

  Get a grip, Sexton. Stop hallucinating.