by A. S. French
The music screamed in her skull, the ache of her life jumping around like crickets on a hotplate. Her knuckles turned white as she clenched the wheel and pushed on to the accelerator. She stared at herself in the mirror, not recognising the person peering back. The trees whisked by outside as she gritted her teeth, biting down on her lip as she realised what was emerging from her memories.
The voices came first: her sister, Courtney, reeling off a list of insults designed only for Astrid.
‘You’re a joke without a punchline, Sis. We’re all laughing at you because you’re stupid and ugly. No wonder Dad has to discipline you to put you right.’
Then she disappeared to be replaced by him: Lawrence, Astrid’s father. His violence was physical, rarely verbal. The belt was his favourite weapon, but he would use his hands if he had to. She continued to drive as her arms and legs ached, blows ricocheting through the years and landing on her flesh. He struck her while Courtney whispered in her ears.
‘You can’t save this girl; you can’t help any of them. You’ll get them all killed, just like you nearly did with Olivia. How can you think to be around her when all you bring is terror and death?’
In desperation, Astrid switched on the radio and found a soft, warm female voice telling her how everything in the world was good, no matter how terrible it might appear to be. And then, the presenter increased her tone and changed tack.
‘But now is the time to be extra vigilant. American culture and Christianity are under threat by insidious forces pretending to be loyal to this Great Nation. Those who oppose true Christian American values, and you know who they are, are waiting for you to drop your guard, and they’ll swarm through our town and replace us.’
The voice paused for breath, and Astrid wondered if she was listening to an updated radio version of The Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
‘In all of our years, we’ve faced all kinds of struggles. The only time we faced an existential battle like this was in the Civil War and the Revolution when the Nation began. We are on the verge of losing it as we could have lost it in the Civil War. You must vote to retain Senator Bob Brady as our representative in the Washington swamp.
The DJ stopped talking and played some song about nails in the feet and hands as symbols of love. Astrid shook her head, thankful when the music drove her memories and anger into the shadows. She knew her past would return at some point, it always did, but she couldn’t do what she was about to without controlling her rage.
She pulled the car up five hundred yards from the house, far enough not to announce her arrival. She got out and slipped into the darkness surrounding the trees. The ground was damp from the recent rain, nature clutching at her feet as she trudged through it.
A giant shadow loomed ahead, the outline of Fowler’s place grasping out for her. When she moved from the gloom, she was impressed by its size, staring at her like the house from Psycho. It was far too big for one person, yet the data she scanned on her phone said there was only a single occupant.
From the outside, she saw it had two floors and an attic, which had an ornately decorated window straight from HP Lovecraft’s demented mind. A set of steps led to the entrance, but she wasn’t going that way because it was too exposed. A light hung at the front, with others over the windows on either side of the door. She avoided that and moved back into the shade, creeping to the rear. No sign of any vehicles told her he probably wasn’t home, which was fine; she’d give him a warm welcome when he returned.
Astrid pushed through the bushes at the side. Her shoes squelched in the undergrowth as she clambered up the small hill leading to the rear of the building. The smell of the countryside was everywhere as she crept up to the back of the house.
She reached into her jacket and removed the knife borrowed from Grace’s kitchen. Astrid had unlatched the window in less than a minute and clambered inside.
The floor squeaked as she stepped into the lounge. Moonlight flickered through the gap she’d climbed through, casting a light shade of illumination around her. Dozens of faces stared down at her, fixed into permanent glares at whoever it was that had killed them. Stuffed animals covered the walls: foxes, bears, deer, and even a lion over the grand, unlit fire near the entrance. She wondered if those dead eyes judged her as she stepped past them or if they encouraged her to punish the man she searched for.
Astrid moved into the corridor, convinced Fowler wasn’t in the house, but still cautious as she went. There was a smaller room ahead, empty apart from a large TV and gaming system and one of those chairs which transformed into a portable bed with a flick of a lever. Behind her was a decent sized kitchen, so clean and sparkling she assumed it hadn’t been used in a while. She gave it a quick scan and turned to go upstairs, stopping when feeling a draught from underneath the steps. A long piece of dark material, thick cotton, was tacked to the side. She ran her hand across it, the texture making her skin tingle as it billowed slightly from the wind coming through the wood. She dug her fingers into it and ripped it free with a tug, leaving it on the floor and revealing a padlocked entrance.
Have you something to hide, Fowler?
She reached into her jacket for the knife again. If he’d installed a digital security system, she might have had trouble hacking into it, but the rusty lock was no match for her. She was through the door and heading inside in no time at all.
The room smelt of leather and sweat as she searched for a light switch, finding one on the wall. When she flicked it on, she realised what was generating those unpleasant aromas. Astrid moved down the stairs into the basement and the torture chamber she’d entered. There was a raised bed with a coffin-shaped cage underneath, bondage chairs, manacles, chains and paddles. Restraints dangled from the ceiling. She peered at the equipment, staring at the cage and calculating it was too small for an average-sized adult. Images raced through her mind, terrible things which made her heart beat faster. She dug her nails into her palms and pushed the sight from her head.
She dodged the stains on the floor and moved towards the computer on the desk. It was switched on, with the screen littered with files, the majority of them video clips. She leant over it, found the latest one dated two days ago, and played it. A naked Jed Fowler hung from the rafters, needles sticking out of his chest as a masked dominatrix added some more. Blood trickled down his flesh, a smile creeping over his face. Next to him, an obese bloke in a gimp suit far too small for his bulk dragged a heavy whip across the dangling man’s skin. She watched it for twenty seconds before turning it off.
‘This town is full of secrets, and now you’ve discovered mine.’
Fowler’s voice came from behind her, a tremor in his tone. She turned to see him halfway down the stairs, and the gun pointed at her head. She recognised the weapon, a Glock 17 9mm short recoil-operated, locked-breech semi-automatic pistol. The irony of an Austrian-made revolver being one of the most popular in the United States brought a smile to her face.
‘You must keep a copy of 50 Shades of Grey next to your Bible, Fowler.’
He moved down to the bottom of the stairs, his hand never wavering as he gripped the weapon. ‘Everything that happens in this room is between consenting adults.’
She turned from him, fingers still on the keyboard and moving to another random video on the computer. Astrid pressed play. His breath warmed the back of her neck, the chill of the barrel close to her face. Fowler’s digital version was strapped to a table as two masked individuals pulled large kitchen knives across his chest.
‘You enjoy this pain?’ she said without facing him.
The sharp silver crisscrossed his flesh like a warped game of noughts and crosses. In the clip, the others, one man and a woman from their body shapes, went about their work in complete silence. Small sighs of pleasure escaped from the mouth of their willing victim.
‘It calms my mind.’ Astrid twisted to see him, the weapon brushing against her cheek as she did. His eyes peered right through her. ‘You look like someone who mi
ght enjoy the occasional stab of pain, English.’
‘Is this where you brought Alex Sanchez?’
The gun was inches from her face, his finger trembling on the trigger. He stepped backwards and let out a hefty sigh.
‘I don’t mess with kids, lady. This place is for my friends and me.’
‘Does your uncle, the Senator, know about this hobby of yours?’
She watched the sweat trickle down his forehead. He grinned like a kid caught in the cookie jar.
‘What do you think?’ He used his free hand to wipe at his cheek. ‘Uncle Bob’s not so bad; it’s those fanatics who follow him and drive his election campaign you’ve got to be careful of.’
‘So, what happened to Alex? I know you and your thugs had her after Glen did his best to break the kid.’
He shrugged. ‘She took a shower, and we gave her clean clothes. That was job done as far as the senator was concerned; she’d learnt a lesson, and we had leverage over her. We threw her out of the gates and into the woods. I haven’t seen her since.’
Fowler lowered the gun and slipped it into his pocket; the video continued behind Astrid. She stared at his expression, remembering all those times she’d spent with people lying to her, recognising the traits which gave their deception away. Her training focused on reading a liar’s intentions via their face, on blushing cheeks, a nervous laugh, and darting eyes; micro-expressions which could reveal the truth. Yet the more she worked with suspects, the more elusive any reliable cues appeared to be. The problem was the wide variety of human behaviour. With familiarity, you might be able to spot someone’s tics whenever they lied, but others would act very differently; there was no universal dictionary of body language. Experience had taught her it was more about the words offered than how people used them, which is why she scrutinised what he’d said.
Fowler had smiled when talking about teaching Alex a lesson and grimaced when remembering she was thrown into the woods when they’d finished with her. Hurting kids wasn’t his thing. He wanted to experience pain, not dish it out, which was why he’d put the gun away. They’d let Alex go, but what happened to her then?
‘I believe you, Fowler.’
He flashed white teeth at her. ‘So, what do we do now?’
Astrid glanced around the room, readjusting her evaluation of him. She flicked at the leather restraints as she strode towards him, brushing off those childhood memories of parental beatings. She’d gotten over the terror several years ago; an incident with a sadomasochistic killer deep in a Bavarian forest had wiped that particular fear from her mind.
‘What state was Alex in when you let her go?’
Did they break her or not?
He relaxed his body, arms by his side, as he leant into a bench covered with instruments of torture. She watched as his hand lingered over a pair of pliers, noticing the glint of expectation in his eyes.
Perhaps he wants me to hurt him.
Astrid had entered the house, assuming she’d have to use pain to get him to talk, realising now that would be a waste of time. She hoped he’d volunteer the information she wanted.
‘Uncle Bob watched the whole thing on a video feed.’ Disgust crept across his face. ‘He doesn’t like being close to violence and was convinced we’d broken the kid, but I wasn’t sure. There was still a flash of defiance behind her eyes when she stumbled into the woods.’
Good for Alex.
Astrid moved towards the stairs, hands on the railing as she analysed him. ‘You know anything about the other kids who’ve gone missing from this town?’
He shook his head. ‘Most of them are runaways, I’d guess. There are loads of shitty places people get stuck in around here and not many prospects if you don’t have the right connections.’ There was sadness in his voice. ‘I wanted to run away when I was a kid, but I wasn’t brave enough. I joined the army, but I still couldn’t escape.’ He shook his head. ‘Some of them always find their way back here.’
Against her better judgement, Astrid pitied him. ‘You missed your chance to get away, so you’re stuck here.’
‘I’m a coward, a follower, not a leader. I’ve made my choice, and now I have to make the best of it.’
‘Why did you come after me in that abandoned building?’
He held up his hands. ‘That was the Senator’s orders. I don’t think he likes you for some reason.’
‘What did he tell you to do?’
‘We had to scare you a little.’
‘Your job was to run me out of town?’
‘I guess so.’
‘You weren’t after the girl?’
Fowler shook his head. ‘I’d never seen her before. The tall cop was a surprise as well.’
Astrid recalled Grace on the floor after one of them hit her, the temperature rising inside her veins. She resisted the urge to thump him and turned away.
She left him behind, exiting the basement and passing the sad eyes of the stuffed animals lining the corridor as she headed for the front door. A cold wind bit her face as she stepped into the night. The phone vibrated in her pocket. She was inside the car, sheltering against the elements, when she answered it.
‘Where are you, Astrid? I’ve been trying to get in touch for ages.’
‘It was turned off, Grace. Stealth was my priority.’
‘So where are you?’ Her voice rose with tension.
‘I’ve just left Fowler’s place. They let Alex go once they had the video of her.’
‘You’re only a couple of miles from the river. I’m sending you the directions to meet me there.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘A body’s been found by the side of the water, an unidentified teenage girl. I’m on my way there now.’
The phone went dead before Astrid replied. The digital clock in the car said there were five minutes to midnight.
10 Cry Me A River
It took Astrid ten minutes to find it, red and blue lights showing her the way, the silver of the moon dancing off the surface of the river. It was the start of her second day with Grace as she watched her move through the uniformed police and crime scene investigators.
She approached Grace, who was talking to a woman who bore a striking resemblance to the silent movie actress Louise Brooks and wore a long coat over an expensive suit and trousers. At her feet lay a body concealed by a thin layer of plastic.
‘Astrid Snow, this is Dr Briana Jones, the town’s Coroner.’
Moonlight cut through the trees, tiny pinpricks of it dancing in the indentations of the plastic below them. Astrid knelt, her hand hovering over the sheet, before pulling it back. Blood covered the forehead and down to the eyes. She flicked the flies away and peered at the kid who wasn’t Alex. She wanted to let out a sigh of relief, but she didn’t; it might not have been Alex, but it was still a teenage girl.
It was still somebody’s daughter.
Astrid’s bones creaked as she stood. ‘Who is this, Grace?’
‘Katie Spencer, aged fifteen, reported having run away from her care home a month ago.’ Sadness drifted out of her.
Astrid turned to Jones. ‘What happened, Doc?’
Dr Briana Jones bent down more gracefully than Astrid had, pulling back the sheet. She slipped plastic gloves on to her hands, reaching to move the red-stained hair from Katie Spencer’s eyes.
‘The girl suffered a blow to the rear of her head, which could have come from a fall or an attack. Her lungs are filled with water, indicating she died from drowning after she fell into the river.’ She stared at Grace. ‘You might find this interesting.’ She lifted Katie’s right sleeve to show the cut marks covering her wrist and arm. ‘It’s the same on the other arm, down both of her legs, and across her stomach.’
‘Are they self-inflicted?’ Astrid said.
‘On the first appearance, I’d say yes, but I need to examine them properly at the lab. Some of the cuts are old, more than a year, while others are fresh, within the last few days.’
Astrid
tugged at her jacket, memories slashing into her.
‘What are you doing here, Crowley?’
It was a woman’s voice sounding like nails dragged across glass. Astrid glanced at its owner, an attractive green-eyed woman with dark hair pulled so tightly from her head her skin might burst at any second. Next to her was a scowling man built like a marine. She’d seen them before, at the police station, when speaking to Tanner.
Dr Jones curled her lips at them. ‘Detectives Cope and Wylie; it’s always a pleasure.’
They ignored the Coroner. ‘This is our case, Crowley; you and she shouldn’t be here.’ Detective Julie Cope nodded at Astrid.
Detective Peter Wylie glared at them. ‘So leave before you end up in our report.’
Astrid returned his glower with a smile, turning to Cope and letting her gaze linger on the female copper longer than it should have.
‘We’re here because we thought this was the missing girl I’m searching for. Your Police Chief gave me three days with Grace to find Alex Sanchez, and since there are only two days left, we won’t waste any more of your time or ours.’
She strode from them, through the scattered vegetation and back to the car. Grace and Dr Jones followed her to the vehicle.
‘You need to tell me everything that happened at Fowler’s,’ Grace said as she caught up with Astrid.
Astrid watched as Dr Jones removed a packet of cigarettes from her pocket and offered them to her. She shook her head as Jones slid one out and lit it.
‘I’m amazed at how many medical professionals I’ve met over the years that smoke or drink too much.’
Dr Jones’s green eyes sparkled as she pulled her coat against the chill of the night. ‘It’s because we know how fragile life is, and we want to enjoy it before we slip into the darkness.’