The land of dead flowers: (A serial killer thriller)

by Natasha A. Salnikova

  In a matter of seconds, he turned Anna to the head of the bed and tied her to the frame. Then he dropped the blanket over her and left the room without looking back. Without wasting a second, Anna continued her attempt to escape.

  CHAPTER 54

  After talking to the detective, Max sat in the kitchen in front of his laptop, which was off, waiting for Daniels’ visit. Kelvin and Nadia found out what happened with Anna, and said they were going to come no matter what, leaving their daughter with her grandparents.

  Max didn’t want anything. No water, no coffee, no company. He wanted to stay alone with his guilt and let it eat him. Gnaw him down to the bone.

  He was guilty, guilty, guilty. If he hadn’t said those horrible words to Anna, she would have come home. Where could she have gone? Who had gotten in her way? Where was she? What had happened to her? The detective asked him concrete questions, leaving no doubt that he was a suspect. He said family members were always prime suspects. Where have you been from this hour to this? Who could verify that?

  It also bothered Max that, despite his wife’s disappearance, he couldn’t quit thinking about Angelica. She refused to go away. He understood that it didn’t matter what he did now, this girl was stuck with him. Because …

  The doorbell broke into his thoughts. Max stood, feeling tired, went to the door, and let his friends in. He moved the laptop from the table to the counter and took out three empty cups from the cabinet. If he drank something, he wouldn’t have to talk.

  Nadia flew in first. Pale, anxious.

  “Max, God!”

  “Nadia, we agreed.” Kelvin sat down in front of his friend. “How are you?”

  “Can you wait?” Nadia interrupted. “Max, when did you eat last time? I shouldn’t ask; it’s enough to look at you.”

  “I’m not hungry, Nadia.”

  “Right. Don’t even say anything. What do you have?” She started searching inside the refrigerator. Plastic crinkled, glass clanked.

  “How are you?” Kelvin repeated as he turned away from his wife.

  Max gazed at his friend. He remembered Kelvin’s reaction to his words about the toy that lay on the couch in the living room. Max even hid it under the pillow in an attempt to forget about Angelica, but it was unsuccessful. Kelvin thought Max had killed a girl. He thought that Max had gone totally bughouse, as often happened among creative people, and killed a kid, taking her toy as a keepsake. He had known him for so many years and that’s what he thought.

  “Do you still think I killed the teddy bear owner?” Max asked. It was better to clear this up before starting a conversation.

  “What teddy bear owner? Why killed?” Nadia asked as she turned to them from the stove where she’d put a pot of water.

  “I told you to stay home,” Kelvin mumbled.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Nadia sounded upset. “Your man-to-man conversation didn’t do anything last time.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Nadia,” Max said as he turned back to his friend.

  “I don’t think that,” Kelvin said. “Sorry I blurted that out. Let’s forget it. Anna was at her parents, we know that, but she was coming home on Monday.”

  “She called and we argued. I don’t know what happened after that.” Max covered his face with his hands. In the dark, on the background of his closed eyelids, a silhouette of the house appeared. It showed through more clearly, and Max opened his eyes wide. The architect’s house. Why? Why did he think of it now? Why did he have a dream about it? He wanted to figure it out before, but forgot.

  “Listen.” Nadia came to the table, leaned on it, and bent down, so she could look into Max’s eyes. “We understand that you’ve had some kind of breakdown. Anna knew that and was worried about you. Still, try to remember. Maybe she was going somewhere? Maybe she mentioned a place?”

  Max shook his head.

  “We went through everything,” Nadia said as she returned to the stove. She found a box of spaghetti and poured half of it into the boiling water. “We tried to remember if somebody had stalked her; maybe she had some new friends. No. Nothing like that! She dedicated herself to her work and you. She had one more friend, but they haven’t seen each other for two months or more. I talked with the girl from her work, Katy. She talks a lot, but she doesn’t know anything. She only told me that Anna and her boss stayed late after everyone else had left. That’s all I could get out of her.”

  Max and the detective knew about that. The detective was going to interview Anna’s boss after he and Max finished.

  “I can’t believe it,” Kelvin said as he turned an empty cup on the table. “We hear about people vanishing without a trace every day, but we never think it can happen to us or our family, friends. It happened when you two had problems.”

  “I had nothing to do with Anna’s disappearance,” Max said in a calm, unemotional voice. He wasn’t surprised that even his friends suspected him. Possibly suspected. He had this scenario in his books. In The Smoke Room, the husband killed his wife. But it was an accident.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about!” Kelvin said. “They found her car in a parking lot, but not by their building. Katy said that, right?”

  “Oh yes, she did,” Nadia said. “I forgot. Katy said she saw Anna’s car when she was driving to work. Ann has a dragon hanging from the mirror; she noticed that. They will take prints and stuff.”

  “I called her work,” Max said. “Before the detective called me. They told me all of this.”

  “Sure.” Nadia turned back to the pot, banged with the spoon on its metal sides. “You must know.”

  “It means,” Kelvin said, “something happened to her near her office building. But how? Where exactly? In the parking lot? No one saw it. That’s bullshit!”

  “It’s a small parking lot behind their building,” Max said. He’d been at his wife’s work a few times and remembered details. “They have limited spaces for employees and some guests. They have about five companies in the building. Guests have to get a permit or they are at risk of being towed away. There’s an apartment building on the other side; the windows start on the second floor. The parking lot is half covered and has no camera.”

  “So, that means,” Kelvin said as he raked his hand through his hair, “it means that she was kidnapped there. How? Did somebody ask her for a ride? They couldn’t kidnap her without a single witness, could they?”

  Max was scared of this proposition, but everything pointed to it.

  “Who? Why?” Nadia sniffed and waved the spoon.

  Kelvin put his head down and rubbed his eyes with his fists.

  Max, again, in spite of his fiat of will, thought about Angelica. She was kidnapped. Probably by a person whom she had known, and he killed her later. Tortured and killed her. What if there was a purpose behind Anna’s kidnapping? What if it was connected to his search? Was it possible? Who? One of her friends? What if her girlfriends were jealous of something? Famous husband, money? No, impossible. One of his friends? No way.

  “We’ll find her,” Nadia stated as she wiped tears from her face. “We will. Maybe somebody just gave her a ride and …” Both men looked at her. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.” Nadia grabbed a colander, the pot, and drained spaghetti over the sink. Running water mixed with her sobbing.

  “We’ll find her,” Kelvin said. His voice confident, too confident to be real.

  “She’d better be fine,” Nadia added.

  The phone rang in the living room and Max sprinted there. Ten minutes later, he still talked to Anna’s mother, trying to convince her that her daughter was okay and soon would be home. Then he went back to the kitchen, where a plate filled with spaghetti and red sauce was waiting for him. He couldn’t eat. He thought about Anna, about her possible condition, and all he felt was sickness. Kelvin and Nadia didn’t eat either. The three of them sat silently at the table, and then Max’s friends left, leaving him alone. He wanted to be alone. If he concentrated hard enough, he might
understand. He could understand everything.

  CHAPTER 55

  Morris sat on the chair with the folded dress on his knees, stroking its surface and looking at the naked, shaking back of his redhead. By now, her hair was tangled and wasn’t as shiny as before, but it didn’t matter. He could always turn on his imagination. If he tried, he could even fly from this shed to a more romantic place, like an ocean beach or a suite in an expensive hotel. Although, he became aroused without extra tricks. Her body, her voice, and her smell were enough.

  Yesterday was the day. Not everything was as perfect as he had dreamed. Redhead spoiled his mood slightly with her tears, but everything else went the way he planned. The dress fit her perfectly, as he had expected. It was still damp, but he didn’t put off the ritual. She put on the dress without resistance, same as the first time. Without tears and superfluous questions. Her eyes were filled with hatred and there was a red line on her wrist. She had tried to get out. Silly girl. He took out champagne, a box of chocolate, and turned on the music. She refused to drink at first, became naughty. He had to hit her a couple of times, even making blood spray out of her nose, but she started to behave right away, took a couple of sips of her champagne, and ate a candy. No, she didn’t look at him, and if she did take a glance, there was no love.

  Morris wanted to be loved. He wanted to talk with her as if they were best friends, laugh, have sex, have reciprocal passion. It would never happen because no one loved him, but his mother. No one needed him. In addition, if he thought about it, he didn’t necessarily need those problems. Didn’t he love to subdue them, feel like their master? From the moment he started the hunt until the time the new seeds of immortelle fell into the ground, he was reborn. He felt younger, more energetic, and more spiritual.

  In reality, his desire to see love in his women’s eyes was just a caprice. Like a pearl in a shell. It would be a pleasant surprise, but not more than that. He loved to see fear in their eyes, supplication, submissiveness. He felt like God, deciding their fate. He decided who would live and who would die. He waited for them to start begging. They always begged. They also yelled, insulted him before begging. Except this one. Morris even started wondering if he had made a mistake.

  He didn’t want to think that, but she didn’t beg him to stop. She didn’t even ask. She had been biting her lips, dropping tears, she even blacked out once, but not a word to show weakness. Now her whole body was covered with bruises, scratches, and bites, but she sobbed quietly with her back to him.

  His thirteenth lover had come into his life by the will of destiny. Thirteen was a magic number. He had to think of something special to finish her life. Usually, he acted simply, smothered them with a pillow. It was a quiet, fast, clean death. He didn’t have to see how life faded from their eyes. What if he cut her veins this time and watched her life slowly draining into a plastic bucket.

  Too much work. He had to think about it. This time, he could handle looking into her eyes. Watch her soul leaving her body. He was taking her soul. Was there a soul? Nonsense. The soul was a creation of ignoramuses, who needed hope that they submitted to something invisible for a reason. If there was a soul, he would go to hell, but that couldn’t be. It wasn’t his fault he was like this. It wasn’t his fault that no one loved him. He didn’t deserve anything bad—they did. Society chose favorites by some secret vote, hidden from simple mortals. They’d chosen the ones who would be loved and desired. His name didn’t fall into the hat; they closed their eyes to him. Now it was time for them to pay.

  Anna moved, looked at him, and turned away again. He was tired of sitting. He had to get to the house and make dinner. Putting the dress neatly on the chair, Morris approached the woman, flipped her on her back, tied her to the bed, threw the blanket on top of her, and left the shed, grabbing the dirty potty and the dress on his way. Not a sound came from the bed. He dumped the contents of the potty in the snow in front of the shed and left it there, by the wall. In the house, he placed the dress over the headboard of his bed and went to the kitchen for a snack. He thought about that damn snotter of a writer. He probably raced around with the police, searching for his wife. Maybe he would turn on the TV, to see if there was a story on the news. It would be the first time anyone reported one of his prey.

  He had an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. He feared they were going to find him. As he took out some leftover spaghetti and salad from the refrigerator, Morris almost dropped all of it on the floor. He cursed, putting it on the table. He hoped that after redhead was at his house, this ugly sense of fear would leave him, but it increased. Morris expected the bell to ring at any moment and to find the police on his doorsteps, showing him a search warrant. Transferring the spaghetti to the microwave, Morris found a half-empty bottle of vodka, poured himself a shot, and drained it. He shook his head, exhaled. Maybe now this damn anxiety would calm down and he could sleep well. Last night, he expected to sleep like a baby after that sweet time he spent with redhead, but no luck. He twisted and turned until morning, and when he managed to fall asleep, he woke up from a strange, abrupt dreams. He had a dream about Angelica, the writer, and other girls covered in blood. Dead. He left the bed dog-tired, and had to drink two cups of coffee before the pressure went away from his eyes and he was ready to visit his beauty.

  The microwave let out three annoying beeps, and Morris pulled out his dinner. He remembered that he didn’t give redhead water and hoped that she wasn’t going to die. He wasn’t ready to part with her, but he also didn’t want to get dressed again and go outside. Morris went to the living room instead, turned on his TV, and sat down in the chair to eat, feeling slight dizziness, and hoping that one shot of vodka was enough for a good sleep.

  CHAPTER 56

  Max met with the detective in the morning and found out nothing new about Anna’s disappearance. The detective asked the same questions, which made Max conclude there was zero progress in the investigation. As he drove home, all he wanted was someone there with him. Not someone, but a loving, understanding person. His thoughts shifted to Watervliet, to the red brick house. It was drawing him like a magnet. He didn’t know why, but he felt that he should be there. The faster the better.

  His second thought was about the architect. There must be a reason he’d seen him in his dreams. How all of this could help him find his wife—he didn’t know. He wanted to find Anna and find out what happened to Angelica. He had an unexplainable feeling that these two disappearances were connected. There was a chasm of more than thirty years between them. They happened in different cities, but they were connected. Could Angelica know where Anna was? Could she have witnessed the kidnapping? Who could have taken her? It wasn’t connected to him; otherwise, the kidnapper would have contacted him.

  Max didn’t know where to go, what to do. The phone was in his pocket and he didn’t have to stay home, so he didn’t fight his desire to drive to Watervliet, and headed there. This time it took half an hour longer than usual because of an accident on the road, and he arrived at the red brick house by two.

  Wilma hadn’t asked any questions when she’d seen him. She invited him to the kitchen where she was making soup for lunch.

  “I’m glad!” she said. She moved the chair for Max and put two bowls on the table. “I eat alone all the time and it’s sad. Sometimes my friend comes, but not often. She has a family, grandchildren.”

  Max didn’t hurry to talk about the latest news or about his wife. He didn’t know how to tell her and wasn’t sure if he should do it at all. At least for now. It was going to upset her too much, and her tears would make him helpless. He couldn’t afford it now.

  By the time Angelica’s mother poured mushroom soup into the bowls, he had decided to keep it quiet. For now. He had other important questions to figure out.

  “You look tired,” the woman said as she sat down across from Max. “Do you eat enough? Did my baby make you tired?”

  “I work on the book,” Max said as he stirred the soup. He didn’
t want to eat, despite the appetizing smell.

  “You have a lot going on inside your head. I see you want to talk. Eat just a little.”

  “Okay, thank you.” Max forced a smile and started to eat. He didn’t discern the taste and couldn’t wait to see the bottom of the bowl.

  “Coffee now?” the woman asked when the soup was gone.

  “No, thank you. It was very good.”

  “What happened?” The woman moved the bowls from the table to the sink and sat back down, turning on the teapot as she returned.

  “I wanted to talk to you about your neighbor. Morris—the architect.”

  “About Morris?” Wilma looked surprised. “Why?”

  Max didn’t want to lie to the woman, but he also wasn’t ready to tell her the truth.

  “I just have some ideas that I’ll share with you later. I need to think them over first.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Tell me about him. What kind of person is he? How is he around people? What are his interests, if you know any?”

  “Well.” The woman touched her hair and straightened up. She looked nervous, as if she had a test in school, and Max smiled, encouraging her. “He’s all right. I’ve known him from the time he was a kid. We moved here when we were young, and I became friends with Mary. She was a good woman, Mary was. Kind, liked to talk. She wasn’t lucky in love though. She was married for only two months before her husband was arrested. Turned out, he was a thief. We hadn’t a clue. He brought her money, but he told her he worked in a storage warehouse. He brought home electronics, food, even jewelry. They gave him ten years, I think, more or less, but we thought it was too much for robbery. We thought there was something else, but Mary didn’t tell us. She was embarrassed. He got out when Morris was big already. I don’t remember how old he was.” Wilma stood to make tea. “Would you like some?”