* * *
“Show it to me.” Camilla recoiled when Vivian thrust her arm in her face. The black vein glared under the pale skin, pulsing amorphously. “Oh my God… And you don’t know what he injected in you?”
“Not a damn clue.” Vivian pressed a cold towel against the vein in a futile attempt to soothe the swelling. At least it made her feel like she was doing something to stem the soreness.
She felt desecrated, infected, tainted... by him.
And every time she closed her eyes, she could see the words crudely incised in his chest.
You cannot hurt me anymore.
The memories of her captor came surging back as soon as she left the sanctuary of the hospital. There was no denying, he had to be the deviant wretch responsible for butchering women. Had she not escaped when she did, he might have added her body to his trophies.
Vivian confessed every macabre detail to Camilla as they returned to Vesely Manor.
Camilla dumped some deli sandwiches out of a paper bag and Vivian ravenously tore into them.
“I remember seeing strange visions when I escaped the house,” she said in between bites of salami and cheese. “I don’t even know how I made it downtown.”
“What are you going to do? What if this thing he injected kills you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t consider that possibility.” She reluctantly set down her sandwich as her appetite waned. What unforeseen consequences might this substance reap on her mind? Was this only a foretaste of more to come?
“I experienced a flashback in the hospital,” she said. “I’m not exactly sure what it means. To be honest, I don’t even know if it’s a hallucination or a memory.”
“What did you see?”
“I… I can’t remember… I think someone was dying.”
“What if you have another hallucination?”
“I don’t know. I…” She glanced out the window and caught her fragile reflection. As much as she hated to admit it, fear glazed her eyes. “Could you stay with me at the manor tonight? And just watch over me, in case anything happens?”
“Okay… but I’m on deadline so I need to have my stories ready for print tomorrow. I need to stop by my apartment to pick up my laptop. Everything’s going to be fine, I promise.”
Vivian nodded. Camilla clasped her hand, and what she saw in the young journalist’s face emboldened her.
“Remember, Vivian, you’re not alone in this. I’ll be here until the end. Don’t be too damn proud or ashamed to ask for my help. Hang tight until I return, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”
“Okay.”
Camilla lurched to a stop at the door.
“I almost forgot. Before I go, maybe this will keep you company.” Perplexed, Vivian watched her trot toward an old world globe. Lifting the top, she revealed an assortment of beer and scotch whiskey shimmering inside. She winked mischievously. “Enjoy.”
Vivian grinned with delight.
“So that’s where you’ve been hiding the good stuff.”
“Just don’t drink it all or I’ll throw you back into the streets.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
As soon as the door closed behind Camilla, Vivian tossed back a dark beer. Before long, she was prying into the whiskey to keep the loneliness at bay; anything to ward away yesterday’s terrifying experience. With Camilla’s absence, those memories came rushing back to feed on fresh insecurities. Vivian couldn’t bear the solitude, even just fifteen minutes. She desperately needed to speak to somebody. Anybody. She flipped out her phone and her fingers acted of their own will, dialing a number that was never far from her thoughts.
“Nikolai?”
“Vivian, I tried calling you again. What happened?” His voice was familiar and comforting, a strange sentiment to associate with a homicide detective.
“I—I returned to the outskirts. I wanted to see my former neighborhood. I used to live there.”
“Damn it, Vivian, we don’t have time for field trips. Our time is rapidly running out to find this sick, twisted—”
“I encountered the killer,” she blurted. “He imprisoned me.” She scanned her surroundings, expecting the killer to wisp out of the shadows. Would she accidentally conjure him from the netherworld just by mentioning him? That statement shut Nikolai up good.
“Christ… Are you all right?”
“Yes, my body parts are still attached, if that’s what you’re asking. But I barely escaped from his basement. He strapped me to a gurney and started playing doctor. He asked me questions about my mental health.”
“Role-playing,” Nikolai muttered scornfully.
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure you’re all right? Do you need any medical treatment?”
“After my little doctor experience, the last thing I want is to spend more time in a hospital.”
“I can hardly blame you. What else? Was he keeping anyone alive?”
“I didn’t see anyone else. I don’t even know what the killer looks like.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was wearing a gas mask.” Nikolai was ominously silent.
“A gas mask? Was this a part of his role-playing?”
“I don’t know. He has a very interesting wardrobe… I’m sure you’ll understand once you see him in the flesh.”
“I can hardly wait to make his acquaintance. Now where is this house in the outskirts?”
“It’s… it’s on the corner of Kastanova and…”
She sighed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know the name of the other street. Anyway, the house is painted gray and there’s an orange notice on the front door. You can’t miss it.”
“Very well. I’ll assemble a team and storm the residence tonight. Stay away from it. Anything else?”
Vivian rolled down her sleeve past the glowing needle mark. Maybe if she couldn’t see it, time would erase it forever.
“No.”
“I’ll leave another down payment for you in the Basilica of St. Eurosia. Check for a Bible in the third row of pews. Open to Mark 5:21. Good work, Vivian.”
“Thanks.”
“Now get some rest. And stay the hell away from the outskirts.”
The line died.
TEN
Sirens cut through the murky ghetto as wreaths of fog descended.
Men adorned in riot gear tumbled out of the armored SWAT van in front of the eerie residence. Armor rattled loudly on their bodies. Most perturbing of all, their gas masks bore a jarring resemblance to the killer they were tasked to subdue.
The abandoned neighborhood could easily be mistaken for a massacred village in a third-world country. The addition of armed men toting military grade weaponry only lent credence to this haunting impression.
Nikolai shouldered his way out of the police car. He glanced backward at the sound of clapping boots to see a pair of snipers hole up across the street. He could vividly remember the horrors he witnessed over a decade ago when racial riots ignited this district.
Those sights would not be so easily forgotten.
Nikolai’s heart raced from the anticipation of confronting the homicidal maniac supposedly wallowing inside. The assault team fell into position at the remote corner of the street, waiting to pounce at any moment.
He felt a surge of egotistical triumph when he saw the assault rifles cradled in their hands. Nikolai paused outside the arched doorway, looking into the empty sockets of the Victorian residence. His heart beat out a staccato against his bulletproof vest as he reached for his firearm.
He wouldn’t lament the death of this killer if he elected to defend himself. If circumstances dictated his death, he would gladly oblige. However, Nikolai preferred to take him alive. He wanted to look into this murderer’s eyes and see what kind of hell motivated him to deprive five innocents of their lives.
He disengaged the safety on his semi-automatic pistol. Just in case the killer was feeling particularly motivated tonight.
He curtly nod
ded.
“Police! Search warrant!” the point man yelled through his mask. Only the hoarse wind shrieked in reply. Several anguished seconds slipped by, and the anxiety tightened like nooses around their necks. The door imploded as a metal battering ram plowed through.
“Move!” SWAT agents funneled into the torture den.
Tactical lasers swept across the dark rooms, illuminating the details in a scarlet, ghostly pall. Nine assault rifles swiveled through the shadows, ready to salivate bullets at a moment’s notice. Nikolai followed in their wake with his fingers welded to his pistol. Rapid footsteps murmured in the silence as the response team swept through the grime. They moved as a singular unit designed to subdue and eliminate any aggressor. Nikolai plodded his own course, not so eager to follow in the footsteps of others. He would explore this deformed hell for his own eyes and make a judgment call.
The house was not nearly as decrepit as the exterior suggested. A perverse elegance haunted this shell of a home.
He craned his neck to peer inside an austere dining room. Past lacy curtains he glided, studying the china assembled on the table. Although the silverware and candelabras had been meticulously arranged, no trace of food could be found. He immediately lurched to a halt when he saw the serrated knife on the table. It gleamed seductively in the dark, waiting for someone’s gentle touch. He scanned the room, hoping no one was lurking within reaching distance.
Too many times he had seen what a well-placed blade could do to someone’s face, especially when the culprit was violently unhinged and apathetic. It didn’t take much to tunnel through the eye and rupture the—
A shape sent him barreling to his left.
His eyes fixed on the stuffed vulture on the cabinets, leering down at him from its perch. He sighed and kicked the black feathers scattered on the carpet.
Cursing under his breath, he moved on to catch up with the tactical team. The moment he crested the stairs, he froze.
The point man had paused in front of a door at the end of the hall. He flashed hand signals to his companions and braced himself. His armored boot sent splinters lancing across the room as the door tore off the hinges. SWAT agents swooped inside like ravens with disorienting yells, each man pointing his gun in a different direction.
“What the fuck!”
Screams lit up the room and Nikolai waded forward with his finger pulsing on the trigger. A gunshot erupted within feet of him, screaming into his skull.
He saw the blood splashed across the walls, and he catapulted forward, frantically trying to determine if the killer had been shot.
“What the fuck happened?!” The SWAT agents parted before him like a sea to reveal the victim, and he saw a woman’s face.
Dozens of them, nailed to the walls. Their faces were eternalized in frayed photographs, flecked with blood. Explosions of scarlet were splattered across the room, collecting on the floor in a cesspool. The only thing missing were the bodies.
Nikolai gazed at the walls decorated with arterial spray like a deranged artist on an inspirational rampage.
“Shit,” he whispered.
“Check the basement!” one of the men bellowed. Nikolai staggered away from the wall as the assault team retraced its route. All of the women in the photographs looked exactly the same. The same pronounced cheekbones, creamy flesh, green eyes, and silky, blonde hair.
Had the murderer killed them, too? Or were they merely his fantasy victims?
Nikolai stopped just short of the red ooze, gazing at those smiling faces. With a final shudder, he fled the chamber and charged downstairs. The assault team was already scouring the cellar. Their gun-mounted lights danced across the medical gurney and signs of struggle strewn across the basement; scalpels, trays, and clamps littered the floor with spite for any semblance of order.
Nikolai inched toward the gurney for a closer look, and he realized at once the straps had been sawed apart. The thought of Vivian strapped to such a device made him cringe.
In the throng of shadows, something gleamed under the gurney. He donned a rubber glove and crouched low. Nearly pressing his cheek against the floor, he caught sight of a syringe.
He managed to retrieve it as he stretched under the bed. Nikolai rolled the syringe between his fingers, studying the needle as though it might spill it decadent secrets. Twenty milliliters of fluid remained. Where did the other ten milliliters go?
“Nikolai, you might want to take a look at this.”
He tucked the syringe into a plastic bag and approached the solemn gathering. Nikolai shouldered his way past onlookers and was instantly thwarted by a red light glaring in his eyes. A passage beckoned him into the bowels of the dark.
The longer he stared he felt the veins in his eyes growing more engorged. Perhaps the shadows were thinning, slicing across his vision like fine razor blades.
“Where the hell does it lead?” one of the men asked.
“Precisely,” Nikolai answered. “Hell.”
ELEVEN
Vivian collapsed onto her bed in relief. Her cheek nestled against the pillow and she gazed out the window at the clouds passing by.
“It’s over,” she breathed. Her rosy lips curled in a triumphant smile. “It’s finally over.” No one could compel her to marauder through tunnels or apartments in search of grisly answers anymore. After a year of scavenging from the bottom of society’s cesspool, she could return to a “normal” existence. Scholarship opportunities and classes surely awaited her as she rose to the occasion.
The prospect of re-enrolling in college sent a spark to her heart. She would immediately retake anatomy and physiology and put last year’s grades to shame. It would be nothing but high marks from this point on.
The first thing on her long list of to-dos was to volunteer at the University Hospital and purchase school books. Maybe she would even stop by the shopping mall and trade in her soiled clothes for a fresh wardrobe. She couldn’t remember the last time she slipped into a pair of Kenvelo jeans.
Her cell phone rang. She was instantly wrenched from the soothing shore of sleep and jolted wide awake. Tossing aside her pillow, she fumbled for the humming device.
“Nikolai?”
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Not at all,” she yawned. “I was just lying in bed, thinking about the investigation. I feel much better now that I’m free of that hospital.”
“I see. I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better.”
“Much better. So have you called to congratulate me?” she teased. A gaping pause followed.
“Well, this isn’t easy for me to say.” Vivian leaned up from bed, suddenly wracked with concern. He should be reveling in the capture of the killer, not brooding like an insipid child pushed on the playground. Did something go wrong?
“What happened?”
“Vivian, I have some bad news… Things didn’t go quite as I imagined. I need you to continue the investigation.”
“What?!” Vivian descended into panic. “Didn’t you arrest him?”
“The raid went down about an hour ago. He wasn’t there.”
“Did you search the attic? Maybe he’s hiding in the attic!” Vivian said, grappling for anything to sever her ties to Nikolai. “What about the basement?”
“We searched every level of the house. He’s gone, Vivian.” Like a mannequin snipped from her strings, she collapsed onto the bed.
“But what am I supposed to do now?”
“I don’t know—”
“Well, neither do I! Who was the house registered to? That should lead you to your killer!”
“The house was registered to a woman named Lenka Petrova. She died over ten years ago. Apparently, no one bothered to check up on her. She was still decomposing in bed.”
“But I’m not going back there!”
“Regardless of how you feel, there’s something in the house I need you to investigate. Only you can do it. We aren’t finished yet.”
“What do you mean only I can do i
t? What if I don’t want to help you anymore?” She knew the words were a mistake when she was met with silence.
“Then I cannot guarantee my promises.” The fire died in her chest as reality collided. She was indentured to Nikolai until her contract was fulfilled. In some ways, this relationship was worse than any transaction she had conducted as a prostitute. Her life now belonged to Nikolai to toy with as he pleased.
“What do you want me to look at it in the house?”
“There’s a tunnel in the basement. It’s too narrow for any of us to fit through. I thought maybe you could see what lies on the other side.” Vivian looked at the bedroom door as though she could already picture the tunnel beckoning her into oblivion. She had nearly perished in that basement and now Nikolai was forcing her to return.
“Okay.” Her throat felt parched even as she uttered that word. One simple word to signal her defeat.
“Thank you, Vivian.”
“Any time.” He hung up. Without even the tiniest whimper, she threw her phone at the wall.
She tiptoed down the spiral staircase and waded into the glow of candlelight. Tiny flames wavered on stumps of wax as Camilla typed away on her laptop, engrossed in the latest string of vice. The keys rattled away under her fingertips, a strangely soothing melody in the empty manor. There could be no greater reward than weaving a tale to inform the public.
She raised her eyes from the glowing screen as it painted a bony glow across her cheeks. Fragments of words on the screen flitted across the lenses of her reading glasses, but Vivian couldn’t decipher what they said.
“Something the matter?” Vivian meekly sidled into the elegant chair next to hers.
“The police just raided the house.”
“Did they find him?” she excitedly said, leaning over her laptop. She need only look into Vivian’s eyes to know the answer.
“No. And Nikolai wants me to go back to the house and explore a tunnel.”
Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1) Page 13