by Stella Hart
The idea of letting her sit in on one of our Heartbreaker profiler meetings bothered me somewhat when it was first suggested, as it obviously did Foley, but my curiosity won out in the end. I’d voted to let her stay that morning, as did the profilers from DC and most of the other agents.
I suppose we were all curious, wondering if she’d somehow remember something important if we let her look at all the case info. It was wrong, but we all thought it would be okay. Possibly give us a new lead or angle. We were desperate for that, because at this point, the Heartbreaker murders had become one of those infamous cases which could only be solved one way—if someone came forward with new information.
I frowned as I realized that was actually the last day we ever saw Celeste here at the office. Perhaps it was our fault. We’d pushed her too hard.
A bolt of guilt shot through me. “What exactly are you trying to say, Samara?” I asked softly. I already had an inkling, but I wanted her to confirm it.
“I’m worried she started to remember too much. What if the killer somehow found out? I mean, he left her alone all these years, probably because he assumed she was just a tiny kid and wouldn’t remember anything. But if he found out she was starting to remember, I bet he’d take her and….”
She trailed off, too distraught with the idea of what might be done to her friend to finish the sentence.
“How could he possibly find out?” I asked.
She frowned impatiently. “I don’t know! But I just feel it. Something really bad has happened to her, and I think it might be because of him. I think he found out something, and he took her. And we all know what he does to his victims. He keeps them captive for weeks, then….” She motioned a macabre throat-slicing gesture with her right index finger, then shuddered and began to cry.
I mulled it over as she blubbered and wiped her face on her sweater sleeve. It was outlandish, but what if the young woman was right? What if the killer had kept tabs on Celeste all these years? He wouldn’t have wanted to kill her, as she didn’t match the profile of his victims, but like Samara said, if he felt threatened, he’d probably have no issue doing away with her to protect himself.
He could’ve stalked her. Somehow gained access to her therapy records. He could’ve known she was worried that she was starting to remember something awful, and he could’ve taken her.
“If he did kidnap her, she could—”
“Already be dead. I know.” Samara cut me off, her eyes brimming with yet more tears. “I thought of that. But I also thought… if you could just help me find her, maybe it’s not too late. She could still be out there.”
My pulse sped up. What she was asking was crazy. She was essentially asking me to solve a case that’d stumped investigators for fifteen years now within a few weeks. It wasn’t possible. I couldn’t find the Heartbreaker and rescue Celeste any more than she could. If he even had Celeste, that is.
“I really don’t know what to tell you, Ms. Silva. I want to help you, really, but I just don’t know what we can realistically do here. I can’t promise you that we’ll find him anytime soon. You know how long it’s been. The man is good at what he does, as dreadful as that sounds.” I let out a deep sigh.
Samara chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “Do you have any kids?” she asked, looking up at me again.
“I have a daughter, yes.”
“What if your daughter went missing? You wouldn’t want to give up hope that she was still out there. So wouldn’t you want to do anything to find her?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Celeste is my best friend. That’s how I feel about her. You have to believe me. I can just feel it; she’s still out there. Even if the psycho killer hasn’t got her, she’s somewhere, and she’s in trouble. There must be something you can do.”
I sighed and nodded slowly. “Look, I’ll do my best. If she isn’t with the Heartbreaker, then it might be possible to track her down, wherever she’s gotten to. So I’ll start looking into it.”
“Thank you.” Samara’s shoulders slumped with relief. She got up, nervously licking her bottom lip again. “I left my phone number at the reception desk if you need to contact me.”
I smiled gently. “Okay. I’ll be in touch.”
“Good.” She stepped over to the conference room door, then turned and looked back at me. “Please find her, Agent West. Find her before it’s too late.”
16
Celeste
“Turn around.”
I automatically did as Alex told me, barely even registering his words as he bathed and scrubbed me in my cell. My mind was elsewhere, awash with anxious thoughts of what I had to do soon.
My plan had changed, through necessity.
The original idea was to gather enough powder from inside the roach baits to kill him. They sold common pesticides at the home improvement store I used to work at part-time, and I knew that the baits contained some sort of organophosphates which worked by affecting the nervous system of bugs. Something to do with blocking neurotransmitters, which eventually led to paralysis. There wasn’t enough to kill a human in the baits, but if you gathered up a lot of them over a period of time and crushed them all into one big dose, it could be enough.
Over the last eight days, Alex had brought me new baits three times to solve the non-existent cockroach issue. Every night, once he was gone, I reached up into the air vent, grabbed the baits, broke them open, and carefully crushed the toxic ingredients out of them. I’d also emptied a Lyrica capsule of mine and hid it amongst the items he’d brought me in recent days for displaying good behavior.
I planned on gathering enough insecticide powder from the roach baits to kill a man, and then I would pack it all into the broken capsule and stick it back together before forcing it into Alex’s mouth somehow. Unfortunately, he’d mentioned last night that he was going to stop bringing the baits because the roach problem should be well and truly solved by now. It would only arouse suspicion if I argued and asked for more. And so I had to adjust.
I couldn’t kill him anymore, but I could still hurt him.
I remembered an old coworker telling me a story about a guy he knew who’d tried to kill himself by ingesting some sort of insecticide powder. It hadn’t killed him, because he didn’t take enough, but it led to acute symptoms like convulsions, weakness, vomiting, and foaming at the mouth. After that, he ended up unconscious and in a coma for two days.
The amount I’d gathered was nowhere near as much as that guy took, but still, there was enough roach powder in the Lyrica capsule to at least incapacitate Alex for a while. Once that was done, I would grab his keys and get the hell out of here.
I knew I had to do it tonight. Every day I spent here dragged me further into the darkness, made me lose more and more of my mind. I could feel the choking, fathomless tendrils of inexplicable sympathy for my captor creeping in, silently but surely, so if I didn’t enact my plan soon, I’d more than likely lose my nerve and never end up doing it at all. Then I’d be trapped here in the dark with him for the rest of my life, however short that may be.
I had my poison capsule hidden in my clothes now; the ones I would put on as soon as Alex was finished washing me. My heart hammered painfully against my ribcage at the thought of finally going through with it all, and I was terrified that he might pick up on my rapid pulse and suspect I was up to something.
He hadn’t said anything, though, other than the simple instructions he always used when he washed me. Lift your arms. Turn this way.
“How’s your back now?” he suddenly asked, breaking the silence. He’d dropped the sponge and was softly running his nails all over my shoulders and upper back now. It felt heavenly, and I had a feeling it was a reward for my seemingly good behavior over the last several days.
“I think it’s all healed up, sir,” I said softly, my mind flashing back to the whipping last week. It hurt for a few days afterwards, but it hadn’t bothered me at all recently.
“I meant your nerve c
ondition. The pain inside. How is that?”
I frowned. It hadn’t occurred to me before now, because I’d been so distracted by my escape plan—and also because I’d become so used to living in pain over the last year or so since my condition started—but the nerve pain actually wasn’t as bad as it used to be, even though my daily painkiller dosage had been halved by Alex some time ago. It was still there and noticeable, but on a scale of one to ten with one being a slight prick of a needle and ten being burned alive, it was a five when it used to be an eight.
It must’ve been the daily PT exercises. They were finally working.
“I think it’s actually gotten a little better.”
He swept his hands across my back again, and I shivered, hating how nice it felt. When he did it, I actually barely felt the pain at all. “Good,” he said. “It’s starting to work.”
He didn’t clarify his statement, but I assumed he was also referring to the PT.
We lapsed back into silence as he stopped scratching me and reached for a nearby bottle. I closed my eyes and sighed happily at the pleasant sensation of warm water being tipped over my head a few seconds later, getting my hair nice and wet so Alex could lather it up with shampoo.
“Christ, I wish I could tell you,” he muttered as he stood behind me. He spoke so quietly that I had a feeling he was talking to himself absentmindedly and didn’t realize I’d heard him despite the water streaming over my ears.
I turned my head to look at him, blinking water out of my eyes. “You can tell me.”
His eyes widened slightly for a split second, as if he’d only just realized he spoke out loud. Then his lips pressed into a thin line, and he shook his head. “You still aren’t ready to hear it. Believe me. I wish you were.”
I turned back and rolled my eyes. That was probably the millionth time he’d said that.
“When will I be ready, sir?” I said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“Quite soon, I hope. You’re doing well.”
Great. Vague as ever.
“This is all for your own good,” he added.
Yup, heard that one before as well. Dick.
I’m sure it was definitely ‘for my own good’ that he forced me to watch a video of a young woman being gang-raped half to death yesterday.
Over the last week, I’d been forced to look at that video and also five more disgusting photos of abused, raped teenagers. At least they looked like teenagers. Some could’ve been younger, others older. It was hard to tell with the smeared makeup, bruises and blood on their faces.
Each girl had the same circle carved into their abdomen. The scar was thick, brutal, rough around the edges.
I wasn’t sure why Alex kept showing me the awful images, but every time I saw one, it felt like something in the very back of my mind was clicking into place, somewhere so distant I could barely access it. Perhaps some sort of memory.
Every time I tried to think hard about it and figure out what it was, it would slip away. It felt like I was standing in a desert during a storm, and my thoughts and memories were grains of sand, blowing farther and farther away in the whipping winds until they were completely gone.
It seemed like Alex was testing me every time he brought a new photo in, waiting for my thoughts to finally gather themselves properly. Waiting for a light in my brain to switch on and figure out the twist. God knows what that twist was supposed to be, though. The most obvious thing seemed to be my first theory—that these girls were his previous victims, and he was trying to show me what would happen to me. Some sick mental torture invented by the most twisted mind since Ted Bundy.
I tried not to think about what he did with the girls when he was done with them. Where they might be. I was sure I knew the answer already; I just couldn’t face it. It was too horrifying, too real for me, because one day I’d probably be cold and stiff and buried right next to them.
I wondered if he kept them in this very cell. Tortured them the same way he tortured me. I wondered when he would carve that circle into me, and why.
At the sickening thought, I jerked away from his touch. “I think my hair is done, sir,” I murmured by way of explanation.
“All right. Dry yourself and get dressed.”
I did as he said and crouched down near my clothes, purposefully facing the other way. Before I put my shirt on, I sneaked my poison capsule out and carefully popped it into my mouth, tucking it away in the small space between my gums and left cheek. It would make it difficult for me to talk without sounding weird or dislodging the capsule, but I would be able to as long as I was careful not to move my jaw too much or speak too quickly and loudly.
I’d practiced with my regular painkiller capsules so many times. I could do this.
I took a deep breath through my nose, then turned to face Alex again. “Sir,” I murmured, keeping my head down. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
I tilted my head up slowly. “Well, it’s just that the other week, when you… touched me. You did all these things, but.…” I trailed off on purpose and averted my eyes, trying to make it look as if I was clearly ashamed to be speaking these words. Truthfully, I was, but they served my ulterior motive, so it all worked out.
“But what?” Alex cocked his head to the side. He was intrigued. I knew he would be.
I peered up at him through my eyelashes, then quickly looked down again. Just the right mix of innocent and provocative. “I find it kind of strange that we’ve done all that with each other, but you’ve never even… uh… kissed me. I mean… properly.” I didn’t need to fake the blush that warmed my face only seconds later. Even though I was only saying this to get a certain reaction from him, it was still embarrassing.
Alex chuckled, his eyes blazing into mine as I risked a look at him again. He must’ve been so proud of himself, thinking he’d finally broken some part of me. Thinking I actually wanted him. “Are you asking me to kiss you, angel?” he said, taking a step closer.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, my knees trembling.
“So this….” He leaned down and brushed his lips against my forehead, just like he did when he first bathed me in this cell all those weeks ago. My skin immediately erupted in goosebumps, and against my own will and better judgment, every beat of my heart cried out for more. “This isn’t enough for you?”
“No, sir.” My voice was barely above a whisper.
His pupils were dilated and dark as he stared down at me. I knew he knew this would be my first real kiss. Despite my age, I’d never had a man press his lips to mine, even though a few had wanted to. The timing was simply never right, and the men were even less right.
“You want more.” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Then say it,” he said, raising his thick brows. “Ask me properly.”
He put his hands on my shoulders, and I sank to my knees before him. Then I looked up at him, eyes wide. “Please kiss me, sir.”
He didn’t say anything else. He roughly dragged me to my feet and tilted my face up to his. His mouth came down to mine, hovering just an inch or so away. Teasing. Tormenting.
One hand reached around to cup the nape of my neck, the other resting firmly on the small of my back. Then he finally pressed his lips to mine. It was soft at first, but slowly grew firmer and more insistent. Every nerve ending exploded with light, and my mind went blissfully empty for those few seconds as a hot, needy sensation drowned everything else out.
I gasped as his tongue flicked against my lips, trying to make me open my mouth to him. Pulsing jolts of pleasure shot straight down to my clit as he probed softly, dangerously, tongue darting just inside. I squirmed in place, trying to soothe the growing ache between my thighs.
This shouldn’t feel good, but it did. It was a kiss I could easily get lost in, stay lost in. It felt so right to open up to Alex, to have his body molded against mine, and the heady thoughts sent me into a tailspin of dizzy, buzzing desire. Fo
r a moment, I nearly forgot who he was and what he was capable of, and I felt myself slipping away into the abyss.
Stop. Before you lose yourself forever, some distant part of my mind told me.
Snapping out of my reverie, I opened my mouth wider, letting Alex’s tongue slowly explore every inch of me. Before he could reach the capsule, I swept it out of my mouth with my own tongue, right into the back of his mouth. Then I reached up and clamped my hand over his lips, watching as he reflexively swallowed the tiny thing.
Thank god he didn’t spit it out instead. My plan was working perfectly.
Alex was still for a second, as if trying to process what just happened. Then he took a step forward, his eyes wide and panicked as one hand flew to his throat. “What the fuck did you do?”
I screamed and sprang back, my legs shaking. He came for me, his hands threading in my hair, forming a fist as he forced my face upwards to look at him. Sparks of pain jolted across my scalp, and I cried out again as he slammed me up against the wall.
“What the fuck have you done?” he repeated, his voice ragged. His words jarred me to the core, and I pushed aside the inexplicable guilt I suddenly felt.
I tried to pull away, and to my surprise, it was easy. His hands were shaking now, already affected by tremors, and he couldn’t easily keep hold of me.
The poison was working fast. Thank god. I’d been worried he would smash my head against the cell wall and kill me before it took effect.
“I only gave you what you deserve,” I said, pushing on his chest as hard as I could.
Weakened, he stumbled backward, every part of him riddled with tremors now. He sank to his knees and tried to draw in deep breaths, and it looked like every painstaking movement was sheer agony for him. Finally, he gasped and fell to the concrete floor, body jerking and flailing. “No… no….” he kept muttering, spittle flying from his mouth. He tried to grab my ankle, but I dodged away to the other side of the cell.