by Luis Samways
‘How was your day honey?’ She says
Henry’s face darkens for a few seconds as he contemplates his answer.
‘It was just another day in the cutthroat business of financial advising.’
‘Many clients today?’
‘No, the usual high rollers keep checking on me as if I can’t do my fucking job correctly.’
Her eyes sadden as she looks on at her reeling husband.
‘I’m sure they trust you dear or they wouldn’t be willing to spend all of their money on you would they?’
‘It’s not about the money, it’s about the respect. These assholes think that just because they made all of that money they are better than me. I’m just a product of their success.’
‘Without you dear, they wouldn’t be successful.’
Henry gives up ranting and changes his tone.
‘How’s the book coming along?’
‘It’s coming on great. I’ve got an interview with the chief of police, Shaw; I think that’s his name, next week.’
‘You reckon he’s going to delve into the case?’
‘I don’t know, he said that he appreciated the fact that this was a record keeping book and not an expose’
‘So you’re not going to publish it?’
‘Publishing a book on our missing daughter feels wrong. I don’t want to capitalise on the bad fortune of ours; it’s more of a closure thing.’
‘Closure for whom?’
She smiles as she saves the document on her Mac and hits the x in the corner.
‘Closure for the whole family Henry.’
Fifteen
Diary entry number One
Dated 18th of December 2008
Dear Elizabeth, Yeah…That’s what I’m going to call you. It was the name of the girl at school, the one all the boys wanted. She was tall, lean and inspiring. It is her who gave me my life’s calling. It was her smell that made me react the way I did. It is her image that still drives me insane nearly fifteen years later. For if it wasn’t for you Elizabeth, maybe they would have a chance, a slight chance, to live and prosper, but you taunt me in a way I’m not used to. An aching trembling in my heart, a merciless linger in my nose, a salivating echo in my mouth. You will pay for the pain you caused me. You may think you are safe, but you’re far from it. Safety is relative. It’s dependent on the walls that surround us, the fences that keep us at bay. If it wasn’t for these fences and walls, then, maybe there could be another way, a different way, a nicer way, to get you back, and have you for myself. It is what it is Elizabeth. I can’t possibly describe the feelings I have for you. When I see you, I see beauty, nothing less, nothing more, just intense, unadulterated beauty. The type of beauty that stops the world DEAD. The type of beauty that makes my heart beat a mile a minute. I will catch you Elizabeth, like a child catches the measles, it’s inevitable, and like the world turning…you will turn with me.
Something needs to be done quickly, time is of the essence. I heard you were back in Boston. That’s good, we should catch up soon. Let’s set a date, four years from now, we shall be together, call it love, call it whatever, but I’m certain, we will meet again.
Love
Eli
Sixteen
Mullins had been sitting in the “waiting room” for nearly an hour now. He had been keeping himself entertained with his thoughts. He’d been scouring his head for reason and logic regarding the decapitations case. He had never seen anything of this nature in his tenure at Boston PD. Granted he had seen a lot, countless bodies, countless acts of evil; none had struck a nerve with him quite like this one. It was an unusual feeling, the sort of feeling he hasn’t felt before. Call it fear or whatever; it was still foreign to him. He glanced at his watch to confirm his reason for being on the edge. He knew the building he was in was owned by one of Boston’s Elite. He goes by the name of Humphries. He hadn’t a clue why the name on the building he was in was called Mason Humphries though, he was sure that the guy’s name was not Mason; it just didn’t ring with his surname. The guy was British and he kept himself to himself. No one actually knew his name not openly any way. He is a hard man to get to, he has an inner circle of people he trusts, and those people have their own circle. Mullins was not in the circle, he is an outsider. He knew that through the case they had on the cleaning company prior, Humphries didn’t like him. Nor did his men, they had an obvious disliking towards the police. Mullins understood his position, being an Elite business man in Boston is enough to get any one’s head turning, especially if you have your fingers in every pie imaginable. It’s safe to say the media and the people of Boston do not care for Humphries or his organisation. There’s no secrete about it. The media are constantly smearing him and his ventures. They are dead set on making his life hard, and Mullins has always been interested in why they feel the need to. There hasn’t been any concrete evidence that Humphries has been involved in any wrong doing, so Mullins imagines that Humphries must have pissed someone off. That’s partly why he’s down there, to get some much needed answers. At that minute, the small Italian man returns this time baring a tray of beverages, Coke’s and all sorts of sodas. Mullin’s eyes the tray in the man’s grips as he reaches the now standing Detective.
‘I thought you would be in some need of refreshments. The boss has been somewhat detained, he may take a while longer. I do apologise for the wait,’ the man says.
‘What seems to be the holdup?’ Asks Mullins curiously.
‘Traffic.’
‘What you going to do ay? You can’t prepare for Boston on a gridlock.’
‘The boss will appreciate your understanding…Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll leave the tray here for you; you can have a stiffer drink if you want…’
‘Nah, its fine, soda will do. I’m on duty after all.’
The Italian man smiles a mouth full of white and yellow.
‘Ah, an actual police man who doesn’t drink on duty, now that’s a first in my books. Police in Italy don’t care what time of the day it is. A drink’s a drink after all.’
‘I appreciate it though, thanks for the Coke,’ says Mullins as he reaches for the cold can. He pings it open and takes a long sip.
‘Don’t you worry about it,’ the man smiles once more and plants the tray on the coffee table. He gestures to Mullins as he quietly walks away. The Coke tastes refreshing in Mullins mouth as he closely watches the Italian man disappear around the corner.
Seventeen
‘It just doesn’t make sense, why the Christmas boxes?’ Asks Shaw as he takes a stiff swig of his whisky.
‘Beats me, the only thing I’m curious about is why did I get a face full of limbs at the hospital. Were they tailing me or what? How did they even know I was being discharged?’ Asks McKenzie as he takes a toke of his cigarette.
‘Maybe they panicked’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Maybe they were planning on leaving the Christmas box at the hospital entrance. They saw you standing there and decided to throw it at you.’
‘I don’t know… it just feels a bit off.’
‘No shit, there’s a killer out there filling presents with decapitated women, if that isn’t off then I don’t know what is,’ says Shaw in a sinister voice.
Frank grabs the remote control for the TV and flicks the box on. The crackling light beams through the room lighting the dim grungy office.
‘What are you doing?’ Asks Shaw
‘Checking the scores.’
‘What scores?’
‘Hockey…’
Shaw shakes his head in disbelief as he watches his best Detective tune into ESPN. Frank shakes his head in disappointment.
‘What?’ Asks Shaw
‘Fucking Bruins lost,’ mutters McKenzie
He changes the channel. The news comes on. A headline scrolls across the screen.
“Boston’s Christmas Killer strikes again!’ it reads
‘The press are seriously running with t
his,’ states Frank as he puts out his cigarette.
‘You know how it is, someone dies and they report it. The city goes to shit, they dance all over the fucking place, make a big fuss out of it and criticize us for not stopping it fast enough.’
‘Yeah, they expect us to crack it straight away, like they have it figured out before us,’ laughs Frank
Shaw takes another swig and exhales loudly
‘We will crack it Frank, believe me when I say it. I am not going to sit on this one.’
Eighteen
Roxanne shifts her weight across the cold hard floor. She’s been sitting in the same position for a few hours now. It’s not unusual for her to space out for a long time. It’s what happens when you’re locked up from the daylight. The only light down there is the one beaming through the crack at the bottom of the killing room. She hears the screams again. It sends a shiver down her spine. Suddenly someone steps out of the room in front of her. It’s him. He disappears around the corner for a few minutes and returns, this time carrying a woman on his shoulders. He stops still in front of her. His eyes penetrate through the tight bars that surround her. He moves closer to the door and unlocks it with one hand, bracing the weight of the woman with the other. The door swings open and the Machete Man steps in. He breaths in deeply, his face is consumed by the darkness. Roxanne quickly jolts up against the wall. She can hear her heart banging against her ribcage. She starts to panic. He drops the woman on his shoulder. She falls and hits the ground, kicking up dust through the forceful impact. He stands still, surveying the terror in Roxanne’s eyes. He moves in a little closer and kneels down. His knees hit the ground as he runs his fingers through the dusty floor while feeling out the surface. He then gently runs his finger up Roxanne’s leg, she starts to shake uncontrollably. He stops his finger on her inner thigh; she doesn’t dare move a muscle. He smiles, his teeth shine through the darkness. He gets up and makes his way to the gate. He turns around.
‘Make her feel at home,’ he says in a sinister yet calm voice, his brash tones echo off the stone walls.
This was the first time that Roxanne had heard his voice. He seemed genuinely intrigued by Roxanne. This was the very first time he had come into her cell, let alone talk to her. She was scared and on alert. She soon calmed down when he finally left. He disappeared into the killing room and left her feeling terrified but fortunate. She finally has someone to talk to. It’s been four years since she last opened her mouth up for more than a scream. She moved closer to the girl on the floor that remained still. The cold surface of the wall she was leaning against soon evaporated when her body’s temperature rose. Her heart started beating hard again as she graced a soft touch on the shoulder of the girl on the floor. The girl didn’t move a muscle. Roxanne remained next to her waiting for her to come too. Her mind was full of promise and hope, a hope that she could finally put her plan to work. It needed two people, and the second person had just been lumped onto her cell floor. Could things be finally going her way?
Nineteen
‘This is getting ridiculous now; we’ve had over eight different calls about limb filled boxes. All of them were verified to be correct, no hoaxes what so ever just a load more decapitations,’ Says Alvarez as he overlooks his clipboard.
Frank shakes his head in disappointment.
‘What are we going to do?’ asks Frank
‘We are far too stretched to investigate all of these individually. We need to find what links these separate incidents together.’
‘Apart from the fact that they are all mirror images of each other, female victims, same sort of Christmas box, same wrapping paper, same decoration.’
‘Yes apart from that.’ Says Alvarez
‘Could they be a copycat killer?’ Asks Shaw whose standing in the doorway, overlooking the bravado between Alvarez and McKenzie
Frank looks at the diminishing glint in Alvarez’s eyes. He can sense the commissioner’s lack of confidence in his own words.
‘I don’t know Chief, it could be a bunch of killers, and it could be one. Who knows? We don’t even know where these girls are coming from, or who they are, let alone how many people are involved in killing them.’
Frank swallows hard as he prepared himself for some slick talking.
‘Look sir, quite frankly it doesn’t really matter what you think,’ hisses Frank as he grabs an idle mug of coffee on the Chief’s desk
Shaw’s face drops as he looks on at Frank’s clear disapproval of the commissioner.
‘Who the fuck do you think you are talking to Detective McKenzie?’ Bellows the Commissioner as his face reddens with anger.
Frank takes a long sip of his coffee and puts the mug down on the desk. He squares his eyes firmly on Alvarez’s face. He smiles a little, trying to weigh out his options, trying to find the right words.
‘I’m talking to the Commissioner of police appointed by the board over ten years ago. I’m talking to a substandard Detective that was given a fast track promotion to the highest ranking seat on the PD. I’m talking to a man that has back stabbed every single officer in this building to get to his current position. I’m talking to someone that after all these years of being a brown nosing asshole, still doesn’t realise the reason people dislike him. I’m talking to you Alvarez, a no good former Detective that is an even worse excuse for a commissioner. I work day in day out with some of the finest people on this very earth. I have the pleasure of working with some of the most dedicated men on the face of this planet. All of which do not apply to you. You see Alvarez, I don’t like you. I am not too fond of Chief Shaw either, not because he’s a bad Chief, quite the opposite actually, because it should be him who’s Commissioner. I dislike how he lets a little bitch like you boss him around when in all matter of fact; you don’t know shit about police work. Let alone being a normal human being. Now get out of my face before I give you a valid reason to fire me,’ Frank pulls another long sip of his coffee and slams the mug down on the table. He turns and winks at Shaw whose trying to contain his glee. He then turns back around at the confused and belittled Alvarez. He throws him the finger and walks out. The expression on Alvarez’s face doesn’t change. It just deepens. Shaw walks into the office and takes a seat on his desk. He picks up his name plate and buffs it. He places it back on the desk, facing the commissioner.
‘I think it’s best if you leave. Let us work in peace and quiet,’ says Shaw.
Alvarez picks up his briefcase; he’s still holding a look of disbelief on his face. He quietly walks out of the room leaving Shaw to bask in his temporary elation. A buzzer is heard going off, its Shaw’s com unit on his desk. A voice cracks through the com, filling the room with static.
‘We have a possible missing officer. Officer’s name is Detective Eric Mullins. All units be on the lookout for him. He was last seen driving his on duty car, a ford Mustang Boss, it’s yellow in colour. He was last seen entering the industrial complex downtown. Reason unknown. Assumed police lead.’
Shaw’s face drops as he digests the radio message. He looks down at his desk and picks up a case folder. He opens it and confirms his hunch. He rushes out of the room, disappearing out of sight leaving the file wide open on the desk. A piece of white paper is sticking out of the folder. It reads “Mason Humphries Street Cleaning”.
Twenty
Mullins’s vision had been blurring in and out of focus for a few minutes. He put it down to the long sleepless nights he had been enduring. All thanks to the current case he’s working on. He steadies himself against the wall as he remains seated in the waiting area. He looks around and notices the walls rippling. This isn’t something he has seen before, he isn’t used to hallucinating. Even in college he was a straight cut above the rest. He didn’t take drugs then, and he hasn’t taken drugs since. If he knew about the certain side effects of a particular narcotic then maybe he could have caught on quicker. He just sighed and thought that maybe he needed some rest. The thing is he is currently occupied with the ca
se and being seated in the main establishment of the man he’s investigating means that he just can’t fall asleep. This is business, and he has to be professional. He tries to keep his eyes open but is finding it increasingly hard. He looks around and notices the sides of the room echoing off the paint. He stumbles up and braces his hands against the wall, keeping him upright for a mere few seconds before his legs give way. He falls to the ground and catches some breath. His breathing grows heavier with every wavering second on the floor. He can taste the harsh cold floor as he struggles for more breath. He sees the light in the room blemish as it darkens. His heart starts to race at the overbearing thought of what is happening to him. He struggles to comprehend what is happening. Why can’t he move? Why can’t he talk? As he remains motionless on the floor, he realizes his fate. He knows this situation isn’t natural. He can feel the abnormal flow of blood in his body as it rushes to his head and makes him grip his finger nails into the cold concrete. He can hear the footsteps coming closer. His heart beat is in sync with the thumping vibrations on the floor. It speeds up as the footsteps come closer. He tries to manoeuvre his neck, the resistance is paralyzing. He manages to spot a shadowy figure enter the room. It’s followed by another. The two figures stand still for a few seconds. The last thing he hears is chilling to the bone as his vision rides out into black.
‘Get the tools ready,’ the voice says before Mullins succumbs to the deep sleep he had been resisting.
Twenty One
Diary entry number Two
Dated 24th of December 2008
Dear Elizabeth, I’m growing ever colder, ever lonelier in this place you have put me. Why can’t you be the one to drag me out of this harsh environment? The one to warm me up in the weeks that follow. It’s a time of giving, and all you have done is taken from me. You’ve squandered my spirit, decapitated my honour, washed my dreams away. In the tears of children and the cries of mothers, I am not loved. I never had a mother. I never had a family. When I cried, no one took notice, not even you. To this very day, the only thing left is the hole in my heart. One that you promised to fill, but you haven’t. It’s the eve before the messiah’s birthday. It’s a time of wonder and glee. A time I cannot fathom as anything less than torture, for it is these days that cling onto my soul for longer. The day when family and friends spend time together, the day I walk down the street and clean after the vermin. I see happiness littered everywhere. An ice cream wrapper, a discarded Christmas card, all of these things these people choose to throw away and leave half eaten, crumpled up on every corner. How can I live and prosper as a functioning human being when people throw away the things I never had. The things I’ve always wanted?