Mutilated Dreams

by Hadena James

  “Out!” I ordered all of them, more for Fiona than me. I did not have qualms about nudity, but as a non-sexual being, nudity was just a matter of not wearing clothing. There was nothing sexual about it. “Do you really not remember last night?” I asked her as she climbed from the bed.

  “No,” she looked shell-shocked.

  “Do not fret, we did not have sex,” I told her.

  “So you remember?” She asked.

  “No, but,” I stopped. Aside from the head throbbing, nothing hurt. “I am, how should I put this, inexperienced and from all the stories I have heard, I would be sore if we had any sort of sexual penetration.”

  “You’re almost thirty.”

  “So?” I asked.

  “You aren’t really telling me that you’re a virgin, right?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Just with girls, though, right?”

  “Um, no,” I answered, looking at her. “When I say I am asexual; I actually mean it. I have absolutely zero sex drive. I have never been sexually aroused. I have never let anyone touch that area that did not have on gloves and were looking for cancer. I am truly an asexual being. I find even making out to be boring.”

  “Wow, that’s mind blowing. I just figured you’d had sex, but didn’t like it.” Fiona pulled on her jeans. “No sex drive?”

  “None,” I answered.

  “That’s sort of depressing.” She half frowned, half smiled. “It also answers a lot of questions.”

  “I would prefer the men not know. Only a couple of people are aware of how uninteresting I find sex, so I would like it to stay that way.”

  “Of course,” Fiona answered.

  We dressed and accompanied Xavier to the hospital. Both our blood work came back positive for rohypnol. Xavier’s did not. He demanded that everyone else give samples as well and they all tested negative. Someone had drugged just the two of us and I had no idea how. My life was very complicated. We were checked out of the hospital and sent to Fiona’s room. Mine was a crime scene. She and I debated how we’d been drugged and by whom. We came up with nothing. It wasn’t the soda this time. I drank from it that morning and not suffered any ill side effects. Besides, if Fiona hadn’t remembered arriving in my room, it seemed we had both been dosed before she came over. We had not eaten or drank any of the same things all day until the missing period, when it appeared we had both drunk from my stash of Mountain Dew.

  “The soda is clean. The locals are talking to the staff at the restaurant,” Gabriel said coming into the room with a keycard. “You really remember nothing more than a parrotfish was fighting with a man in spandex from last night? That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “That is all I remember,” I told him.

  “I remember,” Fiona frowned. “I don’t think I remember anything. I’m not even completely sure I remember entering the hotel last night.”

  “Okay then, I’ll tell you again. Valerie McGregor died last night.” Gabriel gave us the details of how she succumbed to her injuries. It was tragic. “We followed up on your idea about the bodyguards. All of them will be here tomorrow. Think either of you will be in a condition to do interviews?” He asked.

  “By tomorrow, yes,” I told him. “I want a new room on a different floor. We both need some new clothes, just in case our suitcases were laced with it or something. I would prefer you get them. Fiona needs to be moved as well. We should have adjoining doors, if possible. If not, we should bunk up.”

  “That’s an odd request,” Fiona said.

  “I need less sleep than you. You can sleep for several hours, and then you can stay awake while I sleep for a few hours,” I told her. “It is a safety concern in case someone should attempt something worse.”

  “What would be the point in drugging both of you?” Gabriel asked.

  “To prove it could be done,” I told him. “How do you slay the boogeyman? You wait until it is asleep. Fiona was probably collateral damage, but considering this thing with Lucas, she might not have been either. My curtains were open just a crack this morning. I did not do it. You should make sure they check for fingerprints on the pull rods.”

  “Will do,” Gabriel left, hopefully to go get the new clothes.

  “Do you think that’s what this is about?” Fiona asked.

  “Slaying boogeymen?” I asked her.

  “Yes.”

  “It would make the most sense.” I looked at her curtains. “If you can prove we are not invincible, you can convince people to kill us.”

  “So this could be about you, the SCTU as a whole, or Lucas and the contract.”

  “Yes,” I answered. “How much do you trust me?”

  “We’ve been through this,” she answered.

  “Good.” I opened the curtains and looked out. She didn’t freak out. I was waiting for a bullet to travel through the window. None did. The world outside was ignorant of our predicament. That was good. There was no need for the world to know we were weak. “We will help interview the bodyguards, but I think we should take some precautions.”

  “Like what?” She asked.

  “Not letting any other people handle our food, for starters, and drinking only from sealed containers, truly sealed containers. This means cans, because bottles are easier to tamper with. You are going to have to find something other than tea to drink for a while. If something just seems off about the taste, sound, or color, do not eat or drink it. Wash all your clothing when you get home. Buy new luggage. Change all your travel supplies.”

  “You think someone from the neighborhood could have done this?”

  “I do not know, but at the moment, I believe anything is possible,” I told her.

  “Shit, I’m not sure I’m cut out for this,” Fiona sighed.

  “Sure you are. You deal with me all the time. Just try to think of ways I might covertly attack you.”

  “You aren’t good at covert. You aren’t even passable at it.”

  “I could be if I wanted.” I closed the curtains. “However, I believe that is a path that leads to darker places than the ones I already travel.”

  Twenty-nine

  I sat in a room with a man named Brian Anderson. He was roughly Malachi’s height and a lot heavier. Nicotine on his fingers told me he was a chain smoker. His fingers were constantly fidgeting and we hadn’t done anything more than introduce ourselves.

  “Mr. Anderson, we are investigating an incident that happened twelve years ago in Los Angeles,” Gabriel said.

  “Oh God, it was Tyler. I tried to stop him. That’s why I got fired.” Brian Anderson started to sob. His hefty frame shook with it. It was the easiest interrogation I’d ever sat in on. “He made some of the others tie that poor girl up and then he just started cutting on her. She was screaming so loud. She kept saying she didn’t do anything wrong and Tyler just kept yelling the word whore at her. It was awful. I tried to stop him, we all did. He cut Jack Long so bad he bled to death. Then he made us put Jack’s body in the trunk when we left. Once I was away from him, I called the police and told them about the girl. I was so glad she was alive. But Jack wasn’t and Tyler made us bury the body. He said if we ever told anyone, he’d say we turned on Jack and that we tortured that girl. Who would believe us over him and his daddy? We were just hired help and they had deep pockets, so we kept our mouths shut. It was so awful.” Gabriel stood up. I joined him, unsure what else to do. The big man had collapsed on the table. If he was talking, it made no sense.

  We entered the hallway and found Green and Xavier already out there. They looked at us with frowns.

  “So, our guy claims a fifth bodyguard was there named Jack Long and that Tyler killed Jack and made them hide the body so they would all be accomplices,” Green said.

  “Ours too,” Gabriel said.

  “Did yours tell you that they informed the father of the incident and he sent Valerie McGregor a money order for a thousand dollars for her trouble?” He asked.

  “No, he broke down first,” I
said.

  “We didn’t find anything like that in her apartment. She probably cashed it,” Hunter chimed in.

  “Actually, we did see something like that,” I told him. “That weird ass lighthouse on the wall. It was one of the collage items. Any chance we can go after Daddy for aiding and abetting in a violent crime?” I asked Gabriel.

  “We’ll need more than four guys who worked together and have a similar story,” Gabriel told me.

  “Well, we need to arrest someone for something. All the really bad guys are dead and I do not want to lock up a bunch of bodyguards who were afraid they were going to be murdered by a rich guy,” I snipped.

  “I thought of that.” Fiona came into the hallway. “So, what Tyler did to Valerie was brutal, which made me think to look for some other women it might have happened to and I found some, but not in the US. Interpol is looking for a guy that travels around Europe and does the same thing to women. He’s been at it for the last ten years. A few of the victims have managed to give a description and Tyler would fit the bill.”

  “Send Interpol a message about Tyler Thompson. Have them check passports entering and exiting countries of the victims,” Gabriel told her.

  “Will do.” She went back down the hall nearly skipping.

  “I still want a bad guy that is living and I can beat the hell out of,” I told Gabriel.

  “That’s going to be hard, because even if we manage to get Tyler’s father to confess to aiding and abetting, he’s over seventy.” Gabriel spread his arms wide. I couldn’t beat up a seventy something year old man. Even I had some principles.

  “Fine, he had bodyguards in LA, so maybe he has them now,” I suggested.

  “Nope,” Gabriel said. “He arrived in New Orleans a week ago alone. Plus, no one reported him missing. That’s something bodyguards would do.”

  “That’s interesting,” I said and cocked my head to the side. He arrived a week ago and had been murdered within days of arriving. Why had he been in New Orleans to begin with? I went back into the room with the remorseful bodyguard, Brian.

  “What are you going to do with me?” He asked.

  “I am not sure,” I admitted. “Do you know why Tyler was in New Orleans?”

  “Maybe,” he started crying again. “There was a news piece about three weeks ago. They found a girl in Denmark. She was alive, but all cut up. Maybe she saw it too.”

  “Thanks,” I left the room again. I told this information to the group. Christian went to check out the news story. Gabriel, Green, Xavier, and I discussed what to do with the bodyguards. They should be charged with something, but what that something was, we couldn’t agree on. Eventually, Gabriel decided to call California and have them extradited. The attorney general for the state agreed to charge them only with tampering with a dead body. They would get probation if they plead guilty. I could live with that. Sometimes, the bad guys weren’t really bad guys, just people in bad situations. Valerie fit into this category. The real monster was Tyler Thompson and he was dead. Justice had been served there. I still wanted to go after his father though.

  “Mr. Anderson is right. A girl was found in Denmark three weeks ago cut to ribbons. She lived long enough to give a suspect description, which was in the news broadcast. It looks a lot like Tyler Thompson. They found DNA on her, so maybe Interpol can make a match,” Hunter came back.

  “Lived long enough?” I asked.

  “She died a few days after being found, septic shock,” Hunter told us.

  “I wonder how many lives he ruined,” Green said. “I have some friends. I’ll make some calls about getting something on the father.”

  “How cryptic,” I smirked at him.

  “It was meant to be,” he told me.

  “I think we’re done,” Gabriel looked at me. “Sorry you couldn’t beat anyone up.”

  “It’s all tied rather neatly together with a nice little bow,” I told him. “That’s really unusual. I was expecting something more.”

  “You always expect something more,” Xavier said.

  “Besides, you have a meeting in a few days,” Gabriel informed me. “We need to get you back to Missouri.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because your meeting is in the Fortress,” Gabriel said.

  “Interesting turn of events.” Who tried to hire a hitman that was already in prison serving a life sentence? That didn’t make much sense.

  Home

  To my surprise, Badger the Terrorist, did not pee on me the moment I walked in the door. He actually jumped up and licked me. He’d never done that before. My mother was sitting at the table, her hands white knuckled as they gripped each other.

  “What’s up?” I asked her.

  “I am writing a letter.”

  “To whom?”

  “You.”

  “Why?” I frowned at her and set my luggage on the floor.

  “Because I know you’ve been angry at me. I felt the need to explain. A letter would force you to read it, and therefore, force you to understand.”

  “Mom,” I sat down. “Yes, I have been angry with you. I have been angry with me. I have been angry with Patterson. I have been angry with Nyleena. But I am not angry anymore. I understand it. I do not agree with it, but I do understand why you kept the secret that Patterson was The Butcher. My lineage is questionable and my serial killing grandfather stalking me might very well have sent me down the wrong path. I might also have handled it just fine. We will never know and I am okay with that.”

  “You don’t like maybes.”

  “No, I do not. But this last case taught me something. I also hate it when everything falls into place and is wrapped up with a giant, bloodstained bow. I am not great at holding onto anger such as this. Doing so has made me sick, sicker than normal anyway. So, I let it go. I have, no we have, bigger problems. Lucas and Trevor are gone. The VCU is gone. I cannot stay angry with you, because I need you. I cannot need and resent you at the same time. I am a sociopath and that does not work. Whatever sins I imagined you were guilty of I no longer imagine are yours. They are mine. The truth is I was mad at everyone because I was mad at myself. I was secretly hoping Patterson killed Gertrude and Augustus. When he did, it pissed me off at me, because I cannot afford to think like that. I am a US Marshal hunting serial killers. If I think that way, I have to question whether I am one of the good guys or one of the bad. Whatever transformation I am undergoing has been happening since I joined the SCTU. I am not good with change. I am especially not good when it involves me changing. For that, I need you and Nyleena. Because, if I start sliding, I will not see it until it is too late, and you both will. I know it is a selfish request and understand if you do not want to hang around for it.”

  “You know what I want for you, Aislinn?”

  “No.”

  “I want you to be happy. I’m a mother and all mothers want their children to be happy. While I’m glad you can grow, I hope you do not abandon who you really are.”

  “Who am I?”

  “My daughter; the girl who survived a serial killer at eight years old. The woman who would move heaven and earth to protect those she loved. Being a sociopath helps with two of those things. I worry about you when you hunt serial killers, but I worry about you less than I should because I know that you are going to survive. It’s what you do. Being a sociopath makes that possible. I look at you and realize that I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. You are perfect.” My mother deftly wiped away a tear.

  “Thank you,” I told her and then for the first time in as long as I could remember, I reached over and hugged my mother, not the other way around. If she thought my being a sociopath made me perfect, then I could ask for nothing more.

  Beginnings

  The case appeared wrapped up. The bad guys were all dead. However, it didn’t feel done. Maybe it was just my paranoia rearing its ugly head. I didn’t know. It was just too perfect. Our only questions were why Tyler Thompson was in New Orleans and if somehow
Valerie McGregor had orchestrated it.

  Or perhaps it was the unease that was building because someone had managed to drug Fiona and me and we still didn’t have a how or a who. They had gotten to me, gotten past my defenses, and if they had wanted to, they could have killed me. Yet, they hadn’t. So, it had been a test. That prospect loomed over me like Atlas holding up the earth.

  Or perhaps it was because tomorrow I was supposed to meet with Yuri Kozlov, also known as Nightstalker; a contract killer that had spent most of his time on the payroll of the Russian mob. The same Russian mob that had been willing to share information with the SCTU because they were hiding some pretty nefarious deeds that they did not want us to uncover.

  “You have got to see this,” Gabriel was shouting through my patio door and holding up his tablet. A video was playing. I opened the door and stepped into the backyard, positive that whatever he was showing me was not fit for my mother or Badger to see.

  The video was of me. My head was on the table of my New Orleans hotel room. The camera was set on a tripod. Another person moved into the frame. They undressed me and stuck me in the bed. They then zoomed in on Fiona and did the same. The last frame said, “We can kill the boogeymen.” It was surreal to watch. Lucas, Fiona, me, the SCTU was under threat, serious threat.

  “Oh, it gets worse.” Gabriel hit a button. A new video began to play. Malachi was in his hospital bed, sound asleep, most likely the result of some pain killers or other drug cocktail. It was about two minutes of Malachi sleeping, wounded, weak, and vulnerable. Another black frame came up “They have weaknesses.” I checked the number at the bottom of the screen. Malachi’s video had over a million views. Fiona and mine probably had even more. Someone was coming for us. Someone was planning to take down the SCTU and VCU.

  “We should prepare,” I told him.

  “For what?”

  “Another incident like LA,” I pointed at the video. The next one had started playing. It was someone driving past the neighborhood where we lived. The fence and house roofs were all that was visible, but I didn’t need much to identify it. The black screen came up one last time “They all live here.” I lit a cigarette. “Just imagine if serial killers descended en masse upon the FG Neighborhood. How many casualties would they get? How many of us could they take out in the chaos? Alejandro opened this door with his fucking bomb. Now, someone is trying to organize it. Someone who knows how to get to us.”