Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  "You don't need to explain, Alex. I know you need time. I'll be here when you get back. I'll take care of things here – Monique and Jack, and the like. And I’ll clean this place up while you're gone. I'll be sure Farve is gone when you return, and will work hard on getting Montgomery out of here too." Robert's voice was strong.

  "Thank you, Robert. Thank you for loving me enough to let me go." She looked at him sadly.

  "I do, Al, and I will." He leaned across the table and gently kissed her. In his heart, he believed he had lost her. But, he could still hope, right? He could wait for her forever ... and then some.

  Epilogue

  Jack Françoise sat back in the recliner in his office on Royal Street, his door shut tightly against the noise of the bullpen, his eyes closed tightly as they oozed silent tears. He had been motionless for hours, battling emotions he never knew he had. For the first time in his life, Jack felt hopeless, useless, and drained of everything that was good in life.

  He had returned from CCMC late in the afternoon where Monique, who had been doing well since she had awakened several days ago, had once again lapsed into a deep coma. Her neurosurgeon was an asshole and was not hopeful that she would awaken again. Of course, the jackass doctor had never thought she would wake up to begin with. Robert encouraged Jack to be hopeful, but of course, Robert was of no use because he was devastated over Alex's plans to leave CCMC for a year in San Francisco, pending Don's approval of course. Robert viewed her exodus as a direct rejection of him and their future. Unfortunately, his therapist was in a coma and unable to help. Things really suck around here, Jack thought to himself.

  To make matters worse, his nemesis, the mayor had called the commander to City Hall and berated him for not finding the killer of Senator Beau LaMont and DNC Hayes Hunter. Jack figured the governor was giving the mayor grief and since shit flowed downward, it was now his turn. The mayor didn't give a damn about the two kids who had been murdered on the same day. What a surprise! Jack knew that Dr. Madeline Jeanfreau had connected the political killings with the murder of the kids, but he hadn't had time to meet with her to examine the evidence. There was never enough time and never enough energy to get things done.

  Jack sighed to himself as the tears began to cease. He felt his weariness subside and despondency decrease. Tomorrow was another day. Hopefully, it would be a better day. Perhaps, Monique would squeeze his hand, and he could focus once again on finding St. Germaine.

  After a short nap, Jack took a deep breath, rose from his recliner, swung open his office door, and roared greetings to his nightshift. They rallied around him in support. The NOPD of the 8th Police District loved and respected their leader. Jack felt his vigor and energy return. He would make it and so would Monique, Alex, and Robert. He was confidant again. Life was good.

  The End

  Continue the heart-pounding medical thriller series with Alex, Robert, Jack and Monique by clicking bit.ly/GetMedPack

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  www.judithlucci.com

  About the Author

  Dr. Judith Lucci is a Wall Street Journal, USA Today and Amazon best-selling author. She is the award-winning author of the Alexandra Destephano Medical Thriller and the Michaela McPherson "Two Sleuth's and a Dog" Crime fiction series. Her newest series, Artsy Chicks Mysteries, features a group of eccentric and talented but zany artists in their Art Gallery at a Mountain Resort.

  In 2017, 'Viral Intent' (Book 3) Alexandra Destephano Series) was awarded a Gold Medal by Readers' Favorites for 'Best Political Thriller' as was her crime thriller 'The Case of Dr. Dude' (Michaela McPherson #1) for a Gold Medal for 'Best Amateur Sleuth of 2017. 'The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year' won an additional gold medal for 'Best Holiday Read' of 2017.

  Jane Blythe: Beauty, the Beast, and the Library

  Beauty, the Beast, and the Library

  Jane Blythe

  Author’s Rating:

  Language: * Sexuality: * Violence: **

  For your convenience each book in this collection has been rated by the author for language, sexuality and violence, so that you as a reader can make an informed choice.

  Our collection includes books that span the intensity range.

  Language Intensity:

  * - No or mild profanity, if any

  ** - Stronger profanity, with up to 5 uses of the f-word

  *** - Strong language

  Sexuality Intensity:

  * - Sexual reference or no sexuality

  ** - Sexual reference which might include some details.

  *** - Intense, descriptive sexual scenes

  Violence Intensity

  * - Violence, but no gory details.

  ** - Mild violence, fairly detailed with some blood

  *** - Detailed violence

  Copyright © 2019 Jane Blythe

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying and recording, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Bear Spots Publications

  Melbourne Australia

  bearspotspublications@gmail.com

  Blurb

  He kills with the veracity of a beast

  Sydney Carriere lost her husband in a fire five years ago and is finally in a place where she is ready to move on. Only so far she hasn’t found anyone she can see herself sharing her life with. Then a monster from her past comes crashing into her present, and although she finds herself in a fight for survival she just might also find her second soul mate.

  Detective Dante Delamarre has also lost a lot; it’s made him cold, hard, and obsessed with hunting serial killers. His whole life revolves around his job, and while searching for a killer who seems to think he’s a beast, he meets a woman who shines a tiny ray of light into the darkness inside of him. When the killer throws the two of them together, they’ll have to rely on one another if they want a chance to see if they could fall in love.

  1

  April 15th

  11:29 P.M.

  He glided through the woods like the beast that he was.

  Not a literal beast. He was all man, but life had turned him into a monster, and he had embraced it. Now he relished the beast that he’d become; he relished his power and his strength; he relished being the one in control.

  He relished getting what he wanted.

  It really was a nice change of pace to be the one in control. Ever since he was a boy, he had hated when things didn’t go his way. Anything from not winning a board game on family game nights, to the football team he played on losing a game, to losing girls that he liked, was enough to fling him into a rage.

  Losing was failure.

  And failure—as far as he was concerned—was as bad as death.

  But death wasn’t anything he had to worry about right now.

  He was getting what he wanted, and he didn’t care who he had to hurt to get it.

  Not hurt; kill.

  No matter who he had to kill to get it.

  Like the creature of the night that he was, he moved silently through the shadows, blending into the dark. If it was possible for him to physically transform himself into a beast, he would do it in a heartbeat.

  He could imagine himself swinging through the trees, gliding from branch to branch like he was flying. He could imagine his fingers curling into claws, ripping through flesh like it was paper, his teeth growing bigger so he could tear flesh to shreds.

  While that wasn’t possible—human beings did not suddenly morph into beasts just because they wished it could happen—that didn’t mean t
hat he couldn’t improvise.

  With a glance all around, when he didn’t see anything else moving in the woods, he stepped out of the tree line to make the short walk across the clearing to the caves. He might be only a human and not the beast he longed to be, but so much time spent outside in the night, his eyes seemed to have learned to adjust to the dark, giving him a sort of night vision.

  Just as he reached the caves, he heard the hoot of an owl and turned in time to see the majestic creature of the night fly across the sky. Its silhouette crossed the moon and he couldn’t take his eyes off it; he followed its trek across the sky until it disappeared off into the dark horizon.

  He loved birds of the air and owls were one of his favorites. He loved any nocturnal animals, but there was just something about those huge owl eyes and those sharp beaks that called out to his soul.

  As much as he would love to stay out here, he couldn’t. He had things to do. It wasn’t too much of a hardship. Yes, he felt at home outside. Yes, if he could, he would live in these caves, spending his days asleep and his nights roaming the woods, hunting for food just like the animals he admired and longed to be, but what he had planned for tonight was a different kind of hunt.

  “Hello,” he called out as he entered the caves. He liked it in here; it protected him from the weather; it provided enough warmth during the winter months, and yet, somehow remained cool during the summer. It wasn’t fancy, but to him, this was the kind of place that could be a home.

  There was no response to his greeting.

  Not that he had been expecting one.

  The cave was large, and he walked a good thirty feet until he reached the small area down the back that he had marked off with metal bars running from floor to roof, spaced about half a hand’s width apart.

  Behind the bars was a woman. He didn’t know her name—nor did he care to. He didn’t know her age either, but she looked to be around fifty or so. She had a ring on the third finger of her left hand, indicating that she was married. She might also have children and grandchildren, but none of that was his concern.

  She was here for one reason and one reason only.

  He had abducted her a couple of hours ago, bringing her out here and stashing her safely away while he went back to the scene to watch and see if anyone had noticed his activities yet. The library had been quiet—no signs of cops—so he assumed that meant that, as of right now, no one was aware that this woman was missing.

  Not that it mattered if anyone had known the woman was gone. It wasn’t like anyone was going to think to hike through the woods for an hour and then go into a random cave.

  He chuckled at the stupidity of law enforcement.

  They were so stupid; they were never going to catch him; he was invincible. Once he got what he wanted, he would disappear into the middle of nowhere and finally live the life he longed for—living off the land, no other humans to deal with.

  Just him and nature.

  He cocked his head as he looked through the bars at the woman behind them. She was huddled in a back corner. Her face was wet, her eyes red and puffy. She had been crying. He hated tears. They always felt like a way to try to manipulate those around you into doing what you wanted.

  But he couldn’t be manipulated.

  He didn’t care about tears. He didn’t care about this woman’s fear or sorrow as she surely realized that she was soon to end her journey on this earth.

  All he cared about was getting what he wanted.

  To that end, he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door to the cage, stepping inside. The woman whimpered and shrunk away from him, and he found himself getting annoyed.

  Everyone thought that they could ignore him.

  That they could just disregard him like he was nothing.

  He was sick of that.

  He was a person too.

  He had feelings.

  Emotions.

  Desires.

  Needs.

  Right now, the need pulsing through him was a lust for blood. He needed to see it; he needed to smell it; he needed to feel it.

  With a roar, he pounced on his helpless prey.

  He let the beast inside him take over and time descended into a void of nothingness that was filled only with blood and screams.

  2

  April 16th

  9:08 A.M.

  “Who found her?” Detective Dante Delamarre asked as he walked to the scene of the newest murder in the case that had consumed him ever since he took it on almost a month ago.

  He was obsessive.

  No point in denying it.

  When he took on a new case, it consumed him. He didn’t do anything but eat, sleep, and work like his life depended on it.

  Because, in a way, it did.

  Dante worked homicide and usually took the darkest of the dark cases. More often than not, he and his partner worked serial or spree killer cases.

  For him that was a double-edged sword. While he hated death and the destruction and devastation it caused to those left behind, he loved gathering the clues, putting them together, and solving things. To him it was a puzzle, and while the consequences were life altering for those the killer would target, this was his life. Being a cop was as important to him as breathing.

  “A couple walking their dog before they went to work,” his partner Detective Milla Lindsay replied. “They’re over there; we can talk to them when we finish here.”

  They could talk to the couple who’d found the body, but Dante already knew it wasn’t going to do any good.

  They wouldn’t have seen anything.

  This killer was too good to make a mistake like that.

  “Look at these marks,” he said, crouching down beside the body of fifty-two-year-old Kim Johnson.

  “They look like claw marks,” Milla said, standing behind him.

  “Just like the others,” he said thoughtfully. His brain was running one hundred percent of the time. There was never a waking moment when he wasn’t contemplating one of his cases—the shower, while eating, driving, chores. Even in sleep, sometimes moments of clarity would come to him, waking him up and sending him straight back to work.

  “Do you think maybe we aren’t even looking for a killer?” Milla asked. His partner was thirty-two, a couple years younger than him. She was a pretty woman, with long silky black hair and dark blue eyes that appeared violet. She was peppy and bubbly, and if you talked to her, you would probably expect her to be a preschool teacher or an artist or something fun. You’d never peg her for a cop—a homicide cop, no less. Milla was the light to his dark, and although he liked to think he didn’t have friends, he begrudgingly admitted that he and his partner were friends, and that if he didn’t have her to balance him out, he would probably plunge into the abyss of darkness that he perpetually hovered at the edge of.

  But pessimist that he was, he was already preparing himself for the announcement that Milla and her husband of almost a year were expecting their first baby and she’d be off on maternity leave, probably never to return. Who could have kids and work this job without eventually combusting?

  He really needed a life—a life outside of this job—but he didn’t see that happening anytime soon.

  “What if we’re looking for, like, a bear or something?” Milla was asking.

  “Do those look like bear claws to you?” he asked, pointing to a line of marks down what was left of Kim Johnson’s right leg.

  “No,” Milla said, like she wished she was giving a different answer.

  “We’re not looking for a bear or for any other animal. We’re looking for a man, a man who wants to pretend he’s an animal.” The workings of the human mind were an interesting thing, and having seen the darker side of humanity, he knew the mind could be a veritable cesspool of evil. Did this killer they were looking for think he was an animal? Or wish that he were one? Was that an important part of what he was doing and why he was doing it?

  “So he has to have something that he uses to
mimic these teeth and claw marks,” Milla said. “You know what it reminds me of?”

  “No. What?”

  “The Beast.”

  “What beast?”

  “You know, from Beauty and the Beast. That’s what I think of when I see these marks.”

  He had heard of the movie but had never seen it, so he couldn’t form a mental picture based on some Disney movie, but the word “beast” did make him conjure up an image in his mind. One of a man, long hair, big beard, wild eyes, wearing fake teeth—probably specially made—and gloves with metal claws attached.

  Dante had no idea how accurate that picture was, so he gave it no credence, but he did set it aside in his mind in case he got some sort of proof at a later date.

  “There’s nothing else we can do here,” he said briskly. There already weren’t enough hours in the day to get all the work done that was on his plate, so he never let a second go to waste.

  “What about the couple who found the body?” Milla asked when he stood and started for the car.

  “You talk to them,” he called over his shoulder. He hated dealing with victims and witnesses. Victims and witnesses were suffering; they were traumatized; they were in shock, and that was way too many emotions for him to deal with.

  At his car, he paused.

  Eyes.

  He could feel eyes watching him.