“I don’t see any cars.” Jordan exclaimed.
“She probably parked in the garage.” Emily surmised. She opened the passenger door and quickly got out. The men did the same as they studied their surroundings.
The muggy rain had stopped. It was eerily quiet and abandoned for a new neighborhood.
Most of the new homes didn’t have a paved driveway or walkway, so it was muddy and inconvenient.
Emily made a mental plan and decided that there should be some muddy footprints if someone occupied the house. She began to walk to the first home, peered into the large bay window, and she immediately saw it was unfinished, inhabitable - no one home.
“Oh, this is going to be fun.” Jordan marched down the road.
“Em.” Rick said. “Text me if you find anything, okay? Anything.” He stressed.
She nodded, smiled, and walked down the opposite side of the street. The road wasn’t straight and some of the houses weren’t visible from the road, it veered into small cul-de-sacs in between island pavers of planted trees and bushes.
Each home still had raw beams, most without drywall, sodden with heavy sawdust, some without installed windows, but no sign of anyone living in them. Emily thought that they had the wrong information, but she always followed her clues and information to the end before she gave up.
Emily glanced down the street and saw Rick and Jordan disappear. She touched her cell phone to make sure there was a strong signal. The bright display indicated her phone was active.
Losing track of the homes she had looked inside of, Emily’s hopes of finding Bobbi Martinez lost momentum during the search. Almost twenty minutes had passed, Emily thought they were on a wild goose chase and loosing precious investigative time.
A tan colored house with white trim had rolls of sod stacked neatly to one side of the front yard, freshly planted flowers shown in the window boxes, along with some fresh footprints.
What interested Emily, there were clear footprints from the average size of a man’s boot print, approximate size ten or eleven if she had to guess. She stopped, skirted to the side of the property, not wanting to alert anyone to her presence.
Her intuition worked into overdrive.
A soft chime indicated that she had lost the reception on her phone.
“Crap.” She said softly to herself. The usual two to three bars on the top of her phone disappeared.
The tropical mist picked up more heavy moisture, warm and humid, saturating her shirt and hair. A breeze picked up momentum.
Emily made her way around a large bundle of lumber. The heavy tarp flapped with a peculiar whipping noise. She paused. Her usual habit of smoothing her right hand over her holstered gun failed her again. It didn’t matter, instincts kicked up another notch and she forged ahead.
A low rumble of thunder resonated in the distance.
The sky turned dark cloaking Emily with some cover, but proved to be another hindrance. She could smell fresh paint, pungent. Her mind raced, stomach dropped with a tightened sensation that drove her forward.
Maybe it was a carpenter or construction worker?
A soft jingle reinstated her cell phone reception.
Emily crept up slowly to the side window leading into the living room, several pieces of furniture, lamps, and a dark wood dining table resided. Someone occupied the home. She took a few more steps to the side sliding door, noticed it was cracked open two inches, the trade winds blew through the small opening with a steady high-pitched whistle.
Bang.
The sound came from the other end of the house. Walking to the end of the deck, Emily peered into the bedroom window.
She gasped.
A down tone dropped her phone connection again.
On the bed, a dark haired woman bound and gagged with a terrified expression imprinted on her face. Emily assumed the woman was Bobbi Martinez and she resembled the woman in the newspaper clipping. A man loomed over her talking in low tones, inaudible, right hand a revolver, left hand ripped the blouse from her body. He partially turned his body and his distinct profile revealed it was Clarence Rasmussen.
Emily swiftly punched in a quick code on her phone and sent the text: brn w wht 14 house 911
She waited for a response or for Rick and Jordan to meet her. No response. She was alone, but didn’t want the man to hurt or kill the woman who stood up to him.
A fire ignited inside Emily, she was determined to save the woman.
The situation provoked exigent circumstances and Emily needed to act quickly. She gritted her teeth, backtracked to the slider, quietly pulled open door just wide enough to squeeze through, and stood for an awkward moment. Once inside, she listened to the frightened cries and moans from the bedroom, Clarence’s voice became clearer and more threatening.
“You think that you can do this to me? Me? You’re nothing and I’m going to show you how little you really are.”
Emily moved through the living room like a ghost, noticed an overturned chair and items scattered from the coffee table. Clarence must have caught Bobbi off guard and dragged her to the bedroom for torture and rape. Obviously, rehabilitation wasn’t an option for this registered sex offender, he wouldn’t and didn’t want to change his ways.
A muffled scream erupted, pleaded in between sobs.
Emily scanned the room for a weapon and decided on an antique letter opener with a nasty, sharp edge. She wished she had a shotgun, but made due with what she could find. She slipped the opener in her belt as a last resort and picked up long, wrought iron tongs from the fireplace.
The element of surprise was her only advantage. Every second counted.
Taking a ninja stance, Emily moved down the hallway toward the bedroom, every step determined, and eyes focused. Her arms ached and her ribs grieved from earlier bruises.
The bedroom door was wide open.
Staying close to the wall and doorframe, Emily dared to look inside the room and peeked around the corner. Bobbi was barely dressed and fresh bruises showed on her face, her upper lip swollen and turning purple.
Clarence’s back faced Emily, he still had a 38 revolver in his right hand swinging it up and down as he talked.
Picking the most appropriate moment for her blitz attack, Emily readied herself, taking a deep breath.
Chime alert emitted from her cell phone.
Clarence spun around, raised the 38 and aimed it directly at Emily’s face. He didn’t seem surprised to see someone standing in the doorway.
Emily rushed him with her household weapon at chest height, pushed him back just as a shot rang out, the bullet clipped the freshly painted wall behind her as the zing stung her ears.
She took a quick turn to gain momentum and cracked the fireplace tool across Clarence’s wrist as he swung the weapon around to Emily’s direction again.
He yelled out in pain, but didn’t slow his fueled hatred.
The gun dropped to the floor.
Clarence’s wrist looked dislocated and morphed into a lumpy joint, so Emily struck him again, this time the blow hit the side of his ribs. The sex offender’s six-foot stocky frame barely budged from the impact and Emily managed to only stoke the man’s anger to a higher level.
Bobbi Martinez gurgled a strange sound still strapped to the bed, eyes bulged, as fear didn’t describe the horrified look on her face.
Emily prepared the third attack with a back swing and aimed at Clarence’s head, but he geared up for her bold move. He caught the wrought iron stick with a beefy arm as his weathered hand clasped around the metal, his cold eyes stared through Emily, and now his only motivation was to kill her. He threw the weapon to the side.
Emily’s element of surprise was long gone.
She retreated, back out of the room, and sprinted down the hallway. She felt the presence of the man, close, panting behind her, enraged energy as his fingertips grazed her body. Not knowing what to expect, Emily ran to the sliding door, sideswiped a sofa and lost some forward motion.
&nbs
p; Clarence slammed Emily into the wall before she could reach the exit. Knocked the breath right out of her lungs, she tumbled to the floor and pushed her hands forward in front of her to shield another attack.
The room shifted sideways from her perception.
The distorted man’s face loomed over her, twisted and macabre, as he dropped to his knees, straddling her body. He raised the gun once again. Emily blinked. Clarence must have picked up the weapon before he chased her out of the bedroom.
Emily fought, but stopped. The muzzle of the gun pressed firmly against her forehead, leaving a slight impression from the pressure, the cold steel marked her sweaty skin.
Light tapping sounds reflected off of the sliding glass door from the rain.
Emily dropped her arms at her side, surrendering her attack and gave her violent pursuer a moment to think he had won. A sharp jab reminded her of the letter opener in her waistband.
Clarence smiled showing a gold upper tooth. “You’re going to die bitch.” Calmness washed over him.
Inching her index finger and thumb toward her waistband, Emily silently prayed she would be faster in her retaliation than the bullet to her brain. Closer. Time counted down.
He slowly began to squeeze the trigger.
Nothing.
The chamber was empty.
Clarence looked at his weapon and willed it to fire before he took the safety off.
Emily grabbed the slender letter opener from her waistband and plunged it into Clarence’s stomach. It entered the intestines easily, without hitting any bones.
He fell to his side and pressed his hands to his abdomen. Blood leaked from the wound, through his fingertips.
Emily wiggled free from the bulky man, regained balance by steadying her hand on the wall, and scrambled to her feet. Clarence grabbed her right foot and Emily tumbled smacking her head against a small end table, a small bud vase tumbled and shattered on the floor.
Clarence let out a savage yell and pulled the protruding office implement from his body, blood spurted, then he tossed the metal item on the floor. He picked up the 38, cocked it and took aim at Emily’s body.
BOOM.
The sliding glass door shattered next to them followed by two more explosions.
Clarence dropped to the floor, his shirt crimson from two of the three fatal gunshot wounds expertly hitting major organs. He was dead before he hit the carpet. Cold dark eyes stared lifelessly into space.
Emily looked up and saw Sergeant Lani Candena holster his police issue Glock. He stepped inside the house, cool and confident as he checked for a pulse from the bloodied man on the floor.
The officer turned to Emily, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Emily got to her feet, winded, but surprised to see the police officer. “There’s a woman tied up in the bedroom.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
Lani moved next to Emily, grabbed her arm and yanked her forcibly to the deck outside. He gritted his teeth as he demanded. “Who do you think you are? Are you trying to get killed?”
“No…I… don’t…”
“Don’t even lie to me Ms. Stone. You’re interfering with a homicide investigation.” He looked back toward the dead body. “This isn’t a game.”
“I don’t play games.” Emily tried to sound confident, but was a little intimidated by the large cop.
“You better be careful what you say to me. Maybe a night in jail would bring you to your senses. I won’t be able to protect you from the politics once I turn you over to the system.”
“What are you talking about?”
Sirens screeched up to the residence outside.
“This is your last chance to come clean with me. It’s now or never.” Lani was angry and his voice matched his wrestler size body. His kind, but intense eyes seared through her.
Emily searched Lani’s face for some type of answer. “Fine! Come by the house and we’ll talk.”
The sergeant let go of Emily’s arm and pushed her toward the back yard. “You better not leave the island. You and your friends get out of here.”
The police radio buzzed with official chatter.
Lani instructed her as he clenched his teeth. “Go around back and cut through several yards. You won’t be seen. Go now!”
Emily didn’t respond or argue, but ran out to the back part of the property and disappeared. Her legs moved faster than she’d ever run before. For extra precaution, she bounded through a dozen properties before she doubled back and caught up with Rick and Jordan.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tuesday 1835 Hours
Emily sat on the isolated beach with her legs drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around shinbones, flexing her bare feet in the sand. The early evening was calm and the sand felt warm pressed between her toes.
The lulling sound of the small waves lapped against the wet sand – each beat slightly different from the last. A faint mist from the outer reef floated its way along the beach and mixed with the warm winds.
She gazed in the direction of the shoreline where Rick had taken off for his evening run, which she had declined to join him. With grey shorts, bare feet, and a light short-sleeved shirt, he kept a moderate running pace. His figure became smaller on the horizon and then disappeared.
Emily unzipped her white hoodie. It was warmer than she had anticipated.
No matter where she was it seemed she wanted to be somewhere else. It was as if she ran fast enough, the devil wouldn’t catch her. Pure evil had visited her early in life by taking her parents in a robbery that had gone wrong.
The sun began its dramatic descent over the ocean turning the sky different shades of pink and red. To most, it was perfect. For Emily, it was worrisome. She knew that the killer searched for his next victim or had already tortured them, leaving the individualistic murder site for the local cops to discover.
The graphic crime scene images wouldn’t erase from her mind. Every case ate away at her soul like an unrelenting cancer, even though she had tracked down and found more serial killers, rapists, and child abductors than most single police departments.
But still, she felt empty.
Emily pushed her recurring thoughts of work from her mind as it then settled on Sergeant Candena.
What was his position in the investigation? And, why didn’t he arrest her?
“Because deep down he knows that you’re going to solve his case.” Came a voice from behind her.
Emily turned, surprised and said, “What?”
Jordan approached with a huge smile on his face and two specially made Mai tais in his hands. “You’re thinking about Candena, right? And what he’s going to say or want to know.”
Jordan took a seat next to Emily. He wiggled back and forth to make the sand more comfortable.
Emily smiled. She had to admit to herself that when a friend is also a criminal profiler, they can read you too. “You’re right Jordan.”
“Well…” He handed her a cold tumbler glass. “I wouldn’t worry too much. It should be interesting though.” He looked out at the horizon, which turned a dark, burnt orange.
“Yeah, I guess so.” She took a sip of the strong island drink. “Geez Jordan… Is there any alcohol left in the liquor cabinet?”
“Ah, this should spark your investigative juices.”
Emily studied Jordan as he watched the surf. “It’s nice to see you here in Hawaii. I hate to admit it, but I’ve missed you.” She nudged him with her left shoulder.
“Nah, you’ve just missed having someone around to save your ass.”
“Funny…” She took another sip of the drink.
Jordan downed almost half of the contents in his glass.
“Why did you come?”
Jordan hesitated. “I miss the work, the investigations, doing something important. Security is okay, but pretty boring for the most part.”
“It could get dangerous.”
“Da
nger is my…”
“Don’t say it!” Emily said quickly and laughed.
Jordan looked directly at Emily, paused a moment to study her face. “I know what I’m getting myself into.”
They stared at one another for a few tense moments.
“Hey.” Rick jogged up, winded, and perspiring from the humidity.
“Hey big guy.” Jordan remarked as he unzipped his windbreaker and retrieved a bottle of water. He tossed it to Rick.
“Thanks.” Rick quickly twisted the top off and drank most of the bottle down. With a slight sarcasm, he asked. “Where’s my Mai tai?”
Emily stood up next to Rick and offered her drink.
Taking a sip, he said. “This is great.”
“Okay, okay…” Jordan clamored to his feet. “Another Mai tai coming up.”
* * * * *
Sitting on the cliff watching the sunset, Keo had serious thoughts weighing heavy on his mind. He had done everything that the island god wanted, but nothing happened. He was still here in his mortal form, walking among the living, feeding on the weak, and without any new, well-earned powers.
He really didn’t see the sunset, but knew it from memory his entire life. The falling sun kept him company many times when he was a child, hungry, cold, and without the structure of family love.
He was even colder now, needing, and wanting, to be in his rightful place alongside the gods. They had chosen him. Even with the warmth and beauty of the island, he felt cold as a stone, heavy, ordinary and forgotten. His lonely, awkwardness taunted his days and filled his heart with doom.
No matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t recognized for this world.
Keo stared hard at the sunset draped with the beautiful reddish colors of a fine artist’s canvas.
Nothing.
It didn’t instill anything inside him, only his lack of acceptance. Beauty had no place in his effort to be immortal and free. The only joy that inspired him was contributing a human to his god of black magic and sorcery; a new offering waited.
He took a deep breath and imagined the wonderful feelings to walk with the chosen ones and not with the weak and low-minded, or the damned.
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