“Yes.” I close my eyes and clutch my stomach as realization settles in. “He made her watch everything he did to Sarah.”
Seth exhales with such force that his lower lip vibrates. “You said that with conviction. What makes you think that? Did you find something we’d missed?”
I recall the last moments of Sarah’s life as though they are memories of my own. I still don’t understand how I experienced what I did, but I don’t doubt its authenticity. I didn’t imagine it.
I was there. I was her. Her terror became mine. I experienced every sense that she did. I wish she hadn’t been blind. If I could’ve seen what was happening, I’d be able to nail the bastard. “I can’t explain it. I just know.”
“If I’ve learned anything by working with you it’s that I should trust your intuition. You’re rarely wrong.”
I push my hair back from my face and stare into Seth’s mesmerizing grayish-blue eyes. Red veins fissure their whites like cracked eggshells but take nothing away from their beauty. “He’s still watching. Waiting for us to make the discovery. It’s part of his sick game. He must watch.”
Seth scratches his head. “I’m not saying it’s not true or feasible, but how?”
I bolt upright. My heart hammers so hard it quakes me. “Did anyone find a camera in the room?”
Seth’s brow wrinkles. “Not that I’m aware of.”
My headache rages, but I fight through it. “Was there a toy or stuffed animal close to the body?”
He tilts his head back a bit and looks to the ceiling for several moments before answering. “I don’t remember, but you were in that room for a good twenty minutes. You tell me. You never miss a detail with that photogenic memory of yours.”
He stares at me hard, his pupils dilated. I shrug. “I don’t have a photogenic or a photographic memory, and, even if I did, I don’t recall. Sarah drew me to her in a way I can’t explain. I can tell you every detail about her. Every scar… bruise… laceration… but I just can’t remember much about the room itself right now.” I reach out and curl my fingers. “Something is there though. We just missed it.”
“Are you thinking a nanny cam?” Seth drums the steering wheel with his thumbs. “Doesn’t fit. They’re too poor for something like that.”
“Right, but I think it’s something he would’ve placed in there.” I look back at the house and my stomach wrenches. “He’s been watching Sarah for some time. Weeks. Months. Maybe longer.”
He sighs. “Again, you seem so sure of it.”
I glare at him. “I’m not wrong.”
He reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “Okay. Guess we’d better get in there and take another gander.”
I swing my legs out of the car and pull myself to my feet. My head pulses with pain and I become so dizzy that I cannot stand. I fall back into the car and darkness fills my vision.
Seth’s around the car and by my side in a flash. His hand cradles the back of my skull. “Did you hit your head when you fell back into the car? You’ve got a good-sized lump going.”
My teeth ache, and the left side of my tongue hurts. I can taste blood. “I’ll be okay in a few minutes. I just got up too quickly and blacked out for a moment. I didn’t eat breakfast.”
“Yeah, heard about Bob being out.”
My vision is still dark, but I don’t tell him. If I did, he’d take me straight to the ER, and we don’t have time for that right now. “I think you’d better go back in there without me. You know what to look for.”
Seth leans in and kisses my forehead. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go banging on peoples’ doors while I’m gone.”
I smile, but I don’t even know if I’m looking at him. “No guarantees.” I lean back in the seat.
I hear him walk away, and I close my eyes. My chest tightens, and each breath is more ragged than the last. Sweat drips from my brow and slides down every crevice I have.
What the hell is wrong with me?
A hand gently shakes my shoulder. I startle and open my eyes to a blurred world. I blink several times, but the blurriness persists. I can just make out Seth’s features. “Did you find the camera?”
“You’re never wrong, Alice. I found a stuffed unicorn on a shelf in the corner of the room. I’m not sure how we missed it the first time. It was the only thing in the entire room not covered with filth.
“We found a camera shoved inside its head. More importantly, the little red light was still flashing. The tech geeks were able to enhance the signal and track it to an abandoned warehouse about three miles from here.”
I massage the back of my neck with my hand. “How did they trace it so fast?”
“Fast? It’s been forty-five minutes.” He hands me a cold bottle of water.
I press the bottle against my forehead. “Thanks. I must’ve dozed off. I’m feeling much better now.” I’m not, but there’s no way I’m sitting any of this out. “Forty-five minutes is still fast.”
“Yeah, they said something about the type of signal. Easier to trace than most because it used a unique frequency—”
I sit up in the seat. “Are we going or what? You can tell me all the geeky details on the way.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Seth rubs my cheek with his thumb. “You look like hell. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
I push his hand away. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. Your skin is flushed and you’re squinting. Maybe I should get one of the officers to take you home.”
I kick the underside of the dashboard. “The hell you will! There’s no way I’m letting a headache stop me from going with you. I’m not missing this.”
Seth raises his hands. “Okay, but if you still can’t stand up when we get over there you’re staying in the car. We don’t know what we’ll find in that place. It could be a trap.”
“Fine.” I’ll be damned if I have to stay in the car. I’ll drag myself into the building if I must.
I raise my seatback and buckle in. Seth closes my door, rounds the front of the sedan, hops into the driver’s seat, and slams his door shut. He turns the key and the engine roars to life. He throws it into gear and gives it enough gas to squeal the tires and pin us against our seats as we jet forward.
I bob in the seat like a buoy as we round corners and weave through the morning traffic. My head still pulses with pain, but my vision has almost recovered. My stomach on the other hand is worse for wear, its contents sitting at the top of my throat begging to be purged.
A few minutes later, we skid to a halt in front of an old textile mill. Seth and I step out of the car, and I’m immediately thankful that I don’t blackout again. Seth looks over at me, and I give him a nod. I take a deep breath to calm my frayed nerves.
The brick-and-mortar building before us is a menacing goliath, its height and breadth impressive. Six stories of brown bricks, each lined with long rectangular windows set high on each floor. Most of the windows are covered with decades of grime and a few are cracked or broken out completely. Graffiti covers several sections of its walls too, but even the graffiti’s paint has become lackluster, aged many years.
A large sign hangs from the side of the crumbling building that says “Kyle’s Textiles” in large, faded-out letters. The right side of the sign is broken at the top, splitting the sign so that the “iles” part hangs down at an angle.
A single smokestack rises above the six-story roofline, blackened with age. I imagine it hasn’t seen action in at least five decades, long before my time. In its heyday I’m sure the building would’ve been a magnificent sight with its beautiful architecture and decorative millwork around its windows.
Vertical bell towers bookend the building, stanchions used to bring heavy loads to the upper floors via a hoisting mechanism. At the building’s center, directly in front of us, is the mill’s entrance. Three concrete stairs lead up to two massive doors, both ajar.
Six cruisers pull up next to
our sedan, lights flashing and sirens blaring. I know we won’t find the killer still lurking about, but why broadcast our arrival to the ends of the earth? I sigh aloud. Seth motions for them to cut their sirens off and then he draws his gun. I draw mine too.
Two medic transports pull up behind the cruisers. Within thirty seconds, everyone has assembled around Seth. “We have no idea what we might be getting into here, so everyone should proceed with the utmost precaution.”
Seth and I lead the charge, approaching the parted mill doors with caution. Seth takes point and I cover him as he pushes the doors open further. They moan in protest as they swing wide, and the noise triggers a flurry of wings and a barrage of squawking. We both switch on our flashlights and move inside. Insurmountable layers of dirt, debris, and pigeon crap cover the floor, but there are no signs of human disturbance, so we move farther inside.
Seth halts and turns back to me and the others. “COMS on two, everyone. Let’s fan out and cover the other floors. This is a big place, and I don’t want to be here all day.”
I nod and hear several clicks as everyone else sets their walkie-talkies to channel two. Mine is already set.
“Two officers per floor. Detective Bergman and I will cover this main floor. If you find something, let everyone know, and, whatever you do, don’t touch anything.”
The ten officers nod and move straight ahead toward the set of concrete stairs leading to the upper floors. A few moments later, Seth and I are alone. Seth moves to the left and waves me forward. I hesitate.
Something draws me to the right as a thought crawls into my mind. The killer has warned me to work alone. I doubt that’s changed. “It’ll go faster if we split up.”
Seth turns and glares at me, but he knows I’m right. “Okay, but be careful. He could still be in here.”
“I know. You be careful too.” I move off to the right before he can change his mind.
Once out of sight, I click off my flashlight and holster my gun. I stop and wait several moments for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, and then I move forward through the maze of textile machinery and debris. Every fiber in this place has a story of its own, each of them sealed in the past where we cannot return. Soon, their stories will be linked to Sarah’s mother as well.
Sixteen cylindrical steel kettles run the length of the building to my right. Each kettle towers many feet above my head and spreads twenty feet in diameter. A metal catwalk suspends from the ceiling and connects the kettles together, creating easy access to them.
I sense movement behind me before the deep moan reaches my ears. I whirl around and draw my gun in a single, fluid motion. Four feet away, a large, orange-and-white tomcat crouches next to one of the kettles, his hackles raised, and his tail fluffed out. A large puffed Cheeto.
I lower my gun and bend down on one knee. I extend my free hand toward the cat with my palm up. “It’s okay, big guy. I won’t hurt you.”
The cat moans, but it creeps forward a foot and then another. That’s when the realization hits me: its fur is matted with dried blood.
The cat lunges at me, and I swipe at it with my gun. My swing connects with the side of its head with more force than I intend, creating a loud crack and pop. “Ugh!” I shudder as the cat careens into the side of the kettle, drops to the floor, and lies still.
I switch on my flashlight and shine it down at the cat. Blood oozes from a gash on the side of its head and its chest isn’t moving. My insides squirm with guilt, but the darn cat attacked me, not the other way around. I gather myself and continue across the mill floor.
At the back-right corner of the mill I come to a stairwell that leads to a lower level. I sweep my flashlight around the area. There are several sets of footprints in the dust leading toward and away from the stairs. Most of them are feline, but a couple of sets stand out. From the size and pattern of the imprints I estimate that they are a men’s size eleven work boot.
Got you, you bastard. I take the stairs two at a time, mindful not to contaminate the prints we’ll need to narrow the suspect pool. By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs I know I’m in the right place. The smells of grease, oil, and must, mixed with the ripeness of urine and feces, sting my nostrils.
I move forward and into the bowels of the engine room. Electric turbines the size of houses crowd the room and leave narrow passages between and through them. I thank the stars for my slender frame.
I snake my way through thirty yards of pipes, vents, valves, and hoses before eying an open space. As I draw near, the smell becomes overpowering. I cover my nose and mouth with my shirt as I exit from the jungle of pipes and into the open space.
Floodlights shine from each of the four corners, illuminating the entire area. I switch off my flashlight and place it back in its belt pouch. My walkie-talkie hangs from my belt and I touch it, but I’m not ready to call the others yet.
A lone metal chair sits at the center of the twenty-foot-square area, its legs bolted to the floor. A blonde-haired woman sits on the chair with her back to me. Leg irons bind her feet, its chain woven around the chair legs, and a leather strap pins her head to the chair’s metal headrest.
I move around to face the woman. Parts of her face, neck, and chest are missing, chewed on and ripped from her body. The guilt of killing the cat upstairs leaves me as I exhale.
I cannot look away from the woman. Sarah’s mother. Yolanda. Her eyelids are sewn open with black thread, and her tongue’s been cut from her gaping mouth. Dried blood covers her chin, neck, and the front of her naked torso. I want to cover her, but I know I can’t.
I turn around, not because I can’t stand to look at her anymore, but because I want to see what he forced her to watch.
A monitor sits on the edge of a metal bench, situated right at her eye level. It hisses with static, its video feed dead, but I know what she witnessed. What she endured. It sickens me.
I turn back around and face Yolanda. Metal clamps secure her hands to the chair. I unclip my walkie-talkie from my belt and press down on the button to talk into it, but that’s when I see it. That’s when I see the piece of paper in her hand.
I release the button and hunker down next to the chair. I know I shouldn’t touch anything, but my gut tells me that this note is for me. Me alone. I reach out and pry the thick paper from her hand and unfold it.
The note is written in braille once again, and I glide my finger across its pockmarked surface. It reads:
The Queen is red, your dress is blue
Sarah’s dead because of you
Alice, oh Alice, you’ll never learn
To Wonderland you won’t return
White Rabbit says you’re too late
Another body will fill your plate
Give up Alice, confess your sin
And you’ll invoke the Cheshire’s grin
Last night’s pizza climbs into my throat and burns me with its acidic taste. I choke it back down, fold the note back up, and shove it into my back pocket. I stand and back away from the chair several steps.
My mind reels as I try to find a connection between Sarah and myself. Then a thought occurs to me. What if I touch Yolanda the way I did Sarah? The absurdity of it isn’t lost on me.
I’m still uncertain about what happened with Sarah. I could be going crazy. Then again, maybe I could see Yolanda’s experience as well. Based on her current condition she wasn’t blind, so maybe I can get a glimpse of the killer through her eyes.
I retrieve a pair of latex gloves from my front pants pocket for the second time today and pull them on with a snap. My pulse races and my hands tremble. For Sarah. For Yolanda.
I step forward and cradle her face in my hands like I did Sarah’s. I lean forward and touch my forehead to hers. Her skin is clammy but still warm, and the stench is beyond repulsive. I gag and choke on my own vomit until I can contain it no longer.
I pull back, but it’s too late. Bile spews from my lips and covers Yolanda’s
face, neck and chest. I stagger backward, and the metal table’s sharp edge bites into my lower back. “Aaagh!” I clutch my back. “Dammit!”
To my right, something clangs and clatters to the floor. I turn and see the damned tomcat on the table. His head hangs awkwardly to the right. Fresh blood drips from the left side of his jaw and pools on the table.
I unholster my gun and take aim at the little bastard. He howls and groans at me and rears back to pounce. His front paws push away from the table and I pump two rounds into his head before his hind legs uncoil. He flies backward off the table and lands on the floor with a soft thud.
I round the table and shake my finger at him. “You don’t eat people!”
“Alice!” Seth’s voice echoes through the engine room.
I hear footsteps approaching fast. “Over here.” My voice rasps. “She’s over here.”
I cough and spit remnants of vomit from my mouth. I can’t even imagine what Seth’s gonna say when he sees what I did.
Seth enters the open area from the opposite end I’d come through, his gun drawn and ready. “I heard gunshots.”
I lean against the metal table as my vision swims about the room. I close my eyes and choke back unwelcome tears. “The damned cat attacked me. Twice. It’s been feeding on Yolanda.”
“What the hell happened here? Did the cat vomit on the victim?”
I open my eyes and shake my head. My cheeks are scorching hot. “That… was me.”
His voice raises an octave. “You?”
I nod. “I don’t know what happened. It just came out of nowhere, and I couldn’t hold it back.”
Seth holsters his gun and bends over, his hands on his thighs just above his knees. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, not sure what’s going on though. I’ve been nauseous all morning.”
His eyes widen. “You don’t think—”
“I’d know if I was pregnant.” The thought scares the hell out of me.
He motions at Yolanda and the fresh vomit. “What am I supposed to tell forensics about this?” He straightens and paces back and forth. “Dammit, Alice.”
The Braille Killer (An Alice Bergman Novel Book 1) Page 4