The Braille Killer (An Alice Bergman Novel Book 1)

by Daniel Kuhnley

  Minutes later, my pulse and my movement begin to slow, and my thoughts become rational and coherent. I settle in the middle of the cube and stare at Rico. “I have no idea what you gave me, and I don’t care, but never do it again.”

  Rico places his hands on the cube. “Pick up Aaron’s Staff and come out of there.”

  I stand and pick up the staff. I turn the top clockwise ninety degrees and depress the button on the top of the handle. The staff straightens and stiffens. Rico pushes his hand through the glass. I take it, walk through the cube wall, and then let go.

  I’m half-tempted to poke him in the side with the staff but I refrain. Instead, I raise the staff and twirl it around. “What do I owe you for this?”

  Rico raises his hands. “It’s not mine to sell, hijita. You are its rightful owner.”

  “How will I protect others from accidentally touching it?”

  He presses his thumb on his wristband and waits until the green lights fade. “The power it contains is your own.”

  I look at the staff. “I don’t understand.”

  “That initial shock you received from it was nothing more than it binding to your DNA. It will never work for another again.”

  I frown. “But you said you wear those gloves so that you can touch it and that others were thrown across the room by it.”

  He nods. “I did, and they were.”

  I grip the staff firmly. “So why didn’t it bind to them or you?”

  He folds his hands behind his back. “Those who tried to wield Aaron’s Staff before you only believed in the words I told them and not in themselves like you do. I choose to keep myself separated from its power over me because I understand my weakness. I feed on power. That is one reason I sought after God. To still my heart and remove the temptation of power.”

  My heart flutters but my throat tightens. Am I worthy of such power?

  Rico takes my hand and leads us over to the stairwell. There’s a button on the wall. He presses it and the cabinets in the shop above slide to the side.

  I cannot help but wonder if this new cane is somehow tied to the mirror in storage unit 109, and if they’re both tied to this basement. He takes the first step, but I pull him back down. “Wait…”

  He cocks his head. “What is it?”

  “I discovered a mirror the other day with symbols around its frame. One of them matched my birthmark.” I close my eyes and reach forward, picturing myself there. “When I touched the mirror my reflection disappeared, and I could see into someone’s room. A young girl. She was blind, but she knew I watched her. She spoke to me.”

  I open my eyes and Rico’s staring hard at me. His brow is wrinkled like a pug’s and his jaw is set, but he says nothing.

  His glare leaves me cold. “Do you know of it?”

  He nods. “The Shadow Mirror.” He crushes my hand in his and I rip it from his grasp.

  “The Shadow Mirror… what is it?” I wring my hand to ease the pain.

  His words are venomous and ripe with spittle. “An abomination. Tell me where you found it.”

  I touch his shoulder and the tension eases from his jaw. “It doesn’t matter. It’s no longer there.”

  He pulls a card from his back pocket and hands it to me. “If you ever see it again call this number. Day or night.”

  The card is creased and worn. It says “Steven’s VCR Repair” across the top in gold lettering. Below that is an image of a VCR tape and a phone number. I flip it over but there’s nothing on the back.

  He shakes his head. “Don’t ask. Just use it if needed.”

  The layers of this man named Rico are unending. I’m not sure I’ll ever know who he truly is. I have so many more questions for him, but I cannot allow myself to dwell on it further right now. There’s a monster out there killing because of me and it’s my job to stop him. I don’t think anyone else can.

  “One day I will return and you’re going to tell me everything.”

  He dips his head. “When you are ready, it will be my honor, hijita.”

  We ascend the stairs and exit from behind the cabinets. Rico goes over to the last cabinet and presses the button hidden inside of it. The cabinets slide back against the wall and click into place. Rico closes the cabinet door and we return to the front of the shop.

  Veronica and Guenter still sit on the couch. She’s reading an issue of People magazine. She looks up from it. “Wow, that was quick.”

  I look over at Rico and he winks at me. I think I might be the only one in the room who doesn’t understand. I take my phone out of my pocket and look at the time. It says we’ve only been here for twelve minutes.

  I look back at the black curtains that lead into the back area of the shop and shake my head. It’s another question for another day. They seem to be piling up as of late.

  We bid Rico farewell and pile back into Veronica’s RX-7. The streets and the world fly by in a literal blur. Veronica starts up several conversations, but I offer up little banter of my own.

  My mind is lost somewhere in another world where time moves independently from our own world. Even in this other world I’m repeatedly drawn to a single question: how will I find and stop the Braille Killer when I know I’ll wake up blind tomorrow?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I stand at the mirror in storage unit 109, leaning on my cane and watching her like he does. She looks so peaceful lying in bed, her arms neatly folded over her abdomen like a corpse at a viewing. Her chest rises and falls slowly and her eyelids twitch, her eyes moving back and forth under them. She’s dreaming, but is it of him or of me?

  Through the mirror I see a shadow on the floor creeping toward her and panic sets in. I beat on the mirror with my palms, but she does not wake. I bang harder and scream until my throat is raw, but she does not stir.

  He creeps closer and my heart beats faster. He’s nearly upon her and there’s nothing I can do but watch. Now it’s not just his shadow I see but also him. He turns and grins at me with yellowed teeth. Even through the mirror I can smell garlic, pickles, and ash.

  He reaches down, opens her mouth, and stretches out her tongue, but still she does not wake. In his other hand he holds a lit cigarette. He laughs like the devil himself as he smashes the fiery red end of his cigarette onto her tongue. It hisses like a snake as it burns through her tongue, and the smell of burning flesh joins the smell of him.

  Still she sleeps on, and I wonder if she’s truly alive. Tears streak my face and I cannot stand to watch any more, yet I cannot turn away. His cigarette moves from her tongue to her face. Over and over it hisses and burns until her face is left scarred and unrecognizable.

  He turns and looks at me, death gleaming in his eye. “Now her face matches mine. The daughter I could never have.”

  I look away for the briefest moment and he’s lunging through the mirror. I turn to the side just in time and he sails past me like a ghost ship. I whip around and swing my cane, but he catches it in his hand and yanks me toward him. I let go of the cane, but my momentum carries me right into his arms.

  He wraps me with arms of steel and I cannot move. I scream and kick but fail to connect with any force. He picks me up and drives me to the ground with such force that my ribs crack. I cannot breathe, but my cane lies at my side. I grab the cane, turn the top of the handle ninety degrees counterclockwise, and push the button on its end.

  I fight through the pain and roll, whipping the air as my back meets the ground. The whip cracks the air like a clap of thunder, and blue bolts of energy light the dark room. Before the whip has a chance of retracting, he grabs it and wraps the end of it around his hand. He pulls so hard that my right shoulder rips out of its socket with a loud pop. I scream and let the cane go.

  He depresses the button on the top of the handle and the whip turns back into a cane. He bends the cane over his knee several times, breaks it into many pieces, and tosses it through the mirror.

  He laughs at me. “Did
you really think your silly little cane would work against me?”

  Each breath racks me with pain, rendering me a mute, so I nod.

  He picks me up by my throat and I’m too weak to resist or fight back so I latch onto his arm with my left hand. My right arm hangs limp at my side like dead weight. He squeezes hard and my air pipe collapses. I cry out in pain, but no sound leaves my lips. I wheeze and grit my teeth, knowing that he’s not done with me. God, I want it to end.

  He walks back over to the mirror and holds me out so that I can see it too. He touches its surface and Priscilla’s room morphs into a vaporous black hole in space. With his other hand he peels my left hand from his arm. He cocks his arm back that holds me and throws me through the mirror.

  I scream but the hollows of space suck away the sound like a vacuum. I toss and turn and tumble and the mirror pulls farther away. He stands there laughing at me and watching me float away. I can feel myself freezing from the inside out and everything grows black as my eyes become solid.

  My world is dead and so am I.

  * * * * *

  I gasp and crash onto my bed like I always do after a nightmare, but this time the darkness lingers. My head spins like I’m still in motion, drifting through space without destination.

  Sunbeams penetrate my fortress of darkness, casting finger shadows across every surface they contact. I stare up at what was a popcorn-textured ceiling just a handful of days ago. Now it’s nothing more than blurs of shadow and light.

  My covers abandoned me sometime during the night and the air conditioner is running full blast, explaining the coldness I feel deep in my bones. Pins and needles stab my right arm when I move it from behind my head. It throbs and aches as blood flows into it again.

  The only thing from my nightmare that lacks explanation is the dull pain in my ribs, but then I remember that first touch of Aaron’s Staff and the paces it put me through last night.

  The dream study I participated in during high school pays off once again. I can explain almost everything a person experiences when they dream. It’s become my own personal superpower. I take a deep breath and sink into the mattress.

  I reach over and grab my glasses off the nightstand. When I slide them on, they don’t even sharpen the shadows. I pull them back off and throw them across the room with a grunt. A loud, hollow thunk tells me I struck the closet door with them, but it doesn’t lift my spirits.

  My life is in a downward tailspin and I’ve lost all control. The ground is fast approaching and soon I’ll crash and burn. When I do, I fear there will be nothing left of me to recover.

  I’ve been on administrative leave for a week now, but it feels like an eternity. The mandatory training wastes four hours of my life daily. The only saving factor is that they’re online audio courses, so I can listen to them from home while lying in bed or on the couch.

  What sucks is that I still have another week before I can be reevaluated by the police force psychiatrist, Dr. Trisha Zarko. She’s a nice enough woman, but it’s all a waste of my time, policy or not.

  None of it will matter if I’m still blind.

  The Braille Killer is out there and I’m twiddling my thumbs in bed, sitting through pointless training videos, and rehashing notes and artifacts with meanings that have eluded me for a decade. I am pathetic, and I will sulk in my misery for another week.

  I pick up the phone to check in with Seth but the doorbell rings. I press a button on my phone and it beeps, prompting me to give it a command. “What time is it?”

  “Zero eight twenty-four,” it replies.

  Why would someone be at the door this early? I’m not expecting any deliveries and even if I were, they never arrive before noon. I pull myself out of bed, slip on my bathrobe and slippers, and run my fingers through my hair as I walk from my bedroom to the living room. I cross the living room and unlock the door.

  When I open the front door sunlight scorches my eyes. I shrink away from it like a vampire, but it seems to follow me. The sun never shines in this direction, so it must be reflecting off the window of a vehicle parked on the street. I shield my eyes with my hand. “Yes?”

  “I’m looking for a Detective Alice Bergman.” It’s a male’s voice. Deep, but not Barry Manilow deep, with a slight southern twang. A reformed Texan.

  I step over the threshold. “You’ve found me. What can I do for you?”

  “I have a package for you. Please sign to confirm receipt of delivery.”

  I reach out and he hands me an electronic tablet. I locate the rectangular box with my hand, scribble my name into it with my finger, and hand it back to him.

  “B-e-r-g-m-a-n?”

  I nod. “That is correct.”

  He hands me a large padded envelope. “Thank you, ma’am. Have a nice day.”

  I raise my hand. “Wait a minute.”

  His shoes squeak on the sidewalk when he turns back. “Yes ma’am?”

  “Does it say who the package is from?” I cross my fingers underneath the package.

  “No return address was provided, ma’am, and we have anonymous drop-offs all across town. The only thing I can tell you for certain is that it came from somewhere local.”

  My pulse rises. There’s only one person in the world that would send me an anonymous package. A thought sparks in my mind. “Is there a way for the person who dropped it off to track its delivery or be notified once it has been delivered?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He moves closer. I can smell mint on his breath when he speaks. “We have a tracking system that can be accessed via a tracking number. You can also provide an email address and we’ll notify you of delivery. No email address was provided for this delivery though. The sender would have to check our tracking system manually.”

  Damn. So close. “Thank you so much for the information.” I extend my free hand. “And you are?”

  A gloved hand folds around mine and shakes it. “The name’s Jess, ma’am. From Speedy’s Courier Service.” He lets go. “We’ll bike it or hike it to any location in town.”

  I smile. “Thank you, Jess. Have a good day.”

  “You too, ma’am.” I imagine him tipping a big old cowboy hat toward me even though I’m certain he’s wearing a bike helmet.

  Jess trots off as I close and lock the door. I walk over to the couch and sit down. If the envelope contains what I think it might, my day will take another turn for the worse. I’m not sure how much more I can handle before it breaks me. I have no doubt that’s the point.

  I take a deep breath and open the large, padded envelope. I reach inside of it and my fingers scrape across thick, meat-market paper that kind of crunches when you bend it. The all-too-familiar texture of the manila envelope leaves me numb. I can’t see it for myself, but I have no doubt that there’s an ‘A’ on its front. The only question is whether or not the ‘A’ is written in black or red ink. My heart wishes for black, but my brain thinks red.

  I pull the inner envelope out and discard the padded one on the coffee table. A red splotch stands out against the orangish-yellow manila envelope. My heart cries out and my hand curls into a fist. Damn.

  I stand and retreat to my bedroom with it. I close the door and turn the lock even though I’m home alone. I retreat to my bed and clutch the envelope with shaking hands.

  My thoughts flash back to the mirror in storage unit 109 and I can’t help but imagine him watching me now. I cringe as his wretched gaze violates me. Tremors quake me in violent waves like I’m having an epileptic seizure, but it’s far worse than that. They reach into the farthest depths of my mind and pierce my soul.

  I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. I cannot allow him to do this to me. I am stronger than this. I must be for Sarah Johnson and for myself. Together, we will defeat him.

  I reach over and open the top drawer of my nightstand. I retrieve a pen from it and scribble July 27, 2018 on the envelope so that I won’t forget it later.

  I toss th
e pen back inside the drawer and then close the drawer. I locate the flap and then the metal clasp on the envelope and bend up the tabs. I unfold the flap and reach inside. Like the last two before it, this envelope contains a hand-woven bracelet and a letter. I leave the bracelet inside the envelope since I can’t see to examine it, but I take out the letter and unfold it.

  As with the other ten letters, this one is written in braille. I glide my finger across the raised bumps and the canvas of my mind ignites with letters and words:

  The roses are red

  And the violets are blue

  One girl is dead

  Oh wait, there’s two

  The body count will rise

  While you idly stand by

  Entangled in your lies

  So many more will die

  One by one

  The girls they fall

  What’s done is done

  You’ll murder them all

  The darkness inside

  It clouds your sight

  It’s a great place to hide

  But you’ll never see light

  You once were blind

  And now again

  It’s not your mind

  But your sin

  Return to the start

  Where things came to be

  Follow your heart

  And you’ll find me

  I showed you the path

  I gave you the key

  Now they’ll suffer my wrath

  Until you confess all to me

  The words sink in and still my beating heart. Two girls. My eyes moisten, and I blink back the tears. I will not allow myself to wallow in self-pity anymore. It’s time I shift my mind from what he wants me to think to what is true.

  I didn’t kill Denise and I didn’t kill these girls. They certainly died on my watch, but their blood isn’t on my hands. It can’t be. I’m not the psycho singling them out and killing them. He is, and he will pay for it.