“I think you’re right. This is a huge find, Alice!”
“Let’s keep going. The third envelope contained a newspaper clipping of Denise’s obituary, right?”
“Hang on, I’m not there yet.”
“I assumed everything he sent me pertained to Denise, but I really was blind to what was in front of me. These things only look like they have something to do with her, but they really point to him somehow.”
“Okay, I’ve got the newspaper clipping. But I’m not seeing anything about him.”
I close my eyes and conjure the clipping in my mind. I’ve read it dozens of times and don’t recall anything significant about it either. I’m not sure if it’s the prayer I made or sheer brilliance on my part but a thought flashes into the forefront of my mind. “What if it’s like the necklace? I’ve never bothered to look at the back of that clipping.”
Seth turns it over. “There’s a bunch of classified ads on the back. Doesn’t look like there’s anything—hold up…”
The anticipation kills me. I’d give nearly anything to see right now. I can’t wait any longer. “Well?”
The paper rustles. “There’s an ad selling puppies. It says to call Russell at the bottom and there’s a phone number as well. 555-0147. You think it could be him?”
I make a mental note of the phone number, but the name Russell niggles in the back of my mind. “Hold on…” I’ve heard it recently, but where? My eyes grow wide as recollection slaps me in the face. “The old man in the house across the street from Sarah Johnson’s house said his name was Russell. He also said that ten years back he lost Eleanor. That’s Denise’s middle name. That cannot be a coincidence.”
“You’re on fire with revelations tonight. I should cook for you more often.”
I frown. “Oh, you think it’s your cooking that’s helping me?”
“What else could it be?” I imagine he’s smiling at me. I miss his beautiful face, dimpled cheeks, and grayish-blue eyes. “Never mind that. You think I should call the number in the ad?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. You should have Detective Roland run it first and see what pops. If it is the Braille Killer’s number, we don’t want to tip him off about knowing it. He’d be in the wind before we could track down an address.”
“Good call. I’ll have him run it first thing in the morning.” He shuffles through some more papers. “How about the fourth one? Senior picture from 2008.”
“Best guess is that he must’ve gone to the same high school as Denise and me.”
Seth puts his hand on my leg. “You think he’s your age?”
“I don’t know. His scarred face makes it difficult to determine. Suppose he could’ve been a teacher or a coach or something.”
My heart pounds faster. “Maybe he drew the heart around Denise and me to throw me off. What if he’s in that picture as well?”
Seth gasps. “And his name would be in the yearbook!”
I bounce my feet on the floor. “Yes!”
“Do you still have yours?” I’ve never heard him so excited.
“No, I never bought one. Neither did Vee. I didn’t want to purchase a reminder of that hell I lived through.”
Seth sobers. “Damn. Maybe the library will have one.”
“A good possibility. You should definitely check it out in the morning.”
I’m already thinking ahead to the fifth envelope. I remember it contained nothing but the letter. However, unlike any of the other letters, this one was typed on a letterhead for Blackwell’s Asylum and Home for Children. Denise spent many years there.
I am such an idiot. “The Braille Killer might’ve too.”
“Hold up, Alice. I see that your brain’s working hard, but your mouth isn’t relaying all that information it’s producing. What about the Braille Killer?”
I drum my fingers on the couch. “I was thinking about the fifth envelope. I looked at everything from the wrong perspective for ten years. I fell right into his trap like a fool. Everything is about him. He must’ve lived at Blackwell’s Asylum and Home for Children as well. Or worked there. Why else would he have sent the letter on their letterhead? How would he have had access to it otherwise?”
“He could’ve stolen it, but your assumption seems reasonable. It could be where he met Denise.”
I pat his leg several times, excitement building in my chest. “Do you have Denise’s record that I took from the basement of Blackwell’s Asylum and Home for Children with you?”
Seth smacks his lips. “I think so. Give me a sec.” He clicks his tongue as he searches through the folders and papers. “Yeah, got it. What do you need from it?”
My excitement fades. “I don’t know yet.” I lean back and close my eyes. “Maybe nothing. How about the sixth item?”
“The fortune cookie?”
“Yeah. Denise used to work at a Chinese restaurant. I thought he sent it to me as a reminder of her. I don’t know what it has to do with him though. Maybe he worked there too?”
“Maybe, but I might have another theory as to why he sent it.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You’ve got a photographic memory, right?”
“I’m good at remembering details, but I wouldn’t say that a photographic memory is the correct analogy. Why?”
“Do you remember the lucky numbers inside the fortune cookie?”
I picture it in my mind and chuckle. “Okay, maybe photographic is a good analogy. They were 1, 37, 45, 62, and 89.”
“Correct. And do you know what’s significant about them?”
“The numbers one through nine are all represented?”
Seth mumbles through the numbers. “Well yes, there’s that, but there’s more to it.”
I search my mind but come up blank. “You’ve stumped me.”
Seth laughs. “Finally! I was looking at Denise’s record and noticed that the first four numbers of the fortune cookie are the same first numbers in her ID number from the orphanage. Her ID number is 137456299. I’d be willing to bet that his ID number is—”
“137456289. You are a genius, Seth.” I lean over and kiss his cheek. “I never once thought there was a significance to them. I always focused on the message. He kept saying in the letters that he left me a path to find him and I never saw it.”
“If the phone number doesn’t pan out, we can go find his record and hopefully find him.”
“Exactly.”
He smacks the papers. “We’re getting close to cracking this case. I can feel it.”
I long to share his excitement, but so many thoughts still race through my mind. I can hardly keep track of them all before they crash and burn, but one persists through the chaos. It’s me he wants calling that number.
The hairs on my arms rise. All the emotions of my past flood me: sorrow, guilt, anger, shame, and remorse. “Everything that has happened is my fault. Sarah, Cara, even Denise. I could’ve stopped this long ago if I’d let you in.” I manage to hold back tears, but my body writhes.
Seth leans over and puts his arms around me and tears burst from my eyes. “This isn’t your fault, Alice. None of it. He did this to you not the other way around. Don’t blame yourself.”
I cry harder because he’s right. Harder because he smells so good and I need him so bad. It frightens me to think I may never see again. I must get past my fear of that bastard or I’ll never be whole again.
Before I know it, I’m in Seth’s arms and our lips are locked together. I’ve no clue if I initiated it or if he did, but I’m not gonna stop kissing him unless he does. His hands crawl under my shirt and unhook my bra in a matter of seconds. I want him so bad, but fear rises in my gut and crushes my lungs.
I pull back, struggling for air. I want to stop, but I know if I do, the Braille Killer wins. He always does because he holds the power.
I don’t want to be a victim anymore, so I pull Seth’s shirt over his head. He removes his hands fr
om under my shirt just long enough to shrug out of his shirt. My hands glide across his smooth chest and the fragrances of his cologne and deodorant fill my nostrils.
I cannot be a victim again. I smell him and rub my hands under his arms. The coarse curly hairs remind me of the Braille Killer’s chest hair and I tense, but only briefly. I push the fear away and pull off my shirt and bra. Seth buries his head between my breasts. Flashes of the past rise in my mind again but I won’t give into them. They will no longer define me.
Seth picks me up in his arms and carries me into the bedroom, his lips never leaving my flesh. He lays me on the bed and removes my jeans and panties. The memories press harder, bombarding me like the Braille Killer did my abdomen. I cry, but this time for freedom. Seth moves onto the bed and I tremble. His hands slide up my thighs and to my abdomen. I flinch, but ever so slightly.
I will not be a victim. I am no longer the Braille Killer’s to manipulate. I am in control. I take Seth’s hands and slide them up to my breasts. I spread my legs, wrap them around his, and pull him onto me.
Memories of my past fade into the distance until nothing remains in my mind but Seth and me. I hold him tight and kiss him deep. He is my lifeline in the darkness. The vanquisher of shadows. The love of my life.
Whether or not this means we’re back together means nothing to me right now. I’m right where I want to be, and I am not a victim.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I quietly crawl out of Seth’s bed and grab my phone. It takes me a minute to locate my discarded jeans, and the search disorients me just enough that I stub my toe on the frame as I round the foot of the bed. I hold my tongue and curse profusely in my head. My ninja skills are slipping.
The bedroom door moans as it swings open. I pause and wait several moments but Seth doesn’t stir. He breathes heavy, and I breathe easier. I step into the living room and slowly pull the bedroom door closed.
The floor is slick under my socks, so I use it to my advantage and scoot across it and over to the couch. I pull on my jeans and then retrieve my bra and shirt from the floor. I check my phone. It tells me that it’s 01:15 in its computerized voice. It’s loud enough to wake the dead and maybe Seth as well. Thank goodness he’s a heavy sleeper.
My nerves are fried, and it takes every ounce of courage I have to tell my phone to dial the number from the classified ad. I put the phone to my ear and it rings several times. I’m about to hang up when the line clicks and stops ringing.
I wait several seconds, listening to the silence. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. Then the silence turns into breathing. Heavy breathing. My skin crawls.
His voice shoves me into the past. “Puppies are all dead, Alice.” His laughter lashes at my soul.
I cringe but find my voice and whisper-yell into the phone. “I know who you are, and I’m coming for you.”
“Must be hard living with all that blood on your hands. Doesn’t wash off like normal things do. But you’ve got an eye for it.”
I ball my fist and almost give in to my rage, but then I remember all my training on how to deal with psychopaths. Tell him what he wants to hear. “I think I finally understand and I’m ready to confess.”
Silence fills the line again and I wait.
“You’ll find me at home, where God is no more. Two hours. Alone. If I find anyone else with you everyone dies.”
The phone clicks and he’s gone.
I exhale. I’m sorry, Seth…
* * * * *
Two thirty in the morning on a Sunday and I’m waiting on the curb, Esther in hand, for a car to come pick me up. I’ve grown reliant on ridesharing services over the last week and it’s worked out well so far.
The purr of an engine grows louder as the car approaches. Its brakes squeal as it comes to a halt in front of where I stand. The whir of an electric motor sounds as the car window lowers.
“Are you Alice?” A woman’s voice.
I bend down. “I am. You must be Bernice?”
“Sure am. Go ahead and hop on in and I’ll get you to your destination.”
I use Esther to locate the edge of the curb and then the car. I slide my hand along the side of the car until I find the door handle. I lift up on it, open the door, and climb inside. The interior smells like car-wash cherry. It’s better than vanilla; that stuff triggers my headaches faster than almost anything else.
I close the door, locate the seatbelt, and strap myself in. “You know where you’re headed, Bernice?”
Her vinyl seat squeaks. I’m guessing she turned in her seat to face me. “Twelve thirty-seven Old Pacific Road, right?”
I give her a nod. “That would be the place. The faster you drive the better I’ll tip you.”
“You got it.” The tires squeal as she pulls away from the curb. I smile. It reminds me of Seth’s driving.
Bernice isn’t talkative like some of the other drivers I’ve had, and I appreciate it. However, I need something to distract me from what I’m headed to do. I know it’s reckless, but that doesn’t mean I want to dwell on it. “How about some music, Bernice? Got anything heavy?”
“I’ve got some Devil Wears Prada. You into them?”
The mental picture I conjure is worthy of a good chuckle. “Not familiar with them. Let’s give them a listen.”
“You got it!”
A few seconds later, the car is filled with pounding drums, crunching guitars, and growls and screams. I bob my head along with the beat and tap my finger on the side of Esther. In another life, I think Bernice and I could be friends.
I sway back and forth on the seat, both to the music and because Bernice is true to her word about driving fast. Next thing I know the music has faded and we’ve come to a full stop.
“Good Lord, are you sure this is the right address?” Her seat squeaks, and her voice grows louder. “There’s nothing around here but a bunch of creepy, old abandoned buildings. Most of them are all boarded up.”
“Sounds like we’re at the right address.”
“Did they pull this place straight out of a horror film?”
I laugh, but my insides twist in knots. “Might as well have. The property was used as a Catholic boarding school for misbehaved children until the late 1950s.”
“Well, it would’ve set me straight. I’ll tell you that much.”
I pull a twenty out of my pocket—the only cash I have—and toss it into the front seat. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Whoa, that’s way too much for a tip. The fare was only twelve bucks.”
I open the car door and swing my legs out. “Deal’s a deal. I asked for speed and you gave me that plus some terrific music. You earned it.”
I climb out of the car, shut the door behind me, and step up onto the curb. I turn back toward the street, wave at Bernice, and wait for her to drive off. She pulls away but then swings back around. Her brakes squeal as she pulls back up in front of me. She rolls down her window. “You sure you don’t want me to wait around or something? I really don’t mind. I’ve got no other fares and nowhere to be.”
“You’re a sweet girl, Bernice. I do appreciate your concern for my safety, but I assure you that I’m meeting someone here. I promise I’ll be fine until they arrive. Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome, Alice.” She gives the car some gas and I wait until I can no longer hear the car engine before I turn and face the culmination of the last ten years of my life: Blackwell’s Asylum and Home for Children.
I close my eyes and think back to the last time I was here. It was 2013, just after I received the fifth letter. That letter was different than the others because it was typed on letterhead from this orphanage. Why I didn’t see the connection back then eludes me. It could’ve saved two young girls’ lives.
I remember every detail of the property, right down to the number of steps up to its front entrance. It’s been five years since I was last here, so Esther assists my memory as I traverse the cement walkway.
It’s overgrown with crabgrass. I reach the six front steps and climb them, but when I get to the top something’s there that wasn’t before.
I probe the object with Esther. It’s about two-and-a-half feet tall and three-and-a-half feet wide and sounds like it’s made of metal. I bend down and reach out to see what it is. My fingers touch a meshed metal. It’s rough with rust. With a little more probing I conclude that it’s an abandoned shopping cart.
The homeless used to hang around this area of town until about three years ago when several of them went missing. It spooked them so bad that they moved their entire makeshift camp to the other side of town. Without suspects, evidence, or bodies the case grew cold.
I stand, step around the cart, and proceed forward to the front entrance. The old doors remain chained and the flanking windows are still boarded up. I move over to the window on the right. Last time I was here the board had been rigged to swing up to the left. I locate its bottom-right corner and pull up to my left. The board moves without hindrance, just as it had before.
Most of the window behind the board lies inside the building, broken into a thousand pieces. I step over and through the framed opening, careful to keep my pants from snagging on the jagged glass jutting up from the bottom and out from the sides of the frame. Previously, I wasn’t so cautious and the scar on my outer thigh is proof. I can attest that sight isn’t everything. With it you tend to overlook the important details.
The board slips from my hand and bangs against the outside wall. I cringe as the noise fills the front entrance hall like a cannon. Several birds stir, squawk, and then coo. I stand still for several minutes, listening for any sounds beyond those of the birds.
Satisfied I’m still alone, I probe my way through the front entrance hall and to another set of double doors that are propped open. Beyond the doors is a hallway that runs perpendicular to the front entrance hall.
I move into the hallway. At the far left end is a large dayroom where the children studied and played games. At the far right end is a mess hall large enough to seat a hundred. Four administrative offices, two on either side of the hallway, lie between me and the mess hall and four more lie between me and the dayroom. Eight in total.
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