Cold Hunt

by Mary Stone

  “Now that we can see your pretty face, it’s time to show you why you’re here.” As he spoke, he used a remote and turned on another bare bulb over the second chair about ten feet away from the one Ellie was tied to. “I widened the camera angle, so we don’t miss a thing.” He laughed gleefully deep in his throat.

  A door creaked open, and a slender man also wearing a mask on his face dragged a barely conscious woman into the room. As soon as she was tied to the chair in front of Ellie, the masked man disappeared.

  “Red.” He knelt in front of Ellie and she tried hard to see the color of his eyes, but they were obscured by darkness. “Can I call you Red? It seems fitting with your flaming locks.” When she didn’t answer, he nodded. “Red, it is. Now, Red, I have to tell you that you’re the lucky one here. This woman right here.”

  He gestured to the young woman across from her. The woman had red, curly hair much brighter than her own, and her hands were bound just as Ellie’s was. “Who—?”

  The maniac plowed on. “This slut who walked up to my car and leaned in with her flesh exposed and her wanton smile. She drew the short end of the straw because you have all the power, my dear. So, I’m going to give you a chance to spare her the misery and end this all right here.”

  Ellie’s head instinctively lulled to the side, but the rope prevented her from turning away. She whispered something unintelligible, cleared her throat, and tried again.

  “What’s that, Red?” Excitement had his hands in constant motion, fingers fidgeting against his black pant leg.

  “Stick, you moron.” Her voice was dry and raspy, her throat still partially paralyzed by the drug. “You said it wrong. She got the short end of the stick.”

  His fingers froze mid-tap. “I hardly think it matters.” His voice was clipped, angry. “Drew the short straw or got the short end of the stick, it’s all the same.” His cruel bark of laughter portrayed a man who, even though things weren’t going his way, still seemed to enjoy the moment. “And trying to anger me won’t help you. No one is coming to rescue you, so drawing this out won’t save either of you. Solid effort, though, Red.” He clapped his hands together, applauding her, the sound hollow as it echoed in the small space. “Now, where was I? Oh, right. In this scenario, you are the lucky one.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Language.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “I would think a woman as refined as yourself would be much more eloquent. No matter, the roles remain the same. You see, Red, you’re going to decide how much torture this street urchin goes through before we put her out of her misery. And when I say we, I mean that her death will be on your hands.” He chuckled and pointed at Ellie. His tone was almost gleeful when he spoke again. “Not for long, of course. But ultimately, you are the one who decides how much pain she endures before death.”

  “I won’t do it.” She was proud that her voice was stronger now, though she still struggled against the weight of her own head.

  “Surely you realize that you have no choice in the matter.”

  “You can’t make me kill someone.”

  “Sure, I can.” Gleeful, his fingers were moving again. “You have no idea what you can be forced to do with a little incentive.”

  “I would kill you for free.”

  “I’d love to see you try, but time is wasting.” He stepped into the darkness before rolling a stainless-steel table into the glow of the bare bulb, gesturing with a flourish. “These are the tools of the trade, so to speak. Would you like to pick one, or shall I?”

  Ellie didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Horror clogged her throat as she blinked, wishing she was hallucinating the surgical tools.

  “I see. Hmm, this is always a toughie. The first cut is the most important one.” Palm down, he waved his hand over the tools, paused, and snatched up a scalpel.

  Steel glinting in the stark light, he walked toward the nearly unconscious woman across from Ellie.

  “No!” Ellie strained against the ropes, her muscles tightening, grunting with the effort, but she couldn’t move. “Don’t you hurt her.”

  “Now you want to give orders? You’re a hoot.”

  “Please, don’t hurt her.”

  “I’m not hurting her, Red.” He stopped next to the woman, flashing Ellie a how dare you look. “You are. Just say the word, and all this will be over.”

  The fear and anxiety that she’d fought to choke down rose up her throat. “Fine! Fine. Tell me what to say, and I’ll say it. Just please, don’t hurt her.”

  “All you have to say is, ‘Kill the bitch.’ Then I want you to look her in the eye and say, ‘Die, Bitch, die.’”

  Ellie’s mouth dropped open, and she shook her head. His demand had been even worse than she’d imagined. She’d imagined him cutting the woman or being indecent. But killing…

  “Suit yourself.” He raised his hand, bringing the blade down lightning quick, slashing the woman’s arm.

  Her shriek of pain pierced through Ellie’s ears, and the woman threw back her head as her eyes tried to focus on what was hurting her. Within seconds, though, her eyes softened, and her gaze went distant as she sagged back into the medicated sleep.

  The man shrugged. “The drugs will wear off soon, and this will be harder for her. Now is a good time to get your reluctance out of your system.” He pivoted to face Ellie but kept his head turned in a way that she got a quick glimpse of a clean-shaven cheek. “I can do this for a while before she feels the full force of each slice. But once the meds work out of her system, this will be a million times worse for her. Is that what you want, Red?”

  When she didn’t answer, he turned back without warning, quickly slashing the woman’s other arm from elbow to wrist.

  Her reaction was almost comically delayed, as the woman stared at the blood that pooled on her arm. When it spilled over, dripping onto the chair and then the floor, gushing from the wound, the woman howled in anguish.

  “Come on, Red. How can you do this to her? Are you heartless?”

  “Stop!” Ellie screamed, the word echoing off the walls and back to her.

  “I told you how to make it stop. You’re the one drawing it out.” He wagged the bloody scalpel in the air. “Are you enjoying this? Why won’t you make it stop?”

  “Please.” The woman’s voice was weak, fear making the sound almost inaudible over Ellie’s shuddering breaths.

  “I won’t tell you to kill her.”

  “She wants to die.” He pointed at the woman, who had fallen back into a daze again. “She asked you to put her out of her misery.”

  Ellie shook her head, the rope pulling on her braid so that her movements were awkward, almost puppet-like. “She asked to make it stop. That’s not the same as wanting to die. She doesn’t want to die, and I won’t tell you to kill her.”

  The blade glinted as it sliced through the air again.

  The woman screamed as another slash appeared.

  Ellie rocked the chair, trying to break free. “Stop cutting her!”

  “Make me stop,” he taunted. “You have all the power here. You can stop me, but you don’t want to. Admit it. Admit that you love this as much as I do.”

  Another slash through the air. The blade cut the woman’s cheek this time, flaying it open so deep that Ellie could see the flash of teeth through the cut.

  Ellie gagged at the open wounds, the metallic scent of blood that filled the room. A sob broke loose from her throat. “Please.”

  “Tell me what I want to hear.”

  “I won’t do it.”

  “She will suffer until you do.” He gestured to the woman. “Look at her. She’s going to die anyway. Why would you force her to suffer?”

  “I can’t.” Ellie’s voice caught. She wretched again, shaking violently.

  “Don’t be a coward. You seem so brave, but you would rather watch her in agony than admit your lust for blood is no different than anyone else’s? That’s cold, Red. Cold.”

  He tossed the scalpel aside and
grabbed a long-bladed hunting knife. Turning on Ellie, he pressed it to her throat, the steel cold.

  To her surprise, Ellie lost the ability to be afraid anymore, as all emotion drained from her soul, much like the woman’s blood was draining from her body. She held his gaze, unflinching. “Do it.”

  “You can’t make me.” His voice was high-pitched, mocking her, mimicking the fear that had been in her own.

  Without warning, he pulled away and spun, stalking back across the space to stand in front of the woman. Blood had started to pool beneath the chair, flowing like rain down the wooden legs and creating a dark puddle.

  “Don’t torture her, Red. Let her go. It’s an act of mercy at this point. She’s already lost too much blood. She can’t be saved.”

  Ellie’s eyelids fluttered half closed as blackness encroached from the corners of her vision.

  “Don’t you dare,” he shouted, his words splitting the air and forcing her eyes to open. He flung his arm wide, cutting the woman’s torso from right shoulder down to left hip. “Don’t you dare close your eyes and let her suffer this alone. Save her, Red! Death is release.”

  The woman moaned, too weak to raise her voice any longer.

  Ellie shut her eyes quickly, gagging and twisting against her restraints. “You’re killing her.”

  “She’s already dead. You’re the one making her suffer. Say it.”

  Ellie whimpered. “I can’t.”

  “You can’t grant her the mercy she deserves? Why do you hate her so much, Red? What has she done to you?”

  “I don’t know her.”

  “You don’t have to know her to judge her. Isn’t that how it works?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry for what? Please, look at the camera and tell us why you’re sorry.”

  Ellie ignored him, focused on the woman instead, tears pouring down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Kill the bitch. Say the words,” he hissed. “You have to say it. This is your last chance before I cut her again.”

  “I won’t say it.” Her voice was scared but defiant. Too thin, too weak.

  “She dies either way.”

  “I-I won’t…” her words faded to a whisper as he stepped closer to the woman with the knife, “do it…”

  “Puppet. Be reasonable.” He held the blade on the woman’s unmarred cheek.

  “Kill the—” Her voice broke.

  “Say the rest.” To punctuate his demand, he drew a thin, red line over her cheek down to her jawline as she let out a wail.

  “Kill the bitch.” Ellie shuddered visibly, then lifted her head so she was face to face with the dying woman across the dark room.

  If she had been the one suffering so terribly, wouldn’t she want someone to put her out of her misery if the end was inevitable?

  “Die, Bitch. Die.”

  Ellie’s palms were sweating, her knees weak when the video faded to darkness.

  Darkness. Filled with nothing but blood.

  Through parted lips, her breath came in short, terrified gasps.

  Sam whimpered and pushed her nose against Ellie’s arm.

  But Ellie focused on the screen, rewinding the video a frame as tears flowed freely down her face.

  Shaking to her core, she watched the man’s shadow pass in front of the camera. Rewound it again, and watched it. Then again, and again. Her mouth went dry as she paused the video where the silhouette was the clearest. After forcing herself to commit every nuance to memory, she backed up the video almost to the beginning, letting it play as the woman was brought into the room by a masked man. Again, she studied the man. Maybe…

  Jumping up so fast, she nearly upended her chair, she rushed to the evidence locker. Bypassing the cold case section, she went straight to the box that held Tabitha Baker’s file.

  Rifling through the updated notes and photos, nausea welled as she yanked out the photos of Eddie Bower and Steve Garret. Both were full-body pictures showing the lanky, slender men from head to heel.

  She covered her mouth, fighting the nausea that wanted to crawl up her throat as the horror of the mysterious man in darkness sunk in all the way. The photos fluttered to the floor and slid across the scuffed tile. A low keening wail filled the air, her own tortured cry foreign to her ears as she bent over double, focused on the pictures and the memory of the man in the video. Focused not on the fact that she still didn’t know who he was, but that she was now one step closer to finding him.

  Taking the photos back to her desk, she held them up to the laptop screen, hands shaking. Hidden by shadows, there wasn’t much she could make out about the monster who had held her captive and forced her to end a woman’s life, but one thing was absolutely certain; the thick, stocky man on the video couldn’t be Steve Garret or Eddie Bower.

  To be honest, she’d known.

  That he was still out there.

  And she was still not safe.

  She’d never been safe.

  And neither was any woman in her beloved city.

  18

  When Ellie opened the door, Jillian was alone in the hallway. “Where’s Carl?” She spoke the words through gritted teeth.

  Jillian walked into the evidence room and closed the door behind her, shutting them in. “He told me to call when you were ready for him to pick up the laptop.”

  Ellie nodded, pressing her lips tightly together. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Ellie shook her head. She didn’t think she would ever be okay again. She’d as good as killed a woman. And the memory was no longer a fragment, like a ghost chasing her to be brushed away as unreal. She’d seen it with her own eyes.

  She was a murderer.

  “Can I hug you?”

  Ellie nodded, and when her friend’s arms closed around her, she lost what was left of her composure. Sobs tore through her body as she trembled uncontrollably. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the video played on the backs of her eyelids.

  “I can smell her blood.” Ellie choked on the last word as she struggled to remember the woman’s name.

  “What?”

  “Her blood. Jillian, why can’t I remember her name, but the scent of her death is so fresh? I didn’t want to say the words, but she was suffering.”

  Jillian’s arms tightened around her. “It’s not your fault.”

  “I told him to kill her.”

  “He didn’t give you a choice.”

  She clung to Jillian, her gentle words like a balm on Ellie’s tattered soul. “I wanted to kill him.”

  “We all did, the moment you told us what he made you do.”

  Ellie stiffened, remembering the night of the fundraiser at the PD, when Jillian had called her to the evidence locker, seven boxes lined up. It had been then that the horror of the night her life had changed became fully real again, and not just some nightmare that was gone, never to return.

  She pulled away from Jillian and wiped the back of her hand across her face, mopping up her tears. “He’s not alone.”

  Jillian’s hazel eyes widened, her fingers moving up to cover her lips. “What?”

  “He had help. The man who kidnapped me is for sure much too wide and short to be Eddie Bower or Steve Garret. But I can’t tell from the video if the masked man could be either of them or someone else.”

  “Ellie, it’s been so long, either of the men could be larger or skinnier by now.”

  Ellie shook her head, thinking out loud. “The man in charge wasn’t fat. He had a thicker frame, but he’s average. Both Bower and Garret were wiry.”

  “Maybe copycats killed Tabitha and Mabel.” Jillian didn’t sound like she believed her own words. “It’s possible that it’s not the same per—”

  “No. I watched their video too.” She paused as her throat backed up with tears. “It’s the same voice on their video, but he never steps near the camera with them.”

  Jillian narrowed her eyes. “He learned from your video.”<
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  Ellie bit her lip and gave a quick nod, her breath quivering.

  Jillian looked at her more closely. “Did you remember anything more? His face? Something else about him?”

  “No. The video was just—” She swallowed hard, coughing as she nearly gagged on the bile trying to choke her. “Just like watching a stranger’s video. I know it’s me, and I know I was there, but the memories are gone. There’s a flash here and there, an impression, but just snippets, and nothing I can piece together in any meaningful way.”

  Jillian squeezed Ellie’s hand. “It’s all right. It will come to you.”

  “That’s what I’ve been hearing since it happened, but I just watched the video, Jillian, and there was no spark of recognition. Just horrible guilt for my part in the woman’s death.”

  “You’re going to feel guilty even though it’s definitely not your fault. It’s called ‘survivor’s guilt,’ and it’s something you’ll have to work through.”

  Ellie scoffed. “You say that like I was the only one to walk away from a plane crash. I ordered him to kill her. That’s not the same thing.”

  “If you were talking to a victim in your situation, would you tell them this was their fault?”

  Ellie tucked her chin and sighed, thinking of what she would say to Tabitha had she lived. “No.”

  “Then what’s the difference?”

  Her blood heated, making her fingers tingle as her anger thawed the chill that had overcome her. “I’m a detective,” she retorted.

  Jillian cocked her hip and place a fist there. “Not when you were fifteen. You were a child.” Jillian jabbed at the video-still. “And we don’t know how you managed to escape. Surviving what you did was a miracle. No one blames you for what happened.”

  Jillian’s logic held water. But at the same time, if she wasn’t guilty, was anyone?

  She placed both hands on the sides of her face, pressing in an attempt to stop the pounding in her temples. “What about Eddie Bower and Steve Garret?”

  Her friend snorted. “They weren’t innocent. Maybe they didn’t kill Mabel and Tabitha, but their hands weren’t clean, and you know that.”

  “I was so sure Bower was responsible for Tabitha and Mabel’s murders, though. What kind of detective pins a murder on the wrong person?”