(2005) 'Whispers In the Wind' (19 page)
“They raped me…when I was only a child. They raped me…the ones that were supposed to help me, to take care of me.” She was silent for a moment, her eyes looking right through him. “They came to me on a dark night, hurting me…hurting me…over and over. And they destroyed my life”. Swiftly she stepped on the stool, fingers like steel claws taking hold of his right hand and seconds later the cuffs came loose. The suddenness of the movement caught him unprepared and he fell down hard, his body slamming against the floor. He shook his head to clear it, attempting to get up, realizing that he was still too weak to do it. He breathed deep again, the rich oxygen slowly clearing his mind. She walked away then, bending swiftly and picking up an object from the floor before coming back to him. She held the item in front of his eyes and he swallowed hard. If he needed any more proof that she was the killer, it was right there, in front of his eyes. Dunbar’s gold shield was in her hands, glinting softly.
“I killed him first, close to his house. He was…he was the first one that hurt me…and then that other pig…Moore”. She laughed then, a dry, mirthless laugh, eyes unfocused. “I killed him too…on a dark, cold night when he was puking his guts out, drunk like the swine that he was”. She stopped again, an unholy light shining deep in the blue eyes and he shivered at what he saw there. An inhuman cry burst from her lips and he recoiled from her at the sound, his body shivering. It was the sound of an immortal soul, crying in pain, a heart rending wail that made his hair stand on end. He felt the cold wind of death walk over him and he shook his head, knowing that death for him was but seconds away.
“I can still feel the claws ripping into me…feel the darkness swallowing me…and I can’t stand it any longer”. She glanced at him with eyes clouded, a silent tear falling down her cheek, her chest falling and rising with the strength of her emotions. She walked away from him again, to where the wooden box was laying under the circular light, and for the first time he saw the axe. She hefted the weapon in her hands, turning to him. It was the axe in the glass case, the one he had seen in her office. She came toward him, but stayed farther away than before, the axe head resting on the floor as she leaned into it.
“I killed the one named Dunbar with this axe…and Moore too. And I’ll kill you now, so you can join their miserable souls wherever they might be”. She was silent then, hard, cold eyes fixed on him and then she smiled at him. “Come on Turner…get up. You are a big boy, lover; I know you can take me…come on”. She was mocking him, laughing at him, the cold stare never leaving his face.
He tried to speak, a dry, croaking sound escaping from his lips. He swallowed hard, pushing himself to his knees, feeling the strength returning to him. If he could have just a few more minutes, he thought, gulping the air into his lungs, just a few more seconds of life.
“Wait…Mariska…wait”, he finally croaked, sweat pouring from him despite the coldness of the room. He was completely naked, just like her and he felt violated, angry at himself for letting her get to him so easily. He glanced around, taking notice of the room where in all probability he would die soon. There was but one light, the door was closed and she had a weapon, which he knew that she was extremely proficient with. She was strong and tall, fast and he knew he was still weak, but maybe…just maybe he could wrestle the weapon from her hands. He laughed at himself, knowing well that in the shape he was in, it would be a miracle if she didn’t kill him on the first stroke of the axe. He swallowed hard again, working saliva into his mouth. He wanted to talk to her, try to convince her to let it go, that somehow they could help her, but one look at her and he realized that she was past listening to him, that she was too far gone for talks; that she was going to kill him just like she had killed the others. In that moment the stark reality that he was nothing to her, that he was not important and had never been, hit him like a solid blow to his chest. He felt the anger suffusing his entire body and his body tensed in preparation for what was coming.
She remained silent and still for a long moment, like someone trying hard to make up her mind and suddenly a grin flickered on the beautiful face, her expression childish almost.
“I almost let you live…lover. I was beginning to enjoy your clumsy attempts at lovemaking”, she said, laughing hard then, the sound reverberating in the small room, the axe in her hand starting to twirl in the air, faster and faster until it was just a blur, the cold metal flying through the air creating a sibilant sound in the room.
He came to his feet, pretending weakness, more than what he felt in reality, hoping to lure her into coming closer to him.
And she did.
She moved then, with a speed that left him stunned, a move so fast that it was nothing but a blur to his eyes. In all his life, he had never seen a human being move like that and it almost cost him his life. The axe came hunting for him, an incredibly powerful blow that had it landed, would have taken his head off with just one blow. He moved back savagely, grunting with the effort, throwing his body backwards. The sharp edge of the axe caught him across his upper chest and he felt warm blood seeping from the cut, barely opening his skin, a painful wound but not deadly. He crashed against the wall as she crowded him again, listening to her laugh. He squirmed and weaved away from her, looking for room to maneuver, cursing the damn weapon in her hands and the drug she had given him, gulping air into his lungs to dissipate the effects, adrenalin rushing through him. She came after him again, eyes fixed on him, the grin still on her face, hardly breathing while he felt his chest constricted, gulping air. Blood from his chest wound flowed steadily, running down his chest. She feinted with the axe and suddenly he felt himself flying across the room. She had moved incredibly fast again, but this time it was a karate kick that landed on his chest, the powerful blow almost caving his chest.
“Jesus H. Christ”, he exploded, remembering the trophies in the office. The damn woman could kill him with her bare hands also. She came at him again, kicks flying, crowding him, and not using the axe, the diabolical look in her eyes making a mockery of him. She felt that she was his superior, felt that she could kill him any time she wanted to and was only playing with him. She landed another kick, this time to his face, feeling his jaw breaking, and the pain incredibly sharp. He tasted blood in his mouth and he spit, grimacing at the pain that shot through him. He moved away from her, his feet coming into contact with something behind him and he almost fell down. She saw him faltering and like a hunting cat, came at him quickly, the axe coming up in an arc, glinting wickedly in the amber light of the room, He snatched a quick look at whatever was by his feet, seeing the black wooden box and he sidestepped, moving fast as his left leg kicked at it, sending the box flying toward her. She jerked to the side, stopping the axe in midair, giving him the opening he need it. He came into her swing, his right leg flying, connecting with her chest, tumbling her to the ground, the axe flying from her hands, a look of surprise now on her face at the unexpected move from him. He crowded her now, dancing slightly on the ball of his feet and moved then with a speed honed by hundreds of encounters with death as he kicked at her again, the foot smashing on her mouth, her head snapping, jerking back. She shook her head, sweat and blood droplets flying from her face, glinting like diamonds in the light. Blood stained the carpet beneath her and she recoiled from him, swiftly coming to her feet. As he came into her, she pivoted and swung her left leg. He saw the kick coming and sidestepped it, feeling the powerful blow landing close to his testicles. For a moment his leg was numb and then she was coming at him, wiping blood from her face. Her eyes glanced at the axe and she jumped, diving for the floor. He did the same, landing on top of her, using his superior weight to force her head down. She was naked and sweaty, his hands unable to hold on to her. She squirmed and bucked like a wild horse, her knees trying to connect with his testicles. He swung at her, a closed fist that jarred her head to the side an then he was diving for the axe again, his hands closing on the shaft, turning around. He was coming up when something crashed against his head and he went down, the axe dropping from his fingers. He shook his head to clear it, knowing that death was coming, his inner voice screaming at him to get up, to move, that death was but seconds away. He lifted his eyes to her, shaking his head like a wounded animal, the pain emanating from his broken jaw sending waves of nausea and shivers through his body. She has taken the stool and smashed it against his head and now she was coming up with the axe in her hand, gloating, a smile on her face, eyes shining with the unholy light that he was becoming so familiar with. She came fast, eager to finish it quick, the axe coming down on his unprotected neck. Suddenly he yelled, turning on the floor, his right leg exploding upward, catching her coming fast, the foot crashing against her chest with all the power he could exert. He heard the unmistakable sound of bones breaking, saw the blood starting to gush from her mouth and he sprang up. The axe fell from nerveless fingers and he snatched it, swinging to the side with all his remaining strength, the sharp edge coming down on her neck, the blade slicing all the way through muscle, sinew and bone. Stunned, he saw the head tumbling down, framed by the long, blond hair, the severed neck gushing blood onto the carpet, the body falling down slowly. He felt a wave of nausea hit him, the hot bile filling his mouth and he was down on his knees, letting it go.
He felt an incredible weariness taking hold of him, his body battered and bruised, blood flowing from his mouth and chest. For a long moment he was still, eyes fixed on the head laying next to him, blue eyes open and then like a man in a dream, he walked out, dragging his naked body, reaching for the phone on the kitchen counter and dialing 911. When he got an answer, he said a few words through clenched teeth and then the phone clattered on the counter and he was going down on his face, darkness taking hold of him.
Cook Co. Hospital Chicago February 13, 1995
8:00 am
Holt Lambert and Detective Thompson made their way into the hospital room, a file in Lambert’s hand. They opened the door without knocking, their eyes taking in the sleeping form of their friend, Josh Turner. Lambert took of his coat off, approached the bed and sat on the edge, shaking Turner gently by his shoulder.
“Wake up…wake up Josh.”
Blue eyes snapped open, unfocused and the body moved as if to get up. Holt restrained him with a hand, smiling softly.
“It’s just us…relax…relax”, Holt said and the body slumped back. Turner’s jaw was wired shut and the face was covered with red and purple bruises, his chest covered with bandages. He fixed his eyes on the men in the room and Holt could see that the eyes were haunted. He had been one of the first men into the apartment when the call was dispatched. He had been going home when the dispatcher gave the call of officer needing assistance, then Josh’s number and he had raced to the address wondering what the hell Turner was involved in. He and several uniformed officers had broken down the door after repeated attempts to get some one to open the damn thing. They had found Turner down in a puddle of his own blood, a nasty cut to his chest, his ribs broken as well as his jaw. And then they had found the woman in the room, her severed head to one side. By the time they were finished with the room and the apartment, it was clear to all that the cop killer was now dead. They had pieced the story slowly with Turner’s help, Holt and Thompson shaking their heads when it was over.
“We know you can’t talk very good…” Holt started, “so I thought we’d bring you the report before we turn it in to Assistant Chief Crawley”.
Turner’s head move in the affirmative and Holt started talking.
“After your call, we searched the apartment completely. Found three badges plus yours in that wooden box. Also found a piece of yellow paper. It had the names of Dunbar and Moore and a date, written on it, both names scratched with a pen, possibly after they were murdered by her”. He stopped for a moment, glancing at Turner, continuing softly; “The test on the axe revealed it was the same weapon used on Dunbar and Moore…and almost you. We know that the weapon used on the other two officers was different, but we have that weapon as you well know”. He cleared his throat, shuffling papers. “The SUV was found in the garage and we found traces of blood on the carpet inside the vehicle, on the floorboard and the steering wheel. The blood was tested and a preliminary report tells us that some of the blood belongs to Moore and the other two officers killed last. There was no trace of Dunbar’s blood in her SUV, but we found traces of his DNA on the gloves found in her closet. The SUV belongs to her as confirmed by vehicle registration. Also the carpet fibers and the dye color are consistent with the ones found in the apartment, as well as the household oil that you provided”. He paused then, his eyes glancing at Turner who was listening to him, eyes fixed on the report.
“We found…we found this diary inside the wooden box. I read the contents and I thought you might want to…want to read it before you turn it in for evidence”, saying that, he reached inside a plastic bag, his hand coming out with the diary. He offered it to Turner who hesitated briefly and then reached for it. Holt and Thompson exchanged a few more words with him and then they were gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the diary. He held it in his hands, turning the small book over and over, his mind a jumble of thoughts about the woman he had killed. If he was to be truthful to himself, he had to admit that a part of him had cared for her, was beginning to have feelings for her. And now he had her life in his hands, her innermost thoughts and he wondered if he really wanted to get into that now, if he wanted to discover her true self. He sighed deeply, feeling the pain in his chest, reliving the fight, her death. He shook his head, bewildered at the thoughts in his mind concerning a killer.