Femme Fatale (Black Rose Book 2) (2 page)

Melanie

I make my way into the hospital, rushed as usual for fear of being late. It’s a trait I have that my husband hates even after years of being married to me. As the CEO of a worldwide company, he’s never late to anything. Me? Well, I’m just the opposite; I’m late to everything.

I didn’t take this job because I needed it for the money. I just wanted to do something with my life to give back to the community. When my husband took my son and me in, my entire life changed. He immediately started raising Tom as if he were his own flesh and blood, even going so far as to give him his last name. Tom is my husband’s only heir, and he is one of the reasons my husband decided to quit killing.

When Tom started college at the University of Louisville, he insisted on living in the dorm so he could focus on his education and be close to the friends he had grown up with in the area. Now, it is just the two of us at home, and that is a very good thing with what I’m getting ready to ask my husband to do.

Quickly tossing my purse behind the nurse’s station, I grab my cell phone and place it in the pocket of my scrubs. After all the years we’ve been married, my husband still insists on being able to contact me at will. While some women might find his possessive behavior overwhelming, I don’t and never have. I think it’s because I understand the reason behind why he is the way he is. He’s seen so much of what our depraved society has to offer that he wants to keep his family in a bubble of protection. Though it isn’t a realistic desire, I suppose it gives him a sense of control to at least attempt to keep Tom and me safe.

I look up to see one of the doctors heading my way and push away the foreboding thoughts that have been plaguing me since yesterday. In order to pull off what I have in mind, I’ll need to be reticent about anything I’ve seen or heard in the last twenty-four hours.

In all my years of working as a registered nurse in this hospital, I never would have believed I’d be asking my husband to help the woman known as the hospital babbler exact vengeance. In the past, the girl lived to not only stay up on the latest gossip, but to repeat it to anyone who would listen as well. Life has a way of stepping in and throwing curveballs when we least expect it though, and for her, it came in the form of a scandal. She had gone through a period of wanting to fit in with the hospital’s social elite—the doctors and their wives. I suppose I can’t really blame her; we’ve all wanted to feel accepted at some point in our lives. For some, it was high school, and for others, it comes later in life once they’ve joined the workforce. She was finally successful in landing a doctor years ago, and they’d even gotten engaged, only to find out her soon-to-be husband was a serial killer with a fetish for sleeping with dead bodies.

After that nasty episode, she toned down quite a bit as far as her gossiping goes, but she still has the itch to know everything that’s going on. Perhaps being
in the know
is her form of control. It seems we all have a desire for that thing that eludes us, to have some kind of control in this crazy world we live in. I guess the fact that she’s learned to keep her mouth shut counts for something. If I hadn’t sensed a change in her, I most certainly wouldn’t be attempting to help her with what she’s asking me to do. The tragedy she’d been through with her late husband had softened her towards the plight of others in extreme circumstances. Life has a way of changing us, some toward good and others, well… not so much. There is also the fact that I hold a soft place in my heart for her because my husband is also a serial killer. He is the infamous
Black Rose
. I can only imagine what it would be like to deal with the type of calumny she’s been forced to withstand.

The thing about a hospital is that it’s like a small community. The same way suburban neighbors keep up with what’s going on in their little cul-de-sac of the world, nurses keep up with what’s going on where they work. This will be one time Evelyn’s nosey nature will come in handy. Normally, it’s the doctors who get the honor of being water cooler fodder. In this case, however, it’s a patient, and only Evelyn and I know the details of what’s going on.

“How are you today?” The doctor speaking to me chuckles and continues before I have time to answer. “I see you’re late again.”

“I’m so sorry. It seems like no matter how early I start getting ready, I still manage to be late.”

“No worries, it’s been a slow night.”

With that, he grabs the chart he needs and walks over to one of his patient’s rooms. Seeing Evelyn headed my way, I wait for her, hoping she’s found out the information I asked her for.

Judging by her quick pace and wide smile, she is clearly excited to share whatever it is she managed to find out. Give Evelyn a job to do involving uncovering someone’s personal secrets, and she is in her element. The girl is nothing shy of stellar when it comes to finding out if a rumor is true or just that—a rumor.

“I had a chance to talk with the patient. She even gave me some pictures she found in a magazine. This guy is some bigwig TV host who covers philanthropy stories here in the Louisville area.”

Not wanting to risk being overheard, I grab her by the arm and quickly pull her into the janitorial closet where there aren’t any security cameras. If Charles is willing to do this for me, I can’t take any chances that might come back to haunt us at a later date.

Evelyn’s excited voice interrupts my thoughts focusing on self-preservation.

“She gave me this.”

I watch as she unfolds an article that looks like it was ripped out of some hospital waiting room magazine.

“She swears this is the guy who was the leader.”

I take the article, looking at it as she continues speaking.

“She said there were three other men, but he was the one issuing the mandates. Apparently, the guy gets off on watching and just telling the other three what he wants them to do. He sounds like a sick son of a bitch, Melanie. This poor girl is a mess because of him. They really should be prosecuted, but I honestly don’t think the girl is stable enough to go through a trial. Just seeing the guy’s picture sent her into a full blown panic attack.”

Getting them arrested for the kidnapping and rape of the young woman lying in one of our hospital beds isn’t exactly what I have in mind, not that I have any intention of sharing that sentiment with Evelyn. The level of violence in these attacks can only be attributed to a deep-seated hatred of women, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my husband, there’s no rehabilitation for that. They will continue committing these heinous crimes until they are no longer physically able. The only way to stop these men is to kill them.

“Evelyn, you can’t tell anyone about this. The woman spoke to you in confidence, and she’s already told you she doesn’t want to prosecute. I’m certain she just wants to forget about what happened and get on with her life.”

I feel no guilt about veering my nosey little friend off course concerning my intentions; just call it the proverbial
means to an end
.

“After the scandal I went through, I would never do that. She’s the one who was accosted, and if she just wants to move on with her life without the stress of a trial, who am I to try and dissuade her?”

Good, it’s working.

“Well, I must admit, you aren’t the blabbermouth you used to be.”

“Hey…”

“I’m just stating the obvious. You’re still inquisitive, but you aren’t such a bigmouth about your findings.” Changing the subject back to the matter at hand, I ask, “Can I take this with me?” I wave the article she handed me a moment ago out in front of me.

“I’ve got no use for it. I’m certainly not going to let our patient see it again. The first time was traumatic enough for the poor girl. What are you going to do with it?”

No way am I letting Evelyn know what I have in mind. What I have planned is going to be tricky with a third party involved, much like walking a tightrope, but it is doable.

“I just want to do some Internet searches on him. I’d like to see where his speaking engagements have been and then try to find out if there have been other victims in the same towns where he has lectured.”

It’s true that I want to come up with a timeline of sorts, but that isn’t all I want to do. I continue weaving a web of lies that will make sense to my curious counterpart.

“If there have been other women, maybe one of them will be bold enough to step up and talk to the authorities. Even just one pissed off victim could be all we need to see this guy prosecuted and off the streets so he can’t do this to anyone else.”

“Do you think he’s killed anyone?”

“I don’t know, but I think it’s highly probable.”

Though I suspect these guys have probably killed potential witnesses, I’m not going to share that little tidbit with Evelyn. Could it be that Richard’s partners brought him the women, and when he became tired of torturing them, it was by his hand that the victims were executed? It’s a feasible theory and, from the things I’ve learned from my husband, one that makes complete sense.

Lately, the news has been full of stories about missing women who are found murdered at a later date. I’m convinced Richard Roundtree isn’t just abducting, torturing, and raping; I believe he’s also guilty of murdering. Regardless of whether or not he’s killing his victims, he still needs a visit from the infamous
Black Rose
, and I’m going to see to it that he gets just what he deserves.

Charles

“What you’re asking me to do is very contrary to your nature.”

“I’m not the same woman you rescued.”

After stalking my way over to the woman who intrigued me to the point of obsession so many years ago, I lift her chin with one finger to force her to look me in the eye. In a sense, there is some truth in her words. In the years since she has become mine, she has successfully attended college and obtained her nursing degree. As far as I am concerned, though, she has always been strong. After all, she was a single mother long before I took her and Tommy in.

Nostalgia hits me hard with the memory. He was always Tommy as a young boy, but with the passing of time, he insisted we start calling him Tom. Her son became my son as well, and he carries my last name, no different than if he had been born of my loins. Well, I suppose there is one difference; I have no worries that he inherited the gene I carry—the one that marks me a serial killer. I vowed years ago to never father an heir for fear he would harbor the same darkness I carry within my soul. I’m convinced there are elements of truth to both sides of the argument between nature and nurture. Even the slight possibility of passing on my serial killer traits has convinced me to err on the side of caution.

“I beg to differ with you, love. No matter how you grow and change, there are certain areas you will remain the same—the areas pertaining to me.”

“You know what I’m saying.”

“I know exactly what you’re saying. You’re saying you wish to join me on my quest for vigilante justice—a campaign I gave up years ago for you and our son.”

“You didn’t see Evelyn like I did. Hasn’t she been through enough with finding out she was married to a serial killer? And he was a necrophiliac on top of that! Now she’s telling me there’s a patient in her care who was abducted by a man who is a local celebrity.”

“And you believe her?”

“I believe the patient. Symptoms the alleged victim exhibits just can’t be faked. Evelyn said the poor girl went into a full-blown panic attack at just the sight of this.”

I watch my wife reach into her pocket and pull out a folded up magazine article that, no doubt, had been in a hospital waiting room.

“Since you seem to be so adamant about learning the ins and outs of serial killing, the first thing you need to do is find the magazine that article was torn out of and destroy it.”

“Why?”

“Enquiring minds want to know,” I chuckle, raising a brow as I study her. “Because any good investigator, who may or may not get their hands on it, would note a page had been torn out, and with a little research, they’d find out what information was printed on it. It only takes a bit of intrigue to get an agent on your scent. Detectives have an innate curiosity, and as a killer, the last thing you want to do is pique it.”

“I never thought about that.”

“That’s why I’m here, love.”

I change the subject, moving on to whether or not I want to begin researching the quasi celebrity.

“You’re correct; the man is a local celebrity. I’m surprised at what you’re asking me to do, Melanie. I quit killing for you and Tom… Now you want me to pick up where I left off and kill this man? I don’t think you understand what kind of monster you’re unleashing. It hasn’t been easy to keep the darkness within me at bay. Once the bloodlust takes me, there will be no caging the beast. I guess the best way to describe it would be to compare it to an addiction. I have an addiction to the high I feel when bleeding someone out. Also, what you’re asking me to do could possibly unleash something inside you, something you’re not even conscious is a part of your psyche. Just think… there could be a killer residing in you. I must say that I’m intrigued with the thought of my innocent little captive harboring something so dark.”

She looks at me dubiously before she responds.

“I’ve never killed anyone. What could it possibly unleash inside me?”

“You must have some darkness, or you would never have been drawn to me. The darkness in me calls out to the shadows lurking in your soul, beckoning you to come out and play in my meadow of mayhem. You’re not as innocent as you would like to believe you are.”

“I just want to help avenge this woman.”

I move closer, pinning her to the wall, and smirk when I sense her breath quicken. It pleases me to watch her eyes dilate in response to the fear of not knowing what I might do to her. I’m a man who feeds off other people’s fear, but only my Melanie is privy to the sexual sadist side of me. Since I have been restraining myself from killing, she has, thankfully, been able to sate the bloodlust that plagues me. It’s a feeling similar to that of a drug intravenously weaving its way through my physical being; it’s an addiction I cannot curb. I never had any desire to stop killing; it was only for my family that there was such a lengthy hiatus.

My fingers slowly and methodically twirl a piece of her hair, starting out with a gentle touch and working my way into a rough tug. I pull her into my face so that we’re nose to nose and hiss out my words in a menacing tone, almost as if I am accusing her, and maybe I am.

“And now… after all this time, you ask me to kill?”