Serial: Volume Two (7 page)

Reynolds was to my side and I was pleased that he’d taken the time to change into button down shirt and tie. Still wearing jeans, he wasn’t the poster child for the FBI dress code, but at least he would be taken more seriously wearing something other than the black t-shirts he preferred.

“You ready for this, Blake? I’m shocked you’re actually going to go through with it. It’s a risky fucking move.”

I considered his words for only a second before brushing them off and squaring my shoulders for what I was going to do. “The profile paints this man as overly arrogant, Reynolds. It’s about time we take away his status as something to be feared and reveal to the public his true shame. He hasn’t contacted the police or the media in an attempt to capture the spotlight. That tells me he prefers to remain in shadows, and if he’s hiding from us, then there is something about him that would be considered weak. It’s about time I put that weakness on public display for all to see. If nothing else, it will anger him enough to make him misstep…”

“There could also be more bodies popping up as a result…” Reynolds interrupted.

I turned to glance at the tight expression on his face. “I’m not concerned about additional bodies. Those are going to show up no matter what we do. But at this point, we need to show the public that we are dealing with an insecure castoff from society and we also need to make an effort to warn the public about their own activities until he is caught.”

“Five seconds, Agent Blake!” Kathy called out to me, still running around attempting to get the crowd under control.

Turning to Reynolds, I said, “Showtime.”

Walking at an even pace, Reynolds and I approached the podium and waited for the newscasters to take notice and settle down into a patient silence.

“Good evening, Ladies and Gentleman. As many of you know, I am FBI Special Agent Donovan Blake. Here with me tonight is a member from my team, Special Agent Marcus Reynolds. After I finish my presentation, he will remain behind to answer any questions you may have. I ask that you refrain from shouting out until I’ve completed what I have to say.”

Squinting my eyes, I glanced around at the anxious faces. Although they’d calmed to a point of rapt attention, the crowd still bumped shoulders in an attempt to squeeze even tighter against the well-lit podium.

“I’m sure you are all aware of a very real and immediate threat to the citizens of Seattle, Washington and the surrounding area. Over the course of several years, a killer has been living among us. He’s kept to the shadows for some time and as a result, his presence wasn’t discovered until just recently. He has been referred to in the media as the Cascades Killer, however I want to stress the fact that people should not believe that his moniker means he only kills in the Cascades area.”

Allowing the crowd time to take note of my warning, I paused a beat before continuing.

“I am holding this conference tonight to discuss and warn about a man for whom the local authorities do not have much information. My unit has been called into the investigation in an effort to establish a profile of the person we should be seeking. It is our hope that the information we give you tonight will be used in a diligent effort by the public to bring the Cascades Killer to justice.”

What I was about to tell the hordes of people that stood in front of me was against protocol. Typically these bits of information were kept quiet and away from public scrutiny, but this conference was more about angering CK than it was anything else. I didn’t beat around bushes either. I was a man who was all about the bottom line; there was no room for playing coy.

“I believe the man we are looking for is a white male between the ages of 25 and 35 years old. To date, we have not been able to procure a physical description, however, I can tell you that based on the CK’s methodology, I can almost guarantee that CK is impotent, meaning that he unable to achieve an erection or finish his desperate act to completion. As a result, he murders women to find some kind of physical release. He will appear agitated and possibly unkempt if seen in public. He will keep to the shadows and we do not believe he hunts during the day. Based on his choice in victims, I believe he is most likely unschooled, uneducated and lower class. To date, he has been preying on easy victims: prostitutes and waitresses, women who are often alone on the streets or in parking lots late at night. Due to his preference for simple targets, it’s obvious he lacks the charm and social skills necessary to attract victims of higher social status or victims of greater beauty. So far, his pattern has been to go for the low hanging fruit, so to speak. As a result I would consider him to be a consummate underachiever with a little man complex.”

Cameras flashed continually as I spoke and my heart raced to think that the man I was hunting might be watching the live broadcast.

“I’m asking the public to please remain aware of any strange men they know that could possibly fit this description. We have established a tip hotline for which Agent Reynolds will be giving you the number once I’ve concluded. I advise all residents to remain indoors as much as possible in the evenings and for all persons to use a buddy system while walking the streets after sundown. Due to the fact that we have very little information regarding CK, I cannot stress enough that our profile is accurate only to the extent of what little pieces we know. Hopefully, as a result of this conference tonight, more information will be available in the near future.”

Turning from the podium, I motioned for Reynolds to step forward. He eyed me for a moment and leaned forward to whisper, “That’s it? That’s all your giving them?”

Whispering back, I responded, “I’m only here to piss off our killer. I’ll allow you to provide them with any additional information you deem necessary.”

Walking off, I ignored the shouted questions from the crowd. I had one other task to complete tonight and it was in the form of a spitfire brunette who hadn’t yet learned that sex and work were two very different playgrounds.

Chapter Eight

Jude

I crumpled up the newspaper and threw it across my desk. I stood up, paced back and forth, surveying my kingdom from the top floor of my office tower, and still felt red heat rise behind my eyes.

Pet had been intense, we’d lain together and touched each other like virgins, exploring and sharing in the single most intimate night of my life.

I’d come in to work this morning whistling. Fucking whistling. I’d never whistled a tune in my life, it was odd that I found myself whistling Beyoncé’s Single Ladies¸ but still. Pet did that to me, she made me…

Fuck.

She made me
feel.

But this. This fucking drivel they published in today’s paper. Fucking smatterings of barely legible schlock they passed off as newsworthy.

Donovan fucking Blake, Mr. so called CK expert, had been spouting off his trashy mouth on the front page.

I stopped pacing, walked around the desk and picked the paper up. I smoothed it out, flattened on the surface of my desk and leaned over it, staring into his eyes.

His dull, hooded, arrogant eyes.

I read: “I believe the CK is impotent, unable to achieve an erection or finish his desperate act to completion. Therefore he murders these women to find some kind of physical release. He is most likely unschooled, uneducated and lower class.”

Fucking unschooled. Uneducated. Lower class. I was stiff with rage, imagining my mother reading these things written about me.

My father.

My disapproving, hard-nosed father.

The article continued: “It’s obvious he lacks the charm and social skills necessary to attract victims of higher social status. Or victims of greater beauty. So far his pattern has been to go for the low hanging fruit, so to speak. He’s a consummate underachiever with a little man complex. He likes to hide in the shadow and watch the world from there. The world he’s unable to join.”

What the fuck did he know? I didn’t kill in the shadows, I was the shadow. I could charm women onto the end of my knife and convince them it was an honor to die by my hand. I love them but I still had to destroy them.

Donovan Blake was miles away from the mark, he knew nothing about me, but the uncontrollable rage would not subside. That a man dared to tell the world such things about me, his obvious superior. It enraged me.

I clenched my fists and unclenched them. Hot waves of red washed over me and I closed my eyes, envisioning my knife plunging into Donovan Blake’s neck, his blood spraying over me, the arrogance fading from his eyes as he realized his fatal mistake.

Underestimating me.

***

I was wrong, I miscalculated and the waitress had died some time in the days I’d been gone.

I cursed under my breath and slapped her face.

No response.

She looked dehydrated, and I calculated how long it had been.

Seven days since I’d picked her up on the street. I thought the human body could handle much more than what she’d endured, but perhaps she’d had some underlying ailment that had contributed to her demise.

It didn’t matter now; it wasn’t like I could conduct a post mortem. I’m pretty skilled at the killing part, but the keeping them alive part seemed a little overwhelming at times.

Lucky for Pet, I didn’t need her bound. Her room was cage enough.

I released the straps from the waitress’s hands and feet and her limbs were still stiff with rigor mortis, so she’d died sometime in the last twenty four hours or so.

If only I hadn’t spent the night with Pet, she would still be alive. If only I hadn’t given into Pet’s persistent longing, I might have some way to slake my thirst today.

If only I hadn’t been so fucking weak. And then I could feel the hot gorge rising in my throat like hunger, ready to spill forth.

An image crossed my mind, my cock in my hand, jerking off on her corpse, slicing her nipple, slashing her throat. Like an appetizer, an
amuse bouche
, an unexpected treat to whet the appetite.

It did nothing for me though; the moment of death was my aphrodisiac, not the corpse, not the after effect.

I unfurled a tarp from a side table and counted my blessings. At least there was no clean up, no blood to worry about. I could get home to Pet tonight, much earlier than I’d intended.

But I’d have to be careful.

So fucking careful.

As I wrapped the tarp around the body, I had a thought. That fucking Donovan Blake, he wanted to play, so I decided I’d join his game.

I pulled a small, sharp knife from a tool chest to my left. I surveyed her body, she was dirty and bruised, I didn’t remember how she got so bruised.

I lifted the polyester blouse of her Waffle House uniform and held the knife to her white, flawless, flat abdomen.

I drew the blade across with surgical precision; I was an artist with a knife after all.

I sat back when finished and smiled at my work.

The letters, “CK” were carved into her flesh. The message was unmistakable; I hoped those arrogant, dark eyes would flood with futile impotent rage when he saw my signature.

I tossed the knife in the sink and finished packing her up. I loaded her in the trunk of the Audi I was driving and headed to Washington Park. I remember a couple of bodies had been found there a few years back. I didn’t feel like I needed to take this one out to the mountains, I had no urge to pose her or immortalize her, I’d lost her to death, she’d been taken from me.

Her body was a message, not a monument.

I pulled into the parking lot, it was deserted. It was raining and dark already, a gloomy day overall leading to an even gloomier evening.

Everybody sensible must have been home eating dinners with their families, basking in the warm glow of their television sets, watching a story about CK terrorizing their city.

I smiled at that thought and hiked up a small rise into a wooded area. It was rather private up here, but well used on sunny days.

She would not remain undiscovered for long.

Task completed, I threw the tarp into the back of the Audi and drove home. I felt an intense thrill thinking about Donovan’s discover of the message, and I was awash with smug self-satisfaction at fucking up his little profile by leaving him a vastly different body in close proximity to the city.

It was almost enough to keep the need to kill at bay. Pet would be safe for the moment, but not for long.

Chapter Nine

Donovan Blake

“I think you’re an asshole.”

Emily’s body moved like a prowling tiger as she entered my bedroom suite with two glasses and a bottle of wine in her hands.

“Yet, you are still riding my cock.” I smiled and placed my hands behind my head to lean back against the pillows on the bed. “It’s about time you learned to separate business and pleasure.”

A smirk lit her face and I saw the glint of humor in her eye. “You threatened to kick me off the team when I’m the best agent you have. If any person needs to learn to separate the two, it’s you. If I hadn’t
submitted
to your ridiculous authority in front of the other agents, I’d be relaxing back home and you’d be one damn good agent down.”

She smiled with the satisfaction of having pointed out my own misbehavior. It wasn’t unusual that she was accurate in what she said; I could admit that my reaction had been just as unfortunate as her behavior had been.

“I’m surprised you cut the conference short just to come chastise me in front of Ward and Cartwright. Had I pissed you off that much?” Tilting her head to the side, she stood at the foot of the bed studying me with her shrewd brown eyes. “Now who is showing their emotion, Agent Blake?”

“Touché, slut. Are we drinking or what?” The corner of my lip pulled into a mocking smile and Emily’s expression softened.

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

Crawling up onto the mattress, she handed the glasses and bottle to me before slinking her way up my body. She was dressed in a simple, light blue silk negligee that contrasted against her tanned skin beautifully. With my eyes angled down her body, I watched her crawl, basking in the power trip her movement gave me.