Suicide Serial (5 page)

Sleep was difficult, but thanks to the painkillers he was eventually out.

Chapter 6

He walked down the dark street in the downtown district of Winchester, avoiding eye contact with every passerby who stumbled drunkenly out of a bar or club. He felt naked without his mask, and shoved his hands into his pockets. It was chilly outside tonight, just barely enough for him to see his breath. He had been stalking the sidewalks outside clubs downtown for nearly two hours with no luck, but now the clubs were now starting to close up. It was the perfect time to catch his next victim.

“I need the final pawn tonight,” the man said, in a hushed whisper to himself.

A young girl that had just exited a bar alone was just ahead of him. He watched her closely. She had light brown hair and was wearing a skin-tight pink dress and shiny black high-heel shoes. Apparently, she had a bit too much to drink. She lost her balance after dropping her phone and trying to pick it up, falling over onto the pavement face-first. The man rushed ahead and helped her up off the sidewalk.

“Whoa, be careful there girl. Are you ok?” The man said as he forced himself to put on a fake, robotic smile. He had practiced this act his whole life, and had become reasonably good at pretending to be a normal human.

The young girl looked up at the man. She saw his tall frame, big hands, and dark black hair and brown eyes. “Hmmm...not bad,” she thought. The hoodie he had on was plain black, and maybe he was a little too old for her, and a little fat, but she thought he was handsome. He was clean-shaven and smelled like cigarettes.

“Soooo drunk,” the young girl stammered, “Hey! Don’t I know you?” She held up her now-broken cell phone and frowned. “Oh. I was trying to call a cab.” The girl looked up at him with her most innocent look and pleaded, “You can help me, right? Yeah? Let me get a ride home will ya?”

The man was taken aback for a moment, and then realized this girl had never met him before in his life. She was just trying to score a free ride from a sympathetic or overly horny man. This was as much a game to her as his little game was to him. Her friends had told her before that she was stupid to go off with people she had never met before, and that she was just asking to be raped or murdered, but every time she had done it and made it home safely.

“Of course I can give you a ride home. My car is parked right over there. C’mon and I’ll help you to the car,” the man said, wrapping her arm around his shoulders.

He was a perfect gentleman. It was extremely hard for him, when every fiber of his being was screaming with desire to watch this worthless bitch die. He envisioned her struggling for life hanging from a rope, or slowly suffocating to death with a plastic bag. Just the thought of it was enough to nearly drive him over the edge. But he knew to do that too soon here in public might end the game.

She seemed to not care that he was touching her. The man was uncomfortable with the physical contact, but hid his emotions. Both of them walked over to an old rusted out Buick and the man helped her in. Gravel crunched under his feet as he walked around to the driver’s side. The man climbed in and loudly slammed the door. The surrounding parking lot was completely empty and not well-lit.

The girl was disturbed by his sudden, rude behavior. She scrunched up her face angrily and drunkenly said, “Damn, did you have to slam it?” Then she looked over at him and laughed.

The man’s face changed in an instant into an expression of pure disgust. He locked the doors, and told her bluntly, “Put on your seat belt.” She looked away for a moment to grab the seat belt, and in one swift motion he slammed her head into the dashboard as hard as he could. It resounded there like smashing a ripe watermelon against a brick wall.

“You listen to me, you little whore! You’re going to die tonight. Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to take rides from strangers?!” The man looked around but there were no witnesses. Blood covered the girl’s face, and she flopped back into the seat with a low moan. The old Buick roared to life with a flick of the ignition, and then sprayed gravel in all directions as the man pointed it down the street and towards the town commons.

The town commons in Winchester is a sort of free public park and walking area. Part of it borders the Tare River, and a high pathway allows visitors to look across the flowing water. At this time of night, however, there were no visitors. The night time here was quiet and peaceful, the only sounds were crickets and the distant rippling water from the river far below. The entire area was empty, and only a few lights remained on, to discourage the homeless from setting up shelters there.

In the little parking area nearby, the Buick came to rest. The engine shut off and the man extinguished the head lights. He looked through the windows and his breath slowly caused them to fog up. After his quick inspection, the man could see no one in the proximity. He reached into the passenger side floor board and retrieved the girl’s small black purse. Rifling through it, he grabbed her wallet and identification. The girl was starting to wake up, and making noises. The man opened his hand and smacked her roughly across the face while telling her, “Wake up, slut. Time to go.”

The girl opened her eyes a bit. She looked around confusedly. She was still barely with it and very drunk, but she asked, “Hmmm? Who are you? Is this your car?”

The man jumped out of his car and dashed around to the other side, opening the door to help the girl out. “It’s ok. We had an accident. Everyone’s alright, but I need to take you over here. C’mon, come with me.”

The girl was still drunk and confused and not so sure, but she grabbed her head and felt the tenderness there. “Ow! Crashed your car? Oh, blood!” she said, and saw the blood covering her hand and nearly fainted, but the man was not going to allow that to happen.

“Come on, get out of the car. Now. We have to go over here.” He said, growing impatient.

He held out his hand again and she took it. She was very wobbly and once again he escorted her like a gentleman over to the edge of the pathway overlooking the river. Her wits were coming back to her, and she snapped her hand out of his. The girl looked down at his hands and noticed the man was wearing green latex gloves.

She yanked her hand out of his and asked, “What the… Where are we going? Who are you again? God my head hurts…”

The girl stopped walking and faced the man, bracing herself against the brick railing. This would be as far as he could get her, he decided. His face twisted from a robotic smile into a sadistic grin and he said quietly to her in a low voice, “I have something for you, Emma Lane Fisher, of thirty-four fifty-three Masen Drive, Durham City.” The girl was shocked that this man knew where her family lived and who she was. “Tonight you are going to help me get another step closer to winning the game.” The girl took an awkward step backwards, banging her back into the guard rail.

She held out her hands in a motion for him to stay back and stammered, “What? I’m not helping you with anything! Get away from me!” The man advanced another step towards her, and reaching behind his back, produced his butcher knife.

One look at the knife, and the girl spun around and began trying to run. She discovered that running in high heels, drunk, with a head injury, and while a man with a big knife is chasing you is really, really difficult. She made it about five steps before her heel turned on her and she crashed to the ground. Her knees were now scraped and bleeding. The grass was slick and cold, already starting to soak through her clothes. She tried to scramble farther from the man, but he was already on top of her, pinning her beneath him with his weight. She clawed and spit at him like an animal. He placed the knife under her chin and began to increase the pressure until she stopped kicking and trying to bite him.

Her strength started to wane after some time. The girl realized it was hopeless to fight him and began to cry in great, heaving sobs. The man maintained his position until she completely gave in. Her body began to relax at last and the tears gradually ceased. She had completely given in.

Between a few whimpers, she managed, “Fine, freak. Go ahead and rape me. I hope the police catch you and castrate your ass!”

The man smiled and pulled the knife away from her throat, holding it down by his side instead. “Good. I’m glad to see you’ve finally come around. I have no interest in raping you. Maybe now you will help me. Stand up.” Then the man reached out with his hand to again help her up off the ground. The look on her face was of utter shock and terror. How could this man want help from her after what he had done? She refused to take his hand, opting to remain on the grass, as far away from him as possible.

“Emma…I’m not going to tell you again. Stand up now before I do something
you
regret.” Cautiously, she stood up, her body wet and freezing in the cool night air. She was shaking all over with cold and fear. “Good girl. Now, stand up on the railing and jump over it into the river.”

She took a step back, bewildered. He pointed his knife directly at her and called out in a sing-song voice, “Don’t think of running from me again, Emma. I know where your family lives and I swear if you don’t do as I say I will not hesitate to kill you and your entire family. Perhaps dear ol’ Dad can die first? I can slit his throat while your mother and sister watch. Would you like that?”

She began to cry again, “N-n-no…please. Don’t hurt them. Why can’t you just leave me alone? Get away from me!” She shouted and turned and ran again, surprising the man. They usually cooperated with him, but not this one.

He took off after her, and lunged, knocking her down. Repeatedly, he drove the knife into her as she screamed. “Shut up! Shut up! You stupid bitch! You’ve ruined it!” The man growled into her ear as he plunged the knife deeply inside her. Within a few seconds, the screaming stopped. The man continued his assault until he ran out of breath and nearly collapsed to the ground. Emma lay on the sidewalk, dead, with blood pouring out of what looked like hundreds of stab wounds all over her pretty pink dress.

His breathing finally slowed down. He looked around but saw no one. Her screams did her no good in the end. The man surveyed the scene. His clothing was soaked with her blood. He was almost certain that even an amateur crime scene sleuth would be able to find ample evidence of his presence here.

“What a disaster. I knew I should have never taken one off the street.”

He wiped his blood-coated hands on his jeans.

“Maybe we can still count this one.”

He rose to his feet and reached into his pocket, producing a chess piece of a pawn. He wiped it off with his shirt tail and placed it on the railing. The body of Emma Lane Fisher was almost finished bleeding out, and was beginning to get cold on the sidewalk. With a great deal of effort, the man grunted loudly and lifted her body. He staggered close to the edge and with a great heave, tossed her into the river below.

Chapter 7

Jake suddenly opened his eyes, shaking off the now-distant nightmare where he re-lived the experience from the previous night. In this nightmare, the rope held taut and the masked man walked inside his house instead of leaving. He groaned audibly, his entire body sore, the stitches on the side of his belly alive with new pain. Jake winced as he downed the small cup of now-warm water on the small table beside his hospital bed. He pressed the button on his bed to call the nurse and sat up in bed.

The fuzzy feeling in Jake’s head was mostly gone. He gathered up his few possessions and put on a set of clothes his wife had, in her infinite wisdom, brought to the hospital for him. A dark blue t-shirt proclaimed in bold writing, “Welcome to Costa Mesas! It’s Cerveza Time!” below a screen printed Mexican gunfighter holding bottles of beer instead of revolvers. Jake carefully inspected his wounds. He was mostly bruised up with a few minor scratches.

The knife had left a nasty looking cut along his side, but it was already scabbing over. He ran his fingers over his head and felt a large, painful knot on the side where his head bounced off the concrete, and another one on the back that was even worse, from the crowbar. Jake sighed, but was thankful that he hadn’t sustained greater injuries. In his years as a detective he had been shot and stabbed, but last night was the closest he had ever come to death. Jake yawned loudly and stretched his arms out wide, and then hastily pulled on a pair of his favorite jeans.

There was a light rapid knock on the door and his nurse entered.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better, Mr. Harris. Ready to get out of here already?” she smiled at him and brought in a wheelchair. “You know the doctor really wants you to stay with us for a least another day.”

Jake just grunted as he tied his tennis shoes. “I got things to do, people to catch. Besides, you guys already have enough patients to take care of.”

Jake winked at her and moved over to the wheelchair. Another minute in this place would drive him mad. The TV only got 4 channels and the food was just awful. Jake grabbed the white plastic belongings bag and set it in his lap.

“Ok nurse, let’s roll. And no popping wheelies down the hallway!” Jake said, with a sarcastic smile.

“Oh, please, not even one?”

“Ok, but you have to promise not to drop me out of this thing!”

The nurse just shook her head and rolled him to the hospital discharge exit. Waiting for him just on the other side of the automatic glass double doors was his partner.