Suicide Serial (9 page)

She was surprised to feel the cold metal of a heavy revolver being placed in her hands. She opened her eyes, shocked that the man would give her a gun. She considered aiming it and trying to kill him. She had never fired a weapon before.

“I know what you’re thinking, Marci. Can you take me out?” Henry laughed sarcastically. Playfully, he picked up Michael and bounced him around in front of himself like a small human shield. “Can you? Can you? Don’t hit the baby!” He laughed again and replaced his knife at Michael’s throat. “There’s only one bullet in there, Marci. Do you want to try your luck? Risk the life of your child?”

Marci started to point the gun, but she knew there was not a chance. Her hands were quivering wildly. Tears streamed down her face. Never in her worst nightmares could she have imagined something like this.

“Marci, if you don’t want to watch me cut your child’s head off in front of you, then you will do exactly what I say.”

“Please let him go! Why are you doing this to us? We never hurt you!” Marci cried out between sobs, hysterically.

The man looked at her quizzically and said, “You didn’t? Ahh. Perhaps you need something to refresh your memory.”

Henry placed Michael on the counter. While still holding the knife at the child’s throat, he removed the ski mask with the other hand. Marci’s face expressed recognition, and even though it seemed impossible, she became even more afraid.

Henry smiled and said, “Oh, good. You do remember me. I was thinking for sure that someone such as yourself had forgotten the ‘loser’ you worked so hard to destroy in high school. Well, things have changed. I’m playing a new game now.”

Marci tried to speak but Henry put his finger to his lips and whispered, “Shhhhh.” He grabbed Michael and wrapped one hand around his neck tightly. Michael stopped crying, and was now only making guttural choking noises. With the other hand still holding the knife, and using Michael’s body as a shield, Henry directed her, “Pull back the hammer on the gun, Marci, now.”

Marci reached out, and looked about to plead again for Michael’s life, but Henry only began applying more pressure to the child’s throat. “Do it or he dies!”

She closed her eyes, unable to stop crying, and used both thumbs to pull back the hammer on the revolver.

“Good. Point it under your chin.”

She opened her eyes and hesitated a moment, still trying to plead with him or figure out another way.

“Please…H-henry…I was just a teenager. I...we never meant to…”

Henry was beyond rage. He knocked some glasses onto the floor and placed his knife against the belly of the weakly struggling child. He bellowed loudly, “No! It’s too late for that shit! Shut your mouth and do what I say or watch your son die!”

Marci tried again, screaming, “You can’t do this! Let him go!”

Henry spun Michael around and looked at him. Flatly, he said, “Better hurry, Marci. He’s almost dead.”

Henry shook Michael violently by the neck and turned him back around to face Marci. The little boy was limp and turning a deep shade of blue. He was no longer making any sounds.

Marci closed her eyes again and complied. She held the gun under her chin in her shaking hands and whispered, “God forgive me.”

Henry stared into her eyes and told her, grinning from ear to ear, “I’ll never forgive you. Now. Pull the trigger.”

She winced for a moment and flexed her index finger back, engaging the trigger. The gun fired with a loud pop. Blood splashed against the cream-colored wall behind her head, and she looked around for a moment with a shocked expression, paralyzed. A puff of smoke escaped from her lips, and she collapsed to the floor, dead.

Henry shook his head around wildly and grunted, like a man having an intense orgasm. He dropped Michael to the floor and reached into his pocket. Out of his pocket he retrieved the queen chess piece and threw it at Marci violently. Henry left his ski mask and placed the knife on the counter and left it there, covered with his fingerprints. He didn’t care anymore. He knew after the drunk girl that they would track him down. He looked over at the small child lying on the floor, surrounded by broken glass. He was still breathing, but unconscious. His plan was in motion. He reached across the counter and picked up Marci’s cell phone.

As the call connected, he could hear Detective Jake Harris’ voice answer on the other end.

“Homicide, Detective Harris.”

“So, you aren’t dead after all! Good! I had a feeling that I should have stuck around, but couldn’t take the chance on getting caught.” Henry paused for a moment, blowing out air directly into the receiver. “Listen up, Detective. I’ve taken the Queen. The game is nearly complete.” Henry laughed lightly, his voice rebounding and echoing in the large kitchen.

“You sick son of a bitch,” Jake said, furious. “We’ll see how much you laugh when the state pumps a hundred million volts through your fucking head.”

Henry stopped laughing instantly and replied with confidence, “That is something I will never allow to happen, Jake. You know me better than that. Your partner knows me better than that. I’m sure by now she has filled you in on all the gory details.”

Jake responded with silence for a few moments, and then asked, “So, where are you? I’ll send a car over to pick you up and we can do lunch. What do you want as your last meal?”

Henry just smiled and gave a brief reply, “Six three four Birch Landing Road.”

The line went dead as Henry ended the call and placed the phone back on the counter. Then he reached down and picked up the revolver, reloaded it, and watched the last few drops of blood drain out of Marci Harrington before he walked out the shattered back door.

Chapter 11

Jake shouted into the phone, but his threats went unheard by the killer. He quickly snatched his radio and spoke into it, “Hey, L.T. This is Harris. I just got a call from the suspect. He claims that he is at six thirty four Birch Landing Road. Tell forensics to get in here and start the sweep. I want your guys to meet us at that address, ASAP.”

Jake released the radio toggle and the voice of the Lieutenant crackled out, “10-4. We are en route to the address in five. We’ll stage up near there and meet with you in twenty.”

Jake placed his radio back in the holster, eyeing Stacey with concern.

“You need to stay here Stacey. Help out the forensics team and show them what we’ve found. Maybe we can expedite this one. He told me that he’s killed again. He said that he took the Queen. I have to stop him, Stace.”

Jake turned to go, but Stacey quickly grabbed his arm and spun him back around.

“Like hell, partner,” Stacey said, her face full of determination, “I’m going with you. These guys can handle this stuff without me. Andrews or Garraty can finish up here. I want to see this guy locked away just as much as you do, so don’t go acting like you’re being the hero or something and protecting me. I can damn well take care of myself.”

Jake relented. He knew from the look in her eyes and the tone in her voice that she meant business and was not going to listen to him. It was just one of those things that he loved about her, but hated at the same time.

“Ok. Let’s get moving then,” Jake said as he tossed the white sheet back over the skeletonized corpse of Henry’s mother.

The two of them dashed up the stairs to the front door and exited the house, glad to be away from the stagnant, putrefying air inside. The fresh breeze was a welcome relief. Outside, the SWAT van had just pulled away with four marked police cars right behind them, lights and sirens blasting.

Jake and Stacey climbed into their waiting silver cruiser. The engine roared to life, and Stacey firmly pressed the accelerator to the floorboard, giving the car some action it hadn’t seen in years. They caught up to the patrol units and the SWAT van a few miles down the road. Officers had already left their vehicles and were gathering around and forming their entrance strategy when the two detectives rolled into the parking lot of the “Super Roo” gas station.

Curious citizens stared, wondering what was going on, knowing that something big was about to go down.

Jake and Stacey approached the other officers and listened in on the briefing.

The Lieutenant was sweating profusely under his body armor and helmet as he engaged everyone present, “Ok, we don’t have time to pull blueprints or get a unit to drive by the house. We’re going to have to fly be the seat of our pants on this one, guys. I expect there to be at least two entrances, one in the front and one in the back. There could be side entrances, too. I want four main breech groups, one for each side of the property. There’s probably a big garage, all those rich folks up there have a place for their beemers and escalades, so I want at least two of you patrol guys to stand by in your cars at the neighborhood road entrance in case the suspect tries to pop the door and make a run for it.”

The teams had split up; with four members of the SWAT team each taking the front and rear of the building, and two men each on the sides. Patrol officers would cover the street and surrounding neighborhood. Their sniper would be in place on the van.

“Any questions?” The Lieutenant asked and looked around. Several heads nodded as an indication that they understood their instructions, but not a single word was spoken.

“Good. Let’s move out. Remember, we don’t have any idea what or who is in that house. Watch your firing lines. We just received intel from dispatch that a resident up that way reported hearing shots fired. This guy has a gun, and should be considered armed and deadly.”

“Move out.”

With that, he slapped his hand on the roof of a patrol car and everyone loaded up into their vehicles. The convoy swept into the affluent neighborhood silently, with two of the patrol cars speeding up and passing the SWAT van just as they neared the residence. Within seconds, the SWAT team had left the van and began surrounding the house. One of the officers used hand signals to communicate with the team at the front door.

Forming his right hand into a fist, the squad commander mouthed something to the men. They swung the heavy ram at the door and smashed it down with two quick swings. Broken pieces of wood and metal bounced off the brick patio and the door seemed to implode. Officers rushed into the building from all sides, Jake and Stacey behind them with guns drawn and ready.

“Police department!” Was repeatedly shouted loudly by all the men as they entered. Their footsteps squeaked and clattered loudly across the floor. The radio crackled to life, “Alpha, we got one code 27 and one possible code 13. Request immediate medical support, urgent traffic.”

Shouts of “All clear!” began to resound throughout the house and on the radios. Jake holstered his weapon and began to look around for anything that might help them find Henry.

The backdoor was smashed in and glass covered the floor. One officer was leaning over a barely moving young child. The child had many small cuts, which appeared to be from the shattered glass lying on the floor. He was wheezing and looked very pale.

“It’s ok little guy, I gotcha,” The officer said quietly, and wasted no more time trying to get vitals on the child. He deftly scooped him up in his arms and carried him out the front door.

In the corner of the kitchen, beside a marble kitchen counter, lay the still-warm body of Henry’s latest kill, Marci Harrington. Blood had pooled around her and she had a gaping hole in the back of her skull, similar to Fredrich Engels’. She was wearing a blood-stained and ripped pink t-shirt barely tucked into a pair of plain khaki shorts. Dried up lines from her tears were still visible on her face. Beside her, lying in the pool of blood was the queen chess piece.

One of the helmeted SWAT team officers with his AR-15 rifle resting against his shoulder walked over to Jake, shaking his head.

He said, “Looks like he got out of here just a few minutes before we pulled up, sir. We’ve got patrols already locking down the entire neighborhood. No one in or out. He can hide, but he isn’t getting away from us today.”

Jake just nodded, distracted by the gruesome scene in the kitchen. The SWAT officer gave a half-salute and tried to avoid the broken glass underfoot as he walked out the back door and began shouting orders.

“My God, it’s Marci Harrington,” one of the patrol officers said, awestruck. “She was in the same classes as me in high school. She was the homecoming queen our senior year. I…I can’t believe anyone would do something like this to her.”

“Well, that explains the queen chess piece,” Stacey said. “I remember her. She was pretty popular, that’s for sure. Her and her friends used to really give Henry a hard time in school, too. They would laugh and make fun of him nearly every day. They spread rumors that he liked to have sex with animals. The boys would abuse him and there were many days I would see him with torn clothing and a black eye. When Henry got locked away and everyone found out about what he had been doing no one acted very surprised, but they were all scared he would come back to school one day.”

Jake knelt down next to her body, giving it a closer inspection. She was still sitting mostly upright and leaning with her back against the wall. Her pupils had dilated and she appeared to be staring at something in the distance. He put on his gloves and delicately lifted her chin. He could feel her skin already beginning to cool through his gloves. There was a small hole, surrounded by what looked like black gunpowder residue. Jake reached past her and retrieved the chess piece from the pool of blood.