Girl, Alone (An Ella Dark FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 1)

by Blake Pierce

  But then John’s hand squeezed together, grabbing Alex forcefully by the hair with an impermeable grip. An intense stabbing pain ran across his scalp. John pulled his head backward as he kicked Alex in the back of the knees, dropping him down to the ground.

  “The trick is to have the key,” John screamed, holding a solid, silver key up against Alex’s face. John threw the key to the floor as Alex lost all balance and collapsed on his back. He felt John’s hands tightly grip his neck, sending him into a frenzy of kicking and flailing. He couldn’t displace the tension in any way. There wasn’t enough space between him and John to build up any force, and all his feet were finding was the base of the brown leather sofa he’d just been sitting on.

  He began to choke and splutter as John’s thumbs pressed against his windpipe. He tried breathing through his nose, but any oxygen intake was cut off at the neck.

  Adrenaline forced him to pull on the handcuffs with every ounce of energy he had. Severe burning pains overtook his wrists, but in his right hand, he felt the pain extending upward. To his thumb. To his knuckles.

  The right cuff was loose.

  Through one last agonizing heave, Alex broke his right hand free of the cuff, tearing layers of flesh and tissue along with it. He instinctively tried to alleviate John’s grip around his neck to allow some airflow into his lungs, but John was too strong, too overbearing. Alex reached out to claw John’s face, but John jerked his head out of the way so the distance was too great.

  Blurriness set in. Suddenly, the excruciating pain began to subside, being replaced by a kind of hallucination and fuzziness. His vision slowly faded to white as his right arm fell to his side.

  Then he felt something against his fingertips. Something metal. He frantically pulled it between his fingers and felt that it was around an inch long with a jagged end.

  The handcuff key.

  Alex prayed that blind luck was on his side. He summoned the strength to jam the key into his attacker’s face, hoping that he’d do enough to disorient him.

  “Fuck!” John screamed.

  Air seeped into Alex’s lungs. Vision came back and reenergized him. On top of him, John was covering one side of his face with his hands, bleeding through the cracks in his fingers. Alex had stabbed him in the eye.

  Alex did the same again. Repeatedly. He shoved his improvised weapon into John’s face, his temple, and his free eye in quick succession, doing enough to make him lose his balance. Alex kicked himself free, jumped to his feet, and propelled himself toward the front door. His blurry state made him collide with it with a thunderous crash shoulder-first. He pulled on the handle. Furiously messed with the catch. “Open, you fucking thing,” he screamed. “Open!”

  But it didn’t. Dimly he noticed it had one of those deadbolts that needed a key. John must have locked it when he came in.

  The back door.

  Alex turned back to the living room, where John had risen to his feet. Alex picked up a vase off a windowsill and threw it at John. The impact staggered him, and John landed in the entranceway to the kitchen. Alex hurled himself toward the bar and leapt over it, smashing a variety of alcohol bottles as he did. He reached the patio door and yanked on the handle.

  The door slid open.

  John’s footsteps thundered behind him, but Alex was out into the open. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, covering what seemed to be a quarter mile of muddy grass in less than a minute. He reached a small road, then stopped and checked his surroundings. There was still an agonizing burning sensation in his neck and throat. A pair of handcuffs still dangled from his left wrist, while a ruthless, sharp sensation ran up and down both hands. The winter mist combined with his blurry vision made detection of anything, living or not, difficult.

  He surveyed every direction, praying that he’d outrun the man who called himself John. He saw nothing but a pair of lights in the distance. They came toward him fast.

  Alex ran toward the vehicle. “Stop,” he shouted. “Please stop.” Alex fell to the ground in the middle of the road. The pressure in his ankles caused him to collapse where he stood.

  A small, silver Volkswagen appeared and abruptly stopped in front of him. A young woman jumped out of the driver’s seat but stood behind her open door for protection.

  “Please. My name’s Alex Bauer. I’ve been attacked,” Alex blurted out before the woman could say anything.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?” she said in a frenzy.

  “No. He strangled me. I can’t breathe properly. Please get me out of here. He might still be looking for me.”

  The woman opened the back door and helped Alex inside. She rushed back into the driver’s side and locked all of the doors.

  As the car rumbled back into life, Alex was sure he saw a figure in the distance. A small dot on a green field.

  Growing in size.

  Getting closer.

  He saw the same face again. The same blood-covered clothes. He was still in pursuit, staggering across the grass.

  “Drive!” Alex shouted. “Please God, get out of here.”

  The rumbling engine spluttered. A plume of black smoke appeared at the back windshield. Alex knew that sound, knew that smoke. His own car had produced the same thing many times.

  “Shit,” the woman said, pushing the accelerator down as far as it would go. Alex heard her foot smack the floor of the car. “It won’t start up again!”

  And Alex felt the worst fear he’d ever felt in his life.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ella dropped her head back in her chair. She pushed her hair off her shoulders. The familiar pang of frustration came back, the same one she felt when Ripley told her the human skull was fake. Victory felt within arms’ reach, but at the same time was blocked off by some invisible, impenetrable barrier.

  Ella jumped out of her chair and made her way to the door. Ripley held it open for her as she left. They met Harris, who was watching through the two-way glass.

  “Leave it,” Ripley said. “It’s not going to happen.”

  Ella felt the disappointment creep up on her. Hearing Ripley speak in an equally dejected tone filled her with a sense of defeat. She felt like she’d just stepped out of a boxing ring after being pummeled for ten rounds.

  “Sorry,” Ella said. “I tried to get him to slip up any way I could.”

  “You did everything you could, Dark,” said Ripley. “Sometimes you can’t get through to them no matter what you try. It was a great idea, purposely getting the information wrong to see if he reacted, but he didn’t go for it.”

  “Is that what that was?” Harris asked.

  Ella nodded. “Yes. When he got upset that I called his taxidermies fake, I thought I’d try the same approach with the crime scenes. If he idolizes those serial killers as much as we think he does, he would have been irate that we got the important details wrong. But it didn’t seem to faze him at all.” Ella hated having to say the words. She could barely stand to look at Ripley, knowing that she wasn’t able to get the job done.

  “Right,” said Harris. “So what now?”

  “I think Clyde Harmen is a lot of things,” Ripley began. “Sexist, homophobic, deeply disturbed, sexually incompetent. But I don’t think he’s a serial murderer.”

  “There’s still a possibility, right?” Ella asked, almost pleading. “There must be. Just because he hasn’t admitted it doesn’t mean it’s a lost cause. He has no alibi for the Hartwell and Kelly murders. He has a history of sexual deviancy and animal cruelty.”

  “Sorry, Rookie, but my gut is telling me that the guy in front of us couldn’t pull off any of the scenes we’ve seen so far. Look at him. Weak, skinny, childish, dressed like a skater from the nineties. I can see him selling weed outside Walmart. I can’t see him pulling off organized, complex homicides without leaving behind a single trace. Did you see how he reacted when you accused him? Raw emotion, like killing a human is the last thing he’d ever do.”

  Ella stared at Clyde through the glas
s. He sat with his back toward them gazing at the far wall. He hadn’t turned to face the crime scene photos once since Ella left the room.

  “We’ll keep him here for a while anyway,” said Harris. “We’ve got the local wildlife commission emptying his house as we speak. At the very least we can charge this sicko with animal cruelty, not to mention his attack on Miss Dark. A prison sentence wouldn’t be out of the question, either.”

  “I wanted it so badly to be him. More than anything,” said Ella, still looking through the glass.

  “So did I, but look, we caught this guy and stopped him doing some grim things. That’s a victory. If you can find this guy using just your profiling abilities, you can also find the real killer, right?” said Ripley.

  “I’m still not convinced. Everything matched up so perfectly. Let me go in there again. I’ll try a different approach,” Ella said, almost trying to convince herself rather than Ripley. The feeling of envy came surging back. Ripley could just see it. See beyond the fleshy exterior, the bullshit, the grandiosity. But Ella couldn’t. It was almost overwhelming, this realization that the visceral reality was a different beast entirely from reading books and memorizing historical events.

  “Dark, I’m not saying we shouldn’t keep interviewing this guy, but you going back in there isn’t going to achieve much.”

  Ella sighed. She knew it, but struggled to accept it. “Can I just try?”

  “Look, your knowledge caught this guy, and that’s an incredible achievement. But being able to see into someone’s core, extract the truth from them? It’s not something you learn in forty-eight hours. It takes years of practice, trial and error. You can’t do it. Not many people can. Don’t feel bad about it, Dark.”

  It was a tough understanding for her. Ella had always assumed that if she studied enough, she could do anything. For most areas of her life, it had worked. But this was something that needed experience, that no textbooks could teach you. She felt a little dejected as she realized she had a long way to go before reaching the levels of capability she desired.

  Ella moved toward the interrogation room door but Ripley held up her hand to stop her. As she did, her phone began to ring in her pocket. Ripley pulled it out, checked the number, and answered. “Hello?”

  Within seconds, Ella watched Ripley’s face as it turned into an expression she’d seen once before. That very morning, in fact.

  “We’ll be right there,” Ripley said. She hung up the phone.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Clyde isn’t our man.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We need to get to the local hospital. You’re not going to believe this.”

  ***

  Harris drove them from the precinct to Saint Mary’s Hospital on the edge of town. It was the only hospital within an eight-mile radius. Heavy winter rain bouncing off the car windows provided the soundtrack for their journey. It was a bleak night on all accounts.

  “What did they say exactly?” asked Ella from the backseat.

  “Not much. They just said a young kid arrived at the hospital, could barely talk after being strangled. His story was that he was attacked by a man living in isolation out in Starksville.”

  “Boy, it’s barren out there, let me tell you,” Harris said. “Quieter than a graveyard. Starksville’s about a mile deep and there’s about five people living there. It’s where the rich retirees go.”

  They pulled into the Saint Mary’s Hospital parking lot and Harris parked in one of the spaces at the front designated for emergency service vehicles. The three of them got out and made their way through the hospital’s double doors. Ella took her glasses off to shield the lenses from the rain.

  “We don’t even know if it’s connected so let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Ripley said as they stepped into the hospital and navigated the hallways. They followed Harris’s lead. The hospital was eerily empty, with nothing but a long white corridor stretching forever onward in front of them. A pregnant woman in pajamas suddenly appeared from one of the corners. An orderly helped her along. Harris nodded to them both.

  “Here.” They reached corridor 43. Inside were the beds for ER patients. At the reception desk, the assistant pointed them to the bed of Alex Bauer. There were only three other patients in the room. Two were sleeping, and one was keeping an intrigued watch on the officers.

  Ella, Ripley, and Harris approached Alex’s bed. He was awake, sitting upright and scrolling through his phone with his left hand. He had a bandage around his neck and his right arm was bandaged from the hand to the forearm. He looked at the three new arrivals with panicked suspicion.

  “Mr. Bauer?” asked Ripley.

  The boy nodded. His wounds were apparent, more noticeable than his youthful good looks, Ella thought. A redness enveloped the bottom half of his face, presumably traveling underneath his bandage and staining his back too.

  “My name’s Agent Ripley and this is Agent Dark and Sheriff Harris. We understand you’ve been through a lot in the past few hours, but do you mind if we ask you some questions about the incident?”

  Ella thought that Alex looked like a good kid, with his mop of blond hair and jock-like appearance. He would no doubt go on to be an attractive man once true adulthood kicked in, but she couldn’t help but wonder how such a traumatic experience might affect his later life.

  Alex opened his mouth to speak but only growls came out. He tried again, but then stopped and shook his head. A nurse, clad in loose blue scrubs, rushed across from the bed of the observing patient.

  “No, no, no. Officers, I’m sorry, but Alex has suffered severe trauma to his cervical spine. The blood vessels around his esophagus have gradually swelled up since his injury occurred, which makes talking difficult and painful. I’m sorry, but you can’t speak with him.”

  Ella saw the frustration on Alex’s face. He shrugged, then went back to tapping away on his phone.

  “Understood,” said Ripley. “Alex, we’ll come back when you’re healed so we can talk to you properly.”

  But Alex turned back to the officers and held his phone out to them. On the screen he’d written I can talk through here.

  Ella and Ripley exchanged a look of confirmation. “Are you sure?” Ella asked.

  Alex nodded a hearty yes.

  “Well, thank you for being so cooperative,” said Ripley. “Can you talk, or type, us through what happened?”

  There was a brief silence while Alex tapped away. Ella had already scoured the depths of her brain for serial killers who targeted young boys, and the list was too exhaustive to acknowledge just yet. If there was something else that would help narrow it down, it would soon make itself known.

  Alex presented his phone after around thirty seconds. I advertised my car on Auto Trader. I got a call out of the blue from a withheld number. It was some guy who said he’d buy my car if I could get out to his house today.

  “What did he look like? Was there anything identifiable about him? Birthmarks, tattoos, scars?” Ripley asked.

  Another short wait. Not really. He looked like a normal guy. He had black hair and brown eyes and was a bit taller than me. About five-eleven. Not young, not old. He said his name was John. He acted a bit weird at first.

  “Weird how? Talk us through it.”

  Alex furiously typed away. He offered me a drink and got pissed at me when I said no. Then he took my car out for a drive and parked it in his backyard. When he got back, some shit went down and he had me in handcuffs. I fought like crazy and hauled ass out of there. He came after me. Chased me until I got in someone’s car. He nearly caught me but we managed to speed off just in time.

  “Handcuffs?” Ripley asked. “How did he bring them into the conversation?”

  Another spark, another connection. But Ella kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to give away any hints to Alex. Exposing theories to medical staff was one thing, but giving them to a teenager would be the kiss of death when it came to keeping things under wraps. The
nurse came back and popped her head in between them.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Officers, but we need to treat Alex’s swelling. It’s inflamed since we last checked so we need to be cautious. If you could hold on for half an hour we’ll have him back to you?”

  “Of course, treat him,” Ripley said. “We need to head out now anyway.”

  “I’ll stay,” Harris said. He pulled out his car keys and threw them to Ripley. “Check out the house. Starksville’s about seven miles away. I’ll stay and talk to the kid when he’s ready and I’ll call in two squad cars to meet you there. I’ll get an ID on the homeowner too.”

  Ripley nodded a confirmation. She turned to Alex. “If you could provide us the address, we’ll head there right away.” Alex wrote the address on his phone and showed it to the agents. Ripley made a note of it.

  They made their way out of the hospital and back into the car, leaving Harris behind to finish the interview. If Ella didn’t have to leave, she’d have stayed with Alex for longer, she thought. Seeing this poor kid in his condition, especially in the prime of his life, felt like a knife in her gut. Seeing a dead victim was one thing, but seeing an alive one was worse, in a way. She knew he’d be rife with trauma and flashbacks for the rest of his life, something she knew all too well herself.

  “This our guy, you think? Does it fit?” Ripley asked, unlocking the squad car doors.

  If this was indeed their perpetrator, Alex had painted a picture of an impulsive, fantasy-driven offender who would go to great lengths to achieve his goals. This murder attempt was different from the rest, she thought. She wasn’t certain it was him, but the signs so far all told her that it was.

  “I don’t know what to think. I thought our guy was locked up at the station. Time to find

  out.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ella and Ripley arrived at the address just before midnight. It took longer than expected to reach Starksville, since the heavy rain and lightless country lanes made for difficult navigation. Under other circumstances, the boundless greenery and secluded houses would have made for pleasant daydreaming of a less hectic life, but Ella had no time for such trivialities.