by Brian Ewing
“So, what is it specifically, that triggered the FBI’s interest in the murders?” Sisto asked.
“How did I know you would be the one to ask that?” Bell stated as he started handing out a dossier on the case. “Spread out it seems pretty random until you lay them out geographically over multiple years.”
“Years, huh?” Sisto asked, rifling through his mental database of police procedurals to see if anything resonated with someone of this stature.
“The FBI finally saw a pattern this year. The kills were spread out far enough to not gain attention the last two years but this third year, if you lay out all the kills, there is a definite pattern.” Bell stated while paging through the report so he could get the name correct. “The I-83 Killer is what they have named him in the report.”
“Cute,” Fitz Ackerman chimed in, causing the team to finally look over in his quiet direction.
Sisto racked his brain through Law & Order and Dexter, but most recently his extensive homework consisted of a show from a decade back called Lie to Me. The show revolved around a group of experts that studied facial features, micro-expressions, led by the always entertaining Tim Roth. Sisto had been binging the show in hopes of being able to read suspects that had been detained or while on a live crime scene in case the situation had not warranted a visit from The Reels. So far, Sisto had been able to log and recognize the facial telling of when someone had felt anger, disgust, fear, and had planned on continuing his education that evening before he received the news in the break room about the meeting for the new case. Looking at Fitz Ackerman, the man wore a micro-expression that said he was not impressed.
“You have something to contribute, Ackerman?” Bell asked.
Fitz nodded. “I just appreciate originality, is all. The I-83 Killer?”
Bell thought about it a moment, then nodded in agreement the name was lazily thrown together, probably by some profiler behind a desk at Quantico or Langley. He shook the thought loose and opened a briefcase, stacked full of manilla folders. The dossiers made their way around the table. It made way to Ama, who took hers then handed the remaining copies to Sisto to continue to pass around until dispersed. Sisto grabbed the folders of information and felt a jolt of energy, starting in his fingertips and circulating throughout his nervous system until he felt a flicker tickle the back of his eyelids. The Reels felt there had been something of importance in the files, sucking Sisto right out of his reality and right into a vision of a random person.
The feeling never got comfortable for Sisto, even after years of the occurrences. To be in Caden’s Den one moment and trying to bite his tongue against making fun of Culpepper, to having his brainwaves connect and relive a stranger’s memories, was not something any of his teammates ever had to endure. For the past nine years, Sisto tried to condition his body to roll with the unexpected punches, whenever they may pop up. He felt the transition as he left himself and entered into a stranger’s memories.
Sisto found himself hiding in the shadows of a huge gathering. He tasted a combination of aluminum and stale suds in his mouth, realizing the memory holder had horrible taste in beer choices. Looking down, Sisto saw confirmation as he saw his borrowed hand tossed a beer can into a makeshift trashcan. Sisto made way towards a rowdy bunch of people jumping and bumping into each other, not in rage, but a brotherhood of exerting energy in unified excitement. Sisto could see he was in the middle of a mosh pit of people below a group of musicians on a custom stage ahead of him.
An odd sensation flooded into the body of the person Sisto had peeked in on. It was hard to describe but Sisto felt like the person didn’t belong there like they were trying to get lost in the mix. Absorbing any helpful information that may explain the whereabouts, Sisto noticed every one of the men and women bouncing around wore leather vests and jackets with emblems of some kind on them. They were tarnished with years of wear and tear for the most part. The design on the majority of vests from the people he had been surrounded by was the face of a Cobra snake with flames in the background and text circling the art.
Sisto couldn’t make out the words as everyone had been in motion while the band on stage belted out a melodic rage. Four men that looked like they belonged in the WWE, were slamming against instruments. All four had been drenched in sweat, giving the crowd what they wanted. The observation of the lead singer screaming into a microphone, veins popping out of his neck like tree branches, gave Sisto a small relief that the audio on his visions were always dimmed out a bit. The thought of hearing the chaos at the full level would be a punishment in itself.
The lingering strings of the bass guitar finished out the set and everyone cheered as the band told the crowd they would be back in fifteen minutes. The adrenaline was in the air, causing Sisto to choke on a heavy atmosphere that correlated in his mind to a taste of steamed vegetables. The body and mind Sisto wore broke off to the side and walked to a corner of darkness to enjoy another beer in peace. He made eye contact with a fellow metal enthusiast but quickly looked away. The memory told Sisto that the person shouldn’t have been there and had just been noticed. Keeping cool, Sisto saw in the corner of his peripheral the figure that made eye contact with him earlier, broke away from the bunch, and started to follow Sisto’s human suit.
A sickening combination of steamed vegetables and grape flavoring smacked Sisto in the nasal sense as the body he wore, elevated their heart rate, raising fast in excitement. It was awkward as Sisto couldn’t detect any fear in the situation. It was like the person had invited the situation as a happy accident. An inaudible call from behind him caused the slightest of pause. Sisto felt his hand reach into the side of a hidden pouch, grabbing onto a rubber gripped stun gun.
Sisto had become frustrated that the memory he viewed was so real but couldn’t do anything to stop the event, as it had already played out some time ago. Sisto felt himself remove the incapacitating tool and stop walking as he was sure they were deep enough in the brush, outside any view from the others. He then felt his lips press together and start to whistle a disturbing tune. Just then Sisto heard another call, much closer being that the dim audio was understandable at that point. The metalhead, biker-looking man that wisely sensed something was off about the person Sisto was impersonating, called out to ask who the hell they were and who invited them.
Sisto felt a toothy grin form, almost lustful creep across his face, as he turned around and squeezed the trigger on the stun gun. Two prongs shot out of the weapon and into the torso of the towering man. All facial features of toughness dissipated as the electric volts coursed through the man’s six-foot, heavy frame. The look of panic and fear whisked over his face right before his muscles and nerves betrayed him, forcing his body to start convulsing before collapsing into a heap on the ground. Sisto could only watch it play out as the owner of the vision kept the volts flowing a few seconds too long Sisto thought, then finally released. The leather-vested man’s denim jeans started to form a wet circle in the genital region. While internally repulsed at the action, Sisto’s true feelings were subsided by the amount of pleasure his vision holder maintained.
CHAPTER 6
“Hey there!” Joy stated as she and Brady approached Andrick at the bar.
Andrick spent years collecting his emotions, ensuring not to give too much away within any given situation. At that moment, Andrick felt his jeans get tighter in the crotch region as he heard the greeting from behind him, knowing it was the beautiful model from the gym before he had even turned around.
Showtime, Andrick. Put on that wholesome charm of yours and get this done.
“Hi guys, glad you could make it!” Andrick turned around, smile plastered on, and extending his arm to shake Brady’s hand, an act to give Brady the idea he didn’t invite the two in hope of stealing Joy away with all his rehearsed charm.
“Yeah, thanks for the invite. This isn’t half bad,” Brady said, shaking Andrick’s hand and trying not to seem too enthused.
“It is something, isn�
��t it?”
Looking around, the bar had long since filled up since he first arrived, causing him to look at his wristwatch. He figures he would give it about two hours, maybe three based on Brady’s size, to get the couple boozed up enough to lure them back to the Airbnb he rented earlier that week on an app, using a false identity, long before meeting them at the gym. He had seen the vacancy was just behind Rucker’s, which couldn’t have been more perfect for what he had planned. He needed to kill away from his pack, to secure his place in the oasis of the forgettable. He needed to continue to fall into the mix of the moronic group he had been associating himself with and go unnoticed. It was the only way he would be able to continue to release his urge and ensure Tappy could quench his lust for death.
“Look, over there at the billiards table,” Andrick pointed to a group of misfits with leather jackets, some with bandanas, all with an emblem that had a shield with a bloody knife going through it. “The tall is one named Kickstart. He always has weed on him, and always willing to break some off for a quick buck. Tell him Andrick sent you over. He will sell to you and then we can grab a table and have a drink.”
The couple looked over at the wiry man with the chiseled jaw, just on the healthier side of malnourished. Andrick was sure that weed was not Kickstart’s primary drug of choice, but just a recreational and cheaper option than the hard stuff he reserved for the end of the night. As they assessed the weathered, drugged-out biker from afar, Andrick assessed his newfound friends as well. Knowing Brady’s attention was across the room, Andrick finally rested his eyes on the perfectly shaped ass of the woman. The curves formed to her jeans as if the designer had tailored them onto her. She wore a tight maroon tank top that helped drive the cleavage factor way up and paired it with a retro denim crop-top jacket. Andrick had flashes of all the wonderful ways he could enjoy killing her and felt Tappy start to signal a tingle of approval.
Andrick had not been biased and would enjoy killing Brady the Beefcake just as much. He may enjoy it more since it would be considered an act of defiance that an average-sized man like Andrick should be able to come out on top in a fight against a man that looked like he was sculpted by the Greek Gods. Brady had been in some dark denim jeans and wore one of those graphic shirts you see all the MMA people wearing. Attitude, Affliction, Carnage, or whatever the fuck the name was, had a lot of barbed wire and stars and such accompanying the logo. Andrick smiled while assessing the outfit, realizing no one would miss such a superficial couple. They had truly been a couple of ingenuine posers, sad really, as they went day to day trying to feel better about themselves, showering themselves in particular clothes, ensuring they displayed an image that they felt society would respect.
“You sure they won’t mind?” Brady spoke, breaking Andrick out of his mental evaluation.
“Kickstart!” Andrick yelled across the bar, just loud enough towards the billiards area to get his attention. The tall biker started darting his view across the bar until his gaunt eyes saw Andrick raising his hand. Andrick pointed to the couple and Kickstart just nodded.
“There you go. Get what you need, then get a drink and come join me if you like.”
“Cool. Thanks, dude.” Brady said, as he grabbed Joy’s hand and made their way over to make their purchase.
No problem at all, Andrick replied to himself. In fact, it is my pleasure.
Andrick had looked at his watch.
Damn, barely nine, Andrick cursed the Gods to himself.
He was becoming impatient that it was getting later and later, and Brady didn’t seem nearly as impaired as he would have liked the man to be. Joy, on the other hand, was slurring her words and starting to squint, just at the perfect pace. Andrick decided enough was enough after two hours of dull conversation, buying the three of them a round of shots to get the party wrapped up and put the next phase of his plan into motion.
“I got a question for you,” Brady said.
The words came out with the beginning signs of impairment, to Andrick’s enjoyment, hoping the round of shots heading their way would reduce issues later.
“Sure,” Andrick replied with a smile that could have been a headshot to a real estate agent’s business card.
“All these guys around here are all wearing leather vests and jackets, and all have different patches. Yours doesn’t. Why is that?”
More observant than I gave him credit for, Andrick noted to himself.
“Well, I moved out to Washington state about twenty years ago. I am originally from a little town in Alaska. Hoskins, have you heard of it?”
Both Brady and Joy shook their heads.
“It’s okay, most haven’t. My life was very limited there, but I had been a part of a group of bikers known as the Celtic Lightning, Hoskins Chapter. After my family passed, I decided to move to Seattle, where I ran into the originators of this event, at some biker bar. I enjoyed riding but there was no Celtic Lightning chapter in Seattle. I would never leave for another patch, so I am what’s referred to as a Nomad.”
“Like, you belong to no one?” Joy tried to chime in, realizing putting forth the words was a bigger effort than she anticipated.
“It’s not bad. I am still pretty accepted among all these guys over the years. I just do my own thing for the most part. Kind of feels like I have done that my whole life anyhow. You know what I mean?”
The two nodded to acknowledge, a fact Andrick already knew the answer to but glad to see he was breaking the barrier of defense among the couple.
“Hey, after this shot, if you guys want, I rented an Airbnb right behind here, literally a block away. We can go back there and smoke a little of that weed. You two can even crash there if you like? It’s a two-bedroom, only thing available last minute. Then you don’t have to worry about driving or taking an Uber and trying to get back to your car tomorrow?”
“What do you want in return?” Brady asked as he nuzzled a bit closer to Joy, claiming his property in his mind.
Andrick noticed the subtle gesture and reassured the man, “I was just hoping that you may smoke me out a little?”
Andrick told them to think about it as he stood up to use the restroom. He would have given them a moment, even if he hadn’t needed to pee. He had been able to get through the night with barely three beers and one shot, although the table had done four rounds of shots. Andrick was able to dump two of the shots on the ground before pretending to pound them, then took one shot back and pretended to wash it down with a beer. The bottle was empty though and allowed him to spit the liquor out into it, leaving only one shot he actually ingested.
No affinity for alcohol, the thick, clear liquor Brady called Sambuca, coated Andrick’s throat as it left its black licorice taste behind. His chest remained warm for many minutes after, which is what caused the third beer to be ordered. Andrick made his way back as the waitress dropped off another round of the putrid shots. He smiled at the waitress and asked her for his tab, offering to pick up all the shots throughout the night onto his bill. He was gone less than five minutes, to return to a bubbly Joy.
“You didn’t have to do that. You are so sweet!” Joy said, with a noticeably higher octave that seemed to get louder the more she drank.
“No, it was my pleasure hanging out with you guys.” Andrick rose his shot glass, indicating it was time to get out of the stuffy atmosphere. As he went to cheers them, he noticed a look in Brady’s eye, one of slight assessment. Brady had looked like he was trying to figure Andrick out and what his angle had been. That being the case, Andrick didn’t want to lose his catch on his human fishing expedition and decided the shot in his hand, horrific as it tasted, must be taken. There can be no chance that Brady sees through his ruse and decides to leave Andrick alone to deal with Tappy. The trio stood up and Andrick said goodbye to some familiar faces on his way out, including Kickstart, and then made his way out to the parking lot, Brady and Joy right behind him.
“Oh, it’s chilly out,” Joy shivered.
“A l
ittle bit, I still enjoy the weather though. Beats the rain I constantly deal with in Seattle,” Andrick said. “So, again, completely up to you, but I would feel better knowing you two were safe, and as I mentioned I have the extra room. Do you guys want to crash at the house? It’s literally right there.”
Both Brady’s and Joy’s eyes followed the direction Andrick pointed, to see a side street that led to a residential area, homes lining the wall behind the strip where Rucker’s had been built. Brady looked hesitant but Andrick could see had Joy locked in.
Little whore can’t wait to smoke her drugs, he thought.
A conversation, void of words, commenced in front of Andrick a few moments before he saw Brady sigh slightly before turning to him.
“Literally, right there?”
“Four-minute walk,” Andrick replied. “I timed it on the way here.”
“Well, I don’t know if we will stay, but it would be cool to go somewhere private and smoke a bit.”
“For sure, right this way,” Andrick said, a chipper tone slipping past himself.
They started to walk around the corner of the main street, into the residential area and the couple was surprised as Andrick had not been exaggerating. They took the first right into the neighborhood and proceeded about seven houses until Andrick started walking into the driveway of the one home without its porch lights on.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding. That was close.” Brady admitted.
Andrick remembered when they had passed through the town of Miriam the last two years, everyone gathered at Rucker’s, and he wanted to have a short commute this year.
