by Brian Ewing
“Just lucked out, I guess,” Andrick replied.
CHAPTER 7
“Sisto?”
He was bounced out of his thoughts as Ama called to him.
“What’s the matter?” Ama whispered to him, recognizing the focus plastered on his face.
“I think I may have seen our killer at work,” Sisto replied.
Sisto had stopped listening after his vision, missing the first half of the debrief. The carnage kept replaying in his mind and couldn’t shake how cold the offender had been. He looked at his watch and it was after 9 PM. He kept thumbing past report after report until he came to victim number five. He recognized the mole on the left side of the burly man lying in the photo. The ugly mug belonged to a man named Earl Thompson.
It was the same man that approached Sisto’s memory holder and ended up in a pile of his own piss, twitching from a hundred-thousand-volts running through his nerves at once. The report filled Sisto in on what happened after the vision. The report was from April of last year and shows that the body was found in a motel room by an underpaid maid. Thompson had petechial hemorrhaging at his cheeks and under-eyes. The forensic report states there were traces of common plastic wrap on the bridge of his nose as well. There was also mention of a urine stain in his jeans and two burn marks in the middle of his chest.
“The kills initially seemed random,” Bell explained. “A landscaper, a waitress, one person was a street magician, the one they found in Vegas. Basically, there is no age range or sex or creed that this sick fuck is limiting themselves to. Anyone can be a mark.”
“Wait a second,” Fitz chimed in. “Get me a map, please.”
“Page forty-seven,” Bell replied.
Everybody turned to the printed map with little pin notifications where kills occurred off the I-83.
“Can I have a few minutes?” Fitz asked. “I need to match the dates to the kills and I may have something.”
Bell nodded and Fitz stood up from the desk, walked out of Caden’s Den, and grabbed an empty desk on the floor of the Detective’s Hub. The team looked back to Bell, who sipped his coffee before returning to further explanation. Bell’s gray combover had become more disheveled as the meeting went on. Sisto noticed the man’s frame had not gotten any smaller as Bell had stated how he was going to start addressing that concern two months prior. Sisto decided while he and Bell were not friends per se, he would still bring up the concern of having to take orders from a man that was winded from walking from the break room to the conference room.
“The theories at the FBI range from a carni to a—”
“A what?” Ama interjected.
“A carni, carnival person,” Bell replied with irritability in his tone.
“They think he is a she? Bearded lady?” Sisto asked.
Mitchell and Wallace smirked but there was no reverence in the direction from Reese Culpepper.
“Sisto, please, shut the fuck up.” Bell blurted out. “There are a ton of theories, nothing concrete. One lead is there are private airports within twenty miles of each one of these kills off I-83. We’re gonna tackle every avenue. Ama, I want you to reach out to Winter and you two work on cross-referencing registered visitors to see if we have a plane that has made stops to multiple fields during our kill timeframes.”
“Where is Winter?” Ama asked.
Both Winter Pierce and Ama were brought into the task force for their technical skills. Winter Pierce worked for the FBI for many years as a cyber analyst before retiring and opening up a surveillance private eye business. Caden recognized while putting the team together, it’s always better to get two pairs of eyes on something than one, hence including Ama to the team so the two women could play ideas and tactics off each other for anything cyber-related to the investigation.
“Maternity leave,” Mitchell answered.
“You want me to interrupt that? I can start this myself if you want?” Ama replied hesitantly.
“I know you got what it takes,” Bell said. “But Winter worked for the FBI. She may be able to give us a leg up with some already pertinent information from her FBI friends. I already texted her before we started. She said you can do a Zoom meeting or something and can go over stuff.”
Sisto felt that airports had nothing to do with who they were looking for, although he had been known to be wrong in the past. He kept going through the portfolio of kills, stopping on victim number twelve.
“Bell, this person was a minister at a church. Who the fuck wants that on their conscience?”
“Someone who is a piece of shit, that’s who. The Mayor and I believe this task force can dig into this and open up another theory.”
“What makes you think that, Boss?” Culpepper chimed in.
“For starters, if they are using planes, then why do they stick to the I-83 route?” Mitchell asked.
“You think trucker or some sort of traveling salesman?” Culpepper asked.
“That’s what Project: Corrine will determine. Fresh eyes, fresh outlook.” Bell said, taking back control of the meeting.
Fifteen minutes after Fitz had left the conference room, he walked back in and with his unkempt beard, tried to display a smile through the field of facial hair. Everyone stopped bouncing ideas and thoughts off each other and looked at the ex-biker, waiting for an explanation.
Fitz let a quick chuckle escape before putting his hand to his mouth in excitement. “I have gone across the country tons of times over the years using the I-83. A few things struck me as you were talking, Detective Bell. The first kill marked on the map that the FBI provided us shows a murder in Lincoln City, Oregon, right?”
“Sit down Fitz. Yes, that’s what the map says. So what?”
“The next mark is in Garden City, Idaho?”
Bell, visibly annoyed at losing control of the meeting, nodded.
“Well, what if,” Fitz paused, “what if we search kills in Spokane?”
“If you got something to say, spit it out,” Bell said.
A look of pride and slight arrogance ran across Fitz Ackerman’s face at that statement.
“If there was a kill this year or even going back a few years in Spokane, with additional kills in the same basic way off the I-83…then I know how they are choosing the locations.”
CHAPTER 8
“Here,” Andrick heard Joy say to Brady from the crack of the sliding glass door out to the patio.
Andrick was in the kitchen grabbing some drinks. A Coors Light for him and Brady, and a Vodka Sprite for Joy. Andrick knew better, after his early experiments in his goal to end human stupidity, than to put any drug in a lady’s beverage. They are usually much wearier of random drinks from strangers than men. There are too many advances in detecting such drugs, as well. There are test strips anyone can buy online, coasters that change color when coming in contact with certain substances, and one night in between sessions, Andrick saw an exposé on the news about a group of students that created a nail polish that would turn a different color when a young woman would simply dip her finger in a drink, pretending to stir up the cocktail.
With too many ways of creating a problem for himself, Andrick came to realize men are very stubborn and alpha centric. The idea rarely came into a man’s head that he may be the victim of a date-rape drug, which is exactly why after Andrick finished cutting the lime wedge for Joy’s drink, he put just enough liquid ketamine in Brady’s bottle of beer, then just a few more drops extra to ensure the man would not be a problem. A stickler for covering his bases, he replaced the bottle caps on the beer, pulled at the label on one to indicate which was his, then took the drinks out to his guests.
“This is a real nice place, Andrick. Thanks for inviting us, man.” Brady thanked Andrick, as he exhaled a massive cloud of smoke from the dirty, glass pipe with glowing embers of weed. Andrick realized the couple had indeed brought their paraphernalia from home and for a brief second, considered keeping it after all said and done, as a trophy.
“Yes! I am s
o glad we met today!” Joy expressed with a drawn-out, high-pitched reaction.
Andrick made sure Brady saw him in his sightline as he removed the cap from the beer for a second time and handed it to him. Brady took it without any hesitation and started chugging as the end of his exhale of marijuana started an onslaught of coughing.
Ha, keep chugging that ketamine, you fucking idiot, Andrick chuckled to himself.
Andrick removed his cap and rose his drink to cheers his new victims. He saw Brady stop chugging and rose the half-empty beer to cheers back his gracious host. Looking over, Joy was looking at her index finger, which was shimmering with a sheen of wetness at its tip. She was focused on her pink fingernail polish.
Fucking unbelievable, Andrick thought, realizing his set of rules had just saved him from having to put his plan into any alternative scenario.
Realizing the two were looking at her, she was satisfied with the result she got and rose her drink to cheers. Brady, eyes starting to become bloodshot from the hit of Kickstart’s merchandise, started to make a poor attempt at sounding philosophical.
“Andrick, I have talked to Joy about this a lot over the last few years, but I would love your thoughts on the subject.”
“Okay? Shoot.”
“So,” Brady started but paused, probably due to the cocktail of alcohol, marijuana, and ketamine fighting over which drug wanted to incapacitate him first, “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Oh, here we go.
“Well, I believe once we leave our bodies here on Earth, it’s just the beginning to the next step, whatever that may be,” Andrick replied, careful of his words.
Andrick did believe that to an extent. In fact, Andrick believed he was not only satisfying his urges over the years but was expediting people to the next step of their journey. Andrick was just as excited as the next to see what was behind the curtain after bodily life. Andrick knew he had a purpose on Earth however and was in no hurry to meet his maker. It was his duty to reap the ones that crossed his path, serving a purpose of gratification for himself, as well as being the bridge for the victim to whatever lies ahead. He could not allow himself to believe in ghosts though. That would be a conflict of interest, allowing vengeful spirits to come back and haunt him for bringing them to an abrupt demise.
“Here, man,” Brady handed the pipe in Andrick’s direction. “You were so cool to help us get this, and we haven’t even offered you any yet.”
“That’s quite alright,” Andrick stated. “I appreciate your offer but let me get another round of drinks for us so we don’t have to get up for a while. I know you chugged half that beer as soon as I set it down.”
Brady giggled a bit, a vivid display he was succumbing to something more than alcohol.
“Joy?” Andrick politely pointed to her drink.
“Oh, no I am alright. Thank you, though.”
Andrick smiled until it hurt, keeping locked in character until he was out of sight in the kitchen. Andrick stiffened his muscles then jolted his head until he felt his neck crack.
Okay, Tappy. Let’s get you fed.
Andrick opened the cabinet under the sink where he placed his leather satchel when he stopped over before first arriving at Rucker’s. He grabbed it and unclasped the bag, digging under the clothes he had bought for the gym until he felt the full roll of duct tape he had bought at the hardware store. He set aside the tape and then turned towards the top of the refrigerator where the owner or previous renter had left saran wrap. It saved Andrick the cost, as he was planning on getting that too until it caught his eye during his first inspection of the Airbnb rental. He set the saran wrap next to the tape and breathed in overwhelming relief. Saran wrap was essentially the best invention in Andrick’s eyes. It allowed Andrick to see the fear while he suffocated the lifeforce out of somebody. The constant tapping at the base of his neck was close to subsiding. Andrick was minutes away from feeding the entity that ran the majority of his adult life.
The shatter of the beer bottle broke Andrick from his trance.
“Honey, what’s wrong with you? Brady?”
Andrick could hear the muffled concern, through the dual-pane glass, coming from Joy as no doubt the cocktail of drugs was bubbling to the surface of Brady’s coordination.
“Brady? Brady?!” Panic rising in Joy’s voice.
Showtime, Andrick noted to himself, as well as advising Tappy.
Andrick grabbed his generic tools in one hand and approached the sliding glass door. Using his free hand to open it, the artistic smile he had spent hours upon hours over the years perfecting, was the first thing Joy saw as stepped out to the back patio.
“Well,” Andrick said, “It seems I was not prepared for company and am all out of beer.”
“Andrick, something is wrong with Brady. I have never seen him like this, please call someone for help.”
Ensuring the sliding glass door was shut, to avoid any bugs from entering, Andrick turned to the couple to see Brady indeed had taken a significant nosedive in functionality. His eyes had started to roll in the back of his head, along with his head itself losing stability. Andrick envisioned a toy top that had lost its momentum after being spun, slowing down and trying to stay erect but gravity and inevitability pulling the item to its side. In that moment of distraction, Andrick came to realize Joy held a strange look on her stupid face.
“What are you doing with that stuff?” A skeptical Joy asked, looking at the tape and saran wrap in his left hand.
Similar to standing up after getting a professional massage, Andrick’s body language changed into a completely euphoric stance. In Joy’s eyes, it looked like the seemingly nice stranger had grown a few inches, assisted by a sinister look that slipped over a façade Andrick had been portraying far too long.
“I think we need to call an ambulance. I have never seen Brady this out of it. Baby?! Baby, are you okay?”
“He is definitely not okay, Joy,” Andrick said with a level of certainty that cut through the air, giving Joy immediate goosebumps.
“What did you do to him, you bastard?” Joy drudged up as much anger in the reply as possible, a feeble attempt to mask her growing fear.
“Joy, have you ever been forced to hold back a craving so long you thought you were going to explode? Ha, of course, you have! Look at you. I bet you have been craving macaroni and cheese for the last year but force yourself to have salads, am I right?”
A twinkle, as sharp as any blade, accentuated Andrick’s eyes as he held a conversation with himself and continued to approach the couple.
“Help! Please, somebody—” Joy began her plea to anyone willing to listen, before receiving what felt like the sole of a shoe connect with her open jaw.
The loud sound of bone-crunching countered with the soft tearing of the roots from her front teeth, flooded Joy’s senses. Lying on the ground with a liquid as thick as motor oil and the taste of copper pennies beginning to fill her mouth within seconds, caused her to cough in a gagging reflex. She spat in front of her crouched position to reveal a few teeth in a pool of dark blood.
Walking up as calm as someone that might have just opened the door for a lady, he knelt to the woman as she was heaving to open a pathway to breathe.
“Listen, Joy. I am going to need you to sit there and be very quiet. I am sorry I had to kick you. This process usually runs much smoother but you either sit there and shut your mouth, or I will be forced to cut your tongue out.”
The shock and power of the strike left Joy in a paralytic state. Andrick smiled and grabbed the roll of duct tape. Ripping a long piece, he started back at Joy’s right ear since it was void of blood and proceeded to wrap it over her mouth, making way around her entire head twice. He moved on to securing her hands together as well but didn’t think tying her ankles would be necessary. Andrick patted her shoulder in a thankful gesture as if her silence brought them to the same page. Standing upright, he made way over to the patio table with his other tool of choice, the saran wrap. Andrick
walked right up to the bodybuilder who hours ago looked down at him like he was garbage. He was now sitting in a daze, no doubt concentrating on the very basic elements of breathing and remaining upright. Careful to keep his emotions in check, Andrick inhaled slowly before proceeding.
“Brady, my boy. Today is a very special day. You and Joy have been chosen, chosen to help my cause, and get expedited to your next stage of the beyond.”
White crud formed at the edges of the man’s mouth as he attempted to reply, unfortunately just resulting in a jumbled slur of defeat. Andrick smiled at the invalid as he tore about a foot’s length of saran wrap free from the roll. The throbbing on the back of his neck had elevated to a full pounding at the base due to the excitement.
Okay, okay! Hope you are hungry, Tappy. There is a two for one special tonight.
Andrick turned to ensure Joy was still in her spot and watching his performance. It was a rare treat to take out a couple as the presence of somebody watching his handiwork got him even more excited. He had only ever enjoyed the experience a handful of times over the last few decades. Joy’s mouth may have been incapacitated but her eyes spoke a thousand words to Andrick. She looked a bit sick, probably from all the blood she was being forced to swallow, but there was something else as well. She came to the realization and acceptance that she made the mistake of crossing paths with the Devil himself. Her fear fed him from afar but was only an appetizer. Tappy would not be satiated until Andrick completed the task.
Andrick turned back to Brady, slapped his face hard enough to pull his eyes back down from his head, just for a moment. The second his eyes met Andrick’s, the stars aligned and Andrick felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders as the plastic wrap made way around each side of Brady’s face. Andrick pushed the man’s legs aside and got face to face as Brady slowly lost oxygen. Doped up as he was, the body’s need for oxygen overrode any other thought for a moment as it mildly began to twitch. Andrick slowly pressed the plastic sheet tighter against his victim’s face. The ketamine really gave Brady no chance, yet his mind still attempted to put his noodle-like limbs to the test.
