by Dana Lyons
* * *
Dreya kicked back after dinner, grateful she didn’t have to clean up anything—she was too tired.
“Ready for a trip to AlleyOop land?” Simon asked. He pulled out the chair for her to sit. Rhys and Quinn brought over chairs from the dining table.
She exhaled and propped her hands on her hips. “Alright, but if I start to cry, we shut it down.”
“Agreed,” they said in stereo, bringing a smile to her face. She took the seat and signed in to AlleyOop. Immediately, her message box pinged as several messages appeared. A small window displayed the opening words of each message plus the sender’s handle and a link to their profile page.
Behind her, three bodies moved in closer, three sets of eyes zeroed in on the message board, three waves of protection enveloped her.
The third message on the list came from the user name Looking@You and began with “Are you—”
At once a roar flooded her hearing, her breath stalled in the middle of her chest, and her heart accelerated with adrenaline. With all this emotion in high gear, the telepathy opened wide.
He can’t hurt you.
We’re here and we have your back.
Don’t worry.
In spite of the obvious threat, their collective mindset warmed her heart and soul. I know. You’re all with me. You’ve become my light in this life.
“Let’s see this guy’s face,” she said. “My question is, are you the one?” She tapped the profile link for the message and a face appeared on the screen. She tilted her head and squinted, trying to peel back the layers necessary to reveal the monster within. “I don’t see anything,” she announced.
“Having this message improves our pitch to the judge,” Rhys said.
“Who are you?” she asked, touching the screen. This man’s face didn’t look like a murderer, although they rarely had a ‘look’. She knew this in spite of plentiful evidence to the contrary on this dating site; far too many in the carousel easily looked like natural born killers.
“We’ll get his name through AlleyOop and go see him tomorrow,” Rhys said.
After the boys stepped away she remained in her seat, having learned to wait until the three were done in the evening. From the bathroom, she could hear them jostling for space to brush their teeth. A sudden burst of laughter warned her to expect a spray of toothpaste somewhere.
She smiled. In spite of the occasional claustrophobic moments, particularly concerning the bathroom, living with three men was an utter joy. They always had a smile, a comment, some cause for laughter to brighten her day. She remembered the old solitary life style she’d fervently clung to, and the emotionally sanitized darkness filling that life was abhorrent to her now. She couldn’t go back, and wouldn’t change anything now …
Except go deeper.
A delicious tingle of expectation surged from her core and out through her limbs. Her mind and body were at odds with each other as fear of the unknown gradually gave way under the increasing tilt towards consummation.
Her mind longed for the joining; her body demanded the release of this constant tension; her heart argued continuously for the forever option … with all three. Whenever this internal debate began, her mind turned to Lazar.
Where is he? What madness is he plotting?
These questions were always hotly followed by her greatest hope.
May I never see him again.
Lazar was too many worms in one can to open; she dreaded the day Jarvis called her in and handed her Lazar’s name. She didn’t know if she could apprehend him. If she did, what then? What would happen to them? What about their secret? They were all better off with him on the run and under the radar.
Finally, quiet came and silence filled the apartment, telling her the boys had retired to the bedroom to transition and get settled. She rose and walked to the bathroom, smiling with the utter completion that had invaded her life.
* * *
“She looks happy,” Martin said. A spark flared, the eternal hope he held that happiness was as available to him as it was to others. “The men look happy—she is their center. The happiness comes to them from her ,” he reasoned.
He closed the laptop and sat back, staring into the nothingness of his life. “Maybe she’s my second chance.”
Or your last hope.
The thought was purely argument, his mother reaching beyond the grave to continue throttling him even in life. “No, Mother, you won’t win this time. She’s different.” He glanced heavenward, curling his top lip. “Even you would see that had you bothered to stick around.”
If she was looking for him, she would follow the message, ‘Are you the one?’ to Elliot North’s home. He wanted to be there when she arrived.
The next morning, he collected his route from Gregory and quickly pulled out of the parking lot. He had to get to Elliot North’s before Dreya and her men showed up.
After leaving work, he drove to North’s address and pulled up across the street. He set out the cones, and quickly climbed part way up a utility pole, positioned a camera and sighted it on North’s front door to catch the moment Dreya arrived. “Let’s see what she’s like in action.” He collected his cones and drove off, anticipation building.
* * *
Dreya, Rhys, Quinn, and Simon were parked near Elliot North’s home. “The house matches the photo on his profile,” she said.
“Do you think he’s the one?” Simon asked.
She was slow to answer. Her experience with Harrison and Zane made her skeptical. “I didn’t trust the internet before, now I trust it even less.”
“Let’s open him up,” Rhys declared. He got out of the car and led the way to North’s front door. Dreya didn’t see the need to challenge Rhys for the lead and took a place far enough back so she could get a good look at North’s face.
Rhys knocked on the door and a man matching the photos answered. “Mr. Elliot North?” Rhys flipped open his credentials.
“Yes, I’m Elliot North.” His eyes bounced down the line from one imposing officer of the law to the next, his face gradually growing more shocked.
“May we come in? We have questions for you.” Rhys glanced at her with one eyebrow lifted. She shook her head no as they followed Mr. North inside.
“What’s this about?” North asked.
A pretty young woman came out of the kitchen drying her hands on a towel. “What is it, El?”
“I don’t know, hon. They haven’t said.”
Rhys cleared his throat. “Mr. North, do you have an account on AlleyOop?”
“No. I don’t even know what an AlleyOop is. Why do you ask?”
Dreya wandered to the window and pushed back the drapes, inspecting the yard and nearby terrain. Simon walked up beside her. “What are you thinking?”
“I think the profile photos of him in the yard were taken from across the street, as they were with Ian Zane. Mr. North is another victim of our killer’s penchant for identify theft.” She turned to Rhys and nodded towards the door as she, Simon, and Quinn gravitated that way.
“All right, Mr. North, sorry to bother you,” Rhys concluded.
“What happened?” North asked. “What’s this all about?”
As with all who ask the question, Dreya knew Mr North didn’t need to know, in fact, didn’t want to know how close his life intersected with a serial killer.
“Nothing for you to worry about, sir. Have a good evening,” she said, as they stepped out the door. She pointed to a slight elevation across the street. “He used a zoom lens from over there, just like with Zane.” She put her hands on her hips and stared, willing her eyes to see something that would bring this killer into her sights.
But there was nothing to see.
Zip. Nada. Zilch.
* * *
“Oh, Dreya, very good,” Martin said.
He had driven a mile away and placed a receiver high on another pole to catch the camera feed from North’s home. On a laptop in his van, he safely watche
d her arrival and departure. She stood outside Elliot’s house and pointed straight at the camera. For a second, he thought she might actually have seen his equipment, but they got in their car and drove off.
He rubbed his hands together, anticipating tonight’s video feed from her apartment. “Go home, Dreya. Show me who you are.”
That evening he picked up take-out food on the way home so he could dedicate himself to viewing Dreya’s life. Once home, he turned on the three screens receiving feed from each camera and sat in front of them with his dinner.
She and her men came home early, walking through the door before 5:00 P.M. “Aw,” he commiserated. “What’s the matter? No leads?”
The man with the dark hair opened a bottle of wine and poured a glass. One of the other men opened beers and handed them out while the first man delivered the wine to Dreya. They relaxed around the table.
Martin drew closer to the monitor in order to examine every pixel of her face. She smiled and her eyes sparkled; she laughed and she was beautiful.
After two glasses of wine, she rose and entered the bathroom. Martin pulled the bathroom camera feed to the front and studied her. She dipped her head for a moment. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but when she looked into the mirror again, he saw she had removed contact lenses.
Her eyes!
Astonished, he hurried to tap on the keyboard for a series of still shots from the video; the stills lined up across his screen. Behind them in the video feed, she turned on the shower and began taking off her clothes. But he was only interested in the still photos.
“Where did you get those eyes, Dreya?”
Never had he seen such eyes, never had he heard of such eyes. They were an amber-to-whiskey color with what looked like streaks of light. “Whoa,” he stuttered and covered his mouth with one hand.
She’s the one! She’ll be able to see me.
A moment of instant comprehension came, and he realized what would happen after she spoke the words.
The next morning, he rose well before sunrise, packed a transmitter in his lunch box with his new thermos, and took the long way to work, going through Arlington. In his silver Prius, he was unnoticeable.
In front of Dreya’s apartment, long before any lights came on, he stopped and clamped the transmitter inside the rear bumper of their car. From there he went to work, arriving early, and with a smile.
* * *
Friday morning, and Dreya stalked back and forth in her office. “We’re getting nowhere fast.” She propped her fists on her hips, and glared at the murder board.
Simon offered comfort. “Rhys and the DA will be back with good news. You have to be patient.”
“Are those words of wisdom from the cat?”
He nodded. “Yep. Gotta think like a predator.”
“Uh huh,” she muttered. “Not when you’re the prey, thank you.”
“Don’t worry. You’re the bait, but I’m the hunter on this guy’s ass.”
Quinn walked in with Rhys close behind. “We got the judge to open another degree on AlleyOop,” Rhys said. “We’re getting the name and address of everyone who sent that message in the last thirty days.”
Her sudden boost of hope wilted. “How many could there be? I mean, the phrase is so common.”
“Exactly,” Quinn said. “We’ll be back with a list. Andy’s already got the file.”
Dreya flopped in her chair and swiveled around to stare out the window. “I feel like he’s one step ahead. Every single lead fizzles. Something’s got to break here pretty soon.”
“Maybe he’s quit. Maybe the last one did it for him.”
Hoping to see something to nurture that line of thought, she turned to him, but his expression didn’t inspire confidence. “Huh. You don’t look like you believe that.” She spun her chair back to the window. “I sure don’t.”
Quinn and Rhys returned, with Rhys carrying a stack of paper. “That’s the list?” He handed her several pages with dozens of names. He passed the same to Simon. Quinn held his portion up. “I’ve already got mine.”
She thumbed through the names, feeling little hope or faith their killer was here. Still … they had to clear these names. “Start calling.”
“Uh, what do we say?” Simon asked.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling. The only thing they had was Haley’s and Tanya’s deaths. “Ask for alibis for April 27 and last Monday, Haley and Tanya’s murder dates.”
By 5:00 P.M. Dreya’s jaw ached from talking and her fingers cramped from dialing and crossing off names. She prioritized her names by age, leaving the last fifteen names aged in their 80s, to the end. She pushed the list back. “I don’t think they did it.”
Rhys, Quinn, and Simon walked in looking like she felt. “That good?”
“No good,” Quinn said, placing his papers on her desk.
“I got one confession from a guy,” Rhys said, “but he was locked up on both dates.”
“No luck with me either.” Simon set his immaculately documented list on her desk. “I did get two propositions.” He waved his fingers under his chin. “Guess it’s the voice.”
Dreya snorted with laughter at his expression, even though Nobility insisted it was inappropriate to laugh in the face of defeat. She hated defeat—it didn’t look good on her. She pursed her lips, considering her options.
What always perks me up when I feel like this?
In the past, she’d get drunk and screw someone she never wanted to see again. While sex was hopefully on the table soon, real soon, that wasn’t what she wanted. “I’ve got it,” she exclaimed.
Fifteen minutes later they were below ground in the shooting range. She wrote ‘plain’ on the head of her target and added a smiley face, reeling it out as far as it would go. In front of her were her two Sig 1911 45s with six loaded clips, and a box of ammo for the snub nose pistol she kept in her ankle holster.
She looked down the shooting line. Rhys had his favorite 45. Simon picked out an AR-15 and had four clips in front of him. Beyond, Quinn was preparing to shoot a sniper rifle. “Huh. Didn’t see that coming.”
The 45s were her favorite weapon and her center mass shots reflected this, ripping the paper target to pieces. When nothing remained but a gaping hole in the chest, she took aim at the smiley face. Sighting down her barrel, she imagined this killer in her cross-hairs. If she had to, she would put him down like the sick animal he was without hesitation.
Unfortunately, that scenario conflicted with Nobility, bringing more uncomfortable moments to her life. As with Lazar, she dreaded facing what had to be done. In her career, she’d killed first the enemy in the service and then criminals. But Nobility had changed the landscape.
Even as she placed a new target and picked up her gun, a single Noble thought haunted her.
Hopefully, it won’t come to this.
* * *
The next morning was Saturday, so Dreya and the boys lay in bed until late. She spooned with Simon, his soft fur tickling her nose. Quinn lay on his back against her spine. Rhys nested on her pillow beside her head.
She kept her mind empty of thoughts, allowing the telepathic perceptions to come through. Rhys soared, Quinn ran, Simon streaked. She let their exhilaration flow through her mind, making her muscles twitch and jerk with their perceptions. The wind was in her face, the ground beneath her padded feet, the smell of earth in her nose.
Gradually they ceased their nightly excursions and came to wake. Morning. Princess. Hey.
Gratitude overwhelmed her. A wave of love filled her being, and she opened her heart and mind to them, sharing her thought.
How would I live without these voices in my head each morning?
Could be boring.
You’d miss us, madly.
Not gonna happen.
She smiled. What do you want to do today?
Find a home! came the chorus.
The last thing she wanted to do was watch another real estate agent drool over her men. Not
that she was jealous.
They rose and transitioned with the usual morning antics. She showered while Simon and Quinn shared the tiny kitchen and cooked breakfast.
The smell of hot croissants, strawberry jam and maple syrup greeted her as she came out. These weekend feasts always warmed her heart as she sat shoulder to shoulder with them at the small table. Never had she felt so richly a part of something, a part of another’s life, a part of three other lives. Nobility filled her with pity for those on the dating site.
Her phone rang. Simon handed it to her, his eyes lit with excitement. She glanced at the name and understood the source of his animation. “Hello, Melissa. You do? And you think this would work? Uh huh. Well, text me the address. What time? Okay, someone will be there.” She hung up. “I didn’t think it was possible to hear a person drool, but I believe that’s what just happened.”
“Does she have something?” Quinn asked. He perked up along with Simon.
“She wants us to meet at her office in town and ride out with her to look at a house in the country. Here’s her address. You and Quinn go, I’m not in the mood.”
“What are you going to do?” Quinn asked. He and Simon delivered a close inspection.
“I haven’t decided. It’s my day off, you know. Maybe I’ll do nothing.”
“Uh huh,” Simon answered. He glanced at Rhys. “You’re on detail.”
Rhys saluted. “Got it.”
Simon and Quinn rose to go over to Rhys’ apartment and clean up. “Take my car, and don’t let that woman slobber on you,” Dreya admonished. “She says she has a property to show, but I think all she wants is to get you in the car with her for the long ride out.”
“All I want is a place to run,” Quinn said.
“What he said,” Simon echoed. He nodded to Rhys. “Keep her out of trouble, if you can.”
After Quinn and Simon left, quiet settled in the apartment. She and Rhys sat together slouched down on the couch, feet on the coffee table. A clock ticked behind them.
