by Alexa Grace
A dim light illuminated the room from the only window, enabling Alison to see Jasmine huddled in a fetal position at the far end of the cage. Still sleeping restlessly, she cried out each time she moved.
With absolute certainty, Alison knew if they could not escape, he would kill them. Her hope that they would be rescued by the police diminished with each passing day.
The door at the top of the stairs opened, and the woman who always wore the red ski mask soon appeared, carrying a tray of food.
Unlocking the padlock on Alison's cage, she set a bowl of oatmeal and a bottle of water inside, and then did the same for Jasmine.
"Jasmine's hurt," Alison said. "She's bleeding. Can't you clean her wounds and put something on them so they don't get infected?"
Pausing for a moment to look at Jasmine, who had still not moved from a fetal position, she shook her head no. In all the times she'd brought them food, she'd never spoken. She appeared to be afraid of the girls identifying her by her voice.
"Please help her," Alison pleaded.
Shaking her head again, the woman went back upstairs.
Alison focused on how they could escape. There were two ways out of the basement, through the door at the top of the stairs, or through the small bathroom window.
If the Master were to allow her to shower alone again, she could try getting out of the bathroom window. But what about Jasmine? Her wounds looked serious. Could she even walk? Alison could escape and bring back help. But what would he do to Jasmine if she left her behind?
<><><>
By three in the afternoon, using @SweetTeen as a call name, Carly had five respondents to her lonely teen ad. All five wanted to see her photo, which she hadn't initially posted with the first message. Two were actually teenaged boys who responded to her Facebook page and wrote to her using their real names, which she quickly verified.
In Teen Chat, the other three messengers used call names like BigJohn, TeenIdol, EarlH and LoverBoy. Each wanted to know what kind of music she liked, and some of her favorite things to do. Carly sent them her junior high school photo, and answered their questions as a preteen would. According to her profile, she was into Justin Bieber music, Twilight movies, and hanging out at the mall. If whoever was behind the four call names were predators, they were taking it slow and trying to create an online relationship, before moving into discussions about romance or sex.
By five o'clock, Brody, Cameron and Gabe were in the conference room with Carly talking about what Gabe was grilling for dinner, when a ding announced a new message for her in Teen Chat. It was @EarlH again. According to his profile, @EarlH was a fifteen-year-old boy who liked Justin Beiber, playing soccer, going to movies, and hanging out at the mall. He'd been contacting Carly all afternoon and had already asked her the standard introductory questions along with requesting her photograph.
@EarlH: Thanks for sending the photo. You're really hot. I bet all the boys tell you that because it's the truth.
@SweetTeen: Thanks for saying that. I don't feel all that hot or pretty.
@EarlH: Well, you are pretty. Hey, I see in your profile that you like Twilight movies, too. Where do you live? Maybe we could meet up this weekend for a movie.
@SweetTeen: My parents won't let me date or do anything else that's fun.
Carly was purposely evasive with her response, wondering how aggressively he would try to get her address, or if he would begin his persuasion process to lure her to Shawnee County, but he didn't bite. Instead he honed in on her dissatisfaction with her parents.
@EarlH: Do they have to know?
@SweetTeen: I guess not.
@EarlH: You could tell them you're with a girlfriend.
@SweetTeen: I'm not sure.
@EarlH: C'mon. We'd have a great time.
@SweetTeen: Well, maybe.
@EarlH: How close do you live to Morel? The theater here in town is having a Twilight movie marathon.
"Bingo!" Gabe called out as he flipped open his laptop. "We've got your call name @EarlH. Now let's see who you really are." It took a couple of moments for him to log on. Then he turned to Carly, "Which site are you on?"
"Teen Chat," she responded.
"Okay," Gabe began. "I'm going to trace the pervert through his IP address, and then I'll go to my Internet Service Provider contact at Teen Chat. Got to tell ya though, this site was not all warm and friendly when I served the warrant. We'll soon find out how cooperative they're going to be."
Brody asked, "What do you do if they're not cooperative? Can you still find him?"
"Yes. I can go outside the box, but not without your buy-in," Gabe offered.
"No," said Brody emphatically. "They better be cooperative. I'm sure they wouldn't want to be known as the ISP who protected a serial killer."
After a couple of moments, Brody got impatient, "Find anything?"
A sly smile crossed Gabe's face. "How much info do you want? I've got his real name, address, and place of work."
"Hurray!" Carly cheered, as Brody gave his youngest brother a high-five.
"@EarlH is Earl Haas who lives at 230 Elm Street in Morel. Earl is thirty-seven-years old and works for Ernie McBride as a Greyhound bus driver."
"You're kidding," said Brody excitedly. "At least two of our victims got to Morel by riding on a Greyhound bus. He could be our guy."
"Hold on," said Cameron. "Gabe, get his criminal history."
"Easy. Just a second," Gabe said, his dark eyes shining with excitement as he clicked a couple of keys to enter the database. "My, my, my," he began. "Our Earl was convicted of sexual misconduct with a minor and spent five years in prison. Four years ago, he got an early release for good behavior."
Cameron shot a glance to Brody. "Four years ago? Just so happens our victim, Alyssa Benjamin, from Lebanon, went missing four years ago around the time Earl Haas was released from prison."
"This could be our killer." A broad grin split his face as Brody jumped to his feet, and said, "I need to get a search warrant for his work locker at the bus station and home. We need access to his computer. Also, I want to search his home for pornography, any iPhones, laptops, or eReaders that can be traced back to any of our victims. Most of all, I want to get into his house in case he's hiding Alison Brown there," Brody said as he rushed out of the room.
Carly typed a message to @EarlH: Got to go. Parents home. Have to do the dishes. Talk to you tomorrow. Can't wait.
<><><>
The slowly fading light told Alison another day in her living nightmare was ending, and soon it would be difficult to see in the darkness of the basement. She'd spent the day pressed against the end of the cage, worriedly watching Jasmine and calling her name, but she'd received no response. The girl hadn't touched the food the woman brought hours before. In fact, she hadn't stirred at all. Jasmine lay in the same fetal position, and had stopped moving sometime in early afternoon.
The quiet in the room was eerie and unsettling. Alison strained to hear if Jasmine was still breathing. She had no idea if the girl was still alive. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize Jasmine needed medical care, and time was running out. Alison had to do something. But what could she possibly do to help while locked in a dog crate? The only chance at survival either of them had was Alison's escape through the bathroom window, but when would another opportunity arise? Having no idea where she was, how could she find help in time to save Jasmine?
<><><>
Brody drove Carly down the lane to the cottage and parked next to Gabe's car. It was Gabe's turn to cook dinner, and he was grilling tilapia and vegetables in the outdoor living area at the side of the cottage.
Turning off the ignition, Brody turned to Carly. "There's something I've wanted to do all day." He leaned forward and in one smooth movement covered her mouth with his own. Kissing her ignited a bone-melting fire that spread through his blood. Feeling her arms tighten around his neck, he knew just kissing this woman was not going to be enough. When Brody spoke again, his voice was a husky whisper. "I
can't wait to get you alone later. I have plans for you, Carly Stone." Carly's features softened as a slow, sexy smile eased across her face. Kissing her again for good measure, Brody turned off the ignition and opened the driver's door.
Just as Brody and Carly got out of the vehicle, Cameron pulled up and parked next to them. He took one look at Carly's flushed face and swollen lips, shot a knowing grin at his older brother, and took off for the side yard with the big tub of macaroni salad he was carrying.
Insisting on being called the "Grilling Maestro", Gabe turned out to be as talented a cook as Brody. He declared the dinner a celebration for finding Earl Haas, prime suspect for the serial killings that plagued their county. The brothers were overdue for a celebration.
Cameron handed Carly and Brody tall glasses of ice tea, and asked, "Brody, did you get the search warrants?"
"Absolutely," Brody replied. "Carly and I picked them up before we headed home."
Carrying a platter of grilled tilapia that smelled incredible, Gabe worked his way to the dining table as Carly dashed to the grill to retrieve the grilled potatoes, carrots, leeks and onions.
Hungry after a long day at work, they dived into their food and didn't come up for air for a while. Finally, Cameron said, "I've been thinking about Earl Haas and how this should go down. I've got a couple of ideas."
"Let's hear them," said Brody, before he chugged his ice tea.
"For one thing, I put him under twenty-four-hour surveillance," Cameron began. "He's a registered sex offender. Let's see if there are under-aged girls visiting his house."
"Good thinking."
"I know how badly we all want this guy, but I think we should be patient to see how the surveillance goes and what we discover," Cameron said.
Carly interrupted, "I agree. It gives me more time to communicate with him through Teen Chat. Earl hasn't started sending me signals that he wants to meet for sex yet. But, if his communication today was an example, he's moving faster than a lot of sex predators would move in one day's time."
"Just be careful to let him lead the conversation and make the suggestions, requests and sexual overtures. We don't want some overzealous defense attorney to scream 'entrapment'," Brody advised.
"Right," Carly said. "Tomorrow, I'll tell him I live in Shawnee County and that my parents are going to be out-of-town this weekend."
Excited, Gabe added, "I like it. Talking on the computer may not be enough to arrest and hold him, but if Earl shows up at our sting house, we can charge him with traveling to meet a minor for sex and soliciting a minor for sex."
Brody agreed, "It's a good plan. Once he's arrested, we implement the search warrants at his work and home, targeting his computer and any electronic devices."
"And then we do what I am most looking forward to doing," offered Cameron.
"What's that?" asked Brody.
"We get him in the station and interrogate his perverted, psychotic ass."
<><><>
Watching from a stand of trees in the wooded area outside the cottage, he peered through the scope of his assault rifle, as his mouth spread into a thin-lipped grin. What were the chances of having all three Chase brothers in his sight at the same time? He'd give anything to be able to hear what they were talking about and was tempted to move closer, but immediately, he dismissed the idea. Taking risks were a turn-on, but he wasn't suicidal. He'd be a fool to think he could take on four armed law enforcement officers at the same time. He'd much rather pick them off one-by-one, savoring each experience. Killing had become orgasmic. The very thought of it made him hot.
Leaning against a tree, he remembered something that had happened the previous year. He'd just finished burying a slave in his favorite body dump in the wooded area on Wally Johnson's farm. His body coated with dirt and sweat, he made his way through the woods with the help of a flashlight. Soon he came upon the dirt lane off a graveled country road where he'd parked his truck, and found a late model, steamed-windowed, Chevy Impala parked next to him. Inside were two teenagers immersed in a make-out session. Just as he'd lifted his gun to take them out, a county sheriff car, with lights blazing, pulled up. Retreating within the woods and hiding behind a huge oak tree, he'd watched as a burly officer lectured the teens. Moments later, both vehicles left, and he thanked his lucky stars the officer did not notice his truck or run the plates.
He was a lucky and smart sonofabitch. Just look how long it'd taken the idiot sheriff to find his shallow graves. It'd been four years since he'd dug his first grave there. If it hadn't been for those kids playing in the woods, they might never have found them. He wondered if the remains they'd taken from his graves had been identified. Not that he cared. He was way too clever and smart for these county sheriff hicks. There was no way they'd find anything to connect him to the victims. That was the beauty of it. He was, indeed, the Master.
Not that his current slaves, Alison and Jasmine, seemed to think of him as their Master. They were disappointments like many of the others. Neither of them had yet to start calling him Master as he demanded when he beat them. Slow-learning bitches.
One of them would have to die soon, anyway, to make room for his new plaything, Amber Patterson, who was itching to hook up with his online persona.
<><><>
Erin ambled around the old farmhouse. She'd already cleaned and swept each room and fed the slaves in the basement. Jasmine, the African-American slave, didn't look so good. The Master had given her quite a whipping the night before. The other slave, Alison, was pitching a bitch about it. Erin wanted to tell her brother about it right away, but the Master forbade her from calling his cell phone. So she'd wait until he came home. He was an hour late. Where was he, anyway?
Plopping down on the living room sofa, she gazed out the front window. It was nearly dark, but she could still see rows of corn growing in the field across the road from the house. Familiar boredom filled her. She was only twenty-six-years-old. What was she doing wasting away out in the middle of Nowhere, Indiana? Then she remembered what her brother had done for her years earlier, and felt a wave of shame sweep over her for having such ungrateful thoughts.
Erin owed her brother a great deal for rescuing her from a nightmarish existence in Utah where they'd lived with their pathetic mother and violent father, the town drunk. Though her brother had suffered frequent harsh beatings, she was the one that Daddy savagely raped and used as a human punching bag. Her eyes filled with tears, she shuddered as she recalled the attacks which had started when she was only eight-years-old.
Once in junior high school, her teacher pulled her aside to talk to her privately. She asked about the bruises covering Erin's face and arms. Erin did what she was taught to do. What happens at home stays at home. She lied to her teacher, saying she'd gotten the injuries from a nasty fall down their basement stairs. Though her teacher let it go, Erin knew she didn't believe her story. But like the rest of the adults in her young life, she didn't report the abuse.
That last night at home had been like no other. Around midnight, Daddy had come home so drunk he passed her bedroom, going to his own, and collapsing on the bed next to her mother. A short time later, her brother came to her. He was running away and asked Erin if she'd like to join him. Jumping at the chance, she threw some clothes into a duffle bag, crept out of the house, and got into his old Ford Mustang.
Slipping the key into the ignition, her brother paused, turned to her and said, "Erin, do you want me to kill him?" He asked the question as nonchalantly as he would ask what she needed at the grocery store.
Only considering his question for a second, Erin responded, "May I watch?"
Going back into the house, they stopped in the kitchen where her brother withdrew her mother's sharpest butcher knife from the silverware drawer. Turning to Erin, he whispered, "What about Mommy?"
"It would be cruel to let her live. How would she survive? She's depended on the bastard for years," she'd responded. "It's almost like a mercy killing."
On
tiptoes, they crept down a small hallway until they reached their parents' room and quietly opened the door. On the bed, illuminated by a wash of light from the nightlight in the adjoining bathroom, their two parents slept, unaware that their time on earth was about to end. Her brother slid next to the bed and his arm shot up in a blur, coming down again and again as the butcher knife sliced into Mommy's chest and neck. In a drunken stupor, her father didn't even stir as their mother's body thrashed about in the throes of death.
As her brother moved to her father's side of the bed, Erin followed him and stood so close she could feel the heat of his body, her heart pumping wildly in her chest. He stood over their father for only a moment and then made a clean sweep with the knife, cutting his throat from ear-to-ear. It was the most gratifying experience of her life, and she'd relived it again and again in her dreams.
Her brother became her hero and Master that night, saving her from a demon who would never hurt her again.
The slam of a car door outside pulled her out of her reverie. The Master was home.
<><><>
Brody and Carly were cleaning up in the kitchen and were nearly finished when Carly backed him up against the refrigerator.
"Just so you know, I'm not a big fan of waiting," she whispered.
Pressing against him until he could feel the hard nipples of her breasts, Carly pulled him into a hungry kiss that turned into a full contact, wet-tongued, tonsil-probing kiss that made his head reel.
His breathing ragged, Brody lifted his head to gaze down at her, before crushing her mouth with his, spinning her around so that she was now pressed against the refrigerator. A rush of desire clawed and clutched at his insides as Carly tugged at his shirt and worked her hands beneath it, pressing her long fingers into the ropes of muscle in his back. A little purr that sounded in her throat enticed him to draw the kiss out.
