by Jane Blythe
Then Vanessa had been forced to sit on her bed, her cheeks flaming red from anger and humiliation, and listen while they droned on and on for hours about how immature she was, and how could she give up her virginity to the first boy who came along? Then they’d moved on to all the risks associated with sex. Her mom had cried as she’d asked whether Vanessa was ready for motherhood if she ended up pregnant.
Throughout the tirade, Vanessa had sat there silently seething. When her mom and dad had finally run out of words, she coldly showed them the door, climbed back into bed and burst into a flood of tears. That was two days ago. Since then, she had made a point of refusing to speak to her parents.
But Vanessa wasn’t going to let them ruin things for her.
She’d been so worried that Vince would hold her parents’ actions against her. That he would be so upset about her mom and dad busting them naked in her bed that he would never want to see her or talk to her ever again. Luckily, Vince really did love her and had called her the morning after to assure her that he still wanted to make love to her more than anything else in the whole entire world.
And that was exactly what Vanessa planned to do.
It was now close to midnight, and everyone ought to be asleep. It was the perfect time to sneak out. Vince would be waiting for her in his car, just around the corner, ready to make her the happiest person on earth.
Slipping down the stairs, checking to make sure no one was following her, she was at the front door when they sprung her.
“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” her father demanded.
Vanessa stared back at him sullenly.
“We told you that you are not to see that boy again,” her mother added sternly, flipping on the living room light.
“Still giving us the silent treatment,” her father looked disappointed. “Do you think by doing that you’re showing us that you’re mature enough to date?”
It annoyed her that her dad had a point. “I’m seventeen now,” she reminded them.
“Which is not old enough to be having…doing…” her father stammered, not wanting to put her and sex in the same sentence. “Doing things with some college kid.”
“Vince and I are in love,” she shouted.
“Honey, you’re too young to know what love is,” her mother spoke softly. “You’ve only been on a couple of dates, you have a lot of growing up to do before you should be even begin thinking about sleeping with someone.”
“How would you know what I'm feeling?” she shrieked. “I told you I love Vince and he loves me.”
“Vanessa, we are your parents, we’re just looking out for you. It’s our job.” Her father gave her a sympathetic smile, “But I’m sorry to have to tell you that most boys Vince’s age have only one thing on the brain. Sex. It’s not about the girl, it’s not real love for them, they just want to brag to their friends about how many girls they’ve slept with. I know, I was a young man once.”
“Vince isn’t like that,” Vanessa protested. “He really loves me, he told me he did.”
“Maybe he was just telling you what you wanted to hear,” her mom suggested sadly. “He’s older than you, honey, he’s probably been with girls more experienced than you are. Maybe the idea of taking a girl’s virginity appealed to him.”
“How could you say that?” Tears began to stream down her cheeks. “You’re making me sound like some immature little girl. I’m seventeen years old, and I know how I feel and I feel like Vince is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“I’m sure you feel like that now, but one day you’re going to meet someone who loves you with their whole heart.” Her mom tried to embrace her in a hug, but Vanessa jumped away.
“Vince does love me,” she insisted adamantly. “And we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, young lady,” her father took on his stern voice. “You are already grounded due to the other night’s activities. You are not leaving this house tonight or tomorrow or any other day for the next two months.”
Vanessa knew she was treading dangerous territory with her dad and yet she pushed on anyway, “Two months?”
“You had a naked boy in your bed; you were planning on having sex with him. I think under the circumstances, two months is very lenient.”
“No,” she shook her head. “I am not grounded.”
“Yes, you are.” Her father took a warning step toward her. “Now up to bed.”
“You’re not the boss of me.” Vanessa held her ground, even though her insides were quaking. “I'm going out with Vince tonight, and we’re going to make love, and it’s going to be the most special night of my life and you can’t stop me.”
“Oh. Yes. I can.” He took another menacing step forward.
“I hate you,” Vanessa screeched. “I wish you weren’t my parents. I wish you were dead.” With that, she threw open the front door and ran down the path to the sidewalk, ignoring her father’s orders to return and her mother’s pleas that they loved her and only wanted what was best for her.
As Vanessa ran through the dark, quiet streets, tears still trickling down her cheeks, heading straight for the safety of Vince’s arms, she was so consumed by her problems, that she didn’t notice the shadowy figure watching her from a car parked across the street from her house.
MAY 8th
1:06 A.M.
Rawlin Rankling enjoyed this time of night.
It was about the only time of the day left where he could really take some time for himself. At seventy-four years of age he really treasured those moments because he never knew how many of them he would have left.
He couldn’t deny that retirement had not turned out to be what he’d thought. This year would be the fifteenth anniversary of his wife’s accident. Fifteen years since their lives had been irrevocably changed forever when two joy-riding teenagers had slammed into their car. While he had walked away with relatively minor injuries, his wife had not been so lucky. Lorraine had spent three months in a coma. Three long agonizing months. When she had eventually regained consciousness, Rawlin had learned that she had suffered severe brain damage and lost the use of her body and a lot of brain function.
With no children, Rawlin had managed his wife’s condition mostly on his own. He had been lucky enough, though, to have the full support of the wonderful young doctor who had been involved in Lorraine’s case since the beginning. Plus the support of one of his neighbors who had gone above and beyond the call of duty. Even though the man had moved away more than ten years ago, he still gave up one day a fortnight to come and look after Lorraine.
Rawlin’s love for his wife had not diminished after her brain injury, and yet, he couldn’t deny that he was tired of looking after her. Lorraine was bound to a wheelchair, able only to move her arms and legs in jerky, uncontrolled spasms. She could breathe on her own, and she was able to eat, although she had no control over her bladder or bowels. Fifty-nine at the time of the accident, Rawlin had retired from the job he loved as a junior high school math teacher, to take care of his wife full time.
As much as he loved Lorraine, he desperately missed all the things they used to do together—picnics, cooking, skiing, sitting up till all hours of the night talking about anything and everything. Rawlin missed talking to her the most. Although Lorraine could eat, she couldn’t speak. She could, however, blink her eyes or tap her finger to answer yes or no questions, and Rawlin had learned to be satisfied with that.
He bustled about the kitchen, busying himself preparing a meal from one of the hundred or so cookbooks that he and Lorraine has amassed over the first half of their marriage. Every evening after he had settled his wife down for the night, he came down to the kitchen to cook. As he did, he’d picture Lorraine standing beside him—the old Lorraine, the one she’d been before, and it was these times when he felt the closest to her.
There had been so many things he an
d Lorraine had wanted to do. So many dreams left to make come true. Upon their retirement, he and Lorraine had planned on taking a trip to Paris, of studying cooking and opening their own restaurant, or moving out to the country and starting up a bed and breakfast. Those dreams had died that day when he’d lost a part of the woman he loved.
Rawlin remembered those hours sitting beside her in the hospital, praying that she would wake up, that she wouldn’t leave him. All that time, the doctors had taken great pains to remind him that, even if Lorraine awakened from her coma, she would more than likely never again be the woman he had known. He’d assured them he understood, had really thought he had, and yet when Lorraine had woken up and he had learned the extent of her injuries, it had still come as a complete shock. A part of him had believed that if she would just open her eyes, then everything would be okay.
It was the second time in his life he had suffered a horrible psychological blow. As most young couples do, following their wedding he and Lorraine had planned to have a big family. They were both only children and the idea of having lots of kids had appealed to both of them. After years of trying and no luck, they’d sought help and been told that they would most likely never have a child of their own. He and Lorraine had slowly come to accept that children were not in the cards for them and adapted their life accordingly.
Until the conception of their first child.
Upon discovering that Lorraine was pregnant they had gone immediately to their doctor, who had warned that they would probably miscarry and they had readied themselves for this to happen. But the months had continued to tick by and when they reached the seven-month mark without suffering a miscarriage, they finally began to believe that they were about to become parents.
As their excitement grew, they bought baby furniture, thought up names, and began to dream of their future. Rawlin had imagined what it would be like to have a daughter, the little girl sitting on his knee, him proving to her that he was the one man she could always trust, then eventually letting her go to the man who would take his place. Or a son, playing baseball, watching sports, going fishing and camping, and teaching his little boy how to grow into a man.
Then tragedy had struck. At eight months, Lorraine had gone into premature labor. The baby, a beautiful tiny little girl, was stillborn. The doctors had no explanation as to why their daughter had died, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to be a father until he held that small body in his arms.
Together he and Lorraine had worked through the heartache, just as they had faced everything else. What was killing Rawlin now was that he wasn’t sure how much longer he and Lorraine could remain together. He was getting old now, no longer able to cope with the physical requirements of caring for someone in Lorraine’s condition. The thought of moving his wife into a nursing home ate at him day and night, and he wasn’t sure how he would ever be able to do it. At their wedding, they’d promised until death parted them and anything less seemed…
“What kind of person is cooking at one-thirty in the morning?”
Even though he knew it was impossible, for one second Rawlin thought it must be Lorraine, but then common sense kicked in, and with it a sense of foreboding.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, relaxing a little at the familiar face.
“Unfinished business.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” Rawlin was confused.
“That’s the best time for my kind of business.”
“What kind of business is . . .?” he trailed off as he caught sight of the knife, and instantly, he knew what was about to happen. “It’s you,” Rawlin frowned accusingly. Funny enough, he didn’t feel the teensiest bit scared; instead, he almost felt relieved at the thought of death, infinite rest. “You’re the one who killed those other families. Why? Why did you do it?”
“I told you. Unfinished business.”
“Lorraine…” Rawlin couldn’t bear the thought of his wife being left all alone, and that was what had happened to those other families. One of them had been left behind, and in this case, he knew it wasn’t going to be him.
“You’d already decided to put her in a home.”
“I hadn’t...yet,” he protested.
“Yes, you had. You just couldn’t bring yourself to admit it.” He took a menacing step forward. “I’ll do it quick. It won’t hurt.”
As much as Rawlin welcomed the thought of infinite rest, he couldn’t allow himself to go without a fight. Lorraine needed him, and that thought was enough to spur him into action. He made a dive for the knife he’d used to peel potatoes. Before he reached it, there was a burning rip in his throat, and something wet began to drip down chest.
Rawlin Rankling’s final thoughts lay with his wife.
* * * * *
5:16 A.M.
The third family killed in four days.
Kate stifled a yawn as she and Xavier traipsed once more through the hospital; it was beginning to feel like they lived here. She’d hardly gotten any sleep last night. After Xavier left, she and David had started their anniversary celebrations early, and it had been close to one before they’d finally fallen asleep. The call had come in around quarter to two.
Another family destroyed.
This time the victims were an elderly couple.
The rest of the MO was the same. When a call had come in to the 911 operator with no one on the other end, a call had also been placed to her and Xavier. They had arrived at the Rankling house just minutes after the responding officers to find seventy-four-year-old Rawlin Rankling dead on the kitchen floor, hands and eyes and tongue removed, and his disabled wife Lorraine bleeding in an upstairs bedroom.
The Rankling house had blood everywhere. At the Jenner house the killer appeared to have covered himself in blood and danced around the master bedroom. It seemed he had done the same thing here. Only this time he hadn’t just danced around one room; this time, it looked like his romp had included the entire house. Blood splatter covered the floors and some walls of each of the downstairs rooms, and a trail led up the stairs and down to Lorraine Rankling’s bedroom.
Since she and Xavier had already been inside the house, they hadn’t bothered to wait until Diane and her team were finished; instead, they had spoken with a few of the neighbors and then headed straight over here to the hospital to see Lorraine. The killer hadn’t injured the woman badly, perhaps because she was already physically and mentally disabled that it had seemed pointless. Whatever the case, the wound to Lorraine Rankling’s left shoulder was much less severe than the wounds to both Annabelle and Nicole Jenner.
Casting a glance at Xavier, her partner was particularly quiet and withdrawn this morning. He’d barely spoken two words at the Rankling house or on the drive over here. Something was definitely up with him. Kate hoped he wasn’t upset with her about their conversation at her house last night.
“Xavier, are you mad at me?” she asked.
“What?” Xavier looked genuinely confused.
“I didn’t mean to upset you last night. I thought I was only telling you stuff you already knew. I know that you still love Julia, but…”
“I'm not mad at you, Kate,” he assured her, his hazel eyes serious.
“Well, something’s going on with you.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve spent all morning looking at your phone. Are you waiting for a call?” She wondered what Xavier had gotten up to last night.
“No,” Xavier’s voice wavered.
Stopping abruptly, she demanded, “What is going on?”
Sighing guiltily, “I didn’t go straight home after dinner last night.”
“You went to see Annabelle,” she sighed too. “Well, how did it go? Did she even let you in the door?”
“I went to the motel, she wasn’t there,” Xavier explained. “I thought she’d be at her house. She was, she was crying.”
“Please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid.” Kate had a feeling her partner had indeed done something stupid.
“Not stupid exactly,” he stammered.
“Xavier, what did you do?”
“She was hysterical, I didn’t want to leave her alone, we tried Ricky Preston’s house but got no answer, so I took her back to my place. She slept in the spare room,” he added defensively. “She was still asleep when I left. I left her a note, but I was wondering whether I should call and make sure she’s okay.”
“You are stupid,” she snapped, but before she could say more a doctor approached them.
“Detectives?”
“Yes, I’m Detective Hannah, and this is Detective Montague, we’re here to speak with Lorraine Rankling.”
“I'm Dr. Pedding.” The woman shot them a grim look, “You know Mrs. Rankling is mentally and physically disabled, right?”
“We were at the house earlier,” Kate assured her, remembering Lorraine’s empty eyes staring at them as they tried to assure her everything would be okay.
“There’s something else you should know,” Dr. Pedding stopped them as they tried to bypass her. “When we were examining her, we found evidence that she may have been being abused.”
“Abused? By whom?” Xavier asked.
“Husband is the primary caregiver,” Dr. Pedding shrugged.
“He’s also seventy-four.” Kate couldn’t imagine the old man harming his wife.
“Stress gets to everyone eventually. It’s been almost fifteen years of looking after a disabled wife, mostly on his own. That’s got to be tough on him. Maybe hurting her was the only way he could get through the day. It wouldn’t be the first time…”
“Rawlin would never hurt Lorraine,” an outraged voice insisted.
Kate could practically feel Xavier’s eyes roll when they turned around to see a red faced Dr. Daniels glaring at them.
“What are you doing here?” Xavier demanded.
“I’m one of Lorraine Rankling’s doctors,” Dr. Daniels snapped irritably.
“You ended up treating another victim of the same serial killer?” Kate asked, wondering whether there could be something to Xavier’s jealous suspicions.
