by India Kells
Dylan turned and nodded. “Owen, I’m sorry if I sometimes appear distant or angry. When my emotions and memories are involved, it can become very difficult to be … friendly, to say the least. It’s one of the symptoms of my PTSD.”
Owen nodded, but said nothing. So she continued.
“I don’t have any rules set. Since my incident, I’ve never been close enough to anyone to think about triggers. But what I know is that unwanted touch and being crowded in a small space does not work for me. Makes me jumpy and aggressive. Music helps me. Loud music.”
“Noted. I won’t touch you unless you tell me it’s okay or you’re in immediate danger. Anything else?”
Dylan shrugged. “I don’t know. But if something comes up, I’ll let you know.”
“Good. Now, next point of order, let’s find that creep.”
Her shoulders relaxed a bit. An unexpected relief of having this honed warrior in her corner washed over her. “The resurrected creep you mean. Or most likely a copycat.”
“Could it be one of his associates, a member if his family, or even someone who knew of the case and is following in the steps of his hero?”
She sighed and went to sit in front of her computer. “At first, I wouldn’t have ruled out the copycat, but now, I’m not so sure.”
Dylan saw Owen take a step forward and then restrain himself. Good man.
“A lot of information had been given or leaked to the media about the case. They called him the Artist, because of his undeniable talent at carving the skin of his victims. There were even partial pictures of the cuts in the papers and the Web. But there is one bit of information that was never made public.”
“What was it?”
She sat on her chair and looked up at him, swallowing hard. “The basement where Knudson kept us, it was very clean. And I don’t mean, clean for a basement. You could have performed surgery there. He was into scents, too, and the main one he used there was a mix of lavender and citrus. A weird blend. And last night, in the alley, as Dee was kidnapped, I smelled it.”
“You’re sure it was the exact same smell?”
“On my life. I will never be able to forget it, ever. It automatically made me sick. The experts and psychologists always thought it was a figment of my imagination because they never recovered any kind of product smelling like that on site, but I knew better.”
Frowning, Owen crossed his arms. It was the first time she saw how bulky Owen was. The way he dressed hid his body well, deceptively. The same way his beard hid his square, set jawline, and his longer hair softened his edges. “It rules out some weirdo from the public.”
Dylan shook her wandering mind back into work. “Yes. But that doesn’t give us any more clues on who it could be.” She turned to her computer. “Let’s check the pictures from Bear’s autopsy report.”
As opened they file, she saw Owen walking around her desk, giving her a wide berth.
“You can come closer, Owen, especially if you want to see the screen.” He didn’t say a word and simply came by her side. Again, the smell of his skin enveloped her, and part of her was happy he was there. A strange feeling she filed away for later analysis.
“There are many pictures.”
“Is there something specific you’re searching for?”
“I want to see the cuts. I want to see how consistent or similar they are compared to the other girls and me.”
It was difficult looking at the pictures and not relieving her own story somehow. But she focused hard on the close-ups showing the cleaned cuts and swirls made in the older skin. There were not many of them; the psycho wouldn’t have had the time to work without being discovered. A first few cuts were shallow, but the main pattern was definitely not. It was like concentric circles interrupted with leaf-like patterns.
“I have the same one on me. That one.” And she pointed the circles out to Owen.
“On the same part on your body?”
“Yes. Same part, practically the same size. And very similar in style.”
“What do you mean?”
“The depth and width of the cuts may be different a bit, but I suspect it has to do with the type of skin, health and age maybe. And I suppose, less than ideal circumstances.”
Dylan forced herself to push her emotions deeper within herself and stay focused on the task at hand.
“And why did he start with that particular pattern? With a new victim, Knudson started with lines mostly, before upping his game and started carving patterns. And even so, it wasn’t the first one he started with.”
“The order of the scarring was known?”
“Not precisely to begin with. We tried analyzing what we saw on the body of the different victims, but because some of them survived longer than others, allowing some of the wounds to heal completely, it was difficult to find an order. It’s when I got out, and could tell them how he proceeded, that the order of his patterns was discovered. Only then could we confirm the same on the other victims.”
“This symbol, or pattern, any significant meaning for Knudson? One that the copycat would use to make a point?”
Dylan let out a shaky breath. Tiredness pulled at her mind, demanding she take a break. But she couldn’t. Not when there was a slight chance of saving Dee.
“I don’t know the significance for Knudson himself. The symbols are influenced by religion and mythology. I remember him talking about them as he carved them on me, but I was stoned, scared, and out of my mind half of the time. Difficult to remember. And I couldn’t have a clear view of my own body. I remembered where the pain came from. On my body, I mean. It was the way I remembered it. Left inner forearm, upper left thigh, collarbone … and so on.”
When she lifted her head, Owen turned his back on her. Even as he stood still, she sensed his agitation.
“Owen? You have to detach yourself from what I’m telling you about me, about all this. That’s the only way to see the details, to find some sort of link between all the facts so we can save Dee. And there is nothing that you can do about it. Don’t let that monster get to your head and blur your edge.”
Dylan saw him shake his head and inhale deeply. Even if Dylan couldn’t help herself, imagining the disgust on his face from what she just described, she was helpless not to reach for him. She had learned that it was as hard for the people outside the tragedy to deal with all of this. When she forced herself to touch Owen’s shoulder, he jerked under her fingers but kept his back to her. He uttered something. She felt the rumble of his voice through his body without understanding the words. Silently, she squeezed his shoulder and this time, he spoke louder.
“Someone should have saved you. You and the other girls. Someone should have found that deranged man and killed him earlier.”
Dylan sighed. “We tried our best, Owen. That’s all we can say. And we need to live with what happened. I have no other choice.”
This time, it was the sound of his name on her lips that made him jump and turn. Gone was the contained operative, Owen Sorenson was obviously caught in a surprised storm of his own. Through all the emotions swirling on his face, Dylan was fascinated to not see disgust among them. And if it would have been there, the rage and helplessness would have drowned it in an instant.
“I battled monsters overseas, lost brothers-in-arms to find and kill terrorists so they would never come here and touch any of you. And while I was so damn sure to do the right thing, so full of myself for slaying foreign dragons, one had slithered in, and did—”
Lowering his head, he rubbed his face.
“Owen, I was the one supposed to do the protecting here. To slay our dragons here. And I failed. You kept other monsters from coming in. And I’m grateful for that. But wallowing in regrets won’t help us now. Won’t turn back time for what happened to me, or the girls, or Bear or Dee. It seems it was my destiny to go through Hell and be the only one to come back alive. Does that make me the one responsible for this? For a long time, I didn’t know why I failed and surviv
ed. And now I have the answer. One more dragon needs to be taken care of.”
Owen stared at her for a long time, and she knew that look—one she had seen countless times from her superiors and a bundle of specialists. They were checking if she was bullshitting them. If her words were just meant to shut them up. Dylan had to admit, at some times, she had used that tactic very well. But here and now, with this man who had seen his fair share of lies, she wasn’t about to do the same to him.
“I have my issues, Owen. I will never be normal again. Not physically, not mentally. That was taken from me. The woman I was died in that basement. Experience changes us. I’m sure the man who enrolled to become a Navy SEAL isn’t the same as the one standing in front of me.”
As she hoped, a corner of his mouth twitched.
“So let’s use all of us … the good, the bad, the ugly, and the crazy to finish this.”
She saw him initiating a step in her direction before catching himself. He nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. Owen was about to say something when her computer beeped again.
“What was that about?”
Dylan sat back on her chair, turning her attention to her screens. “Despite being out of it, I noticed a few things during the kidnapping. I had set up a search for that car using the plate number, cross referencing with the traffic cameras across the city. The initial search came to a halt, but I let it run nonetheless. In case something would pop up.”
“Can you really do that?”
“It was theoretical, but surprisingly, it worked.” She tapped quickly on her keyboard, bringing the cameras up. One shot was taken by a speed radar. The second, a traffic camera going into the city’s industrial area.
As she looked for the last camera’s position, she searched for others that may have caught sight of the dark sedan and help better locate its position.
It took her a solid five minutes, but she finally found what she was looking for. A security camera from a private company had a wide angle, wide enough to see the sedan turning right between buildings. When she brought a map up, it showed a dead end. That’s where they were going.
“Bingo.”
Owen nodded, his eyes on the map. “Let’s get a car.”
Chapter 8
Dylan was tempted to open the radio, to break the tense silence inside the car, but decided against it. She would have preferred music—it was one of her best ways to cope—but what kind of music would have been appropriate for the situation anyway? Chitchat? Unlikely. Owen Sorenson was not the kind of man to indulge in mindless words for the sake of filling the silence. And why was she fidgeting? Probably because he was the one driving. She was used of being busy, not being driven around.
And the worst part was she couldn’t settle. Something was wrong. Was that what was bothering her? That nagging feeling. The whole situation messed with her instinct, and she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
Growing too restless, anxiety creeping up inside of her, Dylan clicked the radio on, setting it to a late-night radio show. The droning voice relaxed her an inch.
“Say what’s on your mind, Dylan. You’re making me anxious.” Owen’s voice inside the car was calm but annoyed.
“I haven’t said anything! I just turned the radio on, I’m uncomfortable in complete silence.”
“I’m not talking about the radio. Blast it off for all I care. You didn’t mutter a word, and you haven’t moved either. But the vibe I’m getting off you is putting a crick in my neck. Say it.”
“Say what?”
“Hell if I know. Whatever has put you in that state.”
“And here I am, sitting beside a psychic. Why are we even running after a sicko when you can concentrate your mighty powers and find him right away?”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, darling.”
“Stop trying to read my mind.” Punching him came as a possibility.
“Not your mind, your state of mind. And you were broadcasting loud and clear.”
“Whatever …” Dylan gritted her teeth.
“Typical.”
Was it sarcasm in his voice? No, she wouldn’t bite on that. Would she? Okay, she would. “What is typical?”
“That answer, your answer, typical female answer. And normally followed with eyes rolling and a sigh.”
“Oh, I see. An expert in women’s behavior and emotions. What is your degree again?”
A muscle in his jaw flexed as his grip tightened slightly on the wheel.
“You’re tempted to say ‘whatever’, Sorenson. Admit it. Typical male by the way.”
His lip twitched and Dylan smiled. “Now, pray tell me, oh please, what makes you the expert in female psyche? Is it a natural talent or the number of women you have put in your bed?”
Something shifted in his eyes; it was quick, but she had seen it. “We can find other things to talk about, or not talk about anything …”
“Oh no, you have opened a door so I can know more about Owen Sorenson, I won’t let that pass so easily.”
“From what I heard about your talents with a computer, there is nothing about me you won’t be able to find one way or another.”
“True, but not everything can be found online. And to be honest, I didn’t dig that deep. I prefer to look beyond the facts. That’s what makes me … made me a good cop.”
His blue eyes turned to her. “Why the past tense?”
“Do you see my badge anywhere?”
He continued. “And I also need a question answered. Why hide out? It’s not like Knudson was after you all that time. So why keeping it low and always moving?”
Dylan didn’t like the turn of the conversion at all. A very delicate subject. “You’re evading my question.”
“And you’re not answering any of mine.”
Dylan shook her head and glanced at her phone. “We’re getting nowhere, except for our destination. Two minutes until arrival.”
She gave him her phone as she retrieved her tablet and started accessing security cameras near their destination. “No cameras directly on-site. From one of the cameras from a neighboring company, no light. I already checked the water and electricity company, the account for our address had been closed two years ago.”
“And this place is not related to Knudson?”
“Not that I know so far. So logically it’s related to the copycat. I already sent the information to my main computer, cross-referencing the data with what we already know about Knudson and everybody related to the case.”
“Thirty seconds. I’m gonna park down the street.”
Dylan nodded as he handed her phone back, and she put it in her pocket before grabbing her backpack, hauling it on her shoulders. The SEAL cut the engine and leaned forward, getting his side piece from his ankle. When he handed it to her, she looked at it, swallowed, and shook her head.
“I’m good.”
“You have a weapon?”
“Yes, a tactical baton. I always have it with me.”
Owen waited a beat. “Good, but take this in case anyway.”
“No thanks.”
“It’s not a proposition, Dylan. Why won’t you take it?”
Dylan clenched her fists, praying for control and not be overwhelmed by memories.
“Since my torturer used my side arm to threaten and burn me, repeatedly, I tend to avoid having one in my very unsteady hand.”
It was impossible for her to know what the man was thinking when his blue eyes seared into hers. Without a single word, he re-holstered his gun and got out of the car. Owen might think she was going in empty-handed, increasing his protective behavior, but with the retractable baton in her back and fighting skills, she was far from defenseless.
Owen signaled her to follow. The industrial area had seen better days, and was eerily quiet so late at night. Darkness had the quality of accentuating the best and the worst, and right now, the sector almost gave her chills.
They rounded the corner and made their way over the fallen fence. Owen’s eyes
were constantly scanning the grounds—this was a man trained for traps and ugly surprises.
The faint light from nearby street lamps was enough to ensure their footing as they rounded the corner toward the warehouse. Near one of the doors, which probably led to offices, Owen started examining the lock. Dylan peered into the darkness. It was too silent. If Dee was here, there would have been more noises coming from her, echoes from inside the structure. This place didn’t appear to be sealed shut.
