by J. J. Stone
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Jordan Johnstone
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Cover and book design by Daniel Johnstone
The Imaginary
“A condition in which we lack any defined center of self, in which what self we have seems to pass into objects and objects into it, in a ceaseless closed exchange.”
Terry Eagleton, Literary Theory: An Introduction
Table of Contents
• Copyright
• The Imaginary
• Table of Contents
• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Nine
• Chapter Ten
• Chapter Eleven
• Chapter Twelve
• Chapter Thirteen
• Chapter Fourteen
• Chapter Fifteen
• Chapter Sixteen
• Chapter Seventeen
• Chapter Eighteen
• Chapter Nineteen
CHAPTER 1
A staccato string of car horns split through the droning downtown din, snapping Ada Brandt out of a world of murderous cotton candy vendors and second-guessing students. She glanced up from her phone and watched two taxi drivers a few yards away sling insults at each other while they sat at a red light. Ada smirked at their colorful conversation and finished her walk up to the front door of the Chicago Police Department station. An officer heading out of the station held the door open for her. She nodded her thanks and stepped into the station’s relative warmth. In her left hand was a piping hot espresso that had nearly thawed her chilled fingers. With her right hand, she expertly tapped in a reply to her panicking student’s email about how his candy-peddling protagonist was having difficulty hiding bodies. Ada mused for the millionth time in her career as a writing professor that her job was both rewarding and bizarre mixed with intermittent dashes of momentary shock, and was one that she wouldn’t trade for anything. Glancing up from her phone every few seconds to avoid becoming the butt of a klutz joke, she sidestepped a group of police officers spatting about a fantasy football score and pushed send on her email.
As she turned down a small hallway on autopilot, Ada blinked a few times to relieve her dried eyes. The windy city had certainly lived up to its name during her inaugural visit. She had really hoped she would see some snow during her stay, but so far, no luck. Instead, she’d been blasted with single-digit temperatures and wind gusts that on multiple occasions had almost sent her toppling. Thankfully, being an analyst meant a lot of desk time, which meant taking advantage of the police station’s heat. The rest of the BAU team wasn’t so lucky.
Ada reached the door to the conference room, the team’s hub during their stay in Chicago, and paused for a moment listening to the swarm of activity behind the door before her. The first voice she distinguished was Agent Dade Wylan arguing with an officer about a final score of some sport. Ada smirked and slipped her phone into her carry-on bag. She took a cautious sip of her coffee and opened the door.
The scene inside the conference room was one of organized chaos. Chicago PD officers were obviously keen to regain control of their space. They were shoving evidence bags and manila folders into boxes destined for Quantico. Agent Brenda Stine hovered around them, making sure they at least attempted to keep certain piles together. She glanced up at Ada and rolled her eyes. While Brenda was distracted, an officer unceremoniously dumped an entire stack into a box and slapped a lid on it. Ada held in a chuckle and made her way to an empty corner of the room.
From the outside pocket of her travel bag, Ada’s phone chirped incessantly. She cursed under her breath and fished the phone out. It was a text from her uncle asking for the fifth time that morning if her flight was still scheduled to arrive on time. She quickly texted him a reply about old age and memory.
“Wow, you waste no time getting out of here.”
Ada turned her head toward the familiar voice and watched lead BAU Agent James Deacon navigate his way through the crowded room toward her. Ada flashed him a tight grin and stowed her phone back in her bag. “Classroom duties call.”
“She’s got much more important things to do than sit around here, James,” said a voice behind James that Ada’s ears still found odd, even after having spent the past few days around the team.
Janice Otto, the BAU’s permanent analyst, had rejoined the team after the Seattle case. When Ada had arrived in Chicago to help with the BAU’s second serial killer case, she’d been caught off-guard by the unannounced presence of the analyst. From the moment the two women had been introduced, Ada felt a distinct amount of contempt emanating from the raven-haired analyst. Not one for stirring up drama, Ada kept her head down throughout the Chicago case and tried her best to ignore the looks and backhanded comments Janice dished out. Ada knew how strange she felt with another analyst on the same case, so she was sure Janice was working through similar awkward emotions.
Janice stopped next to James and held out her hand to Ada. “I’ll make sure your closing statements get put in the right box. I’m sure you’ve got to run to the airport.”
Ada took the file from her bag and handed it to the analyst, only meeting her ice-blue gaze for a heartbeat. Janice gave her a tight smile and sauntered off with the file with a sideways glance for James. Ada glanced down at her bag and fiddled with the zipper pull.
James let out a breath and planted his hands on his hips. Ada realized that, for once, he was speechless. Janice possessed the unique ability to conjure a black hole into a room.
Dade and Brenda approached, releasing the mounting awkward tension Janice had left in her wake. “Need a ride to the airport?” Brenda asked.
Ada nodded and readjusted her bag. “Thanks. It’d be a lot easier than trying to catch a cab.”
Dade gave her a gentle smack on the arm. “Glad you could make the time to come help us, teach.”
“I just wish the case felt more like a win,” Ada said. “Still no notebook?”
“We have the suspect’s storage locker to go through,” James replied. “Hopefully it’s there.”
Ada nodded and gave him a timidly sad expression. “I’m sorry to bail so soon, but there’s drama at Seattle U. If I don’t get back tonight, things might get out of control.”
“You’ll hear from us if we need anything.” James turned when an officer called to him from across the room. He held up a finger and gave Ada a strained half-smile. “Have a safe flight,” and then he was off across the room.
“We’ll take the car out front,” Brenda told Dade as she raised her eyebrows at Ada, signaling it was time to leave.
“Have fun, ladies,” Dade said, waggling his eyebrows at them.
Ada gave him one last small wave and followed Brenda out of the room.
——
“Two cases in a month,” Brenda said as she pulled out into downt
own traffic. “And you thought this was a one-time deal.”
Ada adjusted her bag in her lap and glanced out the window. “Well, I’m just glad I could help.”
Brenda pulled to a halt at a red light and glanced over at Ada. “What’s up with you?”
“What do you mean?” Ada said, frowning.
“I feel like you’ve been off in your own world the whole time you’ve been here.”
Ada briefly contemplated telling Brenda the truth, at the risk of sounding immensely insecure. “I just … felt like I was in the way.”
Brenda chuckled as she pulled away from the light. “Let me guess. Janice made you feel like an extra wheel.”
Ada felt a huge weight shake off her shoulders as she released a breathy chuckle. “So I’m not crazy for thinking that,” she said in relief.
Brenda shook her head as she pulled onto a side street. “None of us like her. I think she honestly believes she’s the most important member of the team, like we would all sit around scratching our heads if we didn’t have her around.” Brenda twisted around to check as she changed lanes. “When she started with the team, we actually all thought she would be really cool. At the very least better than our last analyst. Then Deacon got his claws in her and her entire attitude changed overnight.”
Ada turned to Brenda. “So they’re … together.”
“In a strictly physical sense of the word, yes.” Brenda met her gaze momentarily. “You couldn’t tell?”
Ada felt her cheeks heat and fiddled with her purse strap. “I’ve never been good at sensing that kind of stuff.”
“In your defense, they aren’t blatant about it.” Brenda planted her palm against the car horn as a taxi abruptly slipped in between the FBI SUV and the bus in front of it. “Dade was the first to pick up on whatever it is they have. I thought he was nuts, and then one morning while we were on a case I went to Deacon’s hotel room to get something signed off on and Janice walks out of his room wearing one of his dress shirts. I ducked out of sight before she could see me.”
“I can’t believe James hooks up with one of his team members. Isn’t that violating some rule?”
“Probably. But James is every higher-ups favorite overachiever, so they’ll never slap his wrist for it.”
Ada realized that while she was surprised to learn about this notably seedier side of James Deacon, it was a surprise quickly replaced by a cynical mental eye roll. Why wouldn’t James Deacon be sleeping with his analyst? It fit right along with the rest of his winning personality.
“I felt like I was infringing on Janice’s space this whole case, so I just kept my head down and did what I needed to do,” Ada said, getting the topic back on track. “I mean, when I saw she was here, I really had no clue why I’d been called to help again.”
Brenda took an on-ramp for the highway. “Janice is a good analyst, but you’re connected to this case. And Deacon knows that,” she said as she merged with traffic. “So, as long as copycat cases turn up, you’ll be our analyst. And Janice will just have to get used to that.”
Ada looked back to the fading skyline of Chicago in the SUV’s side view mirror. “I hope James realizes that I won’t always be able to do this. Eventually, I’m going to run out of vacation time. Or my boss is going to figure out what I’m doing.”
“Your boss isn’t a fan of you helping us?”
“He has a strict ‘no outside work’ policy for all of his faculty. He says it distracts us from our classrooms.” Ada looked over at Brenda. “Personally, I would think gaining real-world experience would help us be more effective teachers. But I guess I’m too progressive a thinker.”
“Well, just in case you don’t hear it enough,” Brenda looked to her, “we really do appreciate you doing this.”
Ada pushed a small smile onto her lips. “It’s a nice break from teaching, but I’m starting to worry about what this is doing for my mental health.”
“I’m sure,” Brenda said. “This case was a bit more brutal than Seattle.”
Ada didn’t answer. Brutal was a mild way of putting it. Murder was an especially vicious act, but when it involved children, the horror of it seemed to quadruple. When James had first contacted her about once again joining the team and told her about the latest suspect, Ada knew it was another copycat case. The present-day Chicago killer had modeled his actions after John Wayne Gacy, a Chicago serial killer from the 1970s who had slaughtered at least 33 young men during his killing spree.
Ada knew that this case would be intense, but nothing could have prepared her for the grim procession of body bags that paraded up from the basement of Thomas Gale, their Chicago suspect and latest copycat killer. In the end, Gale murdered nearly a dozen teenage boys and buried them in the basement of his townhome. When the BAU showed up at Gale’s home to question him, the balloon artist bolted out the back door and into the back alleys. His flight was brief. By the time the team cornered him, he was already foaming at the mouth and collapsing into the swift way out of prosecution. While Thomas Gale was no longer a threat to Chicago’s youth, his death signified yet another missed opportunity to gain answers into why criminals on opposite ends of the country were loosely reenacting the greatest hits of some of the most infamous serial killers in recent history.
“If we find a notebook, it’ll be easier to link this case with Seattle,” Brenda said. “It’ll also strengthen our theory that there may be a cult of killers behind these copycat killings.”
“You’ll find a notebook,” Ada said. She felt in her bones that something was simmering just below the surface of this investigation. Something that would give the FBI the answers they sought. Answers that would likely cause everyone involved to believe in humanity just a little bit less.
CHAPTER 2
“Thanks, Uncle Mike,” Ada called as she and Tiny watched Mike Brandt back out of Ada’s driveway and pull away. Once he was out sight, Ada whistled to Tiny and walked up to her front door. From the moment the plane wheels had touched the tarmac, Ada couldn’t wait to get home. Her house always felt like a warm hug after a long day, and after a series of long days like the ones she’d just endured, Ada was ready to collapse on her own bed and just breathe in the scents of home.
The front door had hardly opened before Tiny barreled his way in. Ada could identify with his enthusiasm. He disappeared down the hallway, and she knew from the amount of nail clicks on the worn wood floor that he was on a direct course to her bedroom and his giant bed. She was more than willing to follow.
As she deposited her house key into the ceramic bowl on her foyer table, her phone vibrated against her leg. She pulled it out of her pocket and felt her stomach drop. It was an email from Dean Bridges. She knew this was not a cordial email asking how her trip to visit her cousin had gone. She stood motionless in her dark foyer, staring at her phone for a full ten seconds before opening the email. She started toward her bedroom as the email loaded on her phone.
“‘Professor Greene,’” Ada read aloud as she entered her bedroom and tossed her bag onto her bed, “‘Please stop by my office after your two o’clock class tomorrow for a short meeting. Alfred Bridges, Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences.’” Ada glanced at Tiny. “That sounds like a friendly chat, right?”
Tiny grunted at her as he readjusted his head and nodded off to sleep.
“Who am I kidding?” Ada tossed herself onto her bed, contemplating falling asleep in her jeans and sweatshirt.
——
Ada paused at the top of the stairs and pretended to collect her breath. In truth, she was collecting her nerve. A few yards in front of her, the door to Dean Bridge’s office lay open, his secretary yapping away on the phone while pecking furiously at the keyboard before her.
Someone began walking up the steps behind Ada, leaving her no choice but to continue on to the dean’s office. She tapped her
knuckles lightly on the open door and the secretary waved her in without looking up.
The door to Dean Bridges’ office swung open right as Ada had taken a seat in the waiting area. Caught off-guard, Ada snapped her head toward her boss and offered him a quick, overly toothy grin. Dean Alfred Bridges studied her down the bridge of his pudgy nose for a few seconds then gave her a small nod and motioned her forward with two fingers. As she rose from her seat, Ada steeled herself and followed him into his office.
She had only been in Dean Bridges’ office on one other occasion, when she had first started teaching. He always invited the new teachers to join him for a cup of coffee while he chastely recited the school rules and standards like they were plucked straight from the Bible. Dean Bridges was not one for friendly chat sessions, which meant no one wanted to have a reason to be in this office. An invitation to see him almost always signaled the end of your teaching career at Seattle University.
“Please have a seat, Professor Greene,” Dean Bridges snipped as he made his way to his opulent leather desk chair. He hopped into the chair and pulled himself toward his exorbitant mahogany desk. Ada pulled the inside of her cheek between her molars to quell her giggle as she noted how much larger the chair appeared with him in it. His five-foot-five frame was essentially swallowed by the dimpled leather.
Ada lowered into an old squeaky armchair on her side of the desk and carefully crossed her legs. She watched Dean Bridges open his laptop and tap at it for a few moments. When he settled on what he was searching for, he turned the computer toward her to reveal a video paused on the screen, ready to play. Dean Bridges mashed the laptop’s space bar then settled back in his seat, watching Ada.
The screen came to life and James Deacon’s face appeared. Ada’s blood ran cold and her hands clenched down on the purse in her lap. She knew where this was going. The video played out an interview that James must have done shortly after Ada had left Chicago. She watched as James calmly delivered the BAU’s closing statements, offering the press gathered outside the Chicago police station just enough information to keep them satiated.
