by C. M. Sutter
Deranged
by
C. M. Sutter
Copyright © 2018
All Rights Reserved
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction by C. M. Sutter. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used solely for entertainment. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C. M. Sutter is a crime fiction writer who resides in Florida, although she is originally from California.
She is a member of numerous writers’ organizations, including Fiction for All, Fiction Factor, and Writers etc.
In addition to writing, she enjoys spending time with her friends and family. She is an art enthusiast and loves to create gourd birdhouses, pebble art, and handmade soaps. Hiking, bicycling, fishing, and traveling are a few of her favorite pastimes.
C. M. Sutter
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Deranged: A Psychic Detective Kate Pierce Crime Thriller, Book 3
A surprise birthday celebration for her mother sends Kate Pierce to Atlanta—her hometown. Years have passed since she last visited the city, and she’s still haunted by memories of the violence she endured there. Reluctantly, Kate agrees to go and sets off for a long weekend with family.
News has surfaced of the Fulton County Butcher—a man who is dismembering women and leaving a trail of body parts—and Kate’s childhood neighbor Janine Reilly, now an undercover Vice officer, has gone missing. The police fear Janine has been abducted by the butcher.
Kate offers to help the struggling Atlanta PD, who at this point have nothing to go on, but it’s a challenge to convince them that she can find Officer Reilly and capture the killer by using her psychic abilities.
Kate’s nightmares begin when the police agree to bring her on board, yet her dreams are leading her to an unassuming local man who isn’t even a blip on law enforcement’s radar. The PD is slow to believe Kate’s theory, but when she goes missing too, her claims can’t be ignored. As time ticks away, Atlanta’s finest need to find Kate and Janine before they’re the next victims on the deranged man’s kill list.
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Prologue
One year ago
The horrific news spread across the country like a wildfire during a summer drought.
He’d taken advantage of that night to complete his diabolical act while children ran from house to house, squealing in delight as they showed off their costumes and compared overflowing buckets of treats.
Outfitted in a hobo costume and with a bag over his shoulder, he dressed to blend in and walked in the shadows to avoid the crowds. Staying on the opposite side of the street, where there was less commotion, made it much easier to empty his bag, piece by piece. He watched as costumed parents carrying their favorite beverages visited with each other while their kids rang doorbells and yelled “Trick or Treat!” Nobody paid him any attention, and that was what he counted on.
Front yards were decorated in frightening scenes depicting ghosts, goblins, witches, and ghouls. Lawns sported fake headstones, bloody hands emerging from graves, cobwebs stretching from tree to tree, and smoke machines. Spooky music echoed throughout the neighborhoods. It was a chilly Halloween night, and that particular one was as black as ink.
He tossed her left arm on the lawn, next to a group of candlelit jack-o’-lanterns, on Ward Drive. He backtracked to Pennington Circle and placed the right arm on a mound of dirt next to a protruding hand. Her right leg was disposed of near a life-sized goblin on Ruzelle Drive, and the left leg was placed alongside a gravestone on Oak Drive. He continued on to Lone Oak—a bit farther away—but the bag was much lighter now. He knew the perfect place for her torso. Lone Oak Avenue, lined with trees and vacant wooded parcels, was dotted with middle-class houses. Street lamps were sparse, and although children still milled about, there was plenty of dead space in between. The bench in the front yard and the bowl of treats on the porch caught his eye. A sign taped to the door read, “Only take one piece of candy so there’s plenty for all.”
Ah… he isn’t home, or he doesn’t want to be bothered at the door. This is the perfect ending to the scariest of all Halloweens.
He watched from the woods across the street as kids ran from house to house. He opened the bag and pulled out the final body part, saving the best for last. With the torso cradled in his arms, he whispered a message to her and stepped out to the street. With a quick glance in each direction, and seeing that the coast was clear, he ran to the bench, propped the torso between the life-sized vampire and Frankenstein, then disappeared into the woods. He peeled off the costume and jammed the outfit in the bag. He’d walk the five blocks back to his car and wait to hear the breaking news first thing tomorrow.
He knew he’d have a sleepless night. The excitement would keep him awake, but a shot of whiskey might help.
Chapter 1
Last Week
He was a creature of habit and a perfectionist. The nearly silent second hand ticked, ticked, ticked as it edged the minute hand closer to the six o’clock mark. He wouldn’t leave until the clock said it was time. With another swipe across the countertop with the disinfectant cloth and the cutting board drying and upright on the rack, he glanced at the clock one more time. He tore a paper towel from the roll and dried his hands, then he balled it up and tossed it in the trash can.
Ah, finally.
His anticipatio
n had built throughout the day, and he could barely concentrate on his job. He was sure he’d counted out change incorrectly to plenty of customers—and likely in their favor. No matter. He couldn’t wait to get home, but first he had a stop to make.
With the hour hand on six and the minute and second hand straight up, he flipped the wall switch, and the illuminated Open sign went dark. The time had finally arrived, and the butcher shop was officially closed for the day. He turned the dead bolt, lowered the shades, and followed the hallway to the back door, where he set the alarm and walked out into the early evening. The sun was nearing the horizon, and even the twenty-minute drive would test his patience. He was sure he’d catch himself exceeding the speed limit as he made his way toward Midtown, but his excitement was mounting. When he reached his destination, he slowed and trolled the streets for a lady in a less populated area—it wasn’t quite dark yet, and he didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.
The epiphany came to him late one night as he tossed and turned in bed. The one-year anniversary of her death was coming up, and his idea was brilliant. She’d given him her blessing. Now with the house’s transformation complete, nothing was stopping him. Waiting to see the final results would be nearly impossible, yet he was a stickler for detail and gave himself several weeks to complete the project. Her resurrection would be revealed on Halloween night.
Prostitutes and runaways were the only choice—throwaways in a sense—and they wouldn’t be missed by anyone. He was itching to strike, and the prefilled syringe containing the anesthetic was in his pocket and ready to go. Craning his neck, he looked left and right out the truck windows at the women standing under streetlights as the night darkened. They wanted to be seen by the men passing by, but he continued on and searched the shadows instead. He’d get a closer look when the right woman approached the truck.
Ah, there’s one.
Greg slowed to a crawl then tapped the brakes. She stood alone against the storefront’s aged brick wall while smoking a cigarette and watching cars stop every few minutes under the streetlights. He pulled to the curb, opened the passenger-side window, and called out to her.
“Hey, gorgeous, let’s talk.”
She flicked the cigarette butt to the gutter and moseyed to the truck. “How you doing tonight?”
He looked her over closely. “Back up a bit so I can see all of you.”
She complied, backed away to the center of the sidewalk, and made a slow twirl.
“Uh-huh, nice body you’ve got there. What’s your name?”
She returned to the window and leaned in. “Ginger. So, do you like what you see? It’s only two hundred an hour, and I promise you’ll have a good time.”
“I bet I will.” He checked his surroundings before reaching for the door handle. All was clear. He pushed the door outward and extended his hand. “Sure, climb in.”
Greg had to strike quickly before she realized what was going on, and as she pulled the door closed, he sank the needle into her neck. He pressed the gas pedal, and the truck lurched forward and disappeared into the night. With her hair twisted around his hand, he held her against his shoulder while she struggled. She’d fade quickly and be fully unconscious by the time he reached the southern city limits, and another fifteen minutes beyond that was home and the secret workspace he’d created just for the occasion.
Darkness had completely blanketed the sky by the time he turned in to his driveway. The twinkling stars were noticeable now that he was far removed from the ambient city lights, and the air wore an early fall crispness. The dusk-to-dawn yard light guided him down the narrow path like a beacon, and his home, sitting on fifty acres of native ash and basswood trees, was hidden from view of the road. He liked it that way. He had plenty of privacy and only one neighbor, who lived a mile away. The garage had been converted when his brainchild project took fruition, and it now housed three rooms instead of a place for his car. The overhead garage door, still intact but sealed from inside, gave all appearances of being a functioning garage, yet it was only a façade. Within the house, he was about to begin the project in the well-hidden soundproofed rooms behind his walk-in closet.
Greg parked in front of the garage and took to the sidewalk at a quickened pace. He noticed the porch light flicker and reminded himself to replace the bulb that coming weekend. He propped open the front door, went back to the truck for Ginger, and carried her to the house. Inside, he placed her on the couch then peeled off his jacket and hung it in the closet. He went directly to the refrigerator, where his list—secured by a magnet—displayed the bullet-pointed steps he needed to follow faithfully every night.
“What kind of tea do I feel like tonight?” He opened the caddy, took a seat at the table, and lifted each sealed bag. “I have peppermint, chamomile, green, black, and rose hips teas. Decisions, decisions, decisions.” He reached for the first bag again. “Peppermint sounds good.” He jotted that on his wall calendar under the day’s date. He didn’t want to accidentally drink the same tea two nights in a row. He filled the kettle, placed it on the stove, and set his favorite cup on the counter, along with the bottle of honey.
Greg disappeared down the hallway—he had seven minutes to kill before the water came to a rolling boil. He entered his closet, moved aside the three stacked totes at the back wall, and unlocked the door that led into his craft rooms. He opened each door and cleared the way so he could carry Ginger to room three, the prep room, where he needed to start.
Room one was the operating room, where a hydraulic embalming table and stainless steel supply carts filled with cutting tools took center stage. Cabinets and countertops lined the walls, and an assortment of meat hooks hung from the ceiling studs. Room two was the holding area, a place where women would be held captive until he needed them, and several large cages sat against the walls.
That night would be a long one, but Greg was excited to begin. A life-sized cardboard cutout of Kamila stood several feet from the embalming table, and countless photographs of every part of her body were clothespinned to a line that stretched across the room. He walked to the cutout and admired her beauty. Her flawless porcelain skin was accented by those fiery yellow-green eyes, and her long black hair and lashes? They were to die for.
“You’re so beautiful, Kamila, and for now, you’re only a piece of cardboard, but I promise I’ll get it right.” When the teapot whistled, he turned to the closet and mumbled under his breath. “It’ll be perfect.” He smiled at Kamila’s cardboard image. “I’ll do you proud, sweetheart. Remember, I’m a perfectionist, and I know you’re depending on me to make you beautiful again.”
Greg returned to the kitchen for his tea. Ginger had already been secured to the table, and he was ready to start. With the cup in hand, he entered room three. He considered that room his secondary butcher shop, the one where the biggest mess would be made. He let out a long sigh as he checked the time.
A man’s work is never done.
He moved aside a few tools to make a spot on the counter for his cup. “There we go. A sip now and then and within reach.” He frowned and moved the cup an inch farther to the right, then he smiled. “Now it’s perfect.” Four black neoprene butcher aprons hung side by side in the floor-to-ceiling cabinet against the wall. He reached in, took one off the hook, slipped the loop over his head, then secured the ties at his back. His two-hour work night was about to start.
He set the alarm on his cell phone to ten o’clock and placed it in the apron’s pocket. Greg checked the straps holding Ginger in place and made sure they were tight. He looked over her nude body and assessed what he could and couldn’t use. Now that he was seeing her under the bright lights, she didn’t have the muscle definition he had hoped for. Her limbs and head were of no value to him—they weren’t right—but her torso was perfect. He positioned buckets around the table to catch the unwanted parts since he was an orderly man and didn’t like things out of place. He walked to the counter, removed the charging battery from the wall, and slid
it into the reciprocating saw. With a push and a snap, it was set. Greg took a sip of tea, lowered the shield over his face, and pressed the saw’s trigger. Things were about to get messy.
Chapter 2
Today
Annoyance and apprehension paralyzed me with fear, and the thought of the upcoming trip made me physically ill. I had to decide—either suck it up and go or lie through my teeth and say I couldn’t get off work. Blatantly lying wasn’t my norm, but there was always an exception to the rule, and the text message from my sister demanding I show up could very well be that exception.
I scrolled through my messages as I pushed aside the half-packed suitcase and took a seat on the bed.
There it is.
I read it silently for the umpteenth time as the corner of my lip curled into a snarl.
I’m hosting a surprise fifty-fifth birthday party for Mom, and everyone is coming. I’m flying from Portland, so don’t use the lame excuse that flying from Milwaukee to Atlanta is asking too much for a birthday party. You’re expected to be there, and I won’t accept anything else. You bailed on her fiftieth, so don’t disappoint me, and for God’s sake, don’t disappoint Mom.
The decision weighed heavily on my mind, and the flight was in two days. By tomorrow, I’d have to either fish or cut bait—commit or make up a lie. I thought back to the day several weeks ago when I’d rapped on Jack’s door.
“Hey, Boss, do you have a second?”
“Sure, come on in.” Jack minimized the computer screen and gave me his full attention. “Have a seat. So, what’s up?”
I drew in a nervous breath. “My sister texted me yesterday about a surprise birthday party she’s hosting for my mom at the end of the month.”
