by Hadena James
Twenty-Four
Very few things frightened me; the death of those closest and my own via fire, was the sum of it. As I stood in the alleyway, more convinced than ever that Alejandro Gui was our serial killer, I feared these things. He had the insider knowledge to attack Malachi within the FGN. He had the know-how to build bombs. He had the strength to lift me from my feet and throw me into a glass window.
Having been released from the hospital earlier in the day, I had gone back to the site of my encounter. The window had yet to be replaced; instead, a sheet of plywood covered the gaping hole. It was while walking the route that I had remembered the cigarette he had flicked against me. However, it had rained, significant amounts, during my time in the hospital. Whatever evidence had been on the street was washed down the drains and sent to wherever the pipework took it.
I had gone into the conference room long enough to realize that we had two more victims of belladonna poisoning. Neither seemed connected to each other, but both were women. I had been downstairs for over an hour, chain smoking and attempting to kick start my memories. The events of the previous days were still sketchy. Also, I was having trouble being around Xavier. Guilt wasn’t something I dealt with very often, so I didn’t know what to do with it.
Of course, there was one more thing nagging at me. I had gotten my ass kicked, again. It was becoming a trend, a trend that needed to end. First, my humanity had gotten the best of me in Texas and now, someone had gotten the drop on me in South Dakota. My chances of survival were dropping. Some part of me was morbidly curious about who would miss me when my demise did come. Some part of me was berating me, mentally, for letting my survival instincts falter. That was the reason Malachi was still in the hospital. He’d gotten comfortable with his situation, let his guard down, and had been impaled by part of a door.
“He’s not out here,” Lucas’s voice came from behind me. The man was as stealthy as a cat, despite being the size of an elephant.
“No, I suppose he isn’t.”
“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?”
“If I say no, will you go away?”
“Unlikely,” Lucas answered. “I’ll just stand here with you and we’ll observe the world together.”
“What exactly does guilt feel like?”
“It feels like guilt. It feels like you did something wrong.”
“Hm,” I thought for a moment, “then I do not know what I am feeling. I thought it was guilt, but it does not feel like I did something wrong. It feels like I am in pain, but emotionally, not physically.”
“If this conversation is only about Xavier, you shouldn’t feel guilt. You were, for all intents and purposes, incapacitated. Your failure to recover memories, tells me that you weren’t even a passenger along for the ride. Somehow, and for reasons I don’t fully understand, the gaps seem to prove that you weren’t even present for parts of it. Most people who experience trauma create memories. You didn’t. Your brain seems to prefer the gaps, as if it isn’t even sure what might have happened.”
“It is not just Xavier. I have been on the losing end of these fights more than once recently. If I fail, people die. If you do not believe me, go look at the board upstairs.”
“Ah,” Lucas put his hand on my shoulder, “you came face to face with a killer and because he managed to drug you, you feel like you are responsible for the deaths of the women who came after your encounter. You have survivor’s guilt.”
“I am losing my edge. What happens when the four of you bust down a door and I am too slow or too, I do not know, and someone on the team dies because of it?”
“I have two pieces of advice for you, one as your friend and one as a psychiatrist. Which would you prefer first?”
“Psychobabble, I think.”
“You are a sociopathic hybrid. Your DNA says you should be a psychopath. Your mental state proves that you aren’t. The events of the last year have been, unsettling. First, you discover your cousin is alive and well, and practicing vorarephilia. Second, you realize your grandfather, the serial killer, is also alive and he’s been stalking you. You fixed the first problem, and your grandfather fixed the second problem. It is very hard to reconcile your work with your grandfather’s actions. In some ways, his killing spree relieved some of the pressure from you. His killing his own sister, who was helping your cousin, was an act for the greater good. Then he surprised everyone by surrendering, because he wants a relationship with you, Eric, and Nyleena. That doesn’t include creepy letters. It isn’t the killing spree or the fact that you sort of agree with what he did that is your problem with Patterson. The plain truth is that you can’t reconcile his surrender. You expected The Butcher to go out in a blood bath and he didn’t, because he loves his family. If your psychopathic, serial killing grandfather can experience love to that great of a degree, it makes you question whether you should be capable of the same. We have all watched the struggle, believing you to be smart enough to figure it out on your own. Now, I realize we have made a grave mistake. We forgot that sociopaths are not good at turning their powers of perception upon themselves.”
“I am confused by the point you are trying to make,” I admitted.
“Love confuses you, Aislinn Cain. You believe because you are asexual, you are incapable of such a thing. That isn’t true. You are very capable of love. Your reaction to Malachi’s injuries is proof of that. You may not want to marry him, have kids, and live in a house with a white picket fence, but you do love Malachi. Xavier makes you uncomfortable right now, because you love him as well and you hurt him. Even though he doesn’t hold you accountable for it, you hold yourself accountable, you hurt someone you love. Your impulse is to dismiss love, because you are not inclined towards romantic love. But there are many types of love. And you, my beautiful goddess of death, experience the gambit. In some ways, I believe your ability to love is your strongest asset. While I know Trevor loves me and I believe he would lay down his life for me, I know that you love me enough to do it without hesitation. Your uncertainty about your situation is currently this reconciliation or lack thereof. Just as you embraced the monster that lives within you, you must also accept your humanity. Love really is your stumbling block. You ask yourself how you can eviscerate a serial killer, but love Nyleena enough to die for her or kill for her.” Lucas took a deep breath. “And there ends the psychobabble part of my advice. Embrace your humanity just as you have your monster, they are both part of you.”
“And the friendly advice?”
“We all love you, even Fiona. We will hold your hand whenever you need it. If you feel you need to throw yourself a pity party, we’ll bring the cake and decorations. However, it isn’t a pity party that you need. You need to pull your head out of your ass and start looking at this case in a different way. Your investigative powers aren’t the most finely honed, but you have good instincts. You should listen to them.”
“My instincts tell me that this is the work of Alejandro Gui.”
“I’m inclined to believe you. You understand psychopaths and sociopaths better than any doctor, present company included. The problem is that he wasn’t responsible for the first round of deaths, so why is he avenging them now?”
“Why does it have to be about avenging them?” I asked. “Why can’t his hatred of women and some other event have led to this current round of killing?”
“What was the other event?”
“I do not know,” I answered. “I am sure that he blames Malachi and myself for his condition. Psychopaths and sociopaths have trouble admitting that they might be responsible for some series of events that turned out badly for themselves.”
“You’ve accepted it.”
“Have I?” I looked at him.
“Yes, that is why you are chasing rabbits. You feel responsible for Alejandro’s condition to some degree. Not enough to feel guilt or remorse, but you are aware that he would not be in this position if we had been chasing a serial killer not connected directly
to you.”
“Then perhaps I want Alejandro to be the serial killer to relieve myself of any responsibility. Perhaps that is clouding my judgment.”
“Perhaps,” Lucas thought for a moment. “However, Alejandro isn’t just a psychopath; he’s a man with a lot of secrets. Even our clearance level doesn’t gain us access to his records. Why?”
“In other words, he is being protected by someone.”
“Yes, he is. The same is true of us. We are protected on high by some government agency. If I had to guess, it’s the Department of Justice. However, I don’t think that’s where Alejandro is getting his.”
“He is a Native American with black ops military training. Considering their status as semi-sovereign nations and his background, it could be any number of alphabet agencies.”
“That’s my thought too. However, I’m willing to guess that it’s CIA or NSA. No one else has cause to protect him. It’s possible that he is still of some use to them.” Lucas looked out at the street. “I also think that however he’s connected to this case has been erased.”
Pain
He was used to pain. His legs bothered him every day. Some days were more bearable than others, but they constantly hurt. It was a side effect of the muscle death he had experienced. It was also a side effect of the regrowth that was occurring.
This was new pain. The claws of the pint-sized bitch had torn into his hands, arms, and face. Unlike most people, she had continued to fight even when he had her by the throat.
It pissed him off. He had been sure she would lose her fight after a few seconds, but she hadn’t. Even after throwing her into a window, she had continued to see her surroundings and the threat they posed. He wondered if the LSD wasn’t strong enough for her. He’d based the dosage off what he had given to Maya, but he had been dosing her with belladonna for a couple of months. He found the combination gave the best results.
Except with her, which was a problem. He’d attempted to kill her twice and had yet to succeed. The only thing that helped was that others had also failed to kill her many times. He was determined to be the one to do it. Short of walking up and putting a gun to her face, he was coming up short in the how to kill her department, but it was a problem for another day.
He washed the scratches. He and his sister, Maria, were going to visit their sister Helena today. Helena had been committed several years earlier voluntarily. The move had been advantageous and stopped her from being a murder suspect. At the time, it had been a conflict of interest. Alejandro had been working for the FBI and Helena had been a murderer, but you did what you could to assist family. Most of the deaths had been ruled accidental or suspicious, as no suspects or leads came in. No links were made to the family. It had all worked out.
Besides, Helena had raised all of them. Their mother had died when they were young. Their father hadn’t been around much. Helena, as the oldest, had assumed responsibility for the family. She had made sure they ate, got dressed, went to school, and had help with their homework. She was what a woman should aspire to be. This dedication had driven her insane with rage. She couldn’t imagine how anyone could think one of her brothers would be involved with drugs or murder. She certainly didn’t believe some junkie whore should be used as a witness against him. Helena believed Gavin had stabbed himself to get away from the accusations. Alejandro disagreed, but wouldn’t argue with her.
The water stung as it entered the wounds. There was no doubt that some of the make-up had gotten into them. He steeled himself for the scrubbing that would need to be done. For a moment, he thought about the irony of it. He had gotten used to the pains in his legs, they hurt, but he could power through it. However, scratch marks were going to make him wince. He supposed it was like a paper cut versus a bullet wound. Paper cuts seemed to hurt more intensely and for a longer period of time.
Helena had taught him about the values a woman should have. Helena had taught him that family came first. To her, there was no greater sin than turning your back on family.
It was the driving force behind him trying to connect with Tyler. Tyler was his blood. Tyler belonged with them, not with some unknown family. To Alejandro, the only reason Maya Hudson had raised his nephew was because Anita was not a woman that possessed many values. If she had been, she probably would be alive today along with Gavin. It was partially Anita’s fault that Gavin was dead.
He had worked around serial killers enough to know that most preyed on high risk women. Only the bold went after low risk victims. This confirmed that Anita was lacking in morals. She was probably turning tricks or something the night she died, she and the group of women she had been with. It wouldn’t surprise him.
Even his sister Maria had some loose morals. She couldn’t find a husband and the few times she had gotten close, they had been unacceptable matches. It was as if she intentionally picked men that her family wouldn’t like. Alejandro really had to control his temper sometimes. She could be difficult. He wasn’t sure how to correct her behavior. She had always been the rebellious one.
Alejandro gazed at his hands. They had turned red from the hot water and scrubbing. The scratches looked raw; a few of the deeper ones were bleeding again. Cain would pay for them. Maybe he would make an exception and torture her a little bit before killing her.
He could let himself into her room tomorrow night while she slept, and then pounce on her when she least expected it. Duct tape worked well to keep people quiet. He could turn up the TV to mask her muffled shouts. He had never tortured anyone, but he was willing to expand his horizons. He would dose her again with a larger amount of LSD, and then cut her to shreds. He wondered if she would see him as a demon, like Maya Hudson, or some other monster that lurked in the dark crevices of her deranged brain.
Imagining it was dangerous. It was a fantasy that he could get lost in. There was also the slim chance that he would over aggrandize it and the event wouldn’t live up to what he had imagined. If that happened, he would want to kill again. He would need it to feel the rush that came with bloodletting.
He thought about that for a moment. It wasn’t correct. He didn’t have a bloodlust. Bloodletting did little for him. There was no euphoria associated with it. He wanted the kill. He didn’t need to watch it. Just knowing it was happening was enough to get him high. It was why he didn’t torture his victims. Cutting up Aislinn Cain would be interesting, but it was her death that he desired, not her blood. He wasn’t even entirely sure he could do it.
She had fought back and she shouldn’t have. That still bothered him. He was a large man, much larger than she was. He was a psychopath, she wasn’t. His hand around her throat, pressing on her carotid artery and windpipe, should have taken the fight out of her. Some part of him wondered if he had done something wrong. He had never tried to kill anyone with his bare hands before. Her neck had been small in his hand. His thumb had overlapped his index and middle fingers. Maybe his fingers touching across her spine had not allowed the pressure he had imagined.
A weapon was required, a weapon that didn’t take a while to have an impact, like the belladonna. He’d been good with knives, even growing up. Besides, knives were scary. They meant more than just death. They ensured pain beforehand. He knew from experience that he preferred facing people with guns. Guns were predictable and had almost no versatility. Knives were extremely versatile, making them unpredictable. It was far better to take a knife. She would take him seriously if he were wielding a knife.
“Are you about ready?” Maria’s voice startled him. He looked at her reflection in the mirror.
“Yeah, I just need to finish getting dressed.” She said nothing about him standing at the sink. She nodded to him and went into the living room.
“You must have been thinking about her,” Maria shouted to him from the other room. “You didn’t hear me knock or answer when I called your name and you allowed yourself to get caught standing up. Is it because she didn’t die?”
“I’ve got another plan,” Al
ejandro answered.
“Of course you do.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm and disdain. Alejandro had to grab the counter to keep himself from walking in there and strangling her. She just didn’t understand, he told himself, but she would. When he killed Aislinn Cain and cleared Gavin, all the anger would melt away.
Twenty-Five
“So, I might have a lead,” Fiona said as Lucas and I returned to the conference room. “I found a file from when Alejandro was with the tribal police. For some reason, he was asked to investigate a death on Archuleta Mesa, which is in Colorado and bordered by the Ute and Navajo nations. Alejandro isn’t Ute or Navajo, he’s Lakota. It doesn’t say where he was based, but it seems strange that they would call him in to investigate a death on reservation land that wasn’t Lakota. Also, it seems strange that the Ute and Navajo, who both have their own tribal police, would agree to an outsider investigating it. The body was female and is only given the name X in the file. She was pretty bad off, mutilated beyond recognition. However, a tox screen showed she had died of an overdose of LSD. That was in 1995.”
“I know Archuleta Mesa,” I said and closed my eyes. Where had I heard it? Why had I heard it? Then it dawned on me. “Archuleta Mesa is supposedly the home of the Dulce Base, a UFO hotspot. Malachi has an interest in it because in the last twenty years or so, a number of tribe members have come forward with information about strange sightings and cattle mutilations.”
“Interesting, but I’m not sure that’s relevant,” Fiona said. “A year later, a body was found at a place called Skinwalker Ranch. She had also died from an overdose of LSD.”
