by Hadena James
“So she lied to me,” Eric didn’t sigh, although he wanted to. Betrayed by yet another government agent that was supposed to be keeping the country safe.
“No, she didn’t. What she sent me was copies of her notes. She was looking into it. They tried to make it look like she committed suicide, but I don’t buy it. Whoever has been behind this failed to connect all the dots though. The Ahead Movement was trying to get agents into the field that were specialists with unusual skill sets because they believe the serial killers are organizing. They also believe the ones who aren’t part of the organization are still winning. They are created faster than we can catch them. Virgil wasn’t just some trainee who happened to catch two of the biggest serial killer cases she possibly could. She was the niece of a US Senator who is silently involved in the Ahead Movement. I don’t want the list of names you have from The Turk. I’m a supporter of his work and a few others like him. My own son will one day have to make the decision to become a good psychopath or a bad one. I’m hoping that if he goes the wrong direction, he looks at the work men like you, The Turk, and Apex do and follows in those footsteps.” Marshal Green sighed. “It’s hard, you know, knowing that your son has to make that decision on his own and hoping he does the best he can with what he has. I know Donnelly struggled with it every day. He didn’t want to be like his father, but he knew that you and your little sister would both have to make those choices for yourselves. I know it sounds strange, but he’d be proud of you and how have you handled yourself.”
“You knew my father?” Eric let his guard drop just a little, let the emotionless calm sneak out.
“I’m a member of the Ahead Movement,” Marshal Green answered. “My respect for your father and my desire to see you live to fight another day, is why I’m going to tell you what I’m about to tell you. You need a year. You, Hank, Mitch, you all have to survive for one more year. That’s when the US Marshals will take over the running of this prison. Once we do, it will become a federal SuperMax where we put only serial killers and mass murderers. We think it will be the most secure prison ever built and not just because it is well constructed. If we’re right, psychopaths like you and the others in here, will make sure that it stays lopsided in favor of law and order.”
“My father believed that too. However, he had another reason to believe that.” Eric took a deep breath. “You know my sister, Aislinn, at least in reputation?”
“Yes.”
“You know her friend Malachi Blake?”
“I know of him, your father mentioned him as did a few of the agents that worked her kidnapping case.”
“You know he’s a psychopath?”
“I got that impression, yeah.” Green frowned. “What are you getting at?”
“My sister doesn’t know it, because my mom burns the letters, but she has a fan club. A creepy ass fan club, but a fan club none-the-less. There are roughly two dozen serial killers currently in captivity that write her letters. They praise her skill and her beautiful deranged mind. If she stays on the path of justice and doesn’t end up in here, they will be loyal to her.”
“We’re already watching her,” Green said. “We have our eyes on several young men and women for a new unit, if we get it passed. Most of them come from families of law enforcement, most of them have families involved in Ahead. Lucas McMichaels, Xavier Reece, my own son, Caleb, they are all at the top of the list when they finish with school and start their careers. Then there are a few others, like a young man named Alejandro Gui, who killed a serial killer a few years ago and Gabriel Henders, who…”
“I know Gabriel’s story.”
“I read the transcript of your confession. I had wondered about that with your word choice.”
“Gabriel is just one of many kids connected to the Wendigo cases. He’s the only one alive though.”
“You are very read in. I’m guessing it has something to do with your redacted files and your connection to Jacob Strong.”
“You know Jacob?” Eric asked, a little surprised.
“Apex is a founding member of Ahead. He isn’t exactly who everyone thinks he is.”
“I’m guessing you mean Apex, because Jacob is exactly who everyone thinks he is.” Eric gave a quick smile, and it was a real one. The first he’d had in a long time.
“I need to get you back before we raise suspicion,” Green told him.
“How old is your son?” Eric asked.
“Nineteen.”
“Same age as Malachi.”
“The exact same age. Their birthdays are two days apart. The organization of serial killers has one big weakness,” Green said. “They don’t know that people like you, Apex, and The Turk, work for Ahead. They also don’t realize we intend to tap into that all-too-familiar psychopathic personality to start bringing them down. Our Senator is already drafting legislation to strengthen the Serial Killer and Mass Murderer Act. He’ll get it passed because Virgil was killed by a serial killer. We haven’t caught him yet, but we will.”
“When you do, let me know. I owe him a very short conversation.” Eric’s face darkened and the life drained from his eyes. Marshal Green watched it happened with awe, not fear.
“Just remember, you have a target on you.” Marshal Green reminded him once the personality had started to leak back into Eric’s face.
“Like Apex, there’s more to me than most people think,” Eric told him.
“Of that, I have no doubt, Eric. You might be one of ten fully functioning advanced psychopaths that I have ever heard of. Your grandfather is the second. Your father is the third. They just don’t build them like you very often; they don’t have the full range of whatever it is that you guys have.”
“Donnelly used to joke that we were the evolutionary step above psychopaths,” Eric answered.
“Super psychopaths, all the abilities of Superman, none of his humanity.” Green’s voice sounded distant.
“And my sister is a hybrid.”
“We are all waiting on pins and needles to see how that works out,” Green looked at Eric. “Do you worry about her?”
“Every day. I worry more about her not knowing what to do with herself. Our cousin, Nyleena, has been a huge help there. She works as a moral compass for Aislinn and she can bring her back from the ledge of her own darkness.” Eric stopped for a moment. “When the Marshals take over, they need to make sure to keep us mentally stimulated. A bored mind is a psychopath’s worst enemy. Puzzle books seem to work surprisingly well.”
“I will put that on the list,” Green smiled.
Max Goff
Chapter One
It started out as a way for him to blow off some steam. Managing his life could be difficult. He worked full time, went to college full time, and was still expected to have time to do things with friends and family while maintaining excellent grades and playing baseball.
The stressor had been his term paper. He’d gotten a B on it, instead of the A he had been expecting. He’d worked his ass off on that thing. His professor had taken off for spelling, grammar, and a few facts that he hadn’t cited. He’d used spellcheck, it shouldn’t have spelling or grammar errors in it.
His plan that night had been to get some beer. There was a liquor store four blocks from the apartment he shared with a couple of other seniors. He’d walked a couple of blocks when he saw it. Idling at the curb was a Buick. It was empty and the apartments were far enough away that he couldn’t be seen as he slid behind the wheel.
It was meant to be a joyride. He’d never done anything like it before, breaking the law that is; he’d always been a good kid and good student. He had never even shoplifted as a little kid. Stealing a car was way out of his league. Although, he would leave it at a building a block or so away when he was done, so it was more like borrowing it.
The drive had lasted for about an hour when he found the gun. It was stashed between the driver’s seat and the console. He’d pulled it out just to look at it. It had been so heavy in his hands.
At a stoplight, he had pointed it towards the passenger’s window, getting a feel for it. He’d never held a gun before either. He would probably have to wipe it down or something. He’d watched a few shows and knew that anyone who stashed a gun was probably up to no good.
At that moment, that sentiment included him. He was up to no good. He’d stolen a car and now he was pointing a gun at a window. The night was surreal to say the least.
When he saw the two drunken guys staggering down the sidewalk, he couldn’t explain what happened to him. He rolled down the passenger’s window, raised the gun, and began firing. The first couple of bullets didn’t seem to hit anything.
Max didn’t notice. He continued to fire. The bullets began to find their targets. Both men fell to the ground and attempted to crawl. The gun clicked a few times and Max realized it was empty. He put it on the seat and headed back the way he came.
Everything after that was a blur. He didn’t remember parking the car or even where he left it. He couldn’t even tell you how he got back to his place. He sort of remembered falling into his bed. Exhaustion made his entire body feel heavy. Within seconds, he was asleep.
The next morning, he wondered if he had dreamed it all. Right up until the news came on the TV. A small time local drug dealer had been arrested for the murder of two men. The attack seemed unprovoked.
As he listened to the newscaster give more details, he felt dizzy. It hadn’t been a dream, he really had shot people. He had killed people and he wasn’t being investigated for it. They had made an arrest already.
His heart beat a little faster. His breathing a little heavy. His stomach was filled with butterflies. His mind raced. Euphoric was the only way to describe it.
He bought a gun a few days later. Car theft went from cars left running at curbs to cars he had to hot wire. He got good at it.
A few months later, he was a straight A student whose night time activities were still unknown. He began looking for riskier targets. Instead of individuals or couples, he began going after groups.
A few weeks after spring break, he took out nine people in one night at two different locations. Max didn’t know it, but that night would begin the unravelling that would follow in the next few weeks.
Chapter Two
David Ashby had been a detective for four years before joining the US Marshals Fugitive Recovery Unit. He’d been with Fugitive Recovery another five years. Now, he was the head of a newly formed Serial Crimes Tracking Unit. He had six men under his command; Charles Lacefield, a former Army Ranger who had been with the Marshals service for six years. Brock Lowman who had only been a US Marshal for a year, but he had transferred from the FBI where he worked as a profiler for the last six years. Steve Dailey had been a US Marshal for three years. James Evenston had been a detective in LA before being recruited for this job. Martin Avilla had been special forces in Canada before immigrating to the US and joining the SCTU and Nick Dibbly was a social worker turned US Marshal after he stumbled across a horrific scene of carnage when he went to check on a client.
They’d been training for six months as a unit. Working to figure out the clues that would lead them to a serial killer and the best way to take them down. Nathan Green was in charge of their training. Each day they had to solve a new case based on just the clues that Green gave them. If they succeeded, Nathan took them out for drinks. If they failed, Nathan killed a crash test dummy in surprising ways, making sure they got spattered in the pig gore with which he filled them. Before telling them who the killer was and storming out of the room.
To Nathan Green, every case, even though they were solved or completely made up, was a case of life and death. He had taken their training very seriously. Perhaps more seriously than they had at first. They had become more than guards and trackers, they were also becoming hunters.
That was when their first request for assistance came in. The FBI had profiled a young male, most likely white, driving around Denver, shooting at random people. Sometimes he hit bad neighborhoods, sometimes more affluent areas, sometimes he struck around the colleges, but they couldn’t find him. Everything they had done had been in vain. Finally, they had admitted they needed help and called in the SCTU.
The team was already headed to their hotel rooms in Salt Lake City when the realization that they had their first real case sank in. It seemed to hit all of them at the same time. There would be no one holding their hands. No one to tell them what they overlooked. It was life or death; in David’s head, he wasn’t sure whether they would be going out for drinks afterwards or end the day covered in gore, metaphorically speaking. David hoped it was the first option. There were no pigs this time to donate the blood and other things.
Chapter Three
Max was sleeping soundly when his roommate suddenly burst into the room. He was a pre-law student that Max liked more than the others. He was more grounded in reality than most college students.
“Dude, you have got to get up!” His roommate was flinging clothing at him.
“What?” Max rubbed his eyes and yawned while flopping over in bed.
“The SCTU is in town. I wanna go talk to them or at least see them.” His roommate’s name was Clark Strawn and sometimes he got carried away by Law & Order reruns.
“Who?” Max asked trying to convince himself to sit up.
“Remember we talked last year about the Serial Killer Laws being passed? One of the things it did was create an elite task force to hunt down serial killers called the Serial Crimes Tracking Unit. They are in town! My professor was talking about it this morning.”
“Do we have a serial killer?” Max frowned and finally put his feet on the floor.
“I guess so,” Clark answered. He was grinning from ear to ear. It made him look dopey, despite his being one of the smartest people Max knew.
Some part of Max that he kept separate from his conscious self wondered if he was the serial killer. However, he hadn’t seen anything in the news about the random shootings being connected. Surely if they had made that connection it would be on the news. Although, they had released the drug dealer they had arrested for his original crime. Maybe they just weren’t releasing that information on the news. He didn’t know if they could do that or not.
“Seriously, you gotta hurry, they’ll be on campus within the hour.” Clark’s smile had faded and he was tapping his foot on the floor. Max got up and got dressed.
“Why are they coming to campus?” Max asked.
“Not sure, I just know they are going to be in the Criminal Justice lecture auditorium at 4:30 and it’s 3:40 now.” Clark checked his watch to emphasize the time constraint. Considering they were going to be in a lecture hall, it seemed only reasonable that they were here to guest lecture on something. Something that was open to all of campus. The auditorium in the Criminal Justice department was the second largest on campus and could hold close to 5,000 people. It was mainly used for guest lectures that were open to all students. Max was an anthropology major and he’d attended a lecture in it last year given by a sociologist and his grad student on criminality and genetics. Max remembered the grad student more because he never made eye contact when someone spoke to him and he had been very blank for most of it, as if he were bored, even when he was speaking. Yet, his voice had held inflection and interest, belying his face. Max had thought there was something weird about the guy. He had also seemed young for a grad student.
Max was curious what these serial killer hunters had to say. This made him dress a little faster. Before long, he found himself bundled into a car with Clark heading back to campus. He had nothing but early classes so he could work and attend baseball practice. However, that meant catching sleep when he could and Clark had disrupted that. He’d try to catch a nap later.
Max worked as a security guard in a building at night. Sometimes, he could catch an hour or two of sleep during work. His colleagues knew he was working full time and going to college full time, so they were understanding. He really liked the
m and his job.
It took forever to find parking. The area around the Criminal Justice building was packed. Students stood in clusters, talking amongst themselves in quiet whispers, as if they were chatting at a funeral. Clark and he went into the building, worried about getting a seat.
They were right to be worried. The place was nearly packed. Their seats were near the back, even though there was still twenty minutes to go until the SCTU showed up. Clark made small talk with a few passing students, as did Max. It seemed no one knew why the SCTU was on campus, but every professor had made the announcement that morning and every email had contained notice of it. However, neither Max nor Clark had checked their emails that day. It was a phase that would pass, according to Clark. Max was a little less skeptical, it just needed to be faster. It took forever for the modem to connect and it tied up the phone. If these things were improved, Max could definitely see it rising in popularity.
Chapter Four
The lights dimmed. David wasn’t sure this was going to work, but since more than a dozen students had been gunned down, it was possible that reaching out to students would help. Or it could flood the case with false leads and overwhelm their resources.
That wasn’t the only reason they were there though. The Serial Crimes Tracking Unit needed exposure, good exposure. They weren’t the FBI. They weren’t the Secret Service. The US Marshals did not have the cult of personality that other federal agencies had. For the SCTU to be successful, they needed an image. It had been Nathan Green that had drummed the idea into them. Or rather, Nathan Green’s son, Caleb, who was a brilliant grad student majoring in sociology, had decided they needed an image the public could associate with. It was the only way they were going to get tips and information from people on the street. They needed to be relatable, they weren’t just kicking down doors with warrants anymore. They didn’t need warrants. They needed to prove they weren’t power drunk. It started in places like universities.
