Killerbyte (byte Series Book 1)

by Cat Connor

  “Yeah, there’s a book on the coffee table at my place, would you grab it, please.”

  “No problem.”

  “Don’t be long,” Aidan said, his voice betraying his anxiety.

  “You’ll be fine, time you and Dad talked.”

  I kissed Dad’s cheek. “You need a shave. I’ll arrange it on my way out.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart.” His eyes closed again.

  Twenty-Four

  Jack And Jill

  Icollapsed on the bed in my childhood room. Nothing much had changed. I lay and stared at the ceiling, at the glow in the dark stars I’d stuck up a lifetime ago. Hundreds of stars adorned the ceiling.

  Mac flopped down beside me.

  “What was Ellie like as a teenager?” He also gazed up at the greenish-yellow stars.

  “Smart-mouthed, contrary, full of the angst of a teenage girl, sometimes withdrawn, but not too bad a kid, I think.”

  My mind did a brief mambo through the trials of teenage life, peppered with patches of outright insanity courtesy of my manic mother.

  Mac rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow. He gazed down on me with soft, caring eyes.

  “We’re survivors, Ellie.”

  “Yes, we are,” I affirmed.

  I looked into his eyes and thought how easy it would be to become lost in the flecks of gold. They reminded me so much of tiny stars. Real life broke in – things needed doing. “We should unpack, then find those boxes Dad wanted dropped off.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “How about you close those very captivating blue eyes of yours and rest up for a bit?”

  I wasn’t tired but maybe just being still would clear things enough to provide some insight into what was happening.

  “Okay.”

  He started to move.

  “Don’t go far.”

  “Thought I’d just get comfy and stay right here, okay?” Mac did just that as he shuffled down on the bed and pulled me close to him.

  I let sleep come. My mind took a whirlwind tour of both recent and past events as it sifted through garbage searching for what should be preserved. Images burned as they converted into little video clips, and arranged themselves into a more palatable context. Glossy apparitions spoke volumes as they reeled through my dream movie theatre.

  I watched in awe as files opened to catch single thoughts and moving pictures, logging everything for further exploration. Everything had a categorized place for future need based on most pressing and relevant information. Once sorted and sifted, the movie reels began again, playing footage. Editing, rearranging, turning the complex into simple concepts, easily understood by the waking mind.

  I felt Mac stir beside me, and his arms wrapped tighter around me. I blinked a few times as partial dream excerpts clung to the edges of my waking mind.

  “Orbit Satellite Internet,” I said.

  “What about them?”

  “Scratches on his neck,” I added with more clarity. “Everything can be explained.”

  I felt Mac’s body freeze beside mine. He knew what I was talking about. I pulled a dreamscape from out of its shadowed box file.

  “When we were high school – Aidan was a couple of years behind me – these asshole kids from my class had been giving me a hard time about Mom. I ignored them; they were jerks, and it didn’t matter. But one afternoon, Aidan decided to take matters into his own hands. I wasn’t there, but I heard what happened from a friend of mine the next day.”

  “Go on,” Mac prompted.

  “She told me she came around the corner of the gym and stopped because she couldn’t believe what she saw. Two of the guys who’d harassed me were on the ground. She swore they weren’t moving. Aidan kept kicking them in the head, taking turns with each one, saying, ‘No one is going to destroy her happiness, you motherfuckers!’ Karen said he repeated it over and over. She was terrified.” I closed my eyes. “She would never be in the same room as him after that. One of those kids almost died from the brutal beating he received from my brother.”

  “What happened after that? Was he charged?”

  “No. He went to counseling and to another school. I graduated soon after that.” I opened my eyes to find Mac studying my face. “I don’t know of any other incidents like that.”

  “Where are you going with this?” His voice was gentle yet confused.

  “As I see it right now there are two possibilities, Caine, or an unknown, who could be an agent. But there are situations, such as the beating, that could be used against Aidan,” I explained. “Aidan said he dropped off clothing today, maybe we should check that out. Someone fabricated surveillance. What if that person followed him and dropped off something else?”

  “Something like a missing body?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” I said. “If Aidan is pulled in for questioning his whereabouts will be scrutinized. Everything he’s done will be out in the open. That includes innocuous things like dropping off clothing to the Sally Army. Someone will search for those clothes.”

  I wondered how far this person would go to implicate Aidan.

  “What now?” Mac asked.

  “Would you call the hospital, check Dad’s okay and that Aidan is still there, please?”

  “Of course, I’ll do it now, then?”

  “We’re going to find those clothes before someone else does.”

  He hurried from the room to make the call and returned a few minutes later.

  “He’s still there, Dad’s the same.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mac picked up a high school yearbook from the bookshelf and flipped through it while I changed into warmer clothes. “What are you looking for?” I pulled a clean fleecy top over my head.

  “You, as a teenager.”

  Oh man, we don’t need to go there.

  I attempted to grab the book from him, but he ducked out of the way. He had it open at the back page, reading comments and well wishes, “One day you’ll notice me. Tommy.” He looked at me from over the book. “Who is Tommy?”

  “Not a clue.” I shrugged. It was a long time ago and of about as much interest now, as it was then.

  Mac searched through the book. He held up a page and pointed to a kid. “Damn, Ellie! You overlooked him?”

  I eyed the picture, disheveled dark hair, heavy black-rimmed glasses. “Mmmm.”

  “He even has a pocket protector.”

  “I don’t remember him.” I took another look. “Ohhh yeah. He was in the science club.” I shuddered as a memory surfaced. “He followed me a few times, and he was really intense and creepy.”

  Mac chuckled and said, “Any clue what happened to him?”

  “Nope.”

  Mac closed the book. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Let’s start with the Sally Army stores between Aidan’s and the hospital,” I suggested, “But first ... we drop by a drugstore, for latex gloves, both small and large paper bags and a waterproof marker pen. Oh, and we’ll swap cars. Let’s take my Dad’s car.”

  Caine would know by now we had Bob’s car, and he’d be looking for us.

  “All right.” Mac nodded. We cruised up to the first drugstore on the way to our targeted area. I purchased everything we needed with cash. I saw no need to alert Caine as to our whereabouts with credit card transactions.

  “Paper bags?” Mac asked as we loaded the supplies into the trunk. His question didn’t surprise me. I knew he’d been thinking about it while we were in the store.

  “For evidence, should we find any. If it’s bloodied, it must be in paper because plastic bags keep the blood from drying and allow bugs to grow.”

  “This is one giant learning curve.”

  We headed on our way to the next stop.

  Mac pulled up in front of the first Salvation Army store. It was large, with plate glass windows across the front bearing the Salvation Army logo.

  We entered the store. I approached the counter and spoke to the assistant,
“My brother may have dropped off some clothes this afternoon.”

  The woman interrupted me, “Ah, don’t tell me, and he bought in the wrong box?” she said with a wide smile. “It happens a lot.”

  I grinned. “Yes, he did.”

  “Everything we’ve had today is stacked down the back, on the far right.” The woman pointed across the store.

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  “We’re closing soon,” she called after us, as we hurried over to where several boxes were piled up in the corner. Mac lifted down the first box and set it on the floor. We snapped our gloves on, not easy over a cast. Five boxes later, nothing had jumped out or even seemed familiar.

  “Shall we move on?” Mac sounded a little disheartened.

  “Yeah.”

  We pulled our gloves off and dropped them in our pockets.

  “Thank you,” I said, to the woman at the counter on my way past, “he can’t have dropped them here.”

  “Try the store closest to the hospital. We also have clothing dumpsters by the hospital.”

  “Thanks.” I followed Mac from the store.

  “Store or dumpsters?” Mac opened the car door for me.

  “Store, let’s do the easy thing first.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Steady rain fell as we pulled in front of the next store. I made a decision, “Let’s flag the store till later, we’re losing light, and I’ve a feeling about the dumpsters.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  Rain poured from the gray sky and showed little sign of letting up as Mac parked close to the big red dumpster. It bore the Salvation Army shield in brilliant white which glowed brighter under our headlights. We sat in the car and stared at the bins while I willed the rain to ease off. It was almost dusk and the rain wasn’t helping visibility any.

  I took out a flashlight from the storage drawer under my seat. Dad always kept a fully-charged flashlight in the car. “We’ll need this, its dark inside those things.”

  I surveyed Mac’s shoulders then scrutinized the flip-top dumpsters in front of the car. I realized he wouldn’t fit, because the lids were smaller than I remembered. I’d be the one flipping upside down into the dumpster, and I’d been in enough dumpsters to know those supposedly containing clothing only, also held unmentionable filth. The rain eased a little, so I slapped on a brave face.

  “Let’s get this over with.” I squinted out the window. “You’ll have to give me a leg up … don’t think I can jump with this damn cast.”

  He looked at me in horror. “No way! I’m going in.”

  “Hon, you won’t get through that little door,” I replied with a grin and waved a hand at his broad shoulders.

  He looked over at the bins then back at me. “This is unacceptable,” he said. “I am not happy about you dropping into a freaking dumpster.”

  “It’s not the first time, and I doubt it’ll be the last. My lean frame has always been in high demand for awkward-to-reach places.”

  Mac shook his head. “I’m not impressed with this idea,”

  Me neither.

  “Let’s get this exercise in stupidity over.”

  We stood on the sidewalk by the dumpster. Puddles lay all around us and rain dripped from the sky. I pushed on the lid and swung it out of my way. Mac placed his hand on it to stop it banging on my head. I peered inside.

  “Doesn’t look very full. Why do people drop trash into these things?”

  I could see what looked like file folders and newspaper. Something in the dumpster smelt rancid. It occurred to me that it could’ve been a dead animal.

  “Laziness, people are lazy. You going in?”

  “Yeah. That lid’s gonna smack me on the head any second, huh?” I had difficulty figuring out how Mac intended to help me into the dumpster and hold the lid.

  “I hope not,” he said. “Push the lid out of the way with your cast as you slip a leg over the edge. Once you are up there, I’ll hold the lid.”

  “Clever.” I winked at him. “I thought I’d go in head first and flip over.”

  “The hell you did!”

  I dropped into the bin feet first with the flashlight in my good hand. Inside, a dank, drippy darkness overcame me. I shone the beam around, but the flashlight did nothing to alleviate the creepiness. I could’ve sworn I heard a scuffling noise from beneath the paper and trash. Trash equals rats. I didn’t ponder on how they would get in the dumpster; I just accepted they were there.

  A foul smell sucked all the oxygen from the air. Maybe a dead rat or cat.

  Damn, there was a noise. “Mac, I don’t think I’m alone!”

  The lid moved, letting in more of the dull wet light. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I moved papers and trash out of the way and searched for clothing. I convinced myself I heard rats. I could shoot rats, so no problem. I didn’t think I would find anything to link Aidan to any clothing. My brother was no killer. I doubted I would find any clothing bearing bloodstains matching any of our victims, either. I stepped carefully. My right foot sank into something soft. More trash. I lifted my foot which released a plume of the stench.

  “Oh, man,” I groaned, covering my mouth and nose with my sleeve.

  “What?” Mac’s voice echoed into the dumpster.

  “There’s something rotten in here.” I kept my sleeve over my mouth and nose, and kicked at the garbage using my feet to push rubbish out of the way.

  I didn’t go any closer to the stench than I had to. Heavy plastic crinkled as I moved. I shone the flashlight by my feet and saw the edges of black polythene. I kicked more trash out of the way. My foot connected with something solid. I redirected the flashlight beam and it still took me a second to realize what I was looking at.

  Someone’s head, with eyes popping out like boiled eggs, looked up at me. “Oh, yuck!” It was more a high-pitched yelp than actual words.

  “What?”

  “Mac, get me outta here!” Panic surged in my voice as I staggered back to the opening and tried not to fall. I dropped the flashlight. Too bad, there was no way I would pick it up. It became dumpster trash. I reached up to Mac. He grabbed me just above the elbows and hauled me over the top, past the lid.

  Mac steadied me then let go. I stumbled away from the dumpster wondering if I looked as green as I felt. I leaned against the car, facing into the street. I gulped for air and swallowed hard.

  “What the hell happened?” Mac’s voice held a panicky edge.

  I raised my hand to my face. I could still smell it. The putrid stench permeated my clothes. I tore the zipper open on my jacket, ripped it off , and threw it on the ground as far away as possible. Mac spun me around.

  “What?” He tilted my face up to see my eyes.

  “It’s revolting,” I said, swallowing hard, “Can’t you smell it?”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s everywhere.” How could he not smell it? “It’s the most disgusting thing I have ever smelt in my life.” The odor clung to me. I’d become enveloped in the noxious vapor.

  “Take a deep breath. You’re not making much sense.” He was calm, but I could feel nothing except mounting panic. “Breathe.”

  I took a breath, spun on my heels and vomited into the gutter.

  Mac waited until I straightened up before saying anything else. “What’s on your boot?”

  I looked at the back of my foot. “Nothing,” I replied with great relief.

  “No, the other one.” He pointed at my left foot.

  I lifted my foot and took a closer look and was sorry I did. A foul stink rose from my boot. Even Mac could smell it now. He reeled backwards, clamping his hand over his mouth and nose.

  I heard my voice before I could censor it, “I believe it’s a section of human intestine.”

  I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and opened the car door. I sat with my legs over the pavement and removed my left boot trying not to dislodge the human remains clinging to it. Stuck to the s
ole I discovered a small piece of yellow paper. I removed it and could see black handwriting, partially obscured, beneath a thin coating of blood and other body fluids.

  I read it aloud to Mac, ‘“One man’s trash is for the finder to measure, as I stare at you, it’s you I treasure.’”

  “Guess that removes any doubt of this being unrelated.” Mac kept his eyes on mine. I knew he was trying not to look at the bloodied Post-it note that I held at arm’s length.

  “Pass one of those small paper baggies, please.”

  Mac opened one and held it out to me. I dropped the vile scrap of paper into it, and Mac folded down the top.

  “Grab the pen. Write the time, date, where the evidence was found, and your initials.”

  I watched him write; he didn’t look well. I sat for a moment trying to compose myself. The trunk slammed shut rattling the car. Mac reappeared. I threw the left boot on top of my discarded jacket, following up with my right boot and the gloves.

  The decomposition of the body confused me. From the putrefaction I’d witnessed, it appeared that death might have been as long as three weeks before; I had stepped in it, boots and all. Bile rose in my throat.

  “I can still smell it,” I said to myself, as I struggled to undo my jeans with one hand.

  Mac reached in through the driver’s door and fumbled in the glove compartment for a cell phone. I heard the beeps as he pressed buttons over the rain, which continued to fall.

  Then a moment later, I heard him say, “It’s Mac. We have a problem.” I indicated that he should press the speaker button so I could hear.

  Caine replied, “I thought you would.”

  We heard traffic noise, what sounded like large trucks and occasional cars.

  “Where are you?” Suspicion resounded in Mac’s voice.

  “I’m about four cars back from Bob, looks like we’re heading into Richmond.”

  Mac asked, “How far out are you?”

  “Just past Kings Dominion, hang tight, Mac. I’m almost there.” Caine paused. “Shall I guess where to meet you, or will you tell me?”

  I frowned. It was unusual to hear such a sarcastic tone from Caine.

  “Head toward the hospital. You may as well continue following Dad.” Mac looked up the road towards the large hospital complex. “About two-hundred yards from the main entrance, on the right is a row of dumpsters, mostly big red Salvation Army ones. We’re parked in front of them.”