by CP Smith
It seemed like a lifetime ago since I’d run into Dallas, spilling his coffee. Yet, in actuality, it had only been a little over two weeks since that faithful day. Nevertheless, the extreme circumstances we’d been thrown into fast-tracked my feelings for Dallas. I was no longer “in like” with him, I was in love. I didn’t have a clue how he felt. We’d been so busy looking for Shockley and planning Janeane’s funeral that by the end of the day the only energy we had was focused on our physical needs. However, one thing this Shakespearean tragedy has taught me is to tell those you love how you feel. I just wished I knew if Dallas was feeling the same way.
Dallas turned me around once I’d gained control, so we could make our way back to his truck and head to the Irish wake that Janeane’s family had organized. The Irish celebrate life rather than mourn the passing of someone in an all day party filled with singing, dancing, and booze. Considering how much Janeane loved the nightlife, sending her off with a party was the only way to go.
Normally a wake would be held at a local pub, but with the number of people attending her funeral her family chose to hold it at a friend-of-the-family’s ranch just outside of the city. The girls and I had spent the night before hanging lanterns that would be lit once the sun had set, while others cooked and hauled in cattle troughs to fill with beer.
Flying G ranch was located north of Tulsa. Just shy of a thousand acers, the flat plains where the cattle grazed slowly rolled into hills and cliffs that butted up to Skiatook Lake. The log-style home sat at the top of the cliff looking out onto the lake below with a huge covered deck. We didn’t have to worry about the weather thanks to the covered deck and the relaxing atmosphere helped put us in the mood to celebrate life instead of wallow in grief.
By the time the sun had gone down, most of the guests had headed home, except immediate family and close friends. The grills had been extinguished, but Irish music was playing as Janeane’s extended family who’d flown in from Ireland danced an Irish jig. The girls and I were seated at a table laughing as Janeane’s Uncle Ethan from Dublin belted out Danny Boy for the tenth time that night.
“Janeane would have loved this,” Kasey laughed as Uncle Ethan held a note until he couldn’t breathe.
“She would have, and it makes me realize we should make time for things like this more often. I say we set aside the first Saturday of every month for backyard barbecues,” I told the girls. Three smiling faces told me they agreed, so I made a mental note to tell my parents.
Finn walked up carrying Kasey’s sons, both asleep with their heads tucked into Finn’s neck.
“We need to get these guys home, babe,” Finn told Kasey. I smiled as I watched her face melt a little at the sight of her sons in Finn’s arms. Kasey stood, taking her youngest boy, Luca, from Finn while he kept hold of Jackson. We hugged her goodbye then she and Finn walked over and said their goodbyes to Janeane’s parents together. When they were done, Finn took her hand and led her through the house to the front door.
“At least something good came of her death,” Angela said as we watched them walk away.
“Yeah,” Kristina and I agreed.
Dallas was standing at the railing, looking out at the lake, so I got up and joined him. The moon was casting its reflection on the water and you could see boats anchored out on the lake, rocking back and forth with the waves. When I wrapped my arms around his waist, my head turned in order to rest it on his back; Dallas reached up and ran his hand along my arm. After a moment of just being, he finally turned so he could wrap me up. I turned my head to rest it on his chest, his own resting on the top of mine and we stared out at the water. The sound of the water lapping on the shore lulled me into a sense of peacefulness I hadn’t had since we found out Janeane had died. I was so relaxed, in fact, that I didn’t check myself, and on a sigh of contentment, I whispered without thinking, “I love you, Dallas.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I closed my eyes, hoping he hadn’t heard me. Dallas’ breathe caught for a moment, which meant I had my answer. I guess I whispered louder than I thought. When he tried to pull me back, no doubt to ask if he’d heard me correctly, I tightened my hold on his waist. When I wouldn’t look at him, he brought both hands up and tilted my head back until he could see my face. I kept my eyes lowered afraid of what I’d see until I heard him whisper, “Look at me.”
I raised my eyes to his and my own breath hitched when I saw those honey-colored eyes gleaming possessively at me right before he slammed his mouth down to mine. He drew me harder into his body as he tilted his head, further devouring my mouth. I clung to his shoulders while he kissed my legs weak just liked he told me could two weeks before. Just as suddenly as he’d kissed me, he ripped his mouth from mine, bent his head until it was laying on my forehead. With a heaving chest, he growled, “You pick a fine time to tell me.”
“It just slipped out,” I explained, trying to catch my own breath.
“We’re thirty minutes from home, surrounded by family, and you tell me that shit when I can’t throw you on a bed and give back to you what you just gave me?”
“I take it back then,” I smiled.
“You aren’t takin’ it back, but we sure as hell are leavin’ or I’ll drag you up those stairs and find a vacant room.”
I rolled my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing while his jaw ticked in frustration at being miles from home.
“I’ll get my purse,” I finally told him and tried to turn out of his arms. Dallas tightened his grip around my waist, then, with a slow grin, leaned down, and touched his mouth to mine before letting me go.
It took five minutes to say our goodbyes before Dallas threw me into his truck and started heading down the dirt road that lead to the ranch. I wished he had one of those older trucks with the bench seats so I could sit next to him while he drove, but I had to settle on holding his hand on my thigh as he drove through the dark back roads heading for the interstate. I was smiling to myself over his reaction that I loved him right before Dallas barked out “sonofabitch.” I looked up at the surprise in his voice, just in time to see headlights as another truck t-boned us. The impact sent my head into the windshield right before our truck flipped, tumbling repeatedly before coming to rest in a ravine.
Twenty
Gray smoke billowed in the moonlight as Parker slowly exhaled. Nicotine helped him focus while he tried to reach inside the mind of a killer.
“You dream about them don’t you, you sick sonofabitch. You lay awake at night with your hand wrapped around your cock, getting off on the memory of your kills.”
Flipping through the pictures of Janeane Dee, he noted again that her hands and feet were bound to the head and footboards of her bed, and Parker felt his blood pressure start to rise. In all the years he’d work for the FBI, he’d never known any of the victims he investigated. Of course, they weren’t faceless to him, but he’d remained detached so he could do his job. This one he knew, albeit briefly, but it changed the rules for him. He’d met Janeane at the police station and had seen her with her friends on the street, when he’d met Nicola for dinner. Therefore, the need to find this killer was stronger than he’d felt in years.
“You like power, the control you have over them, you want them submissive,” he whispered as he closed his eyes. “Master,” he hissed as he thought back to Melissa Webster’s murder and the word written on the mirror.
Parker flipped back to the files of his first victims and noted again that all had been bound by their feet and hands. There was tearing within their anal and vaginal walls, indicating they’d had rough sex within hours of dying.
“Master,” he repeated, “You find your victims online and dominate them before killing them. You see yourself as their master, so are they your slaves? Is that what they are, Shockley? You live in an apartment with thin walls and no room to play so where did you take them, you sick fuck?”
Parker laid the autopsy pictures of all six victims at the end of the bed and stood back, staring. The
first three had the same ligature marks. Wide bands, probably leather cuffs, had been used to secure them. He scanned the reports again for any evidence found on the bodies. White-Cline had a single hair that was being rushed through DNA, but there were no fibers that would give them a clue where to look. Only traces of crude oil, they determined had transferred from the dirt where they were buried, had been on the bodies.
“Oil refineries leach oil into the ground,” Parker mumbled as he scanned the report, “three of them within a mile of the dump sites. Christ, only in Texas or Oklahoma would that evidence mean shit.”
Scanning the reports again, he noted that all of the victims’ friends and family members had said they were messaging men on dating sites, but at the time they disappeared, they didn’t know if they had met anyone. It was the only connection the women had in common, that, and they were all blonde and well-endowed by God.
Parker’s cell began to ring as he studied the files so he pulled it out and answered.
“Parker,” he said, distracted.
“He’s got her,” Vaughn roared down the line.
Parker hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing as the words sunk in. There was only one “her” that would have Vaughn panic.
Nicola’s green eyes and angelic face rushed into his mind, and he tightened his grip on the phone.
“Where? When?” Parker barked back.
“Twenty minutes ago. The sonofabitch was waiting for us when we left the wake. We were on a back road. He came out of nowhere with his lights off and rammed my truck, flipping us into a ravine,” Vaughn bellowed, panic obvious in his voice. “I was pinned. I couldn’t reach my fuckin’ gun, and he pulled her from the wreck and drove off. I need you to tell me right fuckin’ now where he would take her. You have a team of experts who need to pull their heads out of their asses and give me a location,” Vaughn thundered.
“Vaughn—”
“Swear to God, if you and your team . . . I can’t lose her—” Vaughn gritted through his teeth, hanging onto his emotions by a thread.
Parker stopped listening; he had the ability to tune people out in stressful situations so he could concentrate when time was critical. He filtered through what he knew about Shockley.
He bound them, but didn’t gag them—he liked to hear their screams, which means he would need someplace isolated. He wouldn’t want to haul the bodies far from the kill site, but they had been found in fields off the west bank of the Arkansas River. Nothing had been found on the bodies but crude oil, which was prevalent in that area because of. . .
“The crude oil,” Parker bit out.
“What about it?”
“It was on all three of the first victims, on their backs but not their fronts. Crude oil is raw oil; it’s useless until it’s processed. How the hell did we miss that? Vaughn, they were exposed to crude oil before they died. The oil in the ground around the bodies should have been processed, not raw. He had them someplace that’s abandoned and deals with crude oil.”
“Refineries,” Parker and Vaughn shouted in unison.
“He’s taking them to the abandoned POCO refinery,” Vaughn whispered. “Jesus, he’s barely driving a mile from the kill site before dumping them.”
“Are you in transit now?” Parker asked as he picked up the pictures he’d laid on the bed and shoved them back into his file.
“I took her brother’s truck when they arrived at the scene. I’m about ten minutes out from that location. If you get there before me, you go in silent. I don’t want squads coming in blazing. He’ll kill her if he knows he’s trapped.”
“Roger that. I’ll call it in and meet you there, I’m at least ten minutes out myself,” Parker acknowledged as he headed for the front door. Parker paused when he reached his front door and against his better judgment told Dallas, “He takes his time with these women, Vaughn, he won’t rush to kill her unless he’s provoked.”
There was silence on the other end as Vaughn processed that information and Parker heard him take a deep breath before answering.
“If he’s touched her at all, Parker, I’ll kill him. So you better beat me there,” Vaughn warned him in a voice so low and deadly that Parker knew he wasn’t throwing out false bravado.
“If he‘s touched her at all I’ll kill him for you,” Parker vowed and he meant it. Knowing the victims made it personal now. Shockley could only play this, one of two ways. Either he gave up without a fight or he left there in a body bag. Either way worked for Parker, but he’d get more satisfaction if it were in a bag.
***
A distant light crept in as the sound of water dripping broke through the fog clouding my mind. My eyes wouldn’t focus and my head felt like it had been split in two. Full consciousness seemed to elude me, no matter how hard I tried. My pounding head was pushing me back into a black vortex, spinning me further into its murky depths, submerging me into a place where I only felt peace. Yet, a small voice inside my head kept crying out and urging me to awareness. “Wake up, fight,” my subconscious screamed, so I forced my eyes open, blinking several times until a light came into focus.
Turning my head slowly, I made out the shapes of large pipes running overhead and I stared at them. They were cast in an unnatural shadow from the small light glowing from across the room. The stagnant smell of oil assaulted my senses, powerful and overwhelming. I tried to raise my hands to shield my eyes from the light, but they wouldn’t move. With heavy lids, I turned my head from one hand to the other and saw large black cuffs imprisoning my wrists. My heart rate picked up, galloping in my chest at the sight of the restraints, and then I felt the bindings on my bare legs.
I was spread eagle on some sort of table that allowed my arms and legs to be bound. The black dress that I’d worn to Janeane’s funeral was parted open like a coat. Cut down its length, the gaping center leaving me exposed. Jerking with fear, I started struggling to pull my hands free while the evening came rushing back to me like a tidal wave.
Dallas taking me home in his truck because I’d told him I loved him. The sound of metal on metal when his truck flipped, landing upside down. Angry hands on me as I was jerked from the truck. Dallas’ enraged voice shouting he would kill Shockley while he struggled to break free of his jammed seat belt. And finally, Shockley’s raised fist before he punched me in the temple, sending me spiraling into the terrifying darkness as he drove away.
Oh, God, I’m going to die.
“You know it was your hair that caught my attention most,” Shockley’s emotionless voice called out from somewhere in the dark. “All of Taryn intrigued me, but it was the exquisite color of your hair that sold me.”
“You’re mad,” I shrieked, my scream bouncing off the cavernous room, echoing like a ghost in a forgotten graveyard.
I knew with clarity that it was only a matter of minutes before I also became a ghost.
“And you’re a liar,” Shockley hissed, his voice closer than before. “You tempted your master with a fake woman.”
When he finally stepped into the light, all but his eyes were visible. They were shadowed by the surrounding darkness, but I swear I could see them glowing unnaturally like some sort of demon spawn.
“When your master gives you instructions, he expects them to be followed without question, you fuckin’ cunt. When they aren’t, your master has the right to dole out punishment as he sees fit. You brought this on yourself,” he raged, “and since you can’t be trusted to follow my instructions, the punishment is death,” he explained without remorse as he stepped fully into the light holding a knife. I struggled to pull my feet out of the bindings as he stalked toward me. He was almost graceful, like a jungle predator taking his time before he pounced on his prey. When he reached the table, he leaned down and tilted it until I was upright staring him in the eyes.
“You, Ms. Royse, have disobeyed me for the last time,” he roared in my face, spittle dripping from his mouth. With a quick jab to my side, I felt the knife pierce my flesh like a hot poker
. My reaction was instantaneous; I cried out in shock at the searing pain and then I spit in his face.
Nonplussed by my defiance, he reached up, grabbed my hair, and yanked back hard. I glared instead of crying out. I had no doubt he wanted to see my fear as he took my life, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. I started to laugh at him, to taunt him so he would kill me quickly rather than draw out the torture, but he silenced my cackles by slamming his mouth over mine.
Survival is instinctive; your body will protect you from your own foolish behavior because it wants to live. My brain took over in the last fleeting moments of my life and, in a last ditched effort to free myself, my brain instructed me to point my feet and yank hard. My right foot gave way slightly, so I yanked again and it freed from the restraint. Raising my knee up, I wedged it in between our bodies, and kicked him back. When he pulled away to grab my leg, I kicked him with all my might in the groin and then screamed for all I was worth, while I felt the loss of blood slowly weakening my body.
Shockley went down on one knee, breathing deep as I tried to free my other foot. I kept kicking out with my free leg, trying to knock him out, but he was out of my reach. He rose slowly after he’d recovered from my kick, pulling a clear plastic bag from his back pocket. Cold fear coursed through my veins when I realized what he intended. Moving quickly, his eyes blank as a snarl ripped from his mouth, he threw the bag over my head, twisting it tight around my neck cutting off my oxygen. I fought with my free leg to no avail and felt my lungs burn and my eyes bulge as my brain and lungs cried out for oxygen. Stars danced before my eyes as Shockley grabbed my breast squeezing hard as he rubbed his hardened shaft on my leg.
