Apex Predator

by J. A. Faura

  Her next instinct was to yell out her name several times to make sure she didn’t just happen to be standing behind someone. In spite of having gone through these rituals like all mothers who could not spot their child right away, Marybeth knew something was seriously wrong. She had never lost sight of her little girl for this long, and looking at the sea of people strolling the streets of New York, she felt a sense of helplessness.

  The first thing she did was to look for a policeman, luckily finding one at the far corner. “Excuse me, excuse me, officer, but I can’t find my little girl!”

  It was most definitely not the first time Officer Allen heard this from a frantic mother, especially at this time of year. Most of the time it turned out the little girl went into a store or was with another relative, so Officer Allen remained calm and asked all the pertinent questions. Was there another relative with them? Had she lost her before? Was there a favorite place the little girl might want to go to nearby, an ice cream stand, a toyshop?

  Having gotten a negative on all pertinent questions and seeing the true panic on the mother’s face, Allen put out a “be on the lookout,” or BOLO, call on his radio for the missing little girl, giving her physical description, her last known whereabouts and her possible locations.

  After two hours of not locating the girl, an all-city bulletin went out over the police band turning this from a lost girl into an actual missing person report with a possible kidnapping involved.

  Every officer out there looking for the little girl had the same thought, but none dared speculate about it. There had been six other little girls, same description, same M.O., that disappeared in the past three weeks, and although no one wanted to think it, most were already counting her as number seven.

  Trinity pulled his van into his rented warehouse and workshop. He had been careful to rent it in an industrial area where waste was dumped and processed at all hours of the night, negating the need to soundproof his space or bother with the odor.

  Walking into it, one might think they were walking into a movie set. Behind plastic curtains was what could almost be called an operating room, complete with IVs, surgical instruments, an operating table of course and a cabinet full of drug vials.

  Next to this was a curtain that separated the “clinical” part of the space into what anyone seeing it would describe as a typical little girl’s bedroom, a small bed with four posts and a white frilly cover on the top, a dresser and two nightstands with small lamps. Then the observer would most likely notice that there were dolls, dozens of dolls, arranged all over the stands and the dresser in the middle.

  Nothing strange about dolls in a little girl’s bedroom, except these dolls were in various stages of disassembly. Some had the eyes cut out, others had no arms, and yet others were nothing but a torso with a head. Each had been carefully arranged to fit in with other dolls in a similar state. The dolls with no eyes were all arranged together, the ones with no arms likewise, and so on.

  Another vast difference between this and any other little girl’s room was the handcuffs attached to every one of the four posts, each pair having left bloodstains on the part of the bed it was on and on the post it was attached to.

  The final part of this make-believe world was also divided, but by plastic curtains only. It could only be described as a chamber of horrors.

  In the corner of the space near the entrance, there was an actual workshop with a table saw, various tools hanging on the wall, and a carry pack with various forms of cutting instruments as well as tools for machining fine parts.

  Even the best crime profilers in the business could not have imagined a more disparate and sick space.

  He headed over to the cabinet with all the drug vials, selected the appropriate vial and loaded a syringe, not too much though, she must be compliant but not fully unconscious; no sir, it would not do at all for her to pass out or worse, stop breathing, like the one before her.

  He already knew what he would take, those eyes, those sparkling blue eyes now looking at him in sheer horror. After he applied the injection, Tracy’s eyes took on a faraway look and she stopped struggling.

  Gently, he picked her up from the van and placed her on the bed where he cuffed her hands and feet. Tracy would indeed be the seventh, and although she didn’t know it yet, she would leave this world in a haze of horror and fear that a six-year-old mind would not be mature enough to comprehend.

  Trinity walked over to the van, lifted her from the floor and placed her on the operating table, whispering, “It will all be over soon and you are being so good. I hope you know how much you are helping me, helping us, really,” and with that he started an IV line on her.

  To anyone who knew him, Donald Riche had been as average a child as there could be. He never picked on other kids and he never did anything that might cause his mother to be angry with him.

  Had anyone been paying close attention, they might have noticed that young Donald was too average. He never showed interest in toys or comic books like other boys his age. What Donald did have an intense interest in was small animals. He would catch them and then, as best he could, he would take them apart using tools he found or knives from the kitchen. He didn’t torture them, he simply wanted to see how they worked.

  Donald knew he was not like the other kids, knew he didn’t think the same way. He knew of adults who took children and did things to them, but rather than fear, such thoughts engendered curiosity in the young boy.

  His mother had been decent enough, but she’d met a man, had left Donald with relatives when he was nine and had never returned for him.

  His relatives gave him as much love and support as they could, but never as much as they gave their own children. Still, they encouraged him and showed him they were proud of his small accomplishments. His childhood should have been filled with happy memories of holidays and school events where he was treated like the other children in the family, but it wasn’t.

  Even in his early childhood, he’d understood that his interests were not normal for his age and that some of the things he did might attract unwanted attention; therefore, he was always cautious and meticulous in everything he did. As he became an adolescent and a young adult, his interests grew in intensity and he found that he had to be even more careful now that he was an adult.

  Through high school, he participated in some student organization, never in a leadership role, but just as a member, a fly on the wall. He began to recognize that the more he adhered to the rules and the more he did what was expected, the less attention he was likely to draw to himself.

  When he went away to college, he took his required course work, but he also always took electives in physiology, anatomy, biology and anything else that could assist him in his activities.

  He began to dress better and take better care in his appearance. He bought stylish clothes and glasses and began grooming himself with more care. He also began to realize that there were people out there who had nothing and no one to care for them or to even know they were alive.

  He trolled neighborhoods where he found such people simply lying on the street or against a doorway. It had not been too difficult for him to lure them with the promise of a meal or more alcohol. He was, as always, very careful not to go to the same place more than once, and he never did anything near where he lived.

  Never curious about religion, he was nevertheless interested in the concept of the Holy Trinity. One individual, but three entities, he found it fascinating and decided that he too was a Trinity, one made up of intelligence, purpose and destiny.

  By the time he graduated from Wisconsin University, Donald Riche had made more than 18 people disappear. He was never considered a suspect nor even questioned.

  He moved to New York where he worked as a runner for a Wall Street firm, was well liked by his coworkers, had a nice apartment, which he kept in meticulous order, and he dressed the part to perfection.

  After he began taking care of himself
, he became not a bad-looking man. His suit and his poise attracted a fair share of female attention, but he had no sexual inclination whatsoever.

  He had gone on a couple of dates, but more out of curiosity than because of any real sexual desire. He wanted to learn, to study, to see if he got the same sense from grown women that he got from the girls. In his mind, he believed women and adults were too far gone, too imperfect and could not be corrected, but still he wanted to test his theory for himself.

  Both dates had been pleasant enough. After dinner they had gone for a nice stroll to let their food settle, and as they approached Donald’s van, he had made sure no one was on the street and overpowered them with the chloroform.

  During one of these episodes, Donald had come dangerously close to being spotted, when a young couple happened to be walking by as he held the woman’s arm around his neck and pulled her to the van.

  But it was New York, and when the couple looked, he simply said, “She couldn’t hold her Chardonnay…” The couple smiled and kept on their way, as they could relate to having a bit much at a wine tasting.

  Donald went through his process. He took the women to his workshop and did his work, and as he suspected, it was not the same; they were too far gone, too far into a life of excess and waste and worry.

  There was none of the innocence and purity that a child had, none of the opportunity to fix what had been done wrong.

  The two women had never told anyone who they were going on a date with, and Donald had been careful enough to use a false name in any case.

  They had both come from completely different parts of town and from different online dating services, so Donald thought they would most likely be added to the long list of women who disappeared from the streets of New York without a trace. He had been correct in that assumption and had never been questioned about either woman.

  Steven Loomis had a long day. Meeting after meeting kept him from returning calls or emails all day long. As he walked out of the building, he saw he had eight missed calls from his wife. He would call her back as soon as he got into a cab, which during that time of year in New York at that hour could be quite a while.

  Steven worked as a risk consultant for one of the largest security firms in the world. His job often took him to distant locations, where he would assess the risk situation of any number of companies or foreign government organizations before putting together a proposal on how to best address those risks.

  It was a perfect fit for him after having spent 20 years in the Navy, the last 10 as a Navy SEAL. His travel now did not compare to those long tours of duty he would have to go on where he wouldn’t see his family for months. Now he would be gone for two weeks at the most, and while it still felt like a long time to be away from his wife, girls and his little boy, he considered himself lucky to have a job he loved and which he was exceedingly good at.

  He was 48 years old and had dark brown hair, cut neatly and peppered with slight spots of grey. He had bright hazel eyes that reflected calm and intelligence, even from a young age. He was six feet tall and carried a solid 195 pounds of well-toned muscle on his frame.

  He had played football in high school and received several offers to attend good universities, not because of his size but because of his speed and ability to come up with the big plays when he needed to. He had chosen Annapolis. His dream had been to become a Navy pilot, but a knee injury playing football kept him from that.

  So instead, he had decided to go into the investigative branch of the Navy, where he spent his first 10 years in the military police and eventually moving into the sensitive investigations unit, often liaising with the better-known NCIS.

  Longing for something more adventurous and which would test him in a more rigorous way, he applied for the Navy SEALs. He’d been old by SEAL standards, 31, but he was in supreme shape and he had honed his mental toughness during his time at the investigative group. He made it through the infamous SEAL training program with no problem at all.

  Within his first year he was assigned to the Special Warfare Development Group (DEVGRU) team, one of the most elite units in the program. SEAL Team Six, as it had been commonly called, was the team called when the missions were critical and difficult. Most people would be surprised to find that SEAL Team Six was made up of men in their mid- to late thirties. No one could be considered for the team without years of experience in the field.

  In spite of exemplary evaluations throughout his career, Loomis had only risen to the rank of lieutenant commander. He knew that higher rank meant more likelihood of having to sit behind a desk, and that was not something he’d signed up for. He enjoyed the camaraderie and sense of accomplishment that came with being an operator.

  After showing his mettle once and again and participating in hair-raising operations, it was time for Steven to retire. He had a fulfilling career where he made lifelong friends and learned more than he had ever imagined.

  He raised a family along the way and understood that his priorities had changed. He could no longer go charging into whatever a situation demanded without regard for his safety. He now had people who depended on him, people he loved more than life itself.

  That’s when Lieutenant Commander Steven Loomis knew it was time to hang it up. After leaving the Navy, he’d dedicated himself to helping veterans coming home from ‘the sandbox’ of Afghanistan and Iraq, men and women who came home injured or depressed, most suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder.

  He procured exercise equipment and therapy from a number of companies wanting to help and had taken a few men under his wing to help them to get back into a normal life. He’d also helped organize events to raise money for wounded veterans.

  It was during one of these events that he had caught the attention of the CEO of an international security and intelligence firm. After their first meeting, Steven knew he’d found a place and the CEO knew he’d found the man that would eventually take over for him.

  The air felt cold but good on his face. After sitting in meetings all day, it was good to feel the fresh air. It was early Christmas season, just after Thanksgiving, and getting a cab at that hour was going to be a nightmare. He stood on the corner of Madison and 52nd waiting for 20 minutes, allowing an older woman to take a car that had stopped for him along the way.

  Finally he saw a couple coming out of a cab and ran before anyone else could snag it. He entered the cab, gave the cabbie his address and shook off the cold. Now in the comfort of the cab and with the noise significantly reduced, he could finally call his wife back.

  He dialed the number and she picked up immediately, she was hysterical and Steven knew instantly that something was wrong. “Why the hell haven’t you been answering your phone?”

  He tried to calm her, “Beth, Beth, calm down, what’s the matter, what’s wrong?”

  Beth had to take a couple of breaths before she could answer, “Tracy, it’s Tracy, she’s gone, I can’t find her! She was right with me and now she’s gone!”

  Steven took this in and had his mind racing to think of possible answers to where Tracy could be, “Maybe a cop found her and she’s at some station or maybe someone else found her and they’re taking her there.”

  But she could not be consoled, “Steven, she’s been gone for hours. The police have an alert out, they’ve checked with every precinct, every hospital, she’s just gone!” Beth was sobbing on the other end of the phone.

  He could tell she was barely functional and knew he had to get to her immediately, “Beth, where are you?”

  At that point Beth continued to sob and could not speak or answer Steven’s questions, “Beth, if there is a police officer around, let me talk to him, pass him the phone, Beth!”

  On the other end Steven could hear the phone rustling and then a male voice came on, “This is Detective Mullins, Mr. Loomis. We’re here with your wife and your other children. They’re fine. We’re at the precinct closest to Central Park. It’s the…” />
  Steven interrupted, “I know where it is. Where is my daughter?”

  Mullins answered, “Well, that’s what we’re trying to find out. We have all units notified of a missing child and we have the missing persons unit notified already. There are three detectives at the park interviewing people and retracing your wife’s steps. We’re doing about as much as we can right now, Mr. Loomis. I would suggest you come and pick up your wife and your children. We will stay on this and let you know as soon as we have something.”

  After hanging up with the policeman, Steven gave the cab driver the new destination.

  When he got there, Steven Loomis could see that this was indeed a serious situation. The level of activity, the number of people on the phones with copies of a picture his wife had given them told him this was not a simple lost girl situation, something else was going on.

  He looked around for his wife and his children and found them sitting on a wooden bench in the middle of the precinct. Marybeth was a total mess, her face streaked with makeup, her eyes still full of tears.

  As soon as she saw Steven, she launched into his arms and began weeping, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s my fault! But she was right with me and we were going skating, and she was gone, just gone!”

  Steven tried to calm his wife down in order to get a more cohesive story, but it became clear to him that he was going to need to take his wife to an emergency room to be sedated because she was on the verge of a complete breakdown.

  “Beth, breathe, breathe, just relax, baby, and breathe. That’s it, slowly, just calm down and breathe, honey, that’s it.” Slowly Beth began to calm down.

  Steven spoke softly to her, “I spoke to the police, honey, and they are doing everything they can.”

  Beth looked up at him and began crying again, “But it’s my fault, she was with me and…and I let her out of my sight…it was just a minute…Bethany fell…”