by C. C. Harris
Dismissing her gut feeling, Janis opened the door. ‘Hi Doctor. Is something wrong?’ she asked.
‘No, not at all. Sorry to disturb you so late. I forgot to tell you I’m going away for a few weeks and I’ll have to reschedule our appointments, but I have the voucher for the well-being seminar we had been talking about. As I won’t be here I thought I would personally deliver it to you.’
‘Oh, thank you. That’s kind of you.’
‘While I’m here, do you mind if we have a chat about something?’
‘Come in. I can make you a tea or coffee if you like?’
As she turned her back, he locked her door and stepped forward, following her closely.
He didn’t answer her question.
She suddenly felt a forceful grip around her shoulders. She was in the arms of a monster.
‘Remember Janis. I didn’t choose you, you chose me to begin your new identity. We worked well together creating your new story. A story from self-defeating beliefs to self-empowerment. For your enthusiasm and curiosity in our narrative sessions, you will be rewarded with a positive consequence. This is the defining moment of your life, my lovely Janis.
Janis had always thought of ending her life but now, someone else was deciding her fate. She switched her thoughts to a faraway place, a place that was safe and calm, disconnected from her terrifying reality.
The doctor clamped the chloroform-soaked cloth over her face. I’m in control again, he thought. As the chloroform took effect, he visualized his growing bank account. Her virginity was worth a cool $800,000.
THIRTEEN
Payback
I’d just showered when Sarah rang.
‘Yes Sarah, what is it this time?’ Little did she know I was standing stark naked wishing I was holding her.
‘Hi Curtis, have you heard of a Janis Lang?’
‘Yes. She has weekly appointments. From what I can remember she lives on her own.’
‘She’s been reported missing by her stepbrother. He said she was having counseling on Madison Avenue, but he didn’t know who she was seeing. We checked out her apartment and there was no sign of forced entry or a struggle. Her handbag and keys were on the coffee table along with a coloring-in book and pencils. She had money in her bag and there was cash in a jar in the kitchen, so we’ve ruled out robbery. Looks like she just disappeared into thin air – and quickly.’
‘Were there any witnesses?’ I asked.
‘Neighbors saw and heard nothing. So now we officially have Janis Lang from the Bronx missing. The commissioner’s putting the pressure on us to get this guy. It won’t be long before the media will be connecting the dots.’
I didn’t interrupt. She had given me the worst possible news.
‘Curtis, are you still there?’
‘Yes…I’m…I’m listening. I’ll do a quick snoop around today. I start work at 9.00 am. Shall we meet today…maybe for lunch?’ I asked.
‘No, meeting for lunch is too risky. Give me a call when you get home after work. You’ll have around-the-clock surveillance starting tomorrow, so keep your head down until then.’
‘What’s up?’ I asked.
‘Be careful.’
‘You know me Sarah, I’m a survivor. No one’s going to get me. I’ll call you after work.’
Sarah’s call left me feeling edgy. A noise from outside my room suddenly made me jump. Charlie skittered across the floor in fright. I held my breath. My brain went into autopilot. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I edged towards the door. Suddenly the door handle rotated. Jesus, someone was trying to get in! Oh fuck, oh shit. I realized I’d left the pistol under my pillow. Too late. The door burst open with such force that my head slammed against the wall. I felt a fist in my stomach and a blow to my face. I hit the ground face first.
Someone grabbed my hair. My head was violently jerked back. I looked up to see a killer with a tattoo of a double-edged dagger on his neck.
‘Where’s our money, you fuckin’ asshole?’
‘I’m getting your money. Jesus…can’t you see where I live? I’m trying…I’m trying to earn a buck to repay you. You will get your money…I promise.’
‘You have two weeks to cough up $400,000. If we don’t get our money, we’ll be back to get you. You can’t escape the Russian dagger! Do you understand asshole?’
I managed to grunt a yes.
‘Here’s another reminder we mean business, svoloch!’
This time I got a full-strength kick to my side.
I don’t know how long I was on the floor, but I knew I had to get to work. I dialed the only person who could help. ‘Sarah. I’m sorry but…I’m wondering…um…whether you have…um…any makeup to cover a few small bruises, and some painkillers?’
‘Small bruises? Aren’t you off to work? We were only just talking.’
‘I just need a quick make-over.’
‘For God’s sake, Curtis, what’s going on? You’re doing my head in.’
‘I’m sorry Sarah. I’ve just been a little…sort of…roughed up but I’ll explain when you get here.’
Sarah arrived with makeup and painkillers in one hand and a coffee in the other.
‘Here’s something to help the pain. Now rest back on the chair so I can see this messed-up face of yours.’
‘Thanks. You’re a life-saver.’ This time I meant it.
‘What have you gotten yourself into, Curtis?’
‘I invested the Russian Mafia’s money in a biotech company. Unfortunately, I fucked up. The director of the company took off with his company’s money along with mine and the mafia’s.’
‘So you’re desperate for the commissioner’s reward,’ Sarah said.
‘You could say that. My bank balance isn’t looking good.’
‘I hate to tell you this, Curtis but…um…between us…Brooklyn is where the Russian crime boss lives. He owns a Russian tea room in Brighton Beach and operates a crime syndicate. I can’t give you any further information, it’s pretty much classified, but probably a good idea not to dine out in Brighton. There is one other thing.’
‘Tell me,’ I replied.
‘I’ve heard the boss’s mom has a kind side. If she likes you, then she’ll waive your debt and you’ll live to see another day. If she doesn’t, then say your prayers.’
‘Jesus! That would be right. Thanks for the tip. I’ll keep that in mind if we meet. Obviously, his mom thinks her son is a good boy. I feel like I’m living in Russia.’
‘Well, I thought it was better you know. Now sit still and I’ll patch you up.’
I wasn’t sure whether I felt good knowing the Russians lived on my doorstep or whether ignorance would’ve been the better option.
After a few minutes, Sarah had covered my bruises. Looking in the mirror, I tilted my head from side to side. She’d done a great job. I looked almost normal again although I felt like shit.
‘You know, Curtis, you can pull out any time. Remember my team is starting twenty-four seven surveillance tomorrow so don’t do anything stupid until then.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.’
Once Sarah left, I strapped a knife to the lower part of my leg and tucked my gun behind the fridge. I gulped a few painkillers and checked my cell.
I was at work by 9.00 am.
The doctor messaged he was going to be late, which was perfect. It provided me with the perfect opportunity to snoop around in the basement garage. The run-down basement didn’t match the renovated building. It was cold and damp. Birds found their nesting spaces in concrete crevices and a dumpster stood in the far corner, overflowing with trash. There was nothing I could see out of the ordinary. If he was taking his victims to the basement, he didn’t leave any evidence that I could see. I hoped Courtney’s last moments hadn’t been in this hellish looking place.
It was after this thought I felt a hard object press against my head. I knew this could only be one person. Fuck, I couldn’t believe it. Everything I touched turned fuckin’ dan
gerous.
‘I thought you had more brains, Curtis. You’re just a small-time punk. Don’t even think about turning around or your brain will be splattered across the ground.’
‘What the fuck. I’m having a cigarette and you’re pulling a gun on me?’
‘Don’t think I didn’t see you snooping around. If you’d just minded your own business I wouldn’t have to do this,’ the doctor sneered.
‘You’re not going to get away with this…you psychotic bastard. You’re mentally fucked!’
‘Well, well, Curtis…you do get angry, don’t you? You know…letting your emotions get the better of you is detrimental to your health. Your heart rate can increase, and you’ll want to run. That’s what you do best, isn’t it Curtis? Continually running away from your problems. It’s just occurred to me that with your lack of grey matter, it’s difficult for you to make the right decisions. You fuck up, explode, and run off like a little boy. Does that sound somewhat familiar, Curtis? Am I getting close to the true you?’
It was obvious he was enjoying his depraved sense of humor.
‘Behind all that verbal bullshit you’re nothing, Mr Psychopath Psychologist. Fuck you!’
‘There there, Curtis. It’s important you don’t work yourself into a pointless frenzy. You know, you’re nothing but housekeeping. I’m not letting someone like you get in my way. You see, being a psychologist allows me to understand you more than you understand yourself. Your behavior keeps you developmentally stuck. You haven’t progressed from adolescence. To put it simply, Curtis, you keep repeating your fuck-ups,’ the doctor laughed. ‘We could have worked well together, but because of your self-sabotaging habits you have nothing. No occupation, no friends and I would guess no self-esteem.’
‘You really think I would team up with a psychopath? One day you’ll be kicked off your fantasy throne and onto a chair that will zap you like an insect until you burn from the inside out.’
‘I like that, Curtis. You almost sound intelligent but with your highly reactive personality, you’re the loser. Don’t worry Curtis, your just like millions of other losers who lack insight. Intelligence is all adapting to one’s environment. Survival of the fittest. Such a shame you fail so superbly in that area. Good luck pushing up daisies. And by the way, someone is taking good care of Courtney and Janis. I’m sure you remember sweet pretty Courtney. I’ll leave you with that thought while you say goodbye to this world. A world that doesn’t give a shit about you Curtis.’
The last thing I remembered was the sound of a sliding door and feeling a sudden force to the back of my head.
FOURTEEN
Nurturing Evil
Sarah was pacing. It was 9.00 pm and Curtis hadn’t called. She waited an hour then checked his apartment. There was still no sign of him and his calls were going straight to message bank. Courtney, Janis, and now Curtis were missing. She felt sick to the stomach. Christ Curtis, where are you?
She was petrified something had gone wrong. Curtis had promised to call after work. Was he lying somewhere injured or in a hospital? Had the doctor found him snooping? Had he taken off, so the mafia couldn’t find him, or had they tracked him down? Sarah knew the Russian mafia were in bed with local politicians and bankers. She wondered whether Curtis was incredibly naive to have dealt with them, or just plain stupid.
Sarah returned to the department and gave the bad news to James.
‘Thanks for coming, James. I can’t believe Curtis has vanished. Hopefully Haby morning, we’ll find something among this pile of files that will give us a lead. Janis from the Bronx, whose dad jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, is still missing. Her mom told us to fuck off when we rang. She hoped her daughter had killed herself. Courtney, whose ring was found in the basement garage, is also still missing. Her mom couldn’t tell us anything about her daughter, only that she’d abandoned God and accepted Satan. Sandra has a little girl who doesn’t have a mom, while Brandy is cold at the city morgue.’
‘I’ll find something on this callous bastard,’ James responded.
Sarah didn’t often hear James swear but it settled her nerves. She was grateful to have him on the team.
Sarah placed two large boxes of files on the desk. ‘Sorry to ruin your retirement, James.’
‘Not at all. Who wants to be brain dead in retirement? This will get the brain cells firing again.’ James gave a genuine grin.
He didn’t let on how much he had missed working. He was glad to be away from golf lunches and boring chitchat. Anyway, he owed Sarah. She had saved his ass years earlier when he’d worked for the NYPD. He’d gone through a relationship break-up and hit the bottle hard, hiding away for several months. Sarah had covered his shifts until he was ready to resurface.
‘Curtis was private about his personal life and his parents are no longer alive, but I remember him talking about his brief stint at Fort Jackson. I don’t know whether that’s clutching at straws.’
‘Anything is better than nothing,’ James replied as he poured himself a coffee. James called Fort Jackson and the National Personnel Record Centre in St. Louis. He was surprised how quickly the NPRC accessed Curtis’s records and how willing they were to fax them to the precinct.
‘Well there you go. Faxing isn’t dead after all and they even gave me priority to archival information. This proves, it’s not what you know but who you work for,’ James chuckled as he forwarded a verification of ID by email and waited for the fax.
Sarah was hopeful that Curtis had enough fire in his belly to survive. Before her mind wandered any further the fax came through.
‘Jesus that was quick. They’ve faxed through his report and from what I can see, he nearly completed his training.’
‘What’s the go with Fort Jackson?’ Sarah asked.
‘It’s a military training installation that trains in basic combat with hands-on skill development. I’m guessing he wasn’t sitting in a classroom note taking.’
‘What else is there?’
‘Mmm...your Curtis was a naughty boy during his training.’
‘That sounds like him,’ Sarah mused.
‘From what I see his drill sergeant found him swigging bourbon. It states he refused to stand at attention and instead of saluting her, he pissed on her boots. He was consistently confrontational. There was no court martial, but he was given his marching orders.’
It infuriated Sarah that she was attracted to Curtis and that he had dared piss on his sergeant’s boots. Now she had evidence of his deviance and lack of basic decency.
James sat back and looked at Sarah. ‘Curtis’s army record gives us a clue to his personality. It sounds like he was hot headed. His weakness could be the very strength he needs to escape a killer. Let’s hope his personality and army training will provide the recipe for his survival.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Serial killing, I just don’t get it.’
‘I likened it to gold fever. Gold fever provides a dopamine rush not unlike killing,’ James replied.
‘What about Dr Ellison’s personality?’ Sarah asked.
‘If he has a sense of entitlement, killing can feed into his narcissism.’
‘But James, he’s a psychologist, wouldn’t he know that?’
‘He thinks he can psychologically outsmart his clients and the police. He’d be skilled at ingratiating himself with others to manipulate a positive impression. As you’d know, they can be a pallbearer at their victim’s funeral.’
‘From your past profiling James, what have you noticed about a killer’s childhood?’
James gazed down at his coffee cup. ‘As you know, serial killers are rare but before working for this department I’d interviewed a killer called the snake. He said when he was four years old, he had pinched a boy hard and it felt good. He admitted when the kid cried for his mom he’d hurt him even harder. He said he’d got better as he’d got older and in elementary school he’d set kids up as if they’d been the bully. He said the kids were shit scared of him and kept their mo
uths shut. He grinned when he’d explained how easy it’d been to lie. He was proud of his craftwork.’
‘Were there any other red flags?’ Sarah asked.
‘He said he’d fed a deformed kitten to the class snake and watched the kitten scream and struggle whilst the snake slowly strangled it. He’d admitted he then went to the school bathroom and ejaculated. I remember him justifying the killing. He’d said the kitten was sick and was going to die anyway. He’d filmed it on his cell, so he could enjoy the thrill of the kill at home.’
‘That’s sick,’ Sarah stated.
‘Yeah, you’re not wrong,’ responded James.
‘When did he shift from animal killer to serial killer,’ Sarah asked.
‘He said when he’d graduated from college, he’d enjoyed being the snake. He said he’d pick up a prostitute and slowly strangle her, savoring the torture whilst ejaculating. Again, he justified his killing by saying that prostitutes were the rejects of society.’
‘How did you get him to tell you that?’
‘He seemed to have liked my attention and enjoyed telling his story as if he was getting off on it.’
‘What about his parents?’ Sarah asked.
‘They said their son was really sociable but if anyone crossed him he’d deck them.’ James looked up, and asked, ‘Are you sure you have nothing at all on the doctor?’
‘Nothing,’ Sarah stated. ‘He has no website advertising his practice or his therapies and the FBI’s National Database failed to come up with anything. Not even a parking ticket. He’s squeaky clean. To make matters worse, I’ve been asked to write an article for the New York Times on my views of Rehab. They’re have to wait.’
James was skeptical of rehab. Rehab meant going back to their former healthy state. He believed psychopaths didn’t possess a former healthy state. Their former state was torturing a family pet before their fourth birthday while receiving indulged and permissive nurturance from parents who feared being labeled neglectful and dismissive. Parenting paranoia that produces a ticking time-bomb.
