Julie did not understand how she had gotten into this situation in the first place. The past week had seemed to be one of the best in her life. It had started with her coming back from the bachelorette party of the first one of her friends to get married. They had partied in Atlantic City, and Julie had even won two hundred dollars. Of course the very next day she had spent it all on a gorgeous dress that she had been wanting to buy for a long time. And then her mother had begun prying for present ideas for her upcoming birthday, which only further improved her mood.
Winter was in progress, but the frosty atmosphere had suddenly transformed into pleasant weather, and Julie felt like this had happened just for her. The highlight of the week had been when she met an important magazine editor who had told her that she had a really unique look and that she should give her a call if she were interested in modeling for the magazine. She had given Julie her business card. Julie had exclaimed in excitement that her lifelong dream was to be a model, and the editor, Kelly Danes was her name, had nodded and smiled. She’d only asked Julie not to tell anyone yet, because she did not want to be bothered by other girls craving the same incredible opportunity; it would be better if she told everyone only after everything was officially settled.
Julie had called Kelly the very next day, and they had agreed to meet at the editor’s townhouse on the Upper East Side. Kelly had brought up the possibility of Julie having her portfolio photos taken, implying that she should dress up. Julie’s enthusiasm grew with a burst of happiness when she thought about the new dress she had just bought, which would be perfect for the occasion. She really hoped she could impress Kelly.
That night, Julie had hailed for a cab rather than take the subway, like she usually did. She could not afford to be late to such an important meeting and ruin the great first impression she’d obviously left on Kelly. She had preferred not to take a chance and miss her train, or somehow not be able find her way from the subway station to Kelly’s home. Anyway, she figured, although it got a bit warmer, the nights were significantly cooler; and she wasn’t intending to show up on Kelly’s doorstep with a frozen handshake while sniffing her nose. She wanted to look her absolute best.
The taxi had stopped in front of an impressive row of townhomes. Julie had made sure she was at the right address before paying the driver. The moment she had shut the car door behind her, she felt her heart pounding. By the time she had gotten to the door, it was racing. She had forced herself to take a deep breath and then pressed the doorbell. Kelly had answered the door right away and welcomed her in. She had explained that the studio was located in the basement floor and gestured with her hand toward a heavy looking door. Julie had automatically headed inside while Kelly locked the main door and then followed her downstairs.
The last thing Julie could remember was a violent blow to her head and her body plummeting down the stairs. She was still sprawled on the floor when she felt the texture of rough fabric, like a used kitchen towel, covering her face and a weird smell that quickly filled her nose. Then everything had turned black, just as it was doing once again, as Julie reluctantly gave in to the pain and slipped out of consciousness, yet another time . . .
When she finally regained awareness, God only knew after how long, she was awakened to a complete darkness that enfolded her eyes. She felt the ropes brush against her skin as she tried to move her hands. She was strapped to a chair, hazy and suffering terrible pain.
“What the hell is going on here?” Julie asked. “Kelly, is that you?” she called in helplessness.
“Patience, my dear,” said Kelly’s calm voice. “Soon it will all be as clear as day.”
After several long minutes, Julie sensed how the coarse ropes binding her to the chair were being loosened, but she couldn’t move. She was paralyzed with fear. She experienced a horrible, salty taste in her mouth. Had she been drugged? Julie moved her tongue over the corner of her cheek in an attempt to wipe out that poisonous flavor. Her eyes were still blindfolded, but she did not have enough strength to uncover them: she felt defenseless.
Kelly gripped her brutally and knocked her to the ground.
Julie felt every last bit of her bruised, naked flesh being dragged across the cold, rough floor and then tossed aside like a piece of meat.
“Oh Julie, you are so pretty!” Kelly cheered. “Let me just put on your new dress and some make-up, and then you can see for yourself that you are indeed . . . well . . . breathtaking!”
“What’s going on here?” Julie asked again. She tried to scream, but her voice was already too hoarse from crying and yelling.
“Don’t worry, sweetie, save your energy for later. You see, I just had to make a few minor adjustments before I could let you be photographed for my magazine. You probably understand that not just anyone can show up and instantly become a model. The secret all the breathtaking models keep is that the path to beauty is tied up with pain. A lot of pain.”
Julie felt her bare body being stuffed into a tight dress that pressed against her wounds, and then she was seated back on the chair. Cruel hands pulled her up mercilessly, without any consideration for the amount of pain she felt, so that she would sit up straight. Then the blindfold was removed from her eyes.
The entire room was lit, but it took a few minutes for her eyes to get used to the brightness before she could see clearly. Then she saw that all of the walls in the room were actually mirrors. She saw a woman with platinum shaded hair and carefully painted dark red lips, Kelly, standing proudly next to a woman sitting on a chair. She did not recognize the woman, but she was wearing her clothes. Julie stared at the eyes of the woman looking back at her and then she suddenly realized.
It was her.
She was overtaken by pure terror. No, it’s not possible! Julie told herself and then stared again at her reflection. She shuddered when she saw herself in the mirror. Maybe this was all just a bad dream. This couldn’t have happened to her. No, it had to be one of those horrible nightmares and she was going to wake up any minute now in her warm, comfortable bed, laughing at herself for having such a gruesome imagination.
But the nightmare didn’t stop, and she was already awake.
“What the hell did you do to me?” Julie screamed, as the tears began pouring down her cheeks, burning her wounded skin.
“Look at you, all dressed up in your new dress. Julie, don’t you think you look beautiful?”
Julie’s entire body was peeling. Some of the wounds had begun to heal a little, but the ones on her face were still raw and painful. Her long chestnut hair, which she had been growing diligently ever since she was a child, had been chopped off and ripped out until her scalp was exposed, and the blood trickled down into her eyes, blending with her tears. It trailed through where her eyebrows once had been and were now torn out completely. Her nose seemed broken and twisted, covered with gore, and she had trouble breathing. Her mouth felt so parched and dry, yearning for some water, but all she could taste was that salty mix of blood and tears. She battled with herself not to throw up. It was an excruciating vision.
“What did you do to me?” Julie sobbed, staining her new dress with red tears. “Why did you do this to me?”
“It doesn’t feel nice to be ugly, does it?” Kelly asked venomously. “When you’re beautiful, you think you are above all, truly worth more than everybody else. Parading around like a queen no one can refuse. Oh, what vanity it takes to want to be a model! You trust your beauty to make life easier in an instant, without learning or working, without struggling for a livelihood, without doing anything but smiling and being perfect.” Kelly’s eyes narrowed at Julie.
“But it’s not my fault that I am . . . was . . . beautiful,” Julie reasoned.
“Maybe so,” Kelly replied, “but you are the only one to blame for your pride. Don’t you remember that your lifelong dream was to be no less than a model? For this you deserve the punishment you were given.”
“But what about you?” Julie asked. “You’re beautiful,
too. Why aren’t you punishing yourself?”
“Oh no, I’m not as beautiful as you are, well, were. In any case, I did not always look like this.” As she spoke, Kelly remembered those godawful days. “You see, because of women like you, I’ve suffered all my life. I was never pretty enough. Girls like you always made fun of me.” Deep in her heart she thought about one girl in particular, the one she had really wanted to see sitting on that chair. “I couldn’t use my looks to get where I have gotten now. I wasn’t arrogant enough to think that my beauty would open doors for me; rather, I relied on my devotion and talent and hard, very hard, work. And that is exactly your downfall,” Kelly proclaimed in a firm voice. “If you don’t understand yet,” she added, “your sin is not beauty, but pride. You are not being punished for the way you look but for the way you allow yourself to behave.” Kelly hurled the harsh words at her, leaving her speechless.
The last thing Julie saw was Kelly pointing a gun at her. She never heard her say, “It’s so hard to be beautiful, don’t ya think?”
* * *
The industrial garbage bag that concealed Julie’s body waited impassively in the dark room where she had found her death. Kelly was too smart to try to dispose of the evidence in broad daylight.
It was morning now and she was on her way to work, but her mind drifted to other places. She wondered when the cops were going to find the body this time. Kelly wanted those who had more beauty and vanity than actual brains to know that they'd better watch out.
Kelly decided to take a quick detour through the offices of Ford Models on West 57th street near Central Park. As she drove past one of the most established modeling agencies in the city, she noticed a beautiful girl, about twenty years old, with golden locks and hazel eyes, gazing up at the building with an expression of amazement blended with hope. She pulled up next to her and rolled down the window.
“Hello, I’m the Editor in Chief of Inner Beauty magazine. We are currently looking for new models. Here’s my business card. Give me a call, I think you have a bright future ahead of you.”
CHAPTER 3
The NYPD was baffled by the mysterious series of murdered beautiful women all over Manhattan. Among the many young women who had been found lifeless, there was no common ground other than their stunning appearances, which had been brutally deformed. Nobody knew who could be responsible for these horrendous killings. There were no clues leading to the killer’s identity.
Over the six years that Sharon had worked in the homicide squad of the Midtown South Precinct, she had faced dozens of murder cases, but this was proving to be especially difficult. It was clear that they were dealing with a skilled criminal who did not leave any footprints behind. Sharon even wondered whether the killer had prior experience or perhaps connections to unsolved cases in other jurisdictions. She had contacted other squads and searched for similar cases in the police database, but no matches were found. It seemed as though the murderer had launched and groomed his ghastly career in New York City – and nowhere else.
Well, I guess even Killers believe that The Big Apple is the place to be.
Working with police psychologists had enabled Sharon to assemble a vague profile of the killer. They were looking for a person who was very clever, a perfectionist, and probably behaved that way in his day-to-day life. As for the unsub’s gender, both options were considered, though the fact that over ninety percent of serial killers were men was heavily taken into account. One possibility that seemed plausible was that the killer was a man who had suffered abuse and humiliation by a female figure and that the distortion of the faces likely symbolized a grand victory and revenge for his past. However, there were no signs of sexual assault, which was usually associated with male criminals, especially in light of the victims’ striking beauty. But it could also relate to a sense of castration, Sharon reminded herself. Another profile, though less likely, suggested that the killer was a woman who was making amends with her own sense of inferiority by making other women, whom she deemed threatening, subordinate and uglier than her. Since statistically only a small percentage of serial killers were women, that lead did not seem very promising.
In any case, thus far there had been no evidence found which could confirm or refute any speculations, so they remained completely theoretical – not good when you’re trying to solve a murder case. Sharon sighed inwardly: she was in desperate need of a lead.
The autopsy reports consistently showed that the injuries sustained on the bodies had been made during the forty-eight hours prior to their deaths, and that the joint damage indicated that they had been forcibly tied. Residual Chloroform and GHB, also known as a date rape drug, had been found in the victims’ systems, though Sharon knew there was no evidence for sexual assault. It appeared that the killer wanted to make sure his victims couldn’t fight back, which pointed out to a plausible physical disadvantage.
But how did they end up in this situation in the first place? Did the killer jump at them from behind? Or perhaps he slipped the drug into their drinks? So that could mean they met him willingly, and if so, then why? Different speculations came to Sharon’s mind in an attempt to answer these questions. But she knew that there was no point trying to take a stab at all of these vague conjectures. She should be focused on actual facts. Only the problem was there weren’t any. Time was breathing down her neck, and she definitely felt it.
Suddenly she heard the voice of her boss, Midtown South Precinct Captain, Rob Jackie.
“Davis, into my office, now.” His icy voice dominated the room, imposing utter silence. A few officers, mostly Probies, glanced up in fear but then realized it wasn’t their names being called.
Sharon crossed the hall in a speed that could have rivaled a marathoner, while gathering her long champagne blonde hair into a round bun at the top of her head. She stepped into the Captain’s office and closed the door behind her.
“Is there something new?” she asked, pushing strands of golden hair away from her ocean green eyes.
“That’s exactly what I intended to ask you, Davis, as the detective who is supposed to be in charge of this case,” he answered rigidly.
Supposed to be in charge? It looked like her situation was getting worse by the minute.
He ignored her questioning expression. “It’s been two months since the last murder. I would expect you to have found something by now. Anything,” he sighed. “Do you have any leads?”
“Well . . .” Sharon tried to stall a little as she wondered what she could say that would distract her commander from the fact that she had no news for him. “We’ve put together two predominant profiles of the killer, and now I’m using them to find proof that confirms one of the descriptions. I’m planning on going through the files again; perhaps there’s something we missed.”
“We already did that,” Rob grumbled. “Goddammit, Davis, we need to show some kind of progress, and you’re not delivering. Do you want us to wait until it’s too late and we have another body on our hands? You don’t understand the kind of pressure I’m under. You know this is one of the most covered events in the last two and half years, which means if we don’t solve it soon our asses will be on the line. I can’t continue covering for you anymore.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “If you think you can’t handle it . . .”
“Rob, we both know I can. And you know nobody else could have gotten further with the slim evidence we have,” she answered with confidence, though she didn’t feel it. In the last year alone, four bodies had been found, and it was clear that the killer was gaining more confidence and experience. Each time a new body was discovered, Sharon felt the depth of her failure.
But she was never a quitter.
“Listen, I know it’s a lot of drudge, but we need to go back in order to get to the bottom of this. There is no doubt that we are dealing with a professional; therefore, if there are any mistakes, they will be found in the first murder. We need to go back to square one. That’s the only way to track this nutjob. We
already know the guy’s methods and his motives. All we need is one little mistake, and I am going to find it. I’ll do whatever it takes. And that’s a promise, Captain.”
Sharon felt entranced by her brave speech. She had won Rob over and had managed to calm him yet again. She already saw the beginning of a smile forming on his lips and was waiting to hear his usual, “Okay, Davis, counting on you, God knows why. Get moving.”
But she did not hear those words. Rob’s cell phone rang. He answered but did not say a single word throughout the duration of the call. Sharon noticed that the vein next to his forehead was beginning to stick out – a very bad sign. When he hung up, he said only one thing.
“We have another body.”
CHAPTER 4
The sun had set and it was safe to leave. Kelly drove downtown with the remains of Julie safely stashed in the trunk of her Mercedes, concealed inside a black trash bag. While her eyes were searching for the perfect location to dump the body, her mind wandered almost three years back to Mandy Sheldon, her first victim.
They met when Mandy had come for a job interview at the bureau of Inner Beauty magazine, where Kelly worked as the Editor in Chief. It was instantly clear that Mandy’s only talent was looking good behind the reception desk. She had waltzed into the office, beaming with the overconfidence of a stupid little girl who did not know her place. The stench of vanity was exuding from her. Kelly was infuriated by the audacity and assurance that Mandy had displayed in her ability to get a desirable position, and in such a prestigious workplace to boot, without even bothering to submit a resume. She just had to teach her a lesson.
Kelly had interrupted the interview and told Mandy that she’d noticed right away that Mandy had higher qualities than the role required. She had given Mandy her business card and told her to stay in touch. Of course Kelly hadn’t actually thought about calling Mandy and had just planned on ridiculing her if she tried to approach her. That should teach her a lesson or two.
Dark Illusion: A Psychological Thriller Novel Page 2
