Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set

by Lashell Collins

  Trying unsuccessfully to push it from my mind, I venture into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. And as I stand thinking about my feelings for Josh, anxiously chewing on my bottom lip and staring out into space, I wait for the coffee to brew. I am lost, deep in thought, when I hear a strange shuffling noise at the front door and I jump about a foot. My heart is suddenly racing. What the hell was that? It’s barely 5:30 in the morning, what – or who – is at my door at this hour?

  My mind briefly thinks about racing back to the bedroom and waking Josh, but then I roll my eyes at myself. Don’t be ridiculous, Sam! I take a steadying breath and rush over to the door, quickly standing on tiptoe to look out the peephole. And as I do, my racing heart kicks into overdrive. I see a man rising from a crouching position and turning to walk away from my door. What? He is dressed in nondescript dark blue workman’s coveralls and a baseball cap slung low over his eyes, and I watch as he strides quickly down the hall toward the elevator and disappears.

  What the hell? And now all sorts of questions are running through my mind at once: Who was that? Was that my stalker? What should I do? Is he really gone? Should I wake Josh? And the one question my mind is screaming at me right now … What was he doing at my door? My skin begins to crawl with an overwhelming sense of creepiness and dread as I ponder that last question. Why is this happening to me?

  Calm down, Samantha. Maybe it was just a delivery man. Yeah. Right, of course. That makes sense. Except that no delivery service operates at this time of the morning. Do they? My mind is racing with questions and evil scenarios and I want to just swing open the door and confront whoever that was but, I’m way too afraid. What if it really is the stalker and he’s come here to find me?

  This is silly. He’s gone. I know that he’s gone; I watched him walk away. I’ll just open up the door and look out. Decision made, with trembling fingers I take a deep breath and reach up to unlock my door, opening it slowly and quietly. Cautiously. Peeking out to the left and to the right. The hallway is empty. Whoever the strange man was, he is definitely no longer here. But glancing down, I spot a small, square box sitting at my feet and a cold sense of foreboding runs through me at the sight of it. It’s brown, like cardboard, with a big red bow tied around it. What is it? Why did he leave this here? Why is he doing this to me? Should I pick it up? Should I bring it inside? Should I wake Josh and tell him what’s going on?

  Feeling extremely exposed and vulnerable standing in my open doorway, I know that I have to make a quick decision. Leave it and wake Josh, or pick it up and bring it in. It doesn’t really matter, I realize with dismay. No matter what’s inside that box, whether I bring it inside myself or wait and let Josh open it, I know it’s not good. I can feel it.

  With another deep, anxious breath, I bend slowly and pick up the small, brown box with both hands. I’m surprised to find that it’s remarkably lighter than it looks and I wonder frantically what’s inside. One last quick glance down the hall to ensure that I am indeed alone, I look down at the box in my hands. It has no writing on it, no return address. The thought makes me frown as I realize that my address isn’t even on it. Whoever left it knew exactly which doorstep they wanted to leave it on. The thought sends a cold shiver down my spine.

  I step back into my apartment and close the door behind me, securing the lock right away. Then I take my small, unwanted, unmarked package over to the marble coffee table and set it down. I feel an incredible sense of relief to have it out of my hands but somehow, deep down, I know that relief is fleeting.

  Chewing anxiously on my bottom lip, I reach out and untie the red bow, letting the ribbon fall onto the table. Then I swallow nervously as I reach out with both hands and take hold of the lid of the box, lifting it slowly as I try desperately to breathe through the waves of fear that are crashing over me.

  When I peer into the box the first thing I see is a small, yellow stuffed cat and I frown. It’s a sweet, innocent child’s toy, plush and soft, with a big red heart on its chest. I sit the lid aside and reach into the box, picking up the cat to examine it further. But as I do, my eyes flicker past the cat to what’s hiding beneath it. Photographs. Sitting the cat on the table with the box lid, I look deeper into the box and see three Polaroid pictures, and I pick them up. And as I stare at them and my mind tries to comprehend the strange images I’m seeing, my senses are suddenly bombarded by the filth, and I gasp in horror and disbelief.

  The pictures are graphic, obscene images of a man’s genitalia in various poses. Startled, I drop the photos back into the box and, as I do, I notice that there is something else in the bottom of the box as well, and I scream bloody murder at the sight of it!

  Chapter Three

  Joshua

  It’s one thing to wake up with a start when an alarm clock goes off, or even when a loud noise shatters your dreams. But waking up to the blood-curdling scream of a woman you care about is something else entirely. As my eyes pop open, I know immediately that Sam is in trouble and that she needs me. But I’m also instantly seeing ghosts, fighting memories of being woken up from a sound sleep by the terrified screams of my mother as she struggled to keep that son of a bitch away from her. Fighting to keep those memories at bay, I am on my feet in an instant, gun in hand, not even slowing down to pull on my briefs as I dash, completely naked, out of the bedroom and toward the sound of Samantha’s tortured screams. Entering the living room, I spot her standing by the coffee table in her robe, and I can see easily that she’s terrified. A trained, quick glance around the space tells me that there’s no one else in the living room or dining room. I don’t see any signs of eminent danger but, Sam is clearly distressed.

  “Sam?” My voice is forceful as I attempt to get her attention. It works and she looks up at me with big, frightened eyes.

  “Josh,” she sobs, seemingly unable to move from the spot where she stands.

  I walk over to her, gun in one hand as I reach out with the other to gently caress her face, wiping away her tears with my thumb. “Baby, what the hell is going on?”

  “Look!”

  She points to the table where I see an opened box with photographs and a large dead mouse. What the fuck? “Sam, what is this? Where did this come from?”

  “A man left it at the door,” she sobs, almost hysterically.

  I look at her in disbelief. “What do you mean a man left it at the door? When?”

  “Just a few minutes ago.”

  “A few minutes ago? Did he ring the doorbell? Did you see him?” I know that my voice sounds agitated and angry but, I’m just trying to get a handle on the situation and understand exactly what has happened here.

  “No! I mean yes, but … ”

  “Why the hell didn’t you wake me? You opened the door to this jackass?” I yell at her in shock.

  “No. He was at the door,” Sam answers in a confused wail. Her tears are falling freely and she’s every bit as agitated as I am right now as she tries to explain through her sobs. “I couldn’t sleep and I came out here to make coffee and I heard a noise at the door. I looked through the peephole and I saw him set the box down and walk away from the door! Why is this happening? What does he want from me? Why won’t he just leave me alone?”

  I fold her into my arms as she cries, and her entire body is trembling with fear. And as I hold her, I look down at the box and get a better look at the pictures, and I know that we are dealing with a real sick bastard. Pictures of this asshole whacking himself off, up close and personal. Just his hands and his Johnson. Fucking sleazebag!

  “Sam,” I ask as I look down at her, still holding her in my arms, “you said you saw him set this box down and walk away from the door. Did you get a good look at him? At his face? Can you tell me what he looked like?”

  “No!” She practically screams at me and pulls away angrily, and begins pacing around the living room. “I didn’t see his face. I don’t know what he looked like. And no, I didn’t see the tattoo! I didn’t see a damn thing, Josh, okay? Is that w
hat you want to hear? That I screwed up once again!”

  She dissolves into tears and sinks onto the small sofa opposite the fireplace and I take a deep breath and sigh heavily as I let it out slowly, running a hand through my hair in frustration. Disgusted that she still can’t tell me one fucking thing about this dirtbag who’s harassing her, I sit my gun down on the table and silently walk back into the bedroom. Taking a moment to finally pull on my briefs, I find my jacket and reach into the pocket of it, pulling out a single latex glove. Keeping a few in my pocket at all times has become second nature on the job the last few years. Never know when you’re going to need to pick up a potential piece of evidence to examine it more closely. I grab my cellphone from the nightstand and head back into the living room. Samantha still sits crying on the couch and, although part of me wants to go to her and comfort her and tell her that everything’s going to be alright, part of me is pissed right now. She had the sense to look out the peephole at this guy but, she still can’t tell me anything about him?

  I walk over to the box of twisted treats and pull on the glove. Then I pick up the pictures, examining each one in turn. There are three altogether, all various poses of the same deviant subject matter. Sitting the pics aside, I take up the mouse by the base of its tail and hold him up, giving him a good once over. He’s a nice size, as mice go. Looks like he died by way of a standard mouse trap. But why include him in this little box of goodies? As I replace the mouse to the box, I glance off to the right of it and spot a small yellow toy cat with a big read heart on his chest, and pick it up, slowly turning it over in my hand as I examine it.

  “Was this in the box too, Sam?” I ask holding up the stuffed cat.

  “Yes.”

  She’s still crying softly and the sound tugs at my heart. I hate it when she cries. Sitting the cat aside once more, I look closely at the bottom of the box. Lying beside the dead mouse is a small folded piece of paper, and I can feel my eyes narrow as I look it over. Gingerly, with my gloved fingers, I pick up the paper and skillfully unfold it with one hand. It’s a note addressed to Sam, hand written in all capital letters:

  SAMANTHA, I SO ENJOYED OUR PHONE CONVERSATION THE OTHER NIGHT.

  I HOPE YOU’RE HAVING AS MUCH FUN AS I AM. I WANT THIS TO BE A MAGICAL EXPERIENCE FOR BOTH OF US.

  SOON.

  WE WILL BE TOGETHER SOON.

  IN THE MEANTIME, HERE ARE SOME GIFTS TO MAKE YOU THINK OF ME.

  Sick son of a bitch. Now the contents of the box make a perverted, sadistic kind of sense. He’s toying with her, like a cat with a mouse.

  “What does it say?” Sam asks tearfully.

  I hesitate to answer her question. I know it’s only going to upset her even more than she already is.

  “Josh? What does it say?” she demands a second time. She has a right to know, Pierce. You can’t shield her from this.

  I sigh as I look over at her, shaking my head slightly. “It says that he hopes you’re having as much fun as he is,” I tell her, trying to downplay it as much as I can. “This is a game to him, baby. And right now, he’s winning.”

  “Oh, my God,” Sam whimpers.

  I get on my phone then and dial Conner. As I do, I can hear the alarm clock just now going off in Samantha’s bedroom, and she stands slowly and walks off to silence it. I give Dave a quick rundown of what’s happened and tell him that I’ll be bringing in the box of horrors with me when I get to the station. Then I carefully place all of the box’s contents back inside and close the lid. Walking into the kitchen, I pour myself a steaming cup of coffee. Then I root through Samantha’s cabinets until I come across a box of large plastic freezer bags. This will have to do. Taking a sip of my coffee as I walk back into the living room, with my still-gloved hand, I carefully place the small box of horrors into the bag and seal it. Then I remove the glove, go back to the kitchen and toss it into the trash. My task completed, I sit on the couch sipping my coffee for a few minutes and stare at the box before I finally get to my feet and venture back into the bedroom to find Sam.

  When I do, she is just coming out of the shower and she looks tired and worried. I walk around the bed and sit my gun back down on the nightstand as she walks into her closet to dress. The air between us is suddenly thick and I know that we need to clear it. But, I also know that I have a job to do. I can’t let this relationship screw with my investigation of this case. Marcos and Skinner would have my ass if they knew about Sam and me, and I would never be able to live with myself if I allowed my feelings for her to cloud my judgment during this investigation. How the fuck have you let things get so out of control, Pierce?

  I run a hand through my hair as I try to decide what to do first. Sam and I need to talk. And I need to know exactly what she saw this morning. I also need to get dressed. For the sake of time, I quickly decide on the shower. I enter the bathroom and dash in and out of the shower in five minutes flat. I am equally speedy as I finish dressing in jeans and a light blue dress shirt. Pulling on my shoulder holster and gun, I venture out to the kitchen and find Samantha sipping a cup of coffee and staring at an untouched plate of scrambled eggs and toast. She glances at me when I sit quietly beside her but says nothing, and I silently dig into my breakfast.

  “You really should eat something, Sam,” I say quietly, glancing at my watch. “We need to leave soon.”

  “I just don’t have much of an appetite this morning,” she says softly.

  I roll my eyes at myself and set my fork down, taking a deep breath as I steel myself for this conversation. “Look, Sam,” I say softly, turning slightly on my stool to face her. “I didn’t mean to upset you earlier. I’m just trying to do my job and piece together what happened this morning. I want to find this asshole and shut him down before he has a chance to hurt you again. But in order for me to do that, I need to know exactly what you saw, baby. Every detail, even down to what the son of a bitch was wearing. Don’t you understand that?”

  “Yes, of course I do,” she says softly.

  “I’m not … accusing you or trying to put you on the spot and I’m sorry if you felt that way…”

  “I know that,” she sighs, looking up at me. “I know. But I just feel so … stupid. I mean, how hard is it to remember something useful? Something that might actually help you find him? I know that you have no leads because of me. Because I can’t remember anything! But every time something happens I just feel … paralyzed with fear and my mind goes blank.”

  She’s crying openly now and, as I stand, I reach over and gently pull her to her feet and into my arms. “Hush, baby. It’s all right,” I tell her softly, sounding more confident than I feel. “We’ll find him. I know we’ll find him.”

  Fifteen minutes later I’ve taken an official statement from Sam about the events of the morning, and then I usher her out the door and into my truck, carefully stowing the bagged box of horrors on the floorboard between us. We’re silent on the drive to the museum and I reach over and take Sam’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. She’s been quiet since I took her statement, and I think she’s feeling more than a little confused about how to deal with me right now. Am I the man she’s been sharing her time and her bed with, or am I just the cop who’s investigating her case? It’s a question I’ve been struggling with myself ever since her screams woke me up this morning.

  When I pull into the museum parking lot and spot Mr. Martin approaching, I run a finger lightly down Samantha’s cheek and she turns to look at me. “Guess we had another lousy morning didn’t we, Sunshine?” I ask quietly looking into her bright green eyes so full of stress and fear, and Sam smiles slightly at me. I caress her face as I say, “I know I keep saying this, but I mean it. Call me if you need me, Samantha. Okay?”

  She nods her head at me. “I will.”

  I lean in and kiss her tenderly, letting my lips linger on hers for a few fleeting seconds. When we pull away, I see Martin standing outside her door, looking discretely at the ground. As Sam opens the door and climbs out of the truc
k, he and I make eye contact.

  “Martin?” His eyebrows shoot up in acknowledgment as he looks at me. “We’ve had a … an incident this morning,” I tell him, glancing back at Samantha. My gaze returns to him as I continue. “Make sure you stick close today.”

  I see the understanding register in his eyes immediately, and he nods at me. “Yes, sir.” He doesn’t know what the ‘incident’ was, and I know that, to him, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is keeping his client safe, and that knowledge gives me a small morsel of reassurance as I watch him escort Samantha inside, and I take a deep, uneasy breath as they disappear behind the museum doors.

  When I get to the station, the first thing I do is meet with Dave and Lieutenant Marcos in the forensics lab and we have a little show and tell over the box and its contents before handing it off to the techs who’ll go over it with a fine-toothed comb. I tell the Lieutenant that I got a call from Miss Colby very early this morning after she heard a noise at her door and discovered this creep had left the package on the doorstep. Once he reads the little note from the box he very willingly grants me permission to escort Miss Colby to and from work each day, and I know that he’s just feeling the heat from the Mayor and the Chief and from Captain Skinner to pull out all the stops to keep Lucas Colby’s little sister safe while we hunt for her assailant.

  Back at my desk, as I’m writing up my report on the morning’s escapades and filing Samantha’s official statement on the incident, I can’t keep my mind from racing, trying to come at this thing from all sides to figure it out. It just doesn’t make any sense. Attack first, then terrorize. Like he’s playing some kind of game. Hell, his note all but confirmed that. This is definitely a game for him, one that he’s enjoying immensely. He knows the affect his actions are having on Sam, and he’s loving it. This is how he gets off. Her fear excites him. Arouses him. That’s why he included those disgusting photos of himself in the box, to show her the effect this little game has on him.