by V. F. Mason
Grabbing my pajamas, I remove any trace of makeup, take a quick shower, and get dressed before thirst gets the better of me.
Deciding it won’t hurt to go downstairs, since my parents don’t mind that, I tiptoe back into the hallway, and the faint, disgusting smell of something odd penetrates my nose and I almost vomit from it. I didn’t smell it when I came home.
What have they been cooking?
This time, I avoid the liquid on the step and go to the kitchen sink, filling myself a glass of water and drinking from it greedily, while wondering if maybe I should give this whole prom conversation another go.
After all, we only live once, right? Shouldn’t I fight more for my rights? It’s not as if my parents are monsters; they love us and want to give us the best. So they are a little bit overprotective, so what?
With positivity filling me, I turn around and head back, when I stumble on something solid but soft and almost fall down.
Uneasiness sweeps over me, because the object doesn't remind me of one of Sarah’s toys. Placing my hand on the wall, I search for the light dimmer switch, since I really don't want to wake up my parents. I rub my eyes as the light blurs my vision for a second.
Once it clears, the air sticks inside my lungs as the picture that greets me stops me dead in my tracks.
An agonized scream of pain echoes through the night, and it takes a while until I understand it escaped my mouth.
Mechanically, I pick up the phone from the kitchen bar and dial, concentrating only on the ringing sounds on the other end of the line. I open and close my eyes, hoping the image will disappear, but it doesn’t.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” the lady asks, and swallowing down the bile in my throat, I look one more time.
My father’s lying on the floor in a pool of blood from his cut throat. My mother is nearby with her head blown off, and my little sister… I can’t locate, but her bloody pink dress is on the sofa, as if removed in haste.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” the lady repeats, and I find my voice.
“My parents are dead, and I can’t find my sister,” I whisper into the phone, cries shaking my body while I barely stand straight.
Life I so desperately wanted to get away from, no longer exists.
New York, New York
May 2018
Ella
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I mutter, sighing in exasperation while the sticky, hot liquid spreads into a bigger stain on my perfectly white shirt. The guy who bumped his shoulder into me doesn't even turn back to apologize as he leaves me standing on the road looking like an idiot.
Taking a deep breath, I take out wet wipes to try to somehow salvage the situation, but I’m probably making it worse.
Suddenly, a janitor lady screams right into my ear, “We ain’t a resort here, lady! Clean up!” She points at the empty coffee cup that fell on the ground, which still lies in the pool of my morning espresso.
“I’m sorry. It was an accident.” I smile softly, hoping it will appease her, but all she does is raise her eyebrow, clearly not impressed with my explanation. Not wanting to get into a fight over the incident on such an important day, I quickly pick it up and throw it away in the nearest trash can. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I answer it while cursing inwardly over the timing.
“I’m so dead,” I say into the phone, while hurrying my steps to the other side of the road to the massive building in front of me, which seems more guarded than the freaking president.
“You sound just fine to me.” Chloe snickers while a soft mantra song can be heard in the background.
Great, she’s doing yoga again. God knows why, she thinks my voice calms her down and puts her in the special mood.
“My espresso is all over my shirt, and I’m ten minutes late to my new job. I’m so dead.” I can practically imagine her shrugging as if it’s no big deal.
“Shit happens.” Her standard reply whenever something is wrong; she never cares much about it or stresses out. Maybe I should have watched more Forrest Gump in my teens as she did. Clearly it changed her entire perspective on life. “Why are you breathing so heavily?”
Almost doing a victory dance, I finally reach the mirrored doors and enter, my black heels clicking loudly on the marble floor, the only sound in the otherwise silent hallway.
The security guard who occupies the administrative desk stands up the minute he sees me while he scans my appearance.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
“Because I’m late! Gotta go,” I say to Chloe and hang up. She can talk for hours without caring about a thing, and I don’t have time for that. She is my best friend, but her breezy attitude won’t calm me down.
I flash my ID to the security, and he nods and gives me a company access card.
“Your boss informed me that you were coming. You need to go to the eighteenth floor.”
“Thanks!” I rush through a closing elevator door as a nerdy-looking guy with his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose frantically presses the button for the same floor I want.
Guess I’m not the only one late today.
Resting my head on the glass behind me, I close my eyes for a second, allowing the thrilling sensation of victory to run through me, as a bubble of laughter almost escapes my mouth. Despite all the things that went wrong today, including my car breaking down, I can’t help the excitement building inside me at the prospect of finally accomplishing my lifelong dream!
Wrapping my hand tight around the gold necklace, Dean Holt’s voice washes over me, reminding me of the time she came to my graduation and gave it to me.
“You’ll get there, Ella. Mark my words.”
I hope that wherever she is in heaven, she is proud of me, despite the fact she didn’t support my decision to go into the field.
Once the elevator dings on our floor and the doors slide open, I get out, noticing how the guy still just stands there and does nothing, although his fingers are about to press number eighteen again.
“Hey,” I say gently, and he snaps out of his haze. My eyes lock with his, not missing that something flashes through them before he covers it up. “You okay?” He frowns at my question, straightens up, and gets out. He doesn't even bother to answer me as he speeds past, and before I can even blink, he disappears between the sliding mirrored doors that lead toward the main office of Blake Harrington, the CEO and owner of his own security company, Blake Enterprises.
Groaning inwardly at my reflection in the glass door, I shake my head at my ridiculous outfit and go in after the guy. I’m greeted by the cheerful secretary who stands up the minute he notices me. He wears a green polo shirt and white shorts along with slippers, which surprises the hell out of me. Don’t they have dress codes in such establishments? “Yes?”
“My name is Ella Gadot.” His blank face shows me he has no clue who I am, so I try again. “My boss was supposed to inform you about my visit.”
“One second,” he mutters, grabbing the phone and dialing five. A second later, he speaks into it. “Blake, hi. An Ella Gadot is here, she claims that… got it.” He hangs up and for the first time graces me with his smile. “They are waiting for you.”
“Great.” I mentally go over all the successful milestones in my life to give me more confidence to take the step, and with a firm knock, I enter the office where a deep discussion appears to be happening, if the loud voices coming from there are any indication.
They all stop though, the minute their eyes land on me, and it’s at times like this I wish the universe would just listen to me for once and swallow me whole.
The office is a large space with a huge window that displays the beauty of New York City. Based on the picture I’ve seen in various magazines, you can see the Empire State Building in all its glory while people walk on the sidewalks and seem the size of small fruit. The sky opens up magnificently, so much you can look into it and forget everything in the world exists.
There is a sen
se of freedom in that.
I wish I had the opportunity to see it at night, but my job doesn't pay me to gaze at the skies.
It pays me to get into the minds of serial killers.
“Ella, you finally decided to join us.” Noah scans my appearance, lingering for a bit on my shirt before he addresses Blake. “Ella Gadot, the newest member of our team.” He introduces me with an indifferent expression, but I can’t miss his sarcasm. He clearly doesn’t appreciate my lateness.
“I’m sorry. I got a little lost on the way here.” I try to justify it, and barely restrain myself from slapping myself. There can be no excuse for being late on your first day. I have to own it instead.
He leaves my words with no reply as he turns back to Blake, a handsome blond man who sits behind his desk while his watchful green eyes light up with fury.
What the hell?
Noah motions to the nearby chair, and I sit down while secretly studying the office. Not because I’m in awe of all the luxury, but because Blake is under investigation.
For murdering his ex-wife.
So I scan his bare walls, the expensive leather furniture, which is comfortable as hell, and the expensive Persian carpet in the middle of the room. The heavy, black, wooden desk has very detailed figures carved into the sides. He has a lot of hunting trophies gracing his walls, which I find out of place, considering it’s his office. No framed photographs of the loved ones, nothing personal to give a clue where his loyalties lie. Blake exudes power and dominance, but with his military background, it’s understandable.
Detailing all this in my mind, I take out my notebook and make several notes for myself while snapping my attention back to Blake, who is still in deep conversation with Noah, talking about his alibi.
“Look, agent, get this straight, I didn't kill my wife. I was home, resting after my last assignment.” He sounds irritated, while Noah just raises his brow.
“Is there anyone who can confirm this, sir?” His lips thin as he shakes his head, and he snaps, hitting the table with his fist while I jump on my seat.
“This is fucking bullshit. I have proof I was on assignment, the cameras showed when I entered my building. I’m supposed to have a babysitter all the time so you’ll believe… or what?” He rises from his seat, and Noah follows him while they both face each other.
Noah has a buzzed haircut; his muscled body, encased in a black suit, emphasizes his strength and experience in field work for the last ten years. He has brown eyes that don’t betray any emotion, and I suspect he doesn't have many friends. The file I got on him is short, so I have no clue about the details of his life.
But no matter how much I try, I can’t turn off my instinct or psychological mind from studying people around me.
It is in my blood.
“No one is charging you with anything so far, sir,” Noah says, then leans forward. “So control yourself,” he warns, and then continues, “Don’t leave town, or the country, before the case is closed. We will stay in touch.” With that said, he gathers his files, picks up his phone, and moves in the direction of the door. Although I rush after him, he walks so fast he is almost back at the elevator.
He clicks on the button as the man from earlier joins us. I have a second to react, when Noah asks him, “You found anything, Preston?” The guy shakes his head and Noah just mutters something under his breath. The elevator opens with a loud ding and we all get inside, and I can’t help but feel odd about all this.
Not exactly how I imagined my first day at my dream job.
“Don’t ever be late again, or you’ll be dismissed from my team.”
My eyes widen at Noah’s words, and I snap my attention back to him where he holds my gaze. Swallowing down the bile in my throat from his stare—I sense something dangerous is hidden there—I nod without saying anything. Seconds later, we get out, but not before I notice a Greek symbol on his hand that traces up to his sleeve.
My brows furrow as I search my memory. I’ve seen it somewhere, but where?
“What do you think of him?” he asks me suddenly, and I bump into his back because I don't expect him to stop.
Slightly taken aback and acting like the idiot I am, I blurt, “He isn’t guilty.” From the corner of my eye, I notice Preston on his phone as he continues his walk to a black Jeep located in front of the building.
Noah spins around to face me, and questions, “Why?”
“He doesn't have any photos in his office, which means he doesn't hold much affection for his family or friends. It’s void of any kind of emotion. The case you presented me shows there was rage when the person was killed. A man like him, who likes to hunt, would have planned everything and never done something like that in rage.” His wife was found in a pool of her own blood. She had been stabbed thirty times in the chest, as if the person hated everything about her.
“She could have provoked him and his control snapped, just like back at the office,” Noah says, crossing his arms.
I shake my head. “With all due respect, sir, a psychopath or sociopath didn't kill her. The evidence, the scene of the crime, and the crime itself shows that the act was spur of the moment. And this could have only been done by a person who is highly emotional in everything. Blake has a military background, not to mention he owns a security firm. If he had done it, we wouldn't have found her body,” I finish, taking a deep breath, hoping I didn’t screw up my future.
A beat and then his mouth spreads in a smile, making him almost approachable, and it stills me for a moment. “Welcome to the team, Ella Gadot.” Then he motions to the car and I get in the back seat with Preston, who already has his laptop open, typing away furiously on it.
“Where are we going?” I ask, while declining one more call from Chloe. This girl… seriously. I love her to pieces, but she has no idea about personal space or the importance of keeping a job. She doesn't have to with her talent for design work.
“To FBI headquarters. You need to meet the rest of the team.”
Finally!
Chapter Three
First
Richmond, Virginia
June 2006
Ella
A soft blanket wraps around my shoulders as the woman with a cup of steaming tea in her hand kneels in front of me while she tries to give me a reassuring smile.
What can be reassuring in this situation? The nightmares will haunt me till the end of my life.
I try to control my breathing without gulping air, because I don’t want them to bring back that psychologist who wants to help me. I don't need therapy, especially from a person who keeps repeating that in time everything will be all right. What does she fucking know anyway?
“Here you go, honey,” she murmurs, but I just blink and make no move to take it from her hands, even though I tremble so much I can hear my teeth chattering against each other.
The images just keep playing in my head, no matter how hard I will myself to forget them.
Blood.
Dead bodies.
My lifeless parents with no hope of surviving.
And finally, my little sister.
Thoughts of her snap me out of my stupor and I finally make eye contact with the officer lady, concern lacing her features. “Sarah… did you find her?” My sister is the only hope I have left. Surely life is not that cruel to take her away from me too?
She opens her mouth to say something, when another officer steps in, giving her a stern look. She nods, and with one last pat on my knee, rises and leaves me alone with the man who exhales heavily.
He is different from anyone else; he wears a black suit and oozes the confidence of a man who doesn't take shit from anyone. I’ve noticed him before, when he ordered around several people who look like him.
“My name is Agent Bates.” He shows me his badge, and my brows rise at the FBI insignia. This required the feds to come?
He grabs the chair nearby and sits in front of me, while I repeat my question. “Did you find my sister?” His lips
thin as he leans forward and reaches for my hands, but I move them away.
I don’t need comfort if it means he doesn't have a good answer for me. Finally, he speaks, and part of me wants to shut him up.
To not have this finality in my life, the truth I will never be able to run away from.
But I can’t, so all that’s left is for me to listen. “We found Sarah in your basement. She was… she was hurt.” He swallows as if he is shocked himself by what the monster did to her. “She died a few hours ago. I’m so sorry, Ella,” he says, as if it will make everything better.
My entire family was murdered tonight.
How can anything ever be better again?
As tears stream down my cheeks, I close my eyes and fist my hands so the sobs will not escape me. I glance to his lap, where there is an open folder with several pictures, and bile rises in my throat. “What is this?”
He curses and tries to close it. “You shouldn't have seen this.” He can’t stop me before I grab the folder and scan pictures of people who had the same things done to them as my parents.
And then I find the last picture, this one with a little girl.
I stand up quickly, rushing toward the bathroom. I make it just in time before I vomit the water I drank earlier. The monstrous things keep on playing in my mind along with the smell from my house that I know is seared into my brain for life.
I feel Agent Parker’s presence behind me, and whisper, “That’s what he did to Sarah?”
A beat of silence, and then, “Yes.” I find the strength to get up and wash my hands in the sink as he gives me a hand towel. “He is a serial killer who has done this to several families.”
I lean on the sink, still dizzy, and I’m afraid I’m going to barf again.
What kind of sick, twisted monster does he have to be to do that?
