by Angela Kay
Aidan didn’t want to bring up the dream—or vision—or waking nightmare he had. He didn’t ever want to think of it again.
It fell quiet again over the next few weeks. Aidan hadn't received additional notes or phone calls from the offender. He remained in Augusta working with Shaun and Agent Douglas on finding links to Jane and Maya or anything they may have missed.
They had two briefings, one which Zane and Hansford attended.
Douglas suggested it was possible the offender had gone underground. Aidan disagreed. Something in him convinced him the offender wasn't finished. After evading capture for ten years, whoever was kidnapping and killing these women believed he was invincible. He had a process and never failed to stick with it.
The Carnations Killer wasn't finished yet.
“Agent O’Reilly?” He looked away from the computer to see one of the new interns standing in front of his desk. She bit her lower lip. “Sorry to bother you. I was trying to get your attention.”
Aidan shook his head to clear it.
“I’m sorry, I was lost in my thoughts. Allison, right?”
“Ashlee,” she corrected, her voice soft.
“Right.” Aidan offered her a smile. “What can I do for you?”
She reached her hand toward him, passing over an envelope. “Someone asked me to give this to you.”
Aidan accepted the item and opened the letter.
It was handwritten, just like the other letters he'd received from the offender.
Aidan looked at the intern. “Who gave this to you?”
“He was wearing a hat and sunglasses,” she replied. “Maybe a little taller than you?”
“Okay, thank you,” he told her. “That’ll be all.” He waited until Ashlee turned and disappeared around the corner before reading the letter.
FBI Special Agent O’Reilly—
It was a close call last time, wasn’t it? I assure you it won’t happen again. How did you find me, anyway? That was very good investigative work if I do say so myself. Well, I wanted to drop by and say I’m still here. I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten your surprise. Keep an eye and ear out. It’s going to be magnificent! But first things first…
Your friend,
The Carnations Killer
Rereading the letter, Aidan rose from his chair and made his way to Shaun’s cubical.
He found him rummaging through his desk. Aidan dropped the letter in front of Shaun and leaned against the edge.
“He’s still here.”
Shaun stopped what he was doing and read the letter. After he finished, he muttered a curse.
“Have you told Monroe yet?”
Aidan shook his head. “One of the interns brought it over a second ago. I came straight here.”
“’First things first,’” Shaun recited. He frowned. “I don’t have a very good feeling about this.”
“Me either.”
“Let’s go talk to Monroe.”
Shaun and Aidan headed for Monroe’s office and met her as she stepped out with Zane.
“Agents O’Reilly and Henderson,” he said.
Shaun and Aidan nodded their heads in acknowledgment. Aidan glanced at Monroe, who folded her arms across her chest.
“The Carnations Killer contacted me again.”
Zane raised his eyebrow. “He did? How?”
Aidan informed him how he received the letter, then showed it to him. His eyes widened with surprise.
“Curious,” he muttered. He looked away from the letter. “You still have no clue what he means by ‘surprise?’”
“No, sir,” Aidan told him.
“Well,” Zane said as he handed back the letter. He lifted his reading glasses to the top of his head. “Looks like you’re going to find out.”
50
HE WATCHED AS she stared at her tire by the gated dumpsters at the end of the cluster of townhouses. The daylight was quickly waning, and the bulbs from the street lamps were out. He made sure of that. He couldn't risk anyone happening by and him not notice.
It was time to bring his new target to her final home.
She shouted out a curse and kicked the front tire twice.
He’d disguised himself with a gray wig and beard. When he checked himself in a mirror before leaving home, he was pleased. His own mother wouldn't recognize him.
He made a beeline toward her, holding a grocery bag which held his supplies in one hand.
“Are you having car trouble, ma’am?”
She frowned but didn’t look at him. “Yeah. As if my day couldn't get any worse. I only came to take the trash out so my husband wouldn’t have to do it. When I came back, it was flat. Of course, it had to happen to me. When it rains, it pours, right?”
She punished the tire with another kick.
He smiled at her. “Well, I’m no expert or anything, but I don’t think kicking the tire will put air in it. Do you have a donut?”
She looked at him dubiously.
“A spare,” he explained.
“Oh,” she said with an embarrassed giggle. “I think so.”
She popped the trunk and moved a few things aside, then lifted the board that hid the spare tire and jack.
“My husband insisted I keep it, but I’m sorry to say I haven’t a clue how to change this thing.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he assured her. “I’ll take care of it.”
He lifted the tire from the trunk and tossed it on the ground, then used the jack to remove the tire he’d stabbed the knife into a few minutes ago.
“Thank you for helping me,” she said.
“Oh, it’s not a problem at all. I’m John.”
“Carol.”
After he finished, he pushed to his feet and placed the old tire and the jack in the trunk.
“Tire looks as though it was cut,” he told her. “Maybe you ran over a thick piece of glass, or a nail or something. Anyway, that should get you to work. Then tomorrow, I’d suggest you go get a new tire.”
“Thank you again so much,” she said. “You’re a lifesaver. What do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” he replied simply. “Well...” he looked around to be sure no one was nearby. “Except your life.”
Before she had a chance to respond, he tased her and watched as she squealed before slumping to the ground.
He opened his bag, tied her arms and legs with the wire, and taped her mouth. After she was secured, he gathered her and tossed her in the still-open trunk.
He climbed into the car. The key was in the ignition, so he turned it, bringing the vehicle to life.
He took the thirty-minute ride downtown to his new point of operation. It was an old warehouse that used to store electronics for a store. But the store recently went bankrupt, so he was lucky enough to snatch the building off the market. As he did when he rented a new location, he called the owner, told them a fake name and offered double the asking price if they could keep it off the books.
Thankfully, the owner agreed. If they didn’t, he would have been in search of another location until he found someone that would agree to his terms and money.
After he parked the new target’s car by the old warehouse, he unloaded her. She was now awake, her eyes wide with fear. As he carried her inside, she thrashed in his arms, trying to get away.
Of course, even if he dropped her, she wouldn’t get too far. Not with her hands and feet tied, anyway.
“Stop it,” he warned as he set her on the ground.
She tried to say something through the tape, but it was hard to make out the words.
He opened the door leading to another room and slipped on his clip-on sunglasses. Grabbing his target and throwing her over his shoulder, he expertly held her while flipping the light switch. It was bright, but his sunglasses helped protect his pupils. It was something new he was trying. He’d installed four hundred watt lights to see how she’d react. Would it cause her more pain? Would she just lay still, afraid to move?
Whate
ver her reaction, he was sure he’d get a thrill out of it.
He set the target on the ground.
She squirmed, just like the others did, but he ignored her.
Her eyes closed tight, trying to keep out the light.
She began to cry through the duct tape.
Rolling his eyes, he ripped the tape from her mouth.
The target began to scream, a bloodcurdling sound.
Though it made his head hurt, he waited until she got it out of her system. After a few minutes passed, he slapped her hard.
“Shut up,” he said, cursing her. “I’ve got a headache. Don’t make me put the tape on you again.”
“What do you want from me?” she whimpered, her voice harsh from all the screaming she shouldn’t have done.
He remained silent as he cut through the wires that bound her arms and legs. After all, it was no fun unless she was free to try to escape.
He removed his disguise—it had begun to itch—and set it on the table.
“Please,” she cried. “I’ll do anything you want. Just let me go.”
He let out a hesitant sigh and knelt next to her so he could tap the cool metal of his knife against her cheek. “You’re right. I really should just let you go, shouldn’t I? This has gone on far enough. I mean, I’ve been killing women like you since...” He paused as though to think. “...I can’t even say. Let’s just say a long, long time.” He sighed again and slid the knife underneath her chin. He smiled when she shivered. “I’ll let you go. But you have to promise you won’t tell anyone, okay?”
She shook her head with fervor. “I promise. I won’t say anything. I won’t—” he cut her words off with the taser.
Her shrill echoed through the room.
“You women are too gullible,” he said with a light laugh.
Grabbing a new tire iron he’d found in a junkyard, he swung it toward her stomach.
The girl whose name was Carol gasped for breath upon impact.
He hit her again, this time connecting with her temple. She cried out in pain, but he wasn’t worried. He never worried. He wouldn’t choose a point of operation unless he was sure he could be alone with his women.
He’d blared music in this little room so he could be sure it couldn't be heard outside the warehouse walls.
He only barely heard it, and it was so much louder than the screams.
It was nine o’clock at night and they could be there for hours.
No one would hear her cries.
No one would come.
So he continued to hit her.
After his arms grew tired, he’d let her rest for a little while. He’d watch as she let the tears fall from her eyes. He’d watch as her body jerked in sharp pain.
He’d chat with her about life.
He’d ask her questions about her pain. How it made her feel.
She would only whimper, plead with him.
But he ignored her.
Then he’d pick up the tire iron and start all over again.
51
CAROL RIDER REMAINED in a tight ball on the floor.
Her abductor stepped out a few minutes ago to answer a phone call. She'd been crying out, begging for someone to help her. But if they hadn't by now, she knew they wouldn't.
Every nerve ending cried out in sheer pain.
She remembered when she'd accidentally tripped over the cat and burnt her hand on a hot stove, trying to catch herself.
This was like being burned alive in comparison.
And the room was so bright. She hadn't had the chance to adjust her eyes yet.
Slowly, Carol straightened her legs. Her bones popped as she did so, and she moaned as scorching pain exploded through her body.
After she found she'd be able to move her legs, she worked on sitting up. Her head sent sharp knives through her eyes.
She wiped her tears still streaming from her face and slowly opened her eyes. It wasn't easy. The brightness added to her growing migraine, but if she was going to have a fighting chance, she'd need to do whatever it took.
Looking through her eyelashes, she saw her hands were covered in blood.
Her blood.
Carol scanned the room, trying to find something she could use to defend herself with once her captor returned.
There was a reel of fishing wire and duct tape on top of the table, bloodied tire iron leaning against it. Thick globs of blood slowly dripped to the ground.
When she saw the weapon he’d obviously used on her, she began to sob. Carol forced herself to remain strong, but how could she?
She was in so much pain, and she was the captive of a man who seemed aroused by hitting her.
She only wanted to go home. Why wouldn't he just let her go home?
Stop it, Carol! Thinking it won’t make it happen. You’ve got to fight him.
She sniffled, trying to inch her way to the table.
She worked on lifting the tire iron, but it seemed too heavy for her. She'd become too weak since she’d met the man who kidnapped her…how long ago had it been? She had no idea. It was as if she’d been there…wherever there was…for days.
She didn't normally pray, but she did now. If there was a higher power out there like her mother insisted, she begged for Him to listen.
Carol struggled to put her hand on the edge of the table and lifted her body. When she did, she began to shake as her legs fought to support her weight.
After she began believing she was hopeless, she noticed something in the middle of the wide table.
She reached for it.
There was a button on the side.
She pressed it, and it made a hissing noise.
A taser.
She remembered he'd used it on her twice. Once when he’d first abducted her and again when he told her he’d free her.
Well.
Maybe now she could turn the table on him.
The more she flexed her muscles, the easier it became to move. She ran her hands along the wall, still blinded by the bright light until she found the knob on the door. She flattened herself against the wall, waiting for the abductor to return.
As her eyes slowly adjusted to the bright light, she tried to remember what he looked like so she could tell the police if she managed to escape.
No, not if. When.
She knew he had gray hair and a beard. But was it a disguise?
When she was brought into this room, she thought he had removed something from his face, but couldn't be sure. The light hurt her eyes and she still hadn't been able to adjust.
When she heard the sound of the knob turning, she gripped the taser.
Her heart began to beat in her ears.
It’s okay, Carol. You can do it. You’re strong.
“I am terribly sorry about that,” he said as he opened the door. “That was my—.”
She jammed the taser somewhere on his body. She wasn’t sure where and she didn’t care.
His piercing scream of surprise rang into her already excruciating headache, but the most important sound was the soft thud of his body hitting the floor.
Carol dropped the taser when he fell and flew over his body, leaving the light to enter the darkness. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she had to work fast.
After she crashed into the wall, Carol ran her hands along the side, moving frantically, in search of a door knob.
“Hey!” she heard him call from behind.
She saw a hazy aura from a flashlight behind her.
She finally found the knob.
“Get back here!”
She swung open the door.
“No!”
Forcing herself to be blind to the pain in her body, Carol flew from the building, running as fast as her legs would carry her.
He stood outside the warehouse and watched as she ran off into the distance. The tingling sensation from the taser still lingered in his nerves.
Kicking the door hard, he released an angry curse. Now he'd have to
gather his things and find another location.
Again.
He wasn't too worried about her fingering him. The light in the little room was bright enough for her to not see his face, and he could tell by the way she was running into signs that she was still having trouble seeing in front of her.
Still, he couldn't take the chance she remembered where she was being held.
He hurried inside, grabbed everything he'd brought and threw it in the trunk of her car.
He knew he’d need to ditch it soon, but first, he wanted to see if he could find the girl before she ran her mouth about him and his point of operation.
52
AIDAN WOKE TO his phone vibrating from the bedside table. Looking at it, he saw it was Shaun calling. The clock told him it was almost midnight.
He answered as Cheyenne stirred in the bed next to him.
“This better be good,” he mumbled into the phone.
“We've got a live one,” Shaun told him excitedly.
Aidan frowned into the phone, attempting to figure out what he’d heard. “What?”
Shaun informed him a possible Carnations Killer victim had managed to escape, but they didn't know other specifics at this time.
The room started spinning after Aidan sprung upright in his bed.
“She’s alive?” he repeated, unable to believe the news.
Shaun told him she was taken to the Georgia Regents Medical Center. After scribbling on a pad where to go in the hospital, Aidan said he was on the way.
Throwing on clothes in the dark, he began buttoning his pants as he ran down the stairs.
There was no telling if he'd be back before Cheyenne woke to find he had left, so Aidan wrote a quick note telling her he was called out, and he would touch base with her later.
Grabbing his keys from the counter, then the floor after dropping them, Aidan hurled himself into the car, waiting impatiently for the garage door to open, then left the house.
