by Angela Kay
“He’s telling us who he killed,” Aidan finished. He went to the front of the book, and read the first page: Washington: May 2000 to July 2000 (3). He turned three pages, which contained three different women and found another title page on the fourth page: “California: January: 2001 to June 2001 (5). Six pages later, he found dates for the next year in Colorado, indicating he’d murdered ten women. The other title pages followed the same suit. Finally, the last entry was more recently in Georgia and had the photos of Maya Gibson and Jane Ridgeway.
“He’s sick,” the agent with the camera whispered. “He needs to be stopped.”
Aidan ignored the comment of the obvious and flipped through the book until he stared at the photo of the one victim he was the most familiar with.
The album slipped through his fingers and he hurried out of the room. Aidan fell to his knees and emptied his stomach. After he heaved a second time, he placed his palm against the wall, trying to compose himself. Aidan heard the agents muttering amongst themselves, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.
Sounds seemed to be distorted.
His mind raced.
He felt a massive hand on his shoulder, but he couldn't move.
Aidan heard the door open from downstairs, following the sounds of Monroe’s voice.
Finally, he found the strength to climb to his feet. Aidan ran a hand through his hair and straightened his shirt.
Without a word, he began to make his way down the steps to debrief Monroe.
65
THE VIBRATION FROM Aidan's cell phone went off on the table, but he continued to stare at the ceiling. He was spending the night on the couch. Shaun had offered his house to him, but Aidan didn't want to leave. He'd hoped Cheyenne would come waltzing through the door and what he'd seen in the bedroom was only a figment of his imagination. He'd hoped it, but knew it wasn’t true.
Instead, Shaun stayed the night despite Aidan's protests. He wasn't sure where Shaun slept, whether downstairs or in the spare bedroom.
Although Aidan tried, he couldn't find the means to sleep. Each hour on the clock ticked by one millisecond at a time as he lay, listening to the sound of the rain against the roof. He began to wonder if he'd ever sleep again. Every time he closed his eyes, every time he blinked...he'd see her.
He pictured him torturing her before he murdered her.
Aidan wanted to scream, but his voice didn't seem to be working.
He wondered if he should call Laura and let her know what was going on. Then he decided to wait for a little bit. She’d only worry and there wouldn't be anything she could do. Besides, he knew she’d be home soon and he'd rather tell her in person, instead of over the phone.
Aidan sat upright to look through the window leading to the backyard. The full moon was the only light shining through, giving him a hazy sense of luminosity.
The silence mocked him. Aidan was so used to being annoyed by her snoring, he found himself wishing he'd hear the sound again.
But no.
It was quiet.
It was then he realized the phone stopped vibrating.
He wasn't sure what time it was. His eyelids grew heavy, but he couldn't sleep. He didn't want to even try. He didn’t want to close his eyes and see the empty shell of Cheyenne’s body.
The phone began to vibrate once more.
This time, he looked at the caller ID, and it read unavailable.
Frowning, he chose to answer it, wondering who would be trying to contact him at two in the morning.
“Yeah?” His voice was scratchy. “O'Reilly.”
“I don't want to do this anymore.”
Aidan’s heart seemed to skip several beats.
“Then turn yourself in,” Aidan suggested, baiting the caller. “We can end it now. Tonight.”
“Do you know the worst thing, Agent O'Reilly?” He continued to speak as though Aidan hadn't said anything. The tone he gave seemed as if he thought he was playing a children's game. The thought of that alone sent chills crawling up Aidan's spine.
“What?” Aidan hoped if he could get him talking, then he might get enough out of him. Maybe he'd make a mistake. Say something he didn't intend to say. On another hand, Aidan felt beaten. Whoever The Carnations Killer was, was winning, and he knew it. He'd been taunting the FBI and law enforcement for years. Killing countless women without batting so much as an eye. Then he'd slink into the shadows unnoticed to watch as he fooled the world. And then he'd re-emerge once the fear he'd caused finally began to simmer down.
“It's not really that I don't want to do this anymore,” he admitted. He'd begun lowering his voice, almost as though he was attempting to mask remorse. “No. It's not that.”
“Then what is it?” Aidan's throat was dry, and he yearned for something to drink. But the glass on the coffee table was empty. He retrieved it and took it to the kitchen, quietly filling it in the sink.
“I can't stop,” the offender whispered after a long pause. “It's a disease. You know. Like cancer.”
“No,” Aidan told him through his teeth. The glass of water shook violently in his hand. He clutched it tight. “It's not a disease. You're a sociopath.”
“What's the difference?”
Aidan wet his throat with the glass of water.
“Why’d you hurt Jordan Blake’s dog?” He worked at keeping himself composed. He wanted to show the offender he wasn't going to get to him, no matter what he did. Aidan's hands shook as he held it to his ear.
“It wasn't fair that I never did anything for the reporter,” the offender said simply. “But I admit the dog was not nearly as satisfying as my women.” His laugh was haunting. “And nothing was as satisfying as my new woman. She’s lovely.”
Keep calm, Aidan.
“Why did you go after Cheyenne?” Aidan asked. “Why her? She doesn't fit your profile.”
“Ah.”
The way he said that one simple word sounded as if he was smiling into the phone. Aidan’s blood boiled, and he gripped the phone tighter in his hand.
“Cheyenne. Is that her name?”
“She doesn’t deserve what you’re doing to her.”
It was becoming harder and harder to control his emotions. Aidan's legs began to wobble, so he returned to the couch and lowered himself to the seat.
“I wish you could see her. See Cheyenne.” He smacked his lips. “She asks for you, you know. I have something special prepared for her. When I saw you and her together, I knew—I just knew—that she was the perfect choice. Because she’s special. Cheyenne is very special.”
“Let her go,” Aidan said through his teeth. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“Didn't they teach you to never negotiate with terrorists?” he asked.
“You’re not a terrorist.” Aidan wanted to try and appeal to his human side. Maybe he could get him to feel enough to let Cheyenne go. He knew it wouldn’t work, but the non-federal agent in him had to try. “I think you’ve been hurt by someone. Maybe your mom, when you were little.”
There was a slight pause.
“What did she do to you?” Aidan continued. “Maybe she beat you. Is that it? When you see a blonde woman walking by, you get flashbacks, right? So you take the women and hit them over and over again. Then after they barely have a leg left to stand on, you strangle them. Because that's what you always wanted to do, right? Strangle your abusive mother.”
Another pause filled the phone line.
The rain continued to drum against the roof.
“You think you’ve got me all figured out, don't you?” He laughed softly and continued, “After ten years of the hunt for the infamous Carnations Killer, you think you know the depth of the destroyed soul. Let's get back to the purpose of my call, why don't we? Do you think you can save her? Cheyenne? I don't think so. I mean, of course, you’re welcome to try, but just remember that as good as you think you are, Agent O'Reilly, I’m better. Actually, I can see the headlines now: girlfriend of FBI agent brutally le
ft for dead.” He released a sigh of contentment. “The gist of the story will of course read that said federal agent failed to save the love of his life. So, tell me…if even she couldn't be saved, then what hope is there for the rest of the world?”
Aidan had had enough. He clutched the phone tighter to his ear. Closing his eyes, he reminded himself to not allow the offender to get under his skin.
“I will find you. And I will kill you. You'll never hurt anyone else again. Sooner or later, you will make a mistake. And I'll be there to catch you when you do.”
“Really?” His laugh was dark and demeaning. “No, Agent O'Reilly, you won't. I've escaped the clutches of the world for sixteen years and going strong. You don't know me. Know who I am.” Then he said, his voice almost like he was singing: “But I know you.” He sighed again. “I know your strengths and I know your weaknesses. I know your fears. You think you're hunting me. But you're wrong—I'm hunting you. I'm your shadow, Agent O’Reilly. I'm your worst nightmare.” Another sigh. “Well, it's been such a pleasure chatting with you. We'll have to do it again sometime soon.”
He ended the call.
Aidan sat in the darkness, staring across the room. His phone vibrated, and he looked down. It said he had one text message.
He opened the text.
Just wanted to send something as a show of good faith. Take a good long look, because it'll be the last time you'll ever see your lovely Cheyenne.
—Your friend,
The Carnations Killer
Another text followed a few seconds later. It was an emoticon of a smiley face. The third was a video of Cheyenne chained to a wall. She was crying, dirty and had minimal cuts and bruises.
“I’m going to find you,” he promised the video of Cheyenne. “I know it.”
Aidan continued playing the video until he had no trace remaining.
He stared at the blank message screen on his phone, replaying in his mind what he'd just seen.
66
AIDAN WOKE THE next morning in a daze and wasn’t sure where he was. He wasn’t in his bed. He was laying on something hard and something heavy seemed to be weighing him down.
He blinked his eyes to clear his vision.
It was dawn.
Aidan sat upright and realized the hard surface he slept on was the floor, next to the couch. The quilt was tangled between his legs.
The light was on in the kitchen.
His first thought was that he'd fallen asleep on the couch and Cheyenne had gotten up early to make breakfast.
Well, one of two theories was correct.
He started remembering the night before.
Jordan Blake had called him to tell him The Carnations Killer murdered his dog, and then when he returned home, Aidan found Cheyenne missing.
Your move.
Aidan shivered as a wave of cold air climbed up his back.
He struggled to his feet to peer into the kitchen.
Shaun’s back was to him and he was pouring himself a cup of coffee, staring at a bunch of papers.
Aidan assumed he was searching for answers, determined to find something—anything—to find the offender or Cheyenne or both. But the answers just weren’t there.
They never were.
Aidan remembered Shaun had insisted on staying the night, despite being told his partner and friend was fine to be alone.
Rather than letting him know he'd woken, Aidan turned to ascend the stairs. The crime scene unit had cleaned the bed of the carnation petals and taken the book with them. The only reminder that the offender had been in the room were the words on the wall.
“There you are,” Shaun said as he came up the steps.
Aidan kept his focus on the wall, tracing the letters with his eyes.
Shaun remained silent before placing a hand on Aidan's shoulder.
“Do we know anything yet?” Aidan asked him, his eyes still glued to the words.
“No,” he admitted. “I’m going to head over to the office and see what they found.”
“All right,” Aidan said. “Let me take a quick shower first.”
“Monroe wants you to have the day off,” Shaun replied. “She’s insisting.”
Aidan shook his head with determination. “No way. This is my case, Cheyenne’s my girlfriend. She’s not going to remove me. I won’t let her.”
“Aidan, you need to—”
“I need to what?” Aidan turned to face Shaun, his arms crossed over his chest. Narrowing his eyes, Aidan added, “Need to sit around in this empty house? Need to do nothing while a psychopath is doing whatever he wants to Cheyenne? Shaun, I’m not going to sit back while he’s holding her. He took her only because she means something to me. He only did it to try and hurt me. I'm not going to sit around and let him think he’s succeeding.”
“I’ll be downstairs, then,” Shaun said after a brief hesitation.
Aidan went into the bedroom, a coldness enveloping him. Gathering clean clothes, he left the room to shower in the guest bathroom.
It only took a few minutes to clean up, so he went into the kitchen to pour himself a thermos full of coffee.
Despite the dreams the night before—most of which he'd begun to remember were about Cheyenne—he slept a good while. But he continued to feel the sleep deprivation over the last few years, so he relied on the unadulterated caffeinated coffee to keep him alert.
Aidan was resolved to work today, no matter what anyone said. Even if he were forced to leave and work from home.
He wasn’t going to let Cheyenne become another one of his victims.
He couldn’t.
Fired with determination and strong coffee, Shaun and Aidan left the house.
67
EARLY THAT MORNING, Monroe held a press conference informing the reporters they had reasons to believe The Carnations Killer had murdered not fifty, but a total of eighty-nine women, not including Keisha Moffett or Jamal Foster. The offender hadn’t included them in his collection of photos, and Aidan guessed it was because he didn’t care to claim them. After all, they were only collateral damage.
She'd also mentioned Cheyenne had been abducted and asked the public to notify the FBI if they knew or heard of anything that may lead to her safe return and the capture of the serial offender.
Last night, Shaun had questioned the two officers who were supposed to have kept an eye on the house. They had told him there was a report of a domestic abuse down the street, and since they were the nearest unit, they went to check it out.
The report turned out to be false.
By the time they returned, Cheyenne must have already been taken.
Shaun was looking into the nine-one-one call.
Aidan began studying the photo album the offender had left for him. He went through the FBI database and scrolled through the cold cases to see if anything matched the victims in the album.
So far, he came across a few of the faces he recognized throughout his career. They were all murdered in 2003 or 2005. The interesting thing was that the cold cases Aidan matched weren’t said to have been tased. Strangled, yes, but not tased. And although they were strangled, they weren’t strangled by a thin wire. The reports suggested the killer had used something to the effect of a stocking.
And the very first victim was stabbed. The crime scene photos showed blood staining the walls and sheets. The next five victims had been beaten and then strangled with bare hands. Aidan could see the prominent finger marks wrapped around their necks. The fourth one started with the stockings and that lasted until 2003. The wires came after, and when the year 2006 rolled around, he’d stuck with the wires and started using a taser.
It was unusual for a serial offender to change the way they committed murder, but not unheard of. Although there were typical ways a killer killed, the sky’s the limit.
But Aidan kept wondering why the sudden changes in MO? Was he bored with his methods of torture and killings? Did they become close to catching him at some point, so he decided to r
ise as someone completely new?
Aidan considered why he stepped out of his comfort zone to take Cheyenne.
From the get-go, The Carnations Killer wanted his attention, even if Aidan didn’t realize it until a few years ago.
Well.
If he didn’t have it before, he had it now.
“You okay?”
Aidan looked up to see Shaun looming over his desk.
“I’m fine.”
He grabbed a chair from the empty cubicle nearby and sat at the desk, all the while gazing at Aidan. Shaun shook his head.
“I don’t believe you.”
Aidan gave him a weak smile, hoping it would assure him he was fine.
Shaun's lips turned down in a frown. “Are you sure you’re up for this, Aidan?”
Sighing, Aidan leaned back in his chair.
Instead of answering him, he told him about the call the night before. Shaun’s eyes grew with curiosity as he listened with intent.
After Aidan told him about the texts, Shaun cursed and drew in a heavy breath.
“Did you ask for a trace of the call?”
“First thing I did this morning before I took the shower. I’m waiting on the techs now. Chances are it was a burner. But with any luck, we’ll be able to pinpoint where the call was made.”
Aidan tapped his pen against the edge of his desk with a despondent sigh as Shaun continued to scrutinize him.
“Everything will be fine. I’m going to find Cheyenne, and I’m going to find the offender.”
Shaun hesitated, and opened his mouth, then closed it as though he wanted to speak, but thought better of it.
“What? Go ahead and say whatever you’re thinking. Tell me you think I’m not capable of focusing on work.”
“Look, it’s not that,” Shaun replied. “But you can’t treat Cheyenne as your girlfriend. She’s going to have to be another—”
“Stop.” Aidan held his palm in the air. “Just stop.”
Aidan flipped the photo album shut and sat straight in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair.
