by James Hunt
Table of Contents
Death Notes: The Beginning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Death Notes: The Beginning
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Chapter 1
A crack of thunder bellowed from the virulent skies. Wind howled, and raindrops pelted homes and cars, orchestrating a wicked timbre made more ominous by the pitch black of night. Flashes of lightning crawled across the sky like spiderwebs. The hot white light revealed a soaked and ravaged earth. Streets transformed into rivers that funneled the rushes of water into overflowing drainage ditches. Gusts of wind snapped the thin cords of powerlines, uprooted trees, and flung debris like missiles that shattered windows.
A road sign struggled to remain upright, stubbornly fighting the wind and rain. It wobbled back and forth, quivering under the crack of thunder. The subsequent flash of lightning exposed the weathered sign that read Baltimore Storage in faded orange-and-yellow lettering. The road sign marked the abandoned facility, which stood alone on the outskirts of town. A failed business venture long forgotten. The building stood still and quiet as the storm deafened the world to anything but its roaring prowess. But between the claps of thunder, deep within the bowels of the facility, silent prayers escaped trembling lips.
The long halls of the storage unit were dark. Dozens of doors concealed the forgotten relics of families, discarded items that had once been treasured now left to rot and decompose until sold at auction. Old padlocks protected the unwanted memories from thieves, except for unit forty-one, where the analog security had been replaced by a digital keypad, which glowed green in the darkness. And unlike the dark cracks underneath the rest of the doorways along the hall, unit forty-one seeped light.
Inside, the source of the light was a small battery-powered lamp that rested against one of the bare walls. Flies circled the rim of a tin bucket, a few of them venturing to the yellow-stained twin mattress. And in the darkest corner of the room, hiding from the faint light of the lamp with her knees tucked tight into her chest, was Irene Marsh. She trembled, her head hung low with her long strands of black hair covering most of her face. She wore a dress with a floral pattern, far too small for her frame, which exposed much of her skin to the cold concrete of her prison.
Between the vicious claps of thunder Irene’s sobs filled the room. She eyed the locked door that was her only prison guard with disdain, fear, hope, and contempt. She buried her head into her thighs, feeling the oily grime that had built up over the past week, or however long she’d been locked inside.
The only measure of time Irene had were the visits from him. She shuddered, slowly looking to the wall next to her, the lamp illuminating some of her scribbling. All of her secrets, all of her most sacred memories, displayed for him to examine. The forceful intrusion into her mind caused her to quickly turn away. The sudden motion cracked her joints, and she winced in pain. She couldn’t remember the last time she moved. She couldn’t remember who she was before all of this. Every visit from him removed a small piece of her, and in exchange she was able to live. It was the deal she made with the devil, and the price was her soul.
The echo of footsteps traveled through the hallway beyond her door, and Irene tilted her ear at the familiar sound. She quickly scurried to the farthest corner of the room, putting as much distance between herself and the door as she could. She curled into a tight ball, sobs washing over her body in waves without her consent.
The cadence of steps ended outside her door with the crack of thunder. Five electronic beeps, and the door swung open, the hinges squeaking, the darkness revealing nothing but his silhouette. Tears streamed down her face with the same fury as the storm outside. “No, no, no, no, please. Just let me go. Please.”
But the shadowed figure took a step neither forward nor backward. The light from the lantern only reached far enough to illuminate the dark denim of his jeans from knee to foot. He slipped his hand into his pocket, palming the contents inside and then flung it across the floor, where it rolled until it stopped against her toe.
“I already told you everything!” The vein along Irene’s neck pulsed, and her cheeks flushed red. Even with the wall behind her she continued to drive her heels into the floor, pushing herself harder against the concrete that offered no escape. The man flicked a light switch and Irene shielded her eyes.
Irene’s pale skin shone from the unwashed oils and grime that had collected since her capture. Her hair was tangled and matted. Dark circles rested under her eyes, and matching bruises dotted her arms and legs. The purple paint on her nails and toes had chipped away, exposing the clear cuticles underneath.
Irene pulled the dress further down her legs to cover the nakedness of her body but was unable to conceal the tremors of fear that spasmed unapologetically. Her pulse raced, and her lower lip quivered as she searched for the courage to speak. “I w-won’t.” Her bloodshot eyes teared. “L-Let m-me g-go.”
The kidnapper kept his face down with the hood from his jacket over his head. He kept one arm behind his back as he reached the other for the door and locked them inside. Thunder cracked as he took his first step, and he slowly revealed his hidden arm, which exposed the long black iron of a crowbar.
Irene pushed herself from the floor, her hands still clutching the hem of her dress and pulling it downward. Goose bumps covered her exposed flesh as she watched him lightly pad the end of the crowbar into his palm. “What do you want from me?” She curled her body forward, the trembling only worsening. She screamed, digging her palms into her eyes. “I can’t remember anything else! Just let me go!”
The crack of thunder added an ominous exclamation to her rant, and she clenched her fists at her side. But when the kidnapper tightened the gloved hand around the crowbar and took another step forward, the brief spurt of courage disappeared and she dug her fingers into the drywall, trying to claw her way to freedom. “No, no, no, no, please.” Her voice heightened and mirrored that of a child who knew of the rod to come. “Please, don’t do this.”
The kidnapper raised the crowbar high above his head, and another clap of thunder rattled the entire building. The light in the storage unit went black, casting the two into darkness. Irene panicked and sprinted to the door. When she pulled the handle it offered no resistance, and she escaped into the hallway.
Irene’s heart pounded with the same hurried pace of her bare feet that smacked against the dirtied concrete of the storage hallways. The heavy thud of boots pursued her in the darkness, and the heightened power of adrenaline hastened her pace.
The long hallway ended, and she followed the only direction it offered like a rat in a maze. Thunder boomed and rattled the locked storage doors she passed. More than once she felt the graze of the kidnapper’s fingertips on her hair, but she never stopped to look back. She rounded another corner, and a flash of lightning from the window revealed an exit, offering her first glimpse of freedom.
Irene’s body grew light, and she burned what energy remained, adrenaline her only fuel. More lightning flashed through the window and revealed the thick sheets of rain rolling in the wind. With the door less than a few feet away she lowered her shoulder and reached for the handle in the same motion, never breaking her stride. The wind aided her escape and flung the door open.
The harsh whip of rain and wind pelted her face, beating like needles against her bare
skin. In seconds the thin dress was drenched and she was soaked to the bone. The confusion and brutality of the storm slowed her pace as her tender bare feet were punished with rocks lodged in the mud. She stumbled forward, screaming, but the wind and thunder dwarfed her pleas. She squinted into the black night, looking for any place to run, any place to hide, but she found no safety.
A harsh gust of wind brought with it more spiked rain that pressed the dress tighter to her skin. The adrenaline disappeared, and her legs turned to jelly. She held up a hand to shield her from the blinding rain, and in her stumbled run she smacked the chain-link fence that guarded the facility’s perimeter. She clawed her fingers through the metal mesh and rattled the barrier, screaming.
Lightning illuminated the reflectors on the roadside, offering a frame of reference. Irene sprinted along the fence in search of an exit. She glanced left in search of her kidnapper, but only the darkness and the thick sheets of rain stared back at her. Blinded in the dark, she tripped and crashed into the mud. She scrambled to all fours, covered in mud. She wiped the slime from her eyes and spit dirt from her lips.
An icy cold gripped Irene, the rain and puddles freezing her bare skin. Her muscles ached with fatigue, barren of energy. Then, amidst the flashes of lightning, another light caught her eye on the road. She squinted, thinking she’d only imagined it. But then another shimmer burst through the sheets of rain, and she reached for the fence like a life raft, pulling herself from the mud. “Help!” she screamed, her throat hoarse and wispy.
The pair of headlights grew larger in the distance. She pushed her legs underneath her, forcing them to steady and clung tight to the fence for support. She waved her arms and continued her stumbled sprint even when the headlights veered out of sight on the winding coastal road, only to return again, closer than before. “Help m—”
The kidnapper’s strong hands covered her mouth and yanked her from the fence in one vicious pull. She flailed her arms and legs, her eyes glued to the headlights that would soon pass, and with it her one hope of survival. But no matter how hard she fought, no matter how much she struggled, she couldn’t overpower the arms and hands locking her in place, pulling her back into the heart of the storm.
The car was close, less than one hundred feet. The headlights challenged the darkness, and she watched the outer rim of their light graze close to her legs. She offered one last defiant kick before she was cast back into darkness, and the act cost her a violent twist of the arm. She sent a muffled scream into her captor’s palm, and she was shoved to the ground, landing on her stomach. The impact knocked the wind from her. She felt her face press harder into the mud, the gritty texture of dirt and rocks rolled over her tongue and rushed up her nose.
Suddenly the pressure on the back of her skull ended, and she flung her head up, gasping for air, coughing up mud and spit. She rolled to her back, the rain rinsing her face clear of the sediment that blinded her. Lightning flashed in the sky, and the outline of the kidnapper towered above her. She crawled backward, but his figure remained motionless. She was cold and tired, and the ferocious wind beat the rain against her face. But on her retreat she caught the brief glow of red taillights. She stopped in her tracks, and her action caused her captor to look behind him. The car had stopped and shifted into reverse. She sucked in a breath of air and lifted her hands, her scream cut short by thunder.
The kidnapper pounced on her, the weight of his body pinning her to the ground, concealing them both in darkness until he could drag her, hands still over her mouth, through the mud and behind a cluster of bushes. She howled and screamed, but every shriek only tightened the noose around her neck and mouth. She sobbed, peering through the tall weeds of the bush that blocked her from the driver’s view, and saw a shadow at the fence.
“Hello?” The driver’s voice was nothing more than a faint whisper on the wind, barely piercing the gusts of rain seeking to drown the world. The driver lingered for a little while longer, but with no answer to his inquiry he returned to his car.
The kidnapper positioned her head so she could watch the taillights disappear. He increased the pressure of his hand over the front of her teeth, and she thought they would buckle back into her mouth. Once the vehicle was gone he released her, and she splashed helplessly in the mud. She thrashed wildly, her last gesture of defiance, then cried. All of her defensive walls crumbled. She looked back to the kidnapper, who was unmoved by the gusting winds and sharp, biting rain.
Water streamed off the tip of the crowbar in the kidnapper’s hand, and Irene sensed the finality. She looked up and clasped her hands together. The rain had clumped her bangs in wavy strands on her forehead, and her dress had become so wet and heavy that her chest was exposed, stripping away what remained of her dignity. “I don’t know why you’re doing this to me.” She slurred her words in grief, and her sobs rivaled the storm’s wicked cries. Helpless, she rolled to her side, her chest heaving up and down, and she sucked gasps of air in between her wailing. She clawed her fingers into the dirt and crawled, which was all the movement her body allowed her to do.
She turned to look back, and the kidnapper slowly followed as she shuffled her knees and hands through the sludge of mud, grass, and debris. “Just leave me alone! Just let me go!” She fisted a clump of dirt and flung it at the kidnapper’s legs, but the splatter neither hastened nor slowed the kidnapper’s pace. He stayed within an arm’s reach, and she knew he was toying with her now. She banged her knee against a rock and collapsed back into the mud, having neither the strength nor the desire to continue her escape.
“Just let me go.” Despair dripped from Irene’s lips along with the running water from the rain pelting her face. Lightning revealed the kidnapper raising the tire iron high above his head. “No, please!” She thrust her hands and arms in an attempt to block the devastating hit, but the kidnapper was too strong.
The crash of thunder masked the crack of bone. The front of Irene’s forehead caved in, and her body went limp. A well of blood rose through the crack in her skull and trickled down the side of her face. The kidnapper tightened his grip on the crowbar and paced frantically back and forth in the rain, cursing. He dropped to his knees and straddled the woman around her waist. He raised the crowbar again and brought it down once more, widening the hole in her forehead. The tip of the iron hooked inside the skull, and the next yank pulled with it blood and brain matter that spread across the woman’s chest and stomach. The kidnapper brought the crowbar down again, this time more viciously, beating her face again and again in a fury that rivaled the storm’s thunder.
Finally, panting, he dropped the crowbar into the mud. The woman’s face was nothing more than a pulpy mix of blood, brain, and bone. His labored breathing heaved his chest up and down as trails of blood rolled through the mud and water and into the drainage ditches. He squeezed his gloved fists so tight that his arms shook. But once the rage subsided he uncurled his fingers and reached for the woman’s mangled head. He gently caressed her ear, tucking a strand of hair behind it.
The kidnapper rose from the dead woman’s body and looked to the storage unit. He picked up the crowbar and tucked it into his belt. He knelt down and scooped the dead woman’s body into his arms. Her head hung back limply, blood and brain matter draining from the gaping hole that was once her face.
Chapter 2
The door to the corner office of the homicide unit of Baltimore’s central precinct was shut, and the lights inside were off. Inside, a long whiteboard stretched across the entire side wall from the front door to the rear wall with unreadable notes scribbled under mugshots and surveillance pictures. Two desks were joined together, with backlogged case files covering every square inch of desk space stacked a foot high.
Behind the towers of files, next to a stained coffee mug that was nearly empty, lay a lifeless hand with nails chewed down to the cuticle. Long strands of wavy dark-brown hair covered a head like a mop, and her back rose and fell steadily with her breathing. A detective’s badge dangl
ed from a chain around her neck in the space between the desk and the chair, and her pistol was still in its holster around her waist.
Through the windows of the office, shadowed figures passed, one of them slowing at the door. The officer burst inside, flooding the room with the early-morning bustling of the precinct. The woman on the desk fidgeted at the disturbance but didn’t wake. The officer slammed a file on the desk, which was enough to jolt her out of the coma, knocking over a few of the stacked case files in the process.
“Wake up, Cooper. Detective Hall wants to see you.” The disdain in the officer’s voice was thick, and he exited without another word, leaving the door open and with it the trail of light and sound that infiltrated from the hallway.
Adila Cooper wiped her sleeve over the corner of her mouth, removing the drool that had collected during her slumber. Her shirt left an imprint on her cheek, which masked the age lines she no longer tried hiding. Her hand brushed the coffee mug, and she reached for the handle, draining the cold liquid in one gulp. She grimaced at the bitter taste, and the coffee did little to improve the dark circles under her eyes, but it was enough to jump-start the morning.
Cooper brushed the tangled mess of bangs out of her face, her fingers catching and pulling the knotted hair that refused to be tamed, and tapped the space bar of her keyboard. When the screen remained black she tapped it again but was only offered the same result. Power’s still out.
She reached for the new case file the officer had dropped off, and the stretch popped her neck and back like bubble wrap. She set the file on the small sliver of space where she’d fallen asleep and flipped open the first page. Her stomach rumbled, and she opened the drawer to her right, pushing her hand through the discarded wrappers of power bars and scraped the bottom until she wrapped her fingers around something solid. She ripped off the top half of the bar, and it crunched loudly in her teeth.
