The Last Victim (A Ryker Townsend Story)

by Jordan Dane

  The Last Victim

  A Ryker Townsend Novel

  By

  Jordan Dane

  The Last Victim

  Copyright © 2015 by Jordan Dane

  ISBN: 978-0-9855132-6-9

  Cover art by Croco Designs

  Formatting Services by Wizards in Publishing

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dear Readers,

  The Last Victim is special to me since it is set in Alaska where I lived for ten years. Many of the outdoor float plane and hiking experiences of my FBI profiler, Ryker Townsend, were from the many trips I had taken, a city girl exposed to true wilderness for the first time. Although my life is simple when compared to Ryker’s, I hold my Alaskan memories very dear and the biggest adventure of my life. A mother moose charged me on an isolated trail with only a small birch tree to separate us and I’ve had more than one close encounter with bears. I was also a checkpoint operator for the Iditaski Race, held along the Iditarod Trail during the dead of winter. I’ve had my share of fun. I dearly love Alaska and hope you’ll enjoy The Last Victim.

  Jordan Dane

  The Last Victim

  When a young hunting guide from a remote island in Alaska is found brutally murdered, his naked body is discovered in the Cascade Mountains outside Seattle—the shocking pinnacle to a grisly Totem of body parts. Nathan Applewhite is the fourteenth victim of a cunning serial killer who targets and stalks young men.

  With the body count escalating, FBI profiler Ryker Townsend and his specialized team investigate the gruesome crime scene. They find no reason for Nate to have mysteriously vanished from his isolated home in Alaska before he ended up in the hands of a sadist, who has been taunting Ryker and his team in a sinister game of ‘catch me if you can.’

  But Townsend has a secret he won’t share with anyone—not even his own team—that sets him on the trail of a ruthless psychopath, alone. The intuitive FBI profiler is plagued by recurring nightmares—seen through Nate’s dead eyes—that slowly chips away at his mental stability. Is he burning out and losing his mind—becoming unfit for duty—or is the last victim reaching out to him from the grave?

  Townsend sees horrific flashes of memory, imprinted on the retinas of a dead man, the last image Applewhite saw when he died. Ryker must piece together the fragments. Each nightmarish clue brings him closer to a killer who knows how to hide in plain sight and will see him coming, but when the dead man has the skills of a hunting guide, he has the perfect ally to track down a killer—the last victim.

  Dedication

  To John - You are missed.

  JD

  Chapter One

  The soothing murmur of an ocean ebbed through Nathan Applewhite’s mind until he felt the waves and made them real. Now as cool water lapped the sandy shore to make frothy lace at his bare feet, he looked up to a cloudless sky—the color of a robin’s egg—that stretched its reach to forever. Fragments of his senses came together. Every piece made him yearn for more. When warm skin touched his, he knew he wasn’t alone and he smiled. He held a tiny hand. His five-year old boy Tanner walked the strand of beach beside him.

  The memory came to him often, but it never stayed long enough.

  The saltwater foam swirled over white sand and triggered another memory of the tablecloth in his mother’s dining room, something from when he was Tanner’s age. White lace. The smell of Thanksgiving turkey and pies in the oven. The memories were vivid. Nate wanted to stay in their comfort, but he was too weak.

  The pain always yanked him back.

  He couldn’t escape the reality of where he was and must’ve lost consciousness again. Blood loss made him lightheaded and the hallucinations had grown worse, but his past was only a fragile refuge. The sting of gaping and bleeding cuts kept him prisoner to his waking nightmare.

  Were his eyes open? He couldn’t be sure at first. Everywhere he looked he stared into nothing but blackness. When he took a deep breath, he smelled the thick fabric over his nose, tainted with his sweat.

  The hood. He still wore a hood on his head.

  He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d been taken. He had no sense of time, but his corner of hell came in a rush like rising flood waters. The dank odor of humidity, and the steady drip of water coming from a sink near his head, closed in on him. When he moved, he felt the chilling touch of the metal table under him. He was naked, vulnerable and exposed. His bare skin tightened with goose flesh and his teeth chattered. He couldn’t stop shaking.

  Sprawled spread eagle and bound, he tugged at his arms and legs and a rope dug into his skin—deep cuts that would never heal. He wasn’t going home. He would die here. A tear drained down his cheek as he thought of never seeing his ex-wife and little boy again. He’d made a mess of everything and it didn’t look likely he’d get a chance to make things right. When he heard the hollow sound of music echoing from the ductwork over his head, his body tensed. He grasped what had awakened him.

  Music. He’s coming.

  His gut twisted with panic. In his delirium, he didn’t know how much time he had now until he realized he hadn’t heard the song. The bastard always played a special song before he came down the stairs—a song Nate’s ex had picked for their wedding. Nate listened for anything that would tell him where the man might be. When he heard the hollow thud of footsteps over his head and dusty grit from the ceiling dappled his hood like rain, he knew it wouldn’t be long, but it wasn’t until Ray Charles sang “What a Wonderful World” that he knew he’d run out of time.

  Oh, God.

  That song had been another way the man tortured him. Once it started, it would play on continuous loop. The lyrics reminded him of everything he had to lose. Every time the guy worked on him with the knife, he prayed to die. Picturing his son’s face forced him to endure the grueling agony, but he wasn’t sure how long he could go on.

  Giving up felt like the coward’s way out. Nate couldn’t give up on his boy. His son was the one thing he had worth the pain, but if he couldn’t fight it anymore—if he didn’t have a choice—he’d have to find a way to say good-bye to his boy. If that happened, he may as well be dead.

  After he heard the creak of a door and footsteps on the wooden stairs, he thrashed harder at his restraints and the rope dug into his skin, deep. Fresh blood came from the wounds—warm and sticky—and a coppery tang mixed with the stench off his bare body.

  His abuser made the music erupt louder on overhead speakers at the flip of a switch. Despite the noise, it didn’t cover up the sound of him approaching. His feet scuffed across crinkling plastic on the floor.

  “Did you miss me, lover? I missed you.”
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  His captor used a device to disguise his voice into something mechanical. When Nate first heard the gruff tinny sound, he thought it meant the man was afraid of being recognized, like he’d know him. He hoped once the man was done with him, he’d let him go. He tried talking to the guy, telling him about his son, but that only made things worse. The man degraded him and the mutilations came next.

  Too much had happened for him to walk away.

  “Have you figured it out yet?”

  Nate heard the voice by his ear, but he’d learned not to speak. Saying the wrong thing brought more pain.

  “Death is the only thing that will free you now. That makes me your savior.”

  Nate tugged at his restraints, knowing the man spoke the truth. When he heard the stretch of latex gloves, he knew what would come.

  “Soon, everyone will know your name. You’ll be the pinnacle of my greatest creation…and I’ll be the only one who knows how you earned the honor.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  For his boy’s sake, Nathan had to risk asking one more time, even if it cost him. The man never answered that question, no matter how many times he’d begged for a reason. Nate listened to the clatter of him rooting in a drawer for his instruments, not knowing how he’d punish him next.

  “Pain or a tender send off. What’ll it be, lover?”

  He cringed when he felt a gloved hand on his body and a cold drizzle of something slick and oily.

  “Stop it. Don’t.” Nate would’ve given anything to get lost in his memories—for good this time—but he didn’t have the strength. Not anymore.

  “But how else will you understand that every part of you is mine?”

  As the man worked on him, robbing him of his last dignity, Nate thought of his son as a distraction to what was happening. His home. God, his poor mother. He prayed he’d never be found—not like this. Another tear drained down his cheek when his body shuddered and the man got rewarded for his abuse.

  “You have what you want,” he panted. “Get it over with.”

  He was done bargaining with the man who would kill him.

  “You’re right. It’s time.”

  Without another word, the man climbed onto the table and straddled his belly. Nate felt the weight of a body on his hips and hands pressed down on his chest. In an unexpected move, the hood got stripped off his head and he squinted into shadowy darkness.

  Nathan blinked and strained to see anything. A silhouette loomed over him and blocked a flashing red light. As his vision cleared, his captor’s face took shape and came into focus.

  “You…” he gasped. “Oh, God. Why?”

  Before he said anything more, Nate saw the red light glint on the blade of a large knife, held high over his head.

  “No! Please…don’t. Please!”

  Nathan stared into the eyes of his killer as the knife plunged into his heart. The loud thud echoed in the room as the blade cut through muscle and sinew. His eyes watered with the excruciating pain and a warm liquid filled his lungs. The ocean frothed and swelled to his throat.

  He couldn’t breathe. He was drowning.

  “Come on. Give it to me. That’s it. Yes.”

  Nate blocked out the cruelty of the voice. Only one thing mattered now. As the familiar face above him blurred, it got replaced with another—the sweet smiling face of his little boy Tanner—and the rumble of a wave hitting the shore. Sunlight made Tanner squint when he looked up at him. His son let go of his hand and ran down the beach with a giggle trailing behind him.

  Hey, little man. Wait up. Daddy’s coming.

  With sand caked to his feet, Nathan took off running after his little boy. The two of them splashed in the waves and made shimmering diamonds with their feet. He never caught his son. Time had ticked down to its final precious seconds. He only had one way to say good-bye to Tanner. Nate watched him run and he listened to his little boy laugh until—

  Pain let him go and set him free.

  ***

  Cascade Mountains

  Outside Seattle

  The next day after midnight

  Moonlight cast its slate glow onto a lifted hand, fingers gracefully posed toward the dark heavens. They would point to the worthy pinnacle of the masterpiece. The bare skin of a sculpted leg made a beautiful silhouette against the full moon, toes perfectly poised to catch the glimmer of the night. Frozen flesh glittered under the stars in the right light. The crystalline webbing of ice turned blanched skin into an intricate texture with a shine that reflected the dark sacred night.

  Too bad the meat had to thaw. To rot.

  Every metal stake played its part to hold the Totem together. Now all that was missing was the best part. The adornment on top of the whole creation. The inspiration to it all. A sturdy chain cranked through a metal hoist, a rig with back stops to make the lifting sure and easy. Every aspect had been carefully planned and practiced and would soon be rendered.

  Splayed arms and legs inched up the rough bark of a spectacular Hemlock tree. Seeing the naked body being lifted to its final position brought tears. Not sad tears, but tears of glorious joy. Of unadulterated pride. The tree had been selected with great deliberation.

  It had to be perfect. It had to be.

  Set in a clearing that wasn’t easy to get to, the tree would showcase well from the ridge where Golden Boy would first see it from a likely access point. A special note would accompany the creation, one that Golden Boy should appreciate. Watching him as he read it would be priceless. That would have to happen.

  Under the light of a full moon, the dead body was hoisted into position and locked into place at the top. It had never been part of the plan to sever his arms and legs like the others. This perfect one had earned his place of honor. Death had freed him, but seeing the empty shell of cold raw meat brought the rage and the reminder that not everyone had been freed by this one’s sacrifice. It wouldn’t stop here.

  Not here. Not ever!

  It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

  Only one thing left to do. Flashes from a camera ruined the perfection of the moon, but that couldn’t be helped. The camera clicked over and over in the eerie stillness of the night. Around and around. Dizzy. Magnificent. Seeing every detail was addictive. Mesmerizing. A record had to be made, to relive every minute again after the inevitable emptiness came. A foot, a hand, the skin of a face brought back adrenaline-filled, impossible memories.

  Cutting a scream loose, the warmth of a blood shower, the thrill of seeing the soul leave the body and knowing God’s hand played no part in it—those were rare and powerful addictions—but none of those things matched the final moment when hope left their eyes and they accepted their fate. Sated and drunk on memories, the driver tossed sturdy work gloves aside and climbed into a truck when it was time to go, started the engine, and turned on the music.

  The voice of Ray Charles sang. ‘What a Wonderful World’ brought a fitting end as the truck jostled along the gravel service road toward the busted gate few people knew about—heading through the trees into the dark sacred night.

  One final glance in the rear view mirror made it hard to leave, but the stunning silhouette of the Totem against the moon stirred the question that remained. Who would top the next creation? There would definitely be a next time and it had to be someone worthy. It wasn’t enough to kill perfection once.

  Hitting stride, the Totem Killer had only gotten started and had crosshairs on the next one. A name. Another perfect one. Everything had been planned with each detail thought out. Nothing would be rushed.

  The driver had a pick up to make and wouldn’t go home empty-handed.

  Chapter Two

  Ryker Townsend

  Flies. Hundreds of them swarmed into a frenzied buzz. I couldn’t escape the sound…and the smell of violent death. My footsteps echoed in the murky dark, but I couldn’t picture where I was. Too dark. The only light came from behind a burgundy velvet drape that hung in front of me. A red glo
w pulsed in erratic beats. Whenever it flickered out, it plunged me in total darkness, but that didn’t stop me. I kept moving, even though I didn’t want to.

  The flies got louder. I wanted to hate them, but they were only feeding.

  A shadow moved behind the curtain. When I got close, my hand reached to pull back the fabric and I tensed.

  No! Don’t!

  My body fought the impulse to look, but something made me reach for the curtain. As I drew back the drape, the red light blinded me. The last thing I saw was the shadow of a faceless body…before the suffocating stench of blood smothered me and I couldn’t breathe.

  Death was everywhere.

  ***

  “No!”

  I heard the familiar panicked cry in my voice and a chill skittered across my skin. With my body drenched in sweat, I thrashed and rode out another dream. My arms flailed as I fought dank sheets and my heart hammered as if it were punishing me.

  I must’ve looked like a defeated cod dying on a beach, too desperate for air to simply stop flopping. Anyone else—anyone normal—might’ve been alarmed at the intensity of the dream, but once I quit sucking air, I accepted what had happened.

  My nightmares were a part of me.

  I’d grown all too familiar with straddling the thinly veiled line between twilight sleep and whatever reality was. Until I figured out which side I was on, I didn’t always rush to wake up. Both sides had their peculiar merits. Sometimes my strange dreams helped me puzzle through my life. Most times they kept me on the wrong side of normal. Gasping, I looked around and couldn’t remember where I was—another side effect of my work.

  Too much travel. Too many hotel rooms. Too many little soaps.

  My eyes searched the shadows of a large room that had a library with countless books. I flipped on a lamp for a better look. A lucky stiff lived here. That stiff was me.