by Jordan Dane
“Bad dreams come with the job,” I said. “Sorry if I scared you.”
When I sat up and saw I only wore my boxers and a T-shirt, I pulled a blanket over my bare legs. My clothes were soaked in sweat and I needed another shower.
“Do you remember the dream?” she asked. “Maybe if you talked about it…”
I didn’t let her finish.
“No. Nothing stays with me. Probably a good thing.”
I’d lied and from the look in her eyes, she knew it.
In the dream, Nate didn’t stay hidden behind the curtain. This time I’d been the one kneeling over him and driving a butcher knife into his heart. Me! The shock of it still gripped me hard.
I remembered the buck of his body when I shoved the blade into him and the force it took to drive it into his heart. God, what was wrong with me? I’d pushed down with both hands and had even felt a warm gush of blood. The cruel smell of it had lingered in my nostrils.
But I’d never tell her that. I wouldn’t tell anyone.
“What time is it?” I asked.
She glanced over her shoulder to a clock in the room.
“Almost three. Sun will be up soon, this time of year.”
She touched my shoulder, but because of what I’d done to Nate in my dream, I didn’t feel right about her comforting me. I pulled away.
“You want me to put on some coffee?” she asked.
“Yeah, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Justine went to her kitchen and started a pot of coffee as I sat alone on the sofa, stunned by the intensity of the dream. The smell of it had grown thick and smothering. Sounds were still in my head. Nate’s skin had been carved and bloodied raw. I pictured his eyes. They condemned me as he gasped for air, dying. Even the blade rocked in my hands, mirroring the final beats of his heart.
Damn. I rubbed my face with both hands, unable to shake the dream. On the island, the stark vividness of my strange yet undeniable bond with Nathan Applewhite had grown stronger and made me feel closer to something vile. The evil I sensed hadn’t come from merely being here.
Whatever was happening, it came from inside me. I’d brought it with me and it was getting worse.
Chapter Seven
BAU headquarters
Quantico, Virginia
Morning
With Ryker in Alaska, Lucinda Crowley took lead in the investigation and pushed as hard as he would’ve done. Wired, she hadn’t slept much. A demanding internal time piece ticked down in her head and had her up before dawn. Five bodies at the last crime scene meant the killer had sped up his timetable.
Like Ryker said, the bloodlust high had worn off fast.
The UNSUB needed more bodies to fan the flame and would start hunting again soon, if he didn’t already have his next victim. Because Ryker seemed sure that he did, she wanted to report progress on her next call to him, something that might help him sleep better—and her, too. Maybe distance from the investigation had been a good call for Ryker. Everyone dealt with the stark realities of their work in different ways.
She was no one to judge. He’d been at it longer than she had.
The first time she’d met Ryker Townsend as her new boss, she had to suppress the immediate attraction she had for him. Most women would’ve considered it a bonus to work with someone who looked like Ryker, but for Lucinda, it became an uphill challenge with no end in sight. Although he was only a year older than she was, he’d been recruited earlier, received legendary test scores, and earned rank. His quiet intensity made him seem older.
For her, Ryker had it all—looks, brains, and a wry sense of humor that she loved prying out of him. He was brilliant, yet clueless when it came to social cues. He picked up on the most obscure details at a crime scene, yet missed when any woman flirted with him, charmingly oblivious to his effect on the opposite sex. Ryker always looked good, had great taste in clothes, and never appeared to try hard.
A guy like him was rare—an endangered species, in fact.
Ryker got her jokes, although sometimes it was hard to tell. She’d catch him fighting a grin, after she’d launched into her best material. That was a good thing. The few times he laughed aloud or flashed a full-on smile, it was pure torture to pretend it didn’t mean much, when she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.
He had a stare with equal parts intelligence, curiosity and passion. His eyes reminded her of the sweet richness of Chai coffee—the dark and unstirred bottom half of the glass—tinged with a warm drizzle of honey. Ryker had an amazing mind, but there was an intuitive side to his nature that blew her away. To hear him delve into the psyche of the killers they hunted—as if he could connect to them or understood how they hunted their victims—his low voice often gave her chills. Her respect for him had grown over the years and her attraction had only grown stronger, but Ryker had never given her an opening and she didn’t know if she could handle it if he did.
The guy had complex layers and secrets. She knew it, but he was also a one-way trip of the heart.
Although she’d deleted the photo she’d taken of him at the crime scene, she had the picture of his face in her mind. She hadn’t misread him. She only knew he didn’t want to talk about whatever it was. She had to respect that, but the mystery of him plagued her even more. She had it bad.
“Let it go.” She mumbled the words Ryker had told her on the tarmac and she didn’t like hearing it a second time either.
Lucinda sighed and set aside her thoughts of Ryker. She had a full day ahead of her and Dr. Martinez would be on duty early. When she stepped into the bright lights of the autopsy room, she saw her team already hard at work, prepping for the day. Devin Hutchison and Camilla Devore, had the last victim’s body and the severed limbs on five stainless steel tables. Seeing the bodies in the stark light shocked her. They looked like butchered meat.
If she ever became numb to such brutality, she’d quit.
Several enlarged photos of the intact Totem were positioned in an eerie display along one wall, giving a full view of the entire tree, front to back. Similar to other crime scenes, they would use the poster-sized images to number the body parts as they identified the victims and confirmed ID. The ghastly image—enlarged and in color—only galvanized the memory of a crime scene she’d never forget.
“I bring you the gift of caffeine. Nectar of the Gods,” she said, as the automatic glass doors closed behind her.
Lucinda had her hands full. She’d made a coffee run and brought back everyone’s usual orders, along with scones for those with the stomach for food before an autopsy. Hutch and Cam usually did.
“I smell something good,” Hutch said. “Did you bring treats?”
“Whatever’s in the bag, I smell blueberries. Yum.” Cam grinned.
Twenty-five years old, Devin Hutchison was tall and lanky and looked like a lazy Sunday morning spent in bed. He wore his dark hair long and resembled a professor with glasses balanced on the end of his nose. He usually wore vintage clothing that looked as if they’d come from a theatre costume trunk—tweed vests, odd neck scarves, and an assortment of hats. Camilla Devore was his polar opposite and two years his senior. She had a sense of style that made anything she wore look trendy and chic. With auburn hair and green eyes, she had a way of attracting male attention, no matter what she had on.
Cam and Hutch were inseparable.
“Only you two could smell scones in an autopsy room.”
“You act like that’s a bad thing,” Hutch said.
“Yeah, good point.”
Justine set the coffees and bag of pastries on a side table, away from where they’d work. Dr. Martinez, Hutch, and Cam were already dressed in protective gear—surgical gowns and caps with face masks hanging around their necks, and shoe covers. When they were ready, they’d add face shields to catch spatter from the procedures.
“I’ll be geared up in two shakes.”
After she got dressed in proper attire, Lucinda joined the others.
Dr. Mart
inez voice recorded his autopsies to help him complete the final paperwork. Since they’d already identified the body of Nathan Applewhite through fingerprints and Ryker had wanted a rush put on the procedure, they started with the last victim. Hutch and Cam helped the ME measure, weigh, x-ray, and photograph the body. Every scar, birthmark, tattoo, and distinguishing feature had to be recorded before Applewhite’s body would be cut open.
In his usual calm demeanor, Dr. Martinez spoke in a steady voice as he chronicled the mutilation and murder of a twenty-seven year old man. Lucinda already had a pretty good idea what had killed him. From what she’d seen of the body, Applewhite would’ve bled out after a lethal stab wound to the heart, but she’d have to wait for the official ruling from the doctor.
There was trace evidence collected off the body, a fine powder found near his genitals, as well as sperm and an oily substance discovered on his penis and in his pubic hair. When the doctor recorded the discovery of anal tearing, it was a significant finding. Having a whole body to examine, for the first time, gave them insight into what the killer did to his victims.
Lucinda clenched her jaw. Nathan Applewhite had suffered degradation and torture at the hands of a merciless killer. He’d endured the abuse for days. She could see that the carvings on his skin were done while he was alive. Some of the older wounds were healing and had scabbed over.
TK had taken his time with this one. He hadn’t been cut into pieces. Why had Nathan Applewhite been so special?
Lucinda had seen enough. She slipped off the face shield and removed her latex gloves to get a cup of coffee as she watched her team.
The Applewhite autopsy would take most of the morning, but the official report would take time to finalize until the lab results were in. After the Y-incision, the heart and lungs would be removed. Blood would be typed, DNA analyzed, and toxicology tested. Organs would be weighed, stomach contents examined, and the brain would get a closer look.
She gauged the time these procedures would take, trying to decide when to call Ryker. He’d need an update and she wanted to know what she could do to support him.
Besides the Applewhite autopsy, her team would have a full afternoon of trying to identify the severed limbs. They’d run fingerprints on the hands first. If they didn’t get a hit on ID, they’d look for blood characteristics, scars, birthmarks, or other distinctive markings. If necessary, they’d do an age approximation from an exam of the bone joints, and they could x-ray for old bone fractures or evidence of previous surgical procedures.
She decided to make a call to Ryker by the end of their day. The time difference between D.C. and Alaska would buy her a few more hours to gather as much information as possible. She had a plan. As she sipped her coffee, Lucinda stared at the enlarged images of the grisly Totem she’d seen in person only a day ago. She focused on the dead body of Nathan Applewhite, trying to reconcile the image of his corpse to his DMV photo. In life, he’d been a good-looking guy with warm eyes and the father of a five-year old son.
Why you, Nathan? She chewed the inside corner of her lip as she watched the ME weigh Applewhite’s heart on a digital scale.
“It’s gotta stop here,” she whispered.
Lucinda made a vow she desperately wanted to believe.
***
Prince of Wales Island, Alaska
Midday
Ryker Townsend
Point Baker was hours behind us and I had no idea where we were. Justine led the way and I followed her on a worn path along a ridge that skirted a gorge cut by a rushing river. The swirling waters below were an odd color of bluish green that looked like a gemstone. I’d worked up a good sweat, hiking the vertical climb and carrying the weight of my backpack, filled with gear and enough food and supplies for a few days. The exercise and the mountain air gave me a rush.
When I looked through a stand of trees, I caught a glimpse of a mountain through a break in the clouds. The snow covered peaks loomed on the horizon as if they were suspended in the blue sky, looking more like a ghostly image than a formation of rock and stone.
“What’s that mountain?”
She turned and I pointed in the distance.
“That’s Calder.” She spelled it for me. “We’re lucky to see it. The top is usually socked in. A sighting is good luck.”
Yeah, well, I didn’t feel lucky and Nathan Applewhite had been anything but a fortunate man. After Justine stopped for a rest to hydrate, I did the same. She handed me a plastic bag of a nut and raisin mixture and I ate in silence as I gazed across the valley toward Calder Mountain, filling my lungs with the crisp cool air.
Justine finished her snack and wiped her hands on her pants before she said, “You sure don’t talk much. Or maybe it’s me.”
“Sorry. It’s not you. I’m doing you a favor. Feel free to thank me whenever the impulse strikes you.”
“I’d rather tell you to shut up, but you’re not giving me the chance.”
“With an enticement like that, how can I refuse?”
“But you will…and I still would like to know why you’re channeling Clint Eastwood.”
“Actually I was going for John Wayne, but I get your analogy.”
I fixed my eyes on her, unsure what to say. A regular guy might’ve opened up to her to pass the time, but I usually had disturbing things stirring in my head once an investigation took over my life. With my team, I’d grown used to letting my thoughts leave my lips, uncensored. It helped my process, but there’d been times when even those I worked with were shocked as I let my mind ‘free associate’ into empathizing with a killer.
The skills of my trade were always with me, even off the job. Whenever I thought about getting to know an interesting woman, my random brain would latch onto a quote from Edmund Kemper, the Co-Ed Killer. One side of me says, I’d like to talk to her, date her. The other side of me says, I wonder what her head would look like on a stick. Outside of my work, knowing that line might be construed as peculiar. Although my mind leaps could definitely be described as ice breakers, their social results often rivaled the success of the Titanic’s maiden voyage.
I wouldn’t expose Justine to that. If I did, she might use me for target practice.
“Most people don’t have the stomach to hear what I’m thinking,” I said. “Trust me.”
“I’m not like most people. The nightmare you had, it was about Nate.” She brought up the dream and said it plain, as if it were a fact and not a question. “Is that how it is for you…each case brings its share of demons? Do the faces of the dead go away when the case is over?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer her questions. The truth was that I never talked about my work with anyone outside of my team and my Unit Chief. If I told her the truth—that the dead never left me—it only sounded like a solid way to get me fitted for a straitjacket.
“Every case is different.”
Tight-lipped. Stoic. Macho. John Wayne would’ve been proud.
“But Nate is definitely with you now, right? He is with me.” She fixed her gaze on me as if she saw through my bullshit. “I haven’t been able to get him out of my head. Maybe that’s why I sense him in you.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying. It would appear you have an active imagination and you loved the guy. You miss him. There’s no room for me in that equation.”
I didn’t like talking about my cases, but the subject grew even more uncomfortable after Justine had hit the mark when it came to my odd link to Nate. After she caught me in the grips of a nightmare last night, I couldn’t deny how much cases affected me.
She’d seen a glimpse of my secret—something no one outside of my family had witnessed—and she didn’t make a big deal about it. I couldn’t help feeling closer to her. She’d been curious about my dream, yet she didn’t make me out to be a pitiable nut bag in need of medication.
Still, I had no intention of granting her a full all-access tour of the inside of my head. That wasn’t in the cards. I didn’t talk about this stuff f
or a reason. It was private. I could lose my job. I could lose everything.
I turned to go, but she grabbed my arm.
“Give me something. You don’t have to confirm or deny, but if I’m in the ballpark, don’t say anything. I have to know.”
I heaved a sigh, unsure where she’d go, but I didn’t stop her.
“This case has gotten to you, hasn’t it? That’s why you’re here alone and not with your team. It’s Nate. There’s something about Nathan’s case that’s got its hooks in you, hasn’t it?”
When I couldn’t look her in the eye and kept my silence, she nodded and said, “I knew it. Thank you…for that much.”
I knew firsthand what it felt like to see through the eyes of a dead man. There were things in this world and beyond that no one could explain through pure science. The human mind used only a fraction of its capability.
If Justine had a close relationship with Nate, maybe she did sense him. She was the closest I’d come to knowing anyone who shared my sensitivity to the dead…or maybe believing she had a gift helped me not to feel like a freak.
“Some people think that when a person dies a violent death, their retinas are imprinted with the last image they saw. Do you think that’s possible?” I asked.
Justine narrowed her eyes and looked surprised.
“Considering how Nate died, I hope not…for your sake.”
If I’d been vague on my nightmare being linked to Nate, Justine had her own way of distancing her feelings. She’d admitted to loving the guy, but I had a notion she understood the subtlety of the understatement. She cared more than she’d told me, especially if Nate haunted her memory and she had an open mind to what that meant.
The woman intrigued me. She treasured her secrets and her privacy, like I did, yet I could imagine her falling in love, hard. Justine was an independent and strong woman, doing a tough job under challenging conditions. She had been blessed with finding someone to love and had that taken away from her, but she was dealing with it.
“How much farther?” I asked.
