by Rachel Lucas
At first it only seemed to be a normal bedroom, until you saw the large dark stain on the bed. There were flecks of dark blood splattered on the walls and ceiling. At the head and foot of the bed were what looked like several electrical cords, as though they had been ripped out of an appliance and used to restrain the victim.
Was he the victim here or was he the perpetrator? Maybe both.
I tried to remember Logan’s advice and fought to stay objective. My stomach started to churn at the thought of what might have happened in this room. Don’t let it get to you, I tried to tell myself, try to stay detached.
Slowly, I tried to make my way around the other people in the room, careful not to touch anything. They hardly noticed me. My FBI ID hung from a lanyard around my neck and they all must have thought I was supposed to be here.
I didn’t notice any clue or hint in the room. There were no ink pens meant to spell out an abbreviation for a state, no notes that might have been left behind before she fled the scene. I left the bedroom as soon as I felt I had searched enough. Back in the front room I looked around again at the mess. It was hard to see much through the piles of debris. Any number of things could be hidden among the dirty clothes and garbage. It could take weeks to sort through it all.
“Anything?” Logan asked, looking around the room.
“Nothing is immediately standing out for me,” I shook my head, “of course, it would be hard to find anything in this place.”
“I know,” he agreed while carefully picking up a discarded shirt with one gloved hand and placing it aside. “It will be a while before they get through processing all this.”
I picked up an old bag from a fast food chain, stale French fries were still in the bottom of the sack. A matching hamburger wrapper wasn’t far away. A half-empty drink container sat on the old coffee table. As I glanced at it, I noticed one of the dark stains on the carpet.
“I know the evidence is clear Logan,” I couldn’t look away from that deep red blood stain, “I know the motive is obvious. But it still can’t quite connect it.”
“What do you mean?” He asked.
“I can’t connect this apartment, this crime scene and what happened here to the gentle, fun, creative person I grew up with.” It didn’t seem real to me somehow. It didn’t make sense. “In my brain, I know she had to have done this. In my heart…..I just don’t know.”
“Listen Cait,” Logan’s voice was gentle as he put an arm around me and started guiding me towards the front door, “it’s getting late and this has been a rough last couple of days. The FBI has some rooms for us at a hotel in town. There’s not much more we can do here. Let’s head back there and get some rest.”
“I guess you’re right,” I paused with my hand on the doorknob, turning for one last look back at the apartment, hoping one last time something would jump out at me. One more scan of the room, and nothing.
I took my hand off the doorknob and felt the brush of fabric against my hand. On the back on the door was a plastic hook with a tan jacket hanging from it. Odd, how in such a messy apartment he still took time to hang up a jacket.
It was then that I saw the blood.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Logan,” I gasped, pointing to the bloodstains on the sleeve of the jacket. I couldn’t go any further, I couldn’t say another word.
It only took Logan a moment to see where I was pointing.
“Director Phillips!” He called out the front door. I could hear heavy footsteps coming up the landing at a fast pace, several more were behind him. I couldn’t move.
Careful gloved hands removed the jacket from the hook. I didn’t pay attention to who the hands belonged to, all I could see was the blood. I watched the trail of dark red, across the edge of the sleeve, down one side to a pocket. It was Logan’s hands that spread the pocket wide, careful not to disturb any of the contents. The corner of a yellow piece of paper peeked up through the opening. The edge of the paper was smeared with blood.
Treating it as though it was the most delicate, fragile object, the paper was slowly lifted from the pocket. It looked as though it had been folded in half then folded again. I knew they were being careful not to destroy any possible evidence it had such as DNA or fingerprints.
Director Phillips called to one of the forensics team who brought over a clear, plastic evidence bag. He slowly unfolded the paper and placed it inside the bag, careful not to get any cross-contamination. He held the plastic enclosed paper up for us to see. There were smudges of blood across the paper, where the writer must have used their bloody hands to hold the paper while writing.
It was a hand-written note in two sections. The first part of the note was in a simple, child-like scrawl. I knew the handwriting.
“He’ll never hurt me again, Catty, he’ll never hurt anyone again. Maybe I can be safe now. Maybe I don’t need to be so afraid.”
I wanted to reach out with one finger and trace the simple, basic print. It was the members of the family like Lizzy that went right to my heart. I couldn’t imagine what she must have suffered at the hands of this man all those years ago, and at such a young age. Was her suffering really over? Would this help her find peace?
My eyes then went down to the rest of the note. This handwriting I knew well too. The hard script sent chills down my spine.
“Did you think we wouldn’t do it? Did you think we weren’t capable of tracking him down and finding him? The internet is an amazing tool. You can find anything – anyone on the internet. And it’s so easy to get access to a computer these days. The local library, an internet café, a laptop in the cab of a semi truck…so easy. We’re not done. There will be more.
“Come and find us if you dare…we’re going to Auburn…..do you care?”
“Auburn?” Logan was quick to catch that one. “Which Auburn? In Alabama?”
“There’s an Auburn in California close to where I grew up,” Special Agent Carter volunteered coming in through the doorway.
“Maybe we should notify the authorities in both places,” Logan suggested.
“Wait,” Director Phillips held up a restraining hand. All eyes turned to him. “This note sounds similar to the other, but the handwriting is different. Maybe it’s not the same suspect. Maybe there’s a copycat.”
“It’s the same person,” I confirmed, only to realize there were more than a few eyes directed at me from around the room. “It’s the same person, but it’s not.” More curious expressions and heads lifted up from items they were examining. “Maxine wrote the note left behind in Colorado. Lizzy wrote the first half of this note. She was the victim that was abused by this…” I didn’t know quite how to describe the man that had until recently lived in this apartment. Abuser. Perpetrator. Molester. Now victim? “She was abused by this Vincent Malone. The last part was written, I believe, by Slayer.”
Director Phillips eyes widened slightly as he took in what I was saying.
“Do you mean to tell me that the different personalities all have different hand-writing?” He demanded.
“Yes,” I answered quietly, “they do.”
“You’re right, Sawyer,” Phillips sealed up the evidence bag and prepared to give the note to a member of the CSI team to catalog and put into evidence. “Let’s notify the local PD in those towns to be on the lookout for anything suspicious. I’ll contact our nearest field offices. Auburn, right?” He shook his head in either confusion or amazement, I wasn’t certain which. “Auburn Alabama and Auburn California are in the exact opposite directions of here. Which way do you think she’s going?”
His focus was back on me. I felt a heavy burden on my shoulders. What answer could I give him?
“There’s no way of knowing,” I answered helplessly.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I know, I’m sorry I missed the planning meeting for your baby shower Meghan.” I sat in the small hotel room on the double bed, my head in one hand, trying to reason with my sister. It was the following morning afte
r my unexpected trip to Texas. I still had a towel wrapped around me from jumping out of the shower to answer my cell phone.
“Yes, I know how important this was to you. Yes, I know this is your first child and it’s essential to have everything go smoothly for the shower.” I felt a pain in my forehead at the bridge of my nose as I heard her continue on with how disappointed she was in me. “You already have everything planned anyway, this was just a formality.”
She continued on about choosing the correct colors for the cake and making sure the theme exactly matched the invitations. I realized now how fortunate I was that I had been living in North Carolina when she had planned her wedding. I don’t know how my mother had survived it.
“And what are you doing in Texas of all places?” She demanded.
“Something unexpected came up,” was all I was willing to tell her. She probably wouldn’t believe me anyway if I told her all the details. “Look, I promise we can get together when I get back into town and we’ll discuss everything. And I promise I’ll be there for the shower. I wouldn’t miss it. I promise.”
I hung up the phone after finally smoothing things over with my older sister only to realize that my long hair was dripping down my bare shoulders. I headed back into the bathroom to wrap another towel around my head to try to dry it.
Thank goodness for courtesy shampoos and lotions. I hadn’t had time to grab so much as an over-night bag before we left for Texas. Logan had at least bought me a toothbrush and toothpaste at the hotel lobby downstairs. We were planning on meeting in the lobby in twenty minutes to have a continental breakfast together. I hadn’t seen him since the night before when he had handed me the toothbrush and given me a brief but solid kiss at the doorway to my room. Somehow, it still felt romantic.
I got dressed in the same clothes I wore from the day before and tried to pull myself together. I dried my hair with a blow dryer, dug through my purse for some lip balm and mascara and made sure the FBI ID was where I could find it. Tossing in my cell phone, I gave the room one last glance to make sure I had left nothing behind.
I decided to walk the two flights down to the lobby from my second story room. I hadn’t had much exercise in the last few days and thought the walk would feel good. As I was nearing the main floor, I heard a tiny beep coming from my purse. I reached in to search for my phone as I saw Logan standing in the lobby near the small dining area where the hotel was serving a light breakfast.
“Morning,” he smiled at me as I approached.
“Good morning,” I smiled back. He gave me that same, solid kiss from the night before and for a moment I wished that all the madness we were involved in would fade away. I wished we were just two lovers, maybe secretly meeting in this hotel for a romantic, private tryst. He wore the same clothes from the day before, just like me, but he still looked freshly showered and clean-shaven.
“Something up with your phone?” He asked. He must have noticed me reaching for it as I approached him. That kiss had almost made me forget about it.
“Just checking it,” I mentioned, turning in on and trying to see why it had sent me a notification. “My sister, Meghan, called this morning. I was supposed to be at a planning meeting for her baby shower. It took a while to calm her down.”
“I can imagine,” he grinned. He knew that my sister and I weren’t very close and that sometimes she could be a challenge to deal with.
“Hmm, a missed call,” I looked at the icon on my phone. “Someone must have called while I was in the shower, before Meghan called.” I started to press the button to hear the message that had been left but Logan stopped me.
“Wait,” he grabbed my hand and the phone it was holding. “That’s not a Utah area code. Do you recognize the phone number?”
“No,” I answered. It didn’t seem familiar to me. “Maybe it’s just a phone solicitor or something.”
“Excuse me,” Logan walked over to speak with a young woman at the front desk, “could you tell me what the area code is here in Killeen?”
“It’s 254,” she answered in a helpful voice.
I looked back at my cell phone. That was the area code of the phone number that had called earlier. Logan saw the number too.
“Did you give anyone here locally your phone number yesterday?” He asked in a strained voice.
“No,” I replied. “Why would I?”
He took my phone in one hand then took me by the arm.
“Don’t answer that voicemail. Let’s get some food quick. I need to call Phillips.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
We met the Field Director at the Bell Country coroner’s office. It was located in the town of Belton, about fifteen miles east of Killeen. The director was there to go over the autopsy with the county coroner.
“We ran a trace on that phone number,” Director Phillips met us at the door of the county offices and let us in, past the front desk and the other county workers. “It was registered to Vincent Malone. It was his cell phone.”
He led us into the empty office of the county coroner. My mind was spinning.
“Do you mean Lisbeth took his phone and called me from it?” I asked with dread.
“We know she has your cell phone number,” Logan answered, “she’s called you before on it. Just a few days ago.”
I’d almost forgotten. There was so much going on. Of course she had my phone number.
“We’re going to put it on speaker and listen to the message. Sawyer, can you take notes?”
Logan gave a quick nod and had a pen and notepad ready.
“After we listen to the message, I’m having your phone taken to our closest field office. We need to check the records and see if we can pick up the closest cell phone tower the call came from. Maybe we’ll get an idea which direction she’s going.”
I nodded numbly, bracing myself for what was coming. I folded my hands in my lap and took a deep breath as the director touched the button for the voicemail.
“Cate,” the voice was deep, almost a hiss. It wasn’t Maxine’s rough tone or Lizzy’s child-like expression. This was dark and masculine, sinister. “Did you like what I did to him? Did you see it? It was a masterpiece.” The voice drew out the last word, as though relishing the feel of it. “Wait until you see what’s next. Find me, Cate, find me if you dare.”
The phone went dead as the call was disconnected and the voicemail ended.
“Damn,” the Director swore as he looked at the phone, “I don’t know if it was long enough to get a trace. We’re going to try though.”
Logan was watching my face. I felt pale and drawn, drained and exhausted in an instant. I had hoped never to hear that voice again.
“Who was it?” Logan asked quietly.
“Myst,” I whispered. I felt myself falling back in time, back to that day in the Mental Hospital when I had met it for the first time. I remembered how I had been so frightened by it. This thing, this being, neither male nor female, just a hallow, empty entity. It had scared me more than any other of the family members. It was like confronting something unearthly, demonic.
And now it was loose. This cold-blooded, conscienceless being was out among the general public. Was Myst the driving force for these crimes? If it was, there was no telling what it was capable of.
It was then I remembered something it had said in the message.
“What exactly was done to Mr. Malone?” I asked quietly. I couldn’t bring myself to call him a victim. Perhaps he was, or perhaps, considering his past convictions, he may have deserved what was done to him.
Logan swallowed hard and glanced at Director Phillips in question. I knew that look. How much should we tell her? He was asking. What were they keeping from me?
“I can handle it, Logan,” I tried to make my voice sound stronger. After hearing that voice come out of my cell phone, I could handle hearing about what happened. “I saw the crime scene. I saw the blood. I know it was bad. What did Myst do to the man that molested Lisbeth as a child?”
<
br /> My words were deliberate. I wanted him to know that I didn’t see Vincent Malone as a helpless victim. I wanted him to know that I was ready for the truth.
Director Phillips answered for him.
“We believe the suspect entered the apartment at night,” Phillips spoke as though reading a report, trying to sound as objective as possible, “we found the screen on the window was slashed, the window was open. It was a hot night and the apartment has no air conditioning. Mr. Malone,” the Director chose to use my title for the man in question, “was probably sleeping. He was bound with electrical cords found there in the apartment. He was tortured.”
Phillips paused a moment before continuing. I didn’t think he was having a hard time talking about the incident, but he was making sure I was able to hear it.
“The symbol was carved into his upper chest,” he gave me a direct look, “while he was still alive. He was beaten and cut on his arms and legs. Not enough to kill him or make him bleed to death, just enough to hurt him. The last thing we believed happened,” he paused again and I thought I saw him flinch just a bit, “we think he was mutilated. The coroner stated that his genitals were removed and he was then allowed to bleed to death. It was all done with kitchen knives found at the scene.”
The director seemed relieved to finally get it out. Now I knew why he had flinched at the thought.
“The body was then removed from the apartment and dumped in the field. Probably to slow down the identification process.” Logan finished for him.
I thought I could handle it, I thought I could be objective, but I still felt the blood drain from my face. No wonder Logan had only wanted me to see and hear about certain parts of the crime. I was grateful he had protected me. As it was, with what I did now know, I wasn’t sure if I could ever get the image out of my mind.
