“Yes,” he said. “It’s just speculation. But it’s a strong case. Both girls have similar stories, good families, decent grades, no reason to run away. There’s no trace of them anywhere. The fact that they look so alike, that’s hard to believe, I mean, if it was a coincidence. It’s a strong case. I know nothing is certain at this point. I’m sure the administration is going to be in hyper-alert mode, and I’m sure we’ll hear about it today.”
He turned out to be correct, Drew found out, during her first class. Kyle’s aide was at the front of the class.
“Professor Fisher cannot be here today; I’ll be giving the lecture. But first I have to make an announcement. Something directly from the Dean of Students. I’m sure you’ve all heard the news already.”
The aide read from a sheet of paper. He told them that the school was issuing a general alert and warning because of the two cases of missing women. Although it was uncertain that these cases were related, the school was asking all female students to refrain from walking alone at night, and for all students to be aware of their surroundings.
“And finally,” he said, reading the announcement, “please report any suspicious behavior to the administrative office. Call nine-one-one immediately if you witness any violent behavior or suspicious persons lurking on or near the campus.”
The aide did not mention why Professor Fisher was missing from class. Drew checked her phone. No text message. Strange.
At her mid-day break, Drew sent a text message.
Outgoing text: You okay? Are you sick?
Drew finished up her day at school without hearing back from Kyle. She went to the library to study. When she got hungry, she text messaged him again.
Outgoing text: Going for Chinese, you hungry?
Incoming text: Drew we need to talk.
Drew felt sick to her stomach. She picked up her books and went home.
...................
She’d lost her appetite. She looked at her phone.
Okay, she thought to herself, why the fuck hasn’t he called if we need to talk?
What the fuck is wrong with people?
She turned off her phone and went running. When she returned, she took a long shower. She knew she couldn’t concentrate on her assignments, so she turned on her phone.
Incoming text: I’m sorry Drew. It’s complicated. I’m back with my wife. Sorry.
Drew cried softly. She knew she’d made a mistake trusting him. It was too soon. She blamed herself. She promised herself that she’d never do this again. Never. She finished crying, and text messaged Ben.
Outgoing text: The bastard went back to his wife. Sympathy drinks tomorrow?
Incoming text: That fucker. I’m sorry. Yes, see you at the pub for happy hour?
Outgoing text: Perfect.
Incoming text: Love you, sister. It’ll work out.
Outgoing text: Love you too. Thank you.
Drew wiped her eyes and got out a novel. She was too tired to study but too awake to sleep.
...................
Died Red
A Crime Novel
Chapter One
My name is Donald White. I fight crime. There are two kinds of cops: those who respect the rules and those who get the job done. I’m of the second variety. I sleep well at night knowing the bastards I stop are not human.
They are monsters.
I work in the homicide division.
I found myself on a particular Saturday night, last June, in a bar talking to my old partner. We’d had a cold case, and it was still giving me nightmares. I’d called him out of retirement. I wanted to go over the murder book one last time. One more time. What could it hurt?
Dead girls. Probably virgins before this monster got to them.
My old partner wasn’t happy about being reminded of our failure, but he had placated me this past June. And it turned out he had something. He’d remembered hearing about a bizarre murder case on a reality television show. It had given him one of those feelings. The kind every cop gets. It’s the feeling that you’ve just been given a clue, but you can’t figure out what the clue is or how to use it. He remembered that night while we were talking in the bar that he knew something, but he couldn’t remember what it was. Unfortunately, he couldn’t recall the television show he’d seen.
But that changed last night. He was channel surfing, and he ran across the same episode. He remembered it. As it happens, the episode was about a teenaged girl in Columbus, Ohio. She was found dead about ten years ago. She had been dead several weeks when her body had been discovered by some teenagers goofing around in a wooded area. She’d been sexually assaulted.
But what had caught my partner’s attention was the fact that her blonde hair had been dyed into a unique vermillion color. Not something off the shelf. Vermillion. Who the hell dyes their hair vermillion? Nobody on purpose. But I had several dead girls with the same bizarre dye job.
This was why I was on a plane to Ohio on Christmas Eve. A serial killer’s first murder is almost always close to home, more often than not, the first victim is an acquaintance.
...................
Drew lasted another thirty minutes before her eyes closed and she fell asleep.
She woke up only once during the night. She had dreamt she was on Kyle’s boat. He had stood over her, masturbating, with a stupid grin on his face. “You have great tits,” he said.
She fantasized about punching him in the face, and eventually she fell back to sleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A lion doesn't concern itself with the opinion of sheep.
~ George R.R. Martin
There are times when I don’t have power over a man: The very young, the very old, and the wise. Those deeply in love with someone else and most gay men. And lastly, the narcissistic sociopath.
~ Drew Stirling
...................
Drew had ignored Professor Kyle Fisher for the last two weeks. She’d gone to class, taken notes, and disassociated when she had to listen to his lectures. School was business, and he was a teacher. The effects of shame and abasement were wearing off. Ben had given her pep talks. He’d texted her to be sure she was doing okay and his girlfriend Chelsea had invited her out for girl-talk over drinks. She was mad at herself now. She had known.
A group of classmates had invited her to a college frat party. It wasn’t her thing, normally. After all, most of the party-goers would be younger than her. Guys and girls in their early twenties. Some of them were only teenagers, barely legal adults, eighteen and nineteen. Mixing these newly freed adults with excessive amounts of alcohol, hyper-libidos, and an unspoken looming sense that in a few years their lives would become drudgery, all resulted in behaviors that Drew would just as soon miss.
But her new friends had insisted. She needed to at least try to have some fun.
She reluctantly agreed, she could always leave the party early. It was a Friday night after all, and her other option was Netflix and a vibrator. The solo-girl version of Netflix and chill. A good standby, but her classmates were right; she needed to get out, participate in social activities, and quit being down on recent bad decisions that couldn’t be changed.
...................
The party was located in an apartment complex that housed students. The building was a post post-modern dump, complete with peeling paint, a miss hung gate, and a dirty community swimming pool. Several of the apartments were open to party-goers. Music blared into the courtyard. Techno-hip-hop-dance music. Loud. Thump, thump, thump. The base reverberated through the building like an earthquake aftershock. Low on the Richter Scale, but noticeable; the expectation of broken glass kept any sober person standing away from the windows. Dozens of students milled about drinking. The smell of weed hung in the air.
Drew decided she’d stay for a while, chat with a few people, and then go home early. She posted something dumb on Facebook about how college men at parties reverted back into high school boys. Maybe she’d just
smoke a small bowl, have a few beers, and then head home. She could handle her own sexual frustrations and get a good night’s sleep. Who needed a man?
I do, she thought.
She liked having a special guy in her life. Being beautiful was an advantage; she wasn’t about to complain about it, but it had its challenges, too. The majority of guys ignored her. They believed she was out of their league (often this was only true in their minds, which ironically became the very thing that put them out of her league).
Drew didn’t find weakness attractive. Softness, tenderness, and kindness, yes. But weakness, or lack of confidence, were automatic deal breakers. The problem was that alpha males tended to be assholes. It was a fine balancing act to find a man who was both confident and decent. Strong, yet capable of vulnerability.
She had a shitty track record. She knew this and blamed herself.
Drew found a beer. She chatted with students she recognized from her classes. Her classmate friends introduced her around. She wasn’t in a party mood, even after the first beer, but she wasn’t depressed either, so she got a second one. She decided she’d try to have some fun, even if she had to force herself for her own good as if she was taking fish oil straight from a spoon.
She entered discussions. The students were there to drink, to party, and to get laid, but many of them were intelligent thinkers, and she found herself in thoughtful conversations. She had entertaining talks about technology, science fiction, and politics. Midnight approached, and she realized that she’d had a good time, she felt happy that she’d been talked into attending.
When midnight passed, and the public festivities were coming to an end, the drunk alphas became more aggressive. None of them wanted to be stuck going to bed alone. Even worse, the drunk betas would be willing to shame themselves, having enough alcohol in their systems to not mind rejection so much, and at the same time, feeling like they might get lucky.
Nothing was more awkward to Drew than rejecting a beta male who finally got over his nerves and tried to hit on her. She hated the feeling of making people feel rejected. She wasn’t in the mood to get physical with an inebriated stranger, in spite of the fact that more than a few of them were tall, handsome, and intelligent. She didn’t trust her judgment after drinking so much.
Drew waited until she was alone for a second and then she walked out to the street. The night air was cool, but not cold, and it felt good to breathe in fresh air, away from all the smokers.
She headed home. She’d sleep better if she walked instead of getting an Uber, so she set out on foot, it was less than a mile, and the night air would do her good.
As she crossed an intersection, a car passed her, but then the driver slowed to a stop.
...................
“Hey! Need a ride?” the driver asked.
“No. You realize there’s an alert out for suspicious behavior?” she asked. She got out her phone.
“That’s what I was going to point out to you, Drew. What are you doing walking alone this late?”
“Do I know you?” Drew asked. She put her phone back into her purse; he seemed familiar.
“Professor Mills. Call me Ryan. We met at a dinner party when you were with Kyle.”
Drew walked to the passenger’s window and stuck her head in the car. She did recognize him. Ryan was a friend of Kyle’s. A married friend. A beta male, but not a boring one. Not bad looking, but not overly handsome, either. Drew wanted company, but not someone that would hit on her. He seemed perfect.
“I remember now,” she said. “What are you doing out so late?”
“Needed some fresh air. Get in; I’ll make sure you get home safe. No sense in taking chances, you being the perfect profile and all.”
Drew got into his car. She felt the effects of her drinking as she smiled at Ryan.
“So, in a cheesy thriller novel, you’re the fucking killer, and I’m already dead. I guess I’m resigned to that. My luck with men sucks.”
Ryan laughed and started driving. “I’m going down to my boat. Not going out. Just need to smoke weed and have a glass of wine, the new favored legal-elixir of the middle-class. It helps me clear my head. Looking at the stars, relaxing, playing soft jazz, sort of the opposite spectrum of a frat party. You’re welcome to come.”
She looked at him.
She was still in mid-thought when he broke the silence.
“I’m not a serial killer if that’s what you’re worried about. And I’m happily married. I think you met my wife, in fact, Jessica Mills. You can post on Facebook that you’re with me if you’re worried about it. I’d love some company.”
Drew was still thinking about his proposal when he told her he’d take her home if she wasn’t in the mood.
“No,” she said. “I was going to smoke a little before I went to sleep. I’m fine. You’re clear I’m not sleeping with you?”
“Of course.”
He drove to the harbor. Ryan’s boat was berthed not far from Kyle’s. Drew thought about how strange it was that she was back at the marina. The night air, filled with salt, felt good to her lungs.
“So. Kyle went back to his wife. Sorry. I’m sure that caught you by surprise. We don’t have to talk about it if—”
Drew interrupted him.
“Yeah, he did. Asshole. Definitely would rather talk about something else. Anything else.”
She laughed, however, to herself. It’s not like they had been a couple very long. Officially, barely more than a day. Fuck him. She’d be over him soon. It would take longer to get over being upset at her own lack of good judgment.
...................
They climbed together onto Ryan’s boat. It was not a sail boat like Kyle’s.
“It’s multi-purpose,” he said. “It’s good as a fishing boat, which is what I use it for most often. It’s big enough to do some cruising, too. I’ve been down to Mexico a bunch of times. Going to Catalina for a long weekend is fun.”
He gave her a tour.
“Make yourself at home. I’m connected to marina power here, so I keep the kitchen stocked. Can I get you a drink?”
Drew sat in the galley.
He poured them each a glass of wine.
She watched him fill a small glass pipe with weed. He handed it to her along with a lighter. Drew inhaled deeply.
“That’s great stuff, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s good. I’d better not go overboard,” she said.
“Good idea, being as we are on a boat.”
She laughed and sipped her wine. “Funny. What other talents do you have?”
They talked for another hour about life, school, politics, and favorite books they had in common.
“I changed my mind,” he said.
“About what?” she asked him.
“We’re going out to sea.”
Drew was too stoned to object. Besides, she was having fun, he was a great conversationalist, and they had a lot in common. They had similar politics and an equal revulsion towards religion, especially organized mega-churches, which were common in Southern California. She thought they were both free spirits. They liked similar books. So far he seemed like he could be friends with her without getting awkward about sex.
She made a promise to herself that getting involved with another married man, even if he swore to the heavens he was separated and divorcing, was not going to happen. And she was not keen on having anymore one or two-night stands with married alphas. She was going to be thirty soon, for fuck’s sake. It was time to become a responsible adult.
Ryan poured them each a vodka Red Bull.
“I guess this is going to be an all-nighter?” Drew said more than asked.
“Cheers.”
Ryan cut the engines after he’d told her they’d made it a few miles offshore. They sat on the bow of the boat and talked about how beautiful and dangerous the sea was.
“I love it out here,” he said. “It’s where I do my best thinking. Where I feel the most fre
e. It’s the best place to...”
He stopped talking and leaned into her.
Drew pulled back.
“I was clear I wasn’t going to sleep with you.”
“I’m not asking you to sleep with me. Let’s just fuck.”
“I’m not interested. You’re a nice guy, but you’re married.”
“Kyle is married.”
“But he was separated. He was getting a divorce.”
“You believed that story?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, his wife found out about you. That’s all. There was never going to be a divorce. I thought you knew it was all just a game.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m serious.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Don’t.”
They sat in silence.
Drew felt herself get angry. Then she thought more about it and decided that Ryan was stoned and drunk. So was she. This was a bad idea. She knew that going out alone with a man in the middle of the night was a come on. They were drinking, talking, and flirting. She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but she knew if she were in his shoes she’d be expecting to get laid. She had been in this situation many times before, and she’d always had sex.
As long as there was a condom involved, who cared? It was just sex. It’s not like the guy was offensive.
But still, she had made a commitment to herself. Fuck. Trying to be responsible sucked.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said. He put his arm around her.
Drew felt comforted, but also awkward. Conflicted. She started to pull away but then nestled her head on his shoulder. She was always a sucker for snuggling. They sat there for a long time saying nothing. He took her hand and held it tenderly. He began to kiss her neck. She didn’t resist.
It felt amazing, and shivers went down her back.
Undressed At Sea: A Psychological Thriller (Drew Stirling Book 2) Page 10
