Killer Among Us

by Adriana Hunter

  Kane blinked. “What?”

  “Oh, I know it sounds…See, I got lost…the head, it just rolled out of the sack and it landed on the sidewalk next to my feet.”

  She was babbling and her face was still white with shock. Kane unwrapped the candy and slid it between her lips, she bit down gracefully and the sugar hit her system, jolting her back to reality somewhat.

  “That sounds crazy, right?”

  “Did you see his face?” He asked.

  “Uh, no, he wore a cap. It was likely a Halloween mask or something; it just scared the shit out of me.”

  “Have you heard of The Creeper?”

  “No.”

  Her accent placed her as being from out of town. “Are you here visiting?”

  “No, I moved here two weeks ago.”

  Kane felt his stomach tighten. He glanced down at the toes of her tennis shoes, wondering if the head she thought she had seen rolling into her shoe had left any evidence behind. “Can you tell me where this happened?”

  “No,” her face fell. “I was lost and then I ran…I’m sorry. You think I am a lunatic I’m sure. I should get home, my dog will be afraid if I’m gone too long.”

  His eyes went to her hands; no ring. She was alone. All alone and she may have very well spotted the Creeper. It was a long shot, but he had to take it.

  Sophie became aware of the sounds that were echoing through the space suddenly. Her head jerked up and her eyes dilated, her nostrils flared like an animal that has scented danger. Muffled screams, the sound of flesh hitting flesh; it rose slightly above the music.

  “What…what is that?” she asked in a quavering voice. Stark horror darkened her eyes as she asked the question.

  She probably thinks she wandered into a building filled with killers, Kane thought.

  “It’s a party. This is a BDSM club. It is for people who are into bondage and kink.”

  That sunk in. She didn’t look shocked by it even though she was obviously confused. “You mean like whips and chains and that sort of thing?”

  “Yes, to a point. I need your shoe.”

  “What?”

  Kane leaned very close to her ear. “I’m a cop. I’m working a case and I think you may have just seen something that can help.”

  She looked dazed, “You’re here working a case?”

  “No I’m here for personal reasons, or at least, I was. I need your shoe and I need to get you somewhere safe.”

  Fear shot into her belly. Her distrust of authority spiraled up, as did her realization that she was a criminal with a newly expunged record and a very precarious future.

  She decided to play along but only so she could escape. Thinking quickly, she nearly spat out the words, “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “There are no windows.”

  She gaped at him. “What?”

  “Trust me, okay?”

  “I can’t.” The note of hysteria in her voice told him all he needed to know, she wasn’t making it up, she had seen something, whether that turned out to be what she thought it had been was up for debate but he had a hunch and his gut was rarely wrong.

  Sophie darted off the couch and through the large double doors. She had meant to seek out a secondary exit but instead she stood transfixed at the scene in front of her.

  A large open space spread before her, on the sides, close to the walls, were strange X-shaped pieces of furniture made out of heavy wood. People were standing up on the small boards that sat at the end of those X’s, their arms up and shackled to the highest points. Chains glinted in the dimness. Heavy bass laden music thudded and beat from the speakers, down the center of the room stood spanking benches, some of them occupied. Naked flesh was everywhere, women dressed in scanty outfits and men wearing leather milled about watching the other people play. She walked forward, drawn irresistibly to the action.

  Kane had to yank her back, a whip cracked through the space her face had just been, she jumped at the loud crack as it sang through the air. She whirled and found herself looking at a table. A young blonde woman was on it, she had been positioned so that she was flat on her back, her ankles and wrists were encircled by leather cuffs, each attached to a long silver loop of chain.

  She was naked, her tawny skin flushed and lightly glowing. Her parted legs gave a clear glimpse at her shaved nude mound, her soft pink lips peeking up from between her slim thighs. As Sophie watched a man walked up to where she lay, ran a hand up her neck in a gesture that was as tender as it was possessive and then he yanked her head to his, coming so close to her lips with his own that Sophie was sure he would kiss her. He didn’t.

  The woman whimpered, the chains rattled and clanked. He laid a heavy gym bag on the bottom of the table and began pulling things out of it, holding them up so she could see. Sophie was confused by some of what she saw. She knew what the large vibrator was; she had seen them in sex shops near her old apartment. She was no stranger to riding crops either, farm land had stretched around her home town and she had gone to the feed and seed stores with her foster parents to but things for the garden, what the man would want with him she didn’t understand. He took out a roll of electrical tape and a power strip and a short chain whose ends were oddly shaped.

  He opened the ends and she glanced at Kane, “Nipple clamps,” he replied.

  He wanted to hustle her out of there, to ask her more about what she had seen but she was obviously mesmerized and, in truth, so was he. A flush rose up in Sophie’s cheeks as she watched him manipulate her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger before bending over and sucking it into his mouth.

  A gasp came from the bound woman and heat flooded into Sophie’s belly and crotch. It embarrassed her and confused her, she was not a virgin but sex had always seemed so bland and boring, like a requirement of having a boyfriend rather than a joy. The woman on the table did not seem to think so, she began to beg; her voice slightly hoarse, “Please fuck me Sir, please…”

  The words made Sophie’s heart throb painfully. She closed her eyes for a moment as he placed the nipple clamps on her nipples, that they hurt was obvious, that she was enjoying it was also obvious.

  He began to beat her, smacking the riding crop across the tops of her thighs and hips. Sophie stared at Kane in mute horror and he nodded slightly back at the woman. She was laughing.

  Totally confused she looked back at Kane and he whispered, “It’s okay. She has a safe word. If she doesn’t like what he’s doing she will say it and he stops, right then.”

  A safeword. How much her life might be different if she had had a safeword. Looking back at the scene, she saw that he had stopped using the crop and was, instead, using the tape to hold the vibrator in place. He taped it down snugly and turned it on. A low and approving whisper went through the crowd.

  He turned the vibrator on and the woman moaned; a low and desperate moan that made Sophie suddenly aware that there was a strange dampness in her panties. Her pussy felt heavy, and her breath was coming in soft hard pants, she had to concentrate to slow it down.

  The vibrator purred against the woman’s clit. Glistening pearls of come escaped her pink folds and dripped onto the table. She writhed and whimpered as the man went to the head of the table and pulled his long and rigid cock from his pants. She turned her head, her mouth opening and he thrust inside of it.

  The power strip was on the floor and the crop was in his hands, as was what Sophie had originally thought was a feather duster. He alternated hitting his captive’s legs with the crop and tickling her with the feathers, all the while thrusting his cock in and out of her mouth.

  Sophie wanted to turn away; it seemed so terribly personal, so incredibly violent and yet beautiful. She could see the swollen purple head of his prick when he slid out of the other woman’s mouth, could see the trails of slippery fluids running from her pussy. Her own heartbeat was so fast she was afraid she would faint but still she could not turn away.

  He stepped down on the power cord as
the woman began to heave and moan. The vibrator cut off mid spin. For a moment the audience and the woman both were silent then she turned her head away from his organ, begging in a loud and abandoned cry to come.

  “He cut it off with the power button on the strip,” someone murmured, “What a great idea!”

  For the next few minutes he toyed with her, cutting the vibrator off and on while she begged and pleaded for release. Sophie could smell the scent of her arousal and it made her own crotch throb painfully.

  Finally it ended. He thrust his cock back in her mouth, growling out, “Suck me until I come, dammit and you can come too.”

  Those hard words made Sophie blush scarlet. The bound woman bobbed her head, raising it off the table slightly to get every swollen inch of him in her mouth. Her thighs shook with the strain as he pushed the button back to the on position with his foot and the whirring of the vibrator began again.

  He moved back just in time, the condom he had placed on his cock showed white come swirling into the tiny cup at the end and the woman screamed, her neck muscles cording and come spilling from her pussy, pooling on the table below her.

  They cooed and cuddled each other. The woman was in tears even as she laughed and Sophie was finally able to look away. When she did she met Kane’s eyes, what she saw made her blush yet again. He knew exactly what she had felt watching the scene unfold. He knew.

  “I am going to make sure you get home safely.” He said, “But I really do need your shoe.”

  “That guy might still be out there!”

  “He’s long gone.” Kane said matter-of-factly. “I need you to come with me to the station, will you do that?”

  “The police station?”

  “Yes.”

  Sophie nodded, “I need to stop at my apartment on the way and check on my dog.”

  ***

  “They got what was coming to them.”

  The words rang out in the silent house and the man tossed a half of a beer down in one long gulp to try to drown them out. Some days, when the rage subsided and he could think clearly, he felt real fear, horror and shock at what he had done. Those days had been more frequent in the beginning.

  The first kill had been the hardest. He had been torn between glee at finally doing what he had dreamed of for so long and absolute terror that he would get caught. Then the need to do it again had swept over him.

  The head sat on the kitchen table, the clotted stump of neck stuck into a jar filled with water. It resembled a particularly gory bouquet. He hiccupped hysterical laughter and put his revolver in his mouth, letting the cold steel rest against his tongue. The tang of the metal filtered through his taste buds and he choked and gagged, took the gun out and set it down beside his latest trophy.

  He was hungry, he staggered to the cabinets and refrigerator, making a hasty sandwich out of bologna so old a hard rind had formed on the outer edges, sliced onions, mayonnaise laid on far too thick and beets. He liked beets, his mother used to make them homemade. He ate the dripping mess at the sink, a vacant and unsettled look sliding off and onto his face every few minutes.

  For some reason he found himself remembering his boyhood. The neighbors had all been different then; he could remember all too well his father’s anger when the first black family moved in across the street. Now there were so many different ethnicities present he had a hard time even recalling the years when it had all been white families.

  How old had he been when his father died? Twenty? The old man had died on the job. He had been a Union man, a plumber and he had had to move back home from college and get a job to support his mother. She had always been frail; after her husband passed away she had withered and slid into the shadows. She had clung to life though, for seven more years.

  He went to his bedroom. It had been his bedroom when he had been a boy, the twin bed sitting under the windows had been his and he poured himself into it, curling up so he would fit. The curtains billowed in the puffs of soured air coming up from the vents and he tucked his thumb in his mouth, trying to find some solace.

  When he began to drift off to sleep he got up and returned to the kitchen and took the head out of the vase. He put it into his case with careful movements; there was a slightly squashed indent on one cheek that disturbed him so he turned it slightly.

  “Kiki, Janice, Lorelei, Mary Grace and Pamela. My oh my…look what I caught in my little web. Such lovely little things you are.”

  He chuckled, a phlegmy rattle that made his chest hurt. He rubbed it and closed the case. He leaned his head against the cold glass, thinking about the woman who had seen him drop Pamela’s head to the sidewalk.

  “Thousands of people see crimes and don’t report them every single day.” He said to the heads of the women he had killed. “And if she does, it won’t even matter because she didn’t see my face.”

  Still, the fear had come back. He had lost sight of her, she had run like a gazelle and he had far greater things to worry about – like bringing his trophy home safely.

  He went into what had been his parent’s bedroom. The ruffled pillow shams on the dress pillows made him feel slightly queasy. He tossed them to the floor and clambered into bed, the cold sheets rubbing against his hairy, naked body.

  “The Creeper,” he said in a wondering, dazed voice and began to laugh helplessly.

  ***

  Sophie drank coffee and tried, repeatedly, to tell the officers, including Kane, who kept offering the cute little canine bits of hamburgers or steak sandwiches, that Sassy was not hungry, just determined not to miss out on a treat. Eventually she gave up.

  The sketch artist finished the drawing and Sophie looked at it, she was tired and the events of the night had taken on a strange and surreal turn. The toe of her shoe had blood on it after all, according to preliminary test but there would have to be a lot more tests done before anyone knew for certain what else they would find there.

  The sight of a murdered woman’s severed head followed by the sight of the bound woman enjoying sex had taken a toll on her emotionally and physically and Kane saw it. He knew she had become tired; her patience was wearing thin as well and she had begun to snap out answers instead of speaking them.

  “I want to go home,” she said finally. She had decided she was likely safe; the killer had probably not hung around to track her, as Kane had said.

  “I’ll make sure you get home.” Kane stood, his back ached and his eyes felt grainy, he decided he would drop her off and head home himself.

  Before he could get out the door another officer stopped him. “They just found a body. The woman’s roommate came home and found her. It’s definitely the Creeper.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “She was beheaded.”

  “Where?”

  “Down by Seventh.”

  Sophie stood by quietly but her face had slowly lost all of its remaining color. Tears leaked from her eyes as she thought about what she had seen. A human being had died and her head had been taken and stuffed into a tote sack like it was nothing more than trash.

  Kane commandeered a car, personally driving her home. Her apartment was on the tenth floor but she had a working elevator and the hallways were all well lit and quiet.

  She unlocked the door and paused, Sassy peeking out of her sack at him with her earnest brown eyes. “I could have done something.”

  “She was already dead. No one could have helped her.”

  “Will you catch him?”

  I hope so. “Yes.

  “Good.”

  Before he could say anything else she slid inside the door and shut it firmly behind her. He heard multiple locks sliding home and he stood there for a few minutes, listening to the silence and wondering what it was about her that invoked his protector side as much as it stirred his long suppressed desires.

  ***

  The apartment was clean, except for the room where the woman had died. She had been a fighter, lamps were knocked over and a long tear in the sheet
s offered up a long red fingernail, it had been torn from her hand while she had desperately fought for her life.

  “Her name was Pamela Skinner, also known as Pam Skin. She was a singer in a punk rock band that was fairly popular in the mid-nineties. This guy, he kills people who almost made it.” Lynette turned toward Kane, her brow furrowed in thought. “You’re the former FBI guy, you call it.”

  Kane winced; he hated to be reminded of his time at the Bureau. “You just did,” he said and walked into the living room to talk to Pam’s shaken roommate.

  ***

  Kane was frustrated beyond words long before he staggered into his apartment for a quick nap and a shower. He was certain that the dead woman was somehow connected to Sophie’s sighting. He was, in fact, utterly positive she had seen the victim’s head, the serial killer, and that she was lucky to be alive.

  He lay in bed, exhaustion settling into his bones as he played over the details of the case in his mind, looking for clues into the killer’s mind, seeking out any sort of a pattern.

  What am I not seeing?

  Kane had been on the fast track at the Bureau, and when he had made the decision to leave in order to join the police force in New York it had shocked everyone. He could have told them why, but he had felt like it was his decision and he owed no explanations.

  He had been exposed to a lot of the best minds the Bureau had on tap as well as some of its most violent cases. He had worked hand in glove with profilers and he knew that there was always a pattern, some underlying commonality when it came to the people that were selected by serial killers. The key was to find it.

  But what had all the women had in common? None of them had the same hair or eye color or were the same age. They all had the same lean and attenuated bodies; they had all been semi-famous in some way or another, those were the only things that were the same. What was it about those two things that set the Creeper off? Kane wondered, or did they have anything to do with the killings at all?