by Mitch Goth
"This looks promising." Ezra grinned, looking at their first stop.
Kellen stared at the building before her, and her thoughts were not the same. It was old, abandoned, filthy, and it didn't seem like a place that anyone wanted to go out of there way to be in or around. It was a perfect hideout, but there still stood one problem. This run down gas station was in the middle of the unsuspecting town. While this old fuel stop seemed like a good place for a one-hitter, it didn't fit the forte of their RV killer.
"It's small," she noticed, finding that much of the station was taken up by the two-garage body shop on one side.
"That's what the cop said back at the station. It was small, but because of the body shop, all the walls are thick and sound proof."
"The garage doors don't have any windows either," Kellen noticed. The body shop had no windows. It would make a perfect, rather spacious kill room.
"Should we check it out?" Ezra asked.
Kellen nodded and got out of the car. She didn't get far at first. She was waiting to hear Ezra follow her. Even now, he was her main concern. There was no way he was getting too far out of her sight again.
As they walked up to the station, Kellen got an even more vivid view of the decrepit building. All the pumps were gone, leaving only rusted fixtures in their place. The roof above the pumps leaned heavily to one side, and sheets of browned metal hung off it like gauze off an injured appendage. Graffiti art covered the white exterior walls. Even the windows were painted over.
They approached the door and Kellen kept one hand on her pistol as she reached for the handle. With the horrid state that the station was in, she partially expected it to break off the door when she twisted it. As luck would have it, the mechanism stayed together, although so did the lock.
Once the door failed, she turned her attention to the windows. She could tell by how they were designed that they wouldn't open, but she tried her best to see in through them. Nothing was seen through the chips in the dark paint that covered them.
"Shit." She groaned, taking a step away from the building. "We'll never get a warrant to search this place. Maybe we should just try the barns you talked about. Those would probably have holes in the sides anyway."
"The barns aren't a good idea. Barns are almost too rickety for anyone when they're new, much less after a few years or decades of disrepair. And you're right, they probably have holes in the sides, which is why it would be a damn terrible kill site. Holes for escapes, for people to see out, and worst of all, for people to see in." He stared at the door. "Besides, warrants are for cops." He lifted his leg and hammered it against the door. After a massive crack, the door swung open, pieces of the lock and frame fell to the ground.
"What the hell, Ezra?" Kellen looked around, seeing no witnesses. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Unless you have forgotten, there is the life of a teenager riding on this, and my life at the hands of the justice system. I have no time for due process. Megan has no time for due process. Nobody has time for due process. Let's go, the door's already open."
He disappeared into the station. She was quick to follow. If there was anyone in there, she didn't want him going in alone. Even if there wasn't, he was right, the damage was done.
The innards of the gas station were just as bad as the exterior. A counter was all that remained of the old business. Kellen pulled out a small flashlight. Ezra disappeared and through a thin corridor and into the body shop. She was at his heels as they went into the darkness.
The shop was less vacant than the front of the store. The hydraulic lifts were gone, but a lot of tools and boxes still remained. Even with all the possibilities for the room, it didn't appear that any crimes had been committed. Every tool was caked with just as much dust as everything else in the building. It seemed as if nothing had been touched since the place closed.
Kellen's light surveyed all the tools. She took notice of anything and everything that would fit the bill for the weapon or weapons used. There were a few handsaws, those didn't fit the cut style. Circular saw blades didn't fit either, nor did any of the many bludgeoning tools scattered around the shop. It all wasn't right.
"Kellen, you wouldn't happen to know what weapon killed all these girls, would you?" Ezra asked. She looked back and saw he was taking notice of all the tools as well.
"None of this stuff," she said.
"But still, anything specific?"
"Our lab techs said that, with the smooth cutting pattern, it was definitely a knife. But they said it probably wasn't sharp enough to be any hunting or bowie type knife. It was duller, like a kitchen knife or something."
"A kitchen knife?" Ezra's tone carried an odd inflection.
Kellen glanced at him. His expression was that of confusion mixed with realization. It seemed as if all the gears in his head were turning, but a few were still getting up to speed.
"Yeah." She nodded, puzzled. She tried to think about what would cause this reaction in him. Why would the kind of knife be important? What difference does a kitchen knife make. Then it hit her. Cookware. "Fuck, the factory." She turned her light towards the door.
23
