by Mitch Goth
"This place smells horrendous," Ezra said as he and Kellen worked their way through the ground floor of the factory. They had gone in through a door on the other side of the garage and gotten lost in the maze of the first floor. As they continued snaking through it all, Ezra hoped that the upper floors were a lot simpler.
"Be quiet and stay close," Kellen replied in a harsh whisper. She was in front with her pistol and a small flashlight drawn.
Ezra didn't speak in response because he was sure she didn't want him to, and the last thing he wanted to do was let whatever psychopath set up shop in the factory be aware of their presence. But either way, he made a valid point. The building smelled of water damage, mold, and ancient rat droppings. He figured if he had to spend two weeks entrapped in there, he would be begging for death when the time was up.
Just then, Kellen stopped at an open door and looked in. Ezra peek his head next to hers. Stairs. It was a dark, cold shaft, but it seemed to be the only way up. They both were careful while walking up the steps. Neither were certain what they might step on or run into in the pitch dark, nor what was awaiting them on the upper floors.
Upon reaching the next floor, the two of them were met with a thin hallway. For a moment, that seemed like that was on that floor. But, after Kellen led the way for a short distance, they came to an archway. The archway led into a massive, empty room. A former production floor. Ezra nudged her, pointing to a corner of the room not far from the archway. In that dank little corner was a cot and what looked like looted survival supplies.
"Someone's been here recently," he said.
Before Kellen could reply, a noise took their attention away from the sleeping area. Across the room, a figure came out of the darkness of another stairwell, dropping a short pole into an umbrella bin by the door. Ezra looked to the only armed person on his side, to find Kellen already had herself at the ready.
"Freeze!" she called out, her booming tone echoing through the large room.
The figure, tall, thin, and bald, did as he was told for only a moment. He looked back up at them, broke out of his frozen state and pulled an object from his waist. Ezra and Kellen both ducked for any kind of cover they could. Two shots rang out from the other end of the room, pieces of brick off the archway blew everywhere as bullets struck. Kellen returned three shots of her own before standing up from cover. Ezra looked up at the stairwell. The figure had vanished.
"Fuck!" Kellen rushed across the room, Ezra was swift to follow.
They stopped at the entrance to the stairs and Kellen cleared the corners. The man's footfalls sounded above them and slowly departing from earshot. This confused Ezra. Why would he go up and not down? Down was the only way out.
Flashlight and gun still up and ready, Kellen led the way up to the next floor. She was determined to keep going up until she caught the shooter. But out of pure curiosity Ezra stopped at the next landing and poked his head into the large, open space of the next level. It was then he heard a minute shuffling noise. He turned his head and noticed the crudely bricked section of space on the other side of the elevator.
"Shit." He raced into the room, leaving Kellen in the stairwell.
"Ezra, what the hell?" Kellen asked in fury.
"It's Megan." Ezra looked into the small space through the grate entrance. "I've got her, go get that son of a bitch." he pointed a finger upwards. She nodded and sprinted off up the stairs. Once her footsteps faded away, he turned his attention to the cell. "Megan?" he asked to no response. "Megan?" he hoped for her sake and his they weren't too late.
"What?" a weak and rough voice came through the darkness of the cell. It sounded like she hadn't spoken real words in a long time.
"I'm here to get you out of this place," Ezra explained, still only seeing a shadow through the darkness.
"What? Really?" an ounce of hope grew into the voice in the cage.
"Yes, really," Ezra spoke as calmly as he could. He was waiting for gunfire to echo through the building.
Ezra looked around the cell. The lock was nothing more than another simple padlock, easily broken from the outside. But he had no tools to do it with. He scanned the area for any pipes. There was nothing. Then he looked up and noticed a metallic glisten on a ledge built into the cell. Ezra stood up, he knew what he was looking at.
A knife, the common kitchen kind, although it didn't look like it got a lot of common use. The blade was dulled and covered in thick globs of dark red and brown. It was the killing knife, sitting in wait for the next victim. Now Ezra was here to ensure that it would never get the chance to find another throat.
Impatient now and needing some progress, Ezra lifted his leg and brought his foot down on the lock. It bent as did the locking mechanism on the door. He sent another swift kick downward. More progress. One final, much harder blow didn't break open the lock, but broke the lock mechanism off the cell door. He swung it open and knelt down to help her out, only to be tackled by Megan's body as she leapt out of the space.
It took a few moments for him to comprehend what was happening, but the whimpering sounds of Megan's weeps pieced it all together. Ezra wasn't sure what to do, he was never someone tuned into comforting others. The thought flashed in his mind that he could take the knife from atop the cell, kill Megan, and leave before Kellen knew what the hell had happened. A poor, tortured soul was not his normal victim, but his murderous mind never seemed to stop. It was only a moment of thought, but it passed through his mind nonetheless, and for the first time, he felt bad about thinking that way.
For several seconds, Ezra just sat on the ground, trying to comfort Megan as she clung to him and cried. There still were no gun shots, nothing to let him know what had happened between Kellen and the killer. He was in the dark. For all he knew, the killer had done her in and was on the way down to kill both of them. It was a long shot, but still, Ezra wasn't about to let any long shots happen.
"I need you to do something for me." He snaked out of Megan's grip. "I need you to stay here." He looked into her tear-filled eyes. It was a horrid sight. This girl was emaciated, shivering, dirty, bloody, and sobbing, but she was alive still. There was a sliver of him that didn't want to leave her side. But the rest of his mind won over, the portion that told him he needed to go find Kellen right now. "Stay right here. More police are on the way. I need to go find my friend."
Megan held onto him. "Please don't let him come back here," she said through her tears. "Please don't ever let him come near me again."
"I promise you, he's either leaving this building in cuffs or a bag. I will make sure of that."
At that, she let him loose and Ezra darted off and into the stairwell. A few jumps later and he was on the next floor. He peered in and saw nothing, heard nothing. It was the same on the next floor and the one after that, only that was the last of them. The only thing left was a small ladder to the roof. After some internal debate, Ezra ascended the ladder and lifted himself onto to the top of the building.
"Put down your fucking weapon!" Kellen's voice came through. Ezra found himself relieved when he heard her again.
Ezra walked around a small structure to see Kellen standing not more than a few feet away from him, gun aimed intently. A dozen yards off from her was the tall, bald man. The killer. His gun was up and aimed. The two of them had stuck themselves in a Mexican standoff.
"Who the hell are you?" the killer hissed at Ezra, but kept his gun at Kellen. "No fucking cop is gonna to take me out of here!"
"I'm not a cop," Ezra called back.
"Then what the hell are you? A bounty hunter?"
"A serial killer."
"Bullshit!"
"The name is Ezra Grazer. If you've lived here a while you probably heard all about me on the news."
"Wait, Ezra Grazer? You're Dallas's Angel of Death?"
"I really hate that name. It makes it seem like I did what I did for God or some other deity."
"You killed a lot of low life criminals, what was everyone supposed to
think?" Kellen noted, keeping her eyes on the killer.
"What the hell are you doing on the cop's side?" the killer asked.
"It's a long story," Ezra replied. "Look, I think it would be easier if I could walk over and talk to you. Am I allowed to do that?"
The killer took a step back, but that was all he could take. He had reached the edge of the roof by then. "Fine. But no tricks, or I shoot your friend."
"She's really more of a temporary acquaintance, but okay." Ezra nodded, walking towards the killer.
"That's far enough," the killer instructed once Ezra had gotten within arm's reach. "What the hell did you wanna come over here for?"
"To ask why," Ezra explained.
"What?"
"Why'd you do it? Why kill all those girls, and why do it the way you did?"
"Because it was fun."
"Bullshit. It's way too much work to be fun. Why'd you do it?"
The killer paused for a moment. "Because it made me feel alive. Because the rush I got from doing it all was like nothing else. It's a goddamn addiction, I got dependent on it. Coffee never woke me up. Nice weather never made he happy. It was only this that brought any life to me. Kidnapping them always made my heart race, Hearing them scream while I drove back here kept it racing. Holding them and torturing the fucking life out of them was a euphoria, like a two-week fucking orgasm."
"Stop." Ezra cut him off. "So what you're telling me is that you juiced these people like fruit, took their emotions and will to live, just to feed yours?"
"Yeah." The killer nodded. "And I'd never take it back. Not a single thing. It was all too wonderful and watching the life go out of their eyes when I cut their neck was just a cherry on top."
"You sick fuck!" Kellen called out, hearing it all.
"Fuck you!" the killer yelled back. "I'm not letting any fucking bitch or fucking cop take me away from here! You're gonna to have to kill me. I don't give a fuck!"
"You don't give a fuck?" Ezra inquired, something brewing in his mind.
"No," the killer snapped. "Without this in my life, I'm just an empty shell. Some zombie nobody. So no, I don't give a flying fuck!"
Ezra turned and looked back at Kellen. Then he looked at the killer's gun and its angle for a moment. Finally he turned his attention back to the killer. "You don't give a flying fuck about your life?"
"No!"
"Me neither." Ezra raised his shoe and sent a strong kick into the killer's stomach. The hit made his gun go off, but it also caused the horrid soul to go tumbling off the end of the factory and down to the hard gravel below.
He spun back to Kellen and could tell that his internal estimations had been correct. The bullet fired out of the killer's gun had hit her. But based on her shifting, it seemed like the other half of his plan had been true as well.
"How do you feel." He approached her and offered a hand.
"I think my fucking rib is broken," Kellen spoke breathlessly.
"Wouldn't surprise me," Ezra replied. "But if it's any consolation, I think your murderous friend broke a lot more than a rib."
"What the hell did you do?" Kellen asked through her pain as she got to her feet without Ezra's helping hand.
"It was clear you were wearing a vest under all those clothes, and I could tell his gun was aimed for your heart, not your head. So I took a chance and booted him off the roof."
"You killed him?"
"He didn't deserve to live."
"The governor is going to be so pissed at you."
"I did what they would do, and I saved them a ton of money doing it. Any jury will buy what I'm selling if they even put me in front of another one again."
"Wait, where's Megan?"
"I told her to stay downstairs while I came up here, I figure she'd listen."
"Let's hope so."
The two of them returned downstairs to find Megan on almost the exact spot in which Ezra had left her. She had milled about as if she wasn't sure what else to do. Kellen was the first to approach her, and the teen girl broke down again into her arms.
Ezra watched this spectacle from a few feet away. They hadn't even told her the fate of her captor yet and she was already so overcome with joy. She was beaten, bruised, bloodied, violated, and forever scarred, but none of that seemed to matter. Megan Mickelson was a free girl. When she had collected herself enough to show an expression other than crying, it was the face of a liberated person, bearing the kind of overwhelming relief one can only experience a few times in life, if ever. Upon seeing that face, Ezra knew that whatever would happen to him because of his actions would be worth it. He had gotten so used to taking lives he had forgotten just how much it meant to save one.
25
