The Sleeping Girls

by James Hunt

  Once Susan was confident that all the weapons had been collected, she motioned for Marco to come over and then zip-tied his hands to the steering wheel.

  “And what the fuck am I supposed to do now?” Marco asked.

  “Do what everyone else does when they’re in trouble,” Susan said, holstering her weapon. “Call the police.”

  Susan headed down the ramp, knowing that Marco wouldn’t make too much noise since he was in the heart of Third Streeter's territory, but she wasn’t worried that he wouldn’t be able to squirm his way out of there eventually. She had left the ties loose enough for him to wiggle out, and she’d be long gone by the time he did.

  27

  To say that Susan was exhausted by the time she returned to her apartment building was an understatement. She had never been so tired in her entire life. She could barely keep her eyes open. It took three tries before she managed to get the key into her apartment door.

  She slammed the door shut, turned the lock, and then kicked off her shoes on the way to the bedroom, swaying drunkenly until she collapsed onto her bed still wearing her clothes.

  The sleep that came was fast and hard, and she was thankful that it was dreamless. When she finally woke, she saw the time on her alarm signal that it was already past noon. She’d slept a solid six hours, and her mind was filled with the heavy weighted lead of an accelerated REM cycle.

  Susan lay there for a moment, her memories momentarily blocked by the groggy effects of sleep. In those few seconds she forgot about Charlie and the dead girls, she forgot about her childhood and her father, she forgot about the fact that she no longer had a badge.

  But it only lasted for a moment.

  Reality flooded back fast and hard, and Susan rolled off the bed, heading to the bathroom to wash yesterday from her body and soul since she couldn’t remove it from her mind.

  It was one o’clock when Susan stepped out of the shower, wet and pruned. She wrapped her towel around her head and walked to the closet, picking out a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. She crawled back into bed and lay there, enjoying the silence and trying to resist the temptation of another needle in the arm. But she didn’t know how long she’d be able to hold that desire off.

  It was going to be a hard monkey to shake because after the six weeks undercover she had grown used to the crutch that the drugs had provided. It had made the hard, dirty work of integrating herself with those animals more palatable.

  But not all of them were evil. There were a few like Charlie, people who were bound by circumstance. Most people who had never been in a world like that didn’t understand how difficult it was to escape. Hell, Susan had only been in that world for a few weeks, and she was still trying to claw her way out.

  It was like everything was on a loop, and the only way to get out was to stop the circuit. But ending the loop meant breaking things, and whenever things started to break, there was always a cost to consider, and in these scenarios, those costs were the number of lives that were affected by the destruction of that loop.

  A harbor horn broke through the silence, the noise carrying from the bay all the way to her downtown apartment building.

  Susan had never been out on a boat before, never grew up near the water, and while she didn’t enjoy the smell of fish that always seemed to linger by the port, she found the water itself oddly soothing. There was something primordial about it, something that called her back to her ancestors that came from the sea and slithered their way onto the land.

  Seattle was the first place Susan had ever lived that wasn’t landlocked. It was comforting to see an end to something so fast as the land, even if that end meant the beginning of something even greater like the ocean.

  So what did she do now? Did she have to go through life alone, bouncing around like a wandering tumbleweed until the wind stopped blowing? She wasn’t sure of the answer, but she was tired of running away from her problems, and she was tired of starting over.

  Her phone rang, but Susan didn’t reach for it. Her mind had glazed over with fatigue, but when the phone kept ringing she forced herself to check the caller, surprised to find Williams calling her.

  “I’ve been trying to call you all morning,” Williams said, avoiding the usual pleasantries.

  Susan perked up in the bed. “Lieutenant, what happened.”

  “Some interesting developments,” Williams said. “Palmer and Winterguard picked up the boyfriend, but there found surveillance of him at a bar during the time of death, so he’s out.”

  Susan knew that Williams wouldn’t be calling her just to let her know that a lead didn’t pan out, and she waited for more.

  “So, Palmer and Winterguard started traveling down the rabbit hole you started. “Turns out Foster and Marsh’s alibis the night that Katy Matthews was abducted and killed have a hole. They were together at Foster’s house, and then left for about two hours during the same time that Katy Matthews was determined to have been murdered.”

  If two girls hadn’t already been killed, then Susan would have reveled in the validation. But that time had passed.

  “Palmer made a convincing argument to bring you back on,” Williams said. “I was inclined to listen to him.”

  “Thank you, sir, I—”

  “Thank me later. Palmer is on his way to pick you up. He has your gun and your badge. Finish the job, Q. It’s about the only thing your good for.”

  The call ended, and Susan rolled out of bed. She kicked off the jeans and shirt and changed into a fresh pair of slacks, a white blouse, and a blue blazer. She wore flats instead of wedges, her feet still throbbing from the walk from the south side.

  She headed into the kitchen to make some coffee when something caught her eye on the floor by the front door. It was a white, square piece of paper. At least that’s what she thought it was until she moved closer.

  It was flipped upside down, but Susan knew what it was before she picked it off the ground. And with a trembling hand, she turned the Polaroid photograph around and saw a picture of Allie passed out on a cot.

  28

  It was rush hour traffic by the time that Palmer picked Susan up, and when she handed him the Polaroid of Allie, he flipped the lights.

  “I didn’t find out about their false alibi until after Marsh’s attorney demanded his release since we couldn’t provide any substantial evidence to hold him.” Palmer made sure to cast Susan a heavy dose of side eye to hammer home the point that she had fucked up, but he didn’t linger on it long. “I could tell that Marsh was acting more nervous than he should be if he didn’t have anything to worry about, so I checked for any public footage that might have still been in the area that we missed to confirm the story. Turns out there wasn’t, but then I remembered how Winger had that door ring camera at his house and wondered if any of Foster’s neighbors had one, and there was a guy right across the street. He let me watch the footage, that’s when I saw our two boys scurry out in the dead of night.”

  “Did you get a copy?” Susan asked, placing the badge around her neck, and holstering the pistol.

  “Gave it to the judge an hour ago,” Palmer answered. “He’s still reviewing it to make sure we have all of our I’s dotted and our T’s crossed. My boss doesn’t want any more missteps. Everything we do now has to be by the book.”

  “That’s why you want to go to Ancient Oaks first?” Susan asked.

  “Following up with questions about the case at work doesn’t look as bad as if we were going to his house,” Palmer answered. “But if he’s not there—”

  “It gives us an excuse to go to his house and establish a line of questioning.”

  Palmer smiled. “You’re learning.”

  Susan stared at the picture of Allie. “Not fast enough.”

  “We’ll find her,” Palmer said.

  Palmer didn’t say anything after that, and Susan took the silence to collect herself before they reached Ancient Oaks.

  When they reached the shelter, Palmer parked near the d
oor, and they walked into the lobby together. The college intern was back at the greeting desk, and the girl walked up to Susan and Palmer as if she were meeting them for the first time.

  “Hi, how can I help you?” The girl kept that smile plastered onto her face as if it were painted on, and her only default setting was that of chipper and eager helper.

  Palmer flashed his badge and Susan stayed off to the side and behind him, scanning the lobby for any sign of either Marsh or Foster.

  “Are Shawn Foster or Kevin Marsh in today?” Palmer asked.

  “Oh, um.” The girl spun around, checking the lobby as Susan had done, and then faced Palmer again, that smile back on her face. “I’m not sure. I just got in a little bit ago. Let me go ask Monica.” She hurried away from the desk and disappeared down the right hallway. A few minutes later Monica Willet appeared.

  “Detectives,” Monica Willet said. “What can I help you with?” She sounded agitated, and Palmer cut right to the chase.

  “We’re looking for Kevin Marsh and Shawn Foster,” Palmer said. “Are they working today?”

  “No,” Monica said. “But they should be at home. Both of them called in sick.”

  Susan and Palmer exchanged a quick glance.

  “When did Mr. Foster and Mr. Marsh call out?” Palmer asked.

  “Foster has been out since yesterday,” Monica answered. “But I don’t know where Marsh is.” She looked at Susan. “I heard there was a bit of an incident yesterday that you were involved in.”

  Susan said nothing.

  Monica placed her hands in her pocket and shrugged. “Do you need anything else? I’ve got a bunch of people waiting for a session to start, and it’s never wise to force a bunch of one-week sober addicts to wait very long in the same place. They start to talk, start to wonder.” Monica looked over to Susan again as she spoke.

  “No, Ms. Willet,” Palmer said. “That’s all we need. Thank you.”

  Palmer motioned for Susan to head to the door, and on her way out she saw all of the faces she’d seen from the night before. She tried not to let it bother her, but it did. It was as though by revealing the mistrust of those that had taken care of all these people made her just as guilty as those that had betrayed them in the first place.

  Once they were back in the car, Palmer waited until they were already driving away before he spoke. “Looks like our boys might be trying to hide something after all.”

  Susan studied the trees they passed on their slow drive toward the community’s exit. “How much longer do we have to wait on that warrant?”

  “I don’t know,” Palmer answered. “But I don’t like to bother the judge too often. Makes you look desperate. She said she’d review the request, and right now that’s all we’ve got.”

  Susan only nodded and hoped that they wouldn’t receive the warrant too late like they had with Ginny Burtz.

  29

  It was the pounding in Allie’s head that finally woke her from the slumber. She was groggy, both physically and mentally. She blinked a few times, unsure of where she was and no recollection of how she got there. She smacked her lips together. There was a foul taste on her tongue, something metallic and sharp.

  Allie shifted from her back and onto her side, cradling her head as she shut her eyes and tried to get her bearings. After a few seconds, or it could have been minutes, it was hard to tell, she opened her eyes and got a better look at her surroundings.

  The room was nothing but bare concrete walls and a door with a small mirror in it. Allie was lying on a cot that barely had any cushion and had no sheets to cover herself.

  Allie was still dressed in the clothes she wore to work, but in addition to the pain in her head, there was also a pain in her right shoulder. She pressed her finger against it and then winced. It felt like it was bruised.

  But the pain triggered a memory, and Allie remembered the car she got into. She recalled driving with him, and how nervous he had been, but once they were away from the street where the rest of the working girls had been, he suddenly became much calmer.

  Still gently rubbing the shoulder that felt bruised, Allie remembered the man smiling as he stuck a needle in her arm. It had happened so quickly that she didn’t even realize what was going on until she saw the empty needle syringe.

  And then by the time she realized what was going on, that she had just been drugged, the chemicals were already working through her body. She had tried to scream, she had decided to fight back, but there was nothing that she could do. The drugs had done their job.

  After a few minutes of failing to remember if she’d woken up before she was placed in this room, Allie swung her legs over the side of the cot and just tried sitting up for a little bit.

  The room swayed back and forth, almost as if she were on a boat, but she’d come down from enough drugs to know that she was just feeling the effects of whatever had run through her system. Whatever it was, it provided a hell of a hangover.

  Once the room was level, Allie pressed her bare feet against the floor. The concrete was smooth and cold, and she looked into the corner of the room and saw her shoes neatly placed together.

  Even though the room was empty save for the bed, Allie glanced around to make sure that she hadn’t missed anything. She thought that there might be some kind of camera, but there was nothing, only the mirror on the door.

  She approached it, catching her reflection. She had expected to find someone else staring back at her, or some kind of indication that she had been harmed, but there was only the same face that she always saw in the mirror.

  “Hello?” Allie asked, looking at the mirror. “Is someone out there?”

  She was surprised at how calm her voice was, but she knew that the longer she was forced to stay in here, the more she’d get worked up. The reality of the situation just hadn’t sunken in yet.

  “Hey!” Allie pounded on the door, which barely made anything but a thud. The door was thick, and its weight muffled the sound. “Let me out!”

  She pounded a few more times, but when no one came, she stepped back, her right hand still rubbing the sore shoulder where the needle had been injected.

  Just to make sure, she pinched herself, but she didn’t wake up. This was real. This was way too real.

  With no way out, Allie paced around the room a few times, keeping her shoes off. She ripped the mattress off the cot but found nothing. She then tried removing some of the springs on the base of the bed, but they were secured too tightly. She looked back at the door, then to its hinges, then to the high heels in the corner. She wondered if the heel was around the same size as the hinge, because she knew that if she could hammer one of the bolts out, then the door would fall.

  But before she could walk over, the door opened, those heavy hinges groaning and the man who’d picked her up in the sedan stepped inside, his hands hidden behind his back.

  “Hello, Allie,” he said.

  Allie wanted to retreat, but she stood her ground. She wasn’t going to show the man that she was scared. Fear was a choice and she chose to fear no man. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m someone who wants to help.” He spoke calmly, and a pair of sad eyes looked her up and down. He shook his head. “And you are someone in desperate need of help.”

  “The only thing I need is to get the hell out of this room.” Allie stepped toward him but stopped when he revealed his right hand, which brandished a knife from behind his back.

  “That is what you want,” he said. “Not what you need.”

  Allie took a step back and then cleared her throat. “Are you going to kill me?”

  The man widened his eyes as if he were surprised by the question. “Kill you? No.” He looked to the knife. “This is more for show than anything else.” His gaze hardened. “Unless you force me to use it.”

  It was the first time since she’d met him that he had looked like that, and Allie watched as his face almost turned into a different person. And that was more frightening than any
thing he said.

  But as quickly as the killer’s aggression appeared, it vanished.

  “I want to help you, Allie,” he said, once again wearing that sympathetic smile. “I know the vicious circle that you’re caught up in. And I know how much you want to get out.”

  Allie stepped backward until her calves bumped against the steel cot. She tried to place him, to see if she’d seen him before, but she was drawing a blank. And just when she thought he was going to get close enough to touch her, he stopped, as if he was fearful of what he might have to do should she try something.

  “I can offer you a way out,” he said. “But it has to be your choice, your decision. I can open the door, but you have to walk through by yourself. Do you understand?”

  Allie was quiet as she studied the man in front of her, and his knife, and how he still kept one hand behind his back. “What’s in your other hand?”

  The man smiled. “It’s your test.” He knelt, then revealed his left hand and set a bottle of pills on the ground. “I know these are your drugs of choice. Oxy.” He rattled the little bottle to prove they were inside. He stood, a sad expression returning to his eyes. “If you can resist the temptation that is right in front of you, then I will let you go.” He paused, almost as if he were waiting for another question, and then he turned for the door.

  “Why are you doing this?” Allie asked.

  The man stopped and turned. “Because I can.”

  A heavy lock turned, and Allie stood there, staring at the door, then staring at the bottle of pills on the ground. It had been less than a day since she used, and she knew that in a few hours her nightly ritual would kick in and she would want to pop a few to help her sleep.

  She hadn’t slept without the pills in years. But if she took the pills, then what did that mean? Would they kill her? Would he kill her? She wouldn’t be able to fend him off if she was high. But she wouldn’t be able to fend him off once she slipped into withdrawals. She’d been down that road before, and it wasn’t something that she wanted to experience again.