The land of dead flowers: (A serial killer thriller)

by Natasha A. Salnikova

  “Maybe they’re in a coffee shop and the music’s loud there. Maybe she’s not ready to talk.”

  “It’s so not like Anna. If it’s only that, she’s sad and wants to get in a better mood first, maybe though. She probably doesn’t want to upset me. Did you say something bad, Max?”

  “I’ll apologize.”

  “Please, if it’s not too difficult. She’ll feel better. She loves you.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  They said goodbye. Max went back to the living room, settled on the couch, and texted Anna.

  Sorry for being rude. Call your mom. She can’t find you.

  He turned off the phone after the message was sent, but then changed his mind and turned it back on. A strange thought that something might have happened to Anna visited him for a second. He didn’t take it seriously. He’d had too many different feelings lately; he worried and thought too much. Anna was fine. She sent him a message, right? She probably went to the Daniels’, to complain. Okay, they could pick him to pieces if they had nothing better to do. They could talk about Kelvin’s visit. Anna would tell them that he didn’t want to see her at home. They could even discuss the possibility of Max knowing a serial killer. Where did he get the teddy bear? From the forest.

  Max smiled and decided not to think of anything problematic or negative today. He needed to vent his brain, but he didn’t want to go out. So, he made himself some chicken nuggets. Anna hated this stuff and didn’t want Max to eat them, but he was a big boy today. All alone and independent.

  “All alone and independent,” he said with a laugh. He wanted to see some reality show, but didn’t think that would happen. He could try anyway. Eat chicken nuggets and watch some Real Housewives of Colorado. Did they have those?

  Max grabbed his teddy bear and went to the kitchen.

  CHAPTER 51

  Her head hurt so much, like somebody had been hitting it for three days with a hammer. Her throat and nostrils burnt. Anna opened her eyes with an effort and immediately closed them when the light blinded her. Only on the third try could she hold them open and look around. White ceiling, white walls. Where was she? What happened? Anna tried to lift her arm to her bursting head, but couldn’t. Her arms wouldn’t move; her legs wouldn’t move. Was she tied? She was.

  Now Anna remembered her office building and that empty parking lot, an old van, a man in glasses and a litter of puppies.

  “I’m such an idiot,” Anna whispered and scrunched her face.

  Her dry throat stung, she felt nauseated, and her legs and arms ached. She tried to concentrate, analyze the situation. She had been kidnapped. Was that what it was? Could it have happened to her? This man, their client. Why did he do it? He didn’t like his order? It was stupid. Then what? Anna tried to see the whole room, but couldn’t lift her head. She knew only one thing for sure; she was alone in the room. Except for the buzz of a working refrigerator, nothing else.

  He couldn’t be some kind of a maniac, could he? Anna even laughed, convincing herself of the foolishness of her thoughts. He couldn’t. It was only in movies and books that maniacs kidnapped people so shamelessly. Tricking them, trapping them in public places. No one saw them? Of course someone had. It was dark, but the streetlights, the shop windows made the lot bright. Why did she stay late at work? Why didn’t she go home with everyone else? Anna tried to move her arms and legs again. Useless. The ropes cut into her skin.

  “Where am I?” she whispered. “Hey! Who are you? What do you want from me? Where are you?”

  Anna squeezed her eyes shut after yelling the last phrase. The headache became unbearable and fear was followed by shock. She didn’t know why he kidnapped her, but she was sure it was not to scare her and let her go. What if this person was watching her? What if he came to order the cards, saw her and … what? Fell in love with her? Fell in love with her and decided to kidnap her? Anything was possible. Psychos like this were unpredictable. It didn’t matter. The police were going to find her. Somebody must have seen what happened and called the police.

  Anna heard a new sound and opened her eyes wide, breathed deeply and heavily through her mouth. Something cracked, something banged, and then a gust of icy wind burst into the room and enveloped her body. Anna rolled her eyes, tried to lift her head so she could see him, the person who suddenly stormed, without success. Until now, she thought her fight with Max was the biggest problem she could possibly encounter. Max and her parents. They would look for her.

  The door shut. A person shifted his legs, landing on the floor with heavy soles, approaching her.

  “Who are you? What do you want from me?” Anna yelled before he appeared in her field of vision. She heard his voice first.

  “Even small kids know. When a stranger wants to show you a kitten or a puppy, don’t trust him. Run as fast as you can and call for help. Adults don’t remember how to be kids.

  One more step and he hung over her. A jacket, a cap, and glasses. The mustache had disappeared along with the curly hair. A wig. Of course, it was a wig. Katy even mentioned that this man had weird hair.

  “I brought you some pills. You must have a horrible headache.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  The man stretched his hand to Anna’s face and opened a hand with a white pill. In his other hand, he had a bottle with a narrow neck, so the water wouldn’t spill.

  “Would you untie me?”

  “Take it. See, even your eyes are red. I like the color red, but not that much.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Why is it happening to me?” the man asked.

  He bent down and when he straightened up, he didn’t have a bottle. Anna didn’t understand what had happened when he squeezed her mouth with one hand, opened her mouth with the other, and pushed the pill inside her mouth with a dry finger. Then, still holding her face, he bent to the floor again and poured water in her mouth. Anna thought she was going to choke; she started to cough. The man covered her mouth with his hand, so the pill and the water went down her throat.

  “I hope you understand that it’s better for you to do as I ask.” The man put his hand down and Anna started to cry.

  “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

  The man grinned and touched Anna’s cheek. She flinched from disgust; goose bumps appeared on her arms.

  “Beautiful. Redhead.”

  “Please,” Anna moaned. “Let me go.”

  “I have a surprise for you!” The man dropped his jacket and his cap on the floor, adjusted his glasses, and disappeared from her view. He came back with a green dress on a hanger. He held the hook and swung the dress left and right. The dress looked old and had a small hole on the white, lacy collar. “You will look marvelous in it!”

  “You’re not going to let me go? You want me to put on this dress?”

  “Am I not speaking clearly?” The smile on the man’s face dimmed. “I’m going to untie you now. I have a knife and I’m twice as strong as you are. If you try any tricks, you must understand, nothing good will come out of it.”

  “Something good will come out of it if I don’t try anything?”

  The man narrowed his eyes then vanished again. When he returned, a huge knife was in his hand. Anna’s mom cut steaks with one that size. Without hesitation or warning, the man cut Anna’s hand and she screamed in surprise and pain. The man walked away again and she saw him and smelled alcohol at the same time. Something burned her skin and Anna screamed again. In the next second, something dry and sticky covered her wound.

  “I can do this to your throat,” the man said kindly, rigorously sticking bandages on her arm. “Only, bandages won’t help. Now, I’m going to untie you. Change clothes and don’t try anything funny. Do we have a deal?”

  Anna nodded. She didn’t take her eyes off her captor. He patted her shoulder with satisfaction, and then removed the ropes from her legs and arms. He helped Anna to sit up. She discovered that she was dressed only in a T-shirt and underwear. Her he
ad hadn’t stopped aching, but now also spun. The nausea went up to her throat.

  The man took the dress off the hanger and gave it to Anna.

  “Put it on.”

  She took the wool dress that smelled like lavender and cheap perfume. The man stepped back, wielding the knife. His legs were apart, his eyes on his captive.

  “Put it on,” he said coarsely.

  “Can you turn way?”

  The man laughed, but it stopped as fast as it started.

  “Put it on,” he repeated.

  “What’s your name?”

  “You can call me Morris.”

  “The name you gave to us?”

  “Not mine, of course.”

  “Why do you need me? Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone about being here or seeing you. My mother …”

  “Put it on!” the man barked and moved forward.

  Anna took off her T-shirt, trying to hide her body from the man’s stare, and pulled on the dress. It pricked her skin like angry fleas. Thorny, cold, strange.

  “People will look for me,” Anna said, yanking the skirt over her knees. Trying not to think about this person undressing her, touching her while she was unconscious. A heavy knot was in her stomach, the nausea returned, and her head pounded. Anna thought she would throw up.

  “Of course they will. They always do,” Morris said.

  “They always do,” Anna muttered. The knot in her stomach turned into a fiery ball. The room seemed suddenly hot. “I …” Anna swallowed. “I’m not the first here?”

  Morris turned his head left and right, something cracked in his neck, making Anna twitch.

  “It’s always like the first time.” He took a step toward her. Anna started to shake and hid her hands between her knees to conceal it. She didn’t want to show this psychopath that she was scared of him.

  “Have you had more women in this room?” She hoped he would deny it. He would say she was the first and he was going to let her go. She didn’t believe it, but hoped.

  The man came closer, only two steps away, and extended his arm and touched the sleeve of the dress. Anna jerked back, but he didn’t pay attention to it. He rubbed the thick fabric between his fingers. The knife in his other hand shone in the light.

  “What happened to the other women?” Anna couldn’t hide the tremble in her voice. “How many of them?”

  “You look good in this dress.” Morris raised his eyes to Anna. “My mom always said green was the best match for red hair.”

  Mother’s dress. His mother’s dress, Anna thought. He chooses women who look like his mother. Common for some serial killers.

  She remembered one of Max’s books where the maniac’s victims looked like his mother. Could this story have materialized, and she’d turned into a book character? A victim? Anna remembered that one of the girls escaped, but how? She couldn’t remember. Did it matter now? The story in the book was fictional. His assumption of how a sociopath would act. He couldn’t comprehend what could happen in reality. In the book, the maniac tortured his victims before killing them. Would this one torture her? Maybe he was interested only in humiliating her sexually. She would learn everything soon.

  The man studied her face as an archeologist would examine some relic. She wanted to shrink from this look, run away, and disappear.

  “Are you going to kill me?” Anna asked, and knew that a second more and she would start bellowing.

  Morris smiled and switched the knife from one hand to the other.

  “Be good and I won’t hurt you.”

  “What do you mean good?” Anna didn’t want to challenge him, but that’s how the question sounded. Hatred mixed with fear. This person thought he could do anything. He could torture, kill, and stay unpunished. He thought he was God. She had two options. Feed his delusion or deny it. Humiliate him. Again, there could be two outcomes with the second choice. He could kill her right away in a fit of anger or he could cry from offense, lose his composure, and run away. The second result was unlikely.

  “What do I mean good?” Morris chuckled and put a cold hand on Anna’s neck. She twitched again, stronger this time. “Good—means good. You understand what I mean.”

  “Do what you say?” Anna’s lips trembled, and tears appeared in her eyes no matter how hard she tried to hold them. Morris reached out to her and wiped them.

  “You are a clever girl. Right? I hope so. The writer wouldn’t marry an idiot. You should understand everything.”

  “The writer?” Thoughts stormed in her head. This person knew everything about her. It meant he had been watching her and she hadn’t noticed. Anna wished her head would stop aching and bothering her thought process. She’d seen him before he came to order the cards. Of course she had. She just couldn’t imagine that somebody would follow her. Not just follow, but with an agenda to bring her home as a house pet. She was the wife of the writer, and she thought things like this happened only in fiction or with other people far away. That was why this person looked familiar to her when she saw him the first time in the office.

  “You remember or trying to remember?” He drilled her with his eyes.

  “How long have you been following me?”

  Morris stroked Anna’s hair and this time she recoiled.

  “Amazing hair,” the man almost sang. “Amazing you. If it weren’t for the writer, I wouldn’t know you.”

  Surprisingly, the headache started to get weaker and Anna could concentrate. The last phrase of the man pushed her into a stupor. It seemed that she understood even though she couldn’t believe she was in the hands of a real psychopath, but what did he have to do with the writer?

  “I already found a good girl and then he came.” The man’s wrinkled hand with yellow nails continued caressing Anna’s hair. She held her breath with each touch. “I didn’t know his wife was such a beauty. So I thought, why not? I’ll kill two birds with one stone.”

  Anna had only one idea about the situation. The psycho read one of Max’s books, maybe even Red Poppy about a serial killer, and it impressed him. Max, with his creation, had awakened a demonic beginning in someone. It meant that he was talented, and his talent influenced minds and inspired people. His goal wasn’t an inspiration to kill; he wanted to entertain and show that evil was always punished. The power of art. What a cruel irony. Would Max stop writing if he knew what resonance his books had? Resonance. What an ugly word. A victim—writer’s wife. Great idea for a novel. Max would like it. What if she didn’t get out of here?

  The hand lingered in her hair then twisted a lock around one finger and let go.

  “One question still bothers me. How did he find out about the green dress?” The man bent so his eyes appeared on the same level with Anna. “He talked to you about it. Right?”

  Anna shifted her eyes to the green skirt, feeling better that she freed herself of his gaze.

  “This dress?” she asked.

  “Yes, this one. My mother’s favorite dress. How did the writer find out about it?”

  “Did you read it in a book?” Anna had to look at the man. She didn’t want him to make her meet his eyes by lifting her chin. That was what he was about to do; his hand reached for her.

  “What book?” Morris screwed his face in disgust. “I don’t have time for this shit. Some idiots write because they have nothing better to do, other idiots read. I want to know how he found out about the dress? Did he spy on me?”

  “I don’t really understand.”

  “What don’t you understand?” The man suddenly grabbed Anna’s hair and pulled her to himself. She smelled tea and sweat, and stopped herself from screaming. “How did your hubby find out about the dress?”

  “I don’t understand what you’re talking about!”

  Morris pulled her hair harder then let go. Anna stumbled backward and took a deep breath to hold her tears.

  “He called me.” The man walked around the room, from one corner to another. “He called me and asked about the green dress. I don’t
remember exactly what the question was, but he even knew where I kept the dress. How?”

  “Max called you?”

  Morris stamped. Just like in the book. Mood swings, irritation bordered aggression. People like this couldn’t be irritated. However, what was he talking about? Why would Max call him?

  The man gazed at the ceiling then back at Anna.

  “Of course, you probably don’t know,” he said kindly. “You would have recognized me. The writer talked about the newspaper with an article about me. I am a hero, you know?”

  That article in the newspaper. A call. A green dress in an attic. Anna tried to assemble a puzzle out of three pieces.

  “He talked about some dreams. Told me he’d dreamed of my house,” Morris continued. “Damn snotter. Showed up here with some crap. Tell him thanks.”

  “Max dreamed about your house?” Anna’s hand went to her chest. It seemed like her heart had stopped from shock.

  “Mine.” The man nodded happily and with pleasure. “So, you know about this stupid dream idea? Do you know he wanders around my neighborhood every day?”

  “Your house was in Max’s dream.” Anna still couldn’t believe it. “He came here? Here? To see you?”

  “He saw me and my neighbor. Her Angelica was my first, many, many years ago.” Morris shook his head dreamily.

  “So, it’s true.” Anna didn’t want to believe that she had become living proof. Did Angelica know who her neighbor was and wanted to tell Max about it? “Everything is true. It means … It means you killed her?”

  Morris scratched his head with the knife, and shrugged.

  “Why would we talk about somebody who’s not here? She was a good girl, but she would never be my girlfriend. No one wants me. What’s wrong with me? You tell me. What’s wrong with me?”

  Morris approached Anna in two steps, bent to her, and touched her nose with his. From the suddenness, smell, fear, or disgust, Anna’s stomach gave up. Her lunch, half of a tuna sandwich she’d forced herself to eat, gushed out in a fetid slush, burning her throat.

  The man jumped aside and looking at him Anna thought he was going to kill her. Desperation, shock, hatred, frustration, distrust changed his face in a matter of seconds. His hand went to his hair. The spew didn’t get on him, he’d had time to move away, but the dress was covered.