by Rita Herron
Back in the victim’s room, she got a text update from Captain Hale.
Have IDs on both Wednesday’s child and Thursday’s child. Victim three is Samantha Jennings. According to a neighbor, she cheated on her husband, triggering him to commit suicide, but instead of mourning him, she seemed relieved he was gone.
That explained the killer carving the heart into her chest—to indicate she didn’t have one.
Victim four, Thursday’s child, was thirty-two-year-old Valerie Patterson. She was accused of killing her father when she was twenty, but got probation on the grounds that he’d molested her as a child and had then tried to molest her own daughter.
Ellie hissed. That explained the Ten Commandments, although the homicide sounded justified. The lowlife man should have been castrated.
It also lent credence to their theory that this man had a God complex and assigned himself as judge, jury and executioner. But how did he have so much personal information about the victims before he’d taken them?
Turning towards the latest victim, Ellie spoke softly. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you. When you wake up and tell me who hurt you, I’ll make sure he pays.”
As Shondra’s face flashed in her mind, she had the sickest feeling that time was running out for her friend, that she was missing something. But what? Her head hurt with it all.
Derrick returned, pushing a cup of coffee into her hand. “They’re analyzing Finton’s computer. Although it’s odd that we found nothing about the trail in his place—no maps, no notes about locations and their meanings. That seems to be McClain’s territory.”
She bit down on her lower lip. Why would Cord kill those women and taunt her with the crimes? Why would he take Shondra? They’d always been friendly.
Which meant Shondra might have gone with him if he’d asked, a little voice in her head whispered.
But no…
Derrick’s phone beeped, and he checked an incoming text. “Well, this is something. We have an ID for Jane Doe.”
“Who is she?” Ellie asked, her pulse jumping.
“Her name is Kennedy Sledge.”
One Hundred Eight
Ellie gasped. “This isn’t Kennedy Sledge.”
“What?” Derrick handed her his phone. “Yes, it is. There’s a photo of her on LinkedIn with her business profile and her prints matched.”
Stunned, Ellie’s mind raced, and she quickly punched Heath’s number. “Heath, check and see if any of the victims saw a therapist. Look for the name Kennedy Sledge.”
“On it.”
“And get me her home and business address.”
“Will send ASAP.”
“What’s going on?” Derrick asked as she hung up.
“If this is Kennedy Sledge, then someone else is using her identity and credentials to see patients.” Unsuspecting women like her, who unknowingly spilled their guts to a stranger.
“How do you know that?”
Ellie spun around, her mind racing. “After what happened with my family, Shondra encouraged me to talk to a counselor. She’d been seeing one because of her family’s reaction to her sexuality.” She exhaled. No wonder he’d taken Shondra. “Oh, my word,” she muttered. “That’s how he knew all about me. What makes me tick, what triggers me, about the dolls and Hiram and Cord and my friendship with Shondra.” She’d unknowingly told the bastard everything.
She turned and looked at the unconscious woman in the bed. “He abducted the real Kennedy Sledge and used another woman to pretend to be her.”
Derrick’s eyes widened. “That means we’re looking at a female accomplice.”
One Hundred Nine
Thirty minutes later, as the police artist arrived, Ellie’s disgust at the thought of a woman helping a monster to lure and kill others intensified.
Derrick had already asked his people to analyze her computer for links to the IP address of the PC the impersonator had used. He’d also alerted her captain to search the office where Ellie had first met the woman claiming to be Kennedy Sledge.
“Was their anything distinctive about the office?” Derrick asked.
“Not really. There were credentials on the wall, and books about therapy techniques, eating disorders, I think, and one about hypnotism.”
“How about when you talked on the phone? Any sounds in the background? Traffic? A train?”
Ellie massaged her temple, where a headache was starting to fester. “Just a clock ticking.” A reminder now that time was running out for Shondra––if it hadn’t already.
The police artist, Sienna Redding, appeared at the doorway. She was a curvy woman with coppery hair and wore a dozen bracelets. She and Ellie had worked together before—Redding was talented. “Why don’t we walk to the cafeteria and find a quiet spot to work?” she suggested.
Ellie glanced at the real Kennedy Sledge.
“I’ll let you know if she comes to,” Derrick said.
Nodding as she left the room, Ellie’s stomach roiled at the thought she’d been tricked. Despite her better instincts, she’d halfway trusted the woman who’d pretended to be the therapist, when all along she’d been probing Ellie for information to use against her. How many more people would she be blind to? Could she trust herself anymore?
“Take your time,” Sienna said in a quiet tone once they were seated in the cafeteria. “Just tell me what you remember and we’ll work from that.”
Closing her eyes, she pictured the woman’s face.
“She was slender, had an oval-shaped face, a button-like nose, thin lips, hair cut in a dark brown bob. Although she could have been wearing a wig. Her complexion was slightly tanned. Dark brown eyes.”
She glanced at the sketch the artist had been working on, studying it.
“She’s tall,” Ellie said. “And… her lips were a little thinner, eyes set slightly further apart.”
By the time the artist was finished, Ellie was nodding her head. The sketch looked very much like the woman who’d claimed to be Kennedy Sledge.
She and Sienna returned to the hospital room, where the artist handed the drawing to Derrick. While he sent it to the Bureau, Ellie dialed the number she had for Kennedy Sledge, but it was dead.
Heart racing, she called Angelica.
“Hello, Detective. I was just about to call you. My boss wants me to run human-interest pieces on each of the victims and their families. We’re putting it together now.”
Ellie sighed. “I understand. If anyone remembers something useful, please keep me informed.”
“Of course. You have information for me?” Angelica asked.
“I do.” Ellie explained about Kennedy Sledge and the woman impersonating her.
“Oh, my goodness,” Angelica said in a horrified voice.
“Don’t reveal that to the public yet. Run the sketch I’m sending you on the news with the message that she is a person of interest in the Weekday Killer investigation.”
“Got it. How do you think she’s involved?” Angelica asked.
“This is just between you and me,” Ellie said. “But she’s either voluntarily working with the killer or he’s forcing her to help.”
One Hundred Ten
Somewhere on the AT
Shondra spit blood as her abductor swung his fist against her mouth. Her jaw cracked beneath the force, pain shooting through her cheek. He enjoyed making her suffer, his eyes alight with every blow.
Her body had to be black and blue. Every bone and muscle in her screamed with pain.
And she was still weak from when he’d drawn the blood. Tubes and tubes of it. What did he want it for?
“Coward,” she snapped. “Take off that damn ski mask and show your face.”
“I’ll show you who’s a coward,” he growled as he yanked her by the hair and slammed her head against the wall. “I’m the strong one. You want to live, beg for your life.”
Shondra forced herself not to cower from him. She refused to beg. That had only enraged her old man more.
<
br /> “That was a mistake.” He hauled her out of the cage and toward the steps.
“Men like you think they have to prove their power by using brute force,” Shondra spat. “Real men don’t need to do that.”
“Real men have to teach their women how to behave,” he said. “But you and Ellie never learned that lesson.”
Oh, God, Ellie. She was Shondra’s only chance at survival. She would search for her, Shondra knew it. She wouldn’t give up either, just like she hadn’t given up when those little girls went missing.
“Ellie is better than you,” she said with a challenging lift of her chin.
“She will fucking learn she’s not, just like you will.” With an animal-like rage, he landed another blow to the side of her face. “Now get down on your knees and beg like a dog.”
Shondra’s head was spinning. Blood gushed from her nose and cheek, and she tasted it in her mouth. Her body was so sore she couldn’t tell where one ache ended and the other one began.
Jerking her by the hair again, he tightened the dog collar around her neck, forcing her on all fours. “Beg.”
Her tears were flowing freely now, and she coughed up blood as he shoved her face to the floor, setting his foot on the back of her neck. “Beg.”
Closing her eyes, Shondra willed herself to be strong, but he’d already attached chains to her wrists, tightening them so she couldn’t claw at him. A sob wrenched from her gut as he stomped on her neck and then she crumpled to the cold cement floor, curled into the pain.
“You will,” he shouted. “You will beg. Or you will die today and, unlike the others, no one will ever find you.”
One Hundred Eleven
Saturday
Bluff County Hospital
The next morning Kennedy Sledge still showed no sign of coming to.
The doctor warned them that her physical injuries coupled with the trauma were severe, and they had to be patient. But it was damn hard to be patient when another woman’s life––and countless others––depended on you.
“I talked to Captain Hale,” Derrick said. “He said that office was empty, cleaned out as if no one had ever been there.”
“It was all bogus,” Ellie said bitterly.
Derrick nodded. “The crime scene team is going over it.”
Heading to the cafeteria, Derrick brought them back sandwiches, and they ate and waited some more. Ellie didn’t have an appetite but she knew she needed her strength, so she forced the food down, barely tasting the turkey sandwich. Flipping on the TV to see the news, they exchanged grim looks.
Angelica Gomez stood with the sheriff, giving her usual lead-in. “Folks, four women have died at the hands of the Weekday Killer so far, and he’s still out there hunting.”
“She’s stirring panic,” Derrick said, his jaw clenched.
“She’s just reporting the truth,” Ellie replied. “Those people lost loved ones, young women with their lives ahead of them, all because of me. And I haven’t done a damn thing to stop him.”
“Those people lost their loved ones because a crazed psycho is murdering women, Ellie. The blame goes on him, not you.”
Ellie shook her head. Logically that was true, but the killer targeted her with his messages for a reason. He took her friend for a reason too.
“Sheriff Waters, do you have an update on the Weekday Killer investigation?”
Ellie knotted her hands in her laps as Bryce addressed the mic. “Yes, I do.” One by one, he put a name to the women’s faces as photographs appeared on the screen.
“Do you have a suspect?” Angelica asked.
“At the moment, we are working several theories and have two persons of interest. But we can use your help out there, folks. This killer is leaving his victims on the Appalachian Trail in a ritualistic manner. If you have any idea who he is or see anyone suspicious in town or while hiking or camping, please call the sheriff’s office immediately.”
As Bryce started to walk away, Angelica stopped him. “One more thing, Sheriff. I received a copy of this sketch with information that this woman is wanted for questioning in the murders. Can you tell us more about her?”
A muscle in Bryce’s cheek twitched, and Ellie realized he would have her head for not informing him first. “I have no statement regarding her at this time.”
Fury snapped in his eyes as he clicked his boots and turned and strode back into the sheriff’s office.
“He’s pissed,” Derrick muttered.
Let him be.
Just then, Ellie’s phone dinged and she stared at the screen in horror. It was a picture of Shondra, deathly pale, her ebony hair spread across her shoulders as she lay on a bed of daffodils in a grove of cypress trees, bramble wrapped around her throat.
One Hundred Twelve
Derrick’s gut clenched. “What’s wrong?”
“I just got this.” Ellie’s hand trembled as she lifted her phone, but it slid from her hand and hit the floor.
He wanted to reach for her but grabbed the phone, looking at it first. With Vinny dead and ruled out as a suspect, Finton could be the killer.
His stomach plummeted when he saw the photo––they were too late for the deputy.
Pressing her fist to her mouth, Ellie stifled a sob. Unable to stop himself, Derrick wrapped his arms around her. She trembled, clutching his shirt and crying into his chest. They sat like that for several minutes, absorbing the news and settling into the shock.
Ellie didn’t deserve to be tormented like this. She was estranged from her family and guilt-ridden over all the girls’ deaths. Her family was torn apart and she might lose her mother. And now Shondra, her friend. Anger took root in his soul.
“Poor Shondra,” Ellie murmured. “And Melissa. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. How am I going to tell her?”
“We aren’t telling her anything yet.” Derrick studied the picture while Ellie lifted her head and wiped at her eyes. “I know it’s difficult to look at, but can you tell where this is?”
Her erratic breathing punctuated the air as she struggled to pull herself together. Finally, she gripped the phone with quivering fingers, narrowing her eyes as she analyzed the scene.
“Do you recognize any landmarks?” Derrick asked.
Wiping at her eyes, Ellie took a closer look. “Those cypress trees. They seem familiar.”
“Keep thinking about it,” he said. “My partner just texted that Finton’s truck was spotted. I’m going to track him down.”
Ellie eased away from him and stood, looking at Kennedy Sledge as if debating what to do.
Derrick shook his head. “Stay here with her. She might be the answer to all this, Ellie.”
“I have an idea,” Ellie replied. “Why don’t we release information that we found a surviving victim?”
“Then he might come after her.”
“Exactly,” Ellie said. “I can take her place and wait and when he comes after her, grab him.”
“No, Ellie, that’s too dangerous,” Derrick replied, his eyes darkening.
“But it might work,” Ellie argued.
“I am not letting you use yourself as bait,” he said. “Look what happened last time you pulled that stunt. You were almost buried alive. Stay here and don’t do anything stupid, like going off on your own.”
Ellie lifted a brow in challenge.
“I mean it, Ellie. I’ll call a guard for Ms. Sledge’s room. For both of you.”
His gut was screaming at him––Ellie might be the killer’s next target.
One Hundred Thirteen
Rose Hill
Eula Ann clamped her hands over her ears to drown out the sobs of the latest young women who’d died. Terrible, gut wrenching wails that cut through the air like knives cracking glass.
Just like the little girls, the victims of the Weekday Killer were finding their way among the dead. Trapped between two worlds where peace could not be found, they huddled together, writhing in pain and shock.
In her mind, she saw the bl
ood trickling down pale, slender throats, mouths opened in screams of horror, eyes flashing with the lives they were meant to have, the lives that were stolen from them.
Yes, some were sinners. Yet weren’t we all?
She knew all about sinning herself. About crossing the line and keeping secrets.
Out on the mountain, she saw the clouds darkening and rumbling across the skies. The creek was overflowing and the trail was due for more bad weather, tornadoes closing in.
Cold air and hot air melded together, blending with the anger of the Gods, funnel clouds forming. Gray skies and bare trees that should be blooming by now cast a gloom over the wilderness.
A killer roamed the mountains. Sometimes, in her mind, she heard his feet snapping tree limbs and twigs as he dragged a body through woods and ridges. One night she heard the slosh of creek water on the bank as he tromped through it.
She stared out into the forest, willing God to let her see his face. To hear his voice. To recognize the killer among them.
But she saw nothing. God’s punishment to her for her sins.
So be it. She’d long accepted her fate.
Once again, Ellie Reeves was steeped in the investigation. Trouble and death seemed to follow that girl everywhere, and Eula felt a strong connection to her.
She knotted her gnarled fingers together as yellow daffodil petals floated in the air toward her like little drops of honey in the wind––except these petals symbolized nothing but death. A cluster landed on her rose bushes, the bright sunny yellow contrasting with the blood-red roses.
A sign of evil. An evil that she feared would get Ellie Reeves in the end.
One Hundred Fourteen
Bluff County Jail
