by Rob Watson
“Their blood is on your hands, Lexa!” screamed her reflection. “If you don’t believe me, why don’t you ask them?”
Lexa almost passed out when she looked down and saw Kimber’s fried head pry open its melted lips and speak the words, “Your hands…”
Then Paige opened her eyes and looked at Lexa. “Your hands…”
Palmer, whose head is charred to the bone like the rest of his body, stretched wide its mouth and uttered, “Your hands…”
Lastly, Cassie’s carved face moved what’s left of its mouth and said, “Your hands…”
The words bombarded Lexa from all sides like a mental blitzkrieg, leaving her with only one retreat—to flee inward into herself, toward the ever present spiral at the center of her mind. However, as inviting as the arms of oblivion seemed at the moment, she chose not to lose herself. Not just yet. Instead, Lexa steadied herself, stepped over Cassie, and opened the door.
Her reflection and her dead friends went on shouting, “Your hands! Your hands! Your hands!”
***
Lexa emerged from the bathroom with the voices still echoing in her ears. She shut the door and stepped over to Captain Styles, who was sitting on the bed with the laptop.
“I’m ready now,” Lexa said.
“Good,” Styles replied. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
INCREASED DECEASED
Styles drove through the city like all cops drove, even when off-duty—fast and aggressively, occasionally glancing at the passenger beside her. Lexa sat in near shock, her head tilted toward her window and her glazed eyes staring off into nothingness.
Without turning her head she asked Styles, “Cassie and Palmer are dead, aren’t they?”
“We found Mr. Randolph’s burned remains on the bottom of his parents’ Jacuzzi,” Styles confirmed.
Tears started to build in Lexa’s expressionless eyes.
“Ms. Lovette’s body was at her apartment. Totally dismembered.”
Lexa covered her face and wept.
***
Captain Styles parked the unmarked police car in front of the Long Beach Police Station. Captain Styles and Lexa exited the car and hurried inside the building, going straight to the captain’s office, where CK and Bastian were anxiously waiting. Styles closed the door and the three friends embraced.
After hours of by-the-book questioning, Lexa, CK, and Bastian quietly sat in patent leather chairs while Captain Styles paced.
“I want the goddamned FBI to take charge of this investigation!” Bastian screamed. “Maybe they can do something to keep the rest of us alive because you haven’t done dick, lady.”
Styles strode over to Bastian and loomed over him. “First of all, it’s Captain,” she retorted. “Second, I have detectives monitoring the Roommates website twenty-four/seven, specifically the homepages of your so-called Magnificent Seven.”
“You mean what’s left of us,” Bastian snorted.
“That’s how we learned about Mr. Randolph and Ms. Lovette,” Styles told them.
“Is there any way to find out who changed the pictures on my friends list?” Lexa asked.
“We traced the IP address of the user who hacked your account and altered your page. It belongs to one of the hundreds of public terminals at your university’s library.”
“A simple no would’ve sufficed,” Bastian muttered.
Styles pulled the reins on her short temper, and with exaggerated politeness said, “I’m sorry the wheels of justice aren’t spinning faster, Mr. Shadwell. Trust me, I’m going to have every available detective working round-the-clock until we catch this killer.”
“Really? Is that supposed to make us sleep better tonight?” Bastian held up his hand and dramatically extended one finger, then another, then another, and yet another. “Four of our friends are dead, Captain. They’re fucking dead, and you have jack for a suspect and shit for a motive.”
“We’re doing our best, Mr. Shadwell. As far as suspects are concerned, forensics suggests that Ms. Clark, Ms. Turner, Mr. Randolph, Ms. Lovette, and Mr. Randolph’s companion Ms. Denton were all murdered by the same perpetrator. As for motive, we have uncovered one lead. Except for Ms. Denton, who we feel was just at the wrong place at the wrong time…” Bastian snorted, “all of the victims were killed in the order they appeared on your friends list, Ms. Rhodes.”
Lexa displayed a look of refuted culpability.
Captain Styles turned to Bastian. “And you’re next on the list, Mr. Shadwell.”
Bastian looked at Lexa, then back at Captain Styles. “Are you going to put me—us—in protective custody or something?”
“No,” Styles stated.
Bastian shook his head in disbelief. “No?”
“We can’t put civilians into protective custody unless they’re witnesses to a crime and there’s a threat of them coming into harm’s way prior to their testimony at trial.”
Bastian exploded. “I can’t fucking believe what I’m fucking hearing. How many more of us have to die before you get off your ass and do something?”
“We enforce the law, Mr. Shadwell. What we don’t do is provide private protection.” Styles looked at them one by one. “There are several security companies I can refer you to. If you can’t afford to hire private security, I suggest you stay with family or friends until we capture the murderer. There is safety in numbers.”
“That’s it?” Bastian screeched. “That’s all you have to say, that there’s safety in numbers?” He shoved his chair backward and jumped up. “Well you better check your math, lady, because in less than two weeks we’ve gone from seven to three, and I don’t…” Bastian stopped mid-sentence and shook his head in absolute frustration. “What the fuck am I doing here?” He walked over to Styles. “Here, you like numbers so much, here’s one for you.” Bastian flipped Captain Styles the middle finger, brushed past her, and rushed out the door muttering a string of colorful expletives.
While Styles struggled to keep her professional composure, CK patted Lexa’s arm. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“Captain Styles, Dr. Cross is on my list too.”
“I’ve already informed him of the situation, as well as Senator Storm and Terrence Simms who follow Cross on your list.” Captain Styles opened the door. “I’ll be in touch.”
***
When Styles was heading down a crowded corridor, the appointment reminder alarm on her cell phone chimed. She took out her phone and read the message:
Doc Latham—6 P.M.
Fuck me.
She hesitated for a moment, then spun and headed back down the opposite way toward the district’s psychiatrist’s office.
***
Styles knocked on the door and stepped into the office of Dr. Thomas Latham.
He looked up and smiled. “Ah, Captain Styles, come in, come in.”
Styles shut the door and helped herself to the chair in front of Dr. Latham’s desk.
Dr. Latham clicked his mouse and opened up Styles’s file on the laptop in front of him. The file onscreen read:
Intelligence quotient—high; severe trauma in early childhood; father fixation; abandonment issues; need to be admired—sees her role as protector of society, with emphasis on law and order, high focus on criminal apprehension.
“Anytime you’re ready, Doc,” Styles chided. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.
Dr. Latham focused his attention on the captain. “I heard about the case you’re working.”
Styles shot him a contemptuous glance. “So what did you hear, Doc?”
“I heard you’re hunting a vicious psychopath.”
“You heard correctly.”
“Interesting,” Dr. Latham remarked, his voice soft. “I know how you must be feeling right now.”
“You don’t know shit about how I’m feeling, Doc. Look at yourself. How could you know anything about how I feel?” You presumptuous fuck, she thought but didn’t say aloud.
W
ithout the slightest trace of umbrage, Dr. Latham asked, “Why don’t you think I can empathize with your situation, Captain Styles?”
“Because you deal with psyches and I deal with psychos. You sit here in your office sifting through peoples’ emotional baggage while I’m out in the world sifting through blood and brains spilled by some fuckin’ maniac.” Styles adjusted herself in her seat. “People like you are hands-off and people like me get their hands dirty. Is that why enough for you, Doc? Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a psychopath somewhere out there that deserves my attention more than you do.”
Just as the captain reached the door, Latham called out, “Styles…”
Still facing the closed door in front of her, Styles said, “Yeah?”
“Answer one question.”
“What?”
“The grieving family members of murder victims…when you look into their grief-stricken faces, what is it that you see?”
Styles stood for a brief moment in reflective silence, then yanked open the door and slammed it closed behind her without responding.
***
Blindsided by Latham’s question, Styles took a moment to figure out which direction she should take. After a while, she leaned against the wall of the corridor.
What do I see when I look into their faces, Doc? I see myself.
***
Lexa and CK exited the police station and saw Bastian on the sidewalk lighting a cigarette, still grumbling to himself.
“Can’t protect civilians indefinitely,” Bastian grunted. “Thanks for nothing. Call you when I’m dead, you useless fuck!”
“Bastian, please,” CK said, “just calm down.”
“Calm down?” Bastian shouted. “Some psycho is using your wannabe girlfriend’s friends list as a murder roster, and I’m supposed to calm down? There’s not enough drugs on the planet to calm me down. Wanna know why, CK?” Bastian stabbed a finger at Lexa. “’Cause I’m next on her goddamn list.” He looked directly at Lexa. “Thanks for being my friend, sweetheart.”
Lexa turned away in a desperate attempt to conceal the guilt-ridden tears welling up in her eyes.
CK sensed the pain caused by that last spiteful remark that Lexa was trying to hide. He yanked Bastian closer and snarled, “Leave her alone! None of this is her fault!”
“Yeah? Well anyway, it’s every man for himself time. If you need me I’ll be at the all-night Denny’s until further fucking notice.”
He stalked away mumbling to himself.
“CK,” Lexa said, “can we go to your place for a while?”
Can we? You’re asking me can we?
“Sure.” CK fought to conceal his building excitement.
Damn straight we can.
Lexa hugged him. “Thanks. It’s just that I can’t face Aunt Amanda and Uncle Claude. Not right now.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
DO YOU FEEL LIKE I DO
CK and Lexa stepped into his apartment, a modest, garden variety, off-campus student housing unit.
“Please excuse the mess,” he said, and flipped on the lights.
Lexa walked over to the couch, stopping in front of it when she saw it was covered with clothes. CK hurried over and collected most of his clothes off the couch.
“Have a seat.” Lexa sat down. “Can I get you something?” asked CK.
You name it. All you have to do is ask.
“Some water?”
“Comin’ up.” CK practically leaped into the kitchen. “I’m making coffee. You want some?”
“No, thanks.” Lexa glanced around the messy apartment. After a casual once-over, her attention was strangely drawn to a dim light flickering in the space between the bottom of the bedroom door and the floor.
When he finished fumbling around in the kitchen, CK returned holding a glass of water. “Here you go.” When Lexa reached for the glass, their fingers brushed against each other’s. They both blushed and turned away. CK stood awkwardly in front of her for a couple of seconds before sitting down on the couch next to her.
Lexa took three capsules out of her purse and swallowed them with a gulp of water. She rubbed her forehead and confessed, “These headaches are driving me insane.”
“Sorry,” CK said lamely. “Ever try acupressure?”
“No.”
“I took a couple of instructional seminars last semester.
Yeah right. I learned it from my mom.
“You can block pain by putting pressure on the right spot.” CK paused in anticipation. “Do you want to try it?”
“At this point I’m willing to try anything.”
Yes!
CK took Lexa’s glass and placed it on the coffee table. “Okay, lie back against me and let me know when the pain stops.” Lexa bashfully leaned back against CK’s chest.
CK gently applied pressure to different spots on Lexa’s head. “There. Right there,” she said. “The pain’s stopping.”
CK focused his massage in that spot.
Should I…or shouldn’t I?
He cleared his throat and said, “You really mean a lot to me, Lexa.”
“You mean a lot to me too, CK.”
CK softly chuckled and continued massaging.
Go ahead, this might be your last chance.
“I can’t believe I’m considering telling you this...”
“Telling me what?”
“How I really feel. That I want to be more than just your friend.”
“CK…”
“Let me finish. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the guts to say this again.” He took a deep breath. “When I’m with you, it hurts not being able to tell you how much I love you. I’m sorry to drop this on you now, but I’ve seen how short life can be, and I don’t want to die without letting you know how much I want you.”
Lexa sat up and faced CK, who let out a big sigh of relief. “Whoa! I really needed to let that out. But no worries, I won’t let this ruin our—”
Lexa kissed CK passionately on the lips. “I want you too, CK,” she said when she pulled away. “I have for a long time. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
Fuck me.
“So where do we go from here?”
“You’re the one in the driver’s seat, Mr. Kane.”
CK caressed Lexa’s face.
No more wasted time.
He kissed her with desperate passion. As his hand moved up her inner thigh, Lexa stopped and pulled away.
CK sat back in disappointment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it’s not you, it’s me,” Lexa said.
Go ahead, tell him so he’ll understand.
“I’ve…I’ve never been with a man before.” She sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I know it sounds stupid, but I’ve been saving myself for my wedding night.”
CK reached over and caressed her cheek. “I don’t think it’s stupid. Some things are well worth the wait.”
Lexa smirked. “But you’re right, about how short life can be. All my life I haven’t done much living.” She moved closer to CK. “I think I’ll start now.” As she placed her lips on his, the smoke alarm blared.
CK gritted his teeth. “Dammit, not now.”
“What is that?”
“The smoke alarm. The damned thing’s hyper-sensitive.” He gave Lexa a quick peck on the lips. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” He hopped off the couch and raced into the kitchen.
“The damned thing goes off all the time!” he yelled. The light flickering underneath CK’s bedroom door caught Lexa’s attention again. Still in the kitchen, CK barked out, “It’s stupid having a smoke alarm in the kitchen anyway.”
Lexa stood and headed toward the bedroom door. The smoke alarm went off when she reached the door. Lexa put her ear to the door.
Don’t do it. You may not like what you find in there.
She opened the bedroom door and saw CK’s desktop computer. A screensaver picture rotation of the Mag Seven was d
isplayed on the monitor.
Shit!
The unexpected ring of her phone almost made Lexa jump out of her skin. She ran over to the coffee table and dug her phone out of her purse. “Hello?”
“Where the fuck are you?” Alex screamed through the phone’s earpiece.
“Alex! I’m glad it’s you. Cassie and Palmer are dead.”
“I know, Cross told me.” Alex held the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he typed on Lexa’s laptop. “But where are you?”
“Styles picked me up and took me to the police station, then CK brought me here to his apartment.”
“You’re where? Listen to me, Sis, I need you to get out of there right now. Don’t ask me why and don’t say anything to CK. Just get outside and run and don’t stop running.”
“Alex, what the hell are you—”
“Shut up and listen. There’s two reasons why you shouldn’t be there. One, CK’s on your friends list, so the killer could be in his apartment right now waiting to kill him.”
Lexa anxiously looked around the apartment.
“And two, CK could be the killer.”
“What?”
“He has a weird, obsessive crush on you. Everyone knows it except you.”
“He just told me. But he’s not weird or anything, he’s just shy.”
“Lexa, I’m telling you, he acts like he wants you all to himself. And sometimes he gives your friends this creepy stare, like they’re standing in his way or something.”
“You’re fishing in a shallow pond, X-Man.” Lexa walked back toward CK’s bedroom. “Besides, I’m not a woman that men go crazy psycho over.”
“You are. At least to him you are. And with the others dead, he has four less obstacles between you and him.” Lexa glanced into the bedroom at the computer monitor. A hideous picture flashed on the screen, then changed to a picture of CK. “Only Bastian stands between him and the number one spot as your Best Mate.”
