Jezebel swiped the security card at the door. A pleasant chime told her the credentials passed flawlessly. A different kind of noise might have summoned an entourage of belligerent guards.
She quickly donned a gown, goggles, and gloves before entering the laboratory. Amber light shimmered across cages, surgical steel tables, and cryogenic freezers filled with liquid nitrogen. Those sights brought a fountain of nostalgia surging to the forefront of her mind. She approached the cages stacked against the wall, housing well over eighty rats.
Many years ago when she attended medical school, she faced the unpleasant task of destroying neural tissue in a rodent to study impaired behavior. After the experiment, she managed to smuggle her test subject home and care for him as a pet. She couldn’t repair the damage her instructors forced her to carry out, but she could at least tend to the innocent creature.
Now she was thrust into the same role where she would tamper with life in unnatural ways. Despite the guilt simmering in her chest, Jezebel convinced herself of the necessity of the task before her. She owed as much to the victims silenced by the serial killer.
Jezebel uncapped the needle, its razor-sharp tip sweating a thus far unidentified substance. The thought of medical knowledge eluding her was inconceivable. She would be damned if she didn’t find out what the serial killer was injecting into his victims—and more importantly, how it worked.
Reaching inside one of the cages, she picked up an albino lab rat.
“Sorry,” she said, peeking into its red eyes. “This will only take a second.” The rat didn’t even flinch as the needle poked its belly. She depressed the plunger and watched ten milliliters of fluid hiss into its bloodstream. Fortunately, this strain of rats was known for its extremely docile behavior, making it more than suitable for the task. Jezebel kissed the rat on the head and returned it to the plastic cage.
Scooping up another rat, she injected five milliliters. Finally, three milliliters streamed through the syringe into the third specimen.
“There you go,” she chirped. “Get some rest, my babies. I’ll be back tomorrow to check up on you.” Their beady eyes silently followed her.
Jezebel punched the glowing numbers on the wall panel, restricting access to all but her.
* * *
Nikolai jolted awake as something rapped against the door. At once, he realized he had fallen asleep in his office again, his head propped against the ever accumulating pile of homicide reports. He barely got any sleep last night because of Tatiana.
“Detective Nikolai Koslov?” He looked up from his desk to see a woman standing outside his office. Rich, blonde hair curled around her face. He fought down the impulse to banish her when he saw her expression.
She looked lost and dejected, not the typical defense attorney hounding his every move.
“How can I help you?”
“My name is Alyssa LaCroix. I was told you could help me. My daughter Krista disappeared several weeks ago.”
What is she doing here? Nikolai couldn’t fathom why the department allowed her to see him. Didn’t the secretary know he couldn’t spill the details of the investigation? Maybe they had grown tired of shielding him from the constant barrage of questions and let this woman slip through the cracks.
“Yes. We’ve been searching rigorously for any sign of your daughter’s whereabouts. We’ve already set up a hotline for the public in case anyone spots a woman fitting her description. We’re following up on every reliable lead that comes our way.”
“Thank you, it means a lot to me. I wish there was something more I could do for the investigation. I’ve offered all the information I have about my daughter, but it doesn’t seem to be good enough.”
Nikolai recognized his own grief in her eyes.
How many times had he kicked the chief of police’s door off the hinges while conducting his own inquiry of his daughter’s disappearance? The torment of not knowing her fate or whereabouts kept him awake for nights on end, taunting him with the possibility that he could have done something more to save her. Maybe he was looking in the wrong place. Maybe there was a detail he overlooked in her bedroom before the forensics team tramped in.
Maybe he could have saved her.
“Don’t saddle yourself with all the blame, Alyssa. As parents, we often feel we could have done more to protect our child at one time or another.” His gaze strayed from hers, letting defeat slip through his armor. “The truth is we cannot shield them every waking moment, no matter how hard we try.”
“I know, but… I’ve been so lonely without her.” Nikolai almost felt the urge to reach out and squeeze her hand. How he longed to share that bond with another person who so intimately understood the loss that ravaged his heart. They were like two pages torn from the same book, life’s screenplay for tortured souls.
“Have you learned anything yet? Have you found her?” she spouted. Nikolai bit his lip. How could he address such an explicit question?
“Perhaps you should sit down, Alyssa.”
Tears began to swell in the corners of her crystalline eyes. Nikolai folded his hands and lowered his gaze.
“I’m sorry, Alyssa,” he said, preparing himself for the storm that would inevitably follow. “Your daughter is dead. She died of a heroin overdose.”
Her eyes glazed over.
“No!” she screamed. “You’re a liar! A fucking liar!” Nikolai fell back in his chair from the force of her verbal assault. He reached out to console her but Alyssa recoiled from his touch. “My daughter would never abuse drugs!” Tears streamed from her eyes as she choked. “I won’t believe you… I won’t…”
“Alyssa, please…”
With a strangled sob, she fled his office, slamming the door behind her. She tripped over her heels and crashed to her knees. Alyssa buried her face in her hands, convulsing with grief.
Nikolai bowed his head over the pile of autopsy sheets, Krista LaCroix among them. Guilt began to burn a hole in his chest, and he slid her autopsy sheet into his desk to absolve himself of wrongdoing. He couldn’t say a word in his defense when Alyssa tore into him. He simply accepted the brunt of her attacks, perhaps because he knew he deserved it. He fell back in his chair as another headache tore across his scalp.
His office phone pealed, exacerbating the migraine. Hardly in the mood for conversation, he scooped up the receiver.
“Yes?”
“Nikolai, are you available for a moment?” He recognized the honeyed voice belonging to his secretary.
“Yes, go ahead.”
“I found something eerie in our crime reports. A misplaced report about a Vivian Xu.” Nikolai’s heart thudded against his ribs. “Xu has not yet been arraigned for attempted murder. Plus, there’s something highly disturbing in the report.”
“What?” Nikolai demanded harshly. Perhaps too harshly. There was a tense silence on the other end of the line.
“The report includes a photo from the crime scene. You can barely see words scrawled on the pavement in blood.” The phone slipped from Nikolai’s hand.
It dangled from the cord like a noose tightening around his neck.
“You cannot hurt me anymore,” she said faintly.
* * *
Vivian frantically searched the skyline, searching for a sign that would lead her to Camilla. She cursed herself for not asking where her newspaper was headquartered.
“Come on,” she said, dialing Camilla in another futile attempt to make contact.
She desperately needed to speak with her about the tape she recovered in the killer’s basement. If anyone could track down this Viktor Rezník, a journalist could.
The disturbing footage was still cycling through her head; the tragic tale of a man who descended into financial ruin and mental disease. No matter how many times she mulled it over, it still didn’t make sense. Why didn’t the Syllax overdose kill him?
What did his mother have to do with this? Why was he torturing and killing young women?
You cannot
hurt me anymore.
Vivian clapped a hand to her wrist as pain erupted on the surface.
“Son of a bitch!” Her eyes riveted on the mark tattooed on her skin. The vein rose like a black welt against her deathly pallor. “How do I stop this?” she pleaded. The Syllax was inevitably rushing toward her brain, warping her nerves in irreversible ways. If only she had never returned to the outskirts and encountered… him.
She rocked forward and collapsed against the side of a building. She tried to hold on to a fragment of reality, anything to keep the nightmares at bay. The outlines of the city were swallowing everything around her, melting into a sea of black and sulfuric red. She could feel something locked away in her head suddenly squirm free, splitting her secret memories wide open, letting the trauma and horror ooze into every crack of her consciousness.
She remembered the night that should have never transpired.
* * *
July 16, 1998
Time was fast approaching 12:50 a.m. Vivian tapped her heel impatiently on the pavement. The customer should have arrived in the metro alley twenty minutes ago. She would grant him ten more minutes before she scouted the outlying streets. After all, she desperately needed the income.
She fished out a cigarette to calm her nerves and flicked her lighter. He was an odd fellow who approached her a few nights ago, shaking uncontrollably under his jacket. He couldn’t possibly be cold. Even the night air was humid from the tepid summer. Vivian wondered if he was suffering from drug withdrawal.
She hoped she didn’t catch a disease from him if his intentions proved more carnal than submissive. Hopefully he just required a few needles under his nails and she could be on her way—with her pockets feeling a little heavier, of course. But it was never that simple.
“Red Widow.” She jumped at the sound of his voice and her cigarette tumbled from her fingers. It hissed in a puddle of rainwater, its embers winking out in the dark.
“I was just about to leave,” Vivian said irately. She didn’t bother to meet his eyes as she stuffed her hand in her purse for another cigarette. She always smoked prior to appointments because the nicotine numbed her mouth before kissing. “I have other appointments, you know.”
It was an empty lie, but there was no harm in making him feel like her patience earned a little extra compensation.
“So what is your name?” She dispensed with the repulsive titles most streetwalkers layered on men: “honey,” “sweetie,” and “baby.” She only wanted a first name she could easily detach herself from. Everything could be distilled into business.
“Viktor.”
“Okay, Viktor. What do you want me to do?” He shifted uncomfortably, scraping his heel against the pavement.
“I have an unusual request.”
“Don’t be shy. I’ve heard all sorts of crazy things. It can’t be as bad as some of the things I’ve agreed to.” Viktor took a deep breath.
“I want you to bring me to the brink of death. Dominate and destroy me. Punish me until my flesh cannot translate pain anymore. Only when I begin to beg for annihilation, do I want you to stop.”
Vivian ogled him in shock. What kind of insane request was that? Did he seriously expect the Red Widow to leave him in tatters? An awkward smile tugged at the corner of her freshly painted lips. Was this a crude prank?
“I think you have me confused with someone else. I’m not in the habit of killing people. I’m not even going to indulge that request.” Vivian turned on her heel to leave the debauched man alone with his fantasy.
“Please! I only ask that you leave me near death.”
“Why do you want me to do this?”
His chest shuddered as he drew in a startled breath.
“The physical pain distracts me from my inner torment.”
“I’m sorry… I don’t think I can do this. Frankly, I’ve done a lot of things that are a far cry from humane. But this crosses the line. You need a therapist, not this.”
His hollow eyes locked with hers.
“Therapy cannot help me overcome this suffering.”
“Neither can I,” Vivian huffed, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’m leaving now. Don’t even think of following me.” His unblinking gaze never left her, hardening into something treacherous.
“Then maybe this will convince you.” Her pulse staggered as his hand plunged into his jacket. Suddenly she found herself staring at a wad of Czech bank notes, the native form of paper currency. “Ten thousand crowns. Is that enough?” 10,000 crowns was roughly the equivalent of 500 American dollars.
Temptation pulled at her heartstrings. It wasn’t greed that whispered in her ears when she saw the money; only sheer desperation.
“I have no interest in your body,” he said. “I won’t even touch you. I only wish to submit to you.”
Vivian remained hypnotized by the money within her grasp. 10,000 crowns could buy many things in these dank alleys: fresh bread, a warm coat, even escape. So many things.
She hesitantly set down her purse on the rain-spattered pavement. An unnerving smile twitched across Viktor’s face as Vivian removed the tools of her trade.
After all, every fantasy has a price.
* * *
Vivian reeled away from the edge of the busy street. She didn’t even flinch as a car blurred past within an inch of her, its horn screaming in fury. How long had she been wandering in a trance?
Vivian clutched her head.
She tried to put a name and face to the man she assaulted. She took a strange satisfaction in hurting him, as though he represented every deviant who ever objectified her. He was the man she almost murdered in the streets before Nikolai detained her.
She tried to deny that she could be responsible for such a depraved act. Even when Nikolai interrogated her, she barely remembered what occurred. A violent frenzy had taken hold of her in those sordid hours of the night—but Syllax managed to dig up that repressed secret. Every wicked detail.
“Viktor,” she breathed.
Suddenly, she remembered the victim’s words before the arrest. You hurt me. It feels so exquisite.
The killer had uttered those same words in the basement. Vivian fumbled for her phone and dialed a familiar number—but it did not belong to Camilla. There was only one person she could turn to now.
“Vivian?”
Her heart skipped at the sound of Nikolai’s voice.
“Nikolai, I have a lead I need you to follow. I think I know who the killer is.”
“Really? Thank God!”
“When you arrested me, you took a man into custody, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What was his name?”
“I was just looking into it when you called. What the hell is going on, Vivian? The same words left at every crime scene—they were found in the alley where I arrested you!”
“Just look up the damn name!”
“Okay, calm down.” Vivian pressed the phone closer to her cheek. She could hear him flipping frantically through papers on his desk. Almost a minute passed before his voice resounded. “Viktor Rezník.” The name sent a chill down her spine.
“Whatever happened to him?”
“He was taken to the hospital for treatment. I don’t know what became of him. I checked up on him four, maybe five weeks ago, but he had been released from care.”
“What?” Vivian demanded, sensing there was something he was not revealing. “What else?”
She winced as static crackled from the other end of the line.
“LaCroix was abducted shortly after his release.”
“It’s him,” she insisted.
“How do you know?”
“I found a tape in the house—his name was on the papers—I mean… Damn it, Nikolai, you just have to trust me!”
“Jesus,” he cursed. “We let him go… Perhaps I should have let you kill him.”
“Well, it’s too late for regrets now. We have to catch him before we find another mangled body h
anging from the ceiling.”
“Fine. I want to see this tape and analyze it. If what you say is true, this could be the break we’ve been waiting for. Where is it?”
Vivian slapped her pockets, frantically searching for the evidence.
“I left it in the VCR at the house. I need to go back and—”
A shrill ring buzzed over the phone.
“Sorry, Vivian, I have a call coming in from the medical examiner. I’ll call you back as soon as I’m finished here.”
“Okay.” He quickly switched over.
“Jezebel?”
Twenty minutes later, Nikolai found himself sprinting down the halls of the medical examiner’s office. He almost didn’t see the lab technician pushing a cart stocked with vials of blood. Nikolai twisted his body and narrowly avoided colliding with the hazardous cargo.
“Watch out!”
“Sorry!” Nikolai cried, rounding the corner. He caught a few technicians staring at him as he raced past tightly-sealed labs.
His brief conversation with Jezebel continued to echo in his head. Meet me in the morgue as soon as possible. You have to see this for yourself.
Her words left him spinning in a whirlwind of anticipation, dreading the moment he would step inside the icy morgue. Rather than indulge his curiosity and say anymore, Jezebel hung up, letting Nikolai’s most twisted fears take seed.
He paused outside the lab, gripped by a sudden wave of hesitation. He bit his lip and pushed through the door. The plunge in temperature instantly sent needles of ice poking through his veins. The shock elicited a gasp that birthed a million tiny snowflakes into the surrounding air. He felt feeble and naked despite the jacket against his skin.
“Where is Tatiana today?” Nikolai looked across the counter, where Jezebel was acutely watching him.
“Pursuing independent leads.”
“That’s a shame. We have results for the blood smear on the walls.”
Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1) Page 17
