Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1)

by Nathan Wilson

  Vivian was even quieter than the leaves falling.

  “You still saved me,” she finally said. “Even after I beat the shit out of your recorder…”

  Camilla broke the silence with wild laughter.

  “Yeah. That was my only recorder.”

  “Sorry. I’ll buy you a new one once I get out of this mess.” Vivian kicked open the passenger door and emerged into the forested wasteland. Camilla gripped the steering wheel tight until her knuckles glowed.

  “Nikolai wants to kill you!” she cried. Vivian spun around in the paper-thin leaves.

  “What?”

  “I heard him talking in his house—rambling about how you knew too much. What did you do to frighten him? He has some role in the investigation that he’s afraid you’ll expose.”

  “Like what?”

  Camilla bit her lip, chewing over her doubts.

  “I searched his house and found syringes in his drawer.” A chill ran up Vivian’s spine to the base of her skull.

  “No… He can’t be the killer. It’s not possible. If he was responsible for these murders, why would he force me to track down the killer?” She shook her head so vigorously that her thoughts collided. “No, damn it! I have proof of Viktor Rezník’s guilt!”

  “I don’t suspect Nikolai of killing these women either. Frankly, I think he has an entirely different motive for catching the murderer. I saw Nikolai inject himself with what appeared to be Syllax.”

  Vivian almost choked. She remembered the way Nikolai reacted when he saw the injection site on her arm. Did he know, in that moment, what she had been exposed to? She almost thought she saw a flicker of betrayal in his eyes. Yes, he knew.

  She clapped a hand over the needle mark, feeling naked and helpless.

  “…I think I understand now. Nikolai never cared about the women who were abducted, tortured, and killed. This whole thing has been a clean-up operation from the start. He plans to kill Viktor. He doesn’t want anyone to know the true nature of Syllax—his addiction. Any evidence must be eliminated.”

  She looked hard at Camilla.

  “That includes you and me.”

  * * *

  Dr. Radik Cervenka peered from behind his owlish glasses as a knock sounded on the office door. A receding hairline swept over his forehead in a wave of soothing gray. A neatly trimmed goatee bordered his lips and chin. He was expecting one final guest before closing hours.

  The door opened and Nikolai entered.

  “Good evening, Dr. Cervenka.”

  “Greetings, Detective Koslov. I don’t suppose you’re here for personal reasons?”

  “I guess you could say I came in search of help.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place, depending on what help you seek. You aren’t the first man in law enforcement to consult me. Police work can place an enormous burden on men such as yourself.” Nikolai scanned the psych references accumulated on the shelves: Overcoming Anger, Positive Encouragement in Children, The Five Stages of Grief. He glanced at abstract statues on the shelf, a bronze male figure with his hand linked to a young girl. Nikolai never cared much for modern art.

  “Actually, I’m here about a patient you counseled from 1993 to 1995.” Cervenka cocked an eyebrow in intrigue.

  “Who?”

  “A fellow psychiatrist named Viktor Rezník. A mountain of evidence has linked this man to the serial abductions in the downtown area. Six women between the ages of 18 and 25 have already fallen victim to Mr. Rezník’s twisted fantasies. I’m consulting you to ensure he doesn’t have the chance to claim a seventh victim.”

  “How?”

  Nikolai settled into the couch much like any patient would. The instant he touched down on those cushions, he felt the transformation from a detective to a patient under the microscope. Even now he suspected Dr. Cervenka was analyzing his motives, studying him like a specimen on display.

  “I need to understand Mr. Rezník and the intimate details of his childhood. I want to know what life events shaped him, which places held a special meaning to him, where he felt safe. I need to think precisely like him. I respectfully ask for your notes about Viktor from your counseling sessions.”

  The comment ignited an immediate retort from Cervenka.

  “My therapist-patient privilege prevents me from discussing my patients.”

  “I understand your reluctance to disclose information about your patients, but I wouldn’t ask this of you if there were any other way. In fact, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have absolute confidence that Mr. Rezník is the killer. My time is running out.”

  “I’m sorry, detective. I can’t allow you to see my notes.” Nikolai almost catapulted off the couch.

  “Young women are dying out there because your patient is abducting and torturing them! What do you hope to achieve by shielding this murderer?!”

  “I already told you, I am bound by law to respect the confidence of my patients. You haven’t produced any evidence that Viktor is guilty of these crimes.”

  “Did Viktor ever talk about his mother?” Nikolai spouted. “How much he hated her?” Cervenka pursed his lips, denying Nikolai the satisfaction of an answer. His eyes lit up when the detective slapped several photos on the table between them. Agate, Krista, and Natalie stared up at him.

  “The resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?” Nikolai goaded, drawing a shudder from Cervenka. Agate’s harsh eyes pierced his soul, like a nun judging him as unworthy of salvation.

  “Yes, I can see. But this hardly merits a conviction of Viktor.”

  “I’m not obliged to provide you with evidence linking Viktor to these crimes. It is your responsibility to cooperate with authorities.”

  “I already told you—”

  “In addition, I need the records of every patient prescribed Syllax through your clinic.”

  “Syllax? Why? I would never disclose that kind of information, even to the police! What you’re demanding is absurd!”

  Nikolai seemed to calm down, absently looking at the wall as if words were written there.

  “Radik, have you ever counseled a killer? Someone who preys on others with callous disregard for the pain he inflicts?”

  “I’m asking you for the last time to leave.”

  Nikolai didn’t flinch.

  “So you have. I’m sure you’ve heard your share of tales that could frighten even the most stoic cop. Maybe you’ve heard stories that would scar my conscience. After all, it seems society’s aptitude for wrongdoing is limitless.”

  “Leave now, Mr. Koslov.” Nikolai held his threatening gaze, letting it burrow into Cervenka and take seed. At last, he trudged toward the door, looking defeated. He cocked one final look over his shoulder at Cervenka, perhaps expecting him to change his mind. With a quick twist of the handle, he locked the door.

  “I can only imagine the horror stories whispered in this office between your perverse clientele.”

  “Get out now!”

  “That being said, consider this, Dr. Cervenka. If I don’t leave this clinic with the documents I’ve requested, I will give you a taste of what Viktor’s victims suffered before they died. Perhaps this—” Dr. Cervenka’s eyes widened as his guest produced a syringe from his pocket.

  Nikolai stared feverishly at the needle, at the delightful solution swirling inside.

  “Perhaps this will put things in perspective.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Dawn rolled over the horizon like a creeping tide of rust. The forest was awash in shades of vermillion and muted brown. Vivian could hear Camilla stomping about in the background, making an ungodly racket.

  “Any ideas where we should go?” They had been wandering the wilderness since Camilla’s car broke down in the thickets. Every now and then, the ferns rustled behind Vivian as deer tiptoed through the early morning mist.

  “We need to get as far away from the city as possible,” she replied. “Nikolai doesn’t know we’re stranded out here, so we have a small window of time befo
re he figures it out. He’ll bring a search team out here as soon as he can round up enough bodies to do his work.”

  “You don’t think he’d come alone?”

  That thought unsettled Vivian’s stomach. Nikolai would like nothing more than to come alone and stifle the threat she posed. The forest would provide him all the privacy he required to kill her and dump the remains at the bottom of a lake.

  “With more eyes on the ground, the greater his chances of cornering us,” Vivian argued. “Besides, if Nikolai really wanted to kill me, why didn’t he come alone last night? I believe he wants to contain us.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  Camilla’s face was devoid of emotion.

  “Nikolai was never looking out for you, contrary to what you believe. He didn’t take you in out of the pity of his heart. You’re a means to end, nothing more. You were walking to your execution last night. Nikolai wanted you to run or resist arrest, and then he would be free to shoot you and claim self-defense. The officers would corroborate his story and absolve him of any wrongdoing. Your death would tie up all the loose ends. You’re fortunate I got there when I did.”

  Vivian wanted to scream at Camilla about how wrong she was. She wanted to throw her down on the dirt and tell her she was more than just a means to an end, and Nikolai actually cared about her. Yes, anything to convince herself of the lie that someone still gave a damn about whether she lived or died in a gutter.

  Were his promises of scholarships and reuniting her with her family only sweet-sounding lies?

  “Nikolai…wouldn’t do that me…” she whispered hoarsely through tears of rage.

  Pity slipped through the numb expression on Camilla’s face.

  “I’m sorry, Vivian.”

  Vivian turned on her heel and ran. She tried futilely to outrun the truth, clawing through the underbrush as it fought back against her.

  Nikolai was the closest thing she had to a father since her parents drove her away. She couldn’t bear the thought of him exploiting her as so many ruthless men had done before. So Nikolai was just like the perverted clients who solicited her in the dead of night, except his cruelty and selfishness extended far beyond anything they had ever done.

  Vivian ignored Camilla’s cries as she stumbled away.

  She froze when she spotted a building among the gold-colored trees. She almost feared she had come too close to the city, but what she saw didn’t resemble any Victorian house or monument. The plain walls were built to keep the wilderness out, but those crumbling defenses failed over time. Ivy penetrated the mortar and concrete. Trees wormed their way through the windows, dispersing seeds to ensure their dynastic reign over the forlorn ruins. Creatures had likely taken up residence inside the twisted shell.

  “What is it?” Vivian finally asked. Camilla paused at the edge of a brook, keeping a safe distance.

  “It’s the old water treatment plant.” Vivian gawked at the sight for a while longer, mesmerized. Her heart rate took a dive when she saw a face pressed against one of the windows—except this face didn’t have any recognizable features. The skin looked white and leathery, and an oddly-shaped mouth protruded from it. No soul reflected behind those ghoulishly large eyes.

  She drew in a ragged breath as it vanished.

  “He’s here.”

  “Nikolai? How did he—?”

  “No, not Nikolai. Viktor is inside that building.”

  “Why would he be out here?”

  “I don’t know. I have a lot of questions I’d like him to answer before I give him the death he’s always craved.”

  Vivian yanked out her gun as something animalistic gleamed in her eyes.

  “Are you sure you weren’t hallucinating?” She ignored Camilla as she marched toward the water plant, ignoring her doubts. “What are you doing?!”

  “I need to make this stop,” Vivian snapped. “I can feel Syllax slowly driving me to the brink off insanity. It feels like I’m stepping through a portal into my past, except everything is even uglier and worse than I remembered. I need to get this out of my head before I end up just like him. One way or another, he’s going to tell me what I want to know.”

  Ending on that note, Vivian forced the iron doors open.

  At first glance, she thought tentacles were stretched across the halls. Sunlight revealed them for what they truly were. Thick vines traced the walls and ceiling in a primordial canvas. Spores floated in the air like angel dust. Those eerie sights did not deter her as she clambered down the stairwells.

  Camilla dallied outside, still apprehensive about Vivian’s claims. For the past few months, she lived to unearth the truth behind these vanishings, but now she found herself in a strange position. The closer she came to confronting the bloodstained nucleus of this investigation, the more she wanted to turn and run. She didn’t want to encounter the human behind these hypersexual and violent fantasies. It took every ounce of courage to step inside the facility.

  Vivian had ventured ahead into a labyrinth of valves, dials, and pipes. She couldn’t imagine the function behind the intimidating machines strewn throughout the plant. They looked as though they hadn’t seen human contact in years. There was something beautiful about the derelict architecture that couldn’t be translated into words. It was simply lovely, but a petty human mind couldn’t understand why. Perhaps only the most troubled souls could see the beauty beneath decay.

  Vivian stopped in her tracks. A woman was lying on the floor.

  She felt like vomiting.

  Somehow, she already knew what the woman looked like, despite the darkness. Dirty blonde hair would encircle her face, and her eyes would rival the most brilliant emeralds. What remained to be seen was the manner of her execution. She had done nothing to justify this cruel fate, but here she lay growing cold and thin. Soon the internal organs would liquefy and cause her body to swell until it burst open. Vivian could see the body bloating as gas accumulated inside the raw tissue.

  Her heart stopped when she saw the woman’s chest rise. She was breathing, not bloating.

  “She’s still alive!” Vivian cried. She dashed toward the body just as Camilla pounded down the stairwell.

  “Vivian, stop! Don’t get near her!”

  A chain was wrapped around the victim’s waist, digging savagely into her flesh. The other end of the chain disappeared into the darkness, no doubt anchoring her to something in Viktor’s depraved torture scheme. Her clothes were drenched and clung to her skin like a cotton web. Vivian raced forward when a smell reminiscent of acid assaulted her. She could already feel it implanting her skin and clothes with its vile odor.

  The victim’s eyes snapped open.

  “No! Stay back!” she screamed. Vivian ground to a halt, frantically searching for the killer. “He warned me not to cry,” the victim whimpered.

  Something rustled behind Vivian, and she turned to see Camilla scrape a piece of paper off the floor.

  “It’s a diagnostic report,” she said, handing it over.

  Only the victim’s name was filled in: Renata Ruzicka. Vivian turned to the pitiful woman cowering in the dark.

  “Renata, we need to get you out of here. Please trust us.”

  “No, you don’t understand!”

  “What don’t I understand? You’ll die if we don’t get you out of here now!”

  Renata bit her lip in terror. She had to repress her tears for hours. The strange man who dragged her from bed warned her about the consequences of crying. She heard the uncompromising truth in his words, and she obeyed if she ever treasured her life. Her eyes were bloodshot from the excruciating pain.

  “There’s something on her,” Camilla said. Sure enough, Renata’s flesh gleamed with an oily sheen. Vivian took a step forward, and the sulfuric smell made her throat swell shut.

  “What did he put on you?”

  Renata trembled.

  “If I cry, we’re all going to die. He told me to hold it in.” Vivian approached when a sense of dread ove
rwhelmed her.

  “You should not interfere.” His voice was like the queerest whisper bubbling up from an abyss.

  Vivian barely saw movement out of the corner of her eye as the syringe swung at her face. She felt the needle rake through her hair, and she saw the beveled tip flash before her eyes for a split second. She screamed, recalling what he had nearly done to her in the basement.

  She collapsed to the floor and tried pitifully to crawl to safety.

  The figure in white peeled away from the walls. The familiar pale trench coat and gas mask cut a stark contrast with the dim setting, casting a surreal glow about him. He seemed to blur against the shadows like a vision from hell, pulsing in and out of focus.

  “What the fuck are you?” Vivian gasped as he swept forward.

  The needle almost rammed down, but Camilla’s body hurled toward Viktor. Her shoulder caught him in the throat, flinging a man much taller than herself across the room. He sprawled against a column and the back of his head connected with a sickly crunch. The syringe flew from his fingers and rolled under a boiler.

  Vivian tried to catch her breath, but each time, the air just whistled through her lips in a half-attempted scream.

  Viktor’s crumpled frame rippled to life and stood up. Blood was rapidly spreading through his trench coat from the many self-inflicted holes and gouges in his flesh. He loped toward Vivian with long, inhuman strides.

  At first, an alien kind of terror seized her. How could a mere human sustain so much physical damage and continue to move? She found it within herself to transform that illogical fear into anger, and that anger took aim at the man who left his mark not only on her flesh but on her mind as well.

  “Fuck you,” Vivian growled, pointing her gun at him. At last, she could end this.

  Renata watched the entire scene unfold in horror. Her eyes bristled with so much pain that she couldn’t contain herself anymore. A tear slid down her cheek.