Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1)

by Nathan Wilson

  It felt so wonderful.

  The chemicals on her skin burst into flames. Renata screamed just before her tongue melted in her mouth. The explosion flung Vivian against the far wall, smashing her head against a pipe. Spots swam before her eyes as her gun clattered to the floor.

  She lifted her head just in time to see Viktor skidding across the room. His fist lanced through the window in an explosion of glass. He fluidly pulled himself through the jagged frame, impervious to the shards slicing his hands to ribbons. He looked over his shoulder at a dazed Vivian before plunging from the window.

  She inhaled the perfume of burning flesh and sputtered. She clawed at her throat as ashes began to line the inside of her lungs. It felt as though all the oxygen in the room had been replaced by fire. Hands seized Vivian and dragged her across the floor. She barely glimpsed Renata’s charred remains before blackness ensued.

  The smog billowed and slithered through every crevice in the halls. She almost wished the darkness would claim her and deliver her from this hell on earth.

  Suddenly, she felt sunlight glossing over her cheeks and the cool breeze against her skin. Camilla stood over her, a faded silhouette against the sky. Smog roiled above the forest like a tragic omen. Vivian gasped as her lungs ballooned with fresh air. Suddenly, her entire body thrashed and her hand plunged into her pocket. There was no grace to Vivian’s body, as though she was fending off a seizure. Camilla’s confusion only multiplied when she saw Vivian retrieve her cell phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling Nikolai.”

  “Why in God’s name would you—?”

  “Hello?” Nikolai tensely replied.

  “He’s claimed another victim,” Vivian said. “Come to the abandoned water treatment plant near the D2 motorway.”

  “Vivian—” She hung up.

  “We need to leave now.” She staggered to her knees and let out another choking gasp.

  “You shouldn’t have called him,” Camilla scolded. “You’re leading him right to us.”

  Vivian didn’t reply. In fact, she became ominously still, staring into the distance. Suddenly, she broke down and fell to her knees.

  “Vivian!”

  Vivian struggled to regain control, taking in calming breaths.

  “It feels like no matter how close I come to outrunning this nightmare, I fall short. How am I supposed to get rid of this drug inside me if everything is always fucking up?” Hysteria bled into her voice. “I can’t let myself become like him. I don’t know how much longer I can endure like this. Viktor was supposed to tell me how to stop this, and now he’s gone.”

  Vivian crushed fistfuls of dead leaves in her hands. She almost didn’t hear Camilla’s voice above the hissing wind.

  “I have an idea.”

  Vivian slowly turned to her.

  “Syllax Pharmaceuticals was erected near the edge of the outskirts,” Camilla continued. “If we stand a chance of curing you, we need to go there. Some of Viktor’s research may remain. It could tell us if there’s an antidote or a way to reverse the reaction.”

  Vivian perked up at the first sign of a plausible solution.

  “Then let’s go immediately. Which way is it?” Camilla hesitated.

  “I—I need to do something first. I need to go back to Prague before we head there.”

  Vivian noted the way Camilla’s body tightened up and her eyes darted furtively. Gone was the confidence and candor that gave her personality a healthy glow. Instead, Camilla looked remarkably nervous as she shifted from foot to foot.

  Vivian swallowed hard.

  “Okay… When will you come back for me?”

  “I’ll be back before nightfall. In the meantime, you should find a place to hide. I’ll meet you in the forest when I’ve taken care of everything.” Vivian had no choice but to accept it. After all, she didn’t have the slightest idea where Syllax Pharmaceuticals was.

  “Okay.”

  Camilla disappeared into the brush, not once looking back.

  Vivian couldn’t silence the doubts eating away at her inside. Was Camilla abandoning her?

  * * *

  The sulfuric odor stung Nikolai’s sinus.

  “Something wrong?” an officer asked. “You’ve just been staring at the walls.” Indeed, he had been gazing lifelessly at the space in front of him for minutes on end.

  “He didn’t write ‘You cannot hurt me anymore.’”

  “Maybe our perp was in a hurry.”

  “Sure. Maybe he was…” His voice drifted, lost in thought. He had arrived at the water treatment plant within fifteen minutes of Vivian’s call only to find the incinerated corpse. Had she interfered with the murderous ritual? Nikolai pulled at his collar as the heat became unbearable. The officer next to him was also breathing heavily as sweat carved a gleaming trail down his forehead. At least he wasn’t the only one burning up.

  “Nikolai!” A forensic technician hailed him from across the room. “Take a look at this. There are salts near the body.”

  Nikolai steeled his stomach for what he was about to encounter. He first set eyes on the mound of flesh when he stepped into the room—but he refused to go anywhere near it. How could anyone turn a human being into such a disgusting shape without a face—that which fundamentally made them human? The killer had debased her to the point where he left nothing behind but primordial soup. It defied every moral conscience known to man.

  Or perhaps it was human nature to commit such vile acts against one another. Perhaps it was simply locked away under the veneer of civilization, an elected government, laws, religion, and a heavy dose of media and celebrity entertainment. Only those who had no respect for such antiquities revealed the beast that every man and woman feared deep inside themselves.

  Nikolai could almost feel himself melting when he came face to face with the woman’s remains. He could still see traces of hair and teeth lodged in the boiling mass. A ring of salts surrounded her…or it. The residue was mostly silver in appearance with blue flakes evenly dispersed throughout it.

  “What does this mean?” he whispered.

  “The killer must have used an agent or accelerant when he set the victim on fire. I can’t say for certain what he used until I analyze the remains.”

  The technician collected the debris in an unlined, metal can, carefully skirting the corpse.

  What else can you conclude about her death?” Nikolai asked.

  “She was obviously wearing clothes when he set her on fire. Have you heard of the wick effect?”

  Nikolai sighed. Just when I thought I escaped the Jezebel’s lectures.

  “Her flesh began to burn first,” the technician said, licking his lips as sweat dribbled down. “The melting human fat would act as a fuel and the clothing or hair would emulate a wick. It’s like an inside-out candle. You’ll never identify her now.”

  Nikolai only grunted in reply. He scanned the darkest recesses of the room, searching desperately for any trace Vivian left behind. How did the intrepid young girl come across this scene? More importantly, where could he find her now?

  “Nikolai… I…” His head whipped up at the sound of the technician’s voice. His eyes were glossed over in a surreal haze. “I feel…”

  Nikolai’s jaw dropped as the man keeled over, smashing his head against the floor. He staggered away from the corpse. The sulfuric smell was even stronger now, infiltrating every pore in his body with its rank poison.

  Across the room, another officer became limp and crumpled to the floor.

  “Fuck!” Nikolai yelled. “Call in HAZMAT! Everyone clear the building now!”

  * * *

  Paramedics were tending to the two fallen officers at a work post beyond the HAZMAT perimeter. One of the officers was lying on a gurney, breathing vigorously through a ventilator. Nikolai rested his hand on the man’s shoulder. The officer’s eyes flickered open and he met Nikolai’s gaze for a second.

  “Detective Koslov?” someone called. Nikol
ai boldly stepped forward to meet the man garbed in a protective suit. “Petr Krall, HAZMAT director,” the stranger said, offering his hand. “We’ve managed to identify some of the elements that may have contributed to the victim’s death.”

  “What is it?”

  “Please follow me.”

  Nikolai strapped on a respirator before proceeding inside the facility. HAZMAT technicians fully encapsulated in protective suits lingered at the crime scene.

  “There are traces of pyrophoric reagents and heptane around the corpse,” Petr said. “The likely culprit is R-Butyllithium. It’s an element that reacts violently to air and moisture. When it comes in contact with tissue, it releases flammable butane and corrosive hydroxide salts.”

  “How the hell did this guy get his hands on lithium?”

  “Butyllithium is used in the organic synthesis for pharmaceuticals. There’s only one place in the area where large deposits of it can be found. A pharmaceutical facility lies just beyond the outskirts. It’s worth checking out, but you will need special permission to approach the property.” Nikolai had to restrain himself from prying too much. Pharmaceuticals… Syllax…

  “Why do I need permission?”

  “Toxins. There’s a good chance your men will be exposed to poisonous chemicals and fumes. There’s no telling what could happen to you inside there.” Nikolai didn’t press the subject, anxious to turn it away from Syllax.

  “How do liquid explosives work?” he asked.

  “Liquid explosives tend to expand quickly and tear things apart. They burn so rapidly that they produce overpressure greater than the surrounding atmosphere. It doesn’t take much to spark a chain reaction. A minor shock can break the atomic bonds and release a massive amount of energy. In some cases, exposure to air or water can set off the chain reaction.”

  “Do we know what set this one off?”

  Petr made his frustration abundantly clear.

  “When the body is this badly decomposed, we’re pissing in the dark trying to figure it out. R-Butyillithium can react violently to water, if that gives you any clue.”

  “When will it be safe to bring forensics in here?”

  “I’ll give you a heads up when it’s clear. Until then, I’m going to ask your team to be patient and remain beyond the perimeter. We can’t afford to have any more accidents.” Nikolai solemnly nodded, imagining his comrades hooked up to the ventilators outside.

  “Nikolai, before you go… we found something else near the entrance.”

  “What?” Petr handed Nikolai a wrinkled piece of paper. The three words written down mocked him like spit dripping into his eyes. He read it over and over again as the blood rushed to his head.

  Diagnosis: Renata Ruzicka

  “Don’t you find it odd that the killer is so forthcoming about the identities of his victims?” Petr asked. “The body is burnt beyond recognition and yet he provides us with a name. It’s almost as if he wants to lead us to him.”

  Nikolai regarded the lumps of incinerated flesh that once possessed friends and family. To think that only hours ago she was a vibrant, young woman with so much to offer to society. Nikolai didn’t even realize he was crushing the diagnosis in his fist.

  “No. He just wants to bask in the attention.”

  With those venomous words, he left the HAZMAT team to tend to the decay.

  * * *

  Chief of Police Josef Láska sat at the head of the table, surrounded by high-ranking officers. Nikolai could tell pressure was mounting on him to apprehend the killer soon, and by any means necessary.

  “Dr. Gabriel, what have you concluded from Rezník’s state of mind?” Láska asked.

  Gabriel was a wiry fellow equipped with a perfectly creepy voice. Had he not become a criminal psychologist, he likely would have attained a flourishing career in voice acting.

  “He seems to harbor some resentment toward women who strike him as cruel and predatory, be that with their sexuality or psychological traits. From what we’ve learned, the killer targets women circulating in the psychiatric system. He may have access to medical records and documents. Every victim has a history of passive-aggressive tendencies or exhibits some form of sociopathy. Most interesting of all, his victims share the same physical traits.”

  “Then we need a list of every patient this psychiatrist had access to over his career,” an officer said. “Cross-analyze them and their physical traits. We’re looking for women with blonde hair, green eyes, and—”

  “Out of the question,” Láska barked. “The instant we cross that patient confidentiality line, we’re screwed. There’s no way we can dig up that information.”

  Dr. Gabriel cleared his throat, commanding the spotlight once more.

  “Furthermore, if this killer is indeed under the influence of some innovative drug, he may not be competent to stand trial.”

  Nikolai slammed his fist on the table.

  “Every crime scene indicates pre-meditation and planning!” he roared.

  “But he may not be in the state of mind to realize what he’s doing. I am in no way suggesting you don’t rack up every murder and torture charge you can throw at him. I’m simply warning you about what to expect. When you confront him, he may not even realize he’s under arrest for murder. Who knows what he sees behind his eyes? Maybe we’re all just objects to be played with in his depraved mind. Dolls that can be manipulated and savaged to his heart’s content.”

  A sudden migraine scorched Nikolai’s head, sending a blaze of fire all the way down his spine. He reached for his head as his vision began to blur.

  “There’s something I still don’t understand,” Láska said. “According to Nikolai’s informant, the killer targets women who resemble his abusive mother. If he believes he is killing his mother over and over again, why does he write a diagnosis with the original victim’s name? Why does he write down Krista LaCroix or Natalie Michalikova?”

  Dr. Gabriel peered above his folded hands.

  “It’s difficult to pinpoint what is going on in his drug-addled mind. He may be living two realities at the same time. He seems to … alternate. He alternates between the role of a kindly physician counseling a patient or the abused, little boy who wants to kill his mother.”

  He turned a sly eye on Nikolai.

  “Who is this informant? Can she be trusted?”

  “She led us to the killer’s hideout,” Nikolai said forcefully. “She uncovered the identity of the killer. Without her help, we wouldn’t be where we are now.”

  Dr. Gabriel studied him for a moment longer, perhaps expecting a name to bubble forth. When Nikolai didn’t oblige, his conniving smile only grew wider.

  “Let’s imagine for a moment Viktor is in the state of mind where he believes he is a counselor. He must have access to patient records stored somewhere. He most likely took them off site from the clinic where he worked. We’ll never know for certain.”

  No. His victims were test subjects for Syllax Pharmaceuticals, Nikolai thought. He photographed them and took down all their information—phone numbers, addresses, and medical history. He was soliciting guinea pigs for the initial testing for Syllax. No wonder we couldn’t find a common therapist among the victims. They never visited him at a mental health clinic.

  Nikolai sank back into his chair, closing his eyes and keeping ominously silent.

  “Viktor may be looking through his files, wondering when he will see his patients again,” Dr. Gabriel continued. “He also had pictures of his patients—as evidenced in his house. When Viktor’s residence was raided, there were numerous photos of women nailed to the wall—and they all resembled each other. He pictures his mother when he sees the photos. He becomes the abused, little boy all over again, except this time he is angry. Vindictive. Murderous.”

  “You’re saying something triggers these flashbacks?”

  “Yes. In his warped mind, he will always be a counselor. When he sees his patient records and the photos, it triggers the traumatic memories
of his mother.”

  Nikolai opened his eyes and saw a vision of Emily staring at him. Her clothes were tattered and blood was leaking between her legs. Nikolai’s knees bucked against the table, nearly overturning it.

  “I need to excuse myself—”

  Láska rose from his seat as Nikolai teetered away.

  “Nikolai, we’re in the middle of—”

  “This can’t wait, I’m sorry—” He thrust open the door and left the attendees looking belligerent and confused. He could feel their stares boring through his back as he retreated down the hall with a hand clapped to his temple.

  The door crashed open to his office and he slouched over his desk. His head felt like a grenade on the verge of exploding, whereat the fragments of his skull would fly wide like shrapnel. He swung open a drawer and clawed through the reports of patients prescribed Syllax, reports that he obtained by force from Dr. Cervenka.

  He looked over his shoulder as he exited into the alley. He sighed and shut his eyes.

  I’m doing this for you, Emily. He flicked the lighter in his hand, his thumb rolling feebly off the flint wheel. Finally, a spark flew up and ignited the patient records dangling from his fingers. He watched the paper curl in decay, the ink bleeding into obscurity, forever erasing the identities of those exposed to Syllax.

  He carelessly flung the flaming reports over his shoulder as he strode down the alley. Sidling into his car, he plunged the key into the ignition.

  One final task remained ahead of him.

  * * *

  As the day grew dimmer, so did Vivian’s confidence in Camilla’s return. She looked vacantly into the forest, praying for the moment when Camilla would reveal herself.

  She felt so confused and lost in the abyss of her mind. What was happening to her? Was Syllax eroding her senses at this very second, distorting every perception? How could she have killed an intelligence agent?

  But it was a man trying to hurt me! she screamed in her head. Nikolai can’t be right! Why is he doing this to me?