[Anthology] Abby & Sei Thriller Starter

by Ty Hutchinson

  Po Po ignored what I said and put a plate of noodles into the microwave. “While that’s warming up,” I said, “I’ll tuck Lucy into bed and check in on Ryan.”

  “Don’t take long. Microwave only need three minutes.”

  I hurried up the stairs. Lucy had just walked out of the bathroom, so I made like a monster and chased her into her room.

  “How come you’re home so late?” she asked as she climbed into bed and slipped under her covers.

  “Mommy had to go to Muir Woods. Remember the park we went to with the really tall trees?”

  “Oh, yeah. My neck hurt from looking at them.”

  “That’s right; it did.”

  She yawned, and I took that opportunity to bring the covers up to her neck before giving her a kiss goodnight. Her eyes were slowly closing. Yes! I stood up and turned off the lights. “Sweet dreams.”

  I closed the door behind me and let go a couple of fist pumps. It had been a while since I’d had one of those right-to-bed moments. Usually she pummeled me with a series of “why” questions, or begged for a story, or the infectious giggles would attack her. But as she got older, the stalling happened less and less. Even the tantrums were fewer and farther between. Bedtime was becoming a natural occurrence and not a chore.

  She went down quickly, so I was sure I had at least another minute or two left on the microwave timer. I stuck my head in Ryan’s room. Empty. When he wasn’t there, he could be found on the third floor. We had converted half of the top floor into a media/playroom, and he had taken to doing homework and playing up there so Lucy wouldn’t bother him. He had her convinced that the floor was haunted, so she never ventured higher than the second floor. I’m sure some psychological damage was taking place, but hey, if it got Ryan to study, great. I would deal with the fallout later.

  Ryan sat at the desk, his back to me, while he listened to music on his phone. When I placed my hand on his shoulder, he jumped, and I let out a laugh. “Got you!”

  “Abby,” he moaned, “I’m trying to study.”

  “And I’m trying to say hello.” I gave him a hug and kiss. “History?” I asked.

  “Reading comprehension,” he corrected.

  “How’s it coming along?”

  “Pretty good. It’s one of my easier subjects. Math is the toughest.”

  Ha! Stereotype debunked. I pity the fool that tries to copy off my kid during a math test. He’s following in my footsteps. I pinched myself as a reminder to look into a math tutor for him. I really didn’t want him to struggle in any of his subjects.

  I noticed a bruise on the back of his neck. “What happened here?” I asked, pulling his collar down a bit.

  “Judo.”

  “Someone do a move the wrong way?”

  “Sort of. We were practicing flips, and my partner didn’t execute well enough. The back of my neck hit his knee.”

  “Ouch.” I touched it gently. “Does it hurt?”

  “No.”

  Ryan had come a long way from the little, whiny boy I remembered when we first met. I like to think I toughened the kid up and that his father was looking down at us with a smile. Judo, however, was the driving force behind his newfound confidence. He’d even started to take an interest in coming to the gym and hitting the heavy bag with me. I remember one day he got cocky and suggested we spar. It might have had something to do with him coming home after 5:00 p.m. on a school day and me doling out a week of no Internet, except for homework, as punishment. I told him, “Fine. Let’s go.”

  We both entered the ring. Ryan had a silly grin on his face and started moving his feet back and forth like a boxer. He jerked his head from side to side. I suspected he thought I would take it easy on him. I didn’t.

  The entire session lasted a few seconds. He threw a jab and came up short. I followed up with a straight right and flattened his nose. I didn’t draw blood, but I had made sure to put a little heat behind it, enough to sting. It was a friendly reminder to never underestimate his mother and taught him a lesson that girls are as tough as boys. That day also had me remembering how my father gave me my first black eye. It was his way of saying, “Come on. It’s time you learn how to box.”

  I knew my father loved me, even if his ways of showing it were unconventional. He wanted two things for me: to be independent and to be able to protect myself. “If you can master those skills,” he constantly repeated, “you’ll be able to handle whatever life throws your way.” I liked to think I was instilling the same virtues in Ryan.

  As I left Ryan to his schoolwork and headed back downstairs, my phone started to ring. I removed it from my back pocket and answered, only to hear the haunting voice I hadn’t heard in over a year.

  “Ab-by.”

  The Monster!

  The Monster was the nickname earned by one of the FBI’s most wanted. I thought it fitting and refused to call him anything else. That’s what he was, and it’s what he deserved to be called. It had been over a year since I had last spoken to him, right before he slipped through our grasp. We never could confirm whether he left the country or even the state. It was like he vanished into thin air, never to be seen or heard from again. I had just stepped off the stairs onto the second level of our home when I responded.

  “I would call you by your name, but you don’t deserve that. They still call you Monster, or is it Prick nowadays?”

  “Ah, you still have that mouth of yours.”

  “And you’re still a scared man on the run.” I moved quickly down the hall to the window that looked out over the front of our house. I gently parted the curtain and peeked, watching for any sort of movement in the shadows. Part of me thought he might have never left the city, but I knew that was unlikely. We had his picture blasted on every news station and newspaper in the state of California. Someone would have seen him. Hearing his voice again had me wondering how he had stayed underground for such a long period of time.

  “Run? Who’s running?”

  “You mean to tell me you’re still in the country?”

  “Country? Why, Ab-by, I’m in your backyard.”

  My stomach dropped, and my heart lurched from my chest. I spun around and bolted down the hallway, then down the stairs two at a time. I still had my weapon holstered underneath my hoodie, and within seconds, I had it drawn. I sprinted by Po Po, telling her to stay in the kitchen. I didn’t bother peeking out the back door, choosing instead to flip the light switch and burst onto the screened-in porch. It took seconds to clear the area before I moved into the yard itself. My heart thumped against my chest, and every sense I had remained on high alert. My breathing was elevated, but I remained focused. I hoped he had made the dumb mistake of showing up at my home. If you had asked me earlier how I would have reacted in this situation, I couldn’t have told you. But that night, I discovered I was angry. How dare that bastard come onto my property and threaten my family and me?

  I could hear the faint sound of laughter as I turned around searching the yard for him. It took a moment before I realized he was still on the phone I had shoved into the front pocket of my hoodie.

  “Ab-by? Can you hear me?”

  I brought the phone up to my ear.

  “Guess what? I’m not there.” More laughter. “You want to know what the best part is? The next time I call, you won’t know whether I’m toying with you or not.”

  11

  That same night Jerry and Vicki were out on the town, taking in San Francisco’s eclectic nightlife. They had caught a show at the Curran Theater and were enjoying a few cocktails at Bourbon and Branch, a speakeasy on Jones Street.

  “What a charming bar,” Jerry said as he looked around.

  It certainly wasn’t typical. For one, reservations were needed to receive a password to get in, as well as to receive the address. From the outside, a passerby saw only an unmarked door: no window, no sign, nothing. However, inside was quite the opposite. It was plush and ornate. The floors, booths, bar, and built-in bookcases were all fashioned
out of polished wood. The wood finishes played up the era of Prohibition, but the lighting and crushed red velvet patterns lining one of the walls kept the vibe current and hip.

  Unlike a bar packed with standing room only, this one had individual booths. According to the house rules, standing wasn’t allowed around the bar—sitting only. And patrons took the term speakeasy literally. Everyone spoke in hushed tones, much like Jerry imagined they had back in those days.

  Vicki beamed back at her husband. “Isn’t the whole secret entrance so cool?”

  “It is. I quite like it.” Jerry looked at his watch before picking up his glass and swirling the amber liquor around.

  “What’s the matter, honey? You don’t want to leave, do you?”

  “No, not at all. But I’m wondering if we’ll find what we’re looking for here. It’s almost midnight, and as much as I love this place, we have a task at hand.” He was always the more pragmatic of the two.

  “Well, I, for one, wouldn’t mind having to extend our stay a bit longer if we had to,” Vicki replied before taking a sip of her drink.

  “I know you love it here, dear, but we can’t stay forever.”

  Vicki relaxed her shoulders and held her glass with two hands. “I’m just so enjoying our time,” she said with a pout before turning it into a smile and singing the city’s famous song.

  “Speaking of leaving your heart in San Francisco,” Jerry said, triggering a burst of laughter from the two of them.

  Vicki followed that up with, “Thump. Thump.”

  Anyone sitting next to them and hearing the conversation would think nothing of it except maybe that they were having a good time and cracking a few inside jokes between them. Pretty normal stuff, except the Carlsons weren’t normal people.

  They were in San Francisco, and they had a quota to fulfill—three down, two more to go. The way Vicki saw it, there wasn’t any real rush; they were supposed to be on an adventure full of fun. So what if they played tourist a bit longer than they had planned? It hurt no one, and it gave their victims an extra day or two of life.

  But now that they had their next directive, Jerry had become extremely focused. The answer they received earlier in the day from the fortune cookie factory was the word “heart.” It allowed them to unlock their fourth objective, which called for them to leave someone’s heart in San Francisco. He couldn’t help but start planning. The kill was hardwired into him. Vicki as well, but she had an easier time controlling her appetite. Once Jerry fell into kill mode, there was no switching it off.

  Vicki held up her rocks glass. “Here’s to finding a heart, whether it be tonight, tomorrow or the next day.”

  Jerry nodded and tinked his glass against hers.

  Vicki watched her husband. His concentrated stare in his glass, the bouncing of his left leg, the biting of his lower lip—she knew all the signs. She had done her best to prolong the inevitable, but it wasn’t like she didn’t look forward to what was coming up. She did. And thinking about it while watching her husband started to stoke her internal desires. She, too, would become cold and calculating. When she shifted into the same state of mind as her husband, she was equally as dangerous. Even Jerry wasn’t safe. But he was unaware of that.

  12

  The next morning, I gave Reilly the heads up about the phone call.

  “Sheesh, Abby. Are you okay?” He sat up in his chair, and his eyes softened with concern, something I didn’t always see from him.

  “I’m fine,” I answered. “To be honest, I was shaken at first, but only because the call came unexpectedly.”

  “Of course. That’s a natural response. Remember, people like him are cowards. That’s why they do their tormenting while hiding. He’s a weak and pathetic man.”

  I couldn’t have agreed more with Reilly. I wasn’t afraid of the Monster but knowing that sicko was out there and I had to constantly watch my back was an irritation. I wanted nothing more than to put a slug in his head.

  “Is that all he said?” Reilly asked, leaning back and drumming the armrest of his chair.

  “Yeah. And then he kept laughing. I have no idea if he’s still in the city or not. I didn’t detect any background noise, and he called from a blocked number.”

  “I can look into getting a security detail outside your house—”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “You want a new number?”

  I took a moment to think about Reilly’s offer. “No. I want to stay in touch with him. It’ll keep me on my toes. Plus, if he feels like he can keep calling me, he might make a mistake, and that’s how we’ll get him.”

  Reilly lowered his glasses from his head to his nose. “All right. Keep me posted on the calls.”

  He looked down at his laptop and started to type but realized I was still sitting across from him. “Is there something else?”

  “Uh, actually, you called me in here, but I brought up the phone call, and we never got around to why you called me in here.”

  Reilly threw both hands up in the air. “You’re right. Sorry, been a little distracted lately.”

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Listen, I received a call the other day from a Captain Richard Cavanaugh from SFPD, Central District. He said he has two detectives working a couple of homicides, and they’re of the opinion that they might have a serial killer on their hands.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He didn’t go into the details too much, but he asked for a meeting with his two detectives and us. He wants our take on their reasoning. If it seems likely that they are right, he wants to know if we could help them out with a profile on their killer. As I told you yesterday, you’re our best when it comes to stuff like this. Will you meet with them?”

  “Sure. Not a problem.”

  “By the way, how’s the investigation on that hiker coming along?”

  “It’s coming. I’ll have more to convey later today after I do a little more digging.”

  Reilly nodded and went back to typing on his laptop, and I went back to my desk.

  I was curious about the detectives’ findings, since I had come to a similar conclusion with the Taylor case. I dialed the Oakland offices and asked for Agent House.

  “Abby, good to hear from you. How are you and the family doing?”

  “I’m doing well. The kids are busy with school, and well, you know my mother-in-law.”

  “That I do,” House said, laughing. “I hear you got lucky and picked up my leftovers.”

  “Yeah, way to stir up the pot and pass it along,” I joked.

  “Seriously, though, I’m sorry you were handed this mess. Who’d’ve thought we’d find a frickin’ body up there?”

  “It’s fine. Listen, I wanted to pick your brain a bit more. Mind if I stop by?”

  “Sure. I’m in the office all day.”

  Time was a factor, so there was no sense in putting off our meeting. I sent a couple of emails and stopped by the ladies’ room before leaving. As I was about to enter the elevator, I heard someone call my name.

  “Agent Kane.”

  I turned around and saw a man, a young recruit straight out of the Academy, hurrying my way.

  “Agent Kane?” he called out once more. This time his voice wavered.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m glad I caught you. Special Agent Reilly wants to see you right away in his office.”

  “About what?”

  “Uh, I’m not sure.” He looked a little flustered. Poor thing, he only started last week. Heck, even I couldn’t remember the guy’s name. “I know he has a couple of SFPD detectives in his office.”

  That was fast. “All right. Thanks,” I said and gave him a pat to his arm.

  As I reached Reilly’s office, I heard voices I didn’t recognize. One was loud, boisterous and had an accent, and the other… Well, it wasn’t anything—just forgettable.

  As I turned into Reilly’s office, I immediately stopped as
if a force field had prevented my advancement. What I saw made me feel like I was teleported into an episode of The Twilight Zone, because standing in front of me, with that toothy grin of his, was Detective Kyle Kang.

  13

  To an outsider, it must have looked like an old-time vaudeville act, with Kang pointing at me as he struggled to get at least one coherent word out of his mouth. “Wait, you work here?” He finally managed.

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Apparently you still need my help.”

  “You’re an agent?”

  “I know. You were hoping for free tickets to the museum, right?”

  His partner had put two and two together and burst into big belly laughs.

  Reilly was in the dark. “I guess you guys know each other,” he offered.

  “Detective Kang and I have met on a few occasions, though I believe this is the first time he’s discovering that I work for the FBI.”

  “Agent Kane is our best when it comes to cases involving heinous and sexual crimes,” Reilly told Kang and his partner, “especially those involving a serial killer. She also has a tremendous understanding of how criminal organizations work, having run the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau back in Hong Kong.”

  “Hong Kong?” Kyle repeated.

  “That’s right. Abby joined the Bureau about four years ago.”

  “Give or take a few months,” I added.

  “Look, Detectives, I’m doing your captain a favor here and allowing my agent to lend her expertise to your case,” Reilly piped up. “You can take it or leave it. We have plenty to do around here.”