Abomination

by E. E. Borton

  “Okay,” exhaled Ryan. “Working off what we do know, we can establish we have at least two killers. Arrington being one, and the other being the unidentified suspect responsible for the murders in these reports.”

  “What I don’t get is why somebody wants us to believe Arrington is responsible for Syracuse.” said Dallas.

  “I believe it’s because they wanted to make us angry,” replied Ryan. “And it worked. I focused most of my energy on locating Arrington and very little on figuring out why he’s killing. They want us to discover where he is, not what he is.”

  “No offense, Boss,” said Dallas. “But you make that sound like a bad thing. I really don’t give a shit which part of his brain misfired. I just wanted to stop him, and if it meant killing him, then so be it. After we get the rest of them off the streets, we’ll let the Toms and Michelles of the world pore over the reports to determine what made good men turn into bad ones.”

  “Because we’re not hired thugs, Dallas,” replied Ryan. “I personally put three bullets into Peter Arrington and gave the order to kill him if he tried to escape. If I’m going to kill a human being, I need to know why. You should want to know why. I’m not a hit man for the government and neither are any of you.”

  “I don’t like getting played either, but the bottom line is that Arrington won’t be cutting the throats of any more women,” said Dallas.

  “But the other three will be,” said Tom. “If we could’ve interrogated Arrington instead of cutting him down, he may have disclosed some information that would’ve helped us find the others. Establishing a pattern allows us to anticipate movement, and there’s always a pattern. Even seemingly random events or taking victims based on opportunity versus stalking are patterns. The more we know about them, the more we’ll know about how to stop them.”

  “That’s the reason you and I are going to Baltimore,” said Ryan. “According to Scott, Kristina Anderson worked with all four Marines since the program’s inception. I believe she’ll be able to shed some light on their progression from squeaky clean soldiers into what they are now. I’m also hoping she’ll be able to tell us another way to go at Elliot instead of waiting for him to take another victim.”

  “That part I get,” said Dallas. “I don’t see going toe-to-toe with any of them as a smart option. Other than carrying a rocket launcher, we don’t have much of an advantage in a straight shootout. Imagine the damage Arrington could’ve done if he had gotten ahold of a weapon.”

  “Not that taking Arrington was easy, but I have a feeling the others are going to be much more difficult,” continued Ryan. “Scott alluded to the possibility that all four are somehow communicating with each other. If they know we’re closing in on them, they’re going to be better prepared. I don’t think the others will be leaving any doors open for us like Arrington.”

  “Understood,” replied Dallas. “What’s the plan in Baltimore?”

  “I’ll figure that out on the way there, but we need to check in at the field office before we head to the airport. I want us to be seen by the local feds before we disappear.”

  For the rest of the morning and early afternoon, the team pored over the stacks of files, and Michelle began digging into Kristina Anderson’s life. Tom drove Ryan and Dallas to the field office for some face time with the New Orleans feds. After the visit, he dropped them off in a questionable part of town near the airport. Ryan instructed Dallas to wait for him in an even more questionable corner bar while he met with his unknown contact in the city. He returned less than an hour later with the fake IDs used to purchase the plane tickets.

  They easily passed through airport security as Michelle started sending information on Kristina’s daily routine to Ryan’s phone. By the time they landed at Baltimore Washington International Airport, he and Dallas had already started working out a plan to make contact with her.

  They checked into a hotel room near the East Campus of Johns Hopkins University where Kristina Anderson was a tenured professor at the Medical School. She lived a few blocks away from campus in a modest house. Some of the files sent by Michelle were too large to download on Ryan’s phone, so he used his laptop to retrieve the data.

  “I’ve never seen so many acronyms after a name,” confessed Dallas. “PhD, ScD, MD, MPH. I’m surprised she doesn’t have an MPG. Earning one undergraduate degree nearly killed me. How old is this lady?”

  “Thirty-six, never married, no kids and lives alone,” responded Ryan, reading her file.

  “Thirty-six?” emphasized Dallas. “How is that possible?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’m guessing she has a house full of cats.”

  “No kidding,” replied Dallas. “Do you have a photo?”

  “Yeah, I’m downloading it with her itinerary now,” said Ryan. “Whoa. This can’t be right.”

  “Let me see,” said Dallas, standing over Ryan’s shoulder. “That’s a ‘Wow,’ not a ‘Whoa,’ Boss. How old is she in that photo?”

  “It was taken two months ago at a university dinner.”

  “That is one beautiful mind,” said Dallas.

  “Hey, there’s a note from Michelle under the photo,” chuckled Ryan. “‘Tell Dallas he doesn’t have a chance.’”

  “Obviously, she’s never seen me work,” gloated Dallas.

  “Obviously, she has,” responded Ryan quickly. “You and Michelle remind me of two third-grade kids pulling each other’s hair.”

  “That’s crazy talk, Boss,” said Dallas, defending himself. “There is no mutual attraction there whatsoever. She’s not even my type.”

  “Mutual attraction?” asked Ryan, cocking his head at Dallas. “I was just talking about the bickering. You just got busted, sailor.”

  “Anyway,” said Dallas, turning red and changing the subject, “The itinerary Michelle put together shows Anderson teaching a class until six tonight. According to her purchasing habits, she religiously stops by a bookstore after class called Drusilla’s. It’s about two miles from the medical school. She doesn’t own a car, but has a Metro card she normally uses for the train between seven-thirty and eight.”

  “Good,” said Ryan. “That gives us plenty of time to check out the area before we meet her.”

  “I take it you’ll make contact with her in the bookstore?” asked Dallas.

  “Yeah, that’s my brilliant plan. I’m just going to walk up to her and ask a few questions. I should know fairly quickly if she can help us. I want you outside looking for anyone that may be following her.”

  “Are we expecting company?”

  “I really have no idea,” admitted Ryan. “But nothing surprises me lately.”

  “This traveling under the radar is exciting, Boss. But I have to admit I don’t like the idea of being unarmed.”

  “I thought your mind was your deadliest weapon?”

  “Oh, it is. And it’s telling me we need to head out.”

  Dallas drove the car rented with the credit card that accompanied his fake ID. He dropped Ryan off a few blocks away from the bookstore which was located on Antique Row in the cultural district of Baltimore. It was shortly after seven when he entered Drusilla’s. He was a little surprised to discover the quaint store housed antiquarian, rare, and out-of-print books. Their main specialty seemed to be children's books, folklore, and fairy tales. With Kristina’s advanced education, he expected her to frequent a bookstore filled with textbooks and research material far beyond his own comprehension.

  Ryan walked nearly every inch of the store to locate blind spots and possible exits. He needed to make every effort to conceal his identity from anyone watching from outside. One public entrance and only two windows gave him the distinct advantage of eyeballing anyone walking into the store. He picked up a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales and took a seat at a table with a direct line of sight to the front door. Before he started reading, Ryan transmitted Kristina’s photos and other key information to his unidentified source in New Orleans. Forty-five minutes later, the bell chim
ed over the front door as Kristina Anderson walked into Drusilla’s.

  With her dark brown hair pulled tight in a ponytail and oversized reading glasses sliding down her nose, the brilliant doctor’s face lit up, resembling a kid walking into a candy store. She was greeted by an elderly woman rearranging books on a shelf who looked just as excited to see her. She immediately dropped what she was doing and quickly ducked behind the counter.

  Kristina wore a drab suit jacket and skirt with plain shoes that added only half inch to her already respectable height. Even with the obvious attempt to dress down, she was strikingly beautiful.

  “It came in this morning,” said the elderly woman, handing Kristina a package. They both were bubbling with excitement.

  The young professor gingerly opened the package and carefully picked up the rare book. “First edition, first issue of Treasure Island. I can’t believe this is mine, Emma.”

  “Oh, it’s beautiful, sweetie,” admired Emma. “I know you’ve been waiting a very long time for this one.”

  “My father started reading this to me when I was seven years old,” reminisced Kristina. “He’d come bouncing into my room after work and read to me until my mom would remind him of the time. After they tucked me in, he’d sneak back in and finish the chapter. He’d always say the book wasn’t ready to say goodnight.”

  “He sounds like a wonderful man,” said Emma.

  “Oh, he really was amazing,” said Kristina. “He read to me almost every night. When he became too sick to even hold a book, I began reading to him. He never stopped smiling while I fumbled through the words. We didn’t have enough time left to finish Treasure Island. I think that’s why I wanted the first edition. Whenever I open it, I can hear his voice and see his face as if he were still sitting on the side of my bed.”

  “Stop it, child, before you have me ruining this book with tears,” said Emma, sniffling. “How about I put on some tea and we turn a few pages?”

  “That sounds perfect, Emma. Thank you. I’ll be at my usual spot.”

  “Be back in a jiffy,” said Emma, disappearing into the stockroom.

  Kristina stood for a moment at the counter holding the book close to her chest. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Ryan overheard her conversation and knew she was somewhere far away hugging her father. For a brief moment, he thought about leaving the bookstore unnoticed and finding another way to get his answers. He didn’t want to bring the ugly reality of his world crashing into the peaceful daydream of hers. But that moment passed when he thought of the women who would be dying soon if he didn’t get those answers.

  “Dr. Anderson,” said Ryan, startling her.

  “Yes,” she said, quickly returning the treasure to its box.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you. My name is Ryan Pearson,” he said, producing his credentials. “I’m a special agent with the FBI. I was hoping to have a few minutes of your time.”

  “In regards to…?”

  “Your work with the Marines at the Michaels Laboratory in Maine,” said Ryan, wasting no time.

  “I’m sorry, Agent Pearson. I can’t openly discuss any of my work at the lab. But you should already know that.”

  “Scott Wilson gave me your name as somebody who could help answer a few questions,” said Ryan. “I understand this is an unusual setting to approach you, but I’m under some severe time constraints.”

  “Scott Wilson? Is he okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You could say we’re working together. Why would you ask if he’s okay?”

  “He’s a dear friend and I have my reasons,” said Kristina. “Some of those reasons being why I left the program. I am sorry, but I really can’t talk about our work. If you’ll excuse me, I have a little reading to do.”

  “Dr. Anderson, it’s my turn to apologize.”

  “For disturbing me?”

  “For having to tell you Peter Arrington was shot and killed by federal agents two days ago. He was wanted for the murder of three women in Virginia and one in New York. He killed one of his victims in front of me before I could stop him and murdered two of my agents with his bare hands. Right now we’re closing in on Richard Elliot who is also wanted for killing three women and will kill another very soon. After we find him, we’re going after Derek Mathews and Joshua Bell for the same crimes.

  “Dr. Anderson,” pleaded Ryan. “I’ve been assigned to hunt these four Marines and bring them in dead or alive. I’m trying like hell to find a way to do that without killing them or letting them kill anyone else. For some reason, I’m being kept in the dark about why these four men went from being model soldiers to brutal rapists and killers. I need help, and Scott seems to think you’re the one to ask.”

  Kristina stared blankly at Ryan for several seconds. He knows he fired some unbelievable words in her face, but he felt there was little choice. She closed the box around her book and tucked it under her arm. Without saying a word, she slowly walked over to a table and took a seat.

  “Peter is dead?”

  “He is,” said Ryan. “You don’t know me, but I hope you believe I had no choice.”

  “Did you know him?” asked Kristina.

  “Only what I read in the files. That’s why I’m here. I need to get to know all of them.”

  “So you can shoot them, too?”

  “So I don’t have to.”

  Kristina looked into Ryan’s eyes after what he said. He could see tears forming in hers.

  “Peter was a sweetheart,” she said. “On most days, I forgot he was a special forces Marine. He had a baby face and was always so polite. He’d talk for hours about his family and growing up in Virginia. Did you know he was the only son with four sisters?”

  “Doesn’t make sense, him raping and killing innocent women, does it?” asked Ryan.

  “You have no idea how ridiculous that sounds, Agent Pearson. No idea.”

  “Then help me understand how ridiculous it is, Dr. Anderson. Because what isn’t ridiculous to me is that they’ve turned into monsters. The men you speak fondly of who were assigned to your project are now serial killers.”

  “You mean the five,” said Kristina, correcting Ryan.

  “Arrington, Elliot, Mathews and Bell,” counted Ryan. “That’s four.”

  “Alex Tifton,” she said. “There were five Marines assigned to the Didache Project. They all received the exact same gene therapy treatments. They did everything together. Eat, sleep, train, and even go out together. When you saw one coming, you knew the other four were close behind. They were like brothers.”

  “Excuse me,” said Ryan, feeling his phone vibrating on his hip.

  “Boss, two players outside,” said Dallas. “Dark blue minivan. They’re definitely not pros. I saw them coming a mile away. They’re creeping up a few parking spaces every couple minutes and are fixated on your front door. They’re definitely scoping the doc.”

  “Good work,” replied Ryan, closing his phone.

  “Dr. Anderson, will you help me? Please.”

  Before she answered, Ryan felt his phone vibrate again. There was no need to take the call. He knew they were about to have company.

  8

  Chow

  The bell rang over the front door signaling to the storekeeper she had more customers. She stepped out of the stockroom, concentrating on not spilling the two cups of hot tea. Her attempt was useless as the two men carelessly pushed her aside while frantically looking down the rows of antique books. As the scalding water spilled over her hands, one of the men quickly returned, grabbing her by the throat.

  “Where is she?” he yelled in her terrified face.

  “I – I don’t know who you’re talking about,” responded Emma. “Please, you’re hurting me.”

  “Dr. Anderson,” he yelled. “I know she’s in here! Where the fuck is she, old lady?”

  “Hey, back door is open,” shouted the other man. “She’s running down the alley! Bring the car around!”

  The man gripping Emma’s th
roat coldly looked into her eyes and purposefully squeezed harder before he finally released her. As she slumped crying to the ground, attempting to catch her breath, the bell over the front door jingled again. The man turned his head to give a viscous glare at the new customer, but was greeted with a blinding heavy punch crushing his nose. His knees buckled as the unexpected and painful shock to his system dropped him beside Emma. His eyes were unable to focus as he was pulled to his feet, spun around, and pinned against the wall. A muscular arm wrapped around his throat in a choke hold.

  “I bet you didn’t expect this to happen while beating up this nice lady, did you, shithead?” asked Dallas, whispering in his ear. “Answer one question and I won’t choke the life out of you. Who do you work for?”

  “Fuck y—”

  Before he could finish his answer, Dallas choked the life out of him. Well, at least temporarily as he lay unconscious on the floor. Dallas searched him and took his wallet, cell phone, and gun.

  The other man darted into the alley after spotting Kristina running toward the street. He was in full stride when the metal trash can lid magically appeared, stopping his face while his legs kept running. If the metal lid didn’t take care of the problem, the brick alleyway did when the back of his head made contact. The entire event was so violent Ryan had to check his pulse to make sure he didn’t kill him.

  “That’s gonna leave a mark, Boss,” said Dallas, coming through the back door of the bookstore.

  “Did the other one see your face?” asked Ryan.

  “If he did, he won’t remember it. He had the old lady by the throat when I came up behind him. Looks like these guys want the doc pretty bad. They were just sitting in the van when this one answered his phone. They bolted out of the truck as soon as he hung up, like someone ordered them to taker her. What kind of asshole chokes an old lady?”