Payback

by T. S. Worthington

  He wondered who he was going to kill next.

  He fired up his computer and began searching for his next victims.

  Chapter 5: Convenient Lies

  Brian pushed himself back from the table and followed his wife into the living room where they both promptly plopped down on the couch. It was the start of an evening ritual that they had shared for most of their marriage. After he ate at least two platefuls of her amazing home cooking, they would each grab a few beers and settle in to watch some great television programming. Some nights it would be some of their favorite television shows and others it would be a movie. During the summer it was mostly movies since all the shows were on hiatus. That was fine with Brian because he loved a good flick.

  “So, when were you going to tell me?” Amber asked.

  Brian groaned silently to himself. He had not wanted to have this conversation at all, but he knew it was bound to happen. He especially did not want to have the conversation when he was settling in for a relaxing evening. But Amber was going to bring it up anyway. He pretended to be excited to talk to her about it because he knew that if he acted like it was killing him to talk to her about this issue then she would be moody and pissy at him for days. He hated it when she got that way because it made the whole house feel like somewhere he didn’t want to be.

  “What are you talking about, babe?” Brian asked just to cover himself in case she actually wanted to talk about something completely different.

  “I saw the news. I know that The Carver is back, “Amber said quietly.

  “Babe, he is not back. The Carver—Ian Jeffries – is in prison right now.”

  “What if it wasn’t really him?”

  “He is the one who abducted you. You were in his car that he was pulling into his house, where inside we found a lot of graphic evidence linking him to the crimes of The Carver.”

  “You don’t think he could have been paid to take the fall?”

  “You don’t pay people to go to death row, honey. It’s pointless to have money if you are locked up just waiting to die.”

  “I guess you are right, but I just feel so scared every time I think that it could be happening again.”

  “Stop right there, babe. It is not happening again. This new guy is just some whiney copycat—so lame that he has to copy someone else’s murders—who is starved for attention and affection. He is doing this because he is sadistic and he craves fame for what he has done.”

  “If he really is a copycat then is he choosing his victims randomly? Did he even know those poor people?”

  Brian was silent for a minute. He had actually been thinking that there might be a pattern to the victims, but as of yet they had not been able to establish one. Often that sort of thing required more murders before it could be established. Sad but true.

  “We haven’t found a pattern yet. And judging by the nature of the crimes he most likely didn’t have any ties or knowledge of the victims until he selected them to be murdered. He is a serial killer and that is pretty much how the sickos operate.”

  Brian hated sharing these intimate and grisly details with his wife. It was awful to subject people’s ears to these facts and musings. It was hard enough to think about it when it was your damn job.

  Amber looked as if she was about to cry. Brian wrapped his arm around her and held her close to him. He was glad that the kids were spending the night with friends. They did not need to know about any of this. They had been very vague about the information they shared with the kids about how they had met and what had happened to their mother. Amber had decided not to tell either of the kids about what happened, not even her daughter who had been almost three when her mother had almost been murdered. She was not Brian’s biological daughter so he had respected Amber’s wishes on this one to not tell the kids. Brian probably would have told her eventually though.

  “It’s ok. Baby, nothing is changing here. This guy probably doesn’t even know you exist and there has been nothing in either murder to suggest that the man wants to continue where The Carver left off or that he is trying to reestablish any of those old patterns. He is a copycat in motive only; for the most part he seems to be trying to establish some fresh ground.”

  Brian had no idea if this was a hundred percent accurate or not and he hated lying to his wife, but he currently did not feel that she was in any real danger. If that changed then he would have to think fast and advise her on a plan of action. But only if things changed.

  The Copycat as the police had dubbed him to the media did not seem to be following any clear or distinct pattern, other than frenzy. After talking with the forensic pathologist, Andrew Childers, Brian had understood a bit more about the type of offender they were dealing with. According to Dr. Childers the Copycat was in a state of frenzy. This was both good and bad news. The good news meant that he was less likely to care about being caught and more likely to make a mistake. He was like a drug addict who had to have his next fix of the drug or else he would go mad. He was willing to do whatever he had to in order to get that next fix.

  The bad news was that being in a frenzied state made him much more likely to be savage with his victims. He had killed once and enjoyed it so much that he had to do it again. Dr. Childers did not believe that The Copycat wanted to kill again that soon, but he had to since he was finally feeding the drug that he had craved for so long.

  Brian didn’t want to tell Amber any of this at the moment. It might help her on one hand understand the kind of unstable perp they were dealing with. The Copycat did not seem to be nearly as cool or calculating as The Carver had been. Or at least not until The Carver had gotten totally careless… with Amber.

  “I know I shouldn’t be feeling this upset, but I can’t stop thinking that he is out there watching me. What if he comes here when you are gone and I’m alone? What will I do?”

  “Honey, you are worrying over nothing. This is why I did not want to tell you anything about this until we had more information. The Copycat is not after you. He probably does not know who you are.”

  “There have been numerous articles and books that mention me,” Amber said.

  “But you changed your name. That was why we did that—to protect you. It was just a safety measure and it wasn’t even necessary. But even if this guy was trying to find out who you are he doesn’t know who he is really looking for. Kathy Hill is no more. Amber Graff is a completely different person. Baby, I would never let anything happen to you or put you in harm’s way. You know that.”

  “Why are you working this case?” Amber asked.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I know you. Why are you working this case?” Amber asked.

  “I just feel like it belongs to me, because of what happened before. The person committing these crimes is copycatting the crimes of someone I put away. That was the same bust that got me promoted to detective, if you remember correctly.”

  “I do, but I still don’t get it.”

  “I don’t know. After the first murder I was just going to ignore it, but then we got the word about the second crime scene which was a double murder. Do you believe that?”

  “The news never said that it was a double murder,” Amber said. Her voice sounded really meek. He hated it when she got down that way and he had to remember to adjust his enthusiasm. It was odd to be talking about his work with enthusiasm though, but he wasn’t sure that she really noticed right then.

  “Yea, we have been trying to keep as much out of the media as possible until we decide on a game plan for luring this guy out of hiding.”

  “What do you mean lure him out of hiding?”

  “Well, there has not been any real evidence left behind at either scene.”

  “Oh,” Amber said.

  Brian was not sure what she was thinking right then. He never was when she did that thing where she pretended to be fine but she totally wasn’t. He had stopped trying to figure out women years ago a
nd he had discovered that being married did not help in this regard at all. In fact, it just showed him how many more annoyingly weird things that women did that made even less sense. Now he just smiled and nodded when she did things that were way over his head.

  Amber began to dry her tears as she leaned forward into Brian’s comforting arms. Her soft body felt so good against his. He loved that he was able to console and comfort her. That feeling of being a protector for his family and a provider never went away. Brian loved being a family man, even though his work often put the people that he loved in much more jeopardy than they would ever know.

  He made the decision right then to have a patrol officer stationed outside his house all day until this psycho was caught. Amber was a very smart woman and he knew that she would figure out that there might be a good chance that The Copycat might come after her.

  Brian had not really considered this seriously until just then. He should have thought of it immediately and he wanted to kick himself in the nuts so badly for not even considering the possibility. His homicide skills were not even close to being what they once were.

  “Thanks honey. I feel a bit better,” Amber said.

  He wished that he could say the same for himself. After Amber calmed down Brian made an excuse to use the bathroom and made the phone call to the station to get someone out there. They had an officer parked outside watching the house within forty-five minutes.

  Amber would never know they were there.

  They tried to relax and get into a couple of movies on Netflix, but the evening magic was kind of ruined and Brian found that even after six beers he had still not calmed down completely.

  What was he going to do if the killer made an attempt on his family?

  Chapter 6: The Tables Turn

  Darla Fields breathed sigh of relief as she saw her apartment building looming in front of her at the end of the dark block. Her feet were killing her, she was getting a massive migraine, and on top of that she had just broken up with her boyfriend of two years. Just when she thought her night could not possibly get any worse her piece of shit car had just died for possibly the last time. She had just spent a bunch of money to replace the battery and then she learned that the starter was also bad and that was going to cost her a lot more money that she did not have.

  She hated having to walk in this part of town this late at night. She would have just called for a taxi, but of course that would mean spending more money that she really did not have to drive her six measly blocks. That was not happening so she decided to risk it and hoof it.

  This side of Phoenix was not exactly the most pleasant part of town to be in, especially after dark. Bad crime happened there all the time and on her lousy waitress job it did not seem like she was going to be able to move out of there any time soon.

  She was so sick and tired of her apartment and the car and the job that she could scream. It was like the whole world had ganged up on her and decided that she should pay for everyone else’s stupid mistakes until the end of time.

  But Darla had tried to accept responsibility for herself. There were certain things that had been stacked against her from the start though. Anyone would agree to that who knew her story, starting with her alcoholic parents being arrested for running a meth lab. Being taken from them had been both a blessing and a curse. She hated her parents. They were alcoholic, drug addict, abusive assholes who never fed her and when they weren’t passed out somewhere were basically just beating her ass all the time for no reason.

  She had been glad to leave because she felt that for the first time she was going to be placed in a nice home. But she had been placed in foster care with a seemingly reputable couple, the Watsons. Except Blair and Michael Watson were basically the spawns of Satan. After being molested by Michael on what became an almost daily thing—often while Blair watched and took pictures, Darla ran away and decided to take her chances on the streets. She was only fourteen, but she quickly learned how to survive. So life had not been easy for Darla. But she had refused to allow herself to become too embittered. She was a tough girl and she prided herself on the ability she had forged to make it in this world. But on days like today she wanted to crawl away under a house and die like a dog.

  She entered her apartment and closed the door behind her with a huge sigh of relief. She had not walked that far in a while and she realized quickly just how out of shape she was. Apparently her steady diet of ramen noodles and hot dogs was just not helping her maintain optimal fitness. But when you made minimum wage then you had to eat what you could find. Real food was difficult to come by.

  Darla put some hot water on her tea kettle and settled in for the evening, removing her tired waitress uniform that smelled like customer and burgers. She never would understand how her clothes smelled like food when she never actually cooked anything. It was gross. She realized that she needed a quick shower before she would feel even remotely like herself.

  Darla waited for the kettle to go off and then poured it into the tea pot that a friend had given her for her birthday last year. Then she removed the rest of her clothes, enjoying the feeling of the air against her skin. She felt like turning on the air conditioning but that was another thing she knew that she should not spend any money on. The electric bill would be astronomical if she ran the air conditioning even remotely as much as needed in the hot Arizona summer.

  After a quick shower she was feeling like a million bucks. She poured the hot water from the tea kettle into her cup and plopped two tea bags into it. That was her secret. Without two tea bags it always tasted like water that was going a bit stagnate.

  Darla sat down on her couch to watch some of her favorite shows. She had been working double shifts all week long and had been looking so forward to tonight where she actually could relax and do something enjoyable. It was a rare opportunity indeed for her to be able to just grab some quiet time where she didn’t have to worry about a damn thing. Of course she could worry about everything that was wrong in her life but it took too damn much energy and tonight she was just too tired.

  Darla was just getting into the newest episode of Criminal Minds when she heard the noise. It was a weird scratching sound, like a cat caught in the closet. She didn’t pay it much mind though; her kitchen appliances made all sorts of weird noises at night that made her think her place was haunted half the time. If she had been a more superstitious person she would have deemed the place possessed and fled as fast as she could.

  She turned the volume up on her show a bit more so she could drown out the annoying scratching sound as she sipped her hot tea. The beverage was warm and soothing, despite the eighty degree weather at almost midnight. Most people would think she was crazy for wanting to drink hot things when it was hot outside and she refused to turn on any more than her ceiling fan. But she was a rebel that way. She would have of course preferred a cold beer to the hot tea, but tea was so much damn cheaper. And both did the job of putting her to sleep nicely she found.

  The scratching sound came again, louder this time. She turned off the show and looked around listening very intently to the noise. There was nothing there. She was tempted to call herself crazy and just go back to the show, but there was something else going on here. Or was she just crazy?

  Darla decided that it was going to bug her until she went around and double checked everything. There had been some break-ins throughout the region recently so she did not want to leave anything to chance. She knew that if someone broke into her place they were going to be very disappointed because she really did not have much to take. But what if they wanted to just hurt her? She hated to admit that she was a rather attractive girl, but for some reason unknown to her she had a horrible time trying to keep a man in her life. She thought that it boiled down to poor choices. Just like the rest of her life. She hated to admit that the world sometimes was out to get her, but she painted a pretty big target on her back.

  Darla took one last sip of her tea and began
to inspect her tiny apartment. She checked that the door was dead bolted and locked and then she went slowly from room to room turning on all the lights and leaving them on—power bill be damned—and she was already starting to feel a bit safer. She checked the windows in every room to make sure that nothing looked tampered with. The bedroom was clean, as was the bathroom, and the little office nook where she liked to read sometimes. It was a relaxing escape but lately her mind had been too tired for even that she was finding.

  Satisfied and feeling safer about everything she went back into her living room and sat back down on the couch to resume her show. Criminal Minds was probably the last thing she should have been watching when she was spooked out about someone possibly breaking in to her place and killing her, but she loved it anyway. She had to watch anything with Shemar Moore in it, and this was supposed to be one of his last episodes. Her beautiful man was leaving the show she loved. She wasn’t sure if she should stop watching it just to boycott the show.

  Darla was just getting back into the episode when she felt the hand grabbing around her mouth. It was a heavy thick glove and it cut off every particle of air that she was trying to suck in as she gasped heavily for air. The air was just not coming. She couldn’t breathe. This fact was amplifying the fear that she felt quickly turning scared to full on panic.

  Her body convulsed spasmodically and involuntarily as every fiber of her being did its best to escape the clutches of whoever was holding her back. It felt like a man’s hand, heavy and strong over her mouth, pressing harder and harder. Then she suddenly felt an even heavier hand on top of her head pressing down on her as if it was trying to squash her skull between the two hands.

  Her body continued to writhe and move around on the couch, her feet flailing away knocking the tea over on her coffee table. The liquid splashed across the table and spilled to the floor. She could practically hear the steam response as the hot liquid hit the cooler floor. The idea that it could have been a weapon was popping into her head right then as well, filling her full of doubt which only added to the terror and panic she was feeling right now. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest as she tried again and again to scream through the glove, wasting more of the precious oxygen she had managed to hold on to before it had been smothered from her.