7 Deadly Tales (Seven Thrilling Reads!)

by Luis Samways

‘Fucking Bruins lost,’ mutters McKenzie

  He changes the channel. The news comes on. A headline scrolls across the screen.

  “Boston’s Christmas Killer strikes again!’ it reads

  ‘The press are seriously running with this,’ states Frank as he puts out his cigarette.

  ‘You know how it is, someone dies and they report it. The city goes to shit, they dance all over the fucking place, make a big fuss out of it and criticize us for not stopping it fast enough.’

  ‘Yeah, they expect us to crack it straight away, like they have it figured out before us,’ laughs Frank

  Shaw takes another swig and exhales loudly

  ‘We will crack it Frank, believe me when I say it. I am not going to sit on this one.’

  Eighteen

  Roxanne shifts her weight across the cold hard floor. She’s been sitting in the same position for a few hours now. It’s not unusual for her to space out for a long time. It’s what happens when you’re locked up from the daylight. The only light down there is the one beaming through the crack at the bottom of the killing room. She hears the screams again. It sends a shiver down her spine. Suddenly someone steps out of the room in front of her. It’s him. He disappears around the corner for a few minutes and returns, this time carrying a woman on his shoulders. He stops still in front of her. His eyes penetrate through the tight bars that surround her. He moves closer to the door and unlocks it with one hand, bracing the weight of the woman with the other. The door swings open and the Machete Man steps in. He breaths in deeply, his face is consumed by the darkness. Roxanne quickly jolts up against the wall. She can hear her heart banging against her ribcage. She starts to panic. He drops the woman on his shoulder. She falls and hits the ground, kicking up dust through the forceful impact. He stands still, surveying the terror in Roxanne’s eyes. He moves in a little closer and kneels down. His knees hit the ground as he runs his fingers through the dusty floor while feeling out the surface. He then gently runs his finger up Roxanne’s leg, she starts to shake uncontrollably. He stops his finger on her inner thigh; she doesn’t dare move a muscle. He smiles, his teeth shine through the darkness. He gets up and makes his way to the gate. He turns around.

  ‘Make her feel at home,’ he says in a sinister yet calm voice, his brash tones echo off the stone walls.

  This was the first time that Roxanne had heard his voice. He seemed genuinely intrigued by Roxanne. This was the very first time he had come into her cell, let alone talk to her. She was scared and on alert. She soon calmed down when he finally left. He disappeared into the killing room and left her feeling terrified but fortunate. She finally has someone to talk to. It’s been four years since she last opened her mouth up for more than a scream. She moved closer to the girl on the floor that remained still. The cold surface of the wall she was leaning against soon evaporated when her body’s temperature rose. Her heart started beating hard again as she graced a soft touch on the shoulder of the girl on the floor. The girl didn’t move a muscle. Roxanne remained next to her waiting for her to come too. Her mind was full of promise and hope, a hope that she could finally put her plan to work. It needed two people, and the second person had just been lumped onto her cell floor. Could things be finally going her way?

  Nineteen

  ‘This is getting ridiculous now; we’ve had over eight different calls about limb filled boxes. All of them were verified to be correct, no hoaxes what so ever just a load more decapitations,’ Says Alvarez as he overlooks his clipboard.

  Frank shakes his head in disappointment.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asks Frank

  ‘We are far too stretched to investigate all of these individually. We need to find what links these separate incidents together.’

  ‘Apart from the fact that they are all mirror images of each other, female victims, same sort of Christmas box, same wrapping paper, same decoration.’

  ‘Yes apart from that.’ Says Alvarez

  ‘Could they be a copycat killer?’ Asks Shaw whose standing in the doorway, overlooking the bravado between Alvarez and McKenzie

  Frank looks at the diminishing glint in Alvarez’s eyes. He can sense the commissioner’s lack of confidence in his own words.

  ‘I don’t know Chief, it could be a bunch of killers, and it could be one. Who knows? We don’t even know where these girls are coming from, or who they are, let alone how many people are involved in killing them.’

  Frank swallows hard as he prepared himself for some slick talking.

  ‘Look sir, quite frankly it doesn’t really matter what you think,’ hisses Frank as he grabs an idle mug of coffee on the Chief’s desk

  Shaw’s face drops as he looks on at Frank’s clear disapproval of the commissioner.

  ‘Who the fuck do you think you are talking to Detective McKenzie?’ Bellows the Commissioner as his face reddens with anger.

  Frank takes a long sip of his coffee and puts the mug down on the desk. He squares his eyes firmly on Alvarez’s face. He smiles a little, trying to weigh out his options, trying to find the right words.

  ‘I’m talking to the Commissioner of police appointed by the board over ten years ago. I’m talking to a substandard Detective that was given a fast track promotion to the highest ranking seat on the PD. I’m talking to a man that has back stabbed every single officer in this building to get to his current position. I’m talking to someone that after all these years of being a brown nosing asshole, still doesn’t realise the reason people dislike him. I’m talking to you Alvarez, a no good former Detective that is an even worse excuse for a commissioner. I work day in day out with some of the finest people on this very earth. I have the pleasure of working with some of the most dedicated men on the face of this planet. All of which do not apply to you. You see Alvarez, I don’t like you. I am not too fond of Chief Shaw either, not because he’s a bad Chief, quite the opposite actually, because it should be him who’s Commissioner. I dislike how he lets a little bitch like you boss him around when in all matter of fact; you don’t know shit about police work. Let alone being a normal human being. Now get out of my face before I give you a valid reason to fire me,’ Frank pulls another long sip of his coffee and slams the mug down on the table. He turns and winks at Shaw whose trying to contain his glee. He then turns back around at the confused and belittled Alvarez. He throws him the finger and walks out. The expression on Alvarez’s face doesn’t change. It just deepens. Shaw walks into the office and takes a seat on his desk. He picks up his name plate and buffs it. He places it back on the desk, facing the commissioner.

  ‘I think it’s best if you leave. Let us work in peace and quiet,’ says Shaw.

  Alvarez picks up his briefcase; he’s still holding a look of disbelief on his face. He quietly walks out of the room leaving Shaw to bask in his temporary elation. A buzzer is heard going off, its Shaw’s com unit on his desk. A voice cracks through the com, filling the room with static.

  ‘We have a possible missing officer. Officer’s name is Detective Eric Mullins. All units be on the lookout for him. He was last seen driving his on duty car, a ford Mustang Boss, it’s yellow in colour. He was last seen entering the industrial complex downtown. Reason unknown. Assumed police lead.’

  Shaw’s face drops as he digests the radio message. He looks down at his desk and picks up a case folder. He opens it and confirms his hunch. He rushes out of the room, disappearing out of sight leaving the file wide open on the desk. A piece of white paper is sticking out of the folder. It reads “Mason Humphries Street Cleaning”.

  Twenty

  Mullins’s vision had been blurring in and out of focus for a few minutes. He put it down to the long sleepless nights he had been enduring. All thanks to the current case he’s working on. He steadies himself against the wall as he remains seated in the waiting area. He looks around and notices the walls rippling. This isn’t something he has seen before, he isn’t used to hallucinating. Even in college he was a straight cut above the rest. He
didn’t take drugs then, and he hasn’t taken drugs since. If he knew about the certain side effects of a particular narcotic then maybe he could have caught on quicker. He just sighed and thought that maybe he needed some rest. The thing is he is currently occupied with the case and being seated in the main establishment of the man he’s investigating means that he just can’t fall asleep. This is business, and he has to be professional. He tries to keep his eyes open but is finding it increasingly hard. He looks around and notices the sides of the room echoing off the paint. He stumbles up and braces his hands against the wall, keeping him upright for a mere few seconds before his legs give way. He falls to the ground and catches some breath. His breathing grows heavier with every wavering second on the floor. He can taste the harsh cold floor as he struggles for more breath. He sees the light in the room blemish as it darkens. His heart starts to race at the overbearing thought of what is happening to him. He struggles to comprehend what is happening. Why can’t he move? Why can’t he talk? As he remains motionless on the floor, he realizes his fate. He knows this situation isn’t natural. He can feel the abnormal flow of blood in his body as it rushes to his head and makes him grip his finger nails into the cold concrete. He can hear the footsteps coming closer. His heart beat is in sync with the thumping vibrations on the floor. It speeds up as the footsteps come closer. He tries to manoeuvre his neck, the resistance is paralyzing. He manages to spot a shadowy figure enter the room. It’s followed by another. The two figures stand still for a few seconds. The last thing he hears is chilling to the bone as his vision rides out into black.

  ‘Get the tools ready,’ the voice says before Mullins succumbs to the deep sleep he had been resisting.

  Twenty One

  Diary entry number Two

  Dated 24th of December 2008

  Dear Elizabeth, I’m growing ever colder, ever lonelier in this place you have put me. Why can’t you be the one to drag me out of this harsh environment? The one to warm me up in the weeks that follow. It’s a time of giving, and all you have done is taken from me. You’ve squandered my spirit, decapitated my honour, washed my dreams away. In the tears of children and the cries of mothers, I am not loved. I never had a mother. I never had a family. When I cried, no one took notice, not even you. To this very day, the only thing left is the hole in my heart. One that you promised to fill, but you haven’t. It’s the eve before the messiah’s birthday. It’s a time of wonder and glee. A time I cannot fathom as anything less than torture, for it is these days that cling onto my soul for longer. The day when family and friends spend time together, the day I walk down the street and clean after the vermin. I see happiness littered everywhere. An ice cream wrapper, a discarded Christmas card, all of these things these people choose to throw away and leave half eaten, crumpled up on every corner. How can I live and prosper as a functioning human being when people throw away the things I never had. The things I’ve always wanted?

  It must be fate because nothing else makes any sense at all. The fast moving traffic, the incoherent people on the streets, the long gaged stares in the mall. These things are what trouble me. These are the reasons I have to do what I do. It all begins tonight. Someone will pay for the misgivings of this world. I so wished and hoped it would be you Elizabeth, but until I find you, someone else will have to pay for your lies.

  It isn’t always easy being me, but I assure you, it’s going to be even harder being you…

  Eli

  Twenty Two

  ‘A Christmas killer on the loose, a murder spree in Boston. Boxes filled with decapitated women. All this and more at ten,’ Saundra Austin says as she signs out on the news desk. She looks at the red light go off on top of the teleprompter. She sighs and lights up a cigarette. Her camera man and close friend Mike comes up to her holding a hot cup of coffee. He smiles as he gives the blazing white Styrofoam cup to her. She thanks him with a tired but appreciative look. He sits down next to her as he watches her go through her notes on the desk. The news room is emptying as people go for their dinner. She stays behind, catching up on the news events. She likes to be prepared and knowledgeable on the current affairs she’s corresponding on. She turns to Mike who’s on his Blackberry scouring twitter for updates on the field.

  ‘I can’t believe they are glorifying this story,’ Hisses Saundra as she looks at Mike.

  Mike looks up, half surprised at her sudden outburst. She’s usually the quiet type. That’s why they get along. She speaks too little, and he speaks too much.

  ‘What story?’ He asks

  She shakes her head in disbelief as if it wasn’t obvious what she was talking about.

  ‘The Christmas killer,’ she says

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I think they are glamorising the case.’

  Mike laughs as he puts his phone away and gives Saundra a sideward glance.

  ‘It’s the news, it’s what we do.’

  ‘What about those girls. Surely we should be taking a more gentle and personal approach with this. How about giving out some names?’

  ‘They told me that the police don’t even know who these girls are let alone what their favourite colour is.’

  Saundra shakes her head again.

  ‘Not even one hit?’

  ‘Nope, DNA has come back negative apparently.’

  ‘On all of them?’

  ‘Every single one of them’

  Saundra’s thoughts overtake her. She shudders at the thought of the mothers and fathers of these victims. They don’t even know their daughter is dead, let alone murdered.

  ‘It seems unfair.’ She finally says.

  ‘Since when has murder been fair?’ says Mike.

  Twenty Three

  ‘The results are back on the three DNA samples. We got no hits on either of them,’ says the woman in the white lab coat as she looks through her chart on her clipboard. She momentarily lifts her eyes off the chart and meets Frank’s fiery stare. He tries to hold in his disappointment. She can see the utter disbelief in his eyes. She pats him on the shoulder and slowly walks away. He watches her leave. She looks untouched yet weathered. He feels the same. This case is getting to him. It’s gnawing at every fibre of his being, its taunting him in every breath he takes.

  He sees an office cubicle in front of him. It’s empty. He decides to sit down in the vacant chair. He marvels at the family photos on the desk. He recognises the man in the pictures, its Mullins, the brash officer that helped save his life, and back him up in a fire fight a few months prior. He notices a note on the desk. It reads “Mason Humphries Street Cleaning”. It’s circled. He shoots up off his seat and rushes down the corridor towards the Chief’s office. Frank thumps his fist on the door as he reaches it. He opens it and finds Shaw looking agitated behind his desk. Shaw’s eyes widen as he sees Frank.

  ‘Sir, have you seen Detective Mullins?’ asks Frank while trying to catch his breath.

  Shaw shakes his head.

  ‘No, but I know where he is’ Says Shaw

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On a case working the street cleaning crew downtown. He went down there to ask them if they cleaned the street this evening and why. Apparently he’s under the impression that they have something to do with this.’

  Frank shakes his head

  ‘How can they be involved in this case?’

  ‘Well we were investigating the boss’s involvement in some underworld stuff. He was in pretty deep. Apparently he’s some big shot gangster from England now residing in Boston. He uses the street cleaning business to stay in contact with the big wigs of the city. Every major company in this city uses him and his men to clean up their commercial buildings. He’s quite close to the mayor. Some even say the mayor is in bed with this guy. That’s pure speculation obviously, though the newspapers will argue the corruption of the mayor till doomsday, that’s one thing they are certain of.’

  Frank shifts his eyes around the room trying to get to grips with what the Chief is saying.
/>   ‘How did he get off the racketeering charges?’ Frank finally asks

  Shaw smiles

  ‘Like every gangster before him, with a good defence council’

  ‘We need to get him out of there,’ says Frank

  ‘Why? Let him do his job.’

  ‘I found this next to a note on his desk,’ says Frank while holding a red Rose, the mafia’s calling card.

  Twenty Four

  ‘Wakey wakey,’ shouts the silhouetted figure towering over Mullins.

  ‘Wake up!’ The man shouts again, this time accompanied by a stiff kick to the face. Mullins winces in pain as he opens his eyes and looks around the room. He recognises the surroundings. He’s still in the waiting room. His vision is getting clearer. Suddenly he’s kicked in the face once more. The stinging blow catches his jaw, cracking it under the swinging foot’s weight. Mullin’s loses balance and hits the cold floor again. He can feel the warm blood escape his face. He opens his eyes once more; he can see the two shadowy figures standing in the same position as they were when he lost consciousness earlier on.

  ‘Grab his legs, I’ll get his arms. Let’s move him into the cellar,’ says one of the men. They both grab Mullins and carry him through the waiting room. They reach a wooden splintered door and crank it open.

  ‘This guy’s heavy,’ says the other man. Mullins eyes open to see the face of the man holding his arms. It’s the Italian man. He looks down at Mullins and smiles.

  ‘On three,’ says the Italian man

  ‘One…Two…Three,’ He shouts

  They both swing Mullins’s weight and release him in a forward motion. Mullins’s heart beats faster as he realizes at that split second what is happening. He closes his eyes and braces himself. The impact of him hitting the stairs is horrific as he feels his back give out. The next few rolls down are painless but soon become excruciating as he hits the last couple of steps. He finally stops dead at the basement floor. Dust and dirt are sucked into his nose as he hits the hard surface and gasps for breath. The two men clamour down the staircase. The Italian man reaches Mullins first. He sinks a couple of hard jabs into his back. Mullins screams in pain as he is stirred out of unconsciousness. The other man makes his way down the stairs two steps at a time. He reaches the Italian man and Mullins a few seconds after. He kneels down and grabs the reeling detective by his hair.