by Lily White
Serial Volume Four
Jaden Wilkes
Lily White
Contents
1. Patty Wilson
2. Jude
3. Patty Wilson
4. Ronnie
5. Donovan Blake
6. Patty Wilson
7. Jude
8. Donovan Blake
9. Ronnie
10. Jude
11. Jude
12. Jude, because after all, it’s always about Jude
13. Jude, Nobody Else Matters
14. Jude, of course
15. Patty Wilson
16. Jude, it began with him and it will end with him
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Copyright © 2018 by Lily White and Jaden Wilkes. Serial, Volume Four. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Everything is made up, from our twisted minds. If you do happen to resemble any of the characters in this book, we’d like to hear from you. We have questions about blood spatter, hunting knives VS kitchen knives and the difference between DNA breaking down during chemical cleansing VS exposure to the natural elements. Also what it’s like to fuck while being batshit crazy.
1 Patty Wilson
This had to be a coke induced hallucination. It had to be.
Patty shook her head but the beautiful woman didn’t disappear, she was still standing in front of her with bolt cutters in her hand and a horrific look on her face. Pure evil, that’s what it was.
Patty gagged and desperately tried to focus on what the woman was saying. The woman wanted her to help kill a working girl, a girl much like Patty herself.
Patty hated herself even more the moment she agreed to help out. In her fantasies, she always imagined she’d be one of those heroes who took action when faced with a situation like this. She’d sat in the comfort of her own room, buzzed on something, and binge watched shows like The Walking Dead, thinking about what she’d do in that situation.
In her mind she was always a hero. In reality she was nothing more than a desperate coward who was going to kill another woman to save her own shitty life.
But I have a baby, Patty thought as the other woman was setting her free. But what if the other girl, the dead girl, had kids too.
Patty choked back a sob and watched the beautiful woman slaughter the working girl, tear into her and make blood trails all over the body.
She looked down and saw blood spattered all down the front of her, tasted it in her mouth, saw it in her hair.
Patty started to sob. The beautiful woman turned slowly to Patty with a maniacal look on her face. “I’d advise you to shut the fuck up and get over here and help me clean up this mess.”
Patty scrambled to the woman’s side and said, “What do you need me to do?”
“First, stop sniveling. It disgusts me. Second, help me roll her up in plastic so we can transport her.”
“Where are we taking her?”
“Somewhere isolated but not too distant. She needs to be discovered.”
“Why?” Patty asked, her hand trembling as she reached out to pick up the dead woman’s foot to help roll her onto the sheet of plastic.
“I’m saving somebody’s life,” the beautiful woman replied.
They managed to roll the dead woman up like a burrito, Patty’s stomach roiled and growled at the image. She was so hungry and so filthy. She didn’t think she’d ever feel clean again.
“Now get some bleach and help me clean up this room,” the beautiful woman said and handed Patty some cloth to scrub with. “Don’t try anything funny or I’ll slit your fucking throat.”
Patty looked down and started to clean. It occurred to her who this woman was trying to protect. The man who’d captured her. She felt sick being involved in all of this, but she wanted her freedom.
And she wanted her baby. Her sweet little Sarah was waiting for her at home, and she would do anything in order to get back to her.
Including this.
* * *
After helping dump the lifeless body of the poor victim Patty had helped kill, she stood staring as the beautiful woman positioned the body just so, a razor in her hand carving initials into the woman’s chest – or what was left of it.
The kill had been vicious, the blood a deluge of crimson violence that had taken an hour to wash away. Patty felt frozen where she stood, her mind not quite grasping the horrors she’d faced.
“Does that look like a CK to you?”
Stricken silent by the odd question, Patty eyed the woman.
“Well,” the woman said, huffing out a breath in order to blow an escaped tendril of hair from her face. “Does it?”
“Y- yes,” Patty answered, her throat tight around the words. She nodded her head, not quite sure why it mattered what had been carved into the dead body. It was obviously dead, mangled and mutilated, but arranged in such a way that it appeared to be sleeping.
If not for the blood, Patty wouldn’t give the body a second glance if she’d passed it by during the night.
That was the thing with Patty’s profession. You didn’t pay attention to what lay in your path, be it a body or a needle or anything else that didn’t belong. You kept walking until you climbed into the car of your next client. You kept to yourself. You questioned nothing.
“Good.” The beautiful woman stood up to gaze down at her work. “I think that will save him.”
Both women stood over the body leering down at a life wasted and left to rot. Daring to speak and interrupt the silence, Patty asked, “Am I next?”
It was a stupid question to ask just because it invited the idea of her death. She’d wished to take back the words as soon as she’d spoken them.
The woman looked at her, blue eyes studying the way Patty’s body trembled in part because of the cold outside, and in part because of the violence she’d witnessed.
Patty couldn’t handle it any longer. It was as if everything she’d been holding deep down inside broke free in a flood of emotions that burst to the surface. She dropped to her knees in front of the unrelenting woman and started to beg for her life. She wanted to live like she’d never wanted anything before, more than she wanted to hold Sarah, more than she’d ever wanted her next fix.
“Please let me go,” Patty wailed and clutched at the woman’s hands. Her own hand still throbbed from where the woman had cut her, but it was nothing compared to the pain exploding in her heart at the thought of laying here in the cold grass next to the dead body. “I have a little girl. She needs me. Her name is Sarah and she’s the sweetest little thing you’d ever see. Please, I need to go home to my baby girl.”
The woman’s cool, calculating gaze raked up and down Patty as if she were nothing more than a pile of garbage. As Patty begged though, she noticed something flicker across the woman’s face. Patty hoped it was empathy, that the killer was softening towards her and would set her free.
The woman grabbed Patty’s wrist and pulled her up to standing. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.
“You can go,” the woman said, releasing Patty’s wrist and allowing her arm to swing free. “On one condition.”
“Wha-what?” Patty asked, hating the tremor and stutter in her voice. She sniffled and let the tears dry on her cheeks.
The woman’s eyes sparked with cunning and she leaned close to Patty. She curled her lip and said, “If you ever tell anybody about the warehouse, the man who captured you, or me, we will hunt you down and we will make you watch as we tear sweet Sarah apart bit by bit. Do you understand?”
; “Yes,” Patty replied in a quiet voice.
“I will then personally feed those bits to you one by one. And you will never see us coming, you will never know when we find you. But open your fucking mouth to anyone—your pimp or your parents or the cops—and your baby’s death is going to be your fault. Mark my words, we will fucking find you and Sarah. Now go!”
Patty didn’t quite grasp what had just happened, but she wasn’t going to ask questions or argue.
She simply ran, her feet leaving muddy footprints on the cement, disappearing within the light drizzle of rain that seeped from the cloudy sky like shimmering tears.
The night didn’t weep for Patty, however, because Patty was running free.
2 Jude
I stared at mother as she prattled on about the latest round of fights with her housekeeper, Beatrice.
“She had the audacity to add the cream to my coffee this morning, Jude. Can you believe that?”
“Why don’t you fire her, mother? You’ve had nothing but trouble with her since the beginning.”
Mother sighed and said, “It’s just not possible. I can’t find anybody to replace her. Especially not after…this.” She waved her hand at me dismissively.
“I’m sorry my wrongful arrest has been bad for staffing,” I said with only the slightest hint of contempt in my voice.
Oh she had to forgive my belligerence though, it had been three days since being detained in here and it was wearing me down.
She leaned close, looked around as though committing a crime, and whispered, “You haven’t seen…your…sister have you?”
“Not today,” I replied and glanced at the two way mirror. The visiting room was supposed to be private, but you could never tell who was lurking in the room next to us, listening to our every word.
“Jude, tell me you’ve broken it off–”
I put my hand up and she was instantly quiet. I think wondering…no…knowing that your son was a serial killer had gotten to her finally. Nothing else in this world seemed to shake my mother, but maybe this would mean she’d listen to me from now on.
I’m sure that deep in her gut somewhere she’d known all along, but this was the potential reality that she couldn’t handle. The scandal to end all scandals.
“Please,” I told her and dropped my hand, “We will not speak of it again. I will handle my affairs, and you will stay out of them.”
Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, like a fish, but she didn’t protest.
Had I known my murderous activities would shut her down like this, I would have revealed it to her years ago. It would have meant for much more pleasant family gatherings after all.
We finished up quickly after that and she fled the room like her hair was on fire. I had the distinct feeling that my mother was trying to distance herself from me.
I settled back down in my seat, folded my hands on the table in front of me, and waited.
* * *
It didn’t take long for Agent Blake to return to the room. I knew he had been watching me through the two way mirror, which is why I quieted myself and waited for his return.
“Agent,” I smirked as he sat across from me, folder in hand. “How nice of you to stop by for a visit. And here I thought just my mother was coming to see me today. Any word from my dear Pet?”
His jaw clenched at the mention of my pet, I had a sneaking suspicion Agent Blake had fallen for her. I wondered if she’d been fucking him the entire time I’d been in here. For some strange reason she hadn’t been in to see me since our last meeting.
That last fateful meeting. I hadn’t told her about our surprising relation, I hadn’t wanted her to balk at the thought of being with me.
For myself, there was no problem. I loved her still, in fact I loved her more now that I understood the intensity of our attraction.
Like attracts like. It was natural for me to want her, to claim her, to possess her. She was me, a part of me. She carried my DNA inside her body and our lives were meant to intersect, either as siblings, or as lovers. Sick, isn’t it? The harrowing truth that regardless of the relation, I still considered her mine.
I was simply pleased that fate had deemed us lovers. The thing I missed most while locked up was her. Her scent, her taste, the sounds she made as I plunged into her hot cunt. The thick, red blood beating a frantic tempo in her quivering neck as I filled her with my seed.
“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Donovan replied quickly. A little too quickly. I had assumed he’d told Ronnie that she wasn’t allowed to visit me anymore, and I now knew I was correct. He was the one keeping us apart.
I stood suddenly, making him leap to his feet. I leaned across the table, grabbed him by the lapels on his cheap suit and drew him close.
His jaw twitched and his pulse quickened. His eyes widened and I saw his pupils dilate in fear. He forced himself to relax and see what happened next.
I simply dipped my head towards him and inhaled, a deep draw of air through my nose.
I smelled her there on him. Her perfume, her soap, her hair products…and her cunt.
I released him with a smug smile and sat back down, leaving him standing and on guard.
“I see you’ve been enjoying her while I was away,” I said smoothly, “Thank you for tending to my dear pet in my absence.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Agent Blake replied and sat down in a huff. “It doesn’t matter anyhow, I’m here to talk to you about a murder.”
“A murder?” I asked, feigning scandal.
“Another prostitute, just how you like them,” he said and opened the folder. He fanned glossy eight by ten photos of a dead girl across the table and watched me intently.
I hummed like I was inspecting a fine wine, slid my palms across the images of her, bloodied with her throat gaping like a second mouth. The mannerism of the kill was a bit rough and lacked the same polish had it been me to commit it, but I respected it all the same. Murder was murder, after all.
I felt my cock harden at her image, her dead, glassy eyes and that blood. All that blood. I could almost close my eyes and feel it spraying down the front of me, hot and sweet.
I looked up at Agent Blake, raised my eyebrow and said, “I have no idea what this is about. I’m not a murderer. And even if I were, how would I have managed that whilst being locked up? I assume this one is recent?”
Blake’s eyes darkened and he looked defeated. He sighed heavily and pulled the photos together, lined them up and slid them back into the folder. “You are correct,” he replied.
The door opened and a senior agent stepped in, shot Blake a menacing look and said, “Are we ready to wrap this up? His father’s lawyers are already going to rake us over the coals. Let’s not draw this out.”
“I don’t know how you managed this,” Blake spat as he stood up and hugged the folder under his arm, “But I know it was you. I know you’re CK like I know you’re a sick fuck who has corrupted Veronica into believing she’s special. If you touch a single fucking hair–”
“So you’re admitting that you’ve been fucking my girlfriend,” I said steadily and stood to face him, “And that she’s still mine. That’s got to hurt, Agent Blake.”
“Cool it, Blake,” the other agent snarled. He turned to me, offered his hand and said, “On behalf of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, I would like to extend our sincere apologies.”
I took his hand, shook it, smiled and said, “No worries. You folks were just doing your job. I for one will sleep better knowing how hard the FBI is working to keep our nation safe.”
I smirked at Agent Blake as I passed him. The fury behind his eyes made me wonder how deep his rage went. And how far would he go to release it?
* * *
I entered my apartment and immediately knew everything was wrong. All my things had been poured through, and all my rooms had been tossed from top to bottom.
I thanked my good fortune that I had moved any evidence of my hobbies to th
e warehouse, including my collection of trophies as it were.
I’d always hated the word trophies. It was a profiler’s assignation to what I thought of as mementos. Trophies made it seem as though I were competing in something and winning a prize.
In my case, there was no competition and I was always the clear and obvious winner.
I spent a good hour or so going through my things, noting any damages or obvious scuff marks to send to father’s lawyers.
I finally sat down on my sofa, cold beer in my hand, and enjoyed the sensation of freedom.
While locked up, I’d allowed my mind to wander far too wide. I’d always convinced myself that I didn’t know why I killed, that I had an excellent upbringing and had a loving relationship with kind and caring parents.
My wandering mind had revealed many things to me, the exact nature of my family being one of them.
My father had been a real bastard to my mother, myself, and anybody else who had the extreme displeasure of being in his general area most of the time. It translated well for business, there’s more than a drop of sociopath in every successful professional, but for my little formless mind, it had been a disaster.
I’m not saying I would have grown up with feelings or emotions had I been raised in a different household.
I’m not even saying I want anything to be different. I rather enjoy who I am, unencumbered by the sloppy mess that emotions seem to bring to other people’s lives.
I am saying that captivity had been somewhat useful to me. I had learned something. I had made connections and found a correlation.
And I wasn’t going to do a damn thing about it.
