by S. E. Green
The stairwell sits directly to the right and we trot up the steps to the third floor. The door opens to a long carpeted hallway, making the building seem more like a hotel than a place where people actually live.
We pass unit 1, 2, 3…and come to stop at the white door for unit 5.
“You seem so calm,” Adam whispers.
Yeah, I probably should seem more nervous. My calmness is a giant red flag that I’m way too acquainted with this lifestyle. “Beta-blocker,” I tell him.
“Oh, that’s a good idea.”
I slip my gloves on, and he does the same. I punch in the code to their door (again, thanks to Adam) and with a slight beep, it opens into a living room. My core temperature runs hot, and I welcome the frigid air they have the unit set to. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Strangler.
The place looks recently cleaned with polished tile floors, pale green fabric couches, and gleaming wood furniture. A salt lamp sits over in the corner, providing the only light. The master suite spans the area to the left and on the other side of the living room sits an open kitchen. One bedroom, clean, and organized condominium—it’ll be easy to search.
Adam shuffles in. “So what are we looking for?”
“Anything. Proof that our suspicions are correct.”
Adam heads into their bedroom, and I go straight to their kitchen. I spend a few seconds looking in the cookie jar and in the coffee canister. I open up a cereal box and rifle through their vitamin collection. Nothing weird here.
The living room comes next but there’s nothing to search. There is no entertainment center, just a big screen attached to the wall. My gaze goes across the black and white photos framed and hanging on the pale blue walls.
I wander into their bedroom and find Adam in their walk-in closet with Mrs. Strangler’s things on the right and Mr. Strangler’s things on the left. Color coordinated, perfectly spaced hangers, shoes neatly on display.
“I’m afraid to touch anything,” Adam says. “It’s too organized. They’ll know.”
“I agree.”
Back in their bedroom, an office takes up one corner and I head over to browse their filing cabinet. It’s not even locked and I carefully thumb through the alphabetized and labeled folders. INSURANCE, MORTGAGE, KIA…
Nothing here either and I turn to see Adam sliding open the drawers of their matching maple dressers.
Another flat screen sits mounted on their wall with an internal DVD player. I push the eject button and find the slot empty.
I think we’ve wasted our time.
As Adam closes one drawer and opens the next, my eyes fall to the king size bed, the maroon comforter, and the dust ruffle. Who has a dust ruffle?
Kneeling down on the white throw rug, I peek under their bed and see a large brown leather trunk with black hinges. I try not to get too excited as I slide it out into the open and find it locked.
Using my picks, I work the lock and a few seconds later it pops open. I don’t bother hiding my smirk. Gotcha.
Moving in to look over my shoulder, Adam lets out a low whistle. “Yes.”
I run my gloved fingers over the items: restraint kit, handcuffs, whip, blindfold, ball gag, cock rings, shackles, rope, paddle, butt plugs, vibrators, a flogger, and on and on, like something out of Fifty Shades. Okay, this proves they like a bit of kink, but it doesn’t prove they strangled those girls.
I pick up an oversized black wallet and zip it open to see several silk scarves in various colors folded nice and neat. Three of the four girls were strangled with silk scarves. This is good.
Adam kneels down beside me and pulls open a panel in the bottom of the trunk. Inside the compartment lay several flash drives. He grins at me as he takes one and walks it over to the wall mounted TV. He slides it in the port and turns on the television and there it is in full color—the sex tapes with Scott and Ted and the girls.
Adam asks, “How much you want to bet this is why my brother was over at Ted’s house that night? He knew Ted gave the Garners these videos.”
I nod because it is a solid hypothesis. Scott and Ted were getting freaky with young women. Ted took it one step further, giving out these videos to the Garners. Scott found out and went over to confront him… Of course, that doesn’t explain why Scott had a knife on him.
Honestly, I don’t care why Scott was over at Ted’s house that night and I probably will never know. Any way you look at it, Scott and Ted were both wrong.
“Then the Garners watch these and they get off on them,” Adam continues with his thoughts, “and that’s how they pick their victims.”
I pick up the remaining three flash drives. “Let’s see what’s on these.”
The first one contains porn—gay, straight, and BDSM stuff. The second one contains the Garner’s doing freaky things to each other right here in this room. It’s not the freaky things that bother me, I mean to each their own, but when I see several clips of them practicing erotic asphyxiation with their hands and with scarves, that’s just too close for comfort.
The third drive contains them with other people—women, men, young, old—but it’s not filmed here, it’s filmed someplace else, and I make a mental note to see if they own any other properties.
“Look at that,” Adam whispers, mashing his finger to the screen.
In the video the room is dark and I squint my eyes, studying, and it only takes a few seconds for me to realize it’s one of the strangled girls. She’s the one holding the silk scarf, wrapping it around Mrs. Strangler’s throat.
I watch as Mr. Strangler brings his wife close to orgasm orally and right before she reaches the peak, the girl tightens the scarf. Mrs. Strangler slowly loses consciousness, and right as she’s about to pass out, the girl loosens the scarf and Mrs. Strangler’s entire body arches off the bed with the orgasmic release.
Still watching the screen, Adam swallows. “Holy shit.”
Yeah, holy shit indeed.
“Evidence, lab results, search warrants. We just accomplished what all the detectives on this haven’t been able to,” Adam says as he removes the flash drive and puts it back. “What we’re doing right now, this is definitely the way to go.”
I know and I agree. I haven’t been this excited in a very long time.
“So what now?” He asks. “We take Mr. and Mrs. Garner?”
I laugh. “No. This is merely step one. Step two is that we begin following them and learning their routine. I also want to check into other properties that they may own.”
Adam’s excitement deflates a little. “So we could still be at this weeks from now?”
I look at his dejected face, and I’m not quite sure what he expected. Did he think we were going to do something tonight? “Yes, it could be weeks before we’re ready to make a move.”
“We’re not going to stop, though, right?”
I study his expression and what I see there reminds me too much of myself. Interest. Eager. Curiosity. Impatience. All of that coupled with the intellect to understand the grand scope and the necessity for a plan.
“No, we’re not going to stop,” I assure him.
44
EARLY THE NEXT morning, Tommy rumbles up on his motorcycle, and I’m already outside waiting. He smiles at me as he hands me an extra helmet. “Ready?”
“Absolutely.” I snap on the helmet, swing my leg over behind him, and take my time sliding my hands and arms to settle around his firm stomach.
He pulls away and through my neighborhood, winding through town, and takes back roads all the way to our zip line adventure. I don’t like it when he gets on the Interstate. It reminds me of that time he nearly killed us with his recklessness.
The back roads, though, are the best. The curves and hills, the dips and play of shadows, the trees and acres of empty land, the sun and crisp air, and the smell of clean country. But my favorite part is when I close my eyes and let my arms elevate beside me with my fingers stretched wide and open, and I breathe, just breathe, and forget about my entire life
.
Yes, that is my favorite part.
An hour later we pull into a gravel parking lot and park between a van and a truck. We take our helmets off, and before I’m even off the bike, Tommy’s grabbing me and kissing me, and eagerly, I kiss him back.
“I plan on doing a lot of that today,” he tells me.
Me, too.
We make our way across the parking area and over to where the office sits. Tommy made a reservation, and after checking us in, we go with a small squeaky voiced girl to get suited up.
After demonstrating how we should attach the harness and tether, the squeaky girl comes to check my gear first before moving on to Tommy where she takes entirely too much time pulling and tugging and “checking” his gear, too.
When she leans down to inspect God-knows-what between his legs, I move in. “He’s got it. Let’s go.”
Tommy laughs, and I roll my eyes.
Outside the squeaky girl walks us through the safety procedures, detailing how to clip and unclip the karabiners on the zip-lines, and she giggles as Tommy demonstrates the techniques.
Finally, she nods us up the first ladder, and when I glance back, I see her staring at Tommy’s butt. I turn fully to look at her, or rather glare, and she quickly spins away to head back into the office.
Tommy gives me playful nudge up the ladder. “Go, you gorgeous jealous girlfriend.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Mm, hm.”
Okay, maybe I am.
A few minutes later I’m standing high in the trees on a platform staring down at Tommy climbing up the ladder. I unclip the karabiner from my harness and onto the wire while I wait. He glances up at me, making a face.
Making faces at someone is not something I do, but I go with it, making one back, and Tommy laughs. God, I love his laugh.
He reaches the platform and clips on before grabbing the chin strap of my helmet and tugging me in. He gives me three quick kisses on the cheek. “I said I was going to be doing a lot of that today.”
“Sounds good to me.” With a smile, I turn away, kick my feet out and zoom fifty yards or so over to the next platform.
My shoes hit the wood planks and I turn to watch him zipping toward me. As he does, he lets out a silly Tarzan yell that echoes through the trees.
“You’re an idiot,” I yell back, and he laughs.
He comes in for a landing, and this time I tug him in for three quick kisses.
And on it goes, zipping from platform to platform—laughing, yelling, making faces, quick kisses, and simply being in the moment. It’s a side of me I don’t recognize, but I like it.
A couple of hours later, I zip in for our final landing, purposefully body slamming him into a pile of leaves. We roll around laughing and he tugs me to my feet. He slings his arm over my shoulders, and with our harnesses still on, we make our way over to the squeaky girl who is now collecting equipment.
As she takes Tommy’s harness, he pulls me in for a delicious kiss, ending it with, “You are the bestest girlfriend in all the land.”
Playfully, I roll my eyes, more than aware squeaky girl is watching us.
Tommy swats my butt, nodding toward the picnic area. “Grab us a seat, I’ll get ice cream.”
I’ve been smiling so much that my cheeks actually hurt, and while I find us a spot to sit, I work my jaw back and forth and give it a massage.
Over to the left, a big family stands in a clump, all decked out in their gear, listening to a worker give them procedures like the squeaky girl did with me and Tommy.
Way in the woods, I hear voices of others as the zip and zing through the trees.
To the right, a couple laughs at something their kid just said.
Maybe I should bring my family here. I think this would be good for all of us. To get away and simply have fun.
Tommy hands me a cone as he swings his leg over the wooden bench to sit beside me. For a few minutes, we don’t speak as we lick our way through two scoops of double fudge chocolate.
When I glance over, I see him smiling a little at the couple and the kid.
“This was fun,” I say.
Still, with the smile, he swipes his pinky through the ice cream, smears it on my nose, and then leans in to sloppily lick it off.
“Hey!” Laughing, I return the favor, smearing his ear.
“I like you like this,” he says a few seconds later.
I like myself like this, too. “The other parts, though, do you like those, too?” And when did I start caring about such things?
“Every peculiar thing about you.” He gives one single nod. “Without a doubt.”
“And I you,” I say, and we share yet another smile.
A few minutes later, we’re throwing our napkins away and making our way back across the gravel lot to his bike. As we backtrack through the country roads, I close my eyes and lift my face to the afternoon sun, smiling. This is what life should be like. Fun and full of air. Light and immersed in laughter. Adventurous and untroubled.
Could this become my life? Could I always be this happy? Is it possible? Do I really need to give into that other part of me?
Sometime later, Tommy pulls up in front of my house and my mood slowly begins to dip away from the brightness of the day. I want Tommy to turn around and go back. I’m not ready.
When I don’t immediately get off, Tommy shifts to look over his shoulder at me. “I have to get to work.”
I nod. I know.
I swing my leg over, standing beside him now, feeling uncomfortably needy. Slowly, I unclip the helmet. What is wrong with me? This isn’t like me. With a little smile, that I know comes across sad, I hand it over. “Thanks, I had a really good time.”
For a second Tommy studies my face, and I glance down at the pavement beneath my running shoes. I don’t want him to see whatever it is going on inside of me right now.
“Hey,” he softly says, taking my hand.
Now I’m looking at his thumb tenderly tracing my middle knuckle.
“Thank you for showing me this side of you,” he whispers. “I knew it was there, and I’m so happy to see it.”
My gaze lifts from our joined hands to meet his blue eyes. I’m so vulnerable right now that it unsettles me. I don’t want to go inside my house. I don’t want Tommy to leave. I want us to go back to his apartment and cuddle on his couch.
Cuddle?
When have I ever thought that word?
“Okay.” He lifts my hand and presses a warm kiss to my palm, then lays my hand over his heart. “Okay.” He taps my hand. “Gotta go.”
Then with that, I step back and he motors away. I stand for a few minutes, watching him like I’m in the last scene of a movie.
Thank you for showing me this side of you.
I didn’t mean to. It just happened. Emotion doesn’t come easy for me. When other people talk about love and happiness, I tend to get confused. Those two words seem so foreign to me. Not that I don’t experience those things, but they usually come with the comfortableness of my family. I didn’t think it was in my nature otherwise, but with Tommy, it just happened.
In my back pocket, my cell buzzes and it brings me from my thoughts.
I pull it out and look to see Adam has texted me: WE STILL ON FOR TONIGHT?
And just like that, whether I want to be or not, I’m reminded of what I came from, the things I have done, and who I really am.
45
THAT NIGHT I’M sitting passenger in Adam’s car, parked in a lot, watching Mrs. Garner, aka Mrs. Strangler, run a treadmill inside of a gym. She’s been on that treadmill going on an hour. I’m in good shape but watching her is wearing me out.
“She looks harmless,” Adam says. “But they usually do, right?”
True.
Adam keeps studying her. “What if she hasn’t actually killed any of the girls? What if it was the husband?”
“That’s why we’re here. We’re getting a sense of her.” Narrowing my eyes I study her face as s
he runs on the treadmill. She’s got earbuds in and is staring straight ahead at the glass that separates her from us. Her expression comes across focused. Is she thinking about sex? The girls? Her job as a nurse? The run? I wonder… “Always trust your instincts,” I tell Adam.
Adam cuts me a smirk. “Is that your sensei insight?”
“No sensei. Just insight.”
“So how does this work?” Adam asks next.
“How does what work?”
“Do we take her when she comes out? How do we take her? Do we throw her in the trunk?”
I’ve got my work cut out for me with this one. “We don’t do anything. We’re just watching. I never said we were taking her tonight.”
“You’re not doubting her guilt, are you? What about everything we found?”
I don’t bother reminding him that seconds ago he was doubting her guilt. “What about it? In actuality, we have no solid proof. It’s not like we’ve actually seen them kill one of the girls.” This is a fact I point out, though my instincts tell me they’re guilty.
With a sigh that comes out more of a grunt, Adam says, “Whatever.”
I’m not dealing with this back and forth with Adam. He either does this my way or not. “You know what?” I nod to his ignition. “We’re out of here.”
“No, wait.”
I shake my head. “We’re done. Let’s go.”
Adam doesn’t move and something inside the car shifts. His anxious mood slowly transitions into something else. Something thoughtful and contemplative, and I wait to see what he says.
Several silent seconds go by as he keeps watching Mrs. Strangler on the treadmill and then he quietly asks, “How many times before have you done this?”
By “done this” I know exactly what he means, and I’m not answering that question.
“When you saw me stab Ted and you helped me clean up, you were so calm and level headed. It’s been bugging me, and the more I get to know you, the more I realize you know too much about all of this. This territory is beyond familiar for you.”
