Elysium Dreams

by Hadena James

medication earlier and it had helped, she’d only use the DHE if it was necessary,” Henry recalled their conversation. It had been shortly after that he had decided to take Agent Gentry to the woods.

  “That’s the problem, she’ll take anything you give her when she has a migraine. You could offer her heroin and she’d shoot up with it if you said it would help.”

  “I didn’t realize.”

  “No one does. She has an incredibly high pain threshold. She seems functional when she has a migraine, but as her doctor and her friend, I’ve discovered that this isn’t the case. She feigns being healthy quite convincingly. Then she gets alone and suddenly she raids everything in her medicine cabinet to get rid of them.”

  “How high is her pain tolerance?”

  “Things that would make you and I pass out, might make her flinch,” Dr. Reece turned to look at him. “If Cain was strung from that tree, even as the killer was burning her feet, she’d be plotting how to kill him. And she’d probably succeed.”

  “That’s impossible,” Henry knew from experience that no one ever stayed conscious for very long once the propane torch started.

  “She isn’t like us.” Dr. Reece walked off.

  Henry tried not to smile. He had thought Agent Gentry would be different. Her training and survival skills were at their apex. She’d been in combat. She had been posted in Alaska after shooting a cuffed suspect in self-defense. However, she had been right to do so. Something in her gut had told her that the frisking hadn’t been good enough. She had probably saved half a dozen lives by shooting him. After he gurgled and bled out on the sidewalk outside the FBI headquarters, they had found a small bomb on him. Set to be triggered when they sent him through the metal detectors.

  But Fate was a fickle mistress and instead of being hailed as a hero, she’d been shipped to Alaska. Shipped to Alaska to answer to inferior FBI agents like Arons.

  Still, she hadn’t been strong enough to put up a fight against him. Once the drugs had worn off, she’d swung from the tree trying to free herself for only a few minutes. He had turned on the torch and she had turned into a sobbing mess. She’d even pissed herself.

  Despite Dr. Reece’s assumptions that Marshal Cain would be different, he knew better. She’d cry and whimper and pass in and out of consciousness. She’d probably piss herself and he’d laugh, like he always did, when it ran down her body.

  He’d had to change the injection site on Agent Gentry. He was still dumbfounded that Dr. Reece had found the site on the teacher. So, he’d injected Agent Gentry in the mouth. Then he’d burned off her lips. He was still searching for a way to get the toxicology report before Dr. Reece.

  Shrill yelling jarred him from his thoughts. It was the stupid reporter. She was swearing loudly and demanding the return of her tape. The cameraman was not yelling. If anything, he looked like he wanted to run away, leave the psycho bitch behind, maybe find a new job in a new city. Henry felt sorry for the cameraman stuck with her. The louder she got, the smaller he seemed to become.

  “What a pain in the ass,” a uniformed officer said to him.

  “To be sure,” Henry answered. He turned away from the scene and walked towards the body.

  “What is this?” Dr. Reece was pointing at the ground. Henry’s eyes followed the finger and found cigar ash. He’d made another mistake. His admiration of Dr. Reece grew a little. No one else had noticed the darkened area of snow.

  “It appears to be ash,” Marshal McMichaels answered moving in closer. He squatted down and examined the fresh snow.

  “Our killer is a smoker?” Marshal Henders frowned at it. “We haven’t found it at any other sites.”

  “Because we weren’t looking for it.” Dr. Reece said. It struck Henry as odd that the man occasionally seemed to lose the ability to speak properly. It was a strange idiosyncrasy that no one seemed to notice. He wondered how much time they all spent together. Would killing Marshal Cain cause them significant grief? Would it be the lynchpin that would send them back to wherever they came from? Could it be used?

  “Maybe it was one of the first responders,” Henry offered.

  “That would be stupid of them,” Marshal McMichaels frowned. When he spoke again, his voice boomed through the assorted personnel on scene, “was anyone smoking when they arrived?”

  His ice blue eyes leveled on the reporter and her cameraman. The cameraman shrank. The reporter held it for a couple of seconds before turning to look away.

  Lots of people began shaking their heads. Marshal McMichaels scanned the crowd, daring someone to step forward. No one did.

  “I think we can safely add ‘smoker’ to our killer’s list,” Marshal Henders said.

  “Seems like a lot of ash,” Marshal McMichaels said.

  “This would be a Cain moment, take some photos before they bag it,” Marshal Henders stood up.

  “She won’t get out of jail until at least tomorrow,” Dr. Reece said.

  “True, but she can still see the pictures,” Marshal Henders walked off.

  This was a problem. He hadn’t considered that she might not get out of jail today. He had hoped to swoop down on her tonight as she slept. He would have to change things. His mind churned for a moment. If he could send them skittering away with their tails between their legs, he’d have more time. But if he couldn’t, he’d better speed up his plan a little.

  Tonight, his bitch wife would have to become a victim.

  Seventeen

  The cot was about the most uncomfortable thing I had ever laid on. It didn’t matter though, now that I was out of the game, I could sleep, at least for a while. I wasn’t exactly as good at the occupation as Xavier, but then I didn’t think many people were.

  My dreams were fitful. I dreamed of Agent Gentry. Her skinless body staring at me. I hadn’t been the last to see her alive, but I had been close. Had she been in the room when we were making notes on the suspects? I couldn’t remember. I rolled over again and sleep sucked me down one more time.

  Agent Gentry wasn’t there this time. It was Nyleena. My life support had been skinned alive and stood before me. Her eyes held accusations. That woke me up again. I sat up, my shoeless feet brushing the concrete floor. I felt the chill seep into them. The eyes, Nyleena’s beautiful stormy colored eyes had been staring at me. The others hadn’t had eyes. They had fallen out or been plucked out.

  “Rise and shine,” Gabriel’s voice came to me, echoing down the long hallway.

  “Have Xavier check on the eyes,” I shouted out to him.

  “Ok, why?”

  “Were they cut out? Torn out? I don’t remember him making notes about the eyes.”

  “They fell out once the eyelids were removed.”

  “I get that, but what happened after they fell out? Eyes will heat and explode in the sockets, but they still leave a trace. So what happened to the eyes?”

  “I’ll ask. In the meantime, look at this,” he slid a picture through the bars.

  “It’s cigar ash,” I told him.

  “You think?” He frowned.

  “Pretty sure. Cigarettes make a mess, but the ash is lighter in both texture and color. Cigar ash tends to be thicker, chunkier. This looks like cigar ash that has been spread out somehow.”

  “Spread out?”

  “Check shoes,” I said testily.

  “You think someone stepped on it?”

  “You’re a smoker, have you never smoked a cigar?”

  “Nope, not even thought about it. They smell.”

  “Well then,” I shrugged. “Cigar ash falls in clumps and tends to stay that way. So either it was stepped on or something interfered with it on the ground. We didn’t find ash at any of the other scenes.”

  “We know. We don’t know why there is some at this scene.”

  “Are we sure it belongs to our scene? What if it was deposited there the day before?”

  “Would it still b
e there?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what happens to cigar ash in snow.”

  “I don’t see why not, you know everything else,” Gabriel grinned at me.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I frowned at him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I dreamed it was Nyleena,” I told him.

  “Oh,” Gabriel seemed to think for a few minutes. His face aged as I watched. “I guess it’s a good thing she is in Missouri.”

  “I suppose,” I shrugged. “So, check the eyes and talk to Dr. Ericson. He smokes cigars, the good ones by the smell of them.”

  “Eyes, Ericson, cigars, got it,” Gabriel seemed to pull a chair out of thin air. “The reporter is willing to drop charges if you give an interview and an on-air apology.”

  “I’ll rot here, but thanks,” I chirped.

  “It might not be a bad idea to do the interview,” Gabriel pressed.

  “I’m not letting that thoughtless, self-absorbed, barbaric bitch interview me.”

  “That’s a lot of adjectives to describe one person.”

  “I could throw in a few more if you want.”

  “Nope, I’m good. So that’s a no on the apology and interview?”

  “Yep.”

  “Your bond will be set later today, we think it will be low considering the circumstances and eventually it will go away altogether.”

  “Talk to Xavier about a theory I had yesterday,” I told Gabriel, remembering the talk about our killer being a cop.

  “Why don’t you just tell me?” He asked.

  “You’ll see, when do I get my phone call?”

  “Do you want one?” Gabriel gave me a weird look.

  “I do,” I told him.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He left. I couldn’t see a clock. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but I was sure it was at least half a day. To get someone’s attention, I began singing loudly. Since I can’t carry a tune, it was pretty effective. I was nine lines into Closer by Nine Inch Nails when an officer came in. He frowned at me.

  “Food? Time? Cigarette? Phone call?” I asked.

  “Here,” he slipped a cigarette between his lips. There was a big “NO SMOKING” sign posted across from us on the wall. He lit it for me and handed it through the bars. He took the chair Gabriel had vacated and I realized I was talking to the sheriff. I didn’t know his name.

  “Won’t allowing a prisoner to smoke in a non-smoking building ruin your chances for reelection?” I asked as I took a drag. My patch had fallen off hours ago.

  “We’ve been chasing a serial killer for four months and failed to catch him, I think my chances of reelection are nonexistent regardless,” he lit a cigarette for himself. “You have guts and principles. You also seem to be very smart and very stupid at the same time.”

  “I’m what you would call a loose cannon or a wild card,” I admitted.

  “So I see. Threatening the cameraman into giving us the tape was pretty effective. Hitting the reporter was really stupid.”

  “She pissed me off and sometimes, I have very low impulse control,” I shrugged.

  “I’m Tucker Rybolt,” the sheriff told me.

  “Aislinn Cain, but then you filled out my booking forms, so I guess you already know that.

  Sheriff Rybolt broke out into a huge grin, “did it feel good to punch her?”

  “You have no idea,” I beamed.

  “I admit, I wish she would have punched you, then I could arrest her,” Sheriff Rybolt told me.

  “I know, it is much more rewarding to punish bad guys and jackasses than good guys who are just fed up with stupid jackasses.”

  “Yep.”

  “However, if there’s anything useful on the tape, that will make it double worth it and I imagine her cameraman is going to quit. She’ll probably be ostracized at work and eventually blackballed.”

  “No, she’s liable to get a fucking Pulitzer for her investigative journalism.”

  “You do not cross the Marshals Serial Crimes Unit without consequences,” I told him. “We may not be the most likeable or personable human beings on the planet, but we keep monsters from invading bedrooms.”

  “Which is why I’m here,” his face changed, turning grim. He set his jaw.

  “I’ve already had that thought,” I said, reading his face.

  “You think it could be an inside job?”

  “Yes and I assure you, it will be pursued. Meaning if it’s you, your days are very limited.”

  “It isn’t me, I have a lot of respect for women.”

  “You don’t strike me as a local yokel sheriff,” I admitted.

  “I’m not. I’m not even from Alaska. My wife is though, we met in college. I was getting my criminal justice degree, she was getting a law degree. It worked out and we moved here after we both graduated. She’s a judge now. Your judge to be exact.”

  “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

  “Most of the time, no. She doesn’t handle cases for the sheriff’s department. This is a special situation. I may have issued the Miranda Rights, but it was a State Trooper that demanded you be arrested. That makes it their mess.”

  “Where are you from, Sheriff?”

  “Miami,” Sheriff Rybolt smiled. “I hate snow.”

  I laughed.

  “I understand you want to make a phone call,” Sheriff Rybolt took my cigarette butt from me and dropped both into an empty soda can.

  “I would,” I answered.

  “Here,” he handed me a cell phone. “I don’t figure the rules apply to you the same way they would another prisoner. I’ll give you a few minutes.”

  “Thanks,” I dialed Nyleena’s number.

  “Hello?” Her voice sounded suspicious.

  “I’ve been arrested.”

  “Oh my god! Do you need bail? What were you arrested for? Do I need to come...”

  “Whoa, hold up,” I interrupted her. “I was just calling to let you know that I was arrested. I punched a reporter, she decided to press charges. The sheriff is married to my judge and thinks that I’ll be out tomorrow without needing bail. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t calling my cell phone and freaking out because I wasn’t answering.”

  “I would feel better if you got a lawyer.”

  “They read me my rights and stuck me in a cell. The sheriff just smoked a cigarette with me and is letting me use his personal cell phone. I think it’s fine. Gabriel is doing what he does.”

  “Then what is really bothering you? You don’t normally call me this often when you are working. This is my third call from you or about you in three days.”

  “I just needed confirmation that you were still alive.”

  “Don’t talk in riddles.”

  “It’s been a long week.”

  “You’re chasing the serial killer skinning people,” she didn’t ask, she made it a statement. She knew I couldn’t give her a yes or no.

  “I dreamed you were his next victim. And I feel like I’m missing something and I don’t know what it is.”

  “So you keep calling me?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Aislinn, what is it really?”

  “I feel like no one cares if we catch this one or not.”

  “Hence why you punched a reporter. You think that will get the attention it needs?”

  “No, I punched her because she was more worried about the story than the victims or their families.”

  “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were experiencing sympathy.”

  “I can’t experience sympathy. Maybe that’s why it is bothering me. I feel like I should feel something more and I’m not feeling it.”

  “If you could feel what the rest of us feel, you wouldn’t do what you are doing.”

  “The others feel sympathy, they do it.”

  “They are not you and they internalize all the pain and misery.
It drives them. You are driven by a twisted sense of justice. This keeps you from being a vigilante.”

  “Like my brother,” that sentence hung between us for what seemed like eternity.

  “No, he turned vigilante because he couldn’t cope. You would do it because you could.”

  “Thank you,” her words brought a thought to my mind. “I’ll call you when I get back.”

  I hung up and shouted for the sheriff. He walked in.

  “May I call Gabriel?”

  “Sure,” he sat down in the chair.

  “Gabriel, I had another thought,” I said as soon as he answered.

  “Where’d you get a phone?”

  “Who cares? So, what if this is some sort of pain reliever?”

  “What?”

  “We haven’t been able to find a sexual angle. What if that’s because it isn’t sexual, it’s some sort of outlet for pain. Like cutters who cut themselves to relieve the pain, only he is cutting others or rather...”

  “Yeah, I get it. I’ll talk to Lucas. I got the answer to your eyes question.”

  I waited for several seconds. When he said nothing, I sighed loudly.

  “Well?” I nearly shouted.

  “The eyes are being removed after they have ruptured. We don’t know what is being done with them. They are being cut though from the optical nerve. Does that help?”

  “I don’t know, ask Xavier.”

  “You wanted to know!”

  “I know, but only to get Xavier thinking about it. This isn’t a clean, neat process. It’s messy. What’s happening to the eyes, seemed like something we needed to think about. Just like what is happening to the rest of the skin.”

  Gabriel made a deep noise that wasn’t words, just sounds. It might be interpreted as a growl, but Nyleena made the same sound occasionally so it didn’t bother me. I considered it the same as a “love bite”. It wasn’t as bad as it seemed when you were the receiver.

  “Ok, so I also talked to Dr. Ericson about the cigar ash. He has never paid attention to what happens to his cigar ash.”

  “All right. Any word on when I’m getting out of here?”

  The line was very quiet. For several moments I wondered if Gabriel had gotten disconnected.

  “Hey Ace,” Xavier’s voice came over the line.

  “Hey, so when am I getting out?”

  “At the moment, I’d just sit tight, Gabriel looks like his head is going to explode.”

  “He needs less stress in his life. He should take up yoga or let Trevor make him an appointment for a massage.”

  “I’ll tell him that when his blood pressure drops.”

  “We should catch this killer before Gabriel has a stroke and we lose another leader.”

  “I agree,” Xavier laughed. I took a moment to wonder what he was laughing at and figured it probably had something to do with Lucas.

  “So, about the eyes. Does cutting them out mean anything to you?”

  “Not really. Best guess, when the eyes fall out as shriveled, dried, gelatinous globs, he cuts them off just so they won’t be hanging as he works on scalping the victim,” Xavier answered.

  “What if it is like the ankle thing and there’s a purpose?”

  “I don’t know the significance of removing dehydrated and possibly exploded eyes.”

  “Me either. I’ll think on it.” I hung up and handed the phone back to the sheriff.

  “Done?” He asked.

  “Well, I could call my friend in the FBI, but I imagine he is already laughing at me for being arrested.”

  “Why would he be laughing?” Sheriff Rybolt looked confused.

  “Because he’s like that,” I shrugged. “Have