by Hadena James
you guys turned over everything you know?”
“You have everything I have,” he answered.
“Ok, then I’m going to have to work on this in my own head.”
Eighteen
The following morning, I was released by Sheriff Rybolt with a handshake and a ride back to my motel. My phone had seventeen missed calls. All of them from Malachi Blake. I ignored them by deleting the missed calls and sat down at the table in Gabriel’s room. He was seemingly more composed than he had been yesterday on the phone.
“How was jail?” Lucas asked as he handed me a soda and a bagel.
“Not bad. The sheriff was nice enough to get me vegetarian Mexican for dinner last night and it didn’t seem to come from a microwave. There were no other prisoners in my area and he even let me smoke in the jail.”
“You realize those things can get him fired, right?” Gabriel asked.
“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care,” I answered. “He cares about catching the serial killer. I thought all night long and didn’t find anything to tie the eyes and the ankles together.”
“That might not be the most useful thing you’ve ever said,” Xavier answered.
“Sorry, I’m blank on it. The ankle flesh might have significance to the killer, but I literally cannot come up with anything other than Achilles,” I shrugged. “However, I did think about the cigar ash. Maybe the snow is why it flattened out. I don’t know what sort of weight and pressure is required to crush cigar ash, but snow falling on it, especially wet snow, might do it.”
“I’m having serious issues with your theories,” Gabriel said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because they seem, far-fetched. I understand the thought that it’s a cop and it has been known to happen, but this seems extreme. Also, it could be very simple why he leaves the ankle skin. Xavier said the ropes would cause the ankles to bleed and the victim to bleed out if he skinned them. Then there was the eye thing,” Gabriel grunted after his sentence.
“Ah, you’re irritated that I asked and didn’t seem to have a reason for asking. Like I sent you on a wild goose chase,” I finally got his frustration.
“Something like that,” Gabriel answered.
“If the eyes were removed before the face was burnt, it might have significance. Lots of cultures have theories about what the eyes can tell after death. However, finding that they were removed after they were burned just sounds like convenience. He removed them so they wouldn’t hang and slap against the forehead while he was doing the rest of his work,” I said.
“That is a visual I could have done without,” Gabriel frowned.
“Me too,” Michael also frowned.
“Well,” I gave them a look. “I don’t know what to tell you, it was an image I had in my brain all night long.”
“You have seriously gruesome thoughts,” Lucas said.
“That’s true, but it makes the answers easier. If the ankles and eyes are just because it’s convenient, that says something. It means they may not be significant except in keeping the victim alive,” I said.
“You can live without your eyes,” Xavier answered.
“I know, but when you put it together...”
“We get it,” Lucas assured me.
“That brings me back to the medical training,” Xavier said. His face screwed up into a strange expression.
Gabriel’s phone rang. He spoke quickly. When he hung up, he put his head on the table.
“They just found another body,” he said, keeping his head on the table.
“One of ours?” I asked.
“They don’t call us for drive-bys, Ace,” Gabriel’s neck was red.
“Are you ok?” I asked him.
“I’m just irritated. I mean seriously, where is all this getting us? I think we have finally found a killer smarter than us and he just killed the fucking reporter.”
“Really? That’s interesting,” I frowned.
“What?” Gabriel asked.
“I was thinking he tipped her off the two times she found the victims, now I’m thinking that he liked her about as much as me. Sheriff Rybolt asked me how it felt to punch her.”
“Do you think it’s the sheriff?” Gabriel asked.
“Not really,” I remembered his hands. The newly formed scars that had crisscrossed them. I hadn’t asked about them, just made a note of it as he had handed me the cigarette. “I don’t think he can hold a gun anymore, let alone a knife.”
“Why?” Gabriel asked.
“He wears gloves when we see him, but I saw his hands in the jail. I don’t know what happened to them, but I’d be willing to bet they don’t function properly anymore.”
“We’ll mark him off after I talk to him,” Gabriel stood.
“Did we learn anything from the tape?” I asked.
“The blank tape that the cameraman gave you?” Gabriel started towards the door.
“We think a switch was made. The tape we got was blank,” Michael said.
“Which is why we are going to the crime scene and you and Lucas are going to go talk to the cameraman,” Gabriel said as we exited.
Lucas knocked on the door, I stood to one side on the porch. My eyes drawn to the window. There was no movement from inside. Lucas beat on it again, this time with more determination. The window rattled slightly in the frame from the force of his fist on the front door. We waited a few more seconds.
“Try the back,” I suggested.
Lucas walked around the house. I listened to his footfalls as they stepped on the crunchy snow. I hated snow and was ready to get the hell out of Alaska. If this guy could do that for me, I was determined to find him and get the video. I dialed his cell phone. It rang once, there was an echo. I pulled my phone from my ear. It was ringing inside the house.
I hung up. No more footfalls. I listened, straining to hear any sounds of the mountain that was with me. There was something, panting, I turned to find a dog had snuck up on me. He had blood on him.
“Lucas!” I shouted. No response. I drew my gun and stared at the dog. The blood was a bad sign, but I didn’t know of what. I stepped off the porch, cursing the sounds of my feet on the wooden planks.
In the backyard, Lucas was face down in the snow. His breathing was regular. There were no trickles of red in the snow. Just footsteps. They led off the back steps, up to Lucas and then through the backyard to a fence.
I hit a button on my cell phone. It crackled and static came over the air.
“Marshal down,” I said, keeping my gun drawn, I knelt down in the snow. Lucas was alive. The back door stood open, I was betting the same was not true of our cameraman. And we had been that close.
Something slammed into me from behind. I went into the snow, sprawling. The weight on top of me was strong. I slipped into the calm.
The world slowed down. I felt the weight shift, something stabbed into my neck. I jerked, felt it tear through the skin and break. The weight lost its balance and fell to the side. I was ready. I flipped over onto him. My brain suddenly feeling foggy. Warm blood began to run into my fleece hoodie. The material soaked it up.
The man had on a mask, gloves, and everything was duct taped together at the seams. His eyes were a deep brown. They widened as I slipped the boot knife from my leg and brought it forward.
“Don’t move,” I told him. Something hit my back and it burned. The pain surged through me, but in the calm, it didn’t hurt like it should. I fought against the hot steel, felt it scrape bone inside my body and plunged my own knife into my attacker.
He twisted, the blade entering his arm instead of his chest. He tried to pull the knife out of my back. I fought him. Determined to keep the blade for evidence. I moved to a crouching position, using my weight to keep him pinned. One knee found his elbow and I put all my weight on it. The other found his chest.
Something snapped. A loud cracking noise that echoed off the tree
s. The fog was getting thicker. I had to work quickly. I grabbed my Taser and fired it at him. It hit his shirt, the prongs failed to penetrate, they slipped off his chest. Another snapping sound, he screamed.
“Help me!” I yelled to Lucas, forgetting he was unconscious on the ground. The calm was still upon me, but it was being forced aside by the fog. I didn’t know what the fog was, but it was threatening to kill me. That thought pushed it away. My survival instincts kicked into overdrive. The calm was replaced by darkness.
The pain disappeared. My strength returned. I grabbed hold of the knife and pulled it from his arm. I stabbed him again, sinking the blade in until the hilt slammed against metal. The shirt was tightly woven and for the first time I realized he was wearing chain-mail under it. The chain-mail was no match for my knife. It broke the soldered rings as it sunk in deeper at his shoulder.
There was an odd noise as it hit his bone. He screamed again. He pulled out a syringe and stuck it into me. I jerked and felt the tip break off in my skin. Blood began pouring from it.
His other hand was still free and he was fighting me with it. It found my chin and pushed my head back to the point I thought it would snap my spine. I fell backwards, driving the blade deeper into my back, but escaping the force on my chin.
He used the moment to grab me. His fist balled in my shirt and he pulled me into him, driving his forehead into my face. I felt my cheekbone crack. Blood began oozing from my nose and dripping down my lips and chin.
He crawled on top of me. I reached for my knife in his shoulder, he batted my hands away. His hand went
