This is a pre-publication release of the first
six chapters, they have been loosely edited, so just read for the enjoyment if it.
Chapter 1
The tears in Stacey Kimball's eyes were stinging. She couldn't wipe them away
since her hands were tied to the sides of the straight back wood chair, with
plastic zip ties. They were cutting into her skin as she struggled to break
free. Her feet couldn't move, since her ankles were also tied to the chair.
She kept trying to blink the wetness from her eyes, but they kept filling.
She tried to see the room she was in, but her glasses were gone, she was nearly
blind without them. The tears occasionally would act like contact lenses and she
could sort of see where she was.
It was a dingy room, smells of mold wafted through the air, her gag reflex
was growing, but her mouth was duct taped shut. She was helpless all around.
When she could see, the walls were dark, dirty looking bricks and the floor
seemed to be dirt. It must be a cellar somewhere in Pelham, New York, she thought.
At least it was the last city she knew she was in, so she assumed she was still
there.
The last thing she remembered was bending into the trunk of her car, putting in groceries, when she suddenly felt a hot stinging at the back of her neck. Then everything went black. She awoke here tied to the chair and realized she must have been tasered, but by whom and why the hell her. She was helpless and didn't like the feeling. Her hate for the situation was growing inside her, she wanted the person who did this to die.
The tears still stung, and she was holding on to her gag reflex, not wanting to drown in her vomit. She couldn't imagine who'd want to do this to her. Had she pissed off someone so badly that she ended up in a stinking cellar possibly to die here, never to be found. The tears flowed worse now. She tried to shake her head to clear her eyes, but it didn't work.
She was listening to the room, it was totally quiet, no sound at all. Then it came.
The sound of a door opening behind and above her and a sliver of light striking the floor. Her terror rose, was it time to face her attacker?
Foot sounds were advancing down what she believed to be stairs, thump… thud… thump… thud… it continued until they hit dirt. Stacey now was wetting her pants. The person stayed behind her, then she felt their presence close, too close.
She stiffened slightly against her bindings when she felt fingers on her earlobes. They started to caress her lobes, giving her shivers and her gag reflex stepped up a notch. The man rubbed slowly around her ears, causing a tingle in her stomach, she hated it and the person doing it.
The man then brought his hands down to her blouse and pulled at the front causing it to open. He pulled the blouse down around her shoulders, exposing the breasts in her bra. He then brought his hands slowly down to her ample breasts and slid them into the cups of her bra. The tingle in her stomach increased, her breath heightened as he moved around her nipples. This was not how it should be.
The bastard was pushing and pulling at her breasts, it was now hurting. She wanted to scream but couldn't. Then he stopped.
She felt her hair being pulled back, she was now facing the ceiling, her neck hurt. She wondered if he even cared. His face came over hers, she could see him now. He had a plain face, dark hair, mustache and deep brown eyes. Under other circumstances she may have liked him, found him handsome even. But this bastard was controlling her, making her feel worse than she had ever felt.
She wanted to scream, "What do you want?", but the tape still held her back. He suddenly ripped the tape from her mouth, she was able to gasp for air. The air was stale and putrid tasting, but she still took a deep breath.
"What the fuck do you want, you son of a bitch?" she screamed.
He came around and faced her. He still looked good enough to date, but her revulsion for him just intensified.
"Stacey, you need to relax, I don't want you upset when I kill you," he said quietly, and as though he were ordering a happy meal at McDonalds.
Her mouth dropped open and she couldn't speak, just choking sounds came from her throat. "Who are you and why me?" she finally got out.
"Oh Stacey, you are so much like all the rest, the women who tried to screw me over, ruin my life. You are just one of many like them that I will take the life out of. You aren't the first."
The man quickly went around her and pulled her head back again, slitting her throat with a large knife he pulled from a sheath on his belt, the blood sprayed. He waited till it subsided and then came around her and looked close into her eyes.
"I love seeing the life going out of a person. Die bitch," he spoke softly. Then when the life drained from her, he whispered, "Be happy knowing that you won't be the last."
~~*~~
Derek Harcourt sat back in his ergonomic desk chair and stared at the screen of the laptop that he had just finished writing about the death of Stacy Kimball, the latest chapter of the new book he was working on. He was thinking about the next murder that the serial killer would commit. This was all so easy.
He sat quietly looking around his room where he was working on his second novel. He glanced to the book shelves seeing all the books he had read many times. One whole shelf was dedicated to just one book, his first.
He put his head back on the chair and remembered the pains he had gone through to get that book published. He spent nearly two years putting it together from extensive research of his favorite serial killer, one who has never been caught. Derek admired the man, so much so that he dedicated his first book to him.
When he had finished writing the book he sent submissions out to as many agents and publishers as he could find and then waited. He still had a box full of the rejection slips that came flowing back into his mail slot. Then one day he received that letter from a book editor, at a New York publishing firm asking him to send his full manuscript to her. He was ecstatic. He wrapped the pages carefully and delivered them to the post office, sending them off. He waited almost three weeks agonizing over what they would say. Then the day came that he received the letter, tearing into it, he read.
She tore his book apart, citing all the errors and misplaced plot lines, no cohesive structure or even a thread of sense concerning the man who the book was about. She regretted wasting Derek's time, but they couldn't use it as submitted, even with extreme editing.
He nearly fell to the floor in tears as he read the words the woman had written.
Derek spent the next week in a haze. His health was deteriorating, and he hardly ate. He had counted so much on that one publisher, the only one who expressed interest. To be so brutally disappointed, it hurt terribly for him.
Then one night his rage grew and he made a vow to polish up his book and get it checked before trying to submit again. He gathered what money he had and borrowed what he could to hire a professional editor who worked with him until it was ready.
For the next two months he personally hand-delivered the book to the publishers in New York. His perseverance finally paid off, he had an interested company who read his book and liked it. He signed the standard contracts and the book was on its way.
Book releases don't happen overnight, it took time to get his book ready and printed, then out to the stores. He was finally receiving good reviews and sales started to grow. His book was now on the charts, not high up but at least he was on the charts, and he finally felt the glory of his efforts. But he never forgot the pain he went through to get here.
He never forgot or forgave that one editor and her criticisms, but he had triumphed over her words and became a successful writer.
He came back from his thoughts and saved the chapter that he had just written. He attached it to the email he was sending off to the editor he had chosen for his new book. She was a woman who lived out in Washington state.
Now he would start again on a new chapter, and a new murder.
*
Chapter 2
It was the perfect house for her new start, Sarah thought, as she knelt on the floor to unpack boxes in her new bedroom. The octagonally designed home sat in its own cul-de-sac at the top of a rolling hill that ended in the cool waters of the Hood Canal. The strange shape of the place lended it its own personality. That suited Sarah just fine, as she had always been considered a bit of an oddball herself. None of her friends could understand why Sarah wanted to move out to the woods and live by herself.After all that she had gone through, they thought she needed to build her strength with a wall of people who never left her alone.It was difficult to cope with the deaths, the betrayal, and she just wanted to escape.
After taking several weeks leave from her job at Scheuler Publishing, she returned thinking she could throw herself into her work.It was the only escape for her in the city.She loved editing, loved being drawn into the author's writing as the various tales unfolded before her.Fiction was her favorite genre, but her love of books in general allowed for her to be captivated in almost any field. Only, things didn't quite work out how she planned.She couldn't quite seem to get back into the swing of things, found herself distracted constantly whether by the various hoard of people 'checking' on her, or her own inability to focus on her work.Sarah felt trapped, and the hurried life of the city just seemed to compound her aggression, her anger, and her stress.Sean's murder had induced paranoia to form in her brain.She never felt secure, never felt safe anymore.A locksmith had come and installed extra locks at her request, but even these, she felt, couldn't keep anyone out.
After seven months of being back at work, Sarah was ready to walk out.She told her associate, Connie, another editor at Scheuler, that she was thinking of moving away.She had been perusing through secluded properties online, and had found a house that appealed to her.In Washington, the state.Connie was dumbstruck by the revelation. Sarah was one of the best editors in the business.The girl had an eye for detail, and for what would sell on the market.She was an asset to the company, and Connie knew they wouldn't want to lose her.
"Becoming a crazy hermit lady is not the way to go, Sarah," Connie had told her. Connie was happy to live out her existence in the single world, being dubbed 'the party girl' and having one night stands with the cutest guy she could find at her chosen watering hole - and she sure got wet in a lot of places.Connie felt sure that Sarah would recover from her trauma much faster by releasing her inner demons on unsuspecting men. "Just use them, honey.They don't mind really.Most of them are just looking for a good time themselves.Everyone has troubles they want to forget about for a while," Connie said. That had never been a lifestyle Sarah could accept.Her Catholic upbringing probably had a lot to do with it, and the truth of the matter was that she missed Sean, and her heart was broken. She wasn't ready to just 'forget' her troubles.She knew she had to deal with them head-on.
"Con, I really need this. I'm going crazy here. My life changed when Sean died. It's not coming back to me here.At least not right now," Sarah pleaded her case to her friend. She knew she would be sacrificing one of the most prominent positions in the publishing world and leaving behind a life she built for herself.It took dedication and hard work to finally reach her goals, and she knew she was throwing it all away.Sometimes people needed new goals, she rationalized with herself.
"Honey, your emotions are in over-drive right now.What about your job? This is where you belong, not out in the woods with some 'Deer Hunter' types.Let me hear you squeal like a pig…" They both laughed at Connie's attempt at movie quotes.
"That's 'Deliverance' Connie, and I promise if I hear banjoes playing, I'll run like crazy," Sarah said jokingly. "I figure I can edit from home, as an independent. So I won't be completely out of the loop.Maybe I'll go and find I can't stand it, but as it is, the thought of having some privacy, some peace and quiet, sounds like the best thing in the world to me.Fresh air, Con.No honking horns, no traffic jams, no crowded streets. Ever since Sean died, I feel, well, I'm scared now.Some days I swear I can feel someone watching me, I look around and all the faces blend together.I'm really freaking out here."
Connie ran her hands over her mocha colored face, trying to erase the stress of the situation, "Sarah, I don't see how I can stop you, unless I chain you to your desk.That never makes for a good employee relationship.I don't want you to go, but I do want you to be okay.I just don't see how it will do any good for you to isolate yourself from the world.I also know you don't want to hear this, but you will recover from this and you'll move on.Sean wasn't the last man on Earth, you know."Sarah bristled at the comment, Connie held up her hand, "Just listen, please.You are young, you are beautiful, and men will want you, baby. I know you think you don't want anyone right now, but you'll get lonely.It happens, that's life."
"Maybe so.Right now I just need to get away.There's too many memories.Every time I walk into our bedroom, all I see is the blood and the bodies. I can't sleep, I can't eat.I've got to do something." Tears welled up in Sarah's eyes and fell down her cheeks.
"Most people would just see a shrink, but oh no, not you.You've got to go run out to the woods and play Grizzly Adams." Connie sighed."Fine, I get it.Maybe we can see about you staying on.Files can be sent electronically these days, so no biggie there.Hal's just old fashioned and likes to have an office full of people.Let me talk to him and see what we can work out."
"Thanks Connie," Sarah said, wiping her eyes with a wad of tissue.
Three months after that conversation with Connie, Sarah found herself flying out to Washington to sign the papers with the real estate agency and making arrangements to move her belongings. She said farewell to her friends at work during a party they threw for her and headed to the Northwest.The real estate agent, Lois, was kind enough to have the power turned on, and a phone line hooked up for Sarah's arrival.
"You'll just need to go down to the power company and sign their agreement in person.Then you'll be all set," Lois said, when she met Sarah at the house.Sarah thanked the lady and went to work on unpacking, arranging and trying to make design plans for her new home.Digging through one of the boxes, she came across her favorite photo of her and Sean.His arms wrapped around her from behind, and they were both smiling.Sarah sighed deeply, God, how she missed him.It just wasn't fair.
They had planned to have a family together, had just a bought a four bedroom home and started renovations, including a baby nursery. Sarah had quit taking her birth control pills too. They both felt the time had come, and she had been excited at the prospect of being pregnant and having babies with the man she loved. Their careers were on the upswing, she an editor for one of the largest publishing houses in the country, he an artist.Sean's first gallery showing happened two months before his death, every one of his paintings sold and the gallery had started pushing him for more. Two weeks after his death someone from the Jadite Galleries called, "Mrs. Keller, this is Samuel Jones. We send our deepest condolences to you and your family. What happened to Sean was tragic. We're all still reeling from the news here."
Sarah knew what the call was about, she'd fully expected it.Even though her life seemed to hit a brick wall and come to a complete stop, the world still moved on around her.A part of her wanted to be angry at Mr. Jones for the intrusive phone call, but she knew her anger wasn't directed at the man.He had a job to do and Sarah was sure the phone call wasn't a high point in his day either. She took a deep breath, composing her thoughts before she spoke, "Thank you, Mr. Jones. It was a shock for everyone."
"Yes, yes…a shock indeed.And I'm sorry to call and bother you, but the gallery wanted you to know that if you found yourself needing a representative for any of Sean's work, that we will be happy to help you in any way we can.His exhibition was one of the most successful we've ever had.He was a rare talent, Mrs. Keller.People are still calling several times a week asking for more of his work.I don't imagine you would be ready to release any of his paintings at this time, but as I said, we just want you to know we are here."
"Thank you Mr. Jones, for supporting Sean.I'm still sorting through everything," Sarah had to work to hold back her tears and her anger, "but when or if I should decide to let go of anything, you will be the first person I will call."She wanted the conversation to end and couldn't stand the thought of selling anything of Sean's.
"Thank you, Mrs. Keller. And once again our condolences to you."Mr. Jones hung up the telephone, relieved that Sean's wife was cordial, considering the circumstances.At the other end of the line, Sarah replaced the handset into its base and broke down.Her grief seemed to wash over her in waves making her feel as if she would drown in her own pain.
They were happy, or so she thought.Now, any hope of those dreams was obliterated and Sean was gone forever."You've got to stop thinking about it, stop living in the past," Sarah said to herself.You need to heal, that's what Washington was about - healing.A movement caught her attention through one of the many floor-to-ceiling windows in her bedroom.She got up from her knees and slowly made her way to the glass.A doe stood right outside her bedroom window accompanied by a fragile looking fawn.Sarah couldn't help but smile at the sight - yes, this was going to be perfect!
*
Chapter 3
His real name was Eugene Petrovskia, but at the insistence of his publisher, he took on the name Derek Harcourt. The publisher felt his real name was too hard to remember and sounded too foreign for readers to want his book. Derek Harcourt sounded more like an author on a roll and it paid off, people were buying his first book and the reviewers were kind.
He didn't like using a pen name, as he wouldn't be known by former so called friends and family, that he was a soon-to-be famous author. He told himself that one day he would write letters to everyone he knew, explaining that it was good old Eugene, from Bishop High School in Detroit, who had a book in stores. The same Eugene everyone tormented for being a nerd. He hated those people and that's why he put off informing them of his success.
Both of his parents were closet drunks, hiding bottles from each other and fighting about their location. They would find any reason to fight and Eugene would hide in his room to avoid being hit by a flying lamp or toaster. His mother gave up one day and killed herself, hanging from the front porch so all the world could see, making Eugene the butt of new jokes. His father drank even heavier now and a fed up Eugene packed a few things and left.
An eighteen year old alone on the streets of Detroit, was not a smart thing to do. But he survived by his wits and imagination. He got a job in a deli, sweeping floors and cleaning the meat grinders of all the blood and gristle, making him gag, but he held on. The store owner let him live in the basement, because he felt sorry for the boy and he wanted someone in the store to watch it after closing.
Eugene would sit in his dank make shift room, reading crime magazines that the deli store had on a magazine rack upstairs to sell. He was fascinated by the stories they told and he became interested in one particular serial killer who they called the NY Slasher. The killer had never been caught and slashed his way across the United States, murdering over 30 women. Then he just disappeared.
Eugene was also fascinated by words, the words he read in the magazines and a few books he picked up in a local book store, all crime novels. He felt with his new knowledge from the crime magazines and his desire to write, some day he would be a famous author.
His desire to become a writer was put on hold. He became involved with a local gang and ended up being caught when they tried to rob a local party store. One of the gang members shot a police officer and killed him. All of the five members of the gang were arrested and Eugene went to prison for being involved in a death related shooting during a robbery. He was released after ten years and decided not to go back to Detroit. He went east to New York and hooked up with a woman he was corresponding with through an online pen-pal service for prisoners. He found she wasn't what she pretended to be online, she was really fat and loud, but he needed a place to stay for now so he endured living with her.
He managed to get a job in a factory making plastic parts, for different automotive products and was working long hours, mostly to make money but also to get away from the woman. He would often go to the local library and use their computers to work on a book. The library had a wealth of information on the subject he wanted to write about - serial killers. He became absorbed in the subject and would frequently be asked to leave so the library could close.
He managed to purchase a cheap computer to use at home and he immersed himself in the book. The woman he lived with finally moved out to live with a man twice her age, but he had money. She didn't need the piss poor living conditions they had, so she left. Eugene was glad to see her go. Now he could concentrate on his story.
Two years later he finished the story. He had no idea about the publishing world and how it worked. He read books about it and they all said you needed an agent or publisher. So he sent out his manuscript and was rejected for every one he sent out. Then he received that one letter asking for his full manuscript and he sent it to the woman who was an editor for a New York Publisher.
Derek Harcourt sat back trying to forget the pain he went through during that turning point in his life. His determination finally got him into a publishing firm, despite what that female editor said in her cruel letter. He wouldn't forget her. His new publisher changed his name; Eugene Petrovskia was now dead, murdered by his success as a writer. He was now Derek Harcourt, author extraordinaire.
"What the hell do you mean, you're going to travel the country?" Ken Rawlings yelled from across his huge desk at Derek, sitting in the hot seat as Ken called it. Rawlings was Derek's publisher and acted as his agent.
"I plan on following in the footsteps of the NY Slasher, to get a feel for the man," Derek replied.
"But you already wrote about him, this book isn't about him. You told me it was a new thriller about a different serial killer. That's what you said and what I'm banking our money on. Don't tell me you really need to run around the country to write your book?"
"Ken, I need to get my head into this and if I visit places where his murders took place, I can add some realism to it. Yes, it's a new killer; I need to develop him into what the NY Slasher was, only more evil. I'll be going from New York all the way to Seattle."
"Seattle? Why there?"
"I've always wanted to go to Seattle, maybe to get an original Starbuck coffee, what can I say. It's part of my book, you'll love it."
"Hey, isn't your new book editor somewhere in Washington state? The one you want to use instead of our in-house editors?"
"Yes, and I plan to visit her. We've only met through e-mails and an occasional phone call. I want to meet her face to face finally."
"Whatever, you better send your chapters in regular. I'll be on your ass if you're late."
"Not to worry, Ken, I'll get them to you. I want my latest book to be ready for printing by the end of this year."
"That's six months away, you better move on it, you are only about half way through this book."
"Don't worry, I'll have it to you, and you'll love the ending of this book. I guarantee." Derek smiled and stood, "Now I have packing to do, so I'll be in touch." He turned and went out the office door.
"You better, or you're finished in this business," Ken yelled after him.
Derek thought to himself, "I just may be finished after this trip."
*
Chapter 4
Sarah awoke early the next morning, feeling a little better and ready to finish putting her things into place. Most of her boxes, that were delivered by the moving company, still sat around getting in the way. She had put off finishing the job mostly because she felt odd being in the new house without Sean. Her dreams had crumbled the night he died, but she was going to try and make a new start in the small town she moved to from across the country. It was far from the life she had in New York. She slowly dragged herself to the kitchen to make breakfast, but started to tear up again, she was doing a lot of that. Sean was always the person to make breakfast; Sarah had no talent for cooking.
She went to the refrigerator and looked at the few items of food she had and realized she needed to do some shopping. Not something she wanted to do alone in a strange town. In New York, you could get lost in the crowd and she always had Sean with her. She was realizing that she may not be able to survive without Sean, but she had to rise up and make an effort to get on with her new life.
It was damp and chilly out this morning. She got her jacket from the vestibule rack and put it on. She paused at the full length windows in the living room looking out to the Hood Canal. The sight was still breathtaking, even after seeing it every day since she had moved in. She stood watching the sea gulls doing their aerobatics and diving for fish. This is something you don't see in the big city, she thought.
She went to the front door, after picking up the keys to her new car. She had purchased the Pontiac Vibe on the second day she was in her new home town. In New York City, you could get just about anywhere without a car, so she and Sean had opted to not get one. Here in Brinnon, you had to have a car, as everything was so spaced out you could have a heart attack trying to walk anywhere. The central part of the town was about five miles from her home. She had only driven through it once, the day she bought the car. Luckily, the real estate agent she had was very helpful in getting her set up. Sarah liked Lois, although the woman was in her sixties, she was friendly and a seemingly kind person, but most people in small towns were that way, or so she heard. Now she would find out.
Sarah drove out the long driveway, from her home to the highway and turned right onto the asphalt in the direction of town. The trees were in abundance here, mainly because it was a wet costal area. The rain wasn't as bad as people made it out to be, yes, there were a lot of misty days, but there were also sunny days. The impression of the Seattle area was lots of rain, but the mountain ranges protected the city from too many heavy, steady rains. The pavement today was wet but not too hazardous.
She drove the 101 North towards town, to look for a place to buy groceries. She regretted not picking Lois' brain for more facts about the area, she could always call her if she got lost or confused. At the corner of the 101 and a side street called, Sylopash Lane was a building with a sign saying it was the Brinnon General Store. She pulled in and parked on the side.
She entered the building and saw it would serve her purpose for food relief. She took a cart and walked around pulling things off the shelves, hoping they were something she would need. Next time she would make a grocery list she thought. She came around the back of one aisle and saw her realtor Lois talking to a man in a police uniform. Lois glanced over and saw Sarah, she waved and called to her.
"Sarah! Come over here," she said.
Sarah pushed the cart to them and smiled at the fairly handsome officer. "Hi Lois, I was just trying to stock my kitchen, even though I don't know what I need," Sarah said with a slight giggle.
"Oh, it will all come together dear, you're just setting up and it just takes time to get it right. Sarah, this is Davis Chandler, our Sheriff. Dave, this is Sarah Keller, from out of New York, she's our new addition to town."
"Well our population just went from 1197 to 1198. Pleased to meet you Sarah, if I can call you Sarah?"
"Of course, I would never argue with a cop, if I can call you a cop," she laughed.
"Was that the respect you gave law enforcement in New York?"
"They usually were called pigs or other unsavory names, but I respect all law enforcement. Good to meet you." Sarah held her hand out and the Sheriff took it gently. Sarah felt his hand was warm and soft, not what she expected of a cop.
"Lois is the local town gossip so I have heard a bit about you already. I'm sorry about your husband, life isn't fair is it?" he said, then changed the subject, "Are you all settled in your new home?
"No, but I have made a dent in it though. It's a wonderful home, very unique in its design."
"Yes, the house used to belong to a young couple named Carlson. The husband was an architect and designed the place himself. Based on an octagon, lots of big windows so the sun can come in, when there is a sun. They lived here about two years before moving over to Seattle, to be closer to his work. The drive from here to Seattle is a killer around all the lakes. Lois also tells me you are a book editor."
"Is there anything you don't already know about me?" she said, with a glance to Lois.
"Now dear, I have to keep the Sheriff informed of anything going on around the county. He likes to keep on top of things," Lois said, with a sly smile.
"Yes, Sheriff, I edit books for a company out in New York. It's always been a passion of mine, words."
"That sounds fascinating, you edit by e-mail I presume?"
"Yes I do, it took a bit of bribery to get the cable company to install the Internet at the house. I'm surprised the former owners didn't have it."
"The Carlsons were busy people and didn't have much time to watch TV or play on the Internet."
"Well, the Internet is my life connection. It makes working at home so much easier."
"Now, if I could figure how to do my job from home, but the criminals would run rampant," the sheriff laughed.
"Are there many criminals around these parts?"
"My biggest bust on any one day is some tourist driving a little too fast through town. Not much in the way of New York crime here."
"Good, I am glad for that." She said thinking about the murder of her husband and her best friend. She took a breath and tried not to start tearing up. "It's good to meet you Sheriff, now I need to finish my shopping."
"Please call me Dave, we're not real formal here," he said.
"Well, call me Sarah then." She looked to Lois, "Good to see you again. I may need some advice on where everything is in town, may I call you?"
"Certainly dear, call anytime. I know where everything is and the cheapest way to survive."
She thanked both of them and went back to shopping. After she returned home, she put everything in it's place in the kitchen.
She went to her laptop to see what had arrived for her to work on. It would help take her mind off the unpacking. She booted up the computer and opened the e-mail program, reading what had come in.
Hal, her boss back in New York, said she could continue working for him, he didn't want to lose his best editor. She filed away the three chapters she received so she could check them later. Then saw the one from a very strange author back in New York. His name was Derek Harcourt and he had only one book published. For some reason, he asked her to edit his newest book and he was paying her well and under the table. She hadn't read his first book; she didn't want to get any preconceived ideas about his writing since that book was edited by someone else.
She opened his e-mail and read it. The subject made her skin crawl, she had edited murder novels before, but serial killers just creeped her out. The death of her husband was blamed on a serial killer, so she almost refused to edit this man's book. But he offered her a good deal of money, so she took it despite her feelings on the subject. She read the words and not the subject, looking for errors or grammar problems. If she saw a sentence that confused her, or made no sense, she would note it in the empty lines. She spent about an hour on it and finished. She filed it to send back later and went to make lunch.
She had bought bread and jelly but she really wanted a good ham sandwich. Next time in town she would see if she could find a deli and get some good cold cuts. If this town even had a deli. New York had a deli on just about every corner. She was starting to miss New York but this was her new home now and she would just have to make do. She didn't miss the traffic, the noise or the crime.
She wondered if she would get bored here.
*
Chapter 5
Buffalo, New York - two days after Derek Harcourt last talked to his publisher, he had arrived in Buffalo and drove to his motel. It was basically a dive but that's what he wanted, to walk in the shoes of the NY Slasher and his quest to murder women across the country. He relaxed in the room getting his laptop ready to start a new chapter. Thankfully this dive had Wi-Fi so he could hook up to the Internet and his mail provider. He checked his e-mail and there was a reply from his editor in Washington, her name was Sarah. His latest chapter was checked and corrected, he trusted her to make the right decisions. Or he hoped she would.
He read the e-mail and was satisfied with her corrections. There was not much to complain about, since his first book he had learned a lot about writing so he self-edited his work before sending it on to her. He didn't want to tax her too early, at least until he got to the climax of the book. It would be a killer finish.
He was tired from the long ride across New York State, so he decided to take a quick nap. He set the alarm on his travel clock, to wake him in an hour, enough time to recharge his internal battery. He fell on the bed, it sagged in the middle, probably from too many couples doing the dirty deed. The bed had an odd smell, but what do you expect for a cheap motel. They probably rented by the hour, too.
An hour later his alarm went off, Derek stirred from his nap and sat on the edge of the bed, shaking the webs from his head. He had a lousy dream about being trapped in a room full of rats. He hated rats, ever since he was a child and the rats ran free through his home in Detroit. They were disgusting and would eat their food if it wasn't sealed and put up. Usually his dead drunken mother would leave their food out, a welcome gesture to the filthy, furry rodents.
Derek wanted to talk to the local police about the Slasher's adventures in Buffalo, so he changed clothes and left the motel. He arrived at the police station and went in to the front desk, waiting for the officer to finish writing in a large book. The cop looked up to Derek and gave him a frown.
"Yeah, what's your problem?" he asked.
"No problem officer, I just would like to talk to a detective about the NY Slasher. Could you tell me who I might talk to?"
"NY Slasher? I haven't heard that name in a number of years. Why you bringing it up?" He stood tall now, about six-four and nasty looking.
"I'm an author, writing a book about serial killers, the NY Slasher is a focal point of my latest book, research you might say."
"Your name?"
"Derek Harcourt."
The officer cracked a slight smile, "Yeah, Mr. Harcourt, I've read your book. I'll get a detective to talk to you." He picked up a phone and hit a couple buttons, listened, then asked for a Sergeant Flint. He waited then explained what he had. He hung up and said, "Wait here, Detective Flint will be here shortly."
"Thank you," Derek said and went to a bench to sit. About ten minutes later, a large man in a crumpled suit came out and gave Derek a finger to follow him. He led Derek to a small cubicle and asked him to sit.
"Now what do you want Mr. Harcourt? I've have read your book, it wasn't bad, but I felt it glorified the NY Slasher. Not a good thing."
"Well, I did admire his guts to pull off the crimes and not get caught. The police and FBI to this day still don't have him in custody, do they?"
"No, they don't, but I believe he's dead. It's been too many years since he did his last killing out in California. Yes, he went through here in Buffalo, it wasn't something we wanted to talk about. When a serial killer is in the wind, we can't catch him if he's moving around fast and loose." The detective lifted his phone and asked for a file on the Slasher's murder in the city. He hung up and then the detective questioned Derek about his book. About twenty minutes later, an officer arrived with a folder, handing it to Flint.
"Mr. Harcourt, we normally don't do this, but I'm making an exception for such a distinguished author. Here's the folder on the murder here in Buffalo that we assumed was committed by the Slasher, go across the hall to that room and you can go through it. Just return it to me when you are done."
Derek thanked him and took the file to the small room and read the contents, taking notes in the moleskin notebook he carried.
He finished an hour later and returned the file, leaving the station to drive back to his motel.
The woman was spread eagle, naked on the bed, arms and legs tied to the bed posts and duct taped across her mouth. She was sobbing behind the duct tape but no sounds came forth. The man moved over to her and sat on the bed next to her, moving his hands across her exposed breasts. She convulsed on the bed causing the man to slap her hard on the face. She stopped moving.
"Now, now, Beth, you don't want to make this harder do you?" he spoke. She just stared through tear filled blood shot eyes and made no move to acknowledge him. She looked to her right, away from him and shut her eyes. The man grabbed her face and pulled it back towards him. "Look at me, do you hear me!?" he yelled causing the woman to give him a panicked look.
"Better. Now just keep watching me." He stood and removed all his clothes as Beth watched, afraid to take her eyes off him. She felt the revulsion at the possibility of being raped, by the now naked man.
He came back to her after putting his clothing in a plastic bag and sealing it. He sat again next to her and then picked up a large knife from the bed stand, where he placed it earlier. He placed the sharp edge of the knife to her throat and slowly pulled it across. He didn't push hard, just enough to break the skin, causing her to bleed slowly from the cut.
"Oh Beth, it is so beautiful to see the blood flow from your neck, like a little stream flowing in the forest. Only it's a red stream and we aren't in a forest now are we?"
She felt the pain from the cut and was hyperventilating through her nose. She was ready to pass out when the man slapped her again. "Don't pass out on me, I won't allow it. I want to see you die; I want to see the life flow out of you. So don't pass out." He cut her throat deeper now, causing blood to spurt out from her arteries, now splattering his body. He took his hands and rubbed the blood all over his chest and arms, laughing and enjoying the feel of the warm liquid. The woman took a last breath through her nose and died.
The man stood and wiped the knife on the bed sheets and then went to the bathroom to shower, making sure every bit of evidence was washed down the drain. He left the water running to be sure all was in the sewer by now. He returned to the room and removed his clothes from the plastic bag and dressed. He stood looking at her lifeless body and then cut off a big lock of hair from Beth's now still head. He put the hair in a plastic bag and slipped it into his pocket.
At the door to the motel, he turned one last time to see his handiwork. Proud of his accomplishment he took a couple pictures with his cell phone, just for the fun of it. He opened the door, being careful as to watching eyes. He saw no one in the yard and the security cameras had been disabled earlier by him, so no evidence of his exit. He left and drove off satisfied with his evening.
Derek had finished writing his latest chapter based on what he learned from the file in Flint's folder. He attached the chapter to the e-mail and sent it to Sarah for her expert opinion. Not that he cared, he would re-edit it again when he got the reply. He sent the mail and then went to the television, clicking through the five channels on the antique set. He stopped on the news and sat back watching the reporter talking about a murder in the city. Buffalo didn't have a lot of murders so even one was breaking news. He listened to the woman reporting on the scene.
"I'm talking to Officer Davis, Buffalo police, about the murder. Can you tell the viewers what happened?"
"Well Linda, you know we can't talk about an ongoing investigation," He replied.
"I heard some talk from the first responders that this looked like the work of the NY Slasher, could he be back?"
"Again, Linda, I can't comment on this, until we have more information. Check with us tomorrow." He walked away from her and she turned to the camera and started to talk, but Derek shut the TV off.
He sat thinking, "I need to get my alibi together and call Flint. I'm sure they'll want to talk to me."
*
Chapter 6
Sarah had finished as much as she was going to do for the day. She stood looking out at the vast body of water, by the railing that kept people from accidentally wandering off the land's edge into the Hood Canal. She was mesmerized by the lake. She had never been near any large body of water in her life, having grown up in Albany, New York. She never went down to see the Atlantic Ocean on her few visits to New York. When she married Sean, they moved to the city, but again, she stayed mostly within the city. She wondered why she had always avoided the water before.
She turned back towards the house, when she heard a car coming up the drive. It was always so quiet out here, the sound of a car brought back memories. The hustle and bustle of New York, and the traffic congestion that deafened the ears. She was no longer missing it now.
She went towards the car and saw it was Lois. She greeted her as Lois opened her door, then struggling with her attempt at getting out of the car.
"Damn, as you get old, even exiting a car can be a chore. My advice is never grow old," she laughed. Sarah liked Lois' laugh, it was pleasant and friendly.
"I'll keep that in mind. What brings you out here?" Sarah asked.
"A bit of gossip," she said with a sly smile. "Sheriff Dave was taken with you. I think he may even like you."
"Lois, it's a little premature to be hooking me up with anyone. I'm still in mourning."
"Dear, it's been almost a year. Don't you think it's time to start your life up again?"
"It's been only seven months. How long is a good period for mourning?"
"Well, there are a couple of ladies in town who got back on the saddle within months of their spouse's demise."
"I'm not taking riding lessons, Lois. I have loved my husband since the day we met and I don't want to lose his memory."
"Of course not, dear. But a woman alone, shouldn't be alone. Words of wisdom from an old lady who's been there."
"You never mentioned if you were married, Lois."
"Oh hell, no. I was married three times, now I just live with Harold, my younger boyfriend. He's fifty-eight, I'm sixty-two. I'm what you call a cougar. I gave up on marriage long ago, too confining. I can kick Harold out anytime, if he displeases me." She laughed out, causing Sarah to laugh with her.
"You're not exactly a great ad for the sanctity of wedlock." Sarah said.
"You mean deadlock. I think all women should ride the horse a while before buying it. Oh, there I go again making equestrian jokes. I don't know why, I dislike horses. Now back to your problem, Dave is a good catch. You should look into him; he's a free agent now that his girlfriend moved to Seattle."
"They broke up?"
"Well, she was never right for him, good thing she left town. She was such a flighty woman, always arguing about the stupidest things with Dave. I'm surprised he put up with her for so long."
"How long has she been gone?"
"About a month, I think Dave is being cautious. There are any number of ladies in town who would like to harness him. Again with the horse references, I don't know what's wrong with me today."
"Well, he won't have to worry about me, I'm not interested yet. Although he was good looking," Sarah said, "Give me a little more time to adjust to all this. I've only been here a month, I need to still get used to country life."
"Yes, my dear, you need to settle down. A nice young man would help with that."
"You just aren't going to let it go are you?"
"Of course not dear, I'm the head of the local busybodies in this county."
She laughed and went back to her car, opened the door and turned, "Let me know if you would like to get to know Dave better, I can arrange it for you." She got in the car before Sarah had time to respond. She waved and started the car, driving quite quickly back out the drive.
Sarah winced watching the older woman speeding away. If this is what country living does to you, Sarah thought, she would just stay inside her home.
She went back into the living room and to the corner where she had her computer set up on a desk facing the water. She could see that she had a couple messages from her mail program. She sat and opened up the program and saw that her friend, Connie, had sent her a message. She opened it and read.
"Sarah, how's everything out in the woods, seen any bears yet, or good looking lumberjacks? Nothing's changed here, still boring. Hal is grumpy since you left, although it's good you still communicate with us by sending in your edits. I met a really great guy the other night, he's an investment broker, and wealthy. The kind of man I like. Nothing serious for now, you know me, I'm never serious. We had a good time partying and going out to the theater, he also has season tickets to the opera. I hate the opera, but I'm going for him. I've dragged him to a couple clubs in the city, he's a good dancer but he does stumble occasionally. I hope you're meeting people, going to bingo or a quilting bee. Are you churning your own butter yet? God, I miss you. I'll try and get out your way one day, then we can both run around the woods looking for hot lumberjacks. Take care, Connie."
Sarah smiled and closed the e-mail, she'd reply later. She looked to the other e-mail and it was from creepy writer Derek. Another chapter in his need to murder women. She opened it and read the first couple paragraphs, but had no desire to throw herself into murder yet. She closed it down also and went to take a quick nap.
This country air had an effect on her that made her restful and sleepy. She just crashed on the couch and watched the clouds floating by outside the windows, shortly she was asleep.
Her dreams filled with the vision of her walking into her husband's studio but not finding him or her friend Betsy, who he was painting a portrait of her. She moved through the hallway towards the bedroom. The walls seemed to shift and weave around her. She felt a tremor in her body, as she went to the door. It seemed to be pulsating, like the beating of a heart. She was afraid to reach for the doorknob but she was compelled to. She turned the knob but it just slipped in her hands. Then, it grabbed on to her hand and turned itself. The door slowly opened, the room was dark, save for a small light from the bathroom off the side. She forced herself to enter and turned her head to the bed. The horrific scene of her husband in bed with her best friend and all the blood around them shocked her once again.
Sarah screamed, not in her dream, but from the couch she was on. She sat up quickly and moved the hair from her face. The sweat was pouring from her face and she stood, shakily, and went to the kitchen grabbing a towel. She wiped her face and turned on the water in the sink. She grabbed a glass and took a big drink of the cool liquid. She put the glass down and ran her hands under the still running water. She splashed her face with it, to wake her up completely and took deep breaths. She wiped her face again and went back to the living room.
She sat at her desk again and opened the e-mail she had from her boss. One chapter was part of a romance novel she was correcting. Good choice to get her mind off the dream. She had only a couple of those dreams since the night it actually happened, but more than once was too much. She didn't need them out here, so far from where it happened.
She read the chapter; it was a steamy romance novel, with plenty of good sex. She blushed at some of the passages between the hero and heroine. It was one of those gothic romances, swashbuckling men and swooning women. She had read many of these in her career as editor, her company had started to handle more of them, they sold well. Women just couldn't get enough of reading about sex.
Sarah finished the chapter making a few edits here and there. She closed it up and sent it back to Hal or whoever was receiving his mail. She was feeling better, books always took her to another world, lifting her out of her reality.
She was hungry now and went to the kitchen checking the food she had bought earlier. Nothing looked good to her and she didn't feel like cooking or even nuking anything in the microwave. She went to get her coat again and grabbed the keys.
She got into her car and drove back towards the town. She had seen a restaurant in her journey earlier so she drove there, found it again and parked. Entering the place that was half full, she went to an empty booth and sat. A young waitress bounced up and said, "Welcome to the Halfway House, would you like some water?"
"Sure, that would be nice."
The girl went off, after giving Sarah a menu. She was looking through it as she felt a presence next to her. She looked up into the bright blue eyes of Sheriff Dave Chandler.
