Leave A Whisper - Chapters 4-5

Chapter 4 - Twisted
...With a mind that's twisted, deformed and erratic, one must make do with what they were dealt...

His old, red ‘76 Dodge Charger was as temperamental and contrary as usual. He turned the key and the starter loudly squalled, spinning, and stopped. Then it clicked, then did nothing. Damned solenoid.

Abandoning the idea it would eventually start, he walked to the corner store to use the pay phone. A taxi was on its way, an estimated fifteen minutes. He'd be late for work by then. Fuck 'em.

No sooner than he walked into the warehouse, he heard his bosses' voice echoing across the vast warehouse. ”Reddick-- hey, Reddick! Come over here. I need to speak with you-- and before you punch the time clock.”

He’d listened to his crap before. Reddick looked at Smitherman who was leaning against a forklift with a self-righteous smirk on his fat weathered-face, suitably crowned with a sweaty bald head shining under florescent lighting. He walked toward him as slowly as any snail would move toward its destination. I'm not gettin' in any hurry to talk to the son-of-a-bitch and listen to his shit again. It's always the same ol' spill. “Yeah...whadda you want, Smitherman?”

“You've been late punching in six times the past month, or longer. Do you have any problems that I should know about? Maybe you want me to give your job to one of the other applicants filed away in my office?”

Glaring at him, Reddick didn't say a word. He knew Smitherman would take his silence as being passively submissive. That's what he wants me to be. But he's gotta another thing coming. I'm not like the assholes around here that he bullies. It'd be fun to punch him-- pound his face into a bloody pulp when he didn't expect it. The element of surprise and the shock Smitherman would inevitably have, was a rush in itself. The thrill of anticipation surged through his body. He felt an erection
coming on.

“Reddick, did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, I heard-- and you know? I really don't give a shit. If you can't understand a guy being late 'cause shit happens, then fuck you and fuck this job.”

“I won't tolerate anyone being late, so this is your last warning,” Smitherman bluffed. “The other guys will start taking my authority for granted--I can't have that. Now get out of here, punch in and get to work. I've got a production schedule to meet.” Smitherman, not wanting any attitude from Reddick, headed toward his office. Reddick wasn't right in the head, and he was afraid he'd go postal with the slightest provocation.

Reddick, not intimidated, watched Smitherman walk away. I could jump the motherfucker from behind and snap his neck. But he couldn't see me before snapping his neck, so there'd be no rush in it. What fun would that be?

.. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
The son-of-a-bitch fell off the wall.
When he laid sprawled on the ground,
all shattered and broken, all around,
I came up on him, anticipating releases,
And axed him to a fuckin' million pieces ...


Chapter 5 - Revelation

Later that night, Toni sat alone on her sofa in a darkened living room, staring outside through the opened window, enjoying the brisk breeze on her face while listening to the sounds. Trees were gently rustling, whispering the secrets of the night, and distant aromas of wood burning in fireplaces, filled her nostrils.

She couldn't shake the afternoon's events and felt she shouldn't have met with Detective Meadows. She retired to get away from the intense evil of what people do to each other, and didn't want to be in that life again. But after thinking about it, she knew she'd have to make an exception. She couldn't bear the thought of more victims, especially if there were any chance of preventing it. She didn't think she could live with it on her conscious if she didn't try and help-- it would be like she was personally responsible.

Being a psychic was a curse; it wasn't something she'd chosen if given the choice. She knew at an early age, probably nine or ten, she was different from the other kids. She remembered having strange and erratically bizarre feelings that overwhelmed her, and she hadn't been able to understand them. She had what she could only explain as random thoughts of other people. She had strange visions that used to scared her so badly, she'd go downstairs into the basement where she
thought the cement walls would keep out people's thoughts-- and block the visions.

Deciding to relax and forget about it for awhile, she closed and double-locked the window, then drew a hot bath, adding drops of rose oil. She lit her favorite rose-scented candle and lowered her body into the sweet smelling water, stretching out comfortably, while sipping a glass of wine. The scent of rose blossoms filled the room, washing a peaceful contentment throughout her body and soul.

... Bad times are only pleasant, when one shares the darkness with another's essence ...

She was hearing ...

******

Detective Meadows had arranged their first meeting to go over the details of the case together the next morning. Toni sat patiently waiting in the precinct squad room, apprehensive of the pending procedures.

"Good morning, Ms. Taft. Thank you for coming in. Please, come into my office," he greeted, while gesturing toward his opened office door.

She stood straightening her skirt and followed him in. Seating herself in the only chair in his office, she noticed the room was extremely small and crowded. It smelled of musty mildew and stale cigars, with dusty, crumpled papers, scattered about the room cluttering any available space that remained. Boxes were stacked in every corner, barely leaving room to walk around his desk. The room hadn't been painted in years, with flaked gray paint showing tattered walls pocked with nail holes.

Removing the silk scarf from around her neck, she laid it and her coat over the back of the chair and opened her purse, pulling out a small, velvet box. Toni opened the box and gently lifted out a porcelain figurine, and routinely cradled it in both hands.

"What've you got there, Ms. Taft?" he asked, eyeing the small statuette.

"It's my angel that my father gave it to me when I was ten. I carry it with me wherever I go. The angel's name is Aniel. When I hold it, I feel that I'm stronger and more intuitive."

"Angels have names? I didn't know that they had names-- I mean-- they're not real, you know-- 'just symbols. So it just figures they don't have names," he said, stumbling his words. It didn't come out right and he realized he'd probably offended her, but hadn't meant for it to.

"Yes, they have names. And they are real. The Bible speaks of God's angels. There's different angels of every order. Aniel is one of the angels who guards the gates of the West winds. This angel," she paused, holding it up for him to see, "gives psychic powers, intuition and dreams," she explained, aware that he'd probably think she was crazy.

"Interesting. I didn't know that. Although, I'm not really a religious man, I'd always thought angels were kind of like pixies, or fairies and elves, whatever they are. You know-- made up."

"Well, I believe in God and His angels. Aniel has helped me before. Maybe it's because it is powerful, or maybe because my father gave it to me, I don't know. But I won't argue with its help," she told him, clutching the figurine even tighter in her hands.

She wondered how he could recruit a psychic investigator to assist him on a case, accepting the paranormal, yet not be religious or at least open-minded about angels and their possibility.

Feeling uncomfortable about the topic and not caring whether he believed in angels or not, she wanted to skip the subject and advance toward their intended business. "Can I see the files now? And the crime scene items collected. I'll be able to get some perception."

"Sure. But there's a lot, you know. We have eleven victims with all the evidence collected from each crime scene, and an array of photos we’ll have to go through. But first, I think we should go into the work room where we've got enlarged pictures, diagrams, maps and other correlations already set up," Meadows told her, walking around his desk and pulling her chair out, escorting her to the door.

Toni felt uneasy walking through the squad room with all eyes on her. She knew all too well, cops thought she was a farce and felt that hadn't changed.

Detective Meadows, may I have a drink of water before we settle in?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't offer you a coffee or soda, I apologize. Go ahead and go on in. Get situated and comfortable. I'll get you a glass of water and join you in a minute."

Toni went ahead. She walked through the door into the work room-- then it hit her. That feeling of tortured despair she'd felt before in the coffee shop. Only this time it felt stronger, more powerful. She clutched the tiny angel figure tightly to her breast, looked around the room, her eyes stopping and fixing on the boards. Pictures of the victims' mutilated bodies and their severed body parts were displayed in chronological order. The sight was nauseating and she thought it was morbid. They'd taken the girls' pictures at the worst, most heinous and horrific time of their young lives. It seemed so disrespectful, so sacrilegious. She felt sick.

Meadows came in carrying a glass of water. "Ms. Taft? Are you all right? Your face is white as snow!-- Here, sit down and drink this," he told her, handing her the glass of water.

He covered the boards with their drop cloths, hiding the pictures from view. He figured the pictures that had upset her. They upset a lot of people, much like a med student observing their first autopsy.

"Thank you, Detective. I'm sorry. I felt so-- well, I felt so--"

"I think I understand. I'm sorry I had to ask for your help after you've been retired-- but the truth is, we need you on this case, Ms. Taft. Will you be all right doing this again, or should we go about this differently?"

"I'm not sorry, so don't be either. I'll be fine. I just experienced a little clairsentience washing over me again. I'll be all right in a moment, really." But she knew it was just the beginning of the worst to come.

"Maybe this was enough for your first day. Would you rather pick this up later, like tomorrow? Maybe take this in segmented parts? You know, give yourself breaks in between until you can get used to it again," Meadows asked. “Although, the way the killer has escalated, we don't have much time before we have another victim."

"No, I'll be fine. And I know time is of the essence. Let's go ahead and do this, Detective, please. These feelings aren't much different from my usual. It's just that it's been awhile-- and I'm a little shaken by it. I'll be okay." Although she didn't believe it, she figured the sooner she dealt with it-- the sooner it would be over.

"John, get the evidence boxes for this case, will you, please?" he asked, pressing the intercom button. "And bring me a consulting form, too."

John entered the work room a few minutes later pushing a dolly stacked with evidence boxes. "Here you go, Detective. This should be all of it." He laid the consulting form on Meadows' desk, then added, " If you need anything else, you know where to find me."

"There's a lot here to go through. I think it'd be best to start with the first and work our way up the line to the most recent. What do you prefer?" he asked, looking in one of the boxes.

"That sounds best," she replied, reaching for the liability release form, signing it and sliding it back toward Meadows. She grabbed the box marked "Case: E237793/Hines,Marilyn Kate."

Toni opened it. Before she could remove one of the evidence bags, a vision came to her.

It was Marilyn Hines in the woods fighting and screaming-- she was scratching and mauling a man while trying to get away from his grip-- his face was blank-- featureless ... and blood ... so much blood ...

She heard a voice whispering in her head ...

... Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
in which is the choice of his own desire,
selfishly to possess for himself
for his own demented reflection
the fruits in which he so grimly reaps,
becoming darker, and deadly bolder ...

******
She was pretty. He enjoyed watching her while she loaded bags of groceries into the trunk of her car. She moved with a graceful mercurial fluency, like a ballerina dancing on stage. I want her. I need her.

... You can't turn your face away
as I possess your last breath.
Off it goes into the dark unknown,
while your eyes can only see
what I've allowed so graciously.
Now, your death is mine to behold,
as I make myself so eminently known ...

Reddick had finally fixed the bad solenoid and cranked the engine of his car without any problem. He followed her.

The pretty blond pulled her car into the driveway of a small framed house that was neatly landscaped and adorned with pink rose bushes. She got out of her car and opened the trunk, then juggled bags of groceries up the sidewalk into her house, shutting the door with one foot.

He sat watching from his car that he'd hidden among the other neighboring cars. He'd been watching her for a few days. There hadn’t been any visitors, and no other cars parked in her driveway. She was single and lived alone.

While stroking himself with lustful anticipation, he thought about her lovely breasts. He wondered if they were real, or if she'd had a tit job. But he didn't care.

She came back outside, bouncing down a couple of steps and down the sidewalk returning to her car, and grabbed the last of her bags. There were only two left, and she didn't juggle them this time. Damn.

The blond girl disappeared inside her house, closing the door with her elbow. His anticipation was almost insufferable. He stroked himself harder, then faster-- and in his mind, she was his.

... Soft, pretty, blond hair, for my repertoire,
breasts so rounded, sized just for my hands,
silky, smooth skin to carve, a canvass waiting,
all my plans, my lustful contemplation,
so willing to share, my devoted affection.
My sable brush will gently stroke,
seeking out a uniquely, new creation,
then proudly unveiled, to be displayed,
in my own private collection ...

******
Over the horizon, the sun slowly descended while the moon awaited its turn to secure the heavens as the luminous guardian angel protecting the night. The metamorphosis wasn't new to the pair. Nature settled in while a soothingly faint chill purified the air, making it fresh and clean, not thick and polluted like the city. It was finally night.

Reddick walked around searching the woods for the perfect place, with his hands inside his pant pockets. He wanted it to be a brand new place. A special place-- my place.

It was close. He could feel it.

I don't want her to be a dirty, pretty thing. I want to keep her virginal only unto myself. This time it will be pure and sabbatical. And I will revisit.

He drove back into town and parked as far away as possible, from the hardware store's glass front.

"Hey, buddy! You gonna pay for that?" the clerk yelled at him from across the store.

"Yeah. Whadda you think?" Reddick snapped. He hadn't finished shopping for the supplies he wanted. Why would the idiot ask such a fuckin' stupid question?

He grabbed a solid-braided nylon rope, a pair of needle-nosed pliers, a hunting knife, and four C-batteries, off nearby shelves.

"Sorry about the comment, buddy. I'm a might edgy 'cause we've had some inventory missin' lately. I guess I tend to be jumpy with people I don't know," the store clerk explained.

Reddick didn't respond. Yeah, sure, right. And you aren't going to know me either, he thought.

"I guess you're goin' huntin'?"

"Yeah, hunting, that's what I'm going to do." 'Sounds like it'd fit in with the bullshit the idiot started. Let him think whatever he wants.

"Where you going? Up at Holler Hills?"

"Uh... no-- not there. I'm going up north of there," he replied, thinking bout the sweet, pretty little thing that he had a date with later.

"Well, it's your trip. But Holler Hills is still the best place to hunt. I've been huntin' there a lot through the years-- and it's run over with deer. More than a guy can buy ammo for anyway," the clerk told him. "But, I heard on the news the other day, a woman's body was found up there. So there might not be much deer now 'cause of all the cops tramplin' all around. It's bound to scare 'em away. I guess north of there would be the place the deer would head. You know, you might be smart for goin' up there after all."

I hate people that ramble-- some people talk just to hear their own voice. He didn't even mention anything about her body. Some people don't appreciate art, he thought.

Reaching for his wallet from his hip pocket, wanting to get out of there, he casually replied, "No, I hadn't heard about it. I don't watch the news-- how much do I owe you?"

The clerk told him, "$58.07," then handed him the final bill, "Cash or charge?"

"Cash," he answered, and paid him. Reddick headed out to his car with his intended destination weighing heavily on his mind.

He neatly arranged the supplies inside his tool box, closed the trunk, lit a cigarette, and drove to the pretty blond's house.

The lights were on inside the little framed house. It was dark, but enough moonlight lit the night to see the pink hues of the roses that surrounded the front porch. A perfect night.

Reddick sat in his car watching the shadows dancing behind the curtains covering opened window. They swayed with a breezy harmony, seemingly tuned into the rhythm of his beating heart. He turned the car radio on. The pulsating music added an erotically-charged, but diverse expectancy to his need.

The lights flicked out one by one like dying stars burning out as they plummeted to the earth. That's my cue. I can wait a little while. There's time to be patient; all good things are worth waiting for.

... Death is a strange mystery,
dwelling dark and deep inside.
It's so unknown to you,
but it's not to me, you see.
Yes, it's alive and well,
waiting for you,
and waiting on me ...

******
The next night, he parked down the street to execute his plan. The worn window sill showed signs of age with its peeling paint shedding thin chips that gently fluttered downward on the blades of dewy grass below.

Reddick knew how to keep quiet. Sometimes he forgot how creaky old houses could be. He slowly slid the window open, as quietly as he could, considering it was stubborn and only allowed a quarter of an inch at a time.

She was still sleeping and hadn't heard the sounds reverberating in the night.

He slipped one leg through the small window opening folding himself half in two, and slid his body inside the bedroom then stood erect.

Creeping closer to her bed, he inhaled the sweet aromas of vanilla mixed with a muskiness. It filled the room and his nostrils. He knew that scent. The scent of a woman.

He stood by her bed looking down at her sleeping, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath she took. Her golden hair straddled the pillow with its curly silkiness, and he reached gently to touch it while being cautious not to wake her. She lay with her breasts partially exposed, her gown caught under her small, delicate arm. Moonlight spilled through the opened window, illuminating the room enough to compliment her lovely, ivory skin. Continuing to watch her breathe, he imaged how sweet her breath would taste when the time came. Feeling his maleness pulsate, he stroked himself with expectancy, continuing to gaze over her slumbering beauty.

... Oh, little pretty missy,
how sweet you will taste
when I lick your blood
from your innocent face.
Your warmth shall be mine,
as I shall partake,
you'll belong to me,
for as long as I make ...