Chapter Twenty-Five
Sitting on the edge of my bed in only my boxer briefs with my head in my hands, I started to feel my panic rising.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I don't even remember coming home. I just remember…
My hand found my neck, feeling around with my fingertips. I felt not one, but two needle marks. I remember feeling anxious after seeing the floral arrangement Helena had made to honor my mother. I sighed again; we were supposed to review case files, and we didn’t…
I felt my control that I worked so hard to develop my whole life slipping. This feeling of teetering on the edge between sanity and diving off the deep end was almost too much to handle—especially with this Norfolk Butcher case. This was my one shot to make it to the BAU permanently; I can’t afford to fail.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to ground myself and remember what happened at Helena’s home. This isn’t the first time I’ve found myself missing time, and it was unnerving.
“Okay, start at the beginning,” I said out loud, standing from my bed.
Walking toward my closet, I sifted through my work shirts, replaying the moments leading up to going to Helena.
“I found the mystery Armani garment bag and took it to my bed.” Turning toward my bed, I saw the open garment bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. “It had a black shirt…” I trailed off, looking at my catch-all chair, and saw a black button-up shirt tossed on top of the pile, and dark gray slacks with the belt still in the loops.
Lifting the slacks, the pockets were heavy; I must have left my wallet and my keys in them. Reaching into the back pocket, I pulled out my wallet and tossed it on my bed. The jingle of my keys in the right pocket had my attention next, and I reached into that pocket to grab my keys. Tossing them onto the bed, I patted the left pocket to check if anything was there.
Something was there.
Reaching my hand into the pocket, I pulled out a piece of black tattered lace and two used exam gloves.
What the fuck? When did I wear gloves?
I paused, frantically searching my mind, but I had no memory of wearing exam gloves.
Oh god, what did I do last night? I thought, the panic rising in my chest again.
Shifting the bunched up gloves to one hand, I studied the lace and swallowed a lump in my throat when I held it up. It was a thong.
Helena.
Now, that I do remember. She injected me with a mild sedative to help ease my anxiety. The feeling, the rush from the injection—it was all-consuming. The constant feeling of my mind racing, bouncing from one thought to the next, never giving me a break—the injection quieted everything, allowing me to be present in the moment. God, I wanted more of that feeling; I wanted to feel normal.
The image of Helena smiling with hooded eyes when I begged her for more consumed my mind. I found myself bound to her dining chair. Helena injected me again, licking up my neck and nipping at my ear. She fed me a bite of the liver she prepared, and I tore the thong off of her, finally getting the chance to have her.
Right?
Tracing the needle marks on my neck again, my anxiety rose again; I needed more.
Tossing the gloves to the bed, I remembered I was holding the tattered lace in my hand. Unable to control myself, I brought the lacy thong to my nose, inhaling Helena’s scent. I could smell her arousal on the flimsy fabric, and my cock stiffened, aching for a release.
Quickly entering my bathroom, I turned on the shower and stripped out of my boxer briefs. Bringing Helena’s thong to my nose again, I inhaled the scent of her arousal as I fisted my cock, pumping myself slowly.
“God, Helena,” I groaned as images of her straddling me in the dining room chair flooded my mind.
Taking her thong with me, I stepped into the small bathtub, letting the scalding water wash over me. The stinging pain from the water, paired with the pleasure I was dragging out of myself, was enough to make my legs shake.
Propping my forearm up on the wall of the shower, I gripped the lace in my hand, burying my face in the fabric as if it was her perfect pussy.
“Take what you want…”
Helena’s voice filled my mind as I bit down on the fabric, desperate for a taste of her.
“Yes, fuck, fill me up. Don’t you fucking waste one drop.”
I thrusted my hips into my hand, imagining her tight pussy stretching to take all of my cock. The thought of pumping her full of my come, breeding her, fucking her until she begged me for a child…
“Helena,” I moaned as hot spurts of come fell to the shower floor.
With a deep breath and slightly relieved, I reached out of the shower to place the now damp lace onto the bathroom sink and leaned my head back under the shower.
I’m so fucked up. Something still isn’t right.
The water in the shower began to run cold, and I groaned in annoyance.
Stupid fucking piece of shit apartment.
Turning the water off, I toweled off, wrapping the cheap towel around my waist, and reached for my toothbrush. While brushing my teeth, my eyes were locked on that tattered piece of lace on the counter.
Why does this woman have this hold over me? It’s only been a few days we’ve been working together, and yet, my obsession with her has grown exponentially. But there’s something strange going on; I can’t explain it, but I know something is off.
Spitting into the sink and rinsing my mouth, I placed my toothbrush back in its holder and looked at myself in the mirror. Suddenly, I was thrusted into my empathetic state, the blue hue overtaking my vision.
I sat at Helena's dining table with my plate in front of me. The liver and what I assumed to be beef medallions smelled amazing.
“Dinner is served,” Helena said, placing down a platter in the center of the table.
“It looks delicious, Helena,” I said as my eyes found the platter.
Connor’s missing severed leg and a bloody human liver were arranged on the platter, and I looked upon them, my mouth watering.
Helena reached over the table, slicing me a piece of the raw, bloody liver and straddled my lap. With a moan, I tilted my head back, opening my greedy mouth ready for a bite. She gazed into my eyes as I closed mine, savoring the bite as a trail of blood ran down my cheek.
Gripping my chin to hold me in place, she licked the blood off my cheek, immediately pulling my mouth to hers.
As if I was hit by a train, I was forced back into reality. My whole upper body was slick with sweat, and my breathing was ragged. Looking at myself in the mirror with scared eyes, I saw that trail of blood falling from the corner of my mouth, and I panicked.
Throwing a punch to the glass of the mirror, it shattered, falling to the floor.
What the fuck is wrong with me? There’s no way… no way…
My phone ringing on my bed forced me out of my mind, and I left my bathroom to answer it.
“Sullivan,” I answered professionally.
“Heya Cam!” Evan replied. “Open the door, fucker. I brought breakfast.”
Disconnecting the call, I tossed my towel on my bed and reached into my drawers for a clean pair of boxer briefs, sweatpants, and a white t-shirt. Dressing as quickly as I could, I rushed to the front door, opening it for Evan.
“What’s up, man?” Evan said, walking into the kitchen with a bag and a drink carrier with two coffees.
“Just got out of the shower, good timing,” I chuckled, trying to hide my sore knuckles.
“Sorry for just dropping by. Doctor Lawson called me this morning worried about you. She said you might like some help sorting through the case file on the Butcher case?” Evan said, taking a sip of his coffee, handing me mine.
“Actually, yeah. Would be neat to bounce ideas off of you, just… This can’t leave the apartment. I’m not supposed to be sharing this shit,” I said, sipping the hot coffee.
“Of course, man. Oh, hey, I heard from Nancy last night,” Evan said, walking past me with the bag of food to plop his ass down on my couch.
“Oh yeah? How is she doing? Texas right?” I asked, gathering Helena’s notebook and my case files, joining him in the living room.
“Yeah, San Antonio. She seems happy. They have her working on a border corruption task force.”
“Sounds like something she’d definitely be good at,” I said
“Most definitely. But hey, we’re still good for the fight tonight, right? I got the pay-per-view purchased already on the new big screen!” Evan said, reaching into the bag, pulling out a giant chocolate bar donut, taking a generous bite.
“Hell yeah, I could use the break,” I said, taking the bag he held out toward me.
“Okay, let’s do this shit. Whatcha got?” Evan asked, scooting to sit on the edge of the couch, placing his coffee down on the coffee table.
“We have eight victims so far,” I said, patting the stack of eight files I had placed on the table.
“Fucking hell, eight?” Evan reached for a pen and my legal pad of paper.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “Let’s check out the first one,” I said, opening the first victim’s file.
“Lay it on me. Tell me everything you see in the file, and I’ll scribble down some notes,” Evan said, clicking the pen open.
“Alright. Victim one, Amanda Davis. She was a local elementary school teacher. Cause of death was asphyxiation. She was found buried in a shallow grave in the local community garden underneath still growing flowers and herbs,” I said, watching Evan’s hand furiously taking notes. “She was found to have fragments of plastic in her lungs, and it was determined that she was killed with a bag over her head. Doctor Lawson’s notes say: ‘It’s symbolic to bury her in a growing garden, since she encouraged the growth of young minds.’”
“Victim two, Dana Marx. She worked for a pharmaceutical company, overseeing a project where she purposefully mislabeled medication, causing seventy-five cancer patients to receive the incorrect chemotherapy treatment. Fifteen of the patients died; Eleven adults and four children.”
“That’s next level fucked up,” Evan said, shaking his head.
“She was acquitted on a technicality, and found buried in the same garden, but underneath plants that were wilted and dying.”
“She encouraged death,” Evan said with a sigh, mirroring my thoughts. “Based on these two alone, I can see a pattern forming; one innocent victim and one evil one.”
“That’s what I was thinking too,” I said, taking a sip of coffee before continuing. “Victim number three, Ella Davidson. She was a sixteen-year-old high school student, found raped and beaten with a baseball bat. She was left for dead on the side of her mother’s house on the ground near the family’s trash cans.”
“Fucking sick asshole…” Evan hissed, continuing his notes.
“Victim four, Raymond Klatz. He was a registered sex offender and child predator. Helena’s notes read: ‘He was on his way to meet a fifteen-year-old girl when he was beaten and sodomized with a baseball bat. His body was found on the side of his house, his top half bent over into a trash can and the bat was forced into his…’”
“Asshole. Got it,” Evan deadpanned. “Fucking sicko. There’s a definite pattern here.”
With a sigh, I continued.
“Victim five, Han Nguyen, a bartender. He was bludgeoned in the alleyway of the bar he worked at and left in a dumpster. Various witnesses stated that he had a good eye for spotting predators that spiked drinks. He saved multiple men and women from possible assaults.”
“Let me guess, victim six is a sick motherfucker that drugged women,” Evan hissed.
“Brace yourself,” I warned. “Victim six, Connor Scott; Senator Thomas Scott’s son.”
Evan looked at me, his eyes wide with surprise.
“He was rumored to spike the drinks of young women, bringing them home to his father for them to share. Connor’s cause of death was bludgeoning, and he was left in a dumpster, except his leg was amputated post mortem.”
“Fucking sick ass politicians,” Evan said, shaking his head.
“It gets worse,” I sighed.
“Victim seven, Melanie Crawford. The Director of the FBI’s niece.”
“Fuck. That explains why he hasn’t been in the office.”
“She was found staged in her childhood bedroom in the Crawford family home. She was dressed up in a silk nightgown, tucked into bed,” I said, memories of the crime scene flashing in my mind.
“This is just getting worse and worse,” Evan sighed.
“Our most recent victim, number eight…” I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to ease the tension in my mind. “Grace Kim, the senator’s assistant. I found her, a bloody mess, in her bed in her home. Her phone records prove that she was working with Connor to lure girls back to their hideout. She was always ready with the car to transport them after Connor drugged them.”
“Well, fuck me. I’m glad I’m not on this case; this is a hot fucking mess,” Evan chuckled, dropping his pen onto the pad.
Reaching for the notepad and pen, I circled the odd numbered victims: one, three, five, and seven, and drew little arrows toward the margin of the paper. Next to each arrow’s point, I wrote “Fingerprint.”
I went back to the top of the page, and heavily underlined the even numbered victims: two, four, six, and eight, and drew the same arrows pointing at the margin of the paper.
Scrolling through Helena’s notebook and autopsy notes, I wrote “liver” next to victim two, “amygdalae” next to victim four, “leg” next to victim six, and “kidney” next to victim eight.
“What the fuck?” Evan asked, confused.
“So, every other victim had a bloody fingerprint found at the crime scene, while the others were discovered to have missing organs or limbs.”
“Two killers,” Evan said, meeting my eyes.
“That’s what I’m thinking. The Norfolk Butcher killed the odd numbered victims, and a vigilante copycat killed the even numbered ones.”
“But, why take organs and limbs? Those are odd trophies, huh?” Evan asked.
“The copycat is eating their victims,” I said, Evan’s jaw dropping.
“Dude, what the actual fuck.”
My phone rang, interrupting Evan, and I saw it was Diaz calling.
“This is Sullivan,” I answered.
“Sullivan, it’s Diaz. I’m sorry to do this to you on a Saturday, but we got a call from Senator Scott’s janitor. We need you to meet the team at his office; his body was found.”
“Yes, right away. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Disconnecting the call, I made my way toward my room to change into my work clothes.
“The senator was found,” I called out to Evan as I pulled on my work shirt. “I need to head to the crime scene and call Doctor Lawson; she’ll need to be there as well.”
“No problem, man. I’ll get out of your way,” Evan said, now standing in my doorway. Pulling my slacks on, I shoved my wallet in my back pocket and my keys in my side pocket.
“Tonight. UFC. Call me if I’m not over by five. I want to watch those prelims,” I said, looping my usual belt through the belt loops of my slacks.
“You got it, man. I know I didn’t do much but take notes, but I hope it helped some.”
“It did; thank you for that, and for the coffee,” I said, pulling on my socks.
“Anytime, man. Go solve some crime!” He chuckled, turning to head out the front door of my apartment.
Quickly pulling on my shoes, I tucked my phone in my other pocket and rushed to the living room.
Keys, check.
Phone, check.
Badge, check.
Fuck, what else am I missing?
Grabbing my suit jacket from the back of a dining room chair, and my gun and badge from my usual drawer, I rushed out, locking the door behind me.