Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Kain
Inside my office, I watched the news on my wall-mounted TV. My fingers curled as the news reporter described the dead body holding a bouquet of red roses. The authorities scoured the area trying to locate her missing heart but hadn’t found it.
As memories flooded my mind, a little voice whispered in my ear, “He’s back.”
That’s impossible.
“The Black Rose Killer, the criminal alias of Victor Hawthorne, died twenty years ago. The authorities are searching for a copycat.” The news flashed images of dead women gripping a bouquet of black roses in a prayer position.
I’d been deceived by Hawthorne’s men when they knocked me out and dragged me to the hellhole where I was kept captive for five long years.
The news anchor continued reporting, “If you have any information about this crime, please call the local authorities.”
My phone rang, and Godfrey’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hey,” I said. “Seen the news?”
“We all have. The boys are with me. You busy? Can we stop by?”
I looked at my schedule and shifted two meetings to next week. “Come over now.”
Twenty minutes later, Godfrey Markov, Hudson Gao, and Timber Slade strode into my office.
“Help yourself to these mochi donuts.” Timber placed a box on the round conference table by the large window, slipped off his brown coat, and draped it over the chair, revealing a Bruins sweatshirt over athletic pants.
He probably went to my gym earlier. All of my friends had free lifetime memberships.
Timber shoved a hand through his dirty blond hair that desperately needed a trim. A few wild strands escaped his hand, falling over his head, looking like bangs on a woman. I would have made a joke about it, but today’s somber mood didn’t call for that.
“Do you think it’s him?” Godfrey shook off his gray felt coat, revealing a black sweater over dark slacks, matching his dark hair. Blue eyes watched mine, waiting for my response.
“It can’t be Hawthorne,” I said. “He’s dead.”
But the recent murders raised so many questions.
“It’s not a ghost killing people.” Hudson stood next to Godfrey and slapped a playful hand on his friend’s back.
“I know that.” Godfrey rolled his eyes, folding himself into the chair. “What I mean is, did he leave something behind for these copycats to find? The MO is close to Hawthorne’s.”
“Dead woman in a dress with her hands in a prayer position holding a bouquet of flowers.”
“The dead woman from today was holding red roses.” I walked around my office, looking at Godfrey. “You’ve tracked five murders in the past six months, right?”
“It’s ten if I include the two from Providence and one from New York City.”
We’d been monitoring deaths with a similar MO from various New England states.
“Are you shitting me?” Timber scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “That’s a lot in six months. It’s been twenty years since his death. Why now?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.” I walked over to my minibar and gripped the bottle of Midleton Very Rare single malt Irish whiskey. I’d been saving this bottle for a special occasion. “You guys want anything?”
The boys looked at the bottle.
“Fuck, yeah!” Godfrey exclaimed. “That eighty-five-grand bottle will ease my anxiety.”
“No one in this room will say no to that.” Timber rose from his chair, walking over. “It’s a beauty indeed.”
Timber slid four tumblers on the table for me to pour two fingers of whiskey into each. Sitting down next to Hudson, I swirled the whiskey around, letting the aromas release. I sipped and savored the taste, letting it coat my tongue before swallowing.
“Heavenly,” Godfrey crooned. “Glad you opened this beauty for us today.”
“He knows we need it.” Hudson elbowed me. “Right, big bro?”
These men weren’t just my friends, but brothers who had endured unimaginable trauma with me.
That trauma bonded us together for life.
They considered me their big brother because I saved them from a nightmare.
What they didn’t know was that they had also saved me.
Their presence in that hell helped me remember the goodness that Hawthorne wanted me to forget.
When you’ve been in the dark for so long, you forget the light exists.
Things like friendship, family, and hope are always worth fighting for.
Godfrey, Hudson, and Timber didn’t break under pressure like the other boys their age. I saw survival in them.
“Yeah.” I clinked my tumbler with Hudson’s. “I have a feeling this is just the beginning of something dire.”
A quiet moment stirred in the room. I could imagine the memories creeping into their minds as they did into mine.
“But we’re not kids anymore.” Godfrey’s jaw tightened as he finished his whiskey. “We can do something about it now.”
“You know what’s extraordinary?” Timber gestured to the box. “Mochinut and expensive whiskey are the perfect match.”
A crease formed between Godfrey’s eyebrows. “What does that have to do with these murders?”
“Absolutely nothing.” Timber smirked. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”
Hudson snorted but grabbed a cookies-and-cream mochinut, bit into it, and had crumbs dropping onto his blue sweater. “Shit.”
“What is wrong with you today, man?” Godfrey asked Timber while biting into his coffee mochinut.
“Today?” Hudson blurted.
I loved that these men brought amusement to the table. Reviewing these murder cases alone in my office created a dark vibe I didn’t like.
I stared at the mochinut varieties, considering which one I should try.
The first time I had these was years ago when I went on a date with a Hawaiian woman who loved them.
Mochi donuts originated in Hawaii and were a combination of American donuts and Japanese mochi.
I wasn’t a donut guy, but trying new things opened doorways.
Being open-minded helped me stay alive all those years in captivity.
After finishing the chocolate mochinut, I pressed the remote on the TV to switch to the computer’s files.
“These are murders similar to Hawthorne’s.
” I opened two files: one showcased what we’d tracked so far, and the other was data I’d stolen from Hawthorne all those years ago.
Perhaps something would jump off the screen, connecting all the dots.
“We’ve only looked at deaths within the New England area.
Perhaps there’s more in other locations. ”
Godfrey nodded. “We can each take a section of the country and see what comes up. I’m working with this high-tech service that can help us escalate the search. They’re pricey but worth it. I’ll bring you guys on.”
“Sounds good. Southern states are mine,” Hudson said. “I’ll get a chart started so we know who’s working on what areas.”
“Give me the West Coast.” Timber grabbed another mochinut.
“I’ll cover the Northeast.” I looked at Godfrey. “You can continue with the Midwest, including those states bordering Canada. Maybe there’s a connection we’re not seeing. A timeline for everything would be helpful too.”
The boys nodded in agreement.
“Do we know who the dead woman is yet?” Hudson asked.
“I’m giving Detective McNally some time before I reach out to him.”
“Victor Hawthorne probably left information for his followers. Some asshole picked it up and is mimicking his master’s handiwork.” Godfrey tapped his fingers on the table. “You were there the longest, Kain. Do you know if he kept a bible of his evildoings?”
“I never saw anything like that, but I met him so rarely. Razor, Tony, and the guys working security would have had more access,” I said. “But I know he was obsessed with psychology, mostly Freud’s work.”
“Maybe he was hoping Freud could cure his psychosis,” Godfrey said. “I saw those books in the library.”
“I’m not sure he was looking for a cure,” I said. “A lot of Freud’s books had pages ripped out of them. I think he hated the guy. Tony told me Hawthorne loved this book called Chaos by Tom O’Neill.”
“Never heard of it,” Timber said. “What’s it about?”
“Methods of creating chaos?” Hudson asked.
Even though I had escaped Hawthorne’s confinement, I was obsessed with him. So I read the book he loved to understand the sick fucker. It was part of my therapy to learn what inspired him. But the book took me down a rabbit hole, adding more questions than answers.
I shifted in my seat. “Something like that.”
“You read it?” Godfrey asked.
“That book painted Freud as a fraud and described all the ‘chaos’ the U.S. government was creating in psychological warfare. Basically, all the sick things you see in the world—wars, pandemics, crazy weather, mass shootings, and economic crashes—are orchestrated by the elites.”
“Fucking hell,” Godfrey muttered. “Maybe he was one of them.”
“Anything is possible,” I said. “But now we’re looking at another psycho trying to outdo Hawthorne. We must stop him.”
My friends all agreed on a future date to discuss our research.
When they left, I sat in my office, browsing Google Earth for the location around Ozarrow Woods in Sturbridge, about an hour outside of Boston.
No one knew Victor Hawthorne had occupied a portion of the woods with an underground complex and a dangerous maze.
We’d destroyed that area years ago. Burned most of it to the ground. It was now a popular retail area.
At the time of the retail site’s construction, I was still recovering from the ordeal.
But as the years went by, questions emerged, and I didn’t believe the narrative from the authorities.
How could the Falcone family, who owned and managed the Ozarrow Woods, know nothing about the horrific acts done on their property?
The family wanted to conserve the woods in Massachusetts, not wanting industry to take over.
They had no idea an underground complex had been there, claiming it could’ve been built before the Falcones purchased it.
The previous owners were residents of Maine, but they were now deceased.
The media kept the escape and our identities hidden from the public for a few months.
But even after that, there wasn’t any coverage.
I was grateful for the privacy because it helped my friends and me move on.
The authorities returned to scour the area but didn’t find any survivors.
Hawthorne had followers all over the country.
Who had risen through the ranks to take over the business?
I wished I had a list of all of Hawthorne’s associates.
Did Razor survive? He never reached out to me like he said he would.
I thought of him often. He’d been my mentor, and I’d never forget how much he’d helped me during those five long years.
My skin itched as though it remembered all the tattoos Razor had inked on me.
I never knew his story and wished I did.
After checking in on the status of my gym renovations, I spent an hour working out.
But during my post-workout shower, an urge surfaced in me, one that was annoying and irresistible.
I’d never been obsessed with a woman like this.
It bothered me that I couldn’t rein it in.
I needed to head upstairs to my penthouse and continue my work.
But I stood in the locker room, looked in the mirror, and lectured myself.
This wasn’t the time to think about a woman, especially one who rejected me.
Never give up on what you want.
My mom’s words rang in my ears. Another odd thing happened yesterday while I was having dinner, remembering my mom.
I told her about the florist, Eva, and the passionflowers.
Every time I thought about that flower, her face came to mind.
I’d never shared my interest in any woman with my mother until yesterday.
I never gave up, so why was I hesitant now?
I slipped on my coat and drove to Happy Flowers.
Walking in, I glanced around but didn’t see her.
Not wanting to look like a creep, I browsed the store and bought a plant with a tag describing it as a money tree.
I brought the four-foot-tall potted plant to the counter.
The sales associate smiled at me. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, thank you.” I offered her my credit card.
I should have asked for Eva, but that would have made me seem like a stalker. When I got home, I placed the pot on the hardwood floor, wondering what I was supposed to do with it. This was getting out of hand. I didn’t have time for this.
Maybe if I got laid, this desire would go away all on its own. But I wasn’t attracted to anyone else, so relief seemed completely out of reach any time soon.