Chapter 1
Chapter One
Esmer
Another Death… coincidence, or serial killer?
The headline reads as it pops up on my newsfeed.
I’m about to keep scrolling like I usually do, but for some reason the headline has piqued my curiosity, so I click the link.
The train continues clacking down the track.
I still have another ten minutes before I get to work, so I might as well take the time to read the story.
This is the third death in just as many months.
Police say they have no suspects yet. Police Chief Rodger Haines says, “Although the deaths all appear to be homicides, there is no evidence of foul play, no fingerprints, or evidence left behind on the bodies. Whoever hurt these girls was not only thorough but also appeared to take much enjoyment from the act itself, based on the damage done to the victims. We will continue to look into the matter and are talking with the families of the victims.” All three victims' bodies have been found in the same location—an abandoned house out on the east end of Habbershaw in Richmond, Virginia.
The photos have not been released, but officers say the scenes are among the most gruesome they have seen in a very long time.
Does Habbershaw have its very own serial killer?
Or are these deaths a series of unfortunate events?
The family of the latest victim, twenty-five-year-old Lacy Vasquez, says, “She has no known enemies. She was a sweet girl who always went out of her way to help others.” Another says, “She wouldn’t even hurt a fly; I don’t know why anyone would want to hurt her.
” Her family is in tears as they anxiously await more evidence to be unveiled.
Habbershaw Police say, “There doesn’t appear to be any obvious correlation between all three victims besides the fact that they are all women.
” So at this point, only time will tell what we are truly dealing with.
If you have any information regarding any of the victims related to this case, please contact the Habbershaw police at 804-654-9826.
My brows furrow as I finish the article, goosebumps prickle on my arms, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. How is it that they can have three murders but have absolutely no evidence left behind? And better question, how the hell am I just learning about this now?!
The train slows before coming to a complete stop, and I grab my bag before making my way to the doors as they slide open.
It’s only two blocks to my office building in the heart of Richmond, giving me plenty of time to ruminate on the article.
The fact that Habbershaw isn’t far from here sits heavy on my chest. This is a little too close for comfort.
I mean, we all hear about serial killers as an abstract concept, but the potential for it to be right in your backyard?
Yeah, that’s unsettling to say the least. So then why does the prospect of it intrigue me?
I ignore the investigative journalist in me that wants nothing more than to explore the abandoned house and learn more about this story firsthand, and the other side of me that sits up and takes notice.
Instead, I focus on the fact that we haven’t broken this story first, how that is very, very bad.
I have a feeling my boss is going to have a conniption about it.
My ass barely hits the chair before Cathleen’s voice breaks through the tense atmosphere of the office. “Team meeting, now!”
Her voice cracks through the air like a whip, and I cringe inwardly. This is not going to be good.
Everyone makes their way to the conference room like we are all attending the same funeral.
The article I just read this morning is not only printed out in little packets at each seat, but also on the projector behind her.
Cathleen’s dark brown hair is back in a severe bun, her pencil shirt and white blouse perfectly ironed to accentuate her rigid demeanor.
She’s not a bad boss by any means, but she is stern and the definition of no-nonsense.
She doesn’t take shit lying down, and I know we are about to be handed our asses.
I brace for impact, noticing I’m not the only one.
“Can someone explain to me how KNV has broken this story before us!? It’s literally in our backyard.
” Her jaw clenches, and I can tell she’s trying to maintain her professionalism.
“How is it that a new station from two counties over has this information before we do!” She leans over, her fisted knuckles resting on the table as her eyes meet every one of ours.
No one speaks. Honestly, I think we are all too scared to speak.
Her eyes close briefly as she takes a deep breath, as if she’s trying to gather her patience.
“Esmer.” My name ripples through the air, and my lungs seize in my chest. Oh shit.
“You’re taking this one. I want something new.
I don’t care what it takes, if you have to seduce a goddamn police officer to get more information.
Do it! I want your ass over there yesterday.
You have two days to get me something new!
Anything,” she practically growls. “The rest of you, deep dive. There has got to be some leaks somewhere; nothing stays hidden for long. Find pictures, before or after, I don’t care.
” With that, she waves her hand as if she can’t bother to look at us any longer.
I scramble to my feet, trying to escape the room and her wrath before she decides I only have a few hours or something equally insane.
Since Habbershaw is so close, I end up taking the bus instead of the train.
My mind is spiralling with where to start.
Should I go to the police station or straight to the abandoned house?
I have a feeling that with this being a bigger case, it won’t be easy to get into the scene of the crime.
Not that it’s my first time sneaking into places I’m not supposed to be.
Unfortunately, that’s par of the course in investigative journalism.
Along with a heavy dose of fear and adrenaline of knowing I’m doing something I’m not supposed to be.
The combination makes my pussy clench around nothing.
What if it really is a serial killer? What if he’s watching the house, just waiting for someone stupid enough to walk through unaware or vulnerable?
Since it seems he has a thing for women.
I swallow down the nerves that are slowly crawling up my throat as they try to choke me.
While I’m waiting, I pull up all the information I can find on all three victims. Where they lived, any physical similarities between them?
What did they do for work? Any correlation I can find to try to put something together.
The odds of finding something new that hasn’t already been reported on in under forty-eight hours are slim to none.
So, anything I can glean from what’s already been reported on but maybe the police haven’t connected yet could help.
I make notes on anything that I deem even remotely relevant before the bus comes to a stop half a mile from the abandoned house.
It’s not dark enough to try to enter the house undetected, so I decide to head to the police station first to gather any information I can from them.
The station is rather small for having such a large case.
I’m surprised they still have jurisdiction, honestly.
But it works in my favor. A small town like this is already spread too thin to keep an eye on a nosy reporter.
The woman at the front desk looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks and is somehow still managing to stay upright in her chair, but her movements are sluggish. “Can I help you?” She asks as she finally realizes I’m standing here.
“Ahh, yes.” I show her my reporter's badge stating my name and the news station I’m with.
“I was hoping to get some information about Lacy Vasquez’s and the other ‘haunted house’ murders,” I say, using the name the media has labeled this case, watching as her shoulders visibly drop like she’s already tired of this case and it’s only just happened.
She stands. “Follow me.” She makes her way to the back toward the interrogation rooms. “You can sit in here until you're done.” She opens one of the doors wider before ushering me in.
I dutifully take a seat, getting out my notebook and pens so I can take notes.
She returns a few moments later with three thin folders, which I assume are filled with what they can disclose of the three “haunted house” cases.
She drops them on the metal table; the loud slap they make as they hit causes me to jump slightly.
“These do not leave the premises. If anything is missing, you will be arrested on charges of obstructing an investigation. Do you understand?” Her eyebrow raises as she waits for my answer.
I swallow hard and nod. She lets out an exhausted sigh before turning around and closing the door behind her.
The lights seem extra bright, and I can’t tell if that’s an interrogation tactic or if it’s just that I’m uncomfortable sitting here.
My eyes flick up to the two-way mirror, and I wonder if she’s standing there watching me or not.
“It doesn’t matter, Esmer; you are here to do a job, so do it,” I whisper to myself under my breath.
I shake off my discomfort and get to work, opening each file.
As I predicted, there isn’t anything here that the other news stations haven’t already reported on, but I make notes anyway, hoping something will come together… somehow.
After sitting there for over two hours, I pull out my laptop. If they suspect it’s a serial killer, then there has to be a pattern, right?
You don’t just jump to that conclusion on a whim.
So, I start my search with other deaths at abandoned houses.
As it turns out, that leads me down a bit of a rabbit hole.
Not only have about six other deaths happened in abandoned houses within a fifty-mile radius of Habbershaw, but within the last hundred years, at least three dozen murders have been reported within the same radius, sometimes years between each murder.
So, either we have multiple serial killers or one ancient killer.
How have the police not made this connection themselves?
I shake my head and pack up my laptop and supplies.
Looks like I’m going to a haunted house.