Chapter 15 Reed #2
“Her last victims were the two park rangers up at decent elevation. They were checking out a call, checking some trails around Mt. Baldy in Eagle River. It might be our best bet to venture out there. See if she’s still lurking about,” I say, my mind trying to remember the file from Candace.
He nods his head. “What were the specifics of the park rangers, again?”
“Both of their spines were found in the truck along with their blood. They had to be identified solely on their DNA, since the rest of their bodies were never found. I’m assuming she ate the flesh and kept the bones for some marrow soup.
One of the rangers said he saw a woman singing, then the call went static. ”
Cooper’s face crunches. “Does that make sense though, a woman able to take down two grown men in the forest? That were aptly trained for inclement weather and predators, alike?” He looks down at his mocha. “It’s like some strange fairytale involving a witch.”
I take a heavy breath in. “Well it’s Alaska. Alaska is a strange, beautiful land with many secrets that blend into the landscape.”
He snorts, but I see the worry flicker in his eyes. He wants an explanation, of why some sadistic woman is gutting men in the woods like salmon. He wants it to make sense.
But serial killers aren’t accountants of morality. They don’t balance a checkbook. They are driven by passion, by old rotten scars to those that they deem are victims. They are crazed with pain, so much so that it distorts their perception of reality.
“Serial killers,” I say, voice low, “are the purest kind of irrational. You can’t logic your way through their actions. They won’t make sense. Sure, they might have a pattern, an MO, but they thrive on the opportunity.”
“Promise you’ll hold my hand?” he looks at me, a smile tugging at his lips.
“I promise, baby.”
***
The drive up to mountain is merciless. Winding twists and turns. The wind howls like banshees, snow beginning to spin in devilish circles. The Audi’s tires grind against the snow-packed gravel, headlights barely peeking through the storm of flakes.
By the time we reach the pull-off below the tree line, my hands are cramped and sweaty around the wheel. I park, yank the brake, and listen as the engine’s roar fades into the fury of the wind.
The tops of the mountains are rugged and fierce, sharp points and flat tops far above us.
We step out to the wintery elements; a blizzard is beginning to settle in and make its mark of twelve to twenty-four inches.
“Do we really have to do this tonight?” Cooper complains, his cheeks are flushed scarlet as he throws on his ridiculously cute earmuffs—brown, fuzzy, and something you’d find in a playpen instead of a grown man hunting a deranged siren.
“You know these earmuffs make you look like a Scandinavian toddler.” I chuckle. “And yes, we don’t know if she’ll be active until the spring again, somehow she hibernates all winter long. Like she’s a fricking bear or something,” I say between the wind’s screaming.
Cooper squints at me, skeptical and shivering. “A murderous siren bear? Maybe she won’t kill me if I look like an adorable little cub.”
“She might do something worse,” I mutter, scanning the tree line. The forest is frozen and alive, trees creaking from the weight of the snow and ferocity of the wind. “She might make you her second in command.”
We trek into the trees, providing protection from the wicked wind on the trail.
“Thank God,” Cooper mutters. “This wind-chill might even be worse than Minnesota’s.”
“I believe it, elevation can do strange things to the weather and humans alike,” I say, keeping my flashlight beam low scouring the brush.
He laughs, a nervous and comforting sound to my ears. “That supposed to be reassuring?”
“Not really,” I reply. “The air is thin up here. Less oxygen that messes with the brain. Makes people see things that aren’t there.” I glance at him, watching his eyes dart around the pines. “Or hear them.”
He swallows, his throat gulping. “You’re really not helping, you know that?”
“That’s the point,” I murmur, my eyes peeled on the brush around us. “If you’re scared, your adrenaline is pumping. That is going to increase your odds of survival.”
He shakes his head, his pupils flickering from side to side. “You have the absolute worst bedside manner.”
“I’m not a doctor right now.” The beam of my flashlight peruses over a half-rotten log, snowing holding on for dear life against the breeze. “Right now, I’m your lifeline.”
The forest groans around us like a lethal warning. It’s beautiful and chilling to watch mother nature at work. The branches thrash against one another, up the slope one snaps from the pressure, sounding off like a gunshot.
Cooper jumps. I grasp onto him, feeling the tremor coursing through his fingers. “Relax,” I say softly. “If she’s out here, she’s watching. Don’t give her the luxury of seeing you scared.”
He glares at me, his frosty breaths puffing in the air. “You say that like you’ve met her.”
“Maybe I have,” I reply, stepping over a drift. “Monsters tend to think the same.”
We continue up the slope in silence besides the crunch of our boots, our ears are dialed in to any sound that shouldn’t occur in a forest. The wind picks up, singing in harmony with the twirling of the snow. The further we go, the more I can feel it.
A shift in control. Like I’m being watched from a distance. The sensation of eyes that don’t blink. An invisible pressure slinking on my neck like a tarantula plotting its web. It’s an eerie feeling, one that I usually enjoy imposing on others.
Now it’s on me. Being hunted. Exposed in her territory.
I can’t decide if I hate it or find it exhilarating.
There’s something pure about being watched in the dark—stripped of formalities, reduced to pulse and instinct.
It reminds me of who I truly am, a serial killer with morals.
A decent predator. And predators only get nervous when they sense competition.
Cooper walks a few steps ahead of me, his flashlight wobbling with each crunch. His shoulders are hunched beneath his parka, but I can tell his muscles are loaded with tension. He keeps moving though, he’s hungry to impress. Brave boy. Stupid Boy. But my silly boy.
“You think she kills them fast?” Cooper pipes up, lips parted back at me, breaking my concentration.
“No. I think she makes them listen first, watch the terror bloom in their eyes as she begins her madness. She must get off on it.”
He shivers as his pupils dilate, as if he’s finally putting two and two together, that we aren’t murdering an unsuspecting piece of shit. But an experienced psychopath with theatrical tendencies.
“A showgirl that replaces her applause with organs. Critics must hate her,” Cooper chuckles nervously.
I can’t help the smirk that creeps in. “Oh, I don’t know. I think her reviews are pretty killer.”
He groans, shaking his head. “God, that was awful.”
“Awful?” I tilt my flashlight toward him, catching the light frost on his nose. “You’re the one who started with artistic analogies. Don’t act surprised when I commit to the show.”
He puffs out a frosty breath. “You take die-hard commitment a little too seriously.”
“Gah, gah, gah,” I murmur. “Let’s keep trekking, sweetheart.”
“Can we just say that we murdered her and get on with it?” he protests, trying to look cute with some puppy eyes.
“Do you really want Candace to be the one to murder you?”
He winces at that, scrunching his nose in a way that he knows I’m right, but refuses to admit it. “Candace wouldn’t actually kill me,” he says, unconvincingly.
“Oh, she absolutely would,” I reply. “She would string you up like a Baptiste while listening to her favorite aerobics playlist.”
Cooper huffs, trudging through the snow at my side. “Your family is insane.”
“You are just realizing that now?”
He narrows his face toward the snow and pouts like a puppy who lost his favorite bone. “I’m still processing the combination of murder and aerobic nostalgia,” he says with a light laugh.
“If you ask her nicely, she would probably choreograph your death down to a pelvic roll.”
Cooper snorts, picking up his pace.
I follow in turn, the trees thin at this elevation and the wind gets louder, like mother nature is trying to sound the alarm. I scan the distance, a slight mountain valley is in front of us, a plateau surrounded by jagged peaks, a creek still running with a slight trickle.
Then a pleasant melody enchants my ears—like a sweet cradle song calling me home. Before I can think, my feet are leading themselves. My thoughts are mine, but I can’t control my movement. My nerves belong to her harmony.
“Reed, what are you doing? Don’t you hear that?”, he whispers, cutting through the snow.
“Cooper, whatever you do, keep those earmuffs on,” I bite back through the wind as my body is compelled.
He stumbles after me, crunches piercing the air. “Reed, stop—what’s happening?”
I can’t answer. My mouth opens, but nothing leaves except a shallow breath. I can feel her melody growing stronger with each step closer.
This transcends science and the laws of anatomy. My brain claws for an explanation, some sort of hypothesis. Is she hypnotizing me? An auditory illusion? A subharmonic frequency manipulating the limbic system? But none of it fits. I’ve never read anything about this in medical literature.
Each note of her enchanting voice drags me closer, and my pulse syncs to her sweet rhythm. My feet keep moving at her command, my arms swinging at my sides. I can feel the dread building in my core.
How is she doing this? I ponder to myself.
Then I feel her gentle caress around my body, tickling my neck, a hand running down my spine. I gasp at the sensation.
Behind me, Cooper’s voice tears through the trance, panicked and desperate. “Reed! Stop—please, stop!”
I want to. God, I want to. But the song has it’s tune hooked deep, choking me forward. The edges of the world blur to a small cave with a dim light protruding out the entrance, a short woman at its entrance. Her face is covered behind a fur-trimmed hood.
Cooper’s voice stops, but I continue forward against my will.
Is this what it feels like to be helpless?
The question stings. My heart sinks into my stomach, heavy and shameful. At the mercy of a predator.
It’s humiliating, honestly. A role reversal I never rehearsed—a fantasy that I never explored. I’m the one that dissects monsters for a living, who stalks them through alleys and forests, who decides who dies.
For the first time in my life, my body trembles at the irony. The Gutter, lured by the guile of his own arrogance.
How embarrassing. We never trained for this.
God, Cooper. Run. Get out of here.
The melody chokes around my throat, like a noose. I can feel her laughter mocking me in my skull. Mocking my arrogance. Stupid man, she somehow hisses, amused and furious. Hunter playing God.
The humiliation burns hotter than the wind-chill against my bare face. The Gutter—my legacy—reduced to a speechless puppet at the whim of her song. It’s infuriating.
Every step closer to the cave feels like losing gravity, my body forgetting every instinct that I’ve honed. The air thickens with a stench—something floral and rotting, like fermented blueberries.
I can see her face more clearly. The hood hides most her pale face, but beneath it, a malicious smile glows. She stands motionless at the mouth of the cave, her head tilted, as if she’s reading me.
You’re mine now, her voice hisses in my skull. The doctor who thinks himself an apex predator. Tell me, Reed—how does it feel to be dissected from the inside out?
The words slither behind my eyes, acidic and invasive. My lungs seize. I can’t breathe. The lullaby tightens around every fiber of my body, and I realize with brutal clarity—this is what my prey feels in those final seconds. The disbelief. The fury. The helpless awe.
The revelation smacks me in the brain. The predator reduced to a song. The Gutter gutted.
Her hiss turns into a laugh, almost affectionate. You understand now, she croons. No one will ever stop me. Men will pay for their sins.
Her madness is ridiculous. She has no boundaries. Only lust for killing.
She’s right—men will pay for their sins.
But you’re going to pay for yours first.