She felt the weight of the half gallon carton of skim milk, low-fat yogurt, and several TV dinners as she held the plastic bag in her right hand. In her left hand, she held a bag which contained a variety of fruits and vegetables. She closed the trunk and rushed along the winding path to her front door. She placed the heavier bag on the warm concrete of the front porch to free her hand to retrieve her keys. She opened the door quickly and stepped into her condo. Once in, she closed the door and locked it. Even in the middle of the day, she was at unease. Like most of the members of the community, she no longer felt safe.
She strode into the kitchen to put her groceries away. Once all of the groceries were put in their proper places, she walked towards the back of the condo, where her bedroom was. She walked between her queen-sized bed and dresser and into the master bathroom.
She closed the bathroom door partway and stood at the sink. In the mirror, she lost herself in her blue eyes. She thought of her last boyfriend who always complimented her eyes. She missed him, though he was back north, just like everything else in her life.
She saw the sweat drip from her face, though in the air-conditioned space, it felt cool against her warm skin. She removed her tank top and squirmed out of her tight shorts. She unhooked her white bra and slid her panties down to her ankles and flung them off of her toes towards the hamper in the corner opposite the toilet.
Angela turned on the shower and checked the water temperature to ensure that it was neither scolding nor frigid. When the perfect temperature was achieved, she stepped in and felt the water all over her body.
Beneath the steady stream of hot water, she thought about the fact that she didn’t feel like working the following day. She didn’t feel like working any day. Back north, she held a steady job in advertising. Now, she worked at a gas station part time dealing with cranky customers and men who were persistent in their passes. It seemed like most men, whether young lads or old geezers, wanted a piece of her, but she wouldn’t give a single sliver of herself to anyone for any reason. She longed to reunite with her ex. The day she woke up and decided to break up with him and move away to really live life was the last day she was truly happy. Here, she was not happy.
Halfway through her shower, she heard a noise from the bedroom.
What the hell was that? she thought.
She thought her mind was playing tricks on her when she heard the door creak, like it was being opened slowly. Moments later, the shower curtain slide open and a large fist came down upon her head. Darkness came immediately, but the sound of the running water took a little more than a second to diminish into nothingness.
When she awoke, she didn’t know where she was or what time it was. She was unable to scream, duct tape covering her mouth. She was lying naked on top of a large table, her wrists and ankles strapped down so she could barely move a centimeter. Sweat covered her body in this sweltering hell.
Her vision was blurred but she still made an effort to look around. She turned her head to the right and realized she was in a small garage. She made out a workbench, a pegboard on the wall with newspaper articles she could barely see, and several tools on a tray near where she lay. She saw a glistening paring knife amongst a neatly organized array of other objects.
She turned to her left and saw another table. Her eyes widened when she realized what it contained. A female torso, pale white with dried blood, lay a few feet from the one end of the table. She saw a long object next to the torso: a human arm. Its skin was a completely different shade than the torso’s. She saw two objects at the other end and within seconds realized what they were: human feet. One was pale, it’s nails painted a bright red. The other was tanned and hairy.
She screamed but the sound was muted by her sealed mouth. She didn’t want to die. Not now, not like this. Time stood still as she lay helpless on the table. Then she heard footsteps approach her.
“Almost time,” the low voice said. “We’ll have a little fun first.”
She screamed again when she felt his warm, sweaty hands on her forehead and the cold blade of a knife against her left bicep. She could not move away from him. She was stuck. She closed her eyes and prayed, though she knew it wouldn’t help her one bit.
* * *
Todd heard Melinda breathing heavily next to him. He felt his heart race at the anticipation of what tomorrow would bring. He knew another victim was inevitable, though he hoped they would find something, anything, that would lead them to the killer.
He turned his head slightly and saw the glowing red numbers on the digital clock on his bed stand. Eleven fifty-five.
He closed his eyes and heard the wind pick up outside, like there was a storm brewing off the coast. He knew an even bigger storm was intensifying. A man-made storm of intense ferocity.
Looking into the past can tell you the future…
Those words flashed across his mind again and again. In the back of his mind, he knew each victim was a piece of a terrible puzzle. The future victims would eventually become past victims, and help him solve the conundrum. But more blood would have to be shed.
Looking into the past can tell you the future…
He tossed and turned as he thought about the last line of the letter. More blood would have to be spilled. More suffering. Of course. The killer wouldn’t have it any other way, for this was a game he enjoyed playing. An abhorrent game, yes, but a game nonetheless.
Todd turned his head again and looked at the clock a second time. Quarter after midnight.
He closed his eyes and tried to not think of anything. But his mind wouldn’t stop. It raced and raced. He needed his rest, but thoughts swirled in his head.
Eventually, he did fall asleep, but he didn’t know if it was mere minutes or hours before he finally fell into unconsciousness.
* * *
He held the book under a dim lamp near a worn recliner in the corner of the garage. His sweat-covered hand turned the page as he continued reading the nearly two-century-old story that he had read countless times before. When he was not doing his work, he lived within its pages, and after the thirtieth reading years prior, he began to feel an attachment to the novel’s main character: Victor Frankenstein.
He lowered the book and looked off into the center of the room at two tables. One was used to harvest body parts from his unwilling donors while the other was used to ensure that each part would line up as he had planned. Both makeshift operating tables were now empty. He had already wrapped the arms, complete with hands, and both feet in several layers of plastic wrap for storage in the meat freezer in the other corner of the garage. He had already disposed of the victim’s body and composed his own literary masterpiece in the form of a note that would be sure to make headlines the following day.
The humming of the freezer was the only sound he could hear besides the pounding of his heart. Sweat continued to drip down his forehead, though the sweltering heat was beginning to escape the garage as the night marched on. He thought of his new-found fame, though he was happy to remain an anonymous artist. The thought of his notoriety as the scribe of the infamous notes made his heart pound even faster, and when he thought about the day when they would find his first creation, he could barely contain himself.
Though he had no plausible way to bring his eventual creations to life, in his mind, they would be as real as any living man or woman that roamed the earth. They would be spoken of more often than any celebrity and go down in the history books. And he, as an anonymous artist, would also go down in history.
He looked back down at his book and read the remaining words of the chapter. Once finished, he slid the bookmark between the pages and placed the paperback book on a small wooden table next to his chair. He remained in his chair for sometime and, while in a deep sleep, dreamt of the face that would one day complete his work in progress. But he had other work to do first and, even while unconscious, his body quivered in anticipation.
Day 5
Todd awoke to his cell phone ringing. Hi
s eyes opened slowly, like a Venus fly trap, as he reached towards his bed stand and picked up his phone.
Todd’s first word of the day came out in a deep and raspy tone. “Hello?”
He heard Detective John Markley’s voice on the line. “Todd. We found another one. Victim five, Angela Littleton, was found on her front lawn early this morning. Single. Early thirties. No children. This guy doesn’t seem to have a type, Todd. Victims are all across the board.”
Todd’s second word came out just as raspy. “Jesus.”
Though he sounded alarmed, he knew sooner or later a body would be found. He knew more than ever that more blood would spill.
“Any missing body parts?” Todd asked.
“Left arm. Appears to have been hacked off. Probably while she was alive. There are signs of a struggle. We will know for sure once we get the results from the peptide.”
“And a note?” Todd asked.
“Of course, though it’s a very short note. Two words: ‘Having fun?’”
“I’m sure he’s having fun,” Todd said, shifting around in bed. “Did you find any clues at the scene, John?”
“Actually, we did find something that might help. We found skid marks outside of Ms. Littleton home. Not sure if they are from this morning, but at some point someone was trying to leave rather quickly.”
“Maybe we can figure out what this creep drives. We need something, anything. Or else innocent people will keep dying.”
“I’ll let you know if we find out, Todd. We need your help but—”
“—you’re not giving me anything to work with. All I have are a list of names and what body parts are missing.”
“And the notes.”
“Of course,” Todd said. “But I’m still trying to figure out what it all means.”
Todd heard Melinda move around in their bed. He turned around and saw her looking at him.
“Give me a call if you have any ideas, Todd. We need all the help we can get at this point.”
“I will, John. Hang in there.”
Todd ended the call and stared at Melinda. He saw the look of fear on her face.
“Another one?” she asked.
Todd nodded.
They remained in the warm bed for three minutes before Todd broke the silence. “I am going to go to my office. I need to see what I can piece together.”
He rose from bed and dressed in a hurry. In less than a minute, he was in his home office. He looked at his desk and saw the notes he scribbled down. Below the notes, on a piece of paper, were the names of all of the victims. Deborah Miller. Right foot taken. Cindy Keller. Torso taken. Todd’s stomach turned at the thought. Joshua Adler. Left foot. Officer Riley. Right arm.
He picked up a pen and put it to paper to scribble down the name of the latest victim and which body part was taken: Angela Littleton. Left arm.
“You sick bastard,” Todd muttered. “What are you doing with these body parts?”
Todd sat at his desk and pored over the few details he had. He turned on his computer and accessed the internet to look up whatever he could on each victim. What did they have in common? The answer to that question could help Todd figure out how the killer picked the victims which might help in figuring out who was next.
After an hour of research, Todd returned his gaze to the papers on his desk. His eyes were tired from staring into the twenty-seven inch computer monitor that hogged part of his desk.
He looked at the names again. He realized that the names were not in order of when they were found, that he scribbled them anywhere he could on the paper.
He took a fresh sheet of paper from the printer that sat on the left corner of his desk, and rewrote all of the names, this time in order of when they were found.
Deborah Miller.
Joshua Adler.
Sam Riley.
Cindy Keller.
Angela Littleton.
He thought about gender. Female, male, male, female, female. Not much of a pattern there. Perhaps the next victim would be male, he thought.
Then he thought about other possible connections. Some had children, some didn’t, so that couldn’t be a common denominator.
The only thing they had in common was that they were residents of Myrtle Beach.
Todd rose from his chair and walked away from his desk. He heard the floorboards creak as he walked on the thin layer of carpeting beneath his feet. Out in the kitchen, he found Melinda eating a bowl of ice cream.
“I’m going out,” Todd said. “Stay here. And keep the doors locked and alarm set. Call my cell if you need me.”
“Okay, dear,” Melinda said. A dribble of chocolate ice cream dripped down her chin. She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “Be careful.”
Todd felt his .38 Special in his side holster and smiled. “I will.”
The warm outside air smacked him square in the face the moment he stepped outside. The humidity made him gasp. It was a few hours until noon, and the heat was already repressive, unusual for this time of year.
His car was parked on the street. He missed the days of having a garage, but even with this lunatic on the loose, he didn’t miss Edinboro one bit. He longed to help rid Myrtle Beach of this vermin and continue his retirement in peace. Sitting in his tan Toyota Camry, he rolled all four windows down, allowing the hot air to escape as he rode off.
He turned the volume on the stereo up and heard the soothing sound of a male voice reading Stephen King’s The Shining. He no longer listened to the radio. Too much bad news on the radio. He preferred to listen to audio books to escape the day-to-day, but his life had become just as terrifying as the fiction he enjoyed.
He drove around town and noticed something peculiar. Though the temperature was warm and the sky was mostly cloudless, there was nobody out, not even in groups.
“Word must be spreading quickly,” he said to himself.
He knew that the serial killer might be making national news by this point and any families that had a vacation planned were likely canceling. There were other beaches in the country they could visit. A lunatic serial killer that vowed to kill every day until caught was not a selling point for Myrtle Beach. He knew most people were wise to wait.
But he was here, and he couldn’t leave. It was his home now, and he wasn’t about to leave on account of a killer on the loose.
After this son of a bitch is caught, he thought, I’m going to retire.
He continued driving along various roads, not seeing so much as a mailman out and about. No boys with boogie boards. No young women in bikinis. No old married couples wearing straw hats and fanny packs. Desolate. Completely desolate.
Todd saw an ice cream stand that was open, though there were no patrons. He pulled over, rolled his windows up until they were cracked about an inch, and exited his car.
At the counter of the walk-up window, he saw the nervous look of a young man.
“Can I help you?” the man asked.
Todd reached into his pocket and pulled out two dollars. “I’ll take a small vanilla cone.”
“Soft or hard?”
“Soft, please.”
The man’s voice was high, like a tenor in a youth choir. “You got it.” He grabbed a cone and turned around to dispense the soft vanilla ice cream. Moments later, he held it out and smiled. “A dollar fifty, please.”
Todd placed the two dollars on the counter and accepted the cone. The man gave him his change.
Todd saw an empty tip jar near the register. He dropped the two coins in and heard them clap against the bottom.
“How’s business?” Todd asked, already knowing the answer.
“Very slow for this time of year,” the man said. “Usually we are hopping, but…”
Todd nodded his head and wore a sympathetic look on his face. “Everyone’s terrified.”
“Exactly,” the man said. “Staying alive is much more important than eating ice cream.”
Todd lifted the ice cream to his mouth and felt the co
ld, creamy texture against his lips. He smacked his lips together and smiled. “I guess I’m the only one who feels ice cream is more important than life itself.”
“Ice cream is important,” the man said. “But…I don’t even think we should be open.”
Todd wasn’t sure if he agreed with the man. He knew that the killer would enjoy crippling the area to the point where even the businesses closed. Fear was rampant, for sure, but he wasn’t sure if closing shops and restaurants and other establishments around Myrtle Beach would send the right message.
“Hang in there,” Todd said. “We’ll get ‘em soon.”
“What are you, a cop?”
“A retired police officer,” Todd said.
“So you’re not trying to find this maniac?”
“Not officially, but…” Todd hesitated. “…let’s just say I’m helping the police in any way I can. Everyone should be helping. Suppose you saw something suspicious while you were working here…”
“I’d call the cops,” the man said.
“Good,” Todd said.
“So what’s your name?”
“Todd. Todd Williams. You?”
“Nick Eyer.”
Todd smiled and shook Nick’s hand. “Be safe. And call the police if you see anything suspicious.”
“Will do.”
Todd licked his ice cream and walked back towards his car. He turned the ignition and continued his tour of the panicked town in an attempt to piece together the puzzle. One thing was certain: there would be another bloody piece of the puzzle the following day. That’s what he was afraid of the most.
* * *
Nick Eyer looked at his watch. Ten of seven. Only ten minutes to go before he could close up shop for the night. He knew that when he counted the drawer, there wouldn’t be much to run to the night deposit box at the local bank. For a Friday, during peak season, sales were abysmal.