Todd heard John’s phone vibrate loudly.
“Excuse me,” John said. He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. John’s face went from a look of distress to a look of extreme terror.
“What’s the matter?” Todd asked.
“Just went from bad to worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone just texted me…” John started. He gasped for air before continuing. “…the address of where my family is hiding.”
John ran into the kitchen and opened the door to the garage. Todd followed behind, unsure if the detective wanted him to follow or not.
“Should I come along?” Todd asked.
John pulled the driver’s side car door open in haste. The words flew from his mouth: “Yeah, hurry!”
Todd rushed through the door and ran to the car. They both got in the car and John opened the garage door before starting the car. He didn’t wait for the garage door to go up fully before he put the car in reverse and began to back out. Once out, he closed the garage door.
Todd looked out the window and saw the men still working on the detective’s yard. John rolled down his windows and yelled out. “Emergency. I need to go. Call me if you need anything.”
Once in the street, John turned the wheel to his left and sped down the street past Todd’s parked car.
“How far away is this place?” Todd asked.
“Forty-five minutes,” John said. “I’m so stupid to think they would be safe there.”
Todd flew back in his seat as John slammed on the accelerator. From Route 17, Todd saw the familiar signs for the Conway Bypass, also known as Route 22. Once on 22, they weaved in and out of traffic and Todd lost track of where they were. He took a different route to travel north via Interstate 95, though he hadn’t had the desire to return to Edinboro since they arrived to Myrtle Beach. The highways were no longer necessary for him. With each exit sign, he became even more lost, though he did not want to ask where they were. He was just along for the ride.
Todd looked over and saw John’s knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. He knew the feeling. He remembered feeling the horrible emptiness when Melinda and their daughter, Cadance, were abducted in Edinboro. John did not know for certain if his wife and son were safe, but Todd figured that he probably assumed the worst, though with a shimmer of hope always present. It was that shimmer of hope and optimism that allowed men like John and Todd to persevere in the face of evil. Without that mindset, they would not be able to forge on. It was vital.
They took an exit Todd didn’t know and continued down a road that he was equally unfamiliar with. A left turn, then eventually a right. With each turn, the roads contained less traffic and far fewer structures.
Then John slowed about fifty yards from what looked like a large shanty house.
“Is this it?”
“Yeah, this is where my grandmother lived during the Great Depression. Not much to look at, but it’s been handed down, though not legally. The deed is not in my name. I don’t know how he—”
John stopped talking abruptly and pulled his gun from its holster. “Follow me. And don’t slam your door.”
They exited the car and cautiously approached the structure. Todd felt his boots sink into the sand patches between the gravel of the broken road. He saw the boarded up windows and the cracked paint on the front door. Todd wondered where the wife’s car was. Perhaps it was hidden somewhere nearby, as a nice car near a dilapidated shanty would be a dead giveaway someone was hiding there. Or maybe John had dropped them off. Todd wasn’t sure, though now wasn’t the time to gather information from John. He had enough on his mind.
Both men drew their guns and stepped towards the door, which Todd could see was open slightly. John reached out with his left hand and pushed the door open slowly. The sun poured into the small shanty and Todd could see the contents of the structure. A wooden table, beat and worn to hell. Two chairs sat near the table and matched the look of the table. A recliner that appeared to be decades old, was discarded in the corner, covered partially by a beige sheet.
Todd followed John into the shanty. Nobody was there.
In the center of the only room of the structure lay a small photograph accompanied by a small slip of paper. John ignored them and continued on towards the back of the shanty. He bent over and pulled on a small rug on the ground. It wouldn’t budge. Then he spoke in a loud voice.
“Samantha? It’s me. Are you okay?”
Todd heard a soft click from under the floorboards. Moments later, the rug bent in half and Todd saw that it was attached to a trap door. The trap door opened and a blonde-haired woman emerged. She wore a yellow and red summer dress, though her attire did not match the horror on her face. Tears flowed down her pale face as she reached down and lifted a boy from underneath the floorboards. Then Todd heard her soft voice: “We’re fine.”
Todd looked at the boy, who was half the height of Samantha. He shared her blonde hair, though his was only long enough to cover a portion of his forehead. His skin was tanned, probably from copious amounts of time playing outside. He wore blue jeans and a GI Joe tee shirt. He looked at Todd and then quickly looked at the ground.
Samantha put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Thank God Carter heard a vehicle approaching,” she said. “We peered out between the cracks in the boarded up windows thinking we’d see your car, but it was a big van. We weren’t sure who it was so we figured it would be best to hide.”
“Good thing you did,” John said.
“I’ll say,” she said. “I could hear the creep walking around, checking things out. He was here for a while.”
“When did he leave?’ Todd asked.
“Must have been a half hour ago. It’s been quiet since then.”
Todd saw Carter look up at his father. His eyes displayed intense fear, like he had just seen the boogeyman. Perhaps, through a crack in the floorboards, he had.
John walked towards his son, crouched down slightly so his face lined up with his son’s, and spoke in a soothing voice. “Are you alright, Cart?”
Carter nodded his head, though Todd could tell it was a forced nod. It was obvious the boy was shaken up quite a bit. Though young, Todd knew he was aware of the grave danger his family was in.
Todd walked over to the photo that lay on the ground. He crouched down and looked at it while John spoke quietly to his son. Todd’s eyes squinted as he saw what was in the photo. A headless body lay on a table, and though small in the picture, he could see the feet of two different skin colors stitched to legs of two other shades of tan. One foot had red nail polish, the other had clearly belonged to a man. From there, Todd scanned the two legs. One leg contained dark hair, the other was freshly shaven. The top of the thighs of each leg was stitched to the pelvic area of a woman’s torso. Todd’s eyes looked up the body and he saw the arms stitched to the torso. One arm was dark and contained a few tattoos near the biceps. The other was of farer skin and contained no tattoos. Todd nearly gagged when he saw the stump of the neck that clearly belonged to the torso.
He looked away from the picture and saw the note. In large font, he read the single sentence that was on the page: “Complete my first creation.”
Todd looked back at the photo but could not quite believe his eyes. It was something so distant, like something in a movie that seemed so surreal, that he couldn’t quite comprehend it. He hoped that he never saw the monstrosity in the flesh, but if he were to catch the killer, it would be inevitable.
The note boggled Todd’s mind just as much as the photo. How could it be possible for the detective, or any other person of decency, to aid in completing the embodiment of death? The composite of body parts was a symbol so sinister and evil, that even the worst of the worst psychopaths would be weak at the knees at the mere thought of it.
Todd turned around and saw John approach the note with aplomb. His wife and son stayed near the trap door, a good thing considering the horrible
photo that lay a dozen feet from their innocence.
John studied the photo then read the brief note. “Good God,” he said.
He turned to his wife and said, “I’ll call my buddy down at the station and get you somewhere safe.”
After John got on the phone and arranged protection for his wife and son, they all loaded into his car and headed to the police station.
To Todd, the fifteen minute ride seemed to take forever. Not much was said during the ride. Fear and panic filled the air and squelched any chance at a normal conversation. John spoke only to soothe Samantha and Carter. Todd stared out the window most of the way, in deep thought.
At the police station, John said his goodbye to his family.
“I’ll call you,” John said to his wife. He crouched down and hugged his son.
“Daddy, please don’t leave us,” Carter said, wiping away the tears.
“I have to help people, Carter,” John said. “You’ll see me again before you know it.”
John stood up and shook the hand of his friend, James Malloy. “Take good care of them.”
James was a mountain of a man. At six foot five, he towered over the detective. He smiled sincerely and spoke in a soft voice that didn’t match his intimidating appearance. “I will, John. They’ll be safe.”
Samantha and Carter walked with James into the police station. Carter looked over his shoulder as he walked. Tears continued to pour down his face.
John waved at him. “See you soon, Cart.”
Back in the car, Todd saw several tears meander down the detective’s face. For a brief moment, he saw a very sensitive man. Hard as a rock on the outside, yet tender as a marshmallow on the inside. At that moment, the detective reminded him of himself.
Both men did not speak as John put the car into drive and sped away. Soon they would return to John’s house and the game of cat and mouse would begin. Todd hoped John was the cat, but feared he would instead become the mouse.
* * *
John pulled into the garage of his house. Once the garage door closed, they got out of the car and went into the house.
In the kitchen, Todd’s phone rang.
When he answered the call, he heard Melinda’s voice. “Todd, when will you be home?”
“I’ll be there soon,” he said. “Maybe in twenty minutes. Sit tight.”
Todd hung up the phone and as he was placing the phone in his pocket, he heard the chime that indicated a text message. He pulled the phone back out and looked at the message.
It was from his daughter and simply said, “I miss you, Dad.”
He placed the phone on the counter and smiled. He thought about how much he missed her, though he didn’t miss living up north. He would visit her soon, most likely on campus of the university she was attending not more than an hour from Edinboro.
John walked over to the kitchen table and picked up the newspaper.
“Look at this, Todd.”
He handed Todd the newspaper, who put it down on the counter and studied the front page article. “The more they keep this on the front page, the more he’s winning. He’s becoming a sensation with these notes and missing body parts.”
“We have to keep that photo to ourselves for now,” John said. “If that gets in the paper, then it will go national.”
“It hasn’t already?”
“Word is getting out, but I think it will go viral on the internet and be on front pages all over the country if the press finds out about this wannabe Frankenstein we have on our hands.”
Todd stepped away from the paper. “I have to go, John. I need to make sure my wife is okay. She’s scared out of her mind.”
“I don’t blame her. I think most people are.”
Todd walked towards the foyer. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
“I’ll be here.”
“We’ll get this guy,” Todd said.
“I hope so.”
Todd opened the front door and walked out into the heat. The sound of emptiness filled his ears as he walked down the street towards his car. Moments after turning the ignition, he lowered all four windows and the steam from the interior lofted out. He drove down the lifeless street, wishing things would go back to normal and the sound of children playing would fill the air, rather than the sound of silence that was now the norm.
* * *
John heard his footsteps echo off the walls as his shoes clapped against the hard floor of the kitchen. He walked around the house to check to make sure all of the doors were locked. One after another he checked them. Once they were all secure, he double checked.
Once he was satisfied with the doors, he checked all of the windows twice.
Though he never displayed symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder, he felt it was better to be sure that there was no way the killer could enter through an unlocked door or window. John normally was consistent regarding security, but Samantha was more lax when it came to locking doors and windows. She grew up on a farm and it was practically tradition to leave everything unlocked. John did his best to explain that there were threats out there, and it was better to assume that said threats could migrate into their home. As a detective, John knew what people were capable of, so he checked in case she returned to her roots and left something unlocked.
Once he knew all the doors and windows were locked, John returned to the kitchen.
He walked towards the refrigerator, intent on getting a drink, when his cell phone ringtone blared out.
“You heard what?” John asked the man on the other end.
“A man’s scream. Next door.”
At first John wondered why the man had called him instead of 911. Then he remembered that his number was in nearly every article regarding the investigation. Perhaps the man had the paper nearby and remembered the last line of “if you have any information please call…”
“What’s your neighbor’s address?” John asked.
As the man relayed his address in haste, John wrote it down on a slip of paper on the kitchen table. Then he realized that the house was on the other block. With the house number fresh in his mind, he raced towards the door to the garage.
Then he thought he should call Todd.
He dialed Todd’s number and heard a sixties rock and roll tune playing from under the newspaper on the kitchen counter. He moved the paper and found Todd’s cell phone lying on the counter.
“Crap,” John said.
He had no time to waste. He hopped into his car and raced towards the house where the man heard a scream. He hoped that the tip led to the capture of the monster that was threatening the safety of everyone around him.
* * *
Todd was halfway home when he realized that he forgot his cell phone at John’s place. He pulled a U turn and rushed back.
At John’s house, he rang the door bell and waited.
No answer.
Then he rang again and again.
Still no answer.
He remembered that John said he would be home. The what-ifs swirled through his mind. What if the killer was somewhere in the house and they didn’t see him? What if John was in trouble and needed help? What if John was already dead?
Todd ran around to the back door. Locked.
He checked a few windows, but all of those were locked too.
Finally, after a minute of deliberation, he broke in through one of the kitchen windows. He pulled his gun and checked through the house, but nobody was there. There wasn’t any indication of a struggle either. No evidence whatsoever that John had been snatched from his home.
Back in the kitchen, Todd found his cell phone. Out in the garage, he found a small piece of wood to use as a dowel in the window, so nobody else could enter the house.
Once the dowel was in place, he saw a piece of paper with a scribbled address on the kitchen table.
“I don’t remember this being here before,” he said aloud.
Todd picked up the piece of paper and walked towards the front door. He l
ocked the door before closing it.
Todd had a hunch that the detective needed help. His hunches were rarely wrong.
* * *
John slowed his car and saw the one-story dwelling that bore the house number given to him by the neighbor who called him. He lowered his window and listened for screaming, but all was silent.
He parked down the street and approached the house on foot, to avoid being seen by anyone inside the house. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket to call the station for some backup. Looking at the screen, he saw that he had no signal. He held his cell phone up into the air, as if it would help retain the several bars of signal that it usually had. No luck.
He pocketed his cell phone and walked cautiously towards the house.
Then he heard a scream.
As he raced towards the house, he heard a second scream. His heart raced even faster as he ran around the back and viewed a large garage behind the house. He stopped dead as a third scream emanated from the garage.
He pressed on, creeping up to the door. He knew there could be anything behind that door, and from the screams he just heard, he had an inkling of what he might discover.
Silence overtook the area as he placed his hand on the door knob. With his gun drawn, he held his breath and turned the knob.
John pushed the door open and aimed his gun into the poorly lit garage. The smell of death overtook him. His eyes watered at the smell of rotting flesh. He gagged and wanted to turn back, but he couldn’t. He had to keep going.
Each step took him further into what looked like a laboratory. Two tables lay in the middle of the room, both contained a body.
The table on the left held a large man, with a bloody knife by his neck. Blood dripped from his neck onto the plastic sheet that acted as a barrier between the man and the wooden table. Other than the bloody neck, the man appeared to be unscathed.
Before John could give the naked man a second thought, he saw what lay on the second table. His jaw dropped as he viewed the atrocity. He stepped closer to get a better look and stood with his back facing the naked man with the slit throat. On the table, he saw body parts from various people, the victims from the past week, that were stitched together. He remembered the photo and how distant he felt to the horrors on the glossy paper. Now that he stood in front of it, seeing the bruised flesh and the flaps of skin stitched together, it was all too real to him. John thought of the other body and figured the man would be harvested to provide this “creation” with the last piece of its heinous puzzle: the head.