Message of murder trilog.., p.17
Message of Murder Trilogy Complete Collection, page 17
I see the true man before me clearly in my vision. A broken, lonely shell of a human.
“I said let go, you freak.”
He struggles against my grip.
My tattoo stabs, insistent.
Herbert wrenches his arm from my grasp.
The command in my mind screams lunge forward.
I obey.
The momentum of his pull and my lunge tumble me to the floor. My hands and legs taped to the chair, I can’t brace my fall. I hit the wood floor with a heavy thud.
Herbert grabs his knife.
“You shouldn’t have done that. Can’t wait to see your blood.”
He lunges at me, intent on cutting.
Taped to the chair, I can’t move to save myself.
A gunshot pierces the room.
Glass shatters and rains across the floor. The smell of gun powder fills the room, burns my eyes. My ears ring.
Herbert stumbles backwards, crumbles against the wall.
Rachel screams and doesn’t stop screaming.
Blood splashes across his chest. He presses his hands to the wound, surprise twisting his face. He looks at the blood dripping from his hand. A sick expression of delight crosses his face.
He lays too close to me, but I can’t move away.
“It’s so beautiful,” he murmurs.
He touches his chest again, smearing more blood on his hand.
He holds it above him, delights in the drips as they splatter on his chest in tiny explosions of color.
“So wonderful, see?” He reaches towards me, wanting to share his wonder. He wipes the blood on my face, the sticky warmth coating my cheek. I jump and struggle against the chair, desperate to get away.
His head rolls to the side and his bloody hand drops. His face is so close, I’m forced to watch as he fades. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my face against the floor to hide.
The door crashes open and Rachel screams again.
“Gabby, oh my God, we found you.”
“Dustin?” I can’t believe he’s here.
“We’re here. You’re safe.” He crouches beside me, touches the blood on my face. “Are you hurt?”
“No. That’s his blood.”
Dustin crouches and checks Herbert for signs of life.
“He’s dead,” I whisper.
Lucas fills the room next.
“You got him,” Dustin congratulates Lucas.
Relief floods me at the sight of Lucas’ broad body.
“Take care of Gabby, I’ll help Rachel,” Dustin says, taking control.
Lucas kneels and cuts the tape holding me to the chair. As soon as I can move, I crawl across the floor to his embrace. I don’t question how he got here, just melt into his chest. He holds me tight, nearly crushing me to him. The safety of his arms breaks me and I give into the fear and shock. Heavy sobs of relief and sorrow.
“Shh. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” His voice in my ear beautiful music.
“I knew you would come,” I whisper. “I was stalling him, waiting for you.”
His arms tremble around me, his chest heaves and he fights back his own tears. His hands run over my hair, down my back. I push farther against him like a frightened child.
I breathe.
“Oh my God, Gabby!” Preston’s voice breaks the sweet spell.
Lucas drops his arms and turns me over to Preston’s embrace.
I allow Preston to hold me, but feel empty without Lucas’s strength surrounding me.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“He wouldn’t stay home,” Dustin says.
Preston helps me to my feet, hurries me out of the room away from the dead man on the floor.
I fight the urge to look over my shoulder at Lucas, but follow Preston outside.
Sirens sing in the distance and soon red and blue lights up the sky.
Preston tries to console me as we wait for the ambulance and police to arrive. He wants to hold me, to comfort me.
I don’t want to be touched.
I’m uncomfortable with my left hand bare, and use my right glove to cover it. It fits awkwardly, but offers some security. I never want to touch anything again. I shove my hands in my pockets and sit on the front step.
Preston hovers close, pacing in his agitation.
“Preston, please sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
He joins me on the step, too close. I shift away putting a breath of distance between us.
“Thank you for helping find me,” I manage to say.
Preston shrugs. “We were all scared for you, and for Rachel.”
The ambulance pulls down the lane, saving me from further conversation.
A blur of officers and EMTs descend on the hidden trailer. I get checked out, but decline going to the hospital. I’m not hurt, physically. Psychically, I’m drained to the core.
They manage to release Rachel from her chains, and remove her on a stretcher. I hurry to her side, needing to see for myself she’s okay.
“You were amazing,” she whispers. “You were so brave, and I was so scared.”
“We were both brave,” I console.
“He killed them for me. All of them.”
“He killed them for himself, for his own reasons. I saw it when I touched him. You are not to blame.”
“Thank you,” she whispers once more, and they load her into the ambulance.
Dustin and Lucas direct the rest of the team. With nowhere else to go, I sit in the grass with Preston by my side. He doesn’t try to hold me, or ask me questions. I’m thankful for his quiet presence.
Lucas eventually comes to find me.
“You doing okay?”
I force a tired smile. “I guess. When can I go?”
“You’ll have to give a formal statement, but we can wait until tomorrow. Sure you don’t need a hospital?”
“I just need a bed. I could sleep for days.”
Lucas’s shoulders shift, uncomfortable.
“You want to ask me something. Just ask.”
“What was he making you to do in there?”
“He forced me to touch mementos from other murders, see the killings. He wanted me to prove I wasn’t a fake.”
Lucas and Preston make sounds of disgust.
“There are other victims,” I say quietly. “I saw two of them, but he had more things in the drawer.”
I shudder. I know what he wants to ask me, save him forming the words.
“I can touch them and tell you who they are. Not now,” I add quickly. “Later, when I’m rested. Those women deserve justice.”
Lucas starts to reply.
“Gabriella, oh my!” Grandma Dot’s voice carries over the scene and her small but powerful frame pushes past the police tape. An officer tries to stop her, but her withering look makes him back away.
“It’s okay, let her pass,” Lucas says to the officer. “You won’t stop her anyway.”
I welcome Grandma Dot’s touch, let her fawn over me, checking me for injuries the EMTs might have missed. It reminds me when I fell off my bike at her house when I was young. The memory warms.
“Is this blood? Did he cut you?”
“It’s not my blood,” I explain.
Grandma turns to Lucas, “I’m taking her home. She needs tea and a shower and a bed. You can worry about all your police stuff later.”
Lucas can’t hide a smile.
“Grandma Dot, what are you doing here?” Dustin interrupts. “This is a crime scene, not a family reunion.”
“I’m taking Gabriella home.”
“Can you take Preston home, too?” I ask. Grandma finally notices Preston at the edge of our group.
“Of course.” She looks at Dustin in challenge.
“Fine. Take them both. I will need statements tomorrow.”
Grandma Dot wraps her arm around my shoulder and steers me towards the road. Preston follows dutifully.
“Wait,” I say and hurry back to Dustin.
“Um, there’s something in my pocket I need to return,” I say to my brother.
“What is it?”
“A piece of hand bone from Karen Jennings.”
His eyes flash with confusion and anger.
“I didn’t mean to take it. I accidentally held on to it that first day at the dirt. It needs to be returned to her.”
“You’re always full of surprises.” He takes a plastic bag from his pocket and snaps it open.
“Can you get it? I don’t want to touch it again.”
His expression softens and he retrieves the bone.
“Get some rest. I’m sure Grandma’s tea will help,” he says gently, brotherly.
“I will.”
He moves like he wants to hug me, but changes his mind and pats me on the shoulder instead. I don’t mind. The simple act of affection warms me.
He turns on his heel, and goes back to work.
The three of us ride in silence in Grandma Dot’s flatbed. The rhythm of the truck lulls me to sleep and I doze on the drive.
Parked in Preston’s driveway, I bolt awake, confused and scared.
“Shh,” Grandma Dot soothes and pats my knee. “We’re just dropping him off.”
I turn blurry eyes to Preston. “Thank you for your help.” The words feel inadequate.
“Can we talk tomorrow?” he asks hopefully.
“Sure. But not before noon,” I try to make a small joke.
He looks longingly at me and climbs out.
“He’s nice,” Grandma Dot says.
“Yes he is.” I lean against her shoulder and doze again.
Grandma’s tea, a hot shower and my childhood bed wrap me in comfort. Grandma sits on the edge of the bed with Jet on her lap. Tucking me in like a child.
I get the courage to say what’s bothering me.
“I didn’t know it was him. I saw him every day at work and never sensed he was evil.”
“There’s no way you could have known.” She brushes my damp hair off my face, careful not to touch my scar.
“But I should have. I could have saved Rachel before she was kidnapped. Maybe I could have saved those other women too.”
“Gabriella, listen to me.” Grandma turns my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes. “That man made the choice to hurt others. It’s not your responsibility, it’s his. This gift will bring you into contact with things you can’t control. You have to do as much good as you can with it, but you aren’t responsible for what others do.”
She lets go of my chin and I curl deeper into the pillow. “I should have known,” I mumble.
Nothing she can say will change how I feel, so she lets me sleep.
The next few days are a blur of questions. And answers.
I follow through on my promise to give names to Herbert’s other victims. Six women were tortured by him in addition to Karen and Steven. With each item, I struggled not to see how their lives ended, just get their names.
I saw their deaths anyway.
Their stories are part of me now.
Lucas handled letting me touch the items. Dustin wasn’t there. I’m fine with that. Our fragile re-bonding might crumble if he actually watches me do what I do. Lucas kept his reactions professional, but the glitter of awe in his eyes was evident. His acceptance gave me the courage to do them all. Six families were granted closure.
Lacey Aniston did a story about Herbert and what happened in his trailer. I braced myself for the worst when I watched the coverage. To her credit, she didn’t make any direct derogatory comments about me and my involvement. I didn’t want to throw something at the TV when I watched it. It was the best I could expect from Lacey.
The highlight for me was meeting with Seth and Nicholas and Patrick. We meet in the day room at Life Villages. Patrick seems lighter, more focused on the present. Seth gushes his appreciation, and I do my best to accept it graciously.
“I’m not sure what I did. Mostly I got kidnapped, and Lucas and Dustin actually stopped him,” I point out.
“You risked your life to save our dad,” Seth tries.
I don’t correct him.
Even Nicholas concedes I helped them. He wears a polo and khakis, not his suit and tie. I like him better in his dressed-down clothes. He even shakes my hand. I wear gloves of course, but I’m surprised he’d even touch me.
I kneel in front of Patrick’s wheel chair, join him on his level so I can see directly into his eyes. “You can put Karen to rest now,” I say simply.
The fragile man touches my cheek, the same cheek Herbert smeared his blood on.
“Bless you.” The two words are enough.
The intimacy of the meeting presses uncomfortably, and I make my exit as politely as I can.
“Will you come to Mom’s funeral?” Seth asks. “It will be small, just family and close friends.”
I hesitate. I didn’t know Karen in life, but feel close to her in her death.
“I’ll be there.”
I attend the funeral alone. I toyed with the idea of bringing Preston, but decided against it. Our budding romance has been on hold the last few days. Preston has given me my space. He checks on me, is friendly, but he doesn’t press. I appreciate the space more than I can explain.
Patrick Jennings sits in the front row, flanked by his sons. He seems stronger than when I saw him in the nursing facility just a few days ago. Seth told me he was improving every day, might even get to go back to his apartment soon. I’m proud of the part I played in his recovery.
The casket is small, only holding the bones of the woman. At the end of the service, everyone lines up to pay their last respects at the coffin before they lower it into the grave. Many people touch the casket lid as a show of respect.
Even with my thickest wool gloves on, I don’t touch it.
I stand to the side, waiting to talk to Seth and his family. My neck tingles as if someone watches me. I look over my shoulder on reflex.
Far in the distance, a man turns and walks away.
Even through the yards and years separating us, I recognize the shape of the man, the way he walks.
“Dad?”
THE END
Continue reading “Message in the Fire” to see what happens next.
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MESSAGE in the FIRE
Dawn Merriman
Description:
Psychic visions are tricky things - especially from a woman in a coma
I find the murdered woman crumpled under a tree. Blood stains her back and her hands are bound. If I touch her, my psychic abilities will show me what happened to her. But I’ve lived through murders before and the visions leave scars. Fighting my fear, I touch her – and only see four names – Addlynn Jeanette Claire Margaret.
The unmistakable cry of a newborn infant shatters the calm of the woods. Her body is wrapped around the tiny boy, impossibly small and fragile. I scoop up the screaming infant, and the woman moves to protect her son. She’s alive.
Alive, but in a coma - a complete mystery. The detectives, my brother and his handsome partner, desperately need information. I’m the only one who can communicate with the woman. Touching her hand in the hospital provides only snippets of her life. Terrifying snippets, like how she got the scar burned into the palm of her hand.
Visions are tricky things. The details float like smoke - lost in the haze. I can’t tell what she’s running from, but the woman’s terror burns inside me. I will find out who hurt her, and I won’t stop until I bring them to a fiery end.
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Prologue
Dirt, decay and plastic blend together in a horrifying perfume. The smell of the tarp covering my face chokes me. I need air, need the tarp off me.
I try to swipe it away, escape.
My bound hands remain behind my back. The sharp ties tear my wrists.
Panic threatens and a scream bubbles from deep in my gut. I bite my lip hard to keep the scream inside. He thinks he finished me, I must be quiet.
I suck in the putrid air under the tarp and focus on my body.
I am alive, but I hurt.
The gravel under me stabs in tiny pinpricks. A more intense pain blossoms from two spots near my shoulder blades. Another pain sizzles closer to my hip.
My thin nightgown clings to the spots.
My blood.
My ears strain, listening for him.
The wind rattles the wood sliding door.
The panic threatens again and I roll to get away from the tarp. The rough plastic slides across my face. I ignore the pain in my back and roll again.
The tarp slides away.
The air in the shed smells almost as bad as the tarp. The pale moonlight struggles through the single tiny window near the peak, illuminating piles of boxes and old buckets and garden tools. I recognize the rarely used storage space. Knowing where I am spurs me to act.
Moonlight glimmers in a faint line beneath the door of the shed, outlining the gap where the gravel has worn away under the door. A gap I might fit through.
I roll against the door, my long nightgown tangling my legs. The sliding door swings outward on its track making the gap wider. I wriggle under the door pushing and writhing, desperate to escape.
My head and chest push through the gap into the night. I gulp the fresh air.
Freedom is close.
Pushing with my feet, I gain a few more inches. I try to make myself smaller, shrink into the ground.
My pregnant belly stops my progress under the door. The wood door cuts into my body, I push anyway. I gain another inch.
The weight of the door pins me to the ground.
Frustrated tears burn my eyes. Dry leaves tumble from the nearby trees. A single leaf lands on my face and clings to the tears.
I can’t move my hands to brush it away. I can’t move from under the door.
The panic swirls, adrenaline pounds in my blood, making me lightheaded.
The baby in my belly kicks.
The sharp pain focuses me. The tiny life needs me, nothing else matters.
