Eight Years Later

The moment I walked over the threshold, I knew a clusterfuck of epic proportion awaited me.

Blood was everywhere. Spatter by the front door, smears over the walls, and droplets leading to where I knew the victim would ultimately be laying in a pool of her life’s essence.

Forensics was going to have a field day with this one.

Just like with the other fifteen.

Donning the protective gear the lead officer had ordered me to change into before entering the scene, I made my way toward the back of the house.

Carefully avoiding one evidence marker after another, I entered the master bedroom. The grizzly sight of Victoria Spark’s mutilated body, lying face up on the bed, greeted me. The standard ligatures on her wrists and ankles proved that she’d been restrained and alive through most of her torture; the killer leaving her to die in excruciating pain from her wounds and ultimately, blood loss.

The scent of copper in the air thickened as I made my final approach, slipping my hands into a pair of plastic gloves. I was looking for something I knew was meant for me.

Setting my evidence kit down beside the bed, I bent toward the body in search of my next clue.

The sickening crack of the victim’s jaw set my stomach to roiling as I pulled her mouth open, locating the three pieces I had come to expect after so many years of chasing this perp. Letting go of the victim, I grasped my digital camera and photographed my findings. Setting the camera down, I whipped out the small evidence bag from my kit and opened it, manning my tweezers.

Fishing the objects out one by one, I dropped them into the bag, then photographed them again. Fragments of a photograph were what this sicko left. Camera in hand, I shot a few frames of the room, as well as the rest of the premises. The team would have their own photos, but I liked being thorough with my investigations, thus preferred gathering my own shots, comparing them with the others.

Closing up my kit, I stood to take my leave.

Fucking sadistic bastard and his games.

It pissed me off that he was always one step ahead of me.

Thinking on those tiny pieces—the unknown subject, or unsub’s calling card—I was confused more than ever as to why he was leaving them at every scene. The letter I’d received at the precinct, a week after the first murder, had alluded that they were all part of some demented countdown…a puzzle of sorts. One thing was clear, however, the perp was after me, and after sixteen murders, I still wasn’t any closer to finding this guy.

In my career as a detective, I’d come across a lot of questionable characters. I’d done my fair share of arresting the dregs of society and making enemies along the way. You couldn’t be a cop without that happening.

“I take it that Rosie is in for another disappointing birthday dinner?” Will asked, coming to a stop at my side as I exited the victim’s home.

Two days a year, I dealt with this bullshit; one being my daughter’s birthday, the other was a day I’d rather forget.

For the last eight years, it had been the same fucking story. That in itself was enough to confirm that the unsub was gunning for me. That, and the fact that he’d started this spree of his, claiming none other than my wife as his first victim.

My only problem was, my list of suspects had next to nothing. This perp was meticulously careful. Treating his kills as if they were some kind of gruesome artwork: from the placement of limbs, to the blood spatter surrounding the victims…even those fucking pieces.

“I hate going back on my promise,” I growled. “She’s going to be pissed.”

“I know it’s your case, Shane, but I’m your partner,” Will said. “Take a few hours, go to her, then come back if you have to.”

I nodded. “I have what I need right now. You sure you can handle everything without me?”

He patted me on the back as I straightened from the body and backed away. “I’ll call if something comes up.”

Thanking him, I handed him my evidence bag, then made to leave the scene, my camera and evidence kit in tow.

Caught up in my own memories, I drove home on autopilot, scenes from eight years ago playing in my head.

The same black hair. The same look of terror in her open eyes.

Eva had been bound too.

And cut up.

Blood. God! There’d been so much blood everywhere.

I’d been the one to find her. I hated to think what would have been had my Rosie been there that day.

“Daddy!” was squealed, knocking me out of my grizzly thoughts.

Opening the car door and letting myself out, I caught her as she launched herself into my arms.

My princess.

The light of my life.

Buffing my cheek against my now nine-year-old’s hair, then kissing it, I looked toward the house to find my mother standing there, a smile of pride, but the worry and apprehension she’d come to feel over the years—on this day—was evident in her eyes.

“Happy birthday,” I rasped. “Did you have a good day at school? But most importantly, are you ready for dinner?”

Rosie reared her head and looked at me in shock. “We’re still going?”

Smiling, despite feeling my heart breaking at my parental failings, I nodded. “We sure are.”

Passing my mother as I carried my daughter over the threshold, I gave her inquisitive look a slight nod to confirm her suspicions, only to hear her curse under her breath.

It wasn’t like I could hide it from the woman. She was a junky for news, and there was no way that this latest murder was going to stay out of it.

Following the women out to the car, I paused to watch Emberlyn, our neighbor, staring down at a package in her hand. She looked pale. Paler than her usual ivory complexion.

Before I could stop her, my daughter made a beeline for the other side of the street. “Ember! Ember! It’s my birthday and Daddy’s taking us out!” I could feel her excitement radiating off of her in waves.

Considering I was standing in the driveway, and my daughter had basically yelled her news to the entire neighborhood, I didn’t get to hear what Emberlyn had to say. I simply watched as the woman nodded to me in greeting, bent down to my daughter with a smile covering that troubled look I’d seen moments before, and kissed her cheek.

Looking at my watch, I hated myself for feeling rushed. “Lana Rose, we need to go, baby girl.”

Her nose scrunched up as she turned to look at me. “I’m not a baby!” Turning with a smile for the woman standing next to her, the one whose eyes were now trained on me, she nearly lost her balance when my daughter tackled her with a hug. “I’ll see you later, Ember,” she yelled, pausing to look to both sides of the street before running back to me. My eyes followed my girl’s progress as she jumped in the back seat of my Escalade, before I looked back toward my neighbor.

“Enjoy dinner,” she called in place of goodbye.

Jutting my chin out in acknowledgment, I turned toward my family and got in the driver’s seat.

“Do you think they’ll have cake?” Rosie asked, making my mother laugh.

Their giggles had me grinning from ear to ear. My day could use a few more lighthearted moments.

I turned, giving her a wink. “I’m sure they can swing it, Princess.”

“Ember said that she’ll show me how to make lip gloss, Daddy!”

As the evening went on, trying to stay focused on a nine-year-old’s girlie interests got harder.

Mom nudged me to get me out of my head.

“What did you say, Princess?”

My mind was on the woman who’d lost her life, due to a vendetta against me. It was also on the night when I lost my wife. When my daughter lost her mother.

“I get to make lip gloss with Ember,” Rosie announced.

Hugging her into my side, I kissed the top of her head. “That’s great, honey, but make sure that if I’m not around, that Grams knows where you’re headed, all right?” I made a mental note to look Emberlyn up as soon as I had more time. The woman seemed harmless enough to me, but unlike with my other neighbors, who Mom knew, since we were living in her house after we lost Eva, Emberlyn was the proverbial new kid in town, only having lived there for a couple of years.

“I promise,” she declared, crossing her finger over her heart. “You’d like her, Daddy.”

I snorted while Mom was trying to stifle a giggle. “What makes you say I don’t?” I couldn’t say I liked or disliked her; I didn’t know her that well.

My little girl shrugged her shoulders. “You never talk to her. She’s funny, and silly, and she makes cotton candy things. Well, not out of cotton candy, but her lip gloss sure tastes good! The other day, she dropped off some lotion for Grams’s birthday and gave me a tube of her stuff too. Grams thinks she’s sweet.”

“She did, huh?” I asked, looking from my daughter to my mother, who was sporting an amused smirk. She confirmed this with a slight nod.

“She’s a little shy, but she’s a complete sweetheart,” Mom said. “Honestly, I don’t see much of her. She’s always so busy in that little cottage behind her place, and when she’s not, she’s always leaving her front door all gussied up, with a new shipment of her products to deliver.”

With both the women in my life displaying such open interest in the woman, curiosity got the best of me. Leaning onto my elbow, my chin in my hand, I asked, “What does she do? I’ve heard lotion and lip gloss.”

“She makes different kinds of all-natural products,” Mom said. “Lotions, shampoos, makeup, soaps, salves, essential oils. The woman is a genius, if you ask me. She’s a little crafty too, and has been working on this new line of candles, and she told me that she really enjoys pottery.”

Through all of this, Rosie nodded in agreement. “You should see it, Dad. It’s pretty cool. It’s like cooking or baking, but with stuff you get to wear.” The look of wonderment in her eyes had me laughing. It looked like Ms. Emberlyn Roth, had both females’ approval, and I’d be lying if I said that part of me hadn’t noticed the way she was with both of them, or how her looks affected me.

Changing the subject, I smiled and turned to my daughter. “Are you ready for some cake?”