Leave A Whisper - Page Two

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Leave a Whisper Bookcover

 Leave A Whisper

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Chapter Three - Twisted
...With a mind that's twisted, deformed, and erratic,
one must make do with what they were dealt...
His old, faded, red ‘76 Dodge Charger was as temperamental and contrary as usual. He turned the key. The starter loudly squalled then stopped. It clicked, then did nothing. Damned solenoid.

Abandoning the idea it would start, he walked to the corner store to use the pay phone. A taxi was on its way. An estimated fifteen minutes. I'll be late for work. Fuck 'em, he thought.

The taxi driver didn't talk like most did. Minus the mindless chatter, Reddick appreciated the quiet. When they arrived at the warehouse, the driver told him how much the fare was and he paid without saying a word.

As soon as he walked into the warehouse, he heard his bosses' voice echoing across the expanded vastness.

"Reddick-- hey-- Reddick! Come over here. I need to speak to you before you punch the time clock," his boss, Smitherman, yelled.

Reddick glanced at Smitherman, who was leaning against a forklift wearing a self-righteous smirk on his fat weathered face, suitably crowned with a sweaty, bald, head shining under florescent lighting.

"Yeah-- whadda you want?" he retorted. He'd listened to Smitherman's crap before. Reddick walked toward him as slowly as a snail moves toward its intended destination. I'm not gettin' in any hurry to talk to the son-of-a-bitch and listen to his shit again. It's the same ol' pile of dog shit as always and fuckin' redundant.

"You've been late punching in six times this month, or maybe even longer than that. Maybe you're feeling like a good Samaritan and want to give your job to one of the other applicants needing this job? Do you have any problems that I should know about?"

Reddick glared at Smitherman with squinted eyes and a raised eyebrow, not saying a word. He knew Smitherman would interpret his silence as being passively submissive. That's what he wants me to be-- a pussy. But he's gotta another thing coming. I'm not like all the other dumb assholes around here that he bullies. He can't bully me... It'd be fun to punch him when he didn't expect it-- pound his face into a bloody pulp. The element of surprise and the fuckin' shock he'd have on his face would give me a high-- a real rush. The imagined it. Energized anticipation surged through his body. He felt intense thrill growing into an erection.

"Reddick, did you hear what I said?"

"Yeah, I heard. And you know somethin'? I really don't give a shit. If you can't understand a guy being late 'cause shit happens-- then fuck you and fuck this job."

"I won't tolerate anyone being late, so this is your last warning," Smitherman bluffed. "If I let you slide, the other guys will start taking my authority for granted-- I can't have that. I've got a production schedule to meet. Now get outta here-- punch in-- and get to work." He knew Reddick wasn't right in the head and didn't want any attitude from him. Reddick was the kind of employee that could go postal with the slightest provocation. Smitherman shuddered at the thought and quickly headed to the sanctuary of his office.

Reddick, not intimidated, watched Smitherman walk away. He knew Smitherman was going to hide out in the office from fearing him. I could jump the motherfucker from behind and snap his fuckin' neck. But he couldn't see me before I did it-- so there wouldn't be any fuckin' rush in that. What fuckin' fun would that be?

...Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
The son-of-a-bitch fell off the wall.
When he laid sprawled on the ground,
all shattered and broken all around,
I came up on him, anticipating releases,
and axed him to a fuckin' million pieces...

Chapter Four - Revelation

Later that night, Toni sat comfortably in her dark living room on an over-stuffed sofa, and stared outside an opened window. She enjoyed the breeze on her face and enjoyed listening to the sounds of the trees gently rustling and whispering their secrets in the night. Smoky aromas of nearby neighbor's wood burning fireplaces, filled her nostrils.

She couldn't shake off the afternoon's events, and was doubting her decision to meet with Detective Meadows. She had trouble trying to reconcile the meeting and running into with Ms. Bartlow. She had retired early in order to get away from the evil things that people do to each other and didn't want to be involved in it again. After thinking about it awhile longer, she decided she would make an exception. She couldn't bear the thought of more victims-- especially if there were any chance that she could prevent it. Not helping, would be like personally being responsible for their deaths.
Being a psychic was a curse; it wasn't something she'd chosen if given a choice. She knew at an early age, probably nine or ten, that she was different from the other kids. She had erratic visions and heard thoughts of other people, which she didn't understand and was overwhelming for her at that age. Her bizarre feelings could only be explained as hearing people's random thoughts like they were riding in the wind and visions like movies playing in her mind-- which scared her so badly-- she went downstairs into the basement where she thought the cement walls would keep out the visions and block people's thoughts. It didn't, but she went into the basement anyway, hoping each time-- it would eventually work.
Deciding to relax and forget about it, she closed and double-locked the window, and drew a hot bath adding drops of rose oil. She lit her favorite scented candle and lowered her body into the sweet smelling water. She stretched out comfortably with a glass of wine, took a sip, then laid back, shutting her eyes. The scent of rose blossoms filled the room, washing a peaceful contentment throughout her body and soul.
...Bad times are only pleasant when one shares the darkness with another essence... she was hearing...
Detective Meadows previously arranged their first meeting to go over the details of the case together. Toni was early and sat waiting patiently in the precinct's squad room, apprehensive of the pending procedures.

"Good morning, Ms. Taft. Thank you for coming in. Please, come into my office," he greeted, while gesturing toward the opened office door.

She stood up, straightened her skirt, and walked into his office as he waited to follow her in.

Seating herself in the only visitor chair, she noticed the room was extremely small and crowded. It smelled of musty mildew and stale cigars with dusty crumpled papers scattered about the room cluttering any available space that remained. Boxes were stacked in every corner barely leaving room to walk around the desk. The room hadn't been painted in years. Flaked gray paint showed tattered walls, pocked with empty nail holes and ghostly areas where pictures once hung.

She removed the blue silk scarf from her neck that was gently wrapped and looped in a side-way fashion, and laid it with her coat, over the back of the chair. She opened her purse, pulling out a small blue velvet box and opened it, gently lifting out a porcelain figurine. She cradled it in both hands close to her breasts.

"What've you got there, Ms. Taft?" he asked, eying the small statuette.

"It's my protective angel, Aniel. My father gave it to me when I was about ten and I carry it with me wherever I go. I feel that I'm stronger and more intuitive when I hold it."

"Angels have names? I didn't know they had names-- I mean-- they're not real, you know-- 'just wishful symbols that people made up born from overly active imaginations. So it just figures they don't have names," he said, stumbling over his words. It didn't come out right and realized he'd probably offended her, but hadn't meant it to.

"Yes, they have names. And they are real. The Bible speaks of God's angels. There's different angels of every order. Aniel is one of the angels who guards the gates of the West winds of Heaven. This angel," she paused, holding it up for him to see, "gives psychic powers, intuition, and dreams," she explained. "It's a necessary preparation I've developed that aids and enhances my abilities," she added, aware that he probably thought she was crazy-- but didn't care.

"Interesting-- I didn't know that. Although I'm not really a religious man, I'd always thought angels were kind of like pixies and fairies, or elves-- whatever they are-- you know... made up."

"Well, I believe in God and His angels. Aniel has helped me before. Maybe it's because it's powerful, or because of my faith, or maybe because my father gave it to me-- Might be all three reasons-- I don't know-- but I won't argue with its help," she told him, clutching the figurine even tighter.

She wondered how he could recruit a psychic investigator to assist him on a case, while accepting the paranormal to do so-- yet not be religious or at least open-minded about angels and their possibility. Feeling uncomfortable about the topic and not caring whether he believed in angels or not, she wanted to skip the subject and advance to their intended business. "Can I see the files now? And the collection of crime scene items? I'll be able to get the history and a clearer perception of the case."

"Sure, but there's a lot, you know. There's eleven victims. We've collected evidence from each crime scene and an array of photos that we'll have to go through. It'll take some time. We need to go into the case work room where there's enlarged pictures, diagrams, maps, and other pertinent correlations already set up," Meadows told her, as he walked around his desk. He pulled her chair out and escorted her to the door.

Toni felt uneasy walking through the squad room with all eyes upon her. They probably hadn't known who she was when she waited on Detective Meadows earlier, however, the squad grapevine of exaggerated gossip and tawdry news had probably spread like a wildfire by now. She knew all too well that most cops thought she was a farce and felt that consensus hadn't changed in the past two years.

Detective Meadows, may I have a drink of water before we settle in?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry that I didn't offer you anything. I apologize. Go ahead and go on in and get yourself situated and comfortable. I'll get you a glass of water and a coffee for myself then join you in a minute-- would you like a cup of coffee or a soda, too?"

"No, just water please." Toni went into the work room. As soon as she walked through the door-- it hit her. That feeling of tortured despair she'd felt before at the coffee shop. Only this time, it was stronger-- more powerful. She tightly clutched the tiny angel-figurine to her breast and looked around the room, her eyes stopping and fixating on the boards. Pictures of the victims' mutilated bodies and severed body parts were displayed in chronological order of their murders. The sight was morbid and nauseating. She felt sick.

Meadows entered with a glass of iced water and saw her bent over holding her stomach. "Ms. Taft! Are you all right? Your face is white as new snow-- sit down and drink this," he instructed, handing her the glass of water.

He covered the boards with their drop cloths, hiding the pictures from view. He presumed it was the pictures that had upset her because they upset a lot of people, much like a med student observing their first autopsy.

"Thank you, Detective. I'm sorry. I felt so-- well, I felt so--"

"I can understand," he interrupted. "I'm sorry that I asked for your help, bringing you out of retirement like this -- but the truth is, we need you. Will you be all right doing this again? Should we go about this differently?"

"I'm not sorry, so don't be. It's necessary I help-- I'll be fine. I just experienced a little clairsentience washing over me again. I'll be all right in a moment, really." But she knew it was just the beginning of the worst to come.

"Maybe this was enough for your first day. You know, getting back in the saddle again and re-familiarizing yourself since you've been in retirement for the past couple of years. Would you rather pick this up later? Like tomorrow? Maybe take this in segmented parts? You know, give yourself breaks in between until you get used to it again," Meadows asked, adding an afterthought, "although, the speed in which the killer is escalating, I don't think we have much time before there's another victim."

"No, I'll be fine. And I know time is of the essence. Let's go ahead and do this, Detective-- please. These feelings aren't much different from my usual. It's just that it's been awhile-- and I'm a little shaken by it. I'll be okay." Although she didn't believe it, she figured the sooner she dealt with it-- the sooner it would be over.

Meadows pressed the intercom button on the phone. "John, get the evidence boxes for this case, will you, please? And bring me a consulting form, too."

John entered the work room a few minutes later pushing a dolly stacked with evidence boxes. "Here you go, Detective. This should be all of it." He laid the consulting form on his desk, and added, " If you need anything else, you know where to find me."

"There's a lot here to go through. I think it'd be best to start with the first victim and work our way up the line to the most recent. There might be a pattern to his madness that is chronological. What do you prefer?" he asked, looking in one of the boxes.

"That sounds best," she replied, reaching for the liability release form, signing it and sliding it back toward Meadows. She grabbed the box marked, "Case: E237793/Hines, Marilyn Kate."

Toni opened it. Before she could remove one of the evidence bags, a vision came to her. It was Marilyn Hines in the woods fighting and screaming-- she was scratching and mauling a man while trying to get away from his grip-- his face was blank-- featureless-- and blood... so much blood... then she heard a voice whispering in her head...

...Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
in which is the choice of his own desire,
selfishly to possess for himself
for his own demented reflection,
the fruits in which he so grimly reaps,
becoming darker and deadly bolder...
Reddick fixed the bad solenoid on his car and cranked the engine without any problem and followed her.

The pretty blond pulled her car into the driveway of a small framed house. Pink rose bushes neatly adorned the landscape. He sat watching her from his car he'd hidden among the other neighboring cars. He had watched her for days. There weren't any cars that parked in her driveway-- so there weren't any visitors.  She's single and lives alone.

She got out of the car, opened the trunk and juggled bags of groceries up the sidewalk into her house, shutting the door behind her with one foot.

She was pretty. He enjoyed watching her unload bags of groceries from the trunk of her car. She moved with a graceful mercurial fluency, like a ballerina dancing on stage. I want her. I need her. While stroking himself with lustful anticipation, he thought about her lovely breasts. He wondered if they were real or if she'd had a tit job. But I don't care.

The pretty blond came back outside bouncing down a couple of steps and down the sidewalk, returning to her car, grabbing the last of her bags. There were only two left and she didn't juggle them. Damn.

She disappeared inside the house, closing the door with her elbow this time. His anticipation was almost insufferable. He stroked himself harder, then faster-- and in his mind-- she was his.

...Soft, pretty blond hair
for my repertoire,
breasts so rounded,
sized just for my hands,
silky smooth skin to carve,
a canvass awaiting all my plans,
my lustful contemplation,
so willing to share my devoted affection.
My sable brush will gently stroke,
seeking out a uniquely new creation,
then proudly unveiled,
to be displayed
in my own private collection...
Chapter Five - Dark Hell
Over the horizon, the sun slowly descended while the moon awaited its turn to secure the heavens as the luminous guardian angel protecting the night. This metamorphosing wasn't new to the pair. Nature settled in while a soothing faint chill purified the air, making it fresh and clean, not thick and polluted like the city. It was finally night.

Reddick walked around with his hands in his pockets, searching the woods for the perfect place. He wanted it to be a brand new place. A special place-- my place. I don't want her to be a dirty pretty thing. I want to keep her virginal only unto myself. This time it will be pure and sabbatical--and I will revisit.

...Evil masks a faceless stranger,
with intense eyes, never to be forgotten.
Lurking in the shadows of the darkness,
ambulating close and near,
evil rushes spreading its fear,
into the hearts of the unsuspecting innocent...
He drove back into town and parked far away from the hardware store's front window. He went inside and walked down aisle after aisle grabbing a couple of needed items.

Hey, buddy! You gonna pay for that?" the clerk yelled from across the store.

"Yeah... whadda you think?" Reddick asked, snapping back. He hadn't finished shopping for the supplies he wanted. Why would the idiot ask such a fuckin' stupid question?

He snatched up a nearby hand basket on an end aisle and grabbed a solid-braided nylon rope, a pair of needle-nosed pliers, a better hunting knife than the one he already had, and four C-batteries, from nearby shelves as he patrolled the aisles.

"'Real sorry about the comment, buddy. I'ma might edgy 'cause we've had some inventory missin' lately. I guess I tend to be jumpy with folks I don't know," the store clerk explained. "Ya know how it is, loosin' money and all. Don't wanna have to raise my prices 'cause of it, but I gotta make a profit, huh?"

Reddick didn't respond. Yeah, sure, right. Who gives a fuck if you make money or not-- and you aren't going to know me either, he thought.

I guess you're goin' huntin'?"

"Yeah, hunting-- that's what I'm going to do." 'Sounds like it'd fit in with the bullshit the idiot started. Let him think whatever he wants.

"Where you goin'? Up at Holler Hills?"

"Uh-- no-- not there. I'm going up north of there," he lied, while thinking 'bout the sweet pretty little thing that he had planned a date with later.

"Well, it's your trip. But Holler Hills is still the best place to hunt. I've been huntin' there a lot through the years-- and it's run over with deer. More than a guy can buy ammo for anyway," the clerk told him. "But then again, I heard on the news the other day, a woman's body was found up there somewhere. So there might not be much deer now 'cause of all the cops tramplin' all around up there, ya know? It's bound to scare 'em away, don't you know? I guess north of there would be the place the deer would head. You know, you might be smart for goin' up there after all. 'Hadn't thought 'bout that."

I hate fuckin' people that ramble-- some fuckin' people talk just to hear their own fuckin' voice and just for the sake of talking--and some just don't fuckin' know when to shut the fuck up-- the son-of-a-bitch hadn't mentioned anything about the body--some fuckin' people don't appreciate art, he thought.

Wanting to get out of there, Reddick reached into his pocket for some cash. "No, I hadn't heard about it. I don't watch the news. How much do I owe you?"

The clerk announced, "$78.07," then handed him an itemized hand written bill. "Cash, or is it a charge card?"

"Cash," he answered.  Always cash. He paid him and walked outside to his car with his destination weighing heavily on his mind. He neatly arranged the supplies inside his tool box, closed the trunk, lit a cigarette and drove to the pretty blond's house.

The lights were on inside the little house. It was dark, but enough moonlight lit the night to see the pink hues of the roses that surrounded the front porch. A perfect night.

Reddick sat in his car watching shadows dancing behind the curtains that covered opened windows. They swayed with breezy harmony, seemingly tuned into the rhythm of his beating heart. He turned on the car radio. The pulsating music added an erotically charged, but diverse, expectancy to his need.

The lights flickered out one by one, like dying stars burning out as they plummeted to earth. That's my cue. I can wait a little while longer. There's a time to be patient-- and all good things are worth waiting for...

...Death is a strange mystery,
dwelling dark and deep inside.
It's so unknown to you,
but it's not to me, you see.
Yes, it's alive and well,
waiting for you and waiting on me...
The next night, he parked down the street to execute his plan. The worn window sill showed signs of age with its peeling paint shedding thin chips that gently fluttered downward on the blades of dewy grass below.

Reddick knew how to keep quiet. He knew how creaky old houses could be sometimes. He slowly began to slide the window open, as quietly as he could, considering it was dryly stubborn and only allowed a quarter of an inch at a time. He stopped and pulled the carpenter wax from his bluejeans pocket that he had ingeniously brought in preparation if necessary, and gently rubbed the wax up and down the inside of the window frame. The wax had sufficiently quieted the window. He slid the window open enough to climb through.

He slid one leg through the small window, folding himself in half, sliding his body inside the bedroom like a slithering snake, then quietly stood up erect. She was still sleeping and hadn't heard any sounds he had made that might have reverberated in the night.

Silently creeping closer to her bed, he inhaled the sweet aromas of vanilla mixed with a muskiness. It filled the room and his nostrils. He knew that scent. The scent of a woman.

Moonlight spilled through the opened window illuminating the room enough to compliment her lovely ivory skin. He stood by her bed looking down at her sleeping and watched her chest rise and fall with each breath she took. Golden hair straddled the pillow with curly silkiness. He reached gently to touch it while being cautious not to wake her. She lay sleeping with her breasts partially exposed; her gown caught under her small delicate arm. 

Continuing to watch her breathe, he imaged how sweet her breath would taste when the time came. Feeling his maleness pulsate, he stroked himself with expectancy, continuing to gaze over her slumbering beauty.

...Oh, little, pretty missy,
how sweet you will taste
when I lick your blood
from your innocent face.
Your warmth shall be mine,
as I shall partake,
you'll belong to me,
for as long as I take...

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... Bad times are only pleasant, when one shares the darkness with another essence...

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... Bad times are only pleasant, when one shares the darkness with another's essence ...

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